*~*
Trigun isn't mine, never will be.
Warning: Torture ahead, nothing too graphic. Also, this is my first attempt at a torture scene, so if it seems...strange, that's why. I generally don't spend my time thinking up ways to hurt people.
Danke, random fan, and once again to Alucard! I have fans, I'm so happy! ^.^ Hope I can keep you guys happy.
*~*
An hour later Trieste tapped the counter lightly to show she was ready to pay and leave. Leaving cash and a tip, she slung her small pack over her shoulder and walked up the wooden stairs to where the bedrooms were. There were twelve in all; she had number ten herself. Stopping at number seven, she paused to think. She knew exactly what he was expecting; some half-dressed twenty-year old with more sexual escapades in a year some women get in their lives. She did not fit that picture in any way, but all Trieste had to do was get the guy to open his door. She could fake it. She had seen this more times than she cared to count. Clearing her throat, Trieste closed her eyes then lightly rapped on the door.
'Hello,' she called out in her real voice. 'Did someone ask for some...company?' She could hear footsteps inside.
'No, I asked for entertainment!'
'Well...how about entertaining company, baby?' Trieste winced slightly; she didn't enjoy playing this part.
'That sounds more like it!' She listened closely and could hear a faint rustling; was he undressing? Trieste blanched then forced herself to keep talking.
'Are you all alone in their big boy?'
'You bet I am!' He was getting closer towards the door and Trieste placed her hand on her gun, which gave her one last idea to keep him off-guard.
'I hope you don't have that big gun of yours drawn yet, sugar.'
'Not yet, baby, not yet,' he replied as he opened the door to a dark, hooded figure.
'Good, cause I do!' Trieste's voice was harsh and she shoved the gun into his bare chest. 'Get inside, now.' Unable to do anything except what she commanded, he raised his arms and backed inside. She followed and closed the door behind them quickly and locked it. 'Pull out that chair into the middle of the room and sit down.' He nodded and dragged the chair over. Trieste jerked off her hood, then slipped the entire cloak off as she dropped her pack onto the floor and sat down on a small table, gun in hand. She paused to peruse the half-naked man sitting nervously in front of her. He was only four or five years younger than she was, and might have been cute if he wasn't so sneaky looking. His frame was wiry, a runner if anything, and he only had his trousers on, the belt unbuckled. No shoes. He tried to stare back at her, but found himself unable to meet her chilling gaze. 'Now. We can do this one of two ways. The easy way where you give me all the information I want and you're rewarded-' she pulled out what looked like a large sum of money. '-or you can hold onto your pathetic idea of loyalty and speak after a long session of torture which may or may not lead to your death.' His eyes bulged. 'Whether you die or not depends on how long it takes for you to break. Some of the others spoke relatively quickly.'
'O-others?' he gulped out. Trieste smiled mockingly at him.
'I'm well-versed in this area, and you can thank Legato for that. Now I know,' she continued, getting up from the table and speaking casually and flippantly. 'that Legato holds all of you under his control through fear. Tell anyone you work for Legato, you're killed. Tell anyone any information about Legato and you're tortured. Fail a mission, you're tortured-and *then* killed.' The man stared at Trieste, his jaw hanging slightly open. 'Oh, don't look so shocked you pathetic moron. I know all about your master. He owes me fifteen years of life...ah but that's old news.' She strode purposefully in front of him. 'So are we gonna take the easy road or the hard road?'
'Legato-Legato will kill me-'
'Unlikely. Has he ever...seen your face? Does he know your name? Do you think I'm going to remember you after I leave? I've taken so many of you assholes down, your faces are all blurry. And depending on how much information you give me, Legato will be dead before he realizes someone slipped some extra information somewhere. So save yourself some pain, and talk. Where is Legato's stronghold? Where is he right now? What's the quickest way to get there?' She shot her questions out like bullets, but he just turned his head away and said nothing. Sliding her gun back into its holster, she sat down on her haunches, looked him right in the face and waved the wad of money in front of him. 'C'mon, kid, extra money! Shit, I'll even pay for your stay here. Be rewarded or suffer some pain and fear.' He looked up, glowering and suddenly shot his hands out towards her throat so he could choke her to death. But her hands were faster, and she had been waiting. Her hands came up and before he could get a grip on her throat, she threw his hands to the sides of his body, away from her face and sprung up, knocking him and the chair over. Before he could fight back, she pulled a switchblade out and held it to his throat.
'Like the blade? It's one of Legato's models. After dealing with one of your friends, I realized the benefits of always keeping a knife on hand and not just with my horse.' She pushed the blade in a bit harder, making a slight indent on his skin.
'Bitch!' he bit out bravely. Trieste chuckled, shaking her head. With her free hand she quickly pulled her gun back out and cocked it. Slowly she slid the knife away and stood up. He remained sprawled at her feet, shocked to have met a person, let alone a woman, who was so willing and able to harm him. Her mocking smile faded away to a cool detachment and she motioned to the over turned chair.
'Pick it up and sit back down.' Watching him out of the corner of her eye, Trieste went to the floor and began to go through her pack. A few seconds later she produced a length of thin, black rope, hardly thicker than a shoelace. She snapped it between her hands, then pulled out some more. 'I also learned to carry this around as well. It's tie-line, used to tie things together than need to be together for a long time. Used by movers, and builders all over.' She walked behind him and pulled his hands behind the chair and began to tie his wrists together. 'It's very strong stuff, holds a knot well.' He winced as she tugged the tie-line and slightly cut off the circulation to his hands. She swiftly tied his ankles to the chair legs.
'You'll never get me to talk!' he boasted. 'I'm of Legato's men!' She shrugged off-handedly.
'When I'm done you will be very eager to chat, believe me. But for now...' she picked up his shirt and pulled a red handkerchief out of the breast pocket then tied it around his mouth. 'Say something.' From the tone of his voice, he had insulted her, but all Trieste could hear was a muffled grunt. She walked to the window and pulled the shade down slowly. When she turned around he could not read her face; she seemed coolly indifferent yet highly engaged at the same time as she stepped towards him, knife in hand.
'Now I like this blade. It came as a double gift-'she lightly ran her finger over the faint scar along her jaw line. '-that was given back in threefold. I like giving gifts, you know?' As she spoke she ran the blade forcefully but slowly over his left cheek in a long, thin line. He squeezed his eyes shut, holding back tears. Blood trickled down his chin in tiny streams. 'I didn't bother to actually carry the knife on me until a while ago. The benefits became quite obvious. I keep it very very sharp, as you can tell-' she jabbed the tip into his left shoulder, then pulled down with a slash, creating a much deeper but shorter wound that cause him to give out a strangled cry of pain. 'So tell me about Legato.'
A shallow, long slice across his stomach.
'Where's his fortress?'
A swift, deeper cut onto the side of his right arm, near the elbow.
'What does he look like?'
A long, deep slice into his side that sent tears streaming down his face and muffled screams to go no where but the cotton handkerchief stuffed in his mouth. She held it there and wiggled it slightly, causing him to spasm, creating more pain.
'What is your particular mission anyway? Where are the others?'
A quick pull under his jaw, close to his neck. A quick, deep jab into his right thigh that she didn't pull out immediately. She looked him right in the eyes. 'Whenever you're ready to talk. But believe me, this is nothing. I like to start out slowly. A...personal preference.' His eyes shot daggers at her, but she just shrugged. Because the chair was somewhat short and small, a good portion of his upper back was exposed. Trieste deftly pulled the knife from his leg and walked around him carefully. Standing behind him, she began to put nicks into his skin at every vertebrae. He flinched at each one, and didn't bother to wonder why she wasn't asking him questions at the moment. She then began cutting into the outlines of his shoulder blades, and began to scrape the side of the blade across his back, as if peeling his skin. He grunted and groaned and the stings and slashes, but he could take it so far. But she was eerily silent, carving and carving as if he was a piece of wood she was sculpting and he felt the incredible urge to scream. She then put two thick and long cuts down his neck.
'Tell me where Legato can be found.'
She walked to his front and began to slice around his pectoral muscles as if they were outlines she was tracing with a pen.
'How far of a ride is it on horse? Where are you meeting the other men?' She was becoming slightly irritated, which somehow managed to amuse him. She saw it in his eyes and grimaced. She leaned over his body and as she whispered 'You will fucking talk,' she jammed the blade into this left nipple, which produced an audible yell, but not one to be heard by anyone outside the room. Staring into his eyes, she slowly began to twist the blade, causing him to jerk and shake violently, trying to move his chair. She viciously slapped the right side of his face with such force he was somewhat dizzy and he stopped jerking around. She continued to twist it deeper and he kept screaming in anguish but there was no one to hear him.
'How about now? Care to talk?' He forced himself to shake his head, reminding himself about his loyalty to Legato, but more importantly, how much worse Legato's torture would be. He received the knife into his other nipple, and it was turned ever so agonizingly and slowly. After that it was a slightly blur of continuous cuts and slices and questions that tried to burn their way into his mind. He became vaguely aware that there was no new pain being administered to him after awhile. Looking down at his body, all he could see was red streaks across his skin, some bright red, some almost purple. He felt like he was floating and disjointed, as if his pain and his wounds were separated. Lifting his head, he saw Trieste staring at him expectantly.
'Don't faint on me just yet.' She turned back to her back and pulled out a medium sized plastic bottle of some generic liquid soap. 'I like this soap. It's massed produced, and cheap because whatever chemicals they use is found in abundance on this God-forsaken planet.' Her words held little meaning for the bloody man, and his head slumped a little but she continued to speak. 'I have had only one problem with this soap, and it's generally small-generally. I found that when I washed an open wound with it-' she poured a small amount onto the tips of her fingers. '-they burned like nothing I had ever felt. It feels like acid, or at least what I imagine acid would feel like. It hurt me so much I had to stop using it, which is saying a lot. It's one of the ingredients used, the main one. It doesn't heal wounds, doesn't help them. If anything, it aggravates your cuts with an immense amount of pain.' She smeared the amount onto his destroyed hole of a left nipple. The pain seared through him like the acid she spoke of and his scream would have been loud enough to hear, had there been anyone to listen. He continued his muffled yelling as she pasted the cream all over his wounds. Soon his entire body was a sickening shade of pale pink with deep red strokes here and there. She was a bit bloody as well, having brushed against him time to time, but there wasn't much. Her hands were the same shade of pink, though. When she stopped, he was crying openly and jerking his arms as if he could release himself. Several times his head rolled back and he stared at the open bathroom door longingly. He considered talking when she gave a sigh of resignation.
'Well, you have a stronger will than I anticipated. I usually do more but I don't feel like going to my horse. So I'm just going to rinse you off and go. Legato would be proud.' She walked into the bathroom and he heard a knob turning, then the rush of water. A minute later she came back out, knife still in hand, and cut the tie-line that held his feet to the chair legs. When she faced him, Trieste saw an open look of relief in his eyes. Unable to help herself, she began to laugh bitterly. 'Oh, you fool, you think I'm letting you go? Ha!' She reached down and picked him up by his neck, chair and all. He gurgled as she squeezed his throat, then reached over and shook loose the chair so that it clattered to the floor. She tossed him to the side, sending him crashing into the wall, smashing his elbow and shoulder. She then re-tied his feet together, then bound his wrists to his legs so that he resembled and odd-shaped 'o'. Grabbing his ankles, she dragged him across the floor into the bathroom and shut the door. When she sat him up to put him in the tub, he saw steam rising from under the faucet. She dropped him into the tub face down, causing him to bash his nose and let out more blood. The tub was empty and dry; the stopper had not been put into the drain. 'This is your last chance because I'm tired. I don't feel like being elaborate and talented at the moment, so if you don't talk now, you're just going to fucking die for some asshole you've probably never seen and who doesn't give a shit about you.' She braced her arm across his head, pinning it loosely to the bottom of the tub. 'If you feel like talking, go ahead and bang your head three times against the side of the tub and I shall pull you out quickly so that I can get my answers.' She turned the knob back a bit, slowing the water then carefully put in the stopper. The tub very, very slowly began to fill, the water seeping towards his face at a terrifyingly sloth-like pace. He was face down, unable to escape, but he kept trying to convince himself that this was nothing compared to what Legato could do. But that became less and less important as the steaming water reached his face and began to burn his possibly broken nose. His forehead burned and began to blister as the water hit it and rose; the handkerchief did nothing to buffer his skin as the scalding water plastered it to his face. He thought that perhaps boiling to death was the worst way to die when he suddenly realized she wasn't just going to burn him-he was being drowned as well! He kept breathing in a mixture of blood and burning water through his nose and he could barely get any air through his mouth.
'Just tell me about Legato and you shall be released. Just think of the cold water running down your skin, washing away the acidic soap, easing your burns. Think of gauze and ointment healing you. No more blood, you'll be able to breath. All you have to do is talk for a little while.' Her words were spoken softly into his ear, which he realized had been sliced as well at some point. The lack of oxygen and the insufferable pain finally allowed him to feebly hit the side three times. He was immediately whisked out of the tub and onto the floor of the bathroom. She untied the bloody rag from his mouth, then sat down on the side of the tub and casually turned off the water.
'Alright, the faster you talk, the sooner you'll be OK. What is your mission?'
He didn't speak for a few moments, but finally mustered the ability to talk clearly. 'I...I was investigating a family that Legato has history with...finding out where they are.' His breath was shallow and quick, and his eyes were closed as he laid on the floor. 'I was supposed to find out about friends...other family...report back to the doctor-'
'Ah, yes, that doctor. I've heard vaguely of him, what's his name?'
'I dunno,' he replied, struggling for breath. 'He hasn't told us and from what I can tell, he will not release it. He's just the doctor...Legato's assistant of some sort...' he coughed a few times.
'Where are you heading? Are you meeting someone?' He feebly nodded against the tile floor.
'I was joining a group of four in a town ten miles North-East from New Eire...' he coughed again.
'Where is Legato located?'
'I don't know exactly. He's been...taking...precautions the past few years. When I was recruited...they took me blindfolded across the dessert...didn't know where we were. But I remember that there's...mountains to the...East. A very long...mountain range...' His words were becoming less and less audible, less understandable.
'What does his fortress look like?'
'Giant fucking stone building...built with lost technology. A few miles away from a mining town...' Trieste could see he was slipping further and further away.
'Alright...have you ever seen Legato face to face?'
'...no,' he whispered.
With that, Trieste turned on the cold water and began to drain the tub. She hauled the man into the tub, then turned on the shower faucet, allowing the freezing water to blast him. He gasped at the cold, but didn't move as the water washed away the soap and blood and eased his burns. He wasn't aware of Trieste as she rummaged through his bags and flipped through books. He didn't realize that he hadn't stopped bleeding from the deep gashes inflicted upon his body. He didn't understand that he was soon going to slip out of consciousness, and never wake up.
Swiftly throwing on her cloak, Trieste briefly considered getting her tie-line back, but decided against it. She put a small writing book that had been in his bag into hers, then closed the bathroom door on the pale, wet figure in the tub. As she left, she hung the complimentary 'Do Not Disturb' door knob sign that more and more places were carrying on the door knob and quickly went to her own room. She left the next morning, but the man was not found until the day after when the bartender decided he wanted the payment.
Trigun isn't mine, never will be.
Warning: Torture ahead, nothing too graphic. Also, this is my first attempt at a torture scene, so if it seems...strange, that's why. I generally don't spend my time thinking up ways to hurt people.
Danke, random fan, and once again to Alucard! I have fans, I'm so happy! ^.^ Hope I can keep you guys happy.
*~*
An hour later Trieste tapped the counter lightly to show she was ready to pay and leave. Leaving cash and a tip, she slung her small pack over her shoulder and walked up the wooden stairs to where the bedrooms were. There were twelve in all; she had number ten herself. Stopping at number seven, she paused to think. She knew exactly what he was expecting; some half-dressed twenty-year old with more sexual escapades in a year some women get in their lives. She did not fit that picture in any way, but all Trieste had to do was get the guy to open his door. She could fake it. She had seen this more times than she cared to count. Clearing her throat, Trieste closed her eyes then lightly rapped on the door.
'Hello,' she called out in her real voice. 'Did someone ask for some...company?' She could hear footsteps inside.
'No, I asked for entertainment!'
'Well...how about entertaining company, baby?' Trieste winced slightly; she didn't enjoy playing this part.
'That sounds more like it!' She listened closely and could hear a faint rustling; was he undressing? Trieste blanched then forced herself to keep talking.
'Are you all alone in their big boy?'
'You bet I am!' He was getting closer towards the door and Trieste placed her hand on her gun, which gave her one last idea to keep him off-guard.
'I hope you don't have that big gun of yours drawn yet, sugar.'
'Not yet, baby, not yet,' he replied as he opened the door to a dark, hooded figure.
'Good, cause I do!' Trieste's voice was harsh and she shoved the gun into his bare chest. 'Get inside, now.' Unable to do anything except what she commanded, he raised his arms and backed inside. She followed and closed the door behind them quickly and locked it. 'Pull out that chair into the middle of the room and sit down.' He nodded and dragged the chair over. Trieste jerked off her hood, then slipped the entire cloak off as she dropped her pack onto the floor and sat down on a small table, gun in hand. She paused to peruse the half-naked man sitting nervously in front of her. He was only four or five years younger than she was, and might have been cute if he wasn't so sneaky looking. His frame was wiry, a runner if anything, and he only had his trousers on, the belt unbuckled. No shoes. He tried to stare back at her, but found himself unable to meet her chilling gaze. 'Now. We can do this one of two ways. The easy way where you give me all the information I want and you're rewarded-' she pulled out what looked like a large sum of money. '-or you can hold onto your pathetic idea of loyalty and speak after a long session of torture which may or may not lead to your death.' His eyes bulged. 'Whether you die or not depends on how long it takes for you to break. Some of the others spoke relatively quickly.'
'O-others?' he gulped out. Trieste smiled mockingly at him.
'I'm well-versed in this area, and you can thank Legato for that. Now I know,' she continued, getting up from the table and speaking casually and flippantly. 'that Legato holds all of you under his control through fear. Tell anyone you work for Legato, you're killed. Tell anyone any information about Legato and you're tortured. Fail a mission, you're tortured-and *then* killed.' The man stared at Trieste, his jaw hanging slightly open. 'Oh, don't look so shocked you pathetic moron. I know all about your master. He owes me fifteen years of life...ah but that's old news.' She strode purposefully in front of him. 'So are we gonna take the easy road or the hard road?'
'Legato-Legato will kill me-'
'Unlikely. Has he ever...seen your face? Does he know your name? Do you think I'm going to remember you after I leave? I've taken so many of you assholes down, your faces are all blurry. And depending on how much information you give me, Legato will be dead before he realizes someone slipped some extra information somewhere. So save yourself some pain, and talk. Where is Legato's stronghold? Where is he right now? What's the quickest way to get there?' She shot her questions out like bullets, but he just turned his head away and said nothing. Sliding her gun back into its holster, she sat down on her haunches, looked him right in the face and waved the wad of money in front of him. 'C'mon, kid, extra money! Shit, I'll even pay for your stay here. Be rewarded or suffer some pain and fear.' He looked up, glowering and suddenly shot his hands out towards her throat so he could choke her to death. But her hands were faster, and she had been waiting. Her hands came up and before he could get a grip on her throat, she threw his hands to the sides of his body, away from her face and sprung up, knocking him and the chair over. Before he could fight back, she pulled a switchblade out and held it to his throat.
'Like the blade? It's one of Legato's models. After dealing with one of your friends, I realized the benefits of always keeping a knife on hand and not just with my horse.' She pushed the blade in a bit harder, making a slight indent on his skin.
'Bitch!' he bit out bravely. Trieste chuckled, shaking her head. With her free hand she quickly pulled her gun back out and cocked it. Slowly she slid the knife away and stood up. He remained sprawled at her feet, shocked to have met a person, let alone a woman, who was so willing and able to harm him. Her mocking smile faded away to a cool detachment and she motioned to the over turned chair.
'Pick it up and sit back down.' Watching him out of the corner of her eye, Trieste went to the floor and began to go through her pack. A few seconds later she produced a length of thin, black rope, hardly thicker than a shoelace. She snapped it between her hands, then pulled out some more. 'I also learned to carry this around as well. It's tie-line, used to tie things together than need to be together for a long time. Used by movers, and builders all over.' She walked behind him and pulled his hands behind the chair and began to tie his wrists together. 'It's very strong stuff, holds a knot well.' He winced as she tugged the tie-line and slightly cut off the circulation to his hands. She swiftly tied his ankles to the chair legs.
'You'll never get me to talk!' he boasted. 'I'm of Legato's men!' She shrugged off-handedly.
'When I'm done you will be very eager to chat, believe me. But for now...' she picked up his shirt and pulled a red handkerchief out of the breast pocket then tied it around his mouth. 'Say something.' From the tone of his voice, he had insulted her, but all Trieste could hear was a muffled grunt. She walked to the window and pulled the shade down slowly. When she turned around he could not read her face; she seemed coolly indifferent yet highly engaged at the same time as she stepped towards him, knife in hand.
'Now I like this blade. It came as a double gift-'she lightly ran her finger over the faint scar along her jaw line. '-that was given back in threefold. I like giving gifts, you know?' As she spoke she ran the blade forcefully but slowly over his left cheek in a long, thin line. He squeezed his eyes shut, holding back tears. Blood trickled down his chin in tiny streams. 'I didn't bother to actually carry the knife on me until a while ago. The benefits became quite obvious. I keep it very very sharp, as you can tell-' she jabbed the tip into his left shoulder, then pulled down with a slash, creating a much deeper but shorter wound that cause him to give out a strangled cry of pain. 'So tell me about Legato.'
A shallow, long slice across his stomach.
'Where's his fortress?'
A swift, deeper cut onto the side of his right arm, near the elbow.
'What does he look like?'
A long, deep slice into his side that sent tears streaming down his face and muffled screams to go no where but the cotton handkerchief stuffed in his mouth. She held it there and wiggled it slightly, causing him to spasm, creating more pain.
'What is your particular mission anyway? Where are the others?'
A quick pull under his jaw, close to his neck. A quick, deep jab into his right thigh that she didn't pull out immediately. She looked him right in the eyes. 'Whenever you're ready to talk. But believe me, this is nothing. I like to start out slowly. A...personal preference.' His eyes shot daggers at her, but she just shrugged. Because the chair was somewhat short and small, a good portion of his upper back was exposed. Trieste deftly pulled the knife from his leg and walked around him carefully. Standing behind him, she began to put nicks into his skin at every vertebrae. He flinched at each one, and didn't bother to wonder why she wasn't asking him questions at the moment. She then began cutting into the outlines of his shoulder blades, and began to scrape the side of the blade across his back, as if peeling his skin. He grunted and groaned and the stings and slashes, but he could take it so far. But she was eerily silent, carving and carving as if he was a piece of wood she was sculpting and he felt the incredible urge to scream. She then put two thick and long cuts down his neck.
'Tell me where Legato can be found.'
She walked to his front and began to slice around his pectoral muscles as if they were outlines she was tracing with a pen.
'How far of a ride is it on horse? Where are you meeting the other men?' She was becoming slightly irritated, which somehow managed to amuse him. She saw it in his eyes and grimaced. She leaned over his body and as she whispered 'You will fucking talk,' she jammed the blade into this left nipple, which produced an audible yell, but not one to be heard by anyone outside the room. Staring into his eyes, she slowly began to twist the blade, causing him to jerk and shake violently, trying to move his chair. She viciously slapped the right side of his face with such force he was somewhat dizzy and he stopped jerking around. She continued to twist it deeper and he kept screaming in anguish but there was no one to hear him.
'How about now? Care to talk?' He forced himself to shake his head, reminding himself about his loyalty to Legato, but more importantly, how much worse Legato's torture would be. He received the knife into his other nipple, and it was turned ever so agonizingly and slowly. After that it was a slightly blur of continuous cuts and slices and questions that tried to burn their way into his mind. He became vaguely aware that there was no new pain being administered to him after awhile. Looking down at his body, all he could see was red streaks across his skin, some bright red, some almost purple. He felt like he was floating and disjointed, as if his pain and his wounds were separated. Lifting his head, he saw Trieste staring at him expectantly.
'Don't faint on me just yet.' She turned back to her back and pulled out a medium sized plastic bottle of some generic liquid soap. 'I like this soap. It's massed produced, and cheap because whatever chemicals they use is found in abundance on this God-forsaken planet.' Her words held little meaning for the bloody man, and his head slumped a little but she continued to speak. 'I have had only one problem with this soap, and it's generally small-generally. I found that when I washed an open wound with it-' she poured a small amount onto the tips of her fingers. '-they burned like nothing I had ever felt. It feels like acid, or at least what I imagine acid would feel like. It hurt me so much I had to stop using it, which is saying a lot. It's one of the ingredients used, the main one. It doesn't heal wounds, doesn't help them. If anything, it aggravates your cuts with an immense amount of pain.' She smeared the amount onto his destroyed hole of a left nipple. The pain seared through him like the acid she spoke of and his scream would have been loud enough to hear, had there been anyone to listen. He continued his muffled yelling as she pasted the cream all over his wounds. Soon his entire body was a sickening shade of pale pink with deep red strokes here and there. She was a bit bloody as well, having brushed against him time to time, but there wasn't much. Her hands were the same shade of pink, though. When she stopped, he was crying openly and jerking his arms as if he could release himself. Several times his head rolled back and he stared at the open bathroom door longingly. He considered talking when she gave a sigh of resignation.
'Well, you have a stronger will than I anticipated. I usually do more but I don't feel like going to my horse. So I'm just going to rinse you off and go. Legato would be proud.' She walked into the bathroom and he heard a knob turning, then the rush of water. A minute later she came back out, knife still in hand, and cut the tie-line that held his feet to the chair legs. When she faced him, Trieste saw an open look of relief in his eyes. Unable to help herself, she began to laugh bitterly. 'Oh, you fool, you think I'm letting you go? Ha!' She reached down and picked him up by his neck, chair and all. He gurgled as she squeezed his throat, then reached over and shook loose the chair so that it clattered to the floor. She tossed him to the side, sending him crashing into the wall, smashing his elbow and shoulder. She then re-tied his feet together, then bound his wrists to his legs so that he resembled and odd-shaped 'o'. Grabbing his ankles, she dragged him across the floor into the bathroom and shut the door. When she sat him up to put him in the tub, he saw steam rising from under the faucet. She dropped him into the tub face down, causing him to bash his nose and let out more blood. The tub was empty and dry; the stopper had not been put into the drain. 'This is your last chance because I'm tired. I don't feel like being elaborate and talented at the moment, so if you don't talk now, you're just going to fucking die for some asshole you've probably never seen and who doesn't give a shit about you.' She braced her arm across his head, pinning it loosely to the bottom of the tub. 'If you feel like talking, go ahead and bang your head three times against the side of the tub and I shall pull you out quickly so that I can get my answers.' She turned the knob back a bit, slowing the water then carefully put in the stopper. The tub very, very slowly began to fill, the water seeping towards his face at a terrifyingly sloth-like pace. He was face down, unable to escape, but he kept trying to convince himself that this was nothing compared to what Legato could do. But that became less and less important as the steaming water reached his face and began to burn his possibly broken nose. His forehead burned and began to blister as the water hit it and rose; the handkerchief did nothing to buffer his skin as the scalding water plastered it to his face. He thought that perhaps boiling to death was the worst way to die when he suddenly realized she wasn't just going to burn him-he was being drowned as well! He kept breathing in a mixture of blood and burning water through his nose and he could barely get any air through his mouth.
'Just tell me about Legato and you shall be released. Just think of the cold water running down your skin, washing away the acidic soap, easing your burns. Think of gauze and ointment healing you. No more blood, you'll be able to breath. All you have to do is talk for a little while.' Her words were spoken softly into his ear, which he realized had been sliced as well at some point. The lack of oxygen and the insufferable pain finally allowed him to feebly hit the side three times. He was immediately whisked out of the tub and onto the floor of the bathroom. She untied the bloody rag from his mouth, then sat down on the side of the tub and casually turned off the water.
'Alright, the faster you talk, the sooner you'll be OK. What is your mission?'
He didn't speak for a few moments, but finally mustered the ability to talk clearly. 'I...I was investigating a family that Legato has history with...finding out where they are.' His breath was shallow and quick, and his eyes were closed as he laid on the floor. 'I was supposed to find out about friends...other family...report back to the doctor-'
'Ah, yes, that doctor. I've heard vaguely of him, what's his name?'
'I dunno,' he replied, struggling for breath. 'He hasn't told us and from what I can tell, he will not release it. He's just the doctor...Legato's assistant of some sort...' he coughed a few times.
'Where are you heading? Are you meeting someone?' He feebly nodded against the tile floor.
'I was joining a group of four in a town ten miles North-East from New Eire...' he coughed again.
'Where is Legato located?'
'I don't know exactly. He's been...taking...precautions the past few years. When I was recruited...they took me blindfolded across the dessert...didn't know where we were. But I remember that there's...mountains to the...East. A very long...mountain range...' His words were becoming less and less audible, less understandable.
'What does his fortress look like?'
'Giant fucking stone building...built with lost technology. A few miles away from a mining town...' Trieste could see he was slipping further and further away.
'Alright...have you ever seen Legato face to face?'
'...no,' he whispered.
With that, Trieste turned on the cold water and began to drain the tub. She hauled the man into the tub, then turned on the shower faucet, allowing the freezing water to blast him. He gasped at the cold, but didn't move as the water washed away the soap and blood and eased his burns. He wasn't aware of Trieste as she rummaged through his bags and flipped through books. He didn't realize that he hadn't stopped bleeding from the deep gashes inflicted upon his body. He didn't understand that he was soon going to slip out of consciousness, and never wake up.
Swiftly throwing on her cloak, Trieste briefly considered getting her tie-line back, but decided against it. She put a small writing book that had been in his bag into hers, then closed the bathroom door on the pale, wet figure in the tub. As she left, she hung the complimentary 'Do Not Disturb' door knob sign that more and more places were carrying on the door knob and quickly went to her own room. She left the next morning, but the man was not found until the day after when the bartender decided he wanted the payment.
