These sconces burn for you.

[Pravus Zambrano]

His knees nearly buckled as he lowered himself, watching her eat. Rubbing his palms together, he smiled and nodded. "See, it's pretty good right?" He held his hand up, all comme ci comme ca, and shrugged. "It's at least not bad?" Was he looking for her approval? He did love her, so that would make sense. But he didn't wait for her response, instead snatching the plate and sandwich from her hand. Taking the sandwich in his large fingers rather daintily, he took a massive bite right next to where she bit it. Letting the sandwich roll around in his mouth, he nodded as he tapped his foot. Gesturing with the half eaten sandwich, towards nothing in particular at all, he thought out loud.

"It's not the best. But I blame these conditions. Breads a bit dry and the meat is...eh, gamey. I think it might be gamorrean, so it's not as gamey as I would have expected. But this lettuce...absolutely terrible." He waved the sandwich around, dismissively, as he forcibly swallowed. "No crunch at all. I'll get Darron to pick something up for us later." He set the plate and sandwich down, approaching Sam as he wrapped his large hands around hers. "Please don't be upset about the sandwich, I'll make it up to you. Pinky promise." He propped one of her hands up with his at eye level, forcing his pinky in between her ring and pinky finger as he licked his lips nervously - like threading a needle. "There. Now I have to do it." He smiled and nodded, giggling excitedly as he released her hands.

Turning, he opened the sliding door that would head back to the foyer and proceeded out. "Come now Rose, I don't want to have to drag you around..." He stopped and looked over his shoulder. "But I will if I have to..." He smiled and waved for her to come along, gingerly and with emphasized bony protrusions along his elongated digits. "Lets take a look around."

Stopping at the stairs, indecision took over him as gargantuan black irises moved from one spot to the other. "Uhh..." He looked down, he looked up. He looked down, he looked up. "So...we could check out what everything looks like upstairs. Orrrrr..." His words trailed off as he looked towards the woman, like a vulture ready to hop towards a fresh offering of roadkill. Delicious, delectable roadkill. Still warm. "We could head down stairs and get straight to it?" He raked his pale hands over one another, revelation coming to him for a memory he swore he had. "If I recall correctly, you rather enjoyed getting straight to business...or am I mistaken?"

The door to the basement, like an inviting abyss, stared up at them from the base of the ascending stair case. Pravus could feel a gentle current of air moving from it, brushing across exposed ankles beneath the weighted robes of his esteemed lineage. He silently rejoiced, otherwise revolted at the thought of sweating while he worked.

[member="Sam Paige"]​

 

[Sam Paige]

The room started to spin when he said Garmorrean. Even just one bite, it threatened to come back up, but she clamped her mouth closed, the barest of a sound coming from her throat before she squeezed her eyes shut. She leaned on the counter, kneels doing a credible impression of jelly. She swallowed hard-

She felt him looming a moment before he took her hands in his. She flinched, but his hands were like iron against hers. Fingers curled tightly into fists, she resisted whatever in the world he was trying to do with her fingers- until she realized what it was. And then they went slack with disbelief as he finished the motion.

Pinky promise.

She watched him walk away, stunned, exhausted and confused for the moment more than afraid. But-

He was walking away.

What would Tegan do?

Her eyes darted to the counter, to where he'd left the knife. From the knife to his back. To the knife again.

But fear and indecision (could she do that? Not just could she but could she?) lost the moment and she brought her eyes back to him immediately when he turned back. She quailed slightly, bravery conjured by the spectre of her friend vanished again. Walk or be dragged. It wasn't a question of if she followed him, but how.

Walking was better.

Right?

She paused when he did, two meters behind him, and preferring not to get any closer right now if she had the choice. She watched him warily, trying desperately to gauge his mood. It changed so quickly, so deeply volatile that she wasn't even sure a good one offered much protection, not with the speed she'd seen it oscillate back and forth already.

Her face paled beneath the freckles.

"G-get st-straight to wh-what?"

She didn't really think about the question. It was there without asking permission from her brain or tongue to voice it. Something screamed in her head that no, she didn't want to know what he meant. Likewise without consent she took a pair of steps backward.

The disagreement between wanting nothing to do with that basement and her promise to herself to be agreeable froze any decision in her mind. It hinged, instead, on his answer.

[member="Pravus Zambrano"]

 

[Pravus Zambrano]

He turned to her like an automated defense turret in desperate need of oil and grease. But instead of a weapon or barrel, his shoulders hoisted a massive head with oblong nose and eyes that could pierce. A smile that could drain the life from the feeble, teeth that could dissipate every ounce of hope for something better. And there they were, all for her. On full display.

"Oh, you want to know what is in store?" He shuffled one foot towards her, the slow draw of the shadow beneath a heavy sun, edging towards a line drawn in the sand. His hands came up, bent at the wrists, as they hung limp at breast height. "I have so much I want to show you, my love. And I know that you love me in turn." He took another step. "But knowing is not truly knowing. You must prove it to me." He took another step towards her, removing the space behind her and the ivory wall that offered only a corned and nowhere to go. "Truly prove it." With every word, the passion of his voice found sharpness in malice - intended or otherwise. Until his feet stopped moving and the corner of his lips turned upward, eyes slitting to near blindness. A smile.

A finger moved and booped her on the nose.

"I love your enthusiasm. But..." The booping finger lifted towards the ceiling. "A spoiled treat is no treat at all!" He nodded to himself as he turned around, gaze arcing towards the sky. "It will be a surprise. But I'm sure you will love it. I know I will. Ya know what they say?" He turned to look at her over his broad and ill formed shoulders. "It's not work if you enjoy it."

Taking a few steps up the stairs, he waved the woman on. "We will savor the taste of prolonging. The night is young, after all. Come now Rose, lets take a look upstairs." Before taking another step, he leaned heavily over the banner and screamed with a hand held to his mouth. "Darron! We'll be down in a bit! Make sure the restraints are working. I don't want a repeat of the last time!" He waved the woman up the stairs to follow him, shadowed in the persistent veil of his threatening demeanor.

The stairs breached the second floor, giving way to a hallway that ran in both directions. To the left, a long series of facing doors that likely led to additional rooms. To the right, the massive master bedroom that had once housed the master of the house. And would do so once more. Pravus clapped the edges of his fingers together as he exclaimed loudly. "Oh, I hope they have Dreamsilk." He stopped as he looked towards Sam. "One thousand thread count, at least! Anything else and it simply wont do! Not for my Rose." Smiling reassuringly, he moved into the master bedroom like a slug that had found his way but was still intent on wandering.

[member="Sam Paige"]​

 

[Sam Paige]

She found the wall behind her long before he ran out of looming menace. Shoulders hunched, she tried desperately to melt into the curve of ivory. There was no such miracle today.

Not a single threat was made. Not overtly. He offered no words that promised harm in any explicit fasion. But there was intent. There was implication. She'd grown up on holodramas and her grandmother's stories. The realization that those were both deeply sanitized and that she truly had no idea of what this man was capable of? She only knew the darkness enough to know that she had no ability to comprehend how deep it went.

And that frightened her more than any direct threat he could have made.

'P-please-'

But he was already moving on, moving up! Anywhere but down, please by the gods anywhere but down.

She followed because what else could she do? As long as her own feet were under her, she had something. And he'd already showed that he had no problem dragging or carrying her where he wanted.

What are worms good for?

Nothing.

As long as she was good for something, in his eyes, she was alive.

She just had to wait it out. Wait long enough, survive long enough (that he could kill her without a thought was no doubt in her mind) to either find a way out of this or-

Or for Ben to find her.

He'd come. When he thought she'd been in danger before. She hadn't been that time, but a light flickered low in her chest. Because she believed he'd come for her again. She just had to give him time.

How to do that? How to gain time and stay *safe*?

I don't want a repeat of the last time.

It froze her, there on the stairs. Everything clicked into place.

She wasn't the first Rose.

How many women? How many had he found that settled in his mind as 'his' Rose? Enough that he had to have that love proven- her mind shied away from how he might mean that. There was nothing but fear, not even enough room for proper revulsion. Could she do it? Make him believe enough to gain her that time? She could try.

His exclamations as he turned into a bedroom.

​She closed her eyes tight, trying to fight back the trembling.

How far could she take that lie?

How far could she pretend?

She breathed in, a long, low shaky breath. It didn't offer much. She ground her back teeth together, tried to speak but nothing came out the first try. And then-

"It d-doesn't matter," she managed to get out, though she didn't follow him into the bedroom. "I-I'll just be h-happy if y-you're near by."

Bile roiled in her stomach.

[member="Pravus Zambrano"]

 

[Pravus Zambrano]

Clear fluid welled up in his sockets, eyes of pitch and a perimeter of jaundice, as he looked back past through the threshold between brown hallway and deep toned master bedroom. Beige, trims of white and black, with electrum finish and embroidery that resembled lightning branching out from floor to ceiling. He breathed out heavily as he sat on the bed, moaning beneath the massive and concealed weight of his solid frame. The comforter, cerulean and dirty honey, ruffled beneath the robes of orchid and midnight. "That's all I wanted..." He took a deep breath, trembling upon the intake, as he ran his fingers through the greasy slick of his hair. "That's all I've ever wanted, Rose. For you to be happy."

He trembled, wiping a tear from his pallid cheek. And then he looked behind him, clawing at the comforter and yanking it back. Setting the flat of his palm against the sheet, he stroked gingerly. The joyful sadness of his expression turned over, a smile wholly upside down, as his face scrunched into anger. Wrinkles around his lips, wrinkles between his eyebrows, wrinkles on his face where no wrinkles needed to exist. He stroked again and only grew more and more angry with the passing moments. His expression turn red as he stood, long arms hanging to his side. The purple satin crinkled as he retracted his arm, hands curling into white hot fists. "These are...450 thread count at BEST!" He yelled, the room quaking beneath his voice and the mysterious expression of his otherwise hidden power.

The loose fabric of his robe revealed glowing eldritch runes of purple, forming geometric shapes along his arms, as he bent down. Grabbing the frame, he yanked it free from the floor and tossed it against the wall. Wood splintered, metal bent, spears of material pierced the box spring and mattress alike. The force threatened to cave in the wall between bedroom and master bath, the brilliant white hue of the lavatory shinning through the base of an otherwise closed door. "It doesn't matter!" He nearly screamed, heaving. "It doesn't matter!"

Turning towards Sam, he moved in a speed that was unexpected. Pace beyond what his means should have been, he approached her with a flash of power that clutched her throat hard. "You said it doesn't matter. You promise?!?" He applied a small pressure upwards, hand resting beneath her jaw and sandwiching the gag against her skin. "You promise that it doesn't matter...because these aren't 1000 thread count, Rose! Not even close!" His eyes would have appeared manic if they weren't so beautiful, so full of righteous devotion and love! He looked towards her, his grip softening as he felt remorse overcome him. Remorse for failing that promise, to be better! Overtaken by emotion, he fell to his knees nearly weeping, pressing his massive melon against her shoulder. Fingers clawed about, looking for a hug. "I'm sorry Rose, I'm so sorry..." He shook as he breathed in. "We will get better linens, I promise." He pulled back, holding her by the shoulders. Even on his knees, he was at her height. "Can you find it in your heart to forgive me?"

[member="Sam Paige"]​

 

[Sam Paige]

She shrank back against the doorframe, bringing her hands up in front of her face as he lashed out, tearing apart the room in a heartbeat between touched sentiment and fury.

Because of the sheets.

No. The sheets were simply a catalyst. This existed as a potential in any moment, from breath to breath. Impossible to predict with any real accuracy outside of one simple fact- he was insane. But not the quiet sort of insanity that plagued most people. No internal stife, turned inward that broke a person from the world around them. His exploded outside of him, instead of fearing that his inner world did not match the outter one, taking the outter in both hands and physically ripping it apart so that it matched his inner self.

Sam froze as the bed virtually disintegrated beneath his fury, head down against the door frame, because that was simply what she did. Become small. Unassuming. Unthreatening. Anything to let the attention stay on something other than her. As defensive mechanisms went, it worked in a wide variety of circumstances.

This was not one of them.

Then he closed the distance in half a heart beat and Sam couldn't breath. Only in part from the pressure on her throat, the other part pure terror that couldn't help but be reflected in wide blue eyes as his face filled her vision. She reached up, both hands on his arm, not able to answer in words or even shake her head. For a moment, she thought he was going to kill her right there, squeeze the breath out of her-

But he didn't. She gasped when he let go again, her entire body shaking against his when he knelt. She had been keeping it contained as well as she could, but that moment of knowing he was going to kill her was too much. A sob bubbled up, unbidden, shoulders shaking once, twice. She swallowed hard, looking up at the ceiling with eyes swimming tears as he sought embrace. With her hands bound, even if she'd had the fortitude to fake that, she would have been unable to.

My name is Sam. My name is Sam-

She squeezed her eyes shut, tears on her eyelashes as she nodded at him mutely.

Agreeable. Polite. It was the only armor she knew how to wear.

He wasn't asking for forgiveness for scaring her- for almost hurting her. He was asking for the sheets. With that in mind, she could lie.

"The sh-sheets d-don't m-m-matter," she managed to get out, eyes still closed and face pointed up at the ceiling. "I p-promise."

[member="Pravus Zambrano"]

 

[Pravus Zambrano]

Big eyes grew bigger, the subtle and perfect complexion of mania forever on view beneath ellipsoid pupils. A storm rocked beneath that facade, threatening to over take these brief yet simple moments of peace. The sort of storm that would bring beautiful and undeniable love, forever melding strangers who had known each other for many life times, left upon a hill with the wake of destruction far behind them. Couldn't make an omelette without breaking a few eggs. And you couldn't fill a grave without killing a few people first.

"Thank you Rose, thank you." It wasn't the shrill of a voice, echoing out from the lips of a scaregort hanging high in a field of hay that had yet to be harvested. No, this was a devout and devoted man, bent upon his knees, finding grace in the sea of blue that offered him forgiveness. "You deserve the world. And I want you to have it all." One gaunt hand moved, always so gracefully, from her shoulder to her eye. Strafing across, he wiped the remnants of tears and smiled. "You will have it all." Pinky promise.

Huffing, he stood up from the floor and once more towered above her. The hand that wiped the tear now latched onto the bindings of her hands, formerly used in such a defensive posture. "But first. We must prove ourselves to each other." Sparkles formed in the whites of his eyes as he looked towards the threshold, the place where they entered the bedroom. Slits formed where his pupils once were as he bared his teeth. "I didn't carry you across the threshold. You didn't remind me..." He looked towards the woman, the slightest hint of teeth.

She was so small, smaller then he recalled. A dainty rose, one that could whither and bruise if not properly tended. And he took that into account. One doesn't prune the hedge that's been cut from the garden. She would need grounding first. His full lips curved back into a smile. "It's not a problem. We can amend that later. We have nothing but time, now." Stepping through the threshold, he pulled her along. Not the same yanking as before but assertive nonetheless. "Come now. It's time for the main stage." He was once the greatest gypsy in all the land, performing feats of magic that had people wondering where their children or wives or husbands had gone. Abracadabra, he said with a large smile. And it wasn't until the show was over, until the gypsy camp was abandoned, that they realized their loved ones were nowhere to be found.

But if they held their ear to a conch shell, or to a lockett with an innocent face on the interior, Pravus liked to imagine they could hear the distant screams of their loved ones. A soft melody, brass and woodwind in tandem, bellowing from the pit of the dead.

Stepping down the first step, they began their slow march towards the basement. Thump. Slide. Thump. Slide. One slow agonizing step at a time.

"Savor these moments, Rose. They will be the very best of your life." He looked over his shoulder. "You will never feel more alive than you do now."

[member="Sam Paige"]​

 

[Sam Paige]

​Every time he called her Rose, there was the mantra in her head. Any sound of those simple four letters was met with four equally simple words.

My name is Sam.

Accepting his words, his name, on the surface, meant that it was important that she not miss a single murmur of those syllables. She didn't have a concrete reason to know that. She was no trained agent, no Jedi. But she clung to that as a stone held above the waves in a tempest. The storm raged, trying to drown her in cold salt water, battering her to bruises and blood against the stone itself. But as long as she hung on, she could weather it. She could make it until the tide receded, or the storm ended.

Or until a boat came.

It was difficult to keep track of one wave to the next. It only took so long for someone who had never ridden out a hurricane for each gust of wind to start to run together and sound the same. The difference between a gust that would rock a boat and one that would swamp it was too small for the uninitiated to truly read from the quality of the air itself. When it seemed like every gust would be the last before the waters over took, it was only a matter of time until each ran into the next.

So it was less the words, and more the motions themselves that came through strongest. When every statement was laced with implicit threat, her mind couldn't hold them all. But the drawing down again, the pull of his hand on the binding, the stairs-

She pulled up short, stopping walking only a few steps down. Even then, the tug and momentum of his pull brought her down another step before her resistance was truly noticed.

"Please-" she pleaded, her voice tight and edging on frantic.

She didn't know what was in that basement. But she feared that if she went down into that darkness she'd never come back up for air.

"You d-don't have to p-prove anything. I b-believe you! I- please-"

Her mind churned at breakneck speed, and then-

"I'm j-just so t-tired. M-maybe s-sleep- so I c-could be at my b-best for you."

Time. She just needed time.

And she would never walk willingly into that basement.

[member="Pravus Zambrano"]

 

[Pravus Zambrano]

"Oh, my sweet..." He smiled as he turned, hunch of the back moving like an engine crane hoisting up the monumental billboards of his forehead. Turning his body fully towards her, his fingers wrapped around the curls of her fist as she pleaded with him. "I hate seeing you so upset." He confessed, hearing the pitch of her voice like it was sharpened claws against chalkboard. Releasing the bindings of her hands, he took her face in her hands. "But there are rules that must be followed..." He leaned forward, placing a kiss against her red bangs. Freckles and fire.

Pulling away from her freckled forehead, he stopped and looked towards the ceiling. "You're playing with my delicate heart, you know that?"

He tapped his foot on the stair.

He tapped some more.

"Okay. I've got an idea." He held out his hands, fingers splayed in all directions. "Truthfully, I had an assortment of activities planned for tonight. I think you would have really enjoyed it but I agree. You should be well rested for it." He held a finger to the bottom of his lip. "You have always been very thoughtful about this sort of thing. So lets make a compromise."

He stopped, eyes moving back down to her, as he pressed his fingers tips together like a toppled cathedral. "We forego the basement for the time being. Until you're ready. BUT..." He waggled his fingers enthusiastically. "We have a lite version of my original itinerary. Nothing too extravagant, no bells or whistles. Just...appetizers." He smiled widely. "To whet the whistle for our fun to come. I'll have Darron bring some things upstairs..." He held up his hands, as if stopping her from moving. "No restraints. I'll even remove the bindings. You can even pick the room...one of these fine rooms would do." He swung his hand down the other hallway.

Just as he finished, he stepped up against the only stair that stood between them. Now fully towering over her, he held up his finger. "But you have to participate. No more pleading, no more begging. We are in this together and I'd like to feel like that's the case. So which will it be, Rose?" He pointed towards the hallway. "The bedroom or..." He pointed down. "The basement?"

[member="Sam Paige"]​

 

[Sam Paige]

He was.... agreeing. She tried to keep her hope in check, but Sam had never been particularly good at that. No restraints and he would remove the bindings. With those gone, she had a chance. She could find a way to slice the security system, she was sure of it. Find some weakness in it. It flared like a small, hungry fire in her core, and a flash of it reflected in her eyes for a moment.

And then the other shoe dropped and she felt the bottom fall out of her world.

Her mantra couldn't even claw its way out. My name is Sam was silent in her mind.

She barely even realized she was shaking her head.

That wasn't a choice! To go down into the unknown- or to promise something that she was certain she could not deliver. To simply allow him to do.... whatever he was going to do, to promise to not protest-

The Basement or the Bedroom.

She couldn't make that promise. Even as a lie- it wasn't an unwillingness to lie, she would do that again and again if she had to. But if she promised.... and then broke it?

Her mind skipped to the disappointment of simple sheets and recoiled.

He offered her poison. On the right, a bottle with no label, no idea of what it did- how long it would take the die, how agonizing it would be. On the left, a pair of bottles. And she could choose which, already knowing that both would do the same job but here he required that she choose with a smile and happy heart.

Tears spilled over, her breath hitching hard in her chest as she closed her eyes, shaking her head.

"I c-c-can't," she finally sobbed. "P-please, I j-just, I c-can't."

Her shoulders shook with the pressure of someone still trying to keep back more than a few tears and one sobbed sentence.

[member="Pravus Zambrano"]

 

[Pravus Zambrano]

"Shhhh..." He cooed. "Shhh now, my love. I know. I know." He shook his head, comforting her with a finger pressed against her cheek. Moving, he deflected a single embossed tear, magnifying freckles and fire beneath it. "It is a hard choice for me as well. I would be surprised if you could make it with such ease. And you are..." His other hand curled into a fist. "So strong. So very strong. But..." The fist turned into a single finger. "We all must make choices, even when our choice is to not choose at all."

The finger, still wet with her tear, lifted to his lips. Serpentine tongue splayed a forceful smile as he lapped a single time, taking in the sweet salt. "Mmm...yes! I will make the choice then!" The hand stretched across the space between them in a flash of power and force, anger ever whimsical across his jovial visage. He yanked at her arms so hard that it might have caused harm this time but that was the nature of deification. The process was abrupt and drawn out, lingering in a single space across centuries. And she was catching him in his grandest moments, apotheosis on the horizon. A zenith, cresting upon a hill of freckles and fire!

Leaning over the railing, he formed a cup against his mouth and yelled. "Darron! Bring the bag! The smaller one!"

A zombies head popped out from beneath the stairs. "Which one?"

"The small one!" He grew frustrated. "THE JINGLE BAG!"

"Oh..." Darron responded, volume pulled from the single syllable like a passing speeder. "Ok."

The zombie disappeared and Pravus mounted the last step back towards the loft, straddling the space between Sam and the banister. Taking in a long breath of silence, amidst a sea of leer, his nostrils flared like monstrous black holes against a sallow universe, threatening to consume the small woman. "You will take part in this." Eyes narrowed into chasms, breathing the hateful heat of the hell that lurked beneath. "Or we will go down to the basement. And you will have no rest." Canting, slits turned into something warm, instead of searing. "Now as promised, you can pick the room. But don't draw this out!" He wagged a finger at her. "The sooner you choose, the sooner we start." He turned and strolled down the hallway, dragging her by the binding.

[member="Sam Paige"]​

 

[Sam Paige]

She couldn't help but watch as he brought that tear to his mouth. It was grotesque, and she closed her eyes, swallowing hard, pressing down on the desire to crumble into a ball right there and sob. Her knees felt weak and every time she thought she had something, it slipped away again, taken and held in long fingered, bony hands and studied with bulbous, searching eyes.

Blue eyes flew wide again though as he pulled that time, a cry of pain escaping her lips- every joint flaring heavy fire for a heartbeat before he let up. It had been such a casual motion, and not for the first time she was reminded of just how much stronger he was. The only reason he hadn't simply snapped her neck yet was because he wanted something from her.

She just didn't know what, and that terrified her, because the malice that lurked behind his teeth threatened to squeeze the very breath from her lungs.

How bad could something called a Jingle bag be? What could possible be inside something like that, that would hurt her?

But there wasn't a lot of hope left in her chest that it would be anything benign.

Sam flinched when he swung back to her, eyes slitted and threatening. She caught just a glimpse of that hellscape behind his eyes before the jovial jester returned- and she didn't know which was worse.

Only one was honest.

It was the wildly vacillation between the two that made it so difficult to gain mental purchase on the situation. Never knowing which, from moment to moment, she'd be looking at.

The Basement or the Bedroom.

She didn't want to choose at all. She wanted to sink to the stairs and sob, beg him to let her go. It was a near thing, and her knees almost buckled then and there. But if she did....

The Basement.

Anything to stay out of the basement.

"Th-the end of the hall," she burst out. "Th-the room. At the end."

She didn't have it in her to pretend to inspect every room, but at least that one was physically farther away.

[member="Pravus Zambrano"]

 

[Pravus Zambrano]

He felt the utter fluttering of collywobbles, rummaging around in the pit of his stomach. Looking in the direction of her indication, he lifted a hand to his mouth and feigned chewing on his nails. He needed those nails but by the Goddess, he had the urge! No, no he can't make a show like that in front of his beloved. He nodded as he smiled, turning to her with a grin that could melt the polar ice caps on the tips of Helska.

"I'm sure that one will be lovely, Rose. Lets take a look..." He did his best to contain his excitement, yanking on her bindings with enthusiasm that was two parts mania and one part total adoration for the woman he traipsed behind him. The hesitation was in the prolonging, the desire to drag this out as long as she could! Like drinking a fine wine, his love wanted nothing more than to bask in his presence, adorning him with a smile encumbered by freckles and eyes that could light up the very night!

Rounding the last threshold, he swiped his hand as the door swished open. Overcome with giddy, eyes-a-ogling, he pulled her in with a laugh that married a chirp and giggle, giving birth to something angelic yet grounded, for the sacred and earthly all the same. "It's beautiful Rose, absolutely beautiful!" He turned, nodding ardently towards her. "Splendid choice. Absolutely splendid."

He heard a moan down the hallway as something lurched up the stairs. Peeking his head out from the frame, he yelled out. "DARRON, DOWN HERE!" The excitement was palpable.

The room was large though it was meant for something small. A child, a porcelain doll for the family. The youngest girl perhaps, or the playroom for when guests brought their children. Dolls lined the northern wall, a large bed sat in kept form with sheets and comforter of warm quartz and haughty red. The center, a modestly sized table for the mothers to sit and watch as the children played with dolls and figurines. A portion of the room was covered in plush carpeting, meant for sitting and playing. And as Pravus moved about, he forcibly placed Sam in one of the seats that was reserved for parents. He sat down next to her, smiling and leering, as the seat groaned beneath his weight.

Darron moved in, shambling corpse that he was, as he plopped the jingle bag on a sterile white vanity. It did, in fact, jingle. "Careful Darron, careful!" Pravus urged him with an open hand. Darron sighed as he moved forward, empty sockets looking towards the woman, as if he wasn't blind at all. Setting a hot kettle down on the centerpiece, he moved back to the bag and unzipped it. From within, he withdrew saucers and small cups of fine ceramic with electrum trim.

Darron moved as if he was well practiced, rattling the finery around as he set one before Pravus and one before Sam. Pravus shooed him away. "Go stand in the corner, Darron. I can manage everything else. Oh!" He waved. "Lay everything else out. The vanity will do for staging." Turning back to Sam, he rubbed his hands together and grabbed the kettle. Even as he grabbed the scalding hot exterior, he registered not an inkling of pain. Filling her cup up first, he then transitioned to his own. "It has a spritz of chamomile mixed with a bit of leaves that I picked up from Thyferra. And of course...a bit of rose tips." He set the kettle down and anxiously grabbed his own cup. "Mmm, it smells...wonderful. I could not have picked a better room for this." He confessed, eyes searching the soft white walls before turning to Rose. "Please try the tea, it is quite good."

[member="Sam Paige"]​

 

[Sam Paige]

My name is Sam.

She wanted nothing more than to be as far from this strange man as possible. To run, as fast and as far as she could. But his grip on the bindings, even beyond that she'd be stopped by the house's security features, meant that all she could do was keep playing the game as best as she could.

Keep him happy. Stay alive.

The choice of the last room at the end of the hallway had been instinctive. The farthest one from where they were now. The fact that it turned out to not be a bedroom? There was no word for the relief that flooded through her when she realized that. The room itself was even half familiar- she and her sisters had one very similar growing up. Furnished with a combination of small and adult sized furniture, well stocked with toys and dolls to keep rich children busy and out of the way. Seats certainly for adults, but only ever used for show, when other adults were around and the illusion that they were all good and attentive parents was necessary. They would laugh and chat and subtly find praise for their own children in ways that even more subtly elevated themselves in the eyes of their parental peers.

There was no comfort found here, however. No pleasant nostalgia. It was certainly less alarming than an adult bedroom would have been. But Sam's memories of times, alone in a room like this one, with her older sisters was not particularly pleasant. It had only been when she had been left alone, the other three old enough to bore of these sorts of play things long before she did, that she had found any solace in being alone with her thoughts and preferences.

She sat heavily when he pulled her down into the chair, her shoulders and knees drawing in without thought, the instinctive posture of a child, shy and hoping to go unnoticed by rowdier peers. His laughter, the leer on his face, turned her stomach and she looked away, focusing instead on the line of dolls, watching with unmoving eyes, but at least with pleasant smiles painted on porcelain lips.

She could hear the bag, hear Darron's shambling steps, and she steeled herself for whatever was to come-

Sam blinked as the tea cup was set in front of her.

Blue eyes cast up to him, then to the tea, then back to him. As his urging, she reached out tentatively, fingers brushing the surprisingly fine porcelain.

Bone china, her mother had called it, and she suppressed a shudder.

Picking up the cup, hands shaking just enough to cause it to clatter slightly against the saucer before she lifted it, she hesitated for only a moment. Rose tips.

My name is Sam.

Did he mean actual roses? Or part of the last woman he'd called Rose?

For a moment she swayed, edges of her vision eating away with white. She wasn't entirely certain she wasn't going to pass out. Unconsciousness sounded like a wonderful alternative to all of this. But she clawed her way back out, fighting back against the dizziness and nausea of spiking heart rate and blood pressure.

After all, Sam had no idea what would happen if she lost consciousness. She could wake up in the basement. Or worse.

She refocused her eyes on the tea, pale and smelling surprisingly pleasant. The steam fogged her glasses slightly along the bottom curve. Actual roses? Her hands trembling, she took a small sip. It scalded her tongue, nose filling with the fragrance and reflexively she blew on the contents of the cup.

"It's..... it's lovely," she offered, not needing to lie this time, as she had with the sandwich.

[member="Pravus Zambrano"]

 

[Pravus Zambrano]

He smiled, a gaping and heinous thing, as he excitedly drummed on the fine cloth covering the table. "I knew you'd like it, I knew it!" His shrill voiced reached to the peaks of the highest mountains, as if he was proving some unknown entity wrong. "I have to call it the jingle bag..." He confessed, withdrawing a smile as his brows lifted. "So many people prefer caf to tea, so I have to disguise it!" He waved. "You understand, of course. Everyone has preferences. I'm just so glad that ours match."

"Your...your things are ready."

The mellow tones of perpetual melancholy spilled from rotting lips and half chewed tongue, whistling through the gaps where teeth used to be. But now, it was symphonic craters for the lowest drab of a voice that could ever grace the world. Pravus tapped his feet against the floor as he clapped the tips of his fingers together. He wouldn't ruin this with words, not yet. No no, the beauty of the moment would come in the sudden crescendo.

Scooting out from the chair, he approached the vanity that up until this point, had been obscured from view for Rose. But the sway of robes revealed the gleam of steel, the flare of leather, and the ever subtle sound of metal clanking against metal. "Darron, you..." He paused, looking at the ghoul with contempt. "Well I can't really force you to watch anymore, so the point is moot..." He wagged his finger at the necrotic man servant. "You lost your eyes on purpose, didn't you?"

"I anxiously await the days when I can no longer speak, no longer hear...then I will be free of you and this evil world."

"Evil! Evil?!? Darron, please. Such words, such vulgarity!" He gestured, pleading with the shorter figure. "I can't stand that word. Leave!" He pointed towards the door. "Leave my sight and close the door behind you! But stay in shouting range, I may need you in a bit."

The ghoul immediately gave in, though cast a decaying expression towards the woman in her chair. If Rose looked hard enough, could just see past the necrosis and swollen skin, she might find heartache. And not for himself, never for himself.

The door shut and Pravus clapped. "Okay. So..." He came back to the table with a long instrument. Long enough to fit an arm, adhering it within the conical shape. At the end, a turn wheel that was moved from the outside, once the hand within was strapped and clamped down. Despite it's simple expression, it was a self-constructed and complex piece of art. "Before we start...are you right or left handed?"

He was nothing if not considerate.

[member="Sam Paige"]​

 

[Sam Paige]

His excitement and glee was an almost painful physical force. She flinched slightly, more a tightening of elbows and shoulders than anything else. Nothing dramatic. That would draw attention and she kept that a tight as she could within herself.

"I- I don't like c-caf at all. T-tea is nice," she murmured, grasping and trying to find something, anything that could be a 'normal' conversation.

Of course, it didn't last long.

She closed her eyes, but that couldn't block out their conversation. The sound of Darron's voice as it moved against partially decomposed features. The words themselves and how casual and normal in tone that exchange almost sounded. More normal than when he had been talking about the tea.

This is not normal, she repeated to herself. None of this was normal. Never forget that. Never lose that.

Every word stuck in her mind like the sandwich had stuck in her throat. Sticky and choking, the sensation of it lingering long after the swallow. A ghost of unpleasantness that stuck there until something worse came along. Of course, with this man, she didn't have long to wait for something worse.

She wanted to let her shoulders relax slight at the sound of the shutting door. Darron did not merely unnerve her. He threatened to upend everything she knew about the world and everything in it. She wasn't afraid of him perse. Not when she had someone else so thoroughly occupying that part of her. But she was deeply discomforted by him, and who could blame her?

Of course, the sound of the door closing meant that she was now alone in here. With him.

There was no solace in that.

Sam didn't open her eyes until he asked his question. She frowned, brow furrowing at the contraption in his hands. Not entirely certain, for a moment, what she was looking at or how his question related to it. She looked from it to him and back again.

What little colour had managed to make its way back to her cheeks drained utterly. Pulling her hands in against her stomach she shook her head, a tiny motion that set hair moving more than anything else.

She didn't know exactly what it was for. But she didn't need to understand the biological aspect to recognize the mechanics of it. The broad strokes, at least, and she shook her head again, harder this time.

"P-please," she whispered. "P-please. I- I'm a m-m-mechanic. Please you can't. I need- please-"

[member="Pravus Zambrano"]

 

[Pravus Zambrano]

His face hardened, like water turning into waves of sharp glass, as he looked towards the woman as she pleaded. What had he said? She would be forthcoming and take part in this process. But so far, all he was getting were tears and begging. Salty and fragrant, every bit of joy he knew to exist within those beautiful seas of blue. Freckles and fire.

Setting the instrument down on the table, he rubbed his hands together, ignoring her question. "So how it works...you are a mechanic, you must be interested." He pointed to the cylindrical tube. "The limb is placed within this telescopic design. At the end, it clamps to the most distal joint." He waved. "In this case, the wrist." He wagged a finger at her. "Now pay attention, this is the part that's truly interesting. Once the limb is fixed within the tube..."

He pressed a button and metal cylinders, varying in size like steps circling the perimeter of a great monument, pressed in at the distal end. "These are size sensitive. They adhere to the geometry of the limb...the hand for our example. And then it's ready for use." He looked her up and down and for the first time in such explicit expressiveness, gave a distinct impression that she was nothing more than meat to him. Prime and cut finely, but meat nonetheless. And she was his to use as he pleased. "The dial on the outside can sense resistance. Once one level loses resistance, perhaps when a bone breaks, it locks into place and the next cylinder is activated. Slowly..." He reached out, fingers dancing from her wrist to her knuckles to her finger nails. "Twisting and ascending...and once done..." He held up his hand, eyes towards the ceiling and filled with zeal. "A hand can be made into something beautiful. A spiral...reaching to the very heavens!"

He retracted his hand, gauging her response. He could only assume that it would be zeal, returned. But mortals, even his beloved Rose, were things of shortsightedness. They could not be trusted to make the choices that would most adequately profess love. So like a tree in the wind, he would contort and bend to her needs. "I know this is a difficult choice for you...so I will offer you alternatives." He reached forward, gangling fingers clutching her knee. "Left or right hand....oooooor...your foot." His tone was sharp as his face danced between warmth and the brisk cold of a cutting wind. "And you will be grateful for the choices I have bestowed upon you!"

[member="Sam Paige"]​

 

[Sam Paige]

She shrank back against the chair when he looked at her like that. Eyes closing tight as he explained, flinching when his fingers walked over hers.

It was the same way Cassandra had looked at her when she was 12. Right before she'd almost blinded her. Cass was the reason Sam knew how to deflect attention, how being nice and dull was the best defense against the casual cruelties of the boredom of rich, older sister. Of course, as the oldest, even when she had been caught holding the youngest Paige down and shining a bright light into her eyes just to see what happened...... nothing had changed. The family quietly pretended nothing was wrong. Gone to fix their youngest daughter's vision. But Sam had refused. Glasses, because even if no one would speak of it, everyone pretended nothing had happened, it was the one way she could remind them, every day, of what Cass had done to her.

It had been the last time. The worst time. But the glasses did what she wanted them to do. They reminded Cassandra, every time she looked at her, of the one time she'd been caught. And how, even if no one spoke of it, now everyone knew. It wasn't guilt. But a different light had been shined into the darkest corners of the eldest Paige sister, and no one could unsee what they had found there.

The same look, now, and Sam knew that there was nothing keeping him from crushing her like an insect because it amused him to do so.

She bit down on the inside of her cheek.

Not deciding meant that he would. And it might not be limited to one. There was no choice, no right one. But one of them was less wrong than the others.

Her foot? If she needed to run, if she could find a way out, that would cripple her utterly. It cut off a potential avenue of escape. Her right hand was her dominate hand- she used it for everything. She could, with practice she thought, work with only one hand. Hack into the security system- bring it down if she could, or ping Ben if she couldn't. Her feet and right hand were necessary if she was ever going to get out of her.

"L-left," she whispered, voice strangled in her throat.

She could make it out of here without that.

If she didn't make a choice, if she shut down and let herself dissolve into the broken sobbing that threatened at the back of her throat, there was a two in three chance that he would choose something that would end any chance of making it out of here. If, indeed, he stopped at one at all if he was displeased with her.

She had to choose.

[member="Pravus Zambrano"]

 

[Pravus Zambrano]

He shivered, enthusiasm pouring in from the center of his stomach and crawling up the length of his unnaturally long spine. Hooked and hunched, like a gargoyle towering over her and warning. Warning that this place of worship was the only place she would ever belong.

He took her left hand in his, thumbs and filed nails rubbing over the supple and youthful skin of her middle knuckle. His eyes hovered over a particular set of freckles, sprawling over skin like directions. Directions to her heart, spattered up her arm.

“Left, then.” His mood took on a serious tone as he transitioned from joy to responsibility. This was his passion and vocation, to make her feel and know the love that he showered upon her. There was no path more sacred and noble, more important than this. It was his path to ascension and it was her path as well, initiated with a whisper.

Scooting the tube over, he gingerly fed her hand and arm in - the caress of a careful lover, concern that over affection of this flower might cause it to wilt. As her arm entered the device, the straps cinched down around her bicep, elbow, and forearm. And with a press of a button, the cylinders descended, enveloping her outstretched fingers and wrist. The nature of the item forced the fingers to spread apart, perfectly splayed for the most effective assertion of force. And as the machine whirled and then went silent, Pravus looked the device up and down before looking to Rose. “There, perfect. Like it was made for you…”

His expression gleamed with a certain affection as he pressed the button, implying that the twisting would begin. But instead, the straps loosened and the cylinders retracted from her hand. Certain that it no longer clung to her, he withdrew the device and set it on the floor. “I love you, Rose. I couldn't use this thing on you. After all, you will need your hands for later.”

He stood up, scooting his chair out as he hunched and lurched towards the vanity. Pulling out the stretched skin of his notebook, he flipped through the pages. Pulling a quill from the feather pauldrons on his shoulder, he jabbed the pen into his left forearm. Pulling the plunger back, he turned the pen towards parchment.

Rose was very giving today, offering her left hand for our love. Make mental note: reward her for her splendid behavior.

Looking over his shoulder, he tapped the pan against his bottom lip, splotching with blood. “Darron. Please bring the sharps bag.” There was no concealing what this bag had in it. Outside, the sound of footsteps moving away from the door.

[member="Sam Paige"]

 

[Sam Paige]

She had closed her eyes when he came for her hand. Nausea and fear roiled in oily conflagration in her stomach. She had flinched when he had taken it in his, but managed, just barely to not draw away. She bit down so hard on the inside of her cheek that she tasted blood, but that pain nothing compared to what she was trying to prepare for as he threaded her fingers into the contraption. As it tightened she held back a sob, but only just barely, a whimper escaping because how could it not? Even with her agreement it wasn't out of love, out of joy- these were nothing but coercion and fear, and she made the choice to avoid a worse one.

That did not change just how bad she expected the next scene to be.

She felt it spread her fingers as a scream rose up silently in her throat.

About to start shaking her head again, panic welling up and thundering her heart in her chest so hard and so fast she thought it was going to explode, she almost started to beg-

So when the device loosened, and he spoke softly, kindly, she was frozen in that moment.

She didn't even repeat her mantra when he called her Rose.

Sam sucked in a breath that she hadn't realized she'd been holding, hitching with a sob but otherwise voiceless. Air filled her lungs, sending her head swimming- almost dizzy as she opened her eyes.

He.... hadn't.....

Silent tears, one part relief one part aborted terror tracked down her face.

Sometimes, when Cassandra had loomed, all she wanted was to know that she could. That she was bigger, stronger, more powerful than the smallest Paige sister. That, if she asked, if she ordered, Sam would agree that she was all of those things. And if her mood were right? That was all she needed. She didn't need to hurt her, so long as Sam knew that she could.

Sam curled her hands in against her chest, flexing her fingers and watching him- but in truth, not fully seeing him. There was a certain psychological hollowness in so narrowly avoiding catastrophe, and Sam blinked slowly in that cove.

She didn't even register that she was shaking.

Closing her hand and opening it again, she couldn't have spoken even if she had wanted to.

[member="Pravus Zambrano"]