Butcher’s Work

The Outpost

May 3rd, 2012
???? hours

The World was agony.

Megs blinked her eyes sleepily, hanging from where Ilya had cuffed her hands up to a meat hook that hung from the ceiling. Her wrists had been rubbed raw, and she was sure that in places the flesh had been worn away to leave pale bone showing through.“You are getting better,” Ilya had said.Things were kind of hazy, and Megs closed her eyes so that she didn’t have to see the torn bits of flesh and rusting spots of vitae on the floor. All hers. All of it. The slice of skin from her ribs, the splatter from where he’d shot through her thigh and side… it was all to grow tougher, less fragile.

“’m DPS not a Tank,” She mumbled through split lips. “Damnit.”

Everything hurt.

But she was making progress. One slice at a time, one bullet that pierced her skin with just a little more resistance. Slow progress, but it was there. Ilya wasn’t the sort to lie.

“No reason to lie,” she mumbled to herself, peering out at the world through her one good eye. The other was too damaged to see out of. Ilya had kept punching and punching until she’d felt something pop, and then her cheek had grown wet, and her eyelid had gotten stuck shut. She thought. She couldn’t very well check that out with her hanging from them and all. Slowly she was starting to heal, spending the blood she could afford-

“Looks like someone finally showed you your place.” The voice was harsh. Gloating.

Megs lifted her head, trying to focus on the figure that stood in the doorway. Not Ilya… not Aleksandr…

“Mitya?” She asked, frowning. The movement of her brow tugged something in her eye, and she could feel a fresh wash of liquid down the side of her face. She didn’t bother trying to wipe it away on her upper arm.

Her back was all a tingle. Something was very wrong, and it was making her skin itch. Megs couldn’t tell if it was the tone of voice, or the way Mitya swaggered into the Butcher’s room and slammed the door shut behind him, locking it.“Who else would it be? Your precious Boris?” he taunted, “Or Ilya? Does he fuck you in here like he fucks you out in the woods on your ‘walks’?” He spat into her face, and Megs flinched, unable to dodge it. She tried to lift up and get the chain free from the hook above her head. But she’d already been on her toes, and there was only so much lift she could get.“I’m not sle-”

A resounding crack and burst of white fire across her vision cut her off.

“Don’t lie to me, cunt. That’s the only reason they would favour you. That is the only reason you would be considered better than me. You’re just a woman, why should you be sworn at all?”

Megs spat, and a piece of a tooth landed on the floor with a wet clink.

“What?” she said, looking up at him, feeling a cold roil in her belly. “Fuck off Mitya, just fuck off. I don’t want to deal”

“Fuck off? oh no,” he said with a grin that whispered of the Lord’s Madness. “No, no little Katya, I’m going to show you just why this is Your Place.” He reached up, unhooking her handcuffs from the ceiling. As he did, She tried to slam her knee into his gut, but he blocked her with his hip.

“Bitch, maybe I have to soften you up a little. Is that it? you’re just challenging me because you want to be put in your place. That’s why you fuck the stupid Gangrel and the handyman. Because you’re not good enough for Real Men.”

He threw her down, and Megs tried to roll to absorb some of the impact, but it still forced out a sharp cry of pain. There wasn’t much blood left in her system, and Megs wasn’t sure if she wanted to spend all of it and risk drinking from Mitya. No, she was sure that’s exactly what she didn’t want to do.

The shadows flickered, trying to draw around her, but she was so tired, so hungry that she wasn’t able to melt into them like she was used to.

“Trying to Run are we?” A strong hand closed around her ankle, and yanked her back towards the middle of the room.

“Don’t TOUCH Me!” Megs screamed, rolling onto her back and hammering her free foot into his knee. Over and over. His skin was hardened, and Megs could feel a sinking feeling. He’d come into this room like that. He’d planned this… he’d been waiting…

“Never tell a Man what to do!” Mitya shouted, grabbing her other foot and rolling her back onto her stomach. She felt his weight press down on the back of her thighs, holding her in place. “Women do what Men want. And you, you are going to do what I want. You are going to scream.” His voice was by her ear, her neck.

“Fuck. Off,” Megs snarled,that coldness swirling tighter, freezing her from the inside out. She snapped her head back to bash in his nose, and was rewarded with a satisfying crunch before he took her head in a palm and slammed it into the concrete.

Megs’s vision swam, and she lay still, taking stock of her position. Cold steel was against her skin, the tip pressing in through her ribs slowly as Mitya took his time. The knife pressed all the way in before starting to saw back and forth, cutting open a slash of flesh.

His teeth were by her ear, and Megs could deal with the pain. She could deal with this little sick fantasy trip, she could not deal with his fucking Teeth by her ear. They were too fucking close and he was saying things to himself. To make himself feel better about finding her half beaten to Torpor as it was.

“You like that?” He asked, and she felt fingers probing along the deep cut he’d made. It stung, but it wasn’t the agony of Claws. But as he pressed a finger into the slash, she bit back a scream. His free hand held her down as he worked his fingers in between her ribs, closing around slippery bone, and snapping it, from the inside. Breaking her, from the inside.

She lay there, the cold seeping up to her skin, replacing everything she was with it’s cold fury.

“Maybe now you’ll know your place better,” he said, slipping his hand free of her and rolling her over onto her back, intending to get her to suck his fingers clean of the vitae smeared on them. Fists smashed into his face, knocking him back.

Before he could slap her down again, her thumbs found his eyes, and she was twisting, putting him beneath her on the concrete as he howled, scrabbling to get her off his face. One of his hands connected, knocking her off of him.

Megs hauled herself to her feet, testing the lenth of chain between her wrists as she waited for Mitya to stagger to his feet. He did, making for the door, his hands feeling for the lock.

With a grunt, Megs flew forward, climbing up his back and hooking the chain around his neck.

Scream,” she rasped, before planting her knees against his spine, and leveraging back, pulling his head back at an unnatural angle. He was struggling, his hands digging at the chain around his neck, trying to get between it and the soft, crushable flesh that it was cutting into.

With one knee braced against his middle back, she pressed her other foot against Mitya’s shoulder, using it to push off into a cartwheel. The handcuff chain pulled him off balance, snapping his neck with a wet pop.

He fell in a heap, his body facing one direction, his head another. His lips were moving but his lungs were not. WIth no air, his words were soundless as they were meaningless. Words would not make sense to the cold, battered thing that spat in his face and limped to the doorway.

One wrist was broken, and she had to fumble with the other hand to get the door unlocked.

The beast was clamouring for Blood, to fuel the healing, the fury that her body wanted to unleash… but couldn’t.

“Katya?” A familiar voice, edible, and blood is top priority. She swung her head towards the mortal, fangs pressing against battered lips.

Boris.

“Need blood,” she said. “Don’t get close. Need a lot.”

He nodded, darting away through corridors that all looked the same to her at the moment. All grey, all barren, all bloodless. Her one blue eye flicked back towards the Butcher’s Room, but her lips peeled back in disgust. No part of Mitya would ever go inside of her again. Not even his vitae.

If he ever tried to touch her again, Megs knew she would kill him.

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