Dacian
Vampire (A)
Creature of the Night
Posts: 330
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Post by Dacian on Sept 14, 2010 17:34:30 GMT 1
[atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=cellpadding,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=background,http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v36/Tigeress/Random/postscripts/daci.png][bg=000000][atrb=style,background-position: top; background-repeat: no-repeat; padding: 220px 65px 65px 65px;]Scrap that, the rock wasn’t comfy enough to lie on and ignore Silas making rather unappreciated comments about his manhood. With a grunt, he forced himself to roll onto his back and sit up, automatically clutching his head to stop his brain from falling out of his eye sockets. Maybe not the best idea he’d had all night.
He peeked through his eyelids, and past the burning discomfort, he could at least see more than simultaneous darkness and blinding lights. The vampire got to his knees - not trusting the full length of his legs - and shuffled over to his captive, who grumbled something else rude. He squinted at the fuzzy shape of Silas, cocked a fist and drove it squarely into his jaw. Silas fell blissfully silent. Dacian voiced his victory, and promptly lost his balance.
Grumbling, Dacian moved precariously about, rolling Silas into a prone position before fumbling clumsily with the ropes that the wizard had undone. A combination of poor eyesight and an alcohol-impaired nervous system made the new bindings cumbersome, too tight in some places and badly knotted in others. Dacian compensated with an excess of rope, so if Silas could undo them, it would at least delay him a longer while.
For the finishing touch, Dacian found an old strip of material and gagged the human, just in case he felt like any smart comments later. After admiring his blurry handiwork, the vampire grabbed the as yet unopened bag and made his way out of the cavern. He may as well have had a broken knee for the speed which which he moved, but by the crest of dawn, he was secreted away in his own light-proof cave and sleeping heavily. |
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Post by Silas Rosier on Nov 25, 2010 16:42:04 GMT 1
Silas's first breath was painful, the air clogged with the pervasive smell of wet stone.
Ow. Fuck. Where was he?
Silas.
That almost sounded like‒
Groggily he tried shift to peer over his shoulder, only to discover with a muffled yell that moving hurt. Breathing hurt. Fuck, everything hurt. He tried to take a deeper lungful of air, only to have the lump of damp material in his mouth nearly choke him.
His head was so clogged. He couldn't think. Lying here was easier. His consciousness started wavering again.
Silas..
No, he wasn't imagining it. He'd just heard a voice.
Jesus Christ, it felt like he'd been bowled over by a dragon. Or bigger. His arms were leaden; the only part of his body he couldn't feel. He groaned, straining to move, his shout ineffective against the gag. Shout for what? Help? He didn't even know any more.
The cave floor was icy. Cold. How long had he been lying here? How long since Dacian had gone? Shit. His survival instinct was rebooting. Gag. He needed the‒ Argh. The act of rolling over onto his side was a herculean effort, the sandpapery grind of bone against bone lost under his loud bellow of pain. Ow ow ow, fuck. Air. He needed air. With some luck he managed to coax the poorly-tied gag out of his mouth by scraping the side of his face against the bare stone.
Shit. The world lurched unsteadily. Silas groaned, slamming his eyes shut, unable to curl up due to the pain. His head felt like it was literally about to split in half, mouth dry, the muscles in his neck taut from how tight his jaw was clenched. The cold had penetrated down into his chest, making every breath pained and shallow. Hell, take every hangover you've ever had, then multiply it. Throw in some broken and cracked bones for good measure and this was something close.
Silas.
Things were threatening to go dark on him again, but the sound seemed to jolt him back to his senses.
What was going on.
"HELLO?" Silas roared, his voice magnified by the cave and finally lost in the darkness, leaving things even more oppressive than before.
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Abraham Grey
Adult (A)
Hufflepuff Head of House
Arithmancy Professor
Posts: 152
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Post by Abraham Grey on Dec 21, 2010 19:55:44 GMT 1
Merlin, Silas was taking a bloody long time to wake up. Just because he'd been tied up and apparently beaten to within an inch of his life it didn't mean he had the right to slip in and out of consciousness like that. It was just rude. Abe had a lot to talk to him about. Or rather a lot to complain about. Connery had... well the Gryffindor Head of House had always done something to irk Abe. He'd probably changed his lesson plan and made the fifth years late for Arithmancy... And if he hadn't well then it was only a matter of time before he did, so Abe felt well within his rights to complain about it in advance.
And if it wasn't Connery then there was always the Ice Queen Bitch from Hell, otherwise known as Jac to preoccupy him. She was such a... Well, a bitch! And yes calling Jac a bitch to Silas probably wasn't Abe's smartest plan ever, but he liked to think their friendship went above and beyond a little thing like insulting the man's girlfriend. Besides Abe always got the impression that his little tirades vaguely amused Silas because they reminded him that he was having sex with the one woman Abe couldn't, but really, really wanted to.
”Siiilas,” He called, voice singsong as he leaned in to inspect the groggy form of his friend. He tapped Silas on his cheek, the flesh already marred by a horrible purplish bruise and smeared with what he thought was dirt, but it could easily have been blood. ”Wakey, wakey! Rise and shine!” Abe used his peppiest voice, like he was talking to a Hufflepuff who was particularly reluctant to get up and go to class. ”Let's have you, lazy Daisy.”
When Silas roared his response he winced and fixed him with a scowl. ”Inside voice please, Silas. My head is pounding. Bit of a late night last night, if you catch my drift.” Abe fixed him with a roguish grin. ”And I must say you're not looking so good yourself. Does Jac know you've been on some all night bender? Bit of a pickle you've gotten yourself into there isn't it.” He added cheerfully, like the situation Silas was in wasn't in the slightest bit serious.
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Post by Silas Rosier on Dec 24, 2010 17:01:28 GMT 1
[atrb=width,450,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=cellpadding,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=background,http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v321/1300666/Characters/Silas/Scripts/sigpostscript_bg.png,true][atrb=valign,top] | [rs=2][bg=ffffff][atrb=background,http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v321/1300666/Characters/Silas/Scripts/sigpostscript_mainbg.png][atrb=style,background-position:top;background-repeat:no-repeat;] That sounded like...
No way in plu-perfect hell.
The torch had managed to stay lit throughout the night and once Silas opened his eyes it took him a moment to refocus. When they did, he found himself lying face to face with a pair of brogues. Or more aptly, face to toe.
It was surprising just how quickly he could jolt back when caught by surprise. A move he instantly came to regret when it suddenly felt like every nerve in his body had spontaneously caught fire. It wasn’t Dacian’s foot about to kick him in the face, but... Abraham fucking Grey’s.
What in the flying mother of all holy fuck...
“Abe?!” Silas spluttered hoarsely.
What the hell was he doing here?! How had he gotten in? How had he found him? Silas’s brain was attempting to kick into gear to process the information, but the whys didn’t seem to matter as much compared to the fact that he was inexplicably here. .
It was dark. He had to be seeing things. But there was only one person whose silhouette could have such a disproportionate head, and he’d be able to pick out that disturbingly cheery voice anywhere.
Fuck. “What the hell are you doing here?” he tried to demand, but his throat was so dry it felt like it was about to crack, and that wasn’t even touching on the migraine trying to crash through the front of his skull.
Dacian could be back any second.
Shit.
What the hell was going on?
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