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“are you really so afraid that you feel the need to muzzle me when i'm already restrained?”
mandragora's eye twitched. the pebbles on the cell floor rattled as she laughed, raspy and derisive. “afraid? no. no, no — this is about humiliation, soldier.”
no response. not even a grunt or growl. only gun metal grey staring right at her. challenging her. unflinching, steadfast: pointless victorian resistance.
mandragora slowly approached the chair to which horn was bound, never breaking eye contact. her tail swayed with each unsteady step — she had left her cane outside; needed both hands free.
“this is meant for a hound,” she taunted, waving the wire-cage muzzle in front of horn's face. “but, hmm... i don't see why it wouldn't fit a wolf.”
that got her a spark of indignation. “you—” mandragora rammed the muzzle into horn’s repulsive’s perfect face, cutting off whatever pathetic insult she was about to spit out. before horn could shake it off, mandragora yanked the straps behind her head and fastened them tight. strands of horn’s greasy hair had been pulled through the buckle and stuck out at odd angles — stalks of flax still standing after the harvest.
“there. much better.” the muzzle squished horn’s nose and dug into her jaw; mandragora allowed herself a feeling of petty joy as she took in the view. thin and flaky leather did little to cushion the blunt metal edge... if she were to push and twist the muzzle further into horn’s face, it would surely break skin.
horn was trying to appear impassive: lips a firm line, shoulders set, ears standing tall. oh, what a valiant attempt! but her eyes shone red-hot like metal in a forge. she must be so close to snapping.
“nothing to say? i thought you'd be spewing some self-righteous drivel like ‘no matter what you do, victoria shall not be broken.’”
“wouldn't want to give you the satisfaction.”
the pebbles in the cell rose a few centimeters and then slammed back down.
mandragora gripped horn's neck with both hands and squeezed.
panic involuntarily filled horn’s face. her body jolted, trying with desperate futility to break out of her restraints. rugged muscles, ferocious strength — useless. could barely even open her mouth to yell or gasp for air. the pebbles continued to rise and slam; frenzied, erratic; like hail pounding against the pavement. mandragora pressed her thumbs harder into horn's trachea.
no one in this cesspool took her seriously. only the leader understood her worth! and for the leader, she had to bear abasing herself to the sarkaz day after day. but: this victorian bitch... she would make her understand. mandragora's lips peeled back in a cruel gash of a smile; her jagged nails dug trenches, sewers, on either side of horn's spine. and still — even as they bulged in their sockets — horn's eyes burned right through her.
the pebbles stopped.
mandragora let go.
horn retched and coughed; wet, rattling barks. spit and bile clung to the wires of the muzzle before dripping onto her lap. with tired eyes full of condescending hate, she looked up at mandragora.
“happy?”
//