"Not any ruder than you poisoning me," she points out.

(She should look into muscle relaxants and maybe get Alchemist Olga to look over her work. Assuming she gets out of here. Though it's looking increasingly likely that the way out will be via Kafra.)

"You broke into my office first! Anyway, I'd love to chat, but I think my employers might be stopping by soon. And I don't want them to find you here... well, I would say any more than you do, but you do probably feel more strongly about it than I do."

"I don't think that's a very proportionate response, you know." And, yeah, okay, time to die, it's really just an act of will and she's happy to learn she doesn't feel squeamish at all about wanting to die—

What's an act of will?

...dying. Dying is an act of will. It's a very simple trigger, attached to the enchantment that will bring her to the nearest Kafra office as soon as she's dead. Yes?

"Oh, do stop that."

He begins gathering his personal effects into an extradimensional storage box, starting with the desk itself.

...biting her tongue. Is that a thing she can do. She has heard about it before but she actually has no idea how one does this and it's gonna really hurt quite a lot but on the other hand she once threw acid at her own face so—wait, she still has the acid, can she in fact move, she will melt her face if she can.

She can bite her tongue, though it's hard to get through; she can't throw the acid. On account of how her arms aren't moving.

"If you bite your tongue off it'll just grow back," the young man sighs, touching the box to his safe. "I recognize the impulse to fight back in any way you still can, but please, wait until you have resources available, or at least think you do. This is just undignified."

"I really feel like it's more undignified to not exhaust every possibility."

...can she empty her green potion reserves into her bloodstream and then pump air into her veins? No, damnit, it's vacuum-sealed, there isn't any air. Okay, what about if she engages her thrusters at maximum force to hit a wall or ceiling hard enough to break her own neck?

No.

"Fine," he huffs, as her body goes numb. "Since I do want to leave you in good condition..."

She wakes up alone, in a tastefully if impersonally decorated bedroom. She's wearing her clothes, though not her enhanced legs. She lacks access to any implants she may have, especially her suicide trigger.

There's a wheelchair by her bedside. It's a fairly nice bit of work; the wheels are shiny and well-oiled, and the seat has a cushion.

Okay now she thinks it's time for her to feel fucking terrified.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck getting separated from her suicide trigger and her resurrection point was not meant to be something that could happen!!! How in Odin's name did, did he do that—

(She is coming up with all sorts of technological solutions to the problem, in the back of her mind, because that kind of thing just happens automatically. A sort of reverse trigger that she can enable, such that if she goes unconscious or releases a trigger it kills her? Being constantly poisoned and cured of the poison but the antidote stops if she stops wanting it there? All of that relies on her legs, what can she do that doesn't? It needs to be fast enough she can't be healed before she dies, so anything that just makes her bleed out doesn't work. A bomb of some kind? Some enchantment coordinated with some other piece such that if they're not both removed at the same time she dies? Maybe an enchanted tattoo...)

Lucky allows herself to be fucking terrified for five minutes.

Then she stops, and starts looking around and trying to take better stock of the situation. What's the room like? What are the decorations like? Lights? Door(s), window(s), walls, floor, ceiling? Is there anything here that'd allow her to kill herself (even without her resurrection point that's still better than ending up as one of Rekenber's experiments)?

(Gonie would be so sad...)

(...don't think about Gonie.)

(...he's definitely coming for her. There is nothing on Midgard that would prevent him from coming for her. She knows this, because if the positions were reversed, she'd do the same. She would walk to Hel and back for him.)

(That thought is... comforting. And grounding. All is not lost. She has Gonie.)

The room contains windows, which hum softly with protective wards. It contains some shelves, bolted into the walls, with various weighty tomes, none of them so weighty as to be usable for bludgeoning damage. (A few are contemporary romance; others are general fiction; there is one well-worn compilation of heroic sagas, the gilt edging thumbed almost completely off the pages.) It has one door, which is closed.

The room doesn't actually seem to have been stripped of any items that would pose a suicide risk. If nothing else, the bedsheets are very nice, but not actually sturdier than very nice bedsheets are supposed to be.

Before much headway can be made on investigating sheet-rope construction, though, a little creature enters the room, bearing a tray piled high with breakfast. It's bipedal, with proportions not unlike a human child, but its face is a nacreous mask without any apertures below its strangely lovely blue eyes.

It blinks at her, lays the tray on her bedside table, and bows.

What... is this. Is this one of Rekenber's horrible experiments. A... very polite... horrible experiment... She's seen the kinds of results of their experiments here and there, the more deadly ones. They don't look... cute? They don't look cute.

"Thank you," she says almost automatically, eyeing the tray. The thought of being suspicious of the food lasts barely a fraction of a second before she has the obvious followup thought of if that guy had wanted to further poison her she had not been in any shape to resist up until now, so she'll eat.

Can she actually reach the heroic sagas, on her chair?

Yes! If she looks closely, she can see the shelf was recently moved down by a few feet; the old mount has been taken off, but the marks on the wall are still there.

Breakfast is really good. There are eggs with brilliantly, violently orange yolks; a slab of bacon, with the golden fat veined through the meat instead of pooling at the edges; fluffy, crisp mushroom tartlets like she might see at a restaurant determined to serve 'authentic Schwarzwald cuisine' to people too rich to want anything of the sort.

There's also a plate of less traditional offerings. Various light pickles, ranging from cucumber to fish to raw meat. A root vegetable shaped extraordinarily like a little man with an open mouth, which has been deep-fried and glazed with honey and red pepper.

A bowl of snow, flavored with fruit syrup and little crystalline drops of honey.

(She might have encountered the last before - snow-sweets are traditional on feast days in nearby Lutie, and sometimes made in hot, arid places like Arunafeltz as a display of wealth. They're less popular in Schwarzwald, where snow is nothing special and it falls already half blackened.)

What... is that root. Is that a mandragora root. She did not know mandragoras were edible.

They are. And everything tastes... really good? Um. "Hey, uh, little guy, do you speak? Or, I guess, could you fetch—" He never gave her his name. "—your master? At least I assume he's your master, maybe not, but then whoever sent me these things I guess? Or, um, someone?"

The manikin points eloquently at its not-having-a-mouth, and its shoulders tremble in a way that implies that if it did have a mouth, it would be giggling. Then its long-fingered hands flicker through a series of signs, clearly not expecting her to understand but communicating something anyway, and it takes its leave.

...wait it could just straightforwardly understand her? She is dreadfully curious but also having feelings of dread.

The man from before enters. His hair is slightly damp, and instead of his business attire he's wearing a nice though not fancy tunic and some sturdy leggings. He smiles at her.

"Good morning, sleepyhead. Though I won't try to say that wasn't my fault."

"Good morning. You never told me your name."

"I didn't, did I."

There's a meaningful pause.

"Oh, whatever. I'm Thoma. Though at the office, I'm more usually the Necromancer."