[ seeing the gun come out was immediately kill bill sirens going off in his head, and andyr's kneejerk response is wanting to tackle him, and start mowing down people in this room, until he's taken out, because that's what happens in Hapsburg.
but this isn't hapsburg. it's a spaceship, in the middle of who even knows where, and andyr has nowhere to go, and no way to get back to the people he loves, still suffering back home, without the people running this ship. and there's no hapsburg board to deem him too valuable on a revenue standpoint to be killed off or discarded. it isn't about either andyr gets treated nicely or he has to put up with a fight that leaves him with broken bones, battered skin, and ISO for a week. it's about whether or not he has to give up on what small amount of people he has left to called loved.
jerking forward, his palm goes to cover the barrel of the gun, so the bullet would go into his palm, and dude to the tissue density, likely be lodged there, rather than hit the datapad. hurt, probably, but he'd spent three weeks having his spine drilled with no anesthetic once. a bullet in the hand isn't going to bother him much.
for a moment, he's still, something in him shaking, and looking into adrien's eyes with no idea what he can say or do here. that's when there's movement up and to the right somewhere, and andyr's eyes flick up to see... Alva. Being led into the room, chatting with some of the med staff, facing away from Andyr but there, healthy, unrestrained, calm. the sight alone is reassurance, enough that a small, tremor of an exhale leaves him, and Andyr swallows, blinking back to Adrien with eyes that look somewhat glassy. ]
Please. [ he starts, voice low, quiet, and a bit shaky. ] I'm sorry, it's just--
[ he looks down, at the gun, at his hand, at the cuff still secure over his wrist, the edge of the metal digging an angry red line against his skin by now. he's not even a full foot from adrien's face, and his voice is practically a whisper, as he tells him this. ] I... haven't had human rights since I was seventeen. I was cut open, left awake and responsive to my spine being drilled into for three weeks, dissected and pulled apart and put back together in new patterns, and passed around to however wanted to mess with my body whenever they wanted, and I haven't been outside of my cell without manacles since then.
[ this is the first time he hasn't immediately had them slapped onto him after he'd broken them, and it still feels very strange, even with the cuffs still attached. there's redness rimming his eyes and a rasp to his voice, nothing about this faked. andyr doesn't know how to. ]
The only one who ever tried to save me was me. No one in the building, no one on the medical team, no one in the whole damn world. Just me, and just like this. [ being vicious, being volatile, struggling against what he could, fighting to keep any part of him out of hands that wanted to hurt him at every instance. ] Record what you have to, but. Please, just--
[ he swallows again, and looks much, much younger than what he actually is. feels it. feels like he never left that lab table he'd been strapped to when he was 17. ]
no subject
but this isn't hapsburg. it's a spaceship, in the middle of who even knows where, and andyr has nowhere to go, and no way to get back to the people he loves, still suffering back home, without the people running this ship. and there's no hapsburg board to deem him too valuable on a revenue standpoint to be killed off or discarded. it isn't about either andyr gets treated nicely or he has to put up with a fight that leaves him with broken bones, battered skin, and ISO for a week. it's about whether or not he has to give up on what small amount of people he has left to called loved.
jerking forward, his palm goes to cover the barrel of the gun, so the bullet would go into his palm, and dude to the tissue density, likely be lodged there, rather than hit the datapad. hurt, probably, but he'd spent three weeks having his spine drilled with no anesthetic once. a bullet in the hand isn't going to bother him much.
for a moment, he's still, something in him shaking, and looking into adrien's eyes with no idea what he can say or do here. that's when there's movement up and to the right somewhere, and andyr's eyes flick up to see... Alva. Being led into the room, chatting with some of the med staff, facing away from Andyr but there, healthy, unrestrained, calm. the sight alone is reassurance, enough that a small, tremor of an exhale leaves him, and Andyr swallows, blinking back to Adrien with eyes that look somewhat glassy. ]
Please. [ he starts, voice low, quiet, and a bit shaky. ] I'm sorry, it's just--
[ he looks down, at the gun, at his hand, at the cuff still secure over his wrist, the edge of the metal digging an angry red line against his skin by now. he's not even a full foot from adrien's face, and his voice is practically a whisper, as he tells him this. ] I... haven't had human rights since I was seventeen. I was cut open, left awake and responsive to my spine being drilled into for three weeks, dissected and pulled apart and put back together in new patterns, and passed around to however wanted to mess with my body whenever they wanted, and I haven't been outside of my cell without manacles since then.
[ this is the first time he hasn't immediately had them slapped onto him after he'd broken them, and it still feels very strange, even with the cuffs still attached. there's redness rimming his eyes and a rasp to his voice, nothing about this faked. andyr doesn't know how to. ]
The only one who ever tried to save me was me. No one in the building, no one on the medical team, no one in the whole damn world. Just me, and just like this. [ being vicious, being volatile, struggling against what he could, fighting to keep any part of him out of hands that wanted to hurt him at every instance. ] Record what you have to, but. Please, just--
[ he swallows again, and looks much, much younger than what he actually is. feels it. feels like he never left that lab table he'd been strapped to when he was 17. ]
I want to live again... but not like that.