bakerstreet | What do you know of hell?

ʙᴏᴛʜ ɪɴ ʜᴇʟʟ

Of all the places in this world, there's nowhere worse you could be than where you are now. You're in hell - metaphorically or literally - and laying down and just dying seems more and more like the valid action to take. But you can't go any lower and death could be a no escape. There's only one thing keeping you from being a jaded, broken husk: you've fallen in love with someone who shares this fate. It's a love so different than the norm, that only those who've known this desolation can fathom. Perhaps they give you hope, they're an innocent worth keeping safe, they showed you unexpected kindness, or they're simply something to cling to. No matter what, you'll protect them and you wouldn't dream of leaving this place without them. They will leave, though...

...even if you don't.

☣ ＣＯＭＭＥＮＴ．ＩＮＦＯ．ＰＲＥＦＥＲＥＮＣＥＳ．
☣ ＲＥＰＬＹＴＯＯＴＨＥＲＳ．
☣ ＴＨＲＥＡＤ.

ＣＡＰＴＵＲＥＤ → For a crime you committed or not, you're in a prison.
ＶＡＬＵＥ → Something about you is worth quite a deal to the wrong person.
ＳＣＩＥＮＴＩＦＩＣ → You're nothing but an experiment, a lab rat.
ＰＥＲＳＥＣＵＴＥＤ → Your mistreatment is not because of what you've done. It's for who you are.
ＦＲＥＡＫＳＨＯＷ → All of your oddities are on display for the amusement of others.
ＦＯＲＣＥ → You have to do horrible things, though not of your own will or design.
ＲＡＣＫ → There's not just isolation or imprisonment on your plate - there's physical torture as well.
ＢＲＩＭＳＴＯＮＥ → "Hell" is no hyperbole; you're in the fiery pit itself.
ＷＩＬＤＣＡＲＤ

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[face it. Hell is where he belongs. Pref. for Captured, Rack, and actual Brimstone.]

[I love this AU version of Lucius! What are you looking for? ]

[hmm, for this meme I'm probably most interested in the 'scientific', 'freakshow' or 'force' options - i'd say 'persecuted' as well but lbr that's pretty inherent to his situation in the au anyway /sheepish haha.]

[Duh.]

[ open. ]

[ His reputation does not quite precede him here, but at least the guards' heavy footsteps echo down the hall already, dragging him and his voice closer to his new accommodations. ]

...truly cannot praise your food enough, the rats died the second they took so much as a whiff. Tell me, has your--

[ A dull thud, a pained groan. The cell door opens and the Duke of Buckingham is dropped inside, like a finely dressed sack of potatoes. He holds his stomach and props himself up on one elbow, spitting at the feet of a cellmate whose presence he has yet to notice.

He grins to himself through bloodstained teeth. Pain. Also: Hashtag Worth It. ]

[ Well. This ought to be good.

It isn't the first time a ruckus has been kicked up since he's been in this stinking stye of a cell block, though it is the first time anyone's enunciated so clearly during their token protest. Despite his interest, the only shift in countenance Tyrion displays is a mild, unenthusiastic arch to his eyebrow. It doesn't do much to take away from his sullen and grumpy expression.

His hands hang heavy and absent between bent knees, unmoving except for when the tiniest bit of spit winds up on his cloth shoe rather than the dust and hay beneath them.

He scuffs it off on the stone. ]

Do mind your bodily fluids, I've been breaking neck and back trying to keep this place clean.

[ He chides, somehow dry and yet lyrically sarcastic.

The place is very much not clean.

He hasn't actually moved very much since he got here, in fact. ]

[ Company, eh? The introduction serves to pull his lips into a lopsided smirk. A piece of wit in a place like this in exchange for the inconvenience of a witness to his present state? Suppose he'll agree to the trade... lack of other options notwithstanding. ]

Mhh, I do beg your forgiveness, I'd not expected to be made somebody's guest. I'd have brought a gift, of course, and--

[ He pushes himself to his feet, patting down his clothes out of habit, for all the good it no longer does. A lamentable sigh at a tear in his sleeve, from which he pulls a frayed thread of gold. ]

--dressed for the occasion. Alas, my invitation came rather unexpected, but I do so adore what you've done with the carpets!

[ A finely crafted blend of piss-soaked hay and rat droppings, what sublime elegance! He'd have come much sooner if he'd known! ]

[ Despite Tyrion's well-traveled history and the time he's spent being a learned man, nothing of this man's countenance gives away his origin. There is, perhaps, something of the capital in him, but something distinctly foreign that he can't quite put his finger on. It's as unsettling as it is interesting, and given the rather sad lack of entertainment one finds while being held captive in a vacancy, it's almost a little refreshing.

Then again, he's never been a fan of the most courtly and political of the Westeros population, so it's every bit as likely this newcomer will annoy him as much as interest him.

Oh, the joys of having a roommate. ]

Thank you. I've taken care that they match the drapes.

[ He responds courteously, flicking an eye up to the curtainless, barred, tiny window. Grey, unremarkable light shoots in unfiltered. ]

Forgive me, but you wouldn't happen to be Braavosi? Perhaps somewhere a little farther south?

[ Because it's only good manners to get to know your new acquaintance, and why not start things off with a little small talk before announcing that there isn't, in fact, a communal chamber pot? ]