Post by Mila on Dec 6, 2012 4:00:26 GMT -5
21:24:57 Mila was blissfully unaware that she was the target of the ham, potato and cake wielding soldier. Had she known, she may have actually placed a little more effort in evading his view, but Mila had eyes for only one – the original assailant. She collided with the cake-faced Emri with as much prowess as could be managed when one's shoes were sliding around in a puddle of spilled milk. There was no use crying over it. No, the girl was still crying out with laughter as his arms slipped around her and the two hit the floor. A gasp tore from her lips, shocked as her target scooped up some conveniently placed cake debris – a sorry excuse for a cheesecake, actually. Soup hair, gravy breasts, ice-cream and cake-faced now herself, it was any wonder that Emri wasn't swooning in desire, captured as he was with the belle straddled atop him. “Out of ammo!” Ever dramatic, the girl channelled Katniss Everdeen – stealing the last arrow from a slint, or rather – the cake from her face. Wiping at her face, the dainty hands then jabbed at Emri, coating his neck and chest in the mess. His face was dirty enough, you see? With her lips a little cakey, Mila found herself lost in the adrenaline and amusement, and her laughter slowed to a stop while the noise of her peers was drowned out. Leaning down just so, her eyes almost fluttered shut with a quick, chaste, cheesecake kiss. Romantic, wasn't it? It may have been, if she didn't smell like soup, gravy and a myriad of desserts. It may have even been barely acceptable if the kiss wasn't spoiled by a scream from her own lips and the instantaneous jerking up of her body. Sitting upright on Emri, one hand nursesd her pert rear. “Bloody-fuck-shrimp-mother!” Oh, she was a charmer. In her defense, Mila had just copped an apple in the ass. It hurt. Even more disrupting was the scream from Professor Fritzl's ever moist lips. “SILLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLENNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNCE!” Powerful casting from a Master of his craft, forced the room to a stand still. All the student's were frozen in place. Unable to move their limbs save for the slightest twitch, shift of heads and drift of their eyes. The man stood at the center of the dais, arms raised and beady eyes narrowed with concentration. Dryke neared and muttered something. Ever the keen eyed bitch, she had seen just where the uproar had begun. “Everybody is to report straight to their dormitories! Now!” The casting was undone, students could move. Few dared to speak. Strangely enough, Mila still couldn't move. Fritzl had not released the spell entirely, but kept a hold of those Dryke had condemned. “Connelly! Vienne! Ellery! O'Driskle! Hayes! Jameson! Vanbourke! Reyes!” Those seated in the midsection of Crux, and an additional few (particularly the boy who had called the initial war cry) and a few others who had been particularly brutal in battle. “Come here!” Now they were released. Shaking in her boots, Mila rose from her incriminating position on top of Emri, and beneath their Professor's gaze and head down, inched her way to the head of the Hall.
21:35:09 [Emri] Despite the disgusting technicalities, an odor that had begun to fill the Hall that would likely send rodents away, and the myriad of deserts and dinners that coated his clothes, the kiss was enjoyable. Would've continued to be such if it hadn't been interrupted by the literally bone-halting words that echoed and bounced off the walls. Luckily, Emri was in the most enjoyable of positions; all he could do was remain against the floor, beneath Mila until they were-- Fuck! They were called out. " God dammit, " he mutters to no one in particular. Having technically started the fight, he's unable to find a proper source of blame to vent his frustration through. Instead, a laugh, likely more maniacal than not, erupts, building as Mila is able to stand and therein so is he. His dark eyes seek out Jake among the dispersing crowds and the laughing continues, only to stop once the called-out few are alone to deal with the two teachers. " We're fuuuuccccked, " he does dare to whisper out at whatever body is closest to him just moments before falling in line with his friends, waiting for the inevitable punishment.
21:35:45 Jer , in the midst of grabbing what unsullied morsels he can, happens to show a skinny glimpse of a smile in response to the wolf's farewell. It lasts in her view not more than a bat of an eye. However, there's a definite translation to the expression: bring it on, he's ready to play. Shoving from the bench and table alike, plate in hand, he flashes but a parting peace sign back to her from over his shoulder - and then he's off. Admittedly, he doesn't reach the wide open doors perfectly clean. In weaving through the flailing masses, bobbing around split-second trajectories, and even casting a spell off his free hand to stop an oncoming glob of pie in mid-air, he still ends up with patches of edible shrapnel across his uniform and a messy myriad covering his shoes. He nearly slips backwards on his way out (but doesn't and saves his platter of food refugees). Mindful to keep on walking despite his glance sent back into the chaos the faculty is quickly trying to bridle, he faces forward to other students who've escaped. Recuperating too amongst their dispersal, his shoulders defensively bunch at the bellowed spell cast in his wake. Worth a second look, he wheels around to plod a slow saunter backwards, granting him show of a battle as frozen as a painting. When they're all released and certain names are sternly called, he's surprised by one of them. "...Trix?" Brow furrowed in bemusement (because she's such a good student!) he stops to stand right then and there in the hallway. He'd completely missed anything she was involved in.
21:48:45 [Jake] Stepping up onto the table had not been the brightest idea, Jake becoming one of the more opportune and open targets for those wishing to fight but avoid consequences. For all the crouching, leaping and bobbing the Were had mustered, he was still peppered with edible debris. Shoes were literally caked, a single misstep into an untouched dessert had sent the contents flickering up his calves and stubbornly sticking to his shoes. For the most part he was having fun, seeking out a new target and promptly showering them with whatever he had in his hands, a deep laughter escaping from his chest the likes an evil villain could admire. With arm raised, mashed potato, icing and chocolate fused within his palm, he prepared to release the food ball that was until he found he couldn’t move. The liquids dripping down his wrist and onto sleeve-rolled bare arms. Only when everything suddenly stopped, time frozen, that Jake could truly take in his surroundings. Students were drenched in the food they were so eagerly eating merely moments before, walls had become makeshift tables and amidst it all stood two very infuriated teachers. “Shit.“ The Were uttered, knowing that they were well and truly fucked, as his friend so eloquently announced. Everything began to move in a flash, students frantically flooding out of the great hall, whilst those called out would have to solemnly report to their would be executioners.<e>
21:49:28 [Trix] The chaos was almost behind her, she’d not except unscathed. Her t-shirt was filthy, her hair a bundle of golden curls, her skirt twisted, knees near bruised and boots scuff. Upon her cheeks remained the melting ice cream which was drying into some sticky substance or other. Pushing up to stand, she winced slightly, while remaining bent at the waist to brush of the dust, dirt and grim from her knees. Her attention was then put onto her skirt, which had gotten torn due process, and was adjusted around the waist to at least be on the right way. Her t-shirt though was a disaster. Soaking wet, amidst the stains that were blatantly bared by her stance. Though, almost at the door, everything came to a stop. Everything was paused and Trix at first, didn’t understand just what was going on. Everyone, including herself were fixed. The door was right there just a hand’s reach away and her name was called. Her Name.. Ellery... What was this? Why was she being called? Able to move once more, she slowly allowed her gaze to land on Jeremy, who was beyond the door and wide eyed she gazed to him, unable to move but this time by fear. She hadn’t done anything. Not a spot of food had left her hand, and yet she was being summoned and by Dryke. Never hearing her name called as such her stomach churned, and a nauseating sensation burned from within. Slowly turning around, she faced the music as she began to walk, allowing her form to break through the gathered crowd that near parted to let her pass, her steps light while silence surrounded the moment. Trix was embarrassed and ashamed to be in such a position, least of all in front of everyone, most of all because Jeremy was there. Had heard. Approaching the dias where the others students stood, Trix motioned into line. Her eyes - like a doe, caught in the headlights. Her heart, thudding clamorous in her chest, her hands at her side as she awaited punishment. Punishment for doing absolutely nothing but try to get away. She feared she may just faint right there and then. But she didn’t.. thank god.
21:54:01 Pixie thanks her lucky stars each by name that she was not branded a ringleader of the food fight. A real wolf knows when to back off from too big of a challenge; today isn’t her day to challenge the brutal authority of their prison-home, so the lithe animal darts out of the hall when the spell is broken. A casualty of war, her breasts and garments are sopped with half-recognizable food bits—even gravy in her hair, which she doesn’t care about (yet again breaking her vapid prissy princess role she’s supposed to play). Her combat boots find easy purchase on the slick foody floors outside the hall, and her backpack washes off easily. Being barely over five feet tall, even with the clunky boots on her skinny legs, Pixie seamlessly melds with the crowd, gliding along its outskirts. Like shiny beads in a pile of muck, her doe-eyes catch Jeremy and Trix together, statues of stillness in the river-flow of bodies. The sound of her camera shutter is most likely lost in the din, although she has to take quite a few shots to get a clear picture of the pair together, a tiny moment as they pass. The wolf’s head shoots up when she glimpses Trix’s lovely face twisted in horror through the lens. Trix hadn’t done anything! At least not compared to the tiny she-wolf! Pixie shoves a first year out of the way, darting back into the hall with a grim set to her dirty jaw. “She didn’t do shit!” the American drawls boldly to the authority figures, adding the swear for good measure. As always, the tiny female is unreadable. Either she is doing this out of a need to protect the weaker pack members, even non-Weres…or she refuses to have a goodie two-shoes get a worse reputation than her. The evidence of her involvement in the warfare is written on her food-splattered body.
22:07:30 Mila 's skin had lost its color – beneath the edible mask. Emri voiced her thoughts. Jake voiced them again. To the chopping block she marched, forced by years of obedience and understanding. There was no use in running, no use in backtalk, for they would only seal a fate far worse than what was already in store for them. Somehow in her own terror, eyes of crystalline shifted toward Trix, perhaps the only innocent face nearing the dais. Full lips mouthed a single word. Sorry. This was all Mila's fault. Unable to keep herself still the nearly hyperventilating girl had busied her fingers with the soiled disgrace that was her hair. Her enviable, lusted after hair was filth. Once all of them had convened beneath the direct eye of Dryke and Fritzl, with the rest of the faculty still behind the table or seeing to their Houses. Fritzl opened his sour mouth to speak, only to be interrupted by a fairly new student, a girl, who had the gall to gainsay him? “Silence!” He commanded of her, apparently favoring that particular request. “You have a lot to learn, girl. Let tonight be your first lesson. You will join these hoodlums.” Now his wrathful gaze scanned over them, taking charge of the matter even over Dryke. They were all as cruel as each other. “Ten points from each of your Houses.” This would wound Crux the most, for excluding her friends, the majority of them called the Earthen House home. “Twenty-five lashes each. Ellery, you and your 'hero' will get thirty. Understood?” Mila bowed her head, hiding behind a veil of mess and finding herself unable to meet Trix's eyes. Emri was beside her, and even he went ignored. Her body was victim to a case of slight tremors, fearful for what to come. The brunette had not misbehaved so badly to encite the lick of a whip since her second year at Hex, and in all this time, she still could not forget the pain. Nor could she forget the enjoyment most of the staff found in it. The mess of the Hall would be cleaned quicker and more effectively with the use of his Ether, and too excited for the lashing – he simply could not wait for them to see to the grub duty. “All your free periods will be better spent with grounds duty. Chopping wood, until classes end.” For Christmas, that was. “Slack on your duties and you can farewell any chance of attending the Yule Ball, or playing in any sporting team.” Turning on his heel, Fritzl began to lead them to the underground levels of Hex, the basements and the entrance to the dungeons. These were spellbound to nullify the gifts of students – Teachers wore a hexed crucifix that protected them against the null. Dryke marched behind the group. To say Mila was afraid, was putting it lightly. Seeking comfort from those she knew best, she kept herself between Jake and Emri, fingertips grazing against the latter's own for the barest of moments.
22:19:16 [Emri] Within minutes the world went crashing from around the group of students, and where heaven once was reigned an all-powerful hell in the form of their teachers. When Pixie spoke up, Emri's attention shifted to her, then back at Fritzl. " No, she's right! Trix didn't do anything! " And whether it was a display of boldness or sheer stupidity, Emri actually dared to step forward, practically commanding the man show him attention, if for no reason other than the possibility of him revolting. " It was me, " he stated almost immediately after. Despite Pixie's attempts being nothing more than counter-productive, the fifth-year was unable to resist himself taking the blame - he had started it, and for the likes of Trix and Pixie, who were as innocent as the students who had been let out, to be punished sickened him. " They, " all of them, not just the two girls, " were no more involved than everyone else you just let go - give me their punishments! " It was a terrifying thing to say, truthfully, and the thought of receiving their lashes almost brought any food he had managed to eat before the fight back up. Long before Mila could timidly reach for his hand, his had sought her own out of a need for comfort if nothing more. Either his brash tactic would work, or he'd receive the same response as Pixie - he was getting more lashes no matter what.
22:26:43 Jer stood there as unaffected as a boulder in a stream, unmoving even as he was stepped around and shouldered by the deluge of students gushing forth from the Great Hall. Thus he stood - taller than most, at that - and kept watch on his half-fae friend as she fretfully turned and embarked upon her own funeral march. "No..." he comments to himself, still utterly confused. "Can't be right." This isn't just a gift of blind denial afforded between close friends, regardless of her outstanding discipline and character. This is a seer's affronted disbelief. Of all the future things he's seen, how could her forthcoming punishment not even bear a hint to him? Maybe he's presuming too much. Delving into his pocket with his free hand, he fishes around before extracting a coin. He flips it, catches it, and reads it. Pause... He flips it, catches it, and reads it again. "Fuckin--" Apparently unable to court sufficient satisfaction from that medium, he slips over to the nearest of the hallway's windows and sets his plate on the sill. Coin hastily dropped back into his pocket, he scoops the majority of his food from his plate, lifts it about a foot, and drops it all relatively back again on his plate. Then, like the utter madman he must appear to be, he gets in close to prod at and scrutinize the way everything had fallen. Either way, the story remained the same (though in better detail this time). He takes a step back from his sortilege dinner plate; and in an idle daze still in question, he lackadaisically whips remnant food from his hands to the floor. Not quite lost into his thoughts just yet though, he sends his gaze aside to the open doors, catching sight of the group. Striking an uncaring secondary wipe of his hands down the bottom of his blazer, he takes a few long strides to invariably press his back to the surface directly adjacent to the wide portal - out of view to them but within earshot for him.
22:30:29 [Jake] There was no amount of silver tongued charm that could get the Were out of this one. Standing on a table with a projectile at the ready, must have been the guiltiest moment he could have been caught in. When movement had been granted and his limbs freed, Jake allowed the mashed food to drop on the table with an audible slop. Stepping down from the table and trudging towards the group upon the dais, solemn faced he looked about at his fellow troublemakers, waiting for their sentence. Jake had not been worried, this was not the first time he had been in trouble and most likely will not be the last. The intrusion had not been expected. The fellow Were stomping into the room and pleading Trix’s innocence on her behalf. Admirable, but now you’re just as bad as the rest of us. But then a much more familiar voice had chimed up and Jake turned to his friend beside him. He knew matters were only being made worst but when Em had went on to proclaim that it was his fault and that he would shoulder all of the blame had been the final straw.“He is wrong.” Stepping out of line to join his friend, shooting him a look which read. Why do you have to be a hero? Jake couldn’t just stand by and let one of his closer friends in the institute get punished for something he had taken part in. “I am just as guilty, I can take the punishments, I can handle it.“ His bold claims and arrogance seeping from his tone would certainly not earn him any brownie points but hell, he was fucked either way. The house points reduction went amiss, right over the Were’s head, the lashes had actually made his skin crawl, phantom nails tracing his back from a previous lashing. Only the threat of losing Dball privileges actually shocked him but he stood firm waiting for what was expectantly to come.<e>
22:33:50 [Trix] The moment was like a paradox in some ways. She stood upon a threshold just as she had the other night while atop the library towel. In that jump and fall - she escaped the drudgery of emotions that had plagued her for days, a weighted burden had been lifted. Now though, she stood to jump into a pit of vipers, a nest of evil darkness that would hurt in a way she’d never experienced before. The words fell over her. Her features paled considerably as the punishment was given. Though from behind her, somewhere a girl’s voice peeled out - one she recognized but couldn’t but a face to the name. Not in that point of time. Her heart beat too wildly, to loud. To fiercely. Pulsating through her body her blood pumped with ferocity to keep herself standing, but when the proclamation echoed through the Great Hall of her punishment, she near fell to her knees. Whoever was beside her would feel her hand upon their arm in an attempt to keep herself up right. She didn’t know who’s arm it was, but they would feel the small weight of Trix in hopes of trying to stop herself from collapsing. Thirty lashes echoed in her mind. Her worst fear of being in Hex and yet she’d done nothing wrong. It was an unfair punishment that inwardly angered her. Part of her wanted to yell, to scream out that this was wrong. It was unjust! But, she knew that would only land her into more trouble. Mila’s eyes were felt, but Trix could bring herself to look at no one in that moment. She solitarily faced the wall. People spoke around her. She even heard Emri and then Jae as they offered to take her punishment, everyone’s punishment, but Trix would not bring herself to hope. Let alone would she let anyone do such a thing. No one should have to face more because of Trix, whether she was innocent or not. They shouldn’t have to face the burden because of her, but Trix was too afraid to speak up. In fact, she couldn’t speak - her tongue was stuck in the back of her throat - her throat dry as a desert - she’d been shocked numb by the situation on the whole and it just seemed to keep getting worse the more people tried to help.
22:36:08 Pixie oozes defiance from her tiny body, still a warrior goddess: high chin, straight spine, bright eyes. However, when her plan to save Trix backfires, she seeks to make eye contact with the lovely Fae, even reaches out for her hand. A non-verbal, deep apology. Emri speaking up in not only Trix’s defense, but her own, and those around them, stirs more defiance in the tiny wolf. “I would rather be punished tenfold for heroism in the name of protecting my friends than cower behind the whips. We will not become what you all are.” Her honey voice is low but carries. What the hell does she care about the stupid Yule Ball when her fellow prisoners are being threatened? Her fellow pack-mates, all of them. And so the children, precious gems that should be treasured and encouraged, are marched like cattle to the dungeon for their punishments. Perhaps gaining further punishments along the way, for speaking out. Beneath the strap of her turtle backpack, Pixie’s little heart races like a hummingbird.
22:44:38 Mila 's full lips parted in a silent scream as Emri dared to interrupt the Professor again. She had seen what Fritzl had done to Chase – she knew what they were in for. Her small hand was almost lost in his, but amongst the stickiness of their crimes she squeezed, and held onto him for dear life. Fritzl's beady eyes held a stare of rage. Pure, chaotic, unkempt rage. “Is that so? Well, students.” His arm swept in a flourish before them, “You may thank Hayes,-” Another rebuttal nearly coaxed steam from the man's ears. “You may thank Hayes and Connelly, for they have earned thirty lashes for every single one of you.” They were ushered by the two lead Professors, and an entourage of staff who attended in order to outnumber the delinquents and keep them at bay. Truly, these were Masters of their gifts. One of them could easily defeat a dozen of these children. It wasn't until the group of students and staff alike came upon the Dungeon preserved especially for whipping. Opening the manually and spellbound locked, metal door, he revealed the insides to whichever students had not had the pleasure of meeting this fate before. It was almost the size of a classroom, and the length was dominated by leaning, cement posts with shackles dangling down from their peaks. Now, he turned toward Emri and Jake. “Consider this boys – as you are so concerned with the wellbeing of the females. I will allow you the opportunity to watch over them. Ladies first.” Oh yes, he meant for them to watch. What could be worse than seeing the girls whipped first? Ignoring the instinct of man's will to protect the weaker sex, there was also the true art of watching sheer pain and knowing you would receive it next. Fritzl was perhaps thieving the name of brutality from Dryke. The boys were obviously kept along the other side of the wall, receiving serious looks from seven members of staff that watched on. As for the girls? Mila's heart beat rapidly beneath her breast, heaving as she inhaled in audible, shaky pants. When Fritzl tugged on her arm, she was forced to relinquish her grip of Emri and brought to the first of the posts. Dryke guided Pixie to the one beside Mila, and Trix was last – brought forward by Xander, the resident dealer of punishment. The Hexes Professor, paused behind Mila, than raised his hands in a communal cast that ripped the backs of each of the girls clothing, parting them the slivers of fabric like the red sea. Still upon their arms and the like, they were still decently covered, and had their backs to the audience nonetheless. In another command of his mind, their hair was swept over their shoulders and out of the way, revealing the bare expanse of their unprotected backs. Another movement, a raise of his hand, lifted their arms like clockwork, and secured them in the shackles of the cement. Mila let out a soft mewl of a cry, the slim line of her shoulders shaking in terror. Tears pricked at her doe-eyed smoke orbs, but she squeezed them shut. Brace yourself. Fritzl turned toward his audience, spittle in the corner of his mouth and an evil gleam in his beady, vermin eyes. “Eyes open, men, or you'll miss the best part.” Having caught a whip just as Dryke and Xander had done, he swung his arm backward with as much force as he could possibly throw into it. In unison, the others did the same. Leather on skin produced a vicious slap. Mila couldn't keep the scream from her lips. “One!” He chanted.
22:57:09 [Emri] As Jake steps forward and ultimately to his side, Emri offers him a simple glance, one that would speak leagues to his old friend, before turning back to face Fritzl. Silence, however, falls over even him at the announcement of more lashes for all of them. Had it not been for shock alone, he would've flipped his shit right then and there. Instead a numbing starts rushing over his body, and although he's continued to grip Mila's hand, likely threatening to crush it within his own at this point, he can't feel a thing as they walk down to the dungeon. Emri tosses the girls, all of them, a single glance before they're ushered up. It was the only look they'd receieve from him during their lashes, but ideally, it conveyed the message. They would have to take the punishment. Instead, the fifth-year kept his attention on the unnecessary plethora of teachers present, assuring each and everyone of them that dared look back at him that, when given the chance, he planned on sticking his fist down their throats and burning them from the inside-out.
23:02:34 Jer wonders at everything now, his mind meandering into its own thoughts, lending his countenance that faraway and pensive quality (a pinch frantic this time) so devoid of care for the morose circumstances of the present. Listen to Pixie and Emri, revealing the hero chords within them. Listen to Jake, acting bold before overdue and underpaid consequences. Listen to Mila and Trix, saying nothing at all in the face of sheer terror. Trix... This was much too far a step in her awakening. It was supposed to be a gradual process. Why didn't I see this?" is the rueful question tearing his brain to shreds. He'd completely screwed up - that's the truth of it. He really isn't good for anything. And like this, he almost misses the fact that the troop is heading out - or, rather, has already head out. So he quickly shoves away from his blind vantage point to catch up to them, to at least be there for Trix along the lamentable walk. Unfortunately, one of the assistants picking up the rear is keen to him even before he can reach the very first stair. Long story short, the assistant is the last one in the dungeon door, about the same time the seer is haphazardly picking himself up from the corner of the stairwell.
23:04:28 [Jake] The additional punishment had been expected. Jake had to step up, despite the risk of losing his Durusball privileges right on the spot, he couldn’t let Emri take all the blame. His own brown eyes meeting Emri’s in a single glance was recognition that they were both ready for the punishments ahead. If only it were that easy. Not only did the two would be protectors of the females earn themselves additional lashes, but the girls would share their fate. A silent fuck was all he could muster, efforts in vain. Off he marched with the rest of the troop, head raised high although his wolfish grin most would be accustomed to had vanished, replaced with an expressionless mask. The line came to the stop at the dungeons, a familiar room Jake had not seen since the end of his last year, the same old faces with whips at the ready awaited them. It was bad enough that they were all about to be lashed within an inch of their lives, but they also had to watch. It was sheer cruelty. The Were would not give the teachers satisfaction, the likes of Dryke and Fritzel certainly enjoying the charade. He stood firm although with each cry and the snap of the whip, he fought back a wince, feeling for the pain the girl’s suffered. <e>
23:07:49 [Trix] The journey was long. It seemed to never end, though they were walking just really a short distance away. Trix seemed to have slipped her consciousness for she moved like a drone, barely tapping into the situation on the whole. It was a nightmare and at some point she would wake up. Wouldn’t she? Her stomach remained churning as they were heralded like cattle into the dungeon room. She didn’t catch sight of Jeremy at first, and then she saw him - moving along the wall. It was a look she held for a moment. A single look that gave her a strength inside to be able to deal with this, though a tear filled her eye, trickled down the smooth essence of her cheek. Then, moments later, he was gone and her gaze was lost, her eyes fixated, pupils near dilated as if she’d placed herself into some sort of trance. All she could do was move, and be moved. The room itself caught her attention as she gazed, peering around with idle curiosity before landing upon the stone pillars ahead of her. Ushered toward one, she barely moved at first and needing a second push, she stumbled forward, coming to stop before the large stone mass. Soon, she was secured, her back bared, dirty t-shirt of no consequence anymore as it was torn from her back, while her unravelled curls of gold spun strands were shifted over her shoulder, leaving the small frame of Trix to be shown. She wasn’t skinny, but she was slim and enough of her spine would be well enough visible from the action of her hanging position, her lithe form awaiting punishment. Never before had she been hurt in such a manner physically, though the day her Father had shipped her of to Hex had caused a pain she’d never experienced before emotionally. Today she was transformed back to that moment as she dangled precariously like a criminal - though she didn’t flinch. There was a coldness to her, an unnerving quiet that bespoke of her fear as she saw Xan in the room with them, knowing things were coming to fruition. Why was this happening to her? The choice she made to sit at Crux instead of Tritus had left her readily in a mess, the thoughts playing in her mind as the first crack of a whip came to lash upon the bare skin of her back. She wanted to remain quiet, but she couldn’t as a cry escaped through gritted teeth, the hurt and burn of the welt sending a ripple of pain through her body on the whole. Though the next one wasn’t as much as a surprise. The femme knew what to expect now and when it happened, it was a mere grunt that forced from her lips while tears streamed down over her cheeks, dropping to the ground. Trix held on as best she could for the time that passed, her body slowly weakening with each passing lash.
23:09:33 Pixie dumps her turtle backpack at the entrance of the dungeon, knowing her back will need to be bare of it for the impending lashes. She even fiddles with the zipper for a moment, trying to mentally prepare herself (and something secret happens…). Xan receives her cold-eyed stare when the females are being bound—he is their alpha. He should be their protector and savior, not executioner. Her lace camisole and the bra beneath are split—she has never felt more exposed, even when stark naked. Pixie does not scream, even with her back slick from sweat and blood, but she cries silently. Makeup and tears stream down her cheeks, and her nose snots unbecomingly. Be brave, the tiny woman—girl, really; a child—wills herself and her fellow prisoners. Her frail little body shakes from the pain and silent sobs, but she refuses to cry out. Refuses to be broken, at least not in front of the adult audience.
23:31:05 Mila 's slim back dipped into a narrow waist before fanning into the swell of her covered hips. Upon the pale flesh was a single, red welt. The first strike had almost broken the skin. With twenty-nine lashes still to come, Mila knew the flayed mess to expect when they were done. Her younger self had earned only ten. Ten had been her undoing. Fritzl struck again, “Two!” His tone was excited, a hint of mirth found in the count which sounded just as the whip met soft flesh. Mila silenced herself to a muffled grunt by biting against her lower lip, whilst tears slid from her eyes. She willed the gruesome sounds of three backs being mutilated in unison, reciting the words to a song she knew well. He looks in my eyes, and makes me realise. “Three!” Blood seeped from her lower lip, and her knuckles were grazing themselves, so hard did she press them to the cement. When he says. “Four!” Don't worry baby. Mila whimpered, pressing her tear stained cheek to the block that mercilessly shackled her in wait for another, and another. Everything will be alright. Don't worry baby. Barely, she mouthed the words against the block. Dryke was excited by her efforts but, even built stocky and butch she was no match for the strength of Fritzl nor Xander. The Magnus Coordinator seemed the only one to attend the work like business, his expression stony and his lashes sure and painful, but without the exertion and effort of a sadist. Mila's abuser, was not quite the same. He counted between chuckles, a grin about his lips and his strikes never tired. Don't scream Mila, darling. They tore from her throat no matter how hard she willed them not to – he was a master of the whip, and cruel in his efforts. He liked it when she screamed. Their backs were a testament to the difference in the three. Strikes licked Trix and Pixie's backs from shoulders to small, but Mila's was different. Fritzl made a game of aiming for the same length of her mid-back. Over, and over. The skin was far past torn. The brunette was sobbing loudly between animalistic screams. Had she paid any mind to eating her dinner rather than playing with it, she would have lost it by now. Eyes grew heavy lidded, the mess of her tears streaked her filthy face, and metallic scarlet seeped down her chin. Mila didn't make it to “Fifteen!” before she was slumped and barely capable of the smallest sounds of agony. Unconsciousness greeted her like peace. Take me away. With the final lashes dealt, Xander and Dryke halted their whipping and unshackled the broken girls and led them aside. Fritzl, with spittle oozing down his chin wasn't quite finished. “Thirty one!” Thirty, thirty three, thirty four. Finally he stopped. Stepping back and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he let Professor Weir unshackle and bring her away. Now his eyes sought out the boys. Shackled, and backs revealed with the same tearing move as dealt to the girls. Jake was his. Emri was Xander's. The rest of the boys received Dryke and few of the school guards. The man's only regret? That he had begun to tire himself on Mila, making it harder to give Jake all he deserved. Still, his arm slung backwards just as the others. “One!”
23:52:19 [Jake] The scene had been harder and harder to watch with each new lash. The crack of the whip eventually went unheard, eyes locked in their monotonous gaze, the cruelty had sunk in and the screams were going to haunt his nightmares for weeks. Jake felt mentally exhausted as the final lashings were complete, stoic in the face of his would be executioner. Drenched blazer ripped away, tie removed and food stained shirt torn from his body, revealing the smooth taut muscled back of the Were. The shackled uncomfortably locked around his wrists he hung there, facing the podium which restrained him. The wolf had been leashed. He gave a simple nod to Emri, an attempt at reassurance although he probably didn’t need it. Jake stood expectant of the coming lashes, attempting to brace himself for the coming attack, the wolf inside crouched and ready to pounce, a silent snarl upon it’s lips. He told himself he wouldn’t scream, he would stand tall and take the punishment like the man who hoped he would one day be, but before the whip he was simply a boy. And all boys can be made to scream. No amount of mental preparation had readied himself for what had come next. A sharp pain tore across his back like the honed claw of a wild animal, precise and savage. A wince and a pained yell escaped his lips, torn selfishly from the boy’s chest. With each lash ravaging his back he could hear the enthused counting behind him. The enjoyment the man filled himself with as he struck him. Eyes glistened wounded tears, pressing his head hard against the podium, fangs bared, he lost himself in the anger and pain. The beast within barked and snarled, urging Jake to break free of his bindings and to kill them all. Rip out their innards and hang them from the rafters. Such gruesome thoughts which rose were all he had to hang on to but ultimately his fate was sealed. He was beaten. The final lash rang, the flaying of his flesh the sounding final bell. <e>
23:56:24 Pixie cannot stop shaking, cannot stop the tears streaming down her face. Her body, perhaps still fuelled by the ecstasy taken what feels like days ago, has not fallen into sweet unconsciousness, so she crawls pathetically away from the site of her abuse, bloodying her once-perfect fingernails on the cobblestones. As the boys receive their own punishment, Pixie feels she may vomit from the continued sounds of wet flesh, sliced open from the cracks of their whips. The smallest and youngest of the lot of them makes it to her backpack on the other side of the room and pulls out the discarded layers of her uniform. The crying she-wolf does her best to carefully pull the vest over Trix’s blonde head, while takes the white Oxford over to Mila. Pixie’s hands shake as she wraps the Oxford around Mila, gathering the two girls as close to her as she can with trembling limbs. The white fabric is immediately crimsoned from the Seer’s mangled back. Hiccupping in quiet misery, the waifish female tries to tug her own split shirt over her shoulders to provide some form of cover. Being naked a free with Weres while Changing is a nudity she can revel in, but this is raw exposure, wrong in its very core. She wills her brother wolf strength, hatred for their alpha building with each bite of the whips. Just let it be over.
00:12:16 Mila was an unconscious mess, her back a sight even the most experienced of soldiers would blanch at. Set aside during the boys whippings, she was dead weight when the youngest of the trio proved the strongest. The Seer's mutilation was visibly the most inhumane, but the fact that Pixie had kept her conscious was a credit not only to her physical strength, but to the will of her mind. In such a state, slumber was escape. Refusing it took courage. Courage needed to withstand breaking at the hands of the cruel leaders of the Hex Institute. Fritzl did not let up, at first. Every draw back of his arm was met with a forward sling as powerful as his brawn could will it but he was an elder. Presumably in his fifties and after the long session awarded the little Crux girl, even he could inwardly admit he had tired himself. “Seventeen!” Between pants, “Eighteen.” He afforded Jake the same treatment as the girl who had preceded him at the post, the blood from her mouth marking an area near his chest. The striped upon his back were all targeted in the same area – but his aim was faltering the more exhausted he grew. When he gifted the senior his final lash, he had not the strength nor excitement to perform any extra. Old man, he chided himself. Like the girls, the boys were unshackled and released – most of them as unconscious as the eldest of the females. Guards were there to carry them above ground and to the infirmary, a few floors up. They were not to receive a Healer's talent until the wounds had healed naturally, and only then to remove scarring that may be noticed and investigated in the outside, human world. What they would receive was an overnight stay in the infirmary, bandages to keep infections at bay and a break from classes until midday. Obviously Jake, Trix and Mila would not make it for the midnight Herbology lesson. If she were awake, the brunette might wonder if Chase would notice she was missing. Once carried, and a little roughly at that, the students were lain on their stomachs upon side-by-side, thin white mattresses that rested on uncomfortable wooden benches. This was an Institution for delinquents, not a children’s hospital. As it happened, injuries that generally warranted a visit to the infirmary were at the victim's own hands and Gifts or, even more deservingly, the result of punishment. Jacinth, Maebh and Odette would see to the sponge cleaning of the muck upon them, the removal of soiled clothes and replacement of hospital gowns. Purification and bandaging would come next.
00:30:13 [Jake] As the last lash slashed, the whip had slackened and so had Jake. A long deep sigh escaped him, his taut form relaxing, relieved that the brutality was over. Casting a worried glance at Emri, curious as to how he was holding up and then his attention towards the girls. A degree of guilt fell upon him, his playful flirting and immaturity had effectively escalated the events of the great hall which led to their punishment. He blamed himself. Exhausted and weakened both physically and mentally, the confident swagger he entered the room with was lost, now just the sloth like movements of the tired teen remained. The cool dungeon breeze whisked at his fresh wounds, cooling the trickling of blood which dribbled from the apex of each cut. Mila’s own lashing had been surgically honed, often the same spots being ruthlessly attacked, Jake’s however had been different. As Fritzl began to feel his strength fade, he clutched at the last remnants of his breath, willing himself to continue to stand and each strike tore with pitiless abandon. The wolf’s back now resembling a very gruesome and crude jigsaw puzzle. What remained of his stained clothing had been scooped up, pushed into his hands and left to march with the rest of the group. If Emri or any of the girls needed it, he would offer his support, albeit strength drained from his body, he would still do what he could to help them. Collapsing upon the hospital bed, face buried in the pillow, his entire body relaxed, the portrayal of everlasting strength dropped and the mischievous grin replaced by a solemn grimace.<e>
00:32:32 Pixie stops crying at some point in the slow trip upstairs. They let her walk, since she is conscious, and the little creature clutches her turtle shell backpack to her chest, covering her breasts where that split shirt fails. It is grasped like her lifeline, a child with a teddy bear after the nightmares. She is loath to part with it while her back is tended to, only for infection prevention. While it is unspoken, the she-wolf sets her mind to refusing all further treatment, especially to remove the scars. Those she will keep. An hour after the adults leave—the torturers, the nurses, everyone—and the broken children are left alone in the dark infirmary, the sound of Pixie unzipping her backpack is like a scream in the still air. What she removes is cradled preciously, the way someone should treat a child: a 90s camcorder. “I recorded the whole thing,” the scout whispers to the room, her voice raw from crying. That is what she had done with her backpack upon entering the dungeon. The battery died, but the prized tape is full of their torture. She has no idea if the others are awake—or alive, in this darkness—but she has a new drive for their justice.
