Blood from Stone [AU]

[Bethany]

"Like very frozen hell," Beth snaps, whirling around to jab a finger at Carver. "I am coming with you. I am saving my mate. Help with that or fuck off." She's breathing far too rapidly and her eyes are wide.

[Carver Amell]

He draws himself up, scowling. "At what cost? You're pregnant, Beth, and you're panicking. What good is it if you save him but lose the kits?"

[Bethany]

Beth flinches, the temperature spiking back up a bit. "I... but..." She swallows hard, gaze dropping to the ground. "I... I can't... not. Please. I need to... I need to at last go, find out what's going on. I... I'll stay-" She turns to Miki. "Is the hideout safe? What about the guard station?" For a human woman, she doesn't say out loud.

[GamesMaster]

"Don't know," he admits, in catfolk. "Riot moved away from the guards," he adds.

[Carver Amell]

"Trust me," he begs. "Stay here. Keep Mother safe, keep the children safe. Let me bring him home."

[NPCs]

"I'll go with him," Gamelan says abruptly. "No adventurer but I know a thing or two with a dagger. You stay here and look after my sister and I'll help your brother rescue your man."

[Bethany]

Beth stares a moment, the deep conflict very clear on her face. "Carver... I... I don't know what..." She swallows painfully. "Alright. Please. I'll trust you. Just please... I need both of you. Please."

[Carver Amell]

He kisses her on the cheek, taking her hands tightly for a brief moment. "I'll bring him home safe. I promise," he swears, and then he's turning toward Miki. "Where did you last see him?" he asks, breaking into a jog toward the way Miki just came.

[Coquette Blacquin]

Cindy was running out of steam.

The thing about her style of combat is that it can carry on for ages, without much being affected by fatigue. Liz's spells would run out, and she'd be useless for the day, but nothing could take the darkness from Cindy, nothing could stop her from skulking about, stabbing people, hiding. So long as she was perfect, she could keep this up endlessly, until she wore down her opponents and they were all captured by the prison guards fighting alongside her. 

So long as she was perfect.

Every time she is hurt, the wound wore down at her reserves, makes her slower, more easily tripped up. She's better, far better, at ignoring pain and blood than a mage might be, but she's not a frontline fighter, and she wears very little protective armor. Over the span of the night, without a chance to rest, she's growing more and more clumsy, more and more likely to make that one fatal mistake that gets her killed. 

Liz begs her to stop. But she can't. She's been fighting these guys all night, understands their strength outside the antimagic field that was keeping them contained; she knows the guards haven't got the upper hand, that if she falls here she will allow them to run roughshod over the city. She knows what will happen if she stops. So she kisses her ex, and lets the shadows take her, pushing herself onward, towards victory. Victory is the only acceptable outcome here. Victory is--

A blade slides into her from behind. She coughs, violently, feeling the hot blood spray out her lips, and then she sags, and darkness claims her fully. 

[NPCs]

"And.... that's ten," Pandias murmurs almost gently, the soft 'tink' of bone on metal puncuating the statement. Setting down the metal tool, no longer cool to the touch after being covered in fresh blood, he pats Don on the head. "That was almost impressive, little freak. Three out before you screamed, five before you cried and you only fainted the once, on seven."

He keeps his voice low and conversational, almost friendly, despite the stench and pained noises. Piss, blood and burnt flesh and fur- none of it seems to bother him. "Make sure you sear this one shut better. I don't want the blood loss to ruin things." With a grunt, his assistant- the third so far, as they seem to be taking turns- brings the cherry-red flatiron in close.

[GamesMaster]

Don lets out a low whimper, shuddering as the iron touches flesh. Nothing exists anymore, nothing but pain and shame and stench, nothing but this endless torment, the sick feeling in his gut -- and how long before he vomits? Not long, at this rate. He wishes they would piss off and let him die. Useless to everyone, useless and broken, a doll shaped like a cat, not even a man any longer. 

[NPCs]

Pandias moves around to squat in front of Don, a sympathetic expression on his face as he undoes the bridle. "That was pretty rough, wasn't it? Didn't have to happen but... Well. You did earn it. Now. I have more... plans for what can be done to you. So much more you owe me- and them of course- for your actions, for what you took, the lines you crossed. But... you have a choice. I can stop here, if you want. If you're willing to accept your place and do as your betters say. Do you want to hurt more Don? Is that what you want? To make me hurt you more? Or are you ready to behave?"

[GamesMaster]

He doesn't answer except in a low whimper, a shudder. No, please, stop... Please...

[NPCs]

"Don... Don, Don, Don. Unless you ask me to stop, I'm going to have to hurt you more. So... are you going to ask? Politely?"

[GamesMaster]

"Please," he whispers, his voice dry and cracked.