Sam glanced up as the faint sound of a screeching siren echoed throughout the school, and he chuckled, pausing as he rifled through a stack of pictures that he'd found in a box.
"Well, would you look at that? Looks like somebody noticed you were missing already. What, is the school going on lockdown or something?" He asked, thoroughly amused, and she said nothing, and twisting her wrists in the bonds again, turning on her side a bit as much as she could manage.
"I have to tell you, Zeldie, I haven't had this much fun on the job in ages. You and me, we'll have a blast. What do you think? You wanna be my partner, sweetheart?" He asked, raising a brow as he watched her practically contort herself on the table. She paused, however, at his use of such an annoying endearment, and raised a brow, her eyes steady on his.
"I am not your 'sweetheart,' nor do I intend on ever being your partner. If you must address me, call me by my given name." She spoke coolly, princess to pauper, and he smirked, setting the pictures aside to lean back in the chair again, balancing on the back legs.
"All right then. Tell me honey, which one should I use? Thomasina Rinaldi? Julianna Harris? Olivia Dorset? Or let's see, maybe Suzanna, Natasha, Amelia, Madeline? You've gone by many names, sweetheart." He said, rolling his eyes as she twisted her wrists again, moving her body so her hair fell free over her arms and the table, a straight fall of black that curled slightly at the ends.
"Any of them will do if you want to pick one. Just refrain from using those foolish endearments." She said, letting her body relax and settle down flat on the table again. She almost, almost had it. A few more minutes, and practically dislocating some vital bones would be worth it.
"Did you know you talk like an old woman, Suzie Q? And you keep moving around like that, you're going to flip the table. Not that that wouldn't be funny as hell, but I don't see you having very much fun when your face hits concrete." He remarked, and when something he couldn't read flashed in her eyes, he barely had time to curse before she twisted her body sharply. Sure enough, the momentum she built up had the table rocking, and then flipping onto its side with an ominous creak that almost had Sam toppling out of his chair.
"God damn it, Esmeralda, I told you." The table had rolled so that Esmeralda was under it, nothing but her fingers and feet visible on either end of it. Cursing her, he bent down to flip the table over again, and didn't have time to register the fact that her hands were no longer sticking out from the end of the table before he felt his feet pulled out from under him.
He saw stars when his head slammed into the floor, and didn't know what hit him when Esmeralda sprung on him, her ankles still tied to the table, the ropes from her wrists sawed free. It took him a moment to remember how to move, and by then she was clawing at him, using her now-free hands to pummel him.
"Shit!" He grabbed his wrists, but it wasn't exactly to push off a female who also happened to be attached to a table. He tasted blood when her fist connected with his jaw, and barely managed to shift away in time to avoid taking a hard blow to the most vulnerable part of his anatomy. She did, however, manage to plow a fist into his shoulder, and for some reason he felt something pierce his flesh, drawing blood. Somehow her elbow connected with his ribs at the same time, and he feared deeply for his internal organs before he managed to lift a leg, connecting his foot with her stomach and kicking back as hard as he could.
Despite himself, he winced when he saw her head connect with first the table, and then the concrete floor, and in different circumstances he might have admired the way she dragged herself up again-as best she could with her ankles attached to what was turning out to be a very sturdy table. But in this case, he went with straight instinct and drew out the knife he'd taken from her earlier.
This time it was he who sprang at her, pouncing on her back and holding the knife to her throat as he had once before. She stopped thrashing beneath him when she felt the blade against her jugular, and, with his breath heavy-almost panting-he dragged her hands behind her back.
"How in the hell did you…well, damn." He scowled fiercely at what he'd assumed to be pinky rings, but was apparently-once you popped the stones out-tiny, razor-sharp blades. No wonder she'd been twisting around so much, he thought, and shook his head in disgust. Muttering under his breath and spitting out a bit of blood, he wrenched the rings off her fingers, and-just in case-ripped the necklace from around her neck.
He hadn't thought she'd be armed with such things when walking around her own school. Obviously he'd miscalculated, and it wasn't something he planned on doing again-not if he wanted to stay alive, that is. His face stung where her nails had dug in-though he supposed her should be grateful it had been her nails and not her blades-and he was going to be limping for quite a while if the throbbing in his knee was any indication.
"You're a damned beast, aren't you? No one told me you fought like a lunatic." Gritting his teeth, he pressed her back up against the table, used a burst of annoyed strength to maneuver the table-crazy girl and all-back up onto its legs. Reaching over, he grabbed the pile of rope he'd left close at hand-just in case-and went to work tying her wrists-tighter than was probably necessary-back down to the table. As an added measure, he took another few lengths of rope and tied down her legs, waist, and shoulders, until she was bound up more than a lunatic in a straight jacket. All the while she glared at him mutinously, and his scowl only deepened when he saw the giant bump in the middle of her forehead, the bloody gashes on her cheeks and jaw.
"I told you you'd slam your face into the concrete if you flipped the table. Don't you ever listen?" He demanded irritably, and used his thumb to brush away a little trail of blood that had run down her cheek. There was a giant bruise, already darkening to a deep purple, on her left temple that spread down to her ear, and it pissed him off that seeing her face bruised had his stomach twisting a bit. Not at all a comfortable sensation, he thought, and wiped blood off his own face with his hand, muttering under his breath about annoying, hard headed hellcats.
"You know what? I take it back. We won't be partners. We'll just keep you in a damned cage until you learn how to behave. You can be Creed's pet. How's that sound, sweetheart?" He snapped, and wasn't surprised when she didn't answer, merely studied the ceiling as the lockdown siren faded away, merely an echo in the otherwise silent chamber.