Iceland strained against the straps, though it was a pretty feeble struggle. His mouth opened, gasping like a fish’s as he started to hyperventilate.
“Now, let’s see if you can give us some information. Where does America live?” The mustachioed man circled around the table, holding a long knife in his hand; it glimmered savagely in the light, end wickedly pointed.
“America! America!” Iceland gasped out, not knowing any location more specific than that.
The man pointed the knife against Iceland’s pale, flexing wrist. “Where in America?”
Iceland broke down in tears immediately, almost incoherently sobbing that he didn’t know.
Norway, having recovered enough to raise himself to his knees and lean against the cell bars, yelled out, “He doesn’t know, damn you! Leave him alone!”
The blade sunk into Iceland’s wrist, making him scream hoarsely.
The mustachioed man drew out the blade, letting the blood well up around the strapped limb. He nodded to the other man, who came and stopped up the blood; it was likely they just didn’t want him dead quite yet.
“Answer the question,” the man said, and his eyes flicked back towards the other Nordics.
Iceland sobbed, trying desperately to remember the name of a state or city; he wasn’t exactly America obsessed. Only one came to mind. “N-n-new-”
“He lives in Washington DC!” Denmark said it, and there was a sort of horrified silence over the cell. Denmark’s face had a clenched jaw, and he wouldn’t look at his brothers. Better America got hurt than Iceland, in his opinion.
The mustachioed man grinned, saying, “We’re going to need a specific address, or…” the blade flashed, resting against Iceland’s bare chest.
Denmark spit out the address immediately, before anyone could shush him. In fact, it was unlikely, as much as their stomachs were turning, that any of the other Nordics would have stopped him, despite what he thought.
“Write that down,” the mustachioed man said with a smirk to his partner, and the partner wrote it down on a pad of paper.
The mustachioed man leered at Iceland, setting down the blade and drawing out a lighter and cigarette. “Where does China live?”
Iceland only whimpered, turning his face away.
The other Nordics looked helplessly among themselves. China was not familiar to them, and he could live anywhere; knowing his address would be a miracle among them. “Aren’t your brothers going to save you again?” The mustachioed man sneered, lighting the cigarette almost casually. Iceland watched the flame with a look of terror on his face.
“We gave you America,” Denmark pleaded, “We don’t know where China lives.”
“Pity.” And the man drove his lighted cigarette onto the sole of Iceland’s foot, causing him to scream in agony, twisting and twitching as he tried to pull his foot away.
“You bastard, you fucking bastard!” Denmark screamed at him, up on his feet with his blackening eye and shaking the bars. His hands were clenched tightly enough to whiten his knuckles.
Norway forced himself to his feet, despite it feeling like he got kicked in the chest all over, and growled out, “I’ll kill you! Leave him the fuck alone!”
Finland had cried out in dismay, limbs still trembling, and Sweden’s face was darker than a storm cloud as he held tightly to Finland.
When the cigarette was drawn away, Iceland cried like he could almost cry no more, pleading, “Please, please, big brother, please…”
Norway had thought his heart had already been torn up, but it was still there, tearing in two.
Denmark had angry tears in his eyes, as he gripped the bars and watched, knowing he was only feet away and yet completely helpless.
“I need the location of China,” the mustachioed man said, then modifying, “Or, more accurately, you need to give it to me if you want this to stop.”
“I don’t know,” Iceland whimpered, cringing.
Norway desperately tried to think of some Chinese address, some province, city, something… “Beijing,” he said, brain working overtime to come up with some sort of address as the man turned back to him.
“Oh, so you do know something. What’s his specific address?”
Suddenly, an address came back from when they had visited China. It definitely wasn’t residential, but Norway was desperate. “18 Xuanwumen West street.”
The other man wrote it down, and suddenly, the men started to clear the room.
“We’ll be back, I wouldn’t get too comfortable,” the mustachioed man said, and they exited the room, leaving Iceland still strapped to the table.
I hope after all this is over, after much more suffering of course ;) Icey's brothers kick the crap outta these bad guys! But only after more hurt and such!
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Broken 3/?
(Anonymous) 2013-12-18 12:39 am (UTC)(link)“Now, let’s see if you can give us some information. Where does America live?” The mustachioed man circled around the table, holding a long knife in his hand; it glimmered savagely in the light, end wickedly pointed.
“America! America!” Iceland gasped out, not knowing any location more specific than that.
The man pointed the knife against Iceland’s pale, flexing wrist. “Where in America?”
Iceland broke down in tears immediately, almost incoherently sobbing that he didn’t know.
Norway, having recovered enough to raise himself to his knees and lean against the cell bars, yelled out, “He doesn’t know, damn you! Leave him alone!”
The blade sunk into Iceland’s wrist, making him scream hoarsely.
The mustachioed man drew out the blade, letting the blood well up around the strapped limb. He nodded to the other man, who came and stopped up the blood; it was likely they just didn’t want him dead quite yet.
“Answer the question,” the man said, and his eyes flicked back towards the other Nordics.
Iceland sobbed, trying desperately to remember the name of a state or city; he wasn’t exactly America obsessed. Only one came to mind. “N-n-new-”
“He lives in Washington DC!” Denmark said it, and there was a sort of horrified silence over the cell. Denmark’s face had a clenched jaw, and he wouldn’t look at his brothers. Better America got hurt than Iceland, in his opinion.
The mustachioed man grinned, saying, “We’re going to need a specific address, or…” the blade flashed, resting against Iceland’s bare chest.
Denmark spit out the address immediately, before anyone could shush him. In fact, it was unlikely, as much as their stomachs were turning, that any of the other Nordics would have stopped him, despite what he thought.
“Write that down,” the mustachioed man said with a smirk to his partner, and the partner wrote it down on a pad of paper.
The mustachioed man leered at Iceland, setting down the blade and drawing out a lighter and cigarette. “Where does China live?”
Iceland only whimpered, turning his face away.
The other Nordics looked helplessly among themselves. China was not familiar to them, and he could live anywhere; knowing his address would be a miracle among them.
“Aren’t your brothers going to save you again?” The mustachioed man sneered, lighting the cigarette almost casually. Iceland watched the flame with a look of terror on his face.
“We gave you America,” Denmark pleaded, “We don’t know where China lives.”
“Pity.” And the man drove his lighted cigarette onto the sole of Iceland’s foot, causing him to scream in agony, twisting and twitching as he tried to pull his foot away.
“You bastard, you fucking bastard!” Denmark screamed at him, up on his feet with his blackening eye and shaking the bars. His hands were clenched tightly enough to whiten his knuckles.
Norway forced himself to his feet, despite it feeling like he got kicked in the chest all over, and growled out, “I’ll kill you! Leave him the fuck alone!”
Finland had cried out in dismay, limbs still trembling, and Sweden’s face was darker than a storm cloud as he held tightly to Finland.
When the cigarette was drawn away, Iceland cried like he could almost cry no more, pleading, “Please, please, big brother, please…”
Norway had thought his heart had already been torn up, but it was still there, tearing in two.
Denmark had angry tears in his eyes, as he gripped the bars and watched, knowing he was only feet away and yet completely helpless.
“I need the location of China,” the mustachioed man said, then modifying, “Or, more accurately, you need to give it to me if you want this to stop.”
“I don’t know,” Iceland whimpered, cringing.
Norway desperately tried to think of some Chinese address, some province, city, something… “Beijing,” he said, brain working overtime to come up with some sort of address as the man turned back to him.
“Oh, so you do know something. What’s his specific address?”
Suddenly, an address came back from when they had visited China. It definitely wasn’t residential, but Norway was desperate. “18 Xuanwumen West street.”
The other man wrote it down, and suddenly, the men started to clear the room.
“We’ll be back, I wouldn’t get too comfortable,” the mustachioed man said, and they exited the room, leaving Iceland still strapped to the table.
Re: Broken 3/?
(Anonymous) 2013-12-18 02:48 am (UTC)(link)Re: Broken 3/?
(Anonymous) 2013-12-18 04:10 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Broken 3/?
(Anonymous) 2013-12-19 05:04 am (UTC)(link)Icey's brothers kick the crap outta these bad guys! But only after more hurt and such!
Re: Broken 3/?
(Anonymous) 2013-12-19 08:29 am (UTC)(link)