atonementlogs | event 003: the potions

Entry tags:

!event

event 003: the potions

Characters: All.

When: April 1st - 30th

Where: Various locations.

Warnings: None. Please put any warnings in the comment subject if it progresses that way!

The weather will continue to be Spring-like for the rest of this month, with the occasional storm or shower here and there. Once again, all citizen's will be alerted to go to the center of Penance to see about their punishment for the month of April!

As usual, a tent has been set up with plenty of food and drink set up on tables, with another one off to the corner containing letters addressed to each citizen, along with bottles of potion for each. Each person is invited to take a bottle and either drink it now, slip it to someone else, or saved it for later.

The effects are described as being random. The person who consumes the liquid may see the ghost of someone they've harmed in the past that will follow them around, screaming their sins to all around. It mayse severe, nearly deadly pain. It may take away one of the taker's senses, whether it's sight, hearing, touch, smell, or taste, or even all of them.

If citizens would rather go another route, they are free to make use of the Sin Lounge and deliver torture or pain to each other.

For those eager for more, citizens may take as many punishments as they want during the month!

With their new letter collected, it is time for all to decide their new punishment and face it bravely!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Ianchus is in a corner of the room, lounging in one of the spiked chairs, keeping most of his weight on the arms to keep the dull spikes from digging too much into him. His shirt is off, thrown over the back of the chair, and he has a glass in one hand and a whip in the other. He's been fooling around with it, lightly snapping it against his shoulders, but he's even less successful at self-flagellation than he is at using it normally.

He's let himself sink down, so to speak--the last few weeks have been mostly spent lounging about his house, in a state of drunken stupor, letting the dark thoughts consume him. Self-hate is something he only knows too well, and to some degree, he can wallow in it. It's comfortable, it's another way to numb himself.

It was tonight that the town drew him here, blinking against the light. Yes, he supposed that he'd amuse himself here.

It takes him a moment to register that someone has entered the room, and he sits up, wincing as he remembers that he's not actually on a normal chair.]

[It takes him a moment to see Ianchus there, but when he sees him, it's with a sense of understanding. Of course that's why he'd been drawn there. It only made sense to drag them both back. The town had its plans, and it knew all. Of course they would have to meet back there.

Still, at the same time: he knew Ianchus had never truly hurt him. He had been drunk and unruly and handsy, yes, but he had not hurt him. Really, it had been his own fault. He had overreacted, overcorrected, overdone everything. Even in the confines of his own mind, he could hear his father call him 'weak'.

When he speaks, his voice is as normal as he can make it:]
Hello, Ianchus.

Hello.

[His own voice is slurred somewhat--he's much more drunk than he was before. He feels guilty for making Jezebel uncomfortable, feels terrible--he's played the scene over and over in his head--but ultimately it was easier to write it off as a blanket failing of his own character. There was no point in assessing himself, he was human scum who would hurt anyone he touched. It was a perfect narrative.

He pulls himself up out of the chair, standing, swaying a little, and then fixes Jezebel with a half-smile.]

I suppose I'll leave this room to you, then.

[He's telling himself he should apologize, but he's also telling himself he doesn't know how.]

If you suppose so.

[He doesn't think it'll be as easy as all that, but if Ianchus wants to leave, he won't stop him. Truly, he doesn't feel real anger at Ianchus for what happened, especially after his apology. All he felt was a sort of resignation and fear and guilt, swirled together in an ugly mess.

Really, he was so easy to hurt. If Ianchus took only a tiny bit of that, he could hardly be blamed.]

If you're leaving because of the last time I saw you, don't fret over it.

[He gives him a grim smile as he passes him, though he stops, his back facing Jezebel's, a few feet from the door at that second part.]

I acted horrendously, the last time. I'd rather not risk it again. I suppose...I suppose this place gets to me more than I expected.

[Ianchus' eyes are hooded, and he definitely looks like he's been walking through a dream the last few weeks.

He takes a few steps up to the door and takes hold of it, to pull it open, and then gives a surprised grunt as it refuses to budge.]

[He'd thought that might be what would happen. The room had always demanded a sacrifice of sorts before. Even if they'd already done their turns this month, he supposed it could choose to take more if it needed to. Maybe this was how it punished people who transgressed.

Jezebel stays where he is, idly glancing at Ianchus and then at the instruments hanging on the wall waiting for a turn to inflict themselves on someone.]

I imagine it's the same as the last time we were here.

[So that's how it is. Well, that's just fine.]

Very well!

[He turns back to Jezebel, walking back down the stairs, arms spread. His back still has lines in it, but the wounds have fully healed by now.]

Have at me, Doctor. Pick your pleasure.

[It's that same sweet, lofty, joking tone, but there are prickles there, ones that extend and retract as Ianchus tries to get the bitterness he's been brewing in under control. He's fully aware how badly he acted, how badly he's still acting. He knows that Jezebel's reaction wasn't completely on him, but still, still, it's much easier to simplify the world that way.]

If you like.

[There’s a strange note to his voice then, because he knew this feeling as well: the creeping satisfaction of working out his frustrations with pain. He’d done this in life, too, harmed others to feel in control when he’d been made to feel helpless.

Perhaps this wasn’t the wisest vice to have in a land of atonement, hurting others to feel better about his own scars. But Ianchus was in front of him, willing and accepting, and they wouldn’t be allowed to leave until one of them was properly punished.

And there wasn’t a chance in hell that he was going to volunteer to be whipped himself.]

Kneel on the floor.

[Ianchus knows that this isn't healthy, but like Jezebel, he figures that if this is what Penance wants from them, it's what Penance will get.

It's funny--he's always had that dramatic, poetic streak, but he hadn't been so moved to anger until recently. He remembers how quickly he'd move to slam his hand into the wall next to Aetna's head, remembers that fear in his eyes making him angrier--What the hell are you scared for, you fool?

As satisfying as it is in the moment, afterwards he feels the horror--even after the potion wore off, he felt the horror of just how he seemed to come apart. It was much easier to turn that anger onto himself, or have someone else direct it.

Wordlessly, he kneels, thinking that this is all too familiar with a wry smile.]

[The first thing he takes off of the wall isn't anything inherently frightening on its own, just a long, thin length of rope looped in a loose circle. Jezebel takes it as winds it over his hands before he moves behind Ianchus, kneeling on the ground to begin wrapping it around his ankles, circling each individually and then tying a knot to hold them together.

When that's done, he takes Ianchus' hands and ties them together behind his back, linked to his ankles by the same stretch of rope so that he kneels hog-tied. It will hold Ianchus taut until he's released, his arms stretched uncomfortably behind his back, his balance precarious if he moves.

Idly, calmly, Jezebel talks while he works:]

For all our ancestors' creativity when it came to torture, for all the devices they came up with, it was always interesting how sometimes the simplest were the most effective. The human body can only take so much of the simplest abuses before it gives. Centuries ago, I know they would dangle men by their position you're in now, yanking them so their shoulders came out of their sockets while they still hung by their arms in the air.

Edited 2018-04-08 16:52 (UTC)

[His joints pop a little as his arms are pulled back, chest forced out. His eyes narrow a little as he adjusts to the position, the calmness settling over him. His response to Jezebel is soft, his voice low.]

I'd read about that. Rope is a surprisingly effective tool, isn't it? Easy to find, and with the correct maneuvering, the victim can end up doing all the work for you, isn't that right.

[It's not that he delights in the pain of others, but there's always been a near-erotic brilliance that he'd appreciated in the old, forbidden books.

The way he's talking now, he's a little like an eager student, presenting his thesis to a teacher and waiting for his response.]

Edited 2018-04-08 17:58 (UTC)

Exactly.

[Without even thinking, he settles into the same dynamic that Ianchus presents, the teacher providing a lesson to an enthusiastic pupil. His voice stays calm and pleased and quiet, while his hands lightly test the ropes.]

There's a particular way to tie the cords around the neck as well as the hands and feet so that its victims wind up strangling themselves. It's an ingenious little design, with the victim forced to stay taut if they don't wish to be killed, using all of their strength to stay tensed and alive.

Of course, that's not simply torture. It's done as a method of execution, a way to force the condemned into a futile attempt at not killing themselves.

[Slowly but deliberately, he presses the pad of his thumb against Ianchus' windpipe.]

Have you ever been strangled before?

[Has he ever. Just the feel of the light pressure brings back memories, and his eyelids flutter, his breath catching in his throat.

He knows it's one of many things Gennar never understood about him, the way he'd guide his hands up to his neck. He had given up with Gennar, with the faltering, nervous pressure, the contradiction of who Ianchus was and what he asked of him too much for for the Guardsman to reconcile.

But there had been others, all too willing to play along, who knew not to let him go even when he thrashed and clawed.

All of that goes through his mind, but all he says is:] Yes...

You’ve enjoyed it, then.

[He says it with a small grin, because he doesn’t need to ask for the context, from what Ianchus has said of his tastes.

Lightly, his fingernails trail down Ianchus’ throat.]

I could try choking you here, pressing down on you while you’re too bound to throw me off of you. It has a nice simplicity to it as well, the way you only need a good pair of hands to draw the life out of another.

[And admittedly, he likes that physicality of it, that even as someone as slight as him could press and squeeze the breath out of another. No devices, no techniques, just his hands in a firm grip in the right hold.]

But if you’ll simply enjoy it, I imagine this place might not consider it a proper punishment.

[Yes, yes, all of that, until the vessels in my eyes burst and my lips turn blue.

Being choked by someone smaller than him is definitely a thrill of its own. He's already slipping into the train of thought when Jezebel speaks next, and he laughs a little, bumping Jez's fingertips.

Tease!

But Jezebel has a point. It makes him wonder what the room--what Penance--considers torment. Physical and emotional pain, yes; the door opened when Jezebel had whipped him, even though he enjoyed that. Was it the feeling of being close to death, then? Was it his body screaming its limits? Was it the runner of fear that had pierced and mingled with the delight?

He cranes his head up to look at Jezebel's face--his neck isn't as constricted now as it was before, save for the loose, cold collar of hands.]

I suppose I'm a problem child, aren't I?

Mm, that you are.

[He knows Ianchus would much prefer that he indulge him on this. It's easier now to consider what Ianchus desires of him, because the situation is so firmly in his control. Ianchus is bound and subject to whatever Jezebel inflicts or denies. If he wanted to, he could simply leave Ianchus bound, letting his torture be solely the slow, painful tension of his bindings stretching him.

Instead, he meets Ianchus' gaze as he looks back at him, his expression calm and curious, his fingernails still lightly scratching the skin of his neck.]

It certainly does make it difficult to know what to do to you so that we'll be released. Perhaps you'll simply be stuck here forever one day, never able to leave because you enjoy your torments too deeply.

Ah, then I'll have learned my lesson, right?

[It's not something he'd thought about before, but the idea doesn't scare him as much as it probably should. Trapped forever in a timeless room of torments--would he go mad, with no one to talk to, no one to interact with? Likely.]

Or maybe it'll be my turn.

[He says it quietly, musingly--there's no hint of a threat, but he's definitely thought about being on the other end before. He thinks he's twisted enough, but he also wonders whether he'd have the stomach to see something like that through.]

Edited 2018-04-09 06:11 (UTC)

Perhaps it might.

[There is a slight sense of unease at that, because while he doesn't think Ianchus is threatening anything, the last time he'd discussed a sadistic side to himself, he'd been saying that Jezebel could salt & skin his enemies and castrate the men.

Still, he says nothing about that, instead withdrawing his hands from Ianchus' neck so that he can stand up, leaving Ianchus on the ground.]

Do your best to stay still, or else you may very well topple over, and I imagine whatever I choose to do will only be uncomfortable if you're tumbled in a healp.

[At that, he starts running his fingers over the devices on the wall, looking over what was available, eyes scanning the wide variety of implements dangling on their hooks.]

I'd hope you'd set me upright.

[Really, he's incorrigible.

But in this position, Ianchus does realize one more thing--with how he's lain about the last few weeks, doing nearly nothing, his muscles aren't nearly as supple as they were before. His shoulders are starting to ache, and the strain is moving into his neck muscles. A spasm threatens between his shoulder blades like a knife.

He tries to take deep breaths to ease his muscles as he watches Jezebel's back.]

Now what would the fun in that be, if you assumed I'd pick you right back up? You might let yourself fall over after I'd taken all that effort to tie you properly.

[He picks up along, pronged metal bar that hangs off of one of the hooks. It has a button on one side -- after Jezebel looks it over, he presses down and sees a sharp zap of electricity come out between the tabs at the end. It surprises him, making him blink in alarm and then settle into an intrigued look.]

I don't think I've ever seen one of these before.

[Ianchus jerks a little, only hearing a loud noise and seeing a flash of light. The bunch of muscles in his back twinges testily but doesn't go off.]

I...I haven't either. What is that?

[His voice is low, but there's an undercurrent of excitement. He cranes his neck to look.]

Hm, I'm not sure.

[He tests it again, now that he knows what to expect, and his eyes alight at the burst of light and charge that comes from it. Electricity existed by the time he died, true, but not like this, not in devices like the one now sitting in his hand.

One more time, he pushes it, holding it down and watching a longer surge stream in between the prongs of metal.]

It seems to be able to create an electrical charge. Just a small burst, but given that it's in here, that's all it needs to be able to produce a significant amount of pain.

[As he says it, he turns towards Ianchus, kneeling in front of him, the rod of metal in hand.]

Electrical...electricity, like lightning?

[He's only seen it in its untamed, wild variant, massive bolts thrown off by clouds over the ocean. To think that the same could be called at will by something that small is hard to fathom to him.

Instinctively, he pulls back a little, though his eyes are half-closed and focused on the prongs--such an innocuous tool. There's both trepidation and fascination there.]

Essentially, yes.

[He shifts closer to Ianchus with the prod still in hand, heavy in one hand while he places himself directly in front of Ianchus' bound position. The more he speaks, the more serene and calm his voice grows, the preparation easing his tone.]

In my time, we mostly use it for power -- for lights and transport and communications. But it's also used to execute prisoners in other parts of the world. The condemned is strapped to a wooden chair and wires placed on his temples. Then they surge an electrical charge through their bodies, destroying them from the inside in only a few brief seconds.

[Ianchus' chest is bare, which works well for their purposes. Lightly, he presses the metal tabs to his chest, just under the dip of his collarbone, and he lets them rest there for a moment or so.]

I've never seen it myself, you understand. But I've heard it is rather brutal to witness.

[And with that, he presses the button.]

[Ianchus is already opening his mouth to say something, but his teeth snap together with a loud click and clench as the current flows through him. His entire body stiffens, and though the prongs are only set against one small part of his chest, it feels like he's being jabbed all over. He can't move, he can only stare straight ahead as the burning, stinging feeling courses through his entire body.

It's like nothing he's ever felt before.]

CW: alcohol abuse, probably

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CW: torture discussion

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