The Caged Bird

[Stefan]

((If you don't like violence, stop here.  This will be VERY violent.  This is your only warning.))

He'd been right in assuming that the ride from the city would be quiet, and he'd carried her into Midnight without trouble.  She was light, being an avian, and who would dare question him?  He had every right to her, and he'd paid a fair price to her traitorous sister.  She was his.

He brought her first to the dungeons.  It wasn't his preference to spend time in those dank, dark cells, but he couldn't let her have anything nice from the start.  She wouldn't appreciate anything he gave her if he did, and he couldn't have that.

He let her sleep until she woke up on her, showing any who might take notice that he did indeed possess an ounce of patience, but there was a reason.  He wouldn't weaken her further by waking her prematurely.  He was going to wait until after this first training session to feed her, though.

[Desten DuPont]

Desten awoke in a heap on the ground. She sat up suddenly, gasping for air, and felt around in the dark in the same motion, wildly flailing. There was nothing. No sound, save the echoes of her own movements. She scooted back and back until she felt her spine press against something solid, and slowly stood.

Stefan. He'd... done something to her head. She put a hand on her temple where she remembered smacking it on something, but there were no marks. She'd healed already, it seemed. She felt heavy, groggy, but it ebbed slowly as she moved around more.

She approached nothingness, disliking the dark greatly, and was stunned to contact with cold metal. Fingers twined around the bars as she suddenly realized the gravity of her situation. He hadn't been kidding.

"No," she said, voice weak. "No!" again, this time louder. "No, no, please, this isn't happening," she wailed softly. She slid down the bars to her knees, in a sort of half-sitting half-fallen position, holding onto them tightly in case they should open.

[Stefan]

"Shhh, you're going to work yourself up and make it all worse," he told her about as gently as he could right then, and turned on a small light outside the cell.  The glow spread into the cell, though not enough to truly light it, just to allow them both to see.  He unlocked the cell door in order to enter, and stopped to look her over.  Only then did he really explore his own thoughts on the subject.

She was going to need to learn not to cry, first off.  She needed to be stronger than that, since tears were a show of weakness to enemies, and they looked rather pathetic.  That annoying begging would have to be halted, as well.

"Now, let's get started, Desten.  Your situation is somewhat different than you're used to, but if you try, you'll get used to it rather quickly," he explained matter of factly, taking one slow step towards her at a time.  He was herding her towards the wall, which had a shackle and a chain attached to it, just for good measure.  "The first thing you need to understand is that I am now your Master.  When I'm happy, you're happy.  When I'm not, it's your job to make me happy.  I will never touch you in a sexual manner by force, so you have no need to fear that, but I will hurt you.  Make that a fact in your mind immediately."

[Desten DuPont]

He spoke to her so matter-of-factly, so patiently and calmly. Her 'Master'? The little hawk's mind just went static when he said that; she couldn't even put a name on the emotion she felt. Rage. Blind rage. She made a small choking noise, wiping at her eyes. She stared up at him with hatred, anger.

"You are out of your fucking mind if you think you will -ever- hear me call you 'master'," she said, voice heavy with acidic intent. She spit at him. Let him hit her. He'd never get her to say that, not with a beating, nor anything else at all. Nothing. There was nothing he could do reduce her to... that.

She waited to see just how far his patience spanned while she tried to figure a way out. Maybe she could fly out? Surely he couldn't catch her if she was -flying-.

[Stefan]

Surprisingly, he was very calm about wiping the spit from his face and then on the casual jeans he'd been wearing when he picked her up.  That was about the end of his calm reactions, though.  He suddenly struck out of her, though he didn't hit her.  Instead, his hand closed around that delicate little throat of hers, squeezing just enough to restrict her breathing while he pushed her backwards until she struck the wall.  He held her there, pushing her body up to keep her feet off the ground, and he used his other hand to grab the shackle.  He held it open, in her line of sight if she moved her eyes enough to see it, and spoke to her in a harsh, low tone.

"Place your wrist in the shackle.  Now, or I'll crush your windpipe," he told her.  He didn't bluff.  She could heal that sort of injury, but it would hurt like hell, and it didn't bother him to do something like that.  She WOULD obey, or she would hurt until she did, and probably after as well for making him wait.

[Desten DuPont]

That... happened way, way too fast for the disoriented Desten to react to, not in the way she'd have liked. She screamed when he grabbed her, but that was as far as she got before he cut the sound right out of her throat with the chokehold he had.

Her feet danced madly, reaching for the ground as it was all she could do to hold herself up by grabbing HIS arm as he held her. When he said he'd crush her windpipe, Desten believed it, but only because she was about 10 seconds from unconsciousness.

She fought him, though. If he killed her, she wouldn't have to suffer any of this. None. She'd be free. Instead of putting her arm in the shakle, she took a swing at him.

This little bird wasn't going to do a goddamn thing he said.

[Stefan]

Did she think he was lying?  How stupid on her part.  It wasn't as though crushing her windpipe would kill her either, so she was only causing herself unnecessary pain.  She would get enough of that, anyway.  Swinging at him herself was extremely stupid, though he'd leaned his face far enough back that she couldn't reach.  He had longer arms.

The first thing he did was pull her frame away from the wall and smash her back against it, as payment for the attempted blow and her retort, and then, he kept his promise.  He shifted his grip slightly so that he didn't break her neck, and he squeezed.  Agonizingly slowly, he applied enough pressure to crush the windpipe in that delicate little throat.  It would hurt, and perhaps inspire her to listen.

"I don't bluff, my little bird.  If I say I will do something, I will.  Put your wrist in the shackle."

[Desten DuPont]

Desten's head smashed against the wall like a ragdoll, but she didn't have the option to cry out, because he started crushing her throat. Slowly. She couldn't breathe. Everything started to ebb into blackness, but the repairs had already begun, and so, with every millimeter further he crushed, new tissue worked itself, and he essentially released pressure around the same time it sorted itself out.

She had never, ever, ever felt a pain like that before. That wasn't just a slap or a kick, that was real, agonizing pain. She wanted to cry out, but she was afraid he'd just crush it again. As quickly as the dazed bird could manage, she did... whatever the hell it was he told her to do. She couldn't even remember what he wanted, but he gestured her arm somewhere, and that was where it went.

[Stefan]

Once her wrist was in the shackle, he snapped it shut and released her throat to allow her body to fall however far it would.  If she could catch herself, she could also save herself the rather sudden realization that the chain on the shackle wasn't as long as it should be right then.  There was a hook above her head that held it high enough that if she wasn't standing, she'd be hanging by her wrist.  He could pull the chain off of the hook to allow her a bit more comfort, but he needed to limit her movement right then.  

"You made that seem much harder than it was," he told her casually, the anger he'd shown a moment before already blown over now that she'd done what he wanted.  He walked away from her and back out of the cell for a moment to give her the time to re-organize her thoughts, and then he was back inside, shutting the door once more behind him.  She couldn't yet be trusted with the door open.

When he turned around to face her again, he was holding a utensil that was about the length of a typical chef's knife, but cylindrical with an obviously sharp point.  He held it by the handle, examining it almost absently but ensuring she could see it.  He liked using tools that didn't quite look like something the victim would recognize, since it allowed the imagination to roam.  This one wouldn't be too difficult to consider, but it was best to start small.  He tested the point in front of her, pricking his finger rather easily so that she could see.  He kept his tools sharp.

"Let's try this again, Desten.  I am now your Master.  Let's hear it.  'Hello, Master'.  You try," he told her, giving her a threatening glance when his eyes left the tool in his hands.  She didn't want to refuse him, of that he would make certain.

[Desten DuPont]

Desten was far too incoherent with pain at the moment to try and stop herself from falling, and so with a sickening popping sound, her shoulder rotated up and out of socket. She let out an astonished cry as she hit the floor on her knees, and began furiously pulling at the chain, making the damage worse than it had been initially. She was rabid with fear and pain while Stefan walked around the cell casually, and it was only when she stopped screaming that he patiently began speaking to her again.

The tool was a menacing thing, sure, but Desten was angry. In horrendous pain and scared, but angry. She would NOT submit to him, she refused to go back on her word.

"FUCK YOU!" she screamed, slipping against the chain again and pulling her arm even further around. She made a strange, frantic noise, and pulled on it some more, like the chain would suddenly NOT hold as it had been for the last several minutes.

[Stefan]

Well, this was interesting, indeed.  He merely watched by this point as she flailed about and caused more damage to her shoulder than he would have himself.  Or at least, not in that manner.  He wouldn't have personally whipped her about and dealt such damage to her shoulder as all of that.  Some shifters, particularly those who were born as they were or changed early, were rather strange about being trapped and injured.

He let her do as she would for those first few moments, even after she cursed at him, but he couldn't allow her to cause herself permanent or lasting damage.  When she didn't seem to be stopping anytime, he reached for her throat again and lifted her, forcing her body weight off of that shoulder.  He needed both hands free for this particular task and he still had his delightful little tool in his hand, so that was something he needed to deal with before he could forcibly set her shoulder right.  He shoved that pointed shaft straight through her right thigh, deliberately missing the bone, and he immediately turned that hand to pushing her shoulder back the way it was supposed to sit.  

"You're going to cause permanent damage, and that would make me angry," he warned her with a threat in his tone, not putting enough pressure on her throat to keep her from breathing, but enough to be painful.  "Be glad I'm not like some of the other trainers here, or I might have assumed that turn of phrase was an invitation."

[Desten DuPont]

The noises she'd made were nothing compared to now. In one fluid motion he'd both snapped her shoulder back into place and jammed a rod right through her left thigh. She screamed, but it wasn't like before. It wasn't a girlish, "oh save me" sort of scream. This time, rats took cover and the roaches located themselves elsewhere. She tried to pull away, but he had her well enough that it didn't matter which way she went, it would just hurt.

She looked down, eyes as golden as the sun, and stared in horror at the spike he'd just jammed into her leg. He seemed occupied elsewhere for the moment, and so, with a trembling hand and tunnel vision, she wrapped her dirty fingers around the thing and PULLED as hard as she could. It made a sick, sucking sound as it came out, and she cried out again, this time choking on a sob.

Blood began to pour out of her leg, and Desten felt woozy for a second before she used the last of the fight left in her to try and jam the stake into his arm. Oh, but she was swift, and that last ounce of strength was true. She struggled to stay conscious, to see it sink into his flesh. She owed him that much.

[Stefan]

He'd been careless, but also hadn't really worried about her striking back at him.  He liked hearing her scream like that, but if she thought he wasn't aware of her movements, she was simply not being realistic.  He saw the movement and he didn't find it to be anything deserving of concern on his part.  Even her use of the spike as she stabbed him in the arm didn't really get quite the reaction she had to be going for.

It only pissed him off.

He left the spike there for the moment, instead squeezing her throat again and losing any gentleness he'd been exhibiting in trying to set her shoulder.  In fact, he jammed it into place in one swift movement, lowered her with surprising care considering the trouble she'd started with her shoulder, and jerked her chin up to stare at him, the spike still embedded in his arm.  

"I'll be waiting for you when you wake up."

[Desten DuPont]

Desten could only remember his eyes were the last things she saw. No longer blue, they were all black, with anger, or something else. Or were they blue? The darkness spiderwebbed through her vision as her hands pressed into a pool of blood, which, no doubt was her own. She didn't even hear what he was saying to her, not really, not physically, but somewhere in her mind it made perfect sense.

She lay on the floor for a while as her body struggled to come to terms with what was happening. When she woke up, it had been a decent amount of time, though not enough for her to be fully healed. When she sat up abruptly this time, her hair was matted to her face between dried blood and dirt from the floor, and her cheeks and hands were stained with both substances as well.

She was having no trouble breathing, as that seemed to be the first thing to fix itself, but her leg was practically numb. He'd missed the bone, but he'd nicked the artery. She was lucky he hadn't killed her - or had he meant to scare her like that? She was trembling, and heard nothing and saw nobody, at least not at once.

Slowly, she drew her knees into her chest and laid her head down on her knees. She didn't know how much more of this she would be able to do. Thinking she was alone, she allowed her wings to shift out, and lowered them onto her small form, covering herself. Her feathers were clean, at the very least, though the edges of them dragged in the blood-stained floor.

If Desten had known Stefan had seen the whole thing, she'd have never, ever taken her demi form.

[Stefan]

Stefan had let her sleep and heal up a bit, considering that was her first true brush with pain, but it wasn't a practice he was going to make commonplace.  This would likely be the one of the last times he would allow her to simply lose consciousness as a result of these sessions, and she wouldn't like that.  He hadn't exactly made any attempt to truly start anything other than laying out the rules.  She was just a little too...sheltered.  She had some getting used to her situation to do.

He had to wonder if he HAD started out too rough, though.  Perhaps the spike was too much for her so soon.  He'd leveled it down a bit to a long bull-whip, though that could cause nearly as much damage if one knew what they were doing, and he'd learned.  It was coiled and attached to his belt as he walked into the cell, having released her wrist from the shackle to prevent further damage when she passed out and then waited for her to awaken.  Now, he'd merely watched for a period of time.

Her demi form was indeed beautiful, like a tawny angel sitting there in the dirt of the cell, and he looked forward to a point where he could show her off.  Her behavior was hardly suitable yet, though.

The German shut the cell door loudly, locking it this time to ensure no further mistakes.  Any traces of the injury in his arm were gone, and he didn't seem to have taken it to heart.  She would pay for it, though.  "Good to see you're awake, Sleeping Beauty.  I hope you slept well, because we have a busy day ahead of us," he told her, approaching slowly.

"To begin, I first need you to return to a fully human form so that we don't cause any lasting damage to those beautiful wings of yours.  I would rather they not be mutilated during our efforts," he explained, beginning to circle her as he talked, his hands clasped behind him casually.  "If you refuse, I will simply rip them off.  They will be damaged if you keep them, and I want them either whole, or gone.  Your choice, my dear."