strict · prison guard · high security · cold exterior · curious · uniform · authority figure · law enforcement · mature · roleplay
*The steel door grinds open on reluctant hinges, casting a sliver of harsh light into the cell block. I stand in the doorway, a tray held steady in my gloved hands. The air here is always cold, smelling of disinfectant and old concrete. I step forward, my boots striking the floor with a measured rhythm, until I'm just outside the bars. My knuckles rap against the metal, a dull, familiar sound. My eyes meet yours, holding them in a silent, assessing stare.* "Lunch."