STOP NOW!! Thanks to my play partner in this scene for helping me discover Sookie's voice. You rock!]

Essa's former hall had been warped into a vile perversion of its former self, the ruins of the LeFay holdings having been the makeshift residence of the Virtuoso of Pain, Storm Frost, after his re-emergence in the city of Rhy'Din.

He sat in a throne, barbed and gored, a mixture of steel, sinew, fused bone, and other grotesque oddities best left unmentioned. His eye-less sockets were turned toward the wall which held the rings. He'd untied her, though her foot was held in a manacle constructed of an odd element.

Nude, and collared, she lay with nothing but the stone floor to comfort her.

Sookie's mind was currently running through "The Wheels on the Bus" in endless loop, now in its two hundred and forty-seventh rendition, as she lay to the floor, gold-flecked hazel eyes looking up through a tangle of damp bangs. Though weak, shaky, and rasping, her words still held the edge of defiance. Then again, maybe it was just incredulity on a cosmic scale that this could actually be happening to **Her!**

"Why....why y'all doin' this....to me?"

"Awaken girl, and rise to your knees," he said, focusing his will - or rather, the many - upon the girl. Black spheres of energy kept his eyelids from sinking into the hollow of ocular sockets. His preternatural senses lending vision to these inky spheres, allowing him to see what mortal eyes could not.

He scanned her form, and with it, the feeling of thousands of hands roamed over her body in the combination of many sentiences trying to vie for the forward-most position in his mind. His lips pursed, and he scathed her physique with his harsh gaze, searching beyond to her soul for some point to rekindle her awareness.

No, no, no. This really wasn't happening to her. It was some sick, twisted gothic-painted landscape her comatose mind was creating. She really needed to lighten up, she thinks. Well, when she gets out of this, and make no mistake she was getting out of it - she had shit to do! - she would get right on that.

The touch of his....eyes, for lack of a better of term, set her back teeth on edge. She shudders; shadows marring the hollows of her own eyes, her head snaking about against the stone as that weird-a*s creepy feeling started. Like a million baby cockroaches running her body.

And that' That thought right there made her freak! Right the hell out. How she musters up the strength to let loose with the almost sonic piercing shriek from her mouth, another shooting from her mind, outwards, unheeded and unbidden, let's call it phobic adrenaline for now.

The south wall started to crack, and the "Magus" watched from his bloodstained, sharp throne. The wards soon flared on the collar and it constricted suddenly, gripping her throat a bit, more or less to stop the flow of vocal sound.

"Ye will get used to the chain, girl, for many in your state, present and past, have awoken to find themselves stripped, bound to the ring wall."

It was then that fit of screaming came, it was like screaming into a bucket fashioned of metal, as loudly as possible, worn over the head. The enchantments started to flare and draw manna toward her, finding the neck of that collar as it began to grow seemingly so hot it numbed like cold, though did not wilt the flesh " yet.

"I would cease that nonsense, were I ye. Denying ye birthright and station would be most unwise for one in ye position. Ye could seriously damage yeself, and that would not be the way to lighten our mood."

F**k! That hurts! Sookie doubles over into a fetal position when the screeching starts and the collar begins to burn, choking out the pain around the constriction, hating the tears that flow without thought from eyes tight shut. Where's my back pack"

Shut up, Sook, focus.

Focus on what? This isn't happening.

What if it is, y'all"

Then...we're f***ed"

Whatever, we have to get out of this. Then we wake up. Or....

Got to be better than....Wait. What' Birthright' Station"

That shadowed hazel gaze struggles to keep the vision of him still, tries desperately to keep the sight of that....thing he sits on out of her peripheral view. Jaw working around, she breathes out one word before trembling and curling tighter to herself, silent.

"F***er."

"Such a foul little mouth. Such is not becoming of a good little slave. Ah, but ye 'ave not learned what ye must yet." He began to rise from the throne of steel blades, bones and gore. He then began to move toward her - his closeness at the nearing of his figure added to the sounds around her. Shadows flickered, even her own rippled on the floor beneath her. Then the voices came. Fell, vile voices speaking in an ancient language far removed from any she'd ever heard before. Each syllable was the spit of a hiss, a slight tainting awareness that neared her so swiftly that the dark of his own shadow had to struggle to keep up with his stalking, leonine movements.

He felt the presence of her will, and the whispers seemed to rise in volume, as if hearing her talk to herself. Curious, they listened and he now stood above her, listening intently to discern what she might have been saying to herself. Storm, for that's what he'd come to call himself, stood over her suddenly. A veritable blur, his hand fell to the whip and released it from its clasp ring, drawing the ensorcelled Gorean Kurt out to the side as he leaned. "Hmmm..."

For as long as Sookie could remember, she's had these little conversations in her head. Not even her Tante Magnolia could tell what rattled about in Sookie's noggin when the talks were taking place.

Once, a long while back, about 12 whole years, she remembers vaguely someone she would actually sit and talk with, alone in their room. She doesn't remember when it became just her room and just her sitting there, talking in her head. Her companion and her little talks had always remained secret.

Dull eyes fight to lift as the voices slither over her like leeches in a swamp. Breath strangles in her throat, but she gets a good look at him in his approach. He was....tall, and not without a certain aesthetic quality.

Girl, you have serious issues.

What' I was just thinking he cut quite the figure. I mean, look at him.

Ish. Yous. I'm just saying. Somewhere along the way...

Shut up, this doesn't look good.

Her tongue drags over dry lips, body inching back slowly the second his hand fell to his whip. A smirk of quivering lips, the words croaked out.

"Oh, y'all have got....to be kiddin' me."

He gestured with the whip handle in hand, across the room where light had been casting long, angular shadows about the interior of the hall. There were more rings that way, and a sandpit with a pole in another corner. However, the light source was the objective, and heat rushed forth from the orange and red light within the housing of stone.

"Ye see the forge fire, girl" Prepare yeself well. This shall not be swift, nor will ye like the sensation." He began to play at the Kurt's broad leather blades; as a tool of obedience, it was designed to welt rather than cut, though imbued with its magic, it also heightened the sensation of pain when he called upon the magic to fuel that particular property.

The whip began to glow with a faint light, dark by comparison to that light shed by the coals within the forge fire. "It is time ye felt the kiss of ye master's lash, girl. Memorize the sensation; know that after this moment, if ye should displease us, ye will feel it as frequently as ye action spawns our displeasure."

The crack fell across her shoulder, blades splaying across her skin as the magic of the lash sank in like a searing flame. Agony crept out from the stricken flesh like fissures through her body, through her soul. Like roots, the pain dug into her being from each of the five leather straps. "Ye shall be branded property by the time this night is through."

Her mouth gaped in horror at a pain her mind could not even fathom as the lash tore through her, body jerking in convulsive spasm, seeking distance with feeble wriggles. But, it was the look in the saucer-wide golden-flecked hazels that told the true story of that horror: How could he possibly dare, DARE this!" To Her!" Who the hell did he think he was, anyway"

Again her mouth worked, teeth clattering against one another. The shaking was involuntary, loathed. Breath panted and she made as if to speak, arms clutching about her stomach, one hand to the shoulder he'd just struck.

We really need to work on this a*s-overriding-mouth syndrome.

I kind of like her spunk.

What if he can hear us"

So what? This isn't...

You've said that. Let's just humor me for now, shall we"

If you insist.

I do. Thank you.

Don't mention it.

Stop that.

Stop what"

That!

Sorry.

Remember what Tante was teaching us the last time"

What time"

Right after she died.

Oh. Yeah.

All right. Now, remember what happened. Why we stopped.

Oh. Yeah. Because they...

Don't.

Right.

So, she isn't going to take this well.

Right. Absolutely. Let's.

The word "branded" struck her face like the whip had struck her flesh. Hazel eyes roll up until nothing but the whites show, lids snapping shut and her head lolls to the floor.

He growled, seeing her go limp under the first fall of his lash. It fell again, and again, striking her bare a*s, her flanks, and the small of her back. Those three strokes were strokes he was sure she'd feel. Yet, he paused after the last, and made his way toward a water basin near the crumbled ruin of the broken hall's north wall.

His lip curled back in a sneer before he leaned over it, blowing a frost-tinged breath from his lungs that started to audibly crystallize the surface of the water with a sheet of ice. He then lifted the bowl from its resting place atop the stand, and made his way toward her prone form.

With a jab of his Kurt handle, the wood broke through the surface of the ice sheet, causing shards of frozen water to float about like jagged glass in the pool of super-cooled liquid. He then began to poor this over her body allowing the cold sensation to wash over her skin. "We did not give ye permission to leave, girl. Stay awake slave, ye have a beating to endure."

The chill hits, sending a scream throughout every nerve ending she possesses and some that lie elsewhere with others, her body jerking over, back against the stone, convulsing her in a bow off the floor before she falls, sputtering, weakly shaking the water from a smoldering gaze in those fading hazel eyes.

What were we just saying about mouth overriding a*s"

It's been a while. We're pissed.

All the more reason to...

Right.

Remember Coming Out"

Oh. Yeah. Right after the Mohawk.

Right. We're going to mix that with Before they...

After....Right. Gotcha.

Good.

But I still say...

We did say we were going to humor me for the moment, yes"

Yes.

Good. We'll try your way next.

"I'm..." Breath panted; Sookie struggles through pain and an intense, dark, alien hatred she has never experienced before against anything, except, perhaps, cockroaches.

Little talks never take any time in the waking worlds. From the moment he spoke until she muttered the first word after, her eyes flickered up after shaking off the water some and then immediately dip to the stone floor. Perhaps it is only the pain, the collar's constriction that brings such hesitation to hoarse words, her eyes kept on the floor. She certainly sounds contrite after his threats. She is trembling, fragile, wounded....subjugated, of course.

"I'm....I....I'm....s-sorry....Sir."

He beat her soundly again, and though turned over, he did not let up on the intensity of the blows. They fell quickly this time, lifting welts across her bare breasts, her hips, and the tops of her thighs; one time, the leather smote the tender skin high on the right inner thigh, a loud resounding slap of hide against flesh reverberated off the walls within.

"We know ye are. Ye feel the apology even deeper with each fall of the lash, do ye nae?" He tossed more cold water over the front of her body then allowed the whip to fall again as the water cascaded down around her.

On the fifteenth stroke, he stopped, placing the ensorcelled Kurt back on his belt to dangle from the area of his right hip. He then made his way toward the forge fires and, with bare hands, grabbed the end of a large metal....iron....thing. The tip was white hot, glowing like an ember itself, and he looked about the area around her as he snickered to himself. "Ye will nae flinch, twitch, or move, will ye girl" We would 'ate to 'ave to filet a ruined patch of skin from ye thigh should ye make a ruin of our brand."

He glanced over her sternly, eyeing each curve and sleek line of her svelte little body. "Will ye girl!?" His last words rapid, curt, and holding the sound of a thousand whispering voices in unison.

Sookie had paid about as much attention to Tante Magnolia's teachings as your typical privileged, only child of a society family is wont to do. Not much. What lessons that stuck filled Sookie's wallet and bank account, fueled her wayward and oft berated lifestyle choices, and kept Sookie out of "real" trouble just as Tante Magnolia had planned all along.

But not all of Sookie was ensconced in the ennui of youthful angst. Not all of her let Tante's teachings roll in and roll on out again without a culling. This had proven a good thing for Sookie. It might serve her well now, too.

The brain of a mortal being is complex, relatively unknown. It is a fascinating and wildly efficient organ that can do amazing things that seem to border on magic. Magic being a subjective term as anything unknown is usually classified as some form of mysticism of an otherworldly order. Electrical impulses, chemicals and hormones make for an intriguing mix. Desire, hatred; pain, pleasure; cold, hot; tired, awake; stressed, relaxed; frightened, calm; it all hinged on the flip of a metaphorical switch.

Those voices, crawling like doodle bugs across her flesh as he spoke. Teeth grit, her face remaining penitent through the streaming of unbidden tears; only a weak nod given through his first askance of her.

The mind maybe amazing and wondrous, but it is housed in the body and the physical shell can only stand so much before it revolts. Sprawled to the stone floor, facing the forge, legs and torso curling inwards to shield the hurt - the searing horror that was the deep layers of her skin - breath is gargled in her throat in a pitiful sound at the sight of the branding iron.

Immediately sobs wrack her form, teeth bringing blood to the clench of her lower lip as she wars to keep silent.

Now" Please"

Yes, now.

Thank you, that was bad enough.

I quite agree.

And just as Sookie's tongue tasted of her own blood, those sobs turned strange, tiny little whimpering moans. Face kept from him, chin to her chest and that unnatural black and neon red hair curtaining around her, she nods in three quick bursts, her voice breathless and muffled.

"I will not move, Sir. Not an inch."

Did they do inches here, Sookie idly ponders.

Pay attention.

Sorry.

You will be if we don't.

Right.

He moved her over with booted foot, flopping her around like a sea-man's early catch on the deck of a fishing boat. As he did this, the repositioning of her with the toe and top of his boot, he examined her beauty, inspecting what qualities she possessed with the possibilities of how the brand might enhance said things. He then leaned forward, crouching as he pressed his hand on her high outer thigh. He rolled her left hip out suddenly, and with the end of that now yellow-hot brand, he pressed the iron emblem of his house a good quarter inch into the flesh of her leg.

The smell of burning skin and meat met his nostrils as he held the brand there, firm, not allowing her the least of movement while his larger hand squeezed her upper thigh like a vice clamp, holding her behind down on the marble floor. He allowed the brand to mark deep, though he did not leave it in long enough to scorch. Thereafter, the iron was removed from the leg, cast aside for the time being with a deft toss of his wrist.

Keeping her face turned from him as she is manhandled, forced into pleasing position with the brunt of his boot for this insidious inspection, dark hair lay across it like rivulets of oil along wet sand.

Sookie was healthy. Money, privilege, and connections had ensured her upbringing with the best of everything, including medical care and anything desired in the way of keeping one's body in the peak of physical prime. Not supermodel thin or tall, she was nevertheless an exotic mix of bloodlines that had all come together in a right pleasing package.

Toned, taut, her skin was the color of the palest cafe au lait, though tendencies towards darker hours kept sun from shading that flesh even a little. Dark brows framed eyes, slightly almond-shaped and lending to a cat-like quality with the thick, black lashes and the golden-flecked hue of her irises.

That skin lay over a form that was all woman in figure ? hourglass - with hips that moved like poetry. Kept like that through a study of dance and martial arts, giving muscles a sleek, lengthened steel presence beneath the velvet of her flesh.

His hand pressing to her outer thigh brings a hiss of indrawn breath. Still her face hidden behind the fall of hair, those eyes watch, lower lip held close by a grip of perfect white teeth.

Oh, this is going to rock.

Look who's talking about issues. Maybe we need to exami...

Wait. Wait for it.

"Ah-a-ha!" The sound comes out in a rush, breathless, a white-hot sensation starting in her belly and growing outwards at speeds exponential until the feeling engulfs her from the top of her head to the tips of her tingling toes. Breaths holding a fiery call labor from her lungs, hard-nippled breasts moving up and down as she rides out the quake of ice-electric running from between her thighs up along her spine to the base of her neck.

His hand holding her fast to the floor, only the hint of hazel behind the darkness of hair may give an indication. Smoldering, hot-blooded....aroused, then it is gone, her chin tucking to her chest once more, only those tingling toes curling tight as he casts the iron aside.

Whoa!

F-focus.

Right.

Good.