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

[ he's not so naive as to believe this is over. Not by a long shot. It's why he goes rigid, eyes narrow with undisguised wariness. ]

What do you mean, "the hard way"?

I told you, didn’t I? I either figure out how to use your magic or I figure out a way to make you use it for me.

The former would have been much easier.

And the latter is impossible, if you honestly think I'd willingly work for you.

How stupid do you think I am? I’m not talking about willingly.

[ He'd been rather afraid of that. ]

Don't.

[ it's the first thing out of his mouth, and he wants so very badly to panic, but he keeps it at bay by sheer force of will alone. ]

Whatever you're thinking of doing, don't.

You're not really in any position to tell me what to do.

Neither are you in a position to experiment with magic you don't understand.

"Oh, what's this? A new trick? Let's simply control the performer and hope he doesn't completely go mad."

[ He shrugs ] Either it'll work or it won't, but one way or another you'll be out of Jacob Randall's hands and that alone is enough for me.

You've already taken care of that. I'm here, aren't I? Bully for you. You've already won.

It's a waste to just leave you here to rot.

Think about what you're suggesting. Do you really think using me like a puppet is going to accomplish anything?

I can conjure a bit of flame and ice. [ well, truthfully, he can do far more that that. ] What do you expect to do with that?

Argue all you like, it's not going to change my mind.

I'm telling you, I'm of no use to you. Why bother? My skillset is no different than that of an Elementalist -- worse, in fact, considering I need to draw from a pool of energy that can be quickly sapped.

Perhaps, but I get the feeling there’s more you’re not telling me. And perhaps I just want to see the looks on their faces when they realize they’ve lost you to me.

[ He remembers, of course, the way his own heart had broken when he realized he'd lost Charlie -- the way the Venatori had danced on the pieces when he found him again, warped and twisted and hateful.

His breathing starts to pick up, shallow and quick. His mind races for a solution, a way out, anything.

He draws a blank. ]

It won't work, whatever you have planned. [ Bluffing it is, then, hiding his panic with anger. ] Save the both of us the trouble.

Now you’re just panicking. That’s not even a good excuse not to try.

If you come near me, I'll kill you.

[ how's that for panic ]

[ Normally that little show of defiance would be impressive, but it gets on Warren’s nerves almost instantly. His expression instantly goes cold, angry, and he steps up to the bars. ]

With what?

You act as though I need magic to be dangerous, my dear man. Do you really wish to test that idea?

You really don’t want to test my patience right now.

what does it matter? If you have your way, if your magic takes, I won't have another opportunity, will I?

Oh, it'll work. And I'll be sure to do away with that attitude of yours while I'm at it.

Is this all we're going to do? Threaten back and forth? You, with mind control or binding my will or whatever fanciful nonsense you've got in your head. Me, with the ever efficient promise of certain violence.

I'd rather you killed me, please, if we're going to keep up like this.

[ Warren glares at him for a very long moment- the kind of glare the promises unspeakable things. ]

Get comfortable, Dorian. You're going to be here a while.

[ With that, Warren turns on his heel and leaves.

He does not come back for two days.

Aside from wanting to make Dorian squirm, he's off tracking down an Illusionist contact of his- a gentleman who works on the the fringes of wizarding society with a knack for altering peoples' minds. Warren tries to use his services sparingly since they don't come cheap.

He comes to his contact with a simple list of things: I want him to love me, I want him to do as I say, and I want you to tone down that goddamned attitude of his.

Because even if what Dorian says is true, and he can't do more than throwing fire and ice around, he wants Jacob Randall and his ilk to suffer knowing that he took Dorian right out from under them, and that he now belongs completely to Warren.

And if the procedure doesn't take or kills him? Oh well. It was worth a try.

So it's after two long days that Warren pads back into the basement, with a short, slimy-looking balding man. ] You're still alive down here, I hope.

[ In the time Warren is gone, Dorian keeps trying to tap into the Fade. Each attempt at summoning his magic results in little more than a whisper of flame, of ice, of lightning, and he nearly screams with frustration. If he could just cast, he could get himself out of this blighted cell, possibly murder a few people on his way out, and figure out how to get himself home.

But the wards do their job, and soon he learns to cut his losses -- in that avenue, in any event. After that, he checks for weaknesses in the bars, casts around for anything in the cell he might use to pick the lock, but naturally he comes up with nothing.

Already at the end of the first day, Dorian is forced to admit defeat.

The second day, however, is just salt in the wound.

On the third day when Warren finally arrives, Dorian is tired. Angry. Hungry. Afraid. He sits on the bed, legs crossed and blankets gathered around him. His gaze flicks from one wizard to the other as they enter the room, and fear claws up his spine. Funny, that he could face down dragons and abominations, yet the sight of these two men nearly put him into a panic.

At first, he doesn't seem as though he means to respond. But answer he does, after a few seconds of silence, and in a hoarse voice, he croaks out, ]

Fuck off.

[ perhaps Charlie is rubbing off on him. ]

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