As the giant robot sentry lumbered out of the cell, I stretched out on the surprisingly comfortable bed to wait for dinner. My captor always insisted on the finest furnishings and cuisine, even for his perpetual prisoner.
Though the kidnappings were an inconvenience, a small part of me had come to look forward to these forced getaways from my ordinary lonely life. My apartment was so quiet and routine, day after day passing with little change or company. But here, I had Vilhelm's undivided attention, as dramatic and over-the-top as it might be. There was a thrill in wondering what new technological terror or scheme they had devised, a comfort in the predictability of their theatrical pontifications about foolish heroes and impending doom. I never feared the threats or traps because escape was never the point for Vilhelm. Only the performance.
Perhaps it was ironic that only by being repeatedly kidnapped did I gain a sense of connection with someone else, even if through overblown artifice. While the masked introductions were unnecessary repetitions, dropping my usual objections might ruin the fun for my captor. Vilhelm lived for crafting elaborate spectacles, and I for once had a role to play. The playacting was more than the nothing waiting back in my apartment, where the hours were undefined and spider mecha did not skitter across the floor on cue.
Still, after months of dramatics, I wondered what might happen if I convinced Vilhelm to unmask and step out of character for a normal conversation. To speak face to face not as captor and captive but as two people who had spent so much time enacting this strange ritual together. Perhaps without the pretense between us, my apartment would not seem so lonely or the days so quiet. But that might land me back there with only silence awaiting, this reprieve from the ordinary lost for good.
Was it time to shatter the illusion, or keep my usual objections unvoiced? For now, as another impressive dinner arrived, I would see how the performance unfolded. Real life could wait while scheming henchmen took their cues and threats of doom swelled anew. If playing prop to Vilhelm's plans granted nights of activity and company otherwise lacking, so be it. The world outside could always come calling soon enough.
trevorforrestmusic t1_j8lg1q1 wrote
Reply to [WP] You are kidnapped by the villain regularly, but you’re starting to look forward to it. You know they won’t hurt you, and are simply being dramatic. It also doesn’t help that you are the only person they ever kidnap. This time, the hero doesn’t bother trying to save you. by SkyGriff10
As the giant robot sentry lumbered out of the cell, I stretched out on the surprisingly comfortable bed to wait for dinner. My captor always insisted on the finest furnishings and cuisine, even for his perpetual prisoner.
Though the kidnappings were an inconvenience, a small part of me had come to look forward to these forced getaways from my ordinary lonely life. My apartment was so quiet and routine, day after day passing with little change or company. But here, I had Vilhelm's undivided attention, as dramatic and over-the-top as it might be. There was a thrill in wondering what new technological terror or scheme they had devised, a comfort in the predictability of their theatrical pontifications about foolish heroes and impending doom. I never feared the threats or traps because escape was never the point for Vilhelm. Only the performance.
Perhaps it was ironic that only by being repeatedly kidnapped did I gain a sense of connection with someone else, even if through overblown artifice. While the masked introductions were unnecessary repetitions, dropping my usual objections might ruin the fun for my captor. Vilhelm lived for crafting elaborate spectacles, and I for once had a role to play. The playacting was more than the nothing waiting back in my apartment, where the hours were undefined and spider mecha did not skitter across the floor on cue.
Still, after months of dramatics, I wondered what might happen if I convinced Vilhelm to unmask and step out of character for a normal conversation. To speak face to face not as captor and captive but as two people who had spent so much time enacting this strange ritual together. Perhaps without the pretense between us, my apartment would not seem so lonely or the days so quiet. But that might land me back there with only silence awaiting, this reprieve from the ordinary lost for good.
Was it time to shatter the illusion, or keep my usual objections unvoiced? For now, as another impressive dinner arrived, I would see how the performance unfolded. Real life could wait while scheming henchmen took their cues and threats of doom swelled anew. If playing prop to Vilhelm's plans granted nights of activity and company otherwise lacking, so be it. The world outside could always come calling soon enough.