(no subject)
First of all, Katara's been dragged off for something. And she doesn't look any more eager to go than Jim is eager to get dragged off to work, but go they must.
And that's bad to start off with. Then they started beating on a kid.
A little boy. Newly arrived. Already bruised, clawmarks on his arms. Wouldn't go quietly, and when he ran, he went to Jim for protection and -
"- should wait until it's a bit older to bear our young, but in the meantime it might become the dead one's breakfast. Gangrenous Talons, perform the infestation."
- something snapped.
And they're still pretty bad about leaving lead pipes lying around.
Jim thinks the magog that was speaking is now dead, and he's glad. Every bit of him.
And he's bleeding. Copiously. Unbitten, but bleeding.
"You're steadily becoming less irreplaceable," the magog warned him still dripping bloody at the mouth from where he bit the kid, the kid who was screaming in the background, the kid Jim couldn't save, "Your little engine isn't worth half as much anymore. Try anything, anything at all, and you'll wish you'd killed yourself before we get to."
He hears them, hears their screams filtering down from the higher levels. Sees their faces in his dreams, when he's able to sleep. Kill me, they beg, always the same kill me in a woman's voice, the woman he first saw when they dragged him down here.
Jim is thrown back into his cage with his wounds untreated. An infected wound or two does wonders for quelling rebellion.
Kill me, they beg, Kill me, and sometimes he says it out loud.
The belt around his waist is starting to look more and more friendly.
And that's bad to start off with. Then they started beating on a kid.
A little boy. Newly arrived. Already bruised, clawmarks on his arms. Wouldn't go quietly, and when he ran, he went to Jim for protection and -
"- should wait until it's a bit older to bear our young, but in the meantime it might become the dead one's breakfast. Gangrenous Talons, perform the infestation."
- something snapped.
And they're still pretty bad about leaving lead pipes lying around.
Jim thinks the magog that was speaking is now dead, and he's glad. Every bit of him.
And he's bleeding. Copiously. Unbitten, but bleeding.
"You're steadily becoming less irreplaceable," the magog warned him still dripping bloody at the mouth from where he bit the kid, the kid who was screaming in the background, the kid Jim couldn't save, "Your little engine isn't worth half as much anymore. Try anything, anything at all, and you'll wish you'd killed yourself before we get to."
He hears them, hears their screams filtering down from the higher levels. Sees their faces in his dreams, when he's able to sleep. Kill me, they beg, always the same kill me in a woman's voice, the woman he first saw when they dragged him down here.
Jim is thrown back into his cage with his wounds untreated. An infected wound or two does wonders for quelling rebellion.
Kill me, they beg, Kill me, and sometimes he says it out loud.
The belt around his waist is starting to look more and more friendly.