The cages are as full as ever, and the hob sharing Calliope's prison is still there, still lingering by the bars, hoping for aid which hasn't come.
The air is still and heavy with the oppressive heat and stink and humidity of the swamp which wreathes the Market, night falling in slow, light-eating inevitability as time ticks away.
The leather of the cuffs binding Calliope's and the catwoman's ankles/wrists and CB/the starry Fairest's wrists is stiff, but claws can still cut through it -- with effort, and a lot of time. The thorns of the cage bars, too, can scratch it, or unlucky prisoners, quite well.
Talons are useful things and Calliope has been quietly working away with hers, biding her time and listening to snippets of information she might be able to glean their location, the best route out or where her glorious armor and trident are. For the days they've been here Clio has been quietly protective of all the others. Or rather not so quietly, loud and fowl mouthed and all up in the face of anyone who gets too close. CB is in another cage but she does keep sort of verbally jabbing at him to try to keep his dander up.
C.B. has no talons, of course. It's not hard to keep his dander up. Really, he could have gotten out of his binds anytime, but even he seems to see the futility of such an act. Sometimes he bangs his head against the bars or yells at his captors. Heck, at least that doesn't waste Glamour, right? But he hasn't been in his right mind for rather awhile, and being imprisoned only makes things worse.
The hob in the cage with them does her best not to interact with any of the changelings, and several times, a single hob, or two, will come to her and hold a whispered conference, hard to overhear, harder to act on, caught behind bars. Ten times a day, once for each finger on the White Hands, a group of slaves from the other cages is selected to be brought out and displayed for purchase, the echo of the salesman's voice through the dirt-floored aisle of pens a distant rise and fall of pattered exhortation.
The same pattern has played out each day the changelings have been captive here, predictable as clockwork.
Calliope is just trying to keep CB focused on the fact there are others here. Even if it's the loudmouth Harpy that just will not stop hounding him. That's her job after all - hounding men to hell - ask the Greeks. Clio is unfourunately a beast so plans take a while to form. Learning the guards, their movements, the working of the markets. Taking an assesment of the pros and cons of their location. The way the system works and most importantly the count of the men they have, combants and 'noncombatants' equally all Hobs. She's been formulating a plan slowly. She picks a time when the hob is busy with her friends to pull the other two in the cage towards where CB is currently beating himself senseless. "Hey, CeeBeebs, pay the fuck attention." She whispers and tries to poke at him through the thorny cage.
C.B., on the other hand, doesn't seem to have done much in the way of planning. As clever as he is. He's just too busy being lost in whatever's going on in his head. Butthat head jerks up angrily as Calliope pokes him. "To what?!"
The hob pays no attention to either of them, caught up in her own private dramas, and her visitors, beyond noting that the changelings have moved, deliberately keep to themselves, too. Sometimes, you're better off not knowing. No one in these cages WANTS to be here.
Calliope says, "Shh." She says gently. "We're gonna get the fuck outta here. But we all need to be on fuckin' board and you're gonna have ta fuckin' work with me, CB. None of this anarchy bullshit. I've been timin' this out and I think we have a shot, but I need someone to distract the one guard while I go find my shit and come back to get you. I can risk one more of ya comin the fuck with me but you have to be able to be really fuckin small, or real fuckin' quiet." She seems utterly confident she can do this."
Although C.B.'s eyes are wide, and wild, and angry, they are completely focused on Calliope. It's like a snippet of reason manages to make its way back into his brain. His mouth becomes a thin line, and he nods. "I need to find my shit, too," he whispers. "I have guns in there, among other things..."
The Fairest shakes her head, wordlessly denying any use at being small and quiet. The feline Beast, however, admits, "If you need a housecat, I can help. Once. Been saving it in case I had a chance to get her out." She keeps her voice to a low murmur, ears flat against the side of her scalp. "Not so sure looking for your shit's going to help, though. Saw two of the guards wearing our stuff."
Calliope points at him, "They'll fuckin notice yer fuckin' gone. Yer a constant source of snarl, they only hear and fuckin see me when the guards come by. They wont fuckin miss me." She looks to the other Beast and the fairest with her glowing eyes dull in darkened sockets. "Well shit." She taps her talons on the ground softly. "Fine, change of plan. There's a period of time when there's one fuckin guard. The rest are busy fuckin dealin' with the MarKet. I can get small enough to get through the thorns. Can anyone else?"
"So what do you want me to do, distract them?" C.B. looks around. He knows perfectly well he could make an excellent distraction, and if he has to undo his bonds in the process, well...he can do that, too...
The hobs outside suddenly pause, glancing guiltily over their shoulders, and fall deadly quiet. They freeze in place, but whatever they were afraid of seeing mustn't be there, because within a few heartbeats, they're back to whispering with their captive companion, body language hopeful and desperate.
The catwoman raises a hand to indicate that, yes, she can get through the bars, and the Fairest just shakes her head again.
"What's your stuff look like, and which of us is getting the key to these things? If you get the key, I can scout. Fuck all if I know what that hob's going to do when we break out, though."
Calliope freezes as well head tilting, waiting, eyes bright, blinking. When the herd, er, hobs go back to talking she lowers back and quiets down, "All right, here's the base fuckin plan I have and keep in mind it's loose cause shit's bount to fuckin change. CB, you can fuckin distract'm, just when it's the one guard, get him close. Not in arms but fuckin close," She takes a quiet breath keeping her voice down still, "Me and you." She points at the feline beasty, "Kill'm and get the keys and get these two out. Then you can scout, as for the hob? Who cares, Kill'r? My stuff's kinda..small. Fitted to me pretty perfectly." She getures at her adorabily tiny size. Flex. "And I doubt these fuckin meatheads would understand how to active my fuckin' trident."
"Mine is a backpack. Olive drab," C.B. says. "I /need/ it. You gotta find it. I can distract the guard. No problem." Hell, he looks ready to do that. Make a fuss? Yeah, he was born for jobs like this.
The other two changelings nod, and the Fairest shivers, cradling her broken arm against her chest. The catwoman is the one who speaks, asking, "Got a plan in mind for, oh, how we get OUT of this godsforsaken swamp without getting captured all over again?"
Calliope looks to the other two changelings to see if they're on board. "By fuckin' working together." the bluebird says with complete confidence. She nods, "All fuckin right, it'll be the next fuckin time they go out that they'll be down to one. That's when we'll strike. Any preperation ya'll gotta do, best do it now. CB, remember, curious not furious."
C.B. gives her an irriated look. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. I'm not stupid, Calliope. I've done things like that before." Huh. Well, he doesn't elaborate. But he does look about as ready as he'll ever be, sizing up the guards as they go by.
Time passes, and eventually, the moment comes when slaves are taken out of the pens. Tonight, the sales are going well, and no wonder; whispers among the guards, hissed reminders and orders, hint at the presence of .. well, it's not clear whether it's actually one of the Fae, or just someone very highly ranked in that Fae's service, but whatever it is, it's demanding a lot of attention and a lot of slaves to examine for flaws.
Calliope says, "Sure ya fuckin aint." The harpy beams at him and goes to wait in her spot until the time to strike. She shifts her weight and takes a breath and looks to the others and waits for CB. Of course CB could be intimidated out of action by the rumors; she doesn't act until CB does but she's focusing.
Good thing for everyone that C.B. often throws caution to the wind. Like now. And you know what works well, when you've already been acting crazy? Continuing to act crazy. C.B. starts to moan and yell, twisting and writhing in his cell, muscles stretched tight. "I can feel it!" he calls out. "Coming for me! Again, and again, and again...why won't they let me go..."
Now, the guards are used to slaves throwing fits, and, moreover, they have become accustomed to CB. Still, it's their job to investigate disturbances, and investigate they do, or rather, investigate HE does, since only one Sniffer walks around the corner, looking harried and annoyed.
"Be silent," the guard hisses, but while he has a cudgel in hand, he doesn't put it through the bars. Wouldn't want slaves getting weapons.
Calliope moves a bit away glancing towards the hob who huddles in the corner before she inches towards the thorns. She gathers a breath and keeps an ear on what's happening in the distant. All feathers afluff, all hairs on hen, all hands on deck.. Clio's started to go into full on soldier mode. She waits until he's grunting at CB not to be disruptive and distracted before making the go signal to the feline, subtle small movement.
"YOU tell them to be silent!" C.B. all but spits at the guard, trying to kick him through the bars, since his feet aren't bound. "You tell them! You tell them, you sonuvabitch!" He flails and keeps trying to kick at the guard.
With so many slaves already gone, whether sold or simply out on the selling blocks, the cells around the small and stinking, dirty group -- that open-air 'latrine' in every cell really adds to the lovely blend of varying B.O., blood and filth -- are mostly empty. The guard, not having to fear attacks from behind, steps closer to the cell and looks down at CB's foot as though it were a bullplop on the road: something disgusting, but not something capable of hurting him.
Distraction: check!
The catwoman echoes Clio's small movement and, when the guard has his attention more fully on CB, she shifts as well, a small black cat with amber eyes rubbing once against the hip and thigh of the kneeling Fairest before slinking through the shadows to ooze out between two of the cell's bars. She's following Calliope's lead, however, and doesn't act just yet.
Pop, Clio isn't there anymore she's on the other side of the Guard. And while CB distracts the wretched creature Clio hops up and using the weight of her body in a swing, she snaps the hobs neck and then carefully puts him down on the ground so as not to alert him. Even her mantle is now only sweltering humidity and she looks at the cat and pounts at her own eyes and gestures for the feline to scout while she searches the guard to see if the keys will be on him.
Once she gets the keys and starts working on the cages. Getting them unlocked carefully and quickly making sure everyone who gets free understands that it is key to be super sneaky. So sneaky in fact Clio didn't even victory dance at her badass ninja moves. That will come later. For now she attempts to get people out and to saftey hoping the feline can find someone's equipment.
C.B. keeps on tormenting the guard, in a disgusting an awful way. He doesn't care. He'll debase himself, if the distraction is working. Because he and Clio will have the last laugh, and then maybe he can slit this guy's throat. Unless Clio is planning on letting everyone out but him...she wouldn't do that, would she?
The guard never has a chance, and once he is down, the cat lashes her tail in acknowledgement and slinks away, darting through the shadows in silence.
The Fairest, when released, hurries up to her feet with only a quiet hiss of pain and a flinch at the jarring of her broken arm. Sure, her eyes are tearing up, but she keeps quiet about it, biting her lower lip to keep from making any louder sounds.
The hob, staring at the now-dead guard with wide eyes, makes a run for it, sprinting off in the direction of the exit with none of the cat's care.
The hob is dead, dead as dead can be. Clio's game face is on an C.B.'s only seen it once before. It's why they don't get on. She opens the cage and then moves aside to let him get out an also catch the sprinting little hoblette. "Oh no. You want out of this alive you shut up and come along." She hisses, the majestic harpy glaring into the hob's face with utter malice.
The hob squeaks when she is caught, an indignant sound, but she's barely past even Calliope's knees in height, and flailing her arms around doesn't do her much good. "Let me go let me go let me go!! Do you know what you've just DONE? You killed a SNIFFER! They'll ALL know!"
"Good. More incentive for you to come along and help me find my armor. And better be quiet or they'll find you all the quicker." She motions for people to move to more defensive positons waiting for the feline's return. Clio honestly doesn't care about her reputation with hobs. She doesn't panic cause she' gotta keep her eople together! Maybe she's just a tad overconfident.
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