Cath Delaney (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} dian_cecht) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} inpoormerit,@ 2010-03-05 16:08:00 |
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WHO: Cathair
WHERE: Bravo-2
WHEN: Morning
Cathair groaned and rolled over, wincing at the nasty taste in his mouth. That's when he remembered the night before. He immediately groped for the gun he kept by his bedside. Wait, he was in bed?
He sat up, gritting his teeth at the woozy feeling that was still lingering. He had expected to wake up handcuffed to a chair. And there should be someone here ready to find out if he'd given away anything to the authorities, demand information out of him, or just beat him bloody for abandoning the cause. Instead, he was in rather charmingly decorated cottage, with the sun shining brightly through the large picture window on the other side of the bedroom. He was wearing the sweats and ratty sleeveless tee shirt he always slept in. Looking around, he saw no one else, but his rosary beads were laying on the bedside table, just as he would have left them at home.
Grabbing the heavy string of black wooden beads like a man clinging to a life raft in a storm. Wrapping them around his hand, that's when he spotted the open computer netbook with the message. His momentarily sense of relief that he hadn't been captured by his former associates quickly fled as he realized he was indeed a prisoner. Not only him, as there were apparently others here. Their purpose here was on a need to know basis and any attempt to escape would be taken out on other prisoners.
Cath scrubbed his hand down his face. Wonderful. Somehow, some crackpot had broken in his apartment and stolen him away for God only knew what purpose. Somehow, he doubted this was random, and that whomever had taken them was well aware of his past. Worse still, it was very likely the other prisoners were not ex-criminals like himself. He would have less compunctions about harming another bastard like himself in an attempt to get away, but innocents? Right. It was going to be all or nothing.
Which meant he needed to get off his arse, case the layout of their prison and find the other prisoners. As for leaving a message for their apparent keeper, he didn't bother. He imagined anything posted on the bloody netbook thing would be heavily monitored, which made messaging pointless. He preferred face to face interactions anyway.
Moving around got his blood flowing a bit, which seemed to finally kick the rest of the sedative from his system. A necessary trip to the loo, and he went to find some clothes and something to use as a weapon if needs be. To his surprise, sitting on a table in the hallway was his family bible. His father had given it to him when he'd left for America. Every Delaney born in the last two hundred years was listed on the tree in the front, with their christening and burial dates. It was printed in Latin and was possibly the most precious heirloom the family possessed. Cathair opened the book a bit in disbelief, glad for it's presence. He lifted the rosary wrapped around in his hand to his lips, pressing the cross against them. He muttered a silent prayer of thanks to God for giving him some small comforts. To him, it meant He hadn't abandoned them.
The next surprise came within the closet. Hanging there were several pairs of his jeans, as well as several of his button downs in various patterns and some undershirts and other necessary clothing. He grabbed a pair of jeans, a white wifebeater and one of his thinner plaid shirts. He'd have to keep his forearms covered, but he could cite not wanting to get sunburned. He was Irish, after all. Also, he fancied ending up looking like a lobster even less than someone glimpsing his very distinctive tattoos. His heavy steel toed boots finished the look. He had keys and some pocket money, but not his wallet. Strange, but filed away until it was important.
Stuffing his rosary in his jean's pocket, he stopped in the kitchen to look for a suitable knife for personal protection if needed. The most suitable implement he could find was a steak knife. Well it was something at least. He left the paper cover over the blade and shoved the knife into one of his pockets. Now it was time to check out this prison. He locked up as he left, and headed out to explore