summerborn
Born in the Month of Songs
- Local time
- Today 3:17 PM
- Messages
- 128
- Age
- 23
- Pronouns
- He/Him, They/Them
Panicked eyes. He didn't even try to meet my gaze; just continued to stare off to the right at the bloody smears on the floorboards. Clicking my tongue, I let go of the boy's chin, wiping my hand off against the dark wool of my coat. I watched his lips move, quivering, but no sound escaped.
My leg had begun to ache again from the standing, as it always invariably would, a deep throbbing pain that started roughly above my kneecap and referred all the way up to the small of my back. It was a familiar ache, but unpleasant regardless.
With a sigh, I dropped back into the armchair that had been set in the middle of the floor behind me, propping my cane against the arm. It was the sole remaining piece of upright furniture left in the entire apartment. The rest lay scattered or broken on the floor amid the rest of the carnage: shattered ceramic, bullet casings, and overturned furniture.
"What's that, boy?"
Softly, barely above a trembling whisper: "You killed them. You killed them all."
Tsk. Tsk. "That's not fair. You're still here, aren't you?"
With a grunt, I heaved my right ankle up onto the knee of the other leg, inhaling sharply at the sharp pain that shot up the back of my thigh. From the floor in front of me, the sound of a wet sob had my lip curling— or perhaps it was the stabbing pin and needle pain that started as I began massaging blood back into my lower leg, thin and spindly beneath the leg of my trousers in comparison to the other calf. The sobbing had begun to pick up in volume.
"Don't cry," I said through gritted teeth. "You're not a child anymore, Arameus. You knew the consequences of your actions."
"You said—"
The tip of the cane hit the floor sharply in front of the boy's outstretched fingers. He had started to crawl forward on all fours, but jumped sharply backwards, looking wide eyed at the spatters of dried blood on the blunt end of the cane. His pretty eyes were very blue, tears clinging to the long lashes rimming them, but looking at him, I felt nothing but disgust. Pathetic.
"I said that I would spare your life. And I have." I jabbed the tip of the cane into Arameus's chest, overbalancing him backwards onto his ass. Looking into the pale tearstreaked face, I leaned slowly forward, the chair creaking as I shifted my weight. "The life of one sniveling coward, delivered in full."
"You gave up the rest of the rats so that you could live. Because you knew, Arameus. You knew that if I found out it was you who leaked that information to Lizzie Dresden, I would have cut out your tongue and hung you upside down from the ankles from a third story balcony. I know."
"I didn't—"
Another sharp jab with the end of the cane this time into the boy's stomach put an end to the excuse. I settled back calmly in the chair, waiting for the wheezing and coughing to stop.
"You sold me out, Arameus. You thought you could throw me off the scent by selling out the rest of your friends." Softly: "And frankly, that's insulting."
"If there's one thing you should know about me by now, it's that I follow through on my threats. So you'd best listen carefully."
I leaned forward, placing my foot back on the floor as I studied the boy's face, my dark eyes flicking back and forth between his blue ones.
"If you are still in this city come tomorrow morning, I will have you collected by a pair of gentlemen who will tie you to a bed and strap a bucket containing several live rats to your stomach. They will then heap hot coals onto the top of the bucket until it becomes unbearable for both you and the rats. I want you to imagine, Arameus, the agony of two or three rats chewing through your entrails. Go on. Imagine it."
All of this was said in an even, reasonable-sounding tone. Arameus, whose face had already been an unhealthy shade of white, had gone impossibly paler. He seemed on the verge of being sick. I nodded to myself, and with some effort, stood from the chair. The end of the cane clicked against the floor as I made my way to my man waiting for me at the door of the trashed apartment, stopping there to cast my eyes over Arameus's hunched, trembling form one last time.
"Get out of my city, boy, and if you ever think of returning, remember that I'll be waiting with a bucket full of rats."
My leg had begun to ache again from the standing, as it always invariably would, a deep throbbing pain that started roughly above my kneecap and referred all the way up to the small of my back. It was a familiar ache, but unpleasant regardless.
With a sigh, I dropped back into the armchair that had been set in the middle of the floor behind me, propping my cane against the arm. It was the sole remaining piece of upright furniture left in the entire apartment. The rest lay scattered or broken on the floor amid the rest of the carnage: shattered ceramic, bullet casings, and overturned furniture.
"What's that, boy?"
Softly, barely above a trembling whisper: "You killed them. You killed them all."
Tsk. Tsk. "That's not fair. You're still here, aren't you?"
With a grunt, I heaved my right ankle up onto the knee of the other leg, inhaling sharply at the sharp pain that shot up the back of my thigh. From the floor in front of me, the sound of a wet sob had my lip curling— or perhaps it was the stabbing pin and needle pain that started as I began massaging blood back into my lower leg, thin and spindly beneath the leg of my trousers in comparison to the other calf. The sobbing had begun to pick up in volume.
"Don't cry," I said through gritted teeth. "You're not a child anymore, Arameus. You knew the consequences of your actions."
"You said—"
The tip of the cane hit the floor sharply in front of the boy's outstretched fingers. He had started to crawl forward on all fours, but jumped sharply backwards, looking wide eyed at the spatters of dried blood on the blunt end of the cane. His pretty eyes were very blue, tears clinging to the long lashes rimming them, but looking at him, I felt nothing but disgust. Pathetic.
"I said that I would spare your life. And I have." I jabbed the tip of the cane into Arameus's chest, overbalancing him backwards onto his ass. Looking into the pale tearstreaked face, I leaned slowly forward, the chair creaking as I shifted my weight. "The life of one sniveling coward, delivered in full."
"You gave up the rest of the rats so that you could live. Because you knew, Arameus. You knew that if I found out it was you who leaked that information to Lizzie Dresden, I would have cut out your tongue and hung you upside down from the ankles from a third story balcony. I know."
"I didn't—"
Another sharp jab with the end of the cane this time into the boy's stomach put an end to the excuse. I settled back calmly in the chair, waiting for the wheezing and coughing to stop.
"You sold me out, Arameus. You thought you could throw me off the scent by selling out the rest of your friends." Softly: "And frankly, that's insulting."
"If there's one thing you should know about me by now, it's that I follow through on my threats. So you'd best listen carefully."
I leaned forward, placing my foot back on the floor as I studied the boy's face, my dark eyes flicking back and forth between his blue ones.
"If you are still in this city come tomorrow morning, I will have you collected by a pair of gentlemen who will tie you to a bed and strap a bucket containing several live rats to your stomach. They will then heap hot coals onto the top of the bucket until it becomes unbearable for both you and the rats. I want you to imagine, Arameus, the agony of two or three rats chewing through your entrails. Go on. Imagine it."
All of this was said in an even, reasonable-sounding tone. Arameus, whose face had already been an unhealthy shade of white, had gone impossibly paler. He seemed on the verge of being sick. I nodded to myself, and with some effort, stood from the chair. The end of the cane clicked against the floor as I made my way to my man waiting for me at the door of the trashed apartment, stopping there to cast my eyes over Arameus's hunched, trembling form one last time.
"Get out of my city, boy, and if you ever think of returning, remember that I'll be waiting with a bucket full of rats."
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