creature. (lustmurder) wrote in prisonpurge, @ 2009-05-10 02:37:00 |
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It was high noon at Castile Memorial Prison, and all the dogs were let free to play in the Yard. The biggest of them, the ones with the worse bite, were easy to spot. All of the smaller dogs submitted to them, their bellies up-turned and throats exposed in offered contraband and information. The exchange? Protection.
Dorian didn't really see himself as a dog. When he thought to identify with any animal, it was some large, predatory cat. No pack needed. No loyalties necessary. And so he often strayed very far from his sometimes friends, wielding their association where it suited him or when it provided prey.
Today, that prey was a couple of skinheads that barked much too loudly about their distaste for a certain chink's rule. Word had been spreading that power plays were coming. It was all a matter of strategy from there.
Luckily, the cannibal was a master of intimidation tactics, and so when they moved to start breaking him in to pieces, he let them. And for a while. Only after his nose was bloodied and his shirt ripped did he lift his fists, only to slam them into his own face. The force of the impact bloodied his lip, bruised his cheek. To an astonished crowd he turned, spitting blood through a fit of laughter.
"So, who wants another go, hm? Maybe you, Matthews? Right hook needs some work, am I right?"
The somewhat-staged uprising was cut short by the terse, militaristic clicking of standard uniform shoes stalking aggressively towards the inmate with similar precision. The trouble so desperately desired in Noe's return to work had graciously been granted by the hand of the most lethal inmate in the prison, and he couldn't be happier.
A quick, sharp nightstick shot to the head -- something typically reserved for last-resort action, if not to render the cannibal unconscious to at least cause some level of disorientation. The others had already backed away -- hell if they'd interfere with the wrangling of the resident beast.
"Enough, Saigner."
The cannibal lost his balance, but didn't fall. He staggered off to the right, drunkenly swinging his body around, to get sight of his favorite SF. He chuckled, lifting a hand to the back of his head, only to pull it away, investigating the wetness on his fingers. It figured that Noe would shed his blood.
"Auttenberg!" Cheerily, as he spat some blood into the dirt. "Skipping the foreplay, are we?"
A smirk, standing still with the nightstick at the ready.
"Hope it doesn't disappoint." An arch of a brow, and a slightly canted head.
"I'm just so excited to get to the main event."
"Just having a little fun with the skins, baby. You don't have to be jealous," The cannibal licked at his lips, a little giddy at the taste of his own blood. "Matthews there, he's ugly as sin, anyway. Wrinkles in the back of his fat, bald head look like triple chins..."
"Well, good. Then you didn't need me for foreplay." He approached the prisoner quickly and methodically, handcuff managed around one wrist then the other as he kept himself and those lethal hands stationed at the small of Dorian's back.
"Though you might want to get some prettier pieces of ass for fun -- but thanks for doing me the favor of disarming a public nuisance." A kick of the back of his knees -- just for fun, and just enough for a stumble -- before a push of the prisoner back towards the concrete and iron fortress.
The red-head seemed to comply, only stumbling a little at the kick. He managed a look in his cellmate's direction as they passed by, in case he didn't show up in their cell later, thanks to whatever tricks the SF might pull. He'd ended up in solitary for no good reason more than a couple times.
"So, what'll it be today, Auttenberg? What's my penance?"
"Don't worry, baby." Mockery of the former purrs of the murderer.
"We'll have much more fun than any penance."
Dorian first, Noe marched the cannibal through the hallways, past caged criminals to the room in the back of the block that housed an overhead light, chair, restraints, and little else. Locks clanged open as the SF held Dorian with one hand at pressure points, pressing a little too close for comfort as the heavy, windowless door swung open.
Dorian was cast into the chair bolted in the center of the room with little regard for his well-being or where specifically he happened to land on the damn thing. The door locked behind them, light already casting gloomy shadows throughout the cramped little room, throughout Castile's darkest little secret.
Noe managed his way around Dorian, hands resting on the murderer's shoulders and slowly increasing pressure.
"So, it's been a while, Saigner."
The cannibal's face, bleeding or not, contorted into a grin.
"You miss me, Auttenberg? All you had to do was call, sweetheart. You know where I am," he awaited a punch. Or a kick. Or anything of the sort.
"Now, now..."
A short, sharp tug at the hair, with an underlying wish that strands would rip free from that repulsive scalp.
"Don't let your presumptions get the better of you."
Dorian didn't resist. Electroshock and damaged nerve endings helped. "One has to wonder, my friend.... when you so often drag me out here for next to nothing at all. When I do something truly bad, I rarely so much as see you."
"Unfortunately your cellmate was the reason for my most recent absence, so forgive my lack of administering all the distress you're worthy of following that uprising." A rolling of the eyes, as the handcuffs were chained and locked to the back of the chair.
"And I drag you out here, sweetheart, because it's a perfect excuse to worsen your wounds, and pretend to attempt to instill further obedience into you -- not as though you're capable of learning it." The SF began a slow walk around the chained animal, inspecting it as though it was a piece of merchandise -- secondhand and repulsive, slightly decaying.
"Why even pretend? Just admit it. You love this. There's something about seeing my blood flow that's satisfying. Something that gives you some little bit of power, yeah? After all, here I am. Stuck to this chair. What am I gonna do except scream? Except you know me, Auttenberg. You know I'm not a screamer."
Idly, he cleaned some of the blood off his teeth with his tongue.
Sharp laughter echoed through the room, rebounding off each wall to fall to the sullied floor.
"What, so you're going to insist that I'm just like you, on some base level?"
His fist connected with the murderer's gut with a dull, dense sound.
"Let's escape the cliches, Saigner."
A boot came to land heavily between seated thighs, just out of reach from what mattered most to any sensible male. The SF leaned an elbow onto his propped up knee, looking smugly disappointed.
"Come now, I know you're more clever than that."
The cannibal coughed, a few bloody droplets becoming air born.
"No..." Cough. "No, not like me... no one's quite like me. Only in your most base nightmares, my friend."
"Sorry to break it to you," his hand grasped at the auburn-haired boy's chin, sharply pulling it to point up towards him.
"But you don't occupy nearly that much of my thoughts."
Dorian met his gaze. "Is your hate so general? Do you take everyone aside, to whip them at your pleasure?"
A scoff, as that worthless head was thrown away from him.
"What else are you all good for?"
Straightening his head slowly, the cannibal waited for the room to stop spinning. That blow to the back of his head did more than he allowed himself to feel.
"Entertainment value is as good as any. I wonder what Miss Violet would have to say about you, Auttenberg..."
"And why do you wonder that?" Without missing a beat.
"Obviously, you have some serious issues that need to be worked out," another grin, from Dorian. "Everyone says you're almost as gone as Vogel. What then, I wonder? Maybe you'll kill me, one day... wouldn't you like that? Slit my throat? One more sinner. The world becomes a better place...."
"No. I wouldn't, actually." A switchblade revealed itself, flicked open and outward in the SF's hands. It came to trace the skin under the rip in the murderer's shirt, shallow and sloppy enough to be mistaken for a shank's work.
"Killing you would be so, so merciful." The flat of the blade tracing along Dorian's neck, angling slightly at the departure from that all-too-available skin.
"And, frankly, I don't think I have that in me."
"Mercy? You're assuming I harbor guilt," Dorian hissed at the cut, but didn't struggle. Not one bit. His skin was a mess of scars, anyway. What was one more? "That I want to die. That I'm asking for it."
And he tried to turn in to the knife, as if it might cut deeper. "It's nothing like that, really."
"I never assumed it was." Another laugh, another jagged slash across the other's arm, made to look like prison fodder.
"I never even assumed you could harbor such profound emotions."
The murderer hissed again, "You're more astute than I give you credit for..." He lifted a brow. "You need to slash, more than carve, if you want to go for an authentic look..." And he took a deep, slow breath. There was a point when he had to just stop and savor the pain.
Noe pulled away from his masterpiece, thumb to chin as though he were a master painter inspecting his latest work.
"I don't know..." A tilt of the head, a squint of his eyes in the drastic, high contrast light.
"You think they look that close? I hear Shi's arm was festering for nearly a week before they took him in." A similar slash, across the back of the left shoulder. The advice was taken into account, as the blade ripped unevenly past uniform and across flesh.
"Because he didn't want to be taken in," Dorian corrected, turning his head to try and get a look at the damage. "When I did this to Maria, she cried and cried. She didn't fight it, though. She wanted desperately for it to be some game I'd taken too far. She was beautiful, too. Did you see her picture? In the news? Gorgeous, dark hair...."
"Save your masturbation for your cell, unless you want to give me an easy target." The switchblade was retracted, back to the pocket whence it came. Circling around, he came back to the front of the prisoner, arms folded, considering his next move.
"And no, I didn't see her picture -- need I reiterate? I don't give a fuck about scum like you.
The murderer sighed. "That's too bad, really. Her blood flowed faster than I thought. Maybe she was anemic, or something. She passed out all too soon. I can't remember what happens next in the best detail... But there was something about the meat of her thighs that I'll never forget. Delicious."
An arched eyebrow.
"Is this supposed to disgust me?"
And a followup straight across the face, knuckles to already beat-up bruising.
Examining the wall to his left, Dorian's vision was still blurry when he rolled his head straight again, chin dipping a little at the vertigo.
"There was nothing disgusting about that, my friend. You should try it sometime."
He rolled his eyes, kicking the cannibal's stomach before heading towards the far, dark corner of the room.
"I'll be sure to make a note of it -- a parasite told me to jack off to someone's thighs."
"Hey, are my hands anywhere near my dick?" The redhead seemed annoyed, for a moment, before his tone returned to a level lack of concern. "Uncuff me and we'll see where it goes."
"Okay, gladly." The SF slid over to the inmate, a sickly smirk plastered on his face. The chains fell loudly to the floor, and one cuff was undone. With a strong grip on the inmate's forearm and a hit to the sharp joint above it, the prisoner's elbow contorted, hyper-extended, and was placed straight back into the cuff.
"Sorry, baby. I just need it rough today. You know how it goes." There was a sadistic, pleased little lilt to the SF's voice.
The murderer groaned at the pain, the muscles in his arm throbbing. "I do, I do... and," he grunted, "-by all means, do your worst. But you have to let me out sometime, Auttenberg. And when you do... I'll just have to thank you properly."
"Oo..." Noe tilted his head, his words venomous.
"I'm so terrified..."
"Let me go now, if that's true... unshackle me.. if you're such a brave gentleman," the redhead coaxed between busted lips, the blood drying in the center and on his chin, but remaining wet in the corners.
He considered Dorian's challenge carefully, eventually speaking.
"Hm. So it's either stoop to proving my worth because you, of all people, questioned it, or deciding it's not worth my time."
He tapped his toe against the floor, hands weighing down on Dorian's shoulders.
"What to do, what to do..."
The murderer didn't speak. The only sound he made was a soft grunt at the pressure of the man's hands. He leaned to the left, just slightly, as if there might have been more pain on that side. He'd let Noe have his little ego party, without interruption. There wasn't much he could do about it, as it was.
Wordlessly, the same cuff undone to break the murderer was clicked open once again. Noe stepped back once, twice, arms outstretched.
"Well, come for me, pretty boy."
Oh, the irony.
Taking the time to gingerly rub at his wrists, the cannibal kept his unwavering gaze on the SF, as if he knew that if he glanced away, Noe would pull some trick. Getting to his feet, Dorian seemed to once again forget his injuries, rising to his full height, as if his scarred stomach wasn't developing a bruise, or his face wasn't a bloody mess, or his elbow wasn't throbbing in pain.
After a quick lick of his lips, he shot like an arrow across the distance separating them, hands moving deftly for Noe's arms so that surprise weapons couldn't be drawn.
The cannibal only got hold of one, Noe's left hand swinging just barely out of the way. Forcing his captive shoulder into the other man's chest, he attempted a push away from the inmate via a bony blow to Dorian, laughing as he did so.
"Clever, Saigner. I wouldn't expect it from such swine!"
The blow met with much resistance, and what little space was put between them was quickly closed by Dorian's singular grip on the man's wrist.
"Pigs---"
He swung his body around, twisting that arm behind Noe's back and attempting to push him against the wall.
"Are some of the most intelligent in the animal kingdom."
An uncomfortable twist of his body against the protest of his arm socket caused the SF to avoid the wall, and instead be pushed at an awkward angle against himself. Attempting to yank his arm free of the murderer, he shot a glare back, steadfast against any further dragging or pushing.
"I'm sure you'd know all about that."
Holding fast to Noe's arm, and attempting to recover from the SF's misplacement, the criminal's free hand snaked up the man's back and snatched hold of his hair. He jerked it hard, despite the pain in his own elbow, yanking his head back cruelly as he kept up his struggle to corner him against the wall.
Taking advantage of the closeness of the SF's ear, he leaned in and grunted, pig-like, before chuckling darkly.
Noe took advantage of his one free arm, elbowing hard into Dorian's stomach. Pulling against his own hair, he snarled, again attempting to break free once he had connected elbow to gut.
Dorian was breathless with the impact, but recovered quickly. Ready to end the struggle, he released Noe's wrist, only to grapple him as best he could with both arms. His revenge for the blow came next, his teeth sinking in to the flesh between shoulder and neck, through the cloth that covered it.
Had the SF officer had the presence of mind to fully comprehend that someone had actually fucking bitten him, a nasty comment would have probably escaped his lips, or at least a profanity. Instead, Noe inhaled sharply as he doubled over the cannibal's arms, anchoring his weight so he could kick Dorian's legs further apart in an attempt to unsteady the boy.
And when the red head did start to fall, he only gripped tighter to his prey, his teeth clamped with force enough to break skin, even through clothing. His arms loosened enough to give Noe the slightest bit of wiggle room, even if his hands held fast in front of him.
If there was an advantage to being shorter, it was certainly shining now. The pain searing through his shoulder caused the SF to bend forward sharply, taking the murderer up off of the ground with intent to slam him down.
To prevent himself from being tossed over, Dorian released his grip around Noe's midsection. He let his feet touch the ground to the side of him, teeth tearing away. Seeing that the game was still on, he scrambled away from the SF, so that he couldn't get a hold of him.
Noe was quick to pursue, rounding back onto the inmate. Dashing forward to get in a punch to the stomach and his own grab at the scruff of the murderer's neck, Noe pulled sharply, face to face as he forced Dorian into an awkward stance, crouched shorter than the SF's height.
"No cheap shots." He laughed, his free hand heading to the back of his belt.
Since his hands had been left free, Dorian reached back to wrap them around Noe's wrist, attempting to pull his hand away, and if not, to at least help control what it did. His eyes, though, focused on the hand that had disappeared behind Noe's back.
"This should be fun."
The SF reconsidered halfway to his weapon, transforming the grab to a windup of an uppercut that hit the inmate hard, releasing his other hand on impact to allow Dorian to recoil appropriately -- and hopefully to the floor.
The criminal fell back, his head having suffered enough trauma for the day. The lip that had stopped bleeding from earlier wounds reopened, accompanied by blood from his bitten tongue. As his head rolled on the concrete floor, a trail of it rolled out the corner of his mouth.
And Dorian? He moaned dreamily.
Noe stood, smashing his foot quickly down on the cannibal's chest as he stared down, the light angling just so that his eyes were obscured by shadow.
Inspecting the cannibal, his head tilted ever so slightly as he stood steadily over his prey. Ever so slowly, his foot dragged to peg the pained elbow, just as heavily as he had pegged the psychopath's chest.
"Having fun yet?" He braced for a sarcastic yes.
"Mmmmm....." Was the redhead's response, his face lacking the agony he must have surely been in. "Much, much fun, Auttenberg..." He didn't fight, though. Not at the moment.
"How's your shoulder? I always wondered if AIDS burned when it infected someone..."
A little stomp onto the elbow before his foot returned to the other's chest.
"Funny, I thought that feeling was rabies. Lucky for me, though--" The toe of his boot found Dorian's side, to aim and kick in quick succession, three times before rest.
"I have immediate access to a doctor, and AIDS isn't a death sentence anymore."
A grin
malicious&mastered.
"So sorry to disappoint."
"Hardly.... hardly disappointed," Dorian managed, gritting his teeth briefly before breaking in to a painful smile. "But are our dates ever... -ever disappointing? You always put out. That's what I like about you, Auttenberg..."
His eyes closed, savoring each sharp jab, ache, and burn in his body.
The guard fell into maniacal laughter, his head thrown back in the fit of amusement.
"Always put out?" He barely managed between his obstructed breath and strained senses.
"Always put out? You can't be serious, Dorian. Come on, now..." The laughter died into a motherly tone, one that was typically used to explain a very difficult concept to a child.
"That would imply I lost, now, wouldn't it. And we can't have that."
Dorian shakily reached up to touch his lip with his good arm, eyes opening to peer at the red that marred his fingertips.
"Or maybe.... my friend.... I wanted you to win."
"How convenient." His eyebrow arched, shifting the shadows falling across his face.
"That isn't a very noble way to go down, Dorian. Even idiots should know better."
"And why would I care to be noble?" Noe's expression was mimicked.
"Thank you for proving my point."
His face contorted, sadistic and joyous as he brought his foot down to smash Dorian's face, punctuating his statement.
The murderer slipped into unconsciousness, his hand dropping limply to his side.
Cold hands came down, then, to pull the murderer up and over his shoulder now that the threat had been eliminated. A steadied frame dragged them both to the door, iron creaking against itself as the SF raised his free hand
turning out the lights.