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Febuwhump day 15: "Who did this to you?"
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Day 15: "who did this to you?"
Biggles and EvS, 400 wds
Biggles was dimly aware that he was lying on his side, a cold concrete floor under his cheek. His sideways view of the floor and the small room in which he was being held kept blurring, going in and out of focus. Everything hurt, a hot throbbing in his face, his ribs, his entire body. He knew he had to sit up, to move. He was going to escape; they had carelessly left him untied, so this was his chance. Soon. He simply needed to rest for a moment first.
But the sound of the door opening galvanized him, an instinctive urge to avoid more hurt that made him jerk upright; then the world swam and he felt himself falling sideways. There were swift, slightly uneven steps, and a pair of hands, strong but not rough, caught and held him. Biggles slumped into the grasp holding him upright, blinking as his head swam. His eyes were puffy and swollen, blood running into the left one, and yet he found himself unable to look away from a pair of steely blue-grey eyes that latched onto his.
"Von Stalhein," he said thickly, trying to sit straighter.
"Bigglesworth." There was a sharpness to von Stalhein's crisp tones, some unfathomable emotion that drew Biggles further out of the grey haze trying to envelop him. "You were to be held and questioned, not -- this. Who did this?"
"Your associates," Biggles said, fighting his way past the blurring mental haze and his thick tongue. "On your orders, I was given to believe."
"No," von Stalhein said, between his teeth. "No, not on my orders." He eased Biggles against the wall. Biggles went with it, feeling dazed and looking up at him. Somehow all of his urgency to flee had faded; he found himself gazing at von Stalhein's face, narrow and handsome and suffused with fury that did not seem to be directed at Biggles at all.
A hand went behind his head, and Biggles winced as von Stalhein's fingers touched the bruises from where his head had been repeatedly slammed into the wall. The hand immediately dropped lower, held him carefully at the base of the skull, and supported his head as von Stalhein gave him a drink from a canteen. Biggles sipped carefully; the water stung the cuts in his mouth. He felt confused.
"Stay here," von Stalhein told him. He wrapped Biggles's fingers around the canteen, supported his hand until he could hold it, and then let go. "I'm going to have a word with my -- associates."
Day 15: "who did this to you?"
Biggles and EvS, 400 wds
Biggles was dimly aware that he was lying on his side, a cold concrete floor under his cheek. His sideways view of the floor and the small room in which he was being held kept blurring, going in and out of focus. Everything hurt, a hot throbbing in his face, his ribs, his entire body. He knew he had to sit up, to move. He was going to escape; they had carelessly left him untied, so this was his chance. Soon. He simply needed to rest for a moment first.
But the sound of the door opening galvanized him, an instinctive urge to avoid more hurt that made him jerk upright; then the world swam and he felt himself falling sideways. There were swift, slightly uneven steps, and a pair of hands, strong but not rough, caught and held him. Biggles slumped into the grasp holding him upright, blinking as his head swam. His eyes were puffy and swollen, blood running into the left one, and yet he found himself unable to look away from a pair of steely blue-grey eyes that latched onto his.
"Von Stalhein," he said thickly, trying to sit straighter.
"Bigglesworth." There was a sharpness to von Stalhein's crisp tones, some unfathomable emotion that drew Biggles further out of the grey haze trying to envelop him. "You were to be held and questioned, not -- this. Who did this?"
"Your associates," Biggles said, fighting his way past the blurring mental haze and his thick tongue. "On your orders, I was given to believe."
"No," von Stalhein said, between his teeth. "No, not on my orders." He eased Biggles against the wall. Biggles went with it, feeling dazed and looking up at him. Somehow all of his urgency to flee had faded; he found himself gazing at von Stalhein's face, narrow and handsome and suffused with fury that did not seem to be directed at Biggles at all.
A hand went behind his head, and Biggles winced as von Stalhein's fingers touched the bruises from where his head had been repeatedly slammed into the wall. The hand immediately dropped lower, held him carefully at the base of the skull, and supported his head as von Stalhein gave him a drink from a canteen. Biggles sipped carefully; the water stung the cuts in his mouth. He felt confused.
"Stay here," von Stalhein told him. He wrapped Biggles's fingers around the canteen, supported his hand until he could hold it, and then let go. "I'm going to have a word with my -- associates."
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