Riot Kings, page 4E
abandoned comic sketch from ???
where was I going with this I need to know
{ Transcript in case you can't read my handwriting: "You're in the good timeline. You should be grateful. Imagine how much worse it could be." }
@whumptober Alt. 10: Shaking + Alt. 06: Playing Cards
cw: aftermath of whump
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When they're done with Wes, when his body is limp and trembling, they unchain Dan and drag him out of the cell. He asks them to let him check on the unconscious man, in a voice hoarse from screaming for them to stop, but they ignore him. He knows they're taking him to Swift.
Dan doesn't realize how cold the cell is until he's taken out of it, the warmer air of the hallway easing some of the tension out of him, though it's not enough to make a difference. Even with the men supporting him on either side, walking is difficult. His head throbs, and his legs shake with every step, threatening to give out. He's gone longer without food, longer without sleep, taken harder hits, but the combination of the three is hell on his body. It's a miracle he's still on his feet.
Mercury Swift is sitting at a table when they reach her, a pack of playing cards in hand. She doesn't even glance up as the men push Dan into the chair across from her, not bothering to restrain him before leaving the room. He knows why. All the assurance they need that he won't try anything is back in the cell.
"Are you ready to tell me your terms?" he asks once they're alone, but Swift acts as if she didn't hear, idly shuffling the cards from hand to hand. The movement looks bizarre; Dan never took her for the type of person who likes having fun.
At last her hands are still, and her gaze slides across the table to land on him. The look in her eyes is one of appraisal. Is she taking in the fresh bruises? The way he's gripping the table to stay upright?
"Do you play rummy?" she asks.
"Some," he replies, easing his forearms onto the table and leaning heavily on them. Better support. Less swaying. "What happens if I lose?"
"I'm not a gambler, Mr. Melchior," she says with a heavy sigh. "I only wanted some company. Maybe a challenge, if you're any good."
He won't let himself believe her. It'll be so much worse if he goes in expecting mercy; better to brace himself for the worst outcome. But he isn't going to turn down the game either, not when the alternative is probably returning to the cell for another twenty-four hours. "Then let's play."
Riot Kings, page 4D
Tag List:
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Riot Kings, page 3D
Tag List:
@appy-polly-loggies , @shydragonrider , @professional-idiocy , @burtlederp , @unicornscotty , @whumpwillow , @transjenderdeanjail , @bliss7575-blog , @grizzlie70 , @whatwhumpcomments , @madrono-but-i-am-not-a-fruit , @whumpzone ,. @maracujatangerine , @whump-em , @crystalquartzwhump , @outofangband , @onlywhump , @myst-in-the-mirror , @badluck990 , @kixngiggles , @whumpacabra , @whumpy-catfish , @throwawaywhumper @dont-touch-my-soup , @uvanuva , @kiichu , @dreamsofwhump , @valiantphantomturtle , @voidviewer-blog , @whumpsday , @kira-the-whump-enthusiast , @neverthelass , @poorlittlekittycat , @finaldreams1106 , @slimesheep , @redwhump , @apokolypses , @wolfeyedwitch , @emmanemanemm , @briars7 , @stuffmyfriendssay , @stuck-in-this-mortal-form , @whumpedydump , @fleur-alise , @basica11ywhumped , @hold-back-on-the-comfort , @withdrawingramen , @daddy-cowgirl-boots , @shywhumpauthor , @caughtinthera1n , @sodacreampuff ,
Riot Kings, pages 1D and 2D
Tag List:
@appy-polly-loggies , @shydragonrider , @professional-idiocy , @burtlederp , @unicornscotty , @whumpwillow , @transjenderdeanjail , @bliss7575-blog , @grizzlie70 , @whatwhumpcomments , @madrono-but-i-am-not-a-fruit , @whumpzone ,. @maracujatangerine , @whump-em , @crystalquartzwhump , @outofangband , @onlywhump , @myst-in-the-mirror , @badluck990 , @kixngiggles , @whumpacabra , @whumpy-catfish , @throwawaywhumper , @dont-touch-my-soup , @uvanuva , @kiichu , @dreamsofwhump , @valiantphantomturtle , @voidviewer-blog , @whumpsday , @kira-the-whump-enthusiast , @neverthelass , @poorlittlekittycat , @finaldreams1106 , @slimesheep , @redwhump , @apokolyps , @wolfeyedwitch , @emmanemanemm , @briars7 , @stuffmyfriendssay , @stuck-in-this-mortal-form , @whumpedydump , @fleur-alise , @basica11ywhumped , @hold-back-on-the-comfort , @withdrawingramen , @daddy-cowgirl-boots , @shywhumpauthor , @caughtinthera1n ,
cw: torture, psychological whump, violence
She chose the knife.
One of the men holding James clamped a hand over his mouth on Peter's orders, so he couldn't sway her decision. And she chose the knife.
He let out a muffled cry as Peter picked up the blade and pressed it into Jeddy's hand.
"Are you an artist, Esme?"
"No sir." Her voice was flat. Emotionless.
"What about writing then, do you know your letters?"
"I do, sir."
Peter left her standing there, wrenched James' right arm away from his side.
"Hold him down."
James was forced onto his stomach, one of the men digging a knee into his back. He cried out at the sudden pressure on his ribs.
Peter stretched his arm out.
"There we are. Now Esme, I'd like you to write your name."
"My name, sir?"
"Yes." He smiled. "I want you to carve it into his arm."
James thrashed, though he knew it was pointless. Peter had the power here. He could do whatever he wanted, including shatter one of his few remaining solaces.
Jeddy seemed frozen in place. "Sir, I-I can't."
"I'm sure you'll find that you can," Peter said, clapping her on the shoulder. "Now go on."
"Sir–" she stopped short as Peter leaned in.
"It's going to be either your name or mine, Esme. And only one of those choices ends with you still onboard. Do you understand?"
Jeddy clenched her jaw. "I… I understand."
She knelt beside James, as she'd often done before. Only this time she wasn't feeding him, wasn't cleaning a fresh cut. This time, she was the one who wielded the knife.
He understood, told himself he understood, though his chest hitched and he squirmed under the weight of the men in a weak attempt to get away.
It would happen either way.
It would happen either way, and at least this way, only one person had to hurt. Only him.
But why did it have to be her?
cw: psychological whump, hand whump (discussed, graphic)
For a few days, he was granted a reprieve.
No blows, no Peter, just soup and rest.
A brief period to heal, likely so his captor could send some new torture crashing onto him, but James was going to make the most of it.
He spent most of his time asleep, his body struggling to recover. On Jeddy's third visit since his last beating he was able to sit up again, feed himself again.
The men came back before long. He'd expected that. There was no way Peter would leave him alone forever. But instead of a rain of blows, they removed his chains, hauled him to his feet. His body was stiff, his legs refusing to support him as he was dragged up the narrow wooden staircase.
James' heart pounded, panic beginning to set in. What did they have in store for him now? Where were they taking him?
While he was almost excited about being brought up from the brig, from that darkness he'd been trapped in for so long, the fear of what came next outshone it.
Had Peter decided to kill him? If that was the case, he found himself surprisingly at ease with the idea of death. Just not the means of death. He knew Peter could drag it out, make it something terrible to even think about.
James was nearly blinded as they reached the deck, sunlight touching him for the first time in weeks. He blinked away the light, waited for his eyes to adjust, allowed himself to forget his situation for just a moment as he looked around, taking in The Scarlet Merry.
To Peter's credit, she was still in top shape, deck practically gleaming, blazing red sails standing out beautifully against a blue sky.
If he were to die today, at least he could see her in all of her glory one last time.
The water around the ship was a fine turquoise. Far ahead, he could see a mountain range that seemed to rise out of the sea, and just ahead of that, a rocky smaller island.
The cuts on his chest throbbed. They'd made it. Peter's island.
cw: violence, amputation aftermath, discussed eye whump (graphic)
A week passed, at least as far as James could tell. Jeddy was his sole visitor, bringing water and a thin soup, checking his wound and changing the bandages daily. When the pain had ebbed enough, James was able to take a more thorough stock of his situation.
His ankles were still cuffed together, a small link of chain between them, connected to a longer one spanning several feet and bolted to the wall. As if he could even stand on his own, much less try to run. The fever and lack of food had incapacitated him as well as any binding could, and even if the ship were docked and every restraint removed, he doubted he could even make it to the door.
Jeddy didn't speak much on her visits, only ever commenting on his condition. He didn't dare ask what Peter had in store for him, and even if he did, he wasn't sure she'd be able to answer. Peter was unpredictable. It was nearly impossible to pin down what he might be thinking at any given moment.
Even the mutiny had come out of nowhere. James hadn't been particularly close with his first mate, having appointed the other man due to his experience, and the fact that the other sailors were quick to do as he said. He should have been more wary of the latter fact, the detail that had been James' downfall. There had been no preamble, no murmurs of discontent. The traitors aboard The Scarlet Merry had simply sprung, outnumbering the loyal few, quickly overpowering their former captain and tossing him below.
If only he'd had just another instant of awareness of the plot. He could've fought back harder. They could've killed him, he could've escaped the pain, the dread he was currently stewing in.
The food Jeddy brought did little to help him regain his strength, and he couldn't even look at his arm without wanting to empty his stomach. He could feel the ghost of his left hand, nonexistent wounds still being dealt to the nonexistent appendage.
He was blinking away sleep when the door opened, but this time it wasn't Jeddy standing at the entrance.
It was Peter.
