Witch Hunt: Start of a Journey (Pt.2)

It felt like he'd been bashing his head against the wall for the recent three days now and which slightly worried him.
Either the cold nights in the blasted cell's gave me a cold, or the... He almost bit his nails at the thought and his eyes darted around the oaken walls and corners, desperately looking for a way out, but there was none, except for...
His heart almost stoped in terror as he heard something. It was the sound he dreaded more than anything else. The sound of wood trotting over the checkered stone floor, followed by a heavy and musky smell that seeped in and laid siege to Gunther's airways. As if the torture was not enough, a tall woman with heavy red lipstick, hair like a bird's nest and clothes that could give anyone a migraine appeared in the corner of his eyes.
"The fucking paperwork." He barely breathed, so the woman could not hear as she passed by and adjusted her glasses, before a screeching sound betrayed her acts of violence against the poor chair.
"Mhh... And who do we exactly have here." The woman bit her lower lip as she removed a pen from her ear and violently smashed the end of it against the table over and over. I swear if those shockwaves break the stone work, I'll-.
"Gunther Bishops!?" The way to posh voice called out, interrupting the mental conversation within Gunther's head.
"Ah, y-yes, yes... That would be me." He gave a short nod towards the woman and looked into her dark and evil eyes.
"It would be for your apparel, Mister Bishops." The woman laid down a large ledger infront of her annoyingly perfect nose before she started to skim throught it. "Here we have it, Mister Bishops. I'll slowly have you read through the file and make sure everything is in order. Note that any da-"
Gunther couldn't understand a jack shit of what she was pladdering on about. No, he just wanted that damnable clock to tick faster. How long have I been in here, an hour, two? His mind drifted off to the land of dreams, where he saw all manners of creatures and beasts. But one in peculiar took his attention.
She stood there, enveloped in the blackest of night. He could however see the bright smile that didn't shy away under the hood. But it grew twisted when blood as crimson as her hair started to trail down the lips. Her skin was now pale as ghost. Growling and gurgling as more of her lifeforce trickled out. Soon, he could feel something envelope his hands, it was cold. He looked down on his paws to see the evidence of his crime. "It was your fault. You failed to save me, even though you knew I'm innocent."
Gunther couldn't move, he could barely breathe, it felt like he was trapped in a cage again, like the sick dog he was. Then came her terrible voice again, whispering in his ear, condemning his very name. "Mister Bishops..." The walls closed in, the floor was covered in the dead, which hands clawed for his clothes. "Mister Bishops... Mister Bishops!"
He was almost about to screams as he snapped out of the dream, but instead his lungs inhaled all the perfumed air. Gunther let out a hacking cough as he investigated his hands. They were fine, but he held onto the papers like they were a rope that his fall into the dark abyss, and he knew it would snap if he didn't sign under.
"How many hours we been here?" He asked the woman to draw her attention away from the way his hands fiddled around to find the pen.
"Hours? I believe you need to better your time perception, Mister Bishops. We've merely been in here for five minutes."
Gunther raised an eyebrow in suprise, but couldn't help but cheer within his mind. He breathed out as he tagged down his name. There certainly was a charm thinking something took longer than expected, because it always meant he'd have more time for other details, except for the ones on the contract he signed. He couldn't care less about reading it. But there it was, finally, the fucking paperwork done.
He secured the pen and offered it back to the woman who almost dropped it as Gunther dashed off the chair and towards the exit with anticipation.
But the anticipation along the smile on his lips suddenly fell like a meteorite.
"Mister Bishops, I will kindly ask you to sit down again and stop acting like a child."
Bishops threw his arms up in surrender and let out a depressed sigh as he stared on the light from the hallway, as expecting some form of holy saint to ride in atop a golden horse and sweep him away.
But that didn't happen. Instead the woman rose up with her chin held high as if she were nobility dealing with a roudy louse of a peasant, which wasn't all that far from the truth. "Mister Bishops, I will not ask again. Please take a seat."
Ysand, have mercy Gunther turned around and glared at the woman as his right eye twitched anxiously. "Why?"
"There are several scriveners that have demanded audience with you for the headline in their papers."
The window barged open as Bishops flew out over the brick tiles. With sure steppings he danced across the side of the roof as he looked down at certain demise. Not the fall, as he was agile like a cat burglar, but rather the crowd of commoners and company members of Red Parrot Posters screamed for him to speak on the subject of his trial.
He kept going, while scanning his surroundings for an extraction point, when he suddenly saw something interesting. One of the nobles travelcarts, or whatever they called them, were still parked a twenty or so meters away from the building, just in the middle of the gravel covered nobility entrance, which was guarded by several grenadiers and flowerarchs filled with roses that were assisted by gardening attendants, romantic street lights and a small fountain.
Gunther took a small stop as he investigated the area for a potential pathway through the herd of people while he gently bit his cheek. Then he saw it, a noble and her fancy guard tossing people aside to reach the wagon. From his own side however, a servant suddenly popped up on a horse, carrying a cart with supplies.
With a shrug and grin, Gunther took a leap of faith towards what he hoped was soft bags. Sadly the sudden conveniences ended and he slammed down against an empty sack of air, and his palms and feet hit the hard wood. Still, he heaved himself up with a pained grunt. "Shit..."
He swiftly found himself stared at by the shocked servant, and with a charming smirk that almost rivaled a dead corpse, he leapt out onto the wooden arch of the parking lot.
Stumbling onwards like a drunk dwarf, and not far from one really, length wise, Gunther raced the noblewoman towards the carriage, and through the shouts of confused guardsmen and enraged civilians, he jumped again, like a scoundrel that just defiled a virgin saint, he left the area by plunging through the roof of the wagon and in a mess of silken cloth and splintered wood, he lied down on the pillows.
"Oh... Oh my... It's Gunther fucking Bishops!" the young stagecoach cried out with glee.
"Go, go, go!" Gunther responded back as he waved his hands frenetically.
The noblewoman stood frozen like a popsicle infront of the cart, as the horses spurred up and suddenly sprinted off towards the gates, which carried on the sound of trampling hooves and cheery laugher.
"So, where we heading, sir?" The stagecoach looked back with a warm smile on his young face.
Gunther could finally breath out properly, as he felt his senses return to him, along with the aching pain in knees and palms. "D'you know Falconwatch, kid?"
"I do sir."
"Alright kid, thats where we're headin'."