[It's been an hour, two hours, four, six-- hell, a day, York isn't even sure by this point. He's without his armor, without his weapons, without a clock in the room, without sunlight, without Delta above all else. There's nothing in this room to help him gauge what time it is or just how much time has passed, which is frustrating on so many levels that he can't even explain
( ... )
York's staring right back, hands clenched faintly. The food is there, though; he can smell it, see it, and his stomach rumbles ominously, but goddamnit, no, he wants to know what Maine wants first.]
He leans over the table, flattening his palms against the cool surface without taking his eyes off York. Instinct is telling him to grab York by the throat and shove his ass down into the chair, but that's not what he does. ]
[There's a hint of a please in that, too; he's exhausted, hungry, sore, and it feels like more than anything, someone disassembled his body and reassembled it all wrong, without Delta there]
[ Yeah, that's totally ok, you can do that for as long as you want.
But. He's not really in the mood for twenty questions, so he pushes away from the table, rounding it until he's stopping in front of York. His fingers slip around his elbows, hard enough to bruise the muscle, and he drags him back, forcibly shoving him down into the chair. ]
York jerks like he's going to bolt (except where, there's no where to go, he's fucked) and finds himself dragged and shoved down into the chair with a hiss, glaring up at Maine angrily]
[....nghghshf okay looks at the food, and then starts picking at it, figuring if it was poisoned, at least it'd hurt a lot less than Maine breaking his bones one by one. It doesn't seem to be, though, and it fills the ache in his stomach, making him a little less miserable in that way. Now for all the others.]
[Nnghh, stands up when it's finished, hands curling tight at the table behind him as he leans partially against it. It sucks listening to him like this, but there's little else to do.]
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Maine watches him for a moment, silent, considering. YOU CAN EITHER SIT OF YOUR OWN VOLITION, OR HE'S GONNA MAKE YOU. ]
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York's staring right back, hands clenched faintly. The food is there, though; he can smell it, see it, and his stomach rumbles ominously, but goddamnit, no, he wants to know what Maine wants first.]
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He leans over the table, flattening his palms against the cool surface without taking his eyes off York. Instinct is telling him to grab York by the throat and shove his ass down into the chair, but that's not what he does. ]
Please?
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[There's a hint of a please in that, too; he's exhausted, hungry, sore, and it feels like more than anything, someone disassembled his body and reassembled it all wrong, without Delta there]
Why the hell did you even take me.
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TOO BAD HE CAN'T ANSWER IT. ]
I don't know.
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Why did you take Delta. Because he's incomplete or incorrect or whatever isn't an answer, either.
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But. He's not really in the mood for twenty questions, so he pushes away from the table, rounding it until he's stopping in front of York. His fingers slip around his elbows, hard enough to bruise the muscle, and he drags him back, forcibly shoving him down into the chair. ]
Sit.
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York jerks like he's going to bolt (except where, there's no where to go, he's fucked) and finds himself dragged and shoved down into the chair with a hiss, glaring up at Maine angrily]
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Maine leans over his shoulder, the tip of his finger catching against the edge of the tray as he drags it closer to York. ]
Eat, or I force you to.
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Well?
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But once he's finished, he backs off just a little, enough to give York a bit of breathing room, as he gestures for him to stand. ]
Stand up.
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Does this have a point?
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They're on your wrists now. ]
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