it 's official: his life is an absolute fucking joke. why else would he be in his current situation, trapped beneath the thumb of a bastard pack wolf bitch? after she'd intercepted his attempt to rob the market (swooping in like an avenging angel and casting a veritable shadow across the skies of his future) she'd left him in this shitty little den and promised to return. so essentially, she's arrested him. and now he paces agitatedly back and forth, muttering furiously to himself and occasionally kicking out against the den walls. his stomach grumbles on occasion, reminding him of his hunger, and given the rough handling he'd been subjected to, he knows he's looked better. and isn't that just the icing on this nightmarish fucking cake. when she comes back, he vows to himself, she's gonna get it. she's get it big time.

Arrested and apprehended, and it was only a matter of time before Hazel needed to sort out what to actually do with him. Loudly colored as he was-- too much finery for a thief. Stands out like a jester, like a clown, drawing too much attention in the market to make it out. Still, the fact he'd made it as far as he had? Fuck, farthest anyone has made it in recent memory. Hazel's already foul mood was only darkened by it.

The girl finds him pacing like a caged animal when she finally returns-- good. Still, Hazel pushes a small meal under the bars, keeping her toes well-clear as she does. "You fuck up that den, you're the one who fixes it." Her tone is cool, eyes narrow. Hazel sits on her haunches opposite the barred door, watching him. Waiting. Curious in the low light. "Now tell me-- are you ready to talk?"

"Speech"

her return draws a spiteful glare from the man, who stares down his captor through the bars of his cage like he can rend the fur from her pelt with a simple look. alas, the effects are dulled by the way his eyes snap to the meal she provides him, drool gathering around the corner of his mouth and stomach emitting yet another low rumble. "otvali, suka," he spits, voice rough with disuse. when was the last time he'd had cause to speak to anyone? but despite the harshness of his words, his gaze falls again and again to that meal, scowling as he fights the hunger urging him to give in. to accept the provisions, poison or no. to swallow his pride and fill the empty void in the pit of his stomach. "i will tell you nothing. you will let me go, or you will face the wrath of the Baranov empire." it's an empty threat; the Baranov line begins and ends with the heart beating beneath his pale chest. but she doesn't know that, and that's all that matters. "they will come for me," he continues, voice haughty as he looks down his nose. "and when they see how you have treated me, they will come for you, too." he keeps his expression bored and confident, refusing to let even a hint of fear break his façade. his ability to bullshit is the only reason he's still alive.

but then, inevitably: his stomach growls again. and those violet eyes flick to the meal at his feet and fill with sheer longing.

Voice froggy and rough, but not too rough to chuck some choice words her way. Hazel is largely unfazed, though she can't place the strange language that rolls off his tongue. As he spouts his threats and goes for another round of intimidation checks, Hazel leans against the opposite wall. Watching him, as best she can through the limited opening. "Buddy, if anyone was coming, they'd have already arrived."

He's going for confidence and doing a good enough job, she'd give him that. Blind confidence from a rat in a cage, but confidence all the same. "Who knows though, maybe they're still on their way. It'd be a pity if you starved yourself to death before they get here." Yawning, feigning boredom-- Hazel had to pretend she wasn't watching him with morbid curiosity.

"Speech"

Ark bristles at the woman’s blatant dismissal, but all his threats and insults seem to slide off her like water; she simply stares him down, an immovable wall. it makes him want to rage harder, to hurl whatever he can at that stoic expression until something finally, finally makes her crack. but he hasn’t the energy, and it might only worsen his situation. he doesn’t know enough about this pack yet; perhaps they’re in the business of torturing loud-mouthed princes. ex-prince, his mind supplies automatically, and Ark’s expression sours even further. his grumbling stomach, however, draws his attention once again. “i will eat,” he snaps finally, every word bitter on his tongue, “only so that, when the time comes, i will have the energy to rip your throat out.” as though worried she’ll take back the food, he dives into the offered provisions with graceless desperation, polishing it off in mere minutes. his mama would be horrified.