St. Peter's Asylum discussion

Not much exists in Margot's room. She hadn't wanted much except a bed for Dolly Miss Molly. Everything is simple and hardly ever used.

RP here.

Margot sat in her room, on the floor beside her bed and the bed that used to belong to her precious doll, Dolly Miss Molly. In memory of her now being deceased, the young murderer had placed flowers on the smaller bed, but those flowers were now dead, too. It had been about a month since her doll's death by Raven, but Margot still remembered as though it had happened yesterday. Dolly Miss Molly had been in her life since she had been very young, and it was far from normal to not have her companion around. Despite that, Margot had forced herself to attempt to act normal without her doll, but she was still lost with the routine of eating, breathing, and sleeping. Now she sat, playing with the strands of her hair and picking dead ends. She was completely unaware that her life was ending very soon.

Even as low as she had lain lately, it wasn't hard at all for Raven to find out exactly where Margot Middleton was spending her days: her dorm. He couldn't say that the answer--given by one of the meeker, more easily intimidated nurses--surprised him; it was said that since the "death" of her precious doll, the childish fourteen-year-old was completely lost. But that was all right with the Indian--because, as all good predators knew, the lost made the best prey. And indeed, it was Margot who had been on his mind lately. He'd patched things up with Rosemarie, and now it was time to be rid of the second stone weighing down on his chest.

Now he stood just outside the door to Margot's dorm, more than ready to tie up some loose ends of his own. His gun (the very same which had took Arabelle's life) was holstered neatly at his left hip, and his favorite knife (the one which had scarred Akantha) hung at his right. The weapons were out in plain view, and the Indian himself wasn't at all worried about that; Margot deserved to see the instruments which would bring about her end. She deserved to think on it, and think on it hard. Who knew, perhaps it would break her. A wide smile came to Raven's lips at the thought and, without farther ado, he raised his hand, made a fist, and knocked.

Margot dropped her strands of hair, her dark eyebrows pulling together and her lips forming a puzzled pout. Who would be coming to her door now? No one ever came to see her, and the nurses had already come to check on her and get her to eat a small breakfast bar, which she only barely nibbled on. She hadn't had much of an appetite lately. Curious, she got up off of the floor and to her door. She opened the door slightly and peered through. When she saw the Indian standing in the doorway, then the gun, then the knife, her heart dropped to her stomach that was doing nervous cartwheels. Her eyes widened in surprise -and in fear-, her jaw slacking into a petite 'o'. She said nothing to the sadist, just stared at him in frightened awe.

"Hello, Margot!" Raven said cheerfully, waving at the half of a face he could see through the crack. He was smiling widely--and the expression was a little too bright to be anything other than worrisome. It was an expression which did not match his eyes: it was too big, too pleasant to go with the almost dead rage that burned in his gaze. The Indian nudged one bare foot through the small opening of the door, and then swept it open as easily as if he were kicking a soccer ball. He strode right in, paying no mind as he nearly knocked the fourteen-year-old down with one broad shoulder, and stopped in the middle of the room. He turned around in a full circle once, and when he was through was looking at the small bed which had once been the sleeping place of Margot's doll--now the sleeping place of a bouquet of dead flowers. His unsettling smile, still present, grew wider still, and he began to chuckle. "Mourning your doll, I see. That's good--you should be. You lost a friend, didn't you? Close the door, Miss Middleton. I've come to pay my respects." And he rounded on her with startling quickness. In an instant, the gun was free from its holster, cocked, and pointed right at the young girl's head. "Don't you dare disobey me this time, sweetheart," Raven said in a low voice. The mock cheerfulness with which he had spoken to her before was gone, replaced by heated anger. "If you do, you're going straight to hell and you ain't comin back. Close the door. Throw the bolt. Now."

Margot was so terrified that she didn't argue with Raven. She was so terrified with her heart trying to burst from her chest and her pulse quickening at an alarming rate, she was afraid that she would be scared stiff and she wouldn't be able to move to shut and bolt the door. She so badly didn't want to because if she did, then there was no hope for help if she needed it. Somehow she was able to get to the door with shaky knees and a quivering lip that Raven would have been able to see if he looked. She went to close the door with arms that felt like lead, and winced at the clicking sound it made when she shut the bolt. She turned expectantly to Raven, but her green eyes fell on the barrel of the gun and not the sadist's face. It was because of the gun that she didn't utter a snappy retort and simply stood still like a scared rabbit, her eyes wide and frightened, lip quivering madly.

The smallest of smiles curled at Raven's lips when he saw that. It was a cruel, mocking expression. He came forward, gun held out, until he stood just before the stiff form of his soon-to-be victim. "You tried to kill me," he said quietly. "Do you remember that, Margot? That day in the infirmary. Almost a month ago. You had Dolly Miss Molly with you. Remember? Do you? I hesitate to go on as if you do because I know how utterly lost you are without that little bitch you called a friend barking orders in your head." By the end of this little spiel, Raven was almost snarling. His knee shot out, connecting with the soft skin of Margot's stomach, sending her backwards, knocking her flat. He dropped down beside her, set the gun by her head, and drew the knife. The blade glittered dully--much like the Indian's eyes, now trained right on hers. "Do you remember that, you miserable little weakling? Even with Dolly Miss Molly gone?" The knife came in close, and was pressed almost gently up against Margot's throat. "I know you're scared, but it might be smart of you to answer my question. If you don't..." He trailed off, and the knife pressed down. "If you don't, sweetheart, I'm going to gut you like a the rabbit you are."

A small whimper escaped Margot, pain, panic, and fear making her eyes glow in the poor lighting. The blade felt cold and sharp against her soft, delicate skin and it would have made her shiver if she didn't force herself not to in for fear of being cut if she moved. She moved her lips slightly and no sound came out at first. She slightly panicked, and she was afraid (always afraid since he entered and slowly becoming more and more afraid) that she would never be able to speak with his knife under her throat, pressing in ever so slightly. "Remember," she whispered, which apparently was a response meaning to say that she did remember what happened when she -or Dolly Miss Molly- had tried to kill him.

"Good," Raven said softly. His smile widened to include his teeth, and this time, it wasn't a pleasant expression. Rather, his was the unmistakable look of a predator going in for the kill. "I'm glad you remember, Margot--because now I'm going to return the favor." The blade moved, tracing small, delicate patterns along the tender flesh of Margot's neck. The Indian chuckled. "Problem is, I don't have the advantage of a voice in my head, telling me what to do to you. So you're going to have to help me out a little." With his free hand he pulled up the girl's shirt, and walked two fingers up and down the skin of her stomach, studying her as if in deep thought. "What do you think your punishment should be, Margot? Hmmm? What should I do? Break something? Cut you up a little? What?" The knife danced slowly up, from Margot's neck to her face to the top of her ear. There, it began to press down. "Maybe I take your ears," the Indian said softly. "Stop their listening." And the knife paraded down, to her cheek this time, hovering just by her mouth. "Maybe I take your tongue. Stop its wagging." Again the blade was raised, and now it was set down to the top of Margot's head, just at her hairline. "Or maybe, just maybe, I take your scalp. As a trophy. After all, that's what savages do, isn't it, Margot? They scalp. I'm sure Dolly Miss Molly has told you about that before. Hmmm? Has she? Has she told you all about us savages, and what we like to do to helpless little rabbits such as yourself?" Raven leaned down, so that his face was that much closer to hers. His wolf smile was there, growing by the minute in the presence of her fear. His eyes glittered. "I'll bet she has. What has she said about us, Margot? What has she said about me? Tell me, now. Don't be shy. I don't bite." Much.

The blade was off of her neck and Margot thrashed a little bit when Raven lifted up her shirt, stopping when the knife touched her tender stomach. She attempted to avoid the blade as much as possible, creating small squeals of denial when the blade came near her. Her eyes were beginning to sparkle with her tears of fear. When the knife came close to her face, her lips started to quiver even more and a tear slid down her cheek. "She never said anything!" She squeaked defiantly, voice high with panic. "I swear, Raven, she didn't say anything about you or your kind!"

"My kind?" Raven tilted his head at her, and his smile lessened to become inquisitive, almost mockingly curious. "I have a kind, Margot? I didn't know that. A people, yes, but not a kind." As he spoke, the knife sank down into Margot's forehead, deep enough to draw blood. The Indian drew a line down, down, down, until at last the knife reached the very top of her eyebrow--and there it stopped. It came up a good ways, and then curved down again, so that by the time he was through there was a small, bright red 'D' glittering in Margot's skin. "Tell me a little about that, Margot," Raven said softly. "Because I think you're lying to me. Tell me, why don't you, what Dolly said about my kind. Because every time you lie, and every time you don't, I'm going to add another letter. Dolly would have wanted you punished for lying, I'm sure. She would have wanted to make a mark on you. I think..." And now his voice was silky, akin to a purr. "I think I'm going to help her out. Do it for her. After all, she's not here to do it herself."

Margot hated how Raven was talking about Dolly. What did he know about Dolly? He didn't know anything, she had after all, been her friend and not his. He knew nothing, and the young murderer hated how he thought he could act as though he did. It enraged her, and the rage burned in her gaze, even through the pain of Raven cutting her forehead. That had resulted in a few more tears and a yelp of pain. She ducked her head down and away from the blade, but the deed had been done. She glared up at Raven, blinking heavily to try and get the blood leaking down her face out of her one eye. "She didn't say anything about you, Raven! I swear, she didn't say anything. A small sob hitched in her throat. "I swear I'm not lying, honest."

Raven actually began to laugh. "All right, Margot, all right. Let's say for all intents and purposes that I believe you, shall we?" His smile, his wolf grin, became huge and taunting. "I don't really care if you are lying or not, honey. I don't. Because I don't need a reason to torture you here--I already have one." As if to prove this, Raven again began to cut. Diagonal line up, down, up, down. An 'M' now accompanied the 'D' in Margot's skin. "You tried to kill me, you stupid bitch!" The Indian was shouting now, renewed rage in his voice--no longer could he play up his amused, cheerful façade. "You tried to kill me!" He slashed up, down, up, down again. A second 'M' now sat glittering red beside the first. "And that's the only fucking reason I need for torture, sweetheart! Doll. If you ask me, I've got all the right in the world to do whatever I want to you and there is nothing. You. Can do about it." By the end of this outburst, Raven's chest was heaving. His eyes were black fire. He meant his words, and thought them true: one life for another. It was only fair. And, more importantly, it would set things right. The Indian didn't give a rat's ass if Margot agreed with him or not, if she cooperated or not--because no matter what she did, he felt obliged to counter it in some painful form or fashion. Now he sat back, knife clutched hard in one hand, glaring down at her. "I wouldn't do that again, Margot. Don't get me too angry. Otherwise, this game gets cut short. And I think you know what happens to you if it does." And the Indian drew one finger across his throat, making a harsh cutting sound for emphasis.

The young murderer (who would soon become the murdered) shuddered at the harsh sounds of his sounds of death, her death. She had cried out again when he cut into her, cries much more shrill than before, higher due to more to her fear than to her pain. She didn't hurt so much, the throbbing of her cuts had so far numbed everything else out of her. She remembered her excuse for the last time be accused her of trying to kill him. She hadn't tried to kill him, certainly not. If it weren't for Dolly, such an idea wouldn't have been in her head. She never wanted to kill him, but Dolly had made her; she never had had her own choice before. Now she had to pay for what Dolly had done to her. She shook her head savagely, trying to convince Raven that she was innocent. "No, Raven, I swear, I've told you already! I didn't do it! Dolly made me! I never wanted to hurt you." She whimpered slightly, eyes rounding and again filling with tears.

"Bull. Shit." And Raven slapped her hard across the face, hard enough to rock her head to one side. "What have I told you about Dolly Miss Molly, Margot? What have I said? She's. Not. Real. Every single thing you do in this pathetic life of yours is your own fault--and that includes attempting to pull the plug on me." A vicious smirk appeared on his face at the pun. "But do you know what, Margot? Fine. I believe you: Dolly made you do it." He stood up, looked down at her for a moment, then snatched at her shirt collar and yanked her roughly to her feet. "But you didn't, did you? You didn't kill me. You failed. And you and I both know what Dolly does to you when you don't listen, when you fail. She punishes you. Doesn't she?" And he leaned forward, his face close to hers. "Does she punish you, Margot? Tell me the truth."

Margot knew that Raven didn't really believe him. She could feel it in the air and see it in his eyes. Before and after he slapped her in the face, which she screamed about the pain afterwards. It stung a lot, and Margot was particularly weak without her doll, both mentally and physical. He was right, though. He was always right, it would seem. She did fail in killing him, in doing what Dolly wanted. But she could still, possibly, hopefully, try to do what she had tried to do before, in honor of Dolly Miss Molly. She was on her feet on shaky legs thanks to Raven, but she hoped to take advantage of that. "She does sometimes," she said in answer to his question. "But only sometimes."

"Precisely." And Raven almost seemed to crow. He picked up the gun from the floor, set the barrel against the back of Margot's head, and walked her forward. "And that's exactly what she's done today, isn't it? She was so angry with you that she said you had to die. You didn't like it--but what Dolly Miss Molly says is law. So you did it anyway. You shot yourself in the head." They were at Margot's bed at that point, and the Indian pushed her roughly down so that she was on her knees. From his back pocket he produced a pen and a notepad, and he set them down before her. "That's the story, anyway," he purred. "So, Margot, do what any sensible person would do and write a nice little suicide note. You're probably finding it rather hard to think without her voice in your head, so I'm going to be a gentleman and tell you exactly what to write." The pen was uncapped and slid into her hand, and the point was set to the paper. The gun pressed hard against the fourteen-year-old's head in warning: were she to make one mistake, one slip-up, her brains would be painted all over the wall. "Now," said the Indian, "are you ready?"

[I just love when my characters won't listen to Raven.]

Ignoring the cold metal against her temple, Margot took the small, closing window of opportunity to her advantage. She knew that she was going to die soon, she didn't think that she could stop it, but she could try, and she could again, try and finish what Dolly had wanted. No, she hadn't wanted to hurt Raven, except for now. Now she wanted to hurt him very badly. And so that's why she shot out with one of her fists, punching him in the upper thigh, not very far from his crotch. With her other arm, she hit the hand holding the gun, and shakily got to her feet. Once on her feet, she ran across her dorm, slamming into the door. Whimpering madly, she began to try and unlock her door with shaking hands. Tears were pouring from her eyes, onto her cheeks, and blurring her vision.

((Sorry, GR went down.))

BANG! The gun went off, and there was a brief, high-pitched whine as a bullet droned across the room and buried itself right into the back of Margot’s knee. “Is this really how you want things to go down, Middleton?” BANG! Another gunshot, and a second bullet shot across the room to blow out the fourteen-year-old’s other knee. Raven himself was on his feet in an instant. “Try to run, you stupid bitch!” he shouted, eyes flashing, breathing becoming harsh once more. He wasn’t worried in the slightest about being overheard--the walls were concrete. They would block out screams, and they would block out gunshots. “Try! I dare you now: try to run without your kneecaps!”

Margot heard the gunfire, but didn't make the connection until the bullet connected with her kneecap. She released a huge scream of fury and pain as the white hot pain of the metal shot up her thigh. Another loud scream that was broken off by a hitching sob of pain. The other bullet was hardly felt, she was too focused on the blinding pain in her first leg. She dropped to the floor with a loud thump! She grabbed at one of her kneecaps, feeling the wet and moist heat of the blood running down her jean-clad leg. For a moment, the dorm swam unsteadily in front of her, and she feared she was going to pass out from the pain. She didn't want to pass out, not with Raven in the room; she didn't to be vulnerable to him completely. A small shiver passed through her, and it wasn't just from her sobs. She realized that she was beginning to think like her dead doll. Her tears flowed freely now, the pain was too great to ignore it.

Well, Raven thought with a barely audible sigh, this was going to be hard to blame on suicide. Both of the girl's knees had been shot through--how was he supposed to say that she did that to herself? It was possible, he supposed (everyone knew that Dolly Miss Molly could and would order Margot to do some pretty strange things) but it was a stretch. And that was all the Indian needed. He retrieved the notepad and then pen, walked over to wear Margot lay (careful not to step in the ever-growing pool of blood) pulled her up into a sitting position by the back of her shirt, and again shoved the pen and pad into her hands. He knelt beside her, again careful to avoid the blood. "Write," he hissed. "Or so help me God I will not end this quickly. Four words is all I need, Margot: Dolly Miss Molly said. Write them down, and you go fast. Fight me again, and you're going to be screaming long into the night."

((You gotta make her cooperate. As I said, now her suicide is a total stretch. And we can't have Raven getting caught. XD))

[She will definitely behave now. XD We can't have our precious Bird Boy getting caught!]

Painful sobs hitched Margot's breathe, making it hard to breathe. Her face had turned an ugly, blotchy red, almost purple color, though not nearly as dark as the pool of blood that she was beginning to soak in. The pain and the adrenaline was making her hands shake as she tried to write, and she had no choice to write now, didn't she? Her window of opportunity was closed, shut tightly now. Why did she think that she could run out on Raven, save her own life? It had been a stupid thought, and now she was paying dearly for it. Tears and snot were beginning to cover the page, and she hopelessly wiped the liquids off, but only to be replaced by more and more. Despite that, she wrote what she was told, her handwriting more of a nearly unlegible scrawl than her usual handwriting. She glanced in Raven's direction through blurred eyes, not wanting to look at his face, the face of her killer. Her shoulders were slumped forward in defeat, pen paused in the air, waiting for Raven's instructions.

"Good girl." Raven nodded, the smallest smiles of approval--mocking of course, so dreadfully mocking--making his lips part. He glanced at the note, decided that it would serve its purpose well enough where it had fallen, and took the pen from her hand. Trash day was tomorrow; he would simply toss it out. As for the knife...well, he could sneak into the kitchen and wash it off later tonight. He thought for a moment about taking the gun with him as well, but then decided against it--that would not go with the suicide. Instead, it would go in Margot's hand, as he had originally planned. The doctors wouldn't bother checking for other prints--because, as was said, everyone knew how cruel Margot's poor dolly could be to her. "What a tragic story," the Indian said with a shake of his head. His voice was soft, amused. "Dolly makes you shoot out your own knees, carve her initials into your face, and then shoot yourself in the head...your life is just not at its peak right now, is it Margot?" And then the gun was pressed against her temple. "Sweet dreams, Miss Middleton. I'll see you in hell."

And then there came the shot that would end the poor girl's life.

((Fade?))

[*facepalm* I didn't realize what the letters meant.]

The last scream that Margot ever emitted -it was also the last thing she ever did- was cute off by the sound of the gunshot. Intense, white hot pain, pain that could hardly be described with words exploded into her head. The bullet, lucky for her, wasn't stuck in her brain like some people did, and it shot through her skull from one side through the other, lodging itself into the wall opposite her. That wall was also decorated with the dark red of blood and the pale, grotesque gray of small chunks of brain in a matter of seconds after the bullet hit. Margot didn't feel any of this, though. She was already dead by this point. It was a mess for the nurses to find a few hours later. They would clean it up as if nothing happened, and then move out her belongings to make room for another patient. For now, the dead girl laid on the floor of her dorm in her own pool of blood, her green eyes stared up at the blank white ceiling, but all she saw was black. That was all she would ever see from now on.

TOPIC CLOSED. CHARACTER NO LONGER EXISTS.