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Spider's Downfall

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It's cold in her cell.

A part of her is dully aware that it's hardly the facet of her defeat and capture that should sting her the most, but it's muffled, struggling to make itself heard through the pounding fog of whatever new cocktails of psionic suppressing drugs they've pumped into her system. It's making her a little drowsy, truth be told- not so much that she's in danger of passing out, but enough to ensure she's resting with her back to the far wall of her prison, resting her eyes for a few moments.
It would probably be easier to just let sleep take her, and wile away the time before her inevitable execution in blissful oblivion, but something deep down is preventing her; perhaps she wants to face her captors defiantly when they approach, or maybe she's merely clinging to the one thing that's left in her control. Hell, maybe the metal shackles tightly clasped around her wrists and ankles are just too uncomfortable for her to properly drop off, even with the drugs pumped through her veins.

A soft groan leaves her as she shifts her position, though it's quickly quieted as she hears secure doors scraping open and the sound of boots on stone heralding her captor's arrival; even through her sluggish haze, Mindfang can tell that there are at least three people coming to fetch her.
Good. She allows herself a self-satisfied smile, pleased with the knowledge that even in her current state she's considered enough of a threat to warrant extra guards.

Her head lifts from the stone of the wall behind her as the three strangers approach; as they step into the light in front of her cell, the identity of one is revealed, though Mindfang is confident she's never seen the other two before. Nameless, faceless grunts of the empire, she'd suspect; a step above slaves, as glamorous a position as that must be. Pathetic.

"Serket." The Neophyte's voice is stiff, calculated. It's cute that she thinks it does anything other than betray her fear of it wavering; a neon sign with the tail end of the arrow pointing precisely where she doesn't want people looking.

"Mmnh." Mindfang exhales, expending far more effort than she'd like simply to formulate a coherent sentence. "Neophyte. Are these... friends of yours? If I didn't know better... I'd think you were still scared of me."

The delivery's sloppy, her speech slurred and sluggish, but Mindfang takes no small amount of internal pleasure in noting that her barb still has the intended effect; the Neophyte's lips tug down in a scowl, and she breezes past the accusation entirely, gesturing for her two companions to enter the cell.
Mindfang puts up only a token amount of resistance as the two guards step in and haul her up to her feet, the woman swaying noticeably and needing to rely on the rough support of her jailers to remain standing. Whether she'd like to outwardly admit it or not, the drugs are affecting her rather heavily; enough so that she can only barely muster a gasp as, on seeing the Neophyte give them a nod, the two guards start stripping her of the flimsy underthings she'd been permitted to wear up to this point. With the use of short knives, the two trolls make short work of her garments, leaving her totally bare in front of her rival; something that manages to permeate her haze enough to have her growl, stomping weakly on the nearest foot to her. It does nothing, the guard doesn't even react, but it makes her feel a little bit better, at least.

"Are executions commonly carried out on nude victims these nights, Neophyte?" Mindfang snaps, her face flushed an angry blue as she fights the urge to try and cover herself. Stripped and defeated she may be, but she'll hardly cave and cower like some meek and spineless slave girl. Defiant to the end, she thinks; it'll leave a more impactful legacy.

"You'll be dressed again before you face the noose, Serket." Comes the reply, a note of smug satisfaction slipping through and cracking her professional facade just a little. The tealblood steps forward, ignoring the glower and snarl she gets from her prisoner and reaching forward to slip a heavy metal collar around the woman's neck, a sturdy chain connected to it. The other end of that chain is held tight in her gloved hand, and given a quick tug to get the former pirate queen walking- or, more accurately, to get her stumbling, a low curse under her breath signalling how difficult she's finding it with legs weak and ankles chained together.

"Then what's this? A final gloat?"

"You could say that. Move, prisoner." 

Another tug on the leash, its purpose not lost on Mindfang. Treating her like a beast, a disobedient animal in need of a carrot and stick; the latter, she quickly finds out, coming in the form of the guards behind her, a rough shove placed between her shoulderblades to make sure she stumbles forward.
It's a long walk out to wherever they plan on taking her, and it's a walk that Mindfang's content to make in silence; whatever barbs she could trade with the Neophyte wouldn't be worth the risk of her sluggish tongue impudently refusing to speak with the right level of acerbic swiftness. Instead, she keeps an eye on her surroundings, working through the fog in her mind to figure out where they're going. Past the medical facilities, not stopping in any convenient dark corridors perfect for delivering a covert beating-- it isn't until they reach a door that opens out into the still night air that Mindfang starts to catch on, a look of trepidation as she spots the structure they're walking towards.
There's no doubt that it's a post for some kind of physical beating, be it with whip or the Neophyte's more trademark cane, and Mindfang can't stop herself from resisting a little as she's led closer and closer to it, the last few feet being closed with one of her burly guards' hands on each of her arms, all but dragging her towards the wooden post. Needless to say that she's not thrilled about this, her mind desperately racing for a possible way out, something she could use to her benefit...

Before anything appears before her eyes, though, she's pulled up onto the raised stage, coming face to face with the middlingly sized crowd that gathered here; it's an early punishment, and most people are here more to watch a caning in general without quite knowing who it is that's up there. With little effort on the part of her jailers, Mindfang's shackled wrists are pulled up to be hooked on to the inescapable iron bindings, the metal set far enough up in the wood that Mindfang has to rise up onto her toes to alleviate the strain on her wrists. It's not an especially dignified position, and one that inescapably puts her ass on display; something usually to be proud of, but that now makes her feel far, far more nervous.

"You're quiet now, Serket." The Neophyte notes, coming up behind her captive prey once the two burly guards fall back and take their posts elsewhere. There's a cane in her hands, one designed more solely for the use it's about to be put to but still painted the same as her weapon, but she doesn't use it straight away; in fact, a gloved hand comes to rest on Mindfang's ass first, squeezing hard enough to draw an incensed hiss from the newly-struggling blueblood. "If this was all it took to silence those ridiculous barbs of yours, I'd have done it perigees ago."

"Fuck you." Comes the slurred reply, swiftly followed by an open-palm strike to Mindfang's exposed ass, dragging a grunt from the woman followed by a glare over her shoulder.

"Temper." The Neophyte teases, delivering another crisp smack to the opposite cheek to the one she'd struck first. No marks just yet, not on the skin of a resilient blueblood, but she's definitely going to get there.
Stepping back a little, Redglare sizes up her new target, flexing the cane idly between both hands before shifting to get a good grip on it. The cane is tapped against Mindfang's ass, adjusted slightly for the way the woman is wriggling from side to side, and then...

The sound of the cane making contact with bare skin for the first time rings out loud as a gunshot, and despite herself, Mindfang lets out a shrill cry, her whole body pressing up against the post she's chained to as a thin, angry blue line forms on her grey cheeks. The force behind the cane was impressive, harder even than most other public canings are delivered with; it seems that this is the Neophyte's outlet for her pent-up aggressions.
Not feeling any need to verbalise the count or even keep taunting her rival, the Neophyte's arm pulls back and the second swat with the cane is delivered with just as much merciless force as the first, drawing another shrill squeal from the bound pirate.
It's jarring to her, how harsh it feels- surely she should be able to handle a little beating like this? Are these damnable drugs leaving her so weak and feeble that the pain of a cane striking her hindquarters is actually amplified so much?

"Please!" The word blurts out before she can stop it, the third strike of the cane against her rapidly marking flesh making her knees buckle a little and forcing her to adjust her position, inadvertently sticking her ass out even further. 

"Spare me your begging now, Serket." The Neophyte sneers, outwardly projecting the image of a cruel and uncaring legislacerator to hide the wrigglerish glee she feels running through her at the sight of the big bad criminal brought down so low. Mindfang gets no mercy, she's already decided on that; and since she's done the kindness of pushing her ass out for more, Redglare intends to capitalise on it.
Once again, the cane cuts through the air with an ominous whistle, slicing a vicious welt on Mindfang's ass to join those already in place. Then again, the cane strikes atop a previous mark to draw a choked shriek from the blueblood. Redglare's aim is impeccable, the desperate wiggling of her captive's hips doing nothing to deter the cane from finding its mark again, and again, painting more of that smooth grey canvas an angry, throbbing blue, drawing tears by the fifteenth strike that dissolve into full blown sobbing after a further ten land on her ass.

It's here that the Neophyte pauses, admiring the trembling and writhing of her captive's naked, sweat-soaked body and the sounds of her sobbing lightly under her breath... but noticing that the woman's legs look a little more genuinely unsteady, threatening to buckle from under her and cause an annoyingly pressing injury to cut short their fun. So, she steps forward, taking a hold of the metal portion of the flogging post, flipping a catch unseen until now and dragging the entire binding down a little. Satisfied with where she has Mindfang's hands now, Redglare flips the catch back into place to lock things down again, before roughly kicking Mindfang's legs out from under her, effectively forcing the blueblood down onto her knees with her arms stretched up above her head.
Satisfied, Redglare lingers in place for a second, leaning down so her lips brush Mindfang's ear, hissing menacingly when she speaks.

"I hope you're comfortable, Serket. I don't plan on stopping just yet, and I think I'll leave you here for a few hours once we're done, so the other miscreants can see what happens when you cross me."

Pleased with the whimper she gets in response, Redglare stands herself back up, eyeing the enraptured crowd with a little bit of scrutiny to see if anyone caught on to how personal that was, then taking up her former position- making sure to aim a little lower now that she's got Mindfang on her knees, of course.
No mercy is shown just because her prey is already tearful, though, and the first strike that lands on already tortured flesh drags a wail from Mindfang. As the caning continues, the last shred of dignity the pirate queen had been clinging to dissolves entirely, leaving her openly wailing and sobbing as the cane continues to leave welt after welt, some splitting and trickling cerulean blood down her cheeks and onto her thighs.

A small mercy is that the caning seems to be over much quicker now, the Neophyte pulling back her cane to inspect any leftover cerulean before setting it aside to be cleaned and disinfected, nodding in satisfaction at the truly beaten blueblood kneeling on the floor in front of her.
True to her word, Redglare merely turns on her heels and walks away, leaving Mindfang with no indication of what exactly is to come next save for the faintly audible sound of her telling her guards to drag the miscreant back to her cell when a few hours is up.

At least she drew a crowd, she bitterly concedes. She wonders if her execution will gather the same number...