Power Play: Chapter 4: Storm
By Tinselcat
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Vimes, Vetinari, Drumknott, Carrot, Angua, Unseen University Ankh-Morpork and Discworld are creations and property of the amazing Terry Pratchett *bows*, and no profit is being made from the use of the copyrighted material (if there was, I wouldn't have to worry about paying off my student loans, dammit!!).
Author's Note: I am soooo sorry it's been so long since the last update. And I'm sorry this chapter is so damn short. I'm mad busy, yo. I feel bad for not updating in awhile, so I thought I'd post what I have so far, regardless of the fact that it's only, like, two paragraphs long.
Warning: this is the chapter where it all goes to hell. Most of you probably saw this coming. Well, this is the chapter where it comes. Just to warn the more delicate readers, this is not a fun, happy chapter. There's Vetinari-hurting in this one. Don't say I didn't warn you.
****************
Stinging wind whistled through the rubbery branches of the only trees that had the mettle to grow this near the hub. Snow hardly seemed to fall, but instead swirl around the trunks and drifts, as if mocking the ground. Very few living things could be found here, and in such a storm, most had the sense to stay the hell out of it. But then again, the instinctually- oriented psyche of animals was often much more sensible than more evolved forms of life.
The heavy hoof-beats were unheard beneath the shrill wind, although the gray, hulking form of a large horse was pretty hard to miss. Both horse and rider had their heads bent, eyes slitted against the cold. The horse seemed much less concerned about the possibility of freezing to death than the rider, and would occasionally bite a passing branch and munch on it thoughtfully. The rider was still, letting the horse do its own steering. As long as they progressed in an approximately rimwards direction, she was pleased. All at once, her head snapped up sharply as a faint howl, born on the wind, reached her ears. A wolf? No. . . too shrill. Too uncontrolled. She gave the reins a mild tug to stop the horse. She sat still, her small form swaying ever so slightly from the force of the wind. The cry came again. She squinted her eyes toward the gray sky to see and odd shape flipping and flapping toward the ground. Before the small thing hit, her hand darted out to grab it.
The small dragon, upon finding itself no longer at the mercy of the elements, immediately dove down his rescuer's shirt, letting the crusted ice melt against the comfy cleavage. This elicited a shriek from the rider, who tried to swat the errant lump in her shirt, and only succeeded in punching herself in the solar plexus. Grumbling in uncomfortable resignation, she reached down her shirt and, after rummaging around for a few moments, produced a wet piece of paper, rolled up, a bit crumpled and singed around the edges. She made a small exclamation of surprise at the seal before breaking it and unrolling the message. After a few moments, she gave a small, strangled cry.
Seizing the reins, she gave them a sharp jerk, perhaps sharper than she meant, and kicked the horse's flanks with her booted heels. The horse commenced a brisk trot. She tried to urge him on to a faster pace.
************************
Vetinari could feel the bruises forming on his shoulders from the large fingers that dug into them. His eyes were screwed shut, as if blocking out the sight of the dungeon floor might make it go away. Predictably, it didn't, and the rough stone chaffed against the scruff on his cheek, and the sensitive flesh of his stomach. He tried to remain detached from the situation, look at it from a cold, analyst's perspective. The goon on top of him was certainly having a good time. Every grunt sounded like a grin. Vetinari felt warm blood trickle from his clenched fists, tied behind his back, as it did from his bottom lip. It hurt, but it helped. It was controlled. Controlled by him. His faceless captor was almost done, and still Vetinari had maintained his demeanor. Twice now he had been tested and twice now he had remained silent and cold, no matter how brutally they beat him.
Relief, even if only for the slightest moment, was like an oasis when the faceless thug finished and climbed off of him, standing up and nudging Vetinari's prone form with his foot, as if testing to see if he were still alive. Vetinari let out the breath he wasn't aware that he was holding. He clenched his jaws together to keep from grunting as he rolled over on his side. His backside felt like it was on fire.
"Comfortable?" Wallace appeared in the doorway and looked down on his captive.
Vetinari was already trembling weakly, but managed to meet Wallace's gaze unwaveringly. He'd known that it would come to Wallace eventually. The bastard wouldn't let this end without having the satisfaction of the last screw.
"It seems my men have been rough. Although I hear you politician-types are into that." He knelt next to his victim. Vetinari was radiating body heat like the sun gave light. It smelled like blood and fear: the toxic cocktail that drove any predator wild.
"What. . ." Vetinari rasped, breath grating through his raw throat. He coughed and continued, "What. . . do you. . . want. . .?" He spoke through bared teeth, becoming almost animal-like in his own desperation.
Wallace leaned down and reached for Vetinari's shoulder. The patrician instinctively moved away, but clearly wasn't going far. He gave an involuntary jerk as Wallace curled an arm around his bruised shoulders. With his other hand, Wallace gently, but firmly, grasped Vetinari's chin.
"You know what I want." He said softly, as if murmuring to a lover. He then placed an almost chaste kiss on Vetinari's chapped lips, simply pressing his own mouth to the patricians for several moments, before breaking it off.
He gave a knowing smile as Vetinari went limp and began to scream.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
*sniff, sniff* I make myself sad. . . but I won't leave it like this! Have faith! Don't hurt me!
By Tinselcat
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Vimes, Vetinari, Drumknott, Carrot, Angua, Unseen University Ankh-Morpork and Discworld are creations and property of the amazing Terry Pratchett *bows*, and no profit is being made from the use of the copyrighted material (if there was, I wouldn't have to worry about paying off my student loans, dammit!!).
Author's Note: I am soooo sorry it's been so long since the last update. And I'm sorry this chapter is so damn short. I'm mad busy, yo. I feel bad for not updating in awhile, so I thought I'd post what I have so far, regardless of the fact that it's only, like, two paragraphs long.
Warning: this is the chapter where it all goes to hell. Most of you probably saw this coming. Well, this is the chapter where it comes. Just to warn the more delicate readers, this is not a fun, happy chapter. There's Vetinari-hurting in this one. Don't say I didn't warn you.
****************
Stinging wind whistled through the rubbery branches of the only trees that had the mettle to grow this near the hub. Snow hardly seemed to fall, but instead swirl around the trunks and drifts, as if mocking the ground. Very few living things could be found here, and in such a storm, most had the sense to stay the hell out of it. But then again, the instinctually- oriented psyche of animals was often much more sensible than more evolved forms of life.
The heavy hoof-beats were unheard beneath the shrill wind, although the gray, hulking form of a large horse was pretty hard to miss. Both horse and rider had their heads bent, eyes slitted against the cold. The horse seemed much less concerned about the possibility of freezing to death than the rider, and would occasionally bite a passing branch and munch on it thoughtfully. The rider was still, letting the horse do its own steering. As long as they progressed in an approximately rimwards direction, she was pleased. All at once, her head snapped up sharply as a faint howl, born on the wind, reached her ears. A wolf? No. . . too shrill. Too uncontrolled. She gave the reins a mild tug to stop the horse. She sat still, her small form swaying ever so slightly from the force of the wind. The cry came again. She squinted her eyes toward the gray sky to see and odd shape flipping and flapping toward the ground. Before the small thing hit, her hand darted out to grab it.
The small dragon, upon finding itself no longer at the mercy of the elements, immediately dove down his rescuer's shirt, letting the crusted ice melt against the comfy cleavage. This elicited a shriek from the rider, who tried to swat the errant lump in her shirt, and only succeeded in punching herself in the solar plexus. Grumbling in uncomfortable resignation, she reached down her shirt and, after rummaging around for a few moments, produced a wet piece of paper, rolled up, a bit crumpled and singed around the edges. She made a small exclamation of surprise at the seal before breaking it and unrolling the message. After a few moments, she gave a small, strangled cry.
Seizing the reins, she gave them a sharp jerk, perhaps sharper than she meant, and kicked the horse's flanks with her booted heels. The horse commenced a brisk trot. She tried to urge him on to a faster pace.
************************
Vetinari could feel the bruises forming on his shoulders from the large fingers that dug into them. His eyes were screwed shut, as if blocking out the sight of the dungeon floor might make it go away. Predictably, it didn't, and the rough stone chaffed against the scruff on his cheek, and the sensitive flesh of his stomach. He tried to remain detached from the situation, look at it from a cold, analyst's perspective. The goon on top of him was certainly having a good time. Every grunt sounded like a grin. Vetinari felt warm blood trickle from his clenched fists, tied behind his back, as it did from his bottom lip. It hurt, but it helped. It was controlled. Controlled by him. His faceless captor was almost done, and still Vetinari had maintained his demeanor. Twice now he had been tested and twice now he had remained silent and cold, no matter how brutally they beat him.
Relief, even if only for the slightest moment, was like an oasis when the faceless thug finished and climbed off of him, standing up and nudging Vetinari's prone form with his foot, as if testing to see if he were still alive. Vetinari let out the breath he wasn't aware that he was holding. He clenched his jaws together to keep from grunting as he rolled over on his side. His backside felt like it was on fire.
"Comfortable?" Wallace appeared in the doorway and looked down on his captive.
Vetinari was already trembling weakly, but managed to meet Wallace's gaze unwaveringly. He'd known that it would come to Wallace eventually. The bastard wouldn't let this end without having the satisfaction of the last screw.
"It seems my men have been rough. Although I hear you politician-types are into that." He knelt next to his victim. Vetinari was radiating body heat like the sun gave light. It smelled like blood and fear: the toxic cocktail that drove any predator wild.
"What. . ." Vetinari rasped, breath grating through his raw throat. He coughed and continued, "What. . . do you. . . want. . .?" He spoke through bared teeth, becoming almost animal-like in his own desperation.
Wallace leaned down and reached for Vetinari's shoulder. The patrician instinctively moved away, but clearly wasn't going far. He gave an involuntary jerk as Wallace curled an arm around his bruised shoulders. With his other hand, Wallace gently, but firmly, grasped Vetinari's chin.
"You know what I want." He said softly, as if murmuring to a lover. He then placed an almost chaste kiss on Vetinari's chapped lips, simply pressing his own mouth to the patricians for several moments, before breaking it off.
He gave a knowing smile as Vetinari went limp and began to scream.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
*sniff, sniff* I make myself sad. . . but I won't leave it like this! Have faith! Don't hurt me!