shadowsong26 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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rainbowfic2012-07-23 12:22 am
shadowsong26) wrote in rainbowfic2012-07-23 12:22 am
TARDIS Blue #10, Eisenhower Green #2, White Opal #5
Name: shadowsong26
Story: Sticky Situation
'Verse: Feredar
Colors: TARDIS Blue #10. We're always in trouble! Isn't this extraordinary: it follows us everywhere!, Eisenhower Green #2. I never wear tights, White Opal #5. Solitude
Supplies and Materials: frame (1006 FY), pastels (my current gen+romance card G4 "competent"), chalk, novelty beads, beading wire (pretty much how Isshiri's looking at the world at the moment), glitter
Word Count: 833
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Isshiri, Telri
Warnings: Kidnapping, speculation on motives for said kidnapping (including oblique discussion of possible sexual assault, but nothing happens), drugging, some internalized ableism, references to enslavement, off-page violence.
Notes: Constructive criticism welcome, as always.
Isshiri was a little fuzzy on the details, but what he did know for certain was that he hadn't fallen asleep in this room. First of all, as far as he could remember, he had set up an outdoor camp the night before. Second, his prosthetic was no longer within reach.
Alarmed, he reached up to his neck--clear. No new collar. He slumped a little, relieved, and a little embarrassed--even if there was no one to see. Of course he wasn't collared again. He was far from Feredar, first of all, and, more importantly, no one did that anymore.
That determined, he checked himself for new injuries, and to see if any of his secret weapons had survived whatever it was that had happened to him. He was queasy and it still took him a few seconds to string thoughts together, even after the jolt of adrenaline from noticing his missing leg. He had a sore spot on his neck--probably a drugged blow-dart, which would be why he didn't remember coming here. Otherwise, he was as intact as he ever was. None of his knives were still there.
The room. It was small--square, and not all that much longer than he was tall. No windows, other than a small barred one in the door. As far as he could tell, the room was stone and not moving, so he was most likely in a building of some kind.
That was roughly the extent of what he knew. Okay. Drugged by unknown person, still not totally lucid, held in fortress(?) by unknown person, can't melt free without serious damage, can't run even if I could, can't fight with anything except magic, only window in door which is too small to fit through and barred, probable guard(s) outside(?), possibly underground(?), no way to tell how many people involved in kidnapping, no way to tell if random, targeted for general reasons, or targeted for specific reasons. All in all, not a good situation to be in. ...not the worst he'd ever been in, either, but pretty close.
He sat up, slow and careful, and leaned back against the wall with his eyes closed, trying to pull his thoughts back into some semblance of their usual order. After some amount of time--he thought an hour, but it was hard to tell--he was clear enough to start trying to figure out who might be holding him.
He'd been north-east of the City of Glass when he'd stopped the night before, somewhere in the forests of Koshindar. They hadn't allied with Feredar during the war. They bordered Mafesar, which had, and Heartwood, which had not, but Isshiri hadn't been close to either place, as far as he could remember. He didn't like to rely too much on maps, but he was fairly sure on that point.
His mother was building an expansionist policy, starting with his little nephew and then carefully intervening in disputes (that she'd often staged) to occupy territory in the name of keeping peace, but none of her efforts had gotten this far north yet.
So, there were several possibilities. Someone out of Heartwood--terrifying, but unlikely; someone taking him for his collar scar--nearly as frightening, but they probably would have killed him or fitted him with an old one by now; someone taking him as leverage against his mother for patriotic reasons--unlikely, but more probable than either of the other two; someone who wanted leverage against his mother for entirely personal reasons--plausible; someone taking him for an entirely personal reason either because they didn't like people from Glass, didn't like incomplete people, or liked them very, very much--likely.
There were footsteps outside the door, forestalling future speculation. Isshiri pressed himself against the wall as far back as he could, ready to call fire. There were very few drugs that reliably interfered with magic, and all of them had noticeable side-effects that he didn't have, so at least that was still available.
The footsteps stopped, and there was a choking noise and a thud. Heart pounding, Isshiri called a few sparks. What the hell...?
The door slid open.
There was a tall, pale, dark-haired woman outside. "My name is Telri. I'm here to rescue you."
Isshiri stared at her for a few minutes. She was probably five years younger than he was, seemingly unarmed, no collar scar. There was absolutely no way to tell whether or not she was telling the truth or this was an elaborate scene staged to get him to...something.
Maybe he wasn't as clear of the drug if he thought, if he was winding down that kind of paranoid mental pathway. And if nothing else, this Telri person wanted to get him out of his cell. All in all a definite point in her favor.
He smiled at her, a slightly brittle smile--ready for adventure, for danger, to get the hell out of this place. "Then let's get out of here."
Story: Sticky Situation
'Verse: Feredar
Colors: TARDIS Blue #10. We're always in trouble! Isn't this extraordinary: it follows us everywhere!, Eisenhower Green #2. I never wear tights, White Opal #5. Solitude
Supplies and Materials: frame (1006 FY), pastels (my current gen+romance card G4 "competent"), chalk, novelty beads, beading wire (pretty much how Isshiri's looking at the world at the moment), glitter
Word Count: 833
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Isshiri, Telri
Warnings: Kidnapping, speculation on motives for said kidnapping (including oblique discussion of possible sexual assault, but nothing happens), drugging, some internalized ableism, references to enslavement, off-page violence.
Notes: Constructive criticism welcome, as always.
Isshiri was a little fuzzy on the details, but what he did know for certain was that he hadn't fallen asleep in this room. First of all, as far as he could remember, he had set up an outdoor camp the night before. Second, his prosthetic was no longer within reach.
Alarmed, he reached up to his neck--clear. No new collar. He slumped a little, relieved, and a little embarrassed--even if there was no one to see. Of course he wasn't collared again. He was far from Feredar, first of all, and, more importantly, no one did that anymore.
That determined, he checked himself for new injuries, and to see if any of his secret weapons had survived whatever it was that had happened to him. He was queasy and it still took him a few seconds to string thoughts together, even after the jolt of adrenaline from noticing his missing leg. He had a sore spot on his neck--probably a drugged blow-dart, which would be why he didn't remember coming here. Otherwise, he was as intact as he ever was. None of his knives were still there.
The room. It was small--square, and not all that much longer than he was tall. No windows, other than a small barred one in the door. As far as he could tell, the room was stone and not moving, so he was most likely in a building of some kind.
That was roughly the extent of what he knew. Okay. Drugged by unknown person, still not totally lucid, held in fortress(?) by unknown person, can't melt free without serious damage, can't run even if I could, can't fight with anything except magic, only window in door which is too small to fit through and barred, probable guard(s) outside(?), possibly underground(?), no way to tell how many people involved in kidnapping, no way to tell if random, targeted for general reasons, or targeted for specific reasons. All in all, not a good situation to be in. ...not the worst he'd ever been in, either, but pretty close.
He sat up, slow and careful, and leaned back against the wall with his eyes closed, trying to pull his thoughts back into some semblance of their usual order. After some amount of time--he thought an hour, but it was hard to tell--he was clear enough to start trying to figure out who might be holding him.
He'd been north-east of the City of Glass when he'd stopped the night before, somewhere in the forests of Koshindar. They hadn't allied with Feredar during the war. They bordered Mafesar, which had, and Heartwood, which had not, but Isshiri hadn't been close to either place, as far as he could remember. He didn't like to rely too much on maps, but he was fairly sure on that point.
His mother was building an expansionist policy, starting with his little nephew and then carefully intervening in disputes (that she'd often staged) to occupy territory in the name of keeping peace, but none of her efforts had gotten this far north yet.
So, there were several possibilities. Someone out of Heartwood--terrifying, but unlikely; someone taking him for his collar scar--nearly as frightening, but they probably would have killed him or fitted him with an old one by now; someone taking him as leverage against his mother for patriotic reasons--unlikely, but more probable than either of the other two; someone who wanted leverage against his mother for entirely personal reasons--plausible; someone taking him for an entirely personal reason either because they didn't like people from Glass, didn't like incomplete people, or liked them very, very much--likely.
There were footsteps outside the door, forestalling future speculation. Isshiri pressed himself against the wall as far back as he could, ready to call fire. There were very few drugs that reliably interfered with magic, and all of them had noticeable side-effects that he didn't have, so at least that was still available.
The footsteps stopped, and there was a choking noise and a thud. Heart pounding, Isshiri called a few sparks. What the hell...?
The door slid open.
There was a tall, pale, dark-haired woman outside. "My name is Telri. I'm here to rescue you."
Isshiri stared at her for a few minutes. She was probably five years younger than he was, seemingly unarmed, no collar scar. There was absolutely no way to tell whether or not she was telling the truth or this was an elaborate scene staged to get him to...something.
Maybe he wasn't as clear of the drug if he thought, if he was winding down that kind of paranoid mental pathway. And if nothing else, this Telri person wanted to get him out of his cell. All in all a definite point in her favor.
He smiled at her, a slightly brittle smile--ready for adventure, for danger, to get the hell out of this place. "Then let's get out of here."
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