Things have changed - from troikaowned
When I woke up again closer to noon (a habit that so never gets old) I peered out through the filmy canopy of the bed to see that Warren was still working on his daily paper work, signing things like he was William Shatner at a Star Trek convention (without the mobbing fans, of course. This was our bedroom). I sighed quietly to myself, slipping out of bed and heading to the adjoining bathroom for a shower.
Being one of the supreme rulers of the new Empire was totally cool and all... but I didn't really ever think about how much work came with it. I'm sure that right now there's a pile of papers on my own desk waiting for me to look them over and sign, but I just don't want to get to that yet. The official side of ruling is boring. The only fun side is actually using the power in a more hands-on setting. Like when I helped Warren design Warren World to replace the remains of Disney World (after we blew it up and stuff). Now that was cool. The roller coasters we built there are the undisputed best in the whole freaking world!
After showering and throwing on some of my more official-looking clothes (sometimes I've just gotta bite the bullet and trade in my favorite t-shirts for the black dress shirt and slacks thing, though it's not so bad if I can pull off a Luke in Return of the Jedi thing 'cause that's just cool) I gave Warren a quick goodbye and grabbed some of the secret agent bodyguards to tail me downtown to the station. It was time to deal with that upstart from last night.
Arriving at the station, I entered alone as the bodyguards slipped secretively off into their usual positions. They wouldn’t be seen, as usual, and that was good. Warren explained to me that while it was necessary for his bodyguards to be known and seen to discourage assassins, mine should never be obvious so that no one gets the impression that I’m any more important than the other nobles, of which there are currently fifty of. Sure, a few people here and there know that Warren “uses” me (hah, if they only knew! Uses me? Hmph, puny mortals…) but the general consensus among those circles is that I’m just a toy or something.
Actually… that’s kinda sexy I guess… but moving on!
Yeah, so aside from the whispered talk among some circles, and the more obvious webpages of slash fan fiction about the two of us (oh my God, you should have seen my face when I found those! And can you believe that it’s mostly women that write that stuff? Really kinky women?) most people believe that Faith and Warren are a couple, which is fine since Faith can totally take care of herself. So when I enter the station, it’s about the same as a senator entering the D.C. police station back when that governmental system was still in effect. Sure, I get noticed, but no one’s all like “Ohmygod! The evil dictator’s lover! Let’s kill him and stuff!”
I wave to some of the security officers there, and they wave back with their fake smiles on their faces. I know that not all of them like me, but it doesn’t matter because they’re all thankful just to have their jobs, because many of them would be the lowest of the low otherwise. Warren’s not a total tyrant. He’s good to those who are good to him, and he’ll protect his people and everything too… just not the ones we can easily afford to lose. I walk through the twisted labyrinth of cells until I come to the holding area at the center of the station. Two guards are already there to meet me, and one is a plant from Warren’s private security force elite. The prisoner is chained to the wall, and a table with various instruments is set out to the side, looking a lot like that tray the dentist has at your checkup - meaning that most of the dangerous stuff is really just there for show.
I walk slowly across the floor of the holding area, my hands held behind my back as I approach the table, my best impression of a Bond villain plastering my usually less-serious face. I turn to face the prisoner when I reach the table, taking a good long look at him. This part is crucial. To do the things that must be done next, I always need to look at the prisoner and put myself in the right state of mind. If I don’t… well, the first few times I couldn’t go through with it. I couldn’t even stay in the room while Warren beat them around. Their cries of pain and suffering… I hate to admit it, but I cried a lot at first. Warren would take me into the next room and hold me for a while, telling me that this was just a step I had to take to overcome my weakness, but it just tore me up inside to see him… to see us doing that to those prisoners. I had nightmares for a while about it.
But not anymore. I found a way to make the nightmares stop. Before I go to work, I have to look long and hard at the prisoner and tell myself that this person wanted to hurt my Warren. If given the opportunity, he’d probably try and kill him, or even worse! I know that Warren can’t really be hurt all that badly with the orbs of Nezzla’khan in him, but the very idea of someone trying to hurt my Warren… it just twists me up inside and makes me feel all sick-like and angry. To envision this guy in front of me doing harmful things to my Warren… it gives me the strength I need to continue.
This one was apparently a drug addict, some kind of junkie who probably attacked the gates while high. I’ve seen some of them before. At first I couldn’t shake the memory of Tucker going through his own withdrawal in rehab, which made things really hard, but now that Tucker’s clean again I find this type as easy as any other prisoner. Picking up a dagger from the table, I walk back towards him, taking extra care to be sure my footsteps sound all menace-y. I glare down at the guy for a moment before slashing across his bared chest once. By now I’ve realized that unless I put a certain amount of strength into the motion I won’t cut deep, which is what I want. I don’t want this one dead, I want him in pain. My slash leaves a long red line on his skin, and it takes me the usual second or two before I connect the line to what I’ve done and put together the fact that I’m the one who caused it. This brings a smile to my face, which I focus on rather than the cry of pain from the man in front of me.
“So, do you have any excuses? Were you just too high to realize what you were doing last night, or did you really think that you could break into the castle?”
I didn’t get an answer. The man just stared at the ground, an angry expression on his face. I slashed him again in the opposite direction, this time consciously feeling the blade part his skin as I moved my hand slower. He screamed again and I repeated my question. Still nothing. This went on for four more slices until finally he gasped out a confession that he was, in fact, high last night.
“I thought as much. You know, drugs really aren’t the way. Neither is single-handedly storming our heavily-armed fortress without any weapons whatsoever.”
“Fuck you.”
I bristled slightly at this, but by now I was used to it. Signaling to one of the guards, I stepped back so that iodine could be applied to the wounds. A kind gesture, perhaps, but this was the straight up old-school variety of iodine, and I knew it would sting like a mother. Judging by the screaming, it had the desired effect. Returning the dagger to the table, I equipped myself with a set of brass knuckles. On me they were far from deadly, but again that was what I wanted. Honestly… I wouldn’t do much damage without them. Returning to the prisoner, I gave him an evil smile.
“There’s no need to be so violent. I’m going to help you, after all. As soon as you’ve said you’re sorry for what you’ve done, we’ll be taking you to one of Warren’s fully equipped state-of-the-art drug rehabilitation facilities just outside of the city. You’ll stay there, free of charge, until we’ve overcome this nasty drug problem of yours.”
Reaching out, I patted him mockingly on the head.
“Don’t you fucking touch me, you fucking faggot.”
And before I really knew what was happening, I felt something wet on my cheek. Spit. This… this asshole actually spit at me!
My eyes narrowed at this and I had to fight back a whimper. I hated that word, and everyone knew I did because I was the one to pass the new law making the word illegal in the United States. Normally there would just be a huge fine, but this one… he’d said it straight to my face, to me. Just like every bully back in school. And so I reacted the same way I did these days when I met up with any of those old bullies. I promptly flipped out.
I don’t know how long the guards let me go at him, pounding his face into a good impression of a squashed prune with the help of my brass knuckles, but eventually they pulled me away so that I wouldn’t kill the guy. I had the power to execute him if I wished, but I never used that on these types. I preferred for them to just suffer for tormenting me. I grabbed one of the cattle prods from the table as I fought to catch my breath after my outburst, staggering slowly back towards the prisoner’s now-limp body. Giving him one good jolt to be sure he was knocked out, I backed off, tossing one of the rehab center’s brochures at the unconscious man’s feel, I motioned for the guards to take him away.
“Make sure he gets to the rehab center, but don’t be too careful with him.”
I paused as I watched the guards drag the body away, my stomach doing that weird flip-flop at the sight of the blood smear trailing along the floor. Suddenly I didn’t feel too good.
“I… I’m going back home now… thanks for your help…”
That said, I walked quickly back to the limo that would be waiting to take be back to the castle. I didn’t want anyone to see me like this. Yes, it’s true; sometimes I still throw up after this stuff. But it’s like Warren said… it’s just a weakness, and weaknesses are meant to be overcome. I’d get over it soon enough.
Being one of the supreme rulers of the new Empire was totally cool and all... but I didn't really ever think about how much work came with it. I'm sure that right now there's a pile of papers on my own desk waiting for me to look them over and sign, but I just don't want to get to that yet. The official side of ruling is boring. The only fun side is actually using the power in a more hands-on setting. Like when I helped Warren design Warren World to replace the remains of Disney World (after we blew it up and stuff). Now that was cool. The roller coasters we built there are the undisputed best in the whole freaking world!
After showering and throwing on some of my more official-looking clothes (sometimes I've just gotta bite the bullet and trade in my favorite t-shirts for the black dress shirt and slacks thing, though it's not so bad if I can pull off a Luke in Return of the Jedi thing 'cause that's just cool) I gave Warren a quick goodbye and grabbed some of the secret agent bodyguards to tail me downtown to the station. It was time to deal with that upstart from last night.
Arriving at the station, I entered alone as the bodyguards slipped secretively off into their usual positions. They wouldn’t be seen, as usual, and that was good. Warren explained to me that while it was necessary for his bodyguards to be known and seen to discourage assassins, mine should never be obvious so that no one gets the impression that I’m any more important than the other nobles, of which there are currently fifty of. Sure, a few people here and there know that Warren “uses” me (hah, if they only knew! Uses me? Hmph, puny mortals…) but the general consensus among those circles is that I’m just a toy or something.
Actually… that’s kinda sexy I guess… but moving on!
Yeah, so aside from the whispered talk among some circles, and the more obvious webpages of slash fan fiction about the two of us (oh my God, you should have seen my face when I found those! And can you believe that it’s mostly women that write that stuff? Really kinky women?) most people believe that Faith and Warren are a couple, which is fine since Faith can totally take care of herself. So when I enter the station, it’s about the same as a senator entering the D.C. police station back when that governmental system was still in effect. Sure, I get noticed, but no one’s all like “Ohmygod! The evil dictator’s lover! Let’s kill him and stuff!”
I wave to some of the security officers there, and they wave back with their fake smiles on their faces. I know that not all of them like me, but it doesn’t matter because they’re all thankful just to have their jobs, because many of them would be the lowest of the low otherwise. Warren’s not a total tyrant. He’s good to those who are good to him, and he’ll protect his people and everything too… just not the ones we can easily afford to lose. I walk through the twisted labyrinth of cells until I come to the holding area at the center of the station. Two guards are already there to meet me, and one is a plant from Warren’s private security force elite. The prisoner is chained to the wall, and a table with various instruments is set out to the side, looking a lot like that tray the dentist has at your checkup - meaning that most of the dangerous stuff is really just there for show.
I walk slowly across the floor of the holding area, my hands held behind my back as I approach the table, my best impression of a Bond villain plastering my usually less-serious face. I turn to face the prisoner when I reach the table, taking a good long look at him. This part is crucial. To do the things that must be done next, I always need to look at the prisoner and put myself in the right state of mind. If I don’t… well, the first few times I couldn’t go through with it. I couldn’t even stay in the room while Warren beat them around. Their cries of pain and suffering… I hate to admit it, but I cried a lot at first. Warren would take me into the next room and hold me for a while, telling me that this was just a step I had to take to overcome my weakness, but it just tore me up inside to see him… to see us doing that to those prisoners. I had nightmares for a while about it.
But not anymore. I found a way to make the nightmares stop. Before I go to work, I have to look long and hard at the prisoner and tell myself that this person wanted to hurt my Warren. If given the opportunity, he’d probably try and kill him, or even worse! I know that Warren can’t really be hurt all that badly with the orbs of Nezzla’khan in him, but the very idea of someone trying to hurt my Warren… it just twists me up inside and makes me feel all sick-like and angry. To envision this guy in front of me doing harmful things to my Warren… it gives me the strength I need to continue.
This one was apparently a drug addict, some kind of junkie who probably attacked the gates while high. I’ve seen some of them before. At first I couldn’t shake the memory of Tucker going through his own withdrawal in rehab, which made things really hard, but now that Tucker’s clean again I find this type as easy as any other prisoner. Picking up a dagger from the table, I walk back towards him, taking extra care to be sure my footsteps sound all menace-y. I glare down at the guy for a moment before slashing across his bared chest once. By now I’ve realized that unless I put a certain amount of strength into the motion I won’t cut deep, which is what I want. I don’t want this one dead, I want him in pain. My slash leaves a long red line on his skin, and it takes me the usual second or two before I connect the line to what I’ve done and put together the fact that I’m the one who caused it. This brings a smile to my face, which I focus on rather than the cry of pain from the man in front of me.
“So, do you have any excuses? Were you just too high to realize what you were doing last night, or did you really think that you could break into the castle?”
I didn’t get an answer. The man just stared at the ground, an angry expression on his face. I slashed him again in the opposite direction, this time consciously feeling the blade part his skin as I moved my hand slower. He screamed again and I repeated my question. Still nothing. This went on for four more slices until finally he gasped out a confession that he was, in fact, high last night.
“I thought as much. You know, drugs really aren’t the way. Neither is single-handedly storming our heavily-armed fortress without any weapons whatsoever.”
“Fuck you.”
I bristled slightly at this, but by now I was used to it. Signaling to one of the guards, I stepped back so that iodine could be applied to the wounds. A kind gesture, perhaps, but this was the straight up old-school variety of iodine, and I knew it would sting like a mother. Judging by the screaming, it had the desired effect. Returning the dagger to the table, I equipped myself with a set of brass knuckles. On me they were far from deadly, but again that was what I wanted. Honestly… I wouldn’t do much damage without them. Returning to the prisoner, I gave him an evil smile.
“There’s no need to be so violent. I’m going to help you, after all. As soon as you’ve said you’re sorry for what you’ve done, we’ll be taking you to one of Warren’s fully equipped state-of-the-art drug rehabilitation facilities just outside of the city. You’ll stay there, free of charge, until we’ve overcome this nasty drug problem of yours.”
Reaching out, I patted him mockingly on the head.
“Don’t you fucking touch me, you fucking faggot.”
And before I really knew what was happening, I felt something wet on my cheek. Spit. This… this asshole actually spit at me!
My eyes narrowed at this and I had to fight back a whimper. I hated that word, and everyone knew I did because I was the one to pass the new law making the word illegal in the United States. Normally there would just be a huge fine, but this one… he’d said it straight to my face, to me. Just like every bully back in school. And so I reacted the same way I did these days when I met up with any of those old bullies. I promptly flipped out.
I don’t know how long the guards let me go at him, pounding his face into a good impression of a squashed prune with the help of my brass knuckles, but eventually they pulled me away so that I wouldn’t kill the guy. I had the power to execute him if I wished, but I never used that on these types. I preferred for them to just suffer for tormenting me. I grabbed one of the cattle prods from the table as I fought to catch my breath after my outburst, staggering slowly back towards the prisoner’s now-limp body. Giving him one good jolt to be sure he was knocked out, I backed off, tossing one of the rehab center’s brochures at the unconscious man’s feel, I motioned for the guards to take him away.
“Make sure he gets to the rehab center, but don’t be too careful with him.”
I paused as I watched the guards drag the body away, my stomach doing that weird flip-flop at the sight of the blood smear trailing along the floor. Suddenly I didn’t feel too good.
“I… I’m going back home now… thanks for your help…”
That said, I walked quickly back to the limo that would be waiting to take be back to the castle. I didn’t want anyone to see me like this. Yes, it’s true; sometimes I still throw up after this stuff. But it’s like Warren said… it’s just a weakness, and weaknesses are meant to be overcome. I’d get over it soon enough.