[Usually, Guriel's right at Ben's side, stuck closer than his shadow. And usually, even if Ben does give him the slip, Guri can find him in a heartbeat.
But things aren't usual, these days, nowhere even close. And Guri's got no idea at all of exactly where his brother is -- nor can he hear him calling.]
[The vamps have a shipping container out at the docks, in a quiet corner not frequented by very many people. Paralyzed and in agony, all Ben can do is curse and demand that they let him go.
That's not happening, of course. Ben gets an all-over chill that has nothing to do with the wolfsbane when he sees their setup in the shipping container. It's a sort of living area, with cots and a television--
And an execution table in the middle of it. The place reeks, if Ben could smell anything at all, of wolf, fear, and death. It's not like they have to strap him down, not with the wolfsbane, but they do anyway, with silver across his wrists and biceps. "It leaves a nice piquant flavor," one of the vamps explains helpfully. They tear his shirt off, but leave him the minor dignity of his jeans, anyway.]
[Guriel . . . is panicking. Recent days have been hell on Ben's coping mechanisms -- not to mention his soul -- and Guriel very, very much does not like not being able to find him.
He knows a thing or two about conventional tracking -- "conventional" in the sense of "non-angelic", anyway -- so he falls back on that, combing the shabby streets for any sign of Ben while he sends up fervent prayers.]
[The "tattoo" on his chest is cause for comment, but they don't actually ask him about it. Two of them are male, one female, and they're watching him like a lion drooling over a particularly fat and tasty gazelle. He assiduously avoids their gazes.]
Let me go and this won't escalate.
[They laugh. "Do you know how rare wolves are these days? Let you go? We're going to keep you as long as possible."]
Comments 71
But things aren't usual, these days, nowhere even close. And Guri's got no idea at all of exactly where his brother is -- nor can he hear him calling.]
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That's not happening, of course. Ben gets an all-over chill that has nothing to do with the wolfsbane when he sees their setup in the shipping container. It's a sort of living area, with cots and a television--
And an execution table in the middle of it. The place reeks, if Ben could smell anything at all, of wolf, fear, and death. It's not like they have to strap him down, not with the wolfsbane, but they do anyway, with silver across his wrists and biceps. "It leaves a nice piquant flavor," one of the vamps explains helpfully. They tear his shirt off, but leave him the minor dignity of his jeans, anyway.]
Fuck you.
Guriel!
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He knows a thing or two about conventional tracking -- "conventional" in the sense of "non-angelic", anyway -- so he falls back on that, combing the shabby streets for any sign of Ben while he sends up fervent prayers.]
Come on, Dad, please give me a sign . . .
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Let me go and this won't escalate.
[They laugh. "Do you know how rare wolves are these days? Let you go? We're going to keep you as long as possible."]
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