The Eleven (
degeneratefreak) wrote in
lastvoyageslogs2026-06-19 11:07 am
Entry tags:
Eleven Problems During Six Impossible Things
Who: The Eleven and Hanna, later Fitz, Wiktor, and possibly Jedao [Closed]
What: Look, someone evil had to take advantage of the potential to conduct intense maiming without the release of death. And the Eleven is stepping up.
Where: The Eleven's cabin (level 7, cabin 11)
When: Slightly forward dated - during the Six Impossible Things flood
Warnings: torture and not-death
The Eleven is resting in his cabin. He has a book on thaumatological mechanics in his left hand, which the One, the Two, the Four, the Ten, and the Eleven are reading and discussing theory among themselves inside his head with only moderate insults exchanged. In his right hand, he's holding the 3-D pen Jedao had given him to create a delicate structure of filaments that's both artistic and the beginnings of an engineering design for a possible dimensional gateway. The Three, the Six, the Seven, and the Nine are engaged in that. The Five is singing a ribald Thordon drinking song. And the Eight is not welcome to join in any of the Time Lord games.
He's found over time that his selves are less likely to fight each other or him if everyone is kept distracted. Boredom is the bane of a multitude of aggressive minds all sharing one space, and if they don't have anything else to do they'll quickly start taking out frustrations on each other. And the Ghoul's absence and possible death has the Eleven feeling even more uptight and vicious than usual, so he's keen to keep all of his selves in line.
But when someone abruptly appears in his room, the singing stops, and filament design ceases, and he looks up from his book. There's a new distraction now.
What: Look, someone evil had to take advantage of the potential to conduct intense maiming without the release of death. And the Eleven is stepping up.
Where: The Eleven's cabin (level 7, cabin 11)
When: Slightly forward dated - during the Six Impossible Things flood
Warnings: torture and not-death
The Eleven is resting in his cabin. He has a book on thaumatological mechanics in his left hand, which the One, the Two, the Four, the Ten, and the Eleven are reading and discussing theory among themselves inside his head with only moderate insults exchanged. In his right hand, he's holding the 3-D pen Jedao had given him to create a delicate structure of filaments that's both artistic and the beginnings of an engineering design for a possible dimensional gateway. The Three, the Six, the Seven, and the Nine are engaged in that. The Five is singing a ribald Thordon drinking song. And the Eight is not welcome to join in any of the Time Lord games.
He's found over time that his selves are less likely to fight each other or him if everyone is kept distracted. Boredom is the bane of a multitude of aggressive minds all sharing one space, and if they don't have anything else to do they'll quickly start taking out frustrations on each other. And the Ghoul's absence and possible death has the Eleven feeling even more uptight and vicious than usual, so he's keen to keep all of his selves in line.
But when someone abruptly appears in his room, the singing stops, and filament design ceases, and he looks up from his book. There's a new distraction now.

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So, whistling to himself he opens the gazebo door, steps through and suddenly he's in The Eleven's prison cabin. The door shuts behind him and he pauses for a moment, taking in his surroundings.
Well shit.
"Well this is awkward."
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"Not the adjective I would use."
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His fist clenches at his side, a little nervous. Ever since he'd been burned to death he'd been pretty wary about blocked exits.
But he cant in good consciousness fight his way out of here without cause.
"Oh? Which one you thinking? You know. Before I leave. Cause I am totally leaving, right after you tell me."
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Which doesn't mean he has any intention of letting Hanna leave now that he's here.
"You lied about Godzilla!" a shrill voice says. The Three is still not over that.
"Hanna, get out of here," a frightened voice implores. "He's angry, he wants to hurt someone, anyone, he--"
"That's enough of that, Eight," the Eleven snaps, cutting off his other self.
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"I mean, somewhere he's real. Dont get mad at me its not as often as you'd like." Hanna puts his hand in his pocket, slowly, deliberately and eyes the Eleven, watching him cut off The Eight.
"Right then. I'm just gonna go, dude." He starts to walk towards The Eleven, and the door, "since you dont want me in here."
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"Sorry old chap, those are the rules," a posh voice says.
"You're mine," a low voice growls.
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"Yeah, well I'd like to see you try to keep me somewhere I don't want to be." His marker is out of his pocket, trying his best to draw something out of the corner of his eye on his jeans.
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"You know, for once I might not be entirely on board with this," the Nine says, derailing the threats.
"You've seen the value of goodness at last?" the Eight says, his voice slightly lightened with hope.
"Oh no, definitely not that," the Nine replies. "It's just that he gave me things and I want him to keep doing that and he probably won't if we torture him."
"Then let me do the torturing," says a low growl.
"Six has a point, you can leave the torturing to the rest of us and not get involved," a posh voice says.
"Yes, all right, that should work," the Nine replies.
"Are we finished with the committee meeting?" The Eleven snipes impatiently. "Can I get back to what I was doing now?"
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Its almost amusing listening to them bicker if they weren't all essentially torturing the eight and talking about torturing him for fun. "Gosh, you're all pretty chatty, arent you?"
He thinks he can fix that for long enough to escape, and he attempts it, suddenly reaching forward to put his hands on The Eleven, the rune on his jeans lighting up.
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"What was that?"
He conducts a quick assessment of himself, trying to work out what's different now.
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"You uh, feeling sleepy yet, buddy?" Cause he really hopes he does. He's paused for a moment too long before he tries to think what magic he has in his pocket.
Not enough for this obviously.
A glance down, readjust marker, try to draw a different rune in the time he has. Whether the Eleven let's him or not is entirely up to chance.
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The Eleven cackles. "You put the Eight to sleep? The one person who might have helped you, and you knocked him out cold."
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The revelation that through terrible chances playing roulette his magic has fucked him over gets a groan out of him and he glares up at The Eleven, "Of course, cause my luck sucks. Should have gotten all of you but... I'd like it if you let go of me now, thanks."
Which is when there's a subtle glow from his pocket and the one offense rune he has in there transfers to Eleven's skin like a spectral burn, iron hot and persistent on his hand. It'll be like that for hours, painful but not restrictive. Which is when he attempts to make another go for the door, all one hundred pounds of him.
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"Tricky tricky," a posh voice says.
"You'll pay for that," the Six growls.
And instead of just grabbing for his wrist, this time he'll try to tackle Hanna to the floor and if that doesn't make him lose his grip on the marker, the Eleven will wrench it away by force.
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But Hanna is more than just magic, or at least he used to be. The struggling he attempts to do has less power in it than pre-surgery, he's still working on getting back into shape, and he glares up at the other man, attempting to knee him in the balls, if Gallifreyans even have those.
"It'll hurt until you let me go," He promises him, vision still a little blurry from the knock to the head.
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"The best strategy would be to disable his hands first, make it difficult for him to draw those sigils," a brisk voice says.
"Yes, I know. I'm getting to that. I don't need you backseat driving." The Eleven ignores Hanna's struggles and reaches for his hand in order to start breaking his fingers one and a time.
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He does still fight, starting to yell loudly in the off chance that someone can hear him through the cabin door on the outside, gasping from the pain when the first finger snaps. He's still on the floor, it wouldn't help him get anywhere near the door if he used his protection rune now, but fuck does that hurt.
Breathe through it Hanna, come on, you got this.
"T-that all you got, you crazy motherfucker?"
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The Eleven answers more calmly, a satisfied air about him. "Oh, that's not the torture, this is just practical. I haven't got started yet." And then he moves to the next finger.
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Deep breaths, its just fingers. They can be fixed up. He's lived through worse. "G-god you're- youre gonna do every one of them arent you. Taking your fucking time..."
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"I am."
"Shut up, Five," the Eleven says and breaks another of Hanna's fingers.
"This little piggie went to market, this little piggie stayed home," the Three starts chanting.
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He's crying now, cant exactly help it, but shit dog is this the worst work shift hes had on a while.
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It does the job its supposed to, or at least youd think it did until clumsily, Hanna says, "oh- Oh good...didnt- didnt wanna..." he swallows, tasting copper on his tongue, "see you anyways."
His brain feels like it rattled around in his skull and yet?
"Fuckin' uh- ugly, dude."
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"More. Smash his skull. Crack it like an egg," the Six growls.
"Scrambled egg!" the Three adds.
The Eleven's fingers twitch slightly, still holding Hanna's hair, as the impulses of the Three and the Six partially affect his hands. The Eleven clamps down on that and his fingers go still.
"No. I'm in charge."
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"M'seeing double...does- does that mean they're twenny two of you?" God this sucks. It sucks so hard.
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