Logans body still felt heavy around him. He didn't know it at the moment, but the feeling would follow him for years afterward – the distinct impression that his own body had become a prison around him. Heavy and leaden, and even after his weak attempt at lashing out, it was still sluggish, difficult to move. It felt a lot like a bad dream, one where there's something terrible chasing you, but no matter how fast you run your feet drag, as if wading through concrete. Except it wasn't just his legs, it was his entire body. And there was no phantom boogeyman, or creeping la larona. It was just a few ghouls and a shapeshifter in a prison cell, where anyone could have walked by, seen what was happening. Where someone SHOULD have seen. But no one did. And no one came to save him. Much as the guard had turned his back as Hale literally hammered his first lesson into him. Even Logan wasn't dim enough to miss the message. He would later contemplate how very right old Dale had been, about no one giving a ******** about him or who or what he was on the inside. He was utterly helpless here. All he could do was as he was told. Because people could turn your own body against you (how was that for a taste of his own medicine?) hold you down while they mutilated you, step on your face and what would come of it?? As much as he was able, Logan made his sluggish body move, curling into a ball where he sat, both hands clasped over his mouth. Not that the pressure helped. Nothing helped. He tongued at the hollow spot where one tooth had been yanked out. It tasted even more metallic than the rest of his mouth but, oddly to him, it actually hurt less. The teeth that remained stabbed upwards, straight into his brain, it felt like. Made every inch of his body ache, from the cores of his bones outward. The gap where a tooth had been was just a dull throb, more from his gums that anything. ********, it was still bleeding. He pressed his tongue against the wound, but he couldn't tell if that was helping or hurting.
He wasn't sure what the others in the cell were doing at that point, and as long as they weren't touching him, Logan couldn't bring himself to care anymore. What fleeting amount of adrenaline had let him push away had quickly fled, leaving him with only the pain and a dim exhaustion. He pulled his knees up close, keeping his hands over his mouth as he rested his forehead on his kneecaps, trying to control his breathing and make it slow down. Or, hell, maybe if he held it long enough, he'd pass out and not have to deal with the pain anymore. Anything would be preferable to the ******** pain…
Between having what brains he possessed beaten out of him and having his mouth ******** up and mutilated, maybe it wasn't surprising that Logan winced at the first sign of movement near him, jolting as much as his body would allow (it came out more as a delayed flinch of the torso) when the can was rolled near him. He blinked at it for a moment, as if it were a completely foreign object to him. They rolled a can of soup to him. ********. Soup. 'Oh yeah we just got done literally hacking at your teeth. Here! Have some soup!' What the actual ********. He didn't touch the thing. Some part of his brain was still concerned that, somehow, everything was a trap. Or a test. Or some other ******** up bullshit that would hurt. That was all the day had been for him – pain. As far as he was concerned, tomato soup was the ******** devil.
“Welcome to the club.” The mage finally lifted his eyes from staring dully at the soup can, having made no move near it. His hands were still clamped over his mouth as the ghoul spouted off. ”If you ever need anything, you’ll come to me. In return when I need something, you’ll be there for me.” Right, that made sense, in actuality. So it WAS some kind of messed up initiation? Hacking up his teeth to 'make him look like a ghoul?' He started thinking again about what a terribly ******** idea that was. To Logan it seemed like a terrible idea (though, naturally, it's safe to assume he was rather biased). Why on earth did he HAVE to look like a ghoul? Why not literally any other race? A human, a different kind of mage, hell, even if they tried to say he was a vampire, at least then they'd only have needed to file two teeth and not all of them. This had to be the dumbest, most half-baked, convoluted, retar- ”You can talk whenever you feel like it.” He furrowed his eyebrows, watching as Hale bossed 'Jason' around to grab a shirt. He tried to move to catch it, but his body still wasn't responding quite right. The shirt was already plopped over his head by the time one arm responded, moving up to try and catch the shirt several seconds too late. Instead he numbly pulled it down, finally unclamping his other hand from his mouth and gingerly parting his jaw. ********, every little movement was agony-! He shifted his tongue around, trying to push at the soggy, half-dissolved wad of tissue paper in his cheek and wincing as he cut the sensitive underside of his tongue on his now-sharp teeth. He opened his mouth enough to fish a finger into his cheek instead, hooking out the soggy mess that was dyed a deep rust by then, even diluted with so much saliva. His chin was a bloody mess, literally, streaked with rust and red and still wet with drool. He mopped the shirt over his face as gently as he could manage, still wincing and hissing with every little touch. He ignored the conversation between Hale and Pinky (******** that guy) and ignored the shapeshifter (******** that guy too) who seemed content enough to ignore him right back. When he had finally mopped up the worst of the mess from his face, he flexed his jaw a little, experimental. Yup. Shocker. Hurt like all ******** hell. But, Hale HAD said he could talk whenever he wanted. It seemed like a shame to waste the opportunity. Fear aside, pain could do funny things for a persons anger. Particularly for people, like Logan, who coped with fear THROUGH anger.
“Of all hua s-stupid… huckin… bullshit-! Why the huck you huck up my heef!? M'na gon' look li' a huckin' houl you humbasses-!! Why hun' ya jus say was a wind mage'r some-!?”
His voice was still a little shaky in spite of himself. He was actually surprised that it sounded as clear as it did – he'd expected it to be hoarse from all the screaming. But, of course, he hadn't been screaming out loud. So his voice was fine. Only he did his best to avoid sounds that put any pressure on his teeth.
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