I am of the opinion that Cazador held parties at his manor for the patriars of Baldur's Gate. If only to maintain appearances among the nobility. He'd only invite the most deranged or ones with a particular taste in entertainment. Maybe even conduct himself to their homes.
One of the main sources of entertainment for his guests or hosts over dinner would be throwing his spawn into cages. Force them to fight one another for a fresh rat or something equally rare for them to receive. Sometimes he'd spice it up and add in a monster or two.
The audience in attendance would gamble on their favorite spawn winning. The loser of said match would be thrown into the kennels for a tenday at least. The winners only got the comfort of a fresh animal to feast on.
Of course Cazador always knew who would win. He knew his spawn better than anyone. Even would alter the odds by having Godey beat the ones he wanted to lose the evening before.
— Damon was told about the 'visitor' by Whitmore the day before as the good ol' doctor cut the lungs from beneath his sternum and watched him die— repeatedly. The vampire would come in and out of consciousness to hearing about her. A nurse— assistant. He wondered how someone could go into such a profession just to torture the very beings they were meant to care for.
There had been mouthing off— as usual— Damon commenting that at least he'd have someone attractive to look at from then on.
That had earned a scalpel to his eyeball— such a favorite past time of good ol' Whitmore.
Evening came, the ration of blood having BARELY healed the bodily damage sustained the night before— which would start all over again soon enough. Enzo was still in the cell next door— which meant the Doc would come for him for the second night in a row.
And his assumption wasn't wrong.
It didn't take much to get him upstairs with how weak he was from the vervain and blood loss but as soon as Damon saw that damnable operating table he couldn't suppress the urge to struggle— and like most nights Whitmore was predicting what he'd do and the syringe of vervain with its razor's kiss of a sharp needle would find itself plunged into the side of his neck.
Lights out... only to wake strapped to the gurney.
The only difference? This time Katherine was there to greet him.
❝ K-Katherine? ❞ Damon whispered in disbelief— as if he'd seen a ghost— his brows furrowing in pained confusion above impossibly wide eyes. ❝ I don't... I don't understand. What the hell is going on? ❞
Pale hues slid to the doctor who was preparing some sort of colored fluid in a glass syringe with a wickedly long needle that caused the vampire to swallow thickly and the futile struggling to begin. Normally he had more composure, more defiance, but with her there... Damon fell apart emotionally and couldn't maintain the sarcastic and glib attitude he usually sported— especially when the scalpel came into play.
Relief of being rescued only to find out the person who claimed to love you clearly hated you and didn’t care at all.
No matter how much he begged... she wouldn't so much as budge to help him yet she looked on all the while. Watched. Assisted. ALLOWED Whitmore to finally silence him in such a manner that any cries or words would be as faint as the kisses of a ghost once he cut his vocal chords from his throat.
Eventually, the darkness came— lace moth wings— blackened with the soot of unconsciousness came to soothingly flutter against the edges of his vision and then the pain floated away as it swallowed him up.
Next thing Damon knew he was back in his cell. Enzo was gone— he could hear his screams upstairs— and Katherine was sitting in a chair outside of his cell with a clipboard in hand while he gazed out at her from where he lay on the concrete floor, betrayal, and agony— worse than what the physical pain of Whitmore's experiments could have inflincted— projected back at her from Damon's cerulean hues.
Why?
He couldn't say it yet, not having had the blood to heal the grievous wounds to regrow the ability to speak— but his pale eyes spoke the question just as clear as any word could have been said aloud along with the tears pooling in their depths. Why? What did I do?
[I am currently in a roleplay that deals with potentially triggering content: ie pedophilia. I will be tagging each and every post with Tw:kidnapping and tw:pedophillia/tw implied pedophillia. Make sure to Tumblr Savior it and I will do my part by tagging and using a read more.
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Riven walked in the courtyard of Noxus alone, the day grew to be cloudy, she hoped for rain. As she entered one of the hallways she stopped in her tracks, her back stiffened and her feet felt locked in place. Her heart immediately began to beat rapidly. She could hear it in her ears.
Singed stood before her. In her city, in her home. One could hardly tell if he was smiling but Riven could feel his sick expression locked onto her.
She didn’t have her blade, she needed her blade, touching him is damn near impossible. That weak looking body was just for show, he experimented on himself enough to do things superhuman.
He walked towards her, arms out wide and a welcoming manner. Riven felt sick to her stomach, she couldn’t move. No strategy to get away to came to mind. A deer in headlights, she felt powerless.
“My exile, or should I say my redeemed? It has been so long, I’m glad to see you still living.” He put a hand to his chest, “Really I am.” At this point he was standing right over her. She couldn’t do a thing, she was weak.
“I-I am not yours,” her voice trembled out. She was trembling, she showed weakness.
“Oh my sweet Riven, but you are.” He immediately threw his hand up and took her neck. She gasped and tried to pull his arm away put she couldn’t his was...stronger than her. She felt so weak.
He lifted her from the ground and carried her over to the wall, held her there and laughed. She tried to kick him away, but it did nothing. He continued to laugh as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a jet black feather.
“I came here, my dear to do some work. Birds spread things so easily, so I struck a deal with your Grand General. He desired the power and I gave it to him,” he looked right into her eyes. “Sound familiar, does it not?”
“Stop!” Riven managed to cough out. He laughed again and shook his head.
“It’s been done, dearie.” He let the feather go and pulled out an oxygen mask connected to the container on his back. “I very much would like to learn..how you survived that day, hold still.” And with hat he slowly began to put the mask on her.
“AAH!” Riven jumped from her sleep drenched in sweat. Breathing heavily she covered her eyes and breathed, breathed in fresh air.
