| [Jun. 12th, 2009|04:35 pm] |
Asuma stayed silent for eight. The blow to his skull helped--by the time his head stopped ringing, four lashes had come and gone, and there was just the memory of fire blazing through his skin.
He managed to find his feet, struggling to take his own weight while the next four hammered down. Perfectly parallel lines striped his back, criss-crossing the marks already there, licking flame like a freezer-burn from his shoulders to his hips. And lower.
The ninth blow cracked him squarely across the ass, forcing a yelp between gritted teeth that was more about surprised outrage than pain. The tenth struck lower, at the crease between buttocks and thighs. He groaned softly, aching forehead resting against blood-flecked wood.
The eleventh cut him across the tops of his shoulders, quick and brutal; he jerked and cracked his head against the mast. Flashes of light danced across his vision. Laughter rippled behind them like a wave, crushing his resolve.
Play nice. Tsume's breath rasped next to him, strained between clenched teeth. He heard her struggle to stand, heard the strangled inhale that came before words. Heard her slurred words.
"You -- maggot-rotten... tooth snubbed... moon-faced cowards."
And her choked cry when the lash snapped back and laid a bleeding stroke over ghostly pale skin.
"Nice shot," crowed the bandaged ninja, still nursing his foot.
"Bastards," Asuma grated out. His eyes were closed, hands clenched. He tried to straighten up. "Leave her--'lone."
"That sounded like an order," mused the whip-bearing ninja, coiling his lash back. "Didn't it, Hibiki?"
"Reckon it did," said the bandaged ninja. "That's rude."
The whip caught against Asuma's left hipbone, laying skin open. A matching mark to the older slice on his right hip. He throttled a scream.
"Count 'em."
Tsume slurred something. The bandaged ninja--Hibiki--flickered to her side. Through half-closed eyes, Asuma saw the glint of a weapon in his hand, sliding over her bound knuckles. Hibiki twisted her head around, yanking it by the hair.
"Yeah, leaf-nin." The words moved facial bandages, revealing a slice of scarred skin. "Count 'em. Or your girl's going to be swallowing her own fingers."
Asuma struggled to think.
"I don't--" he managed, raw-throated. "I don't know--the number."
The lash cracked across his flank, curling around to score over his ribcage. He flinched.
"Thirteen, stupid ninja," said the whip-shinobi. "That was thirteen. Count or I'll double it."
"Thirteen." He forced the words out. Seven more to go and they'd stop. They had to stop.
The lash cracked.
"Fourteen."
It didn't really hurt anymore. Pressure registered as the whip came down on twitching, shaking muscles and flicked away, but no pain. He just felt cold.
Crack.
"Fifteen."
Pressure. Tsume's gasping breaths.
Crack.
"Sixteen."
He stopped hearing the sound. Couldn't hear the laughter. His vision tunnelled to the knot of wood level with his eyes. When it jerked, he counted.
"Seventeen."
The words became a mumble, slipping between numb lips.
"Eighteen."
His eyes closed. He felt nothing. Listened to the roaring in his ears. Guessed when the next lash fell.
"Nineteen."
Play nice
"Twen..."
When he dropped, the darkness just seemed familiar. |
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