#4, CoG, because we are AWFUL.werewolf_hackerJanuary 13 2012, 05:13:13 UTC
[Months. It has been months since Guriel disappeared, and Ben has torn the city apart looking for him. Auction houses, black markets, pits, brothels, you name it, he's been there. Sometimes pleading, sometimes threatening, and sometimes the place is in ashes after he leaves, with bodies scattered around, but he doesn't care. He has. To find. His Packmate.]
[And Guriel has spent most of those months literally in chains, first at an Auction, then as the household slave of a pair of thin-faced, sour-tempered Napa Valley landowners. They keep him in a pair of cuffs, runebound and welded shut around his wrists so he can be chained at a moment's notice; the cuffs are locked to a staple in the floor of a closet barely large enough to sit down in when he's not in use.
At first he raged and spit and pushed back at them any chance he got, certain that Ben and Zev and the others wouldn't leave him. They'd come for him, they would, because they're Pack, because they promised.
And then a week wore into two and then a month wore into another and they didn't come and didn't come and didn't come. His Masters think it's hilarious, and he curses himself for a fool for ever, ever letting them know he had something he was hoping for, something he was holding on to.
He was better at hiding that, once. He was better at this, once, better at being a bad slave, at not letting his human Masters break his
( ... )
[Ben rages, cries, drinks... and is scaring Rachmiel. Which he is terribly, terribly sorry for, but he can't seem to help himself. Rachmiel is spending more and more time at the safe house, and Ben is left alone to brood over his failures and plot slow, ugly death to whoever has his Packmate.
Because make no mistake. He is going to kill them.
He just wishes it wasn't taking so long. It's been months, and Guriel seems to have disappeared into a black hole and then pulled it in after himself. Ben's dropped weight, and his eyes have a hollow, haunted look.
[Guriel's lost weight, too, or at least gives the impression that he has; he slouches when he stands, like he's trying to bear up under a weight too terrible to bear. If he was his own, if his face mirrored his spirit, he'd be blank-eyed and expressionless and as numb as he feels.
But his Mistress wants him to smile, and he has standing Orders to always be smiling when she can see him. Somehow that makes it worse.]
[Ben's in the bar with his laptop when he gets an email from someone who may have heard something somewhere about where Guriel might maybe be. Or, at least, an angelus matching his description was seen at a party in Napa.
Smiling, obedient, and handcuffed with silver, decorative shackles.
He wants to start that way now. And he can't. Because he doesn't drive drunk, and he is so very intoxicated right now.] Stupid. [And he goes off on yet another swearing tirade, calls a cab, and falls into bed once it gets him home.
[And it's just another night, sitting with his wrists cuffed to the floor, shifting awkwardly as he tries and fails to find another, more comfortable position, one to take some of the strain off his aching shoulders.
He doesn't sleep, here; nothing they demand of him is taxing enough to make him that weary, and he knows better than to try it for any reason but sheer exhaustion. Not without Zev to comfort him if he wakes up with nightmares.
He misses his Pack, God he misses them, it's a physical ache deep down in his very being. He doesn't pray anymore, he hasn't for weeks -- maybe God is still listening, but he can't bring himself to hear yet another endless silence from that direction. He doesn't sing or recite the Psalms, because They don't want him making noises at night.
But he's not entirely silent, because they were too stupid to Order him not to speak altogether. So he whispers, pressing his forehead to the wall, even though nobody else hears.]
Please come. Please come for me. Please, please, I'm here, please find me, you
( ... )
[Google Maps says it's a nearly seven-hour drive. And this is California. By the time he gets through rush-hour traffic, past four accidents that drag everything to a standstill, and construction, it's more like nine. When Ben arrives at the address he was told, he's practically in a frothing rage. His eyes are amber, his claws are sprouted, and fur bristles on his back.
God help these people.
He pulls the Jeep to a stop in front of the house, flings himself out, stomps up the walk, and doesn't even knock. He just slams the front door open--
[Guriel's in the kitchen scrubbing floors when the door slams open, and he goes cold all over -- running through the list of bad possibilities in his mind, trying to prepare for any of them. Could be the Mistress roaring home drunk again, in which case she's liable to be furious if dinner's wrong (and it will be wrong); could be the wind or something slamming the door, which means it's his fault the latch has broken; could be intruders, which means he'll have to kill them to protect people he'd cheerfully murder if he only had his sword . . .
Answering the door is his job, one of many, and he should already be out there; even while he's trying to prepare for the worst he's scrambling to his feet, rushing out into the front room.
He gets there at the same time as his Master does, furious and red-faced. "Who the Hell are you?"
And Guriel freezes, cold all over and numb from too many emotions at once.] Ben.
[And Ben doesn't even hesitate, he's got the guy by the throat and slams him against the wall with no effort whatsoever. A bestial snarl rips through his lips, and there's barely anything human looking out of his eyes.] Where. Is. His ring.
[It's on his finger, gleaming dully, heavy and hateful. The human scrabbles and claws at Ben's wrist, but he's not an idiot, and he digs his thumb into the sigil for Order and half-chokes, half-barks at Guriel. "Get. Him. Off me."
Guriel shudders, clenching his fists, because nothing in him wants to do that, he wants to watch Ben murder this bastard, but he can't fight the rush of that Order, like ten thousand tiny puppeteer's strings yanking on every part of him, cutting and burning and freezing him until he obeys, his actions leaden and his heart frozen in his chest.
Ben is strong, but Guriel has angelic strength, and he seizes Ben's wrist in one hand and wraps the other arm around his throat, pulling him away. His voice is tiny and strangled.] Please. Let him go before he makes me kill you. Please.
NOW WITH MORE AWFULgurielJanuary 13 2012, 18:43:14 UTC
[Guriel flinches like he's been shot, and he drops his eyes to the flagstone floor, hating himself for not answering, hating his Mistress for Ordering him not to ever speak mind-to-mind with anyone again, hating that he's still holding Ben in an iron grip, hating the fact that realization, sadistically gleeful realization, is growing in his Master's eyes.
And the Mistress of the house chooses that moment to come home, stepping through the front door with a somewhat dull-witted expression, surveying the scene. "What . . ."
Her husband's voice is an evil, evil thing in its amusement. "Honey, this is the angel's little friend."
Her own answering smile is flinty and sharp and horrible as she turns it on Guriel. "Oh, is it?"
And Guriel flinches. And hates himself. And smiles.]
[She stops short and stares at Ben with amazed contempt. "This is what he's been yammering on about?"]
I am going to kill them so very very dead... [Which is not something he'll say aloud, especially when Guriel's still got him in an iron grip. But he's sending love and reassurance and missed you down the Pack link.]
[Guriel closes his eyes, shaking a little, doing his best to hide it. Still smiling that horrible, hollow, Order-bound smile.
His Master straightens his shirt collar and steps closer. "Look at that, angel, you were right after all. He did come running to your rescue, didn't he?"
Guriel swallows painfully. He knows that note of cruel amusement in the human's voice, and his stomach turns at the thought of all the awful things he might Order Guriel to do next . . .
Especially if that hanging question that isn't one goes unanswered for even a moment longer.] Yes, Master. He did.
[hotly] Of course I did, motherfucker, he's my friend. I never stopped looking for him after he disappeared. And I don't know where you got him or what your paperwork looks like, but it's forged, and you're in a lot of trouble.
Can you hear me, at least? Tighten your hand on my wrist if you can, okay...?
[Guriel hears, all right. He hears, he just can't respond -- but his fingers tighten. Not enough to hurt, and he's trying his best not to let the silver of his shackles touch Ben's skin.
His Master scoffs. "We bought him at a perfectly legal Auction, thank you. There's nothing illegal about owning a recaptured angel."
"That's right, there isn't." His wife steps closer to Guriel with that same cold, flinty smile. "And you know that, don't you, angel?"
Guriel flinches. Because they're right; there's technically no law against what the Hunter who ambushed him did.] Yes, Mistress.
["He's such a good boy. Once he had a firm hand to break him of that wilfulness, he shaped right up."]
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They keep him in a pair of cuffs, runebound and welded shut around his wrists so he can be chained at a moment's notice; the cuffs are locked to a staple in the floor of a closet barely large enough to sit down in when he's not in use.
At first he raged and spit and pushed back at them any chance he got, certain that Ben and Zev and the others wouldn't leave him. They'd come for him, they would, because they're Pack, because they promised.
And then a week wore into two and then a month wore into another and they didn't come and didn't come and didn't come. His Masters think it's hilarious, and he curses himself for a fool for ever, ever letting them know he had something he was hoping for, something he was holding on to.
He was better at hiding that, once. He was better at this, once, better at being a bad slave, at not letting his human Masters break his ( ... )
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Because make no mistake. He is going to kill them.
He just wishes it wasn't taking so long. It's been months, and Guriel seems to have disappeared into a black hole and then pulled it in after himself. Ben's dropped weight, and his eyes have a hollow, haunted look.
Most of the time, they're amber.]
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But his Mistress wants him to smile, and he has standing Orders to always be smiling when she can see him. Somehow that makes it worse.]
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Smiling, obedient, and handcuffed with silver, decorative shackles.
He wants to start that way now. And he can't. Because he doesn't drive drunk, and he is so very intoxicated right now.] Stupid. [And he goes off on yet another swearing tirade, calls a cab, and falls into bed once it gets him home.
First thing in the morning...]
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He doesn't sleep, here; nothing they demand of him is taxing enough to make him that weary, and he knows better than to try it for any reason but sheer exhaustion. Not without Zev to comfort him if he wakes up with nightmares.
He misses his Pack, God he misses them, it's a physical ache deep down in his very being. He doesn't pray anymore, he hasn't for weeks -- maybe God is still listening, but he can't bring himself to hear yet another endless silence from that direction. He doesn't sing or recite the Psalms, because They don't want him making noises at night.
But he's not entirely silent, because they were too stupid to Order him not to speak altogether. So he whispers, pressing his forehead to the wall, even though nobody else hears.]
Please come. Please come for me. Please, please, I'm here, please find me, you ( ... )
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God help these people.
He pulls the Jeep to a stop in front of the house, flings himself out, stomps up the walk, and doesn't even knock. He just slams the front door open--
And Guriel's scent hits him like a sledgehammer.]
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Answering the door is his job, one of many, and he should already be out there; even while he's trying to prepare for the worst he's scrambling to his feet, rushing out into the front room.
He gets there at the same time as his Master does, furious and red-faced. "Who the Hell are you?"
And Guriel freezes, cold all over and numb from too many emotions at once.] Ben.
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Guriel shudders, clenching his fists, because nothing in him wants to do that, he wants to watch Ben murder this bastard, but he can't fight the rush of that Order, like ten thousand tiny puppeteer's strings yanking on every part of him, cutting and burning and freezing him until he obeys, his actions leaden and his heart frozen in his chest.
Ben is strong, but Guriel has angelic strength, and he seizes Ben's wrist in one hand and wraps the other arm around his throat, pulling him away. His voice is tiny and strangled.] Please. Let him go before he makes me kill you. Please.
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That being said, the first chance he gets, he's just going to kill this Master with no hesitation.] What happened, Guriel?
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And the Mistress of the house chooses that moment to come home, stepping through the front door with a somewhat dull-witted expression, surveying the scene. "What . . ."
Her husband's voice is an evil, evil thing in its amusement. "Honey, this is the angel's little friend."
Her own answering smile is flinty and sharp and horrible as she turns it on Guriel. "Oh, is it?"
And Guriel flinches. And hates himself. And smiles.]
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I am going to kill them so very very dead... [Which is not something he'll say aloud, especially when Guriel's still got him in an iron grip. But he's sending love and reassurance and missed you down the Pack link.]
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His Master straightens his shirt collar and steps closer. "Look at that, angel, you were right after all. He did come running to your rescue, didn't he?"
Guriel swallows painfully. He knows that note of cruel amusement in the human's voice, and his stomach turns at the thought of all the awful things he might Order Guriel to do next . . .
Especially if that hanging question that isn't one goes unanswered for even a moment longer.] Yes, Master. He did.
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Can you hear me, at least? Tighten your hand on my wrist if you can, okay...?
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His Master scoffs. "We bought him at a perfectly legal Auction, thank you. There's nothing illegal about owning a recaptured angel."
"That's right, there isn't." His wife steps closer to Guriel with that same cold, flinty smile. "And you know that, don't you, angel?"
Guriel flinches. Because they're right; there's technically no law against what the Hunter who ambushed him did.] Yes, Mistress.
["He's such a good boy. Once he had a firm hand to break him of that wilfulness, he shaped right up."]
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