Title: Scent of Blood and Rust
Title: Scent of Blood and Rust
Fandom: Original
Character/s: A Man, A Man Inside a Cage, A Boy from a Sack
Warning/s: Dark, allusions to torture and abuse and death
A/n: Written with anodized-aluminum from tumblr. It was fun o Ao
A smile graces his lips. He’s sitting down, his left leg over his right. He’s perched on a slim bar and he shouldn’t look that comfortable but he is anyway.
From the cage that’s hanging from the ceiling, he watches as someone enters the warehouse. It’s been so long since he’s seen another person. They’re holding a knife in hand and their shirt is spattered with too much blood that looks like it isn’t theirs.
He whistles, and loud and high-pitched and obnoxious. The other looks up and he asks, with a grin, “What have you got down there?” He tilts his chin towards the sack the other’s dragging in.
“Oh. You’re still alive.”
The man tips his hat to the figure in the cage, mockingly.
“Just another ‘client’.” he says, gesturing to his soiled clothes. “This one proved to be a bit of a handful, as you can see.”
He prods the sack with his foot. The person inside stirs; still breathing, but barely. A smile graces the man’s lips.
“Looks like you’ll be having a cell mate from now on.”
He clucks his tongue, shaking his head in disapproval. He shrugs with his hands up. His smiles too big this time, a different gleam, and he licks his teeth like he’s enjoying this too much.
“You know they never last long. Why bother?” He eyes the sack; he’s curious, nonetheless.
He shifts so that he uncrosses his legs. And when the toes of his shoes scuff the ground, a bone falls and lands with a resounding thunk. “It’s a pity; they’re always so fun to play with, though.”
The man walks over to a chain pulley on the wall, first making sure that the rope at the end of the sack is tied well. He unlatches the lock, allowing the cage to fall with a thud onto a platform.
“Don’t worry. This one is a lot more.. Fresh.” he says, and makes his way back to the sack, slinging it over his shoulder. The person inside groans: a high-pitched, squeaky groan of a someone in their early teens.
He sticks the knife into the sack, where he guesses the boy’s leg would be. The groan turns into a shriek, and the man laughs.
He falls off of the bar and lands with an ‘oomph’. He crosses his legs and sighs. “You could at least be more careful when you do that. It doesn’t do my rump any good.”
He shifts again so that his elbows dig into his thighs and he lets the back of his hands cradle his chin. “I hope they’re as pretty as the last one.” He says with a tilt of his head. “That one was fun to take apart.”
The boy in the sack squirms, and the man lands a quick punch to keep him quiet. Slowly he makes his way up the stairs, the soles of his boots clanging against the steel steps. Once on the platform, he drops the sack and unties it.
“Don’t worry,” he tells the man in the cage. “I saved his face for you. See?”
He crawls over until his cheeks press against the bars. He grips a bar in hand and the other reaches for the sack. “Oh! I need to see this.” He grips the bar in his hand harder, and scratches on the surface until it chips just a little bit
“Well come on, open the cage. Let him in! Give him to me!” He says, too frustrated, that his voice takes on a loud boom.
He shoves the man back into the cage, leering.
“Calm down. Geez.”
He lodges his knife into the sack and pulls a set keys from his pocket, humming as he unlocks the cage. Then he drags the sack closer to the door, taking back his knife in the process, and rolls it the rest of the way in.
The man locks the bolt and starts walking away, but not before tossing the knife over his shoulder, into the waiting hands of his caged companion.
“Knock yourself out.”
He catches the knife and the sharp edge digs into his palm. He winces when he sees the deep wound and the blood that gushes out, but he’s too eager and too happy.
He breathes in, deep until he feels like his lungs are going to explode. “You’re always so kind to give me treats like this.” He says, heading over to poke at the sack. “But I wish you’d come by more often. The bones are boring to talk to.” He shoves all the bones to the side to prove his point.
He takes his time, poking and poking until whoever’s inside squirms and squirms. With a chuckle, he cuts open the sack with the knife, “Hello there,” he says, his face bright and cheerful, “it’s time to play!” He pats the person’s cheek with his bloodied hand and chuckles once more, deep and foreboding.
His eyes flit open, and he gasps.
It hurts.
His stomach hurts from all the punching. His forearms are bruised and bloody. His legs, one of which he can no longer feel, drip with blood.
Everything hurts.
“Please...” he begs, to the man now grinning at him. Even the lights of the warehouse sting his eyes, which would normally be spectacled.
“Please... D-Don’t hurt me...”
He knows it is too late for that, though. Too late for pleading. Too late for anything. All he can do is hope that this doesn’t last long.
The man pushes a switch on the pulley, and a mechanism raises the cage up into the ceiling again.
Making his way to the exit, he takes one last look at the two in the cage. He’d like to stay and watch, but it’s been a long day, and he’s tired.
He figures he needs a shower, anyway.
Fandom: Original
Character/s: A Man, A Man Inside a Cage, A Boy from a Sack
Warning/s: Dark, allusions to torture and abuse and death
A/n: Written with anodized-aluminum from tumblr. It was fun o Ao
A smile graces his lips. He’s sitting down, his left leg over his right. He’s perched on a slim bar and he shouldn’t look that comfortable but he is anyway.
From the cage that’s hanging from the ceiling, he watches as someone enters the warehouse. It’s been so long since he’s seen another person. They’re holding a knife in hand and their shirt is spattered with too much blood that looks like it isn’t theirs.
He whistles, and loud and high-pitched and obnoxious. The other looks up and he asks, with a grin, “What have you got down there?” He tilts his chin towards the sack the other’s dragging in.
“Oh. You’re still alive.”
The man tips his hat to the figure in the cage, mockingly.
“Just another ‘client’.” he says, gesturing to his soiled clothes. “This one proved to be a bit of a handful, as you can see.”
He prods the sack with his foot. The person inside stirs; still breathing, but barely. A smile graces the man’s lips.
“Looks like you’ll be having a cell mate from now on.”
He clucks his tongue, shaking his head in disapproval. He shrugs with his hands up. His smiles too big this time, a different gleam, and he licks his teeth like he’s enjoying this too much.
“You know they never last long. Why bother?” He eyes the sack; he’s curious, nonetheless.
He shifts so that he uncrosses his legs. And when the toes of his shoes scuff the ground, a bone falls and lands with a resounding thunk. “It’s a pity; they’re always so fun to play with, though.”
The man walks over to a chain pulley on the wall, first making sure that the rope at the end of the sack is tied well. He unlatches the lock, allowing the cage to fall with a thud onto a platform.
“Don’t worry. This one is a lot more.. Fresh.” he says, and makes his way back to the sack, slinging it over his shoulder. The person inside groans: a high-pitched, squeaky groan of a someone in their early teens.
He sticks the knife into the sack, where he guesses the boy’s leg would be. The groan turns into a shriek, and the man laughs.
He falls off of the bar and lands with an ‘oomph’. He crosses his legs and sighs. “You could at least be more careful when you do that. It doesn’t do my rump any good.”
He shifts again so that his elbows dig into his thighs and he lets the back of his hands cradle his chin. “I hope they’re as pretty as the last one.” He says with a tilt of his head. “That one was fun to take apart.”
The boy in the sack squirms, and the man lands a quick punch to keep him quiet. Slowly he makes his way up the stairs, the soles of his boots clanging against the steel steps. Once on the platform, he drops the sack and unties it.
“Don’t worry,” he tells the man in the cage. “I saved his face for you. See?”
He crawls over until his cheeks press against the bars. He grips a bar in hand and the other reaches for the sack. “Oh! I need to see this.” He grips the bar in his hand harder, and scratches on the surface until it chips just a little bit
“Well come on, open the cage. Let him in! Give him to me!” He says, too frustrated, that his voice takes on a loud boom.
He shoves the man back into the cage, leering.
“Calm down. Geez.”
He lodges his knife into the sack and pulls a set keys from his pocket, humming as he unlocks the cage. Then he drags the sack closer to the door, taking back his knife in the process, and rolls it the rest of the way in.
The man locks the bolt and starts walking away, but not before tossing the knife over his shoulder, into the waiting hands of his caged companion.
“Knock yourself out.”
He catches the knife and the sharp edge digs into his palm. He winces when he sees the deep wound and the blood that gushes out, but he’s too eager and too happy.
He breathes in, deep until he feels like his lungs are going to explode. “You’re always so kind to give me treats like this.” He says, heading over to poke at the sack. “But I wish you’d come by more often. The bones are boring to talk to.” He shoves all the bones to the side to prove his point.
He takes his time, poking and poking until whoever’s inside squirms and squirms. With a chuckle, he cuts open the sack with the knife, “Hello there,” he says, his face bright and cheerful, “it’s time to play!” He pats the person’s cheek with his bloodied hand and chuckles once more, deep and foreboding.
His eyes flit open, and he gasps.
It hurts.
His stomach hurts from all the punching. His forearms are bruised and bloody. His legs, one of which he can no longer feel, drip with blood.
Everything hurts.
“Please...” he begs, to the man now grinning at him. Even the lights of the warehouse sting his eyes, which would normally be spectacled.
“Please... D-Don’t hurt me...”
He knows it is too late for that, though. Too late for pleading. Too late for anything. All he can do is hope that this doesn’t last long.
The man pushes a switch on the pulley, and a mechanism raises the cage up into the ceiling again.
Making his way to the exit, he takes one last look at the two in the cage. He’d like to stay and watch, but it’s been a long day, and he’s tired.
He figures he needs a shower, anyway.