[Once on that flat surface, Ray didn't move. Didn't even care what Armando was up to behind him or whether he was tempted to approach yet again. If that cage door opened, he may well try his luck one last time, but for now, curled up in a ball on the floor seemed like the most comfortable and irresistible spot in the world. His ears are still perked, listening for movement, but there's no reaction as Armando, and only the vaguest lifts of his head as he hears footsteps retreat upstairs, only to check he was left alone, head dropping heavily back down the moment he's assured he's alone. There could be cameras, he doesn't discount that, but it doesn't really matter when he's not going to fucking move no matter what.
Briefly he considers checking over his wounds, but the lighting wasn't good enough for it and there was no point agitating wounds that were already sealing themselves up quite effectively. Moving was just going to aggravate them. Might as well just lay still.
There's nothing to register how long he's been there, or if he even fell asleep, but after Armando leaves, the next thing he recalls is him arriving again amidst a distant murmur of voices. Ray doesn't move at first, teeth gritted as he half expects something to happen, skin cringing just slightly as he hears the rustle of fabric pushed through the bars but staying unmoving until that brush of a touch through his hair.
He wishes he'd been ready for it, really, just to be able to sink his teeth into a hand again, but instead he's left slowly uncurling and pushing himself to his feet just in time to witness the cage opening. Freedom. A chance to escape. But what the fuck was the point in 'escape' now when he was being released anyway? The worst of it had already come, and if they did intend to kill him on the drive back... well he could sort that out when it came, but it seemed counter productive considering Armando's need to get rid of the Mountie.
After staggering on his feet for a second and trying to readjust his bearings to being vertical again, Ray slowly reaches for the wash cloth and then his clothing, dabbing himself slightly cleaner and then dressing himself with all the delicacy of someone who's got plenty of injuries to show for themselves. He avoids bending down when he can and refuses to face the other as he moves to hide any obvious instinctual flinches or winces. He's fine. He's good. He'd heal, but that mobster had a point. No point trying to act the hard guy in front of those men if the entire point was to portray three hours of agony.
Slowly he steps out of the cage, grunting as he moves his arm just a little too quickly to catch the thrown item, and then pausing to look down at it and register just what the point of it is.]
You're a sick fuck.
[But whatever, he's moving for the stairs, heading up them with some obvious stiffness that only increases as he approaches the top, just to give the goons a show. There's already blood seeping through his relatively thin shirt, but that couldn't be helped, it'd help add to the sight of him being bruised and battered. By the time he's out of that basement, he's staggering to the nearest wall while flinging that sausage at what looked to be the smallest member. Armando better fucking appreciate the play along, Ray's only doing it for the sake of easy cooperation to get the fuck out of this place.]
no subject
Briefly he considers checking over his wounds, but the lighting wasn't good enough for it and there was no point agitating wounds that were already sealing themselves up quite effectively. Moving was just going to aggravate them. Might as well just lay still.
There's nothing to register how long he's been there, or if he even fell asleep, but after Armando leaves, the next thing he recalls is him arriving again amidst a distant murmur of voices. Ray doesn't move at first, teeth gritted as he half expects something to happen, skin cringing just slightly as he hears the rustle of fabric pushed through the bars but staying unmoving until that brush of a touch through his hair.
He wishes he'd been ready for it, really, just to be able to sink his teeth into a hand again, but instead he's left slowly uncurling and pushing himself to his feet just in time to witness the cage opening. Freedom. A chance to escape. But what the fuck was the point in 'escape' now when he was being released anyway? The worst of it had already come, and if they did intend to kill him on the drive back... well he could sort that out when it came, but it seemed counter productive considering Armando's need to get rid of the Mountie.
After staggering on his feet for a second and trying to readjust his bearings to being vertical again, Ray slowly reaches for the wash cloth and then his clothing, dabbing himself slightly cleaner and then dressing himself with all the delicacy of someone who's got plenty of injuries to show for themselves. He avoids bending down when he can and refuses to face the other as he moves to hide any obvious instinctual flinches or winces. He's fine. He's good. He'd heal, but that mobster had a point. No point trying to act the hard guy in front of those men if the entire point was to portray three hours of agony.
Slowly he steps out of the cage, grunting as he moves his arm just a little too quickly to catch the thrown item, and then pausing to look down at it and register just what the point of it is.]
You're a sick fuck.
[But whatever, he's moving for the stairs, heading up them with some obvious stiffness that only increases as he approaches the top, just to give the goons a show. There's already blood seeping through his relatively thin shirt, but that couldn't be helped, it'd help add to the sight of him being bruised and battered. By the time he's out of that basement, he's staggering to the nearest wall while flinging that sausage at what looked to be the smallest member. Armando better fucking appreciate the play along, Ray's only doing it for the sake of easy cooperation to get the fuck out of this place.]