Difference between revisions of "Force Feeding (Medusa Gorgon)"

Latest revision as of 20:41, 24 June 2014

The cell door in the Dark Holds open, and the witch steps out before the guards file in. Not a word is said, as the results for this non-volunteer are obvious. Instead Medusa accepts the towel that one of the assistants is holding out to her, using it first to carefully wipe off the blood of the black sacrificial dagger she is holding. Only when she's certain it's clean does she use the towel to wipe the blood splatter off of her face. Perhaps she should have worn a smock or something...

It's amusing how they think they can resist it. But no matter what, people do have to breathe. Forcing them to swallow questionable tea? Easier said than done. Yet somehow, some of the assistants for this research couldn't help but wonder why the witch had insisted on using the expendables, the non-volunteers for the peroral administration of the formula when it could be so much easier to give them the injections, and give the volunteers the tea. Or why she was the one to do it in the first place, when there were physically stronger people who could do this unpleasant work as they carried out the research, and she could stand back and make her observations. Even so, there were surely more effective ways to do this? Why do it like this?

Because she wanted to, Medusa had stated calmly with a soft smile. The only thing that was more interesting than this phase of research was when one saw the fruit of one's labour. But then again, she didn't expect anybody to understand. Nor did she need them to.

As they make their way to the next cell, the witch carefully places the blade in her pocket, offering it a slight pat before she reaches her hand out to the assistants following her. It doesn't take many moment before she is handed another vial, and Medusa smiles for herself as she waits for the guards to finish unlocking the door. It protests with a loud shrieking whine, and then the witch calmly steps inside, greeting the man inside with a pleasant smile that does not fit with the bloodied state of her medical coat and her dress. The rest of the words that the man utters she idly ignores by now, instead she walks up behind the chair in which the man has been restrained. Her left hand firmly moves to get a solid hold of the man's jaw, all before her right hand forces a nose clip onto his nose. Then it's just a little bit of patience from her part as stubbornness and futility slowly breaks down thanks to the need for oxygen. With the vial held ready in her right hand, her left hand firmly resting on the non-volunteer's chin and pressing his head against her abdomen, Medusa leans over him. Not a word is said as she watches him, the pupils of her eyes turning into slits. When the man's lungs cry out for air, she quickly pours the bitter tea into his mouth before she forces her right hand over his mouth. Give him a few moments, she tells herself as the man desperately tries to break loose from her grip. Her left hand moves down to his neck, to better feel when he finally swallows the tea and she can step back.

When the urge to reach into her pocket surfaces, she chides herself. Patience.

This one will most likely have the same result.