The last few days here in this prison resort had been hell. Harry Dresden was a creature of habit. To rob him of his home, office, friends, family AND Burger King? There had to be something in the Geneva convention against such inhuman treatment. The thought that someone had plucked him from his world pissed him off to no end. Who were they to take him from everything and everyone he worked so hard for? It wasn't right! This thought was, of course, dependent on the management's claims that he wasn't dead. He still he has his reservations about that one. There was no choice but to investigate whether they were telling the truth.
So to that end Harry had spent as much time as possible roaming the edges of their prison looking for weaknesses, judging response time and essentially living up to every jail break movie stereotype. Where was he going to get a bar of soap big enough to whittle a gun out of? Today's efforts proved to be beneficial. It seemed he was alive because Harry was quite certain no biblical text ever mentioned Heaven or Hell needing security guards and electrified gates. Now only one question remained: Who could have done this?
The crunch of snow underfoot became hypnotic as Harry stalked his way back up to his cabin. The rhymth lulled him into a false sense of security and allowed his mind wander over the prospects as his legs strained through the snow that had fallen across the grounds. Was this the doing of The Red Court? Couldn't be. They wanted him dead, not to suffer in such fashion. Nic and his happy band? Too abstract for the Denarian's typical brand of villainy. "Jesus. When did I get my own Rogue's Gallery?" Harry mumbled under his breath as he shook a lump of snow from his boot. The ends of his black leather duster were wet from dragging atop the snow.
Harry pressed forth. Could it be Tatiana? Was she still mad about the death of her daughter? Or perhaps it was Mab? The presence of snow in July certainly suggested that Mab had a hand in his imprisonment and he wouldn't put something like this past her but even so, to trap him in a "resort" with a bunch of fictional characters? That was a bit out of her comfort zone. Harry's train of thought was derailed when someone nearby screamed Christmas tidings. Years of open warfare and constant attempts on his life left him rather jumpy and at her first shout, Harry spun into action. His left hand shot forward, black leather fingers splayed as best as he could. The shield bracelet dangling from his wrist drizzled sparks as a clear quarter dome burst into existence in front of his body. In his right hand he brought his oak staff to bear on his attacker, the runes glowing brightly.
There was a moment of tension in his limbs as he readied himself for a non-existent fight. That moment quickly passed when he realized it was just a girl, giddy over her presents no doubt. "'Do you know whether they have sold the prize Turkey that was hanging up in the Poulterer's window -- Not the little prize turkey but the big one?'" Harry shot back, as he dismissed the defensive shield and lowered his staff. If she was going to Dicken's at him, then he'd return fire.