March 12, 2009
The Ides of March Attacks
10:15 am

Knox Greyfriar woke up suddenly at the sensation of cold.  He raised his large head, and with a groan immediately put it down again - it ached like a swarm of angry bees.  He was freezing.  He wasn't in his own bed - somewhere else.  He rolled over and blearily opened his eyes.  The room around him was dim, and he couldn't immediately tell where he was.  He tried getting up again and this time sat full up and put his feet on the floor.  He felt so stiff. 

Sitting there on the edge of the bed, in a small dim room, he realized he was ... naked!  With a groan, he groped about for something to cover himself.  As his eyes adjusted from sleep, he saw next to the bed a chair.  A loose pair of what looked like hospital trousers were hung over the back, and a robe folded up on the seat.  There was a pitcher of water on the floor nearby.

Where the hell was he? This was familiar in an unfamiliar way.  "Full moon..." he grumbled, all of it coming around.  He was at the Ministry.  Last night was the full moon.  That's why he was naked, aching, and sleeping on a bare mattress.  But this ... this wasn't the transformation room.  And he'd never woken up feeling this horrible.  As he stood up to get dressed in someone else's clothes, he couldn't help but notice fresh scratches and bruises. 

By now he could see around the room well enough.  His wand was no where in sight, and instead of a friendly door with a lock, there was a giant wood and metal door with a small barred peep-window at the top.  He approached it and tried the handle.  It didn't open.   He frowned.

Why was he locked in...?

"Ahoy!" he called out into the hallway.

"Oh!" A voice answered back[1], very close and surprisingly quickly.  "You're up! Not nekkid anymore are ya? I'll just let them know you're back and all wizardly again, Mr. Greyfriar."

"Cheers..." He grumbled back, as fading footsteps illustrated the exit of the unseen corridor keeper.  Knox stepped back himself and sank down into the chair. 

He scratched at his beard.

1.	This is Chester, a guard in the Reasonable Security Cells.  We see him first here: Link

Both the preceding day and night had been infuriatingly busy and long. Hannah hadn’t slept in 24 hours. Stood in level ten of the ministry outside the holding cells she was currently dosed up on energy potions and coffee and still longing for a nice relaxing rest in her bed. But alas, she’d been sent home from St Mungo’s to freshen up and return and been called into the ministry to try and solve this mess. Being in cells with werewolves certainly wasn’t something she wanted to do after dealing with the disasters they had caused the previous night and day but it was apparently a must and therefore here she was stepping through an iron barred door and following a much taller, burly looking wizard down a long, dull corridor to the first werewolf she had the honour of testing.

To make matters worse, the unusually tired and now cranky witch didn’t exactly know what she was supposed to be testing for. Obviously potions or spells but what ones? She had a small idea of what may have caused the extensively displayed aggression with certain werewolves during the night but didn’t have a clue where to start with the werewolf changes in the day. It was impossible. Werewolves required a full moon to change. It had everything to do with lunar movement unless there was suddenly a new form of forced transfiguration the wizarding world was about to find out about. Hannah didn’t know. She was too tired right now to consider such possibilities. She would do her job here as quickly as possible before returning to St Mungos for yet more chaos.

Hannah and the guard approached the first cell and stopped as the guard withdrew his wand and pointed it at the lock.

“Here’s your first one, Miss. I’ll fetch Mr Bagnold to come help ya if you’re alright alone a minute.”

“That’s fine, thanks.” The lock clicked and the door began to open slowly, hinges creaking. The young witch didn’t bother to look up as she entered the cell and instead read the sheet in front of her, the owl she’d been sent requesting her presence.

“I just need a few minutes of your time to test a few things, Sir. As you can guess, things have been a bit out of the ordinary with the full moon this month” Bombay’s tired, spectacle covered eyes finally moved up to fall on the bearlike man who occupied the cell. “Professor Greyfriar...” Well that had been unexpected.

Frankly, Knox was expecting someone like Bagnold, or an Auror to come in and get surly with him.  He didn't expect to see a petite,  professional-looking witch with a clipboard speaking more or less pleasantly.  He still hadn't been able to divine what was going on, but waking up in a criminal's cell was no augury that everything had gone as plan.  Being held without explanation similarly.  But then, perhaps this was the explanation.

Just as she said his name, he recognized Hannah Bombay.  The both looked a little surprised.  Knox had had hundreds of students in his time as a professor and Headmaster, and he usually remembered most of them.  But he wouldn't have recognized this one if it hadn't been her particular tone of voice in saying his old title.  He remembered a mousy girl with giant fringe not at all popular with her peers.  And extremely bright.

"Hannah Bombay...You look well." he greeted in a similar fashion, staying seated.  The bed was empty if she wanted to sit, but it wasn't exactly ... clean.  There was plenty he wanted to say, but he wasn't sure where to start.  He was groggy and a little thrown off that it was pert little Bombay and not some WCU heavy.  She'd said what he'd been thinking himself though - 'things had been out of the ordinary last night'. 

"Exactly how out of the ordinary."  He didn't need to tell her that he couldn't remember a thing - she was just as much of an expert on werewolves as he was, but largely more so.

"And...forgive me if I seem hostile - but why am I locked in?  From what I understand the sun is up and my responsibilities are fulfilled.  I've not been arrested, have I?"

The ex-headmaster looked as surprised to see her there as Hannah was to see him. For some reason the small healer had expected to be greeted in the cell by a rogueish criminal type acting anything but pleasant to her. She’d dealt with werewolves. But it, like last night, had been dealing with the effects of aggressive, fully transformed werewolves. Therefore they hardly created a good impression with her.

He told her she looked well which simply caused the young witch’s eyebrows to rise. She felt anything but well. Her arm ached, her body ached, she was tired, badly turned out and irritable. Hannah dreaded the day ahead and she dreaded stepping into the next cell to see the next werewolf. But alas, it was necessary.

“About as well as you, professor.” Bombay stated, inclining her head at him on the chair. It was cold in the cell and Hannah’s lips pursed as her eyes examined the man sat there in the thin offer of clothing from the ministry. She became very glad for the long robes that hung loosely off her body. For two reasons. Firstly they shielded her from the cold, important when all she wanted was to curl up and sleep thanks to the long, terrible night that had elapsed. Secondly they covered her forearm, a wound she’d bandaged up in hopes of concealing it from sight. It still throbbed like crazy but she hoped to ignore it as long as possible.

Hannah Bombay hadn’t come to explain what had happened to this particular inmate of the ministry. She hadn’t come to tell him why he was still being locked up and detained. She’d come to do her job briskly and leave. Even if it was her old headmaster. That just made it worse considering Hannah ignored her past. She didn’t need to remember Hogwarts and bullying.

“Did you take your wolfsbane last night, Sir?” The healer ignored his questions and asked briskly as she moved further into the room and placed the small bag she carried onto the empty bed.

Knox Greyfriar had grown accustomed (some would say spoiled) to being treated a certain way as per his seven year tenure as Headmater, and now his prestigious seat as a junior elder on the Wizengamot.  Most of his former students tended to greet him with warm nostalgia - he'd been a generally likable fellow - and by the time they'd grown into adults, their memories of their time at school were rose-colored.  But Hannah Bombay showed no flicker of pleasantness, and clearly had no wish to chat.  She didn't even answer his questions, instead, appeared to be in a rush.  It was only now that he noticed how run down she looked.

Did he take his wolfsbane? "Pardon me?"

The implicaitons of the question were appalling!  Of course he took his wolfsbane! So flustered from his fatigue, and the strange response from Bombay, and the punitive environment he was being kept in... his patience was paper thin.

"I repeat: am I under arrest?  Where is my wand?"  he strained to keep his voice level, but the directness in his tone was uncompromising.  "In what capacity are you here - you're a Healer, am I right?  If I'm not being detained, I should prefer to go home."

Although he was long returned to his human form, psychic hackles were up.

"I don't need to tell you my position, Madam."  It wasn't a threat, but it certainly held water.  It was no small matter to detain a master of wizarding law.  His complaints were heard by the Minister of Magic, by the Head of Magical Law Enforcement. 

Once more the witch ignored the wizard’s questions. She didn’t know the answers to them. Not fully. Hannah wanted to get this done and get out of the cell as quickly as possible. The fact that she had to be in a small room with a werewolf after last night was horrible enough. The fact that there werewolf was the headmaster of a school she’d long since tried to forget about made it worse. Hannah had disliked school, she had always been the outcast and this situation simply highlighted that fact for her.

“Your position?” The healer blinked, staring directly at her disgruntled former headmaster. Was he threatening her? Hannah hadn’t known what to expect  from the man from the moment she’d seen him but she certainly hadn’t anticipated he jump at the opportunity to pull his ace card on her. And she certainly wasn’t going to give in to it either. The witch took in a deep breath to calm her irritation with the situation. She would have liked to inform him of the many people injured, the people who had been killed thanks to the full moon and his sort. She wanted to tell him about how many more people would probably transform the next full moon because foolish, selfish idiots failed to take their wolfsbane potion and take the proper precautions. Instead the witch crossed her arms over her chest as she looked across at the man.

“Your position, as I see it, Sir is in custody of the ministry after you broke out of your cell last night. Your behaviour whilst in the form of a werewolf was unexplainably aggressive and blood thirsty which should not have been so had you correctly taken your dosage of wolfsbane as instructed by British Wizarding Law.” The witch paused in her brisk, frustrated explanation. She lifted a hand, brushing back the mane of bushy hair from her eyes.

“Your position at the moment, Sir is that you are preventing me from carrying out my job. Someone, I’m sure, will be here to discuss your custodial position but that is not why I am here. Did you take your wolfsbane potion last night?” Bombay’s terse tone of voice showed she was reaching the end of her temper. A lack of sleep and a great deal of pain and stress did that to a person, especially when they were coping with the uncompromising.

Hannah twisted on her heel and reached down into the bag on the bed. Out of it she pulled a small vial of a thick and viscous purple coloured liquid and offered it to the cell's habitant. “Drink this...please.”

Knox didn't move, but his scowl darkened without restraint as the witch brought him sharply to task, revealing some detail as to this great mystery.  There'd been an incident.  He rankled at the thought that while his mind lay quiet and hidden away, his beastly body had given the Wizarding World all the reason it needed to fear him.  He could no easier control whatever had happened last night than whoever had been responsible for capturing him before someone got hurt. 

Wait.  Had someone got hurt?  The thought immediately turned anger to fear.  That would explain why he was behind held past morning, here in a cell.  But it still didn't explain why it had happened.  The werewolf rooms were sturdier than they had to be to hold the docile, suspicious hounds.  But perhaps not robust enough to cage a fully transformed terror.

He furrowed his brows and crossed his arms all the more tightly over his chest.  An apology formed in his mind, but he wasn't sure what its purpose served. 

"Of course I did," he said his voice more level now that he knew better the circumstances.  "I'd have no reason not to.  The question is insulting.  I arrived at the Ministry in well enough time, took the potion and settled as I have all winter.  There are records that should tell you that.  I appreciate that you've been sent here to perform some ... duty.  But I know the law.  You're a Healer, not an Auror.  And I'm not drinking anything.  Least of all not before I've heard some real explanation.  Do forgive me."

His request was far from cordial.

Her former headmaster refused to take the potion she’d asked him to. Hannah stared plainly at him for a moment.  He was uncompromising, something Hannah was certain she would have been had she been in the same position as him. But alas she was not. It was her job to find out what had happened regarding his body. How his transformation had been so aggressive if he had taken his potion as he stated he did. But he wasn’t having any of it.

The young healer shrugged her shoulders. “Okay, we’ll wait for an official.” She said bluntly before placing the cork stopper back in the vial, depositing the vial in her robe pocket and lowering herself onto the bed. She continued to watch him, not taking the light brown eyes off his face.

“While we wait I’ll tell you about my last 24 hours, then, Sir. We can have a catch up.” Bombay offered her old headmaster a fake smile before her features took on their usual, indifferent expression.

“Yesterday afternoon, Sir, a small boy was brought into our ward in St Mungo’s. The first floor, creature induced injuries. He had been attacked by a fully transformed werewolf in broad daylight. At 9 years old his throat was almost ripped out and he was bleeding severely. He is presently in a potion induced coma because if he wakes, the shock and the fear of what happened yesterday could kill him. 9 years old and he will never be able to talk properly. He will have a dark scar tracing the length of his neck for the rest of his life.”

“A twenty year old woman was brought into our ward last night. She had been bitten by a fully transformed werewolf out in the woods. It had scratched her chest and she was haemorrhaging heavily. She is still in her cubicle, terrified for her life, shaking with fear that something is going to come out of the dark and finish her off. She jumps and screams every time a healer or a mediwitch pulls back the curtain. She is twenty and now every full moon for the rest of her life she is going to become a werewolf and her whole life as she knows it is over.” Hannah paused, thinking about her own problem.

“A seventh year hufflepuff watched the transformation of her former headmaster from behind bars. She watched the blood thirsty monster he had become approach with haste, attempting to tear her insides out and feast upon them before he found another victim within the ministry building.” At this point Bombay stopped, still watching Greyfriar. “I have a job to do, Sir.”

When Hannah Bombay sat herself down on the bed and acquiesced to wait for someone with more authority to show up, Knox sincerely thought she'd given up.  That they'd sit there awkwardly in the awkward little cell and stare at each other with mutual awkward resentment.

But no.  The mousy little Ravenclaw had claws.

When she began to narrate her day, Knox peered at her - what was she getting at? He was beyond feeling guilty for the actions of other poor beasts - he felt about as guilty about werewolf attacks as he felt about a roof-ripping hurricane.  He'd heard about the rumors of werewolves attacking during the daytime - even the Daily Prophet had reported upon it.  He hadn't known what to believe, and part of him was sure that despite the horrific nature of their attacks, it would turn out to be some mistaken identity of some other wretched creature.  But not from how Bombay was telling it.

"...and her whole life as she knows it is over."   Knox raised his eyebrow at that.  He felt for the witch - she'd go through serious trauma, but she was luckily to be alive.  And Knox was already finding that life was worth living.  But perhaps when all Healers saw was the blood, gore and horror of a werewolf attack, it was difficult to acknowledge the responsibility and tranquility that the life could have.  He muttered something to that effect, "hyperbole won't help her..." 

Knox was prepared to more or less ignore Bombay's third dramatic anecdote until he realized she was talking about him! He animated at once, rising from his chair, all traces of fatigue gone.  His bearded face was awash with fear and rage, his fluffy mane of black hair disheveled around his face.

"Bullshit!" he roared at her.  "Bullshit! I took my wolfsbane and I sat in my cell!  You're sick! I'd never endanger a student! Never! You're a fucking bullshit liar!"

In the small cell, Knox Greyfriar must have seemed giant.  He was already a big man, called burly by some, barrel-chested by others.  And he kept nothing back in bellowing at this witch.    He swung out and hit the thick wooden door with the side of his fist.

"Get the hell out! Guard!"

"You really think anyone's comin'?"

The voice cut in contemptuously through the tightly shut door.  A muffled spell later, and the lock clicked once more, swinging open in an arc to admit the werewolf hunter. 

It had been several hours since he had last seen the Elder in human form.  The sling that had sheltered his left arm had vanished -- the Skele-Gro had been one of the few things that had gone according to plan that night -- but Kurby looked just as worse for wear as he had the previous evening.  Exhaustion was evident on his face, and every movement was controlled and tense, as if he expected any passing moment to trigger the need for a fight-or-flight response.

Kurby yanked on the door as he passed through it, paying no heed to the man that was trailing in his wake.  His wand already in hand, he planted himself squarely inside the doorway, glaring viciously at the werewolf.

"Flickwick's dead," he said harshly, his grip tightening obviously on the wand.  "And you bit Blake, for all we know.  You really want to give me a reason to hex you, Greyfriar?"  He locked gazes with the former Headmaster, the challenge raw and glinting in his eyes.  "Because the Healer sure as hell doesn't need you awake and snarlin' at her to finish what she needs to."

Griffon had been fully aware that many of the werewolves they were holding would be unhappy. He had also been expecting Greyfriar to be among those. He'd heard that the man was somewhat gruff, but that was a natural reaction to being infected with lycanthropy. Assuming the captive would be hungry, he had ordered the man a nice lunch- which had only just arrived- and found himself following Kurby down to the holding cells. Though werewolves were not his specialty, this whole department was currently his and he was doing his best to make this as easy on everyone as possible.

And naturally Bagnold's response wasn't the proper one. He pushed the door open as the werewolf hunter let it close in his face, flinching when he quickly snapped that Flickwick was dead. Ramona had been a dear friend of Griffon's for a very long time, and that one had been a death that really hurt- really hit close to home. He yet had time to deal with the grief, though, as he rushed to try and make the RCMC look as competent as possible given the disasterous full moon.

"No need for such tempers, boys," Griffon said from behind Kurby. He flashed the healer a fetching smile, then gestured to the take out container in his hand. "If it is alright with you, Miss Bombay, I've brought Mr. Greyfriar something to eat. I figure that everyone takes bad news better with a full stomach, and he's likely quite hungry. I took it upon myself to assume you like your steaks on the rare side, Mr. Greyfriar," Griffon said- turning his attention to the man in the cell. "Seems to be a natural side effect of your condition. If you'll calm down you can have a nice meal and we can get things sorted out. No need to yell and curse and insult our nice lady healer here. If you must insult anyone, that's what Bagnold is for. I doubt it's possible to give him anymore of a sour mood. Been one hell of a full moon, sir, and I'm not sure you can quite fathom what everyone involved has been through."

Knox stepped back as the door swung open and he was faced with two men he didn't immediately recognize, so alien was the context.  The small cell was now crowded four strong.

Knox blinked and had moved back nearly to the chair, actually somewhat tamed by the sudden, forceful entrance of ... Bagnold.  It was Bagnold from the Werewolf Capture unit.  He'd been on duty last night, he remembered.  Griffin Manley was behind him with a plate of food.  The smell of it struck him sharply - nearly raw meat, steaming potatoes.  It was nauseating.

But the smell was nothing compared to the raw revulsion he felt when Bagnold coldly proclaimed casualties.  Flickwick dead.  And Blake.  Fauna Blake? And threatens of hexing.  He was a criminal to these people! A rogue werewolf! Still, a real explanation was yet to be had from any of these people, only aggressive accusation.  He was being interrogated, threatened, put down. 

Griffon's calming, lackadasical tone seemed to do little to change Knox's appraisal of this gross mistreatment, for clearly he'd been convicted while his mind was in some hidden place inside his beastly form.  Griffon Manley - he was a voice of reason, a compassionate man.  And Bagnold's boss.  Would Manley be able to keep him in check? Before Knox forced Bagnold to make true on his threat to hex him.  Knox wasn't the type to go quietly, never had been.  And luckily for everyone he'd never really been in the position to follow through on that part of his personality since the First War.

Manly pressed the food towards him, graciously Knox granted him that, Knox didn't like being told to calm down, but it was the most dignified request he'd heard yet and he quietly obliged.  His shoulders relaxed and he lowered himself into the chair, not sparing both Bombay and Bagnold a whithering glare.

"Not hungry," he mumbled.  He was a vegetarian and there was nothing more repulsive to him than news that he'd killed someone accompanied by the flesh of a dead animal. He couldn't look at it.  Even though his mind didn't remember, his body did.  He could feel his gut yearning for the bloody pool around the steak, and his stomach turned.  He looked away from it and back at Griffon.

"What I can't fathom is why I've been held here without an explanation - only spiteful lies and accusations.  What you say is impossible."  He was on the surface obediently calm.

"I want my wand," he demanded, again in a dangerously level tone.  Another loathsome look at Bagnold.  "I want my clothes and I want to leave.  I drank the Wolfsbane Potion as required by law so it is inconceivable that I am the werewolf you want."

"Unless you have some accusation of substance."

Hannah could have let off explosions that created less noise. Greyfriar’s booming voice started her entire body as his large figure leapt to its feet and targeted her. He roared, he cursed and he slammed his great fist into the metal door, booming for someone to take her out of there. Hannah sat pin straight on the hard, dirty bed, wide eyes staring up at the wizard that she had once held respect for. A wizard that had taught her. She wasn’t scared. Hannah had a wand at Greyfriar did not. But he was big, he was loud and he had presence. The fury of a bearlike werewolf was definitely something not to increase. Bombay was well aware of how much she had just pressed his buttons.

Fortunately the door opened and a man appeared. Hannah didn’t recognise him. He looked as rough and tired as the two already in the cell and proceeded to be even less tactful than the healer. He threatened to hex the custodian and Hannah swiftly stood, pale faced and smoothed down her robes. “I don’t think that’s...”

Bombay stopped mid sentence as another figure pushed the door open and stepped into the cell. The tiny room was getting crowded and the smell of a rare steak being brought into the equation made the recently bitten and very tired healer feel quite out of the ordinary. She placed a hand on the wall as a precautionary steadying measure before taking a quick breath.

“Professor, if you would allow me to run a few tests on you then they cannot accuse you of breaking wizarding law.” Greyfriar just wanted to leave the cell. Hannah understood that. He didn’t want to be poked and prodded against his will but she had been brought in to do a job. Hannah between each of the taller men before her spectacle covered eyes fell on Griffon Manley. “I haven’t  got the time to play games with wild dogs, Manley. There are a lot of injured people actually wanting my help at St Mungos. If he continues to be uncooperative I have a potion in my bag that will put him out for half an hour. You'll need to restrain him.”

“It’s your choice if this is done conscious or unconscious, Sir.” The tiny witch directed at her former headmaster.

He normally tolerated Griffon Manley, but at the older wizard's words, Kurby turned back toward him, glaring at him with venomous fury.  He had had years to grow used to the tolerant facade that passed as the Ministry's attitude towards lycanthropes.  It was as if once the werewolves were back in their human forms, all was forgiven.  All people like Manley and Ramona Flickwick wanted to do was to treat them like children with a very bad cold, constantly pretending like they didn't all know that if one thing led to another and worse came to the very worst, they wouldn't be on them and trying to rip their throats out the next time that the full moon rose. 

It was one thing to get used to the facade.  It was another to stand idly by while some idiot offered breakfast to the monster who had almost killed him the night before -- who had, for all they knew, murdered one woman before nearly finishing off a second.  Kurby's expression darkened, and he glared back at Manley with almost as much venom as he had directed towards Greyfriar just a moment before.

The werewolf's words reminded him of the real reason for his frustration.  Kurby shot a nasty look back at the hairy man, not for one moment relaxing his stance or lowering his wand.  Even in human form, the bearlike Wizengamot Elder had several inches and a good many pounds on him, but the werewolf hunter didn't give a damn.  Here their potential murderer was, whining about how he was being treated as if he hadn't been trying to rip their throats open mere hours before.  It was all Kurby could do not to jump on the man and try to return the favor.

"You think it's impossible?"  He barked the words out, sneering at Greyfriar.  He didn't care whether or not Bombay had an examination to complete, whether or not his boss was in the room; all Kurby cared about was staring this man down, making him know what he had almost done. 

"You would've woken up in a bleedin' lift if they hadn't dragged your flea-bitten, hairy arse down here," he snarled at the older wizard.  "You almost killed us, and you stand here whimperin' about what you want?  You really want proof, Greyfriar?  Owl Blake, then," he spat out, each word hanging like a challenge.  "See if she can even look you in the eye."

Griffon was satisfied when Greyfriar finally settled into a chair, and when he announced he was not hungry, Griffon levitated the tray of food over to an empty chair outside of the cells and let it rest there. And then he said that there were spiteful lies and accusations and started demanding his wand and his clothes and wanting to leave. Griffon couldn't blame him. Something was horribly awry. But this sort of behavior was not going to help anyone figure out what it was.

"Mr. Greyfriar- I can assure you that what you consider lies and accusations are the simple facts of what transpired during the full moon. Nobody is trying to tell you that you did not take your wolfsbane potion, sir. We are simply trying to tell you what happened and what we saw. Wolfsbane is a very tricky potion to brew. And if you would remain calm and let Miss Bombay test you for the potion, then we can get this mess cleared up a lot sooner than if you continue to fight and refuse to aid us."

And then Bombay simply told Griffon that he would have to restrain Knox if he did not cooperate. He frowned. "You do have a job, Miss Bombay, but I will not be restraining this man. I will not treat any person- regardless of their afflictions- like an animal. If he does not wish to cooperate, then we will simply allow him to sit in the cell until he calms down and changes his mind. But restraining a man or tranquilizing him like a criminal or some dangerous creature I will not do."

Naturally Bagnold was not going to make things any better. "Mr. Bagnold I understand you have a job to do, but I would appreciate it greatly if you do not attempt to start an argument. After we can confirm that Greyfriar took his potion as mandated by law- then we can work together to get the man his wand, get him his clothes, and get him free."

"I am not saying," he said, focusing his gaze on Kurby, "that you anger is not justified. Because it is. But slinging insults and having a pissing contest is not the way to take care of the situation- and not the way I expect anyone from level four to behave."

He offered Greyfriar a slight smile. "If you would be so kind, sir, as to cooperate with Miss Bombay then I think you will find yourself in far more pleasant company and much less of a need for aggressive behavior. But if you do not cooperate- we will lock this cell and we will leave you here until you change your mind. I am a nice man, I am a compromising man when I believe a person has done no wrong, but I am not a pushover and I will not have you treating any of my staff or the healer this way."