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Posted: Jun 10th, 2008 at 01:22 am
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(ahem)
This stranger was awkward, clueless, and completely informal. Gunnar wasn't in the mood for formalities himself, but neither was he in the mood for mysteries. Just why in hell had Frau Hirsch dumped this recruit on him? Just another damned headache that he didn't need.
Gunnar eyed him warily as he picked up the paper and began to read. The way that the lad's eyes tracked across the paper was promising. Evidently he COULD read the Cyrillic alphabet, and from his reaction, it was quite obvious that he had understood what was written. It reminded Gunnar of the way Alex had reacted. He let out an anxious snarl as the paper fell to the table, snatching it back. "Be careful with that!" The damned paperwork was one of the last traces he had of poor Alex, right down to the signature scrawled across the bottom. Gunnar examined it quickly to make sure that Franz had not smudged it and then stuffed it hastily back into the pile, aware that his actions might seem a little strange.
He glared at Franz spitefully in an attempt to recover himself. "I'm not an idiot, boy, I know damned well that you can read it. How else would you know it's Ukrainian and not Russian?" He snorted derisively, narrowing his eyes as he looked the young 'recruit' over. "Soft-hearted," Gunnar spat, the very same insult he'd used against Alex when the lad couldn't work on those dreadful papers. This young stranger was even less helpful. The interruption was uncomfortable and unwelcome, and his patience had grown thin fast. "Well? Out with it. What are you doing in my office?"
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Franz
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Posted: Jun 10th, 2008 at 09:19 am
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Oh, this was a disaster! How could he have slipped up? He boggled back at Gramann, flinching away as he raised his voice and skittishly eyeing the door. What if Martina was listening? She'd be disappointed if he upset this officer.
He wrung his hands together anxiously and his gaze swivelled back to Gramann again as he made some quiet, mournful squeak of anxiety. "I don't know why I'm here, he whispered urgently, backing away a step warily. What if Gramann was in on it? What if she'd sent him to him just like she'd let Fransisco in? Oh gods! This was a test, and he was failing. Tears threatened to prick at his eyes suddenly, but they were tears of fear. Shit!
His mind crept, unwelcome. It crept back to thoughts of the little apartment, of the restraints, the pain of the knife, the horror of the ice pick. His face blanched white, whiter than white given his current... condition. The blanch left his green eyes swimming in his face, captured by dark circles. Beneath his uniform were horrific wounds that were slow to heal. Mostly he was starved, and therefore weak, easier to handle he supposed. But he didn't want to go home, no, no, he didn't want to go to bed, didn't want to be in trouble. He was mortally terrified of the nazi woman, of what she was capable of doing to him. His life was an unspeakable nightmare, best not make it any worse than it already was.
He glanced down at the desk, at the papers, then back up at Gramann. "Yes, yes I can read them. I can write too, just... tell me what to do and I'll do it, anything, just tell me." He stood there, awkward in his uniform, anxious to the point of looking pathetic, and his eyes never remained still, because they kept eyeing the door in thinly veiled terror.
« Last Edited by
Franz
Jun 10th, 2008 at 09:36 am »
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I fell down the stairs... |
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Posted: Jun 11th, 2008 at 02:36 am
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(...........................Martina's apartment of wonders ;_#)
Martina was pleased when Franz fell limp, but not pleased enough to let him go. Even if he hadn't tried to overpower her he would have been punished. The naughty lad had been on the lam for years. Franz needed to be reminded of his place in the scheme of things. She stroked his hair back from his face fondly as she got up and busied herself in stripping him and tying Franz to the bed. He was unresisting, but he wasn't very helpful, either. Ah, well. Soon enough he would be pliant and obedient enough to strap himself down on Martina's orders.
When Franz was secured to the bed, Martina left the room to go rummaging for fun items. She'd had the restraints prepared, but it wasn't as though Martina had planned on getting Franz back that very evening. She would have to be creative. This would be fun! Martina tossed the items that she found into a shoebox and carried it back into the bedroom, setting it down carefully on the bedside table. The previous owners of the house had left some fun things behind, and of course, Martina had brought a few things with her. It promised to be an enjoyable night.
Once she had stripped herself to avoid ruining her clothing, Martina perched herself on the edge of the bed. She reached out to pat Franz's cheek comfortingly. "Be as quiet as you can, love. I don't want to hear any unnecessary fussing. This is for your own good." There was no name-calling, which was a relief. Instead of cutting foul words into Franz's skin, Martina carved her own name. She used an exacto knife. Very precise, very lovely! The razor-sharp blade cut deep, through the skin and into the muscle of Franz's chest. Once she had finished with her Christian name, she added not Hirsch but Holtzmann, the scarlet script curling most attractively across Franz's abdomen. Martina paused to admire it for a moment before moving on. That looked lovely. It was proper for a woman to take her man's last name, after all.
The knife blade served to slit open the veins on Franz's immobilized wrist. It didn't dig too deeply. She didn't want to kill him, after all, just to set up a steady leak of blood. It wouldn't do if the carvings on his chest healed up before she had a chance to show them off to Franz's former comrades. Humming cheerfully, Martina set the knife down on the bedside table and returned to her shoebox of treasures. She was quite careful as she reached into the box and brought out several packets. Martina didn't want to prick herself by accident!
The former occupant of the house had been a fishing enthusiast, perhaps using Odessa's harbor for the sport. They were quite large and thick hooks, meant for heavy ocean fish. Martina carefully sank the hooks into the flesh of Franz's chest, spacing them out evenly with a few centimeters left between each one. It took a while. She wanted the arrangement to look pleasing to the eye, symmetrical. Nothing sloppy. The rows of hooks skipped only the area where she had carved her name, marching on down his abdomen, down his belly to his hips.
Then, with an added admonition to be quiet, Martina carefully inserted a line of hooks into the sensitive flesh between Franz's legs. She paused to open a third packet, whistling gaily. Just then she noticed that the bleeding from his wrist had slowed, and she had to carefully flay open the veins once more before continuing with her game. The razor-sharp curls of metal pierced Franz's thighs, making it halfway to his knees before she ran out. Martina sat back and cracked her knuckles, smiling at him benevolently. "I'm tired, dear. Do you think that's enough for tonight?" She yawned, lifting a hand to cover her mouth politely. The hand went down to hover thoughtfully over Franz's chest, his stomach, his thighs. "Hmmm. Where should I start pulling them out?" The fingers dipped down delicately and savagely ripped out one of the fish-hooks from over his navel, leaving a bleeding hole behind. "Should I pull them from the bottom, or the top? Should I save the, ah, best, for last? It's up to you, sweet."
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Franz
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Posted: Jun 11th, 2008 at 09:37 am
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Franz was already trembling b the time Martina reappeared with the shoebox. Horror of horrors! His mind unwillingly drifted back for a moment, back to the first night, to the names she had carved into him with a kitchen knife, to the way the blade of it ad caught and dragged agonisingly over his collar bones, to the horrific memories of Fransisco, his AWOL and dissassociative sire. Martina might as well have been his sire for all it mattered, only she wasn't a vampire, nor was she human, she was something else, something terrible, something worse.
He managed to stifle his yelps and hisses at the exacto carving the name, at the vein in his wrist leaking precious blood onto the wood floor below, but when the slightly more dull, barbed hook was first punched through his skin, he let out a squeal despite himself, his hands jerking against the restraints autonomously. Each and every hook was agony for a time, though at some point, his head was buzzing with the pain so loudly he felt drunk, giddy. He didn't dare to watch, his face was turned from her as she warned him to keep quiet.
And that pain was of an entirely different, entirely shocking nature. He tensed against the bed, every muscle straining to hold back the bloodcurdling scream that wanted to escape. He grit his teeth together, and heard her voice again, gentle, caring, terrifying.
What, what was going on? What was she doing now?
RIPPP!
Again, despite his best efforts, a shrill, short, and muffled-into-the-pillow shriek escaped his lips. Again he jerked against the restraints like a man electrocuted, and there was the dread of the knowledge that that was only the first hook, that there were tens of others, and that some of them were in less savoury locations. He felt nauseous, his face blanched as white as the sheet in pain and horror.
Please, just kill me, just kill me... But he knew she never would.
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I fell down the stairs...
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Posted: Jun 11th, 2008 at 12:12 pm
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Not only had Franz screamed when she'd specifically warned him not to, he hadn't answered her question. Tisk, tisk. Hadn't she warned the boy about the dangers of ignoring her? Franz ought to know better than that! He really had picked up some bad habits from those trashy friends of his. Oh, well. Feeling slightly grumpy, Martina soothed her temper by yanking a few more hooks out at random from his chest and thighs. When she was finished, her fingers were slippery with blood and she had managed to prick herself slightly. Just another annoyance! Goodness gracious! She wiped off the smears of blood on Franz's as-of-yet untouched calf as she studied him, deep in thought.
All of these annoyances couldn't go unpunished, that was for sure. Martina picked up the slender knife again and carefully laid open Franz's arm to keep the blood leaking away. That was the trouble with vampires, they just healed so quickly! It would be easier if she could insert some kind of tubing to just suck the blood steadily away as she worked ... hmm, what a good idea. Perhaps she would shop around later. For now the knife would have to do. Being careful not to prick herself this time, Martina pulled some more hooks, twisting savagely as she yanked them away. The ragged holes they left as she ripped them free were most satisfying. This was surely proving an education for Franz.
Martina waited just a moment for the poor lad to calm down a bit before going to work on his shin. She had considered perhaps yanking his toenails, but she didn't want him to limp when she brought him by to show him off to his friends. Heaven forbid! This was the next best thing. The knife made several shallow cuts, outlining a section of skin. "Hush, Franz," Martina said, patting him gently on the knee. "Remember, I wouldn't have to do this if you behaved yourself." Then she dug the knife carefully beneath the skin, moving, scraping, working the skin free of the flesh beneath. Once she had an edge up she seized it and tugged it firmly upwards, using the knife to sever anything that held the flap of skin down. At last it was free, and Martina used a sewing pin from her shoebox of treasures to nail it to his calf, out of her way. She studied the glistening square of exposed muscle and tissue with the keen eye of a scientist.
There was still more to do with that vulnerable spot, but Martina had another vulnerable spot to take care of first. She didn't want the intense agony in Franz's leg that was to follow distracting him from the exquisite torture of that singular row of hooks in Franz's most sensitive area. "The sooner I start, the sooner it'll be over with," Martina said brightly, seizing hold of the first piece of metal. She was true to her word, yanking it free as quickly as possible and giving Franz a moment to recover himself. Then she went on to the next, and the next, ripping the barbed hooks free with a torturous, violent twist. It was over too quickly! She still had the rest of the hooks, of course, but yanking them from his stomach just wasn't quite as fun.
Oh, well! On with the show!
A bulb of fresh lemon juice and a saltshaker were removed from the shoebox. "I'm going to staunch that little cut on your leg, okay?" Martina said, beaming at her friend. The salt was poured into the wound liberally, soaking up the blood and crusting over the muscle beneath. Once it was coated over, she soaked it with the lemon juice, making a sort of thick paste. She rubbed it into the wound, ground it into the wound, humming all the while. And then it was time to fetch out the needle and thread. She wrenched the pin free of that hanging flap of skin and pulled it back over to cover the wound. The pin went back into the middle of the mess, holding the skin down as Martina began to stitch it back over the salt and lemon, sealing it all inside.
"Are you sorry for how you behaved?" Martina asked cheerfully as she worked. "You've been ever so naughty, Franzie. I hope we won't have to repeat this little chat again in the future."
« Last Edited by
Martina Hirsch
Jun 11th, 2008 at 12:17 pm »
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Franz
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Posted: Jun 12th, 2008 at 09:44 am
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(( ikd if this is going to make sense at all, I'm still half asleep ))
---------->>----------
Franz's efforts to get away from these one-upon-a-time friends who had 'helped' him were pretty useless. On a good day, he would still be overpowered by the werewolves, and as things stood, it wasn't a very good day at all.
Alex helped carry the beaten, bloodied mess that was the Berliner up the stairs to the bedroom at the end of the hall, and he helped lay him down there, clean towels soaking up the blood that still escaped him. he wanted to help him change into some kind of clean clothes, but he knew it would be impossible, because Franz was already kicking his feet to be away from the others.
Mortification! Horror!
Franz did not sleep at all, though unconsciousness did threaten him. He couldn't the pain and the sheer worry was overwhelming. He was shamed beyond compare, desperate to just get away, run away.
Morning came, then afternoon, and again there came the night finally. Gunnar was sleeping on the same bed, a watch dog of sorts Franz assumed. The bleeding wounds upon him had stopped now, but he looked a fright, bloody, battered, his short blonde hair smeared with the blood from the blow of the frying pan. He had to get away, had to!
With all the stealthy silence he could muster, he slid out of the bed and rose unsteadily to his feet, glancing warily at Gunnar. H crept over the carpeted floor, his feet barely a whisper upon it, but when he did finally reach the bedroom door, a warning growl erupted from beyond, breaking the spell of silence. A large, imposing black wolf with yellow eyes trotted into the doorway, staring at him, growling as if to usher him back inside the room. Franz stared at it defeatedly and glanced back at the bed.
"I have to go, I have to leave, let me go, stay away from me," he said hastily, the desperation clear in his voice. The black wolf seemed unimpressed snapping it's teeth at him in another warning and moving forward a little more. Franz back-stepped away from it hastily, back into the bedroom.
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I fell down the stairs...
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