Fully unaware of the little drama being played out in one of the eight cells on the block, an unlucky guard tended to his paperwork. He'd drawn the evening shift the last four nights in a row, "randomly"- he suspected it was just the lieutenant taking a dislike to him that made him sit in the dank, smelly hold with the prisoners while most of his fellows were enjoying one of their few spots of leisure. It couldn't be helped now. He'd glanced up a few minutes ago, noted one, two three... eight closed doors and all was well. Dutifully, he wrote down the time and a verification of cell check.<span style="font-style: italic">Technically</span>he was supposed to get up and make sure physically each single door was locked, but why? His legs hurt from drill in the morning- drill, in the middle of the ocean! What, were they going to have to form a square to repel cavalry? But his ankles still complained when he got up, so he didn't bother. He trusted the ship's mage to know what she was doing, some high mucky-muck from the capital sent to shepherd these people through to the mines. The guard yawned, briefly. He'd made the check, he wrote it down, dinner wasn't for another hour, and that left daydreaming or napping. Considering that the penalty for being caught napping on duty might see him thrown into one of the cells with one of the prisoners bound and gagged, or at the least clapped in irons himself, daydreaming seemed like a healthier life choice. That ship's mage... there were other women on board, but the luckless guard had struck out with all of them. He hadn't had the guts to go up to the icy elven mage, and so thinking about her as something other than a slap in the face was at least possible, and even if she was kind of lanky, elves had nice curves, right? And they were usually old, so plenty experie-<br/><br/>-out of his peripheral vision, he saw a body in the hallway, and the guard's attention snapped up as if drawn by a lodestone. Nobody was supposed to be using that hatch! All at once, he stood up, trying to figure out why he didn't recognize the face... but when he saw one of the doors hanging up, his heart dropped. Impossible! He drew in a deep breath, ready to yell bloody murder and rouse the entire ship-<br/><br/>((<a class="postlink" href="http://orokos.com/roll/384339">http://orokos.com/roll/384339</a>:<span style="text-decoration: underline">1d20+2</span><span style="font-weight: bold">5</span>. The guard is feeling Helpful, even with a penalty for the circumstances. Remember, to give him an order to do anything he wouldn't ordinarily do, it's still an opposed charisma check!))<br/><br/>-Oh. It was... a demoness? He'd heard stories about those, but none of them had been very, er, detailed about what one looked like. Just that it was an eternity of pain et cetera to even be near one. Still- the demon was still in her prisoner's rags, and he was here in armor with a sword. Of course he had nothing to fear. It'd be... silly to rouse everyone for this. Watching as she talks, and focusing on her lips, the guard feels more acutely his lack of success with the women aboard the ship. And what was she saying to him? Practically an offer. Walking out from behind the desk, a ring of keys jangles softly on his hip and the sword stays sheathed on his other side. He doesn't come all the way up to Delia, though, still a little wary- he says, somewhat unconvincingly, "You've got to get back in your cell, miss, or you'll get in a lot of trouble! I don't want them to have to beat you!"<br/>-