sandandwater

Friday, dies Veneris

" ... Ro?"

Deprivation does strange and varied things to the human mind, body and soul. Pippa Kerr has been deprived of a great many things in the last few days: food, water, cleanliness, dignity, compassion, love, mercy. She's been left with no perception of the passing of time, no exposure to daylight or warmth. To anything familiar.

Reality bent, distorted, broken. Where she is physically isn't the place she's dwelling mentally. She has turned inward, sifting through memories and thoughts that are so far removed from her current predicament that she no longer feels the cold air on bare skin, the tightness of abused muscles, the agony of wounds incurred. She's stopped reacting to the abuse. Stopped crying, no longer screams or moans. Sometimes she doesn't even blink for long, long minutes.

She's gone. She's resigned. She's going to die. Somewhere in the recesses of her mind, that realization keeps her company. She's going to die and this is all going to end. But until then she has places to hide. One person she thinks of. And then she feels safe.

"Ro ... ?"

ooc: This was written with badass_charger. Same warnings apply. Seriously icky ew in this one. Follows this post here.

Wednesday Night/Thursday Morning...

She was at a table. She kept trying to focus on the wood grain pattern in front of her, the one slightly darkened knot on center plank. She couldn’t, not for long, not with her vision swimming. He’d drugged her again. The side of her neck was becoming ugly and bruised from the repeated unskilled and unkind injections. Holding her head up was becoming more difficult as well. It felt so heavy and she was so tired.

He was still there. She hadn’t realized it until now. Thought he’d left her alone again. But she could hear him behind her. He was at his sound board again, at the computer. And the music that was playing—familiar but wrong.

She couldn’t stay awake any longer...

( Read more... )

When Pippa didn't show up for her Tuesday night shift at Last Call, the owner came in to make sure set up and opening was completed. Then he started making phone calls. No answer on her cell phone. No answer on her home phone. Mike left messages on both voicemail systems: Pippa, where are you? You're on the schedule for tonight in case you forgot. Call me, dollface.

She didn't return his calls or even show up at the bar. By the time the musical act of the night started their second set, Mike was getting worried. Not agitated. Pippa wasn't the irresponsible type. Where some of the other girls might simply pull a no-show for a shift, Phillipa Kerr had never once done that in the almost three years that he'd known her. Not once.

A thought occurred to him and he went back into the storeroom/office and pulled out the binder that held contact information for the bar's bookings. Pippa was dating one of the musicians that played at the Call regularly. Rory, wasn't it? The Irish guy...Stone. Finding the cell phone number for the man, Miked dialed. Maybe she'd been whisked off somewhere. Or maybe Rory knew where she was...hopefully.