55th of Summer, 514 AV
Lenz's Tent
Lenz's Tent
Birds were chirping in anonymous placing, singing poetry of unidentified composition. It was beautiful, but it was also irritating to fresh ears. One of the ear canals popped, giving the redheaded woman instant relief from what felt like an inflammation.
She cocked her head to the left and she cocked her head to the right and heard pops from either side as her neck instantaneously felt much better.
Blurry eyes were soon satisfied as her hands dug around and dislodged all signs of sleep. She rolled off of her bedroll and deposited her blanket to the side. Last night was oddly chilly, therefore calling for the assistance of warm material.
She had tossed and turned throughout the night, worrying whether or not her captive would run off. How could he free himself in his current condition though? He was wounded not only on his stomach (inflicted by none other than Lenz) but he had also been punched in the face and forced to walk whilst he was wavering between the realm of rem sleep and reality.
It must have been difficult for him.
After tying him to a tree with thick rope using a mediocre knot, she had felt satisfied with her work. There was no need to fret; everything would end up okay.
However, she couldn’t help but squirm from underneath the covers and writhe at the possibility of letting such a pathetic excuse of a life out on the streets again. Who knows what would happen to her if her superior found out?
What would happen to her if that man came back to avenge his ego? She would be stalking the streets with paranoia licking her heels and that was something that chilled her right to the bone.
After she had ripped the blankets off of her legs, she stood up and stepped outside only to have her concern dissipate entirely. The man still sat slumped over just as he had been the afternoon before.
Placated with all she had gone through, she stepped back into the tent to see how her companion was doing.
Upon first glance, Lenz noticed a small but purple and green bruise flawing the space right above his right eyebrow. It looked like it would burn during contact. Because she was a child and wished to alleviate herself from all hurt cast down onto herself, she lifted her finger and pressed on the wound.
Twig’s eyes shot open before narrowing at the impact of such deleterious sensations. He murmured what Lenz assumed was an ‘ow’ before rolling on his side to face his master more forwardly.
Almost as if all recollection came back to his in a crash of thunder or a wave of salty water, he dragged his arm upwards and began to examine the laceration he had received the day prior.
It was covered in soft fabric and he only dared to peek underneath it. It was sown together and only a thin line of blood had dried trying to flee from the inside. He squinted his eyes slightly, his eyebrows descending into a look of honest confusion.
Then did he look up at his enslaver.
“Did ya-“
“I did,” she stated, finishing his sentence before he had time to say the words. She nodded her head, slipping the bandage back over the wound, concealing the gruesome sight from the world around them.
“You’re welcome,” she muttered.
“What happened to the man?” he asked suddenly. “What about the little girl?”
His accent was causing a turmoil of scathing awareness. It was partially high pitched at the end of every other word and it melted the first layer of rime that shrouded her heart.
She blinked rapidly. Lenz adjusted her position beside her slave and narrowed her eyes. She glared into his face, trying to win some dominance over the intimidating expression she was portraying.
He shrunk back slightly, his eyebrows growing upwards rather than downwards until he looked like a frightened chipmunk having been chased by wild dogs.
“You almost had yourself killed,” she mentioned using a very brutal tone. “I had to carry the both of you back here before stitching up that wound-“ she pointed to his hand –“and tying the chubby prick to the tree over there-“ she pointed outside the tent towards a somber man’s captivity.
“I think I deserve more than a simple apology,” she said insidiously. “After I am through with this brute, you will earn what you rightfully deserve, understand?”
Twig nodded his head vigorously.
“Good, now get up and help me with some unfinished business,” she said as she hopped to her feet.
She noticed that Twig was a little slower. He clutched his hand and rose very slowly, grimacing at pain he couldn’t find. It littered his body and formulated tormented sensors on his forehead, his legs, his hand and even his stomach.
He didn’t know where to look to put an end to his suffering, but he knew that if he let his master down again, he would repeat the punishment that he already knew was coming for him. He stood up quicker, earning himself a light headed experience.
Finally after managed to find his footing, he trailed Lenz out of the tent.
The two of them found themselves standing before one of the gods’ greatest mistakes; a disaster of incorrigible promise. She rolled her eyes as the man glanced up at her.
He looked like a sad child having lost both of his parents by the hands of a serial killer. She scoffed, taking her hand and slapping him across his face. Twig reacted with a cringe, unaware that she was already starting in on the torture for the day.
She lifted up her leg and held it against the thug’s throat, focusing all her attention on her balance as she lifted her leg higher and higher until it was almost level with her own neck. The man had gone from his rear to his knees in a flash as he struggled to breathe.
Lenz would not cease to show her superiority. She was the leader of this interrogation and baneful vexation. He was squirming from under her weight, but this newly conjured torture technique was proving rather fondly.
It was hilarious to see such a pathetic human being struggle and fidget such as he was. Finally, she stopped, dropping her foot and turning to give Twig a latent sign of approval.
He hadn’t asked her to stop and he hadn’t said anything to interrupt her procedure. She was grateful for this and so was Twig. Had he have spoken up, he would have earned a lashing across the back by an object of his name’s nature.
“Are you ready?” she asked both me.
Twig nodded earnestly and the creep on the ground only moaned.
