Chuta Allfriend was no stranger to locked rooms and thick doors. His moniker wasn't an ironic showman's act, after all; old Chuta had been around and around since before the boy calling himself Rosewater slipped out of his mama's belly, and he'd been squeezed by harder men than someone calling himself a Sultansworn. The act was obvious and slow but he figured this was the upstart's way of showing Chuta was going to be in charge for the duration of their friendship. Chuta wasn't in the business of keeping enemies, and he wasn't about to start down that sort of path now, with his best years ahead of him still. The old dark cat eyed the half-eaten tart and rolled his eyes even as his stomach grumbled a bit. He trusted the contents of that tart as much as he trusted Rosewater's credentials and claims.
The storyteller did as he always did when it came to these sorts of situations. The chair he was on and freed from was moved to one side of the cell and he doused the candle and moved it and the table to the other side, but he kept that tart. Chuta took a heavy seat down in the center of the wall and stared out at that door, that portal to nowhere that wasn't going to open again for some time. If he was familiar with the practices, he'd have several more bells before anyone came back to chat with him, and it'd likely be one of Rosewater's grunts at first. He didn't have enough of a picture of the man to determine whether or not he'd get roughed up a bit first, but he knew it was on the table. The act was a tired one.
And so Chuta sat, splaying his legs wearily out in front of himself. He didn't want the light as he worked his fingers along his aching muscles, feeling the indentations of where the coarse ropes and shackles had compressed his skin, his wrists and ankles. With methodical diligence Chuta worked away the pain with his fingers, as much as it would go for the time being. He knew those sorts of things took time, and he had plenty of it. He was counting on it, in fact. He crumbled that tart and tossed the crumbs out, setting the tastiest morsel down in front of himself and out a ways. He didn't know where he was, but he could figure it out. Ul'dah was a bustling city with a functional sewer system, and if this dingy basement keepaway was within the city limits, there'd be uninvited guests all over the place. Ul'dah couldn't afford to feed its hungry, and that was true down to the smallest living creatures.
Chuta knew the scent of blood in rooms like this. He'd heard and told stories of the sorts of things that happened in them, the sorts of people who sometimes got forgotten about. The sorts of things that knew all the secrets in the walls, and that they knew where the food was, and what the food sounded like. Sometimes it yelled defiant, sometimes it cried and sobbed, but eventually... The scrabbling would start. The rats would know where the food was.
Chuta Allfriend didn't believe in having enemies. So instead of thinking about Rosewater and what and who he might truly be after, Chuta left out his offering and closed his eyes and he listened for a friend.
The storyteller did as he always did when it came to these sorts of situations. The chair he was on and freed from was moved to one side of the cell and he doused the candle and moved it and the table to the other side, but he kept that tart. Chuta took a heavy seat down in the center of the wall and stared out at that door, that portal to nowhere that wasn't going to open again for some time. If he was familiar with the practices, he'd have several more bells before anyone came back to chat with him, and it'd likely be one of Rosewater's grunts at first. He didn't have enough of a picture of the man to determine whether or not he'd get roughed up a bit first, but he knew it was on the table. The act was a tired one.
And so Chuta sat, splaying his legs wearily out in front of himself. He didn't want the light as he worked his fingers along his aching muscles, feeling the indentations of where the coarse ropes and shackles had compressed his skin, his wrists and ankles. With methodical diligence Chuta worked away the pain with his fingers, as much as it would go for the time being. He knew those sorts of things took time, and he had plenty of it. He was counting on it, in fact. He crumbled that tart and tossed the crumbs out, setting the tastiest morsel down in front of himself and out a ways. He didn't know where he was, but he could figure it out. Ul'dah was a bustling city with a functional sewer system, and if this dingy basement keepaway was within the city limits, there'd be uninvited guests all over the place. Ul'dah couldn't afford to feed its hungry, and that was true down to the smallest living creatures.
Chuta knew the scent of blood in rooms like this. He'd heard and told stories of the sorts of things that happened in them, the sorts of people who sometimes got forgotten about. The sorts of things that knew all the secrets in the walls, and that they knew where the food was, and what the food sounded like. Sometimes it yelled defiant, sometimes it cried and sobbed, but eventually... The scrabbling would start. The rats would know where the food was.
Chuta Allfriend didn't believe in having enemies. So instead of thinking about Rosewater and what and who he might truly be after, Chuta left out his offering and closed his eyes and he listened for a friend.
![[Image: yEROfKO.png]](http://i.imgur.com/yEROfKO.png)
