Title: Cracks
Characters: Ayanami and Castor
Rating: M for violence and some blood.
Disclaimer: I DON'T OWN 07-GHOST.
Author note: Me plus not so good mood equals this... I adore Castor... my favorites tend to end up in the line of fire :\ If that makes sense?
Pacing the small cell, a pale hand ran through the silver/purple locks before cold eyes fell on the chained male. Gloved hands held high by the chains, head tilted forward enough to shield blank eyes. The damaged coat had fluttered aside not too long ago, leaving the white shirt and pants that were littered with tears that revealed tiny crimson wounds.
Wordless, the uninjured chief slipped a curled up black whip from his coat and allowed the end to lazily slip to the floor before in a swift movement it cracked up and toward the chained persons arm. A slight jerk at the shocking speed was the only reaction the wielder received from the other before chocolate eyes rose to meet the violet ones, however, immediately looking away as the whip cracked against his leg with a brutal force. The chains preventing him from collapsing to he knee, only allowing a slight weight to go down before the chains protested with resounding clatters.
"Seems you are having trouble standing Fest," the calm harsh tone made the other narrow his eyes more than they normally were, "Good thing you have help then. It would be bothersome if you collapsed."
"Just what do you hope to accomplish with this?" The glasses that had managed to remain flickered white before irritated brown orbs met uninterested red rimmed ones. No answer came, instead the black object cracked against his chest, tearing a large opening into the now staining crimson white shirt.
Cuts littered the slightly dark pale skin, drops to rivers pouring out of the occasionally shaking body. Fluid steps made their way to the other, once in front of the possibly pain flooded body, slender fingers slid under the reddish brown haired mans chin, tilting it up to meet amused eyes with frustrated ones.
"You aren't nearly as beautiful as dear Profe," he continued to stare as the brown eyes widened slightly before the owner lashed out a restrained attempt to punch the military man.
"Keep your hands off him," he growled, grating his teeth together, the other chuckling and slapping him.
"You don't make the rules here, Fest. You are merely a wretched obstacle standing in the way of my goals. You have no room to talk." Snapping the whip up, he used a great deal of force to snap it down onto the ghosts shoulder, a loud grunt following the action. "You have a pretty high endurance, I would expect no less of one of my fragments."
'You think this hurts? Heh, I endured worse emotional pain in my previous life.' The man smiled lightly at his thought. If Verloren thought this hurt, then he hadn't known the anguish of his last life. Compared to that, this was nothing to him. He just hoped Razette and Labrador were okay...
Pulling back, he cracked the whip to the side once with enough force to fling the blood it had gathered on the wall before placing it back into his coat. Glancing at the bleeding and torn up body, he turned to the door, opening it and pausing for a moment.
"Even the broken can be further shattered," a small smirk crossed his face, the door shutting with a snap of the lock behind him.
Startled brown irises fell on the door, trying to piece the meaning together through the haze of screaming bones that had cracked under the pressure. Fluttering shut, the eyes met warm darkness. He would have time to think later, but right now, his body decided to force rest upon him.