loggage
In which Alden is intercepted on the way to Headquarters and does his best not to panic.
The world telescoped inwards.
Alden always thought of it like that, though he couldn’t have said why; transporting brought everything down to a sort of pinprick, himself folding in on himself, and it made most people sick, the first time and maybe the second and the fifth and the two thousandth time they transported. It never made Alden sick, because there was some part of him that always felt all folded in like this, and transporting was just an odd concentration of that, and if it was not a pleasant feeling, it was bearable.
Far worse was the feeling that washed over Alden a moment after he emerged from transport. It was profound disorientation. Wherever he was, it was nothing like Headquarters. He had time to think, fuck, that’s very bad, isn’t it? and then his handheld computer came falling out of otherspace and Alden only just managed to catch it, reflexes made quick by endless years of training.
Why the hell had his pocket of otherspace vanished? Alden felt around for it, clutching at his handheld, and found himself getting very dizzy. Where was the otherspace? Where was any of it? The quiet fire in his veins-
Gone.
“Hello,” someone said softly from behind him.
They’ve been expecting you. Alden whirled, half expecting knives-but no, nothing but two men, lounging at their ease. Long narrow room. They were between him and the door. They looked so very comfortable that Alden could nearly see all the weapons they had casually concealed about them, and he did not need his magic to see that.
“Hello,” he returned, and tightened his grip on his computer. Fuck, if they got that-“Have you been expecting me, my good men?”
“I don’t think you’re in a position to ask questions,” the one who had first spoken volunteered, still very softly. “Lord Alden, your computer is on endless transport loop. No matter where you go, you will end up back here in a matter of seconds, and I am quite sure that if one goes on an endless transport loop long enough, one’s brain might simply… fold in.”
Alden did not shudder. “Shall I try it?”
“No,” said the second man, deeper voiced, and stood. He was quick and slight-a rather pretty boy, in fact, Alden thought idiotically. And strong; he wrested the handheld from Alden in an instant, and smiled. “And they call you one of the best agents.”
“I know when to fight,” Alden returned politely.
“And evidently not when to call a bluff,” said the first man, still in that soft voice. “You might have just gotten yourself out.”
“And then again I might not have.” Alden looked between the two of them. No help for it right now. Without his magic, he felt terrifyingly weak, and he wasn’t entirely sure he would have survived a transport even if it would have gotten him to Headquarters.
In any case, he was curious.
He was suddenly at the heart of some part of this strange tangled conspiracy T.H.E.Y. had all found themselves in, and Alden had always been of the opinion that he was the best man for the job. Any job, nearly, but this one was especially promising.
“You might not have,” the soft-voiced man agreed, and nodded to his companion.
Alden was expecting it, so the blow the man dealt him didn’t hurt quite as much as it might have.
It did put a definite crimp on things, though. It’s rather difficult to make cunning plans when one is rather painfully unconscious.
They hadn’t tried to make him comfortable, and so Alden awoke awkwardly. They didn’t bother to offer him food, either. In fact, the soft-voiced man was gone entirely, and the other man was sitting near Alden, bent curiously over Alden’s handheld. He shot Alden a grin when he noticed he was awake.
“Good evening, your lordship. Very interesting life you have here.”
Fuck, Alden thought, and sat up, head swimming. That was his handheld; that man would be able to read anything private-tagged to him. Oh fuck. Finn.
“Is that so?” he asked mildly.
“Yeah.” The man tapped the screen thoughtfully. “Your boytoy’s worried.”
Alden stiffened.
“Here.” The man handed Alden the computer. “Go on. Reassure him if you like.”
So Alden typed numbly. It didn’t work; of course Finn wasn’t reassured, and Alden was willing his hands not to shake because he still couldn’t feel one damn bit of his magic and there had to be some reason that this man was letting him talk, and breathing over his shoulder and letting him, gods, but did not let him really say anything, and of course it wasn’t going to reassure Finn.
He made the lad promise not to do anything stupid, and then he shut down the handheld with a quick flick of the switch.
Voice-activated startup. Alden grinned to himself.
The man’s gaze darted to the handheld to Alden and back again. “You,” he muttered.
“Indeed.” Alden leaned forward conversationally. “It’s not very polite to read other people’s messages. Perhaps you could return the favour and tell me what the fuck you are doing and why you are doing it and what in hell it is with you people and your damn knives.”
“All in good time, my friend,” the man said, and one of those invisible weapons from earlier came into view in the palm of his hand: a sharp and lethal-looking thing, glinting dull silver. Alden went very still, and the man smiled slightly. “Third question first, in fact. I’m not especially skilled with knives, of course, but they are very pretty toys, are they not?” He dragged it lightly up Alden’s arm.
Alden watched the line of red welling up behind it, and imagined that it felt like fire to replace his now-untouchable magic. It hurt more that way, but it also meant it was bearable. “Very pretty,” he agreed.
“Yes,” the man said, and took back his knife, standing. “Good day, my lord.” And he left-with the handheld, of course.
Alden ran a hand over his arm, and it came away bloody. No magic. Of course. He smiled mirthlessly and leaned back against the wall. So far… very interesting. Yes. Very interesting indeed.
The world telescoped inwards.
Alden always thought of it like that, though he couldn’t have said why; transporting brought everything down to a sort of pinprick, himself folding in on himself, and it made most people sick, the first time and maybe the second and the fifth and the two thousandth time they transported. It never made Alden sick, because there was some part of him that always felt all folded in like this, and transporting was just an odd concentration of that, and if it was not a pleasant feeling, it was bearable.
Far worse was the feeling that washed over Alden a moment after he emerged from transport. It was profound disorientation. Wherever he was, it was nothing like Headquarters. He had time to think, fuck, that’s very bad, isn’t it? and then his handheld computer came falling out of otherspace and Alden only just managed to catch it, reflexes made quick by endless years of training.
Why the hell had his pocket of otherspace vanished? Alden felt around for it, clutching at his handheld, and found himself getting very dizzy. Where was the otherspace? Where was any of it? The quiet fire in his veins-
Gone.
“Hello,” someone said softly from behind him.
They’ve been expecting you. Alden whirled, half expecting knives-but no, nothing but two men, lounging at their ease. Long narrow room. They were between him and the door. They looked so very comfortable that Alden could nearly see all the weapons they had casually concealed about them, and he did not need his magic to see that.
“Hello,” he returned, and tightened his grip on his computer. Fuck, if they got that-“Have you been expecting me, my good men?”
“I don’t think you’re in a position to ask questions,” the one who had first spoken volunteered, still very softly. “Lord Alden, your computer is on endless transport loop. No matter where you go, you will end up back here in a matter of seconds, and I am quite sure that if one goes on an endless transport loop long enough, one’s brain might simply… fold in.”
Alden did not shudder. “Shall I try it?”
“No,” said the second man, deeper voiced, and stood. He was quick and slight-a rather pretty boy, in fact, Alden thought idiotically. And strong; he wrested the handheld from Alden in an instant, and smiled. “And they call you one of the best agents.”
“I know when to fight,” Alden returned politely.
“And evidently not when to call a bluff,” said the first man, still in that soft voice. “You might have just gotten yourself out.”
“And then again I might not have.” Alden looked between the two of them. No help for it right now. Without his magic, he felt terrifyingly weak, and he wasn’t entirely sure he would have survived a transport even if it would have gotten him to Headquarters.
In any case, he was curious.
He was suddenly at the heart of some part of this strange tangled conspiracy T.H.E.Y. had all found themselves in, and Alden had always been of the opinion that he was the best man for the job. Any job, nearly, but this one was especially promising.
“You might not have,” the soft-voiced man agreed, and nodded to his companion.
Alden was expecting it, so the blow the man dealt him didn’t hurt quite as much as it might have.
It did put a definite crimp on things, though. It’s rather difficult to make cunning plans when one is rather painfully unconscious.
They hadn’t tried to make him comfortable, and so Alden awoke awkwardly. They didn’t bother to offer him food, either. In fact, the soft-voiced man was gone entirely, and the other man was sitting near Alden, bent curiously over Alden’s handheld. He shot Alden a grin when he noticed he was awake.
“Good evening, your lordship. Very interesting life you have here.”
Fuck, Alden thought, and sat up, head swimming. That was his handheld; that man would be able to read anything private-tagged to him. Oh fuck. Finn.
“Is that so?” he asked mildly.
“Yeah.” The man tapped the screen thoughtfully. “Your boytoy’s worried.”
Alden stiffened.
“Here.” The man handed Alden the computer. “Go on. Reassure him if you like.”
So Alden typed numbly. It didn’t work; of course Finn wasn’t reassured, and Alden was willing his hands not to shake because he still couldn’t feel one damn bit of his magic and there had to be some reason that this man was letting him talk, and breathing over his shoulder and letting him, gods, but did not let him really say anything, and of course it wasn’t going to reassure Finn.
He made the lad promise not to do anything stupid, and then he shut down the handheld with a quick flick of the switch.
Voice-activated startup. Alden grinned to himself.
The man’s gaze darted to the handheld to Alden and back again. “You,” he muttered.
“Indeed.” Alden leaned forward conversationally. “It’s not very polite to read other people’s messages. Perhaps you could return the favour and tell me what the fuck you are doing and why you are doing it and what in hell it is with you people and your damn knives.”
“All in good time, my friend,” the man said, and one of those invisible weapons from earlier came into view in the palm of his hand: a sharp and lethal-looking thing, glinting dull silver. Alden went very still, and the man smiled slightly. “Third question first, in fact. I’m not especially skilled with knives, of course, but they are very pretty toys, are they not?” He dragged it lightly up Alden’s arm.
Alden watched the line of red welling up behind it, and imagined that it felt like fire to replace his now-untouchable magic. It hurt more that way, but it also meant it was bearable. “Very pretty,” he agreed.
“Yes,” the man said, and took back his knife, standing. “Good day, my lord.” And he left-with the handheld, of course.
Alden ran a hand over his arm, and it came away bloody. No magic. Of course. He smiled mirthlessly and leaned back against the wall. So far… very interesting. Yes. Very interesting indeed.