Zompania Draft - Draftees only, days 1-3.5

[lucetimods]

Who: All Draftees
What: This is your death. Followed by your time-traveling life and desperate bomb hunting.
When: From May 22 to May 20 to early May 23 (days 1-4)
Where: Zompania
Summary: Information post here
Rating: Varies on thread, please mark explicit material.

This post is for the draftee-only portion of the Zompania draft--the day 3 death, time travel to day 1, and then the events until the arrival of the reinforcements. Be sure to use the above info post for any plotting needs you might have. Enjoy!

Please note that there is a specific top-level comment thread for:

• The day 3 arrival of the draftees and the 6 hours that follow until the bomb is dropped
  
• Death--This thread can be treated as REFERENCE ONLY. Responding to it isn't necessary.
  
• Threads prior to departing for Zompania--post resurrection freak outs, arguments over how to proceed, etc.

All other threading, from day 1 until the reinforcements arrive, should be conducted as normal.

Be sure to tag this post appropriately: [canon] character name

Comments

[whiskytraitorfirefight]

/You know me, I like being punctual. And I did see some aprons while I was scavenging supplies, I should have brought something back for you. saw some cute frilly ones and one with a fig leaf./

[Bad joke and she knows it. Ginia's smirk doesn't last long before she moves around to look at their current subject. Resilient, she'll give them that much. All of them had been so far. But anyone would crack under enough time. The real question was how much time they had.

Not enough was the answer. Never enough. Ginia unties the subject and hauls them off the chair - no need to bind hands when there aren't any left. She props him upright against the wall and binds his ankles before looking at the cultist she just brought in.

Their eyes meet. Her's cold and calculating, his stony and unmoving. He won't crack easily, a guarantee there.

Ginia smiles and pats his cheek before hauling him up and dragging him over to the chair, adjusting his ankle ties to secure him to the chair. She pulls out a knife and begins cutting away the straps on his armor, casually throwing the piece of leather armor aside. Maybe they would be able to bring some back with them; the wing guards would be a nice thing to replicate for their own protection. Once he's properly situated, she turns toward Erwin.]

/How do you want to approach this one?/

[corps]

/We have to be quick. I want something from him before this one wakes./

[ A brief flick of his eyes toward the unconscious cultist propped against the wall. ]

/I won't be satisfied until two of them say the same thing independently./

[ Any cultist could stammer out a location, but there is no way to know whether it is the right one unless he hears it from multiple sources. Hence, multiple captives. Erwin is looking the newest one over now, gauging the proud tilt of his chin and the determination in his level gaze. ]

/I wonder how much he cares for his comrades./

[whiskytraitorfirefight]

/I wonder how much he cares for his own life?/

[Self-preservation versus loyalty, that's the real question. Will he out and keep the secrets of his comrades safe or ultimately sell out secrets to save his own skin? Time to find out.

There's a machete sheathed on one hip and two more combat knives hidden on her person, but Ginia pulls out her boot knife. Something small and discreet, easier to control is what's needed right now. The blade pressed between her middle and pointer finger, tip barely exposed, Ginia approaches him and lightly traces the tip on the cultist's bare skin. Light scrape, just enough to leave light lines. She can feel him tense and shift underneath, trying to get away without pressing into the knife.]

[corps]

/That too./

[ Erwin remains silent as she draws her knife, watching steely-eyed as she puts it to the man's skin. He sees him stiffen, instinct urging him to move, to draw away, but their bindings and his wounds prevent him from doing so more than the barest bit.

It's only when he begins to squirm a little more that Erwin steps forward, the sound of his boots against the floor purposefully loud. ]

We can spare you some pain if you cooperate.

[ He sounds calm, like he's a man who can be reasoned with. He isn't, not now.

But neither is their cultist, apparently, as his only response is a clenched jaw, fingers curling into his palm. But Erwin had been expecting this. ]

Or make it much worse if you do not.

[whiskytraitorfirefight]

[Ginia's expression is serious, focused, an artist surveying a canvas with her knife and an assortment of red. The tip of her knife digs in to the cultist's shoulder, a shallow cut. A deft flick of her wrist and the blade twists, carving out a small chunk of flesh. Blood pools, slowly runs down as she moves the knife away, light and delicate again, a thin smear of red following.

A sharp twist here to carve flesh, a slow drag there to part flesh. Her knife is sharp, her hands are steady. Nothing accidental, everything deliberate. And if carving out a pound of flesh is what's needed to extract an answer then she'll take every bit that's needed. To his credit, the cultist holds out. He holds back his grunts of pain, clenches his jaw a little more, tenses up with every slice, but it wears on him. The way his eyes dart between the two, the increased rate of breath, heart rate accelerating.

All a matter of time.]

[corps]

[ The pain is beginning to wear on him, as becomes more obvious with each labored intake of air, the enlarging of his pupils as adrenaline courses through his body. He would struggle more if he could, but they have effectively prevented that. Erwin watches Ginia work, expressionless, hands folded behind his back.

As the blade of Ginia's knife slices slowly along the inside of his upper arm he makes a noise. It's involuntary; a small, tight sound, animal like a whine or a growl. Erwin takes it as his cue. ]

You killed all of the inhabitants of this enclosure in the same way. Why?

[ It isn't the crux of the matter, but it is part of what he wants to know--and it may set the man to talking. As it happens, this doesn't seem to be a topic he has much reservation bout, because he answers almost at once. ]

Ceremony.

[ The word is bitten out with something like pride. ]

It was a sacrifice.

[ If this effects Erwin, he doesn't show it. He merely glances to Ginia and casually frees his hands to sign. ]

/Have you heard anything about this?/

[whiskytraitorfirefight]

[Ginia pauses and draws her knife back, wiping blood off on the cultist's pant leg. Ceremony, sacrifice. She looks at Erwin as he signs, nodding in agreement.]

/Raine's guide mentions it. Human sacrifice, a ritual to permanently kill anyone brought to this world. Mercy, they say./

[Would permanently killed them, almost did if the bomb was any indication. But it's one reason Ginia will fight and torture; because the Third Party will spare them no expense. If any of them were captured, they would face the same fate met by rows of dead civilians in the city. They would cease to exist, never to return home. Those that still had homes at least. Ginia wonders where she or anyone else already dead would go.

Still not anything she wants to find out. Her knife returns to the their captive's underarm. This time she drags the edge of her blade against skin, slowly skinning off a a layer of flesh.

The sound he makes is much louder, a tortured growl that fades into a gasp as Ginia twists her knife, a flap of skin falling away.]

[corps]

[ Mercy. To spare them from what? Experimentation at the hands of those in power? Or something else they have yet to know about? Erwin would frown, but he's consciously keeping his expression as neutral as possible.

As that slice of skin falls Erwin presses on, giving their captive little time to think about anything other than the pain and his questions. ]

Are we meant to be a sacrifice as well?

[ The cultist's jaw clenches as he breathes hard through his nose. ]

Or are we simply in your way?

[ The man's mouth twists, and when he speaks the words tumble out quickly, as though talking is taking his mind off the slicing of Ginia's knife. ]

I know what you want to hear! It won't be from me. You can kill me now, or I'll die when you die. It doesn't matter.

[ Erwin raises a brow, contradictory. He can work with this--and so can Ginia, he thinks, glancing to her briefly. He waits a moment before he speaks, giving the cultist time to continue speaking if he's so inclined. When he doesn't Erwin steps forward, toe-to-toe with the edge of the chair their man is secured to. ]

You'll die, certainly. But when and how is my choice. You have the power to influence my decision, however. You could spare yourself a great deal of pain.

[ Erwin is towering over the chair, but he doesn't want to touch. That is for Ginia. ]

It matters very little to me whether you tell me anything or not. I have several of your friends who no doubt have looser tongues than yours. You could spare them a great deal of pain as well.