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Scanlan comes to in a daze, head pounding and body stiff. This isn’t unusual for him depending on the kind of night he’s just had, and the lack of memory from the last several hours doesn’t particularly concern him, either. He moans; the sound is muffled by a thick strip of fabric in his mouth. That’s pretty par for the course, too.
But then he tries to lift his arms towards the gag in his mouth and finds he’s unable to. They’re tied behind his back, pressed up against a hard, flat surface. That is…a lot more unusual than the rest. Scanlan’s eyes flutter open to find himself sitting on the floor of a completely empty room, propped up against a wall. His feet aren’t bound and he’s fully clothed, which are both pluses. He barely has the time to process that maaaaybe this isn’t what he’d thought it was before a flat voice on his right side makes him freeze.
“Gnome’s awake.”
Scanlan turns his head only to lock eyes with those of a stout half-elf who is squatting nearby. She wrinkles her nose with disdain when their gazes meet and elbows something behind her that he can’t see. From the “oof” sound that comes out in response, it’s another mystery person.
“Wake up! I said the gnome’s awake!”
“Fuck do you want me to do about that?” The other stranger stands and stretches in one fluid motion. This one is pure human; incredibly lanky in a way that might remind Scanlan of Keyleth if Keyleth wasn’t a treat to look at.
“You’re the spellcaster. Put him back to sleep.” Half-Elf Lady reaches forward to grab Scanlan by his chain necklace. He lets out a choked noise through the gag when she yanks him forward with it. “I heard rumors that he can use magic. I don’t want any trouble while we’re waiting.”
“What is he going to do tied up like that? He’s harmless,” Human Guy scoffs. “I’m not wasting any energy until we hear back from the de Rolo.”
Scanlan’s throbbing head spins with a hundred different thoughts. In order, the first twenty or so are “what the hell is going on?”; the next eleven are “what does Percy have to do with this?” and the final sixty-nine (nice – shut up, idiot, you’ve been kidnapped) are all different flavors of “I need to get the fuck out of here right the fuck now.” He starts trying to get his feet under him but the half-elf scowls and pushes him back against the wall with enough force his brain rattles in his skull when he hits it.
“Stay still if you know what’s good for you,” she hisses, pointing a threatening finger in his face. “We’re waiting for your nobleman friend to pay ransom to return you alive, but we didn’t say anything about unharmed. If you get annoying then we’re going to have a problem.”
It’s a damned good thing they had the foresight to gag him, then, and not because he’s a caster. Scanlan rolls his eyes to accompany the acknowledging nod he gives her. She shoots him a dubious glare but doesn’t start manhandling him again, which he counts as both a win and a loss.
Listen, the trip to Whitestone and back is the longest he’s gone without a lay in a while. Not his fault he’s got needs.
Seemingly satisfied, the half-elf stands up and heads for a door on the opposite side of the room. The click of the lock when she closes it behind her has him audibly groaning; he did not sign up for wrestling with a door without A Vax on top of the rest of this bullshit. The human still in the room pulls out a book, crisscrosses his legs onto the floor, and starts reading. Instead of giving any more thought to the impossible barriers in his future escape plans, Scanlan slumps backwards against the wall in the perfect picture of defeat.
But here's the thing about binding someone’s hands: there are three factors you have to consider when doing it. One, the material you use had better be solid enough not to fray or snap against pressure. From the feel of the ropes around Scanlan’s wrists, these are well past their prime. Two, the knot you tie better actually be tight and not easily pulled apart at the slightest tug. This part, at least, his kidnappers seem to have a decent handle on. There aren’t any quick-release strings from a quick run through with his fingers on the ends he can reach.
And then there’s three: you better be fucking sure you haven’t kidnapped an expert escape artist. As far as Scanlan’s concerned, decades of bondage experience – both professional and really, really amateurish – has pretty much made him the second-best thing to that.
All that to say that it takes about eight minutes for him to get his hands free. Closer to nine if he feels like being generous to his captors, and he’s really fucking not.
The human is still reading, completely oblivious as Scanlan flexes his fingers behind his back to get the blood flowing back in them. Taking down the Briarwoods and their asshole cronies is a new and prideful notch in his belt, but he’s not about to let it get to his head and think he can easily ditch these clowns without all his tools in place.
He’ll let it get to his head after he gets out of here. Both heads, actually, preferably accompanied with at least two partners and a shit-ton of wine. Maybe that one elderly nobleman who loved his after-dinner performance has friends who are just as repressed as he was.
Scanlan starts working the knot to the gag at the back of his head, trying not to drool at the fantasy already growing in his mind. An entire country club of old folks all clamoring for his attention as he makes them feel young again, experiencing things that never would’ve crossed their minds before he arrived to show them the light –
The human looks up just as he gets the gag out of his mouth. There’s a single moment where they lock gazes, both wide-eyed and startled by the other, before the man’s hand raises. The hairs on the back of Scanlan’s neck prickle and he barely starts to scream the first syllable to Scanlan’s Hand when a sickly familiar muffling smacks into his entire body. He gasps as Silence overtakes him, a looping mantra of fuck not again fuck not again, and the spell on his tongue disappears before even a whisp of purple can manifest.
Scanlan doesn’t think. He just runs.
He gets his fingers on the doorknob before much bigger hands grab him around the waist and tear him away. Scanlan screams an inaudible scream, half in frustration and half in fear, flailing and kicking for all his little limbs are worth as his captor picks him up. The muted scream cuts off in a wheeze when he’s slammed back-first onto hard floor, wind knocked completely out of him.
“How the hell did you get loose?!” The man exclaims, incredulous and furious. He wraps one hand around Scanlan’s throat to lift him partially off the ground and begins shaking him. “What did you use? A knife? A spell? What the fuck did you use?!”
Those deceptively strong fingers tighten enough that Scanlan starts gasping for an entirely different reason. He claws desperately at the grip cutting off his air, babbling excuses and pleas and word salads that never get farther than his paling lips. Nothing he does weakens the hold; nothing he says even has a chance at helping as his only real weapon has been silenced.
His captor finally seems to realize that he’s not going to get answers from a Silenced, choking hostage. He releases his hands and Scanlan gulps for breath beneath him, blinking away the black spots in his eyes without much success.
“Partner warned me you might be trouble,” the man grumbles to himself. He starts rummaging in his pockets, still keeping the gnome pinned under his knees. “I don’t want to keep wasting spells if you keep finding a way to get out of your bonds.”
Scanlan’s faculties return to him just in time to see a knife pulled out. He freezes, unblinking as he stares at the weapon hovering uncomfortably close to his face. The human makes a contemplative face like he’s considering what to make for lunch instead of whatever he’s thinking of doing with that knife.
“Hey!” He suddenly shouts towards the closed door. “You still have that healing potion with you? I wanna cut the little fucker’s tongue out but I don’t want him to bleed out.”
Scanlan’s heart stops beating.
He goes limp out of sheer shock for a single moment; so wholly stunned by the very idea that his brain almost can’t process what it would mean. But then the world comes back into focus by the glint of the knife right before it presses against his closed lips.
No.
His struggling renews with a fervor unmatched by anything in his life.
No. No. No.
A body so much bigger than his pins him down with its weight alone. His fingers claw and scratch against the ground until every single one is bleeding.
No! No! No!
He wants to scream against the horror of what he’s facing even though it would condemn him, but he doesn’t dare. He’s still Silenced; he wouldn’t even get the luxury of hearing his own voice one last time before his very existence shatters.
The hand not holding the knife grabs him by his jaw. Starts to force it open.
NO NO NO NO NO
The door swings open suddenly, silhouetting the form of the half-elf standing in the doorway. She takes a single step forward before a bullet smashes through her skull from the back, exploding out of her forehead. She’s dead before she even hits the ground.
“What the fuck?!” The man yells, jumping to his feet only to be met with a simultaneous arrow and dagger to his chest. He keels over, landing back on top of Scanlan who loses his breath for a third time in ten minutes.
Someone – maybe Grog, maybe an angel, maybe the fucking devil at this point – hauls the body off of him while smaller hands glowing a familiar gold are immediately at his side. Scanlan sees Pike above him, her lips moving in what must be reassurances, but he can’t hear anything through the static in his head. Maybe the Silence spell fucked with his ears, too. Maybe he’s just dying.
Dying would almost be better than –
He gasps as if possessed and throws a hand up to his mouth. The feel of blood against his fingers nearly sends him spiraling again but it’s just his bottom lip that’s been nicked; he finds his tongue safe and untouched within his mouth.
The relief that hits him is so powerful he loses all ability to hold himself up. Scanlan sags against Pike so thoroughly she squeaks out a surprised little “oh” that he finally hears now that the nightmare he was facing has passed.
“Scanlan! Are you still hurt? Are you okay?” She suddenly grips his arm as if noticing something on his shirt. “Oh, you’ve got some kind of effect all over you – are you Silenced?”
He gives a haggard nod. For the first time in his life, he’s grateful not to have to use his voice. He doesn’t know what would come out of his mouth right now but he knows none of it would be good.
“Hey, Scanlan, hey, it’s okay! It’ll fade soon, I’m sure.”
She brushes a tear from under his eye and – huh. When did he start crying?
Best not to think about it. The danger is over, the threat is past, and the last thing he needs to do is make his team think he’s crying over a stupid Silence spell.
Scanlan meets Pike’s worried expression and manages to smile. It’s shaky at the edges, wobbly and wet, but it’s enough to make her shoulders relax. A pathetic substitute that is still more potent than what anyone else in Vox Machina could ever do.
Everything’s fine, it says for him.
I’m fine.