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Ashley & Christi!
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by
Christi
(new)
Mar 09, 2013 08:22PM
Yay, RP!
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I like that - do you want your charrie to be the kidnapper or the kidnapped?
All righty. Want me to make a chartism profile?
*charrieName: Dylan Nichols
Age: 18
Appearance: Dark brown hair, dark brown eyes, slightly muscular build
Personality: Very charming and charismatic
Sounds good. :)Dylan leaned up against a wall, wondering what to do.
He smirked, his fingers instinctively reaching for his dagger. Finally, a bit of fun. He began to walk behind her, shoving his hands in his pockets to seem casual.
You silly girl, he thought, following her into the ally, inching closer to her.
He finally cupped a hand against her mouth, using his other hand to press his dagger to her throat in one fluid motion. "Come with me," he rasped in her ear.
"Good girl." Dylan gave her a cruel smile. "Pick up the guitar. We wouldn't like something like that ruined, would we?" he asked with mock sympathy.
Keeping his hand around her mouth, he sheathed his dagger and dragged her to the back of his van lying in wait nearby. He jumped inside and shut the doors, pouring some chloroform on a cloth and shoving it to her face. "Be s good girl and you may just go free sooner rather than later."
((All right, later!))He waited until she passed out, then hopped in the front and drove away.
He pulled up in front of the abandoned building and dragged her inside.
He dragged her to a couch and tied her with rope, not caring to be gentle, and waited for her to wake up as he fingered his dagger.
"Morning, sunshine," he greeted her sarcastically.
Dylan smiled, pretending to be sweet. "Dylan. A pleasure." He gazed back at the dagger, wondering whether he'd use it first or if he'd settle for waterboarding.
He turned to smirk at her, then went back to his weaponry, not giving her a direct answer. Fear always made things more fun.
"Mmm. That's what the last one said." He settled for waterboarding, pulling the materials out and getting them ready, filling a pitcher with water.
"No, you are not," he acknowledged, hoisting her in his arms.
"Waterboarding," he answered simply, carrying her over to the board. He set her down, strapped her down to the board, and put another white cloth over her nose and mouth.
"A cloth. For, shall we say, respiratory impairment." He poured the water over the cloth.
"You can still breathe? Huh." He frowned as he poured more water over her. "No, I'm not going to kill you, love. Just have a little fun."
"Ah, there we go." He smiled as he refilled the pitcher.
He pulled the cloth off, allowing her a chance to breathe as he refilled the pitcher. "Take shorter breaths," he advised. "You'll recover more quickly that way."
He shrugged. "Just how it is." He counted down from ten, then replaced the cloth, pouring more water over it.((Just saw that on TV. I don't know if it's true or not. :3))
He refilled the pitcher for the last time and dumped it on her.
Dylan frowned as he realized he'd overdone it again. He peeled the cloth away and waited for her to wake up again.
He carried her back to the couch, putting the waterboarding materials back.
"What do you mean? Why am I doing this? Why you? Why is grass green?"
"I enjoy inflicting pain. And you were simply there." Shrugging, he pulled out his case of knives.
"Nah." Shrugging, he sat down on the couch beside her, picking out one of the smaller daggers. "I do admire your bravery, though."
"It's going to take a lot more than that, love," he informed her with a laugh. With that, he slowly began to drag the dagger through her arm.
"You have such a lovely scream," he murmured, bringing the dagger to another section of her arm.
Smiling, Daryl pressed it further in her arm.
"Give me one good reason," he commanded, drawing the dagger out.
Dylan snorted. "Uh-huh." He felt a pang of guilt, but pressed on anyway, dragging the dagger down her other arm.
"I an not. Stop saying that." For whatever reason, it got to him.
Frustrated, he pulled the dagger out and glared at her. "All that's left 'deep down' is a monster. Nothing more."
Frowning in suspicion, he edged closer to her.
He blinked, stunned by the gesture. "What was that for?"
Shaking his head, he lifted the dagger again.
Dylan simply sat there in shock, then felt anger rush over him. He pulled away and sliced through the ropes with the dagger. "Get out," he muttered.
"Yeah, okay. Whatever." Trying to suppress his anger, he rose and headed for another room.
Sighing, he stopped in the hallway, unsure of why he was humoring her.
Dylan shook his head forcefully, having no words left to say. He felt like a child again, like when his mother was trying to console him and he only wanted to push her away. He just wanted to be alone, get her away from the monster that lived inside.
