Cylus 26 Arc 717
Sometimes you could read a person’s mind from their face. Expressions were like the pages in a picture book, conveying meaning without the need for words. Sometimes the changing lines and shadows on the face, the muscles pulling and pushing beneath the skin, displayed a series of changing expressions that were so clear that one could just hear what they were thinking, the workings of their mind perfectly captured on their visage.
The man in the chair twitched slightly, his fingers curling themselves around the armrests for a moment, his shoulders and neck tensing up. His head rose, chin being lifted from its spot on his chest, a bit of drool tracing a thin line down. His eyes were opening, lids still feeling heavy with sleep. Still tired. Exhausted even. It was too early to wake up, but the light of a lit candle fell on his face. It stood too close to him to ignore, deliberately placed to rouse him.
It blinded him, the flame catching his attention and stealing away the details hidden in the dark. He blinked a couple times, unsure where he was. Why he’d been sleeping in a seated position. A yawn tore his lips asunder, the thread of saliva brushing against his chin. He raised a hand to wipe it away—
Or at least he tried to. The man was unable to lift his hand from the armrest. He frowned, confused. Eyes drifting to his arms, he tried again, now feeling something holding him in place, thick coils of rope binding his wrists to the armrests of the chair. He tensed, muscles in his neck, shoulders, and arms bulging and straining against the rope. No dice.
Panic.
Again and again he tried, rocking his body in an attempt to get out of his shackles. By trying to use the rest of his body, he now noticed his ankles were tied to the legs of the chair in a similar fashion as his wrists, and more rope held his torso secured against the seating and the back of his seat. Still, that only served to double his efforts. Breathing quickly now, heart beating loudly in his chest, pulse throbbing in his temples. He could hear the blood rushing through his veins, he could feel the itching pinpricks of cold sweat under his armpits, his nethers, and his throat. He rocked harder, using every part of his body to try and loosen the binds just a tiny bit, swinging the only part of him that wasn’t bound –his head—back and forth wildly.
The chair’s front legs lifted off the floor, then slammed back into it as he gained momentum, until eventually he toppled, knocking over the small table with the candle on his way down. He hit the floorboards hard, cheek impacting the wood with a sickening smack, but the pain was only an afterthought. The sconce clattering metallic on the floor. Still lit, it rolled away a few feet, hitting a leather boot, then it stopped.
A red-spotted leather glove came down to grab it, fingers curling around the candlestick. His eyes followed the flame as it was lifted higher, illuminating more of the figure who’d been hiding in the dark. Clad in the same spotted leather as the gloves and boots, reminding him of a uniform of sorts. There was a rounded shape to the hips, a swell to chest; telltale signs of a female body.
He didn’t care about any or that. He probably didn't even register any of it.
Anger colored his face red.
“WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU? WHERE AM I? RELEASE ME! NOW!”
The candle now lighted up her face, showing an eyepatch and a hollow smile. She approached as he yelled, and calmly pushed the table back upright. The candle was placed back on to it mere moments later. Then his chair was slowly lifted onto its four legs. Her calm silence shut him up, and for a moment he thought that maybe, just maybe, he’d been yelling at the wrong person. Perhaps she’d undo his shackles and—
“It’s good to see you so energetic this early in the morning,” she beamed at him, a cold smile that sent shivers running along his spine. He recognized this face. He’d seen her before. “You’ll need it if you plan to resist.” Her head cocked to the side, a loud cracking sound coming from her neck. Then the other side did too. As did her knuckles. She was standing close enough that he could see her uniform in detail. The spots on her leathers were irregular shapes, splotches of red.
He swallowed. His eyes went wide in realization.
Yesterday wasn’t a bad dream, was it?
His head turned as he slowly scanned the room, spotting a chair right in front of him, only a couple meters away. With his eyes no longer blinded by the candle, he could clearly see the outline of a figure sitting in the chair—no, not sitting. Hanging. He was only held in place by the ropes, else he’d probably already have collapsed on the floor. The person didn’t move. Around his feet was a large puddle.
The man cried. He only realized when he felt the hot tears stream down his cheeks. He sobbed, in part for his friend, in part for what he knew would follow.
“Please…” he begged, “Please… don’t…”
She ignored him, balling her hands into fists, loud scraping and cracking noises coming from her knuckles. She stuffed a ball of fabric in his mouth, then wound another strip of cloth around his head, covering his mouth. He gagged, fear striking him hard in the gut, its icy tendrils spreading all through his body. He wanted to wake up. He wished for this to be a dream, just like he had the trial before.
“Let’s get started, shall we?”