Post by mandy on Nov 16, 2010 19:56:31 GMT -8
Groggy, and with no recollection of anything after Trevor’s last spell, Mandy woke up to the lovely confines of a Ministry cell. Her shoulders ached, her head hurt, and she was alone.
Her shoulders hurt because she was chained to a wall, only supported by her wrist manacles. Restrained like an animal, she was muzzled like one too. The leather didn’t muffle her screams when she remembered Casey falling to the ground, lifeless. Unfair, cruel world. Her father, the Muggle man with kind hands, was dead. Her father, the fellow fugitive who shared the summer nights and hatred of Williams, was dead. She was alone. Even Hermes was gone.
The red head screamed in desperation again, sobbing around the gag. A faint trace of blood was still in her mouth, but it wasn’t her own. Had she bitten someone? Possible. Probable, even. Mandy focused on the taste and was rewarded with a hazy image of a woman’s voice calling her a bitch and slapping her. So, maybe it WAS her own blood. Either way, the coppery metallic flavor was beginning to make her nauseous.
The recognition of the ache in her stomach made her aware of the clenching thirst that was aching to be recognized. Yet, anything offered to her here was likely to be laced with a potion of some sort or another that would compromise her ability to resist.
Resist? Mandy wasn’t that sort. Maybe the other one, Hermes, would be a better candidate for that, but Mandy? No. She sagged against the chain in despair. There was no hope, anymore. That emotion was gone, gone with Azkaban, gone with the torture of slavery, and gone with her sanity. There was nothing left.
The door to her cell opened to a familiar face. Mandy looked up with a raccoon mask of bruises from her broken nose. Her grey eyes were bleak, defeated, and resigned. She dropped her head and waited for the torture to begin.
Her shoulders hurt because she was chained to a wall, only supported by her wrist manacles. Restrained like an animal, she was muzzled like one too. The leather didn’t muffle her screams when she remembered Casey falling to the ground, lifeless. Unfair, cruel world. Her father, the Muggle man with kind hands, was dead. Her father, the fellow fugitive who shared the summer nights and hatred of Williams, was dead. She was alone. Even Hermes was gone.
The red head screamed in desperation again, sobbing around the gag. A faint trace of blood was still in her mouth, but it wasn’t her own. Had she bitten someone? Possible. Probable, even. Mandy focused on the taste and was rewarded with a hazy image of a woman’s voice calling her a bitch and slapping her. So, maybe it WAS her own blood. Either way, the coppery metallic flavor was beginning to make her nauseous.
The recognition of the ache in her stomach made her aware of the clenching thirst that was aching to be recognized. Yet, anything offered to her here was likely to be laced with a potion of some sort or another that would compromise her ability to resist.
Resist? Mandy wasn’t that sort. Maybe the other one, Hermes, would be a better candidate for that, but Mandy? No. She sagged against the chain in despair. There was no hope, anymore. That emotion was gone, gone with Azkaban, gone with the torture of slavery, and gone with her sanity. There was nothing left.
The door to her cell opened to a familiar face. Mandy looked up with a raccoon mask of bruises from her broken nose. Her grey eyes were bleak, defeated, and resigned. She dropped her head and waited for the torture to begin.