BELLUM NOVA WAREHOUSE / TWENTY-EIGHTH OF JANUARY / @lgriffiths
TORTURE MENTION TW
Once-sterile warehouse is turned into the scene of a crime, bloody and sweaty and ripe with the smell of human desperation in air; when death settles in a room, a stench comes along with it, stays long after soul and body leave to wherever their final destination is. The eldest Warden is more than familiar with this sensation, hot, red spatter across face, grime and blood caked under nails, the hardening knowledge that these two hands of yours hurt people, willingly or unwillingly. To be a Warden is to take pride in that pain; there’s nothing like murder to bring two warring siblings together. Even as fingernails come off one by one, teeth pulled, body bloodied and bruised by both Remus and Juno, there is no information offered. Their freaky little fucking skull tattoos stick out like sore thumbs to Remus, though, along with that cool smile and lips shut tight. Despite he and Juno’s combined efforts, their seal of silence remains; no, these people are serious, whoever they are, these two stalkers no run of the mill London perverts.
With Juno gone to clean herself off, quietly collect her thoughts and likely jostled temperament, it’s Remus who’s left to deal with the aftermath ( truth be told, he prefers it this way ). Not tasked to handle the cleanup, luckily, but the delegating, the paperwork, the behind the scenes strings-pulling that gets corpses lost in the Thames. They have men for the actual clean up: a phone call to Liam brings War Power right over — the benefit of paying your lackeys well is that they answer your call at any hour. Not that he isn’t used to the odd work schedule at this point, with work at both the Ritz and within War keeping him busy, busy, busy well into the night, but there’s no real choice when Seraphim calls.
It must be a sight to see: the normally clean-pressed, tailored-suit ( armed with stain stick in pocket ) Remus Warden now blood covered and clearly exhausted. It’s been awhile since his hands have been this dirty, but isn’t that what Liam is for? The eldest Warden hears the distinct sound of warehouse door open, and Remus calls out to the Power — “back here.” He leans against the trunk of Juno’s Aston Martin, fiddling with cigarette pack in hand as he waits. “I appreciate you coming out,” Remus says truthfully, though this is more than a favour between friends. “It’ll be a quick job, just two. One in the trunk, dead six hours now,” he starts, patting the back of the car, “and the other over there,” he adds, throwing head towards a chair in the corner, body still tied to it. Remus lights the end of a cigarette. “Maybe thirty minutes gone.” He extends the pack to Liam. “Care for one?”
