"It's okay," Dylan tells him, repeats like a mantra. His voice shakes, but the tone is soothing.
Not that he expects him to answer back, regardless, because yes, he does note the chain around his throat and how painfully tight they all are. It's as much for his own benefit (as well as, seemingly, someone beyond him and Merritt) as it is anything else and as he rounds the chair to look for locks.
He finds none, and breaking in his not-quite-prayer, mutters something about needing locks. A swell of magic follows, as does a metallic shunk, and a relieved breath as, while Merritt can't see it from where he is, a bouquet of them all but ooze out the back of the chair, along with the opposite ends of the Merritt's restraints. He flicks a glance over to Merritt, to make sure that hasn't put any more pressure on him (so far, so good), and then goes for the lock keeping the one around his throat in place, a set of picks, Jack's picks, appearing from seemingly no where as he reaches for it.
Beyond him there's a flicker of movement as his shadow, oddly not his own even when he entered, shifts and then shifts again. He ignores it as he works the lock, and a handful of heartbeats later, there's the sound of clicking metal and the chain around Merritt's throat goes slack.
"Don't try and move yet," he orders, distracted, as he moves onto the next. There's something like a dozen of them and he imagines this isn't too far removed from the chains that held him in place in his head, when Torre locked him away -- the more Merritt struggles, the worse it will get.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2016-06-16 06:20 pm (UTC)Not that he expects him to answer back, regardless, because yes, he does note the chain around his throat and how painfully tight they all are. It's as much for his own benefit (as well as, seemingly, someone beyond him and Merritt) as it is anything else and as he rounds the chair to look for locks.
He finds none, and breaking in his not-quite-prayer, mutters something about needing locks. A swell of magic follows, as does a metallic shunk, and a relieved breath as, while Merritt can't see it from where he is, a bouquet of them all but ooze out the back of the chair, along with the opposite ends of the Merritt's restraints. He flicks a glance over to Merritt, to make sure that hasn't put any more pressure on him (so far, so good), and then goes for the lock keeping the one around his throat in place, a set of picks, Jack's picks, appearing from seemingly no where as he reaches for it.
Beyond him there's a flicker of movement as his shadow, oddly not his own even when he entered, shifts and then shifts again. He ignores it as he works the lock, and a handful of heartbeats later, there's the sound of clicking metal and the chain around Merritt's throat goes slack.
"Don't try and move yet," he orders, distracted, as he moves onto the next. There's something like a dozen of them and he imagines this isn't too far removed from the chains that held him in place in his head, when Torre locked him away -- the more Merritt struggles, the worse it will get.