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

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. ]

[ Warren rolls his eyes and says to the man next to him, ] I told you he was insufferable.

[ And to Dorian, he says, ] Are you familiar with the Illusion school of wizardry?

[ He dredges up whatever sense of defiance is left in him -- after all, there was a strong chance he wouldn't get another chance to be an ass, wasn't there? ]

Ah, goodie, am I being treated to a magic lesson?

Yes, Professor West, I am familiar. But please, tell me more.

Well, I was going to treat you to a little lesson on how my fried here is going to take apart your personality and put it back together in a manner of my choosing, but if you're going to be like that, I'll just let him get to work.

[ He huffs out a quiet, mirthless laugh. ]

I took the wind out of your sails, didn't I? Don't be bitter, my dear man. It doesn't become you.

I'm going to be so glad when you won't talk back anymore.

[ the Illusionist clears his throat ] Mr. West, if you please?

Of course. Let's see if you feel any differently when you wake up.

[ Once more he casts that quick, brutal spell to knock Dorian unconscious to allow his compatriot to do his work. When the mage wakes, he'll find himself in the house proper, in a spare bedroom. His broken wrist has been splinted, and it's safe to assume they got some painkillers into him at some point.

Whether or not the spellwork took is an entirely different matter, but Warren seems confident enough to risk it. ]

[ His head feels like it's been filled with cotton when he wake, and even with the painkillers, his body still aches -- though at least it's merely a dull, persistent throb rather than the sharp pains of earlier.

Earlier being-- fuzzy, come to think of it. Dorian can't remember how he found himself here, can barely remember what happened to his wrist that it needed splinting. There was probably an excellent reason for it, he assumes. Probably some stupid accident or other.

When Warren arrives at last, he'll find Dorian sitting up in bed, back against the headboard, and tension leaves Dorian's frame when he spots him in the doorway -- it's as though he was relieved. His gaze softens, and the hint of a smile plays at the corners of his mouth.

Normally, he would say some sort of greeting, but something compels him to wait. Don't speak unless spoken to, that voice says. It doesn't occur to him that he should rebel against that voice. ]

[ Well, this seems encouraging, though he wouldn't put it past Dorian to put on an act. Needless to say his personal wards are up when he steps into the room ]

How are you feeling?

Rather as though I've played chew toy to five dragons.

[ The corner of his mouth twitches up, and he rubs at his eyes with his good hand. ]

May I ask what happened?

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject