THE WICKED AND WILD WIND

[PANTHEA AVE VERYN]

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Panthea stared at her ceiling listening to the sounds coming in from her open window, frown creasing up her brow as idle thoughts crossed her mind. It’d been a while since she found herself laying restlessly in bed bored out of her wits. She needed something, to do something, and she really wasn’t fussy about what it was or who it was to. Pushing herself up slightly she looked around the darkened room, fingers drumming on the quilt cover. She looked tired and yet the sparkle in her eyes showed her to be wide awake. Pursing her lips she gave going down to the barracks a long hard think. They were always entertaining when they tried not to whimper even more so when they did but then again going down there wouldn’t have been the best idea. If hell had a look about it or at least for individual people her’s would’ve been the barracks; dirty, stinking and shared not only by heaven knows how many slaves but rats too and Thea hated them. She could’ve lived with everything else save for those rotten creatures. She then thought of the others, the ones she kept semi clean and the ones she did take care of unfortunately there was only one. One pathetic excuse for a human being Panthea mercilessly tormented and played with day in, day out.

Efrain was favoured, of course, though most wouldn’t think he was treated any differently. Her abuse, however violent, wasn’t as severe but he was dear to her. Panthea didn’t understand the concept of friends in any case she didn’t have any anyway; most people were mere stepping stones to her ultimate goal of claiming the throne for herself but there was a small amount of respect for the slave boy. She liked the way he’d rat the others out to her so she could punish them, she liked the way he showed his devotion and, however brief the moments were, her touches were tenderly placed; a pat on the shoulder, a stroke of his cheek. Simple yet remarkably uncharacteristic for the bitter Queen and a sure sign that there was still some form of humanity left in her cold heart. These moments were few and far between and more often than not the only touch he received from her was a stinging backhand across his face or her gripping him by the ear and kicking the back of his knees so he’d fall to the ground. A normal person would’ve been horrified but not Thea, Thea couldn’t see anything wrong with it and he never complained. Rolling over in her bed blue eyes watched the moon being smothered by smoky clouds the pitter patter of feet easily heard in the silence of her pretend slumber. The rain usually helped her sleep and yet tonight it didn’t aid her in drifting off only bothered her more than she already was.

Pushing back the covers she got out of bed sending the moon a scathing look of contempt. It wasn’t that late really but she’d retired earlier than she typically did to avoid being around certain people who thought they were doing Panthea a courtesy by prattling on about scandalous gossip; it wasn’t enjoyed, it wasn’t appreciated and she was sure she’d have their tongues if it continued. Throwing her nightgown over the chair she frowned “Efrain!” Nothing, her voice wasn’t loud enough “Efrain!” that would do it, her shrieking was enough to wake a dragon. Grabbing a plain looking gown hung up she slipped it on over her head and fastened it around her waist, nimble fingers tugging at the ribbons “oh, where are you?” Thea sighed remembering sending him off to work before she’d entered her room. Plucking down her cloak she left her room in a swirl of stiff fabric. The Queen’s favourite pastime, if you listened to rumours, was abusing her slaves but for that to have been the case she’d have had to thought about doing it which she didn’t really most of the time it came naturally; a shove here, a slap there; it was effortless and consistent.

Hurrying down the steps the brunette beauty threw her cloak around her shoulders keeping her eyes peeled for the big eared boy “Efrain?” He was the only one that knew about these trips since none of the others could be trusted “I’ll flog you myself if you don’t come out” oh, and she would only this time there’d be a valid reason for her brutality.

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WORD COUNT • • SEVEN FIVE FOUR
TAGGING • • CORZA/EFRAIN
LISTENING TO • • NOTHING
WEARING • • HERE
MUSE • • SHIT
NOTES • • IT'LL GET BETTER YOU KNOW ME
CREDIT • • ME

[efrain]

Efrain rarely left his mistress's side. Even at night when she was asleep in her bed he always slept as close to her as possible, on the floor at the foot of her bed, or, on nights he was out of her favor or she required privacy, right outside her door, waiting in case she awoke and called out for him to do something for her, calling out for him, perhaps even letting his unworthy name fall from her lips. But tonight he was not at either of his usual posts, tonight he wasn't able to hear her get out of bed. Tonight he was hard at work, obeying commands she had given to him hours before, scrubbing her personal bathing room spotless.

Earlier, she had been furious to see it was less than spotless, hitting the slave girl, who's sole duty was keeping it shining like new, hard enough she fell to the ground, landing as all the slaves were taught to, face first and without trying to soften the landing. As a result, her nose hit the ground hard, breaking with an audible snap and the blood started seeping immediately. As the blood pooled, his mistress had raged, about the filth, about the blood, about how none of her slaves, other than him, was capable of doing more than taking out shit. She spat on the girl as she said it, summoning another slave to take away, sneering at the “pile of filth” soiling her private bath. Once the body was removed, however, she turned to him, still fuming, and grabbed his ear. She pinched it hard and painfully as she whispered to him the things she would do if it wasn't sparkling, gleaming, every surface clean enough that she could see her reflection in it. Until sunrise, she had given him, to have it finished, done completely, or he would feel her wrath like he hadn't in ages.

After she had left, he had been working non-stop, stripping off his nice tunic and breeches before getting down to work. Every surface was scrubbed down and re-scrubbed, every minute speck of grime removed from anywhere he could reach. He worked until his muscles ached, and then stopped his scrubbing and got the polish. Every surface would gleam, every surface would shine, and, in every shining surface, the face of his mistress would be reflected in all it's beauty. It was exhausting work, especially when it was already late before they had gone to inspect it, but it was well worth it to know she would be pleased, perhaps even smile at him for a job well done. Perhaps, he dared to think to himself as he began putting away the supplies he had used, she would even say his voice, ever so softly, with a phrase like “good boy” whispered into his ear. Oh, that would be bliss, to hear his name spoken softly on the lips of his mistress, the dark angel.

It seemed merely the thought of her voice beckoned it to echo down a hall, shrieking, calling out for him. Only her voice could be the one he could hear calling out his name, only her voice was so melodious, marvelous, and lovely. Only hers could be so high and shrieking he was wide awake once more in an instant. Only hers was filled with such venom in so few syllables, so many threats that were unspoken, heard only in the tones under what she said that his feet moved ever faster to get to her side so he could serve. Only one person had a voice that did such amazing things to his body with a few choice words in the right tone of voice. Tension and fear coiled in his spine as he hurried on his way to her, tripping over his feet as he pulled on his breeches, securing the belt firmly before he began to struggle with the tunic. “Yes, Mistress, I am coming!” he tried to call out, finding himself breathless as he went, following her melodious shrieks to where she was. Perhaps she wouldn't beat him for being unable to answer her calls when he arrived their breathless. Perhaps, but he knew at the very least he could expect being boxed around the ears for making her wait at all.

Just the thought of her cursing him as she punished him for his crime sent a shiver down his spine, the droplets of sweat on his thin body turning cold from more than just the wind from his rush as he tugged the tunic over his head at last, falling and scraping his knees a little in his hurry to get to her. It was such a thrill, receiving punishment from her hands, he loved it, seeing the look on her face as he cried out in pain, he loved it so much seeing her with such a pleased emotion on her face. And yet, always he felt every blow, every sting of the whip or her hand. He never shed tears to try and give her that look, no, she got that look from his very real pain, and that was what he gave her. He never cried out unless it hurt, he never whimpered unless it was real. Nothing less than what was real for his mistress, nothing less than his all for her.

Finally, he reached where he knew she was going to be. At the bottom of the stairs, waiting, ready to go on a midnight ride in the rain. A little secret for just him and her, something only he was privy to, these rides at night when his mistress's sleep was troubled. As he came before her, he immediately fell to the ground at her feet, not even daring to glance up at her perfect visage. “Mistress, please, I have heard your call, I have come. I am sorry I was not able to be before you as the first gentle tolls of your voice reached my ears. Please, if you think punishment is due, let it come. Your will, Mistress, let it be done with me.” his head stayed bowed at her feet as he took deep breaths, calming his rapidly beating heart as he prepared himself for whatever punishment she saw fit to give him. For he would be punished, he knew he would. He deserved it. It was his duty to always be prepared to do whatever she bid him do, and finishing a task now less than most important was not more important than whatever new task she had for him. Especially not when it was something such as this. So important, so secret, something she always trusted him to do and only him. He had disappointed her by not being ready in time, he knew it, the fact he hadn't come when she first called, that alone was enough he wondered if perhaps he would be stripped and flogged before they went riding. For whatever his punishment, he knew she would punish him and then they would continue with what she had wanted him for in the first place. It was just how things went, it was the way things were. He could expect no less from her, his mistress, his dark angel.

WORDS: 1219
TAGS: Thea/mistress/dark angel
WEARING: slave clothes <.<
MUSE: guess
NOTES: holy fuck, how'd I do that?

[PANTHEA AVE VERYN]

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Ah yes, she'd set him to work cleaning with the demand of it being spotless burned into his brain before she'd retired. That was a good hour for Thea she'd managed, without a lot of effort, to crack a slave's nose on the stone floor and make her bleed. Fantastic fun! Only not really the damn girl had the audacity to bleed over her floor and sniffle her way through a poor apology. Thea couldn't even remember what she'd done in the first place only that her nose had popped and she'd ordered Efrain to clean. What was the point in dwelling over blood? None. Pandora would've been different, Pandora would've waved a handkerchief in the air and dabbed the slave's nose, she'd have pranced about waving her arms around, smiling at everyone while fairies and birds fluttered around her bloody hair in a merry old dance. She hated her sister, hated everything she was, everything she stood for, and by God did it make her feel sick to her stomach when she thought about it. Rolling her eyes dismissively she looked around again as she heard him coming her way. This would be good, this would put a smile on her face.

Maybe.
Probably not.

For Panthea to crack a smile something had to be suffering and Efrain wasn't suffering. Yet.

He'd have been a fool not to have expected something from her and the first blow came from her hand. A glass shattering slap landed across his right cheek the sound of her soft hand on his flushed cheek echoing around the stone walls like a bull whip cracking "don't speak as if you're giving me permission, Efrain, you unworthy little sod. You are late" and he'd be getting a plentiful helping of what she thought he deserved. Thea was a cruel woman and far more twisted that her perfect sister and she often wondered what made him, Efrain, remain so loyal to her and that he was she wouldn't deny it. Efrain was the closest thing Panthea had to a friend in her eyes (not that she wanted them of course) and his alliance to her remained unaltered even after so many lashings and spiteful actions. Carefully she twisted the ring on her finger around the right way looking down on him coldly; that certainly wasn't enough to satisfy her vicious desires. Partially aware that her horse remained standing in the rain she placed her foot over his hand and crouched down putting as much pressure onto his hand as she could possibly muster. Panthea didn't have the look of a bar wench she was tall, thin and remarkably lithe for a woman her age and she knew for a fact that if she were heavier this would have brought more happiness but alas it didn't. Her tongue was as acidic as they come and nearly always left a gash in somebody's pride after she'd spoken to them and this didn't lessen when it came to her slaves.

Sure, they didn't deserve the effort and hell half of them had trouble handling her when she was having an off day - not that Thea had many - but there was something about her whether it be her, her tone, her actions, reputation or all of it combined but she was a woman that was growing more and more renowned for her treatment above anything else. Licking her lips she leaning in close to his ear, lip twitching as she sneered, "stay put. Move an inch and I'll have you strung up like the rest of them" it wasn't a threat she used with him. What she was referring to was stringing him up by his ankles and beating him for a week without food, the only sort of liquid touching his lips being when he had no choice but to relieve himself on himself; most died and few were in any sort of shape for work afterward but done of them went against her again; their spirits and bodies too damn broken to resist her orders. It wasn't exactly the 'good boy' he was probably hoping for but she didn't care, Panthea never cared unless it was to do with herself then she cared, then Thea was interested if it benefited her, if it gained her something she wanted. Nobody else mattered in Panthea's world save for 'me, myself and I' and that was the mantra she lived by.

Selfish, cold hearted, self centered bitch with a false title.

Her horse beat it's hooves on the cobbled stone as she closed in on it, hand lightly brushing over it's neck as she settled it down her hurried whispers reaching it's flickering ears adoringly. A creature such as this earned her respect as she gazed upon it's beauty and to anyone else it would've been strange that she could give it to an animal but not a person, not a human being that waited on her hand and foot. Stepping around it she touched the leather of her saddle and pulled free a short, but fairly thick considering what it was used for, whip. The slap wouldn't be anything less than foreplay by her standards tonight and when she was finished she'd expect him to get up, get on a horse and ride out with her across the land until the sun peeked over the hilltops and the wild wind settled down permitting her to crawl back into her bed and sleep off the day until she could bother Fabian. Fucking Fabian thought she was stupid, thought she didn't realise he was nailing his former whore, thought she'd overlook it simply because the sex was good - the sex wasn't that great, and neither was he but for now she was putting up with it simply because there was nobody else around that could treat her body how she wanted it to be treated. Panthea wasn't about pillow talk, she wasn't about tender touches; if it wasn't rough, it wasn't worth her time. Slapping the whip into her open palm she found herself back in front of Efrain looking down on him yet again like he was scum she'd just scraped off her shoe "you moved" she hissed out her accusation knowing he hadn't at all "you insolent boy! You moved when I told you not to" Wham! The whip came down on his back "have you suddenly gone deaf? Were my words not clear enough?" Wallop! It came down a second time "well, boy? Answer me!" she didn't give him a chance to as the sturdy instrument pelted several times on him each one getting more and more heavy handed. She honestly didn't want answers from him she wanted tears, blood, she wanted sweat to seep through his pores as he strained to keep his screams locked within his chest.

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WORD COUNT • • ONE ONE FOUR OH
TAGGING • • CORZA/EFRAIN
LISTENING TO • • NOTHING
WEARING • • HERE
MUSE • • >.>
NOTES • • >.>
CREDIT • • ME