Snippet #2186482

He would look to her stomach as well, not quite sure of what she was so worried about, "Whatever it is, you'll be alright." He would give her a nod, rising and returning to the bars. Three years of Agri in high school, he was sure if he couldn't find a trick to the metal, he could break the hinges to the rusted structure of it. He would survey it, applying pressure with his hands and putting his weight on it for a moment, he would find it unstable and yet sturdy. A slight moment of thought, recalling what he had learned in Ag metals, he inferred it to be iron. Realizing this prison must date back far. Never having been modified to fit the standards of prisons in the modern day. Rust overcame it, exposing the dark metal only in places, as he would pull his hands away flakes of the orange rust would come off causing him the slightest discomfort. He would step with his right bearing down on it, and then pull it up noting the fortunate movement.

He would smile to himself walking to the sink, with a steel grip he would work the pipe until it came loose, curved at the bottom, the sink would dip down, hanging to the wall. He would wield the rusted tool tossing it up and catching it in a nonchalant and medial manner that made in his mind clear what he was doing. He would look to Rachelle with a concerned look, "I'm going to get us out of here," With one great heave, his muscles bundling sore, but years of baseball and exercise had made his swing true and precise, and devastating to the metal. It would create a massive clang, repelling the pipe, sending shock waves of intense pain up his arms. But he held it true, prepared to deliver another swing. Much to his relief however it had come loose, banged and dented, he struggle to get the pipe under it at the rim and pried for several seconds until with a loud pop it came off.

One down, two to go.