Who: Shane Marion (closed) What: Shane wakes up! Where: 905 When: After this. Warnings: ...yelling? Yes, yelling. And pointy claws. And pissed off Shane, which is always fun.
Shane woke up with an ache in his jaw and a dull throb in his head. He tried to sit up quickly, unsure of where he was or what sort of situation he might be in, and regretted it instantly, laying back flat. His arm was asleep from being pinned under the dead weight of his body, and he rolled over onto his back, studying the ceiling.
This was not his apartment.
It took a few more seconds for his last memory before blacking out to come back to him (Vlad) and once it did, he staggered to his feet. If Vlad had come then where
Boyd, where was Boyd?
He noticed the vines on the windows, first. He walked up to one, reaching out and touching a thorn. It drew blood.
Ella. Those were Ella's vines.
So Ella and Vlad were in on this? Did they even know one another? And why were they conspiring to lock him in?
He felt no fear for himself, no concern that his crimes had been discovered.
But Boyd. Where was she?
Fear gripped him, as he realized for the first time that the Family could have been waiting for her in the lobby when she came to see him. He turned on heel, heading for the door.
What he found there made him reel back a step. More vines? He reached out, trying to take hold of one to rip it from its place, but only succeeded in cutting his hand. The thorns were too close together, with no room to grip around them, woven in tightly.
He dropped his hand. It was no effort at all to get his claws out (or had they been there all the time?) and he slashed at the vines.
No good. The thorns were so thick that he succeeded only in cutting the pads of his fingers. He might cut a few loose if he kept slashing, but by the time he'd gone through two or three his hand would be a mess of gashes.
Knowing this, he tried again, and again, and again. Nothing. He slammed his fist into the wall. Boyd could be dead.
He stalked through the apartment, looking for something he could use to cut them loose. But there wasn't even so much as a pair of scissors to be found, the drawers in the kitchen all empty of their contents. Someone had done this on purpose. Someone had prepared this for him, like a prison.
He was ready to try breaking the furniture into pieces and using it to pry the vines loose when he saw the note. It had been laying on the ground all this time, but he hadn't noticed it in his rage. He picked it up as carefully as he could, claws poking a hole through the paper
He didn't recognize the handwriting, but it had to be Vlad's. It sounded like him, like his cold hypocrisy, locking him up for 'his own good.' He gritted sharp teeth. When he got out of here, he was going to devour him piece by piece. 'Temporary'? Who could guarantee that? There was no laptop in the apartment, no way to contact anyone or find out why he'd really been locked up. Vlad dispensing justice, locking him up 'for his own good.' Bullshit.
And what did he mean about knowing who had asked for him to be locked up if he only thought about it? That much was obvious. Or, after he gave it a moment's thought, maybe not. Because Vlad wanted him dead, that much he was sure of. Knocking him out and locking him up couldn't be his idea. If he had him judged right, he would have much preferred to take him to some dark corner and kill him, one less problem. This was risky, this was complicated. This implied someone reigning him in. Who knew Vlad well enough that he would do that for them? Who...
Oh.
He stood frozen, stock still. Not dead somewhere. Not bleeding out on the lobby floor. But asking Vlad to lock him up when he'd done everything to keep her safe-
He overturned bookcases, slammed his fists into doors, pulled out drawers, and slammed anything he could find into the vines blocking the door until all that was left was splinters. Nothing worked, nothing so much as knocked them loose. He cut long swathes into the wall with his claws. He screamed, a raw, painful sound, the sort the wreaks havoc on the voice before finally collapsing into nothing. The din settled into quiet, and, forehead braced against the kitchen tile, he clenched his teeth against one another as the scream went silently on.