sandandwater (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sandandwater) wrote2008-08-25 10:28 pm
sandandwater) wrote2008-08-25 10:28 pm
Entry tags:
[For John Larch]
ooc: Takes place hours after this post and concurrently with this post here. Same warning for content applies.
Tuesday Evening, The Circe
She was tied to wooden chair, hands bound behind her back. The way he had pulled her arms over the backrest rungs of had been intentionally painful—her muscles forced into a state of constant strain. Her ankles had also been secured, rough corded rope digging into her skin and tied tight enough that her bare feet were beginning to lose circulation. And she was cold, her skin clammy.
Pippa, stripped down to her underwear and beaten more than once by her abductor, had spent most of the day in this position. She wasn’t aware of just how long that was. Whenever Larch had left the room, the soundproof and acoustically perfect studio, he always took the time to stick another needle into her neck first. He also made certain to turn on his sound system. The auditory abuse was more disorienting than the physical pain he had inflicted on her. What she was forced to listen to, at least in moments of clarity, was terrifying.
Screaming. Crying. Whimpering. Whispered prayers and voices begging for mercy—for help. Sometimes begging for the release only death would bring. Larch had explained it to her: These were the others. The ones before her. The ones just like her. This is what she had to look forward to…didn’t she want to join the chorus of voices?
Tuesday Evening, The Circe
She was tied to wooden chair, hands bound behind her back. The way he had pulled her arms over the backrest rungs of had been intentionally painful—her muscles forced into a state of constant strain. Her ankles had also been secured, rough corded rope digging into her skin and tied tight enough that her bare feet were beginning to lose circulation. And she was cold, her skin clammy.
Pippa, stripped down to her underwear and beaten more than once by her abductor, had spent most of the day in this position. She wasn’t aware of just how long that was. Whenever Larch had left the room, the soundproof and acoustically perfect studio, he always took the time to stick another needle into her neck first. He also made certain to turn on his sound system. The auditory abuse was more disorienting than the physical pain he had inflicted on her. What she was forced to listen to, at least in moments of clarity, was terrifying.
Screaming. Crying. Whimpering. Whispered prayers and voices begging for mercy—for help. Sometimes begging for the release only death would bring. Larch had explained it to her: These were the others. The ones before her. The ones just like her. This is what she had to look forward to…didn’t she want to join the chorus of voices?