AN: So, this was a long time in the coming, I know, but I have a very good excuse! I have been mega-hella sick. I started throwing up one day and never stopped. What that all means for you is, this chapter is completely re-imagined, and completely rewritten to include some of the hell I just went through.
I believe this warrants the rating to go up to M, to be safe. Just so you aware. Enjoy. :)
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There is nothing poetic about eating, nor is there anything poetic about war. This doesn't stop people, however, from trying to make them so. In war, they apply words like valor, justice, and sacrifice, straining vigorously to pretty it up with policies, awards, codes, and honors. All war is is two nations hitting each other until one backs down to find out who is more in the right. Eating is in the same predicament. There are all sorts of rules and etiquette to follow, and a person is often ridiculed and looked down upon if the formalities are not followed. More ridiculous still is the many ways in which you prepare your foods, how doing it this way was considered a fine delicacy, while doing it that way is considered crude and barbaric. Ingesting a life form in order to continue your own is by no means a topic of poetry, and those who delight in trying are fools. That being said, there was definitely something poetic about what Kansas was forcing South Dakota to do to North Dakota that pertained to both. Poetic irony was oft blunt as it was flowery.
South Dakota had indeed been selected to be Kansas' and Texas' victim that day; that day having come and gone about six days ago, and who the victim was supposed to be had been disregarded. It was always that way with Kansas, she tended to get bored quickly and make her own temporary amendments to the rules that most of them strictly followed. She wasn't afraid of the repercussions that might follow in the slightest, in fact, she seemed to encourage the disasters that were sure to befall her the next day. She wasn't the only one who played the game to break some rules, to be sure, and she was far from the only wild card, but there was a certain dissatisfaction about her that only boded ill during their play. Perhaps she was flitting from one realm of hurt to the next because she had not found her particular brand of dark muse to play for, perhaps she jumped from torture to torture to avoid guilt, and perhaps she was simply mad. Motives, however, are hardly important as the action in the eyes of those in pain, and South Dakota had entered an area of pain he hadn't know existed not but a week ago.
It had started out like any other day where the game was to be played, awake at dawn, tension building every hour as you attempt to go about your business until fellow states came in, faces dark and menacing, relieving the nerves and replacing them with something more worthy. South Dakota was a hearty state, he could endure a lot without much complaint in the physical realm, but the waiting was an aspect he wasn't very fond of- he was not one for surprise attacks either. He had his pride to think of, after all. His pride, he knew, was his greatest weakness, but he never seemed to be able to put it aside. It was certainly getting him in all kinds of trouble now.
South Dakota clung to the side of the bed, his throat was raw and he tasted blood, there was nothing in his stomach anymore, not even bile, but that didn't stop the heaving. His head was pounding, and he was trembling to hard to move much further then to the edge of the bed, where piles of his watery vomit were spreading across the floor. He reached for another glass of water and sipped it. He knew full well that he wouldn't be able to keep it down, as that much was promised by Kansas, he would be vomiting, but it was so much easier on his stomach and throat when there was something to reject, but this service rendered came at a heavy cost, Kansas made sure of that too. The sound of meat sizzling on a skillet was enough to make him feel queasy all over again, he knew what was coming.
"Another bite, then Dakota." Kansas said. She was known for being friendly, for being welcoming, for being homey and pleasant, but these things where not in this flat, dissatisfied voice, and these things were not on her passive, blank face as she brought a fork with a small bite of meat to his lips. South Dakota recoiled, he did not want to, he did not want to eat it. It would be fine if it were anything else, any other kind of meat, any other kind of thing to ingest… Kansas took his chin lightly in callused hands. South Dakota didn't have the strength to pull away from her and simply gave in to opening his mouth. She inserted the small bite and closed his jaw, when he made no attempt to eat, she commanded softly.
"Chew." She said simply and began to gently coax his jaw into moving. South Dakota obeyed weakly, he really didn't want to be doing this, but what Kansas wanted from him was… His pride, even now, would not allow him to do it. He moved the lump of meat to the back of his throat, and swallowed with much effort. He shivered and tried not to think where the meat came from, tried to block out the flavors that were lingering on his tongue. The desire to vomit came quickly. He threw his head over the side of the bed again and tried not to look, not to see the little ball of meat he had just eaten in the puddle of water around it. He began heaving again, every little drop in his stomach being forced out and mingling with the blood from his throat. South Dakota let out a whimper and collapsed against the bed.
"Texas." Kansas called, almost whispered his name, but he Texas must have heard the small call for he emerged from an adjacent room, wearing and apron speared with brown, and fresh blood. South Dakota turned at the intrusion, he had almost forgot that Texas was to be involved at all, he had almost put it out of his head… But then, he caught a glimpse of what was there in that other room. His brother, his twin, his other half was facing away, chained to a chair. Even from this distance, he could see the slight tremble of his shoulders, but he would never cry. No, not his prideful North, never. There was blood on the floor, and there was more leaking from him, dripping down his legs. Before Texas could swing the door shut, North Dakota craned his neck around, shifting his body enough that South Dakota could see the gaping wound in his chest. They locked eyes, North and South, and South Dakota could no longer pretend to himself that he did not know what he was being served.
"Do you need more?" Texas asked, gesturing to Kansas' depleted supply of raw meat, and South Dakota was broken. Pride be damned, he couldn't do this, he had been eating his brother, he had to stop this, it had been going on for days, he couldn't keep this up, his brother couldn't keep this up, it had to stop!
"I'm sorry!" He wailed, and he would have cried if there was any fluid left in his body. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!" South Dakota was more shouting to his brother in the other room, but this is the sort of thing Kansas wanted to be hearing. She wanted him to plead, to beg, to scream. If it would save them, he would do all of it. "I'll do anything! Please stop this! Please!" Kansas broke into a smile worthy of an award.
"Never mind, Texas, I think we're almost done here…" Kansas was beaming now, just as pleased as punch to hear the panicked light to his voice, but before anything else could be done, there was a screech of metal bending and snapping and a crash of glass shattering. Texas turned quickly and ripped the door off it's hinges, revealing the plain room to be trashed with bits of chains and chair scattered about and a window obliterated, but vacant of North Dakota.
"GOD FUCKING DAMN IT!" Texas roared and launched himself out hole in the wall after him. South Dakota smiled to himself and laid back on the bed; he could always count on North to give 'em hell for him.
He was about to congratulate himself on a game well played, but Kansas was suddenly at his side, scooping him up and throwing him over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He struggled sluggishly against her, still to weak from the constant binge to do any damage even remotely. Then they were off, out after Texas and North Dakota at a break-neck speed, and all South Dakota could do was squirm uncomfortably as he began to feel the whip of branches against him. Where had North run off to? Suddenly he was thrust against the ground, and he was pulled out of his daze and wonder. It was a chilly, moonless night, and the air was crisp and sharp and had a scent that was both foreign and tantalizingly familiar. Were they in Canada? There was a low, displeased growl somewhere beyond his line of vision, but he didn't bother to look, he could tell by the soft thudding of body hitting body that accompanied it that Texas had found North.
The world shifted around him as he was dragged into an upright position, and faced the scene. Texas had North Dakota by the neck, held at arm's length and dangling a few inches off the ground. He wasn't strangling him, per se, just holding him there in anger as North Dakota kicked pathetically against his captor. Texas was livid, he could tell; livid, yet excited. Kansas would surely let him have his way, he earned it after all. He chased down his prey, caught it, and was simply biding in good manners in waiting for the kill. He was always such a gentleman, always let the ladies take their pleasure before he had his. Texas glowered over at them expectantly.
"I don't want to use my bare hands." He snarled after a second of silence.
"I'll hold him while you get a weapon." Kansas said immediately. The note of satisfaction in her voice not missed by anyone. South Dakota was left to crumple against the earth once more as Kansas left him to take hold of his twin.
There was a full minute of cursing and punches exchanged before Kansas managed to subdue him enough to maintain a restrictive hold. She was whispering things into his ear, some of which he caught- a word here, a snippet of a lullaby there- but most of which was simply a symphony of coos and giggles he was sure were frightening and diminutive. He began to raise himself up on his elbows, but was kicked down again almost immediately. That, in a moment of sudden clarity, is when he realized that he was broken, truly and honestly. He was going to be playing the game in earnest now, he realized that his heart and clicked into the right place, Kansas and driven him to the right kind of crazy. How could he have missed it before? There was something pleasing about this state of affairs, something bold and raw (or rather chewy and over-cooked to be literal about it) that he had been resisting, because it was wrong, so very wrong, and yet, and yet there was something undeniably right about it all. He would have to repay the favor, give back what his brother had unwillingly given up to him, and he would have to properly thank Kansas too, for that matter, and he was beginning to form all sorts of plans for her, they were such delicious plans, but that would wait, that would wait… His state of elation was sudden and unbreakable, he resisted the urge to laugh if only to keep the game afoot, he wouldn't want to spoil any of Texas' fun just for his own epiphany.
South Dakota blinked a few times to clear his head. When had Texas reappeared? What was he holding? A stick? No, not just any stick, a hockey stick. Everything was funny to South Dakota just then, and he almost gagged trying to stop himself from laughing out loud. He couldn't somber himself, even as Texas ripped North out of Kansas' grasp and bashed him in the skull with the sports equipment. In fact, it only seemed to heighten his desire to giggle. He wanted to reach out to Texas and say 'I know exactly what you're feeling, brother.' because, judging by that sloppy smile that was plastered across Texas' face with each thud of wood on skull, they were feeling the exact same giddy feeling. Then North Dakota wasn't moving anymore, and Kansas had disappeared and Texas was slipping off between the trees and he was all alone.
He was alone in the woods in Canada, and everything was so god damned funny! He laid back again and looked up at the stars and laughed. He laughed and laughed and laughed until he coughed up blood. He was really beginning to enjoy the game…
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AN: Reviewer shout-out time!
PsuedoDragon: You are now Evil Task Master 2. Your Fail!Whip will forever be a symbol of your illustrious ETM status. Make me proud, PsuedoDragon, make me proud. (And frightened of your evil task management, too.) About the wood-chipper thing… I wouldn't have anyone actually using it on anyone else, per se, but it makes me giggle; it would just be a throw to one of my favorite scenes in Fargo is all. All the States have their own little way to bring on the pain, and a wood chipper is a little too abrupt to use as an actual weapon for Minnesota at least, it just isn't her style. Maybe one of the more southern states might get a kick out of it, but most of the States aren't quite stupid enough to cause that kind of obvious red-flag type damage; most of them. ;P And, as always, I take your suggestions to heart. Preying on phobias is definitely going to somebody's game plan, and that's an interesting drop of information about sound there. Very interesting... And don't you worry about what I'm going to do with those socks of yours; I have plans for them, oh, yes I do. :D
Enilec: I will try my best to avoid making this a torture-chamber story; I'm planning on there being more psychological elements to the story too. I do hope it I write it to your taste.
