(no subject)
Title: Learning to Dance16: Pause and Turn
Author: purplerhino
Disclaimer: Please….
Spoilers: Everything.
Rating: PG-16 this part
Characters/Pairing: DG, Azkadellia, DG/Cain
Summary: “DG?” Az whispered back. She wasn’t asking if it was her, rather what they were going to do.
Thanks to my beta readers - erinm_4600, thebigfatman and khadence
Part One / / Part Two / Interlude / Part Three / Part Four / Part Five / Part Six / Part Seven / Part Eight Part Nine / Part Ten / Part Eleven / Part Twelve / Part Thirteen / Part Fourteen / Part Fifteen
DG was first aware of the smell: it was the stench of… garbage. Food turning over. Then, she was aware of the pain. Both of her shoulders hurt and her forearms burned; her arms were tied behind her back, but not just at the wrists. No, her arms were forced back, bond forearms overlapping. She couldn’t wriggle around to slip her behind and legs through her arms this way. Great.
She was lying in garbage. Un-namable juices seeped into her nightgown and robe; something she was certain was a bone, poked into her ass; and there was something squishy behind her head. Over her, a tarp, covered by a light weight that pressed down just a bit over her body. This was bad. And gross, definitely gross.
She could feel the garbage bed jerking about and hear the distinctive sound of horses moving at a good clip. The stench and the movement made her nauseous, and the feel of lying in garbage made it so very hard not to vomit. But, then she’d add one more disgusting thing to the mix, and she didn’t want the kidnappers to see her lying in her own puke, as well as the trash.
Henrik, the chef’s assistant, had shot them with something. The guy had been so nice - not to mention, kinda cute. He’d watched as DG taught the chef about hash browns, pizza and a proper club sandwich. He’d saved pieces of blueberry pie for her, knowing she liked it so much. He’d SHOT them. And Glitch.
He could have poisoned them any time. What was she going to do now? DG knew she had to form some sort of plan.
She heard a whimper to her left.
Azkadellia.
“Hey,” she whispered, hoping she could be heard by her sister and not Henrik and whoever he had with him.
“DG?” Az whispered back. She wasn’t asking if it was her, rather what they were going to do.
“It’ll be all right.” DG tried to sound confident, Making assurances she knew she couldn’t keep. “The guard is, most likely, right on their heels. That’s why they’re moving so fast.”
“Only takes a moment to die.” Az sounded resigned. “I’m sorry DG. For everything.”
“Stop it. We aren’t gonna die. And we are definitely not going to die in a pile of stinking garbage,” DG hissed at her sister.
Okay. Her Tin Man could track her robo-parents through the forest when DG couldn’t even see a damned scuffmark in the dirt. Compared to that, a wagon on the road was a snap.
If no hue and cry went up beforehand, he’d be looking for her within ninety minutes of their being taken. He’d give her about an hour past the time they were going to meet.
He and the guard would be following on horses, not burdened with a wagon. So she had to, somehow, buy time, if not manage to get the two of them out of this on her own.
God, her shoulders hurt. She tried to wiggle her fingers, and was aware they were there, but they were cold and... was that coffee grounds?
DG was determined that she and Az hadn’t lived through so much this far, to end up dead in the O.Z.’s version of the Bog of Eternal Stench.
***
“Where are they going?” Jeb was hard-pressed to talk on a racing horse, as his teeth clacked together. Behind them, twelve men and three women, in black uniforms, rode just as hard.
“I’m betting the ruins of Civan castle. Secluded, part-open. Best bet.” His father kept the answer short. No one found it east to talk on a horse running full-on.
There was an overgrown wagon trail to the ruins of the old castle as well.
“They might figure we’d think of that,” Jeb pointed out.
“Might figure they have more time,” was the reply.
***
The wagon stopped and the tarp was ripped back. Both princesses glared up at Henrik and three others. None of them looked monstrous; no broken noses or squared jaws. ‘But then, Ted Bundy looked normal, too,’ DG reminded herself.
“Sleep well, your Highnesses? Found the perfect bed for you. Were you comfortable?” The speaker looked to be fifty or so; graying, but still strong and broad-shouldered.
“Yeah, thanks for the snack on the way, boys. I was feeling a bit hungry.” DG knew getting them even more angry was not exactly safe, but might buy precious seconds.
Four pair of hands moved to haul her out of the garbage. She kicked and bucked against them, making them work for it. She was proud to see Az was putting up just as much a fight, being bound in the same manner.
Once out of the wagon, DG felt a harsh blow send her upper body twisting. Without her arms for balance, she hit the ground, hard. The side of her face burned, and the cheekbone around her eye started to throb. DG had never been backhanded before, but she’d seen it happen in the parking lot of the diner. Why did they always go for the cheekbone? And no waitress was gonna call the cops here.
“Just like a big man. Smack around someone smaller than you while you have them tied up. I bet you gutted cats for fun as a boy.”
She was being pulled upright again. Tough guy just smirked. “I don’t like the smell of these sluts’ perfume. What you say we give ‘em a bath?”
DG couldn’t see much in the dark, but she could make out an irrigation pond she and Az were being pulled toward. She managed to hook an ankle around the leg of the guy to her right and twist them both. No arms meant her center of gravity was off, but, as she landed half atop the guy dragging her on the right, she brought her foot up and pounded her heel onto the downed lefty’s chest. Damn. She was going for the throat.
Once more, she was hauled upright, but she had the satisfaction of hearing Lefty dragging in harsh breaths.
Tough guy smiled and then placed an upper jab right to her stomach. DG lost her long battle and threw up. At least it was on him, as the pain wracked through her body.
“DG!” Az was screaming.
“Give ‘em a dip boys,” Tough guy ordered.
DG felt the wooden dock under her feet, spongy with age. She had just enough time to take a gasping breath before she hit the frigid water. In pain, between her stomach and shoulders mostly, she tried scissoring her legs as she aimed for the surface.
But her bound arms held her back.
‘The human body floats,’ she chanted in her head, over and over, and turned her face up to the moonlight she could see through the water. She tried to get her body in the position she used while floating in the YMCA pool.
It was working; she was heading up, but her lungs were burning.
Someone grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled her up, breaking the surface. Now, her scalp was burning as she pulled in great lungfulls of air. Some strange part of her somewhat hazy mind had the terrifying thought of how they might pull up Azkadellia, with her hair so short now.
In seconds, she was shoved back under by the pressure on her head.
She could hear the laughter above the water.