padraig is a little different now. (irishdragon) wrote in invol_rpg, @ 2013-01-01 21:15:00 |
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Entry tags: | ! narrative, ! plot: kidnapping, padraig flanagan |
WHO: Padraig Flanagan [IRELAND]
WHAT: Padraig is given a task.
WHEN: January 1st, late evening. Stretches into January 2nd, morning.
WHERE: Somewhere in Europe.
WARNINGS: Swearing, mentions of violence.
STATUS: Complete.
The first time it was Marine and Mal. The second time it was Erik and Alyosha. The third time... it was Padraig and Myra. He’d been afraid of it, but he’d also welcomed it - in a way. He would have given himself up to protect Mette and Myra. Well, he’d managed to protect one of them, but not both. Myra was with him. Would they ever return to that room? Were they being carted off to their death? Padraig had no idea how long he’d been in that cell, or what was going on in the outside world. It felt different, though. It felt like they’d waited longer, as if he was taken almost two days later instead of one. Maybe it was nighttime, who knew. Not Padraig. The guards - if he could call them guards - were simultaneously gentle and rough with him. He felt their hands on him, slightly shoving him or pulling him in one direction or the other, but otherwise he wasn’t too shaken up. They didn’t speak to him, they didn’t answer his questions, they didn’t offer anything up. The guards slowed as a room approached, but Myra kept walking. “Hey! Hey, stop, lemme go!” Padraig shouted after her, but it was futile. He was being shoved into a room despite his protests. Padraig was pushed forwards and a door slammed shut behind him. Fucking hell, another room? This one was different though. Padraig rubbed his upper arm where he’d been held as he looked around. Honestly, it was kind of creepy. It was a nursery or something. There was a crib, a mobile, what looked to be a changing station, a teeny tiny table and teeny tiny chairs to match, a shelf with books and other things, and an assortment of toys scattered around. “Hello...?” Padraig called out apprehensively. He went over to the crib, double checking there wasn’t a baby or any children in here. “What even...” he said to no one. There was no point in banging on the doors and demanding he be let out or given answers, the kidnappers weren’t interested in what Padraig wanted. Hours had past. Or at least he was pretty sure hours had past. Mette was the one who was good at telling time, to Padraig it all felt the same. A minute, an hour, a day. Maybe he’d been in here a day already. Hell, maybe he’d fallen asleep. "Use your power" a voice boomed throughout the room, startling Padraig from his half-sitting half-standing position against the wall. Speakers? “Hello?” Padraig called out, looking around frantically. "Use your power" repeated itself, and it took Padraig half a beat to remember he even had a power. He’d been with Myra so long that the fire breathing felt unnatural to him. He inhaled deeply and exhaled a burst of flames. It wasn’t hard to call it on command, especially when he was slightly dehydrated. The flames gently left his throat and disappeared not too far away from his body. "No" the voice boomed again, "the entire room". Padraig frowned, completely unsure what this strange voice was asking him to do. Why was he even here? This was a baby’s room, but there was no baby. It didn’t make sense. Why would the kidnappers want him to burn a room? Did they want him to light himself on fire? Could they know that he could be burnt by flames? His esophagus was flame retardant, but his skin wasn’t. Padraig liked being warm, he loved blankets and sweaters, but he didn’t like burns. Hell, he’d almost been burnt everyday back at IVI. He was not interested in burning himself on his own fire. “No,” he replied simply. "Burn the room or Mette and Myra will be punished." The names cut through him. The girls would be punished for his refusal. “NO!” Padraig shouted out immediately, his fists raising out of habit even though there was no enemy in sight. "Burn the room" the voice repeated. Padraig moved towards a wall and punched it, even though he knew it wouldn’t hurt anyone. “No!” he yelled back, angry that he was being manipulated, angry that anyone would hurt women, angry that he was in this situation. “Where are the others? Marine, Mal, Erik, Alyosha!?” His question was replied with silence. In fact, all he heard was silence. Pad felt like minutes had past since the voice had told him to burn the room, but it could have been an hour. He pressed his back against the wall and let his head slam back into it. What were they planning on doing with them all? Out of nowhere a scream exploded over the speakers. A female scream. Was that Mette’s voice? “NO, STOP!” Padraig yelled as he jumped back onto his feet. “STOP!” he said again, his voice dripping in panic. His eyes searched the room frantically and settled on the crib. Wood and sheets. That would burn quickly, right? “I’ll do it, I’ll do it!” he pleaded with the speakers, grateful no more screams were played. He quickly moved to the crib, summoning all his power within him that he could. A surge of flames flew out of his mouth and focused on the corner of the crib. Burn you stupid crib, Padraig thought. The edge caught and a small flame licked at the wood. Yes, progress! Spinning on his heels, Padraig targeted the changing station next. It took longer, but it started to burn itself as well. Pad was caught between two flames and he could feel the heat on his skin. He couldn’t worry about that. Padraig’s eyebrows furrowed together as he focused on his power, not the pain. He had to focus, he needed to do this. If he didn’t do this the girls would be hurt. Punished. Probably tortured just because he was selfish and afraid of a couple burns. He was silent and slightly deadly as Padraig continuously spit fire at multiple objects in the room. He was incredibly dangerous. That much was written on his face and visible through the flames. With the power surging from his mouth Padraig could burn down anything that stood in his path. The flames took on a life of their own when they left his throat. He was responsible for summoning them, but they were their own being. They did what they wanted, and without Clara to stop them they would continue to do whatever they wanted until the oxygen ran out. He could feel the flames closing in, he could feel them licking at his skin... but it was nothing compared to how he’d feel if he caused Myra or Mette any pain. He would burn this room to a crisp. He would do what the speakers asked. He would burn himself alive if it meant saving them. When it was all said and done Padraig had burnt himself multiple times, but it was nothing too serious. Nothing that required medical aid. The room was charred and covered in ashes, and so was Padraig. The bottom of his coveralls had caught fire, but he’d managed to put it out before any serious damage happened. Then there was more waiting. All he’d been doing for the past who knows how long was wait. A clang followed by the door opening startled Padraig. Guards came to collect him, and he saw Myra in the hall. Relief flooded through him when she seemed relatively unhurt. It made sense now - his powers had suddenly stopped at the end of it. Pad had just thought it was exhaustion, but it could have been Myra. They needed her to stop him, to keep him alive and not burnt alive. That was a good sign, right? Maybe the others were alive still and they were being brought back to the room too. Padraig felt his body being flung back into the familiar cell. There was a plate of eggs and bacon waiting for him. Must be morning. “Mette!” Pad said immediately, looking around for the girl. But she wasn’t there. He went to peek in the washroom area, but she wasn’t there either. “METTE!” Padraig called, terror gripping his voice. “METTE WHERE ARE YOU!” he shouted, running back towards the door. It was useless, he knew, but Padraig attacked the door with his fists and feet. Myra was back so he couldn’t try to burn it down. “WHERE IS SHE! I DID WHAT YOU ASKED! DON’T HURT HER! I’LL DO ANYTHING!” Useless. No response came. Just the sounds of Padraig’s panic rising with each moment. A sob caught in his throat. His forehead fell forwards and rested on the wall, Padraig now in the same position Mette had been in just a few days - hours? - earlier. “Mette...” he said softly. There was nothing he could do. He promised to keep her safe and he broke that promise. Pad banged on the door pitifully before sliding to the ground. He was exhausted, he hadn’t eaten or drank or slept in what felt like years. He hadn’t used his power so extensively in a long time. “Mette...” he whispered again, feeling a tear fall down his cheek. Then another one. When was the last time he’d cried? Padraig had no idea. Just like he had no idea where Mette had gone, where any of the others had gone. He’d returned alive, but no one else had. What was so special about him and Myra? Nothing. There was nothing special about him. “God, please God, please keep her safe,” he pleaded. “Don’t let them hurt her. She doesn’t deserve it.” He didn’t truly believe his prayers and begging would work anymore though. |