Challenge The Proud

One of Them

"My pen is the barrel of a gun. Remind me which side you should be on." - Challenge No.29

ADRIA COMBED her long, auburn hair staring at the bare cell walls. She had considered littering the boring gray walls with posters, maybe even news articles about her books and achievements. But would that really make her room less of a prison?

A tap at the steel door.

"I need more time," she spoke loudly to make sure they would hear her through the thick door.

She placed the brush on the crowded makeup table. Adria was ready to leave. She had been ready for over an hour. The only things missing were her glittering high-heels - a perfect match to her golden sparkling dress. She slipped her feet in the uncomfortable shoes, one at a time.

This was a sort of punishment in its own right. Being forced to dress up and attend their parties.

She pressed the button next to the door letting them know that she was ready.

With a hiss and a clink the locks released and Adria was let out of her room.

"How are you this evening, Miss Figgs?" one of the guards politely asked.

Despite the black mask covering his face, she recognized him. Those green eyes greeted her on most days and his muffled voice often brought a cheer to her otherwise dim existence.

"Brilliant, it seems." Adria made a turn showing off her party dress.

The guard chuckled and with a slight hand flourish invited her to walk in front of him.

If she didn't know any better, Adria might have mistaken his gesture for chivalry. Her high-heels echoed through the empty corridor while the heavy thuds of the guards' boots served as counterpoint to her every footfall.

* * *

Soft music flowed from instruments handled by malnourished musicians. There was a fragrance of flowers and copper that Adria had learned to ignore, among other things.

"When's the next book coming out?" a guy wearing nothing but a pair of red leather pants asked.

Adria knew not to reply. He wasn't talking to her. He was talking to her Patron.

"I hope within the next month. But you know how artists are. You can't rush their type," her Patron responded with pouted lips, placing his arm around Adria.

She was mesmerized by the way his double-chin wobbled on his every word. Her Patron's large palm was cold and clammy, yet she remembered to smile as if she enjoyed his attention.

"I know. I can't force myself to write songs. They just come to me whenever." The red leather pants guy flipped his hair back and grinned at her with his perfectly white teeth like she was his next fine meal. And for all she knew, she could have been.

"Homer, you dog. Are you making eyes at the pretty little lady here?" Another one of them joined - his long sleeved shirt reminded Adria of the old 19th century costumes she had studied for her books.

"You know, this pretty little lady here is an acclaimed author. Adria Figgs," Leather Pants was happy to make the introductions.

"He knows. He's been trying to steal her from me ever since I found her," Adria's Patron pointed out with a low snort.

She could feel his annoyance grow with every moment. His chubby fingers dug into her arm, making her whimper and cringe.

"No. Your pets are your pets, Sir Drake. I just like to play with them every once in a while."