[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

[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.