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**Enter Maggie**

*Maggie appears in one of the chairs, bent over a heavy brown cloak in her lap as she mends the hem of it*

**Enter Luana**

Luana faded in sitting on a table, looking down. It took her a second to notice that the branches that surrounded her before were gone, and she was once again in the Brink. She looked around, and then hopped off of the table.

"Is there anyone here?"

Silence was her only answer, so she decided to get herself a drink. She chose a Mountain Dew Code Red over her usual Pepsi, and started to leave when she saw the trash can in her peripheral vision.

The memory sparked. The can. The dust. Gravity.

"The water clock!"

She took off down the hall to see if she could still find the books from her last visit.

**Exit Luana to Library 49**

~Enter The "Great" Torment~

Blood. Thats all he could see was blood. A ringing filled his ears that slowly faded into a shrill whistle and then back to the ringing, slowly fading as he lay sprawled out on the ground. They wouldn't let him see her, and he resisted. Hotheaded b*****d as he was, he was paying for it with his own blood. He was barely moving, and the longer he remained in the brink the greater the cold became. Though he didn't realize where he was though sight, smell, or sound, the feeling of hatred washed over him as he felt the lack of his own warmth signalled he had to be. He hated the Brink vehemently... always taking him when he was in pain, it seemed.

Tor groaned as he swung a fist out, his mind still blurred between his world and the Brink, "Fehgin basturds...I sehd...tay...ugh...fickers...whoresans..." He tried rolling over so he could push himself up from the ground, but seemed to lack the strength in the Brink to do so. His right eye, whether it was open or not, for one couldn't really tell it was swollen so bad, was pooling with blood that ran down the side of his face when he tried to turn over. He went limp, "Jush...wanna see my wife..."

Tor groaned slightly, "Myshi? ... 'syou? Sffrysing ees blurry. Can' lalk rery well. Mou hurs lie fehg." And it'd be hurting for a reason, through the pain is seemed a bit of shoe had lodged itself under his tongue, a rather small bit, but a bit nonetheless. His tongue seemed swollen and it was bleeding as well, almost to the point where it looked like it'd been between his teeth when a kick was delivered straight to his jaw. At least one tooth looked to be chipped, and behind his broken shades his eyes were bloodshot, a contrast to the grey tones usually seen in the Brink.

Tor didn't say anything, but didn't squeeze her hand either. The pain was blending in and out of a general numbness that passed through him. His hand slapped once against the ground and then made to look as if scribbling on the blackness, a mimed request for writing materials of any kind. If nothing else, a few napkins and his own blood would do. At the mention of healing his head fell to one side, shaking back and forth slightly as if even if she could, it wouldn't help much.

Tor accepted a napkin and set it against his arm, lifting it weakly to where he could see it through his shattered sight. Red and white were made as one, the napkin soiled with his blood as he spelled out the word 'Door.' No matter his state, he illogically wanted to return to what was likely more beatings. This was, of course, underscored by the simply fact that he couldn't even get off the floor, and getting him to the door was mostly impossible.

Tor crumpled the napkin and slammed it down next to him and began pounding on it with his fist. These terms slammed and pounding in this context, of course, mean significantly less than they would otherwise, as Torment hasn't the strength to do much else. It was apprent that he wanted to go, and didn't like the answer he received.