[Locked] And that's just one small fraction of the main attraction....
[[Takes place after this thread. Backdated to sometime Saturday morning/afternoon.]]
Sark wakes up with a pounding headache and feeling very much like he was hit by a car. It takes him a few moments to remember that he actually was hit by a car- or a minivan, rather- and whatever hope he'd managed to dredge up that maybe this was another lesson in ( Read more... )
Sark wakes up with a pounding headache and feeling very much like he was hit by a car. It takes him a few moments to remember that he actually was hit by a car- or a minivan, rather- and whatever hope he'd managed to dredge up that maybe this was another lesson in ( Read more... )
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Honestly, the answer to that should have been clear without looking. This is an upside-down look of pure hatred, Katja. He has nothing to say to that, because most of what he wants to say has less snark and a lot of strongly worded threats and statements about what she can do with that box.
And he's really tired of people having files on him. For someone who doesn't even exist in this universe, a lot of people seem to have those. It's annoying.
"I'm almost afraid to ask, because the last time I asked this of someone, I wasn't fond of the answer, but..." He rolls over onto his stomach with a wince and gets to his feet. "Is there any point to this or are you really just that bored?"
It's a valid question. People keep trying to torture him. He'd at least like them to give him a valid reason
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There's probably a certain level of emotion that ought to be felt in circumstances, if not actively displayed, but Sark can't even manage to dredge up any of them. Short of Katja pulling a live cobra out of that box, he's not really certain that anything she could do to him is really going to get much of a fear response out of him.
She's not Clark or Thane and when you've come up against the likes of them, one irritating redhead with a stupid box doesn't seem that terrifying. Hell, she's not even trying to break him. He's a guinea pig- a test subject. It would be hilarious if he didn't like not having his insides subjected to whatever the hell she has in mind.
...When she pulls out the gummi bears, he almost laughs. He does not care that she just ate one. That really doesn't mean anything.
"I think not," he says, completely stoic.
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However, you are going to eat her fucking gummi bears.
Her eyes narrow. "It wasn't really a choice, крыса пробки," she says, setting the box down at her feet. Her wings are out already -- she never really pulls them in, ever -- and as she stands up she takes a step closer to the bars, then reaches through and curls her hand around his neck. "After all, they're a delicacy. I wouldn't want you to miss out on these." She leans forward, pushing him back almost nonchalantly; in fact, she's not even looking at him as he slams up against the wall of the tiny cell. She's got the bag of bears in her teeth and is pulling another one out. He ( ... )
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His initial panic at being grabbed by the neck (again) is cut off by the feeling of having his face slammed into the bars rather painfully and his first instinct is to grit his teeth, grab the bars in both hands and try to struggle free, which isn't working, because yes, demons are stronger than you, moron. That doesn't stop him from thrashing about like a crazy person.
And here he thought this would just be annoying.
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Then she waggles the candy in front of his face. "C'mon. It's not even anything nasty, it's just a bear! Do I have to play the airplane game with you, like a child, h'm?" She's falling into her father's syntax, a little bit, arching an eyebrow. Then she makes a little vrrrrmmm noise, moving the gummi bear in little circular motions as if imitating a plane coming very incredibly erratically in for a landing. A landing in Sark's mouth, if he ever frickin' opens it. If not, well, then the plane will crash and it will be all his ( ... )
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And given that stubborness is just going to continue to get him a face full of bars, he opens his mouth and accepts the bloody bear... Although in snapping his teeth down on the candy, he makes it a point to try to bite down on Katja's fingers, in the process. See how she likes getting her fingers bitten.
This is might be the most ridiculous torture session he's ever been involved in and that includes Sloane's stupid Khmer Rouge torture chair.
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And then he tries to bite her fingers. The scowl returns, and she drags her fingers out from between his teeth, hissing for a second at the blood. And then she petulantly flicks the blood in his face. "Play nice," she says. "Or you won't get any tea later. Or beer or wine or whatever it is you prefer to have. Me, I'm having some decent vodka that I've been saving for the occasion, not that I know what occasion that actually is other than hooray I get to feed someone things and see what happens, but that's occasion enough for me, sometimes, you know? It's the little things in life, or so they say."
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Inhale. Exhale. She still hasn't let go of him and he's not certain what the hell that stupid gummi bear is going to do to him, but he has a feeling he doesn't have long to find out and he'd rather not have to find out with his face pressed against the bars, but there's not much he can do about it.
"I shudder to think what you're going to put in it," he growls. "I think I'll take my chances and avoid it, thank you."
She's going to give it to him anyway. He might as well put up a fight about it.
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It's really too bad Sark didn't turn into a guinea pig. The narration is sure that would have just made her day.
"Oh, I can give you a choice of what goes in it, if you like, instead of just pouring it down your throat," she says. "I'll even bring down decanters." She waggles her fingers at this, like it's especially exciting. None of the poisons are in decanters now, but she's sure she can get ahold of some and transfer it. Decanters are fancy. Or possibly she just likes the word a bit too much ( ... )
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Sark's digestive system, as it turns out, does not respond well to venomous gummi bears and the pain is already starting to set in. He is, however, going to see how long before he has to start writing in pain, by just standing completely still and... Ignoring it.
The fact that he's looking slightly pale means nothing. He is always slightly pale. Really.
"So your plan is to essentially keep poisoning me?" He asks, trying to sound dry and uncaring, but it comes out a little strained. But there's no pain here. None at all. "That's..." He coughs, which is half a gag reflex, because when something is hurting your stomach that much, your first instinct is to generally get it out. "...That's ( ... )
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And then she squints at him. He is looking a little pale, but he's always seemed like a pallid little man anyway, and these are bare fluorescent lights in there here cells, which already make everyone look a little ill. Very nice for prisoner mentality, not so nice for figuring out the wellbeing of said prisoners ( ... )
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He inhales sharply, sounding vaguely like a pained wheeze. "Of course," he says on the exhale, his voice strained. "Because we wouldn't you to get bored."
He cringes as the pain intensifies just a bit, punctuating that sentence with a bit of a pained hiss. Good job, fast metabolism.
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It's exciting, really, it is, Sark! Think of it! Endless entertainment for her, and what you get out of it is living! That's better than most people can say when they're captured by the Organization, particularly by someone who works for Black December. Though granted, a lot of the times people come away not wanting to be alive. That's okay. They'll come around in the end.
"And no, Mr. Sark. We wouldn't want me to get bored," she adds. "Just think of what I'd do then? How's your stomach? You're looking a little green, metaphorically. I wouldn't be asking if you were looking a little green literally, though it is hard to tell in these lights ( ... )
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He is just going to glare and occasionally make really pathetic whimpering noises. He has nothing more to say on the matter and there is PAIN. SO MUCH PAIN.
Glaaaare.
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