The Man In The Box

[West]

Somewhere between sleep, death, and the primal instincts of the Beast is Torpor. A murky haze full of primal predations, it's where memories are lost and madness wars with hate, fear, and hunger.

Some Kindred stumble into the Fog as penance for the length of their Requiem.

A rare few slip gently into it seeking answers.

Others are brutally forced into it by a brush with Final Death.

Michael Travis is one such of the latter.

Consciousness returns, along with the gaping pain of hunger. Whatever Vitae was in his body has been used to knit his skull back together and replace the lost viscera. Little has changed. He remains in an empty office of Nox. Rhythmic thumping from the club upstairs pulses through his prison.

His prison.

Only the slightest movement is needed to reveal the confines of the plexiglass box that he's locked in.

[Michael Travis]

The Shadow's mind drags itself slowly from its state of rest - if such is any way to describe it. A silence like death interspersed with chaos and barely remembered moments of violence. The pulsing music in the Nox rattles against a hard surface. The Nox? Michael's eyes snap open. A cursory assessment reveals that he is in some sort of box in an empty office. His last thoughts, that he can clearly recall, are of trying to explain himself to an angry Prince. The realization dawns on him. I really do hate Ventrue sometimes. He can't dwell on the thought long. A hunger like he has never experienced grips him; desire driving his thoughts to places he usually avoids. He could steal a child away and drain it dry of its precious blood without a second thought. He pushes his arms up beneath him and attempts to aright himself - and succeeds to the point of pushing himself up onto his knees.

"H-hello?" he calls out, voice cracking a bit from disuse. What else would be appropriate? Certainly not losing himself to fear and hunger. Shrieking like an animal in a cage is beneath him. Still, the box presents a problem that is all too real. He needs to get out. "Hello!?" Michael pounds on the plexiglass wall of his little cell. What will it be this time, Michael? You're still alive, in a sense. Probably going to owe a dozen other bloodsuckers some favor or other.

He forces a calming breath through his dead lungs. Waits for a moment, eyes closed, hands on his knees. Meditation is not something he found much use in, before, and he isn't likely to start now. He just needs a moment to collect himself. The moment passes, and the observant Shadow's eyes open once more. He needs to thoroughly examine his 'situation' before drawing conclusions.

  2 suxx to examine box

Date		Action		Roll		Result
2014-12-31 11:01:33		Michael Travis rolls 4 to Wits+Investigation to examine box. (10 Again)		3, 6, 10, 5, 8		2 successes

If nothing happens during the first ten minutes, Michael will continue to search until successes required have been gathered. Please advise.

[West]

As Michael turns over, something small and hard slides off of his chest and clatters to the bottom of the box. It's a phone, with a spare battery taped to it. A good thing, since the original battery is dead.

Some people think of everything.

Some people end up in boxes.

Changing the battery and powering up the phone reveals one number in the Contacts list.

[Michael Travis]

That's interesting. Michael reaches down and picks up the cell phone. It isn't his. Someone obviously intended for him to use it. He peels the tape off and clicks the new battery into place. Waits for a moment as the thing powers up, then scrolls through the contacts. Only one number. He dials it and places the phone to his ear.

[Nika]

The phone rings. And rings. And rings.

A staccato of clicks preface a disconnection. Rinse, repeat? Maybe Travis does, maybe he doesn't. It's always the same.

Eventually, there's a soft click of a door opening. The elfin girl is pretty, in a sophisticated way. A large Burberry bag is slung over one shoulder. It's large enough to be a diaper bag, but it's unlikely Nika Crassus has ever given birth.

She stares at Travis for a few moments, then pulls out her phone. A finger draws on it, and turns it to face Travis.

hungry?

[Michael Travis]

After the failed attempt to reach someone on the phone, Michael contemplates using the object to bash his way out of the box. Shame it isn't a Nokia. He almost smiles at that. A soft click earns his attention - even through the plexiglass and the humming of the club music. His head snaps in the direction of the door, eyes narrowing as he sees a female entering the room. She provokes nothing from his Beast; nothing except a cold hunger. She seems to be staring at him and, for a moment, he stares back. His eyes follow her hands as they busy themselves over her phone, his torpor addled mind taking half a second to realize she is writing something. Hungry? Michael answers the question by baring his fangs.

[Nika]

The fangs don't impress Nika.

She's seen bigger.

The ghoul gives the captive Mekhet all the respect due a man locked in a box, but at least refrains from rolling her eyes. She knows he's lucky, because she knows what the box is really for.

Nika moves to the side of the box, and unslings the bag, setting it on top. A key is produced, and unlocks a heavy lock to which Travis can now see is affixed to a small sliding hole on the top. It wouldn't have helped if he'd noticed before -- it's the size of a hand. The lock is set aside, and the bag is opened, then upturned.

Small balls of grey fur rain down through the hole.

The box is suddenly filled with the sounds of indignant squeaks and skittering claws as the rats fall in. At least they're clean -- pet shop grade, usually used for feeding to large reptiles. Nika reappears beside Michael, and shows him a new message on the phone.

one hour

Then she leaves.

Dinner is served.

[Michael Travis]

This is what I'm reduced to? The Shadow watches the events unfold in front of him. It is demeaning. Beneath him. As the rats pour in, Michael fixes the woman with a look of malice and resentment. Who was this blood bag to offer him vermin as a meal? His eyes never leave her, till she exits the room.

Once he is sure she is gone, all pretense of dignity fails the once proud Kindred. He snatches at the squirming creatures, almost blindly. With the first one wriggling in his grasp, he is rewarded by a sharp bite to his thumb. He flings the rat, hissing angrily. He grabs another, squeezing it till it nearly bursts in his grip and drawing it to his lips. This little pest - this pet food - might as well be an exotic fruit full of sweet nectar. He drains every last drop from the poor beast, as its attempt to struggle quickly fades. Grabbing one after another, he repeats the gruesome process, till the squeaking and wriggling finally stops.

Wiping his mouth from the sticky mess, he takes a moment to center himself again. He's in a cage. Stuck like an animal in an exhibit. And he's got a timeline. He can think of nothing better to do than sit in silence, staring numbly towards the door until the hour passes. If there was worse yet to come, he is in no position to do anything about it.

[Asa]

The soft click of the door heralded it's opening again.

By the clock on the phone, it's a little over an hour. Plenty of time for Michael to have regained control if he'd fallen to Wassail. This time, it isn't the diminutive ghoul, but the man who had put Michael in his current situation.

The last time Michael had seen Asa, he'd been wearing a suit. This time, it's more casual. Jeans. A muted violet shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbows. Crowded in to the box as Michael is, Asa's large form looms even larger as he approaches the box. For a few moments, he silently studies the man.

Perhaps he's ensuring he isn't Frenzied.

A hand produced a key, and he proceeded to unlock the main locks that held the box closed.

"I think we can both agree that breaking into my offices is a Requiem-limiting move."

The words were casual; nonchalant, even. He'd taken Travis' measure.

[Michael Travis]

The Shadow only barely notices the passage of time. One moment he is gorging on rats; the next he's entertaining royalty. And I'm hardly dressed for it. Michael would be shocked, under a different frame of mind, seeing the Prince letting him out of the cage. With such a casual dismissal. Now is not the time to dwell on it. Once the box is open, he swings his legs out in front of him and hauls his way out. Some memory of habit makes him straighten his clothes a bit - making him wonder how long he's been out.

"Your Grace is generous." That is all he offers. No pleading. No questions. He would sort the rest out on his own time. He may be the progeny of a wise and terrible Ancient on his own turf. Here he is seen as nothing more than a neonate. Michael knows enough tact to not 'push his luck'. He waits a moment before addressing Asa again.

"If I have your leave to do so, I will see myself out."