[He sees her move before she says anything - her hair is long, and it swishes when she moves her head. So much of it; it had dampened the hit he'd given her quite a bit.
That was probably a good thing.
The question, when she asks it, had been expected; he smiles anyway, privately, because of course she isn't going to see it.]
[He stands up then, from where he'd been crouched down near the ground, picking up the coils of leather from where they had been lying against the cool floor of the cave; it had been easy enough to braid, a bit more difficult to treat, but he'd managed with what he had. There were plenty of things to capture, and they had provided well in several ways, in the end.
The whip uncoils cleanly as he releases the fall, keeping his grip tight around the handle; there's a slight shake traveling along its length as it drops. It's good, then. It has life in it.
He steps a bit closer to her, but not much; he doesn't have to think very much about what he's doing. He draws his hand up, the fall twisting around itself as he snaps it back down again; the result is a controlled but powerful crack, emanating from somewhere behind her and very, very close to her head.
[[She hears the whip drop to the ground and starts to breathe again. She hadn't even realised she'd stopped.
When she feels his fingers sliding down her arm, she can't stop herself from shuddering, her hands clenching and releasing, as if to try and provide an outlet for her emotions.]]
There are other ways...to sort out our differences.
[His voice is surprisingly lucid as he speaks. Calm, even. It might have something to do with the fact that his hands are suddenly touching her hair, stroking it where it drapes across her shoulders. The gesture is repetitive and light, and for now it seems to keep the usual manic quality out of his speech.]
We could always sit and discuss the issue. Find some way to compromise. Maybe if I let you go, you won't tell anyone about what I've done, and we can try to talk things through, now that you know that there's a serious problem. And you can apologize for what you've done, if anything, and I can apologize for knocking you unconscious, tying you up and threatening to do whatever it is I'm considering threatening to do to you. It would solve the problem nicely, I think. Or perhaps if I'm still wanting to take my anger out on something, we could find a civil outlet. Maybe we could have a Pokémon battle. Wouldn't that fix things?
[[She bites down on her lip when he starts stroking her hair, resisting the urge to try and yank it out of his grasp. Throughout his little speech, Cynthia feels despair creeping up on her; it's so obvious that he's taunting her, his voice eerily calm and composed.
If anything, it just makes him more intimidating than usual.
When she feels him gathering her hair over her shoulder she makes a indistinguishable noise that might have, at some point in the process, been a word, but all that's left of it is a strained murmur, and her hands begin to tremble.]]
That...just wouldn't be like you, would it.
[[Another one of those noises is released when his hands start trailing over the bare skin of her back, and once again she has to fight down the urge to wrench herself away from his vile touch.
But despite everything, she refuses to beg, and as if to strengthen her resolve her hands curl into tight fists, nails digging into her palms. She can't let him win.]]
[As much as he avoids touch normally, for now he seems rather content to continue stroking her back. His touch is gentle, remaining concentrated in the center of her back as opposed to wandering, and he moves his hand back up toward her shoulderblades just before it reaches the small of her back. He isn't inclined to grope her; that much is obvious.]
Once in a while I'll compromise, if the benefits are good enough.
[[She pauses for a moment, tolerating, rather than enjoying his touch, secretly pleased with the fact that he doesn't feel the need to move his hands to her chest, or anywhere else...personal.
When she finally speaks, however, it's all she can do to keep the tremor out of her voice.]]
[His hand shifts to the back of her head, then, finding the crown of her hair with his fingertips and stroking that as well, trailing softly down the flow of her hair until it meets her shoulder before bringing his hand up. Doing it again.]
What difference does it really make if I tell you?
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That was probably a good thing.
The question, when she asks it, had been expected; he smiles anyway, privately, because of course she isn't going to see it.]
Of course there is.
I don't imagine you tied yourself up, after all.
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She recognizes it.
The urge to panic grows stronger.]]
...I'm not really one for ropes, Maxie.
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Oh, believe me, they suit you quite well.
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[[Stay calm, stay calm...]]
And perhaps my bra?
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They'd get in the way, after all.
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...get in the way of what, exactly?
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The whip uncoils cleanly as he releases the fall, keeping his grip tight around the handle; there's a slight shake traveling along its length as it drops. It's good, then. It has life in it.
He steps a bit closer to her, but not much; he doesn't have to think very much about what he's doing. He draws his hand up, the fall twisting around itself as he snaps it back down again; the result is a controlled but powerful crack, emanating from somewhere behind her and very, very close to her head.
Speaks for itself, really.]
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Suddenly, everything makes sense. The wound, the ropes, the removal of clothing from her upper body....
Forget appearing calm and composed; now is the time in which she will panic, thanks.]]
You...you can't be serious! Maxie! This is wrong!
[[And amongst all that yelling she'll be tugging furiously at those ropes.]]
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Whether it's to ensure she won't startle further or to intimidate is a bit hard to say.
He touches her when he reaches her, reaching out and stroking down her arm lightly with his fingertips.]
Why don't you think about the person you're talking to, and then run that last part through your head again.
When you're done, tell me if it sounds as good as it did when you said it.
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When she feels his fingers sliding down her arm, she can't stop herself from shuddering, her hands clenching and releasing, as if to try and provide an outlet for her emotions.]]
There are other ways...to sort out our differences.
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[His voice is surprisingly lucid as he speaks. Calm, even. It might have something to do with the fact that his hands are suddenly touching her hair, stroking it where it drapes across her shoulders. The gesture is repetitive and light, and for now it seems to keep the usual manic quality out of his speech.]
We could always sit and discuss the issue. Find some way to compromise. Maybe if I let you go, you won't tell anyone about what I've done, and we can try to talk things through, now that you know that there's a serious problem. And you can apologize for what you've done, if anything, and I can apologize for knocking you unconscious, tying you up and threatening to do whatever it is I'm considering threatening to do to you. It would solve the problem nicely, I think. Or perhaps if I'm still wanting to take my anger out on something, we could find a civil outlet. Maybe we could have a Pokémon battle. Wouldn't that fix things?
[His hands pause for a moment.]
I'm very good at making deals, you know.
[...and ( ... )
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If anything, it just makes him more intimidating than usual.
When she feels him gathering her hair over her shoulder she makes a indistinguishable noise that might have, at some point in the process, been a word, but all that's left of it is a strained murmur, and her hands begin to tremble.]]
That...just wouldn't be like you, would it.
[[Another one of those noises is released when his hands start trailing over the bare skin of her back, and once again she has to fight down the urge to wrench herself away from his vile touch.
But despite everything, she refuses to beg, and as if to strengthen her resolve her hands curl into tight fists, nails digging into her palms. She can't let him win.]]
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[As much as he avoids touch normally, for now he seems rather content to continue stroking her back. His touch is gentle, remaining concentrated in the center of her back as opposed to wandering, and he moves his hand back up toward her shoulderblades just before it reaches the small of her back. He isn't inclined to grope her; that much is obvious.]
Once in a while I'll compromise, if the benefits are good enough.
But I don't feel like it right now.
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When she finally speaks, however, it's all she can do to keep the tremor out of her voice.]]
...so what, exactly, do you feel like right now?
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What difference does it really make if I tell you?
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