Quick Reminder That Mag Uses He/they Pronouns! It's A Lot More Obvious Here Than Last Time At Least - Tumblr Posts
At the Hook (Line, Sinker)
Augusnippets day 10: execution | fake execution | begging for mercy
Word count: 499
Trigger warnings: description of death, implied/referenced panic attack
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Mag knows his face goes pale when he sees the man waiting for them, the thick, wicked hook in the ceiling. The assistant holding rope in a telling noose.
They absolutely don’t care if this man’s reputation is being used to frighten them into obedience. Either that’s the case, or talking will buy Cassander time to scrounge up a miracle to let them escape, or they’re both fucking dead.
“Please,” he whispers; louder: “Please, no, I don’t, I don’t—! Not like this, fuck, not like this!”
“Not like this?” the man—Marcus? Marius? Martin?—says, an easy smile spreading across his face. “That can be arranged. There are plenty of ways to—”
“What do you want?” Mag interrupts, because they really don’t want to know all the horrible ways maybe-Marcus has found to kill people. He already knows this man would see him hung slowly, death by strangulation instead of a broken neck. “What do you want?! I’ll do anything!”
They want to yank the words back as soon as they leave—it’s too much to give. But maybe-Marius wouldn’t accept anything less, anyways.
“Are you sure?” maybe-Martin says, nearly pouting. “I’ve been wanting to see what a destroying angel will do to someone. It eases up while it’s liquefying your liver—what does the anticipation do to you, feeling better but knowing you’ll die?”
“No! Fuck no! Please, I said I’ll do anything, please!”
“Oh, calm down. I can think of some ways to use a thief as famous as you, if you’re willing to do anything.”
Mag’s heart leaps in relief; his first guess was right. “Yes! Yes, I’ll do whatever—!”
“What about him, though?”
And back down their heart went into dread.
“He’s my partner,” Mag says, not looking at where Cassander was forced to kneel beside him. “He’ll do whatever you want, too.”
Play along, they think, please play along, don’t act out and ruin this, it might be our only chance.
“Of course, yes,” Marcus(?) says. His smile widens, goes sadistic and ugly. “But I want to hear him beg for it.”
Fuck, we’re dead.
Because the keyword with Cassander is proud. He’d fought every step of the way here, to the point that he was more heavily restrained than Mag now. He never apologized or said he was wrong. He’d spit defiance to someone holding a knife to his throat.
A tense pause. Then:
“Please,” Cassander grit out.
Marius(?) raises a brow. “Go on,” he prompts.
“Please,” Cassander says again. Then, picking up speed: “Please, please, please, please, áni, áni, áni—”
He cuts off. The only sound is his frantic breathing.
Mag tries his best to keep from gaping, because what the fuck, while picking over the last word. What was that, another language? Ahni? Ahani?
… No. He’s saying áni. Because that’s Áléen.
“Please what?” fucking Martin(?) is saying.
The answering jumble of syllables is foreign to Mag, but apparently it convinces the motherfucker.
“Well, then,” he says. “Here’s what you’re going to do.”