Enrico hesitated at the top of the gangplank. His eyes were drawn to the hatch, some distance away near the bow of the ship. He didn't go there much, not after he was sure the prisoner held there would survive his wounds. Asriel would most often go to feed him, usually dropping him food. Sometimes he'd drop through the hatch into the locked hold below, since unlike wolves the cat could leap high enough to return through the same way he'd gone in, but once the prisoner had recovered enough to pose a threat Enrico had asked him not to. He didn't want to risk Basilius hurting his friend to get at him.

But he hesitated, a lingering, haunted expression crossing his face as he eyed the hatch. Asriel was still away hunting, and as far as he knew it was just him on the ship.

Him and Basileus.

He steeled himself and trotted over to the hatch, shoved it forcibly aside. A ptarmagin and a hare were sent tumbling from his jaws into the dim pit. The other pair of grouse were laid on the deck. They'd be left for the rest of the pack, not the prisoner.

"Still alive, Scarlatti?" he called down roughly.

The familiar groan of the hatch's hinges woke him. The searing light that came through the opening brought stinging tears to Basileus' eyes and he was forced to clamp them shut for several seconds as they adjusted. "Still alive, Scarlatti?" His eyes opened and he glared into the too bright light. Although he couldn't see the man, he hoped he was looking. Hoped Enrico would see the hate in his eyes. Initially he'd been confused by the aid given to him, baffled as to why an enemy would waste time on tending to his wounds, but now? Now he thought he understood. He was convinced that Enrico had brought him here to watch him suffer. Why else would he be kept here of all places? No light, no fresh air. He lived and breathed filth. His own filth. It was degrading and he could think of no other reason for this than that the bastard wanted him to be miserable. To get Basileus back for pursuing him. His hatred momentarily rendered him speechless so there was little more he could do than growl to let Enrico know that why yes, he was indeed still alive. Thanks for asking, traitorous bastard. Hover speech for translation

The only response from the darkness below his feet was a low growl. Enrico sighed, though honestly he'd known that it had been about equal probability between that and curses hurled in his face. He didn't expect anything else. "Don't be like that, Scarlatti," he said with forced lightness. "You know I am going to let you out eventually. You'll have your chance to try to kill me then. What harm is there, then, in alleviating the boredom through civil conversation?" He tilted his head to the side, peering through the gloom as well as he could. "I am sure if you put your mind to it you could manage a more intelligent discourse this time than 'fuck you' hm?"

Basil's ears flattened as Enrico chirpy voice floated down to him. He didn't understand any of this. Had the roles been reversed Enrico would have died in the snow and Basileus would have gone on his merry way. Only a monster treated a man this way. Even in killing a pentito he wouldn't have treated his target this way. Most souls, even damned ones, deserved some amount of respect. Never in his wildest dreams would he have imagined such a thing. Now, though? Now it was all he could think about. "What else is there to say?" he growled back. Really, what was Enrico expecting? "Perhaps," he said dryly, "I should thank you for my living arrangements. It's not everyday one gets to live in such spectacular filth." Hover speech for translation

"I suppose you would prefer being dead, you stubborn long-eared ass," he growled. And then sighed, because Basileus was right about the living conditions. Maybe he could dump water in there. Surely a ship would have some way of allowing the water to run out of the hold somewhere. Turning towards Asriel, he shared a few quiet words with the snow leopard, who grinned and twitched his whiskers before bounding off. "Are you getting enough to eat?" he continued courteously, for all the world as though inquiring of a guest if they had enough hand towels in the guest bath. "If some other type of meat would be more to your liking, I am certain I could arrange for it for your comfort."

Dying in the snow was preferable to living in a dark, dirty hole, although if it was up to Basileus he would be literally anywhere else and alive. If his options were to stay where he was or die then of course he'd choose death. This was not how a man should live. He had been stripped of his dignity and laid low, and now he writhed around in the muck like a worm. Basileus was disgusted by his own existence. Not that long ago he'd thought he cuoldn't sink any lower, but this metal dungeon had taught him otherwise. His gaze drifted towards the latch as Enrico began to speak to him again and then he sighed peevishly. His lips curled as another wave of anger rolled over him. Once upon a time this man had been his mentor. Basileus had looked up to Enrico. He'd envied his position in the cosca, his strength, his cunning. And now what was he to him? A trophy? A toy? "Comfort," he sneered back. All of this, his situation, his memories, they exhausted him. His anger wavered and gave way to fatigue. He answered Enrico's question with a question of his own. "What is the point of any of this?" Hover speech for translation

Crouched at the hatch, the pong of waste products was much stronger than he'd realized, but Enrico forced himself to remain where he was. Enrico wouldn't be gone for long, and he could begin to right some of the wrongs he had done in his neglect. Always it seemed that he caused pain through neglect. It had to end somewhere. He stared down into the darkness, troubled. "What is the point of any of this?" Why was he drawing this out? He could have let Basileus out long ago if all he'd cared about was giving Basileus a fighting chance when it came time to finally end their cat-and-mouse chase. He'd been healed for some time now. So... what was the point? "I don't want to kill you." The words were given in a low growl, but he shook himself to settle his fur and started again in a cooler tone. It was idiotic beyond belief to feel hurt by Basileus' continued rejections of him, considering the hell Enrico had put him through. The man had no reason to think well of him in any way, and clearly Enrico had only been continuing to hurt him since. Expecting any more was just setting himself up for hurt, so he shuttered that behind the cold, metal doors of his mind. "My pack is not ready to be left without an alpha. I've just begun to enjoy my life, and I have no intention of risking it just yet. You will get your chance, Scarlatti."

Asriel bounded back up to him at that moment, fresh from the cabins beneath the deck. He carried with him a metal bucket, and a rope, both left behind from the long-ago human sailors. He'd used his teeth and claws to tie a simple knot in the rope to attach it to the handle, and used the rope now to dangle the bucket over the hatch. "Look out," Enrico said mildly, and then Asriel dropped the bucket to land with a clanging racket in the prison.

"You can kick your waste into the bucket and clean up as much as you can," Enrico continued in that same cool, placid tone. "Once you've cleaned up the solid waste we can see to getting the drains cleared and provide you an opportunity to get yourself clean as well. In exchange for your good behavior, that is. I will not risk my pack to improve your lot if you try any... foolishness."

"I don't want to kill you." In response to this Basileus growled. Then why keep him here? More importantly, why save him in the first place if it was going to come to this? It just didn't make sense. The only conclusion he could come to was that Enrico wished to see him suffer, although why he didn't come right out and say it was a mystery to Basileus. "Then you should have let me die," he said flatly. Someday he'd get his chance, eh? Well, that just sounded too good to be true. "In the meantime, what? Perhaps you think my mind will leave me if-" Sight of the bucket changed his words into a wary growl as its purpose wasn't immediately obvious to Basileus. His wariness quickly changed to horror as it clicked. Enrico then confirmed his suspicions. He was going to have to push his shit into a bucket. Basileus was appalled. How much further could he sink? How much more dignity could be striped from him? But... Basileus ground his teeth together in frustration. But this was a chance to better his surroundings. He was going to have to trade another scrap of dignity for some semblance of cleanliness, but at least he'd be clean, right? He stared blankly at the bucket. No words of derision came to mind, no protest, nothing. Not in a million years would he ever thank this gutless traitor for giving him a bucket to kick shit into, but he couldn't reject it, now could he? The alternative was that he let the waste level rise until he was quite literally swimming in shit. Hover speech for translation

"Maybe I should have," he sighed in response to Basileus' words. "But I could not do that either." A weakness of character, perhaps. No doubt any of the red brothers, even he, would have thought that. After all, it was the final test of a potential to need to kill. Anyone who could not do that, could not stand back and allow an enemy to die, they did not deserve to be in the cosca.

Basileus' stare at the bucket spoke volumes of his horror, and Enrico just sighed again. He was trying but there was only so much he could do to make the man comfortable without putting Niente at risk. And, yes, himself, and God knew he was a coward for it but he wasn't ready yet to risk his own life either.

Asriel, however, had no mixed feelings towards this prisoner, and the leopard let out a threatening growl rumble through his chest. "Wolves," he said scornfully, though not without some amusement, shaking his heavy head and twitching his whiskers. "Perhaps if you were raised properly and knew to bury your scat you would not have this... reluctance to clean your own prison properly. It is not as though he is asking you to clean his scat."

"To be fair," Enrico said to the cat with some embarrassment, "it would not be an issue if I did not need to keep him caged. He could be out on parole for that... business... if I could trust his word to bring no harm to my people. But I can't," he said, turning his attention back to Basileus, his voice going flat and cool. "Can I." It wasn't a question. Basileus was honor-bound to kill him, and breaking his word would matter little beside that.

The cat's derision snapped Basileus out of his melancholy funk. He snarled up at the cat, his gaze a hard challenge. The short-legged little bastard wouldn't speak so freely, would he, if they were face to face. No, he mocked because he felt safe out of reach. Because he felt some misguided sense of superiority over Enrico's captive. Much to his surprise, Enrico came to his defense. Kind of. His words managed to drop Basileus' rage to an unhappy simmer. He eyed Enrico, displeased with the idea that the man thought so little of him, before replying in an aggrieved tone, "It's you I have vendetta with, not your people." Although he had recently added the cat to his shit list, everyone else, while he loathed their complacency, were just being good little soldiers and he couldn't fault them for their inaction. But, Enrico had a point. He couldn't trust him and considering where they were starting, one a captive with a vendetta and the other a captor with every reason to be wary, there was no way they could get to a place of trust. They each had their reasons for being entrenched in their convictions and giving up ground could be deadly. So he answered honestly, his voice grim, "No, you can't." Hover speech for translation