Needed Kindness [Complete]
Character(s): Yuna and the eleventh Doctor.
Content: Yuna stumbles upon a near-stranger who's very much in need of aid.
Setting: Clan Centurio headquarters.
Time: Night, Week 35, several days after the Doctor's capture and a few hours after this post.
Warnings: Past mentions of violence.
He didn't know how long he'd been lying there, bound and blindfolded. Honestly, there hadn't been any need of it; the Doctor was near death from starvation and dehydration as well as injury (though the new-fallen snow has helped his thirst a little), and even if he hadn't been, Kuja's magic was more powerful than anything he could bear. He supposed that it had been for the mage's amusement, more than anything else; Kuja had taken great delight in taunting him in everything from his weakness to his fashion sense to his apparently annoying non-sequiturs. Still, it seemed to have kept the Doctor alive that much longer, especially when they'd gotten to talking about theatre, brought on by an aside Kuja had made regarding the opera house before he'd blindfolded the Time Lord.
He wished, with ever-increasing resignation, that he'd managed to get ahold of his screwdriver before he'd weakened so much, but as it was, all he could do was focus on remaining conscious. Blimey, he'd forgotten how rubbish being a prisoner was; he needed to make a mental note not to do it again. Truthfully, at this rate, he wouldn't need to worry about it; it was obvious Kuja had left him to die, and he didn't have long before he succumbed to his heavy injuries as well as neglect (and hadn't Kuja made a snide remark about having to make sure the next prisoner bathed as he left?).
He hadn't even managed to get his journal out, secured as he was (though it didn't feel as though he were bound to anything, just something he couldn't wriggle out of in the sorry state he was in), and so he clung to the hope that someone, anyone, would find him.
Hopefully quickly. And he wouldn't say not to a nice cup of tea and a few biscuits, either.
Content: Yuna stumbles upon a near-stranger who's very much in need of aid.
Setting: Clan Centurio headquarters.
Time: Night, Week 35, several days after the Doctor's capture and a few hours after this post.
Warnings: Past mentions of violence.
He didn't know how long he'd been lying there, bound and blindfolded. Honestly, there hadn't been any need of it; the Doctor was near death from starvation and dehydration as well as injury (though the new-fallen snow has helped his thirst a little), and even if he hadn't been, Kuja's magic was more powerful than anything he could bear. He supposed that it had been for the mage's amusement, more than anything else; Kuja had taken great delight in taunting him in everything from his weakness to his fashion sense to his apparently annoying non-sequiturs. Still, it seemed to have kept the Doctor alive that much longer, especially when they'd gotten to talking about theatre, brought on by an aside Kuja had made regarding the opera house before he'd blindfolded the Time Lord.
He wished, with ever-increasing resignation, that he'd managed to get ahold of his screwdriver before he'd weakened so much, but as it was, all he could do was focus on remaining conscious. Blimey, he'd forgotten how rubbish being a prisoner was; he needed to make a mental note not to do it again. Truthfully, at this rate, he wouldn't need to worry about it; it was obvious Kuja had left him to die, and he didn't have long before he succumbed to his heavy injuries as well as neglect (and hadn't Kuja made a snide remark about having to make sure the next prisoner bathed as he left?).
He hadn't even managed to get his journal out, secured as he was (though it didn't feel as though he were bound to anything, just something he couldn't wriggle out of in the sorry state he was in), and so he clung to the hope that someone, anyone, would find him.
Hopefully quickly. And he wouldn't say not to a nice cup of tea and a few biscuits, either.