Every single muscle was tightly coiled in barely-contained rage as the general listened to the knight speak. He seemed to enjoy having the last word, and arguing with him like an old married couple wasn't exactly her idea of fun. The further away he was from her, the more time and freedom she had to attempt an escape. Incensed as she was by his assertion that she might be<em>offended</em>that he wouldn't rape her, she kept her mouth shut, going so far as to bite her lip to prevent any more venom from escaping unbidden. But whereas both captive and captor seemed aware that there would be no rape between them, from what she saw of the man's darkly magical accomplice... Well, best not anger that one too much while unarmed. She didn't get a good feeling about him.<br/><br/>Donovan soon vacated the room at the sound of a seemingly unexpected knock, leaving behind an absolutely bristling Methuseld. She wasn't easy to rile up, and she never let it affect her judgment (not could she, to a large extent) but the word 'master' in reference to the Vizier's control over her... Well, it was far too accurate. Hit far too close to home. Trying to think of something else, anything that would ease the simmering anger just beneath the surface, she thought of the knock, and who it might be.<br/><br/>A guard, perhaps? Though one guard would likely end up much as the other twenty who'd died that night - skewered by the warrior or his shadowy, nightmarish friend. The general shifted in the hammock uncomfortably, arms pinned beneath her heavily armored body. She was sure she was losing blood flow in her arms, although perhaps the man knew what he was doing and she wouldn't for a while. That didn't ease the twisting of her shoulders, ligaments torquing from being bent up against a thick plate of armor that twisted them further back than human anatomy generally allowed. If Methuseld could have done anything right now, it would be to slip these knots and at least relieve that pain. She twisted her pretty head around, eyes taking in the dark sleeping quarters - the fox cowering in the corner, the barren room save for a few hammocks similar to her own, the general spartan state of the place with little in the way of comforts. Dark, moist, stinky, salty. A criminal's ship. And no sign of her sword - whatever in the blazes had he done with it?<br/><br/>There was only one thing to do right now, she realized. She had an accomplice - an accomplice that wanted to go home and that seemed far more intelligent than your average animal, even a dog. This plan was almost definitely one of her stupidest, but it was worth a shot. The fox had, she now recalled, jumped into her arms in the midst of her battle with the shadow man. It recognized her, recognized what she represented. "Aza," she whispered quietly, thick exotic accent still coming through in the hushed tones. "Come to me. Come to me, little fox." Beckoning the small animal, the general strained to sit up a little to get a better view of the door and the fox near it, grunting a little with the pain. "Do you want to go home? I need your help..."