[closed] haven't got a mind left to speak

[altusimperius]

WHO: Bastien, Benedict, Byerly, Edgard, Lazar, Octavius
WHAT: rescue rangers
WHEN: toward the end of Envy Demon Extravaganza
WHERE: some shitty abandoned tower off in bumfuck Crossroads land
NOTES: keep things to just one thread please!

There’s very little sign of life when the rescue team arrives, but upon listening closely, the faint sound of shuddering breath can be heard coming from the tower’s dungeon. One of the cells is vacant, as expected; the other contains two very thin, dirty, dark-haired and raggedly-dressed individuals, clinging to one another for warmth and, perhaps, comfort. If they’re conscious, it’s only barely.
The door of their cell is bizarrely malformed, bowed outward as if struck by a great force, pieces of it half-melted, telltale indicators of a mage’s unsuccessful escape attempts. Pieces of Benedict’s boot uppers are missing, shredded roughly from their source.

Comments

[extortionate]

Lazar rummages his waterskin, passes it forward them the bars. This could take a bit. Gives 'em something to do.

"Don't chug it," He warns. "You'll hurl."

(Half a wrapped is sandwich staying firmly in his bag. Look, if they all get taken by demons, he means to be prepared.)

He watches Byerly's hands with open interest, judges it fine enough work to turn back to the hall. If anything sneaks up, probably the little mage'll know first, but not if he's melting metal.

"They're not bleeding," Time may be of more essence than injury. "If either of you broke something big, then holler."

A side glance to Bastien. Don't suppose he's about to whip out some funny little hacksaw from the case of a violin -

[cozen]

Tragically, no.

Bastien doesn't check Byerly's work on the lock. If he can't do it, Bastien can't, and neither can anyone else here. So the lock is a lost cause. He's looking around the rest of the room instead. Levers, buttons. Sometimes people are creative. He has both stretchers bundled together, held over his shoulder like flagpoles, and he sets them side.

"We'll have you out soon," he says. Worse case they wait a bit longer for healing. "Did they have any way to open it aside from the key? Or if we can heat it up there," where he's pointing, which might take less energy than melting through it entirely, "then maybe Lazar," winner of strongest man currently present, "could bend it and we could get it off the hinge?"

[altusimperius]

Benedict, tragically sporting scratchy hair growth around his mouth and chin, lifts his head slightly from Edgard's bony shoulder at the sound of familiar voices. He regards them through the bars, without any sense of urgency or comprehension, his gaze dull and far away; they might be his friends, or they might be more demons, and he's too weak and tired to care which.
He lays his head back down again, waiting for whatever this is to conclude, or sleep, or death, whatever happens first.

[quaestionespatris]

"I should have enough energy to get the metal hot enough to bend, but I won't be able to sustain it for long." Not without defeating the entire purpose of bringing him along on this trip, at any rate.

He looks into the cell again, and it's probably a good thing he isn't aware of just how plainly he's broadcasting his every tragically gay thought at one occupant in particular (to be clear: not Edgard) because he'd never be brave enough to show his face in public again. "Benedict," Octavius calls out through the bars, working his arm and the waterskin between them to offer it out. "Don't go back to sleep. Look," he jostles the waterskin, sloshing the water about within it.

[muckspout]

Edgard sighs deeply at the one who suggests a bath. Of course, they would clean him before killing him. That would be his luck. He shudders away from the food and drink put in the cell. He's so hungry, but could be anything. Now that the time has finally come, he wants to keep his head. Go with his boots on as they say. Or at least what's left of them.

He clings Benedict closer to him and merely shakes his head at the rest.

[extortionate]

Lazar considers. He likes and needs his hands - more'n Edgard and Benedict, at least -

"You got tongs?" If they're bending molten metal. "Or something I can jam in there?"

One of Byerly's picks, maybe. Some extra leverage will help with the twist.

[quaestionespatris]

The pair of them are too far away for any of Octavius's most effective spells to reach them, but a simple rejuvenation spell might at least take the edge off of their hunger and fatigue, and won't tax his energy reserves overly much. He takes a breath to centre himself, channels the necessary power into his free hand, then casts the spell upon both Edgard and Benedict. That will, he hopes, make the pair of them slightly more lucid--and useful, if this rescue effort turns out to require two additional sets of hands.

As for the tongs, well--

"I have forceps," he begins uncertainly, "but I don't know if they'd be sturdy enough for what you're thinking." A beat, and then, "What are you thinking, exactly?"

[extortionate]

"Think I'm not bending nothing with my bare fucking skin. Forceps'll do it."

Better than messing up his good knife.

[bouchonne]

"Here - "

Byerly, dandy that he is, has worn a silk scarf to the rescue. (One must look good at all times, even during feats of derring-do.) "This might help. Silk is strong, and can resist heat decently well. If we wet it, and you hook it around - That might do."

[muckspout]

The one he doesn't recognize (and he doesn't for a second buy that the others are actually who they look like) casts some sort of spell which hits it's mark despite his attempt to shield Benedict from it. Edgard is suddenly ANGRY. He bangs on the bars.

"Who do you think you ARE?!" He yells. "Kill us quickly or leave us in peace!"

[quaestionespatris]

Well, the spell clearly worked, at least.

Octavius yelps (it is the yelp of a sophisticated young gentleman, but it is a yelp nonetheless) and stumbles backward from the bars as Edgard starts to rattle them while shouting his outrage at his rescuers. "Kaffas," he swears under his breath, and then, his patience flagging, "listen, we're trying to get you out! Unless you want to rot here in this cell until the Venatori come back for you."

[altusimperius]

The bulk of the spell lands on Edgard, but enough of it sifts to Benedict that his head clears slightly, awareness blooming in his eyes as Edgard shields him.
He looks over his friend's head, and grips his shoulder: that's Byerly and Bastien, and.. Lazar? and...

"Octavius?" he mouths, still far too weak to even try and comprehend what's going on here. How would the demons even know who that is?

[cozen]

At the shouting and banging, Bastien's head tilts slightly to the right, examining Edgard. The odds that they're not who they appear to be—Edgard and Benedict—aren't zero, only very slim. But this does seem very much more like Edgard than the monster in the Gallows.

"Edgard, my friend," he says—

this is a better use of his time than admitting he was imagining Lazar and his great broad shoulders gripping the metal bars on either side of the heated section and bending it in half like a Circus strongman, on reflection extremely ridiculous

—"we went to Halamshiral without you, to spend time in court, you know, and try to convince them to give us some money. I'm sorry you couldn't come."

[muckspout]

Edgard stops yelling and looks at the one that looks like Bastien and absolutely deflates. Weakly,

"the fuck you're on about? gunna make me go to court?!"

The rats, seeing his other two companions disappear, and the demons didn't break him. This does.

"Please," He begs. "Anything else."

pls let me know if i'm tagging into this too quickly and i'll slow my roll 👍

[quaestionespatris]

Profound relief floods Octavius when Benedict recognizes him, but the beginnings of a truly incandescent smile are cut short by the Edgard's shattered expression. His frustration immediately withers on the vine; an ailment of the mind isn't something that he has figured out how to heal with magic.

Wordless, he fishes the forceps out of his satchel and proffers them out to Lazar. Then, more quietly to Bastien, "I don't want to heat up that lock if he--" a little nod towards Edgard, "--might try to grab the bars again and miss. Can you...?" His words taper off uncertainly, but it's no real mystery what he's hoping for. Can Bastien, or Byerly, or anyone else, keep Edgard calm long enough for them to get the cell door open?

[extortionate]

Lazar looks to Bastien, then Edgard. Slow wheels grind.

"Easy, mate. He's checking you're you. Ask him something back -"

If this doesn't do for distraction, can always thump him on the head. Edgard's fast and desperate, but when he goes down it'll be hard. Lazar takes the forceps, clamps a hand on Octavius' shoulder. Murmured:

"You get that lock hot, get behind Rutyer after."

Stop kicking the hornet's nest. His grip finally loosens to wind scarf around palm, test the size of the forceps against the lock's hinge. It'll do. He nods, elbows the space free to cast.

[muckspout]

Edgard huffs again, still confused and untrusting. But, the one that looks that Lazar is probably right, he should ask Bastien something. He blinks trying to think of what to ask.

To Bastien: "once helped you with a disguise. How?"

The real Bastien wouldn't forget this, it upset him very much. Regardless, Edgard doesn't take his eyes off any of them.

[cozen]

In other circumstances, less relieved, Bastien might be more of a ham about it. Shudder in horror, that kind of thing. In these circumstances, he smiles.

"You shaved my mustache," he reports, "and I will never forgive you. But I am very glad to see you, my friend. We'll have you home soon."

Once Octavius and Lazar work their respective magics. Bastien steps further back from the bars himself, not behind Byerly but next to him, with a supportive nudge of his shoulder. Benedict's looking very much not dead after all.

[altusimperius]

Fairly not dead, at least, as Benedict has rested his head back down on Edgard's shoulder while the rescue party works, the dull sound of conversation and spellcraft only irritating his senses. If they get them out, they'll be out. If they don't, he can sleep.

[bouchonne]

The breath that Byerly lets out in response to that nudge is rattling and rough. Not a release of tension, but rather a grinding of stone on stone. The pessimist will not celebrate until things are well and truly squared away - and sometimes not until considerably later.

"Step back from the door, so we can get to work."

[muckspout]

Edgard holds his hand up at Byerly.

"Alright. Bastien is Bastien and recognize the rest of you, but who is that?"

He points an accusing finger at the one he doesn't recognize.

[altusimperius]

"'ctavius," Bene mumbles into his shoulder. Obviously.

[quaestionespatris]

Getting the lock hot enough for Lazar to bend and warp the metal is a trying task, given primal magicks aren't Octavius's area of expertise, but he gets the job done with only one close call at setting his clothes on fire. Success! He's still shaking some of the embers free of his fingertips when Benedict makes his groggy introduction, and so waves his hand at Edgard.

"That's me," he declares as pleasantly as he can manage under the circumstances, and then, "I'm a spirit healer. Will you let me take a look to see if you're both injured?"

[extortionate]

Snap, crackle, pop.

Well, hiss, screech, pop - and the lock's wrenched loose. A moment's clanging to drag it loose, toss it clattering to the cobbles aside. Lazar steps free of the door, shaking scorch from the silk he's shown no intention of returning.

Alright. Everyone can cry now, or whatever.

[muckspout]

Edgard narrows his eyes. He folds his arms and turns to Benedict.

"Y' know him?" He says meaning Octavius. "He's alright?"

He makes no move to leave. Yet.

[altusimperius]

Benedict nods against Edgard's shoulder. Everyone shut up, he's trying to sleep.