Of Crows and Songbirds (Part 3)

(Ahh, fair haha. Did you have anything else for this scene or skip over to the nasties in jail?)

(Nothing planned, nope! We can skip.
More of the same from Bay. Humiliation, days of isolation, blunt force trauma and one or two creative interrogation methods. Same questions asked over and over, sensory overstimulation, starving and sleep deprivation, all that jazz)

(Aleth's gonna be mad dissociating and not really give him much to work with. He'll continue to need to be force-fed because he's still too proud to eat the shit they're trying to give him. I think he's probably in such a sorry state at this point he probably couldn't give much good info if he wanted to, and he certainly doesn't want to. He's hoping Bay just kills him at this point and is going to be doing everything he can to try to ensure the blows are fatal. Failing, obviously. But trying)

(Gotcha. I think Bay is seasoned enough that he'll realize when he's pushed him too far and start easing into the good cop stage of providing food and clothing again, basic human rights.)

(Sounds good ^^)

Aleth wasn't sure which one was crueler -- the abuse before, or the faux-kindness the asshole was showing him now. On one hand, the torture was, well, torturous. But at least it was constant. It gave him the hope of death.

But this? This yanked that hope away. This showed him the bastards were planning to keep him alive for probably a long, long time. And that was worse. The fact that there was no respite coming for him. He wasn't dumb enough to think this temporary improvement of position was permanent. This was just to get him to gain enough strength for round two. Fuck that.

Bay had given him reprieve in his cell for the next few days. He had blankets brought in, as well as meager food and water and a shallow bucket for waste.
Loren lay across from Aleth in his own cell, on his stomach with his cheek resting on the filthy floor. "Lucky bastarddd," he sighed through his rotting teeth. "Look at you with your fresh bread and dry fruits. Can I have your leftovers? Can Nox?"

Aleth was laying limply on the ground staring straight ahead and might have been dead, aside from his slow, raspy breaths. He didn't respond in word or gesture.

"Allll." Loren reached a manacled hand through the bars toward Aleth's cell. "Share with your co-conspirators."

Aleth moved enough to get his left hand up under his chin as a makeshift pillow, but no more. "No."

"Why?" Loren raised his head. "Don't pussy out, now. We've been through what you've been through and neither of us threw nearly as much of a fit. Right, Nox?"
Nox gave no response; he was seated in his usual place.

"Good for you," he spat, closing his eyes. He felt terrible.

"So share." He changed his manacle on the ground loudly. "Share. Share. Share."

That sent a sharp pain through Aleth's skull. "Oh, fuck off," he groaned, grabbing his temples.

"Share with us!" Loren retorted. "I'll be quiet if you share." He rattled his chains rhythmatically.

"If you keep up, I'll fucking piss on it and make you watch," Aleth snarled.