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Oct 14, 2019 11:35 PM
magical girl drug addict cato and jean
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Dulac uses slow, telegraphed movements to extract the key; offers it on a spread hand to Valentine.

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He plucks it from his palm.

"Thank you. If you'd turn around and put your hands behind your back, please."

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Dulac sighs and complies.

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A different pair of cuffs, applied quickly and efficiently, and a patch on his arm just too high to watch.

"Keep an eye on this one," he says, before returning to the bathroom.

There is, presently, the sound of a bath running.

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What.

Dulac squirms, trying to bite the patch off, rub it off against the wall.

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It's possible to start peeling the corner away, but it works very quickly. His forearm goes numb and slightly slack and then so does the rest of him, worst in the extremities.

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There's quiet sobbing from the bathroom.

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Well this is unpleasant.

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It’s a while, before he carries Cato from the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, shuddering in his arms. He’s limping, ever so slightly.

He brushes flecks of plaster off the couch and sets him down there before going back for the case left in the center of the room.

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He’s clean, halfway dry, hair combed out and tied back behind him.

He doesn’t try to get up. There’s nothing left in him for it, not when it’s hopeless, not when his last chance died the second he started shaking too early to get on his second flight.

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Valentine sits down next to him, opens the case, strokes the back of his neck as he shakes.

“You’re almost done, dear heart.”

He ties off his arm, taps gently around the crook of his elbow for the vein.

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...now? Lust, now, slowly ramping up so it could almost be natural -- just the two of them, not the guard, no canary to warn them -- it's not going to work but it's worth a try...

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Cato starts to cry, again.

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“Shh, love. It’s just your friend.”

He retrieves a syringe, and a small bottle labeled only with a stylized white flower, draws out some of the liquid.

A gentle tap on the side of the syringe.

“Almost — try to stay here, now —”

Needle in vein.

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He doesn’t jump. He trembles but doesn’t jump, doesn’t even flicker.

(He’ll hate himself beyond words, for being so relieved, before it’s even in him. He’s not ready for that, yet.)

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More and more and more -- even if it somehow doesn't affect Valentine, maybe he'll be distracted by Cato, maybe...

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It’s agonizing. He can’t think — he can barely want anything else except for —

“Please — please please please, fuck, please —”

He barely even realizes he’s talking, it’s such an enormous effort of will not to lean into Valentine’s hands that it leaves him shuddering all over again —

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The plunger goes down. The needle withdraws.

“There you are.”

Sharp in a box, case closed.

He unties the band around Cato’s arm with incredible care.

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And then it doesn’t matter anymore.

He slumps down against Valentine, chest heaving, eyes clearly rolling up behind his eyelids.

The transformation hits him absurdly fast, hair going pale grey and flowing out behind him, silvery streaks running up his arms and legs, whole body glowing with it. There’s nothing on his body to change but his anklets— they flow up and spiral around his calves in sweeping, intricate patterns that match the ones on his skin.

There are still tears, but not from pain or shame, now.

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There's no point, is there.

Dulac lets it drop.

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He strokes Cato’s hair as he arches and shudders in his lap, as the glow that should have faded the moment the transformation was done pulses around him.

“Take us home, dear heart.”

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And then they’re home.

Cato and his captor are seated on a much nicer couch than before — Elise has ended up on a balcony overlooking a glorious cityscape — Dulac is leaned up against a coffee table, rather than a wall.

“...very good.”

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So.

Torture, persuasion, bribes, or blackmail?

Could go any which way, really. Nothing much to do but wait and find out.

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Elise comes back inside.

“—Well done today. See Dorothy. She’ll have a package for you.”

(She thanks him profusely and a little tearily as she’s walking out the door.)

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He looks down at Cato, strokes his back thoughtfully as the tremors start to subside.

“...I apologize for the paralytic,” he says, without looking up. “Safety precautions. You understand, I hope.”

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