pullmeoutalive | RO > call me out; a forever open RP post, version 2

Stop.

[ gasped out. sharp. Arms tightening around himself as if that could ward off the ache. ]

I'm telling you, I'm not-- I can't do what you want me to.

[ A shrug. ]

Then you die.

[ Into the wall one more time? Yup. ]

Do you know where we are? We’re half a world away from Colorado. No one’s going to come for you. You want out? Fight back.

[ His head cracks against the wall that time -- not hard enough for any lasting damage, but for a moment, he sees stars. His breath leaves him in a rush, and it takes a few seconds for him to regain it. ]

Fight back? [ said between breaths, and his lips curl in a small, sardonic smile. ] And put a stop to your prattling? It's been so long since I've been properly threatened. I'd hate to interrupt.

Who’s prattling, now?

Do you know what a Destroyer is? I can take you apart, one piece at a time, without ever having to move from my chair.

[ This time the spell Warren casts doesn’t fling Dorian back. It does not rend flesh. It bypasses all of that and goes for one of his ribs, cracking it suddenly, cleaning, and without the slightest feeling of impact. ]

[ He breathes in sharply, a distressed noise bubbling up from his throat, and he hunches over to wrap his arms more tightly around himself. ]

Stop. [ Through clenched teeth. Spat out on a shaky exhale. Eyes screwed shut. Pain in the crease of his brow, in the tight line of his jaw. ]

[ The answer is a simple, mild, ] No.

[ This time Dorian gets slammed into the wall again. Enjoy that with a broken rib. ] Perhaps I should have nabbed the Maxwell wizard as well. That would have provided you with the proper motivation.

Ah, well. I'll make a mental note.

[ He groans after the impact that time, letting out a stream of curses in a foreign language. But he doesn't respond -- at least, not the way the man wants him to. Dorian is many things, but he's not sure, at the moment, of his stubbornness is currently a bane or a boon.

But then Warren had to go and bring Charlie into this, didn't he?

Because Dorian's gaze shoots up, eyes blazing. ]

Don't you dare.

[ And even as he says it, his hands crackle with electricity, sparking and arcing across and between his knuckles and jumping from his fingertips. ]

Stay away from him.

Why should I? [ There’s something wicked in the way Warren smiles as electricity springs, unbidden, from the mage’s hands. ] I grabbed you easily enough, he shouldn’t give me much trouble. How long can you hold out, I wonder. Until I’ve broken every bone in his body, or will you buckle sooner than that?

[ In retrospect, he'll blame his loss of control on the pain, the way it muted his inhibitions and made the man's threats seem so very, very real.

Weakness, he would say. Silliness, he would think.

But in the now, blink and miss it: the way the ambient temperature drops. The way Dorian surges forward, crouched at the far end of the cell one second, then standing with one fist clutching the bars separating between himself and Warren the next, a trail of melting ice the only thing signaling his passage. The way the air around him crackles with unseen energy, the way electricity collects and sparks across his knuckles, reflects off the silverite of his rings. ]

Stay away from him.

[ And there it is. Warren smiles, an unkind slightly unhinged expression. With a snap of his fingers, the enchantment on the bars reactivates, nullifying Dorian's magic yet again ]

If I'd have known threatening Maxwell would have worked so well, I'd have saved you a broken rib.

[ It's as good as a wall slamming down, severing him from the Fade, and the lack of it leaves him feeling empty, dizzy. Tired. He leans heavily against the bars, breath ragged. ]

Satisfied, are you?

For the moment.

Dorian, was it? I'm Warren. Get ready to be here for a while.

[ Warren.

Ah.

He's heard the name, of course, and hearing it now makes a few things click into place. It's why he just chuckles to himself, something dark and mirthless, and he thinks again, Of course. ]

If that's the case, I have some objections to the accommodations. The quality is simply appalling.

I'm sure you do. Don't worry, I'll make sure you're comfortable. I just needed to be sure of some things before I went and gave you furniture.

Lovely. I'll just wait here, shall I?

If you don't mind. Maybe take a nap.

Naturally.

[ He can't help it-- he sinks down to the floor, shifts only enough so that the wall keeps him upright. ]

Go on, then. I expect you have a dramatic exit in mind. Some ominous line you'd like to impart before you leave.

Not really, but I do mean it when I say "take a nap".

[ Because Warren etches out another rune to knock Dorian unconscious. He'll wake up with one hell of a headache, and his magic still muted, but there will be a small bed and blankets and a tray of food in his cell. ]

[ When he wakes, it's with the small hope that yesterday had been a dream, but he's never been quite that lucky. Quite the opposite, in fact. He notes the changes in his cell, and with effort, he moves to curl himself into the bed, wrapping the blankets tightly around himself. He ignores the tray of food -- too often in Tevinter did his fellow mages take to poisoning or magicking food and drink, and in a situation like this, that memory rises to the surface.

He still tries to call up his magic, tries for a flame, a burst of lightning, anything -- but to no avail. The best he manages is a chunk of ice, not much larger than an ice cube, and with a sigh, he pops it into his mouth. He thinks bitterly, at least he'll be able to stay hydrated.

There's not much he can do beyond that than wait. ]

[ Warren appears some time later, making his way down with a pile of books in his arms. Without a word, he leaves the books on the table and leaves, returning after a moment with a mug of coffee. ]

Not going to touch your breakfast?

[ He stiffens the first time Warren arrives, ignores his exit as best he can. The second time, however, is a bit harder to ignore, considering the man addresses him directly. And Dorian is never one to pass up on a conversation. ]

I'll have to pass, thanks all the same.

[ The words come out tightly, sharpened by his discomfort. The broken rib certainly isn't doing him any favors, nor is the way his body aches from the repeated blows of the previous day. ]

Help yourself, if you'd like.

[ He waves a hand, dismissive ] I already ate.

Are you feeling up to answering some questions? Or will I have to beat the answers out of you, too?

[ Against his better judgment, he sits up carefully, a hand moving to his injured rib when it sends pain up his side. With his other hand, he wraps the blankets more tightly around himself -- he hates the cold. ]

You leave me little choice. [ Rather than sounding resigned, there's annoyance in his voice. Anger. ]

[ His gaze flicks to Dorian's rib, briefly ]

Do you have the capability to heal that?

[ He hesitates for a moment. ]

No, I don't. [ words sharp and clipped. ] I've many talents, but healing isn't one of them.

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