Archie startled, whipping his head up. He winced, regretting the decision. He moved too fast, and his head was having a hard time keeping up. He straightened on his cot, allowing his legs to splay out. He didn't speak, only looked expectantly at the Warden. His entire head was heavy, making it a struggle just to open his eyes to slits. He didn't give the older man the satisfaction of talking, answering, responding.
While Archie sat and regarded in silence, the Warden produced his key ring from his pocket, unlocking the barred door to his prisoner's cell. Archie watched in cautious silence, unmoving. The Warden did not enter the cell, merely opened it, beckoning for his Mad Dog to follow. Archie waited until he was already walking away and back down the hall to stand. First, he dragged his legs to the edge of the cot, letting them settle against the cold floor. It felt so nice that he had to fight the urge to lie down on it.
He scrubbed gently at his face to wake up. He had to be alert and at his top game if he were to be so close to the Warden tonight. What the man wanted, Archie hadn't the slightest idea. He was probably going to get conned into doing something. The Warden had a bottle of wine, unless Archie had imagined that part. Nevertheless, it meant that he was trying to extend a peace offering, a gift, of some sort. Which could only mean that he would compensate for trying to brainwash Archie into being his Mad Dog for an eternity. He would never get out of this toxic loop.
The redhead uttered a long, shaky sigh before standing up with great effort. No sooner than he put his weight on his feet did he stumble over, having to grasp at whatever his hands could purchase to not fall. His heart rate skyrocketed, he could feel it and hear it over every surface of his body. He fought the urge to look out into the hall, fearful that someone had been watching him stumble so greatly. Nonetheless, he steadied, and walked to the threshold of the cell. Only, it was more of a furniture walk than an actual gait. He was holding on with great force to the bars of the cell door when he got to it, already panting.
Lifting his head through the haze it had been in, Archie could barely see the Warden waiting for him in the hall. He was leaned against the wall, clinking the bottle of wine absentmindedly against the wedding ring on his hand. Archie approached him warily, holding one hand against his side now. The pressure against his already taxed ribs was helping him breathe a little better.
"Follow me, why don't you?" the Warden started, pushing himself off the wall and leading Archie away. "Pick up your pace a little bit, it's lights-out soon." Archie growled at him, forcing himself to follow. After mere steps, he could hear a pain-staking wheeze emanating from his own raw throat. It was high, raspy, and disgusting. He tried controlling it, but the effort put forth to simply walk to the Warden's office was beyond a struggle.
He finally made it to the office, clinging to the doorframe and leaning heavily against it. His eyes were closed, he was focusing on catching his breath. "Nice of you to finally meet me," spoke the Warden, behind his desk. Archie forced himself to look across the room at him. He was leaning back in his chair, two cups set out before him. They looked eerily like the goblets associated with the Griffins & Gargoyles game. Whether or not it was true or a created image in his pain muddled mind, Archie didn't have the brain power to distinguish.
"Come, sit down. Catch your breath. Have a drink." Much to his dismay, the idea sounded heavenly to Archie. A nice cold drink sounded very nice, but what the Warden probably put in it was something he didn't want to know. He would lose either way: drink and get poisoned or drugged, or ask or refuse the drink and get beaten and privileges taken away. While he was the Warden's favorite toy, that didn't mean he was allowed to keep the slight luxuries he had over the other inmates.
Archie stepped forward, staggered to the chair set out for him. It was rigid, the arms ramrod straight and rough wood. The rest of it was cut from the same cold, unfeeling material. No cushion, no embellishments, no life to it. Just how Archie felt. A fitting throne.
"You had a great fight tonight," the Warden congratulated, raising his glass once Archie sat down for a toast. Archie could barely move his arms, but reached out for his wine glass, raised it no more than a few inches, and clinked it to his. The Warden was quick to drink his, downing nearly all of what he had in a single sitting. By the time he sat his cup down, Archie was just beginning to drink. He couldn't tell what kind of wine it was- he knew for sure it was a red wine, enough that he could feel the color of it lingering on his lips long after he was done sipping.
"You've sustained more injuries than usual tonight," the man across from him mentioned. He was leaning over the desk, breathing in Archie's scent. The teenager noticed, leaning back in his chair. "Yes," he drawled out slowly, unsurely. "I will be okay, though," he added, even a bit fervently. He had to convince the Warden that he would be fine, or he wouldn't get thrown into the ring again- meaning he'd have no chance to get out. When the Warden was relatively nice to him as a fighter, Archie had a chance to get answers. He had to prove his worth in order to get out and keep his sanity.
Slowly, the world seemed to be running away from him. He remembered the Warden craning across the desk, but the next thing he remembered was the Warden pulling over a chair next to him. Archie allowed him to sit next to him, although he scrutinized the older man with disdainful eyes.
"Won't you finish your drink?" the Warden asked, and Archie only felt it right that he did so. With him sitting so close, he was fearful to make a mistake or disobey. It would be easy to render Archie useless or incapacitated, so against better judgement, he obliged. He reached for the wine, but the Warden beat him to it, picking it up and placing it directly into Archie's hand. He hovered his hand at the base of the glass, though. When Archie took a sip he let the glass fall from his lips, but the Warden's hand was there. He pushed the glass back, forcing his prisoner to drink the rest of it. Archie gave a sound of disapproval, even tried backing away and pushing his hand away, but there was now a hand at his back, as well. The Warden was everywhere and anywhere, preventing him from leaving, from catching his breath.
He was gasping for breath by the time the Warden took the cup away. While Archie was trying to catch his breath and quell his rising anxiety, the Warden began rubbing circles on the backs of his shoulders. The rubbing motions turned to stroking, until one hand began to slide down Archie's arm, slowing and yet humming with an unreadable kind of energy when they got to his chest. His hand laid flat over the large map of bruising on his prisoner's ribs, placing his other hand on Archie's leg closest to him. He let that hand snake slowly upwards, letting his left hand abandon the ribs to meet him at Archie's hips. The Warden shifted in his seat, clearing his throat, and Archie had to settle his breathing.
Just like he had to fight the other underground opponents, Archie had to be his own Mad Dog. He fought to tear himself away from the Warden's grasp, the hands holding too tight against his thigh, the fingernails digging too tight into his skin. He could feel his hands moving down to pry the Warden's off, but he was moving underwater. He could see his hands moving in slow motion, but could not feel them. The Warden got uncomfortably close, but Archie could no longer fight. He could feel himself sinking away, away, away. He felt his back hit against the chair, his limbs going slack. His eyelids were gradually closing shut, and all he could do was watch.
The Warden took one of his hands away momentarily, Archie watched as it went somewhere near his own legs. His brown gaze and muddled mind couldn't comprehend the rest. He closed his eyes, still able to feel the Warden's greedy hands. It took a lot of concentration for Archie to muster the energy to simply move his arm, managing a loose grasp on the Warden's wrist. A weak push tried to convey his distaste at the older man's actions, but the inability to make a difference was bothersome, but the longer Archie sat there, the less he cared. It was only now that he realized there must have been something in his drink. That was his last thought before he was dragged under, unaware it was even happening.