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To say Beck had fucked up would be the understatement of the century. Of all the outcomes he predicted to happen when he snuck away from the swamp, having the Pitt's rusted chains attached to the hell-forged shackles already secured around his wrists was not included. As Jervis yanked him forward every time he stalled, his glare sought out the cuffs, bitterly condemning the perpetual fetters that were effectively a part of him at this point. He never figured out how to free himself of them, no matter what method he tried, each one increasingly desperate as failure halted his attempts time and time again. Needless to say, he had given up the endeavor decades ago. The shackles were nigh forgotten before now, save for the occasional raw tenderness from where the iron rubbed at his skin. Yet Jervis discovered an Achilles' heel previously unknown to Beck himself, rendering him tangible, visible, and vulnerable. It didn't help the fox's claws had savaged his flank the night before, stinging his side with angry gashes that bone peeked through when the cave's filth and his oily blood allowed for a glimpse.
Far too immersed in thought with his head spinning, formulating multiple escape schemes, he almost failed to notice the crescendo of rushing water as the trio neared the river. His heart plummeted. No, not again, he didn't want to go through this again -- the boy suppressed a tremor of fear. Alerting Jervis to his reasonable phobia would result in it being prolonged. Sharply exhaling through his crooked nose, Beck allowed his face to don a mask of apathy as though this excessive process bored him already. At the river's edge, he mentally braced himself, squeezing eyelids shut to concentrate on blocking the past from tangling its fingers through his common sense. The guards waterboarded him before; surely, the second time wouldn't be as painful. Besides, he didn't need to breathe anyway. Jervis could hold him under for as long as he pleased, as long as Beck ignored the instinct to panic and thrash and fight and inhale where there was no air to take in.
Unceremoniously thrown aside as Jervis tended to Sam, guilt twisted his stomach at her mangled state, now fully exposed by the sunlight. He couldn't save her from the hellish jungle and now, they were going to make her watch. Sick bastards. As she croaked his name, his numbed expression set into one of silent and collected anger. He wasn't going to let her see him cry; no matter how much disgusting tar he bled, no matter how much pain he felt. The scrawny poltergeist flinched in anticipation for the blow as the ardent advanced, only to find pressure on the base of his neck and nose inches away from the gore-filled water's surface. His notched ear twitched at Jervis' words and he twisted his head ever so slightly to see the fox's figure in the corner of his vision, a false smile curving his unscathed lips. "You aren't gonna accomplish anythin' by hurtin' me," he snidely remarked, unable to shift from the awkward position he was bent in and chained paws pinned beneath him. "Do your worst, two-face. I've seen it all before, anyway. You're just another unoriginal pussy." A mocking tone laced his rasped voice before it quickly turned to impatience. "C'mon, shithead, I'm waitin'!"
Far too immersed in thought with his head spinning, formulating multiple escape schemes, he almost failed to notice the crescendo of rushing water as the trio neared the river. His heart plummeted. No, not again, he didn't want to go through this again -- the boy suppressed a tremor of fear. Alerting Jervis to his reasonable phobia would result in it being prolonged. Sharply exhaling through his crooked nose, Beck allowed his face to don a mask of apathy as though this excessive process bored him already. At the river's edge, he mentally braced himself, squeezing eyelids shut to concentrate on blocking the past from tangling its fingers through his common sense. The guards waterboarded him before; surely, the second time wouldn't be as painful. Besides, he didn't need to breathe anyway. Jervis could hold him under for as long as he pleased, as long as Beck ignored the instinct to panic and thrash and fight and inhale where there was no air to take in.
Unceremoniously thrown aside as Jervis tended to Sam, guilt twisted his stomach at her mangled state, now fully exposed by the sunlight. He couldn't save her from the hellish jungle and now, they were going to make her watch. Sick bastards. As she croaked his name, his numbed expression set into one of silent and collected anger. He wasn't going to let her see him cry; no matter how much disgusting tar he bled, no matter how much pain he felt. The scrawny poltergeist flinched in anticipation for the blow as the ardent advanced, only to find pressure on the base of his neck and nose inches away from the gore-filled water's surface. His notched ear twitched at Jervis' words and he twisted his head ever so slightly to see the fox's figure in the corner of his vision, a false smile curving his unscathed lips. "You aren't gonna accomplish anythin' by hurtin' me," he snidely remarked, unable to shift from the awkward position he was bent in and chained paws pinned beneath him. "Do your worst, two-face. I've seen it all before, anyway. You're just another unoriginal pussy." A mocking tone laced his rasped voice before it quickly turned to impatience. "C'mon, shithead, I'm waitin'!"