"Fevin, while I can still feel my arms, I can still be beholden to wash my ownse-"
"And your arms will continue to feel for as long as you live, Taylor. I wash them now because they tire now, do they not?"
Humid, grimy tiles, black critters kept away from the naked bodies of emaciated and gruff men only by the splash of the water that soothed – that water that wasn't clear, and that cold that bit deeper. Either this or the decrepit rash and rot that stung and clung onto the everyman's back within these cobbled confines their captors called a prison. Yes, to the recipients of such an honour, came the honour too of having a personal attachment stationed to watch them even at their most vulnerable and bare, at the doors. No worry should have to cross their minds; not one dangerous thought or action.
The carer was a gruff man, half-shaven and uncombed, his stomach unnaturally hollowed in, eyes gaunt, lips chapped and nails infected. He bore the name Moore, first name Fevin, and on his back lay the inked markings of his allegiance to a dynasty that earned him his sentence.
"I say it so many times and so many times you do not listen, you have to finish the meat they serve you. You're- yo- you're getting frail."
His hands ran over a distended bloat on his other's skin he had assumed to be calloused, when all he felt was bone. Skin on bone, his finger laid on it but only a waver of relent and stutter he gave. It was just the way Taylor was sitting then, it had to be.
The cripple was the spitting image of health: Sinewy twigs, a ghostly fair complexion and porcelain sheen over bones that wasted. His hair was still golden though, so was his laugh.
"Yeah, I'm GETTING frail. I guess everyone here's losing a little weight huh Fei?"
Even now, shit and sweat-slicked and scented candlelight never took away that substance from a wavering poet. In his pale complexion shone rosiness that caught in Fevin's eyes, and caught again in a heart that wrested wobbly. It was almost unfair he got this and certainly unfair that he would lose it.
"Y-you know what I mean. Eat more, the stuff doesn't taste good but it's good for yo-"
"I-I know Fei."
Water splashed and drained, figures in the background already starting to move out of the room – their footsteps an interlude.
Ripples of a small crawler in the water showed a worm with wings, its matted appendage weighing it down to the encroaching drain. Fevin picked it up and inspected the creature, he hadn't realised the ache of his frown in permanence until his smile gave his features respite.
"It's a dragonfly, this one's got a little lost down here huh?"
Flickering embers illuminated iridescent chitin, its weak frame crawling to the base of his fingers as Fevin turned them over to bring it up closer to Taylor. How did its trembling form get the vibrance silk workers spend years in apprenticeship trying to mimic? Taylor leaned in closer, as best he could.
"Romantics say that it brings good luck. B-bring it closer Fei, I want to see its shine. Closer a bit."
Close enough. Its wings extended and it took off, one singular escapee from these walls. It had left behind the two whose bodies leaned against each other in tenderness. Bronze bells rang in the sound of the last of the water that trickled down the drainage, auspice perhaps where auspice could be made; tenderness where cobble's purchase gave none.
"What words did I say earlier? You'll be alright, heaven ordains it. We'll be alright."
"Yeah."
``` ```
"Next on-"
"If you look at it from the right angle, that splotch there looks like that one funny statue of the horse in Shanwei."
"... The words Fei, the words on the floor. Read them"
Thatch on uneven stone, no expense, it seemed, could be spared to house the hundreds in the prison. Some nights, torches that adorned the corridor walls had stem enough to hold a flame to illuminate the cells – their floors which filled its grooved surface with dirt and detritus and walls that stained faintly of a vermillion metallic perfume, doing its best to cover the odium in these halls. These were not one of those nights.
"Lorraine gu-"
"Slower, sound it out…"
Blackened charcoal that used to be torches lay scattered at the base of their rusted holders, their size and integrity no longer fitting of their stations. Though no calendar was there nor date told to the men, time's passing they could tell from the absence of torches. Filthy pigs were starting to stockpile firewood. Winter was coming; Fevin's 10th Winter's Solstice through a singular barred window in the ceiling was coming.
"-shed about the flowers Jacob had sent her the day before. They were re-resplendent? Gods, why not just say 'talked' and 'nice'? You ask me, only those stuck-up merchants from down river speak like that."
"Hahh… yeah alright, yeah. Nice of you to say that about my job Fei."
From down along the hall of cells, a disgruntled voice rang out, "Close that mouth of yours for us will you?! Some of us are tired!"
Fevin's hands grabbed the bars beside him, "Yeah?! I'd be tired of sucking up to those imperial hogs twat!". The talking heads in their cells sounded their chorus, the cellblock choir giving their answer in low laughs. One good guffaw warranted the deafening banging of metal on metal near the entrance by a guard.
Perchance a modicum of luxury in this graveyard of many was the privacy they found in cells barely large enough to store their bedding. Only two were given to each bed. Again, it seemed that no expense could be spared for their comfort. A little could be to sate their sanities. Malady ran rampant in these gallowed halls. Not rumour, not tall tales, but hopeful wishing. How much leeway could be rent to call the concoction of ailments that ruined backside and function of near everyone here? Was it cruel to call something that stripped you of your faculties and humanities as painfully as a knife you see being pressed ever so slowly into your own chest anything less than a curse – and just a malady?
Not based on the news that never reached them from the outside, but in hope that their freedom would earn them the miracle herbs, tinctures and tisanes, foreign giants from the foglands made like buns, this much, even an illiterate and fool like Fevin knew. He massaged the purpled skin and flesh of Taylor's lower legs, their feel not unlike bruised fruit. That heaviness they felt in such abundance made Fevin's eyes see imagery of fingers that plunged into rotten and mushy flesh, pressing through the skin. That image was one that lingered, he just continued massaging Taylor's legs trying to imbue some feeling back into them. Maybe it worked
"Keep pressing into me like a fruit-seller and you'll bruise me more than you'll heal those spoilt plums"
A grunt escapes from the carer's mouth.
"At least you smell ripe."
Fevin's hands worked whilst his mouth uttered back the words Taylor was writing down with plucked hay strands from their shared bedding. An illiterate man he was but a fine and finely charactered citizen he would be when they'd leave this place. But that was enough massaging for that night.
That little expense that was paid to the dogs in their kennels here were a medicine for what ailed all of them apparently. Poppy seeds, a serving each. Fevin used a rock to split their portions, feeding Taylor his portion. It was their medicine. Despite everything, he knew this much to be truth.
"Repeat after me-"
Fevin placed a palm on Taylor's shoulder, laying down now beside him.
"Maybe tomorrow. Tired. Night, mouth"
Duvet, o' duvet of mine. Drape your weighted finery over your other's arms and give warmth in cold of night. Dulled by the seed of fine flower and each other's embrace, sleep would find them here.
"Goodnight Fei."