☆ Event Log: Snatched, Part One

[faileas]

Event Log: January, Snatched - Part One

I. The Fires (14th) Though it began this month with petty vandalism, before long, things escalate. On the evening of the 14th, when many are settling down for the night, fires blaze to life simultaneously all over the city, though they seem to cluster in places that Mirrorbound and refugees frequent. Homes, businesses, market stalls, the Barracks, the Residential Districts, they could pop up anywhere, but the worst of them seem to hit different locations within the Haven. The refugees stand to lose a lot in the fires, everything they've built up since arriving here at the end of September, and Mirrorbound stand to suffer damage to the homes or businesses they've built in Aefenglom. No doubt everyone is quick to catch on, but with so many locations burning at once, help is thin on the ground. As soon as they're alerted, the Coven sends out a call to all Witches, Merrow, water-based Dragons, anyone who can manipulate water or ice to help put out the fires across town before they can spread. With the city plan so tight and buildings so close together, it's a real worry. They'll accept all hands, even those with no particular water-based talents - anybody can carry buckets, after all. Bucket brigades made up of mostly Monsters form from the River Temese out to pass water to where it's needed most. Others with fire magic or resistances are asked to search the buildings still on fire for anyone still trapped inside. On the streets, more set up stations to treat burns and smoke inhalation, and to check people over for worse injuries. It takes a couple of hours to put out the last of the flames, but thanks to quick action, no lives are confirmed lost. The City Guard is present at the sites of the fires in the hours afterward, questioning witnesses and determining the sources with both magical and Monster-ability-based methods, but as the chaos calms down, it quickly becomes clear that 1. this is a case of purposeful arson, and 2. not all witnesses are present. Maybe it's your friend, or family member, or just an acquaintance you know you saw go into their house at the end of the day, but they're conspicuously absent from the crowds gathered on the streets. Those who are Bonded to a missing person feel it first, though - a horrible sensation like a pillow over the face or a tightening in the chest, smothering their Bond to barely anything, except the very rare flicker of something, a tiny spark lost to the darkness as soon as it's felt. The sudden absence of them is like a case of phantom limb, something that should be there suddenly isn't, but yet it isn't quite an annullment or breaking of the Bond. It's still there, just muted and tamped down. It feels a little different for everyone, maybe painful or maybe just uncomfortable, or maybe, in the cases of new or less-close Bonds, it simply feels as if it never existed. Regardless, those Bonded can't be found through Bonds. It's like those loved ones have vanished, without a trace. The City Guard and Coven representatives alike will seek to make a comprehensive list of all who have gone missing, but Mirrorbound cooperation will be needed for that; they would know better than anyone, because the missing ones are all Mirrorbound or refugees.

II. The Lost Souls (14th - 20th) CW: Torture, captivity, restraints. You were spirited away in the middle of the night. Maybe you were out, or maybe you were safe in your own home, but either way, someone managed to get the drop on you. Upon waking, everything is fuzzy, until clarity returns suddenly and violently. It's possible to remember a struggle, an enchanted darkness that might have enveloped you, maybe even a glimpse of the face of the human or Witch who grabbed you, but now you're stuck in a small, stone cell, the only entrance covered in shiny new bars thick enough to hold back a rampaging Dragon. The hall beyond is also stone and dimly lit by sparse magitech lights and the soft, runic glow of spells drawn on the walls and floors. There are more cells like yours, filled with more Monsters and Witches like you. What's worse, maybe you're alone, or maybe another poor soul is trapped with you - the space isn't exactly large enough for two, but the comfort might be nice. Witches will find their magic restrained, tamped down with a spell similar to the Coven's punishment for lawbreaking. Monsters' restraints are more traditional - muzzles, chains, manacles, and particular weaknesses that differ from Monster type to Monster type, such as silver or iron, water, or the lack of water. Even if, by some small mercy, a person finds themselves with their hands free, all of the captives' Watches have been taken, along with most other belongings on them. The uncertainty of your new location doesn't last for long. It's only a matter of time before people pass through the cellblock in pairs or trios, talking to each other and ignoring the captives behind bars, checking up on the spells that line the room. Those with keen memories will realize - these are not the same people who took them in the first place. All are human, and they all share a familial resemblance - black hair, violet eyes, pointed noses, and unpleasant sneers. Over time, with observation (and what else are you going to do, while you wait for the worst?), maybe frequenters of the Coven will pick out a familiar face, a haughty, unpopular Witch named Constance Rathmore who refuses to associate with Mirrorbound in classes, or those familiar with the law might pick out a mid-ranked member of the City Guard named Godfrey Rathmore, who perhaps looks the other way when refugees are harassed. As the hours tick by, it becomes obvious that there are maybe 22 of the Rathmore family, the only ones with access to this corridor. Other voices, maybe familiar from the kidnapping, can be heard outside the main doors at times, but they never enter, and seem none the wiser as to what is actually happening. a. The Torments And what is happening? Something sinister. It's usually a different set of family members, a pair of cousins, the daughter or the son, occasionally even the matriarch and her son and daughter-in-law (who may be recognized as long-time members of Parliament). Their methods and motivations may be a bit different, but they share one thing - innate cruelty, and a hatred for those they see as a plague on Aefenglom, those harbingers of unwanted change. Sometimes they inflict pain on captives right there through the bars of the cells, with nasty spells or physical instruments, but more often, they choose a victim or two to remove from their cell, still in restraints, to take down the hall, through the heavy door at the opposite end from the entrance. The wide room at the end is a place of horrors: instruments of torture lining tables, heavy restraints, and glass jars to receive any bits or blood they might separate from the original owners, to sell on the black market. The runes on the walls and floor in this room are different as well - this is advanced, forbidden magic, practiced by the daughter Constance on brand new test subjects. When the family members have grown bored or tired themselves out, they return their current playthings to a cell - not always the same cell with the same cellmate, not always with the same restraints, but every time they ensure that it will be difficult to escape or fight back. b. The Whispers While the Rathmores do not often speak directly to captives, they speak to each other quite a bit, as do the others who occasionally pass outside the heavy door at the entrance and simply seem to serve as watchmen outside the corridor. It's easy to get snippets of conversation between the horrors. What else are you going to do, besides wait, and listen, and plot your escape? "Shame about Uncle Rodolphus. Scarred by the mist, his Black Market business raided." "None of it would have happened if they hadn't provoked Dorchacht. It was Drummond's Witch in our city who unleashed that awful gas, as retribution for what they did over there..." "...-Destabilizing a whole city like that, and there are only a hundred of them give or take. Imagine what they'll do to Aefenglom if we don't stop it." "They'll all want to leave after this, surely. We'll go for another batch in a couple of weeks, once Godfrey convinces the Guard to stop looking." "Good. Maybe Dorchacht will take them. Them and their brutal revolutionaries..." "...-Father thinks we can control them if he manages to get in touch with his contact in Dorchacht. They had that spell, you know? Like the collars, but better. Maybe then we can sell them off, make some money back to cover our losses..." "...-All this pushing for equality. The whole economy will collapse. Everyone has their place in a functioning society, right, sister?"... "...-heard from Mr. Rathmore himself they're doing magic in there. A spell to send the Mirrorbound home, and the refugees along with them." "Then why did we have to grab them like that? You'd think they'd want to leave." "The Coven wants them here, obviously. It's a power-play, there's no way they'd allow Mr. Rathmore to do this..." "...-I don't know about this, the Rathmores always seemed a little extreme-..." As a reminder: while this prompt contains a general content warning for torture, please make sure to leave decently specific content warnings in your headers for anything that may be uncomfortable for other players to stumble across. The level of torture experienced by each character is up to the individual players - please respect each other's limits!

III. The Ones Left Behind (14th - 20th) Meanwhile, out in the city, the atmosphere is a new kind of tense. The papers pick up the story pretty quickly, so before long, it seems that everyone knows about it. In the days since the fires, repairs seem to be on the backburner; the remaining refugees especially worry for their missing friends and loved ones, and the missing Mirrorbound. The graffiti stops entirely, as do nasty comments in the streets. The upper-class, when they come into contact with the remaining Mirrorbound, cannot meet their eyes, or even react with genuine sympathy, a rare few even saying in hushed murmurs that they hope they find their people. Vandalizing their property is one thing, it seems, but people simply vanishing, Bonds being smothered... that's another. Even if they don't worry for the Mirrorbound, they worry for their own safety in Aefenglom now. On the other hand, residents of the Western Residential District, primarily Monsters but including a fair few humans as well, stop by the Haven more often, bringing food and kind words, and asking after the disappearances with real concern. The City Guard is an increased presence on the streets, trying to track down witnesses who may have information, but without warrants, their hands are tied in a lot of cases. Some Mirrorbound are asked quietly by the Lead Investigator if they wouldn't mind looking into some of the sources of the fires, and trying to track down anyone who might have seen something - they can operate a little more loosely, not being bound by the same bureaucracy as the Guard. They're promised Guard and Coven cooperation and support in this. The demand for artists increases in the days after the abduction. Many of the refugees especially will seek out anyone who can draw to help them create fliers about the missing people to post around town, to raise awareness. Maybe they want to make posters of another refugee, or maybe they want posters made of particular Mirrorbound faces who helped them in the past. They're distressed, but they're pulling together as a community - and it's clear they consider all the Mirrorbound a part of it, judging from how they'll try to pull anyone in to their efforts to put the 'missing' posters up around the city. The Coven, too, is in a flurry of worry, second only to the refugees, who are missing some of their own as well. Many of the regular classes are disrupted and become impromptu Divining sessions, circles of Witches holding hands and chanting in rooms filled with incense smoke, making concentrated efforts to determine the location of their missing fellows. After all, many Mirrorbound are their classmates, and they want to see them returned safely. Anyone passing through the Coven may get pulled into one of these sessions - Witches to lend their magic to the circle, Monsters who know any of the missing to act as foci. Unfortunately, nothing concrete turns up in the fleeting visions they do get, and the backlash is immense, resulting in splitting migraines. It's magical interference for sure. Luckily, Miss Aerianna, the middle-aged Arachne caretaker to the Dreamers (who, she'll say, are currently unreachable - they're trying to suss out the missing Mirrorbound as well), is well-versed with Divination headaches, and is around distributing her supposed cure-all, which smells like swamp-water and tastes twice as bad. At least it works on the headaches. While the part of the city who wanted to see the Mirrorbound gone have quieted down some, the part of the city that welcomes them has grown louder, providing what support they can to try to find those lost souls who have vanished. The investigation briefs will be posted under location-specific headers down below! Feel free to thread underneath them with others investigating the same area, or collaborate with other teams to share information. We decided to go ahead and allow for everyone who signed up to investigate whichever area they're interested in rather than splitting characters into mod-decided teams, but we encourage working together!

Welcome to Part One of January's event, Snatched! The sign-ups thread is here - it's not too late to get involved. Only the kidnapped characters who will escape on the evening of the 20th is closed out to new sign-ups. Headers for the investigations are here. Part Two of this event will be posted on the 21st and will include the escape, rescue and bringing the perpetrators to justice.

And a note for all! If your character does anything significant during Part 1 or Part 2, we want to hear about it on the city tracker! Make sure your submissions are in by Feb. 3rd, because a special aftermath post will go up on the 4th.

Comments

[tryhard]

[ The same words over and over and over again-- some part of it seems to get to Waver, slowly, eventually. He struggles to breathe, panting and twitching, shaking his head as if that might help clear the chaos inside.

The voice and the sound of strained breathing orients him slightly. Painfully slowly, Waver drags himself closer inch by inch, panting and gasping, hissing and sobbing because it hurts and his leg is numb and useless and his hands are tied to his throat and he's so scared--

He has to get away. Away from the pain and the shadows and the blood and hands holding him down and tearing, peeling him apart, the laughing mouths, the sticky dark the needles in his neck. It burns. Throat, wrists, chest, lungs. Burns and burns and he's crying and he needs to be sick but he can't, he can't feel, can't see, he's so cold and so hot all at once.

Blindly, Waver finally reaches past those last few inches and manages to grab ahold of Berserker's bloody wrist. ]

Rider... please... Please don't go. Don't... die. Please... Don't leave me alone...

[curruid_coinchenn]

[ He doesn't know what's going on in Waver's head, he can't know, but he knows it's unpleasant. Berserker doesn't pull away when his wrist is grabbed despite the pain. Rider...He's nothing like Iskandar and never will be, but he can at least pretend for Waver's sake. Maybe it will make it easier to deal with the effects of his poison.

Berserker can barely hold himself upright now, though. The pain is nigh unbearable. ]

I'm not going anywhere, boy. [ It would sound more believable if he weren't so apathetic. ] So stay strong and calm down...

[tryhard]

[ It doesn't matter that it's not Iskandar's voice. Waver, in his sick, delusional state latches onto any small glimmer of hope. He can feel another person next to him, hear a voice-- and it's still blood-drenched and wrong but it's better than being alone.

He uses the grip on Berserker's wrist and the chain around it -- unknowing how much it must hurt -- to drag his shuddering, bleeding body closer, hands sliding up Berserker's arms and shoulders, through the blood. He presses their foreheads together, panting raggedly, whispering nonsense.

He cries, not calm but doing his best not to scream.

He just wants it to be over. ]

[curruid_coinchenn]

[ It's not as unbearable as the pain in his wings, but it's close. Berserker grits his teeth to bear the strain of Waver pulling himself closer; there's no attempt to make him stop or anything like it, however.

The sudden embrace is painful, too, even with the basic healing done to him. His wounds are still too fresh to take the pressure, though he bears it again. He presses against Waver's forehead in turn -- it's one of his favored forms of affection with his Bondmates, but there isn't the pleasant pulse of magic between them. It's desperation and nothing more.

He truly doesn't know how to respond to his crying...He can't do anything to help him and he can't even return the desperate hug. All he can do is sit uselessly in his restraints and say things that are unlikely to reach Waver's ears. The feeling of helplessness is completely alien. ]

It's alright, boy...No need to cry now.

[ Even he doesn't believe his own words. ]

[tryhard]

[ It's less a hug (he tried) and more Waver's bound hands rubbing over his arm in an attempt to hold onto him, to touch something that's real. It's a good thing the silver won't hurt Berserker more, but maybe it doesn't matter at this point. Both of them are so blood-slicked.

Eventually, his fingers clasp around Berserker's forearm. He can't keep his head up, though he tries, pressing their foreheads together to ground himself until it becomes impossible and he droops, sprawled on his stomach in front of Berserker, his cheek resting on the tangle of their hands. Eventually, Waver goes quiet. ]

[curruid_coinchenn]

[ Good, he tired himself out, he thinks. Berserker struggles to keep his head up and keep himself awake and aware through the renewed pain that courses through him. Ah, it doesn't matter now, does it? What else can be done to them that hasn't been done already? Let them do it...

The dragon closes his eyes and soon his body goes slack. He says nothing else. Exhausted from the pain and torment inflicted on him, it's impossible to stay conscious. ]

[tryhard]

[ A long while later, once they're sure the poison has dissipated, someone comes in at some point to check if they're alive. They're hosed down haphazardly, then dragged away one by one.

Berserker has been bandaged up a little bit, the open wounds around his scaled skin magically closed and cleaned to prevent surrounding scales from getting infected. But it's not for his sake, as is evidenced by the fact they haven't tended to his wings at all, the broken mess of them largely washed of blood but otherwise untouched. He's muzzled and chained again as usual.

It's not kindness, only laziness on their captors' part that puts Waver in the same cell hours later.

He's awake again, though whether it's thanks to the blood loss or more sedatives -- or both -- he doesn't move much. Someone they haven't seen before tosses him into the cage by the back of the collar, and Waver falls without a sound. There's no chain between his collar and cuffs this time, though they look different; a closer inspection will reveal etched runes and spellwork in the silver. What's left of his trousers is barely scraps around his underwear, and all of what he's wearing now aside from the bandage around his thigh covering the bite wound Berserker had left on him. His hair is still wet from being rinsed off, but he's not clean. Only cold.

He can't meet Berserker's eyes. ]

[curruid_coinchenn]

[ Berserker is barely conscious himself. He doesn't remember much of what happened afterward, only rousing briefly when he was sprayed with the frigid water. He's not clean, either; his hair is terribly tangled and tousled and the pants he was wearing previously are still on him, still stained badly with his own blood. All he knows is that he's in terrible pain and there's no way he can sit or lay comfortably.

So he shifts awkwardly, also unable to meet Waver's gaze. ]

...I didn't mean to poison you. And I hold nothing again you.

[ His voice is terribly weak and uncharacteristic of its usual tone. ]

[tryhard]

[ Slowly, Waver struggles to push himself up to a sitting position. It doesn't really work. He ends up propping his upper body on his hands, legs still curled to the side, before he needs a break. ]

I know. [ Waver's voice is a hoarse whisper. He falls still again, chest rising and falling shallowly, too fast. His eyes are down on the floor in front of him, ears hiding in his matted hair. ]

I know... you didn't mean to. I didn't... mean to. I'm sorry.

[ He doesn't remember much. Very little, in fact, a series of impressions and feelings, snippets of awfulness, the stench and taste of blood, the crack of bones. He doesn't remember much, and it's still more than he can stand. He doesn't remember, and somehow it makes him feel worse that Berserker always will.

He's terrified to look. ]

I'm... so sorry.

[curruid_coinchenn]

[ This is a much less pleasant ending than their outing in Dorchacht, when Geralt helped them out. His mind keeps drifting back to the witcher and the emptiness inside of him. Waver is a reminder of him, in a way. He feels like he's failed both of them and doesn't know what to do with the emotions that twist his chest and stomach in knots. Dwelling on what happened, what could have happened, and what should have happened isn't helping anything and just making him feel sick. He can't bring himself to look at Waver, not for what the turnskin did to him, but for his failure to protect him like he tried to. ]

...Don't apologize.

[ Berserker's back is to the wall, though he's not leaning against it (the mere thought of that is painful). The damage can still be seen cresting over the tops of his shoulders. Bone is visible through the torn skin and red meat surrounding it. Behind his back, the shredded tatters of the delicate membranes hang uselessly. They're completely useless to him now; it would have been better if they had been cut off. ]

We just need to survive now...

[tryhard]

[ He's right. They need to survive. Both of them. They have to.

Another apology sticks in Waver's throat, but he swallows it, breathing heavily around the need to keep saying he's sorry. Or maybe vomit. Or both. His head hurts so much, blood pounding in his temples and in the swollen wound on the back of his head from hitting the wall, each movement making him dizzy. ]

...y-yeah.

[ Waver groans, starting up his attempt again to crawl closer. He manages to get onto his hands and knees-- his good knee, at least, the other leg dragging slightly. Wobbling and slow in his efforts but determined, Waver scoots closer inch by inch. ]

Survive. You're right.

We... have to. No dying. Don't you fucking dare.

[curruid_coinchenn]

Don't strain yourself, either.

[ It would be nice to have Waver close, even after all that. It's not as though Berserker can do much to help him, so he can only watch as he drags his way closer. The restraints only add to his misery, heavy on his injuries.

His expression hardens at Waver's plea -- no, command. ]

...If you think this will kill me, you're mistaken. I will not die here...This is not where I'm supposed to die.

[tryhard]

Shut up.

[ Waver snarls, baring his teeth briefly, and keeps crawling. Dragging himself, more like. Strain or no. He doesn't care. This isn't just for Berserker. ]

No one's dying.

[ Except maybe the wretched people who put them here. And hopefully very soon. ]

[curruid_coinchenn]

[ His tail is unrestrained (too difficult to efficiently bind it in these cells) and mostly uninjured, so he moves it within Waver's reach. ]

Just grab on...Stop crawling and let me pull you closer since you won't listen to me.

[ It's not a true admonishment, of course. He never expects Waver to listen to him -- he's too strong-willed for that. ]

[tryhard]

[ This time, Waver doesn't protest. He grabs onto the offered tail, though he doesn't want to hurt Berserker more. At least the cell is very small, so he'll use it as assistance more than just letting all of his weight be completely dragged, until he's close enough to prop himself up to sit next to Berserker, facing him.

Waver catches his breath, his hand resting on Berserker's tail. ]

Thanks, I--

[ From this angle, he gets a much better view of the state of Berserker's back. Even the darkness doesn't help; his Turnskin eyes can see far too clearly, even when he wishes they wouldn't.

The sour taste of bile rises up on the back of his tongue. Waver chokes, turning his head away and breathing hard, tears stinging his eyes.

Berserker said not to apologize again. He doesn't.

He just leans in, forehead pressing to Berserker's upper arm. When he closes his eyes, he can still see the flayed skin and raw bone. He can still smell the blood. It turns his stomach in knots. ]

...why?

[ It's a stupid question, after a minute of silence. It doesn't matter what the answer is. It doesn't help. But it escapes him anyway in a quiet, choked-off sob. ]

Why are they doing this?

What do they want?

[curruid_coinchenn]

[ He wants to comfort Waver with a hug, but he can't; his restraints prevent him from even providing simple comfort. It sets off a terrible ache in his chest, like someone pressing on a bruise. He curls his tail around Waver in a strange sort of hug; it's all he can do right now.

Berserker shifts in an attempt to conceal the mangled mess that of his wings and back. ]

To make everyone else afraid...They can make a profit off of selling what they harvest from the monsters and terrorize the witches who Bond with them. A punishment for mirrorbound and the problems we brought with us. They want us to be afraid and they want to force us to leave. We threaten their power...

[ He's extrapolating from the whispers that he heard in the halls. Wrong or right, it doesn't matter to him. ]

[tryhard]

I know... I know, but--

[ Waver hiccups, shifting to curl up against him, nestling into the protective circle Berserker's tail forms. It probably hurts. No matter what he does, it hurts. For both of them. Sitting hurts, crying hurts, even breathing too heavily hurts his bruised ribs and throbbing head-- and he knows it's even worse for Berserker and it's terrible and awful and unfair and he knows that's the point. He knows that's the 'why.'

He knows it's meant to break them. ]

Fuck this! [ It's a hoarse cry, buried in his own scraped-up hands smeared with tears. ]

We're not the monsters here...

I hope- I hope they all drop dead. Burn alive. [ Barely coherent gasps through the sobs. He's shaking, and that hurts too. ] Everything they've done-- back on them... tenfold...

[ Violence breeds more violence and solves nothing. It's not like him. But right now, Waver doesn't care. All he can think of is the taste of Berserker's blood in his mouth and what he would have done if he'd been able to sink his claws into their attackers instead. Waver's never wanted to kill anyone, but maybe this is what it feels like. The raw bile burning his throat, the rage and desperation clawing the inside of his empty, starving stomach, the frantic drumbeat of his heartbeat in his head.

The fur along his neck and back lengthens, starting to trail over his shoulders and arms. His claws, too. His teeth. The rage sweeps over him, and his weakened limbs protest and creak, and the crying turns to whimpering howls.

No. No, no-- he's not the monster here. ]

[curruid_coinchenn]

[ If Berserker hadn't been chained, he would have killed them all. It's why he lost control when he came to and lashed out with his poison. That was all he could do to exert some sort of control over the situation. He could have killed them all without ever trying, but he was helpless. Helplessness is not an emotion he has ever been familiar with; it's deeply alien and unwanted. ]

Waver... [ Soft as he squeezes his tail around him. ] Mark my words, if I'm able to, I will tear their throats out and watch them die as they try to stem the flow of blood. I will deliver the one who poisoned you to your feet and if you cannot kill him, I will do it for you without mercy and as cruelly as he deserves. I will have no mercy on them for what they have done to my allies...

[ His words are cold and apathetic, reminiscent of the way he used to be: an unfeeling monster who knows nothing but to kill. If they want a monster, they will get one. ]

[tryhard]

[ Somehow... that doesn't actually make Waver feel any better. He hates them, so much, but Berserker offering to bring one to him only makes Waver feel sick. Sicker. He can't tell.

The silver cuffs and collar are cutting into his skin, squeezing tighter; the runes around them emanate a faint red glow as they constrict, and there's the distinct scent of burning flesh. Waver's whimpers grow more frantic as he buries his face in his drawn-up knees, hands covering his head. It hides the twisted features, his mouthful of teeth, but the enchanted restraints continue to hurt him, even if he's not trying to shift on purpose. The panic and pain only make it harder to calm down enough to stop his new body's natural response to this level of emotional distress. ]

Berser-- kh! [ His voice is somewhere between a groan and a growl. ] C-Ciarán... please...

Something else-- [ Wheezing, Waver lifts his head only enough to bury his face in all its strangeness against Berserker's body. ]

Talk about... something else.

[ He has no right to ask this of Berserker, of all people. No right to ask anything but forgiveness right now.

What... what is he going to tell Diarmuid after this? Or Flat? ]

[curruid_coinchenn]

[ Waver pressing in close is painful, but he doesn't fight it or resist it; it's a better pain than he's been subject to recently. Berserker says nothing and just closes his eyes for now. In the end, it's his fault Waver is suffering this way. If he hadn't been so weak as to get caught in the first place, he never would have been here. He wouldn't have blindly attacked him; they wouldn't have used Waver against him and forced him to attack him. It's his fault because he was too weak. ]

...I have nothing else to say.

[ He failed Diarmuid by being so weak and being unable to protect himself and Waver. He failed Geralt and Flat by being unable to protect Waver. It's his own weakness. ]

[tryhard]

[ That's not what Waver needs to hear right now. But he can't blame Berserker.

Why should Berserker have to comfort him? After what he did, he deserves the pain.

Waver shuts up without arguing this time. He leans away from Berserker, though he can't scoot too far because of his tail around him. Instead, Waver tries to take what small comfort he can in the proximity, curling in on himself and pressing his forehead to his knees as he forces himself to govern his breathing and attempt to calm down. He needs to focus on something else. He can't keep getting worked up like this. He's only going to make himself pass out if he can't control the shift with these restraints on.

But it's easier said than done. With the stench of blood and bone still all around, the knowledge of what he'd done so fresh in his mind, the shame and horror burning like acid in his chest, it's no surprise Waver's having trouble keeping control of himself. This is why he was so easy for their captors to use in the first place. Weak-willed. Weak.

Of course.

Waver hugs his knees, panting raggedly. He can't think of anything good, so he just starts reciting the elements of the period table desperately under his breath, moving through the mundane ones into those with magical properties and then through various alchemical recipes he knows by heart just to get his mind to shut up and his body to stop reacting in panic. He tries not to lean against Berserker again. ]

[curruid_coinchenn]

[ Berserker doesn't let him pull away. He uses his tail to draw him closer again. If he failed so badly at protecting him, the least he can do is try to comfort him. There's nothing else he can do. He's too weak. ]

...You will survive. You're stronger than you know.

[ Stronger than the broken beast he shares a cell with. Part of him is hoping this will be broken up soon and he'll be pulled out of the cell so he can forget about this. It's unlikely he'll ever forget about this. ]

[tryhard]

[ Berserker's tail may not be the most comfortable part of him, but miraculously it's the one least hurt. For now, probably. It's only been-- how long? A day or two? It's only going to get worse if they can't do something about it.

But what... what are they supposed to do?

Waver doesn't try to pull away again, mostly out of fear of hurting Berserker. The words of encouragement feel like a punch in the chest.

With the anger starting to recede back into exhaustion and blank shock, so do the more unusual animalistic features, Waver's face returning to its normal shape. The tears roll down his cheeks, leaving tracks in the leftover dirt and blood the quick hosing off hadn't gotten. ]

Not strong enough... [ he whispers, heavy with regret and shame. not strong enough to resist. not strong enough to keep from hurting someone he cares about.

Waver doesn't remember everything under that awful haze of spells and potions, but he remembers more than enough. More than he ever wanted to. They'd used him like a puppet, a toy, set him on Berserker like the rabid dog he'd been reduced to. Maybe Berserker's right in a way: he's stronger than he expected. He did so much damage. How is that even possible?

Why couldn't he fight it? ]

They got... into my head. They made me--

[ Who are these excuses for? Berserker knows what happened. ]

[curruid_coinchenn]

...I know. They used my instincts to force me tear apart a faun. I was going to kill him like he was my prey if they hadn't drugged me...

[ And they were only upset because he poisoned him, too. He'd been used like he were nothing more than a tool again, treated like an object. It didn't bother him like it should, not as deeply as it used to. Berserker realized he was lying to himself that he had changed and that he was his own person now. It didn't matter how many strides he made nor how different he may have felt; the truth was always the same. ]

I wasn't strong enough to fight them off this time. I wasn't able to resist acting the way they wanted me to....They were only mad about the outcome because I poisoned one of them and not just you. If I had only lashed out at you, they would have been fine. They would have let me kill you.

[ Everything hurts and he can't get comfortable. Berserker shifts his position with a grimace. ]

And that's what they wanted...To turn us against each other. So stop blaming yourself. The only ones I blame are the ones who forced us into that position -- the ones that drugged you.

[tryhard]

[ The words tear apart make Waver's stomach turn. He covers his mouth with one hand, swallowing and breathing hard, struggling not to burst into tears again or vomit or both.

They would have let me kill you.

It's shameful that the realization rings so true that it's something of an odd, sickening... relief. He can't die. Not even by Berserker's hand. What he'd done was out of his control, but also necessary.

He can't die. Neither of them can. They have to survive.

Looking down, Waver lets his hand fall from his face and rests it very lightly on Berserker's tail instead. Tentatively, he tries stroking it, trying to impart a little bit of comfort. The tiniest, least effective apology. ]

...you're right.