[Waking is a slow and queasy process. The veil of chemical sleep is a heavy one, and were it not for the dull recent memory of what happened at the motel, and the keening wrongness of his current situation, he wouldn't try nearly as hard, might just melt back into that warm, oblivious cocoon. But L doesn't wear oblivious well, even when he wishes for it actively, and so he's trying to blink away the overbright blur that greets his vision when he opens his eyes, testing the range of his limbs, fingers and toes.
His toes move and respond, though the sensation feels distant, even disembodied. His fingers do not; when he tries, a sickening jolt at the base of his skull compels him to glance down at belt restraints holding his wrists securely to the armrests of a modified dentist's chair. A crooked and swollen collection of bruised shapes greet his bleary gaze; they don't make sense, there is something deeply wrong with this picture, along with the fact that even in the context of the drug-induced haze he is still partly nestled in, they don't hurt the way they really should after such apparent mangling.
His pulse is loud in his own ears, too slow but fairly hammering against the constriction of the collar that siphons and holds his blood (and therefore his magic) through needles. Getting rid of it would be ideal; a lot of things would be ideal, but in the meantime...
Glistening tarps surround the area in his peripheral vision, reflecting a bright artificial light source in the dark warehouse. Packing blankets block the windows. L knows what this is, and there's only one person with the motives to put so much thought and care into it... even if L never quite gave Niles the credit he deserves for this level of detail, this amount of planning and foresight. That was his mistake; it should never have gotten to this point, but now that it has, his fatalistic premonitions ring even more hollow and desolate. The best that he can hope for might be a quick death, bleeding out fast if he can provoke his captor into cutting too swift and deep... and that this won't demolish his Bonded irreversibly. Is Myr even safe? Will he ever know?
His heart beats louder and faster even as his body and senses remain sluggish. There's a white-furred shape just out of range of what the light source allows him to easily perceive, toweling itself off with brisk and agitated movements. Though L's magic is largely silenced and his hands broken and restrained, there's a glimmer of hope; the magical tattoo on his back is something he can access in tight moments like these. If the spells are weakened, they could still help him.
His mouth scarcely moves, he doesn't raise his voice a thread over a whisper though his syllables slur together under his breath. Small sparks of meager lightning are at his disposal; mere shreds of control, as well. They could lay Niles out, kill him, or infuriate him, and none of those will really gain him a net positive, in the end.
The moment he starts invoking his magic, however, the collar buzzes, the sound and vibration powerfully startling to the point where he believes for a terrifying second that he's been decapitated.]
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His toes move and respond, though the sensation feels distant, even disembodied. His fingers do not; when he tries, a sickening jolt at the base of his skull compels him to glance down at belt restraints holding his wrists securely to the armrests of a modified dentist's chair. A crooked and swollen collection of bruised shapes greet his bleary gaze; they don't make sense, there is something deeply wrong with this picture, along with the fact that even in the context of the drug-induced haze he is still partly nestled in, they don't hurt the way they really should after such apparent mangling.
His pulse is loud in his own ears, too slow but fairly hammering against the constriction of the collar that siphons and holds his blood (and therefore his magic) through needles. Getting rid of it would be ideal; a lot of things would be ideal, but in the meantime...
Glistening tarps surround the area in his peripheral vision, reflecting a bright artificial light source in the dark warehouse. Packing blankets block the windows. L knows what this is, and there's only one person with the motives to put so much thought and care into it... even if L never quite gave Niles the credit he deserves for this level of detail, this amount of planning and foresight. That was his mistake; it should never have gotten to this point, but now that it has, his fatalistic premonitions ring even more hollow and desolate. The best that he can hope for might be a quick death, bleeding out fast if he can provoke his captor into cutting too swift and deep... and that this won't demolish his Bonded irreversibly. Is Myr even safe? Will he ever know?
His heart beats louder and faster even as his body and senses remain sluggish. There's a white-furred shape just out of range of what the light source allows him to easily perceive, toweling itself off with brisk and agitated movements. Though L's magic is largely silenced and his hands broken and restrained, there's a glimmer of hope; the magical tattoo on his back is something he can access in tight moments like these. If the spells are weakened, they could still help him.
His mouth scarcely moves, he doesn't raise his voice a thread over a whisper though his syllables slur together under his breath. Small sparks of meager lightning are at his disposal; mere shreds of control, as well. They could lay Niles out, kill him, or infuriate him, and none of those will really gain him a net positive, in the end.
The moment he starts invoking his magic, however, the collar buzzes, the sound and vibration powerfully startling to the point where he believes for a terrifying second that he's been decapitated.]