Anastasia Bianchi ჯ Death (nonespared) wrote in mythologs, @ 2012-07-17 22:46:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | !zurvan, death, famine |
[completed/closed]
Characters: Famine (appetentia) & Death (nonespared)
Date/Time: June 15th, night
Location: Iriy, one of the crime family's locations
Rating: R for torture
Warnings: Torture descriptions, sadism
Summary: Wrong place, wrong time for someone. Also thoughtful conversations happen in odd places.
Blood had a very distinct scent. Even an uneducated person, someone who wasn't surrounded by it daily as an occupational hazard, could recognize the coppery smell. It was a heavy scent, something not unlike a few handfuls of rusted coins. A good doctor could recognize it in an instant. A crime family? They were no different.
Her age was difficult to determine, but Famine had to guess she was in her early twenties. Her hair was a dark silk, thick toward the back of her head. Before he'd taken one of her eyes, and with such little effort, mind, they'd both been a chocolatey brown. He supposed they'd been nice eyes. Not one to linger much on victims, he passed her off as being pretty enough. Nothing he'd stop in the street for.
The tip of his blade traced along her jugular. How easy it would be to end this life. To put her out of her misery. But he was the sort who enjoyed drawing out the pain, who liked to watch others endure their suffering. Quick deaths were efficient, but slow deaths made his skin tingle. Few things excited him more than getting to take a life -- and take it slowly. Savoring death.
He tilted his head toward his accomplice, gaze still on the girl. "Does she need both eyes?"
The woman had come upon a private matter between them, the surgeon and a fellow who had failed to meet a deadline to settle even a reasonable portion of his debts. His body was the only thing he could offer, a choice that made for him. The price of his organs would cover everything and a little more, courtesy of certain doctors that weren't quite respectable.
Returning to the matter of the girl, Death was sure the grisly matter had shocked her tender sensibilities. Whatever escape she had intended to make had been disrupted and what followed afterward was far worse than the fellow on the table.
"Probably not. Symmetry is good to have," she replied, cleaning one of her favourite of tools. She'd acquired it from some Babylonian some time ago, appreciating the curves of the blade. It resembled something like a cat's claws, easily suggesting just how it could tear open the victim's flesh and muscle. Used properly, even bone could be left gouged deeply. In this case, she had made sure of it, eliciting the most grievous sounds of anguish from the girl.
For a split second, her husband came to mind and then he was gone. Uriel did not belong in this world. Keeping him apart from all this would benefit her as well as him. Mainly her as she was nothing short of selfish. Setting down the wicked instrument, she went to where the knee splitter was and brought it over. "Is she conscious? Ask her if she will tell anyone about what happened here today."
It was a pointless question when everyone in the room knew how this would end.
Unlike his sister, Famine had only three people to care or think about in this life: his siblings. Though he respected his father to a certain degree, he wasn't as obedient as Death, being more of a sarcastic problem child. The only thing that separated him from a nuisance was the fact that he always did his job. Give him a task, and he would complete it. He was a reliable little ass, his family had to give him that.
The concept of marriage was beyond him. To have someone to always come home to-- it was foreign. All he had was a ferocious little cat who clawed him every time he came through the door, but who slept by his head in the night. That his sisters could both find themselves married... He wouldn't judge them for it; he just didn't understand the point.
All Famine needed were his sisters and his brother. No one else. Being with Death here, that was more than enough. If he'd been the more sentimental type, he might have admitted loving them to their faces. But they knew as much. They had to.
He thumbed over one of the girl's closed eyelids, the one sheltering her remaining eye, keeping silent for the moment. Then, it happened fast. The eyelid was thumbed open, and with long fingers, all trapped in a surgical glove, he took hold of her eyeball. There was no ripping sound as the optical nerve was forcibly severed with a practiced tug, but the screaming was enough to make up for that. And oh, how she screamed in such a panic through the gag he'd stuffed into her mouth.
The eyeball was dangled by the nerve, held like an ornament in front of her face. Not that she could see it with both eyes missing. "I think she's conscious now," he informed his sister, facing her finally.
If asked what the point was, it was simple: unmarried women were talked about more. What was wrong with them, why they hadn't married, had they done something and so forth. The marriage had her easily avoid that even if the recent years had provoked the question of children. That was something she still had to find an answer for though she supposed she could just say she was barren and let the topic die out.
But Death could not admit to having a love for those who were not her siblings. Even if Uriel had been reliable and she had some form of affection for him, it was more a matter of being possessive for as long as he was breathing. Her husband was strangely good, the definition of wholesome, something she could not say it for many individuals that she knew or had met. It made her curious as she could not confess she was a good person but she wouldn't label herself 'bad' at the same time. Practical. That's all she was.
As for Famine's bachelorhood, it would do. He had the non-existent Olga anyway. The muffled sound of suffering washed over Death like a wave of assurance that a lesson was being learned even if it would be taken to whatever grave the girl would end up in. The sight of their intruder, knowing that the girl's mind, body and spirit were being crushed with such care was good. A wrong (from her point of view) was being righted.
Tenderness was used when Death slipped the knee splitter up one leg, keeping the threatening spikes from even so much as scrapping the girl's skin. It wasn't time yet for them to bite down into her knee, not until the modified tool was ready. Like the cat's paw, she thought this a favourable instrument, having one made with hollowed out spikes that could be filled with heated metal to provide that extra taste of pain (nothing like going up a couple notches with the punishment). A step away was a pair of blacksmith's tongs that were used to select the glowing metal, each shaped to fit into the slots.
And while each was brought over and dropped into place, she prompted conversation. "I'd say you could keep the eyes but we'd be better off getting rid of them. There's a collector south of here who might take them." Pale eyes roamed the ruined length of the girl's body. "But not immediately. See them preserved so the sale can't be connected to this."
If Famine had one complaint, it was that having conversation around screaming people, muffled or otherwise, was a difficult if not impossible task. Though he couldn't fault his sister for her actions, the girl was given a stare that could sear through her just as easily as heated metal. Screaming was nice until it got in the way, but they could manage a conversation over her, surely.
For a brief moment, he contemplated a cigarette, but the urge was tossed away. Leaving as little evidence behind, save for blood which could be cleaned up and bleached away, was their best course of action. Even something as little as the butt of a cigarette could get a person in trouble, and that was not something to be proud of.
"I've never liked eyes staring back at me like that. Unblinking." He tossed the captive eyeball up and down in his palm like a small ball. "Will he put them in a stuffed animal or just collect them?" Another thing he didn't quite understand: taxidermy -- but that was for another day.
Death did like a semblance of normalcy with their work. Again, to balance the violence with calm on their part was soothing in its own way.
Through with the tongs, Death grabbed the handle and began to turn it, slowly descending the spikes toward the girl's knee. "I have no idea. I'll have our contact ask him," she replied just as the sound of flesh searing and bone-chilling screeches hit the air. It wasn't long before their nostrils would be assaulted by the stinging stench of piss which was something notable if only because Death was intrigued she had held out so long.
At last the splitter's spikes had met one another, having crushed and ground their way through, creating a pure and absolute reeking mess of her knee. Idly rubbing her thumb along a piece of exposed bone, she looked toward her brother, ignoring the smell and sounds just before her on the table. "What do you want done to her other knee, my bony love? It's your turn anyway."
"A whole knee, just for me," Famine remarked without an ounce of excitement in his words. After dropping the eye, he circled the table to the other side where he paused at her legs, one hand coming out to trace the prominent bone there with a touch that was almost gentle. It did nothing to cease the screaming, but such was life. Later, he'd starve her to the point just before unconsciousness -- unless she died first. That way, she would get to endure more pain, and they more toe-curling screams. A win/win situation.
"Body parts have ridiculous names," he murmured as he brought his knife just above the boniest part of her knee. "This one..." The knife was pressed in, prompting another muffled shriek slash sob. "... is a tendon, I think. Quadriceps something." He withdrew the blade, contemplated something for a moment, and then moved again. Rather than sticking the knife in, he began to slice at her flesh, beginning with the knee cap. Unfortunate that she had no eyes -- he would've wanted her to see what a real skinned knee looked like. Slowly he worked at skinning a light layer of her skin from the bony ridge that made up her kneecap, all the while being careful not to damage it too much. Peeling off as much skin as possible at once was the key.
As he continued to work at the flesh, he granted his sister one glance before turning his attention back to the knee. "I was wondering about your doctor." Famine never referred to Uriel by his name. The thought of his name alone annoyed him. "Has he ever suspected anything?"
"Take a breast, too. And things do require names. If it offends you, get rid of it." While he went above removing layers of skin, she took care in removing the splitter, minding the still heated sections of it that tore out of the mangled knee, taking bits of flesh with it. She'd have to have someone either recreate the hollowed spikes or have a new one created entirely.
Famine's inquiry triggered a small pause which was covered with her turning away to slide the splitter out of their way. "If he has, he has not revealed that to me yet. He's busy enough with his living and breathing issues. I don't think he would hesitate to confront me if he did have any idea of what we do." A careless shrug was offered and then she turned back to face him, holding a pair of pliers. Brushing aside some of the girl's hair, she pinched and twisted her cheek until a portion began to bleed and tear.
"You were wondering about my doctor," she repeated with some amusement, just over the gagged howls. "Do you wonder about War's captain, then?"
A long piece of skin and flesh were sliced off too soon, a sign that Famine had lost his concentration. Without missing a beat, he tossed the piece onto the girl's chest, not wanting to rid of it yet. Without looking up, he once again began the process of slowly skinning her knee. "You already know my opinion on your marriages. It's not like I have to spell it out every time." His fingers slipped in the blood, and so he paused in his actions.
"How long can all of this stay this way?" Finally his eyes searched out hers. "I never doubt you. I doubt his ability to keep his nose out of things that don't concern him. And yes, I feel the same about him as well." He-who-would-not-be-named, as it were. War marrying anyone -- what a joke. He knew even she didn't take their marriage seriously. But unlike Death, she wasn't using Gabriel as a cover.
God, he was just so selfish.
"I know your opinion better than I know my name by now." The pliers were set down, her interest temporarily lost in the torture. Resting the heels of her hands against the edge of the table, Death offered Famine her full attention. "What is it that you want? Do you want me to have him meet an end in some alley? Do you want me to poison him? Maybe just hand him over to you for fucked up thrills?" None of what she was saying was said with venom but the typical cool-headed calm she carried with her throughout majority of situations. "I know you don't like him but you aren't questioned for being single as much as I would be. I look normal to Iriy being married. It's better for me this way."
Fingernails tapped against the bloodstained surface but her gaze remained on the only occupant in the room she cared for. "It'll carry on until the end. I intend to take Uriel into whatever old age I can reach. Then something may happen to him and I'll be grey-haired and alone. But if Uriel can't be happy with what he has now, he'll go a lot faster than thirty to forty years from now."
No, Famine wouldn't have minded taking Uriel into his own hands and doing what he pleased with him. He was a selfish creature, one who would never approve of or understand his sisters' marriages. Being tied to someone that way and risking everything -- it was unfathomable to him. Not quite angry with Death, but with the situation itself, he ripped off the piece of flesh he was working on, drawing a pained sob from the girl.
Bachelorhood suited him fine. As she'd said, he wasn't questioned for being without a partner, as he was a man, and still a relatively young one at that. His family hadn't pushed him to marry, which he was also fine with. But still--
"If he ever found out. What would you do?"
She would never risk the lives of her family for him, what with her selfishness for her lifestyle and blood stronger than that for a man who, despite his uses, could ruin them all.
"If it appears he cannot handle the truth then I don't care if he's the Camelotian queen's brother-in-law. People die every day and he comes in contact with those who can infect him. As his sudden disappearance would raise questions, his end would come because of illness or an unavoidable accident would be less suspected." Her nails ceased to click against the table right before she extended one hand out to catch her brother's chin. "To me, there is no one more valuable or more closely guarded than you three. Remember that. Uriel was brought in by me and will be taken out by me if necessary."
Somewhere down the line, she could remarry but she would be granted time to 'mourn' and behave as a widow. It wasn't the worst option, really. And she did look killer in black.
Green-blues stared at her from the opposite side of the table, but rather than them growing hard or soft, a familiar sort of understanding reflected in them. Famine didn't need to be told twice that family was everything. Hearing that Death would orchestrate Uriel's death if things got out of hand was a relief. Though it was her responsibility, he wouldn't have thought twice about stepping in to take the man's life. No one would ruin his family. No one would make things difficult for them, not even a brother-in-law. The same went for Gabriel.
He ripped off a glove with a snap and reached up to grasp her wrist, bringing her knuckles to his lips.
"I know." His hold on her hand remained as he shot a glance down at their now silent victim. To have had a moment of tenderness in the midst of torture -- it was amusing. "We should finish this soon," he pointed out with a tilt of his head, tightening his grip on the knife.
Some people did picnics or gathered around the piano after dinner to bond. They did torture. A quiet, approving smile was set on her lips, fingers wiggling just slightly from the knuckle kiss. With that out of the way, her attention did return to the girl, moving to her midsection.
"I have a rat," she finally said, withdrawing her hand. "Slit her open and we can tuck it in there. I'll bring some thread and a needle, too." It would be a nice surprise for whoever found her and, just in case the girl was still hanging on, an experience for her. "We'll take off her fingers and the rest of her face afterward. Check her over for any birthmarks, too."
Twirling the knife around in his gloved hand, Famine, too, granted the girl his attention. There wasn't enough pity in him to feel sorry for her state, not when every scream gave him chills -- of the good sort. He drew the blade across her femoral artery, knowing her death could come in seconds if he willed it. But no, they would drag this out, milk every scream out of her until her throat was raw with blood. His lips curved into a smile.
"With pleasure."