Warning: This story is based off of characters, events and quite a number of places that belong to Mr. Whedon. I'm not making any money off of this, just playing with his toys for a bit. I promise to put everything back as I've found it as soon as I've finished... unless of course he'd like to let me keep them. (And special thanks to hulettwyo for your support and encouragement)
This is very much not a good thing, the young man thought to himself. He wasn't really sure where he was or what was going on - hell, he wasn't even sure who he was, but he was definitely sure that industrial strength chains were not a good thing to be wearing... especially when they connected to someone's bathroom plumbing.
Also his head hurt - a lot.
Maybe if he sorted through what he did know he could piece together what all happened that landed him here. Or at the very least remember his sodding name.
Right, then. He was currently sitting in the bathtub of a respectable looking loo, dressed in a black tee shirt, black jeans and black boots.
He snorted to himself. Really, who wore boots in a bath? He did, apparently. Although, maybe not by choice. The shackles on his wrists and ankles pointed to a distinct lack of input on his current situation.
He gave an experimental tug on the chains, trying to get a feel for how strong they were. They seemed to be pretty solid, but maybe, if he pulled hard enough, he could pull the pipe they were wrapped round loose. He filed the thought away for later.
He couldn't hear anything going on outside of the bathroom. It certainly didn't sound like anyone else was here. He could smell something good, though... food of some sort. There were a lot of other smells he could pick up, too many to name them all, but the food overpowered everything else. He couldn't quite tell what it was, but the aroma hung in the air like expensive perfume.
He frowned at himself. Like expensive perfume? What was he, some poet wannabe?
He snorted and rolled his eyes at himself. That brought him to back to the beginning, though. Who was he and why was he chained up in a bathroom?
Could be any number of reasons, really. He might've wandered innocently into the home of some sadistic madman. Or, maybe he was the madman and one of his victims broke free and chained him up for the authorities to find. Or, maybe he was a slave of some sort, chained up in the bathroom as punishment for one thing or another.
He looked down at his clothes. He didn't really put off the right attitude to be a madman, he mused. His clothing might ought to be either more ragged or more refined. He was probably dressed too well to be a slave, either, but then he wasn't really sure what a slave would wear in this day and age. He might could be a victim, though, especially if he'd been caught recently, as his clothes and his limbs were all whole and intact. So far, anyway.
His stomach growled, startling him.
He shifted in the bath, trying to find a more comfortable position and avoid thoughts of what a crazed madman would want with him. Whatever his circumstances, he hoped someone fed him soon - he was half starved.