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31_days2012-01-21 11:41 am
metallikirk.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2012-01-21 11:41 am
January 21st (The Chronicles of Riddick) At the Hands of a Necromonger
Title: At the Hands of a Necromonger
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
metallikirk
Fandom: The Chronicles of Riddick
Characters: Vaako, unnamed merc
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 886 words
Warnings: sustained tension
Summary: A Necromonger never talks under duress.
Author’s Notes: Written for the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
31_days January 21st prompt : he takes the pain with his coffee
Vaako’s eyes cracked open, dark irises taking only seconds to focus and find purchase upon his surroundings. His back straightened, limbs bound to the leaking wall behind him. Everywhere was damp; every surface, every wall was covered in a fine sheen of water, while the smell of damp seeped through the air and assailed every sense that Vaako had.
He gritted his teeth, straining against his bonds in the hopes of freeing himself. The bonds, sharp-edged rope, bit into his wrists, causing curlicues of red to strain momentarily against his pale skin. A trickle of a growl seeped between his lips, yet it was to no avail; his captors were almost too good at bonds, preventing one such as he from immediately breaking loose. Given time, a Necromonger could break through pretty much everything if he put his mind to it.
All was silent, as he began bunching his muscles, leaning forward and straining against his bonds. He felt the fibres in the rope begin to stretch and fray, loosening against his skin before they began to snap. He kept working at his bonds, almost freeing himself until the lock to his cell door snapped open, heavy wooden barrier creaking open.
“Release me,” he growled , when a figure became silhouetted in the doorway.
“I don’t think that that is an option, do you?” an unfamiliar voice said, as a man that Vaako did not know stepped into the dim lighting of the cell.
Despite the man being a stranger to Vaako, the Necromonger knew well his type. The man was a merc, someone who took money for people’s heads and lives. He knew that if he was free, he could easily take on any number of mercs on his own and still succeed. Even though his wrists were bound, his still unbound feet could prove to be his greatest weapon right now. He wondered then if Riddick knew where he was. As if the thought of Riddick had started off a new line of investigation, the merc stopped in front of Vaako and spoke of him.
“You’re Riddick’s pet Necromonger, aren’t you?” the man asked, with a leer.
Vaako didn’t reply. Instead, he glared hatred at the other man, willing his body into a false sense of relaxation, a relaxation that could be dropped at a second’s notice into a flurry of activity. All he had to do was wait for the right moment to strike.
“Where is he?” the merc continued, as though Vaako had, indeed, responded to his satisfaction.
Again, Vaako didn’t reply, a glower clear upon his face, brows pulled low over stormy dark eyes. His skin looked paler in the meagre light, seeming to shine and stand out in contrast to the dark circles that ringed his eyes and his gaze itself.
“I can make you talk,” the merc said, as he flashed a knife into Vaako’s face, making sure that the Necromonger’s eyes tracked every last movement.
“Doubtful,” Vaako said, taking little notice of the blade as the light refracted from its surface to play against his skin. “I’m a Necromonger, idiot. I take pain with my coffee every morning.”
The merc laughed, as a sudden doubtful desperation came into his eyes, while the Necromonger stared him down. There was no fear in Vaako’s expression, only anticipation of pain yet to come. Being a Necromonger, Vaako had long since become inured to pain, often looking forward to it to see if he could withstand it, displace it with another pain of his own making. He thrived for pain, and was often a good solider for Riddick, because he could withstand so much more than the average human.
“I will not tell you where he is,” Vaako said. “Not even under pain of death.”
“You make that sound like a promise,” the merc said.
“It is,” Vaako replied, coldly.
He didn’t move, body relaxed and innocuous, head lowered slightly to stare at the other man from beneath lowered brows. The merc actually stepped back half a pace, alarmed by the sudden feral look that stole over Vaako’s face.
“Release me,” Vaako said. “It will do you no good either way to allow me to remain here.”
“No,” the merc said, half turning away, body tense as if to run.
“Release me,” Vaako demanded again, foot lashing out to catch the other man heftily in the shin.
He strained forward, hands bunching into fists as he felt the last of his bonds splinter and fray, giving way beneath the full weight and strength of a Necromonger. His hands were soon freed, long before the merc managed to reach the door to attain his freedom. Vaako reached him, door slamming closed now with the force of the Necromonger pushing the other man up against it. Vaako leant his full weight against the merc’s back, effectively trapping him between his own body and the solid weight of the door.
“I will never betray Riddick,” Vaako growled into his ear, hot breath blasting against the side of the merc’s face. “And nothing, no amount of torture, will ever make me talk.”
The merc closed his eyes and screamed for help, knowing that it was already too late for him. He knew that he would never survive at the hands of an angry Necromonger.
~~ the end ~~
Author:
metallikirkFandom: The Chronicles of Riddick
Characters: Vaako, unnamed merc
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 886 words
Warnings: sustained tension
Summary: A Necromonger never talks under duress.
Author’s Notes: Written for the
31_days January 21st prompt : he takes the pain with his coffeeVaako’s eyes cracked open, dark irises taking only seconds to focus and find purchase upon his surroundings. His back straightened, limbs bound to the leaking wall behind him. Everywhere was damp; every surface, every wall was covered in a fine sheen of water, while the smell of damp seeped through the air and assailed every sense that Vaako had.
He gritted his teeth, straining against his bonds in the hopes of freeing himself. The bonds, sharp-edged rope, bit into his wrists, causing curlicues of red to strain momentarily against his pale skin. A trickle of a growl seeped between his lips, yet it was to no avail; his captors were almost too good at bonds, preventing one such as he from immediately breaking loose. Given time, a Necromonger could break through pretty much everything if he put his mind to it.
All was silent, as he began bunching his muscles, leaning forward and straining against his bonds. He felt the fibres in the rope begin to stretch and fray, loosening against his skin before they began to snap. He kept working at his bonds, almost freeing himself until the lock to his cell door snapped open, heavy wooden barrier creaking open.
“Release me,” he growled , when a figure became silhouetted in the doorway.
“I don’t think that that is an option, do you?” an unfamiliar voice said, as a man that Vaako did not know stepped into the dim lighting of the cell.
Despite the man being a stranger to Vaako, the Necromonger knew well his type. The man was a merc, someone who took money for people’s heads and lives. He knew that if he was free, he could easily take on any number of mercs on his own and still succeed. Even though his wrists were bound, his still unbound feet could prove to be his greatest weapon right now. He wondered then if Riddick knew where he was. As if the thought of Riddick had started off a new line of investigation, the merc stopped in front of Vaako and spoke of him.
“You’re Riddick’s pet Necromonger, aren’t you?” the man asked, with a leer.
Vaako didn’t reply. Instead, he glared hatred at the other man, willing his body into a false sense of relaxation, a relaxation that could be dropped at a second’s notice into a flurry of activity. All he had to do was wait for the right moment to strike.
“Where is he?” the merc continued, as though Vaako had, indeed, responded to his satisfaction.
Again, Vaako didn’t reply, a glower clear upon his face, brows pulled low over stormy dark eyes. His skin looked paler in the meagre light, seeming to shine and stand out in contrast to the dark circles that ringed his eyes and his gaze itself.
“I can make you talk,” the merc said, as he flashed a knife into Vaako’s face, making sure that the Necromonger’s eyes tracked every last movement.
“Doubtful,” Vaako said, taking little notice of the blade as the light refracted from its surface to play against his skin. “I’m a Necromonger, idiot. I take pain with my coffee every morning.”
The merc laughed, as a sudden doubtful desperation came into his eyes, while the Necromonger stared him down. There was no fear in Vaako’s expression, only anticipation of pain yet to come. Being a Necromonger, Vaako had long since become inured to pain, often looking forward to it to see if he could withstand it, displace it with another pain of his own making. He thrived for pain, and was often a good solider for Riddick, because he could withstand so much more than the average human.
“I will not tell you where he is,” Vaako said. “Not even under pain of death.”
“You make that sound like a promise,” the merc said.
“It is,” Vaako replied, coldly.
He didn’t move, body relaxed and innocuous, head lowered slightly to stare at the other man from beneath lowered brows. The merc actually stepped back half a pace, alarmed by the sudden feral look that stole over Vaako’s face.
“Release me,” Vaako said. “It will do you no good either way to allow me to remain here.”
“No,” the merc said, half turning away, body tense as if to run.
“Release me,” Vaako demanded again, foot lashing out to catch the other man heftily in the shin.
He strained forward, hands bunching into fists as he felt the last of his bonds splinter and fray, giving way beneath the full weight and strength of a Necromonger. His hands were soon freed, long before the merc managed to reach the door to attain his freedom. Vaako reached him, door slamming closed now with the force of the Necromonger pushing the other man up against it. Vaako leant his full weight against the merc’s back, effectively trapping him between his own body and the solid weight of the door.
“I will never betray Riddick,” Vaako growled into his ear, hot breath blasting against the side of the merc’s face. “And nothing, no amount of torture, will ever make me talk.”
The merc closed his eyes and screamed for help, knowing that it was already too late for him. He knew that he would never survive at the hands of an angry Necromonger.
~~ the end ~~