Trying to get the hell out... Who: Claire and OT Kidnapped Teens (or Solo) When: Who knows? (Afternoon) Where: Dungeon of Doom
With as much blood as they had taken from her, and the others, it was hard to muster up enough energy to do much more than sit there against the wall and count silently in her head. She got up to one thousand and seventeen before her mind wandered and she lost count, forcing herself to start over. Sometimes there was talking, sometimes it was silent. Claire didn't even know what day it was, or how long they had been gone. It felt like an eternity most of the time.
It was yesterday that Claire had a boost of energy. She'd had a sick feeling in her stomach, and Madock had been on her mind. It was so eerily similar to when Gabe had been bitten by that werewolf, that Claire had been convinced something horrible was happening to her brother. It was all wrong and she'd whimpered a bit under the weight of her emotions, because they were so unclear, and yet she knew exactly what was happening. She couldn't do much about it but sit there and tug at the chain on the wall, as if jerking it enough times would eventually bring it out of the wall and she could run for help. Only, she didn't know what was upstairs, or who. Or how she would get out of this place without being caught, or where they even were. That didn't mean she wasn't going to try. Fuck being a captive. Fuck letting them take her blood.
She'd barely been able to sleep, even when her mind completely shut down and her body begged for it. Claire knew if she slept, she would dream of home, and of Gabe and her mom and brother. Or she would have her night terrors and wake everyone else up from her parasomnia screams, and she didn't want to deal with that. She just kept tugging at the chain in the wall, except when the morons came down to feed them and take their blood. Claire knew it was probably a lost cause, but she wasn't going to just accept her situation anymore.
Shifting around on the floor, Claire twisted her leg enough to press it against the wall, using it as leverage as she gritted her teeth, the ankle chain in her hands as she struggled to pull it from the wall. It didn't budge, though there were tiny pieces of where some of the wall had begun to crack from her efforts. Not enough to make a difference, but enough to instill some hope in her. She wasn't giving up. She was going home, dammit. Fuck the dude with his ugly ass cane and bad hairdo. And fuck everything else. She was going to go home.