RP - Day Ten
Date: 10 February 2003
Characters: Characters imprisoned by the Entity
Location: The Mansion Dungeons
Status: Semi-Open (If your character’s been captured, it’s open to you)
Summary: Silence is the devil's playground.
Completion: Incomplete
He had already chased down lists in his head, worked through old lessons, recited laws and bylaws and regulations and guidelines. He had mumbled out timelines for the Goblin Wars, recited instructions for charms and potions. He had recited important Ministry memos from memory.
Percy knew his mind was still intact. It was a little over-dramatic to think that his sanity might be slipping. Ten days in a large space with a group of familiar people wasn't torture. He could talk to people, and did. He could clean himself, and did. Eat fresh food, drink all the water he needed, even move from one room to another if he got too tired of the same walls.
None of that was torture. It was imprisonment, but many people had been through much worse, for longer than ten days, and had maintained their sanity.
But prisoners had sentences. A time limit they could point to and keep firm in their minds. Maybe the torment of this ordeal came from not knowing when or if they would ever leave.
He didn't know if it was morning or afternoon, or of which day specifically. In the common room voices murmured - the children, probably. But all was quiet in the men's dorm, and he sat on his cot with his back to the wall and couldn't bring himself to again recite the Mission Statement for the Office of the Undersecretaries, or list every battle in the Grindelwald war in order of date and importance.
Instead, he did something he didn't ever do when there was a chance he might be overheard. He sat there with his knees up and his hands dangling off his knees, and he passed the time softly singing old songs he listened to often at home.
"Sunday is gloomy, my hours are slumberless/ Dearest, the shadows I live with are numberless."
Characters: Characters imprisoned by the Entity
Location: The Mansion Dungeons
Status: Semi-Open (If your character’s been captured, it’s open to you)
Summary: Silence is the devil's playground.
Completion: Incomplete
He had already chased down lists in his head, worked through old lessons, recited laws and bylaws and regulations and guidelines. He had mumbled out timelines for the Goblin Wars, recited instructions for charms and potions. He had recited important Ministry memos from memory.
Percy knew his mind was still intact. It was a little over-dramatic to think that his sanity might be slipping. Ten days in a large space with a group of familiar people wasn't torture. He could talk to people, and did. He could clean himself, and did. Eat fresh food, drink all the water he needed, even move from one room to another if he got too tired of the same walls.
None of that was torture. It was imprisonment, but many people had been through much worse, for longer than ten days, and had maintained their sanity.
But prisoners had sentences. A time limit they could point to and keep firm in their minds. Maybe the torment of this ordeal came from not knowing when or if they would ever leave.
He didn't know if it was morning or afternoon, or of which day specifically. In the common room voices murmured - the children, probably. But all was quiet in the men's dorm, and he sat on his cot with his back to the wall and couldn't bring himself to again recite the Mission Statement for the Office of the Undersecretaries, or list every battle in the Grindelwald war in order of date and importance.
Instead, he did something he didn't ever do when there was a chance he might be overheard. He sat there with his knees up and his hands dangling off his knees, and he passed the time softly singing old songs he listened to often at home.
"Sunday is gloomy, my hours are slumberless/ Dearest, the shadows I live with are numberless."