ninjago imagines

burn that cigarette, boy | lloyd g.

(Title taken from Dress - Charlotte Sands)

a/n: ya girl is back to writing again! and ive dyed my hair pink :P rocky start but we'll see how it goes

[Unfortunately for Lloyd, lock picking isn't as easy as it is in movies.
Or, Lloyd attempts to escape from his chains whilst in Harumi's lair, and fails. Miserably.]

"Hurts, doesn't it?" Lloyd can still hear her voice, echoing through his ears as she glances at through half lidded eyes, eyeing the vengestone circling his hands almost lazily, as if it doesn't matter if he wears it or not. (He wonders if it would. If he'd still hesitate to run, fists trembling at his side as he just can't fight her.)

And it does hurt, the stone cuffing his wrists so tight it risks cutting off his bloodflow. Every movement he makes cuts into his raw skin where he's rubbed it bloody in desperation, crimson staining golden gray.

Lloyd doesn't respond, doesn't give her the satisfaction of listening to him struggle to form words through his ruined throat, and turns around, leaning into his side, fingers curling around the sliver of metal he's scraped off the walls, pricking into his skin.

Pathetic, a voice that sounds suspiciously like his father says, and Lloyd ignores it steadfastly, gripping it firmly. He has enough ghosts rattling around his head now without another one to add to the list, and enough troubles to worry about without them.

He twists his wrists, biting down on his lip at the twinge of pain that shoots up his arm at the feeling, and fits the makeshift lockpick into the lock. He's never been the best at picking locks, not at Darkley and not the last four times (or has it been more? He can't remember), but he'll find a way to do it, because he will get out.

He has to.

Below him, he hears Harumi give a sigh and slam the doors shut, the resounding bang shaking his cage, and reminding him just how many more obstacles he has to get through after the cuffs.

If you even get out of them, the voice adds, tinged with a touch of sick humour, and Lloyd tells it to shut up, cause he will, and wiggles around the pick a little more, feeling the workings inside his cuff.

A dangerous tiny scrape sounds from it, and he catches his breath and forces himself to stop, slow down, because the last one he had took him so close before breaking to pieces in his cuff, and led to a hour of painstakingly shaking them out.

There's an audible click and his heart leaps in exaltation, because maybe this is finally it please please please— before it drops down his throat breathtakingly fast again as he pulls his hand back, and only half his pick returns.

Of course it's snapped, the voice gloats, and Lloyd doesn't have the heart to retort this time, slumping back with another rush of pain up his arms, cuffs clinging tight as he flicks the useless half away, falling through the bars and clinking softly onto the ground so far down. Maybe Harumi will spot it and make him pay for trying to escape, or maybe she'll just take it as another sign he really can't escape. What does it matter, now?

Frustrated tears rise to his eyes, blurring his vision, and for a moment Lloyd can squint into the distance and pretend he's in the monastery's courtyard, the Bounty's living room, the familiar curve of Kai pulling him in for a hug, anywhere but here.

When he finally opens his eyes, he's still staring at the ungiving gold lined bars, wrists still aching.

Useless, the voice hisses, and this time Lloyd doesn't deny it.