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Summary: Connor, Nicholas and Quenton get dragged into the interrogation room.
Date: October 15, 2012
Log Title: Parting Gifts
Rating: R
Small Church - Interrogation Room
The very first thing anyone will seen entering this room is that someone spraypainted on the wall 'DEATH TO MUTIES' and then someone else tried to clean it off, but it's clung to the concrete. This place looks like what it was meant to be. A torture chamber. Wooden chairs are bolted to the floor with leather restraint straps visible. Tables holding various implements are on rollers to be moved around at will, some looking like they came out of the medieval period. A sickly sanitary smell does little to cover the scent of blood, sweat and more. There are stains on the floor… some recent, some old, all with a coppery brown color to them…
When the Purifiers came to collect Quenton, Nicholas and Connor, they came armed and in mass, fifteen in all to grab three guys and hold back Warlock, so they could drag them into the other room. Three tables have been set up so they're vertical, leaning back at an angle in a triangular shape so they're facing each other while still being around six feet apart a piece. The three boys have been roughly dragged over and strapped down so wrists, ankles, upper legs, chest, waist and neck are secured tightly to back. Once they're secured the fifteen Purifier's leave the room, leaving the three alone.
After being secured properly, Connor coughs a few times, hair plastered to him with his own sweat, the fresh tinge of it around him from the struggle of being brought in here. He turns his head to look at the others, and then closes his eyes, offering up a very trembling but ironic smile as he mumbles out, "Least now we know they bugged the room for sound…" And for some reason that makes him chuckle… but it's a breathy thing that doesn't quite sound all the way there.
Quenton doesn't talk. He hasn't, since the glasgow smile was carved in his face. Still, once he's secured to the table, his eyes lift, looking from Connor to Nicholas for any new wounds, jaw trembling a little. He then jerks his arms, testing his bounds, his perpetual scowl plastered on his face, though it's ruined by his new macabre grin. And then, finally, he breaks his long silence. "Don''t like the wait. Don't like we're alone."
Nicholas's voice comes out horse as he looks at the other two. "I hope Warlock's okay." He says trying to look around the room. "I don't either, but it's always a little more bearable when you're not alone." He says wishing it wasn't the case. He pulls against the bonds that he can, not expecting much but he has to try. Taking a deep breath, Nicholas closes his eyes. "Damnit."
Connor continues to giggle a bit, and then it finally settles into a few near-sobs before he finally hangs his head, and says in a breathy voice, "You know what really… really sucks about this…?" Another cough coming out, "Once we're done here, it's chili night." And his head hangs once more before he adds, "Nick, every night they've given us chili, you've had the nastiest gas. I'm sorry. I had to say it. You finally know."
"Real team leader you are, Connor," seethes Quenton, as his face twists to the side, and he looks like he's trying to wipe his mouth on his shoulder, but the strap around his neck prevents him from actually doing that. So instead he sniffles and spits to the side muttering, "Gas. We're probably going to die soon, and we're gonna talk about gas. Awesome."
Nicholas's face turns red when Connor says that. "As if I wasn't feeling horrible enough about things already, thanks." He says, eyes lowering towards the ground. "What do you want me to say, I'm lucky to keep any food down here let alone have an appetite to eat the bit I do eat." There are several meals Nicholas has skipped due to just not wanting to eat anything. "Don't worry, I won't eat anything tonight." He looks at Quenton and he knows he's right about dying soon. "We can't talk like that Quenton, you have to see Shane again."
Connor tilts his head up and laughs a bit more, "What the hell am I -SUPPOSED- to talk about. I'm dirty, I stink, I have a cough, I think I have something in my lungs… and I can't get anyone to shut up for five minutes long enough to think!" Then his head drops once more, and he pants, tears forming on his cheeks as he whimpers out, "At least gas is funny."
"Oh, no, please, go ahead. Talk about gas," Quenton encourages, shaking his head, letting out a dark chuckle. It's like his old ones, but there's no amusement in them, no humor. The spark, the fire in his words, even the venom, are missing. Just gone. "I shutted up for three days," he comments, sniffling, turning his head towards the door to stare at it with his hateful crimson eyes. "I'm not going to see her again. I think… the last thing I wanna remember, though, is her. The smell of the hair dye."
Nicholas just feels deflated and his eyes glance downwards since he can't bend his head. "We can't fight." He says quietly. "I don't know what we're supposed to talk about. Just anything but what's going on here. Maybe I'd be able to laugh at gas jokes if it wasn't at my expense." He grumbles. "Just…I want to think about home. Think about the stables…the smell of horses."
It's then that one of the Purifiers, one that has been seen a few times before, walks into the room wheeling in a large cart with several things such as knives, cattle prods, white canvas cloth, gloves and more, one thing that sticks out on the bottom is a brazier of hot coals with a metal rod buried in the embers. "I was told this was one of the last times I'm going to get to spend time with you, so I figured I'd make this a group party and have a bit of fun. Don't worry though, there will still be my colleges to take care of you."
Connor mumbles out after a racking cough, "So this is a sauna, or you're going to bore us to death…" Head still hung, and hair limp against his head, the quip sounds pathetic from him, not really carrying any bitterness or even any emotion. It's just like the young man seems to feel, beaten up and otherwise crushed. He doesn't even look at the other two before he licks at his lips before sighing once, and just… waiting…
"They're going to kill us," Quenton says, not a question, though it's directed to their tormentor. He stares at the knives and the cattle prods before wondering quietly, "Why is this fun for you?" He lurches once. "Huh? What about this gets you going? We're powerless. We're not mutants right now. These things don't have a fucking expiration date. You -already- beat us. So what the fuck is the point?!" His voice gets gradually louder, and he's bellowing.
Hearing the words from Quenton about already being beaten causes Nick to look over at him. He knows he's been feeling that for a while, but he's been trying to ignore it, hearing it out loud though. "Quenton, we're gonna get out of here before it's to late, you have to see Shane again, you have to. What if I told you I lied, I lied to you when I said I didn't have feelings for Shane and that when you were gone, I thought about ignoring what I had with Jill to see if I could steal her away from you." Sure it's all a lie, but he's watched Firefly and he's attempting to take a page out of Mal's book.
"Oh your friend is right, we are going to kill you, in a few days as a matter of fact. And why is this fun for me?" The Purifier walks over to the cart and makes sure he has everything he needs. "When you hate something, someone, as much as I hate mutant, there's a joy in seeing that suffering and knowing you smashed their willpower…" He walks over to Quenton and holds his chin with his hand, holding his head up so he can look right into his red eyes. "Seeing you this broken, it's pleasing." He grins walking over to Connor and strokes his face once. "Now then Connor, you have a choice, and I warn you if you don't make a choice it will be worse if I have to. I can stretch one of you, water board another and use the knife on a third, it's your choice which you get, which Nicholas gets and which Quenton gets. Choose wisely."
After a few long moments of just leaving his head down there like that, he coughs and mumbles something under his breath, sounding almost delerious as he licks at his lips and mumbles it once more, not loud enough to be heard by the man before him…
Connor doesn't even really seem to talk… just hanging there, mumbling the same thing over and over…
Something about Connor's incoherent words and Nicholas's pep talk makes the rage burn inside Quenton. It's too faint to actually reach him, but the fight comes back. However, it returns in a much different way.
"I'll choose. He's not in a condition too," he says, weakly, watching the Purifier with his hateful red eyes. He wants to reply to Nick, but he doesn't want the torture to start just yet. He doesn't want the 'worse' option.
Seeing Connor's reaction scares Nick and he looks at both of them. "It's not your fault, what ever happens, it's not your fault." He says to both of them. "Why the hell do you make us choose you asshole?" He growls out at the Purifier. "Even if one of them choose the worst fate for me, I wouldn't blame them, only you."
The Purifier seems disappointed. "I'm going to give you a chance to think about your answer Connor. You're not off the hook yet, but I'm going to let Quenton choose in the meantime, once he's choosen from his options, you can think about yours, okay?" He says walking over to Quenton and patting his cheek with a gloved hand. "You see you get different options, I can brand one of you, use the cattle prod for as long as I feel on another and I have a whip I can practice using. Just keep in mind I don't care what condition Connor is in, if he doesn't answer, I'll have to go with the fourth option, at least he has time now."
"Get back here… right now…" Connor rasps out, "You… son of a bitch. Feckless thug. Diseased pustule on a camel's ass." Turning his head to look limply at the Purifier, "Get back here. And if you…" Panting for breath, before he spits off to one side, going completely dry in his lips, "Touch me… one more time… you'll get what the last four guys got. You're a coward, a sick fuck, and you don't have the GUTS to be a real man. You…" Another cough racks him, wincing in pain as this time some blood comes up from it, bright on his lip, "You want to know what I was saying? I was saying lean in close. I wanted to give you the Mike Tyson."
"I'll take the brand. Give Connor the stretch. Nick gets the prod," Quenton answers, immediately after Connor's words. "Then after that, you can take the prod and the brand and you can fuck yourself with one and sodomize your reverend with the other," he suggests. "But before you do that, you should probably do what he says. Connor was telling me the other day how he was going to give you the location of the school." He tries to say it casually.
It's an odd thing that it's a relief to Nick that he hears Quenton getting mouthy with the guy. "I guess it takes a tough guy to pick on teenage kids when they're tied up. You guys are all really cowardly and as much as I've head you preach about God, I know what you preach is bullshit. Why don't you do what you're going to do to us and just throw us back into the cell, don't make us play your stupid games as well."
The Purifier looks at his stuff and looks at all three boys. "You know, I give you a choice but instead you threaten me Connor. Quenton, you mock me and Nicholas you question and doubt God's will." He walks over to the table and pulls out a walkie talkie, requesting assistance. "Seeing as the stretching was a choice for Connor and not you Quenton, your choosing is wrong so I think I'm going to choose for you all." Within moments two other purifiers arrive and they move to adjust the position of their arms, making sure to stay clear of biting range of Connor, so they are raised above their head. Once set up, a crank on the side of each of their tables is cranked so that each of them is stretched painfully. "I prefer the all of the above option since the three of you are insufferable mutant brats who need to be taught a lesson."
Connor doesn't himself go up easily, but once he's in position, and panting some more, he spits again, coughing hard, before he replies, "I'd ask if you kiss your wife with that mouth, but since they tell you what to believe, they probably made sure you don't get to breed. If you knew anything…" Another fit of coughing, "About God… you'd know… what you believe in has nothing to with the kind of God that we deserve." His head hangs once more and he says with the emotion draining from him, "You're a pathetic… petty… stupid little man pumped up on his own ego, and getting a hardon from beating up on hurt and tied up people."
That's all Quenton needed. He just hangs his head, releasing a breath. He just needed to fight a little longer, show he still could, even if the inevitable was coming. He begins to close his eyes as the pain starts, a sheen of sweat already shining over his body, and his muscles tighten with the strain. He's growling as he does. "I wish I remembered the Crucible," he says, randomly, perhaps the shock of being stretched getting to him.
"Connor's right, if you knew anything about being a Christian, you know that this isn't God's way." Nicholas says that even through all this, he still has faith in the main upstairs. He grunts from pain, trying to hold in the noises he makes with little success, tears stinging his eyes. "I've never seen the Crucible. Quenton, don't forget we made a promise." His voice is strained from being stretched, as it puts more pressure on his broken limbs. "We're supposed to get drunk together."
Once stretched to discomfort, a canvas sack is placed over the head of each of the guys before the table is moved to a horizontal position. "Since you couldn't choose, I just decided a variety." For the next twenty minutes, water is poured on their faces as all three get waterboarded. Once they feel that they've gone on long enough, they're returned to a vertical position, the canvas sack ripped off their head. "I'm going to give you one last going away present, since this is the last I will see you." He takes the brand out of the coals and walks over to Quenton with the brand pressing it into the bicep upper right arm to leave an 'M' burnt into the flesh. The next is Connor and after letting the metal heat up for a bit, a matching 'M' is seared into his upper right thigh, lastly it's repeated with Nicholas, burning the 'M' into his right forearm. "You three have a good night." The purifier says with a chuckle as he leaves them hanging their stretched, turning off the light so all that's left is a dim light that barely lights up the room.
The branding was enough to send Connor off into unconsciousness with a cough and a wince of pain. It's a good half hour before he comes to, shuddering and sobbing a bit… and not in the nice romance novel kind of way. Instead he's mumbling something over and over in Russian under his breath, rocking back and forth as his eyes have rolled up and to one side, lips cracked save for what little water they caught from the drip. It's almost ten minutes of him like this before he says softly, "Can I have dinner now?"
While he didn't pass out, he did scream. And scream. And scream. The rage climbed, but it couldn't even reach how it is by default without the collar. No. He just screamed. And now Quenton's staring at the ground, spittle on his lips and sliding horrifically from his glasgow smile, the wound still haven't closed yet. Hs chest is rising and falling, and he says, hoarsely, "Don't… don't think we're getting dinner tonight, buddy."
Joining Quenton's screams where ones from Nicholas as well. Finally recovering enough mentally, he shivers from the cold water that still clings to his hair while breathing hard from the painful brand and his stretched body. His eyes water with tears that are proving impossible to hold back. "Connor, just look at me or Quenton, okay? Just focus on us. I don't think we're getting dinner yet, but don't think about that. Who is the first person you want to see as soon as you get out of here?" Does he believe they're getting out of here, no, but he has to try to take his mind off of their predicament. Nick's horse voice has the tone of someone whose crying and he sniffs several times. "Quenton, you scared me earlier."
Connor murmurs out without looking, "I want to see Robyn. Robyn knows all the good places to go in New York, and he always likes to make things that are cool, but he watches Tim Burton films, which is kinda annoying because I like Harryhausen. He's never seen Clash of The Titans. I want to sit on the futon, in a clean room, and watch Lord of The Rings with a bowl of popcorn filled to the fill line, and not over, with just two teaspoons of butter, and seven shakes from the shaker. Robyn always puts in nine. He doesn't think I see, but I know. But nine is too salty, so I try and stop him at eight." The babbling pauses, and then he says in a huff, "I want a cookie."
"Scared you? How?" wonders Quenton weakly, hoarsely, his eyes closed, water dripping from his hair. "… The old school Clash of the Titans, or the Sam Worthington one? That guy should play John Shepherd," he breathes out, turning his gaze on Connor and watching him, trying to get the other mutant's attention. "He's the motherfucking champ." Something normal. Think about something normal. God it hurts. His body abruptly jerks to one side, not a seizure, but the cold threatened one.
"I thought you gave up, so I said that stuff." Nicholas says and then Clash of the Titans comes up. "Whose Harry Hausen? And Clash of the Titans, I saw that new one that was out with the guy from Terminator. It was awful, there is more than one?" He's not the most knowledgeable when it comes to movies and actors and stuff. "Whose John Shepherd?" Nicholas asks tugging at the straps with his arm, letting out a weird sort of whimper of pain. "Lord of the Rings….there is still time to be rescued right? Someone will come in time, they have to." He says in the voice of someone who is beyond scared and into terrified.
Connor looks up, but he's not really looking up… forcing it enough that he's unfocused as he can be without being a curled up wreck on the floor, "New one was stupid… except the scorpions. That was cool. New movies… all flash no substance." Shaking his head once, "Sam Worthington, born on August 2nd, 1976, England. Auditioned for the role of James Bond in Casino Royale, lost to Daniel Craig. Daniel Craig was in the movie Power of One. In Power of One he played an Afrikaaner thug who beat people." The tirade of just facts that rolls off his tongue is ceased with a few gasps, and his eyes roll back into focus, "My thigh hurts."
"Gave up? What's there to give up on, Nick? If they were going to come save us, they would have already. How hard could it be, finding a run down dump like this? How hard could it be, when they have Emma Frost, psychic extraordinaire, who can do any fucking thing? I didn't give up. I just know we're going to die. I'll just die fighting. What I was mutated to do, so why not?" wonders Quenton, watching Connor as he addresses Nick. "We're -fucked-."
"Wow." Nicholas says to Connor's spout of facts. "You remind me of a Bing commercial. You really like movies." He pauses in speaking, just breathing heavy for a while before looking up at Connor. "Connor….I'm sorry about the car." He says in a very child-like voice. "I never hated you, I just was really angry when I first got to the school and took it out on everyone. I'm still angry about it but, I've gotten better. Now…now I look up to you." He admits before looking down. "I know Quenton, I know we are. I just…I'm not ready to die."
Rocking a bit on his spot, he looks up, rolling his head back eventually so his jaw hangs open for a few moments. Connor then says, "I read wikipedia and imdb when watching movies, and I make everyone watch the special features… even the stupid ones. Makes it longer to watch, but there might be something you missed." The words make him seem to focus in a bit more, looking back an forth a few times as his eyes seems to shift and bring the world back in on him again. His jaw moves a few times, and then he manages to say, "Never held it against you.. never did. I get anger. Always angry… people never understand. When you can walk away from anything, any time… no one's grateful when you choose to stay, even if it's to argue."
"It's not my fault. Well. It is," Quenton interjects, though his words might not make sense. He pulls on his binds, before releasing a breath. "Hope Warlock's okay," he adds, more sensibly, closing his eyes. "I hated the rage since I got it after Jake died. What I wouldn't give right now, though, for me to get angry as I get. I just can't. I can't get as mad as I want to. I get annoyed. Irriated. Not mad."
"If there's a chance we somehow make it out of this alive…I've never been to the Statue of Liberty…" Nicholas says, eyes focused on the ground the best they can. "Will you two go with me? We'll head to the top. I want to do stuff if we get out of this." His voice is small sounding. "I never got into movie commentary Connor. And your rage….I don't envy your power Quenton but…..we can't die here. We can't…we can't." Nicholas repeats several more times.
Connor replies to that with a coughing chuckle, "JUST the Statue of Liberty?" And then he gives a shivering smile, his hair limp and clung to his skull, "Screw that… Philly Cheese Steaks in Philly… Pizza in Chicago… take you to see the Space Needle… then maybe some time in Hawaii… Hawaii's good… nice and peaceful… nothing bad happens in Hawaii…" Snapping free of it before another monotone monologu begins, he shudders and grits his teeth, "Quenton… you're a good guy. You always have been. Never forget that. You deserve Shane. You always will. And if it's not her, it's someone else. You're still a good person. I know it. I can see it." The sentences short and clipped before he flicks his eyes to Nick, "We're not going to die here. Because we're going out for Mexican food… in Mexico. But we'll get the runs."
Nicholas lets out a laugh and can't seem to stop. It's a weak laugh that causes him a lot of pain, but he keeps on chuckling from stress until it turns to a solo sob and a few coughs. "And it comes back to bowel stuff." At least this time it made him laugh. "He's right Quenton, you and Shane are my closest friends. If you weren't a good guy, you wouldn't be my best bud." Then Nick just breaks out into tears. "I'm sorry guys…*hic*…I'm trying not to."
Connor shakes his head a few times, and then nods… pauses… and shakes his head, "We talked everything else out. Listen to me… it doesn't matter what they do. We win." Raising his head a bit, he looks at the other two, and then his eyes slid up and away, and something like a seizure rocks him before he flops back down once more and he winces his eyes closed, "I wish it didn't hurt so much… This is the cleanest spot to sleep I've been in since we got here. Finally off the floor."
Nicholas looks at Connor and nods. "We win." He repeats. "I wish I could wipe my face, it itches." From the tears that have dried there. "If I get out of this alive, a bath and good hot meal are the first things I want." Nick mutters as his voice starts to get softer and softer. "If I can fall asleep, I can forget about the pain for a bit. Connor…thanks, for everything."
