ombranera | Open RP Post

"As you wish." Zevran flicks the cat so it hangs at his shoulder, the tails on one side, the handle swinging free against his chest. Every other implement is set back in the leather bag he'd brought in with him.

"This will sting quite a bit- I know you said during you would not wish to be touched- but afterward. When we are finished; I would rather apply salve to your back to ensure you do not walk away with more than bruising- or that you take few sips of a healing potion. Whichever you find more agreeable."

Cade thinks about it, and ends up undecided. Is part of the process not being in pain for a while after? It sounds like cheating, at least to his mind.
"Maybe," he concedes. He'll decide when it's over, but silently resolves to not be so weak.

"Maybe the touching, or maybe you do something for the injuries? The former is fine so long as you take the potion. The latter? I do not whip someone unless they tend to themselves or allow me to tend to them afterward. It is one of my rules." It is far, far to simple for this to go horribly wrong otherwise. "You will still bruise, make no mistake. You will be feeling it tomorrow and for a few days. But this is to make certain if skin is broken you do not become ill from it- to be sure that you are not harmed in ways you do not want."

Cade is frustrated by the rule, but he's not calling the shots here. He nods, a bit grudgingly. "I'll take the potion," he decides, looking at the floor.
It's not like he's never gotten infections before, although in the past it was easier to pass them off as the results of rough sparring.

"Good." He finishes putting away his implements, setting one potion off to the side for afterward along with a skin of water. "How is it you would like this done? Against the wall, Sitting backwards on the chair, I've a rope and a hook if you wish to be suspended by your wrists."

Cade lifts his head to blink at him, and shakes it uncertainly. "However you think it best," he says, with the same grim resignation as before. Usually he just sits on his bed or the floor, but this is a different beast altogether.

"I think for this, our first time- against the wall will be best." Give Cade something cool to lean into if he wishes, a way to show when enough was enough. Zevran ran his fingers along the handle of the Cat as he considers the other options and discards them. "Strip to the waist and stand facing the wall."

The moment of truth is finally here. Cade hesitates for a second or two longer than he might before following any other direct order, but follow it he does. He unlaces his doublet with shaking hands, rests it over the back of the chair to keep it from wrinkling, then removes his chemise and folds it neatly before setting it on the seat.
He glances uneasily at Zevran, but this part at least he's gotten used to, being that he is supervised even when changing clothes for the night. That's a nightmare in itself, but he has learned to separate himself from it.

Head down, he goes toward the wall and stands there as instructed, staring at a fixed point, arms at his sides in a soldier's posture. From here Zevran can likely see the scars littering his upper back, quite nasty from the looks of them: twisting cuts and former gouges, clearly from times that he either didn't know when to quit or refused.

He suspected as much. Those that flogged themselves with knotted rope likely did for a lack of anything better and an inability or lack of desire to tend to themselves afterward. There had been crows that did similar things- Zevran made a point to either correct them as best he could or never come under their hands otherwise. True to his word when he steps in behind Cade- he does not touch- not with his hands. The leather wrapped handle taps Cade lightly upon the shoulder.

"Brace yourself against the wall, you will need to. What do you say if you wish this to stop?" An obligatory check in, one he will start with until such a time comes that he will not have to do so.

Cade flinches when he's tapped on the shoulder, but quickly becomes aware of what's happening. He nods as he presses the flats of his hands against the wall, and when prompted, obediently replies, "stop." There's a bit of impatience to the word as well-- his stomach has been twisting itself in knots since he arrived, and now that they're finally on the verge of getting it over with, it seems like Zevran is stalling.
Cade braces himself, willing it to start.

"I am going to strike you three times and then check in." After that- it depends on how these strikes go. Zevran allows the haft of the cat to slip back into his grip, swinging it a few times to aquatint himself with the weight of it once more. It's been some time since he's done this and he would rather not swing too hard or too soft- one was as bad as the other in such circumstances as this. Two, three more swings through the air until he is satisfied with the weight of it, the flick of the knotted ends, before he adjusts and strikes the meat of Cade's back with a sharp hiss and crack of leather on flesh.

Maker, just do it, Cade agonizes, nodding absently when Zevran keeps talking. Of course, he nearly jumps out of his skin the first time he hears the cat whistle through the air to hit nothing, and he looks over his shoulder in frightened bewilderment until he realizes what Zevran is doing. Oh.
...all right.

That prepares him more for the actual contact, though that in itself is enough to take his breath away. This is a very different sensation than when he does it, and for a moment he isn't certain he hasn't just been stabbed, but the lingering burn after the strike (without the telltale trickle of blood or horrible residual pain) betrays the truth.
Apart from the gasp, however, he keeps quiet.

He gives Cade a moment, half a moment to adjust to the sting, to say something- when no word comes and the initial blow has had time to sink in and truly needle at nerves? Zevran swings again, striking the opposite shoulder with neat symmetry. Not as precise as dagger work- but he was well acquainted with leather and how it moved, and this is a favored tool for those he kept company with that enjoyed such things.

True to his word there is that same space of time for the sting to sink in before he brings the cat across both patches of reddened skin, crossing over the abrasions. Then? "How are you doing, Cade?"

And here he thought he was tough. The second stroke garners another sudden intake of breath, and the third a yelp, but he holds his position, tears stinging his eyes.

"I'm fine," he says to the wall, his voice a little higher and less certain than before. But he knows what to do to make it stop, and he's not bloody going to.

"Do you think you can take, say, fifteen more?" Zevran rests the head of the cat between Cade's shoulder-blades, eyeing the blooming welts. "Perhaps twenty. I am not certain just yet- you are terribly fair and go red so easily after all."

The touch on his back causes Cade to flinch again, but then he nods, making sure the motion is clear. He grits his teeth and steels himself-- he can do it, and he will.

"Alright." If he's sure- then Zevran falls back to begin swinging. There is the same pause as before between each strike- a sharp crack across either side of Cade's back, creating a lattice of welts over his shoulders and in between. Little by little fair skin blooms red with raised welts under Zevran's careful eye and precise blows. Too much could break the skin, too little dissatisfying.

Another faltering cry escapes Cade when Zevran starts up again, but he manages to compose himself at least a little, ducking his head and clenching his jaw as the elf proceeds. Considering how badly he's shaking, it's borderline magnificent that he's able to continue holding the position-- but on the other hand, perhaps he's just that committed.
Cade does what he's told. That's what gives him meaning, and if he were to just not do what he was told, then everything would be even more of a mess than it already is. Making a mess of things is seemingly his only talent beyond obeying.

Each lash stings as much as the first, and periodically, when one hits just right, he yelps or whimpers accordingly. He's aware of it happening, but has to make a mental note to be embarrassed about it later, since he currently has more pressing issues than worrying about preserving his dignity.
This might be the most vocal he's ever been.

There is something to be said for the resolve of a man against pain. The clench of muscle, the subtle flinching, the bitten back cries? Zevran takes a great deal of care to keep himself separate from what is being done as to not shift the tone into something that Cade does not want. Normally there are other games, other sensations that come into play. Gentling or hands or filthy words dripped into an ear-

But this is all Cade has asked for.

This is all Cade shall receive. The steady, unyielding strike of the Cat against his shoulders over and over, finding pale patches of skin not yet marked, places that make him whimper. Fifteen blows in and Zevran pauses, listening to Cade's breath before weighting the need for another five.

Cade is all right, though less so than he'd like to be. All the same, he wanted punishment, and that's what he's getting, so he's not about to complain or regret a thing.
His eyes are streaming openly now, his breath hitching with the effort it takes to not just break down and weep again, but he also feels strangely warm, not just along his back, but... more or less everywhere. Hazy, fuzzy, and blessedly devoid of the usual tension and worry, like a waking dream. He wants to chase it, even at the expense of further pain.
"More," he feebly suggests.

Ah, there it is. Zevran wasn't certain if Cade knew such a reaction was possible- if that was why he chased the punishment or if he truly desired to be hurt for wrongs he has assumed to have done. He flicks the tails of the Cat back over his shoulder for a moment to consider the expanse of Cade's back, his breathing, how he yet holds himself against the wall. More is quite possible.

More is very doable.

"As you like." There is no need of a firmer hand, here. The current pattern has been working well- Zevran lays into Cade's back to deepen the welts, half a mind on the Cat, half on Cade and his reaction to each strike.

The brief pause gives Cade a moment to come back to himself, but then it begins again, that awful, wonderful warmth creeping into every aspect of his being.
He's still flinching and making the small, distressed noises on impact, but they're more routine now, nothing that he's either trying to prevent or enhance.
His eyes close and his breathing levels out into a rhythm matched to the strokes, his mind falling more easily into that place he nearly had a moment ago. He doesn't care about anything, and for someone who spends every waking moment caring too much about every tiny thing, it's quite a relief. He idly wonders if this is some form of magic, and then decides it doesn't matter.

Fifteen becomes twenty- twenty becomes twenty five as Zevran continues to work across the skin of Cade's back, watching his breath even out, watching him shift from here to that safe, floating space where nothing and no one may touch him. Until he is given sign that Cade cannot stand this any longer-

Or he breaks skin-

Or he hits the count of forty-

Zevran shall continue.

Cade gives no such signal, and as it continues, he barely reacts anymore. He does, so slowly it's barely noticeable, lean forward slightly-- his arms have grown tired from holding himself up, and he bends them enough that he can rest his forehead against the wall.
The coolness of the stone against his overheated face, playing counterpoint to the fire on his back, evokes a gasp-- of surprise, not pain.

No skin is broken, no sign from Cade that this is no longer wanted as he was well and truly drifting- and Zevran comes slowly to the final four strokes of the cat.

Crossed over the mass of welts and red- Cade would be bruised for a week solid even with the potion. It is a beautiful thing to see. Satisfied with his work, with Cade's drifting Zevran flicks the cat back up over his shoulder, the handle hanging freely as he speaks. "Cade- you need to come sit before you fall over."

True to his word, even if he'd rather simply move him by hand, Zevran does not touch him.

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