[From behind, the facade is more obvious; there's no expression, no focus to distract from the fact that Slevin is coiled in on himself, braced and rigid; his terror hides even from him, he's shoved it so deep, but claims the way he wrings his wrist anxiously against the chains, fingers of his opposite hand curled into a fist, loose for now but telling.]
You could call it a come to jesus moment, I guess. A life changing epiphany.
[He's still glaring at Chris when the hooks settle against his skin and then push past, and he gasps softly, immediately tensing. He'd been expecting this, he tells himself desperately even as he fights the urge to writhe down and away from the hooks as they sink, slowly and inexorably, into muscle. He manages not to make any further sound, eyes shut tight, at least until they're pulled out.
He yells again, wordless and loud and almost gets it closed down before more pain explodes from the front. Slevin loses several moments to the blur his world becomes as Chris's kicks connect, nauseous and breathless, and then unable to breathe.
He's as doubled over as his restraints will allow when he's able to process time as a linear function again, gasping in air and trying not to puke. Blood stains his t-shirt and his vision sparks, but he manages to focus again on Chris, hating the tremor in his voice when he pushes more defiance past his teeth.
More hate.] Oh yeah. [He coughs, smiles a bloody smile.] Nice and slow.
Spam
You could call it a come to jesus moment, I guess. A life changing epiphany.
[He's still glaring at Chris when the hooks settle against his skin and then push past, and he gasps softly, immediately tensing. He'd been expecting this, he tells himself desperately even as he fights the urge to writhe down and away from the hooks as they sink, slowly and inexorably, into muscle. He manages not to make any further sound, eyes shut tight, at least until they're pulled out.
He yells again, wordless and loud and almost gets it closed down before more pain explodes from the front. Slevin loses several moments to the blur his world becomes as Chris's kicks connect, nauseous and breathless, and then unable to breathe.
He's as doubled over as his restraints will allow when he's able to process time as a linear function again, gasping in air and trying not to puke. Blood stains his t-shirt and his vision sparks, but he manages to focus again on Chris, hating the tremor in his voice when he pushes more defiance past his teeth.
More hate.] Oh yeah. [He coughs, smiles a bloody smile.] Nice and slow.