Meet The Father
It was a change in Adrian that this job had brought about.
The first day he’d taken over as obshchak, Diell had taken him on a job just to make sure Adi could stomach it, and Adi’d barely managed to keep his lunch down when he looked at the corpse. Now, Adrian couldn’t have pulled his eyes away if he tried.
He watched, his own tongue running over his lips as he saw Diell split the skin of his tongue, cutting through the papillae to the flesh below. Taking his time. He watched as the muscle fibers broke almost like he was being hypnotized, but that wasn’t it at all. The way the blood pooled over Diell’s fingers, staining those gloves that had seen so much bloodshed, had Adi’s heart pumping in his chest and there was an intensity in his gaze as he swallowed back something akin to excitement, burying it in the pit of his stomach. He had never wanted someone dead as much as this. He had never wanted to see anyone tortured, or to watch Diell tear someone limb from limb as badly as he did right now.
The only thing that could have torn his eyes away from Fontenot was what happened next: Diell standing up, dragging the man to his feet with him. No. Diell was most certainly not an animal. It was like they had both discussed once: they were Gods. Diell was a god of wrath, and vengance and violence. Perfect in his motions, and in his hatred, and though he couldn’t have loved him any more than he already did, it blossomed in him at the hatred he saw in Diell’s eyes. It wouldn’t be the first time they tortured and killed for each other, and yet this felt much more personal. Much more intense.
“Should we cauterize that? Keep him from bleeding out too quickly?”
This was Diell’s specialty; Adrian didn’t quite know where to draw the lines. He didn’t know what would keep the man in front of them, still trying to beg, and praying and bowing his head in an effort to reach the father in heaven, to stop these men that he saw as devils, alive. But he knew it wouldn’t end yet. It couldn’t. There was still so much left to do.
“Oh, I have plenty of ideas. But I think we should build up to them.” Adi stepped forward, walking behind the chair and rested his forearms over the Father’s shoulders, settling his mouth right next to the Father’s ear, and turned his head towards him just little bit, giving a grin as if the Father was a co-conspirator in this, as opposed to a victim, and to a large extent, that was how Adrian saw him; none of this would be happening if it weren’t for the Father’s own actions. “What about you, Pere? Any ideas? From what I remember, you’re pretty good at torture.”
But then an idea hit him, and he gave a smirk and raised an eyebrow, his mouth open just slightly at the idea of what he had in mind, and a wicked sort of look in his eyes when he quirked a brow at Diell. If there was one thing Adrian was good at, it was thinking up creative forms of torture. ”Actually, I think we should be fair.” He said, pulling himself up from the chair, and walking over to Diell’s little table of toys, and picking up a box of nails and screws. Why Diell had those, he hadn’t yet begun to imagine, but they’d work perfectly for his own purposes. His fingertips ran over the box for a moment, and then he picked it up, turning back around to Diell.
“Let him up, love. And unchain him.” He moved forwards, not too far in front of the chair, and dumped about half of the nails down on the floor, creating a nice, beautiful carpet. ”We need to give him a chance to confess.” A pen and paper were tossed in front of the nails almost just as quickly. It was a pen that would probably ultimately just wind up jammed inside the father somewhere; Adi wouldn’t want it back after the man had touched it, but that didn’t matter, he was more than willing to give up a few things to get this retribution. The condescending sort of tone in his voice as he mockingly said: “After all, it’s only the Christian thing to do,” would have been impossible to miss. It brought back memories for Adrian. Memories he’d never even shared with Diell.
Memories of cowering inside a confessional, and having the Father ask him to confess his sins. Of Adrian confessing all the other things he could think of, and trying to leave it there. Until the Father prodded It was like he’d gotten a sick sort of enjoyment in hearing Adi repeat what he’d done aloud.
“Anything else, my child? You must be sure, Adrian. If you don’t admit your sins, the Father cannot forgive you.”
Even the memory was enough to make him nearly sick to his stomach. He’d cried almost every time.
“Y-yes father. I.. I have committed sodomy.”
He could no longer even comprehend the fear that’d brought in him, considering the amount of satisfaction he now found in his sodomous lifestyle, and yet at the time it’d seemed the worst thing in the world; it might have been easier to confess to murder.
“Oh. Oh dear, child. I will have to pray over that one; that is not something the Father easily forgives. Have you told anyone?”
“No.”
“Good. Good. Let us pray over it, and we will see if the Father can find forgiveness for you. But you must be willing to forsake yourself, Adrian, if you are to have any chance.”
His smirk turned rather awful as he waited for Diell to put him down in the nails, and he raised an eyebrow at the Father as he knelt on the nails, their sharp edges digging into his knees and tearing at the flesh. ”And we’ll see if we can find any forgiveness for you.” He repeated the words he’d heard so often, but he already knew the answer: There would be no forgiveness for Father Fontenot. No matter how large his eyes got when he realized exactly what Adrian was doing, and he tried to continue with his prayers and his begging, a useless task without a tongue to form the words.
Adrian laughed.
Violence, blood, torture - this was Diell's area of expertise, something he had been preternaturally good at from even a very young age. He didn't question himself in this anymore. There was no reason to. If there was a God, he was likely going to hell no matter what he did at this point. He might as well make the best of his 'talent', and if that meant doing this - if it meant bringing evil men to justice via his blade and bullets, he wasn't going to have any second thoughts. Right now, it was just him and his prey, and everything else got left by the wayside. He and Fontenot were the only things in the world - even Adrian was left out, at this point. Once the blood started flowing, it was hard to get him to slow down. It was damn near artful, the way he cut out his tongue, somehow making tiny chops and slices translate into one neat cut that severed the organ completely. Even through the flow of blood, he managed it perfectly, never once glancing up from his task. Only when he stood and dragged him back over to the chair did he finally spare a glance for Adrian, his dark pupils betraying him. Considering the question, he shrugged. "He won't bleed out for two, three more hours. Even if I cauterized it, he wouldn't last much longer than that." Always cold and practical, speaking from almost two decades of experience. No doubt that assured tone frightened the priest more than anything else. The father was, for his part, in a state of shock. Blood and spit dribbled from his mouth and stained down the front of his shirt, and his dull eyes were focused on the floor, near Diell's feet. He wasn't going to have long to be unresponsive, though - Diell needed him kicking and screaming again soon enough. Taking Adrian's cue, he leaned his hips against the table behind him, eyes heavy on the two of them. He'd never have guessed Adi would take up so swimmingly to torture, with the way he had first reacted to a dead body. The kid was a natural, even if he did prefer to leave Diell the dirty work. He didn't mind an inch. Especially not right now. This was Adrian's party, after all. While Adi tormented and mused, Diell just sat back and watched, taking a rag to wipe the gore from his gloves but not otherwise moving. Still impassive, he watched as his lover grabbed nails and paper, quickly getting to work on his little idea. As he realized just what he was doing, he snorted appreciatively, lips curling into a slightly sardonic smile. "You always were one for theatricality," He murmured fondly, finally moving forward to grab Fontenot by the shoulders and pull him up. A smooth motion later and the handcuffs dropped to the ground, to be retrieved later on. The Brit pressed close to the old man, looming over his unimposing frame as he walked him over to the bed of nails. "Isn't my Adrian so clever? I'm only sad because I feel certain he captured his mean streak from you. I hear you were quite clever with your torture, as well," He whispered, voice quickly building up to a snarl as he forced him down on his knees, steel hands on his shoulders ensuring he wasn't getting up any time soon. "Time to repent, Father. List your sins before God and all else, tell the world what you've done. See if the world has enough pity to stop me."
