Mafia Verse Fic: Silent Witness
Inspired by discussion of unter_allen's mafia verse and torture devices, ending with the conclusion that Tony Stark owns an iron maiden that he has named Pepper. Posted here primarily for archiving purposes and because I loved writing it. Refers to the events of this post in detail. Warning because well, torture.
The so called ‘dark room’ of the Stark mansion was the household’s torture room - a place where any and all captives were held and killed. It was connected to the garage for easy transport, and the walls were lined with various looking instruments of pain and death, ranging from simple whips and nasty looking chains to positively medieval looking pieces of branding equipment. Much of it was for show, of course. Simply being in an threatening environment and threatening to grab an item off the wall was often enough to get people to talk. It was rare for a piece to ever be used, and if something was taken from the wall, it was usually a set of knives, custom made with an elegant eagle engraved on the handle, designed especially for going through human flesh.
In one corner of the dark room sat the eldest piece of torture equipment, the Stark family’s iron maiden. The device was from the 17th century and considerably worn, but the entire family doted on her. Tony had bought her, on a whim, when visiting Germany in his mid twenties, thinking that she was a quirky piece that might serve as a good threat. His wife had simply rolled her eyes at the idea, but consented, and the two set the iron maiden up in the dark room. Initially Altair was somewhat disturbed by the maiden’s presence, as he often felt the iron casket’s gaze upon him, or so he said. Tony had laughed when Altair addressed this matter, and lovingly patted the maiden’s head, saying, “What? This? If anything the old girl is approving of the work you’re doing. Aren’t you…” He had trailed off, searching for a name. “Pepper?” Altair’s employer offered a cheerful grin and walked past him. “Don’t think about it so much.”
Altair had shook his head initially at Tony, but soon became comfortable working in front of the maiden four or five months after Tony had named her. He could still feel her gaze on him, but he treated it as more so like working in front of an audience than having a disapproving gaze settled on him. If Tony was to ever move her, Altair would have probably been greatly disturbed by her lack of presence in the room.
For her part, Pepper was content to sit and watch silently as Altair worked, interrupting her long bouts of silence in the dark. She was a very old woman at this point, first constructed in 1893. Over the years she had held many a man in her chest, her spikes piercing their flesh and causing their blood to flow. She had never thought much about the matter. After all, she had been made for this purpose, and had little else to do. When she was retired by her first owner and hidden away, Pepper felt herself grow increasingly depressed over her fate. Her entire purpose had been removed from her, and if she could have wept, she would have. She remained in her basement for many years, being moved at the start of the 20th century and placed in a curiosities shop to draw in customers. Her spikes were removed and discarded, to make her less threatening and suitable for public display. It was a different life, since she was now out in the open and often pointed and stared at, creating awed whispers and ponderings on how many people she had killed over the years, what kind of person would kill with her and how old she was. Pepper simply stood there, laughing to herself. It was a different reaction, and not one she would have ever expected, but it pleased her.
Pepper was sold from her shop to an antiques dealer in the 1960s, and sat in a corner of the shop for a very long while, collecting dusk. Often the owner of the shop tried to interest foreigners in purchasing her, desperate to remove her from the shop. No one showed interest in an old torture device though, and so she sat, staring as other items were brought in and sold, envying them. She missed the attention of the curiosities shop, and the remarks that came with them. At least the people there understood what she was and her importance. Sometimes potential consumers would look her over and remark on her construction, but they could never afford her and the shop keeper refused to haggle.
Being purchased by Tony Stark was a mixed blessing for her, in many ways. Pepper was happy to be out of the shop. Her new owner seemed genuinely fond of her, and as he was making the business transaction he kept running his fingers over her and marveling at her construction. It made her feel appreciated and genuinely loved. However, the place she occupied in the household came with mixed feelings. She was often kept alone and in the dark. She had spent many years in the light as a display piece, so returning to her original housing was a bit of a shock. Watching the torture that Altair performed in the dark room also disturbed her. When she was in her prime she never saw the faces of those she killed. The only thing she heard were their screams, and she would feel them inside of her as her spikes pierced their bodies. Finally seeing the victims writhe and agony and expire made her feel disgusted with herself and her old life. If that was what she did to people, well, that was nothing to be proud of and glow on.
But torture was rare in the Stark household. Nine times out of ten, a quick death was ordered, not a long and drawn out torture session. It was still gruesome to watch, but the quickness set Pepper’s mind at ease.
She also became an object of affection for Stark’s children. When they were younger they often hid in her. Pepper’s body offered an excellent and unexpected place for a young one to play hide and seek and not be found until the other had given up. She was always impressed that the two managed to open her heavy iron doors and climb inside, and became even more amused when Altair or Tony or Stark’s wife would chide them for doing so, claiming that an antique torture device was not something they should be playing in. As the two grew older, Pepper saw less and less of them. They had moved on from childish games, although once Sho had placed a sombrero atop of her head and drawn a mustache on her. The act had amused Pepper, but Suzume had taken far less happily to it, giving her brother a black eye and several nasty bruises for doing so.
To some extent, Pepper wasn’t surprised Suzume did this. The girl had always been fonder of her than Sho did, and often referred to her as the ‘queen’ rather than Pepper, out of a sign of respect. Pepper assumed that Suzume had did her research on iron maidens (and Iron Maiden), and viewed her as a beautiful and deadly device, to use a phrase she often heard Suzume use. Suzume also often came down into the dark room and talked at Pepper, venting her anger and frustrations out to the old woman. She often talked about the death of her mother, or what new and stupid thing her brother did to annoy her and as a means of talking herself through historical theories. Pepper had become her most trusted and beloved confidant, and the old maiden took no objection to this position.
From time to time though, Pepper found herself disagreeing with how the Starks went about business. Now was one of those times. She had found herself sitting and staring at the woman being held captive in the dark room for two days now, listening to her weep openly about her fate. The girl couldn’t have been older than eighteen, and Pepper couldn’t possibly imagine what she could have done to invite the full wrath of the mafia upon her to the point that she was being held with only a pint of water a day. It disturbed the maiden greatly, and she often found herself looking at the girl with more pity as the hours passed and Altair with an increasing amount of hate whenever he came in to check on her. Pepper hoped that they would at least put the poor thing out of her misery soon, as she was beginning to feel repulsed by how the girl was being treated.
On the fourth day Altair walked in very early in the morning. Pepper noticed he had no water with him, and that his face was set harder than usual. It was the face he put on when he was about to kill someone. What the maiden found off about it was the fact that he wore a pair of yellow kitchen gloves, presumably to keep his fingerprints from touching her. She wondered, briefly, who was being framed for the girl’s murder. And then she wondered why she wanted to scream and object to Altair as his favourite blade was inserted into the young woman’s chest, presumably pierecing the heart. He seemed to take longer than usual, wiggling the blade around and making his usual precision obsolete. He was making errors on purpose and denying the girl the sweet release she had been begging for over the past four days. If the victim had any final words, Pepper did not hear them.
As Altair carried the body out of the room, Pepper felt a wave of relief come over her. What had had been done was one of the most unpleasant experiences she had sat and watched in the Stark household, and certainly one of the most disturbing, but she was glad it was over with, if only for the nameless young woman’s sake.
Word count: 1654
The so called ‘dark room’ of the Stark mansion was the household’s torture room - a place where any and all captives were held and killed. It was connected to the garage for easy transport, and the walls were lined with various looking instruments of pain and death, ranging from simple whips and nasty looking chains to positively medieval looking pieces of branding equipment. Much of it was for show, of course. Simply being in an threatening environment and threatening to grab an item off the wall was often enough to get people to talk. It was rare for a piece to ever be used, and if something was taken from the wall, it was usually a set of knives, custom made with an elegant eagle engraved on the handle, designed especially for going through human flesh.
In one corner of the dark room sat the eldest piece of torture equipment, the Stark family’s iron maiden. The device was from the 17th century and considerably worn, but the entire family doted on her. Tony had bought her, on a whim, when visiting Germany in his mid twenties, thinking that she was a quirky piece that might serve as a good threat. His wife had simply rolled her eyes at the idea, but consented, and the two set the iron maiden up in the dark room. Initially Altair was somewhat disturbed by the maiden’s presence, as he often felt the iron casket’s gaze upon him, or so he said. Tony had laughed when Altair addressed this matter, and lovingly patted the maiden’s head, saying, “What? This? If anything the old girl is approving of the work you’re doing. Aren’t you…” He had trailed off, searching for a name. “Pepper?” Altair’s employer offered a cheerful grin and walked past him. “Don’t think about it so much.”
Altair had shook his head initially at Tony, but soon became comfortable working in front of the maiden four or five months after Tony had named her. He could still feel her gaze on him, but he treated it as more so like working in front of an audience than having a disapproving gaze settled on him. If Tony was to ever move her, Altair would have probably been greatly disturbed by her lack of presence in the room.
For her part, Pepper was content to sit and watch silently as Altair worked, interrupting her long bouts of silence in the dark. She was a very old woman at this point, first constructed in 1893. Over the years she had held many a man in her chest, her spikes piercing their flesh and causing their blood to flow. She had never thought much about the matter. After all, she had been made for this purpose, and had little else to do. When she was retired by her first owner and hidden away, Pepper felt herself grow increasingly depressed over her fate. Her entire purpose had been removed from her, and if she could have wept, she would have. She remained in her basement for many years, being moved at the start of the 20th century and placed in a curiosities shop to draw in customers. Her spikes were removed and discarded, to make her less threatening and suitable for public display. It was a different life, since she was now out in the open and often pointed and stared at, creating awed whispers and ponderings on how many people she had killed over the years, what kind of person would kill with her and how old she was. Pepper simply stood there, laughing to herself. It was a different reaction, and not one she would have ever expected, but it pleased her.
Pepper was sold from her shop to an antiques dealer in the 1960s, and sat in a corner of the shop for a very long while, collecting dusk. Often the owner of the shop tried to interest foreigners in purchasing her, desperate to remove her from the shop. No one showed interest in an old torture device though, and so she sat, staring as other items were brought in and sold, envying them. She missed the attention of the curiosities shop, and the remarks that came with them. At least the people there understood what she was and her importance. Sometimes potential consumers would look her over and remark on her construction, but they could never afford her and the shop keeper refused to haggle.
Being purchased by Tony Stark was a mixed blessing for her, in many ways. Pepper was happy to be out of the shop. Her new owner seemed genuinely fond of her, and as he was making the business transaction he kept running his fingers over her and marveling at her construction. It made her feel appreciated and genuinely loved. However, the place she occupied in the household came with mixed feelings. She was often kept alone and in the dark. She had spent many years in the light as a display piece, so returning to her original housing was a bit of a shock. Watching the torture that Altair performed in the dark room also disturbed her. When she was in her prime she never saw the faces of those she killed. The only thing she heard were their screams, and she would feel them inside of her as her spikes pierced their bodies. Finally seeing the victims writhe and agony and expire made her feel disgusted with herself and her old life. If that was what she did to people, well, that was nothing to be proud of and glow on.
But torture was rare in the Stark household. Nine times out of ten, a quick death was ordered, not a long and drawn out torture session. It was still gruesome to watch, but the quickness set Pepper’s mind at ease.
She also became an object of affection for Stark’s children. When they were younger they often hid in her. Pepper’s body offered an excellent and unexpected place for a young one to play hide and seek and not be found until the other had given up. She was always impressed that the two managed to open her heavy iron doors and climb inside, and became even more amused when Altair or Tony or Stark’s wife would chide them for doing so, claiming that an antique torture device was not something they should be playing in. As the two grew older, Pepper saw less and less of them. They had moved on from childish games, although once Sho had placed a sombrero atop of her head and drawn a mustache on her. The act had amused Pepper, but Suzume had taken far less happily to it, giving her brother a black eye and several nasty bruises for doing so.
To some extent, Pepper wasn’t surprised Suzume did this. The girl had always been fonder of her than Sho did, and often referred to her as the ‘queen’ rather than Pepper, out of a sign of respect. Pepper assumed that Suzume had did her research on iron maidens (and Iron Maiden), and viewed her as a beautiful and deadly device, to use a phrase she often heard Suzume use. Suzume also often came down into the dark room and talked at Pepper, venting her anger and frustrations out to the old woman. She often talked about the death of her mother, or what new and stupid thing her brother did to annoy her and as a means of talking herself through historical theories. Pepper had become her most trusted and beloved confidant, and the old maiden took no objection to this position.
From time to time though, Pepper found herself disagreeing with how the Starks went about business. Now was one of those times. She had found herself sitting and staring at the woman being held captive in the dark room for two days now, listening to her weep openly about her fate. The girl couldn’t have been older than eighteen, and Pepper couldn’t possibly imagine what she could have done to invite the full wrath of the mafia upon her to the point that she was being held with only a pint of water a day. It disturbed the maiden greatly, and she often found herself looking at the girl with more pity as the hours passed and Altair with an increasing amount of hate whenever he came in to check on her. Pepper hoped that they would at least put the poor thing out of her misery soon, as she was beginning to feel repulsed by how the girl was being treated.
On the fourth day Altair walked in very early in the morning. Pepper noticed he had no water with him, and that his face was set harder than usual. It was the face he put on when he was about to kill someone. What the maiden found off about it was the fact that he wore a pair of yellow kitchen gloves, presumably to keep his fingerprints from touching her. She wondered, briefly, who was being framed for the girl’s murder. And then she wondered why she wanted to scream and object to Altair as his favourite blade was inserted into the young woman’s chest, presumably pierecing the heart. He seemed to take longer than usual, wiggling the blade around and making his usual precision obsolete. He was making errors on purpose and denying the girl the sweet release she had been begging for over the past four days. If the victim had any final words, Pepper did not hear them.
As Altair carried the body out of the room, Pepper felt a wave of relief come over her. What had had been done was one of the most unpleasant experiences she had sat and watched in the Stark household, and certainly one of the most disturbing, but she was glad it was over with, if only for the nameless young woman’s sake.
Word count: 1654