Jack wasn't afraid of pain, it was a fact that seemed to unnerve his captors. He came to after being beaten again to find himself again within the darkened walls of the Bastille. It hadn't quietened him though, and he shouted and raged, throwing insults and sarcasm at all who would listen. Still though, they were instructed to stay quiet and so they did, leaving him with nothing but frustration and annoyance at his being ignored.
He was met with punishment, again direct instructions from the King. And he was taken and flogged. Though they said nothing, he could see in the eyes of his captors how uncomfortable it made them that while it hurt him, it didn't seem to effect him. But then they had no idea what he'd been through. They had no idea truly who he was.
It all changed after that though. A fear that couldn't help but be displayed when he saw that they no longer intended to take him to the cell in which he'd inhabited before. No, they took him somewhere much worse.
It was into the bowels of the building that he was lead. An area that it seemed less used, or at least forgotten. No natural light there, and a smell that could be realised from quite a distance. It smelt of death and decay and rotting waste.
Jack didn't like the darkness, not when he couldn't remove himself from it. He didn't like enclosed spaces. His experiences of being buried alive and encased in concrete will do that to a guy. And so when he saw where he was to be put, the only feeling he could display was panic.
There was a grate on the floor, barely visible in the candlelit halls, and it was lifted to reveal a small set of steps down which Jack was all but dragged. The ground was barely that, water logged from the moat outside and infested with rats and waste. He fought the captors but with his weakness from the last few days compounded with the fact he'd been flogged, he had no energy to fight back.
And so he was shackled by his ankle to a chain to the wall and he was left there. In that hole of dirt and mud, with no light and little space. The grate above was closed and the door ahead locked with a heavy slam.
no subject
He was met with punishment, again direct instructions from the King. And he was taken and flogged. Though they said nothing, he could see in the eyes of his captors how uncomfortable it made them that while it hurt him, it didn't seem to effect him. But then they had no idea what he'd been through. They had no idea truly who he was.
It all changed after that though. A fear that couldn't help but be displayed when he saw that they no longer intended to take him to the cell in which he'd inhabited before. No, they took him somewhere much worse.
It was into the bowels of the building that he was lead. An area that it seemed less used, or at least forgotten. No natural light there, and a smell that could be realised from quite a distance. It smelt of death and decay and rotting waste.
Jack didn't like the darkness, not when he couldn't remove himself from it. He didn't like enclosed spaces. His experiences of being buried alive and encased in concrete will do that to a guy. And so when he saw where he was to be put, the only feeling he could display was panic.
There was a grate on the floor, barely visible in the candlelit halls, and it was lifted to reveal a small set of steps down which Jack was all but dragged. The ground was barely that, water logged from the moat outside and infested with rats and waste. He fought the captors but with his weakness from the last few days compounded with the fact he'd been flogged, he had no energy to fight back.
And so he was shackled by his ankle to a chain to the wall and he was left there. In that hole of dirt and mud, with no light and little space. The grate above was closed and the door ahead locked with a heavy slam.
And there, in that space, Jack would stay.