Baiting the line [Finished]
Characters: Fletcher Tringham, NPCs, Russel later
Content: Fletcher has a very unfortunate encounter on his way to his room.
Location: Library Hotel elevator
Time of day: Early evening
Warnings: Violence
Fletcher didn't dawdle in the lobby. He'd only gone down to pick up a few books and carry them back up to his and Russel's room, going -- he hoped -- before the newly enhanced crabs got the idea to break into the Library Hotel. Once he got the ones he'd come for he retreated to the elevator. Hanging around too long was a worse idea now than it had ever been.
Two men approached the elevator at about the same time, so Fletcher waited for them to board before he stepped in. Holding the books he'd grabbed close to his chest, he reached up and pressed the button for the fifth floor. The other two were strangers -- one on the taller side of average height, with dirty blond hair; the other larger, more muscular than the other. Fletcher didn't know either of them, but nodded politely to them as the elevator started upward.
Then he heard them speaking in hushed tones. He hated to be nosy but his ears instinctively strained themselves to hear what they were saying. A nervous shudder ran up his spine when he managed to make out the name "Tringham".
And then one of them -- the blond man -- spoke to him. "Don't we know you from somewhere?"
He and Russel were well known, there was no denying it, especially after their home at New York University had been demolished. And then Russel had posted that note up warning the inhabitants of the Library Hotel about the danger... They'd received some dirty looks, that much was for sure.
In a way it was just like Xenotime.
"Um..."
Fletcher didn't manage to get a word in before the other man cut him off. "You're that plant kid, aren't you?"
"The one who got NYU smashed. That's you, isn't it?"
Even aside from their words, their tones were anything but friendly. Fletcher was downright scared by now, clutching his books tighter. He looked up at the electronic lights above the doors, counting the number of floors. Third floor... Not much farther.
"What," said the blond man, moving now. He'd stepped forward, and Fletcher swallowed in fear. "Don't got anything to say for yourself?"
"Um, I--" What could he say? It wasn't as though he could deny it. He kept his back to the men, thinking briefly that maybe he deserved this. Maybe they'd had their homes destroyed because of his and Russel's work. He couldn't deny he was partly at fault.
"Well, isn't this turning out to be a good day." There was a smile in the other man's voice, but it wasn't a nice kind of smile, and his question wasn't a question at all. "Hey, kid. We don't like you offworlders here. At all."
Fourth floor. Almost there. Fletcher trembled, biting his lip to keep from responding. He knew he was guilty; did they have to point it out like this? But if he said anything, he just knew he would burst into tears. Once the elevator stopped and the doors opened he was going to run directly to his and Russel's room and cling to him. Then he could cry.
He didn't get the chance. The first man reached forward and slammed his palm into the emergency stop button. With a sudden lurch, the elevator came to a halt and the taller man stepped in front of Fletcher. The boy's knees shook and he stepped backward, but then remembered the other man behind him.
He was outnumbered and outpowered, trapped in a small elevator. Keeping hold of his books with one hand he went for his pocket with the other, before the blond man grabbed him and spun him around, holding his arms tight with one arm and grabbing his hair roughly with the other. The books were discarded on the floor and so was the syringe of blood he'd pulled out. Fletcher tried to struggle, but he was no match. He could only watch, terror slowly growing as the other man, the larger one, stepped forward -- crushing the syringe underfoot -- and cracked his knuckles.
He cried out for help. "Broth--"
And then the air was knocked out of him when he was punched in the stomach. He gasped for breath, didn't have a chance to shout again as he was hit again, this time in the face. The fists struck again and again, he lost track of how many times -- surely not more than six or seven, but he couldn't be sure. Fletcher was crying by now, whimpering in pain, but his assailants didn't seem to care. Why should they? He was an outsider who'd invaded their glorious city, bringing nothing but ruin and destruction.
And then he was dropped to the floor, where he just laid on his side, groaning now. Maybe if he just closed his eyes and laid still they would leave. With a jerk the elevator started moving again, as they pulled the emergency stop button back out, and there was a ding as the doors opened up.
And then one of them kicked him in the stomach and he let out a strangled cry. He curled up into a ball and shielded his head with his arms, but they were done with him. Two sets of footsteps exited the elevator, making their way down the hallway, and the doors slid shut again.
Fletcher laid there for a very long time, half out of pain and half out of fear, simply crying.
I want to go home.
Content: Fletcher has a very unfortunate encounter on his way to his room.
Location: Library Hotel elevator
Time of day: Early evening
Warnings: Violence
Fletcher didn't dawdle in the lobby. He'd only gone down to pick up a few books and carry them back up to his and Russel's room, going -- he hoped -- before the newly enhanced crabs got the idea to break into the Library Hotel. Once he got the ones he'd come for he retreated to the elevator. Hanging around too long was a worse idea now than it had ever been.
Two men approached the elevator at about the same time, so Fletcher waited for them to board before he stepped in. Holding the books he'd grabbed close to his chest, he reached up and pressed the button for the fifth floor. The other two were strangers -- one on the taller side of average height, with dirty blond hair; the other larger, more muscular than the other. Fletcher didn't know either of them, but nodded politely to them as the elevator started upward.
Then he heard them speaking in hushed tones. He hated to be nosy but his ears instinctively strained themselves to hear what they were saying. A nervous shudder ran up his spine when he managed to make out the name "Tringham".
And then one of them -- the blond man -- spoke to him. "Don't we know you from somewhere?"
He and Russel were well known, there was no denying it, especially after their home at New York University had been demolished. And then Russel had posted that note up warning the inhabitants of the Library Hotel about the danger... They'd received some dirty looks, that much was for sure.
In a way it was just like Xenotime.
"Um..."
Fletcher didn't manage to get a word in before the other man cut him off. "You're that plant kid, aren't you?"
"The one who got NYU smashed. That's you, isn't it?"
Even aside from their words, their tones were anything but friendly. Fletcher was downright scared by now, clutching his books tighter. He looked up at the electronic lights above the doors, counting the number of floors. Third floor... Not much farther.
"What," said the blond man, moving now. He'd stepped forward, and Fletcher swallowed in fear. "Don't got anything to say for yourself?"
"Um, I--" What could he say? It wasn't as though he could deny it. He kept his back to the men, thinking briefly that maybe he deserved this. Maybe they'd had their homes destroyed because of his and Russel's work. He couldn't deny he was partly at fault.
"Well, isn't this turning out to be a good day." There was a smile in the other man's voice, but it wasn't a nice kind of smile, and his question wasn't a question at all. "Hey, kid. We don't like you offworlders here. At all."
Fourth floor. Almost there. Fletcher trembled, biting his lip to keep from responding. He knew he was guilty; did they have to point it out like this? But if he said anything, he just knew he would burst into tears. Once the elevator stopped and the doors opened he was going to run directly to his and Russel's room and cling to him. Then he could cry.
He didn't get the chance. The first man reached forward and slammed his palm into the emergency stop button. With a sudden lurch, the elevator came to a halt and the taller man stepped in front of Fletcher. The boy's knees shook and he stepped backward, but then remembered the other man behind him.
He was outnumbered and outpowered, trapped in a small elevator. Keeping hold of his books with one hand he went for his pocket with the other, before the blond man grabbed him and spun him around, holding his arms tight with one arm and grabbing his hair roughly with the other. The books were discarded on the floor and so was the syringe of blood he'd pulled out. Fletcher tried to struggle, but he was no match. He could only watch, terror slowly growing as the other man, the larger one, stepped forward -- crushing the syringe underfoot -- and cracked his knuckles.
He cried out for help. "Broth--"
And then the air was knocked out of him when he was punched in the stomach. He gasped for breath, didn't have a chance to shout again as he was hit again, this time in the face. The fists struck again and again, he lost track of how many times -- surely not more than six or seven, but he couldn't be sure. Fletcher was crying by now, whimpering in pain, but his assailants didn't seem to care. Why should they? He was an outsider who'd invaded their glorious city, bringing nothing but ruin and destruction.
And then he was dropped to the floor, where he just laid on his side, groaning now. Maybe if he just closed his eyes and laid still they would leave. With a jerk the elevator started moving again, as they pulled the emergency stop button back out, and there was a ding as the doors opened up.
And then one of them kicked him in the stomach and he let out a strangled cry. He curled up into a ball and shielded his head with his arms, but they were done with him. Two sets of footsteps exited the elevator, making their way down the hallway, and the doors slid shut again.
Fletcher laid there for a very long time, half out of pain and half out of fear, simply crying.
I want to go home.