Entry tags:
[PSL] Stay the night (for
slapthelibrarian)
[The brutal hit sends him straight down and Flynn wonders if there is a word for an open-hand slap that makes you pirouette on the spot before you crash to the ground. 'Slap' really seems so linguistically inefficient to convey the impact that cracks his skin, making him taste blood in his mouth again. Apparently the Librarian still hasn't learned his lesson, someone above him says in a voice that makes his blood run cold.
It's been a horrid couple of days, ever since the man called Darren Rathmore and his goons got their hands on him so he'd help them uncover Genghis Khan's tomb and the riches therein. Flynn has been in tight spots before but this is different; where Wilde and his lackeys had retained a certain suaveness to their methods, Rathmore was physical and cruel; and Flynn's various attempts to escape or sabotage the artifacts had been met with severe punishment. Now, in the middle of the Mongolian forest, he had tried yet again to spring a defense mechanism, rendering two of Rathmore's men incapacitated.
But two wasn't nearly enough.
When his latest plan fails, Flynn can feel the last bit of hope drain away. He's been dragged through this wasteland on a bare minimum of food and water and he's exhausted, physically and mentally. Everything hurts; he's never been in so much pain before, not even in his final battle with Wilde and he is dangerously close to a breaking point. Part of him just wants Rathmore to get it over with, wants it all to stop. The other part is terrified of exactly that, of more pain, more punishment.
A boot roughly connects with Flynn's side and his face, sending him on his back before it settles on his chest as he sputters, gasping for air.]
I can open it! [Somehow he manages to form the words. His voice comes out hoarse and spent from too much screaming; the boot is making it hard to breathe.] Y-you still need me!
[The boot vanishes and Flynn almost cries in relief, until he is roughly pulled back onto his feet, fingers digging into his hair, yanking his head back.] No, I can open it right now, please!
It's been a horrid couple of days, ever since the man called Darren Rathmore and his goons got their hands on him so he'd help them uncover Genghis Khan's tomb and the riches therein. Flynn has been in tight spots before but this is different; where Wilde and his lackeys had retained a certain suaveness to their methods, Rathmore was physical and cruel; and Flynn's various attempts to escape or sabotage the artifacts had been met with severe punishment. Now, in the middle of the Mongolian forest, he had tried yet again to spring a defense mechanism, rendering two of Rathmore's men incapacitated.
But two wasn't nearly enough.
When his latest plan fails, Flynn can feel the last bit of hope drain away. He's been dragged through this wasteland on a bare minimum of food and water and he's exhausted, physically and mentally. Everything hurts; he's never been in so much pain before, not even in his final battle with Wilde and he is dangerously close to a breaking point. Part of him just wants Rathmore to get it over with, wants it all to stop. The other part is terrified of exactly that, of more pain, more punishment.
A boot roughly connects with Flynn's side and his face, sending him on his back before it settles on his chest as he sputters, gasping for air.]
I can open it! [Somehow he manages to form the words. His voice comes out hoarse and spent from too much screaming; the boot is making it hard to breathe.] Y-you still need me!
[The boot vanishes and Flynn almost cries in relief, until he is roughly pulled back onto his feet, fingers digging into his hair, yanking his head back.] No, I can open it right now, please!
Page 1 of 5