Scent Of Blood

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Saoirse's Impressions

Warnings: Torture, bathing someone of the opposite gender, rubbing skin raw, collaring, shock collars, electrocution, tending wounds, implied sleeping in a dog crate, re-opening scars, and digging nails into skin.

“We’re here!” Amara chirps as she parks the car outside of a tall Victorian-style house.

Jack looks up at it silently; he had been sitting silently in the backseat for a few minutes before arriving, staring ahead at nothing as Amara continued to work on her drinks.

Amara hops out of the car, swaying slightly and tugging at Jack’s leash. “Come on my little drowned boy.”

Drowned boy? Out of all the nicknames and creepy things you could call the kidnapped man you just bought, that’s what she went with?

Jack gets out, staring warily at Amara as she handed him some of her drinks.

“Carry these in for me, will you? And I didn’t catch your age at the Push And Shove, how old are you?”

“Twenty-three,” Jack says lowly, following Amara up the stairs and onto the porch.

“Samesies!” Amara squeals, pushing open the door and stepping into a grand entry hall. “Saoirse! I’m back, and I brought a boy!”

Amara sings the last part like a teenager, looking at the top of the staircase.

“Amara, how many times must I tell you not to get so many alcoholic beverages?”

A tall, older woman appears at the top of the staircase and begins making her way down.

She had on a plain white blouse with a long dark blue skirt, stockings, and black tall Victorian lace-up heels.

Jack takes a step back as she closely examines him, Amara skipping off into another room and leaving the two alone.

“Where did she pick you up from, the streets?” Saoirse scowls, tightly grabbing Jack’s arms and pulling him up the stairs. “You look like you haven’t bathed in days, and trust me boy, being thin is not good under Amara’s ownership.”

Another door is opened, and Saoirse leads Jack into a huge bathroom.

Moving over to the porcelain tub, Saoirse’s skirts bustle as she bends over to turn on the water, tampering with the settings for a moment before putting in the plug.

As the bathtub fills, Jack looks around the room for an escape.

Saoirse moves over to Jack and unclips the collar from his neck. It falls into her palm harmlessly, looking nothing more than a collar for a pet.

As soon as the collar was off, Jack turns on his heel and rushes out of the room, running down the stairs and towards the door.

Who cared if he didn’t have shoes on? This was finally a chance for freedom, after so long!

Jack fumbled with the doorknob before realizing Amara must have come back to lock it.

Jack fell to the ground with a scream, writhing in agony as Saoirse looked down at him, her eyebrows raised in shock and a pink taser in her hand.

“Normally I would not use such modern devices, but apparently you are going to cause trouble.” Saoirse grabs Jack’s shirt collar and hoists him up, a murderous look in her eyes. “I would be cautious if I were you.”

Jack stares at her, his eyes wide with shock, pain still buzzing through his back.

The taser pressed against Jack’s side, the soft flesh burning with pain as Jack howled.

“You will answer “Yes Ma’am”, Jack.” Saoirse prompts.

“Y-Yes Ma-am...” Jack grits, his teeth clattering.

Satisfied, Saoirse leads him upstairs and back into the bathroom. Turning off the water in the tub, Saoirse locks the bathroom door before regarding Jack.

“Take off your shirt and pants.” She demands.

Jack pulls his shirt off, watching Saoirse nervously. She inspects the bandages peeking out over the top of Jack’s pants, grabbing a pair of scissors out of the cabinet above the sink to cut them off.

“And your pants.” Saoirse snaps, “Hurry up boy, or you’ll be bathing in cold water!”

Jack hurriedly pulls them off and gets into the water without instruction, grateful for the small cover it gave.

Saoirse pushes him under the water for a moment, then begins to rub shampoo into his hair.

“I told Amara to stop bringing strays into the house,” Saoirse mutters, carefully covering all of Jack’s hair. “Knowing where she got you, I wouldn’t be surprised if you had fleas!”

Saoirse pushes Jack back under and runs her fingers through his hair, making sure all of the shampoo was out before allowing him to come up for air.

Jack coughs as he accidentally inhales some of the water, the soapy taste souring his tastebuds.

Grabbing a washcloth, Saoirse dunks it into the tub and scrubs some soap onto it, beginning to lather Jack’s arms, neck, and face.

Jack bites back a groan as Saoirse rubs him raw, leaving his skin bright red and sore.

Reaching under the water, Saoirse finishes cleaning Jack, paying extra attention to his branding wound, before draining the tub and allowing him to get out.

Grabbing the silver bell off the sink, Saoirse rings it, the soft tinkling sound echoing through the room. Saoirse grabs a white towel and begins drying Jack off, ignoring his discomfort.

“Your hair is a mess.” She clicks her tongue in disapproval, looking over to the bathroom door as it opened.

A quaint girl, about Jack’s age, stepped into the room. She was dressed similarly to Saoirse, but her features were much softer and kinder, her head down as she passively stared down at the tiled floor.

“Yes, Madame?” She asks quietly, her voice flat and dead.

“Go fetch me some bandages and tape,” Saoirse demands. “Quickly, Idra!”

Idra rushes off, her long skirts swishing as she leaves. Saoirse grabs the scissors again and forces Jack down on the stool in front of a vanity. The vanity was neatly organized, and Jack counted all the makeup in his head as Saoirse cleans his back and re-bandages it. Jack winces as Saoirse cleans a few more of his cuts, his eyes widening when she grabs the scissors and prepares to cut off a piece of hair.

“Hey! Wait, I like my hair long!” Jack protests, turning to look at Saoirse.

Saoirse forcefully grabs his head and makes him stare at the mirror again. “I don’t tolerate unkemptness in this house.”

Saoirse grabs a piece of hair and cuts quickly before Jack can make any more objections. Jack scowls, staring at the floor angrily.

Saoirse makes fast work of Jack’s hair, staring at him in the mirror for a moment. “I suppose that will have to do. Stand up boy, Idra will escort you to Amara’s apartment.”

Another ring of the bell and Idra was rushing a once more clothed Jack back down the stairs and down another hallway of the mansion. Stopping at a bookshelf, Idra grabs a copy of The Scarlet Letter, pulling down.

The bookshelf pulls out, revealing another hallway in the house.

It was decorated far differently from the rest of the house, with pale pink walls and aesthetic looking pictures.

“Jack!” Amara cheers, grabbing Jack’s arm and tugging her behind him as she lead him down the hallway.

Curtly nodding to Idra, the girl turns and leaves, shutting the bookshelf doorway behind her.

“Welcome to my apartment!” Amara spreads her arms grandly, a slight drunken stagger in her stride. “I decorated it all myself!”

Jack looks at the almost entirely pink interior with disdain.

“And here’s our room!” Amara says excitedly, a slight bounce in her step as she opens a door.

The bedroom was decorated excessively with pretty things and colorful knives. The bedsheets were a pink satin, and all around the room were creepy stuffed animals and dressed up porcelain dolls.

At the foot of the bed, was a dog crate.

It had soft pink bedding, two round pink pillows, and a little stuffed elephant with twenty eyes.

But it was a dog crate.

“Do you like it?” Amara noticed his stare. “I decorated it all nice for you, my drowned boy.”

Jack says nothing, just stares at the crate as Amara bustles around her room.

“Sit down.” Amara orders, pulling the pink chair away from her vanity.

Jack sits down on the seat lightly, wincing as his brand stung.

Amara pulls off his shirt, their eyes meeting in the mirror. Amara smiles lightly.

Amara’s fingers lightly trace down the whip scars on his back, moving to the knife scars that marked his arms and waist.

“Poor dear.” Amara hums, digging a nail into a more recent scar.

Jack cries out as it reopens, blood pooling at the opening and staining his shoulder red.

“Someone already decorated you.”

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