The Uncrating - August, 1997
Blood Red Rose, NovaDraco
Subj: The Uncrating
Date: 97-08-13 12:16:04 EDT
From: BldRedRose
Oh-ee-oh... ee-oh, ee-oh...
With a chant more like a funeral dirge, kept time by the cadence of clomping boot soles and the rustle of leather on leather over hardened, muscular legs the size of small tree trunks, a veritable army of slaves marches into the hall, striding two-by-two.
Every coiled muscle of every arm ripples with the strain of lifting, as each set of four bears between them, on cedar poles, a pallet. Atop each pallet is a perfect cube of slatted pine. The cubes vary in size, from as large as seven feet on all sides, to diminutive one-foot squares, and all are marked with the ancient characters of long-dead languages indicating the origins of their exotic content.
The slaves advance in somber unison, to the rhythm of some silent drumbeat in their heads, a cadence borne from years of service, of attunement to one another through the daily rigors of their labors. The whole procession curls around the perimeter of the spacious hall, ending in a semi-circle and coming to rest as the lead group reaches the other side. The brawniest, tallest of the men gives a sharp whistle and the pallets are lowered all at once, the bearers then rising to stand with feet planted wide and hands clasped behind their backs.
Alerted by the crunching sound of wood landing to tile, Rose sweeps out of the central passage, emerging into the center of the room. Gloved hands resting at her waist, she makes a languid pirouette, her grin broadening as the trademark emerald gaze dances from crate to crate.
"At last," comes an excited whisper that echoes up to the vaulted ceiling.
A brisk clap from Rose signals the slaves to life and they stir from their positions, moving to pry lids from boxes. The sounds of groaning wood, the squeaking of spikes being ripped from pine, and the clatter of boards dropping clumsily to the floor, all fill the air. One by one, the wooden slats fall away, revealing a twisted statuary garden of sorts, an odd collection of curios deposited around the periphery of the room, all cloaked in shadows suited to the dark purposes for which they were clearly designed.
Subj: The Uncrating
Date: 97-08-13 13:38:08 EDT
From: NovaDraco
::looks in her room:: 'ey Rose ... what's all this? Seems ya pulled out all the stops getting this stuff in 'ere. ::motions to the crates, and thinks for a moment:: And you know ... my accent is taking on that of Dae's.
Subj: The Uncrating
Date: 97-08-13 21:31:25 EDT
From: BldRedRose
"Well, Gabriel... I'm very glad you asked..." She lifts a gloved fingertip, as though to make a point.
"I've had business agents combing the land for months to dig up this little collection of treasures. All of these pieces will become a permanent part of the ornamentation in this otherwise very plain front hall."
"This little curio, for instance..." Taking a few swaying steps to the side, she lays a gloved hand atop the first of the uncrated objects, a basic steel cage about three feet high and not much broader at the base, its bars as thick as a child's forearm. It is a simple, stolid piece of equipment, functional and perfect in its severity.
"This is a cage, of course. It looks as though it might be meant to hold an animal, or perhaps a small child, but the true beauty of this confinement device is this: Because of its dimensions, no fully grown person can stand upright inside it, or lay down fully, and must therefore be forced to squat on hands and knees. For hours ... or more ..."
A glimmer of malice lights her eyes.
"It's named for a famous place, an ill-reputed prison cell in the Tower of London."
The leather-clad fingertips brush across an engraved plate at the top of the cage, wiping away dust and revealing the words "Little Ease".
Subj: The Uncrating
Date: 97-08-13 23:29:57 EDT
From: NovaDraco
::the 'oh' of his mouth turns to a mischievous grin::
Say-ay-hey. I want some things like this. ::chuckles to himself at an old quote that fits Rose so well::
Hey Rose, heard this?: 'Sticks an' stones may break my bones, but whips an' chains excite me.'? Fits you almost perfectly. ::grins and peeks in another crate::
(vs) Me gonna go on a shopping spree... ::smiles inwardly::
Subj: The Uncrating
Date: 97-08-14 01:41:05 EDT
From: BldRdRose
"Ah, yes... I have heard that quote." With an indulgent smile, she absently fingers the bullwhip coiled at her belt.
Brushing past him, she moves to the next crate, the one he appears so intent on inspecting.
"Let me remind you, Gabe - these items are to remain in this front hall, but they are for use of all of the Consortium slavers, if they so choose..."
"This...," dipping forward, she picks up the object, a latticework of iron bars in the shape of a helmet, "is called a Scold's Bridle."
She turns it up into the torchlight, so that the metal gag protruding inward glints angrily. Examining it with a critical eye, her voice takes on a dry, scholarly tone.
"You'll note that the helmet is shaped to settle around the head, to rest over the shoulders without obstructing vision or movement ... except for that of the tongue, that is."
Reaching inside, she flicks playfully at the gag, letting out a low, malicious giggle as her fingertip snaps against the smooth metal.
"Anyone who wears this should consider himself lucky - I've seen some bridles where the gag is spurred, or pointed ... does nasty things to the tongue."
She shudders in feigned horror.
Subj: The Uncrating
Date: 97-08-14 11:49:41 EDT
From: NovaDraco
Ah.. so does Rose have limits? Or is it just something that didn't interest you? ::grins::
Subj: The Uncrating
Date: 97-08-14 11:49:41 EDT
From: BldRdRose
"Limits? Not at all." With a brief shrug and a breezy, tinkling laugh, she continues, "But those models are rather more difficult to come by. Granted, I didn't look very hard - after all, a tongue is an important tool for a slave to have, even if it must be bound from time to time."
Winking, she lowers the helmet to its nearby display pedestal.
Hands clasped before her, the fire of anticipation in her eyes increasing with each step, she moves towards the next shattered box. Poised in the center of the pile of discarded pine slats is another pedestal, this one of serpentine marble to match the flooring. Atop that rests a pair of sturdy iron hoops, hinged together, each just wide enough for a man's shoulders to pass through.
"Now this little delight is called the Scavenger's Daughter."
Flicking a few crumbs of sawdust from the top of the pedestal, she traces a loving fingertip around the circumference of one of the hoops.
Glancing back to Gabe, she eyes the breadth of his shoulders, as though sizing him up.
"A slave can be made to kneel ... the first hoop is passed under the slave's legs and around the body ... and then you've got to push down on the slave's shoulders..." She motions with a downward thrust of her open palms. "...until the hoops can be fastened over the small of the back. Of course, it should never be left on for more than an hour - it has been known to compress internal organs."
Looking to him with a smile of the most angelic innocence, as though what she were describing were the most commonplace thing in the world, she waits for his reacion.
"Perhaps you'd like me to demonstrate on you?" she continues, with a teasing light in her eyes.
Subj: The Uncrating
Date: 97-08-15 20:21:08 EDT
From: NovaDraco
HEYHEY!! Wait a minute..
::thinks:: Well, how about this ... the word of a slaver isn't much, but the word of a friend is... I trust you... give me your word that you'll let me out as soon as I see, and I'll do it...
Subj: The Uncrating
Date: 97-08-16 14:30:16 EDT
From: BldRdRose
Her mouth drops open for a moment, as though to reply, but then her lips close, and with a trace of mirth dancing in twin emeralds, she offers a sweet smile.
"Of coooourse you can trust me..." The words are so steeped in honey as to be cloying. "But let me continue... perhaps there's something here that would be more appealing to you..."
Her gloved touch lingers lovingly for a moment on the iron hoops, and then she draws away, hips swaying as she takes a few languid steps to reach the next object. Towering from a pile of sawdust and shavings is a cast-iron statue, a biblical figure from the drape of its molded clothing and the gilded glory encompassing it's head.
With a breathless whisper, her eyes lift in awe to the ominous, towering form.
"Meet ... the Virgin Mary."
"This device was used during the Spanish Inquisition, although this particular model came from a castle in Nuremburg." Her arms rises, and gloved fingertips trace a loving caress over the mechanical arms, and dance with delicacy between the metal spikes protruding from those arms.
"An accused heretic would be placed between those arms and squeezed in her loving embrace." With a low shudder of pleasure, she sighs, her eyelids drifting closed for a moment of happy contemplation.
"The spikes, you see," turning a bright smile to note Gabe's expression, "are capable of piercing about an inch deep into the flesh." A gloved fingertip slides up onto the dangerously sharp point of one of those spikes, balancing there careful to apply only the merest amount of pressure.
Subj: The Uncrating
Date: 97-08-17 01:54:32 EDT
From: NovaDraco
::his lip curls up in a sickening fashion at the well ... sickening object::
Ugh... ugh... that's a bit too weird for me... so, you'd say that was multiple piercings at once? Gee, you could sew the guy together by that time.
::grins and looks back at her::
Subj: The Uncrating
Date: 97-08-17 14:25:59 EDT
From: BldRdRose
"I can tell by the look in your eyes that you're simply aching to see more..." With gloved hands clasped together, her enthusiasm has by this time reached an almost sacriligious fervor.
Lifting her arm to the side in a sweeping gesture, she motions onward, to the next dismantled crate and the sawdust-coated pedestal standing in the middle of the mess. She poses beside this newest display, arms curved out to the side, looking for all the world like a game show model.
Atop the broad pedestal is what would appear to be a harmless wooden stool. That's right, a wooden stool - one round seat, three legs, ancient water marks staining those lower limbs, the surface a little worn from age ... but otherwise, entirely innocuous in appearance.
"This... is a ducking stool. A mild punishment, to be sure. I believe it was most frequently used on ... harpies... and strumpets..." She chuckles a little at the archaic terms. "...in Scotland and England throughout the 1700's."
"And what does it do, you might ask?," anticipating his question before it is even voiced, so great is her own fascination, "Well..."
"To use it, one must first attach a long pole to the underside. Of course, we'll have to find just such a pole, and a lake, or some other large body of water. The subject, you see, must be strapped onto the seat while a number of persons stand on the shore, lifting the pole and dunking the stool - and its occupant - into the water."
"Clever, isn't it?"
Subj: The Uncrating
Date: 97-08-18 02:59:31 EDT
From: NovaDraco
Clever, yes. Sick - surprisingly, no! It's something I'd have FUN doing. ::grins:: Somehow, the other traps aren't for me. This kinda thing I like...
::claps:: Encore, encore...
Subj: The Uncrating
Date: 97-08-18 18:20:56 EDT
From: BldRdRose
With one stiletto-clad thrust forward, she executes a gracious bow, a Cheshire-grin on her lips at his request for an encore.
Now, imagine a drum roll echoing from somewhere down the corridor. That is the sense of anticipation imparted by the liquid flashing of her eyes as she sweeps out of that bow, backing towards the final object on their gruesome tour of the new foyer statuary.
She eases to the side of a hukling, roundish form rising just to the height of her torso (and almost twice as long as it is high). Its precise shape is obscured by a red silk drape hanging over it's bulk in loose folds. But visible beneath the hem of the drape are what would appear to be the cloven hooves of a beast of burden, cast in brass.
"Now then," turning to Gabe, she brings her thumb and forefinger down to pinch at the fabric and pauses. "This last device has a rather grim history, far worse than any of the objects you've seen so far."
"So, if you are, shall we say, easily repulsed by accounts of physical atrocities... well, I suggest leaving now." Her eyes flash once more, with something between a tease, a leer, and the dark dementia of excitement at the abomination about to be uncovered.
Subject: Re:The Uncrating.
From: NovaDraco@aol.com (NovaDraco)
Date: Tue,19 Aug 97 19:45:38 EDT
Yeah! Yeah! Pull it off! ::sounds like a man in a strip bar:: TAKE IT OFF!
Subject: Re:The Uncrating.
From: BldRedRose@aol.com (BldRedRose)
Date: Tue,19 Aug 97 20:41:02 EDT
Her eyes flash wide in a moment of startling arousal, and she plucks the silk up by her fingertips, sending it wafting over her shoulder and to the floor behind.
And there, in all its bovine glory, its majesty only enhanced by the archaic tarnish on its brass surface, is a cast replica in the exact size and shape of a bull, with a hinged door at the back, just below the molded tail.
Curling her gloved hand into a fist, she knocks twice on the back of the beast, eliciting a hollow ringing to indicate that its interior is an empty chamber, and nothing more.
"The Brazen Bull... there's only one of its kind in the world... its manufacture was considered so reprehensible that it was used only once, and then buried away for all time..."
"You see...," running the flat of her hand along the bull's back, "...it was intended that a prisoner be put inside, and a fire lit underneath..." Nodding down, she gestures towards the ancient scorch marks on the animal's underside.
"Now if you'll look in here...," tilting forward, she lays a gloved palm over the top of the beast's muzzle, indicating the flaring nostrils, "... you'll see a clever arrangement of flutes... it was intended that the captive's agonized cries would be transformed into a melodious lowing with this
device..."
A glimmer of amusement lights her eyes and tilting the corners of her lips.
"It's said that when the maker presented his work to the emperor Phalaris, of Acragas, the tyrant was so filled with abhorrence, for both the artificer and his work...," rolling her eyes, in a blatant gesture of disagreement with the ages-old judgement, "...that he asked the inventor, Perilaus, to climb in and give a little demonstration.
"When he did, Phalaris had a fire built, to roast Perilaus. Then he had the body removed and tossed to the bottom of a hillside. But he didn't die in the bull... he died on the hillside," waggling her brows.
"And the device...," turning her much-amused gaze up towards Gabriel, and offering a loving caress to the top of the bull's head, "...was never used again."
Subject: Re:The Uncrating.
From: NovaDraco@aol.com (NovaDraco)
Date: Wed,20 Aug 97 11:08:13 EDT
::makes a face:: Ugh.. sounds.. tortorous. ::grins:: And YOU have the only one? ::chuckles:: Way to go, Rose..
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