Chapter Text
"Their name is Wrath. . .
No one dares to cross their paths,
With a glare that cuts like glass. . .
Broken pieces of their´s past.
No one to trust. . .
Even if the world turn to dust, It´ll never be enough. . .
To soothe the one who´s know as Wrath."
- Wrath, From Apollo Vantor
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The day has just dawned, the first rays of sunlight barely having a chance to shine over the stone path before screams are heard.
A purple Jackalope runs as if his life depends on it, his heart pounding like a hammer in his chest, his breath coming in gasps as he dodges one arrow after another flying in his direction. He search for a place to hide, his body going faster than his mind as he's run underneath, sliding over a tent and escaping through it's curtains, taking advantage of his slender stature and of the distracted owner.
His ears tilt back, terrified, his flight or fight response screaming in panic inside his mind, all his bunny instincts desperate to find somewhere safe or finally surrender. He bites his lips, his teeth chattering repeatedly, before jumping as high as he can. He ignores the way the humans and demi humans staring make him feel. (Like there's bugs scratching from inside his throat all the way down to his spine.)
“IS THAT THE FASTEST YOU CAN GO?” He teases, looking back. He has to force the smile to stay in his mouth when he realizes that his pursuers are not as far behind as he thought they were.
Goddawn it!
He barely manage to keep his body from instinctively freezing when a particularly sharp arrow grazes his ear, drawing blood and making a cut that he can only hope is superficial.
He looks around, his heart pounding while he searches for any place to escape or at least throw off the guards in the surroundings. Tent after tent reveals itselfs, sheltering and offering food, sewing materials, ropes, masks, jewelry, boots, even metal tools. Green grass invades the stone floor that never seems to end. (Jax, unfortunately, knows it ends at a dead-end wall.) The blue sky and bright, almost cheerful sun are like a slap in the face, and the tall, imposing walls around him are like a punch in the stomach.
The rabbit could try to climb, but he know without even trying that he would be targeted and knocked down long before he reached the top.
A half sign, half hiss leaves his mouth before he can stop it, his head aching with the stress. Jax knows it's a bit self-centered, but he can't help feeling that even the weather is mocking him now.
He can't dwell on the thought for long, though, not when he looks back just in time to see a large, crocodilian hand coming in his godforsaken direction.
He anticipates it even before he feels the tug on his ears, being grabbed and lifted up until his feet no longer touch the ground. He squirms, a moan of pain escaping his lips before he can control himself, his entire body trembling and his nerves on fire.
No! No! No! - Thinks, shaking his head for a moment before remembering that this will only make the pull worse.
He feels as if his ears are being torn from his head, all his senses screaming in agony and despair. Even his smile, which at this point is practically an automatic reflex, becomes difficult to maintain. He swallows hard.
“Can't run so fast now, huh, bunnie?” The guard taunts him.
“Nah, W-was worried about your feelings, didn't want to be like your ma.” He spits, mockingly, his whole body shaking while staring at the man with sharp eyes.
The guard just stares at him, the old doubt filling their eyes, the one that comes before anger. They grab his purple chin, squeezing it as if in warning.
If Jax could move his hands, he would punch they. Right in their damn pointy teeth.
“What the fuck do you mean by that?” They asks, trying to intimidate while leaning closer to the purple thing.
“Leave you behind.” He raises his eyebrows cynically and smiles through clenched teeth, but when he sees the fist coming quickly toward his face, he immediatelly close his mouth. He really can't aford to lose any more teeth right now. (Gangle would absolutely kill him)
It's the last thing he thinks before feeling the impact and losing consciousness, the jars in his pants pockets making a funny noise as his body is knocked to the ground.
Just another blessed Monday.
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The bunny man blinks, feeling himself being dragged across the floor.
He shudders, his sore ears throbbing and his whole frame trembling. He squirms in the steel grip he is in, but he doesn't have time to look at his jailer's stupid face or say anything before he is thrown forward. He barely has time to register what is happening before his body hits the ground, his shin cracking on the stone floor while the rest of his body, thank gods, falls on something... relatively soft.
He freezes, just for a few seconds, before manually forcing himself to breathe quietly, without attracting any unwanted attention, his hand quickly rising, pressing against his chest, searching for any sign of broken or fractured ribs. When he feels nothing, a sigh of relief escapes, his hands shaking as he clings to the prickly material beneath him, squeezing tightly. Only then does he realize what it is.
Hay.
Suddenly, he feels a bit like a horse or a cow, allowing himself to be comforted by it. It´s a bit humilliating. . . And brings a feeling of nostalgia that he doesn't particularly likes.
His head hits the dry, rough hay as he curses Ragatha entire generation mentally.
All this just for some stupid sauce and dwarf juice. For God's sake, that malicious Gnome is abusing his goodwill.
He bites his lips, his hands eagerly reaching into his pants pocket. He can almost feel the headache forming in his skull as he imagines breaking the wall in front of him with the sheer force of his imagination when he doesn't find any of his shit in there. His horns tangle a bit, too sharp to not pull the hay, sharply scratching at the straw, the energy surrounding them causing him to falter, squirming in discomfort as he tries to think rationally. He imagines himself ripping off both appendages, a hard smile growing on his face at the image as he tries not to think about strangling Ragatha over and over again too.
It's obvious, OBVIOUS, that they emptied his pockets.
He shakes his head, but before he can really sink into his anger, something catches his attention, in the corner of his vision.
Tied by the neck, an iron chain holding her, there is a ridiculously small creature.
The bit of skin that peeks through is pale, white in a clearly inhuman way, glowing in the dim light of the room despite how dirty she clearly is. Her black hair, poorly cut, falls like roots over her face and covers as much as it can. What she wears on her body could barely be called clothes, being just some floor rags sewn together and stuffed on her, they do the job of not leaving her naked nor revealing much, but apart from it. . . The brownish-green color betrays the suffering it went through before belonging to her.
He wonders if Raggy would have a heart attack upon seeing the fabric.
The girl's eyes are closed, her face somber, her eyebrows furrowed. There is something stunning about her, almost like a pearl found in the midst of filth.
What really catches the jackalope's attention, however, are the wings that slip, limp, clearly weak and drained of energy, but which she insists on using to cover her body protectively and the pointed antennae, raised above her head, escaping through her hair, clearly on alert, with little pompons buzzing a little in the tip.
He has to stifle a laugh, his fur standing up.
He had heard the rumors about overcrowding, about the king's madness taking more prisoners than they could hold. He didn't pay much attention at first, thought, seeing his situation now, he probably should have paid.
Putting him in the same room as a fae, shit, almost sounds like a provocation, a sadistic mockery, just fate playing another cruel prank on him. It's beyond outrageous and makes his teeth itch to tear something apart.
Preferably the guards who put him into this mess.
He looks around before unconsciously taking a step back, his eyes darting upward as he looks, studying the cell for an exit, a possibility, some way to escape, some fragility, one he can take advantage of now. Something usefull.
He doesn't dare to approach her, no, he can recognize a trap when he sees one and he´s smart enough to imagine why they might have put him with her. (He doesn't need his keen senses to know that everything the fairy's energy screams is danger, just the slightest instinct of self-preservation.)
The rabbit sighs audibly as he realizes there is nowhere to go, no easy, immediate way out. He goes to the nearest and farthest wall and leans against it, his body sliding down until he reaches the cold, dirty floor. There's nothing to be done, he'll have to wait for an opportunity to arise. . .
His right foot immediately starts tapping on the floor, a clear sign of his ansiety he can't keep from happening.
He supports his entire body before looking up, trying to memorize the pattern of the rocks and how many cracks there are. He imagines it will be a long process, but after you've been arrested for the fifteenth time, you start to realize that what you have most in hellholes like this is time.
He pick his nails a little, nervous, pushing the skin with his teeth and playing with his other hand at the same time, trying to ignore the heavy gaze he feels burning his back and ears. Narrow his eyes, starting to get irritated.
The thumping noise gets louder.
He keeps trying to distract himself, his hands dropping after a few minutes to the fabric on his knees and squeezing, pressing, his face always sporting a hard, big smile, a habit at this point.
It's a small comfort that at least they kept him in his own clothes.
At one point, he can no longer tell if 10 minutes or 2 hours have passed, but he is almost memorizing how many different boulders were welded together to make this cell and he is also almost learning to crawl out of his skin, if it means the damn fae will close her eyes or look away.
He grits his teeth, his patience finally wearing thin.
“Is there something on my face?” - His tone is harsh, but when he notices her eyes getting ridiculously big, her eyebrows rising almost to her hairline before she looks away, as if she had just been caught killing a baby and drinking its blood, he has to stifle a miserable laugh.
Why is my life so ridiculous, lord!
“What? Didn't expect the snack to recognize you?” - He teases curiously, smiling, really smiling, at her and the way she points her narrowed eyes at nothing, still not deigning to look at him again after being caught. - “Hmm?” I'm not going to come closer and let you use me as a toothpick if you don't entertain me at least a little bit. . . " - He pouts, but there is no venom or real bite behind his words, just a hope of having found someone easy enough to provoke so that he isn't the only miserable one in there and an uncontrollable desire for a little entertainment in the incredibly tedious environment.
He clacks his teeth together, wondering if he should throw some more bait or if it would seem too desperate, before the creature finally responds.
“I'm not a fan of hare,” She murmurs, hers hoarse but soft voice echoing off in the walls like a spell. Her teeth appearing, even if only for a minute, shining sharp and pointed in the light escaping through the square window. There is nothing personal, funny, or even angry in her voice, just an emptiness that makes the jackalope's ears twitch, as if his instincts knew almost instinctively that it doesn´t belong there.
The rabbit's throat goes dry, his tongue darting out to lick his lips before he feels indignation wash over him, the words hitting his ego and making his smile finally disappear, a sense of offense rising.
Being compared to a hare he can get over, BUT that thing implying that he would be a bad meal? He almost snarls at the thought!
Excuse me, i would be a delicious meal! – Thinks before he can reason exactly what he's thinking. . .
His mouth opens, ready to retort and avenge his lost honor, before a loud bang echoes through the room, reverberating off the bars of their cell.
His ears fall, twitching, and before he can control it, a squawk escapes him, his head immediately throbbing. A snarl is heard only a few inches away, and he blinks as he notices the fairy's tilted antennae and her hands rising to her pointed ears, covering them with clear agony.
The noise continues, the guard clearly enjoying their agony.
Jax feels his heart begin to race, his mouth drying as his teeth slowly become noticeably more pointed, his horns pressing down. He knows his pupils are dilated without even needing to look. He closes his eyes, trying to calm down, to control, hide himself. The stress really getting to him now. He smacks his lips, breathing heavily before frowning at the sight in front of him.
Two guards are nearby, in addition to the one at the door. They open the cell, entering aggressively and with heavy footsteps. They walk over to where the creature is, standing taller on their tiptoes, trying to intimidate it without getting so close that they put themselves in danger. There is a crowbar, pure steel, Jax's brain automatically reminds him, pointed in her direction, and Jax feels chills running up his spine even though he is not the one being attacked.
They lift the object before leaning it against her, scraping her left arm, (which makes her bite her lips so hard that a little dark blood trickles out, trying to hold back a scream) and after the gorilla-like guard manages to sucessfully grab her, they poke her right arm as well.
He shudders, unconsciously moving a little closer to the wall behind him, trying to make himself smaller, quieter, invisible.
The smell of burning that fills the room is horrible, but the sight is much worse, the fae's skin sinking under the metallic touch, going inward as if her own body were trying to escape, just to make the agony stop. What scares Jax the most, although, is how she doesn't even try to fight it for even a minute, just squirming a little to escape the steel before her body goes limp again, yielding to the manipulation.
There is almost a custom, a familiarity to the whole scene, like a play in which you have acted so many times in the same damn role that you have memorized the entire script.
The bunny man swallows hard, his heart pounding, his ears drooping while he tries to stop his veins and eyes for turning dark. While he tries to calm down.
They lift her up, dragging her out by her arms. Jax ignores how bizarre the scene looks in favor of observing the chain that comes out of a kind of iron collar around her neck and drags from there until the back of her feet, kind of like an tied dog.
It's an unpleasant realization, and he has to really try hard to ignore the discomfort rising in his stomach when he notices that she wasn't trying to hide her body before.
The guard, the one who was banging a piece of iron on the bars nonstop, just stares at him, a smile on his wide-eyed face. He bangs one last time, making a considerably loud crack, before his hand rises to his lips, a sign of silence that sounds much more macabre than any scream could.
Jax doesn't dare move, not even blink, the thought that he needs to breathe only occurs to him when he starts to feel his lungs tightening, aching. Not even the ache for air keep him from holding his breath in front of the man.
He's used to play dead, it's almost instinct at this point.
The man's footsteps receding, presumably following his colleagues, are almost like a balm for his soul.
He finally lets the air out, slowly and quietly even though he is panting, his whole body shaking constantly in need, his veins shining slightly dark and burning.
His smile returns to his face, as if it had never left.