Moooaaar Edoverse, again written in Thermalflare's prompt game, what fun.
Prompts: 'He had this system for getting exactly what he wanted out of people.'
'He may have been young, but he wasn't stupid.'
'the way he made tea'
and an extra one, 'the smell of fresh mint'.
Title: Pickled Plum
Pairing: None, implied TCxWarp. Starscreamcentric
Continuity: Edoverse
Wordcount: 779
Rating: R
Warning: Torture, sadism.
He had this system for getting exactly what he wanted out of people. Megatron knew this fact well, and yet every time he saw Starscream with a prisoner, he couldn't help but be impressed. There had been a spy—there was a spy—that had been tailing them since the last village. He'd been careless, and Blitzwing had been observant and from that point on the spy had been doomed. His name was Ishikawa and he had been a rice farmer—but that was all they had been able to get from him out of sheer intimidation. Megatron, tired and more in the mood to watch a show than to give one, had had the man bound hand and foot. He told his second in command to take as long as he liked by whatever means he chose, so long as he extracted from the stubborn peasant the name and rank of his employer before sunset.
Starscream, at the head of his little cluster of Seekers, his face shaded against the sun by his bamboo hat, had been delighted. He may have been young, but he wasn't stupid. The moment they'd set up camp, Starscream had ordered Ramjet out for some bamboo and—after the few minutes' arguing on the compulsively dishonest Seeker's return as to whether or not he actually did have the bamboo when it was quite plainly resting over his shoulder—had started his work. A frame was quickly constructed and the hapless prisoner bound to it. By now, Megatron thought, he must be close to either breaking point or death.
Thundercracker was huddled with Skywarp by the fire, still comforting the terrified man as he trembled and whimpered and clutched at his arrogant companion's dark blue kimono—the discovery of the spy had set Skywarp off—but even they were watching the spectacle that Starscream was performing. The lithe, graceful second in command was… beautiful, Megatron thought to himself, like this. Starscream for all his treachery was, it had to be said, a true master of the art of cold ruthlessness. The Seeker's hair brushed his jawbones as he moved, his red and white kimono draped about his slender body like a merciless, martial geisha. It was the same elegance that suffused everything he did, from the way he made tea to his performance on the battlefield, a katana in each hand, carving through his enemies like a dancer with fans.
Currently, Starscream was busy forcing little splinters of bamboo under the spy's fingernails. His voice rose above the agonized screams of his prisoner—tone full of cold, gloating delight.
"Who do you work for, you dishonourable wretch? The Shogun? A daimyo? Which one? Give me his name!"
The man sobbed and shrieked, incoherent babble spilling from his lips. Starscream smirked, that wicked curve of sinful lips that narrowed one of his eyes, that look that always signified enjoyment. Another chip forced under the next fingernail, another round of screaming. Blood poured from the man's hand, pooling in Starscream's palms and trickling down the Seeker's wrists to drip to the ground below.
The spy broke at the threat of a third finger, begging and pleading with Starscream to let him speak, and telling all. As it happened some businessman, seething over losses from their last raid, had simply hired him to track them, which was as much as could really have been expected from an amateur that let himself get caught. Starscream had looked almost disappointed, but had cut him free and ordered him away, promptly returning to Megatron and bowing curtly, relaying the information. Warm blood still dripped from his fingertips.
The Warlord Megatron was resplendent in his armor and his furs, seated on the ground and still intimidating. He dismissed his second, watching the man turn and sit with his soldiers, washing his hands with water from a flask. The smell of fresh mint rose into the air as twilight fell and Starscream lounged on the ground looking satisfied and delighted, eating rice with his fingers and stretching out sensually by the fire.