Boned [Active, Backlog]

[averyspecialguy]

Characters: Jack Skellington and Luxord
Content: Jack finally leaves Character Limbo and enters the severely backlogged realm of Organizational torture.
Setting: An unpleasant, undisclosed location.
Time: A WHILE ago. Don't ask, I don't know.
Warnings: Mindraepage, at least.

Jack couldn't even manage to struggle properly like the situation deserved; his

Comments

[dix_des_coeurs]

Luxord had not been pleased to hear that he was to take care of yet another person. He would do it, sure - disobeying orders was two steps away from suicide, and this particular order wasn't worth it. He was going out for a stiff drink afterwards, however, and damned if anybody would stop him. The alcohol itself wouldn't affect him (Nobody physiology had made sure of that), but some habits were hard to break, and a good shot of something that would knock out most other men in three minutes flat sounded very appealing at the moment.

But first, he had a job to do.

He portalled into the room where his captive would be, unable to hide a smirk at the skeleton's situation. The Dusks had been thorough to the point of being comical, and he was just the sort of person to enjoy somebody else's predicament. "Good evening," he greeted his prisoner, giving a low, theatrical, mocking bow. "I wonder if I might get your name?"

With no more warning than that seemingly innocent question, he walked forward and through his prisoner, passing through memories, reading them all. Nothing could be kept secret from this.

[averyspecialguy]

One could easily believe the Dusks to be intelligent enough in and of themselves to enjoy causing this sort of misery; Jack was in an awkward stage of confinement where he wasn't strapped down by a long shot, but wasn't quite cocooned. They could have at least found some other hole besides eye sockets to use for his skull, couldn't they?

Strapped or not, he glanced at the appearing Organization member, wondering whether or not the politeness was a good thing. Exaggerated or not, nothing else these people had done was even close to polite. Was it really evening already? He had to have been here for at least a day or two, then.... "Jack Skellington, the Pumpkin King." The name was given with as much dignity as the captive could muster, though he did try to flinch away as Luxord strolled through him; all his effort got was a jerk of the straps holding him, and the hollow rattle of bones against metal.