Mar. 6th, 2007

there_is_a_me: (Ghosts of Scotland)
His left temple rests on his knees, face turned so that the stripe of light defined by the door to the room with the cage in it is visible. He flexes a hand, almost confused at the chill. Without moving the rest of his body his eyes flick toward it Fur? and a vague feeling of confusion swamps him. Nothing so complex as a sentence, no. Just vague confusion as he looks at the small and naked thing flexing against the ground.

The quality of light changes, and his head snaps up, teeth bared, when the shadows of feet stop. The door opens Shot! and there is a pinprick that enrages him even as it slows down the surge to his feet and toward the limit of the cage. He doesn't notice the impact of metal into his skin.

The guard steps out again.

Some time later the door opens again. His eyes are dull, the rage locked away where he can't feel it. She sits down, and makes noises. She is the alpha of this place. He hates her. He wants to please her. He hates her for his desire to please her.

She makes noises every day. Every day he hates himself for trying to understand.

"...free..." His head turns again, brows coming close together. She's rubbing her head. She doesn't see him mouth the word. She begins making noises again. He's listening, leaning against the bars.

He'll kill her if she walks too close. He's listening. "-spoon" He makes a noise. It isn't the same noise, it is a barking cough. Her eyes light up and she says it again, gently, "-spoon?", barking cough.

Spoon. I. She's trying to communicate.

He hates her.

But he's listening as hard as he hates her.

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there_is_a_me: (Default)
Ron 'Spoon' Witherspoon

March 2013

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