I have written a decent amount of background for Giselle, but I have not found a good way to share it yet. It will happen soon, thoslackywacky wrote: ↑1 year ago I wonder where this will lead. Will Giselle's history surface? Very nice chapter.
Not too much bondage in this chapter, but the drought won't last for long.
-----------------------------------------------
Giselle stepped back as Bulldog inched forward, his saber raised at her chest height. Almost two feet taller, his reach would be a foot further. That was way too much to overcome with swiftness and perfect timing. Her left heel touched the wheel of an office chair which she kicked aside. Her heart was racing.
“Fight me, thou coward,” Bulldog joked. His short ginger hair poked through the top of the mask. “Whereto would thou flee?”
A smile formed on Giselle’s face, which was hidden behind the protective mask. Trashtalk motivated her, and she loved returning some, which is unwise when one is losing for sure.
The second floor from the top of the office building had been an unusual place for a fencing brawl, being filled with a hundred office cubicles and many more random desks, small rooms, and pillars. Only the furniture remained, providing an eerie, deserted look as if something was off. But then can’t explain what it is like in a horror movie.
“There are five of us left and three of yours. A 1v1 is the best you will get. Better beat me.”
Of course, Giselle knew accepting the challenge was foolish. Fighting him would be downright suicide. He was not wrong. Both teams had started the round with seven fencers, each with a red or blue balloon taped to their back and stomach. Blue had lost two and red four, leaving Giselle’s team in a terrible position. Her team had been completely outmaneuvered, lost a critical duel, and the rest was picked off one by one. Now there were many holes in their defense.
She counted from five down to one and darted away when the counter hit one. She could only flee as turning around to poke and win had been disallowed for safety reasons. She tried reaching the opponent’s corner, spotting a fencer protecting their hostage, her last hope to secure victory in the round. Each team had a hostage, and popping one of their golden balloons would mean a direct win. Hedgehog’s arms were tied behind her back, elbows touching, and she wore a ball gag, although her fencing mask hid it from view. Bondage and walking targets had been introduced to “make the game more dynamic, more strategic.” These weirdos had turned a two-hour fencing lesson into a one-hour of actual fencing, for which Giselle had signed up. A simple 1v1 without bondage. In the second hour, they played this game where people had to be tied up. Weirdos.
Sadly, another tall guy protected Hedgehog, and she hid behind him. Now two impossible-to-beat opponents had their eyes on her, and she hid in a corner.
“You should have listened, little fox,” Bulldog pointed out. There was no sign the brief run put him out of breath. They raised their weapons again as Giselle had less than a meter behind her. From the corner of her eye, the other boy, Meerkat, approached at a 90-degree angle. Perhaps she could hold for a few strokes against two fencers, but not when seeing only one at a time. “Do you want to burst the balloon yourself, or should we help? It won’t hurt. You should …”
Giselle leaped forth and pushed Bulldog’s weapon away with hers, noting his grip had been loose in his overconfidence. Then she aimed at the blue balloon and saw it burst into fragments of blue rubber. She took half a step back and heard another burst of air. Meerkat had eliminated her from behind, which was all fair game.
“Nice one, Swift Fox. You caught me off-guard,” the beaten boy admitted as they strolled to the area for the eliminated players. At least he was honorable.
“Thanks,” Giselle said, knowing that both teams losing a player benefited the opponent’s team. Behind the line, they removed their masks and gloves and watched the two remaining red players get defeated, losing the round.
The red team moved back to their corner, behind 1-3 in rounds. They needed a miracle. “Fox, mind being the hostage? You haven’t been one yet, and we need Bull Shark and Ibex now,” Lionfish inquired.
“Fine,” Giselle fired back. “That is fine with me. Okay?” There was peer pressure, and the question had to be asked sooner or later. Everyone had taken their turn, so why should she chicken out like a pretentious princess?
“Can your elbows touch?” Lionfish asked. “Pull on your gloves, by the way.”
This question surprised Giselle a little. “Eh, yeah, I think so. Never tested that.”
“Cool, it looks so much better,” the tall girl complimented, stepping behind Giselle and squeezing her arms together with one hand. Macaw, the other female commander, tightened the brown hemp rope around Giselle’s wrist, tightening and cinching it over the tops of the gloves. Under her elbow, not far above the other knot, another short rope helped to disable two of Giselle’s limps.
“You can live with that?”
“I hope so,” Giselle uttered, not convincing herself. Her arms felt weird and useless, like a bird drenched in oil after a spill. Something was pulling her back, but the tension on her upper back was nothing to complain about. Her years in the cheer squad had helped. She recalled Lionfish had also survived a 10-minute round without effort while one of the gym-going guys only had his wrists crossed. Giselle had always been flexible, so these randoms had to prove her weakness with other means. The previous day had taught Giselle two things: Life here was not much worse than with her aggravating family, and these folks were not evil but would not accept her as an equal if she did not accept their ways. If she wanted to survive here, she had to adapt.
The commander reached into a box with gags and retrieved a bright-green ball, the type you would expect to glow in the dark. From the other hostages, she knew they had been cleaned and disinfected. It still felt stained, but they also shared utensils that had only seen some soap and warm water. “Keep your mouth open for a sec. Thank you,” the commander ordered as Giselle perceived why it was called a gag. Her throat felt eerie, protesting against the peculiar sensation, and her longs stressed too.
“You good?” Lionfish inquired. Giselle nodded, hoping it had been the initial scare. Hedgehog had done this, so she could as well. Surrounded by six of her peers, she had to give in, and how bad could it be? “This is your first time wearing a ball gag? I will stay close to you and use the distress signals when needed.”
Giselle suppressed her frustration. Had Lionfish not humiliated her sufficiently the day prior? Was it necessary to do this in front of everyone?
Ibex placed the fencing mask on Giselle’s head, and balloons were fixed to everyone’s chest and back, including a golden pair for the reluctant hostage. A whistle sounded, and the red team regrouped with a new, offensive strategy. Giselle followed Lionfish behind the group towards a dead-end where two fencers could most likely hold. If not, they would lose. Bull Shark circled from the left around a confused group of attackers with another girl. Ibex did the same with a muscular boy on the right, surprising their opponents, who had not changed their winning strategy. They sent one person through each side aisle and two through the middle, keeping in position until they could pick off a misplaced opponent. It was all positional and about control, waiting for an opportunistic moment. A fast attack over the flanks was the last thing they expected. Confused, they looked at each other. The two in the middle felt stuck in their choice, and their failure to choose made both flanks break.
“Looks good,” Macaw said. The lone incoming attacker, Bulldog, did not dare to approach and fight the three girls, even though one could not defend herself.
“Definitely. Nice strategy, commander.”
“Yeah, it seems to work. Maybe I am not such a dreadful commander after all.”
“Nope, all seems to work,” Lionfish confirmed, continuing the lousy acting. “I wouldn’t vote against her, would you, Swift Fox?”
Giselle sighed, sick of the twist of the morning already. Washington had announced a big mission in two days for which all campers had to work together while the commanders led them. As was allowed, Tarantula filed a recall against all three commanders. Her passionate speech featured kidnappings, other ways the dictatorship-like rulers oppressed their opposition, and how snobbish they were towards new campers. Macaw had countered, recounting she had interfered with an earlier mission, causing setbacks, and could not earn her spot as a commander herself. They were too unreliable, and to give them the job days before the mission would not help anyone. Tara first had to show she was a team player. Arguments continued before both camps started to camp and court those whose votes were still unknown. Giselle had been among those, and the fake friendliness irritated her. They did not care about her, only about that meaningless political game.
Meanwhile, two blue balloons burst while all the red ones remained inflated. Bulldog did not dare to strike, and the remaining four blue fencers were surrounding their hostage, surrounded by the five red attackers. Having to dance around their bound hostage, Giselle’s team was toying with them, thinning out the defenders with minimal losses until the golden balloon on the boy’s back snapped.
“Surely that’s not too shabby,” Macaw beamed.
“Not at all, not at all,” Lionfish confirmed. “Oh, and now we can free you as well!”
“Thank God, finally,” Giselle thought as the unnecessary bindings were removed. The one accidental tie-up in which she had found herself had not been an outright disaster. Only five-or-so weeks left.