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If there was one thing that Beauregard Lionett absolutely hated, among others, it’s going hungry.
If there was another thing that she hated, it’s assholes using starvation as a means of torture. That and dehydration.
Two things that truly piss her off, and that she had no doubt could be used against her as a means of extracting information.
And sure enough, that’s how she got into this mess in the first place. Just as she was making her way (making her way) back home to her house. It was her turn to tend to the garden while Yasha was away on a trip up north to get some new seeds from the Clays.
Caleb had tried to suggest that he could teleport her there and back, save her the trouble, but Yasha — bless her heart — missed being able to travel. But in the end, she was able to compromise with Caleb: teleport her there, but she can make the trek home on her own.
Truth be told, Beau wishes that Yasha hadn’t done that, or else she’d be coming to her rescue.
Another clanging of a cup against the bars rouses her from yet another attempt at sleep as her captor sneers at her from outside her holding cell. He had somehow managed to get the drop on her; soporific compounds were one thing her dope monk shit couldn’t stave off, and he used a shitton to drug her and knock her ass out as he hollered for his friends to pick her up and move her.
And so here she was, hands and feet bound in thick wire and stripped of her gear. These guys were surprisingly confident and competent, she had to give them that much.
“So… uh… mind letting me go now? I’m not telling you guys nothing, and it’ll be a bad move on your part to hold me here. The Cobalt Soul will find me and you’ll be sorry.”
The cup holder, a grimy-looking fucker with rotting teeth, just laughs. “As if. It’s already been five days, love. If anything, I’d be more worried about yourself. Haven’t had a bite to eat or even something to drink. Surely we can come to some sort of arrangement.”
Beau just scoffs at the man. “Really? You think starving me will get you what you want?”
“Well… I mean… surely you can’t last too much longer without any kind of food or drink.” As if to prove his point, he reaches to the table behind him and grabs a familiar-looking flask.
Veth’s flask. That bastard.
“Tell me what you know about those cricks and their scheming, and we’ll let ya have a sip.”
She has to give them another point of faint praise: they know that she’s a learned woman. That, and her monastic robes would’ve given her away. But they also lose said point for thinking she still has a beef with the Kryn. Well, maybe she does, but not for some racist asshole reason.
No, that’s purely due to being friends with a particular hot boi and his having vanished from them all, though still keeping tabs through Sending.
“Nice try, buddy. Not thirsty.”
“HA!” The grimy guy just bellows with humor, though it’s short lived because he had been trying this for the past few days with virtually no success.
For one thing, Beau’s trained herself to rely on less and less sustenance for extended periods of time. A fasting process that she learned at the monastery.
And for another, she literally has no need for it. Another perk of her dope monk shit. In fact, it surprised her one day when she went without pocket bacon for hours. And by the time she finally felt like having it, she didn’t feel hungry at all.
Not that Yasha ever needed to know that; it would break her heart if Beau wasn’t hungry for her questionable but edible and delicious home cooking. And yet, she just doesn’t feel the urge to eat or drink all the time.
Not that this guy needs to know that. And it’s making her smile inside every time he fails. “Not thirsty? It’s been five days, woman. How come you’re not even wanting for piss in a gutter to drink?!”
“Because I value my health. I’m not gonna get sick from drinking gutter water, we all know where that’s been.”
At that, the man throws the cup aside, the ceramic mug shattering against the wall as he reaches for the key to the cell. “That’s it! I tried to be nice and throw you a bone. But clearly I need to get a little rougher with you. And besides, it’s not like you’re able to do anything about it anyway, tied up as you are.”
He unlocks the door and stomps over to the bound monk, reaching for his handaxe. “Maybe we should just gouge your eyes out, see if that will get you talking.”
But as he’s making his way (making his way) to his prisoner, he clearly failed to notice one little detail.
Beauregard Lionett, a woman whose dexterity was at the peak of human performance, wasn’t quite as secure in her bindings as he thought.
Gotcha.
And sure enough, she immediately maneuvers her body in the mere seconds that the axe head goes for her eyes, angling herself just right to have the blade nick the wires.
“What the?!” The captor exclaims just before Beau frees herself from the weakened bindings and pop-pops him. His shitty constitution renders him easily susceptible to a stunning strike and just as he is reeling from being sucker punched, a couple more blows to the noggin and he is out like a light.
Now the only conscious person in the room, Beau takes a moment to inspect herself for injuries. Nothing serious, except for the bruising around her wrists and ankles from being bound so tight. But nothing a little rest won’t cure, along with Yasha’s healing hands once she comes home.
And a shower. Gods, she smells rank. That’s what happens when you’ve been held in a cell for five days.
Boy, will I have a story to tell, Beau thinks to herself, though I think I’ll leave out how scared I was. Don’t want her to worry too much.
Nodding to herself, Beau steps out of the cell, retrieving her flask as she does and she’s making her way (making her way) down the halls. First her gear, then some payback. Maybe both at once. That would be dope.
And an even better story to tell her girlfriend later.