The dimly lit room was in itself a veritable hell. The pungent odor of
bleach and raw sewage filled the cavity. It was a wonder that the place
could even support some kind of life, given its current condition. The
lights flickered on and off as they always did here. When the lights were
steadily on for a few moments, you could easily see the concrete walls
splattered with feces and blood. Animal blood. Human blood. Blood of
everyone and everything that passed through the threshold. A single wooden
desk was set in the middle of the room. A single wooden chair accompanied
it. A single figure resided in the single chair by the single desk in the
single room with the single door. Nothing about this place seemed in the
least appetizing. So much as being in there could give you an uneasy
feeling of malice hidden in the very floor boards themselves. Many people
had come to this place for one reason or another, and many people had come
to their end here- through him.
He looked skyward to the concrete ceiling, crystal blue eyes bloodshot and red from sleep deprivation and tears. He was obviously young, no more than fifteen or so, though the last few days seemed to have aged him into his mid twenties, a dreadful happening. Skin the color or pale lime was blemished by iodinated salt and blood, a most unappealing combination. Piles of cut hair surrounded his body. Silver colored hair the better part of six feet in length was brutally hacked off at varying angles, more like butchery than anything else. A soft, wavering sigh escaped chapped lips. Other than that, he remained oddly quiet, not even daring to take deep breaths, lest he make a sound. Scared. Terrified more like it. To anyone who was close enough, they could see him shaking gently, in fear of anything or one that might be close to him.
A trembling skeletal hand brushed over a shallow cut on his arm. A cut that was discolored and cured in salt soon after it was inflicted, making it sting more than it had originally. Bony fingers rubbed over the cut, making it bleed ever so slightly; it was a purely unintentional thing.
Looking to the left, then to the right, he hesitantly rose to his feet, ready to sit back down if even the least noise was made. Wringing his hands together, a dead giveaway that he was nervous, he inched toward the desk. His tattered white undershirt was barely fit to cover him anymore; it was far too stained and abused to ever be worn again. His blue jeans were loose on him, as they always had been; they however, were in better condition than he himself was. His hand graced the desk's smooth mahogany surface, gripping the edge like it was a lifeline; he would not be letting go anytime soon if he could avoid it. Again, he looked from left to right, making damn sure that -he- of all people was not watching him from afar, without a doubt, the consequences were more than he was able to handle at this time. Taking another step towards the desk, his feet suddenly lost their traction, sending him crashing down to the floor, completely void of all elegance. Still, he held on to the edge of the table, claw-like hands plastered onto the wood.
Grimacing at the noise, he laid there motionless, waiting for the imminent footsteps that spelled out his hell for him. Sure enough, they came, slowly and steadily, sounding like a mallet against a marble floor. The sound alone made him curl up into a pathetic, quivering little ball, he even managed to pry his fingers away from the one thing he was convinced he would hold onto till he found out how to get away from this place. The footsteps stopped a few inches away from his head, making him curl even tighter into himself. A whole new realm of pong joined in with the sewage and bleach aroma. A stink that can only be described to this day as death. The decay of everything good and fresh, traded in for rotting flesh and disease. He tried his hardest to convince himself to meet this person, this man in the eye, but it was like asking the blind to see, it would only happen by a miracle.
A deep sigh escaped the man's nose as he stooped down to catch the boy by the nape and drag him unwillingly to his feet. It was unclear as to exactly how big the man was, but undoubtedly, he was well over six feet tall judging by the noise he was generating each time he took a step. Staying as dead weight, the boy was nearly too traumatized by the mere presence of the other man to resist, after all, resisting only caused pain, pain in which he would be the only one suffering thorough it. Long, pointed ears bent back, signaling disgust and irritation, his only sign of displeasure at the time.
"What did I tell you?" A guttural bass voice scolded, you could almost feel the sense of pleasure the owner of the voice got out of maiming someone far younger and helpless than he.
"To sit still. . ." A tenor voice answered back with a mouse-like disposure, the quaking of his voice was not readily hidden.
"And what did you do?" The man brought his other arm around the boy's narrow chest cavity, making an attempt to squeeze the air out of him, or crush his ribs, one of the two if not both.
"I did nothing." Stated crisply, decisively, a flicker of confidence in his voice. The negligible twitch of a smile shone upon his lips, as he refused to answer exactly the way he was expected.
"Seven. . ." The word, rather the name was said in a demeaning tone. Less than a second after that, the boy's, Seven's neck was snapped back uncomfortably and held there. "That was not appropriate." The second phrase was spoken softly, not in an agitated accent, nor an irritable one.
The arm across his chest jerked him backwards, pressing him bare chest to back with the man. A cold chill ran down his spine, something that happened each time he came into contact with another being. Hot breath embraced his neck and shoulder, causing all his muscles to tense. To him, this was as painful as any beating. He would rather be killed than have to endure much more; he had always had a dislike of touching and being touched, so this was no joyride. He felt the man's steady heartbeat; it was pounding like thunder in his chest. Fascinating, but unnerving.
"Tell me what I want to hear." The voice runs through his ear and plays around in the back of his head, working its way up, like a headache. A piercing in his ear was tugged on a bit by the man, for the one and only reason of twiddling Seven's firmly planted abstinence to him
"No." The reply came stubbornly and in haste. Seven had no second thoughts about his answer, no matter what it may get him into.
Abruptly, Seven was spun around, forcing him face to face with the man. He could not help himself but the whimper slightly, not so much out of fright as it was at the appearance of the man himself. His face, the most striking of his feature was malformed, a ghastly sight. His eyes, a dark brown were deep set in his skull, giving him an almost demonic, if not ape-like look. A gaunt face matched the eyes, his features all protruding an disproportioned; cheekbones fit to tear through his flesh, jaw almost fit to chew nails, or at least that is what it appeared to Seven.
"LeatherFace? . . ." Seven ask with a child's innocence, truly befuddled by the eyes peering back at him.
A slight nod was given as an answer to the name, along with an unwanted hand tracing along his pointed ears. For a brief moment Seven narrowed his eyes at having his ears 'stroked', that was the one thing he hated most of all, and the called LeatherFace knew it.
"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" The scent of stale alcohol was fresh on his lips; it seemed to waft from him as he spoke, a most unpleasant thing. "Aren't you, boy?" A slightly amused tone was added to his commonly monotonous bass voice.
". . .No. . ." Seven shifted his weight restlessly; indolently he moved his hand to LeatherFace's shoulder, in a vain attempt to try and push away from him, no such success.
A minor grin spread across LeatherFaces's lips, amused by the young boy's actions. "Not all of you agrees." He tempted to move one of his hands to a most unwanted place, just to see what kind of response he could get.
If it was at all possible to glare daggers into someone, Seven was doing so now. No sense of humor or even sportsmanship remained, just bitterness and unspoken antagonism. "That is nothing to joke on." Spoken just in time for a light purple flush to set in.
"Is it?" He leaned into Seven smoothly and grabbed his leg a few inches above the knee and hauled him a ways off the ground like he was nothing but a feather. He took his other hand and reestablished it around His back, pinning them together for the time being. "I always thought you loved the things I've done for you- while you were sleeping."
Seven made no verbal reply, just looked at Leatherface like he was the absolute lowest scum-sucking life form on the planet, a look he seldom gave to anyone but his father. He bent his neck back, looking again to the ceiling in a split second of disbelief before coming to the conclusion that he should have known it all along. "You would, wouldn't you?" Uttered in a bothered tone of voice.
Only a smile cam in reply, that said it all.
"Just get it over with already. You know you want to." Seven sighed, his body seemingly drained of its luster.
"Ask again."
A twitch of a snarl crept upon his features. "Do it."
"Not until you beg for me."
"I'll beg when Hell freezes over."
"Consider Hell frozen."
Disclaimer: The entire work of the Dragonball series is Copyright to their respectful owner of which I am not part of.
He looked skyward to the concrete ceiling, crystal blue eyes bloodshot and red from sleep deprivation and tears. He was obviously young, no more than fifteen or so, though the last few days seemed to have aged him into his mid twenties, a dreadful happening. Skin the color or pale lime was blemished by iodinated salt and blood, a most unappealing combination. Piles of cut hair surrounded his body. Silver colored hair the better part of six feet in length was brutally hacked off at varying angles, more like butchery than anything else. A soft, wavering sigh escaped chapped lips. Other than that, he remained oddly quiet, not even daring to take deep breaths, lest he make a sound. Scared. Terrified more like it. To anyone who was close enough, they could see him shaking gently, in fear of anything or one that might be close to him.
A trembling skeletal hand brushed over a shallow cut on his arm. A cut that was discolored and cured in salt soon after it was inflicted, making it sting more than it had originally. Bony fingers rubbed over the cut, making it bleed ever so slightly; it was a purely unintentional thing.
Looking to the left, then to the right, he hesitantly rose to his feet, ready to sit back down if even the least noise was made. Wringing his hands together, a dead giveaway that he was nervous, he inched toward the desk. His tattered white undershirt was barely fit to cover him anymore; it was far too stained and abused to ever be worn again. His blue jeans were loose on him, as they always had been; they however, were in better condition than he himself was. His hand graced the desk's smooth mahogany surface, gripping the edge like it was a lifeline; he would not be letting go anytime soon if he could avoid it. Again, he looked from left to right, making damn sure that -he- of all people was not watching him from afar, without a doubt, the consequences were more than he was able to handle at this time. Taking another step towards the desk, his feet suddenly lost their traction, sending him crashing down to the floor, completely void of all elegance. Still, he held on to the edge of the table, claw-like hands plastered onto the wood.
Grimacing at the noise, he laid there motionless, waiting for the imminent footsteps that spelled out his hell for him. Sure enough, they came, slowly and steadily, sounding like a mallet against a marble floor. The sound alone made him curl up into a pathetic, quivering little ball, he even managed to pry his fingers away from the one thing he was convinced he would hold onto till he found out how to get away from this place. The footsteps stopped a few inches away from his head, making him curl even tighter into himself. A whole new realm of pong joined in with the sewage and bleach aroma. A stink that can only be described to this day as death. The decay of everything good and fresh, traded in for rotting flesh and disease. He tried his hardest to convince himself to meet this person, this man in the eye, but it was like asking the blind to see, it would only happen by a miracle.
A deep sigh escaped the man's nose as he stooped down to catch the boy by the nape and drag him unwillingly to his feet. It was unclear as to exactly how big the man was, but undoubtedly, he was well over six feet tall judging by the noise he was generating each time he took a step. Staying as dead weight, the boy was nearly too traumatized by the mere presence of the other man to resist, after all, resisting only caused pain, pain in which he would be the only one suffering thorough it. Long, pointed ears bent back, signaling disgust and irritation, his only sign of displeasure at the time.
"What did I tell you?" A guttural bass voice scolded, you could almost feel the sense of pleasure the owner of the voice got out of maiming someone far younger and helpless than he.
"To sit still. . ." A tenor voice answered back with a mouse-like disposure, the quaking of his voice was not readily hidden.
"And what did you do?" The man brought his other arm around the boy's narrow chest cavity, making an attempt to squeeze the air out of him, or crush his ribs, one of the two if not both.
"I did nothing." Stated crisply, decisively, a flicker of confidence in his voice. The negligible twitch of a smile shone upon his lips, as he refused to answer exactly the way he was expected.
"Seven. . ." The word, rather the name was said in a demeaning tone. Less than a second after that, the boy's, Seven's neck was snapped back uncomfortably and held there. "That was not appropriate." The second phrase was spoken softly, not in an agitated accent, nor an irritable one.
The arm across his chest jerked him backwards, pressing him bare chest to back with the man. A cold chill ran down his spine, something that happened each time he came into contact with another being. Hot breath embraced his neck and shoulder, causing all his muscles to tense. To him, this was as painful as any beating. He would rather be killed than have to endure much more; he had always had a dislike of touching and being touched, so this was no joyride. He felt the man's steady heartbeat; it was pounding like thunder in his chest. Fascinating, but unnerving.
"Tell me what I want to hear." The voice runs through his ear and plays around in the back of his head, working its way up, like a headache. A piercing in his ear was tugged on a bit by the man, for the one and only reason of twiddling Seven's firmly planted abstinence to him
"No." The reply came stubbornly and in haste. Seven had no second thoughts about his answer, no matter what it may get him into.
Abruptly, Seven was spun around, forcing him face to face with the man. He could not help himself but the whimper slightly, not so much out of fright as it was at the appearance of the man himself. His face, the most striking of his feature was malformed, a ghastly sight. His eyes, a dark brown were deep set in his skull, giving him an almost demonic, if not ape-like look. A gaunt face matched the eyes, his features all protruding an disproportioned; cheekbones fit to tear through his flesh, jaw almost fit to chew nails, or at least that is what it appeared to Seven.
"LeatherFace? . . ." Seven ask with a child's innocence, truly befuddled by the eyes peering back at him.
A slight nod was given as an answer to the name, along with an unwanted hand tracing along his pointed ears. For a brief moment Seven narrowed his eyes at having his ears 'stroked', that was the one thing he hated most of all, and the called LeatherFace knew it.
"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" The scent of stale alcohol was fresh on his lips; it seemed to waft from him as he spoke, a most unpleasant thing. "Aren't you, boy?" A slightly amused tone was added to his commonly monotonous bass voice.
". . .No. . ." Seven shifted his weight restlessly; indolently he moved his hand to LeatherFace's shoulder, in a vain attempt to try and push away from him, no such success.
A minor grin spread across LeatherFaces's lips, amused by the young boy's actions. "Not all of you agrees." He tempted to move one of his hands to a most unwanted place, just to see what kind of response he could get.
If it was at all possible to glare daggers into someone, Seven was doing so now. No sense of humor or even sportsmanship remained, just bitterness and unspoken antagonism. "That is nothing to joke on." Spoken just in time for a light purple flush to set in.
"Is it?" He leaned into Seven smoothly and grabbed his leg a few inches above the knee and hauled him a ways off the ground like he was nothing but a feather. He took his other hand and reestablished it around His back, pinning them together for the time being. "I always thought you loved the things I've done for you- while you were sleeping."
Seven made no verbal reply, just looked at Leatherface like he was the absolute lowest scum-sucking life form on the planet, a look he seldom gave to anyone but his father. He bent his neck back, looking again to the ceiling in a split second of disbelief before coming to the conclusion that he should have known it all along. "You would, wouldn't you?" Uttered in a bothered tone of voice.
Only a smile cam in reply, that said it all.
"Just get it over with already. You know you want to." Seven sighed, his body seemingly drained of its luster.
"Ask again."
A twitch of a snarl crept upon his features. "Do it."
"Not until you beg for me."
"I'll beg when Hell freezes over."
"Consider Hell frozen."
Disclaimer: The entire work of the Dragonball series is Copyright to their respectful owner of which I am not part of.