Disclaimer: Lash, Dakota, and the little mouse belong to me and are totally of my creation. Use them without permission and I pummel you with macros. The universe they're mucking around in is Marvel's. I'm using it without permission but at no profit whatsoever.
Note: I've finally named my series with Dakota in it. [Took me long enough.] Many thanks goes out to my virtual twin for helping me name it. The series from here on out will be called "Broken Palisades." In my relative time continuity for the series, this takes place well after Climb That Mountain High. [Which I haven't forgotten about! See? I'm working on it. Look. See? Words on the page.] Anyway, Lash comes from my first story The First Step. [Just for a point of reference.]
Feedback: Should be sent to bkittle@creighton.edu.
WARNING: The imagery beyond this point gets graphic. It is very chilling from what I've been told. If you cannot stand torture, read no further.
The Will to Break
By: Beverly McIntyre
The morning light filtered through the broken roof of the slightly dilapidated barn. Splotches of sunlight lanced across the dirty cement floor as the sun rose to a more comfortable position above the horizon. The doors to the barn swung slightly on their hinges as small breeze moved by the wooden sentinels.
The zephyr scurled around a lone figure lounging contentedly on a small wooden chair, her black booted feet propped up on a splintered table nearby. The wind playfully batted her bluish-silver hair. Lying near her feet was a black bag with various pointed tools poking out of the zippered opening. Several tools had blood encrusted on the blades while a couple nearly dripped with blood shed recently. She idly flipped through a dog-eared book entitled The History of Sadism in bold, red letters. Bluish-silver eyes scanned over the text.
She wasn't alone in the building. A dark-haired man knelt in the middle of the floor, arms held apart and above his head by two chains connected to two separate rafters. His blue jeans were dotted with red splotches and his shirt hung in tatters around his waist. His head nodded forward as sleep seductively brushed his senses.
The wind danced up toward the ceiling, brushing past a small, grey mouse. The little creature peeked over the edge of the rafter it was perched on. The small nose working double hard to see if the two giants below were wasting food once again. The mouse had been really content to watch the large man refuse to eat any of the scraps thrown at him. That had left plenty of pickings for the mouse. The creature was becoming slightly plump from the veritable feast for the past three days.
The chains rattled slightly. The woman smiled to herself as she got up from the creaky wooden chair, gently setting the book on the table. Lash padded quietly over to the stirring man, being careful to step around the small fire burning merrily in the middle of the floor.
"G'morning, sunshine," she cooed as she brought his chin up. The swelling was going down in his left eye. Good. The rumors about his abnormally quick healing were true. She smiled wickedly at the thought of dragging this out for days.
"Go to hell," he croaked over dry lips. His eyes not opening to look at her.
"Not for a while yet. Possibly not at all, if I ever get repentant. But that doesn't matter to you, does it?" Lash watched a dry tongue travel over parched lips. "You thirsty? Want something to drink?"
She sauntered over to a jug filled with crystal clear water. She hefted it up, sloshing the liquid. Splatters of water escaped and hammered against the floor. The echos chased a few roosting birds from the dingy eaves. Walking back, Lash was not particularly too careful on how she handled the jug, leaving a trail of water behind her.
She paused. "Want some?"
He didn't answer. He jiggled in his chains slightly, rubbing his wrists raw once more.
"I'll take that as a yes." She dipped a finger into the jug and trailed the moistness across his lips. She watched him fight the urge, but soon biological need overrode the need to not seem weak. His tongue darted out, trying to lap up every bit of moistness. "It's been a long three days, hasn't it?" she asked as she dipped another finger into the jug. She let one drop of water splash down on his tongue.
He grunted slightly and pulled his tongue back into his mouth; he would no longer take this mocking pity from her. She chuckled. "Ultimately childish, don't you think? You'll live for awhile regardless if I feed and water you. That's the nature of the beast that drives you."
She held the jug over his head. She waited a few seconds for him to open his eyes. When he didn't, she upended the container. The water doused him, running in thick streams down his chest, dancing around the slightly puckered scars. Lash stepped back to eye him.
He was holding up remarkably well. The gouges of a few days ago were the faintest of scars currently. The whip lashings were headed toward the same stage. Lash twisted slightly, grabbing a handle sticking out of the fire. She slowly pulled the poker out, her eyes caressing every red-hot inch of iron. Leaning casually over, she lowered the poker, holding it mere inches from his skin. He shifted to try to get away from the heat.
She smirked and set the poker against his skin. A small, animalistic whine escaped from her captive as the poker burned him and caused the water on his chest to sizzle. His skin slid from slightly pinkish to bubbling red quickly under the poker. The slight scent of bacon teased her nose. Lash took a step back to eye her handiwork.
Her prisoner's knuckles were turning an enchanting shade of white as his hands latched onto the chains. His lips drew into a terse line as he fought down the urge to scream. His body wanted to release, to let the world know he was hurt. To vocalize the searing pain across his chest. To let go so it wouldn't hurt anymore. Instead, he swallowed it. It settled in the pit of his stomach as his eyes finally opened to stare balefully at his captor.
"Oh, come on now, luv," Lash said with exaggerated exasperation. "Just one more whimper? Just like old times. You remember don't you? When you were one of us. Oh, wait. You won't remember that. You were never part of us. You were a snake set in our midst to poison us."
Lash could see the muscles in his jaw twitch. He opened his mouth but quickly clamped it shut. A few deep breaths passed through his nose, huffing like a dragon preparing to spout flame. Slowly, he opened his mouth again.
"If you think that," he paused to suppress another scream as she touched the poker against his shoulder. His skin hissed at the contact. He swallowed once before continuing through clenched teeth. "If you think that I'll fall apart from you battering my body, you're sadly mistaken."
"Oh, I know doing this to you will not give me the information I need. You don't need to protect the X-Men. They've done absolutely nothing for you." Lash turned her back on him as she replaced the poker in the fire. She heard the chains jiggle slightly and wondered if he was trying to claw at her undefended body. She smirked. "You're just practice, my dear Dakota. Practice until my compatriots come back with your children."
The dead silence was all the confirmation she needed.
"Yeah, tough break, mate. Your kids and all living on one of those 'Merican reservations. I hear the one they live on has no phone lines at all. Does that mean that they can't call for help when the rest of the Destruction Company shows up at the door? Bet your beloved X-Men were sitting cozily at home while your kids get fondled and manhandled here."
Dakota shifted slightly, pulling on his chains to get himself to his feet. He pulled his shoulders back, brown eyes blazing into the back of Lash's skull.
"I'll kill you, Lash. I'll gut you and use your intestines to strangle you. Can you imagine those slippery coils, Lash? Can you imagine them tightening while your fingers slip off your own blood?"
Lash involuntarily shuddered. The image too vibrant in her own mind.
"Look, ya bloody yank, you're the-ONPHLF!"
Lash staggered backwards as a booted foot caught her under the chin as she turned back to face him. Glowering, Lash spat out a small chunk of her tongue.
"Oh, you'll pay for that," Lash snarled as the coppery taste of blood covered her tongue.
The mouse scurried into a knot hole and down the side of the wall. It came to a small crack in the wall and peaked out. Something was happening, and if there was any food involved, the mouse wanted it. Small, beady eyes watched as the non-trapped human grabbed a detached tail and struck the tall one multiple times. The mouse winced as the man began to bleed again.
How much could this human take, the mouse wondered. The little grey creature would have already been in the great cheese wheel in the sky two days ago. He could just fall over and die to finish this entire incident. In fact, that would be the preferable thing to do. Stupid humans. Have no lick of sense.
The mouse scurried down the rest of the wall, following the twisty pathways created generations ago. It paused at the little mousehole, checking for the shorter human. It didn't see her from inside the hole, so it chanced a peek from outside. Scurrying forward, it spotted the strangely furred woman just outside the rather large mousehole, spitting out blood.
Rather than traipse over there and get infected with some base, human disease, the mouse scurried over to the man with heavy yarn tied around his forepaws. The mouse scurried around, looking for any food stuffs. It paused, looking up at the large human.
He hung slack against the chains, eyes closed lightly as he fought down the urge to scream. The pain was getting harder to bear, but he was determined not to break. His will to survive coupled with spite for the woman doing this to him. Of course, spite had petered a day ago. It was now only by strength of will that kept him from crying like a small child. He would not fail. There were no indications that he'd last much longer, but he wouldn't fall easily. It was no longer about Lash and himself; it was now a race against himself. The urge to give up and crawl away was nearly overpowering. However, he was not going to give up. The urge may have been strong and entirely enticing but it was not what kept him going the last three days.
The chains rattled once more as Dakota settled in. He would be there until it took Lash to figure out that her sadistic desires would not outlast his will.
The mouse looked up at the man. Foolish. Strong, but foolish, it thought before scurrying back to its hole. The sparsely-furred human with the detached mousetail in hand was coming back. The mouse had no desire to stick around for what she would do next. Though, if she began throwing cheese as a means of torture, it would be there, gorging itself in a minute.
~fin~