reformatio in peius

[madimpossibledreamer]

Started writing this part and then realized oh yeah this is from Travis’ PoV that would be weird if I switched. Travis, it appears, has only been waiting for an audience. For all his vampiric stamina, Spike has passed out, so is therefore just as useless as the interactive response Travis prefers. That, or he’s simply pretending as to not draw attention to himself. Travis starts up as soon as he notices Blake is, once again, conscious.

Main Points:
Buffy/Blake's 7 (Place in the Universe)
Chapter Summary: Travis puts his own plan in motion.
Word Count: 795
Rating: Teen
Warnings: vague on-screen torture

 

In the end, all any of that brought was pain to others, never to myself, no matter how much I wished it—no, I was too lucky, lived while others died or nearly died, and I didn’t want any of it. But just wishing and hoping for anything to change isn’t practical.

        Blake has the temerity to quickly become unconscious when Travis barely looses his anger upon him, and ‘Spike’ quickly follows suit. Travis is less and less impressed by these so-called ‘vampires’ by the hour. Fortunately, it doesn’t take too much more to revive him, though it’s unclear how much of the lecture the infuriating rebel has heard. He refuses to start at the beginning again, however. The man is just going to have to use what remains of his mind to catch up. “For hundreds of years, we’ve known about this mutation, one that doesn’t let the person who has it feel any pain.”
        “Fascinating,” Blake manages, coughing, rattling the chains ever so slightly, and Travis pats his cheek, unsurprised when the man goes through the effort of lifting his head and spitting on the gloved hand. In return, he wipes the saliva all over Blake’s cheek, enjoying the disgusted grimace.
        “I’ve always known you didn’t have much of an imagination,” Travis responds, conversationally. “Well, perhaps you’ll find the next group more interesting. They can’t live without pain. Most don’t even wear shoes because the touch on their skin makes it feel like their feet are on fire.”
        Despite himself, Blake’s eyes widen, and he swallows, likely preparing for another smart remark, only the words won’t come out. Actual, delicious, well-deserved fear. Will he actually get to hear Blake plead and beg? He’ll accept a scream, but that’s nothing new, and he hungers, oh he hungers, for something new.
        He’d rehearsed this all in his head, but to actually get to say the words, see Blake’s reaction, is delicious. “They’d been studied, of course, for better painkillers, to reduce suffering. And you’re intimately familiar with some of those techniques—we used them on the mutoids. But then one particularly promising scientist considered the reverse—what if we could use what we’d learned to induce unending agony? Under ordinary circumstances, the pain signal eventually turns off, the sensation dulled. But with the right chemical compound, such limitations are a thing of the past.”
        Blake eyes him with pity, but—infuriatingly—disgust as well. No matter. Let him cling to his ideals. They won’t help him soon.
        “You’re a lucky man, Blake.” He holds up the little bottle and syringe, watching in malicious satisfaction as Blake remains silent for once, unable to tear his eyes away. “History waits in this little bottle. Even if your friends manage to rescue you with your little schemes—oh yes, we knew about that—they can only hurt you, watch helplessly, because there’s no cure waiting on this backwater little world. No Liberator. Just you, and pain.”
        He takes his time, making sure not to get any bubbles in the liquid. That death would be too quick. And Blake’s still watching, seemingly resigned to his fate.
        Of course, it’s just an act. He’d thought his previous attempts had done enough to at least make Blake’s body give out on him, but in a desperate, last ditch attempt Blake wriggles, getting one foot with purchase against the wall and managing to knee Travis. Fortunately thanks to the chains around his ankles, he only gets a good hit on his thigh, rather than anything more serious. Still painful, but nothing that will put this off.
        “One last futile rebellion before you go, eh, Blake?” He inspects the syringe to make sure no damage was done, addressing the not-mutoid behind him carelessly. “Hold him.”
        The woman responds with pleasing alacrity. Blake continues to try to struggle, but against the iron grip he is powerless. A pleasant state of affairs. Perhaps he’ll try to recruit at least this particular vampire—she seems even more useful than some of his mutoids. Blake doesn’t make a sound as he watches helplessly as the needle pierces his skin and the plunger is depressed. It takes less than a minute for the serum to take effect, but even then the infuriating man clamps his jaw shut, hanging limply in the chains. Where metal and cloth meet flesh must be agony. How marvelous.
        “Don’t keep your agony to yourself. That’s selfish. We all want to hear.” He pats Blake’s cheek again mockingly, and the man’s breathing breaks, tears springing involuntarily to his eyes. It only takes a little more effort to make him scream, and though there’s no begging, it seems more due to the fact that Blake can’t even manage words than anything about the technique itself.