Post by Grendel on Aug 31, 2009 8:09:49 GMT -5
((first one is for julian forbes. anyone else who cares to post must PM me so's I can explain some things.))
Hunter Rose, aka Grendel, woke up vaguely wondering what hit him. He surveyed his situation. "Oh, yeah." He remembered being shot and trying to heal. Then the smell of Fenrir over his own blood, then a bash to the ol' noggin. That didn't really explain his current predicament, though. He was in dank, lightless little room. Despite the general lack of illumination, his eyes had already adjusted and he could see that he was chained to the wall by what seemed to be silver shackles.
Great.
He was either a guest at Hotel BFC which meant he was nigh well fucked, or a prisoner of the Ministry. If the latter was the case, there was still hope. They'd interrogate him and send him on his way to jail or whatever. I f they sent him to Azkaban, all the better. He'd be running the place inside of a week. And then he would come back and take care of that Fenrir prick. And Miles. And the girl. And whoever his interrogator was to be. He certainly was one to hold grudges.
The silver holding him to the wall prickled against his skin, and when he tried to transform a wave of pain shot through him. Which wouldn't have been a problem. He was used to pain. But this pain prevented his transformation. It hit all the right nerves to make it impossible to change. He expected this, but it didn't hurt to try. He'd have to wait for his would-be interrogator.
Hunter Rose, aka Grendel, woke up vaguely wondering what hit him. He surveyed his situation. "Oh, yeah." He remembered being shot and trying to heal. Then the smell of Fenrir over his own blood, then a bash to the ol' noggin. That didn't really explain his current predicament, though. He was in dank, lightless little room. Despite the general lack of illumination, his eyes had already adjusted and he could see that he was chained to the wall by what seemed to be silver shackles.
Great.
He was either a guest at Hotel BFC which meant he was nigh well fucked, or a prisoner of the Ministry. If the latter was the case, there was still hope. They'd interrogate him and send him on his way to jail or whatever. I f they sent him to Azkaban, all the better. He'd be running the place inside of a week. And then he would come back and take care of that Fenrir prick. And Miles. And the girl. And whoever his interrogator was to be. He certainly was one to hold grudges.
The silver holding him to the wall prickled against his skin, and when he tried to transform a wave of pain shot through him. Which wouldn't have been a problem. He was used to pain. But this pain prevented his transformation. It hit all the right nerves to make it impossible to change. He expected this, but it didn't hurt to try. He'd have to wait for his would-be interrogator.