Distorquet
As she releases the weaves holding her portal together, Lanfear wonders idly if perhaps putting the child to sleep might not have been an idea. Not that it matters either way, the girl is utterly helpless. Bound and gagged by flows of air in an intricate weave that tightens the harder she struggles, she could as well fly unaided as escape. Her expression tightens in minor disgust as she regards the girl's face, streaming with tears. She wouldn't have to put up with that with her sleeping, but fear is a useful tool in questioning.
The Chosen waves an irritable hand, and Shelley blinks violently as tears dry rapidly off her face. Vision unblurred, she can see the room they are in, reasonably large and mostly composed of white stone. She stumbles as the weave holding her drop her the little way to the floor, but manages to stay upright as the beautiful darkhaired woman sits down elegantly on the one piece of furniture in the room - a small couch of ivory velvet - and watches her as if she is some kind of interesting but slightly unpleasant small animal.
Gulping back another sob, Shelley steps back -- and meets an invisible but solid wall of air. Outstretched hands find one either side of her as well, and her eyes come reluctantly back to Lanfear's.
The woman tilts her head. "You should really calm down, you know. Hysterics will do nothing."
Shelley glares hate, tears still welling. "Can hardly stop, you killed him!"
Just a baby cat, and she crushed him as if he could even have done anything.
Lanfear eyes the girl in slight disgust. Stolen away by one of the Chosen and the child was hung up on the demise of one tiny creature? Evidently Ishamael had taken a lover as crazed as himself.
"Possibly you should concern yourself with talking to me, Lady Selae - or Lady Shelley, whichever you go by."
Dark eyes regard the child, who remains silent. Shelley swallows hard. What does she want her to say?
"Tell me about Ishamael, Shelley. Anything that comes to mind - what is he working on at the moment, for a start?"
There a few reasons she can't answer that, unfortunately - ultimately, she doesn't know, but there is also an unpleasant tightening sensation prickling over her skin, starting from the mark on her left hand. Oh dear.
"...I don't know."
"Really?"
A short, thin weave of air designed to bruise and just scuff the skin, and the girl gasps in shock under the invisible blow across her lower back, just about managing to remain upright. Dark eyes narrow critically. Little real pain tolerance, though she tries not to show it. Breaking the girl will be easy, if it comes to that.
"You understand I do not have a lot of time," the Chosen continues, as the girl before her tries to stay still, "Cooperation is therefore in your best interest."
Another blow, this time lighter, but with a thinner weave that slices cloth and skin alike. Shelley twists as spots of blood slowly begin to bloom along the shallow scrape. Oh, that hurts, though the immediate pain fades to a throbbing after a few moments, and she swallows, pale.
Lanfear smiles warmly, beautifully.
"Tell me something you think I will find useful."
Which of course, means that Shelley can do nothing of the sort. Her skin is one all-over prickle as she searches frantically for something she can say to placate the other woman that won't break her oath.
In the silence, Lanfear's expression slowly hardens. Bonds of air tighten around the girl's wrists, hauling her up off the floor. Bare feet kick uselessly and Shelley's teeth clench at the stretching feel of being suspended. A short, sharp pain in her stomach - her thigh - her foot - her right arm, and blood slowly begins to trickle from small, throbbing wounds. It takes all her willpower not to sob.
"Speak to me, girl."
But no matter how she tries, she cannot make herself answer.
Oh, god. Oh, god...
The Chosen waves an irritable hand, and Shelley blinks violently as tears dry rapidly off her face. Vision unblurred, she can see the room they are in, reasonably large and mostly composed of white stone. She stumbles as the weave holding her drop her the little way to the floor, but manages to stay upright as the beautiful darkhaired woman sits down elegantly on the one piece of furniture in the room - a small couch of ivory velvet - and watches her as if she is some kind of interesting but slightly unpleasant small animal.
Gulping back another sob, Shelley steps back -- and meets an invisible but solid wall of air. Outstretched hands find one either side of her as well, and her eyes come reluctantly back to Lanfear's.
The woman tilts her head. "You should really calm down, you know. Hysterics will do nothing."
Shelley glares hate, tears still welling. "Can hardly stop, you killed him!"
Just a baby cat, and she crushed him as if he could even have done anything.
Lanfear eyes the girl in slight disgust. Stolen away by one of the Chosen and the child was hung up on the demise of one tiny creature? Evidently Ishamael had taken a lover as crazed as himself.
"Possibly you should concern yourself with talking to me, Lady Selae - or Lady Shelley, whichever you go by."
Dark eyes regard the child, who remains silent. Shelley swallows hard. What does she want her to say?
"Tell me about Ishamael, Shelley. Anything that comes to mind - what is he working on at the moment, for a start?"
There a few reasons she can't answer that, unfortunately - ultimately, she doesn't know, but there is also an unpleasant tightening sensation prickling over her skin, starting from the mark on her left hand. Oh dear.
"...I don't know."
"Really?"
A short, thin weave of air designed to bruise and just scuff the skin, and the girl gasps in shock under the invisible blow across her lower back, just about managing to remain upright. Dark eyes narrow critically. Little real pain tolerance, though she tries not to show it. Breaking the girl will be easy, if it comes to that.
"You understand I do not have a lot of time," the Chosen continues, as the girl before her tries to stay still, "Cooperation is therefore in your best interest."
Another blow, this time lighter, but with a thinner weave that slices cloth and skin alike. Shelley twists as spots of blood slowly begin to bloom along the shallow scrape. Oh, that hurts, though the immediate pain fades to a throbbing after a few moments, and she swallows, pale.
Lanfear smiles warmly, beautifully.
"Tell me something you think I will find useful."
Which of course, means that Shelley can do nothing of the sort. Her skin is one all-over prickle as she searches frantically for something she can say to placate the other woman that won't break her oath.
In the silence, Lanfear's expression slowly hardens. Bonds of air tighten around the girl's wrists, hauling her up off the floor. Bare feet kick uselessly and Shelley's teeth clench at the stretching feel of being suspended. A short, sharp pain in her stomach - her thigh - her foot - her right arm, and blood slowly begins to trickle from small, throbbing wounds. It takes all her willpower not to sob.
"Speak to me, girl."
But no matter how she tries, she cannot make herself answer.
Oh, god. Oh, god...