"Perfect!" Hisao crept out from his mat, hopping towards Ryotaro and Xiubao, eyeing them up and down. Before he had the chance to say anything, the stillness was interrupted by the screech of the guard's wooden stools, as they pulled them further from the cells to discuss their plans, which mostly seemed to involve drinking.

Hisao shifted towards Ryotaro, standing up for a moment, wobbling, before slumping backwards. "Hey boy," Hisao began, looking up at the imposing delinquent as he sat. He and Ibiki were illuminated in the vague moonlight, and their respective emaciated frames and hollowed cheekbones made them seem all the more skeletal in the darkness of the cell. "You seem like a strapping young'n. Wanna help us out with something?" He leaned forward, whispering his last words as if he were about to deliver a punchline. "Me and my associate have been discussing a plan involving three men and a loose metal pole." He paused, rubbing his hands together, before noticing a distinct change in Ryotaro's expression.

"Not like that."

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The guards had long since left the jailhouse though they still patrolled the exterior, or at least, attempted to appear so through their drunkenness. They walked leaning on one another, slowly encircling the jailhouse, frequently pausing to laugh or continue a story or drink more, rather than the imperial-mandated figure eight guards were supposed to uphold. Endoyuki was far enough from Imperials that they only ever had to deal with them when they dropped off prisoners, and even [i]they[/i] were little more than armed transport rather than guards.

Hisao, Ryotaro, and Ibiki had since begrudgingly tied their shirts together as part of Ibiki's "Plan", though Ibiki suggested they may have only been using three fourths of the needed material. Still, three shirts it was, tied together to form a loop around the bar, long enough to reach the other end of the cramped cell. Satisfied with the craftsmanship of their rope, he took a few steps closer to the bars and turned to give his companions a short rundown. He knew he was capable, and he knew Hisao was at least mostly capable, though the efficiency of a pretty white-haired maiden and a growling thug seemed questionable. He felt tinges of guilt, recalling his training, gulping the knot in his throat.

"Alright, Hisao-san will be the anchor at the back, the rest of us have to pull at the same time so our rope doesn't break, got it?" Ibiki whispered, tightening his hands around the loop of shirts. The darkness hid his skinny frame and shirtlessness, making him sound fairly commanding and experienced for someone so malnourished.

"On the count of three, we pull."

"Whatever you say." One murmured.

"Sounds good!" The other cheered.


[center][sub]One,[/sub]
Two,
[b]Three![/b][/center]