One Shots

Magic? Seriously? (part 2)

this is so fun for me to write, I think I might make this idea into an actual fic.

How does that sound?

***

I wake up in a room. The room is cold, but it isn't dark. Thank the Sun. I wouldn't be able to live with more darkness, not after the pitch blackness of that hall way. I don't understand why it had been so dark there. It was like I was surrounded by a thick blanket of shadows.

I'm seated in a chair, and my hands are tied in front of me. My ankles aren't tied, which I find kind of ridiculous. Does whoever really expect me to not be able to get away?

That's when I notice the type of rope binding my hands. It's not regular rope. It's not plain steel rope either. I can feel the burning sensation, the sharp, intense bouts of pain. Nausea hits me.

Fools Wire.

They call it fools wire because it's made from a metal that resembles red steel. People find it thinking it is red steel, but it is simply not solid enough to be made into weapons. The properties in this metal are far more different and can only be found in the caves in the dwarves mountains. It's usually fashioned into wires, because it is strong and taut, but flexible.

It is also deadly to elves. The kind of deadly that will torture first, rather than kill quickly.

Whoever found me knows what they're doing, because I can feel this mornings breakfast rising from my stomach. I feel so sick, poisoned. And only my hands are bound with Fools Wire.

I try to ignore the pain and nausea. I push it down. I look around the room. It's small and the arm chair I'm seated in is comfier than I deserve. Why would I be sitting in a comfy chair, being tortured by Fools Wire? That's such a contradiction.

"I see you're awake." The smooth voice, deep (but not too deep) with a slight rasp to it, comes from my right. I look over at the man (that much I have deduced). He's lounging, comfortable in the opposite arm chair.

I'm taken aback by his handsomeness. I suppose a nice face should go along with a voice like that. His skin is tan and his eyes are dark, his hair thick, falling in chocolate waves to just above his shoulders. His shoulders are broad, fitting nicely in his black trench coat. His coat is like Sherlock's, except he has no scarf, just a plain white shirt underneath and grey jeans. His combat boots are propped casually on the coffee table.

I try to answer, but a wave of nausea rolls over me and I'm afraid if I open my mouth, I'll vomit all over the place. Gross.

My mind is too fuzzy to think of any incantations. I think I was drugged earlier. No wonder I feel like my head is stuffed with cotton balls.

"Nothing to say, elf?" The man raises his eyebrows, but continues speaking, "I can't believe they sent an elf witch as a spy. It's quite pitiful you know. They could have sent someone who can actually fight me off properly. But instead they sent you. How sad."

I should be offended. Especially by the witch insult. But I'm not offended. I've gotten people telling me I'm less than them, weak, before. It doesn't bother me as much as it should. I try to hide what I can really do as best as possible. That's what I've always been told to do.

"I'm sorry about the Fools Wire," The man doesn't sound sorry at all, "But I unfortunately had nothing else." That's a lie, of course it is. I still don't say anything though.

"Did you lose your tongue in battle?" The man asks, with a slight roll of his eyes, "No matter. If you will not speak, I will. First things first. Introductions!"

Is he crazy? Is he insane? Why would I possibly introduce myself to this man? To think he's being so casual, yet so bitter, is honestly so strange.

"Most people around here simply call me Vic. That is all. Any other names are classified, and will not be shared with the likes of elf witches." He concludes with a flick of his wrist, somewhat dramatic. "And you are?" He, Vic, adds when I don't say anything.

I want to be stubborn and keep my mouth shut. But I do believe this man is insane. Or at least near it. The look in his eyes is calm, calculating, but full of a type of madness that sets my teeth on edge. Why oh why did I really have to be caught by this dude?

I croak out (Suns I'm pathetic) my name, "Kellin. Just.. Just Kellin."

"Looks like you can talk after all, Just Kellin." Vic smirks, and I just want to die right there and then. Maybe it's the Fools Wire getting to my head.

I don't actually want to die. I know I don't. But I already am in so much pain that I don't think I'll be able to hold on much longer. I can smell my own skin burning now, feel the excruciating sizzle of the rope cutting into my skin.

"Yup," I mutter, "I can talk. Big surprise."

Vic tilts his head a little, examining me like a hawk would examine its singled out prey from afar. I should be terrified of this man. First he brings out Fools Wire, and now he's convinced me that he's utterly (ha, utterly) insane. Unfortunately though, I am not terrified. I'm terrified of the concept of death, but I'm not terrified of this man.

"So, what were you trying to gain from this little spy mission of yours?" Vic asks me, clearly investigating. I won't tell him. I can't tell him anything. I'll remain loyal to the Command, even though I know they don't necessarily like me all that much. I'm still doing their dirty work.

I keep my mouth shut. Partly from the nausea though, because vomit is gross and I don't think Vic will like me much after I puke all over his upholstery.

Vic lets out a long sigh, "Kellin," He says, which makes me want to cringe, but I don't. He continues, "I'm not going to stop asking you until I get answers. I don't appreciate spies infiltrating the base, and the Senate certainly doesn't either."

For a second, I'm confused. He's not apart of the Senate? I was sure that he was, but apparently he isn't. I decide to ask him, "You're not apart of the Senate?"

Vic's eyes flash with irritation. I think I asked the wrong thing. Though, he answers, "No," he says tightly, "I am not and I don't wish to be. But I work for them. That's that."

I don't push the matter. I won't ask anymore silly questions. He's unpredictable, and I have no idea what he'll do. Whoever Vic is, I don't want to mess with him.

If only my head was clear enough for magic.

Vic leans forward, that calculating, observing look back in his eyes. I want to get up screaming and running. I just want to go back to my home in the forest and read my books about magic. Unfortunately, I can't do either of those things. Damn.

"So," Vic starts, and he grins a wicked grin that makes the Fools Wire seem mediocre to whatever is running through his brain. "Let's discuss how I'm going to kill you, shall we?"