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justprompts: Trapped
May. 16th, 2010 10:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
wonacoconutooc: After/companion to this. Part of the plot working to continue the story past the movie. Aisha is shes_volatile. Distress call goes out here.
Cougar shouldn't have made that first attempt to escape. Maybe.
Before that, it had been mostly, no food or water and leaving him alone; he'd caught enough to know that it was Aisha that they were after (maybe one day he'd ask what she had done to get them that eager to get their hands on her. Or maybe he wouldn't). It had also meant that the attention on him was less; it had been simple enough to break out.
The problem had been that, with the blindfold on while they were leading him in and all that, he had no idea which way to go. Not where she was being held, not where any sort of supplies were, not how to get out, precisely.
At least with two of those three, that first escape attempt had served its purpose. He had his bearings.
He had his beatings, too. They'd kind of left him alone before; they didn't, after. There was one guard with him in the room most of the time; one guard who wasn't shy about inflicting physical damage.
Being hit or kicked was not fun; on the other hand, it wasn't something that Coug didn't have experience with. He took the punches, didn't bother too take mental stock of the damage. He could move; he didn't, not enough to let his keepers know he was better off than he looked. The bruises on his face and arms were spectacular, when they made him move, he reacted slowly, stiffly, heavily. That didn't stop them; it did make them pay a little less attention. Expect a little less of him.
At least nobody seriously worked with a knife on him. Possibly because they didn't actually try to question him about anything. Actually, he wasn't even certain they were aware he could speak their language. He didn't bother to let them know.
It was risky, waiting too much for a time to act; between dehydration and the damage and the immobility, there would come a time when he'd not be at all functional, at least not for the kind of violence that was needed. But there was time still, and he didn't know how - or where from - to get Aisha. So he waited.
Then there were light steps on the hallway outside, way lighter than the guards walked. Maybe he heard them because he was alert enough, or the man in the cell with him didn't bother to pay attention; he was talking to Cougar, describing to him how tonight, he would get permission to break his wrist, and he would take his time about it. The man was almost waxing poetic, leaning down closer to the captive, the grin on his face vicious and ... way less frightening than he probably planned on.
Light steps and heavy breathing.
Cougar moved on his own for the first time in a while; but when he did, he knew what he was doing. He rolled towards the guard, then kicked with both legs into his startled face; the nose sank back in. The Mexican was on his feet moments after, kneeling by the figure that was writing on the floor (trying to get enough breath to shout through broken teeth) to cut his bonds with the knife he was holding; he could have snapped the man's neck - he didn't. Keys and gun, and he was out of the room soon enough to catch her back as she rounded a corner.
She's moving slowly.
That made sense, if they'd treated her worse than they had him.
He got to the same corner and peeked around, there she was. Then he pulled back and hissed, "Aisha! Soy Cougar."
A knife cluttered against the wall where he might have been, had he stayed out, anyway.
He picked it up and then turned to face her; she'd stepped back and ready to attack, but her body was relaxing, fractionally, when she saw him.
Look back, to make sure there was nobody who'd heard them, and then he started towards her, handing her the knife, handle first, stepping back as soon as her fingers were around it. Look around, then pointing - forward, then back. He knew what to do now.
They moved slowly, but efficiently, watching each other's back; guns and ammo and stuff to rig together a distress call equipment - they'd not significantly slow them down now but could make a difference later - and then, out.
The snag was at the exit; on the plus side, nobody had managed to raise an alarm yet, so the guards weren't expecting an assault from behind. Aisha barely paused, cutting the ears off the two guards she neatly got and stuffing them in the pants' pockets.
And then they were out on the sand.
He didn't expect the shot; calling out was one of the few noises he'd made since he stepped out of the cell, it was easy to not speak, with Aisha on adrenaline. He stalled and fell on the sand, on the next step; she helped him up and they stagged on, bruised, blooded, with way too little water, after the time without any and the dry air.
But no longer trapped.
That should make a difference.
shes_volatile. Distress call goes out here.Cougar shouldn't have made that first attempt to escape. Maybe.
Before that, it had been mostly, no food or water and leaving him alone; he'd caught enough to know that it was Aisha that they were after (maybe one day he'd ask what she had done to get them that eager to get their hands on her. Or maybe he wouldn't). It had also meant that the attention on him was less; it had been simple enough to break out.
The problem had been that, with the blindfold on while they were leading him in and all that, he had no idea which way to go. Not where she was being held, not where any sort of supplies were, not how to get out, precisely.
At least with two of those three, that first escape attempt had served its purpose. He had his bearings.
He had his beatings, too. They'd kind of left him alone before; they didn't, after. There was one guard with him in the room most of the time; one guard who wasn't shy about inflicting physical damage.
Being hit or kicked was not fun; on the other hand, it wasn't something that Coug didn't have experience with. He took the punches, didn't bother too take mental stock of the damage. He could move; he didn't, not enough to let his keepers know he was better off than he looked. The bruises on his face and arms were spectacular, when they made him move, he reacted slowly, stiffly, heavily. That didn't stop them; it did make them pay a little less attention. Expect a little less of him.
At least nobody seriously worked with a knife on him. Possibly because they didn't actually try to question him about anything. Actually, he wasn't even certain they were aware he could speak their language. He didn't bother to let them know.
It was risky, waiting too much for a time to act; between dehydration and the damage and the immobility, there would come a time when he'd not be at all functional, at least not for the kind of violence that was needed. But there was time still, and he didn't know how - or where from - to get Aisha. So he waited.
Then there were light steps on the hallway outside, way lighter than the guards walked. Maybe he heard them because he was alert enough, or the man in the cell with him didn't bother to pay attention; he was talking to Cougar, describing to him how tonight, he would get permission to break his wrist, and he would take his time about it. The man was almost waxing poetic, leaning down closer to the captive, the grin on his face vicious and ... way less frightening than he probably planned on.
Light steps and heavy breathing.
Cougar moved on his own for the first time in a while; but when he did, he knew what he was doing. He rolled towards the guard, then kicked with both legs into his startled face; the nose sank back in. The Mexican was on his feet moments after, kneeling by the figure that was writing on the floor (trying to get enough breath to shout through broken teeth) to cut his bonds with the knife he was holding; he could have snapped the man's neck - he didn't. Keys and gun, and he was out of the room soon enough to catch her back as she rounded a corner.
She's moving slowly.
That made sense, if they'd treated her worse than they had him.
He got to the same corner and peeked around, there she was. Then he pulled back and hissed, "Aisha! Soy Cougar."
A knife cluttered against the wall where he might have been, had he stayed out, anyway.
He picked it up and then turned to face her; she'd stepped back and ready to attack, but her body was relaxing, fractionally, when she saw him.
Look back, to make sure there was nobody who'd heard them, and then he started towards her, handing her the knife, handle first, stepping back as soon as her fingers were around it. Look around, then pointing - forward, then back. He knew what to do now.
They moved slowly, but efficiently, watching each other's back; guns and ammo and stuff to rig together a distress call equipment - they'd not significantly slow them down now but could make a difference later - and then, out.
The snag was at the exit; on the plus side, nobody had managed to raise an alarm yet, so the guards weren't expecting an assault from behind. Aisha barely paused, cutting the ears off the two guards she neatly got and stuffing them in the pants' pockets.
And then they were out on the sand.
He didn't expect the shot; calling out was one of the few noises he'd made since he stepped out of the cell, it was easy to not speak, with Aisha on adrenaline. He stalled and fell on the sand, on the next step; she helped him up and they stagged on, bruised, blooded, with way too little water, after the time without any and the dry air.
But no longer trapped.
That should make a difference.
