obsidianlogs | august mingle;

Entry tags:

mingle log

august mingle;

This is the general mingle log for August. Feel free to post open top levels for: new arrivals, job duties, general hanging out in common spaces, bonding with your block, and anything else you can think of.

There will not be a catch all for the event, so you can put event starters here or in their own separate log!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

In AM's days of freedom, he acted alone. It was far too risky to do anything with anyone else. Torturing someone with another would present a blackmail opportunity, someone who could easily rat him out or sell his story to the press for millions.

But truthfully, he had always wanted to see what it was like to have someone assist him, to revel in the sadism with another.

He has assisted others in prison in hurting others, which was quite fun, but this is his torture chamber. His sanctuary. It's a new experience. And he has already been thrown into prison for his deeds, so what is the worst that could happen? Besides, if he's unsatisfied, she can become his next victim.

But he stops advancing and straightens up, glancing back in the room at his current victim, who moans in pain.

Back to Abigail then, he steps to the side, gesturing toward the open door of the chamber. "Why don't you show me?"

Inside she will find an array of tools she could use, including knives, whips, cattle prods, saws, thread, and more. It's a veritable toy store. But AM grabs his own knife rather quickly, holding it to the side should Abigail attempt to use any of those tools against him.

Abigail swallows heavily, hoping to chase away her nerves, but they just coil in the pit of her stomach. This was the last chance she had to back out, though she knows it would damage their budding friendship and alienate her from one of the people she was relying on to protect her in prison. But it was easier to tell herself that she had no choice, just as she'd done with the girls she helped her father murder, than to admit that a part of her was more than a little curious and excited to experience this.

The man hanging from the hooks casts a desperate glance at her as she steps over the threshold into AM's sanctuary, silently pleading with her to make the pain stop. Abigail finds she can't meet his gaze, it's just too human. Instead she turns her attention to the tools on display, picking up one after the other and turning them over in her hands to get a feel for them, before glancing back to AM.

"I'm not really sure where to start. I haven't done anything quite like this before. What do you suggest?"

AM, of course, watches her like a hawk, curious to see her reactions. He can read people fairly well; as a businessman, he had to, even if the actual "business" part of his work was what he hated, in comparison to the actual research and development. Besides, he knows very well the signs of fear, having seen them in their extremes so many times.

He nearly salivates with this power he has over both her and the victim, noting how she can't even look him in the eye. Trapped. She knows it's either she help AM or she become his next victim. A rock and a hard place.

But, she admitted to enjoying it, didn't she? She's in prison, after all...

"Well, let's see..." He walks over to the array of tools, hands hovering over them like a surgeon. Finally he comes to an incredibly sharp saw. It's something Abigail could easily attack AM with if she wanted to, one of the reasons why AM has a gun on his belt hidden beneath his blood-soaked apron. (After all, he has to be prepared in case any of his victims try anything funny.)

"Cut something off of him," he says, holding out the saw to Abigail. The victim moans, trying to beg her not to, along with telling her to run and get help. It's all a muffled sort of mess.

She tries to ignore the muffled moans of the victim - the blood rushing to her head helps a little there, but not much. Her hand hovers over the handle of the saw for a moment, before she tentatively curls her fingers around it. She's used them before to dismember both deer and people, but never when they're still breathing, and she's frozen there for a good few seconds as she works herself up to take the plunge.

Stepping forward, she wraps her free hand around the man's wrist, cutting into the base of his thumb before she can change her mind and talk herself out of it. His moans quickly morph into outright screams, mixing grotesquely with the rhythm of the saw cutting through bone, and she feels her stomach churn with the knowledge and guilt that she's capable of causing this sort of pain to another person. But when she cuts through an artery and she's caught in the spray of blood, without even realising it she finds her tongue darting out to catch the coppery taste as it drips down her cheek. And when she steps back, the severed digit falling dully to the ground, the flush in her colouring is certainly more from exhilaration than the guilt she still feels.

AM watches closely, both to protect himself and to essentially get off on the control he has over Abigail and this victim. But she starts off small - just severing a thumb. That's fine; AM would often do the same, amputating small digits before working up to the larger limbs to prolong the pain and horror.

The familiar spray of blood comes, though it's fairly small, and the body typically heals it quickly enough. Still, it's satisfying to watch Abigail's otherwise clean visage tainted with a victim's blood, tainted with her own flush. Fear? Perhaps. Or it's more.

He doesn't bother to pick up the thumb, but he does bother to grab his tourniquets from the table and wrap one just above the man's wrist.

"Cut more off," he instructs in almost a lustful tone, eyes gleaming with excitement. He holds out the tourniquets as well, in case she wants to cut above the wrist. The implication should be clear enough: he doesn't want to kill the poor sap just yet.

It feels surreal to her looking at the severed thumb laying on the floor - now that it's not attached, it doesn't look like it's a part of a person at all, just an oddly shaped piece of meat. It makes it a little easier, until she hears the muffled screams of the victim again knowing that she's caused them.

Abigail steals a glance up at AM, and it's very clear that he's pleased. She can't help the smile that breaks over her face at realising that, an expression that's somehow very pure despite the atrocity that's caused his approval. She's slipping back into a role that's familiar, comfortable in a way, and she knows that she's missed having this sort of connection.

She grabs the limb that she'd taken the thumb off of, resting her palm on the back of the hand in a way that would look tender in another situation, before tightening her grip and beginning to saw through the man's forearm.

When Abigail smiles, it looks... genuine. AM has seen many smiles in his lifetime: the polite, fake smiles often seen in business dealings, and the scared, nervous expressions made in desperation - those are the most common ones. His victims would smile in nervousness, in a desperate attempt to appease him and hope to spare themselves torture.

Maybe there is some of that in Abigail. AM wouldn't blame her. After all, if she didn't like this, she would have been his next victim. But he thinks he sees genuine happiness in her expression. She did, after all, admit to enjoying what she did with her father.

The victim is obviously tense, moaning in pain, but relaxes ever so slightly when Abigail grabs his hand. Of course, that doesn't last long, before his screams start to echo off the walls once more.

AM, though, quickly stops her as blood starts to pour out of the wound. "Stop! Hang on!"

If she does stop, though, all he does is wrap a tourniquet on the man's arm just above the incision site. "Don't want him to bleed to death, after all..."

But he steps back right after to let Abigail continue.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

august mingle;

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject