A/N:
Disclaimer: I don't own RotG. No, really, I don't.
The flames surrounded him, drawing ever nearer, the smoke stifling him in its ashy, suffocating embrace. Panic rose in his chest, sharp and acrid, and he jerked harshly against the ropes binding him to the stake, to no avail.
His chest heaved as his lungs struggled to draw in air, but inhaled ashes and carbon dioxide instead. His head was swimming with the lack of oxygen and with the fear that gripped his very core in a deathly tight grip. With a last effort, he pulled weakly at the ropes once more, but they gave not an inch.
Darkness began creeping in at the edges of his vision, and he prepared himself for the onslaught of unconsciousness coming his way. He wouldn't die, that he was sure, for the fire was neither magical nor empowered by magic. He would suffer somewhat from burns and from the aftermaths of smoke inhalation, but he would be fine.
He was fine.
Then why did he still feel fear?
Drip
Drip
Drip
The nightmare clung doggedly to his mind, haunting him, even as he slowly returned to the realm of consciousness. He shuddered slightly, still plagued by the shivers of fear that were skittering merrily up and down his spine, and opened his eyes.
Drip
Drip
Drip
...He was not in Burgess.
The room (for it was evidently a room, and a closed one at that, as the Wind could not reach him) was dark, so dark that his gaze couldn't piece through the inky blackness. From somewhere on his right, a persistent dripping sound assailed his ears, hammering gently but persistently at his skull.
When he attempted to move, he was met with resistance.
Drip
Drip
Drip
As he became more aware, he realized that he was somehow being forced into a sitting position. Further investigation showed that he was seated in a wooden chair, wrists tied to the armrests and heels firmly lashed to the chair legs. He tested his bonds, and found them secure.
How inconvenient.
Drip
Drip
Drip
Ice powers were impressive, but they did not aid one in untying oneself from a wooden chair. Of course, he could always conjure an icy blade and clumsily slice through his bonds, holding the dagger between his teeth, but it would involve a fairly awkward position and the risk of accidentally slashing his own wrist. Not that that would really kill him, of course, but falling unconscious from blood loss was something he'd rather avoid, if possible.
Drip
Drip
Drip
...That dripping was seriously starting to get on his nerves.
How long had he been here already? An hour? Two? Three? He wasn't entirely sure, for when one flits from time zone to time zone continually, one does not develop a good sense of time.
Drip
Drip
Drip
Which brought him to his next question: had the Guardians noticed that he was gone? Surely they must have. He had, after all, been on his way to the Workshop for their meeting when he'd been kidnapped. By now he ought to be ridiculously late.
Then again, he generally was late to the meetingsā¦
Drip
Drip
Drip
He shook his head. Either way, it did not matter. He'd been in worse situations before, and he'd gotten out just fine on his own. He didn't need their help.
He was fine.
Drip
Drip
Drip
Then why did he still feel fear?
Drip
Drip
Drip
...Creak.
His head snapped up as a door opened, allowing a thin shaft of pale gold light into the room. He watched in slight trepidation as a shadowy figure slowly shuffled into the room, muttering something in some unfamiliar language.
Suddenly, light exploded from every direction.
Accustomed as they were to the darkness, his eye now seared in agony at the sudden barrage of light assaulting them. Reflexively, he shut them tightly, hissing slightly in pain.
When finally he had adapted to the brightness of the room, he carefully opened his eyes, only to find himself practically face to face with the ugliest hag he'd ever met.
She looked, in short, hideous. Her black hair, streaked with gray, was unkempt and more tangled than a hearthrug. Warts and scars covered her face. The worst, however, was that persistent streak of cruelty and malice in her face and gaze, which can horribly mar even the fairest of faces.
She grinned, revealing a unique collection of brown and black teeth. "Well, if it isn't the newest Guardian."
He gritted his teeth slightly. Her voice sounded like sandpaper on polystyrene foam, and it annoyed him to no end. "What do you want?"
She cackled. "Oh, nothing much, Frostbite. Just to see you suffer."
The moment he heard the nickname, he realized exactly where this was heading. Winter spirits were widely considered a low form of spirit life, a plague upon the world, and most hated them with a passion. Over the centuries, many names had been given to them, from the mild epithet of "Frostbite" to the more prickly Dutch insult of "sneeuw klootzak".
Some, however, took the expression of their hatred far past common name-calling, occasionally even resorting to rather...bloody methods.
He glanced around the now-lighted room nervously, noting the wide collection of scalpels and daggers lining the walls, and wondered if maybe it wouldn't have been better to risk cutting his wrists after all.
"I think I'll start with your fingers."
He eyed anxiously the wrench in her right hand, heart rate increasing. "You want to crush them?"
The hag nodded affirmatively and moved to his left side, raising the wrench over her head as she did so. Panic suddenly taking hold, he blurted out the first sentence that came to mind. "If I were you, I'd go for the right hand first. That's my dominant hand."
The hag narrowed her green eyes, but switched sides.
He swallowed, and continued to blither, stalling. "Then again, I am a bit ambidextrous. The left hand is probably fine."
She switched sides again.
"Of course, I am far more dexterous with my right hand."
The hag paused and simply stared at him for a while. She then dropped the wrench and drew out a crooked, twisted dagger from her cloak. "I changed my mind. I'll just slice your throat open, see how you like that."
"I wouldn't recommend it. I'd simply faint from blood loss, and torture is only fun if the victim is conscious."
Again, she stared at him. "...You are insane. Okay, how about I put your eyes out?"
He shrugged. "A good start, but you could do better. Besides, eyeballs are horribly messy."
She twirled the knife between her fingers, thinking. "Than would you prefer I bashed your head in with a crowbar instead?"
"Again, there's the problem with the potential loss of consciousness."
"I could cut your heart out."
"Too much blood loss."
"Torture you slowly with harmless yet painful cuts."
"I'm a winter spirit. I can ice over my wounds. There would be a few seconds of stinging pain, but then the ice would numb it and I'd be fine. Can't you do any better?"
She narrowed her eyes. "Then I think I'll go with fire. You're vulnerable to that, aren't you?"
He rolled his eyes and gave an exasperated sigh. "Really? Just because we control ice doesn't mean we're more vulnerable to fire than other spirits. We get burns just like you do, but that's it. Plus, we're actually a bit better off because we can ice over the injury, unlike you. Seriously, do your research."
The hag looked horribly frustrated. "...Poison. I'll do poison."
"Never really was affected by poison. Don't know why."
"...I'll break your ribs."
"My bones don't break that easily. You'd need a lot of force, and my current position isn't ideal for bone-breaking."
"I'll shove coals down your throat."
"And risk damaging my vocal cords? What, don't you want to hear my screams? I thought that was your aim, after all."
By now, she was beginning to look desperate and was evidently running out of ideas. "...I could...I could...strangle you?"
"..."
She seemed to realize the stupidity of that suggestion. "...Alright...what about...um..."
Silence.
"...I think I'm out of ideas."
"Why am I not surprised."
"...Are you hinting something?"
"That you have a poor imagination? Then yes."
She goggled at him, bemused. There was a long silence.
"...You know what?"
To his utter surprised, she hacked through his bonds with the dagger, before wandering off to the side. She soon returned, holding his staff in hand, and tossed it to him. He caught it easily, and gave her a confused look.
She continued. "Go. Just go. I can't deal with you today. I don't know what the hell is wrong with you, but it's more than I can handle. Just please go away."
He decided to humor her.
When he returned at the Workshop, he was instantly assaulted by a worried green blur. "Jack! Where have you been? We were so worried about you!"
Before he could reply, Tooth was flitting hastily around him, examining him from all sides for injuries. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed North and Sandy giving him troubled glances, while Bunny rolled his eyes disparagingly but looked concerned all the same.
Having someone so worried about him felt...strange, but nice, in a way. He gently pushed the skittish fairy away from him. "Hey, Tooth, calm down. I was just a little delayed, that's all."
"Are you alright?"
"Yes."
"Are you really alright?"
"Tooth. I'm fine. Don't worry about me."
She seemed to be content with his assertion, and slowly hovered away from him. Still, he noticed the tell-tale twitching of her fingers that showed she was just barely resisting the urge to examine his teeth.
He sighed inwardly, amused, and took his seat by the window. Within ten minutes, the meeting was in full swing.
A/N:
"sneeuw klootzak"-Dutch for "snow bastard"
After that last angsty chapter, I thought I'd go for some dark humor instead.
...I'm...not sure how well I did, but eh. It's been a while since I wrote humor. Especially dark humor.
