Setting
Map: Renshaw Manor - Full map
- First Floor: Kitchen, laundry, parlors and courtyard; players are given access to all foods and amenities on this level. The chessboard is held in a parlor (blue) and other happenings of the game are announced or posted in the courtyard (green).
- Second Floor: Bedrooms (blue) where players stay for the duration of the game. Room 50 is a spa, which players may use.
- Third Floor: Guest rooms - currently unoccupied, with good reason - and servants' quarters (red).
- Fourth Floor: The Gamemaster's private quarters; only accessible through a secret passage from the first floor (location will be revealed during roleplay).
Renshaw Manor
A bright and well-lit estate, with servants to wait on the players and plenty of food to eat. It's a bit hard to believe that we're playing with our lives here, isn't it?
Minimap
northwest |
north |
northeast |
west |
You are here. |
east |
southwest |
south |
southeast |
Renshaw Manor is a part of 
The King's Gambit.
11 Characters Here
Ryan Presor [2] "I'm Ryan. I'm a guy. Got any problems with that?"
Renée Iacaruso [2] "Please. Smile for me."
Linde Corett [1] "..."
Jade Morrow [0] "Knowledge should be coveted"
Deme Ashling [0] "I can be calm in a crisis, in the face of death or things that hurt badly. Which may be masochistic of me."
Justin Nathan Greyne [0] "Stereotypes? Pssh. Get real."
Quinncent "Quinn" Matthews [0] "I think we have a challenger."
Abigail Miller [0] "I could never lead. Those who lead must be willing to choose who lives... and who doesn't"
Lorietta "Lori" Sanchez [0] "Won't you get caught?"
Koray Chandel [0] You're not a great liar, you know?
Start Character Here »
"Please, Daz. Matt. Be careful."
The two head bodyguards nodded gravely and exited Renée Iacaruso's office, keeping their objections to themselves. The manor's mistress was benign in general, allowing them almost all the privileges she had around the mansion, but dangerous in her disturbed mood. And he had finally sent them out, today, on the mission she had planned for months - a plan that neither Daz nor Matt had expected to come to fruition.
But now it had. And as the guards learned after only five years of working for Ms. Iacaruso, there was little that could be done about it.
"That woman's insane," Matt grumbled, as soon as the pair was out of earshot, "It can't be done. The police are going to find out."
"Not if we do it properly." Daz, the more experienced of the two, strapped his gun to a pack tightly gripping his chest. He smiled a little sadly as he pulled on a pair of boots, glancing over his partner as though to reassure himself. "Besides, we can't be blamed for it. It's still Ms. Renée's fault."
"Even though we're her accomplices?" Matt replied doubtfully, shrugging suddenly as the backpack he carried began to slide down his shoulders. He let go of his doubts - those thoughts did nothing but get in his job's way - as he juggled the straps, finally securing them around his waist in a figure like a cross. There was no point in looking back, when there was no way out anyways. "They're just kids."
And so was Ms. Renée. She acted like a grown woman, but after all these years, she still thought like a kid.
"Show me the charts, Matt. And go wake up the others."
As the taillights of the guards' car were swallowed up by the horizon, Renée turned from the window to look up at her butler, Rose. The house staff had been busy for hours, preparing rooms for the guests and a midnight snack in case the capture had shaken them a little. But Rose had stayed by her side the entire time, commanding everything flawlessly from the office. It was marvelous - the way he seemed to have eyes and hands everywhere, without even having to move.
"They'll be back in five hours," Renée repeated, looking at her watch. The sense of time, the sense of consistency was very important. "Then you'll meet them in the downstairs foyer and explain the rules of the game to them. Dinner will be next - I'll entrust the menu to you. After dinner, you'll have the servants escort the players to their room, and attend to any of their needs. Please, Rose. See that this goes smoothly."
The butler frowned and smoothed the silk tablecloth that covered Renée's desk. "You won't meet them yourself?"
Renée paused and answered stiffly. "No, thank you."
Rose sighed and took the seat across from her, suddenly more like a friend than a butler.
"If you're to do something of this sort, at least face the consequences. You can't kill people and paint yourself innocent by staying far away."
"That was not my intention. I acknowledge my guilt." Renée paused, at a loss for what to say next - a frequent affliction of hers. Tapping his fingers together under his chin, Rose leaned forward. "Read me their names one more time, please. I claim responsibility for all of them."
"Will you stop, then?"
Renée looked at him through another long silence. His face was impossible to read - nothing special, as all faces were impossible to see for Renée - but his mouth looked sad.
"No, thank you."
The butler pushed back his hair and cleared his throat before beginning. "Deme Ashling."
The pianist, whose sexuality had seemed invisible to all but the most talented information seekers - though the clues were obvious, clear enough for anyone to see. She didn't have any problem with his sexuality - that was something for science to judge, not morality. Still, Renée felt a familiar anger as she heard the kid's name. It had been the drugs and alcohol that drew her to this boy first. A child who had succumbed too easily to temptation,. He thought his life had been hard? Surely hers had been harder.
Yes, Ashling had to be eliminated - but his music was lovely. Perhaps he could play for all of them, one night after dinner. To take their minds off of the game for a while.
"I believe I sent Linde to get him."
Rose nodded and moved down the alphabetized list. "Koray Chandel."
Ouch. The broken prodigy. Renée had kept her eyes on that mission - a space expedition of teenagers - investing in it as soon as it began to gain a public following. She had sold her stocks just a day before the launch, when the anticipation and the money were at their highest, but hadn't expected to pull Koray from it as well. But when the child began to show symptoms of frustration, she had almost demanded him. Wasn't he stupid, to just break down like that? Even if the mission had failed, there was still opportunity to be had. Someone might have hired him as a guest speaker - on motivation and such things.
"Yes. Ling's target."
"Yes. Linde Corett?"
"George, please."
She spent the rest of the evening memorizing the names of her targets, their known mannerisms, and the men and women who had been sent to get them. Still, there was no point in meeting them - Rose sighed, as she said it again. Why would she need to see them, when at least one of them was doomed, anyway?
((See the list of bodyguards here. If you want to write out your own kidnapping, go ahead - or you can start when they all return to the manor.))
The two head bodyguards nodded gravely and exited Renée Iacaruso's office, keeping their objections to themselves. The manor's mistress was benign in general, allowing them almost all the privileges she had around the mansion, but dangerous in her disturbed mood. And he had finally sent them out, today, on the mission she had planned for months - a plan that neither Daz nor Matt had expected to come to fruition.
But now it had. And as the guards learned after only five years of working for Ms. Iacaruso, there was little that could be done about it.
"That woman's insane," Matt grumbled, as soon as the pair was out of earshot, "It can't be done. The police are going to find out."
"Not if we do it properly." Daz, the more experienced of the two, strapped his gun to a pack tightly gripping his chest. He smiled a little sadly as he pulled on a pair of boots, glancing over his partner as though to reassure himself. "Besides, we can't be blamed for it. It's still Ms. Renée's fault."
"Even though we're her accomplices?" Matt replied doubtfully, shrugging suddenly as the backpack he carried began to slide down his shoulders. He let go of his doubts - those thoughts did nothing but get in his job's way - as he juggled the straps, finally securing them around his waist in a figure like a cross. There was no point in looking back, when there was no way out anyways. "They're just kids."
And so was Ms. Renée. She acted like a grown woman, but after all these years, she still thought like a kid.
"Show me the charts, Matt. And go wake up the others."
* * *
As the taillights of the guards' car were swallowed up by the horizon, Renée turned from the window to look up at her butler, Rose. The house staff had been busy for hours, preparing rooms for the guests and a midnight snack in case the capture had shaken them a little. But Rose had stayed by her side the entire time, commanding everything flawlessly from the office. It was marvelous - the way he seemed to have eyes and hands everywhere, without even having to move.
"They'll be back in five hours," Renée repeated, looking at her watch. The sense of time, the sense of consistency was very important. "Then you'll meet them in the downstairs foyer and explain the rules of the game to them. Dinner will be next - I'll entrust the menu to you. After dinner, you'll have the servants escort the players to their room, and attend to any of their needs. Please, Rose. See that this goes smoothly."
The butler frowned and smoothed the silk tablecloth that covered Renée's desk. "You won't meet them yourself?"
Renée paused and answered stiffly. "No, thank you."
Rose sighed and took the seat across from her, suddenly more like a friend than a butler.
"If you're to do something of this sort, at least face the consequences. You can't kill people and paint yourself innocent by staying far away."
"That was not my intention. I acknowledge my guilt." Renée paused, at a loss for what to say next - a frequent affliction of hers. Tapping his fingers together under his chin, Rose leaned forward. "Read me their names one more time, please. I claim responsibility for all of them."
"Will you stop, then?"
Renée looked at him through another long silence. His face was impossible to read - nothing special, as all faces were impossible to see for Renée - but his mouth looked sad.
"No, thank you."
The butler pushed back his hair and cleared his throat before beginning. "Deme Ashling."
The pianist, whose sexuality had seemed invisible to all but the most talented information seekers - though the clues were obvious, clear enough for anyone to see. She didn't have any problem with his sexuality - that was something for science to judge, not morality. Still, Renée felt a familiar anger as she heard the kid's name. It had been the drugs and alcohol that drew her to this boy first. A child who had succumbed too easily to temptation,. He thought his life had been hard? Surely hers had been harder.
Yes, Ashling had to be eliminated - but his music was lovely. Perhaps he could play for all of them, one night after dinner. To take their minds off of the game for a while.
"I believe I sent Linde to get him."
Rose nodded and moved down the alphabetized list. "Koray Chandel."
Ouch. The broken prodigy. Renée had kept her eyes on that mission - a space expedition of teenagers - investing in it as soon as it began to gain a public following. She had sold her stocks just a day before the launch, when the anticipation and the money were at their highest, but hadn't expected to pull Koray from it as well. But when the child began to show symptoms of frustration, she had almost demanded him. Wasn't he stupid, to just break down like that? Even if the mission had failed, there was still opportunity to be had. Someone might have hired him as a guest speaker - on motivation and such things.
"Yes. Ling's target."
"Yes. Linde Corett?"
"George, please."
She spent the rest of the evening memorizing the names of her targets, their known mannerisms, and the men and women who had been sent to get them. Still, there was no point in meeting them - Rose sighed, as she said it again. Why would she need to see them, when at least one of them was doomed, anyway?
((See the list of bodyguards here. If you want to write out your own kidnapping, go ahead - or you can start when they all return to the manor.))
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Abigail Miller woke up in the backseat of a car. She thought back on recent events trying to remember exactly how this had come to pass.
Abby had been at her brother Kyle's apartment tossing a pen from hand to hand and waiting for him to arrive home from class. She herself had been excused from school due to the accident she and her parents had been in, the accident that had injured her and put her parents in the hospital. Hearing a knock on the door she put the pen in her pocket and went to see who it was. Abigail had known that it wasn't her brother as he had always just used his key. Standing on her toes to look through the peephole she had seen a young man in a police uniform. Acknowledging her presence on the other side of the door, likely due to the light that had been coming through the peephole being blocked by her head, the man had said that her brother Kyle, whom he referred to by name, had been hurt. In response she had called back through the door asking to see his badge as Kyle had instructed. Seeing that he did, in fact, have a badge she opened the door only to have a cloth thrust to her face and her head held to the aforementioned cloth. After a few moments she had felt dizzy and then backed out.
Remembering these events Abigail understood that she must have been kidnapped, although why anyone would go to all that trouble to kidnap her remained to be seen. Unsure what had happened while she'd been knocked out she began checking herself for injuries. Unable to locate any, though her ability to check was somewhat limited as of the moment, Abby decided to try speaking to the driver. "Where are we going?"
Abby had been at her brother Kyle's apartment tossing a pen from hand to hand and waiting for him to arrive home from class. She herself had been excused from school due to the accident she and her parents had been in, the accident that had injured her and put her parents in the hospital. Hearing a knock on the door she put the pen in her pocket and went to see who it was. Abigail had known that it wasn't her brother as he had always just used his key. Standing on her toes to look through the peephole she had seen a young man in a police uniform. Acknowledging her presence on the other side of the door, likely due to the light that had been coming through the peephole being blocked by her head, the man had said that her brother Kyle, whom he referred to by name, had been hurt. In response she had called back through the door asking to see his badge as Kyle had instructed. Seeing that he did, in fact, have a badge she opened the door only to have a cloth thrust to her face and her head held to the aforementioned cloth. After a few moments she had felt dizzy and then backed out.
Remembering these events Abigail understood that she must have been kidnapped, although why anyone would go to all that trouble to kidnap her remained to be seen. Unsure what had happened while she'd been knocked out she began checking herself for injuries. Unable to locate any, though her ability to check was somewhat limited as of the moment, Abby decided to try speaking to the driver. "Where are we going?"
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Justin's face screwed up in sorrow as he let go of the window sill. Night had already given the world a coat of dew. And for anyone who says it's a beautiful thing, they're just ignorant. In fact, night and dawn's dew, it was really like piss. It was wet, slippery, and if it got the wrong things wet, it stank to high heaven. Unfortunately, his window sill was one of those things, and now his fingers reeked. As he hugged himself to keep warm, he glanced up at his window, almost hesitant to leave, but he shook his head.
"So... 'Straighten up, or get out'," Justin repeated, walking away. "Well, what lovely options, Dad."
He deliberated on whether to go through the gate or go over it, but suddenly- Person, bam, right behind him! Whirling around, Justin squeaked, feeling calloused hands wrap around his upper arms. He started to hyperventilate, wiggling his body like a dying carp and bucking his head back. Then, for a moment, all his struggles stopped. He didn't breathe, just stared at the man who had grabbed him.
"Wait, wait, wait! Did I just... squeak?" His whisper fell onto seemingly deaf ears, but the man's face twisted into a small sneer.
"HEY!" Justin cried out, resuming his struggles, resuming his pathetic games. "Ow! Hey! HEL-"
"Shut it, Squeakers." The man snarled in his ear, moving one hand to Justin's mouth. Scared, he whimpered degradingly- (Wow, redundancy) - and succumbed to unconscious.
Cliche aside, he couldn't remember anything after that point. Obviously, his brain had edited his memories, as all brains were wanton to do. He smiled gently, though a bit ruefully. His father - or rather his father's patients - had taught him all about that. Really, it wasn't an invasion of privacy. Well, he didn't like to think of it like that, so he didn't.
Instead, he glanced around. Where was he? And where's the jerk who got me into this?!
"So... 'Straighten up, or get out'," Justin repeated, walking away. "Well, what lovely options, Dad."
He deliberated on whether to go through the gate or go over it, but suddenly- Person, bam, right behind him! Whirling around, Justin squeaked, feeling calloused hands wrap around his upper arms. He started to hyperventilate, wiggling his body like a dying carp and bucking his head back. Then, for a moment, all his struggles stopped. He didn't breathe, just stared at the man who had grabbed him.
"Wait, wait, wait! Did I just... squeak?" His whisper fell onto seemingly deaf ears, but the man's face twisted into a small sneer.
"HEY!" Justin cried out, resuming his struggles, resuming his pathetic games. "Ow! Hey! HEL-"
"Shut it, Squeakers." The man snarled in his ear, moving one hand to Justin's mouth. Scared, he whimpered degradingly- (Wow, redundancy) - and succumbed to unconscious.
Cliche aside, he couldn't remember anything after that point. Obviously, his brain had edited his memories, as all brains were wanton to do. He smiled gently, though a bit ruefully. His father - or rather his father's patients - had taught him all about that. Really, it wasn't an invasion of privacy. Well, he didn't like to think of it like that, so he didn't.
Instead, he glanced around. Where was he? And where's the jerk who got me into this?!
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"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"
There was no answer.
"Hey you son-of-a-bitch, I'm talking to you!"
Again, no reply.
"YOU MOTHERFUCKING SON OF A BITCH, YOU'D BETTER START FUCKING ANSWERING OR -"
Matt could feel a headache growing in his temple. Should of hit the kid harder, then I wouldn't have to deal with this... He shook his head. He had to stop thinking like that or he really was going to end up as guilty as Renée. He glanced into the rearview mirror at the kid that was being so irritating without even - well, no that's not true at all, Matt amended. He was trying very, very hard to be annoying and, quite unfortunately, Matt was letting him succeed without much effort.
The kid had pale red eyes and pale green hair - a combination that looked to be about as fake as it was possible to get. He was tall and squished into a small backseat - something that Matt admitted could probably be pretty annoying, which might explain his attitude. His ankles and wrists were bound together, but Matt hadn't taken the time to gag the guy - something he was regretting very much. But then, he hadn't expected the kid to wake up for another hour or so after the blow that Matt had given him.
Straight to the head, too, Matt shook his head. Of course the kids that Renée chose were monsters.
Currently, despite the bonds around his limbs, Ryan Presor was struggling like a demon. The bonds were some sort of odd rubber wire and held him tight despite the fact that they were soft and kept his wrists from chafing. It pissed him off that he'd managed to get kidnapped by some idiot bastard who'd managed to beat him in less than five moves - it hurt his pride too, and Ryan vowed silently that this man would get his coming as soon as he got free.
Oh great, of course he's struggling. He's that kind of guy, Matt thought, semi-resigned. He slammed on the brake hard, causing Ryan to fall from the seat onto the floor. This encouraged another very loud round of cursing, but the satisfaction it gave Matt for that brief moment of silence as Ryan hit his nose was worth it.
Matt braked at the gate to the mansion and got out of the car. He wrenched the door open and grabbed Ryan, slinging him over one shoulder. He kept professionally silent, ignoring the curses, the yelling and the -
"OW!" Matt yelped loudly as Ryan bit his arm, nearly breaking through the skin. "You -" He breathed very, very calmly and then chopped Ryan at the base of his head.
Instantly, Ryan's teeth loosened and his head drooped.
Finally, Matt thought. I should have done that ages ago.
He walked into the mansion and then across to the foyer that Renée had 'requested' he take the prisoners to. He dumped Ryan onto a chair and removed the bonds. With the blow he'd given the kid, no matter how tough he was, he'd be out cold for at least thirty minutes - plenty of time for the others to get back with their charges.
Matt walked up the stairs to Renée's office after locking the door behind him. He knocked on the door and then walked in, taking his place next to her desk.
"Ryan Presor is in the foyer, Miss."
There was no answer.
"Hey you son-of-a-bitch, I'm talking to you!"
Again, no reply.
"YOU MOTHERFUCKING SON OF A BITCH, YOU'D BETTER START FUCKING ANSWERING OR -"
Matt could feel a headache growing in his temple. Should of hit the kid harder, then I wouldn't have to deal with this... He shook his head. He had to stop thinking like that or he really was going to end up as guilty as Renée. He glanced into the rearview mirror at the kid that was being so irritating without even - well, no that's not true at all, Matt amended. He was trying very, very hard to be annoying and, quite unfortunately, Matt was letting him succeed without much effort.
The kid had pale red eyes and pale green hair - a combination that looked to be about as fake as it was possible to get. He was tall and squished into a small backseat - something that Matt admitted could probably be pretty annoying, which might explain his attitude. His ankles and wrists were bound together, but Matt hadn't taken the time to gag the guy - something he was regretting very much. But then, he hadn't expected the kid to wake up for another hour or so after the blow that Matt had given him.
Straight to the head, too, Matt shook his head. Of course the kids that Renée chose were monsters.
Currently, despite the bonds around his limbs, Ryan Presor was struggling like a demon. The bonds were some sort of odd rubber wire and held him tight despite the fact that they were soft and kept his wrists from chafing. It pissed him off that he'd managed to get kidnapped by some idiot bastard who'd managed to beat him in less than five moves - it hurt his pride too, and Ryan vowed silently that this man would get his coming as soon as he got free.
Oh great, of course he's struggling. He's that kind of guy, Matt thought, semi-resigned. He slammed on the brake hard, causing Ryan to fall from the seat onto the floor. This encouraged another very loud round of cursing, but the satisfaction it gave Matt for that brief moment of silence as Ryan hit his nose was worth it.
Matt braked at the gate to the mansion and got out of the car. He wrenched the door open and grabbed Ryan, slinging him over one shoulder. He kept professionally silent, ignoring the curses, the yelling and the -
"OW!" Matt yelped loudly as Ryan bit his arm, nearly breaking through the skin. "You -" He breathed very, very calmly and then chopped Ryan at the base of his head.
Instantly, Ryan's teeth loosened and his head drooped.
Finally, Matt thought. I should have done that ages ago.
He walked into the mansion and then across to the foyer that Renée had 'requested' he take the prisoners to. He dumped Ryan onto a chair and removed the bonds. With the blow he'd given the kid, no matter how tough he was, he'd be out cold for at least thirty minutes - plenty of time for the others to get back with their charges.
Matt walked up the stairs to Renée's office after locking the door behind him. He knocked on the door and then walked in, taking his place next to her desk.
"Ryan Presor is in the foyer, Miss."
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Tom paused, unsure as to whether or not he was supposed to answer or not. "You'll see. We'll be there soon." This statement proved to be true as they arrived at the mansion a few minutes later. After stopping the car Tom walked over to Abby's door opened it and helped her out as she was sill a bit dizzy.
After entering the mansion Tom sat her down in a chair in the foyer. "Stay here." he instructed before going upstairs to report to Renée. After he'd left it occurred to Abigail that she could try to run, however a look at the person slumped in the chair next to her made her dismiss the idea. He looked far tougher than her and she had spent more than enough time unconscious recently, thank you very much. Hesitantly she poked Ryan's arm in an attempt to wake him up.
Meanwhile upstairs Tom knocked on the door to Renée's office and waited to be told to come in.
After entering the mansion Tom sat her down in a chair in the foyer. "Stay here." he instructed before going upstairs to report to Renée. After he'd left it occurred to Abigail that she could try to run, however a look at the person slumped in the chair next to her made her dismiss the idea. He looked far tougher than her and she had spent more than enough time unconscious recently, thank you very much. Hesitantly she poked Ryan's arm in an attempt to wake him up.
Meanwhile upstairs Tom knocked on the door to Renée's office and waited to be told to come in.
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"Deme?"
Silence.
Frowning, Mrs. Ashling began to tiptoe upstairs, calling out her son's name. As though that would make him respond. But if it comforted her, that was probably for the better, considering that her son had just-
"Deme? Are you doing you homework in there? Come out, it's dinner-"
The door swung open, propelled by the wind from the window that had been left open. As Mrs. Ashling stared, stunned at the emptiness, her son struggled on the roof with his kidnapper. Daz had one hand in his mouth, with the thumb nearly pressing into the base of the uvula, just hoping to maintain silence for a bit longer. He couldn't risk knocking the kid out just yet, or the sudden shift in body weight might throw them from the ledge, but he had to immobilize him, at the least. Until he could find a more stable position.
Mother had come at a bad time. As Deme wilted, Daz took the opportunity to throw him against the roof (hand still gagging the mouth) and place the tranquilizer dart at the back of his neck. The kid would probably be out for hours, considering his size. Pushing away the last remnants of his guilt, he hoisted the target onto his shoulder and found the rope that would take him back to the ground.
It was done. Just like he told Matt, there was nothing he could do about it now.
The kid breathed quietly and deeply, like he was only sleeping.
They arrived at Renshaw Manor an hour later, though it felt like days to Daz and probably less than seconds to Deme. Opening the doors to the foyer, Daz glanced down at the kids who had already been deposited - Matt, obviously, was done. As for the other, Daz felt a pang of guilt at seeing Renée imprison a girl. But there was nothing he could do to release her, anyways.
So he walked upstairs instead, and found Tom there already, knocking at Renée's door.
"Miss Renée?" He called in, joining in the wait. "We're back."
Silence.
Frowning, Mrs. Ashling began to tiptoe upstairs, calling out her son's name. As though that would make him respond. But if it comforted her, that was probably for the better, considering that her son had just-
"Deme? Are you doing you homework in there? Come out, it's dinner-"
The door swung open, propelled by the wind from the window that had been left open. As Mrs. Ashling stared, stunned at the emptiness, her son struggled on the roof with his kidnapper. Daz had one hand in his mouth, with the thumb nearly pressing into the base of the uvula, just hoping to maintain silence for a bit longer. He couldn't risk knocking the kid out just yet, or the sudden shift in body weight might throw them from the ledge, but he had to immobilize him, at the least. Until he could find a more stable position.
Mother had come at a bad time. As Deme wilted, Daz took the opportunity to throw him against the roof (hand still gagging the mouth) and place the tranquilizer dart at the back of his neck. The kid would probably be out for hours, considering his size. Pushing away the last remnants of his guilt, he hoisted the target onto his shoulder and found the rope that would take him back to the ground.
It was done. Just like he told Matt, there was nothing he could do about it now.
The kid breathed quietly and deeply, like he was only sleeping.
They arrived at Renshaw Manor an hour later, though it felt like days to Daz and probably less than seconds to Deme. Opening the doors to the foyer, Daz glanced down at the kids who had already been deposited - Matt, obviously, was done. As for the other, Daz felt a pang of guilt at seeing Renée imprison a girl. But there was nothing he could do to release her, anyways.
So he walked upstairs instead, and found Tom there already, knocking at Renée's door.
"Miss Renée?" He called in, joining in the wait. "We're back."
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Maria felt sick. Lying on the floor of the van, gagged and bound, she was overwhelmed by the smell of diesel. The punch to the gut that had taken her down had made her vomit up once. Despite the fact that she'd thought she'd lost everything she'd eaten already, that smell combined with the stench of sick in her hair made her wonder if she could hold off hurling all over again.
Oh, boy, she hurt. Hurt all over. When they'd come at her, she had only had a split second to realise she was being jumped. She'd gone for her gun. Two guys, one girl, that made it fair. One of them had seen her move, and kicked it, spinning, from her hand. So she'd kicked him, straight in the balls. Only he'd been wearing a goddamn cup, which she did not call fair. The other guy had lunged to grab her from behind. She'd dived away, rolling through the dog turds, the scrubby grass poking through between the broken glass, and then kicked her leg out to trip the mofo she'd kicked out at earlier. Well, he hadn't exactly gone down, but he'd staggered. She grabbed the wall to haul herself up, and then the second guy was on her again. This time he'd grabbed her properly, so she grabbed at his head and yanked as hard as she could whilst his massive weight bore down on her, struggling to keep her feet. Scratch his eyes out, anything went, so she rammed a thumb into his eye and he yelled out, cursing and spitting. As something whizzed by her ear - a tranquilizer dart? - she elbowed him to loosen his grip a little, then went for her knife. She would have rammed it into his thigh if the other guy hadn't dropped to half-grab her arm. Still, she'd cut him at least.
Then the combined weight of the two of them landed on her and she hadn't stood a chance from that moment onward. She'd struggled like crazy though, until eventually one of them grabbed her long enough for the other to punch her in the belly.
They'd dragged her, hanging limply between them and vomiting whenever she managed to suck in a breath, and made sure to bind her before throwing her into the van. Now she could feel every jolt as it carried on to it's final destination. Her left eye had been blacked, she was covered in scratches, dog crap and vomit, and she could feel glass and gravel embedded in her upper arm.
All in all, she reckoned, not good.
If she threw up again whilst gagged, she'd probably choke to death. That was good to focus on to stop her from spewing. She hadn't a clue who these guys were. She'd thought she knew every two-bit gangster who might have cause to jump her, but none of them would have kidnapped her. It's not like she was up for ransom. Besides, these guys had been in black, with balaclavas and body armor. They fought like ex-Marines - or at least like they were highly trained.
What the fuck was going on?
At last the van rumbled to a halt. She was utterly disorientated at this point, with no idea where the hell she was. They grabbed her pretty roughly, and so she feigned limpness as they marched her towards some big house. Not like that was much in the way of hard. They stopped whilst she threw up again, ripping off the gag so she wouldn't suffocate. She vomited again all over the path, dry heaving now. Then as she leaned over, still on her knees, she suddenly threw herself to her feet and started to run. She actually managed to get several clumsy feet, badly off balance because her hands were bound behind her. Then one of them landed on her again, and without her arms to stop herself she landed face-down. Chest-first actually, so that she felt the searing pain of the blow to the sternum and then her chin smashed into the gravel as an unhappy afterthought.
As she lay there, in so much pain that she just wanted to pass out, she felt someone kicking her roughly over with a boot. Then a fist smashed into her face to make her do just that.
"Jesus, what did you do to her?"
"Don't have any sympathy for that little bitch," the first warned him. As he peeled off his balaclava he was forced to wipe the blood from his eye, his eyelid badly torn. The other bodyguard stared at his superior. "She stabbed me!" he said.
Sure enough, she had. Blood was still welling up from between his fingers as he held the afflicted limb, the gash gaping between the shorn cloth.
"Okay, you should get that seen to," the guy with the clipboard conceded. "Maybe once she's woken up we can have her seen to as well. This was supposed to be professional," he went on.
"Next time we have to do something like this, I'm bringing the pepper spray," he heard one mutter as the both of them headed out. It made him frown.
Could it be that there might be a next time? Now that was a thought about his employer that didn't bear thinking about.
Five kids now, on chairs in the foyer. All but one were unconscious, and that girl was barely conscious at that, slumped on her own seat. It wouldn't be too long now before they all started to come around...
Oh, boy, she hurt. Hurt all over. When they'd come at her, she had only had a split second to realise she was being jumped. She'd gone for her gun. Two guys, one girl, that made it fair. One of them had seen her move, and kicked it, spinning, from her hand. So she'd kicked him, straight in the balls. Only he'd been wearing a goddamn cup, which she did not call fair. The other guy had lunged to grab her from behind. She'd dived away, rolling through the dog turds, the scrubby grass poking through between the broken glass, and then kicked her leg out to trip the mofo she'd kicked out at earlier. Well, he hadn't exactly gone down, but he'd staggered. She grabbed the wall to haul herself up, and then the second guy was on her again. This time he'd grabbed her properly, so she grabbed at his head and yanked as hard as she could whilst his massive weight bore down on her, struggling to keep her feet. Scratch his eyes out, anything went, so she rammed a thumb into his eye and he yelled out, cursing and spitting. As something whizzed by her ear - a tranquilizer dart? - she elbowed him to loosen his grip a little, then went for her knife. She would have rammed it into his thigh if the other guy hadn't dropped to half-grab her arm. Still, she'd cut him at least.
Then the combined weight of the two of them landed on her and she hadn't stood a chance from that moment onward. She'd struggled like crazy though, until eventually one of them grabbed her long enough for the other to punch her in the belly.
They'd dragged her, hanging limply between them and vomiting whenever she managed to suck in a breath, and made sure to bind her before throwing her into the van. Now she could feel every jolt as it carried on to it's final destination. Her left eye had been blacked, she was covered in scratches, dog crap and vomit, and she could feel glass and gravel embedded in her upper arm.
All in all, she reckoned, not good.
If she threw up again whilst gagged, she'd probably choke to death. That was good to focus on to stop her from spewing. She hadn't a clue who these guys were. She'd thought she knew every two-bit gangster who might have cause to jump her, but none of them would have kidnapped her. It's not like she was up for ransom. Besides, these guys had been in black, with balaclavas and body armor. They fought like ex-Marines - or at least like they were highly trained.
What the fuck was going on?
At last the van rumbled to a halt. She was utterly disorientated at this point, with no idea where the hell she was. They grabbed her pretty roughly, and so she feigned limpness as they marched her towards some big house. Not like that was much in the way of hard. They stopped whilst she threw up again, ripping off the gag so she wouldn't suffocate. She vomited again all over the path, dry heaving now. Then as she leaned over, still on her knees, she suddenly threw herself to her feet and started to run. She actually managed to get several clumsy feet, badly off balance because her hands were bound behind her. Then one of them landed on her again, and without her arms to stop herself she landed face-down. Chest-first actually, so that she felt the searing pain of the blow to the sternum and then her chin smashed into the gravel as an unhappy afterthought.
As she lay there, in so much pain that she just wanted to pass out, she felt someone kicking her roughly over with a boot. Then a fist smashed into her face to make her do just that.
*
"Jesus, what did you do to her?"
"Don't have any sympathy for that little bitch," the first warned him. As he peeled off his balaclava he was forced to wipe the blood from his eye, his eyelid badly torn. The other bodyguard stared at his superior. "She stabbed me!" he said.
Sure enough, she had. Blood was still welling up from between his fingers as he held the afflicted limb, the gash gaping between the shorn cloth.
"Okay, you should get that seen to," the guy with the clipboard conceded. "Maybe once she's woken up we can have her seen to as well. This was supposed to be professional," he went on.
"Next time we have to do something like this, I'm bringing the pepper spray," he heard one mutter as the both of them headed out. It made him frown.
Could it be that there might be a next time? Now that was a thought about his employer that didn't bear thinking about.
*
Five kids now, on chairs in the foyer. All but one were unconscious, and that girl was barely conscious at that, slumped on her own seat. It wouldn't be too long now before they all started to come around...
Poke -
The jab on the arm - very soft and unsure - was enough to bring Ryan charging out of his stupor. It wasn't just the touch - that hadn't been strong enough to knock over a card tower, but the combination of the poke - a motion that Ryan considered idiotic and unnecessary - and the hesitancy behind the emotion. Hesitation - what a useless thing to have. It would just get in the way and crush one's goals and accomplishments if it got the chance. Those who hesitated were morons.
In a flash, Ryan sat bolt upright. "Never poke me, bitch!" The last word came out a bit delayed as he took a look at the idiot to determine gender. A girl.
Disgusting.
His head spun, and he felt his dinner coming back up, but he swallowed it down hard, refusing to allow the nausea overcome him. This was his second rude awakening in less than two hours - his first had been in the car, when he'd hit his head on the metal of the seat belt strap, a blow that probably added to his concussion but also had the effect of stirring him from his unconsciousness. While Ryan had been knocked unconscious before with his fair share of head trauma, it normally didn't happen quite so quickly - maybe, once every six hours at the most - and normally, when Ryan woke up, he was lying in the streets or in a back alley.
This time, he was in a castle.
Or at least, that's what it seemed like to Ryan.
The room he was in was enormous. The floor was made of some odd, shiny marble, mottled gray, with a very soft look about it. In two straight lines from the entrance of the the foyer - two great doors, carved with gold - to the mantelpiece were pillar after pillar. They were gold and had built on gray blocks, edged with gold and were so thick that two Ryan arm-lengths might not have stretched their length. In between the pillars was a long, wide path that stretched from end to end and over the path, in line with the pillars were dozens of chandeliers, all of them holding burning candles and made of pure gold. The chains that held the chandeliers to the ceiling were so well-made that they almost blended with the background, giving the impression that the chandeliers were actually floating in mid-air instead of suspended from the top of the room.
In front of the pillars were rows of chairs - comfortable white oak classics that had probably been handmade.
Everything should have been very comforting - the warm glow of the candles, the soft reflections on the gold and the marble floor, the soft cushions of the chairs -
But that was were the comfort ended.
Above the mantelpiece, where one would normally expect a depiction of a Biblical scene was instead a painting of a forest. The trees that were in front were in full-bloom, leaves dark but everywhere on the tree, signaling health. They were very sparse - only three of them at the front, so they allowed one to see past the facade of the forest into the actual forest. As one traveled deeper into the painting, the trees began to lose their leaves and the colors slowly faded completely, turning sienna, brown, red. It was possible to see a tree in the very back that was bending over, its branches bare of any greenery at all.
And it wasn't just above the mantelpiece - the image was repeated in the carvings on the pillars and in the chandeliers as well as in the embroideries of the cushions of the armchairs.
What the hell? Ryan stared at everything, his mind racing - or trying to - nausea didn't really help the process. What was going on?
He'd gone to sleep in his room the night before - something very unusual - and had woken up in a car driving about thirty miles over the speed limit before being knocked out again by some tall, buff man.
Did I just get kidnapped? What the fuck? Anger was starting to build now as he got to his feet. Who the hell had managed to do something like this to him? And what were they gonna do with him - ransom him? Sell him? A precursory glance told him there were four other teens in the pretty little hall with him - So probably some illegal selling, He concluded. His eyes flashed. Well I sure as hell am not gonna sit around waiting for some pathetic police officer to rescue me.
In several swift steps, Ryan had made it to the double doors, which, he noticed now, also had the disturbing forest carved into it. He took the briefest moment to absorb this and then started to pound on the door.
"HEY, BASTARDS. YOU BETTER LET ME OUT IF YOU WANNA FUCKING LIVE."
The jab on the arm - very soft and unsure - was enough to bring Ryan charging out of his stupor. It wasn't just the touch - that hadn't been strong enough to knock over a card tower, but the combination of the poke - a motion that Ryan considered idiotic and unnecessary - and the hesitancy behind the emotion. Hesitation - what a useless thing to have. It would just get in the way and crush one's goals and accomplishments if it got the chance. Those who hesitated were morons.
In a flash, Ryan sat bolt upright. "Never poke me, bitch!" The last word came out a bit delayed as he took a look at the idiot to determine gender. A girl.
Disgusting.
His head spun, and he felt his dinner coming back up, but he swallowed it down hard, refusing to allow the nausea overcome him. This was his second rude awakening in less than two hours - his first had been in the car, when he'd hit his head on the metal of the seat belt strap, a blow that probably added to his concussion but also had the effect of stirring him from his unconsciousness. While Ryan had been knocked unconscious before with his fair share of head trauma, it normally didn't happen quite so quickly - maybe, once every six hours at the most - and normally, when Ryan woke up, he was lying in the streets or in a back alley.
This time, he was in a castle.
Or at least, that's what it seemed like to Ryan.
The room he was in was enormous. The floor was made of some odd, shiny marble, mottled gray, with a very soft look about it. In two straight lines from the entrance of the the foyer - two great doors, carved with gold - to the mantelpiece were pillar after pillar. They were gold and had built on gray blocks, edged with gold and were so thick that two Ryan arm-lengths might not have stretched their length. In between the pillars was a long, wide path that stretched from end to end and over the path, in line with the pillars were dozens of chandeliers, all of them holding burning candles and made of pure gold. The chains that held the chandeliers to the ceiling were so well-made that they almost blended with the background, giving the impression that the chandeliers were actually floating in mid-air instead of suspended from the top of the room.
In front of the pillars were rows of chairs - comfortable white oak classics that had probably been handmade.
Everything should have been very comforting - the warm glow of the candles, the soft reflections on the gold and the marble floor, the soft cushions of the chairs -
But that was were the comfort ended.
Above the mantelpiece, where one would normally expect a depiction of a Biblical scene was instead a painting of a forest. The trees that were in front were in full-bloom, leaves dark but everywhere on the tree, signaling health. They were very sparse - only three of them at the front, so they allowed one to see past the facade of the forest into the actual forest. As one traveled deeper into the painting, the trees began to lose their leaves and the colors slowly faded completely, turning sienna, brown, red. It was possible to see a tree in the very back that was bending over, its branches bare of any greenery at all.
And it wasn't just above the mantelpiece - the image was repeated in the carvings on the pillars and in the chandeliers as well as in the embroideries of the cushions of the armchairs.
What the hell? Ryan stared at everything, his mind racing - or trying to - nausea didn't really help the process. What was going on?
He'd gone to sleep in his room the night before - something very unusual - and had woken up in a car driving about thirty miles over the speed limit before being knocked out again by some tall, buff man.
Did I just get kidnapped? What the fuck? Anger was starting to build now as he got to his feet. Who the hell had managed to do something like this to him? And what were they gonna do with him - ransom him? Sell him? A precursory glance told him there were four other teens in the pretty little hall with him - So probably some illegal selling, He concluded. His eyes flashed. Well I sure as hell am not gonna sit around waiting for some pathetic police officer to rescue me.
In several swift steps, Ryan had made it to the double doors, which, he noticed now, also had the disturbing forest carved into it. He took the briefest moment to absorb this and then started to pound on the door.
"HEY, BASTARDS. YOU BETTER LET ME OUT IF YOU WANNA FUCKING LIVE."
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Abby yelped and leaped backwards when Ryan shouted. She hadn't expected him to wake up, let alone start yelling at her. Leaping backwards, however, turned out to be what one might call the opposite of a good idea as when Abby did she tripped into the adjacent chair knocking herself, all of the chairs, and the chairs' former occupants to the ground with an almost thunderous crash.
"I'm sorry!" Abigail squeaked, although whether her apology was meant for Ryan or the group that she'd just knocked over was somewhat unclear.
Tom jumped having heard a crash followed shortly by Ryan's shouting at them from downstairs. "Should we go check on them?" he asked Daz in a tone that was a mixture of confusion and concern. "They might start breaking things."
"I'm sorry!" Abigail squeaked, although whether her apology was meant for Ryan or the group that she'd just knocked over was somewhat unclear.
Tom jumped having heard a crash followed shortly by Ryan's shouting at them from downstairs. "Should we go check on them?" he asked Daz in a tone that was a mixture of confusion and concern. "They might start breaking things."
“
In the office, Renée nearly dropped the cup of tea she was drinking as the crash downstairs startled her from her thoughts. As she lifted it to her mouth again, ignoring the liquid spilled on the front of her dress, Rose glanced at his watch - four and a half hours, precisely. Sighing, he fixed his sleeves one more time, as though it might settle his feelings - unsurprisingly, it didn't - and made a move towards the door, where Tom and Daz awaited. The manor's owner seemed either apathetic or unaware of the current situation, and Rose couldn't help but hope that it was the guilt of the situation, finally catching up to her.
He sighed - probably not. It was more likely just another mood of Renée's.
"Should we go check on them?" Tom's voice, anxious but somehow muffled, streamed in through the loudspeaker mounted on the office door. Rose glanced back at Renée, who again gave him only a blank stare. "They might start breaking things."
"Hurry and check. Bring someone else with you, too," Rose's mind cast around, trying to recall those who had returned to the manor. "Take Matt, but be careful."
"It will be fine, Rose," Renée spoke for the first time in the last half hour, peering at him expressionlessly over her cup. "Please calm yourself. They are only five children."
"Only-!" Rose resisted the urge - the very powerful urge - to scratch at his smartly-combed hair in frustration. If only Renée could be a bit more consistent in her logic - they were only children, indeed, when she wanted them that way. Otherwise, they were evil filth, or weaklings, or whatever excuse his mistress felt like using on that particular day. He eyed her peripherally as the guards' footsteps faded away, and sighed.
"No. On with the plan, yes? How exactly do you want me to explain to them this - this kind of a game?"
"Please excuse me, Rose. Would you bring me some more tea?"
Blinking, Linde tried to sit up, his knees seeming to crack with some pain that he could not remember. Strange, that his arms didn't move to help the process, either. This space was dark, and gray and somehow very small - no, that wasn't it. Focusing on his face, Linde realized that he was wearing something. Something thick, strapped across his eyes like-
A blindfold.
His insides succumbed suddenly to gravity as he processed this. And the thing inside his mouth - cloth, also - a gag? Arm bindings?
What? Linde suddenly spun on his knees, disoriented by a hit that had seemed to come out of nowhere. He hadn't seen the motion, or even the attacker, but he had proof of someone's presence here - someone who he still couldn't quite place, even though that "someone" had both his arms bound behind him and a foot in his back. It was eerie; he couldn't even hear this person breathing hard.
There were people like this? He smashed his hand into the ground, searching for something tangible. And why should they come after someone like him? As Linde's mind spun, the attacker pressed down hard with his foot, forcing his nose to the ground. He felt vomit rising in his throat - vomit, that unfortunately was held back by the gag and exploded in the back of his mouth instead. Sick - he couldn't even cough it out.
I'm going to die!
The pressure on his back lifted, but Linde felt a rush in the air as the person moved - she was in front of him now, lifting the blindfold.
Wait.
A girl. He had just been completely beaten - by this girl.
"More awake now?" she asked, pulling him to his feet - a difficult task, since Linde was both nauseous and tied into his kneeling position. "You should be grateful. I got you in your sleep, you know. Didn't even have to draw blood."
"Let go of me!" Linde tried to say, but it came out in syllables that sounding more like thick bubbling - gross. A little vomit trickled out from behind the cloth, and Linde flinched away as the woman stepped in to wipe it from his face.
"A lot of them tried to fight, I'm guessing. But you were good." Not that his "goodness" seemed to please her - she was frowning a little, not quite the sadist that he would have expected from her words. "Come on, let's go."
As the kidnapper - that was what she was, right? - grabbed Linde by the shoulders, he caught a glimpse of the car to his left - the vehicle he had arrived in? There was no license plate. This was completely unreal. He felt as though he had left his body a long time ago, and was watching himself get dragged away. His own guardian angel.
"Look up."
He obeyed - because she had jerked his head back by the hair - and nearly forgot to breath out. The stuff in his throat began to slide back down; Linde coughed wildly to stop it.
The house was magnificent - no, it couldn't really be called a house. A castle perhaps, one of the medieval sorts without any lighting. Linde caught his breath and continued to stare. It was made of what seemed to be white marble, with little gold details on the side - who could afford to gild a house with gold, anyways? A stone dragon rose from one of the gardens, seeming to eye the arrivals imperiously. Coldly.
Was this a cult sacrifice or something? He winced, eyes trailing down towards his own throat. How would they do it?
Would it hurt?
What a dumb question.
But she pushed him in the direction of the house and not the dragon - a place that seemed no more inviting, for all its lavish details - and he tripped again, over his knees still tied to his hands. If he wasn't paralyzed with fear, he might have glared at this woman. Or something. It was a classic, to escape by biting - but not a distinct possibility. So the girl managed to herd him up, over rows of jagged rocks through what seemed to be a monochrome picture of a house, unfolded in 3D.
It was like one of those grand theatres his old teacher had shown him - flawless in the brochure, but only real up close. The building was the same, but the sky wasn't as blue as he imagined, and the throngs of tourists obscured his view. It was exactly the same here - he could see the cracks in the walls, and the dirt creeping up the sides of the white as she brought him to a stop before the front steps. The twin pillars that seemed to reach to the sky bore brown, water-shaped marks as though they had just been washed and dried.
It was no less imposing for that - perhaps more so, since it was so real. Linde gulped - and spat again, as the stranger kicked him in the back, sending him sprawling across the last steps to the double doors.
"There seems to be some disorder in the foyer, George, you should hold him out here for now."
George. So, that was her name.
"HEY, BASTARDS. YOU BETTER LET ME OUT IF YOU WANNA FUCKING LIVE."
George shrugged. Linde felt a chill run down his spine, his fear suddenly skyrocketing along with the other boy's - or whoever it was in there's - voice. ”
He sighed - probably not. It was more likely just another mood of Renée's.
"Should we go check on them?" Tom's voice, anxious but somehow muffled, streamed in through the loudspeaker mounted on the office door. Rose glanced back at Renée, who again gave him only a blank stare. "They might start breaking things."
"Hurry and check. Bring someone else with you, too," Rose's mind cast around, trying to recall those who had returned to the manor. "Take Matt, but be careful."
"It will be fine, Rose," Renée spoke for the first time in the last half hour, peering at him expressionlessly over her cup. "Please calm yourself. They are only five children."
"Only-!" Rose resisted the urge - the very powerful urge - to scratch at his smartly-combed hair in frustration. If only Renée could be a bit more consistent in her logic - they were only children, indeed, when she wanted them that way. Otherwise, they were evil filth, or weaklings, or whatever excuse his mistress felt like using on that particular day. He eyed her peripherally as the guards' footsteps faded away, and sighed.
"No. On with the plan, yes? How exactly do you want me to explain to them this - this kind of a game?"
"Please excuse me, Rose. Would you bring me some more tea?"
* * *
Blinking, Linde tried to sit up, his knees seeming to crack with some pain that he could not remember. Strange, that his arms didn't move to help the process, either. This space was dark, and gray and somehow very small - no, that wasn't it. Focusing on his face, Linde realized that he was wearing something. Something thick, strapped across his eyes like-
A blindfold.
His insides succumbed suddenly to gravity as he processed this. And the thing inside his mouth - cloth, also - a gag? Arm bindings?
What? Linde suddenly spun on his knees, disoriented by a hit that had seemed to come out of nowhere. He hadn't seen the motion, or even the attacker, but he had proof of someone's presence here - someone who he still couldn't quite place, even though that "someone" had both his arms bound behind him and a foot in his back. It was eerie; he couldn't even hear this person breathing hard.
There were people like this? He smashed his hand into the ground, searching for something tangible. And why should they come after someone like him? As Linde's mind spun, the attacker pressed down hard with his foot, forcing his nose to the ground. He felt vomit rising in his throat - vomit, that unfortunately was held back by the gag and exploded in the back of his mouth instead. Sick - he couldn't even cough it out.
I'm going to die!
The pressure on his back lifted, but Linde felt a rush in the air as the person moved - she was in front of him now, lifting the blindfold.
Wait.
A girl. He had just been completely beaten - by this girl.
"More awake now?" she asked, pulling him to his feet - a difficult task, since Linde was both nauseous and tied into his kneeling position. "You should be grateful. I got you in your sleep, you know. Didn't even have to draw blood."
"Let go of me!" Linde tried to say, but it came out in syllables that sounding more like thick bubbling - gross. A little vomit trickled out from behind the cloth, and Linde flinched away as the woman stepped in to wipe it from his face.
"A lot of them tried to fight, I'm guessing. But you were good." Not that his "goodness" seemed to please her - she was frowning a little, not quite the sadist that he would have expected from her words. "Come on, let's go."
As the kidnapper - that was what she was, right? - grabbed Linde by the shoulders, he caught a glimpse of the car to his left - the vehicle he had arrived in? There was no license plate. This was completely unreal. He felt as though he had left his body a long time ago, and was watching himself get dragged away. His own guardian angel.
"Look up."
He obeyed - because she had jerked his head back by the hair - and nearly forgot to breath out. The stuff in his throat began to slide back down; Linde coughed wildly to stop it.
The house was magnificent - no, it couldn't really be called a house. A castle perhaps, one of the medieval sorts without any lighting. Linde caught his breath and continued to stare. It was made of what seemed to be white marble, with little gold details on the side - who could afford to gild a house with gold, anyways? A stone dragon rose from one of the gardens, seeming to eye the arrivals imperiously. Coldly.
Was this a cult sacrifice or something? He winced, eyes trailing down towards his own throat. How would they do it?
Would it hurt?
What a dumb question.
But she pushed him in the direction of the house and not the dragon - a place that seemed no more inviting, for all its lavish details - and he tripped again, over his knees still tied to his hands. If he wasn't paralyzed with fear, he might have glared at this woman. Or something. It was a classic, to escape by biting - but not a distinct possibility. So the girl managed to herd him up, over rows of jagged rocks through what seemed to be a monochrome picture of a house, unfolded in 3D.
It was like one of those grand theatres his old teacher had shown him - flawless in the brochure, but only real up close. The building was the same, but the sky wasn't as blue as he imagined, and the throngs of tourists obscured his view. It was exactly the same here - he could see the cracks in the walls, and the dirt creeping up the sides of the white as she brought him to a stop before the front steps. The twin pillars that seemed to reach to the sky bore brown, water-shaped marks as though they had just been washed and dried.
It was no less imposing for that - perhaps more so, since it was so real. Linde gulped - and spat again, as the stranger kicked him in the back, sending him sprawling across the last steps to the double doors.
"There seems to be some disorder in the foyer, George, you should hold him out here for now."
George. So, that was her name.
"HEY, BASTARDS. YOU BETTER LET ME OUT IF YOU WANNA FUCKING LIVE."
George shrugged. Linde felt a chill run down his spine, his fear suddenly skyrocketing along with the other boy's - or whoever it was in there's - voice. ”
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Papers spread out before him, sitting with his legs in a criss-cross formation, Quinn was pondering. He was currently trying to hack into the database of a very large social networking site, in search of a particular man. He was planning to pitch a building plan to him under one of his many pseudonyms but hacking into the database was proving to be one of the more difficult steps to the plan. It made sense, networking sites nowadays were extremely paranoid about their information and they held way more of it than the users themselves knew about. If the information was leaked or stolen, they would have a lot of problems on their hands. This was the information that Quinn was trying to get his hands on.
"Information is power," he murmured in a whisper and his eye ran across the information on his laptop screen for the second time.
To be honest, he's only hacked a few low-grade banks and even then they weren't nearly secure enough in comparison to this site. He didn't even want any money, just a little bit of info. Some places he frequents, the ads he clicks on, possibly a few of his lower visibility comrades. Nothing too illegal. Quinn was about to ponder hacking into the man's credit card purchases instead when the buzzer to his apartment went off. Quinn's eye's only left the screen momentarily before deciding that whoever it was could wait until he was done. He barely had any visitors anyway. No one should be coming up to see him.
The buzzer went off again.
The brunette pinched the bridge of his nose and allowed an uncharacteristic frown to claim his face. Whoever it was should have the decency to be patient, as whoever is wasting he precious time should kindly make the decision to take a long walk off a short-
And again.
Sighing, and closing the screen of his laptop, Quinn resolved to fire off a few well meaning insults to whoever decided to interrupt his scheming with whatever unimportant nonsense they intended to bother him with. It was probably those girls who tried to sell him cookies last week. He was certain that he had sent them off well enough when he sold them a box of their own cookies but apparently he needed to sell them their clothes back before they made the wise decision to leave him alone. His bones ached from sitting in such a stationary position so long and he nearly dragged himself to the door.
Peeking through the peephole to his door, Quinn froze.
Through the hole, Quinn saw a tall, bald man, with tinted glasses and a black suit, standing stock still in front of his door. No expression on his face, still as a dead man. This was interesting.
Quinn considered for a short time on whether he should actually answer the door and be faced with whatever this man had in store for him. He was obviously a man of business, serious business. A professional probably, hired by someone with money to spend. After the door buzzer went off a few more times, the brunette resolved to stay quiet and hope the man in the suit went away. Whatever trouble he was about to bring, Quinn didn't want any part of it. There were warning bells going off inside of his head, all of them. Could he be with networking site? He knew they were paranoid but..-
The door handle started moving and he saw the door frame shake with a thud. He was trying to break down the door! Quinn grabbed at the rosary beneath his shirt and kissed the ring on his finger in a gesture of luck. Standing here was obviously not a good idea. The doors to his apartment were cheaply made and would break at any moment. This man was obviously not here for anything friendly. Quinn took off toward his kitchen just as the door broke. The man caught sight of him and barreled toward him with an amazing speed. Quinn climbed over the chairs in his kitchen and onto the table. The man picked up the chairs and flicked them at Quinn's head like they were toothpicks.
"Jesus!" he exclaimed as he nearly tripped off of the table and jumped off, heading for his patio. He almost fumbled the door and opened it, then closed it jut before the mystery man could wring his neck. "Now sir, if we could just discuss this like civilized human beings perhaps we could come to a favorable compromise-" Quinn's attempt at a 'civilized' was cut short when the glass barrier between him and his enemy was shattered by his kitchen table. He grimaced as he tried to avoid the shards of glass that pelted his frame.
The man was throwing punches now and Quinn had run out of room to avoid him. He was on a patio, three stories up from the ground. If he jumped, then there was only a small chance of survival. One of the man's punches connected with his shoulder and Quinn fell against the railing of his patio. He pulled himself up and hooked one of his legs over the railing. A fifteen percent chance of survival at the most. An arm wrangled his body and he was hoisted above the ground. Another arm went around his head, covering his eyes and blinding him to his environment. He was being pulled back into his apartment, he knew that. His efforts at putting up a fight were pitifully restrained and he felt a sharp pain in his side. Then the world went black.
"Information is power," he murmured in a whisper and his eye ran across the information on his laptop screen for the second time.
To be honest, he's only hacked a few low-grade banks and even then they weren't nearly secure enough in comparison to this site. He didn't even want any money, just a little bit of info. Some places he frequents, the ads he clicks on, possibly a few of his lower visibility comrades. Nothing too illegal. Quinn was about to ponder hacking into the man's credit card purchases instead when the buzzer to his apartment went off. Quinn's eye's only left the screen momentarily before deciding that whoever it was could wait until he was done. He barely had any visitors anyway. No one should be coming up to see him.
The buzzer went off again.
The brunette pinched the bridge of his nose and allowed an uncharacteristic frown to claim his face. Whoever it was should have the decency to be patient, as whoever is wasting he precious time should kindly make the decision to take a long walk off a short-
And again.
Sighing, and closing the screen of his laptop, Quinn resolved to fire off a few well meaning insults to whoever decided to interrupt his scheming with whatever unimportant nonsense they intended to bother him with. It was probably those girls who tried to sell him cookies last week. He was certain that he had sent them off well enough when he sold them a box of their own cookies but apparently he needed to sell them their clothes back before they made the wise decision to leave him alone. His bones ached from sitting in such a stationary position so long and he nearly dragged himself to the door.
Peeking through the peephole to his door, Quinn froze.
Through the hole, Quinn saw a tall, bald man, with tinted glasses and a black suit, standing stock still in front of his door. No expression on his face, still as a dead man. This was interesting.
Quinn considered for a short time on whether he should actually answer the door and be faced with whatever this man had in store for him. He was obviously a man of business, serious business. A professional probably, hired by someone with money to spend. After the door buzzer went off a few more times, the brunette resolved to stay quiet and hope the man in the suit went away. Whatever trouble he was about to bring, Quinn didn't want any part of it. There were warning bells going off inside of his head, all of them. Could he be with networking site? He knew they were paranoid but..-
The door handle started moving and he saw the door frame shake with a thud. He was trying to break down the door! Quinn grabbed at the rosary beneath his shirt and kissed the ring on his finger in a gesture of luck. Standing here was obviously not a good idea. The doors to his apartment were cheaply made and would break at any moment. This man was obviously not here for anything friendly. Quinn took off toward his kitchen just as the door broke. The man caught sight of him and barreled toward him with an amazing speed. Quinn climbed over the chairs in his kitchen and onto the table. The man picked up the chairs and flicked them at Quinn's head like they were toothpicks.
"Jesus!" he exclaimed as he nearly tripped off of the table and jumped off, heading for his patio. He almost fumbled the door and opened it, then closed it jut before the mystery man could wring his neck. "Now sir, if we could just discuss this like civilized human beings perhaps we could come to a favorable compromise-" Quinn's attempt at a 'civilized' was cut short when the glass barrier between him and his enemy was shattered by his kitchen table. He grimaced as he tried to avoid the shards of glass that pelted his frame.
The man was throwing punches now and Quinn had run out of room to avoid him. He was on a patio, three stories up from the ground. If he jumped, then there was only a small chance of survival. One of the man's punches connected with his shoulder and Quinn fell against the railing of his patio. He pulled himself up and hooked one of his legs over the railing. A fifteen percent chance of survival at the most. An arm wrangled his body and he was hoisted above the ground. Another arm went around his head, covering his eyes and blinding him to his environment. He was being pulled back into his apartment, he knew that. His efforts at putting up a fight were pitifully restrained and he felt a sharp pain in his side. Then the world went black.
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The yelling. That was the first thing that pitched in on Maria's muzzy consciousness. Someone was yelling, and someone - she decided - was too loud. Her head hurt. In fact, it throbbed copiously. She tried to focus on the words. A threat.
"HEY, BASTARDS. YOU BETTER LET ME OUT IF YOU WANNA FUCKING LIVE."
"Oh, shut up," she muttered, finding her arms unbound to her surprise. Apparently she'd been dumped in a chair, but the chair was lying backwards on the ground. It must have fallen, she decided, and that fall was what had stirred her. She had a vague recollection of being juddered, now that she thought about it.
She took a breath to clear her throat, and then spoke. "A clue for you. Whoever did this doesn't give a shit about your opinion." She finally prised her eyes open.
Forcing herself upright such that she slid off the prone chair, she knelt against the legs long enough to stop the world from spinning. Then she squinted around the place. She'd gotten the impression of a grand house as she'd arrived, but had been too busy fighting to pay much attention. See, look where your temper got you. You could have got here whole and unharmed. Instead you're all bust up, just when you need to be ready for action. The interior of this place was plush, to say the least. Maria knew she had a matter of moments before the guy started yelling at her. She'd met the type before, in dozens of gangs.
She also knew that if they clashed, he wouldn't back down and neither would she. So she raised a hand, hoping to forestall him. She owed her anger management shrink that much. "Instead of pissing and moaning about how you're going to get them, why don't you get the fuck out of the way or try to get the door open?"
With that, she forced herself to stand, then stamped on the chair repeatedly. Exquisite carven white oak splintered as the delinquent broke off the chair's legs. At every kick her head spun again and she found herself taking a mental catalogue. Her arm and shoulder hurt where she'd landed on them, grazed and embedded with glass and gravel. Her black eye was swelling shut, her lip slightly split. Her sternum ached with every intake of breath. Her chin was scabbing over, her stomach muscles ached, and she was covered in bruised places. Strands of her hair had clumped into vomit-coated spikes either side of her face, and whenever she moved, they tugged sharply. In the way of things like that this seemed to hurt almost as much as the torn nails with gravel wedged under them. Strange how tiny injuries often hurt more than big ones. Oh, and her t-shirt had been torn in the fight. She could feel the breeze on one side, where the cheap stitching down the side had given way altogether, coming up above her waist. It stank as well.
She shook herself mentally, trying to ignore the increasing pain in her skull. The door was golden, probably gold foil over heavy oak. If they could strip the foil they might be able to burn it down, but fires were notorious for not staying where they were put. She guessed the odds were fairly high that if they started on something like that security would come in and stop them. It was an old door, and so it would have an old-fashioned lock if it had one at all. At least it looked that way from this side. If that was the case, they might be able to jimmy it open before security came. If they were fast. If they could work out how. With a sinking certainty, it would be barred. That wasn't impossible, given time. Time they didn't have. A slimjim or a knife to wedge the gap open, a loop of wire around the bar. Except their inconsiderate kidnappers hadn't left coathangers lying about the place. She squinted into the corners of the room, and saw the telltale signs of a discreet camera.
"There," she croaked, pointing it out, before her resolve gave way and she doubled over, slinging an arm about her waist as she lowered her head to try to stop the pounding.
"HEY, BASTARDS. YOU BETTER LET ME OUT IF YOU WANNA FUCKING LIVE."
"Oh, shut up," she muttered, finding her arms unbound to her surprise. Apparently she'd been dumped in a chair, but the chair was lying backwards on the ground. It must have fallen, she decided, and that fall was what had stirred her. She had a vague recollection of being juddered, now that she thought about it.
She took a breath to clear her throat, and then spoke. "A clue for you. Whoever did this doesn't give a shit about your opinion." She finally prised her eyes open.
Forcing herself upright such that she slid off the prone chair, she knelt against the legs long enough to stop the world from spinning. Then she squinted around the place. She'd gotten the impression of a grand house as she'd arrived, but had been too busy fighting to pay much attention. See, look where your temper got you. You could have got here whole and unharmed. Instead you're all bust up, just when you need to be ready for action. The interior of this place was plush, to say the least. Maria knew she had a matter of moments before the guy started yelling at her. She'd met the type before, in dozens of gangs.
She also knew that if they clashed, he wouldn't back down and neither would she. So she raised a hand, hoping to forestall him. She owed her anger management shrink that much. "Instead of pissing and moaning about how you're going to get them, why don't you get the fuck out of the way or try to get the door open?"
With that, she forced herself to stand, then stamped on the chair repeatedly. Exquisite carven white oak splintered as the delinquent broke off the chair's legs. At every kick her head spun again and she found herself taking a mental catalogue. Her arm and shoulder hurt where she'd landed on them, grazed and embedded with glass and gravel. Her black eye was swelling shut, her lip slightly split. Her sternum ached with every intake of breath. Her chin was scabbing over, her stomach muscles ached, and she was covered in bruised places. Strands of her hair had clumped into vomit-coated spikes either side of her face, and whenever she moved, they tugged sharply. In the way of things like that this seemed to hurt almost as much as the torn nails with gravel wedged under them. Strange how tiny injuries often hurt more than big ones. Oh, and her t-shirt had been torn in the fight. She could feel the breeze on one side, where the cheap stitching down the side had given way altogether, coming up above her waist. It stank as well.
She shook herself mentally, trying to ignore the increasing pain in her skull. The door was golden, probably gold foil over heavy oak. If they could strip the foil they might be able to burn it down, but fires were notorious for not staying where they were put. She guessed the odds were fairly high that if they started on something like that security would come in and stop them. It was an old door, and so it would have an old-fashioned lock if it had one at all. At least it looked that way from this side. If that was the case, they might be able to jimmy it open before security came. If they were fast. If they could work out how. With a sinking certainty, it would be barred. That wasn't impossible, given time. Time they didn't have. A slimjim or a knife to wedge the gap open, a loop of wire around the bar. Except their inconsiderate kidnappers hadn't left coathangers lying about the place. She squinted into the corners of the room, and saw the telltale signs of a discreet camera.
"There," she croaked, pointing it out, before her resolve gave way and she doubled over, slinging an arm about her waist as she lowered her head to try to stop the pounding.
Ryan turned to glare at the girl, leaving off his pounding of the door. "They're gonna have to care once I get out of this place," He spat. He took a look at the girl - short, dyed hair, torn shirt, broken face - and then rolled his eyes mentally - gang girl, definitely from the looks of her. He'd seen her type a million times over - always thought they were so tough when they didn't realize that he was a freaking guy - he could kick their ass from one hell to the next without even thinking about it.
"Instead of pissing and moaning about how you're going to get them, why don't you get the fuck out of the way or try to get the door open?"
"What the fuck do you think I was trying to do, bitch? And I'm not the one in the way bitch." He asked, coldly.
The girl seemed to ignore him, looking around the room and then pointing into a corner, "There."
He glanced over and saw the twinklings of a camera lens and then turned fully away from the girl as she doubled over, about to puke. Weakling, he thought in disgust. But she had given him a bit of useful information, though he'd rather stab himself than admit it.
Ryan looked around and then walked towards one of the lovely antique chairs. He didn't bother pausing to admire its artistic quality before placing a foot on the seat and using his right hand to tear an arm off. It created a horrible wrenching noise that Ryan ignored as he hefted the arm, feeling its weight and then walked quickly over to the corner where the girl had pointed. Taking aim carefully, he threw the arm straight the the camera, cracking the lens and spinning it to that it faced the intersection between two walls.
Mentally, Ryan congratulated himself. It had been a very nice throw.
Without a doubt, there were probably other cameras in the room, but it didn't really matter. Ryan just wanted them to know that he wasn't someone to be messed with. If it was the only camera in the room, they wouldn't have a clue what was happening. And if that happened...
Someone's gonna get sent down here, and I'm going to cream them.
Outwardly, he allowed himself a tight grin and then walked over to another armchair - this one undamaged. He lifted it up - it was surprisingly heavy given its light design and cushiony feel and walked back over to the doors.
With a resounding BAM, Ryan smacked the double doors with his newly found weapon. There was a bit of an echo afterwards - the hall was extremely large and lacked any soft surfaces to absorb the sound - and Ryan's hands smarted from the impact, but he ignored the pain. It wasn't as if it was anything that he couldn't handle after all.
The chair had left no mark.
Scowling, Ryan smacked the doors again and again until finally, a small crack started to appear in the center of his throws. Grinning, he threw himself at the door again, heaving down hard -
The doors flew open, and Ryan tumbled back, getting another good smack on the head as he rolled to a stop, his poor battered chair landing at his side. The pain almost took Ryan into a vomiting fit, but he again forced it down, gritting his teeth and glaring at the door. He hadn't expected his plan to work so well.
Two people were standing there - they were the ones who had thrown the doors open so forcefully. One was unknown to Ryan, but the other - the other was his little 'friend - the one who had gotten him into this mess in the first place.
A cold grin materialized on Ryan's face.
Now that's it, He thought as he slowly stood up. Not only do I get out of here, but I get myself some revenge too. Fucking awesome. However, Ryan wasn't so stupid as to go straight in without some plan - this guy had managed to get into his room without waking him and take him out with a single blow. He'd been strong enough to carry Ryan - who was by no means light - and he definitely had some training, be it military or other.
So, instead of charging straight on, Ryan grabbed his chair, threw it at the two and then stampeded right after it.
"Instead of pissing and moaning about how you're going to get them, why don't you get the fuck out of the way or try to get the door open?"
"What the fuck do you think I was trying to do, bitch? And I'm not the one in the way bitch." He asked, coldly.
The girl seemed to ignore him, looking around the room and then pointing into a corner, "There."
He glanced over and saw the twinklings of a camera lens and then turned fully away from the girl as she doubled over, about to puke. Weakling, he thought in disgust. But she had given him a bit of useful information, though he'd rather stab himself than admit it.
Ryan looked around and then walked towards one of the lovely antique chairs. He didn't bother pausing to admire its artistic quality before placing a foot on the seat and using his right hand to tear an arm off. It created a horrible wrenching noise that Ryan ignored as he hefted the arm, feeling its weight and then walked quickly over to the corner where the girl had pointed. Taking aim carefully, he threw the arm straight the the camera, cracking the lens and spinning it to that it faced the intersection between two walls.
Mentally, Ryan congratulated himself. It had been a very nice throw.
Without a doubt, there were probably other cameras in the room, but it didn't really matter. Ryan just wanted them to know that he wasn't someone to be messed with. If it was the only camera in the room, they wouldn't have a clue what was happening. And if that happened...
Someone's gonna get sent down here, and I'm going to cream them.
Outwardly, he allowed himself a tight grin and then walked over to another armchair - this one undamaged. He lifted it up - it was surprisingly heavy given its light design and cushiony feel and walked back over to the doors.
With a resounding BAM, Ryan smacked the double doors with his newly found weapon. There was a bit of an echo afterwards - the hall was extremely large and lacked any soft surfaces to absorb the sound - and Ryan's hands smarted from the impact, but he ignored the pain. It wasn't as if it was anything that he couldn't handle after all.
The chair had left no mark.
Scowling, Ryan smacked the doors again and again until finally, a small crack started to appear in the center of his throws. Grinning, he threw himself at the door again, heaving down hard -
The doors flew open, and Ryan tumbled back, getting another good smack on the head as he rolled to a stop, his poor battered chair landing at his side. The pain almost took Ryan into a vomiting fit, but he again forced it down, gritting his teeth and glaring at the door. He hadn't expected his plan to work so well.
Two people were standing there - they were the ones who had thrown the doors open so forcefully. One was unknown to Ryan, but the other - the other was his little 'friend - the one who had gotten him into this mess in the first place.
A cold grin materialized on Ryan's face.
Now that's it, He thought as he slowly stood up. Not only do I get out of here, but I get myself some revenge too. Fucking awesome. However, Ryan wasn't so stupid as to go straight in without some plan - this guy had managed to get into his room without waking him and take him out with a single blow. He'd been strong enough to carry Ryan - who was by no means light - and he definitely had some training, be it military or other.
So, instead of charging straight on, Ryan grabbed his chair, threw it at the two and then stampeded right after it.
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Tom gave a shout of surprise as a chair flew by, barely missing him. And then Ryan, whom he recalled was one of the more physically dangerous ones, was charging at them. Quickly, Tom drew his taser and fired. He wasn't going to use a gun against Ryan unless it got to the point where he'd have to do so to escape with his own life.
Abby ducked behind one of the few chairs in the room that was somewhat intact in an attempt at taking cover from the ensuing madness. First she'd been shouted at when she was only trying to see if someone was alright, then she'd knocked all the unconscious people over, she'd have to remember to apologize for that, then the green haired boy had seemingly lost his mind and started tearing the room apart. Now the same green haired boy was attacking the man who had brought Abby here and some other person.
Upon seeing Maria curled up on the floor, however, Abigail left the chair she'd taken cover behind and ran over to her. Abby would have noticed sooner had the chaos been less. Kneeling beside her Abby said, perhaps a little too quietly, "Are you alright?" Well that wasn't a terribly intelligent question as it was quite obvious that the girl was not, in fact, alright. "I'm sorry that was a dumb question. What I mean is, are you going to be alright?"
Abby ducked behind one of the few chairs in the room that was somewhat intact in an attempt at taking cover from the ensuing madness. First she'd been shouted at when she was only trying to see if someone was alright, then she'd knocked all the unconscious people over, she'd have to remember to apologize for that, then the green haired boy had seemingly lost his mind and started tearing the room apart. Now the same green haired boy was attacking the man who had brought Abby here and some other person.
Upon seeing Maria curled up on the floor, however, Abigail left the chair she'd taken cover behind and ran over to her. Abby would have noticed sooner had the chaos been less. Kneeling beside her Abby said, perhaps a little too quietly, "Are you alright?" Well that wasn't a terribly intelligent question as it was quite obvious that the girl was not, in fact, alright. "I'm sorry that was a dumb question. What I mean is, are you going to be alright?"
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Dreams were soft, feathery things, with cruel, volatile intentions. Sleep was in tight cohoots with dreams, but still sometimes came without its partner.
The dense sleep Justin had been subjected to was one of those. A solitary captor... He forced his eyes open, rolling them around the room. A high, dizzying ceiling, well furnished interior, and a wonderful performance of a blue haired kid trying to break down the door. The door!
Justin gulped, head turning from the reboundign chair to the open doors. Had that kid really gotten through? No... No. Someone else had opened it from the other side. He picked himself up off the ground, forcing his sore back into begrudging cooperation.
Who'd kidnapped him? Were the others kidnapped as well? And what was up with Chair Kid's creepy grin? He shivered, having seen many smiles just like that before. I've had enough mental nuts in one lifetime, thank you very much! He wrapped his arms around himself, realizing that it was possible that he could be better at fighting. Maybe, maybe if he was stronger, maybe if he'd dealt with his father, maybe maybe maybe. Just... Shut up. Freaking out won't help you.
He let out a tiny grunt of aggitation before turning to keep the newcomers fully in sight. No way would he let anyone like Chair Kid or any kidnappers get into his blind spot. Speaking of which. For a little reassurance, he looked over his shoulder, pulling on an unwilling muscle, and spotted two girls. Okay, okay, girls he could deal with. But there were more than that, there had to be. Justin gulped.
The dense sleep Justin had been subjected to was one of those. A solitary captor... He forced his eyes open, rolling them around the room. A high, dizzying ceiling, well furnished interior, and a wonderful performance of a blue haired kid trying to break down the door. The door!
Justin gulped, head turning from the reboundign chair to the open doors. Had that kid really gotten through? No... No. Someone else had opened it from the other side. He picked himself up off the ground, forcing his sore back into begrudging cooperation.
Who'd kidnapped him? Were the others kidnapped as well? And what was up with Chair Kid's creepy grin? He shivered, having seen many smiles just like that before. I've had enough mental nuts in one lifetime, thank you very much! He wrapped his arms around himself, realizing that it was possible that he could be better at fighting. Maybe, maybe if he was stronger, maybe if he'd dealt with his father, maybe maybe maybe. Just... Shut up. Freaking out won't help you.
He let out a tiny grunt of aggitation before turning to keep the newcomers fully in sight. No way would he let anyone like Chair Kid or any kidnappers get into his blind spot. Speaking of which. For a little reassurance, he looked over his shoulder, pulling on an unwilling muscle, and spotted two girls. Okay, okay, girls he could deal with. But there were more than that, there had to be. Justin gulped.
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"You're in my fucking way - " Maria started to snarl from the floor, but then the girl she'd spotted earlier spoke to her. Maria shook her head, overwhelmed and mildly irritated by all the excessive apologies. "Yeah, probably," she muttered. Probably she had concussion, and should go to a hospital. Right now though... no.
As the doors opened suddenly, Maria stood up. "Way to go, genius," she said through gritted teeth. Still, no stopping now. She grabbed another chair, only she didn't let go of it as she barged forward. Hopefully it would do well as both shield as well as weapon.
As the doors opened suddenly, Maria stood up. "Way to go, genius," she said through gritted teeth. Still, no stopping now. She grabbed another chair, only she didn't let go of it as she barged forward. Hopefully it would do well as both shield as well as weapon.
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