upmoving | COURT: Heart Game!

[You hit it! ...And it doesn't seem to do anything. In fact, the person, because it does seem to be a person, seems perfectly confident in reaching for your arm, too. And for every moment it touches you your body feels weaker, smaller, like your strength is draining out and you're shrinking, and your assailant was big to begin with.]

[Oh god this is not okay. He strikes out again but mostly just tries to back the hell away, eyes darting around the room for another escape, some way out of this.]

[You manage to do that. You have the room to maneuver in, but the other person stays there by the door, blocking your way out. It's hard to get a good view of him, besides that it's a man, tall, well-built in the way that would probably be complimented as "strapping". His specific features seem indistinct, perhaps a trick of the light, perhaps a feature of the room itself. You'll find that besides the little table with the lamp, there's only a bed in here with you.]

[Not good, not good. He edges as far from the man as possible, not taking his eyes off him, but trying not to corner himself.]

Move away from the door. Let me out.

Now, now. You came in here yourself. Relax.

[Apparently the answer is no.]

It was a mistake. Let me out.

It's too late for that now. Come here.

No. Come here if you want me.

Well, if you insist.

[He will in fact come after you. Calmly, steadily.]

[Great at least that gives him a chance. He'll wait until the man's gotten close enough they both have a ways to get to the door and then try to dart around him to it.]

[There's not much room to do that, unless you climb over the bed. Either way he'll reach out with an unfair quickness to try to grab you by the arm and swing you right onto that very bed.]

[Well. That's unfortunate. He tries to club the man in the head, and no one can say he doesn't try exceedingly hard.]

[You try very hard, good job. He still seems immune to your efforts, and you still get weaker when you're in contact. He's also trying to get ahold of your wrists and climb on top of you.]

[No? Nononono. He absolutely does not stop struggling, kicking, biting, squirming, every attempt is being made.]

[You try, but your strength keeps draining, and he just keeps seeming to dwarf you more and more. But it's not that he's growing. You're definitely shrinking, becoming short and slight, and the more you fight the more your body slows, making struggling a monumental effort. You're helpless. You can't do anything. You're at someone else's mercy and that someone is steadily, surely holding you down. Waiting it out.]

[Okay. Okay okay going still, breathing heavily from exertion and glaring at the person holding him down, practically vibrating in fury and fear.]

[That helpless feeling seems to permeate the room. You can will it away if you try, but it's oppressive and frightening and plays right into the smile in the man's voice when he lets go of one arm, only to attempt to turn you over and wrench the other behind you, to shove your face against the old and moth-eaten bed.]

Much better. You should just accept it, after all.

[He's angry and the feeling makes him angrier but as much as he's willing it away it's still on the edge of things, and he struggles when one arm is free, terrified but still fighting.]

Fuck off, fuck off and die. You're not real.

No. It changes nothing.

[The struggling is ignored again. And of course Sion already knows what's coming. He leans on the arm he's pinned, too much weight on Sion's back in that awkward position, painful and likely making it hard to breathe. His free hand meanwhile goes to unceremoniously yank his pants down.]

[He's panting, head turned to the side as he tries to gasp for air, real or not this is really happening and he hates it.]

Go to hell.

[Yeah it is definitely happening. And unlike the Ariel you encountered before, this person doesn't seem remotely interested in drawing it out, fooling around or making it feel good. It's just rough and entirely one-sided, no consideration taken for Sion at all. And the weight on his back never lets up, dizzying, the grip on his arm bruising tight.]

[He grits his teeth and closes his eyes, focusing on breathing. Trying not to listen to the sounds of the bed or concentrate on the pain or humiliation or helplessness, holding on to rage and crying into the pillow when he can't quite keep it in.]

[On the upside it doesn't last terribly long. Afterwards he pulls back, casually yanking Sion up to sitting, uncomfortable or not, and patting his cheek.]

There now, I told you you should accept it. Stupid, pretty little thing.

[He tries to bite the man's fingers viciously.]

Ah-ah.

[That earns a nasty backhand. But then he lets go, finally, getting up and going over to, apparently, tend the lamp.]

Go on, now. We're through.

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