The first thing Eugene became aware of was a dull ache at the back of his head. The second was the disorienting sensation of being unable to move his arms. Groaning softly, he opened his eyes, blinking as his vision adjusted to the dim light filtering through the window of what appeared to be... a tower?

"Where..." he muttered, trying to sit up, only to find his body restrained. His wrists were bound together, and when he tugged experimentally, he discovered he wasn't tied with rope. No, this was something far stranger. A shimmer caught his eye, and he followed the long, flowing strands of—hair?—looped tightly around his chest and legs. It wound around him like a trap, a glittering snare that held him firmly against the wooden chair.

"Well, this is... creative," he said, his voice hoarse but laced with the hint of a smirk. "Points for originality, I guess." He tilted his head, scanning the room. It was small and cozy, filled with an assortment of paintings, books, and handcrafted decorations. This was definitely no ordinary hideout.

That's when he spotted someone standing a few feet away, watching him. Eugene's green eyes darted to them—a figure with determined posture and wary eyes, holding what looked like a cast iron frying pan. It was raised slightly, clearly prepared for round two if he made the wrong move.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" he said quickly, raising his hands—or attempting to, since they were still tightly bound. "Hey, easy! I'm already tied up. No need to go full medieval on me again!" His tone was light, but his heart raced. He wasn't exactly in a position to negotiate, and something about their unflinching stance told him they meant business.