Tick-Tock. Tick-Tock. Tick—
The clock let out a mechanical cuckoo, the hands sliding to set on the 3.
"Argh-"
Riki tried to move his sore arms. Useless. Waste of time. Fucking hell this... It made it that the thin chains sharply dug into bruised wrists, thick drops of blood dripping to stain the pristine blue carpet.
—SLASH!
"You fuckers..." Rivets of saliva mixed blood spewed out of of his mouth. Making hairs stick to his cheeks. How annoying. Riki glared at the proud figure with all he had, Vdia's way of torture was notorious of the amount of inflicted pain. Glorified even. "You fuckers know to dress nice." He spat. "But you don't have ears! I ain't telling you a thing."
But it is not enough.
He snickered through the pain, pervading his body like pins.
Never enough for him.
"You are tardy, Daryl."
Smooth clicks of Iason's boots filled the air.
"My apologies, sir." Daryl moved away smoothly, leaving the cool, leather whip to be taken up by fair, gloved hands.
A handle shaped like an oriental dragon, the long piece of leather mimicking that of its body, and ending in a fiery tail. Iason sighed at the whip's detail.
Excellent.
Perfect.
'Just as it should be.'
—SLASH!
Riki bit his lips gulping down a mouthful of bile. His belly churned. He snorted. If he let go and vomited right here, only blood will come out.
The bastards had it good when it came to innovative torture devices.
Sick bastards.
"...masochistic and barbaric." He chuckled. "You make for a perfect sexual slave." Riki hissed.
Hitting it here it hurt most.
-was the best way to go with these types, Iason devised. It should work nicely.
But after more so of it, he released a sharp breath. It wasn't working. His perfect technique wasn't working. Riki had noticed the bait he laid. Immediately. Though he, himself took an interest. He was sure Daryl did too. Humailiating ah.. Iason was dragging it out more than required.
It prickled in him. Even now.
(Oh- the irony of it all! And he had been chiding Daryl for being tardy..? Laughable.)p
But, the truth made him sigh, in desperate times, there is a need for desperate measures, isn't that so. And in this desperate times, this black boy, was his entertainment. Only entertainment. Raoul was kept buzzing with the other one's physical health. And others were either collecting provisions, or out cleaning the next city for the soldiers.
As the only one who had some time, Iason was tasked with a job of "cleaning cat's fur of fleas," as Raoul had put it so.
Pure dark stringy hair. Eyes that look so strongly against his slick praises. The pleasing strut of unbending legs... Iason softly sighed, the air chilly against his dampened lips, Riki of the Dark.. was at biting point... Wasn't he?
"Riki..."
He wasn't against taking a nip.
The boy was arrogant, as per the rumours and Katze had said. Nothing too surprising. But Riki too stubborn. Too unyielding. Too feral.
A slight reddish glint wavered in the depths of his brain.
This is not how it's supposed to be. The plot must be followed.
He gripped Riki's hair—too clean for a supposed barbarian—and slightly pulled. Once, twice, thrice, another tug... "Rik-ki." He liked that. Drawling out that strange name through the surface of his tongue and out the tip of his teeth.
A glass shattered as Riki's head was brought swiftly on the metal table.
Riki coughed, a large mouthful of blood spurting out from his mouth, flooding the table and covering his side turned face. Bathing in his Wien blood. He could hear slight snickers. Iason Fucking Mink. He grit his teeth.
"G..uy.."
Riki's hands curled on a piece of glass, lifting it up, then letting fall.
He wondered whether he actually deserved this.
Whether he was stupid for taking up this job.
No.. That was sure. He was stupid.
But.. Riki's vision dulled before hard blue eyes. Could he would ever see Guy again?
He had the breath left to smirk.
Probably not.
Then darkness.
Iason eyed the limp body.
.
A bit rough around the edges.
But it'll do fine, once he's trained.
There's plenty of time ahead after all.
.
Staring at the clock, he nonchalantly swished away some wet strands of dark hair, revealing sparkly studs, embossed meticulously with the emblem of Niver. Oh.. Yes.
Angel's blue eyes glittering, he sneered.
Well, isn't this nice.
"Do you feel pain in you head?" Raoul carefully picked out a vial of dark green medicine, among the hundreds of others that glinted off the candlelight. The young man only stared at the window, silent.
"I'm talking to you, Quinn."
Odd eyes glared up from long sandy brown bangs.
"...I'm fine."