Fergus Finlay was the boy who would be seen causing trouble around Midtown High, walking around with his pack of cards and wit to save him from trouble. However, he was in for a rude wake-up call; history was awakening, and it had set its eyes on Fe...
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Just find something, anything! Come on, Fergus, you've got this. Make the man fly, blow up the house, turn him blue, just do something!
He kept his eyes closed, trying to concentrate. But behind the closed eyelids, there was anything but concentration. He was supposed to reveal Nick his abilities, had to show him how much he was capable of. He could feel the old man's cold stare, his grey eyes staring with such interest it made the teen even more nervous. Even though emotionless outside, he was a nervous wreck.
"Well?" Nick shattered the thirty-minute long silence. He could feel the old man was getting impatient. The buzzing feeling in his blood and the rush of adrenaline that sometimes seemed to make things around him fly or break, was gone, vanished. As if it had all been his imagination. but it couldn't have been, it had been caught on camera, hence why Nick had adopted him.
"I can't concentrate." he said bluntly, hiding the raw panic behind the cold, green eyes. He couldn't tell the man that he was unable to, well, make things fly. Nick nodded thoughtfully, wheeling away from the tee. Fergus almost let out a sigh of relief, almost. "So, the last time that happened you were under a lot of stress." it wasn't a question, so Fergus didn't bother to answer. He watched the man warily, feeling unsettled in his presence.
"Sit in the chair." Fergus stayed put, his instincts going haywire. He could hear his blood rushing to his ears, terrified of the old man in a wheelchair. The silence made Nick narrow his eyes. "Ashton, if you'd please help him out." Before the tall teen could ask what was he planning, he felt someone's hands curl around his chest and forcefully shove him into the iron chair that emitted danger. He tried to bit Ashtons freakishly long, elastic hands but found that the bite didn't do anything, it was like biting butter. Disgusting.
"Stop, give me more time Nick! You can't just... just be this awful monster!" the fear was making him unreasonable, he should have been bargain not demanding to be set free. The heavy, thick iron was clasped over his wrists and legs, he was panting. The cold hand that cupped his cheek made him nauseous. Nick was beside him, his eyes filled with understanding and sympathy. but Fergus knew it was faked, he could feel the man's craziness ooze from him. "Let me go!"
"Shush, we don't have time to be childish, my boy. It will be over soon, the faster you can get out of your head, the faster it will be over, yes? Just work with me, Fergie." he said quietly, smiling reassuringly. It was fake, so, so very fake it only made him panic more. The twins were standing shoulder to shoulder, waiting for commands. And at that moment, Fergus hated them the most.
"Through centuries, people have come up with those, awful ideas to make others do what they wish. There are things like denailing, boiling, mutilation, keelhauling and even scalping. In the Middle East, there's this thing they call combing. It is a sometimes-fatal form of in which iron combs designed to prepare wool and other fibers for woolen spinning are used to scrape, tear, and flay the victim's flesh." He could feel the wetness behind his wide green eyes. To Hell with facades, Fergus was terrified of Nick. He was shaking, his hands trembling and rubbing against the rough iron. he was sure he was going to pass out of lack of oxygen. He was stuck, unable to move, his throat was dry and he eas sure there was blood running down his throat. "You are barmy, you're fucking barmy. gone to the dogs you are, I'll fucking kill you."
