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Whumptober Day 1: [Alt] Ziptie (Biggles)
Starting off immediately with one of the alt prompts (since I struggled with the day one prompts). I learned when I looked up the history of zipties (aka cable ties) that they were invented in the late 1950s by the aviation industry to fasten airplane wiring together. Clearly this made the choice of which character gets ziptied entirely obvious.
No. 1: “Please don’t cry”
Lamb to Slaughter | Ceremony | Beg for Forgiveness
Alt: Ziptie
Biggles books, Biggles (& Algy), gen, 600 wds
Also on Tumblr.
Designed to hold firm against the violent vibration of an airplane in flight, the cable ties - it turned out - were shockingly effective at binding a man's hands. They cut into Biggles's wrists so sharply that his hands had grown numb and throbbing, and his wrists were slick with blood where the edges had cut him as he tried to twist himself free.
Beneath him, the metal of the machine's cargo hold vibrated as he lay with his cheek against it, his hands bound behind him and his ankles cable-tied as well. It was cold at this altitude; he could see his breath, and he was not dressed for it, his shivering adding an extra layer of discomfort to an unpleasant enough situation. He had no idea what their heading was, although his time sense told him that they had been in the air for about forty-five minutes, and the angle of the sun suggested a flight path to the south or southwest.
Even as he thought about it, the machine began a steep descent. Biggles grimaced and threw one more effort into trying to twist his hands free, but all he did was wrench the bindings tighter, making them even more slippery with his blood.
The aeroplane touched down, jolting and bouncing over some kind of rough runway. As it came to a stop, Biggles raised his head, listening to some kind of commotion. He heard shouting and the slam of the cockpit door, followed by more shouting in which no words could be made out. Then there was silence.
With his feet also bound and numb, he couldn't effectively stand up. He managed to writhe along the floor until he got his back against one of the lashed-down crates in the cargo hold, which at least gave him a more stable position to sit and think. He could not form a plan without knowing what their opening move would be. If they meant to dispose of him immediately, he expected they would have shoved him out in mid-flight. But he didn't know what their intentions for him were (to interrogate him, to use him for leverage against his team) or how the altercation he had heard earlier was going to affect those plans.
Abruptly the cargo door was flung open, and sunlight blazed into the dim cargo hold. Biggles squinted against it with watering eyes; he could make out a shape in the doorway holding what might be a gun, but not much else, until the shape said, "Biggles! Are you in here?" in Algy's familiar tones, and he drew a sharp breath.
"Yes, I'm here," he said. Algy sprang through the door, shoving his pistol into his pocket.
"Thank heaven. Are you hurt?"
"No, but I don't suppose you have your usual knuckle-slicer with you? I'm a bit tied up, so to speak."
Algy crouched beside Biggles and opened his penknife. He supported Biggles with one hand on his arm whilst carefully slicing off the cable tie with the other. Biggles stifled a wince as the cable parted, peeling away from his abraded wrists.
"What the hell is this, anyway?" Algy threw away the bloody pieces of the cable tie with a look of disgust. He touched Biggles's wrist gently, above the bleeding cuts, and then turned to slicing the cable off his ankles.
"Plastic cables. It's those new ties the Americans are using on their wire harnesses now. Electricians use 'em too." Biggles gingerly pressed a thumb against the worst of the cuts on his wrist, but he couldn't help smiling now that the danger was past. "We might want to lay in a supply ourselves for field work. For keeping a fellow tied up, these have handcuffs beat all to blazes."
Lamb to Slaughter | Ceremony | Beg for Forgiveness
Alt: Ziptie
Biggles books, Biggles (& Algy), gen, 600 wds
Also on Tumblr.
Designed to hold firm against the violent vibration of an airplane in flight, the cable ties - it turned out - were shockingly effective at binding a man's hands. They cut into Biggles's wrists so sharply that his hands had grown numb and throbbing, and his wrists were slick with blood where the edges had cut him as he tried to twist himself free.
Beneath him, the metal of the machine's cargo hold vibrated as he lay with his cheek against it, his hands bound behind him and his ankles cable-tied as well. It was cold at this altitude; he could see his breath, and he was not dressed for it, his shivering adding an extra layer of discomfort to an unpleasant enough situation. He had no idea what their heading was, although his time sense told him that they had been in the air for about forty-five minutes, and the angle of the sun suggested a flight path to the south or southwest.
Even as he thought about it, the machine began a steep descent. Biggles grimaced and threw one more effort into trying to twist his hands free, but all he did was wrench the bindings tighter, making them even more slippery with his blood.
The aeroplane touched down, jolting and bouncing over some kind of rough runway. As it came to a stop, Biggles raised his head, listening to some kind of commotion. He heard shouting and the slam of the cockpit door, followed by more shouting in which no words could be made out. Then there was silence.
With his feet also bound and numb, he couldn't effectively stand up. He managed to writhe along the floor until he got his back against one of the lashed-down crates in the cargo hold, which at least gave him a more stable position to sit and think. He could not form a plan without knowing what their opening move would be. If they meant to dispose of him immediately, he expected they would have shoved him out in mid-flight. But he didn't know what their intentions for him were (to interrogate him, to use him for leverage against his team) or how the altercation he had heard earlier was going to affect those plans.
Abruptly the cargo door was flung open, and sunlight blazed into the dim cargo hold. Biggles squinted against it with watering eyes; he could make out a shape in the doorway holding what might be a gun, but not much else, until the shape said, "Biggles! Are you in here?" in Algy's familiar tones, and he drew a sharp breath.
"Yes, I'm here," he said. Algy sprang through the door, shoving his pistol into his pocket.
"Thank heaven. Are you hurt?"
"No, but I don't suppose you have your usual knuckle-slicer with you? I'm a bit tied up, so to speak."
Algy crouched beside Biggles and opened his penknife. He supported Biggles with one hand on his arm whilst carefully slicing off the cable tie with the other. Biggles stifled a wince as the cable parted, peeling away from his abraded wrists.
"What the hell is this, anyway?" Algy threw away the bloody pieces of the cable tie with a look of disgust. He touched Biggles's wrist gently, above the bleeding cuts, and then turned to slicing the cable off his ankles.
"Plastic cables. It's those new ties the Americans are using on their wire harnesses now. Electricians use 'em too." Biggles gingerly pressed a thumb against the worst of the cuts on his wrist, but he couldn't help smiling now that the danger was past. "We might want to lay in a supply ourselves for field work. For keeping a fellow tied up, these have handcuffs beat all to blazes."
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I thoroughly support any and all further use of zipties in Biggles fic that results from this ...