Fic: Bait, Part One
Jun. 5th, 2008 09:40 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jeriendhalI'm still working on "The Ship", but this was a case of something popping in my head and demanding to be let out.
Besides, it's been nearly a month since I seriously tortured a character...
Jake turned over on his mattress, sitting on the extruded plastic cot that was formed out of the plastic walls of his cell, staring up at the grating of the guards’ catwalk above his cell. It was maybe 0200 local time and it had been an exuasting day, more back breaking work opening up a service tunnel to connect the guards’ housing with some other point that their Wise Master had not specified. He should have been asleep, but he couldn’t, not just yet. He’d always had a hard time sleeping in combat zones and this prison was surely that. For their weapons were few and they were definitely surrounded by enemies.
The cell block’s main door opened and a pair of guards entered, vectoring towards the isolation cells along the right hand wall. Jacob watched them, careful not to move or open his eyes more than a slit, as they unlocked a door and dragged the unconscious form of the vulpine out, unlocking the soft restraints from his wrists, waist and ankles, and dragged him back into his regular cell. There was thump as Marty’s body dropped onto his bunk, and a muffled clank as his cell door was shut. The guards left him without another word, the cell block door clanging shut behind him.
Oh, yes, it was war. For there was no doubt they were taking casualties.
Jake closed his eyes, trying to will himself back to sleep. If the pattern of previous weeks held true, then Marty would be out for hours yet, exhausted by whatever fever dreams the Varn Mindstrider had inflicted on him. There was nothing to do except be there for the poor kid when they were released from their cells in the morning, and make sure he got enough food into himself to keep going through the day’s labor. They had to keep him going. There was no room for weakness or mercy in this place.
“Jake…” Marty’s voice was tired, raspy, wrung out. But conscious, which he hoped to be a good sign. You are stronger than this, kid, he willed.
“I’m here, Marty,” he answered softly, eyeing the grating above them both, watching out for the guards on their rounds. They’d been slacking off recently on that, as it became obvious that their little group of prisoners wasn’t the openly rebellious sort, prone to sudden riots. No, but wait until we’re ready for you.
“I need something from you.”
“Anything, kid.”
“You’ve got a weapon still, don’t you?”
Anything but that. “Guards, Marty,” he warned, suddenly hyper-aware of the scalpel hidden in the sleeve of his bright orange prison jumpsuit.
“You must have a weapon. I need you to give it to me.”
There was a long pause between them.
“I can’t do that, Marty.”
“You must.”
“That’s a coward’s way out, son.”
Marty’s tone was open, exhausted, somehow naked. “Then I’m a coward. But I will also not be a burden on the others, or a hindrance to your plans.”
“You’ve got a family to get back to.”
The vulpine boy let out a long sigh. “I was a burden to them as well, a disappointment. A Greycoat who couldn’t fly.”
“We’re not losing anyone else, Marty. I swore that we wouldn’t.”
“Jake… I can’t remember what they’re doing to me… when they take me away. When I was in the isolation cell… I... I couldn’t even remember my name.” His voice began to shake. “I can’t take this much longer…”
Jake firmed up his voice. “Your name is Marturari Greycoat, son of Stashashin and Arlonis Greycoat. If you ever forget again, we’ll remind you, of that and anything else you forget in this place, until you’re able to remember on your own. We are getting out of here, Marty, every single one of us, and we’re killing that Varn bitch and everyone who follows her as we leave.”
“Yes, Jake,” Marty replied, defeat, not belief, in his voice. “Whatever you say.” Then he was silent. A few minutes later his breathing deepened and he began to snore lightly.
Jake rubbed his eyes, closed them, and prayed to God for sleep that would bring no dreams.
TBC
Besides, it's been nearly a month since I seriously tortured a character...
Jake turned over on his mattress, sitting on the extruded plastic cot that was formed out of the plastic walls of his cell, staring up at the grating of the guards’ catwalk above his cell. It was maybe 0200 local time and it had been an exuasting day, more back breaking work opening up a service tunnel to connect the guards’ housing with some other point that their Wise Master had not specified. He should have been asleep, but he couldn’t, not just yet. He’d always had a hard time sleeping in combat zones and this prison was surely that. For their weapons were few and they were definitely surrounded by enemies.
The cell block’s main door opened and a pair of guards entered, vectoring towards the isolation cells along the right hand wall. Jacob watched them, careful not to move or open his eyes more than a slit, as they unlocked a door and dragged the unconscious form of the vulpine out, unlocking the soft restraints from his wrists, waist and ankles, and dragged him back into his regular cell. There was thump as Marty’s body dropped onto his bunk, and a muffled clank as his cell door was shut. The guards left him without another word, the cell block door clanging shut behind him.
Oh, yes, it was war. For there was no doubt they were taking casualties.
Jake closed his eyes, trying to will himself back to sleep. If the pattern of previous weeks held true, then Marty would be out for hours yet, exhausted by whatever fever dreams the Varn Mindstrider had inflicted on him. There was nothing to do except be there for the poor kid when they were released from their cells in the morning, and make sure he got enough food into himself to keep going through the day’s labor. They had to keep him going. There was no room for weakness or mercy in this place.
“Jake…” Marty’s voice was tired, raspy, wrung out. But conscious, which he hoped to be a good sign. You are stronger than this, kid, he willed.
“I’m here, Marty,” he answered softly, eyeing the grating above them both, watching out for the guards on their rounds. They’d been slacking off recently on that, as it became obvious that their little group of prisoners wasn’t the openly rebellious sort, prone to sudden riots. No, but wait until we’re ready for you.
“I need something from you.”
“Anything, kid.”
“You’ve got a weapon still, don’t you?”
Anything but that. “Guards, Marty,” he warned, suddenly hyper-aware of the scalpel hidden in the sleeve of his bright orange prison jumpsuit.
“You must have a weapon. I need you to give it to me.”
There was a long pause between them.
“I can’t do that, Marty.”
“You must.”
“That’s a coward’s way out, son.”
Marty’s tone was open, exhausted, somehow naked. “Then I’m a coward. But I will also not be a burden on the others, or a hindrance to your plans.”
“You’ve got a family to get back to.”
The vulpine boy let out a long sigh. “I was a burden to them as well, a disappointment. A Greycoat who couldn’t fly.”
“We’re not losing anyone else, Marty. I swore that we wouldn’t.”
“Jake… I can’t remember what they’re doing to me… when they take me away. When I was in the isolation cell… I... I couldn’t even remember my name.” His voice began to shake. “I can’t take this much longer…”
Jake firmed up his voice. “Your name is Marturari Greycoat, son of Stashashin and Arlonis Greycoat. If you ever forget again, we’ll remind you, of that and anything else you forget in this place, until you’re able to remember on your own. We are getting out of here, Marty, every single one of us, and we’re killing that Varn bitch and everyone who follows her as we leave.”
“Yes, Jake,” Marty replied, defeat, not belief, in his voice. “Whatever you say.” Then he was silent. A few minutes later his breathing deepened and he began to snore lightly.
Jake rubbed his eyes, closed them, and prayed to God for sleep that would bring no dreams.
TBC
