Posted by Red Axis on July 11, 2004, 1:29 am

“Svetlana” Ravil snickered while tightening a worn brown leather strap across her forehead, “I really want to stress that I don’t like doing this too you.” The red brick basement room was horribly lit, three wall mounted lights and a light bulb hanging from a wire that seemed to be barely clinging to the ceiling. The room was musty with condensation and oily lipid puddles of unknown substances flowed from the corners, disappearing at an unknown origin. Hanging in the darkness was a black suit wearing Fredrik Thompson, assailant; he tried to stay out of the light and avoided looking directly at the beautiful piece of flesh being deflowered in the center of the room. Svetlana Verevka, victim, found herself bound by leather to a chair in the center of a room she only knew as hell. Going on six months since seeing a friendly face, giving a struggle had totally lost its flavour, Ravil was now free to do what he wanted with her with little opposition. “Then why do you do it?” She groaned with a defeated tone, attempting to move her head too a comfortable position, unsuccessful. “Because someone needs to pay for the actions of your step brother.” Ravil Davydov, psychopath, replied following his lock down of the final strap on the heavy wooden chair. Spinning playfully on the chair he was seated upon, Ravil kicked off the ground and slid his chair across the floor to a little coffee table to her right. Her eyes followed his decent. “Then why not punish the one who did the wrong?” she pleaded. He only offered another toothy grin in reply. “Because you’re fit for torturing, you’re the only key left to get inside of this heartless bastard’s head. He’s insane and there are very few things that make an insane man consider the fallout of his actions.” He scanned across the coffee table, carefully examining the assortment of knives laid out upon it, deciding which would be the perfect instrument to use, like a doctor before a surgery. “You step-brother, Jack, Yakov, Yuri, Yu-ack-ov, whatever he wants to be called, he did something he really shouldn’t have and now someone has to pay for his actions.” She relaxed, her eyes moving towards the shadows, scanning for the man with the heart. “Fredrik, what about you?” her voice had the cute innocent plea of a child begging not to be beaten after being caught with their hand in the cookie jar, “You know I don’t deserve this.” She paused waiting for a reply from the shadows, none came. “You know I don’t deserve this. You know it!” she trailed off. Ravil came rolling back into Svetlana’s line of sight, demented toothy grin and all, this time his hands sported a knife each. In the left hand, a beautiful silver handled seven inch butchers knife with, ‘The greatest prize is mine’ lazer etched into the handle. In the right hand, a smaller knife, an eight inch blade with a beautiful red ruby in crested handle, something resembling a Japanese ceremonial suicide knife. “I’m going to give you options.” He thrust both blades forward towards Svetlana’s head, his hands stopping on either of her head, missing her by centimetres with each blade. Svetlana slammed her eyes shut in painful anticipation, “Do you want the ornamental knife first? Or the Butchers knife?” Her eyes opened slowly, first left, and then right, relieved that neither knife had struck a place on her body. “Not sure eh?” Ravil joked, “Well, the ornamental knife is a great way to start something horrible and make it look beautiful while you’re still conscious.” He shook the butchers’ knife tapping it lightly against her temple. “The Butchers knife however, is defiantly more to the point and cuts through the crap.” He giggled, “Get it, ‘cut through the crap’?” A brief moment passed before Svetlana lowered her eyes. The psychopath sighed, “Svetlana, Svetlana, Svetlana, You’re just not making this fun anymore. I remember when you use to scream and struggle and beg for mercy and forgiveness. Almost like it was yesterday.” “That was yesterday you sick bastard!” Fredrick yelled from the darkness, finally breaking the silence. “We both know that Jack is in the country and is heading to the office buildings as we speak. So why don’t you spare the girl some dignity and stop now?” Ravil rolled his eyes. “Now you have to open your mouth? Fredrik, you’re really dampening the mood here!” he spun around in his chair, pointing a knife towards the darkness in the assumed direction of Fredrik Thompson. “I’ve been doing this for almost six months now! AND NOW! You have the balls to protest?” “Listen too yourself Ravil! We both know that she doesn’t deserve this! The man who deserves to be punished is coming to get his due!” Ravil was quick to his feet. “Listen Fredrik!” he roared, “You know and she knows the ramification for being involved in all of this.” He turns back towards Svetlana, thrusting the blunt back end of the ceremonial blade against her neck. “Isn’t that right Svetlana? You know the moment you pried into Slava’s life that you ran the risk of being held as leverage in any dispute that could and eventually would come up. You knew that eventually being associated with these people would eventually land you tied to a chair with a knife to your throat! There is no denying it! Even when your pathetic boyfriend and step brother became professional wrestlers to avoid this war of spies, you knew there’d eventually be fallout.” he ran the blunt of the knife up her neck, stopping at her clenched jaw line. “Fredrik,” he hollered back towards the darkness, “If you’re choosing to protest now, then I’d highly recommend that you hit play on the CD player and leave the room.” Ravil sat back down onto his chair and wheeled back over to the coffee table. Following the audible click of a play button, footsteps were heard making their way towards the hallway. Ravil picked up a sharpening stone as the opening keys to Beethoven’s ‘Moonlight Sonata’ started to echo out from corner speakers hidden in the darkness. Ravil took a deep breath of mental preparation, and started to sharpen the ceremonial suicide blade, “You know what I like about classical music?” he questioned, looking up towards Svetlana. ” ” She remained silent and her eyes remained closed. Ravil smiled, glancing back towards his blade, “You do not need words to feel the emotion of the artist,” with a bout of inspiration his eyes closed and he began to mock conduct with the music, “everything is left to the devices of the listener, if the song represents hope, hurt, happiness or horror, it is out of the hands of the artist, it’s left to interpretation of your mind.” Ravil’s shoulders dropped as he stopped conducting and opened his eyes. “That is something that is very hard to accomplish with out a voice,” Just voice now held a serious tone, nothing like the grinning psychopath of ten minutes ago, “but somehow Beethoven managed to couple my feelings of pain, passion and suffering all into one song, creating one unforgettable moment and etching it forever into memory. Of course that begs the question, if I’m the one sharpening the knife, then I’m not suffering now am I? Why am I playing the song? Your answer had better be good; I would hate to have to do something terrible to you.” Svetlana remained in silence, only a tear rolled down her cheek. “I’m sure you’ll come up with an answer eventually, but I do guarantee this, you’ll never forget this song after this moment.” - End - (OOC: The planned ending to this RP series is going to be delayed due to unforseen time restraints and health issues.)