Verbal Torture

There has been a kidnapping, less to make the vampires of Dallas panic, and more to find out specific information. At this juncture, several days have passed that will have been excruciating for the Area 9 Sheriff. First and foremost is the completely darkened room somewhere. The silver chain bindings draped over his near-to-naked body, and secured tightly to the ceiling. Then, there has been the lack of blood since his torture. Withheld in order to weaken him.

Enough time has passed that Will may just believe that his captors have forgotten him. Were it not for the sliver of orange light from a doorway. The room then quickly flooded with light, so as to shine upon the figure that enters. A woman who may look very familiar to Will, one who looks uncannily like his Maker appears before him, in period garb - near to the same outfit she was in when he last saw her.

-

Dangling weakly, the Sheriff has long since given himself over to fate and death, determined to spend his final times in quiet contemplation. Unfortunately, silver bindings will put a stop to meditation. As the door opens, the light washing over the slender body held within, William Grant slowly lifts his head.

His eyes are bloodshot, with the remnants of trickled blood drawing intricate patterns across his lithe, gently muscled torso. His mouth hangs slightly open, fangs fully extended and hunger burning deep within his look. His cheeks are already slightly hollow, his body starting the steady trip towards gaunt. He closes his eyes, shakes his head as if to clear it, then brings his attention back to the woman who has come in. Staring at her, unblinking and from beneath a heavy brow, he does manage to whisper, "Thou'rt dead." His tone is heavy with hunger, and anger. "Hallucination."

-

The woman continues forward, stopping only when she reaches the dangling Sheriff. A hand reaches out to touch his cheek; one of the few places not covered in silver. "I am dead, you are dead, we are all dead, Valentinus. Were I truly dead would I be able to touch you like so?"

-

An unsteady, though direct look follows her into the room, the prisoner drinking in the sight of her as though she were the blood he so clearly needs. His attention draws up, and down, and a dark sliver of hope shoots into his facade as the fingers touch him. A shiver runs down his body. "Then… 'tis clear to mind's eye," he whispers, starting an attempt to shake his head. "I— murdered."

-

"That you did," the woman replies in a soft whisper. Her hand drifts up his cheek to his brow, then weaves into his hair. A sharp yank is given, forcing him to look at her face. Her fangs are out as she hisses, "This is your punishment, my retribution. You will tell me what it is I request of you, Valentinus, or you will spend an eternity like this, slowly withering away."

-

He looks at her, direct and true, the bloodshot eyes starting to tear up as he searches her face. A thin trickle of bloody tears start to draw down his face. "A fitting…" Obviously struggling to speak, though he does manage to lock eyes with her. Finally, he does find his true voice, cracked and withered as it is, and threaded through with an accent long lost to history. "Revenge. For a monster." Weakly, his arms twitch against his bindings. Finally, his eyes drop down, defeated, as he contemplates the fate that is his. "Ask."

-

The woman slips behind him, being exceedingly careful not to touch the silver chains as she does so. She leans in to whisper, "What were you searching for, Valentinus? What have you found out about this group?"

-

The limp vampire starts to lift his head, as if trying to sense where she is. The question comes, and there is suddenly anger starting to twist his face into a feral mask. He closes his eyes, his brow furrowing, and attempts to drive a thought of bittersweet rage towards her; a time of their touching and loving, twisted by her mistakes, her manipulation that turned him from his true path. Largely, he is attempting to distract her. « I know who your master is, » he projects, « and so do others. He will fall. » Oblivious to the possibility that this is not truly her, for the moment. "Why have you joined?" he asks, voice dry as a desert-dweller.

-

The drive, the thought, the distraction does not work, for in reality the woman is just some poor look-alike actress that Kegan turned when Will became Sheriff. All so that he could use her to manipulate him in the future. "Why have you not, Valentinus? You, so unlike most, who loathe the monster I turned you into. Now be a dear and answer the question or I shall see to it your new plaything is chained here with you, watching you suffer, her pulse strong with fear and panic, knowing that if you manage to free yourself from those chains she will die."

-

Not a response, and somewhere in Will's mind that triggers a series of thoughts; a series of suspicions start to twist sweetly towards the surface of his desperately hungry and pain-riddled mind. "You of all," he bites, starting to sound acidly amused, "should know I do not loathe the monster. I fear it, and its potential." He stares out across the room, the tears starting to dry. Finally, he draws enough of himself together to start lying. "I know little. I was seeking a master… there is none."

-

"Your refusal to cooperate will seal your doom." The woman releases his hair, lifting her heavy skirts so that she can come around to face him once more. "We are aware that you know more than you are saying, Valentinus. We have destroyed those within your employ, but not before learning every tiniest piece of information you furnished them with."

-

Head snaps forwards as his hair is released, and the prisoner slowly lifts it once more. "You possess her face," says Sir Valentinus des Barres, looking at her now with a dark, resigned amusement, "and her lies, but not her beauty." His mouth closes, he twists and nips the inside of his lip with a single fang, letting his own blood start to flow into his mouth. "Why are you asking if you already know how little I discovered? My incompetence will see me burn as it is." The blood from his mouth starts to flow down and out, before suddenly he spits, trying to spray the woman with his own blood.

-

Her face locked in an dull neutrality, the woman merely laughs. "Mayhaps you feel this way merely because you have found something you consider more beautiful? She is missing, you know. Run off and left you to rot. Do you honestly think a child could ever care for one that has done such deplorable things as you yourself have?" The blood is spat onto her, ruining the finery she's wearing. The few drops that land upon her face are wiped away. "Save your blood, for it is all that you shall have for a very long time," she hisses at him.

-

That bites deep, and obviously so, as Will mouths a silent, "Chloe." He shakes his head, as hard as he is able, attempting to clear that thought, trying to convince himself she is lying, or at least completely lying. "There are those who work to preserve their humanity. There are those who disregard it." He takes a moment, staring at the female now with undisguised, purest hatred. There is death in his eyes. "There are those petty wretches who were brought into the darkness to serve a single purpose. Is this what they told you it would be? Torture, destruction of your soul to serve the needs of Francois Moreau?" An old political enemy from France, though the hatchet was buried just a hundred years ago. A lie.

-

"Yes, Chloe," the woman lies easily, as though she's known the name for ages. "She cares not for you at all. The childish games she plays with you are merely to appease her own mind. No one could ever love you as I did, Valentinus." Crouching low, so that she can look up at his face, she smirks. "I do believe I shall leave you here, bound in silver, and hunt down this woman to act as your last meal. Killing her will be your final sin."

-

"I will die first," Valentinus bites, the rage building in him starting to overthrow his sense, now. His mind roils with vicious and terrible thoughts, of destruction and murder. "You will not dare."

-

"Do not tell me you actually care for her?" The woman laughs, lifting herself up once more. "How apropos would that be then? Her sacrificing herself for your last meal." Running her tongue over a fang, she adds, "Oh, but I would dare, Valentinus. Should you refuse to feed from her, I will slit her throat in front of you and allow her blood to pool about you before sealing you in here for good."

-

The rage builds further, projecting from the vampire along all his links, all those he is bound to. It boils over, and despite the silver restraining him, he twitches again, muscles straining against the mystical immobilising touch of the cursed metal. "I will END YOU!" he roars, finally losing control.

-

"You forget, my dear, that you have already murdered me." The woman laughs again, slowly edging her way toward the door. Will manages to just touch the sleeve of her dress with her hand before she maneuvers herself out of reach.

-

Fingers claw as they get close enough to touch, and the helpless rage that has taken hold of Will continues. Thrash he does not, for the silver holds him close and fast. The pain, the woman and the thought of what she threatens has taken him from his usual self. Incoherent rage batters fruitlessly against the chains.

-

Stopping at the door, the woman douses the light in the room with a gentle brush of her fingers. "Rest well, sweet Valentinus. I fear when next we meet it will be goodbye." She has done all that she can for Kegan, short of physically abusing the man, which was not in her job description.

-

The gentle clink of silver against silver continues for a while, though the vampire himself falls quickly silent. It is a long while before the hot and burning rage subsides. A good twenty minutes pass before the clinking stops. Instead, in the darkness, a cold and implacable monster hangs from his chains. Utterly without mercy, utterly without empathy, possessed only with the desperate call for revenge.

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