ruinations | (no subject)

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They attacked in the night like thieves.

A more direct strike against a prestigious mage family would have spelled nothing but disaster even for the Zhentarim, whose numbers could have overwhelmed the guards on a more level playing field. Trickery was needed: it had to be an inside job with all of the wards and security systems taken down. It needed to happen quickly before any of their secondary defenses could spring up, before the old man Archibald could activate any secondary wards or, worse, might weave powerful enough spellcraft to kill them all.

The guards didn't manage to sound an alarm. The electrical systems died seconds after they did. A strong dozen of the most powerful the Zhentarim could offer - individuals proficient in magic and in tactical warfare - stormed the residence. In less than thirty minutes, the place was decimated, and they took their prizes. They struck with gloves laced with electric runes and powerful magnetics to be used to circumvent the magical circuits the family was known for, easily incapacitating them. Waver was struck down before he could barely get out of bed, held down while he heard the screams of his family as they, too, were indisposed. He was dumped near the bodies of his guards - his mentors, acquaintances, even his friends - before the world went dark.

He was beckoned back to wakefulness in a cage laced with electricity and runes, the strongest precautions against a mage like him. Even then, his wrists were bound - separated, though - with tight metal bands that disrupted his magical circuits. The room he was in was dark, lit only by faint neon lights that smarted when he looked too long at them. The most prominent sound was their buzzing and little else for a very long time.

Faintly, he could hear intermittent sounds coming from beyond the glass window in the corner of the room. It took him a while to perhaps realize they were the sounds of screaming and begging.

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Her gaze held his in complete silence, waiting for him to breathe again. Only then did she speak, each word slow. "My name is Devyn. And it's true, I work for the Zhentarim. I had no part to play in your family's loss. I'm only here to minimize the damage that's been done."

Carefully, she pulled the glove from her hand. Setting it to one side, well out of Waver's reach, she performed the same gesture on the cage. Nothing happened. She did it again and, once more, there was no change.

"When I walk out of here and leave you, they'll take that thing back. So long as I'm here, I have some small control over what happens to you...but little else." The glove slipped back on. "So long as they think you're going to wait here to die, stubborn to the end, then no one's going to waste their time trying to keep you around." Her eyes met his. "If they think you have some worth...they might listen to me and keep you alive."

So she was some sort of negotiator? Waver didn't look convinced, watching her suspiciously as she demonstrated that she couldn't do anything without the glove, which he'd already figured out. It meant nothing. She could be lying.

Not that it mattered if she was lying about that or how much say she got, really. In the end, the part she was right about was his chances at survival. Or lack of chances, as the case may be.

Waver had scooted back away from her a few more inches during his outburst, more crouching now than sitting, with the distinct look of an animal about to bolt. There was nowhere to run. His chest was heaving, breaths loud in the silence and too fast. The sudden spike of panic and movement after so long of doing nothing but lying on the floor of his cage made his head spin.

"What do they want? I had nothing to do with any debt! I don't know what he was doing. I'm not being stubborn. I just don't know."

"What they want is to take back the things your father had them procure for him. Wherever they are, they're under lock and key." There was no frustration in her voice, not even a flicker of disappointment. "So the issue is two-fold: where are they and how does someone get to them? These are questions you can't answer...for good or ill." In some ways, it was better Waver didn't know. It didn't improve his situation, obviously.

"But they've already done the job. Whatever happened that night, however things unfolded, these are the results we have to work with." Death would net a minimal profit; letting Waver go would be a loss. There had to be compromise down the middle, and she needed to find it.

Devyn slowly moved her legs so she was sitting a bit more comfortable, settling her hands on her knees. "As things stand, you are the only person who could potentially provide answers. I'm not insinuating you're lying or that you have them - but that you're the person the Zhentarim have access to. What happens now is a debate around what to do with you...and whether keeping you here is worth anything."

Where was Reines? Was she dead too? Did they even know about Kayneth's step-daughter, considering they'd assumed Waver was his heir and never even mentioned her? He didn't know. There was so much he didn't fucking know, and it was likely just about to literally kill him.

He had to stall. He had to survive, at the very least. Whether or not there was anyone left, he was still alive, and Waver had every desire to keep it that way.

"I--" He tried to settle back down onto his knees, tried to calm the frantic drumbeat of his heartbeat pounding in his temples so hard it was difficult to hear himself speak. The room swayed.

"I can-- Let me look. Let me search his office."

A single brow quirked up at the suggestion. Devyn's expression didn't shift otherwise, her eyes sharp upon his face.

"A novel thought," she murmured, mulling the idea around, examining the logistics, who would want to be involved. She kept her smile to herself. "How are you going to convince them that you could find something? And if you find nothing--"

She let the suggestion hang for a time. Then, she breathed out.

"Is his office in your home? Or did he have another?"

"At home and at the university."

As for convincing them, Waver didn't know, other than to offer... and to buy himself time. If he could look around and find something, anything that might even lead to more searches, it would at least be more time on his side to come up with a better plan. And if he could find information on the location of the family's Mystic Codes, maybe he could actually use it. There was a chance, however dim the hope, that he could actually get the inheritance he'd been deemed unsuited for.

It wasn't like he had much choice.

"You'll need to be brought to both, then."

The gears turned, careful, uncertain. She plotted out the journey and the circumstances, the ideal scenario for such a thing. Her gaze, while it remained on his, seemed briefly distant. At length, that sharpness came back, fixed on his face. And then, slowly, Devyn stood, the motion fluid and careful. She gestured with her unadorned hand. "Eat. Put that shirt on. You'll need to be ready to go if they grant your request."

The transport, the clearances, the time... She would work on that. Devyn looked back at Waver briefly and, once more, gestured. Magic brushed over his skin like the warmth of a tender hand, stitching up the cut on his lip. "You'll have some time before someone comes to put you back." She bent and retrieved the rod. No use leaving it here for him to try to inspect and take apart.

They would have to let him out of this room. Outside. There would be many other mages at the university. Waver had expected some sort of protest or pointing out how risky that would be, but instead, it seemed Devyn was seriously considering this. Waver let out a slow breath-- and then an audible gasp at the prickle of foreign magic along his skin making the hair on his arms stand up. Instinctively, his tongue probed at his lower lip to find the swelling and the cut gone.

He did not thank her. Still, Waver didn't argue or protest the intrusive touch of magic he hadn't been warned for even if he didn't like it. He just watched her skittishly as she moved to pick up the part of the cuffs that had bound his hands together, waiting. But Devyn did not try to put it back on him. Nor did she re-activate the cage.

"...okay," Waver said finally, without moving yet to reach for the tray or the shirt. He couldn't try to leave the locked and guarded room anyway. There was no need to put him back, but he held his tongue and did not push his luck right now. Driven by the hope that he would get out of here soon -- and the fear of being disposed of if he was too much trouble -- Waver resigned himself to accepting the physical restrictions for the time being. If he proved he wasn't going to try running away, maybe they wouldn't restrict his movements so heavily again.

She did not expect anything from him. But it was enough that he was verbally acknowledging and agreeing, and without fanfare, Devyn turned and left the room, the door bolting heavily behind her. Again, Waver was left on his own.

But, unlike what she said, no one came for him. Not for the first hour or for the second, as if he might have been forgotten once more. There were no voices to indicate if anyone was watching and no reasonable way to discern time in his lonely cell. The lights remained on. No one seemed to be coming back for him.

But toward the end of the second hour, the door opened and Devyn returned. She eyed Waver carefully and stepped toward him, though she maintained some distance still. With care, she crouched down. "They're discussing the merits of your offer, Waver."

After Devyn left the room, Waver only watched the door for a few minutes, on edge and still too tense to start relaxing at all. But after some time in the silence, with no indication that anyone else was coming, he was finally able to think. He was able to put on the new shirt and try to rub some warmth back into his hands and arms, try to soothe his bruises and stretch out his body a little. He drank the water first, knowing he should go slowly, until the slow sips sparked a semblance of real thirst and appetite again. Once he'd finished about half of what was on the tray, he made his first attempt at standing up and exploring the rest of the room while the cage was down.

It helped. Just being able to stand and move around, having a little something in his stomach and at least an inkling of what was going on now helped him feel more human again and chased back the lethargic despair he'd been stewing in since he'd last spoken to anyone.

By the time Devyn returned, Waver had managed to finish most of the food, all of the water, and a good number of laps around the room. He hadn't been able to understand anything about how the cage or cuffs worked, though he'd tried to examine them, and he still couldn't use any magic, but even if there were cameras monitoring him, all he'd done was walk and look. He hadn't even tried to touch the door.

This time, Waver didn't sit. He stood with the far wall positioned at his back, though not quite against it, his hands nervously finding the hem of his tunic for his fingers to curl around unconsciously.

"And?" he prompted. His voice didn't sound quite so rough as before.

"The university is, most likely, not in the cards." Bad news first. "It will take a substantial amount of trust for anyone to consider putting Waver Archibald, son of their university professor, anywhere near campus. And surrounded by mages." All things that could be worked through, she knew, given time and a great deal of arrangements. Devyn was plucking two strings now: Waver's and the Zhentarim's. One of them would cave to what was needed to get those Mystic Codes.

Slowly, she stood again. "But taking you back home is something they are considering." Her red eyes flickered. Her lips, while set in a neutral line, still seemed to betray a very faint hint of a smile towards him. "It will still take time and necessary arrangements to make it happen." Police still had control over the scene in some respects. Waver hadn't been there that long, after all. "But it's...feasible, provided that you don't make an attempt to run."

Running wasn't the trouble. Surrounded by guards, the environment controlled, Waver wouldn't be able to go anywhere. It was the posturing; if he'd risk that much to get away, and lie and twist things for the opportunity, then he was most likely going to end up on the chopping block.

"You understand that, though. I won't patronize you."

He did understand that; it was why he hadn't tried to run or struggle very much until this point. Waver understood very well that he was powerless, trapped, surrounded by guards and enemies. There was no way to brute-force his way out of this-- even if it had been the sort of thing he would usually go for.

Slowly, Waver nodded.

Devyn watched him nod, taking it in. She turned her head briefly and twisted the gloved hand once. "All eyes will be on you in the next few days. They'll want to know you can be trusted in all ways that matter to them. Succeed, and they will be far more likely to consider your second offer...especially if what they seek is conveniently not present in your home." Slowly, she twisted her hand again, and lifted it to press into the other, as if stretching unused muscles in her fingers.

"If all goes well, things will greatly improve for you." Her lips twisted into a brief frown. "Considering the circumstances. But I'll do what I can...with your help."

Waver's fingers tightened on the hem of his shirt; then, he seemed to realize what he was doing and forced his arms to drop back down to his sides. He wanted to rub at the cuffs. He didn't.

"Why?" She was helping him, or at least negotiating with him for something that was more to his benefit than he might be able to manage on his own, but other than the vague answer she'd given before, Waver still didn't understand who Devyn was or why she'd been sent in here to talk to him instead of any of the people who'd questioned him before.

"What's in it for you?"

Devyn's gaze settled on Waver's features, on his distrust and his anxiety. Once more, she lifted her shoulders. "You don't understand where you are or the organization that has you. That's fine; I don't expect you to. But a better question might be...what do I gain if you die?" She did not smile. "What do you think, Waver?"

"No more than you started with, at least," he mumbled.

Whereas she might gain something -- a share of money or artifacts, perhaps? -- if he not only lived but also delivered. Still, the same was true of the rest of them too. It was possible Devyn was just the most well-equipped as a negotiator or someone to talk to hostages, especially if she also had a specialty in healing magic. It was a rare ability.

So the answers Waver could come up with were mostly: this was her job, and she could gain something from helping him in the context of benefiting from what the organization stood to gain from him in general. Maybe it was money, prestige in the organization, bragging rights-- but whatever it was, in the end it didn't really matter to him. Waver did not trust her. But he could work with her, for now. It was the best option he had available to him.

"So I'm potentially useful if I'm alive. And I don't want to be dead either. So I suppose we're on the same page there."

There was a passing of some foreign emotion over her face, mostly in her eyes. It looked strange on Devyn, who had not yet smiled, who had barely provided much in the way of anything. It almost seemed like disappointment.

It fled her features, gone before it could settle. "Well enough."

She looked at the cage, at the cuffs on his hands. "Other people might come here to ask you questions about your father, about what we are likely to find in your home should they agree to this excursion. You had mentioned before about traps." Which had been circumvented before but not if that was where the Codes were. "They might also ask questions about your magic, too."

Waver didn't really catch it or understand, though it made him vaguely uncomfortable. Her eyes made him uncomfortable in general, the color of them somehow off. With magical or technological enhancements, it was possible to change one's appearance or even make permanent alterations, but it was still somehow... unsettling. Then again, this whole situation was beyond unsettling. Of course he felt threatened by everything.

It was hard not to fidget. He wanted to curl up again, cross his arms, but now that he'd regained some tiny bit of control and composure, Waver fought that urge.

Again, he nodded.

"Okay. I understand."

Edited 2018-06-23 00:12 (UTC)

Devyn was as good as her word, if not better. Waver was allowed out of his cell and to be brought to a different room to be interrogated by two different people, each of them calmer than the first who had met with him that first day. While his cuffs were never removed, he was never forced back into the cage. He was fed more often, going from one meal a day to two. No one treated him with particular kindness or patience, but he was never touched, never harmed as he was that first day.

Through the process, Devyn was often present, though rarely spoke. She listened as they questioned Waver about his father, Kayneth's magic, the origins of it, and then about his own. They asked questions about the traps in the manor's basement, the monsters that might be in wait. When they were finished, Devyn escorted Waver back to his room and gave him his time to reflect alone. In the night, she managed to convince them to dim the lights so he could actually sleep.

It was nearly six days into his captivity before they allowed him to be taken somewhere to bathe, and clean clothes were brought for when he was finished. The removal of the cuffs for that time showed a horror worse than he might have perceived upon first being chained: they were not only stopping the use of his magic while they were being worn but they were draining him of his mana too.

For his part, Waver behaved. He did as he was told, answered the questions as well as he could, and tried to hold onto the hope that being a model prisoner now would help him gain more freedom later.

It wasn't easy. Working with his captors, with his family's killers, was an emotional and mental block he kept needing to push himself past every single time, tamping down his pride and better sense, clinging to necessity and nothing more lofty than that. He hadn't loved his father, but -- despite the fact Kayneth had had no loyalty to him and no affection -- Waver still felt obligated. He still felt kinship, even grudgingly, and ownership of his own family name if nothing else. And so, the knowledge that he was helping these people who wanted to destroy or own their family magic weighed on him, a heavy, awful feeling in the pit of his stomach as he outlined maps and wrote out notes for his captors to reference, detailing the secrets of his home.

Traitor, came the voice in his head, over and over, and woke him through the night.

He was tired. Even though Waver had always been the sort to prefer alone time with a book than with a person, the loneliness of isolation made him feel numb and unreal after a few days, made worse by the fact he could never see outside, never see the sun or a clock or any indication of what time it was or what day. Disoriented and depressed, he slept most of the time he wasn't being questioned, too drained to do much else after the sessions. No matter how much he slept, he felt exhausted and weak, even when they gave him more food. He'd never considered how exhausting it would be having nothing to do. Nothing but to think, and be afraid.

Waver had no idea how long it was before they finally let him bathe. It was a small mercy, and one he'd been growing desperate for, but he hadn't expected the cuffs to be removed. That was the real relief. As soon as the magic-disrupting metal was pulled far enough away from his skin, it was like another sense had opened up again, like seeing after being half-blind, feeling returned to a numbed limb.

Immediately, his instinct was to test it. Waver tried to reach for his unlocked magic, not to cast anything but just for the familiarity of it. He meant to invoke just enough of the intent to cast without actually doing anything-- and realized almost at once that it wasn't going to be enough, even if he'd wanted it to be. He felt starved suddenly, now that he was able to feel it, weak. The constant dreariness and exhaustion made even more sense.

Waver stared up at the person who'd taken off the cuffs, rubbing his strangely bare wrists, where a ring of pink skin was a constant irritation these days.

"I can't keep wearing those," he blurted, a faint edge of panic to his voice.

The information Waver gave was good, even when it was sparse at times, even when he said "I don't know". It was better than nothing, better than them blindly going down there and facing against who-knows-what. But the information did not seem to come with any kind of gratitude from them, except from Devyn, who continued to encourage him to keep trying. That small measures of freedom were available to him.

But there was a price for those, which now he knew.

The man who'd unlocked the cuffs was handing them to another when Waver spoke, and he turned back to the young magus with a strange look of confusion. "What?" he asked, as if he hadn't comprehended what Waver had even said.

Or how he said it.

"I can't keep wearing those things," Waver repeated. He looked... shaken, even scared.

"It's going to kill me."

Maybe he was being dramatic. After all, it would take a long time to do that-- but before it got to that point, the drain would leave him weak, incapacitated, eventually unconscious or even catatonic. His body couldn't draw mana from the atmosphere like he naturally would, but since he hadn't been using any significant amounts either, he hadn't been too concerned about that. Until now.

"It's not going to kill you," the man said. The other looked...actually concerned at what Waver said. Neither of them were mages, didn't know the first thing about true, genuine magecraft and the cultivation of mana that they couldn't take from implants. True mages were so rare. It didn't make sense to them. Tampering a mage's abilities was the same across the spectrum, wasn't it?

"You'll need to wear them," he went on. "And you will. Wash yourself. You only have thirty minutes."

The other man nudged him. "Do-- Do they know?" he murmured, low, almost too low for Waver to hear. "We should--"

His partner shrugged him off and gestured to Waver. "Go, hurry up."

Thirty minutes. It was longer than he'd hoped for. At least there was that.

Shaken, Waver nevertheless obeyed quickly after that to maximize his time both to wash and to be free of the cuffs numbing and draining him. The door to the bathroom remained open so the guards could keep an eye on him, but there was a curtain on the shower, and he was too freaked out and desperate to wash up to care.

Soap, shampoo, and a washcloth had been provided, thankfully. The water was hot enough. With the curtain closed and the cuffs off, it almost felt like he could pretend he was somewhere else. Almost.

Waver stayed in the shower as long as they allowed him to, even when he was done washing up, letting the water wash over him and drown out his thoughts as much as possible. There was no way he could force his body to draw in more mana just by willing it, but at least it was a little time to breathe, so to speak.

Around the twenty minute mark, Waver would hear voices in the hallway, which were low and insistent for several minutes, and which eventually faded. Otherwise, he was alone in the shower and neither of the guards poked their heads in, nor did they try to go in during the time he was allotted.

But as thirty minutes came to pass, one of them called in, "You need to finish. Your time's up. Hurry and dry off. You'll need to go back."