Dᴏᴍɪɴɪǫᴜᴇ ᴅ̶ᴇ̶ Cᴏᴜʀғᴇʏʀᴀᴄ。 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
libertin) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2014-08-08 11:38 pm
libertin) wrote in thecapitol2014-08-08 11:38 pm
Entry tags:
This is my world, this is my choice
Who| Courfeyrac & Max
What| Jailbreak and hiding.
Where| The prison at first, then onward.
When| During the jailbreak times.
Warnings/Notes| Talk of injury.
He'd been beaten to a pulp before they branded him. His nose had been broken again, ribs cracked, lip split and bloodied. That was all expected. He'd seen what they'd done to the others before they'd been individually housed. The branding iron was something else entirely. Courfeyrac would've put money on it, if he'd had any, that he would never forget the look on that Peacekeeper's face as he'd loomed over him with that hot iron.
That was the last thing he could recall before he'd passed out.
He didn't remember waking up, exactly, or how long it had been since he'd blacked out. He was on the floor of his holding cell. He recognized it by the initials 'D.C.' which he'd scratched out with his nails a few days prior. That was the only thing he really noticed before the pain in his face overtook him and he started to feel faint again.
As day turned to night, he'd vaguely heard some commotion from the other cells, but he couldn't be bothered to investigate it. His head hurt so badly, all he could do was let the throbbing pain take over and will himself to pass out. He wasn't even sure what they'd done to him, except that he'd never experienced pain like that in his entire life.
He'd talked. He'd practically sung for them. He'd said anything to get them to stop, to keep them from burning him... but it hadn't worked. And now all he could do was lie lifelessly on the cold metal floor of his holding cell, head in a bandage, wound-side up, praying for sweet, merciful death.
Nothing mattered anymore. He'd damned himself and everyone he'd ever met. He just wanted the pain and the shame to go away. Whatever crime he'd committed, whatever sins he was guilty of, he accepted damnation as his fate. But the agony he was presently in was just about too much for him to take.
What| Jailbreak and hiding.
Where| The prison at first, then onward.
When| During the jailbreak times.
Warnings/Notes| Talk of injury.
He'd been beaten to a pulp before they branded him. His nose had been broken again, ribs cracked, lip split and bloodied. That was all expected. He'd seen what they'd done to the others before they'd been individually housed. The branding iron was something else entirely. Courfeyrac would've put money on it, if he'd had any, that he would never forget the look on that Peacekeeper's face as he'd loomed over him with that hot iron.
That was the last thing he could recall before he'd passed out.
He didn't remember waking up, exactly, or how long it had been since he'd blacked out. He was on the floor of his holding cell. He recognized it by the initials 'D.C.' which he'd scratched out with his nails a few days prior. That was the only thing he really noticed before the pain in his face overtook him and he started to feel faint again.
As day turned to night, he'd vaguely heard some commotion from the other cells, but he couldn't be bothered to investigate it. His head hurt so badly, all he could do was let the throbbing pain take over and will himself to pass out. He wasn't even sure what they'd done to him, except that he'd never experienced pain like that in his entire life.
He'd talked. He'd practically sung for them. He'd said anything to get them to stop, to keep them from burning him... but it hadn't worked. And now all he could do was lie lifelessly on the cold metal floor of his holding cell, head in a bandage, wound-side up, praying for sweet, merciful death.
Nothing mattered anymore. He'd damned himself and everyone he'd ever met. He just wanted the pain and the shame to go away. Whatever crime he'd committed, whatever sins he was guilty of, he accepted damnation as his fate. But the agony he was presently in was just about too much for him to take.
no subject
Only once she made it to the cells and realized that there was no way to quickly identify Courfeyrac's cell did Max stall. Damn. She looked at the keycard in her hand and realized she couldn't waste time worrying that she might let out someone who might actually belong in a cell.
"Olly olly oxen free." Max swiped the card, barely waiting for the force field of the cell to open and close before moving on to the next. "Courf! Courf, you better yell your pretty French ass off right now!"
no subject
Except he wasn't. He'd never been one to lie back and let life (or death) just happen. Courfeyrac was a fighter, even if he'd once insisted he was not a soldier. He had some life in him yet. He wasn't going to go quietly. Not after what they'd done to his face.
"Urgh!!!" His voice started out as a low, deathly growl, slowly raising until he was screaming with every ounce of strength he could muster, accent so thick it was difficult to parse what he was exactly saying. "Shut the hell up, you bastards! Leave her out of this! You cannot use her to torture me anymore, you see? I know it is not really her! I am on to your foolishness! Hearing her voice is not a punishment! Her voice is a gift! Or it would be, if I were not actually dying!"
He paused, gasping to catch his breath. He was still on the floor, mostly yelling at the wall. Oh well, c'est la vie. If only his face didn't still feel as though it were on fire. "Do not bother trying to trick me with her voice. She is not here. I am not a fool. I can see right through you, you sons of bitches. Let me alone."