"Calling me a slave and a rat is one thing - if deeply lacking in imagination - but don't liken me to a creep like you. Like fuck would I ever be related to a pasty-ass, blood-sucking leech."
The insults, as predicted, continue to flow, despite the way Gideon's head is spinning from the shock of the cold water, from the extended period without food or even proper rest. Her body aches from the awkward way she's held within her retrains, the considerable muscles of her arms singing with pain. Could she make good on any of her threats if she did find a way to escape at this moment? Un-fucking-likely, and she's aware that Lenore must be aware of that too. That doesn't mean, however, that she is going to fold.
Even if there is a bright thrill of pride inside her at being called a masterpiece, at having someone so genuinely impressed by her that they refused to have her outright killed. This isn't precisely the kind of reward she'd so frequently dreamed of reaping for her skill and bravery though, and it stings more than a bit that the first time she's ever offered something that truly sounds like praise is from some bitch who just ordered her cronies to dump water all over her.
"Oh yeah, sure, let me just--" there's the heavy jangle of chains as she fakes reaching for one of the spice cakes that she sure as hell wishes she was eating, "oops, no, sorry. Can't. Because I'm in a fucking cage."
She says it with infinite derision despite the way her stomach positively aches, the way her mouth waters at the scent still wafting to her through the bars. When she swallows, she tries to make it as subtle as she can.
"And I'd hate to lean what you do with the trash if this is how you treat a masterpiece."
no subject
The insults, as predicted, continue to flow, despite the way Gideon's head is spinning from the shock of the cold water, from the extended period without food or even proper rest. Her body aches from the awkward way she's held within her retrains, the considerable muscles of her arms singing with pain. Could she make good on any of her threats if she did find a way to escape at this moment? Un-fucking-likely, and she's aware that Lenore must be aware of that too. That doesn't mean, however, that she is going to fold.
Even if there is a bright thrill of pride inside her at being called a masterpiece, at having someone so genuinely impressed by her that they refused to have her outright killed. This isn't precisely the kind of reward she'd so frequently dreamed of reaping for her skill and bravery though, and it stings more than a bit that the first time she's ever offered something that truly sounds like praise is from some bitch who just ordered her cronies to dump water all over her.
"Oh yeah, sure, let me just--" there's the heavy jangle of chains as she fakes reaching for one of the spice cakes that she sure as hell wishes she was eating, "oops, no, sorry. Can't. Because I'm in a fucking cage."
She says it with infinite derision despite the way her stomach positively aches, the way her mouth waters at the scent still wafting to her through the bars. When she swallows, she tries to make it as subtle as she can.
"And I'd hate to lean what you do with the trash if this is how you treat a masterpiece."