here’s the link to the rp which leads up to this drabble - in which @clockworknightmares ‘ oc jamie meets lux in captivity.
He doesn’t have shoes. Lux looks around, for anyone who might notice him. He’s doing his best to stay out of sight and away from anywhere people might be, as he walks, one arm wrapped around his middle. He doesn’t have shoes. That’s strange, it would be strange to see. The blood, how pale he is, how tired and unsteady he is on his feet - those things, he supposes, are more alarming than bare feet.
Lux found a gem. He found one, and with it, he was able to scry for a friend. His hand shook as he said the spell, each of the dozen times it took before his magic would work. It’s always hesitant and finicky after, after being punished for his magic, like he’s been.
“You aren’t weak Lux. You aren’t. You’re so strong and I don’t know how I would have managed in here without you.”
To find someone, to scry for them, you need to have something of theirs, if you have no idea where to look. Lux has something. He clings to it, as he walks toward the house that the gem indicates. Digs his fingers into the thin fabric and pushes himself to make it.
Once he reaches the front door, Lux raises a hand to knock. He hesitates, at the sight of the raw bruising around his wrist, at how moving his arm makes the gashes across his back sting and burn, how it makes his ribs ache and his breaths come shallower. Will he be welcome? Maybe, in his captivitfor y, the fear and the pain, he was clinging to the last kindnesses he was shown before he was back in the cellar. Maybe he has imagined, this whole time, more patience and sympathy than he was really shown.
It doesn’t matter. He’s looked forward to this, and what’s more, he’s actually managed to remember this goal, this plan, for if he ever got back out. It’s worth trying. He got this far.
He clings to the bloody, tattered shirt that Jamie draped over him after a rough torture session, in a moment of kindness and empathy that was a microcosm of Jamie as a whole. He closes the stained shirt to hide his battered chest with one hand, and knocks with the other.
