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

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.