[A third slap, for Ryou's tone, per the rules. It's quick, sharp.]
Wrong answer.
[Atem keeps hold of the chains, but brings both his hands up. Fingers hook into the collar of Ryou's shirt -- and then pull roughly apart with a rrrrip. The fabric tears like paper -- first down one sleeve, then the other, and the ruined fabric falls to Ryou's feet in a pathetic heap. Ryou's naked to the waist -- it's cold in here, and he'll feel it, even as his skin burns from painful contact.
He leaves Ryou to shiver for a long moment as he steps over to the closest wall, which has a row of implements -- a whip, thumbscrews, some very sinister-looking pliers, and anything else Ryou's imagination fills in here -- and pulls a crop off of its hook.
(Short, easy to control, less brutal than a whip, is his logic. A full whip would cut skin, open wounds. That's more cruel than Atem wants to get, here. Especially right away. And with the spikes, Atem can't use his claws on Ryou's back...he's protected from bare hands, there.)
Crossing back to Ryou, his footsteps slow and steady on the slate floor, Atem uses the whip to tilt Ryou's chin up to look at him.]
Let's get the terms of your sentence straight.
Each time you fail to answer me, or show me disrespect, the number of hits you get goes up! Think of it as an incentive to cooperate quickly.
[There's a little slap to Ryou's uninjured cheek that's not painful, just humiliating. There's something playful to it, a reminder to be a good boy.
Atem takes a half-step back, chains in one hand, crop in the other. He holds it out at arm's length, pointing it at Ryou's throat. His question is authoritative, and his voice resonates in the stone-walled cell.]
no subject
Wrong answer.
[Atem keeps hold of the chains, but brings both his hands up. Fingers hook into the collar of Ryou's shirt -- and then pull roughly apart with a rrrrip. The fabric tears like paper -- first down one sleeve, then the other, and the ruined fabric falls to Ryou's feet in a pathetic heap. Ryou's naked to the waist -- it's cold in here, and he'll feel it, even as his skin burns from painful contact.
He leaves Ryou to shiver for a long moment as he steps over to the closest wall, which has a row of implements -- a whip, thumbscrews, some very sinister-looking pliers, and anything else Ryou's imagination fills in here -- and pulls a crop off of its hook.
(Short, easy to control, less brutal than a whip, is his logic. A full whip would cut skin, open wounds. That's more cruel than Atem wants to get, here. Especially right away. And with the spikes, Atem can't use his claws on Ryou's back...he's protected from bare hands, there.)
Crossing back to Ryou, his footsteps slow and steady on the slate floor, Atem uses the whip to tilt Ryou's chin up to look at him.]
Let's get the terms of your sentence straight.
Each time you fail to answer me, or show me disrespect, the number of hits you get goes up! Think of it as an incentive to cooperate quickly.
[There's a little slap to Ryou's uninjured cheek that's not painful, just humiliating. There's something playful to it, a reminder to be a good boy.
Atem takes a half-step back, chains in one hand, crop in the other. He holds it out at arm's length, pointing it at Ryou's throat. His question is authoritative, and his voice resonates in the stone-walled cell.]
Who were the other conspirators?