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Author Topic: Disposing of the Evidence [ 10.02.2583 / 11 PM ] Solo  (Read 87 times)

Offline Ophyonis

Disposing of the Evidence [ 10.02.2583 / 11 PM ] Solo
« on: February 17, 2017, 12:35:36 AM »
First thing Ophy’d done when it was over was strip out of his leathers to the plain pants and white undershirt beneath. The less blood he got on them the better, since he still had to make his way back through populated tunnels once he was done. Less to wash off then. Not to mention the rest of his work in the emptied brothel would be hot, particularly in the geothermally heated tunnels deep beneath Fort. A shovel and bone saw might not be his usual tools of the trade, but he’d make it work.

The whole scene was a bloodbath, really. Tavisk and Ophysk had made short work of those unfortunate enough to be inside the makeshift whorehouse, and Ophyonis himself had taken care of those who’d tried to bolt out through the one exit. Panicked as they’d been, they’d put up little fight. Especially since the first thing he’d done after arriving was take care of the single guard the brothel’s pimp had seen fit to have on hand. The rest weren’t fighters, not really; just desperate people who had made one mistake too many.

Girls got taken in by pimps all the time, but this was different. Whoever had tried to recruit Tresrissa had clearly not known whose family they were dealing with—or had been too stupid to understand what it’d mean.

Obviously.

With a jagged crunch, Ophy finished sawing through the first corpse’s shoulder and tossed the limb toward Ophysk. Sitting hunched like a boulder in front of the door, the blood-spattered Bronze sniffed at the arm and grumbled. Even projected a memory of sorts, something even more visceral than an emotion at his handler, which had Ophyonis spitting in disgust onto the stone floor.

“Don’t make me taste that shit.” Left boot still planted in the dead man’s back, he lifted the remaining arm to get better access to the shoulder joint. “I know you don’t like it, but I need you to, ya big monster. And it’s meat.” He jabbed the end of the saw in the direction of the disembodied appendage. “You should be grateful you’re getting extra.”

Still reluctant, Ophysk sent something else:  this one the familiar sensation of a full belly after a good meal.

“Fuck you. I ain’t eatin’ people. That’s your job.”

The two stared at each other a moment, before the Bronze wher huffed in defeat and dragged the arm closer.

Ophy began sawing again then, the meaty noise of steel through flesh drowned out by the even worse sound of Ophysk crunching bone and sinew, mouth wet with blood in the dim light within the roughly hewn cavern.

They made quite a pair, both covered in blood and only growing more so as they dealt with the evidence of what they had done. Ophyonis wasn’t afraid of getting caught, exactly; he’d killed people before for his gang boss, and often in messy ways meant to send a signal. Particularly with the protection of his commanding officer, who had been as responsible for the deaths of these people as he and Tavianna, there’d be no repercussions for Ophy. But that wasn’t the point. Unless it was meant as a warning or a threat, leaving evidence behind was just sloppy, and that wasn’t the way Tavi did things.

Ophyonis was good at following orders when it suited him. And while he didn’t necessarily fear her—nothing scared him, but if there was anything on Pern that did it’d be Tavianna—he respected her enough to do a good job of whatever she asked him.

Even if it was messy work.

That had never bothered him anyway, and it certainly didn’t now. People these might have been once, but they were just hunks of meat now. And whatever Ophysk couldn’t finish off in his hunger, his handler would dispose of in other ways. He’d brought a shovel, after all. And there were other whers being raised in Tavianna’s butchery that would do well by an increased amount of meat. It’d benefit the Hold as a whole with that many fewer mouths to feed and eventually thicker whers that would yield more food.

Casting sections to his Bronze as he worked through arms, legs, trunk, head, he made quick work of the former guard. And that’d been the biggest of the bodies strewn in bits around the brothel, and the most whole. Taken by surprise, he’d gotten his throat slit with one of Ophyonis’ knives before he even knew they were there.

The rest hadn’t been so lucky. Seeing the carnage that the two whers had wrought upon their victims, Ophy couldn’t help but be impressed. Sure, he’d seen violent deaths before; after so long in his line of work, they were familiar. And wher maulings were about as common, since the big beasts made effective deterrents, and even more so after they’d taken some chunks out of someone. But things like this…

It made him shiver, and not necessarily in distaste.

“Gonna be a long night,” he reflected thoughtfully to Ophysk in between breaking down corpses and piling the remains once the wher would eat no more. Wiping his hands on a scrap of cloth that had probably once been clothing, Ophyonis crossed to where his wher hide jacket hung draped over a rickety chair. He rifled through the pockets until he found one of the cigarettes and matches he was looking for, striking the latter against the rough stone wall to light the former. It was nothing that’d get him high—he wasn’t stupid; it was just something to pass the time.

Taking a long drag, Ophy held the smoke in his lungs a long moment before letting it slip back out one side of his mouth. “What time d’you think it is now?”

A rhetorical question; the enforcer hadn’t been expecting an answer from his wher, and Ophysk didn’t give one. Though he did glance up at his handler a moment before returning to licking the blood off the parts of himself he could reach—particularly between his claws and the pads of his feet.

“‘Bout what I thought.” Exhaling more smoke, Ophy stepped deeper into the brothel in search of sheets. He’d need something to bag the remaining parts in, ideally in several layers to minimize the amount the blood could soak through. Having gone through all this effort now, it’d not make sense to be sloppy in the rest of the disposal.

It was late, and he had deliveries to make, grisly or no. 

 

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