Deathling - Outsiders SMP

Whispers: Owen

Owen had lost count of the days ages ago. The demon had told him it had been almost a month, and it sure felt like it. But there was no light in the cell to tell him what time it was. The only thing he could count on was the demon's visits. And that his right eye was not working.

He would come to give him food. Every day, three times. Nearly each time it would be different, and according to him, it was made by a person named Daisy.

Owen had no idea who this was, of course. At least it was good. He hated to admit it, but it was really, really good. Better than anything he could cook himself. And much better than the standard prison food.

Every time Apo would bring him food, he would wait for him to finish, take his dishes, and leave. Which meant they sat together in silence while Owen ate.

Which was awkward at first, but eventually it got less so.

At one point, the demon called Apo pulled out a book while Owen was eating dinner. Owen peered over his shoulder, and was soon encapsulated by the amazing visuals and wild imagination of the author.

Soon, he found himself having to explain to Apo how instead of eating, he had accidentally gotten wrapped up in his book.

The demon had laughed, said it was no big deal, and began telling Owen about how he had already read the first book, and was reading the second, and was flying through it.

"I could bring you the first copy, if you want!" Apo offered, excited to be sharing an interest in books with someone else. The demon was probably taking pleasure just to have struck up a pleasant conversation with Owen. Owen hadn't realized that in the moment, so he eagerly accepted the offer, and now that was half of everything he did in the cell.

Another thing was drawing, or poetry, whichever he felt like, as the demon had given him a notebook.

But the thing he did the most, was just listen. But not with his ears. And not to the voices. They had been gone since he showed up in this strange place. Because ever since he had ended up in that cell, something new had pricked at his brain. He could, oddly, feel things. As in, if he worked his mind hard enough, he could feel the library outside the door that Apo talked about. He could smell smoke and herbs and food somewhere on the other side of the ship. He could almost hear conversations, as well. He could sense the emotions going on when Apo got excited. And the whispers. So many whispers. Always gossiping in his ears, about something in a language he couldn't make out. He knew he was going crazy. And he knew something else, too.

He had to make it out of that cell.

Even if it meant betraying Apo again.