arboreal_priestess | Somewhere?, Hopefully Still in Baltimore, Sometime? Maybe Tuesday?

Verity knew three things even before she opened her eyes: that she was somewhere enclosed, probably no larger than a bathroom stall, that someone had changed her clothes - nothing was riding the way it should have, which probably meant her weapons were also gone - and that she was in serious trouble. Then she raised her aching head, opened her eyes, and added a fourth thing to the list: wherever she was, it was pitch-black. No natural or artificial light, and she wasn't a bogeyman, she couldn't see in the dark.

Well, shit, she thought. She was smart enough not to say it out loud. There was no point in letting her captors know she was awake before she absolutely had to. She sat up a little straighter. The gesture caused the chains holding her wrists to the wall to pull up tight, clanking faintly.

"Damn," she whispered, not bothering to internalize it this time. She was in the dark, presumably unarmed, and with a head sore enough to make her suspect concussion. She took a deep breath, ignoring the sick swimming sensation in her head, and tugged against the chains that bound her. There was barely a foot of give, and by chaining her to a wall, rather than tying her to the chair that she was sitting in, the Covenant had managed to deny her the leverage she might have otherwise used against them.

Her left leg was free. Her right leg wasn't. That made sense, too. It didn't totally immobilize her, and if they wanted her to stay functional for any length of time, they were going to want her to have some capacity for movement. Enough to keep the blood flowing at least, since bedsores and gangrene were nobody's friends.

That was a sobering thought all by itself. People who planned to kill you quickly didn't worry about tying you up so that you can still move enough to keep your circulation good. People who planned to torture you for everything you can tell them about your family and the cryptids you've spent your whole life protecting do. And if what she knew about the Covenant was accurate, they wouldn't view torturing her as a bad thing. God told them it was all cool, as long as when it was over, they got to kill a dragon or two.

She took a few deep breaths to calm herself down before carefully tugging on each of the chains in turn, looking for differences in how they moved. Okay: so she was chained up, in the dark, with no idea of where she was. She shifted a little, feeling loose fabric around her, and added 'wearing a bathrobe instead of real clothing' to her list of problems. The material was rough enough to be cheap, meaning it had probably been purchased from a gift shop, not stolen from one of Sarah's high-end hotels. Her feet were bare. If they'd taken her clothes, they'd taken her weapons. She was as close to helpless as she was ever going to get, and that pissed her off.

She was going to cling to that feeling for as long as she could.

Margaret	There was a soft click from one wall, like a lock was being turned. A blast of industrial white light streamed into the room, framing the outline of Margaret Healy. "I see you're awake," she said pleasantly. "That's good. We've got quite a lot to talk about, you and I."
Verity	Verity had been prepared for anger, hatred, resentment. This good-natured cheer was more frightening than any threats Margaret could have made. "You could have invited me to coffee," she said, squinting as she waited for her eyes to stop watering from the sudden brightness. "I don't know how you do things in Europe, but here in America, we usually start our family reunions with something a little less high-impact than assault and kidnapping."
Margaret	"You hit me first," Margaret shot back. Her pleasant tone didn't waver. "Besides which, you're not much of one to talk, since the first thing you ever did was lie to me. Where did you leave that girl who was with you? Sandy, I believe you said her name was?"
Verity	There was no way Verity was going to remind her that Sarah was the one who hit her. "She has nothing to do with this," she said. "She's just someone I met at a dance class. Leave her alone."
Margaret	"That's the thing about traitors and liars. You can't believe a word they say. She lied for you. She tried to cover for you. Now why would she do that if she had nothing to do with this?" Margaret flipped a switch next to the door. The overheads came on, filling the room with more light. "Your name isn’t even Valerie, is it?" "Does it matter?" Margaret smiled. "Oh, it matters. It matters a great deal. We'll need to know what name to bury you under, when we're finally done with you. If you're worried for your life, don't be. You’ll be with us for quite some time."
Verity	The new lights didn't hurt as much. Verity's eyes were adjusting, thank god for very small favors. "I gathered." She forced herself to relax, trying to look unconcerned, glancing up at Margaret with eyes that only wanted to close a little. "What makes you think I'm going to talk?"
Margaret	"I have a better question for you: what makes you think you've got a choice?" Margaret lunged across the small distance between them, grabbing Verity's hair before she had a chance to move. "No one knows you're here. No one's coming to save you. You're going to get what you have coming to you, finally, and you're going to tell us where to find every other stinking rat in your hole."
Verity	Margaret yanked Verity's head back, making it pound even harder. The pain in her head helped her focus on what mattered: she was right. She was Margaret's captive, and she was pretty sure the Covenant wouldn't slap her wrists for using excessive force. All the advantages were hers. Verity put on her best tolerant reality television smile, trying to look like she wasn't even a little bit concerned about her situation. "Oh, Christ, you're a metaphor villain, aren't you? You're the ratcatcher, I'm the rat, you're here to exterminate the vermin, is that it? Wow. Do they have a cliché course that they make you guys go through before they release you into the field? Or maybe you're naturally talented. I mean, that happens, right?"
Margaret	Margaret's eyes widened in confused indignation before she let go of Verity's hair and shoved shoved head hard to the side. Verity's neck audibly cracked and she bit back a pained squawk. "You may think you’re funny now, heretic, but you won't be laughing for long."
Verity	"You may as well kill me," Verity said, aiming for boredom rather than bravado. She wasn't sure that she was managing either. "I'm not going to tell you anything."
Margaret	"Aren't you?" Margaret smiled. "You've already told me plenty." "Oh?" "You're a traitor from a bloodline of traitors, but no Healy has ever been a coward. You wouldn't be telling me to kill you if you didn't have something to hide." Margaret's smile grew chilling. "You're not the last of your family. And you're going to tell me where to find them all before I let you die for your sins."
Verity	Verity was so busy watching Margaret's face that she didn't see her tense her arm until her hand lashed out, her fist catching Verity square in her unprotected jaw. The lights went out - for Verity, at least - and for a little while, the world went away again. Her last thought before she lost consciousness was that she really, really hated this girl.

Verity	The sound of the door opening again woke Verity. She cracked her eyes open just enough to see that the lights were on, and that the person standing in front of her wasn't Margaret. It was a man, slim, dark, about her height. Dominic. The sight of him made her sit up a little straighter and open her eyes all the way, her heart thudding painfully in her chest. Thankfully, she managed to bite her lip before she could say his name. It wasn't him. This man was the right height; that was where the resemblance ended. His hair was reddish red, not brown verging on black, and his eyes were a cool, implacable blue. His skin was pale, spattered with freckles...and he was smiling. "Why do you people smile all the damn time?" Verity asked, and was instantly ashamed of how shaky her voice sounded. Head injuries and unknown periods of captivity without food or water would do that to a girl, sure, but didn't make for an intimidating profile.
Peter	"Because, love, you're our unicorn," he said. His accent was Irish, and heavier than Margaret's. "Never thought I'd see the day."
Verity	"Wait, so first I'm a rat, and now I'm a unicorn? If you're going to be metaphor villains, maybe you should have a meeting first. Come up with a nice theme and stick to it." Verity said. Honestly, of the two? She preferred rat.
Peter	The man clucked his tongue, looking amused. "Oh, you've got a mouth on you, don't you? I hoped you would. You look enough like the family standard that I assumed some other bits might breed true." He leaned closer and murmured, with evident satisfaction, "You may have thought you were hiding, but you never stood a chance. You look too much like your ancestors."
Verity	Yeah, Verity was not liking the smirk. Or the tone. Not even more than a few words and she was already wishing for her cousin. "And yet you people lost track of us for two generations. That sounds like a pretty good chance to me."
Peter	"It was always borrowed time." He leaned in and grasped the girl's chin, turning her head so that he could study her profile. "You've got the Price blood in you, too. Oh, won't those stuffed shirts be horrified to realize that their little disappearing scion really did marry the American Healy girl? You get to disappoint both sides of your heritage before you die, love. There's people who'd love the chance to horrify their families like that."
Verity	He was standing close to watch Verity squirm. Her left leg was free. And she was a trained salsa dancer. Her leg swept upward at a speed that would have seemed superhuman to anyone who'd never watched competition ballroom dance, catching the man from the Covenant squarely between the legs. The squishing feeling of his scrotum compressing against her knee was more satisfying than it probably should have been, but she didn't worry about it much. When someone chained her up and tried bargain bin intimidation tactics, she figured she was allowed to take a little pleasure in their pain.
Peter	"Ack," said the man from the Covenant, his eyes going wide and glassy. His mouth dropped open as his hand fell away from Verity's chin, letting her pull her head out of his grasp. "Is that so?" she asked, dropping her leg slightly before ramming it back up into his balls. His answer this time was much less coherent, and substantially higher in pitch.
Verity	"Huh. Think that's something I can discuss with my long-lost family?" Verity dropped her leg, preparing for a third hit. You know what they say - third time's the charm.
Robert	"I wouldn't do that if I were you," said another male voice.
Verity	Verity froze, leg still held straight out between the Irishman’s legs, and looked toward the door. The older of the two men from the Covenant was standing there, regarding her contemplatively. There was something that looked almost like sympathy in his eyes. The man - Robert, by process of elimination - had a Welsh accent, and was wearing wire-rimmed glasses, hiding the color of his eyes. His hair was a nondescript shade of sandy blond, slowly fading into gray. Verity could easily have lost sight of him in a crowd. That just made him more unnerving. Covenant representatives should be easy to spot, and easier to avoid. "Why?"
Robert	"It's just that Peter doesn't care for having pretty girls smash his testicles, and while two hits you might be able to write off as having been scared and disoriented, three sort of implies premeditation," he said, tone very polite, like they were meeting for tea.
Verity	"Sounds like a personal problem to me," Verity snarked, but she dropped her leg back to the floor. She told herself it was because she was outnumbered now, not because she was unnerved.
Robert	"Thank you." Robert walked over to Peter, putting his hands on the other man's shoulders and pulling him backward. Peter went willingly, dropping his hands to cup his crotch as he moved. "Ack," he said. "I think that's the right response, mate, but you shouldn't have been harassing the lady. You know she's Maggie's kin, and Maggie requested quite properly and deferentially that I not allow you to mess about with her. She understands chain of command." Robert led Peter to the wall, where he let him go. Peter promptly leaned against it, folding forward as he continued to clutch his wounded genitals. "Sorry about all this, miss...?"
Verity	It was a leading question, designed to give him Verity's name. She had to admire that, even as she had to question the wisdom of a good cop/bad cop routine that put the bad cop in a position where he needed to take a nut-shot. "Nice try," she said. "I appreciate you stopping me from making an enemy out of an enemy. But I'm not going to tell you my name."
Robert	"Your last name is 'Price,' like your paternal grandfather; your first name starts with the letter 'V,' which rather limits the possibilities, since there aren't that many names for women that start at that end of the alphabet." Verity stiffened and Robert smiled a little. "We all have our training. You give yourself away every time you open your mouth, every time you move. I'll sort you out from top to bottom while you still think you're restricting yourself to noncommittal answers and sassing back. I'm sorry about that."
Verity	"If you're sorry, don't do it," Verity said. Quite reasonably, she thought. "Unlock these chains and let me the hell out of here."
Robert	"Even if I wanted to, I couldn't do that. The Covenant has a need for your services, Miss Price, and your family took an oath many generations ago to answer when they were called upon." Robert looked stern. "You may not uphold your oath willingly, but you will uphold it. Now please. This would be so much easier if you worked with us, rather than against us."
Peter	"I'm going to kill her," said Peter. He still sounded strained, but at least he was managing words now, and sentences. Verity probably hadn't done any permanent damage. He turned a glare on their prisoner. "I'm going to kill you."
Verity	"I heard you the first time," Verity said dismissively, and looked back to Robert. "You're not going to win. You can intimidate me as much as you want, but you're not going to win."
Robert	"I'm sorry," said Robert. "We already have." He supported Peter with one arm as he led the other man out of the room, and closed the door behind them. The sound of the lock engaging came from the wrong wall, like they had some sort of speaker set up just to increase disorientation.
Verity	Verity waited for the click, and then forced herself to mentally replay the first verse and chorus of Lady Gaga's "Lovegame" - roughly thirty seconds of music. When that was done, she allowed herself to glance up, and smile. The lights were still on. Without a doubt, she could get a lot done in total darkness. Blind fighting was a part of the standard training package where she came from, and there was a whole summer where she hadn't been allowed to eat any meal she couldn't prepare blindfolded. (Lessons from that summer included 'never let Verity make spaghetti with a blindfold on' and 'never eat anything Antimony prepares with a blindfold on.') But at the end of the day, Verity preferred working in the light, even if it made napping hard. Her head hurt. She was chained to a wall. She was going to need to eat, and pee, before too much longer. But for the moment, there was nothing she could do, and so she closed her eyes, cleared her mind, and let herself slip slowly into the restorative arms of sleep. Never fight tired if you don't have to, and never let a captive recover their strength if you have any other choice. Verity was following the rules. Margaret wasn't. And when she came back to resume her little question-and-answer session, she was going to find out just how important some rules really were.