damned_institute | Disciplinary Therapy Room 3 [MU for Kvothe]

Kvothe awoke abruptly and completely, though the sudden change of scenery left him disoriented for a moment. He started to sit up and realized that he was strapped down to the table, he tried to move his arms and only succeeded in leaving his wrists and shoulders sore with the sharp tugs. He tried to calm himself using the mental techniques that Ben had taught him, but the Heart of Stone was elusive and his breathing was still quicker and shallower than he'd have liked as he looked around but his voice was steady when his gaze fell on the nearby Doctor. "What's going on?"

"Oh, you're awake I see," the doctor said calmly without turning around from her task, almost as though she were just discussing something mundane like the weather. She looked over the array of surgical equipment on a nearby stand, raising each item one by one to carefully study it for anything marring the shining metal and glass before setting it back down and rolling the stand over to the table Kvothe was strapped to.

"How are you feeling, Charles? Or would you prefer Kvothe?" she asked, smiling indulgently but otherwise keeping her face perfectly relaxed and her tone only mildly curious. Masking how her practised eyes watched him carefully for the slightest sign of what was going through his mind right now. He was afraid, but hiding it. Like a good little hero should.

But he would be so much better when she was done.

Kvothe stared at the impliments as she lifted them, some part of his mind knew objectively that this was what she wanted but he couldn't tear his eyes away. He clung to the tenuous mental calm he'd achieved but he could feel it slipping anyway. He swallowed hard before he spoke, ignoring her question. "Untie me, and tell me what is going on." His tone was still calm, but there was a slight edge to it. He tried again to go through the mental techniques that would lead to the mental state called Heart of Stone, but it still wasn't working as well as it usually did.

Then again, he'd never had to try to stay calm while bound to a table by a presumed mad doctor.

"You know I can't do that, Kvothe," she said and allowed a little bit of regret to colour the words. It was faked, but it was also the thought that counted. "Not until we've had the chance to... help you."

His eyes, she noticed, were a beautifully pale green, making the sliver of gold all the more attractive and giving away more of his emotions than he realised. It was too bad what she was going to have to do to them then.

"You'll need to relax for this next part," she continued. "I wouldn't want to accidentally hurt you. At least not any more than absolutely necessary."

He reflexively jerked against the bonds again but it didn't help, he was wirey and strong for his size, but not overly and it would probably take more than one slightly underweight sixteen year old to break them. He paled as the words sunk in, and cursed fluently in several languages in his head as he changed tactics and quietly tried to slide one long, thin hand out of the cuffs. "What's the next part?" He asked to keep her attention away from the movement.

"Something that I promise will help you become better," the doctor said soothingly. She was quite proud of her ability to remain calm and yet seem empathic with the patients in her care, despite her true feelings. The mark of a professional, she felt.

Her eyes flickered to the movement of his hand and she tutted under her breath. Didn't he realise that, in the long run, she was only trying to improve him? She sighed and walked over with a click of heels on tile to quickly tighten the cuff at that hand, before circling the table to repeat the gesture with the other.

"I had hoped that you'd be behaved enough that I wouldn't have to do this," she scolded, though a hint of a smirk showed through the carefully constructed mask. It was good that he struggled, it would make the end result all the better for it.

Of course, having him struggle during the initial stages of the actual treatment would only cause problems, so she moved to his head and fastened another band across his forehead, making sure it would keep him perfectly still.

"Much better."

Kvothe squirmed, but he couldn't move enough to get away from her hands, he tried to raise his head to keep her from fastening the strap but he didn't have the leverage to keep his head up against her hand. He glared at her, and while it was mostly bravado he continued trying to work his hand free. "I don't need to become better at anything, I'm fine."

The more she said, the worse it sounded. He wished that he'd heard about whatever this really was before, so he'd have some idea of what was going on. Kvothe didn't usually scare easily, he'd seen things frightening enough that many more mundane things didn't bother him much anymore, but this situation was terrifying.

"Fine, perhaps," the doctor agreed as she finished tightening the straps and ensuring that her subject wouldn't be able to get free. "But we should always strive to better ourselves, don't you think?"

She didn't wait for his answer, merely turned away and walked with a click-click of heels out of Kvothe's line of vision. There was the sound of her moving about, shifting through objects and then she returned, holding a roll of surgical tape in one hand.

"Now, down to business then." She smiled, and while it was definitely attractive, there was something about the lighting and the way the shadows fell on her face that made it anything but reassuring. Aware of the boy's frightened gaze, despite how brave he might try to act, she slowly drew out four measured strips of the tape and gently attached them so as to keep Kvothe's eyes open. "Can't have you blinking while I'm working now."

There was a rattle of wheels as the doctor drew the stand and its various implements closer, her hand disappearing out of his sight again but returning in moments holding a large syringe and a vial of a viscous, sickly-yellow liquid. With meticulous care, she raised the vial to the light and drew its contents into the syringe, tapping it work out any air bubbles and pressing down on the plunger until a drop of the liquid oozed out of the tip of the needle.

"Now," she said, and this time there was definitely a hint of dark amusement in her voice. "Right or left?"

Kvothe's eyes widened in horror as she reached toward his face, then he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to turn away. The strap across his forehead held him firmly in place, however, and his eyes were easily taped open. As a result he was unable to look away as she prepared the vial and syringe. He nearly asked what the fluid was, but his mouth felt dry and his breathing was shallow, he kept his silence instead. He felt himself losing the tenuous control that he had over his emotions, the fear growing beyond his abilty to surpress it.

He struggled against the straps again, trying close his eyes against the pull of the medical tape without success. His fingers grabbed uselessly against the cold, smooth metal of the table, trying to find anything to hold onto, but there was nothing. Nothing but a syringe of yellow liquid that he couldn't tear his eyes from.

"You don't mind which I start with?" the doctor asked, and her smile widened ever so slightly. "Alright then. Now, I'll ask that you don't try to move, Kvothe. After all, I wouldn't want to accidentally blind you for life now, would I?"

Leaning in close she gently pressed a hand to his cheek in a gesture that might have been meant to be reassuring, had it come from anyone else. Then the syringe was brought in close and hovered first over his right eye, then his left, before finally returning to the right side and descending until the tip of it was scant millimetres from the surface.

"Now I'd normally say you won't feel a thing," the doctor continued conversationally, meeting the boy's horrified gaze. "But I believe we both know that would be a lie." She smiled down at him again and added, almost as if she were just talking to herself, "such a pretty colour..."

Then the tip of the needle descended slowly and with great care the doctor guided it into position. She'd been practising this procedure for some time in order to ensure there were no errors whatsoever and as such her hand remained perfectly steady as the syringe slowly penetrated the pupil, pushing through the resistance offered by the lens and into the posterior chamber.

"Now this will probably sting quite a lot," she said, then slowly pushed down the plunger, releasing the liquid into Kvothe's eye at a steady, slow rate. Enough time that it would dissipate as intended, though from what she recalled of trials, it had the unfortunate side-effect of producing a very strong burning sensation the entire time.

The entire injection took the best part of a minute, then she carefully withdrew the syringe and set it aside. "Feel free to scream as much as you like now."

His breathing quickened as the needle came closer, barely able to surpress the surge of panic. Distantly he thought that he should be able to control it better than this, be able to calm himself and blank out the terror that he felt, but he'd been completely unprepared for a situation like this and there was nothing at all that could calm him as that needle stopped over his right eye. He wasn't even processing anything that she said. Everything narrowed until nothing existed except for that needle decending toward his eye, and then every muscle in his body tensed at the pain.

His lips pulled back in a grimace and he was unable to completely surpress a the sound of pain that forced its way out through gritted teeth as he held very, very still in irrational fear that if he moved anything the slightest bit the needle in his eye would blind him. That minute felt like a year and even when the needle was finally withdrawn he doesn't relax, hands clenching and opening repeatedly against the metal table, panting for breath.

"There, that wasn't so bad, was it?" From anyone else the words would have been meant to reassure, but from the doctor, they sounded mocking and all too smug. The hand on Kvothe's cheek patted him slightly before the doctor withdrew and set the syringe aside, glass clinking against the metal tray.

But the ordeal was far from over, as her hands returned with a second syringe and vial, the contents of which mirrored the first.

"Now for the other one, can't have it only affecting one eye now, can we?" She smiled like it was some kind of amusing joke and set about preparing the second injection. Then the tip of the needle was being held steady over Kvothe's wide, terrified left eye. There wasn't even a warning this time, the doctor relying solely on the boy's own fear to keep him perfectly still as the needle pushed its way in with agonising slowness and she injected the second measure of fluid into his eye.

He was really being so good about it, she thought, not even screaming at all, though his body; the way his jaw clenched and his hands spasmed while his breath rushed in and out in panicked gasps, said more than enough. It would be interesting to see what he'd do in the next stages.

He didn't scream this time either, though he badly wanted to. It was stupid, petty and cliche and he knew it, but he wasn't going to give her the satisfaction. A small sound of pain did escape him as the fluid was injected with torturous slowness. Whether she was really doing it that slowly or it was just his panicked perception he couldn't tell, and he didn't really care.

Worse than the pain was the not knowing, what the yellow liquid in the syringes was, why she was putting it in his eyes, what it would do to him. He didn't think it would blind him, if that was the intention she wouldn't have told him to keep still before the first injection. Somehow, that made it worse.

When the needle was finally withdrawn he clenched his jaw, breathing harshly through his nose as he tried to calm himself. He needed to be calm. He couldn't do anything if he wasn't calm. And just then he wasn't anywhere near calm.

The second syringe was withdrawn and placed to the side along with the first and the doctor gently removed the surgical tape from Kvothe's eyes, nodding once to herself before retrieving a clipboard and making several notes on it. In a way she actually thought it was better that he hadn't screamed or cried out. After all, her goal was to help him remember what was important, to make him stronger and as he should be, and it would be all the more worthwhile if he refused to give in and fought her all the way. Like forging him into something stronger.

But even the strongest of metals could be weakened and broken if you weren't careful. That was why this next stage was particularly crucial.

The injections should have been taking effect by now, the room beginning to blur and spin around Kvothe in a way that would no doubt make him grateful that he was strapped down to the table and not standing on his own feet. Then things would become all the more interesting, so she'd best be ready to take note of what happened. She had to wonder what kind of setting he would conjure up for this particular confrontation though. It was too bad that she wouldn't be able to see the effects through his eyes.

He blinked rapidly, eyes watering a little both from the strain of being held open for so long and from the irritation of the injection site. He tried to look towards her, to see what she was doing before she did anything else to him, but the motion made the world lurch around him. The room started to blur and spin disorientingly around him even as he returned his eyes forward and he closed his eyes, surpressing a groan. He'd never felt motion sick before, but he pressed his palms flat against the table for lack of anything to hold onto and kept his eyes closed, hoping the dizziness and vertigo would pass.

If it would pass. His eyes, what had she done to them? His breathing sounded harsh in his ears and he felt sick to his stomach. He wasn't in a state to decide whether it was from the disorientation, or just fear. He'd rarely felt so helpless in his life.

The dizziness did eventually ease off, though before Kvothe had a chance to open his eyes and notice exactly how much his surroundings had changed, a hand slapped him sharply across the face. The blow wasn't hard enough to cause any damage, but there was a suggestion of power to it that stated that the person responsible wouldn't hesitate to strike him harder if need be.

With the strap across his head his head barely moved at the slap, but he half-conciously bared his teeth and his hands curled in response. Were he able to move, he'd have struck back. He briefly considered keeping his eyes closed out of spite, but there's almost always a part of him that remains calmly objective and disconnected, and that part of him knows that he should choose his battles. Despite the lingering stinging and burning, he opens his eyes.

Perhaps the first thing Kvothe might have noticed was the room itself, which had changed from the disciplinary therapy room he'd been in previously to something entirely different. This place was darker, less clean and with a dankness to the air that spoke of being out of the way. The kind of place where it would be difficult to be heard should you start making too much noise. Like screaming.

But maybe the first thing that would have drawn his attention wouldn't have been the room itself, but the man standing casually not too far away from where Kvothe was trussed up. He seemed almost out of place in the setting, his pale skin and hair almost too bright against the dark of the room. But one look at his eyes and smile would have dismissed that idea. A serpent's eyes held more compassion than these did.

"Better." The smile was brittle and as warm as dry ice. "After all, I wouldn't want you to miss anything once I get started, boy."

The world seems to give a final lurch as he opens his eyes and he has to blink a few times before they finally cleared, but he'd barely begun to process the changed room when the he heard the voice and his blood ran cold. He knew that voice. He looked toward the source, praying that he was mistaken, but the stark white face and hair, the black eyes like a goat's eyes, were burned into his memory.

The injections, he thought with the disconnected calm of shock. My eyes, it's a hallucination. She did something to me...

The smile was still a nightmare's. One hand jerked reflexively against the strap, to defend himself or strike at the monster even he couldn't have said.

Hallucination or no, Cinder stepped forward, his movements slow and deliberate until he was standing over the table watching Kvothe with a detached sort of interest, like someone watching an insect trapped in a jar.

The jerk of the hand hadn't gone unnoticed, though if anything all it did was making the smile slightly wider. "Trying to strike me?" The voice was light and a mockery of friendliness and concern. "I would have thought you'd be beyond that. After all, you don't seem to be particularly dedicated to avenging your family, do you?"

Kvothe didn't respond as he watched Cinder, eyes wide despite his attempts to control his expression. The Chandrian was as chillingly graceful and cruel as Kvothe remembered him, but he couldn't be real. It was the drugs. The injection. That had to be it. He repressed a shudder as the nightmare smile came closer, he wasn't going to respond, it wasn't real. Maybe if he continued telling himself that enough he'd actually believe it, and the twinge of guilt at Cinder's words would go away.

Cinder didn't say anything about the lack of response just yet, instead circling the table in a smooth movement, like he was taking a good look at Kvothe before coming to a stop by his side. Then, with deliberate care, he reached out and dragged a nail down the back of Kvothe's hand, the one that was still sporting a half-healed cut.

Dark eyes met those of his victim, and with the same deliberate slowness, Cinder pushed his thumb into the wound, applying pressure that quickly became painful. "You should answer when spoken to," he observed, still in the mockingly friendly tone.

Kvothe's jaw clenched as Cinder dug his finger into the still healing stab wound and he tried to surpress another jolt of fear. He'd been lucky before with that wound, he'd been very very lucky that nothing was permanently damaged, but if Cinder decided to do anything else to it he knew that he wouldn't be so lucky this time. Cinder would be sure of that. Even afraid and knowing this he met the Chandrian's stare, stubbornly defiant.

If anything this simply seemed to amuse Cinder even more. "Defiant to the end, is it? Well, I'm sure you need to show you can fight back somehow, considering your other efforts have been, shall we say, lacking?"

Pulling away from the wounded hand, the Chandrian watched Kvothe's face intently, drinking in his fear and anticipation as he reached down and took a firm hold on the smallest of the boy's fingers. "But that won't last. Nobody is defiant in the end really. Your parents showed that well enough."

And then he pulled the finger sharply up and to the side, relishing the crack of bone giving way.

He tried to ignore the words, though he felt guilt twist his gut again. He knew that this was probably the reaction that his captor wanted and he was going to do his best to not show it.

He'd foolishly dared allow himself a moment of relief as Cinder took his thumb away from the wound in his hand, but it vanished as soon as he felt the grip on his finger. He couldn't help the small gasp that escaped him or the jolt of panic. His glare intensified when Cinder mentioned his parents, that monster knew nothing of his parents and it took all his restraint not to tell him so, but his thoughts were cut off when his finger snapped.

"AH!"

Kvothe squeezed his eyes shut against the pain and sickening fear, unwilling to let the Chandrian see it. He'd had a deep fear of damage to his hands since he was young, since he began playing the lute and here, unable to move, he was now afraid he'd only get out with no hand left. After a moment he tightly clenched his uninjured fingers into a fist and pressed them down against the table to make it more difficult for Cinder to grab them.

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