Now that he has a leash, it gets used at every opportunity. It’s unclipped from his collar when he’s in his cell, hung on a hook just inside the door. Though he’s grown stronger, Jimmy doesn’t even try to use it to fight back. They’d be able to take him down in mere seconds, and then he would have misbehaved. He can’t go in that cage.
When he makes his move, it’s going to have to be big.
So Jimmy bides his time, properly examines his surroundings, calculates what would be the worst disaster he can cause. Xornoth notices, calls him a curious little bird who’s finally waking up. Jimmy just rests his head back on Xornoth’s lap, letting his eyes continue darting around the room. He doesn’t want to get too anxious about it, now. If he gets too anxious, he might accidentally make something happen. He’s not ready.
His best bet is the ceiling again, but that has too much of a chance of hitting him. Maybe he can crack open the floor and have it seal back up? He’s never tried to do that before—he’s never really tried to do anything that specific before, for that matter—but it’s happened on occasion in the past. Unless he knocked them unconscious in the process, though, those are both things that Xornoth would be able to break out of.
Maybe he’s better off trying on a day he doesn’t see Xornoth. He’s still not sure if Xornoth is away during those hours he’s chained to the table alone, or if he’s dragged out there while Xornoth is sleeping sometimes (which is cruel, but would explain the entirely random times he’s woken up). That adds far too much risk, then, unless he’s quite certain that Xornoth isn’t at home.
Xornoth doesn’t show him the ballroom again, but the threat looms ever-present in Jimmy’s mind. He shudders occasionally when the image of that cage flashes before his eyes, and in those moments Xornoth always gathers him a bit closer and lets their hand wander down from his hair to rub his back for a few minutes. He thinks it’s supposed to be comforting. It makes Jimmy want to tear his skin off.
There’s nothing good he can put to use in his cell. His bed is a shelf built into the wall with a cheap blanket and a lumpy pillow. There’s a toilet in the corner, a sink beside it (the tap on the sink has been long broken and takes a good minute of jiggling to get any water to come out). The chain (not his leash, he can’t think of it like that) hangs beside the metal door, which has a little rectangular window set in the side, like a classroom door. He’s not even sure how to get out of the building from here, other than by going to the meeting room and smashing through one of the covered windows there. It would be easier to start in the meeting room than in his cell.
His limbs itch to be free and he longs to feel fresh air on his face. The memory of Xornoth carrying him out into the night has long since faded, and he needs to get out here before he suffocates. He constantly reminds himself that he can’t be hasty, can’t afford to mess this up. He has to do it soon, though. Before Xornoth has the chance to do anything else to him.
He doesn’t get to, though, because one day he’s woken after what can’t even be an hour of rest by a young man who brings him black sweatpants and a black t-shirt. They still have the retail stickers on them, but Jimmy slips into the outfit, grimacing at all the sensations in places he’s no longer used to. The man then hands him a black hoodie, followed by a black ski mask. Jimmy wordlessly puts these on as well, not even thinking to slip off his grimy hero mask before putting the ski mask on. He’s sure he looks just the part of a bank robber now, minus the shoes and gloves.
Xornoth enters the cell once Jimmy’s fully dressed, and as odd as it is for Xornoth to be here, it’s far more odd to be wearing so many clothes. He’s still not sure how long he’s been here and if he even wants to know, but surely his discomfort says something about how long it’s been since he last had clothes.
Xornoth clips the chain to Jimmy’s collar, pulls his chin up when his eyes drop to the floor.
“Pet, we’re sending you on a mission,” Xornoth says, voice stricter than normal when speaking to him. Jimmy’s a bit confused at the tone change, but Xornoth continues. “There is a hero who has been a bother for a while now. When your guard commands it, you will cause a disaster above you. Do you understand?”
Jimmy swallows. He really doesn’t. He’s not sure he wants to. Xornoth pats his cheek twice. “I know you don’t. Just follow instructions.”
They nod to someone behind Jimmy—there are people surrounding them, he realizes, people who had filed in while Xornoth spoke to him—and suddenly a bag is being pulled over his head. Xornoth’s gloved hand is gone, and so are they, judging by the rapidly retreating click of their boots, and Jimmy is too surprised to struggle when they cuff both his wrists and ankles and drag him out of there.
He’s not sure where they’re going, doesn’t recognize the feel of the path they drag him down. It’s definitely not to the meeting room, but all of his senses are so thrown off that for all he knows, he’s being escorted back to the lab. But then there’s a couple of steps down and the unmistakable sound of . . . a car door.
Jimmy doesn’t get a chance to react before they throw him in the trunk and slam the lid shut. He hates tight spaces, is instantly terrified before he realizes that the space around him is much larger than a trunk. He’s got room to sit up, even though as soon as he does someone grabs his head and shoves him forcefully down.
There’s rustling around him, on both sides, and clicks of seatbelts that he doesn’t have, and the sleek black car he’d been picturing transforms into something closer to a van.
Something collides hard with his shoulder and he flinches away, biting his tongue. Someone kicked him. Whoever it was laughs, an ugly, derisive sound.
“So this is the boss’s toy,” someone says. The response is drowned out by the sound of the engine roaring to life. The van jolts a bit, then moves backward slowly, a loud grinding noise following. After a moment, the noise stops and the van shifts gears, moving forward.
“You think they’ll let us play with it?”
The words are shouted above the engine. A gruff voice responds.
“They’ve let us have at it a few times, but only for behavioral issues. Seems useless, to be fair. I reckon it's just been kept around because of how pretty it is.”
A hand pulls at his clothes and Jimmy does his best to stay still, not aggravate them any further. “How can you tell? It’s got all this on.”
The gruff voice chuckles. “Not normally. Normally it’s just in its underwear. They like to look at it and pet its hair while they work.”
Jimmy’s mouth goes dry. They’re talking about him. They’re talking about him like he’s an object. Like he hasn’t got ears. Like he isn’t right here.
“Maybe we can take these off,” says the person still gripping his clothes. “Just to see.”
Jimmy squirms, but can’t break free. He’s only just gotten these clothes, hasn’t even had time to warm them yet. Xornoth had him receive them for a reason, he supposes. He needs them on, otherwise Xornoth will get mad at him and lock him up in the cage.
But there’s a lot of goons in this van and his hands and legs are bound. There’s nothing stopping them from going further.
“Nah, you’ll just have to get assigned to guard duty if you wanna see it,” a new, deeper voice pipes up. “I got rotated there last month. Can’t say I haven’t been tempted with how submissive it is.”
Jimmy’s hands curl into fists, more to keep himself from whimpering in fear than in any sign of aggression. The new speaker laughs, kicks him in the side.
“Bet the thing would enjoy it, too. He looks like a queer, doesn’t he?”
He’s shaking because it’s cold. He’s shaking because he’s not used to the sensation of the clothes on his skin. He’s definitely not shaking out of fear, his blood running cold and his eyes squinted shut against the darkness of the sack over his head.
He’s alone here, on the floor of the van with people pulling on his clothes and kicking him. These are the people who drag him from room to room every day, who are meant to be guarding him right now but are instead treating him as some toy, openly admitting that they want to—you know. His teeth are chattering as they talk above him, sexualising his body and making comments that he would beat up a random man on the subway for making about a woman.
Xornoth would never let this happen. Xornoth is so very possessive, too possessive, Jimmy’s theirs and theirs alone—
Xornoth would protect him from this.
Jimmy’s pretty sure he dissociates for a little bit. He’s quite good at it, has been doing it since he first arrived here back when his days were spent filled with medical instruments on a table. When he tunes back in, they’re still talking about him, about his mouth, about his weight, and it’s terrifying. He wants to cry. Luckily, he doesn’t have to hear their terrifyingly disgusting conversation for much longer as the van stops. The voices die off, there’s a moment of waiting, then . . . the van starts again, slowly, nose pointed down somewhat.
After a few minutes of silence, the road below them becomes significantly less smooth. It crunches and is lumpy, like gravel or dirt, and Jimmy’s first thought is to glance out the window and see what it is but he’s on the floor of a van surrounded by despicable human beings and he has a bag over his head. He’ll just have to wait and see if the van stops for real.
It’s not long before it does. The tension in the vehicle immediately thickens, and voices are whispered and spoken in codewords. Someone grabs his bare feet and Jimmy kicks out, but they just swear and hold him still before unlocking the cuffs around his ankles and yanking him to his feet.
They lead him out by the chain clipped to his collar, and he follows easily enough—or not. The ground below is rough, lumpy, sharp in places that have him hissing through his teeth when it pierces his sole. He trips more than once, catching himself on his knees and hands as his head whips up from the chain. The ground scrapes his palms, stains them with what he assumes is dirt. Each time, whoever is leading him sighs loudly and waits impatiently. Jimmy can't help but feel that if they want to go faster, maybe he should be able to see.
It’s a bit of a walk, ten minutes if he had to guess, when they stop and pull the bag off his head.
The person leading him is a tall bearded man he’s seen before—one of those who frequently drags him from his cell and back, one of those who has tased him before. The man raises an eyebrow.
“Jeez, they’re really taking precautions, huh?” he says, gesturing to the ski mask, and it’s the gruff voice from the van who called him pretty. Jimmy averts his eyes.
They’re underground. It’s obviously been hollowed out fairly recently, the wood stakes supporting it clean and new. It’s a tunnel, and if Jimmy squints he can see way far back the pinpricks of light that are the van’s headlights. The other end is just a packed dirt wall.
Jimmy curls his fingers together, releases them. What do they want with him here? The bearded guard is ignoring him, tapping on a tablet with furrowed brows. No answers there. Not that he’s going to talk to him. Not that Jimmy can talk.
He stands there, hands cuffed, for far too long. The chain is looped loosely around the guy’s hand, and Jimmy idly wonders if he would be able to pull free. Maybe not, but . . . he could always cause a cave-in.
He seriously considers that for a second before shaking himself. A cave-in would kill him just as easily. And where would he go afterwards? It’s a long walk back to the van, and his guard has been periodically checking in via comms with the rest of the team. They would know, would be ready for him. Causing destruction takes it out of him, now that he knows how to do it on purpose.
Horses can sleep standing up. He remembers reading that on the side of a shampoo bottle as a child. Maybe he can fall asleep standing too.
Before he’s able to test that, the guard’s radio crackles. “This is Eyes speaking to Birdcage, do you copy Birdcage? Over.”
The guard brings the radio to his mouth, presses the button on the side. “Birdcage. I hear you Eyes, go ahead. Over.”
“Eyes to Birdcage. Give the bird instructions. Over.”
“Birdcage to Eyes—copy that. Over.” He clips the radio to his belt, crosses the two meters to Jimmy. Jimmy steps back slightly; it doesn’t deter him. He grabs Jimmy’s arm, points it straight up.
“Right, birdie,” the guard—or, Birdcage—says, close enough that Jimmy can smell his cheap deodorant. He doesn’t pull away, just waits. “When I give you the signal, you’re going to cause a disaster up there. Above ground. Doesn’t matter what it is, as long as it works. Got that?”
He’s never done that from a distance. Not on purpose, at least. One of those early incidents, back when he was first on his own at sixteen, had been a luckily non-fatal helicopter crash from probably a mile away (hard to judge from that sort of distance). He nods when the guard shakes him, though. He’ll figure it out.
It’s either that or some sort of punishment. And while he’d recently come to the conclusion that torture isn’t great enough of a punishment to make him care, the conversation in the van has certainly changed his stance that everything-that-can-be-done-has-been-done. There’s other ways they can hurt him, other avenues that he’s not all that intent on exploring.
How did he start last time?
Right, the spark. It hadn’t worked, though. Not the way he’d always been taught. He’d had to kick in enough adrenaline that he couldn’t help but trigger the curse. That shouldn’t be too hard. He’s been feeling pretty anxious ever since a bag was pulled over his head.
"Eyes to Birdcage. Stand by. Over."
"Birdcage to Eyes. Standing by. Over."
Jimmy takes a deep breath, focuses on some point above. He just needs to cause some sort of emergency up there. As long as it's something above ground, he's in the clear. He won't be in trouble.
"Eyes to Birdcage. Proceed with operation immediately. Over."
"Do it! Now!" Birdcage says, yanking on the chain. Jimmy stumbles forward, any semblance of concentration he might have had now shattered. He bites his lip, mentally pushes with all his might toward the space above the tunnel. The guard says something into his radio, but he doesn't process it. His eyes are closed, imagining the sky above and probably streets or something as he pushes and they're going to hurt him if he doesn't do this, Xornoth will lock him in that cage or let them hurt him and he can't let that happen—
The scar behind his ear burns as his whole body heats rapidly, like when he knocked all those books over and the wooden blocks before that. With one great physical shove of his arms into the air, the power shoots out from him, crackling off his skin and clothes.
There's silence, silence until the guard jerks on the chain. "Well? Did you do it?"
Jimmy can't do anything but shrug. Something happened, that's for sure. Whether or not that something was useful is yet to be seen.
After a couple of long minutes, during which Jimmy sways a little as the sudden burst of energy slowly fades, the radio crackles.
"Ground to Birdcage. Success. Get back to the van and await further instructions. Over."
"Birdcage to Ground. Copy that. Over."
Birdcage immediately starts the trek back down the tunnel, pulling Jimmy along behind him. Almost as an afterthought, he throws the bag back to him.
"Put that on. No peeking."
Jimmy obeys begrudgingly, though he thinks again that it would be easier to not stumble if he could see.
They wait in the van for a while, Jimmy sitting up (though still on the floor) this time. He picks at the scabs on his wrists, contemplates his options. He can wait here until they leave, go back into captivity. Or he can cause some sort of disaster and run, hope that he comes out somewhere he can get help immediately. He can control his power now, so he can get out and get surrounded by people and find Major. Major is the only person Xornoth is afraid of.
He’s tired. He’s malnourished, dehydrated, and worn out from the use of his powers. But when is he not?
Jimmy takes a deep breath, curls and uncurls his fingers. He doesn’t need to gather any adrenaline this time, he’s got plenty coursing through his veins. He can already feel the scar at the base of his skull burning, shooting fire through him—
He’s launched to the other side of the van as an explosion rocks the vehicle. There’s a shouted curse from his guard, who leaps up and shoves Jimmy out of his way—Jimmy hears the door open, it doesn’t close, this is his chance—
He’s scrambling to his feet and out the van door in mere moments, running and stumbling and he can’t see the rocky ground that he keeps tripping over—
The bag, right, he tears off the bag and he can see now even though the ski mask is getting into his eyes. Behind him the—the van is on fire? The hood is completely blown off, smoke pouring out of it, Birdcage guy waving frantically at it and coughing.
Hey, a distraction is a distraction.
Jimmy runs, his footsteps pounding in his ears. He doesn’t think his guard has even noticed he’s gone, he can’t see him anymore as the floor slopes up and up, he’s breathing heavy and there’s a shooting pain in his side but he has to keep going, has to keep pushing and get away. His hands are cuffed but that won’t stop him from getting free, he just has to get above ground and seen by anyone.
There’s light up ahead, too dim to be the sun but lighter than the dim lanterns occasionally placed along the tunnel. He bursts out of the tunnel mouth, into—
A parking garage. Great, he can work with this. He pauses for the briefest of seconds to suck in a breath. There’s probably surveillance cameras somewhere, but he can’t spot any . . . there’s usually a security office, right? Or someone to take parking permits. The parking garage is dead, though, only two cars parked, so he’s got to just make for the entrance and hope against hope that no one intercepts him.
Luck’s never exactly been on his side, though.
Jimmy’s barely gone up a level in the garage when he comes face to face with three lackeys, one of which he thinks might have beat him a few times. He grimaces, darts around them as quickly as he can, yanking free when one of them grabs his arm (they leap back as heat travels from Jimmy to their hand, yelping as electricity crackles through the air). All three yell after him, and Jimmy can hear them running after him—he speeds up as much as he can manage without collapsing, his legs already feel like jelly and his entire body is shaking—this is so much worse than the pacer test—
And then he’s knocked to the ground, having literally run into the last person he wants to see. Xornoth towers over him, arms crossed, maroon fog seeping out of the ground at their feet, two red tentacles whipping around them in all their dark glory. Jimmy scrambles back, shoving with his feet to push himself away until he bumps into something behind him—the same person he’d just shocked with his powers. They glare down at him.
His heart is in his throat. This is—this is bad. He has to get up, has to keep trying, has to get out of here. He’s escaped once from Xornoth, he can do it again.
But he can’t. He tries to push himself up only for his cuffed arms to collapse under him. He has to . . . he has to go, he . . . he can’t live like this. . . .
Xornoth doesn’t say a word, just stands there imposingly. A tentacle bursts out of the ground beside Jimmy, loops around his waist a little too tightly, lifts him up into the air, chain dragging behind him. It squeezes and Jimmy’s vision blacks out for a moment, his left leg pops at the hip and sends electric pain rushing down it, leaving him gasping for breath.
“Where’s Helmer?” a woman from behind him demands angrily. She grabs onto Jimmy’s head, finding his hair through the ski mask and yanking his head back. Jimmy can’t move, can’t make a sound, his leg burning. “What did you do with Helmer, you dirty—”
Xornoth snaps their fingers and she retreats immediately, muttering angrily. More people are gathering, surely more than those that had been in the truck with him, forming a loose circle around Jimmy to watch whatever is about to happen, or to wait on their boss, or whatever.
The tentacle squeezes tight again and he can’t help but cry out as his ribs creak and his hip scrapes. It hurts, it hurts blindingly, but he doesn’t have the strength to even attempt to break free. His vision narrows, focuses in on Xornoth and Xornoth alone, who looks so . . . so disappointed.
“Oh, pet,” they say quietly, and it is disappointment, weighing down every word. “I was on my way to reward you. I thought you were going to be good.”
I am going to be good, Jimmy wants to say. I just had to take this chance. He’s sure that Xornoth would understand. Wouldn’t they? They’re the enemy, and they hurt him, but they also call him pretty and perfect and made to be their pet. They care about him, in their own twisted way—surely they won’t punish him for taking the same chance they would in the same situation.
Jimmy should know by now that his luck doesn’t work like that.
The trip back is bleary, in a different van with far more dirty kicks landing all over his body, some particularly aimed for his left hip which sends him reeling. He dissociates for a while when the pain becomes too much, comes back to his body to hear a garage door opening. Then he blinks and he’s once again in brightness, the replaced bag torn off his head along with the ski mask. His superhero mask barely stays on when the other two are pulled off, and he’s not sure why he’s so grateful but he is.
Then he’s stumbling through a house—one that he immediately recognizes as the one he’s been kept in for the past however long, based on the matching floor and furnishings. His hip had been dislocated, he’s sure of it, but someone shoved it back into place while he dissociated he thinks, because though it still hurts as all get out he can put weight on it. Before he knows it, he’s being thrown to his knees at Xornoth’s feet.
The villain stares at him for a long moment as Jimmy tries to catch his breath. His hands are still bound, his wrists oozing blood from where the cuffs have cut into them. A kick had nailed him right in the swathe of burn scars down his side and it pulses angrily, but Jimmy just doesn’t have the energy to focus on it. He doesn’t have the energy to focus on much of anything, not after no food in hours and using his power (he can use his power now, it doesn’t just happen and he’s still marveling at it) and running and being beaten and all he can do is kneel bent almost double at Xornoth’s feet and wait for whatever they have in store for him.
Xornoth sighs, long and heavy. “You've brought this upon yourself, pet,” they say, and they sound almost sad. “Remember that. You chose to break the rules. What happens next is your fault.”
He knows. He knows it’s his fault. He nods, just slightly. He did run. He made that choice.
He properly looks up when Xornoth pulls him up onto his jelly-like legs with the chain attached to his collar (he can’t call it a leash, he won’t call it a leash), but before he can process where he is, Xornoth is stripping him of his jacket that he’d worn for such a short time. Jimmy’s face burns as Xornoth unclips the chain and drops it on the floor, beginning to pull the shirt off as well, and he tries to shove Xornoth’s hands away (stupidstupidstupid) to take care of it himself. He gets a slap for that, one that has his head whipping to the side and his cheek swelling. The shirt is pulled off, then more shamefully Xornoth tugs his pants down, lifting his feet by the ankles out of the legs.
It’s humiliating, it’s utterly violating to be undressed by one’s captor, until Jimmy’s standing in nothing but shorts and a mask and a collar once again and though he only had clothes for a few hours, he misses it desperately. Xornoth touches him more than necessary, fingers lingering on fresh bruises and old scars alike, circling them with a slight smile before moving on. Not for the first time, Jimmy wants to cry. He wants to cry until everything dissolves away with his tears and he can just sit in a lake of his own misery.
He can’t do that, though. For one, it’s physically impossible. For another, he hasn’t cried in so very long that he’s not sure if he remembers how.
Xornoth hooks a gloved finger under his collar and pulls him forward, and for the first time Jimmy properly takes in the room.
It’s the high-ceilinged ballroom, the room he’s seen only once before, with the throne on the dais at the head and beside the throne, in the direction Xornoth is dragging him—
No. No no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no—
It’s haunted his nightmares, it’s loomed ever-present in the back of his mind as a threat, it’s everything that he fears and how could he have even attempted escape, he knew this would be the consequence, how could he have forgotten—
He whines, he whines loud and long and tries to pull away, tries to shove Xornoth away because he can’t go in there. It’s so small, a cube of space barely large enough for him to curl up in, a cold cage to press against and he’s always hated small spaces so horrendously and he just won’t survive! He’s been through so much but none of it matters anymore because this is where he dies.
Xornoth is unrelenting, ignores his pulling and twisting and whining, and when Jimmy throws himself to the floor (landing on his hip, it hurts, it hurts so bad) to break their grip, they only grab the collar from the back of his neck and drag him squirming on the floor, ever closer to the dog cage. His attempts to get away do nothing, and before he knows it, Xornoth’s hand is on the cage—they’re pulling apart the padlock—the door is swinging open—
Jimmy scrunches his eyes shut just before he is bodily thrown into the cage. It rocks with his weight, and for one terrifying moment he’s convinced it’s going to tip over backwards. It settles, though, shakes when Xornoth slams the door shut.
No, no, no, he mouths, lips trembling. His eyes shoot open, he sees Xornoth clicking the padlock shut, and he freaks.
He bucks up, bangs his back into the roof of the cage—hits it again with his head—he pounds on the front with his shoulder, his hands are still bound—it’s so small, he doesn’t have room to push his elbows out, he doesn’t have room to sit up, he doesn’t have room to lie straight, he doesn’t have room—
There’s a bang on the cage and Jimmy jolts, slamming his side into it—Xornoth is staring directly at him, and Jimmy’s sure he looks a mess, sure that his eyes are crazed and his hair is sticking up and he can’t quell the shaking in his bones. But Xornoth only coos, sticks a finger between the bars.
“Oh, darling, you look so pretty in your cage,” they murmur, even as Jimmy presses himself against the back of it, as far as he can get from the villain. They chuckle lightly. “You’re going to be in there for a while. Maybe next time we can make arrangements for a blanket.”
Xornoth stands, dusts off their hands. They turn away, but don’t leave the room. Instead, they seat themselves in the throne, mere inches away from Jimmy, and remain there.
They lounge there for hours, sometimes watching Jimmy, sometimes tapping away on a tablet. Every so often a lackey enters, bows, and sneaks a look at Jimmy while providing Xornoth with an update of some sort.
After the first hour of throwing himself at the walls of the cage, keening desperately, trying and trying to break free any way possible, Jimmy just doesn’t have the energy to keep it up. He can’t sleep—he’s still writhing, it feels like there are ants crawling up and down the inside of his spine—the space is so small, he can’t even think about it or he’ll start hyperventilating again—the world is torment and torture and his vision is blurring—is he already hyperventilating? He might already be hyperventilating—and after hours in this hell, Xornoth stands. Jimmy jolts out of the half-conscious delirium he’s been thrown into, suddenly hopeful. He’s been here long enough, surely. His throat is dry and his stomach is clenching painfully on itself and he’s sweating profusely from every pore and he can finally leave.
Xornoth pauses in front of him, looks down at him with a slight smile. “Pet, do you want out?”
Jimmy nods frantically, he wants out, he wants out he wants out he wants out and he’ll never try to escape again, not if this is what it means—
Xornoth crouches with a creak of leather, rests their hands on the cage. “Apologize to your master.”
It takes Jimmy a moment to process that, but once it gets through his muddled brain, he blinks his aching eyes. Apologize? But he doesn’t—but he can’t speak, Xornoth knows that, Xornoth knows that the words get swallowed up before they even reach his throat, they know that he’s tried to speak so many times and failed. He whines a little bit, scrabbles at the floor of the cage. He can’t do it.
Xornoth tilts their head, waiting. After a couple of minutes of silence but for Jimmy’s gasping breaths, they sigh and rise.
“You’ll have another chance in the morning.”
They’re leaving. They’re turning away and walking across the room and before Jimmy has the presence of mind to do anything, the light is out and Xornoth is gone.
And then he really loses it.
-
He’s not sure how long passes before the light suddenly comes on again. He doesn’t have the strength to raise his head, but he’d recognize the clicking of Xornoth’s heels anywhere. He shivers.
“Oh, look at you,” Xornoth says softly, almost sadly. Jimmy doesn’t have to look at himself to know. He can’t believe how many times he’s thought he’d reached his breaking point, only to keep going and keep thinking for himself. It’s thinking for himself that landed him here, it’s his fault it’s his fault it’s his fault. . . .
His bound hands are bruised and bleeding from where he pounded them against the cage, his throat is raw and scratched, there are actual tears streaking down his face despite his belief that all his tears had dried up. At some point during the night he’d lost control of his bladder, and he’s never felt more like an unruly dog because that’s all he is, isn’t he? He’s just an animal . . . he’s a pet that misbehaved . . . chunks of his hair litter the floor of the cage from where he’d torn it out in an attempt to stay sane, the pain giving him moments of clarity, just like the deep scratches down his arms and sides and chest. He can’t do that anymore, his fingernails torn to the quick, his fingers too weak to grasp anything.
“Apologize to your master,” Xornoth says.
He has too. Jimmy’s bleary and half-awake, but he knows he has to speak. He’s not sure how long it’s been since he last said a word, he’s been here so long and in this cage for even longer and he just wants everything to be over. He just wants to sink into blackness and never come back. He just wants a spear through the heart and the clarity of pain followed by never feeling anything ever again, please, please he can’t go on like this. . . .
Xornoth clicks their tongue, moves to stand and Jimmy can’t let them, can’t let them go—
He paws at the cage door, sobs drily. Xornoth pauses. “Do you have something to say?”
And he does, he really really does, but his vocal cords aren’t responding and he’s never hated himself more. He got himself into this situation, why can’t he get himself out? He can’t do it, he can’t do it, he can’t do it and he’s stuck here forever. . . .
He doesn’t notice when Xornoth leaves, too stuck in his spiraling thoughts.
-
When Xornoth returns again, their pet doesn’t even move. They smile, unlock the crate, swing the door open. Their pet leans into their hand when they pet his greasy hair, whimpering just slightly.
“Just three words,” they croon. “Three words, and you will be forgiven.”
They watch as their little bird tries to understand, tries to discern what is needed of him. When comprehension sparks, so does despair. His mouth moves soundlessly, a clear plea.
Xornoth shakes their head. That’s not what they’re looking for. Their pet knows what is expected. They retract their hand from the cage, begin to ease the door shut.
When their pet makes a sound, it’s a scratchy cry. He reaches out with shaking, curled hands, bumping against the front of the cage uselessly before falling to the floor. Xornoth waits, patient as ever, as their pet coughs, whines, then speaks.
“Please. . . .” he whispers, just barely loud enough to count as a word. A tear slips down his nose from his squinted-closed eyes. “Please. . . .”
“Three words, little bird. Apologize to your master.”
Their pet shudders, sucks in a rattling breath. “I—I’m sorry,” he croaks, snot dripping down his face.
“To whom are you sorry?”
Another sob. Xornoth waits.
“I’m s-sorry . . . Master.”
With those words, their bird looks up at them, crazed eyes bloodshot and cheeks splotchy. He’s bleeding here and there, frail and tiny, heels pressed into the back corner of the cage, entire body shaking with his breaths. Xornoth looks at him for a long moment, smile unfurling further.
he can't help but watch her as she arrives , wonder evident in the way she gazes at every item as if in a dream . if she paid to come here then she must be , like every girl who finds there way here , in love with the fantasy of a good man . even a difficult man , he thinks , is fine so long as they have their romance by the end of it . he's always played the part of the painfully silent type , brooding and tall , it is easy . of course there is never anything inappropriate , never anything more than hand holding here . it's a reality television show and while the camera's are hidden the paperwork signed beforehand reminds him of his limitations and keeps the lines from blurring .
of course that was before she arrived . cliche as it was . he'd seen his uncles research , and rey was nothing , from nothing . seeking the ultimate experience of romance and belonging . she'd been the winner of the scholastic award, meaning she must have been working very hard at wherever she went to university. luke and leia had long since bought this land together forming one of the most unforgettable attractions known to the london countryside . tucked away in it's only little slice of lush green heaven , complete with cobbled roads and villagers to boot .
introductions always made him nervous . it was his time to be in character , to play his part but he couldn't stop staring at her from behind dark lashes . trying to drink in her image before turning away , words caught in his throat . his host saves him the trouble , ❝mr. kylo ren .❞ he did his best to nod at her , curt and stiff . forgetting momentarily that he should be bit more friendly , seeing as he's paid to be at least cordial. he mentally reminds himself to breathe before stealing a look at her again then taking his seat at the dinner table .
