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RPlog:A Sith Interrogation

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Was it daytime or nightime? The dimness of the cell and the constant darkness of the mines had completely thrown her inner clock off. Sabrina didn't know what day it was much less the hour. All she knew was that she longed to get out of this dump. Still nursing several injuries from her initial capture on Corellia, she'd been forced to endure countless hours of labor in the mines. Sitting up now on what could only be surmised as her bed, she peers about in the dimness, casting a glance towards the cell next to her. "Joh?" She calls out in a raspy whisper, waiting for the jedi-woman's response only to receive silence for her trouble. She inches off the bed, moving with care through the cramped cell towards the bars that seperated the two alcoves. Her eyes had adjusted sufficiently to the di

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A Sith Interrogation

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A prisoner on Kessell, Sabrina finds herself the object of not one but two Sith's attention.

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Was it daytime or nightime? The dimness of the cell and the constant darkness of the mines had completely thrown her inner clock off. Sabrina didn't know what day it was much less the hour. All she knew was that she longed to get out of this dump. Still nursing several injuries from her initial capture on Corellia, she'd been forced to endure countless hours of labor in the mines. Sitting up now on what could only be surmised as her bed, she peers about in the dimness, casting a glance towards the cell next to her. "Joh?" She calls out in a raspy whisper, waiting for the jedi-woman's response only to receive silence for her trouble. She inches off the bed, moving with care through the cramped cell towards the bars that seperated the two alcoves. Her eyes had adjusted sufficiently to the dimness. At least it wasn't the total dark of the mines. Johanna it seemed was no where to be found. It was likely the woman had been taken down for another round in the mining. The work seemed endless. Exhaling slowly Sabrina moves her tired frame back over to the bed, dropping down onto it with care, hoping to trick her weary body that she was getting rest. "Yeah...just pretend your back on Coruscant." She muses to herself, making an attempt to keep her morale high. Heavy footsteps echo down through the holding area as a group of men wearing all black stop in front of the New Republic Marine's cell. Peering through and activating a shoulder mounted light, the bright light peers through into the cell to find their quarry. "Open the cell." Someone in the darkness behind the light says coldly as the guards open the rustic cell with a keycard and allow the door to slide open its mechanism squeaking loudly as it slides open slowly. The first two men step into the cell, "On your feet!" The first one moving without a weapon the other stepping back and drawing his blaster pistol and steadying it. Always making detours these days, Malign stands amongst his personal guard. Interrogation of a prisoner is something for lesser men to do. He should be on Dreven by now reminding Korolov who is greater, by eradicating the Imperial court and giving his "Royal Guard" nothing to defend, ending their purpose. A cigarette would be good now the Sith mutters pointing a gloved hand at his chief aide, "This better not take long, how long has she been here?" "At least a month Warlord. She's ready to break. At least that is what the military doctors have stated." The man replies. "Very well lets begin shall we." He smiles in the darkness as the sound of rather nasty tools can be heard as a sack hits the ground. The light while in most circumstances would not be altogether very bright, is incredibly blinding to the woman who's eyes have adjusted to far dimmer environments. It's painful to say the least and she quickly throws her arm up over her face to block the invading illumination. Stunned to some degree she's slow to respond, standing in that lax motion of someone who is pushed beyond physical limits. Slowly she draws her arm back down, squinting against the light as she tries to decipher who is behind the bright glow. The voices indicate guards, more guards, more work...then the tell tale thud of the bag and it's contents and her stomach tightens. She takes a step back, not that she had any where to go, still working to focus tired eyes. While her sight might have been affected, her hearing had improved to some degree. It was funny how nature compensated for the situations sentients found themselves in. Break? Right...she rubs at her stinging eyes with spice stained hands, remaining silent for the time being. Speaking took energy and she had a feeling she'd need all the energy she could muster. 'Tagging along', as it were, is Sinestra. Numerous entities here and afar are researching the data the Emperor has left at her disposal to aide in furthering the grand plan, leaving her free to momentarily indulge herself in such activities as observing the Warlord up close and personal. His performance in regards to High Lord Korolov was enough to give her due warning for the next time slow and subtle is called for, but this kind of a situation was not that- it could prove to be quite amusing to watch. It had been a long time since Sinestra had been privvy to prisoners requiring interrogation, be it Rebel terrorists picked off as they scuttled to the siren's song of credits offered at Imperially hosted swoop events, or Imperial Officers who forgot how to behave and required an attitude re-adjustment and an opportunity to re-evaulate their life worth. For someone who does not indulge herself in personal luxuries, this would be much akin to attending opening night at the galactic opera. She would stand back and watch from her prime location, clapping where applause is needed. The guards place a table in the cell and begin laying out several devices, rather archaic knives, and other devices used to cut, smash, grind, or otherwise rip things. The objective of course was to use this wide range of tools on the Marine's flesh in hopes of her giving them information. Of course half the fun comes from figuring out what sort of information they wanted. Malign wasn't one to sit with his intelligence advisors and create a questionnaire. He'd wing it and figure out what came from the "interview". The Warlord slides into the cell, tightening his gloves as he smiles faintly. "Good morning." He states boldly, of course it might not be morning at all, "According to my records..." The Sith takes a moment to pull a slip of paper from his pocket and unfold it slowly and read over it, "...you were captured by Lord Astor's forces on Corellia. No doubt part of the since subdued resistance there." A chair is brought in for the Sith who takes a seat, and a gratified look when he receives a pack of cigarettes from an aide. He promptly opens, lights, and takes a draw from one letting the smoke roll out of his mouth. He gestures for the guards to stand the marine in front of the table to make sure she can see the various devices on the table. "A lot has happened since we last spoke, the New Republic has shattered into a Rebellion, the government in chaos and their military spread across the galaxy cowering underneath the Imperial war machine. All is lost." He says with a light chuckle, not all true, but his vision for the near future. "What is your name?" He asks quietly, let the questioning begin. Sabrina blinks a few times more, eyes tearing up. Well they would be tearing up if she weren't so dehydrated. Two guards grab her arms, pulling her none too carefully to stand in front of the table as ordered by the Sith. By now her eyes have adjusted ever slightly to the increase in light and she's able to make out a good deal of the smorgasboard of torture devices on the table. If he meant to scare her with the display he'd be sadly mistaken. If truth be told she was too tired to care. His words, however, play a whole other lay of torture on her and she looks at Malign, eyes narrowed, albeit mostly in protection from the light. "Rheatis." She rasps, surprised at the sound of her own voice. She hadn't needed to speak quite so loudly til now. She could give that much, hell it was still on her uniform, however blood stained and dirtied it may be by now. "If the New Republic is as you say scattered to the four winds why bother with me?" Nose wrinkling at the mere presence of cigarettes, Sinestra opts to linger far in the back, away from all the action (and away from the soon-to-be presence of smoke). Never having been a fan of the habit before, Tazecks certainly didn't endear her to it; rather, the insane woman's incessant love for cigarras had given her the urge to strangle people on the street who lit up. The last few years she'd spent in an entirely smoke-free environment, and the survivability rate of those she surrounded herself with had gone up significantly. Just thinking about Tazecks is enough to anger the raven haired woman, causing a slight blue ring to flare up around the edge of her irises, producing a unique (if not eerie) bit of eyeshine if perceived from just the right angle and distance. After the initial flaring, it slowly begins to fade away, like a flash of lightning in the night sky. Settling back as the procedure begins, she is intent to watch.