Blackfeather Woods [m] The world laughed at any attempts we made to exist in it without pain

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The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: all matter of gruesome things will happen ;-)

After he had come to the conclusion that Xan was the one who had taken him that night, long ago when he was searching for Desna, Cicero had made plans. He knew he could not let this go over unpunished, yet he would have to go about his punishment subtly, to make sure that Xan knew not to mess with him and would be too afraid to tell anyone, but he should not be so afraid that he would feel forced to tell someone in fear of losing his life regardless of his actions. It was a subtle balance and one Cicero had little experience with, but he would have to learn on the go.

So he had taken one of his new favourite herbs, jimson weed, and rigged a rabbit with it. It was easy enough: Xan was confined to the wolfskull for now, and Cicero would bring him food, in name of Damien, for he needed to eat. And so Cicero set off, wishing that this was something he did not need to do, but knowing this was what he must do, with the rabbit between teeth. He set it down at the wolfskull entrance and chuffed for @Xan , to alert him that food had been brought, before settling down on the floor nearby and waiting for what would come.

!!!

Following his return from the lake, he'd taken to staying within the cave, ignore the metaphorical itch of his paws. Had he been given a choice of staying there or not, he would not have been so antsy, but the simple fact that he'd been ordered there prevented him from keeping calm. There were moments in which he'd slip out of the darkness and wander a ways around it, though hardly had he ever strayed beyond a certain point. If he could not get back into Wolfskull quickly, then he'd wandered too far, and thus his position would need corrected and direction altered. It was a bothersome task, if he were to be honest with himself, but necessary. He knew not how severe of a scolding—or punishment, if it might extend that far—he'd receive should he be discovered outside of the prison, nor did he want to find out.

Xan was nearer to the entrance than usual when he'd heard the chuff, an alert to food. Partially because he was hungry, and partially because he'd nothing better to do, the boy had gone to investigate, making note of who had brought the meal prior to having reached it—Cicero. The cause behind the Inuit's sentence, a teacher turned enemy. Scowling, there was a moment of consideration set aside so that the yearling could decide how he might approach. To ignore the meal and return to the depths of the cave was an idea that had crossed his mind several times, but, ultimately, the knowledge that nourishment was essential to living had him proceeding towards the offering. If he'd noticed the plants prior to, or even during, eating it, he'd made no indications of such. The hare was pulled apart and chewed until hardly even scraps remained, a tongue then creeping out and over the boy's muzzle in an effort to clean himself.

The effects of the herb had yet to set in, leaving him without even the slightest of suspicions. Though he didn't like what Cicero had done, the memory of their lesson together would not leave his head, and so he could not hate the other even though he so badly wanted to. Even still, it was with a great deal of reluctance that he'd said, "Thanks." Since having been made to stay there, it was only ever Seff that had brought him food, and that was only because he'd commanded the younger boy to do so. Little did he know that the rabbit was not a gift, however, but something awful instead.

Upon Xan's word of thanks, Cicero nodded at him with a face void of emotion as he stared at the youth. He felt nothing, which brought him disturbingly close to the beast and all of his emotions and feelings — he needed desperately to feel something again to keep the beast under water, but now was not the time. He was too weak to physically fight Xan right now and so all he could do was wait.

Unknowing of the visitor that Alexander held, Cicero skulked off after murmuring a "mm-hm" at the youth and he lay down nearby, waiting patiently for Alexander to eat the rabbit he had provided and awaiting the effects to take their course.

With his thanks having been offered, the boy had proceeded to clean himself. As always, he needed for his coat to retain the untouched beauty that he'd been born with, and so he was most attentive with his cleansing. For several minutes, he'd been left to carry on without any issues, but there'd eventually come a dryness to his mouth. At first, he'd done nothing more than shrug it off, assuming that a few too many loose strands of hair had decided to cling to his tongue. As time progressed, the feeling did not fade, but had instead worsened. It was only then that he'd realized something was wrong, eyes scanning the surrounding area as he sought out Cicero. Had the other done something to the rabbit? And if so, what? Why? Assuming that it was due to their fight, he'd immediately decided that the trick was a nasty, cowardly one. A growl clawed its way up through his throat, but had died out almost as quickly as it'd come.

Whether it was due to the amount of jimson weed that he'd ingested, or simply because he lacked any tolerance to it, perhaps it might never be known, but already had he been cast into his first hallucination. There, within the dark woods, stood his mother. She looked just the same as she had back when he'd been abandoned, for that was the last memory of her that he possessed. A breath hitched in his throat, Cicero having been forgotten, for the illusion was not perceived as being untrue. Rather, his mind assured him that it was real, that Scarlett was truly standing across from him. Still, it was with a great deal of hesitance that he'd started to walk towards her, only to stop and backpedal, retreating into the cave. "Go away," muttered the boy, recalling how she'd left him. He could not forgive her now just because she'd come to visit him at last, it wouldn't be that easy. "Go."

It would not take too long for the effects to take place, and Cicero waited patiently. He had time. He noted Xan appear from Wolfskull at some point, unsure how long he had waited by that time, but while he looked around, eyes did not focus onto him. Mismatched eyes gazed at Xan as he started to grow unsteady. He had guessed that Alexander should be lucient enough to know and feel what was going on, to remember, but not strong enough so that he could fight back much.

Death was not the final destination here, of course. Death was not something Cicero feared and so it was not something he wished upon the wrongdoers of the world. Fear was a much stronger sort of pain; the knowledge you might die, the feeling of pain and humiliation, but the uncertainty of what might come and when. Humiliation, Cicero guessed, would be Alexander's worst enemy.

"Pathetic," Cicero said as he got up from the shadows. He still looked frail in the famine's wake. "Who are you even talking to, Alexander?" The feeling of power gave him a rush. In a way, it was as if Cicero himself was as drugged as Alexander, but high on a different kind of drug.

Several steps towards him his phantom of a mother had taken, attempting to lessen the space, but having failed in the end. Crimson met crimson and, for a moment, their gazes were locked, silence ensuing. His maw had parted, tongue heavy with a series of questions, but Scarlett had disappeared before he'd managed to get any of them out of his system. Chased away by the voice of another, by the voice he knew to belong to Cicero. Towards the other male, his eyes had wandered, finding a way to focus on him as his mind was permitted a break of sorts after his first illusion. And though he'd been able to focus, it'd taken an extra moment for the question to register, but once it had, he'd shaken his head.

"No one—she's gone," he'd answered, looking towards the air into which she'd vanished. There, his stare had lingered, only for the dryness of his mouth to remind him of what was going on. Again, he'd looked to Cicero, a glare taking up its usual residence within his eyes. "What'd you do?" was his first question, an accusing tone having taken hold of his voice. "My mouth..." Having yet to realize that the lack of moisture within his mouth wasn't the only issue that he was experiencing, it was the only evidence that he had to work with.

Xan took a few, wobbly steps towards the other male, but wasn't able to make it any farther than that. He'd stumbled, having to pause in order to stabilize himself, and refused to take another step after that.

A smile crossed Cicero's neutral features as he looked at Alexander, who seemed to be experiencing some of the symptoms. Not much pain yet, by the looks of him, but it would get there. Perhaps he simply needed a nudge in the right direction. "What did Cicero do..." he murmured in response to the question, his jaw clenching in a rare moment of anger. "What did you do, Alexander." He stared at Alexander for a moment, feeling pleased that he was unable to reach him. If he would get too close, Cicero could easily step out the way, too.

"Not just the mouth. If it is not there yet, or you do not realise it yet because you have not been reminded of it yet while your head swims, Alexander, then the pain in your abdomen and head will start soon." He sat down on the ground and stared at Alexander with cold and calculating eyes, feeling nothing.

Accused of something, but he knew not what. Was this the other's revenge over what had transpired with the girl? He couldn't believe that, unable to wrap his head around any logical reason for how their fight could have warranted a sabotage. Had he done something else? An attempt was made at thinking back, picking through various memories, only to get lost within his mind several times. Eventually, he'd been cast back out, but with nothing to show for his internal journey. There'd been nothing to grab because there'd been nothing to find; this, Xan was certain of, for he usually did well to keep track of any crimes that he might have committed. Against Cicero, he'd not acted out, save for that one time.

Lips parted, a question lingering on the tip of his tongue, but he'd not been able to get it out. As if on cue, there came a stab of pain from within his stomach, causing for him to wince. It had started off as tolerable enough, but grew into something greater, clawing at his innards and then escaping into the rest of his body. Not used to such a feeling, a yelp had escaped past his lips, prompting him to grit his teeth together. Another attempt was made at reaching out to Cicero, only this time he'd actually fallen, the impact adding onto the already searing pain and causing for his teeth to rattle. His mind had yet to be infiltrated again, giving him the necessary means to focus; even if only partially, it was enough to have his gaze searching for the other's. "Why—why did you do this?" Each word was spoken through a clenched jaw, reluctant to cry out again, despite how imposing the pain was. "What did I ever do to you?" Aside from push his face into the dirt, of course.

He felt nothing as he watched Alexander wobble back and forth. The moment that he saw the pain on Alexander's face, he could not help but grin. It was not even that he felt satisfied or pleased in any way — yet revenge was often ugly, but also necessary. He could not live safely in his own home without knowing Alexander would fear him too much to do what he had done again. He needed to be safe here, of all places — he would not murder Alexander, but this... It was something that needed doing. Revenge was a means to feel safe again, not something that gave him sastifaction. The only thing that made him grin was the fact that Alexander started to feel the pain upon his words — the tongue could be a powerful tool.

A snort escaped him when Alexander asked what he had done. He knew very well. Again he came forth, but he fell and Cicero stepped forward. "You will remember later, and you will remember this. Alexander will remember this night and he will he know not to mess with Cicero again." It was not just his attachment to Damien that was taken that day; it was his dignity, his safety, and with that, his sanity. So much had been taken from him. Cicero snapped his teeth at Alexander's face, aiming to connect them to his face, wherever he would hit with Alexander's drunken wobbles, aiming to draw blood, to possibly maim, to cause pain; to hurt.

feel free to assume whatever wounds and such~!

An answer was not given—not a real one, anyways. He knew not what he'd done, what had caused for him to be made to suffer in such a way. Their fight, if it could even be called that, surely hadn't been enough... had it? In spite of Cicero's peculiar way of speaking, Xan had always believed him to be the most sane out of Meldresi's children. Now, however, he was made to think differently, to feel differently. "Stop it," he'd voiced, the words forced out on a breath. The pain, he wanted it to stop. For an end to be brought to his suffering, for a cure to be offered, but nothing came except for more hurt.

The effects of the herb had started to snake their way up into his skull, causing for his head to throb only moments prior to the other's strike. Teeth found their way to his muzzle, then his cheek, drawing blood and adding onto the troubles that he was already facing. A sharp yelp slipped past his lips, ears being pulled back whilst his head was twisted away from the other, seeking a place to hide but being unable to actually move his body. Without an escape, Xan was forced to plead to be left alone. "Cicero, please," were the only words that he could successfully get out, unable to think straight. Looking downward, his forehead was then pressed against the cave's floor, movements fueled by a useless hope that, by some miracle, doing so would relieve him of the burning, the throbbing, the agony.

Never before had hurting another being given Cicero so much satisfaction. A cruel grin spread across his face, one that made him feel out of control — doing these uncharacteristic things, and knowing that Alexander had made him do them — and yet so very muchly in control — having the power over another being's life — at the same time. Questions were fired as teeth connected to Alexander's face, tearing whatever he could get a hold of. The taste of blood was satisfying and yet made him feel nothing at all as he looked down upon Alexander's bloodied face.

"Please? Is that the best you can do, Alexander?" He licked the blood from his lips as he added: "Is that what you made Sheogorath say?" he asked, not realising that the words made no sense to Alexander. Cicero didn't think that would've been what Sheogorath'd said. He'd probably played a part in this, co-conspiring with Alexander; but hurting a beast trapped within oneself was not as easy as hurting someone who was in front of you, at your mercy. He was losing control and yet regaining so much of it all at once as he snapped again. Teeth flashed for Alexander's left ear, aiming to tear it, damage it, or rip it off altogether should it be easy to do so.

More words.

Cicero spoke, but words alone hadn't been able to fix the situation, nor did it seem as if the other was interested in doing so. Was he supposed to do more than say please? He thought of fighting back, but knew that his body wouldn't—couldn't—cooperate with him. It'd either act on its own or it wouldn't move at all, and neither of those outcomes would do him any good. Somehow, though, he'd managed to raise his head a bit when a name was brought into the conversation. It confused the Inuit, neither the name nor the insinuation behind the words having made any sense to him. "Who's Sheo–," a groan interrupted his words, head finding its way back down towards the ground. "Who's Sheogorath?" The question was spoken into the earth, the ability to lift himself back up having finally been lost. He didn't know who Cicero was talking about, nor had he any clue as to how the stranger tied into the male's motivation to do as he'd done.

Xan hadn't seen his torturer approach him, but already had his ears been pinned down flat against his skull. Still, the other's teeth had not gone by without leaving a mark upon him, his ear having been snagged and torn. While it remained attached to his head still, blood flowed freely from the wound that had been inflicted upon it. An attempt was made at lifting his head back up, at making an attempt to defend himself, but it'd refused to move. "C-Cicero!" panicked were his tones, but muffled as well. "I won't... I won't bother y-you again! I'll l-listen, just please stop!" His vision grew hazy as images danced before his opened eyes, but they hadn't lasted for every long before fading away. His mother wasn't there to save him, nor was there anyone else, and he knew it.

His teeth raked through Xan's ear and caught some bits of it, which were spat out immediately beside Xan's face. He didn't know nor care how much of it he got; the only thing that mattered was for Alexander to have a permanent reminder of this day. Yet he did not intend to stop there. The absence of emotions in his mind frightened Cicero — ironically so — and he felt his mind clouded, almost as if he too had eaten from the jimson weed. Yet he fought to keep the beast at bay. It was a tragic truth that the more control he physically gained, the less in control he felt. This was exactly what Sheogorath did to those around him, he knew; control them, even if it were by making others hurt him in some way.

He wondered if that was what had happened with Alexander that day, but he didn't know, he didn't remember; he just knew that it was Alexander that'd done it, somehow.

"You know who he is," Cicero said with an icy calmth, halting a moment to think. Then, as if suddenly triggered, he shot forward again after Xan's cries for mercy. It was too late for that, he knew; this needed to happen, had to happen. "It is too late for that, Alexander," he hissed in the remains of Xan's ear, then moving his teeth to hover along the side of his neck, bared, a growl rumbling in the depth of his throat. He wasn't really intending to kill Xan — but the boy had to know that he could. Moments later teeth snapped shut along his guard hairs and he moved on to grab Alexander's scruff roughly between his teeth and placed a paw on his back as premise of what was to come.

Denied an explanation, for it was believed that he already held the answers. Xan was confused and hurting, the plant having made everything seem far more intense than what it potentially could have been. To wrap his head around what was happening was something that he couldn't quite do, since he didn't have enough of information, nor was he really in the right state of mind to be trying to piece together some puzzle. "I don't know him, I do–," a pause, a sharp intake of breath, a thought. Did he know Sheogorath? No, no, no. He didn't know who he was, he'd never before met him—even in his current state, this was something that the boy was certain of, believing that he would have easily remembered such a peculiar name. "I've never met him, I've never—I've never seen him, I swear!" Why wouldn't he believe him? What had he done to be deserving of all he'd received thus far?

Teeth had been felt lingering close to his neck, and so he'd forced his eyes shut, awaiting an end that wouldn't be given. Death seemed preferable when compared to what he was being forced to go through, and so he'd silently hoped for it, only to realize that he'd not be killed then. No, that would be too quick. When his jaws snapped together, Xan had flinched, squeezing his eyes shut even tighter. Yet, again, there was nothing—not at first. A breath had been inhaled just as his scruff had been grabbed, causing for it to get trapped within his throat. "Stop it, stop it, stop it," the words had come out in a rush, the syllables having all run together until the actual words were hardly distinguishable. An attempt was made to push himself up off the ground, but his efforts were fruitless. Uncooperative legs kept him against the earth, which he'd then dragged his face through as he'd tried to twist his head around. He could not see Cicero, he could not attack him, and he could not defend himself.

From the corner of his eye, he could've sworn that he'd seen Adonis lurking in the shadows, but it was nothing more than an illusion. He was a trick of the mind, just as his mother had been, and had disappeared into thin air just as quickly as she had so that he'd been left all alone with his attacker. "Ju-st let me go..." he'd tried again, in denial. Cicero hadn't been a bad wolf, he'd been the one Spiderling that Xan had believed himself capable of getting along with. No longer did he see him the same as he previously had, able to view him as nothing more than yet another wolf that existed for the purpose of hurting the boy.

There was no rationality left within his mind as he drifted, not sure who he even was any longer. He lost himself in the feeling of power and revenge, in the knowledge he would be safe because it was taught not to mess with him. Yet the more Cicero tried to regain himself, the more Sheogorath took over from him, screaming in his head for the pain, for the unrequited lust to stop, for relief.

He positioned himself over Xan and mismatched eyes snapped open with a ferocious smirk. "I don't care that you're not him, Xan -- but he does. Thank you for making him think whatever you did." And without further warning he grabbed hold onto the scruff firmly and placed his legs by Xan's sides, starting to thrust until he would find purchase.

Xan was ready for it to end, to be left alone to nurse his pride and wounds, but that just hadn't happened. He'd not been left alone, though there had been a brief moment during which he was released. The grip upon his scruff had vanished so that Cicero could speak, but that which he'd said hadn't made much sense. Who was the he that the other had been referring to, and for what reason had he suddenly switched to calling him Xan? He tried to think, to reason, but his mind wouldn't cooperate with him at all. It was clouded, still, even the concept of deep thinking having become unavailable to him.

There was a second in which he'd though that it might be over, only to be proved wrong as his scruff was grabbed once again. Hardly had he the time to process that which was happening before he'd felt a familiar—but this time undesirable—sensation in his hind region. A yelp was released, followed by a whine, another plea. He'd opened his mouth, fully prepared to try and summon help, only to then force his jaws to close. He couldn't let anyone see what was happening to him, he couldn't reach out for help. The Inuit could only lay there and take what was given to him, his eyes having started to sting as he'd felt every fiber of his dignity slowly being stripped away.

He was certain, then, that death would have been better.

He continued to thrust, the beast rife in his mind, a ferocious growl breathed into Xan's scruff as he did. It was the first time that he had been on this side of the equation, and it offered a different kind of sensation. For some time he continued, only to reach an eventual culmination. He breathed deep into Xan's neck as he let go of the scruff so that he could let his prey sink to the ground. "Give Cicero my regards when you see him again, Xan," the beast rumbled with a victorious amusement and sadism in his voice. "I hope you enjoyed it. And that --" he nosed the remains of Xan's ear, teeth clipping close as though he'd attack again only to tease, then turn away, "Is so that you may never forget this night."

Relief achieved, he stood for a moment while the battle of faces took place within him, only to settle back upon Cicero. He looked at Alexander, feeling numb, expression of amusement swiftly fading back into one of nothingness, mystery, clouded in a stoicism that reflected how Cicero often felt.

He cast his victim no more glances as he turned into the darkness, feeling dissatisfied yet knowing he had done what he must, as he slipped into the shadows in which he belonged.

He'd had to bite down on his tongue to keep from crying out, so harshly, too, that he'd soon tasted copper within his mouth. His assault continued, dragged out to the point at which Xan thought it might go on forever. He'd started to feel nauseous, sickened by what was happening to him, and then appalled as his body responded to the stimulus. When at last he'd been released, his body had slumped towards the ground, trembling from a mixture of anger, disgust, and even fear. He'd done nothing to provoke the male, nothing to deserve what had been done to him. There within his mind he'd been overcome by a drowning feeling, and he couldn't decide if he wanted to reach out for the surface or not. And so he'd laid there, his face against the surface of the cave, having gone deaf to the words of his attacker.

Xan flinched away as his ear had been touched, eyes shutting as he'd braced himself. There'd come no more pain, though, only the sound of retreating steps. Even after he'd been able to hear the other's footfalls no longer, the boy hadn't moved from his place against the ground. He'd remained there, his mind working to fully grasp all the happened—and once it had is when the tears had finally begun to fall and the trembling of his form increased. Cicero had attacked him, he'd hurt him, he'd taken him. Everything hurt, and he couldn't fix it. So there he'd laid until his body could move at last, but he'd not gone towards the entrance, he'd not fled in order to tell someone of his defilement. Alexander had slunk back to the farthest reaches of the cave, and there he'd stayed.

He was broken, ruined, and absolute filth.