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though i find you in the sand, wipe you clean with dirty hands ; for ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
boutant
[ The layout is difficult to navigate, not to mention harsh, and Arthur hasn't been anywhere near top shape in months. Being held captive, malnourished and hypothermic, quite naturally does that to a person, and he's not sure he'd be able to get the upper hand in a fight if it were to come to that -- it's one of the reasons why he holds onto his gun as tightly as he does, the weight of it within the curl of his fingers as close to something comforting as it'll get.
It's a disused and abandoned abattoir that he finally finds her inside after days of searching; the lights flicker overhead in the long corridor leading into the depths of the old building, and when he comes across a projection it's more his quick reflexes than anything that he has to thank for his still intact neck - the man, both taller and with a more muscular build than Arthur himself, hits the floor with a heavy thunk and three bullets in his chest. A woman draws a gun at him but she's disarmed after a bit of a struggle, shot dead as well and left where she falls, and after searching her partner's pockets and finding a set of keys, Arthur gets lock after lock open but finds nothing but empty rooms.
Concrete floors, concrete walls. No windows.
It leads him to doubt whether or not he's actually in the right location, but he keeps looking, Glock in one hand, keys in the other - it's not until he shoves at one of the last heavy steel doors, lets it swing open and takes a step inside that he lowers the weapon and quietly clicks the safety back on. On the ground, in the corner, a smaller figure is curled up -- it's a tad difficult to see, but there's no question about who it is, even in the darkness of the room. The sight brings a tension to his limbs, a tightness in his gut that's hard to shake, despite the fact that this, it's nothing but a dream they need to escape from. ]
Ariadne?
It's a disused and abandoned abattoir that he finally finds her inside after days of searching; the lights flicker overhead in the long corridor leading into the depths of the old building, and when he comes across a projection it's more his quick reflexes than anything that he has to thank for his still intact neck - the man, both taller and with a more muscular build than Arthur himself, hits the floor with a heavy thunk and three bullets in his chest. A woman draws a gun at him but she's disarmed after a bit of a struggle, shot dead as well and left where she falls, and after searching her partner's pockets and finding a set of keys, Arthur gets lock after lock open but finds nothing but empty rooms.
Concrete floors, concrete walls. No windows.
It leads him to doubt whether or not he's actually in the right location, but he keeps looking, Glock in one hand, keys in the other - it's not until he shoves at one of the last heavy steel doors, lets it swing open and takes a step inside that he lowers the weapon and quietly clicks the safety back on. On the ground, in the corner, a smaller figure is curled up -- it's a tad difficult to see, but there's no question about who it is, even in the darkness of the room. The sight brings a tension to his limbs, a tightness in his gut that's hard to shake, despite the fact that this, it's nothing but a dream they need to escape from. ]
Ariadne?
no subject
Ariadne doesn't believe it, at first, when she hears her name in that voice. There's a blink, eyes still ringed red from whenever the last time she ended up sobbing was; she can't remember. At least the lights are still off; the last time they were on it was so bright it burned. That was the day they started using knives.
She shifts slightly, just enough to look over her arm at him. It takes her a moment before she can speak, lips cracked, throat dry. She's skinny, skinnier than she ever has been, severely underweight and dehydrated, her hair matted in the places it hasn't been cut. ]
Arthur?
[ Wake me up, wake me up, wake me up. ]