[closed/incomplete]

[modraed]

Characters: Arthur (rexquefuturus), Lancelot (drinksalot), Mordred (modraed), and eventual Famine (eatasam)
Date/Time: Tuesday 10/04, late night
Location: Famine's apartment building
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Swearing, Famine, Mordred
Summary: Knights to the rescue

Comments

2/3~

[eatasam]

"Fuck,” Lancelot muttered at the sight of the boy. Had some angel really done this? Worth wondering about, but he didn't stand there and idle watching Arthur and Mordred untie the horseman. Instead, he poked around the basement, making certain no one was waiting to spring on them. After a thorough sweep, Lancelot safely concluded the basement was empty.

"S'clear in here,” he called around his shoulder to the other two.

"Fuck me sideways,” Mordred muttered as he carefully dropped down to where Famine's wrists were tied. He knew what he was about to do would be painful, and despite his father and Lancelot being there he lowered his voice to a more soothing tone and started speaking to the younger man with a calmness he didn't feel. "Famine, it's Mordred. You're safe now. We're going to get you out of this.”

Glancing up at Lancelot, a look of pure annoyance crossed his face. "Damnit man, don't stand around like the berk you are. Call a fucking ambulance,” he barked, quickly turning back to the hurting horseman. "I'm going to try and pull you away from the pipe, I promise to be careful but I know it's going to hurt. Just focus on me, on my voice, and once you're up and around again I'll let you kick me around a bit to make up for this, alright?”

There was no easy way to do this, but after considering the situation Mordred found a way that would result in the least amount of pain. Sparing a quick look at Arthur, he made sure to untie Famine's hands and then yanked his friend away as quickly and seamlessly as he could. "Thank you, I've got this from here.”

Lancelot was already ahead of Mordred, pulling out his mobile to dial 911 as soon as he knew they hadn't walked in on a trap. If Arthur hadn't been there, he might have decked the kid for speaking to him like he was a moron. "Shut your hole,” he snarled back, temper flaring. "Just for that, you can fucking explain how we found him here-” and then his phone connected. Being as vague as possible, Lancelot made it crystal clear they needed an ambulance sent down to the basement of the building. Right fucking now. Before more questions could be asked, he hung up.

Hopefully Mordred could rub two brain cells together and explain what three random men were doing poking around in a basement where some skinny kid just happened to be tied up and tortured. Yeah. Good fucking luck with that.

Famine's first inclination had been to kick out and catch Arthur in the jaw once his legs were free, simply out of instinct. He'd stiffened like a displeased alley cat, readying a kick until he'd heard Mordred's accent before ever processing the words. He certainly didn't feel safe, regardless of the familiar knight at his side.

Even the offer to kick the older boy around went unregistered as the Horseman attempted to re-familiarize himself with what surroundings he could understand, but a blindfold made that difficult. Discomfort made it worse. Through the delirium of pain, he could figure out that Mordred was speaking to him, though only that crisp English accent shone through.

He didn't cry out at the sensation of his wrists coming away from the pipe, but he did stiffen, nearly trying to kick out once again.

Arthur avoided the kicks easily enough. The kid - it was difficult to think of him as an adult, much less the personification of Famine - wasn't exactly in peak physical condition and to judge from the size of him, he can't have weighed much soaking wet.

"Here,” he muttered, passing no comment on Mordred's frankly bizarre familiarity with the kid. He dug into his jacket pocket and pulled out a bottle of water. "Drink. Slowly. Not too much.”