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Post by donovan on Jun 10, 2012 22:29:17 GMT -6
 The throbbing in his shoulders had long since overwhelmed whatever other feeling Donovan might have had left in the stubs of his wings. His entire body ached, but his shoulders were the worst. It was bad enough that he was hanging limply from the ceiling by shackles around his wrists (he wouldn’t be hanging, except the dickwads had shot him so full of muscle relaxant he couldn’t so much as lift his head from where it was slumped in front of his mangled chest). The throbbing from that had settled somewhere deep down in his joints, making even the slightest motion agony. He’d lost feelings in his arms, as well. His heart was working hard enough to pump blood through his bruised and battered body as it was. It couldn’t overcome gravity and the awkward angle to get blood all the way to his fingertips.
It was more than that, though. Somehow, they’d known about the wing stubs on his back. Not surprising, he supposed, considering the injury was probably in the records of why he had been discharged from the army all those centuries ago. However they had found out, they’d taken full advantage of it. The stubs had been more or less healed before now, but after all the damage the Navy had done to them this time around, they were oozing something down his back. He assumed it was blood, but who knew. They were usually horribly oversensitive to any kind of touch or pressure, but the pain was too much for him to feel anything else.
And that was only the tip of the iceberg as far as the damage they’d done went. His shirt hung in tatters from his shoulders, sticking in the fresh blood that oozed from the gashes all across his chest and back. There were scorches from branding irons on every surface that hadn’t been touched by the whip (and some that had). Donovan was fairly sure there were a couple of blades sticking out of his legs in random directions. He couldn’t see them, though; one eye was swollen shut from the times he’d been struck across the face. Blood dripped from his mouth and ran down from his scalp, crusting around the other eye and making it difficult to see anything even if he tried. Several pinpricks on his neck burned from where they’d stuck needle after needle into him, injecting him with drugs so that his ridiculous strength would do him no good. No matter how hard he tried, Donovan couldn’t do so much as twitch his fingers.
His head pounded in time with his heartbeat, a faint roaring in his ears. He’d been left alone for the past ten minutes or so, the interrogators probably hoping the pain would soften him up a bit if it was the only thing he had to focus on. Donovan snorted inwardly. They’d spent god knew how long (he’d blacked out a few times, and he had no idea what time it was or when they had brought him in here; he only knew he’d been grabbed on his way home from bartending in the middle of the night) shouting questions at him about Dresdin’s movements. Where could they find the demon. What information did he have on such and such. How did he find out who the local Navy major was boinking the other night, and who paid him to do it. Questions Donovan didn’t know or care the answers to.
Even the few that he did, like where they might be able to grab the demon, Donovan refused to answer. He didn’t owe Dresdin anything – the demon had been an asshole to him from day one, blackmailing him into being some sort of lackey and then taking full advantage of the fact that Donovan couldn’t exactly say no – but it still rubbed him the wrong way to sell him out. Maybe it was just that the Irishman didn’t care for the Navy on the best of days, and especially not when they’d just spent the last few hours beating the crap out of him. They needed to get knocked down a few pegs. They were probably going to kill him anyway, so why make it easy on them?
Apparently his reprieve was over. The Navy interrogator stalked back over to him, coiling and uncoiling the whip mock-absently in his hands. Donovan didn’t bother to try and raise his head. The interrogator did it for him, hauling his head up with a handful of sweat-soaked, blood-matted hair. Donovan’s one usable eye glared at the man from behind the blood crusted all around it. ”Ready to talk, Shepard?” the man said with a leer. ”Or do you need a bit more convincing first?”
”Shove it up yer ass,” Donovan slurred, his accent as strong as it ever got these days. The words were barely recognizable, the drugged gryphon barely able to move his muscles even enough to form the words, but the Navy interrogator seemed to understand just fine. He backhanded Donovan across the face, sending a fresh wave of pain through the gryphon’s strained arms.
”Let’s try something new, then,” the man growled, and shoved a knife deep into Donovan’s side. The fresh, sharp pain cut through the rest, and Donovan barely managed to bite back a groan of pain. They’d kill him soon, he knew, if he didn’t talk, but somehow it was hard to bring himself to care. At least he would’ve gone down fighting.
Tagged: Dresdin :U
Words: 916 $$ added
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Post by dresdin on Jun 12, 2012 22:22:43 GMT -6
Why was it that Shepard seemed to be more of a hassle to have around than a help? When he wasn't saving/rescuing the fuckers Dresdin threw harm at, he was refusing to do something he was ordered to or was just being a huge pain in the demon's ass. He was supposed to be a mindless, but strong manservant/bitch, and all he had done in these past few weeks was make things harder. And now that Shepard had become a known accomplice of Dresdin, it wasn't exactly easy to get rid of him. Besides, other than make things difficult for him, he hadn't exactly done anything wrong. Though the way things had been going, something was bound to have happened. Donovan, unlike Dresdin, was sloppy and not so good at covering up his tracks. With these faults set aside, Donovan wasn't as dumb as Dresdin often thought he was- he often kept to himself and didn't often act out. No freelancer was dumb enough to attempt to nab Donovan Shepard, thugs were no problem for the strongman and pirates in small enough groups were child's play. And with his recent, forced affiliation with the demon, it was obvious who had captured the Irish gryphon.
The Navy made everything difficult these days. When the hell had they gotten so competent? Following Lurch's footsteps were relatively easy. He was hard to miss and showed up at the same time, same place, for the same gig he had been doing for a long time. After asking 'politely', Dresdin had gotten a clue from the gryphon's boss, said he had last been seen leaving at the end of his shift. He then followed the path the blonde had taken, which stopped at an alley where he had obviously been nabbed. Trash cans were lodged into the side of the brick building, there was dried blood on the old pavement and of course, a Navy badge and sword broken and off to the side. Donovan had been grabbed by the Navy, which meant that he was going to have to pull a rescue mission- something he had only ever had to do for Maddox.
Now don't get him wrong- Dresdin wasn't doing this out of any sort of attachment to the blonde man. He also wasn't worried about him spilling anything either, if that's what you were getting at. Donovan didn't know shit about Dresdin or what he actually did, other than that he was relatively famous information broker. It was all common knowledge. The less Donovan knew the better, for both their safeties, or so the demon had thought. There was no doubt that with Donovan's lack of information and the Navy's growing impatience with everything involving Dresdin, that the interrogators would not go above killing the grphon if he didn't squeal. And since Donovan didn't know shit, the only reason he was bothering to rescue Lurch was the same reason he bothered with him at all. Because he was useful. Even if he had been captured once, his strength was still an asset Dresdin was not ready to lose. Especially now that Aislinn had shown up back in this area, he didn't want to be left defenseless for too long. That woman, while short and young looking, was a whole bag of extra batshit crazy, and had vowed to kill the demon the next time she saw him. And when they had dated, he had seen her more than once follow through on that exact same promise with other people who had pissed her off. And while none of his other aggressors where quite like her, they were all equally threatening and batshit crazy. And with enemies like that, he needed good muscle to back him up. And for that, he needed Donovan.
Being in Navy bases always put Dresdin on edge. Being near the people who wanted his head on a silver platter wasn't exactly his type of fun. If he was anything like Donovan, he might've just barged in and tossed some people around. But no, the most badass he got was behind others pulling the strings or the occasional verbal beatdown. And since he had no strings to pull now that his main puppet was missing and there was no way the latter could be useful, all he could do was sneak around and hope he wasn't found before he found the lurch. Having spent many of his days down these corridors, Dresdin could find his way around rather quickly. He eventually came to the end of a spiral staircase, down into the depths of Sang Froid where the interrogation/torture rooms were. These were all too familiar to the dark haired man. A small, bemused smirk spread across the demon's face. Something always tickled him about the loathsome criminals he and Maddox used to to get to torture back in the day. The atmosphere down here made it, truly. The dark, claustrophobic feeling that the rooms gave off, the cool drops of water that hung down from the ceiling. The cold, chilly metal that clanked early and late at night.
After sneaking passed a tired warden, Dresdin found himself at the end of a long hallway, which is where Donovan had to be kept, since all of the other chambers were empty. He took in a gulp of air and slipped inside the room, locking the door from behind and turning to face the interrogator and Donovan, both whom looked tired and generally pissy. The only difference was that there was a knife in Donovan's side and the interrogator had a newfound smugness which even annoyed the demon. "Huh, lurch. Making new friends, I see." he commented dryly. The interrogator turned to Dresdin and pulled out his weapon. "DRESDIN, how the fu-" he was interrupted again by the black haired man. "Oy, just shut it already, would you? Both you and the blonde dumbass over there have caused me quite the migraine already- so stuff it dickwad." He then set the interrogator on fire and sauntered passed the flaming man and snatched his keys. He then crouched down in front of Donovan and scowled slightly. "You look like shit." Dresdin added, before picking the lock on Donovan's cuffed arms and ankles. "C'mon, we need to get moving. Don't have a lot of time before the idjits figure out where you went and why the asshole's on fire." There was a sudden pound on the door. "SIR, ARE YOU ALRIGHT IN THERE?"
Dresdin frowned and lightly tapped Donovan's shoulder with his foot. "Hm. They're earlier than I expected."
words: 1100 $$ added
notes: DONNEH. |D
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Post by donovan on Jun 21, 2012 8:53:25 GMT -6
Donovan didn’t expect any kind of rescue attempt. The only person who might be able to figure out where he was in time to do anything about it was Dresdin, and Donovan had no delusions about the demon giving a flying fuck about what happened to him. Dresdin might have some hold over the Irishman, with the blackmail and all, but Donovan hadn’t made it easy for him. He would rather the information the demon had found not get out, but it wouldn’t be the absolute end of the world if it did. Donovan wasn’t scared enough of that outcome to do everything the demon said unquestioningly, and he knew that pissed Dresdin off. So it didn’t seem likely that Dresdin would care one way or the other if Donovan was killed; the demon wasn’t the type to feel remorse that it had basically been his fault, and no doubt he would be able to find another poor sucker to act as muscle. Probably someone dumber this time.
The Irish gryphon couldn’t even bring himself to care that much if he didn’t make it out of this – and it looked more and more likely by the moment that he wouldn’t, as he felt more of his blood ooze out of his various wounds. It wasn’t like he had any friends that would miss him. He was more or less friendly with the other bouncers and bartenders at his work, but not so much that they would hesitate to replace him if he disappeared. Donovan was good at what he did, but not that good. His family… well. Donovan already hadn’t seen his ex-wife or daughter in centuries, so it wasn’t as though either of them would notice if he died. Even if he made it out of this, no one would be waiting for him to be happy he was alive.
Damn, that’s pathetic, Donovan thought, the corner of his mouth twisting into a self-deprecating smirk. He wasn’t the type to let himself dwell on his problems (and he had plenty of them), but when he stopped and thought about it, it was actually pretty damn sad. Oh well. Not like there was anything he could do about it now. Made it easier to commit himself to not doing what the Navy wanted; if he’d had someone to go back to, maybe he would’ve cared enough to break. As it was, he figured he might as well stick it to the bastards.
A rough hand grabbed Donovan by the bruised and battered jaw, pushing his head up again so that the interrogator could see his face. The gryphon’s gaze slid to the side, making sure his one usable eye didn’t meet the other man’s. His shades were long gone, and Donovan had no intention of letting the Navy man win by reading the answers he was looking for in his mind. Donovan’s obnoxious telepathy worked both ways, after all, and he couldn’t shut it off no matter how much he would have liked to at times. He kept his gaze focused off to the right of the interrogator, at a splash of blood on the wall that looked too old to have come from him. It didn’t look like they cleaned the place much. Probably wanted the general stink of the place and the old blood stains to intimidate new prisoners. Wouldn’t work on Donovan; he’d seen a lot worse. And once you’d had your wings cut off slowly with a dull, rusty saw, no other torture really seemed all that bad. It hurt, sure, but it’d be over soon enough one way or the other.
Donovan had to admit he was surprised when he saw the door behind the Navy interrogator open quietly, a familiar black-haired shape slipping through. He hadn’t thought Dresdin would care even if he did find out what had happened, but apparently he’d been wrong. The Navy interrogator dropped his grip on Donovan’s head at the demon’s voice, whirling to face him. The drugs were still coursing their way through the Irish gryphon’s system; he couldn’t hold his head up on his own, so it lolled back onto his chest. Still, the sound of flames crackling told him more than enough. Donovan snorted to himself; normally he’d feel bad, seeing as burning alive was a horrible way to die, but he was running a bit short on sympathy at the moment.
Dresdin came into his view then, crouching in front of him where Donovan could see him despite his inability to lift his head. Another rough snort of amusement escaped him at the demon’s description. ”Mh, well, what a coincidence. I feel like shit,” he grumbled, brogue making the hoarse words almost unintelligible. He was sure it was an impressive collection of bruises, burns and cuts to look at. It certainly hurt enough.
The gryphon’s tall, burly form crumpled to the ground as Dresdin released the shackles holding him up. Donovan didn’t need Dresdin to tell him that time was of the essence, but despite his best efforts, he couldn’t get his arms and legs to move. His strength and temper did him no good at fighting the ungodly amount of muscle relaxant that had been stabbed into him. He gave it as good a try as he could under the circumstances, but his limbs wouldn’t budge. The voice from outside and Dresdin’s foot nudging his shoulder did nothing to help him; he might be able to burn it off if he got angry enough, but it wouldn’t be for a few minutes yet. ”Can’t get moving,” he growled, frustration evident in his voice. ”Navy bastard shot me full of drugs.” Unless Dresdin could carry the burly gryphon out, he wasn’t going anywhere.
Tagged: Dresdin :U
Words: 958 $$ added
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