GreyLord wrote: ↑2 weeks ago
Could anyone not love the Swift Fox?
haha, thanks. I will take that as a compliment. I had not intended that everyone would like Swift Fox. She can be unreasonable, unfriendly, cocky, and demanding, but these all stem mental problems I have spend quite a few words on. I don't think she is very popular among her peers, and some counselors would also dislike having to deal with her.
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Giselle left the toilet to return for another round of a quick, almost completely luck-based card game with Willet, Honeybee, and Cottontail. Giselle’s bladder had already been empty, but Willet had called for “a short toilet break.” So the arm clothe-lining her and throwing her to the ground was not unexpected. However, that her assailant instantly moved to a submission hold, pinned her arms to her sides with her legs, and used her arms to press her face onto the floor and cover her eyes and mouth was a bigger surprise. Giselle was the smallest and weakest by a landslide, but it did not bode well that her opponent studied martial arts.
“Surrender,” Leafwing hissed in a Gollum-like voice. “Open thy mouth, commander.”
Giselle complied, and cotton of unknown origin entered her mouth. It was tightly secured behind her head. After blindfolding Giselle, Leafwing cuffed Giselle’s wrists and ankles, pulled her over her shoulder, and walked Giselle into the forest behind the office building. Giselle heard more footsteps, so she expected that her opponents in the card game were in on it and trailed her.
“Here we go again,” the commander thought, remembering her earlier trial, where she had hung from a bed frame and was tickled mercilessly after being dared by anonymous campers who still had not come forward. Cowards. Tonight could not be worse, Giselle reasoned.
Fifteen minutes later, the new girl lowered Giselle, laying her on the cold rock that thus had not been heated by the sun. They laid her on her back with her head pointing down at a 30-degree angle, unlocked the cuffs, removed her black track jacket, shoes, and socks, and grabbed her limbs and pulled them apart. She bound each limb in a different direction and bent Giselle into a spread-eagle that was neither strict nor loose. Leafwing spread Giselle’s hair and left her alone to notice the sounds of the forest and smell of slow-burning wood.
Giselle’s heart slammed in her chest as fingers moved over her feet, neck, face, and exposed neck. They were not tickling her to avoid breaking her skull but made her feel vulnerable and helpless, like a psychopath kiddo’s doll. The girls giggled and enjoyed teasing their food, brushing her with various materials: sticks, leaves, feathers, and acorns.
Giselle at first let it happen, but her annoyance at once turned into anger.
Why had she agreed to this torture?
Why was it her turn again?
What did she owe them?
Nothing!
First, she beat them in the mission, and they did deserve revenge? That is a skill issue on their part and not Giselle’s fault. And Willet had won the game and was participating as the sneaky, manipulative New Yorker would always do. Leafwing’s disappointment at losing had been genuine, but she better grow up and recognize you cannot always win, and when you lose, cry in a corner. Especially when this is your way to make it even. It was not Giselle’s idea to tie them up when captured.
The blindfold was torn away, and Giselle stared into deep green eyes surrounded by black eyeliner and a gold-colored mask resembling an ancient priest. There was no make-up at Spy Camp. Leafwing was awaiting a reaction, but Giselle did not give her any. She was not worth it. Black cloth covered her hair, and she wore a long red cape, making her look like an inquisitor. The four other girls were equally dressed like budget cannibalism cult members. Giselle rolled her eyes. She was not going to play along.
From the campfire, Leafwing picked out a piece of charcoal with a stick while she sang in a weird language. The sounds were foreign to Giselle. Flat, slow, low-pitched tones filled the area that had to be random and supposedly spooky in Giselle’s mind. It sounded the most like Mongolian throat singing. When cooled down, Leafwing grabbed the charcoal and walked to Giselle. “Welcome, mortal, to my realm.” Her voice boomed.
Let me throw a tantrum. Be angry. Get out. Who cares? Why should I give a fuck about a stranger’s feelings? Why let her do this? Running away would end this humiliation.
The new girl reached for Giselle’s head, holding the charcoal. Slowly, from her forehead, she drew a line down the middle of the commander’s face, down her chin to the top of her tank top. She went back and forth to make it thicker.
Why was everyone here an asshole? Why is their only pleasure in life hurting others? Dimwits. This was stupid. Even Eight would think so.
“Breath, mortal, breath,” Leafwing voiced between her singing. She drew horizontal lines on Giselle’s forehead, cheeks, and neck like an animal’s spine. “The process has begun. It cannot be reversed.”
Eight would also hate this. She would also detest being tied up in a horrible play. Okay, maybe she would deal with it. She was weird herself. She probably would say, “Oh, look Leafwing is new and tries to be original and creative. It takes guts to take such a risk. I would enjoy it if someone did that for me. You should not kick her down.” The copium. She was spineless.
“You are one of us now. Your soul, your life, and your future belong to us.” More lines were drawn on the inside of Giselle’s wrists and the top of her ankles.
“Next time, it’s your turn. Relax and play along,” the actress had advised in the morning. “I know it’s hard for you, but if you have trust, tie-ups are really fun.”
Giselle leaned back as Leafwing retreated. She contemplated to give Eight’s advice a shot. She would be wrong, proving Giselle’s belief this camp was stupid. After dipping her hand in the bucket of water meant for the campfire, Leafwing dripped drops on Giselle’s forehead, singing the mysterious song.
“I still smell darkness in thy blood,” Leafwing said. “We shall exterminate it! Bring me the tools.”
From a bag, one girl retrieved a long black linen cloth, almost 20 feet long and 2 feet wide. They tied ropes to both ends and one girl, Lionfish Giselle guessed, threw the ropes over tree branches while the cloth was held under Giselle’s hips. Willet loosened the spread-eagle as the linen was pulled up.
Giselle screamed into her gag as her back was bent, and her body floated in the air as limbs were pulled down in different directions. Due to the incline, her head bungled down, looking upside down at her peers. It was far from comfortable, but the pain was far from unbearable.
Leafwing rearranged the linen to spread the weight. “You’re looking hella cute,” she whispered through the metal mask.
Giselle reddened. What did she mean? Since when is torture considered cute?
Leafwing laughed, enjoying Giselle’s confusion, and put a finger on her chin. “Look at me and shiver in fear, devil inside thou.”
Objectively, Giselle thought, I can get through this. Being forced to concentrate on her body and mind took her anger away. At least Leafwing was not patronizing her and presented her with a challenge. The new girl put the fire out with most of the water, but some remained. Without warning, she threw it over Giselle’s head and dripped down her long hair onto the rock. Luckily, none fell into Giselle’s nose.
“Now, thou are cleansed.”
With those words, Leafwing’s helpers each untied a limp. They blindfolded her and let her rest for a second before carrying her back to the office building.