WHERE IS THE LOVE [BOONE]

[Willow Faye]

"Iris?" A squeaky voice sounded in the dark and damp hallway. Eris growled slightly, irritated at the child's lack of pronunciation. She then reminded herself that the child's first three years of language skills came from herself. "Iris... Where are we going?" Eris gripped Willow by the arm and yanked her up, holding her roughly by the waist as though she were a piece of luggage. Willow wiggled and struggled in her grasp until the reached the room... She was completely still. She could hear the slight whimpers in the darkness... She could see every tool, seat, and strap with in the darkness. "No." She squeaked. "No, no, no!!!" She kicked and bit down on Eris's hand, which then dropped her to the earth. A deep snarl rose of Eris's throat, grabbing Willow by the rim of her skirt and tossing her against the opposite wall. "Papa!" Willow struggled to her feet, wildly terrified and short on breath. "Papa!" Eris twisted a rag and swiftly pinned the small girl, tying the rag in Willow's mouth and knotting it tightly behind her head. "Mmmm!" Her muffled screams reflected her inner terror.
"Listen, child!" Eris snapped, her amber eyes narrowed into an intense glare. "Your Papa wants this. Every Carna has to go through this. It is part of being loyal to your ring, and loyal to your Papa. Do you want to disappoint him?" She tilted her head sincerely.
"Mmm-mmm." Willow shook her head.
"Me neither, dear!" Eris chuckled, lifting Willow by her leg and tossing her onto the rack, tying her wrists above her head on the table. Her legs were chained on the other end. Her little body lifted and fell at a rapid pace with her panic, but her baby-blues were as intense as her true mother's... The determination to do the right thing despite the consequences meant more to her than any amount of pain.
The rag in her mouth tasted of salt from previous bleeding mouths and she focused. As she gagged, she forced herself to swallow hard resulting in a tiny whimper.
"Be strong, Willow. If you scream at all, you will have to be retested. Only the finest Carna are given the right to fight for this ring. I'm only looking out for you, sweet heart."
She managed a tender smile, and Eris's fawn-like eyes and youthful face never failed to make her look like the most surreal and innocent creature walking the earth. Eris abruptly increased tension on the chains at the rollers, using a lever to assist in this motion. A blood-curdling scream carried its way down all corridors. Her vision went black. Is that sound coming from me?
The gruesome sound of her ligaments being stretched and snapped disturbed the other victims seated not too far away. Eris did not see the child, but she saw the Fallen Alpha in pain. She wanted to stretch the tension far enough to remove all limbs... Only when this child died in true pain would the Carna's revenge on Skye be true.

[Boone Haywood]

There was always an echo of some type in the tunnels, always the reminder that you weren't alone. The soft drips of water that you never felt but only heard or the warning of distant footsteps sometimes ahead, sometimes behind--footsteps you heard in the dark corridors yet never saw hide nor hair of any other creature, not even the rats. He considered himself a particularly stable individual, strong and courageous in the face of danger. He knew he could handle a few dark tunnels. But even that firm belief didn't stop a chill or two from creeping down his spine when those footsteps seemed to be dogging him, or the strange laughter that would rebound through the shadows, seeming to surround him. He knew it was just one of his ring-mates laughing at a joke, tucked away in some access tunnel on break. Needless to say he wasn't particularly fond of the tunnels, but he'd been given a job and there was no way in hell he was going to let a a few goosebumps stop him from finishing his task. After the recent Fallen attack had left them smoked out of their tunnels and half their warehouses with a fair amount of fire damage, the higher ups were finding ways to bulk up on security. Boone had suggested rigging up more sound traps in the deeper tunnels that had easier above ground access; apparently they'd liked the idea as it was only a day or so later  and he found himself hauling a sack of glass bottles and a coil of precious rope to do that very thing. He and five or so other Hunters had been assigned to the task, and they'd split up to cover more ground. He'd been in the Carna for nigh on six years and knew the tunnels almost like the back of his hand, but that uncomfortable chill that lifted the hairs on the back of his neck made him hate to walk the labyrinth alone. So he brought along Loo, who happily trotted at his side. The familiar click of her claws on the cement and her excited snuffles as she hunted for rats was comforting; he reached down and patted the Pointer's head, smiling as she leaned into his touch and gave his hand a few licks, sensing his discomfort. "Good girl," he said, ruffling her ears. Once he'd tricked himself into ignoring the ever present feeling of being followed, being watched, he finally found his mark and went to work setting up the sound trap. He planned on suspending the bag of bottles somehow and laying a trip wire so that if some intruder was trying to access the tunnels...well someone would hear it and there'd be hell to pay soon after. It was a rare thing that any enemy who entered the tunnels actually made it out unscathed--or more truthfully, alive. The thought drew his lips into a thin, grim line thinking about all the potential dangers that could slip past the guards. How many times his Ringmates had been cut down in their sleep because some traitorous wretch had spilled their guts. Boone shook his head and set his jaw, determined to get to work and get the hell out. He was absorbed in his task for a good ten minutes was tying off the rope when a scream split through air, sending him stumbling backwards, nearly tripping over his dog. The rope slipped from his hands and the net of bottles crashed to the ground, shattering on impact. "¡Mierda!" he cursed, catching himself on the damp wall, trying to gather his wits. Was someone in trouble? Had there been another attack? Boone cussed as he listened for any other sound, but he couldn't hear anything else, and couldn't discern where the scream had come from. It was only a moment or two when he saw a flash of grey out of the corner of his eye as Loo took off down the tunnel. Boone cussed and took off after her, reaching into his tool belt and pulling out his trocar knife he prepared for the worst. He barely kept up with his pup but it didn't take her long to sniff out the source of the scream. Boone pulled up short when he saw her pacing to and fro in front of what looked like another maintenance room. She scratched on the rotted wooden door and Boone snapped his fingers for her to heel; she turned and was immediately at his side, ready to fight. Boone steeled himself easily and stole forward, listening. He could hear the murmur of voices, only one he could identify; soft, womanly. He closed his mind to memories of Sandra and cleared his mind before heaving himself forward, slamming a booted foot into the door. It splintered under the force of his kick and flew open as he charged in, knife held aloft and ready to cut down any threat, Loo hot on his heels and snarling viciously. It took him a moment to take everything in, to understand what was happening in the dim room. There were six people, four of them hogtied in the corner, two in the middle of the room. A woman standing over a body strapped to a table, hand on a lever attached to ropes that bound the body. His eyes trailed from the woman's hand to the impossibly tiny wrists the ropes constricted. He followed the thin, frail arms to the tiny face glistening with tears, wrenched in pain. His face contorted into something stuck between horror and a steadily growing rage as his knife clattered to the ground, forgotten. He couldn't take his eyes off the child who lay prone on the table, body stretched and drawn by the ropes and the sick torture device she was chained to. A little girl, no more than six, being tortured in his own home. He was struck dumb by the shock of it, that such a thing was possible. It took  him but a moment to get his wits about him before he felt himself moving without thinking, almost of his own accord. Lunging forward, heedless of the danger, vaulting across the table and slamming into the creature whose hand had held the lever. They toppled to the ground and his hand sought her neck, a savage shout ripping from his chest. No words, just that guttural shout and grasping fingers and fists that demanded an explanation. ooc- it kinda rambols...getting used to writing himmm XDD