![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ladybug_archiveA long blurb, perhaps, but a blurb nevertheless. XD; This one is for a fic where Valon and Alister are both being held hostage somewhere. Even though the scene may suggest otherwise, it's actually going to be Valon who eventually gets hurt the worst.
Even in the darkened cell, Valon could see the silhouettes on the wall as they viciously engaged in mortal combat. He gripped the bars in admitted alarm, every now and then hearing a grunt or a hiss of pain and having to dodge the occassional flying patch of blood. Then there was an abrupt, sickening, smacking sound and a body crashed to the floor in the next cell over. Since the cells were separated by bars and not brick walls, Valon could see the form as it lay still on its stomach. It was obviously Alister, as the others gathered around were laughing as they continued to strike at him with their weaponry and hands and feet.
A sudden anger filled Valon's heart as he watched this and he picked up a rock left abandoned in the corner of the room, throwing it with force at the one who seemed to be the ringleader. "Keep away from him!" he yelled, his Australian accent thickening. He couldn't help but feel a certain satisfaction as the rock hit its mark and the man staggered back with a grunt of pain. "What did he ever do to you?!"
"Nothing, punk," the second-in-command retorted, retrieving the rock and throwing it back through the bars in an attempt to strike Valon. "We're just having some fun with him."
Valon dodged as the rock struck the bars on the other side, shattering into several pieces. "I don't think he was havin' much fun," he said darkly. "Leave him alone!"
A third one struck Alister hard on the back with a crowbar, but upon not receiving so much as a flinch in reaction, he headed for the door in boredom. "He'll be feeling that tomorrow," he said with a wicked smirk, "if he'll be feeling anything, that is." It wasn't clear whether he meant that he thought Alister was dead or even paralyzed, but Valon didn't care what his meaning had been. He watched all of the thugs follow suit, each one giving Alister's battered body a final blow before leaving. The last one out locked the door with a clang, spitting and cursing at Valon as he went up the darkened stairs of the dungeon.
Valon, who normally would have boiled over with anger at the gesture, now ignored it and knelt down near the bars, trying to reach through far enough to grab Alister's wrist and check for a pulse. Finding that his arm wouldn't stretch that far, he clenched his fist in frustration and had to resort to calling to his friend. "Alister! Come on, chum, get up! Get up!" But it seemed to be no use. Alister remained unresponsive to Valon's cries, laying deathly still on the cold floor.
In frustration Valon grabbed the bars tightly, rattling them and trying to see if they would simply give way---to no avail. He called to Alister again, still not receiving an answer, and this time noticed a small pool of blood next to the redhead. Not that he hadn't expected Alister to be wounded, but it was still an unpleasant sight. And what had that horrible smacking sound been? Perhaps . . . perhaps Alister's spine was broken or he had hit his head much too hard on the wall. . . .
Valon slumped back in despair, watching Alister morosely. There wasn't more than a couple of yards between them, but yet Valon simply couldn't get through the bars to offer the help that Alister must need. He sighed. There wasn't much point in calling to him; he was either unconscious or dead. So Valon leaned against the wall, studying the ceiling and the small, barred window, and wondered how they were ever going to escape.
He hated small areas, especially if he was locked into them and not able to leave. He had always been a bit claustrophobic, but that had increased after he had been thrown into prison. Though he had vowed he wouldn't allow himself to be trapped somewhere again, here he was---locked in another cell, alone, while his comrade lay motionless next door. And there was no telling where Raphael was. Had he been captured too? If so, where was he?
An indeterminable amount of time passed, during which Valon was mostly lost in his thoughts. When a weak groan finally brought him back to the present again, he was relieved to hear it. "Alister?" he called softly, turning to peer into the other cell.
The redhead was, indeed, waking up. And it appeared that he wasn't paralyzed in any way. Slowly he pulled himself into a sitting position, looking blearily at the blood and then at his own flesh. Shakily he reached up, rubbing gingerly at the back of his head. He seemed quite oblivious to anyone else being there.
"Hey!" Valon yelled, not liking being apparently ignored, especially when he'd been worried. Alister looked over, his eyes half-open and bloodshot. "Are you alright, chum?" Valon demanded. "For a while there, I thought you might've kicked the bucket."
Alister grunted. "After I stop feeling like I was run over by a truck, I'll get back to you on if I'm 'alright,'" he said.
Even in the darkened cell, Valon could see the silhouettes on the wall as they viciously engaged in mortal combat. He gripped the bars in admitted alarm, every now and then hearing a grunt or a hiss of pain and having to dodge the occassional flying patch of blood. Then there was an abrupt, sickening, smacking sound and a body crashed to the floor in the next cell over. Since the cells were separated by bars and not brick walls, Valon could see the form as it lay still on its stomach. It was obviously Alister, as the others gathered around were laughing as they continued to strike at him with their weaponry and hands and feet.
A sudden anger filled Valon's heart as he watched this and he picked up a rock left abandoned in the corner of the room, throwing it with force at the one who seemed to be the ringleader. "Keep away from him!" he yelled, his Australian accent thickening. He couldn't help but feel a certain satisfaction as the rock hit its mark and the man staggered back with a grunt of pain. "What did he ever do to you?!"
"Nothing, punk," the second-in-command retorted, retrieving the rock and throwing it back through the bars in an attempt to strike Valon. "We're just having some fun with him."
Valon dodged as the rock struck the bars on the other side, shattering into several pieces. "I don't think he was havin' much fun," he said darkly. "Leave him alone!"
A third one struck Alister hard on the back with a crowbar, but upon not receiving so much as a flinch in reaction, he headed for the door in boredom. "He'll be feeling that tomorrow," he said with a wicked smirk, "if he'll be feeling anything, that is." It wasn't clear whether he meant that he thought Alister was dead or even paralyzed, but Valon didn't care what his meaning had been. He watched all of the thugs follow suit, each one giving Alister's battered body a final blow before leaving. The last one out locked the door with a clang, spitting and cursing at Valon as he went up the darkened stairs of the dungeon.
Valon, who normally would have boiled over with anger at the gesture, now ignored it and knelt down near the bars, trying to reach through far enough to grab Alister's wrist and check for a pulse. Finding that his arm wouldn't stretch that far, he clenched his fist in frustration and had to resort to calling to his friend. "Alister! Come on, chum, get up! Get up!" But it seemed to be no use. Alister remained unresponsive to Valon's cries, laying deathly still on the cold floor.
In frustration Valon grabbed the bars tightly, rattling them and trying to see if they would simply give way---to no avail. He called to Alister again, still not receiving an answer, and this time noticed a small pool of blood next to the redhead. Not that he hadn't expected Alister to be wounded, but it was still an unpleasant sight. And what had that horrible smacking sound been? Perhaps . . . perhaps Alister's spine was broken or he had hit his head much too hard on the wall. . . .
Valon slumped back in despair, watching Alister morosely. There wasn't more than a couple of yards between them, but yet Valon simply couldn't get through the bars to offer the help that Alister must need. He sighed. There wasn't much point in calling to him; he was either unconscious or dead. So Valon leaned against the wall, studying the ceiling and the small, barred window, and wondered how they were ever going to escape.
He hated small areas, especially if he was locked into them and not able to leave. He had always been a bit claustrophobic, but that had increased after he had been thrown into prison. Though he had vowed he wouldn't allow himself to be trapped somewhere again, here he was---locked in another cell, alone, while his comrade lay motionless next door. And there was no telling where Raphael was. Had he been captured too? If so, where was he?
An indeterminable amount of time passed, during which Valon was mostly lost in his thoughts. When a weak groan finally brought him back to the present again, he was relieved to hear it. "Alister?" he called softly, turning to peer into the other cell.
The redhead was, indeed, waking up. And it appeared that he wasn't paralyzed in any way. Slowly he pulled himself into a sitting position, looking blearily at the blood and then at his own flesh. Shakily he reached up, rubbing gingerly at the back of his head. He seemed quite oblivious to anyone else being there.
"Hey!" Valon yelled, not liking being apparently ignored, especially when he'd been worried. Alister looked over, his eyes half-open and bloodshot. "Are you alright, chum?" Valon demanded. "For a while there, I thought you might've kicked the bucket."
Alister grunted. "After I stop feeling like I was run over by a truck, I'll get back to you on if I'm 'alright,'" he said.
