"Oh... now where did my whimpering little toy go? Clamming up so soon? It's a shame my usual interrogation tactics are officially off the table because the bolt-cutters are usually so effective at loosening reticent tongues..." he laughs, continuing the slow, measured drips, striping her pale thigh with the white-hot black wax, moving down and placing a generous dollop of dripping wax on the other as he spoke.

He sighed softly, crouching before her as he enjoyed simply watching the journey of the wax down her pale thighs, could almost hear the sizzling of that creamy flesh under the heat. At peace, looking for all the world like a man studying a serene landscape at daybreak, he continued to paint her legs with the scalding wax.

"Actually, would you like to know what I've found is the most effective method of interrogation?" he raised an eyebrow beneath the bandages, not waiting for his silent charge to answer, "Drain cleaner. Would you believe it? I always keep some on hand for particularly silent targets, it's as simple as strapping them down and forcing a spoonful down their throat. Of course, that's off limits in our little session here as well, but there are so many other ways to make a person talk."

"For instance..." he sat the candle down to the side, "It surprises me how someone with bits of metal jabbed through such sensitive places can be so defiant towards someone with a lighter..." He gently tugged the delicate ring out with two black clawed nails and rested the lighter beneath the ring, looking up to her, "Now, are you going to tell me why you were sent to me in the first place, little girl?"

Towards the beginning she jumped with each splash, but as he continues, there's just a subtle jerk of her head, arms stretched, spine straightened. She stares him down heatedly as he continues to dribble her with wax, sensitive thigh a landscape of criss-crossed lines and splattered splotches, a regular piece of abstract art. There's a ghost of a smile behind tightened teeth, her voice a pretty little growl. "Are you going to bore me all day with what you aren't going to do to me? Trust me chief, I've seen 24." and plenty of horror firsthand for that matter. "You aren't going to scare me with threats of what you aren't going to do. You're a regular R-rated villain in a primetime PG plot, aren't you?"

She's smirking, incessantly, despite the network of heat crawling across her thigh. Eyes are dark, burnished gold. A little gasp escapes between her lips as nails brush over her nub, sharp piercing drawn from between her legs. Eyes are drawn to slits as he strokes the lighter carefully against the piercing. "I was sent to you because I occupy a theatrical farce of a school where all the administrators are sadists. I'm guessing you wanted a plaything, or else you're just a stooge they hire and they're watching or recording right now, or maybe even just the thought of the torture is enough to get them off. Maybe the excuse was playing hookie, or dress code violations, or kissing on girls, or chewing gum. I really don't know which one set them off, but that's just show anyway. We both know why I'm here." Staring, coldly through narrowed eyes, attention locked tight on the glowing red pin from her stud.

The grin widened beneath his bandages, he flicked the flame back and forth beneath the ring until it was glowing orange then pressed it into her areola with his thumb, listening to the hiss of the burn, feeling it scorch through the bandage on his finger, leaving a tiny black ring on the scale of his thumb, the burn healing almost as quickly as it was inflicted.

"From combative, to whimpering, to sullen, and back, we are on quite the rollercoaster ride here, aren't we, little Anna?" he laughed.

Despite her actions, it would be very difficult to get her attacker not to enjoy anything this evening. Anna was a girl who seemed ruled by her emotions, whether that was fear, or rage, or cold hate, she acted like a roiling tempest of feeling. Plague, as a creature who fed off of any and all kinds of feeling, could not be feeling better.

"And villain is such an outdated term. You bathe in black and white, why not embrace the gray?" he moved to her other ring, heating it to the same temperature and pressing it in.

Tentacles now slid out from the back of his coat, one stroking the side of her cheek as he rested his chin on his fist, "Do you like to hurt people, Anna? You strike me as someone who does..."

A tendril relieved the lighter from his palm. He held one hand up in front of his face, examining it intently as the lighter flickered near the bottom of his elbow, setting the musty bandages there aflame, the licking fire creeeping up his forearm, engulfing his palm, his arm soon ablaze, "And if so, does it go both ways?" he asked with a slight lilt as the scaled flesh on his arm sizzled like bacon fat, "Is a part of you enjoying all of this? I'm just curious."

She promises herself that the anticipation is worse than the act itself, but even then, she knows it's a lie, eyes locked on the lighter. She flinches as a calloused finger brushes against her areola, striking pink nipple to attention. She's startled still, terrified to squirm as he threads the red-hot needle through the pierced hole in her nipple, baby pink cap searing to life with pain, sharp, sensitive burn jolting down her spine. Eyes are squeezed shut, body tense as she prepares for the second, knowing it's coming, steeling herself, and still unable to reveal her weakness, toes curled, body jerking upward, squealing like a little piglet as the second needle of fire pierces sensitive, erogenous flesh.

An aura of misery sloughs off of her, thick and viscuous like crude oil. She has seen this kind of horror before and it doesn't ever get more comfortable. The tentacles do not surprise her in the slightest as they grip her by the shoulders. She's always known there's monsters, but it's almost a relief to realize that some of them actually look like monsters. Wet eyes are lifted up to her tormentor. "Talk about shades of gray all you want, all your are is an anachronism. An old Hammer horror show trying to make up for his age by playing at edgy. But I don't want to hurt any--OH JESUS!" Eyes widening as he lights himself up. On one hand, it doesn't in the least run contrary to her last assertion. On the other, it's burning flesh. She's smelled it once before, bodies licked orange and red as they spill and stumble out of tenement meth lab but God.... It's not a smell any human being could get used to.

The feet of the chair screech as they bump along the old stonework of the floor, wrists and ankles chaffed pink as she desperately squirms and jostles, testing against her bonds as the chair scoots backwards, hot rings bouncing against her breast, searing. eyes caught on the brilliant show of orange, horrified, that death stench filling her lungs, stomach sick. "Oh god... god.... Puh-please... Please. I don't wuh-w-want to hurt anyone.... Just tell me what I need to do... please...."

"From petulant to pathetic, you shift temperament quickly enough to give yourself whiplash..." he chided as he waved the guttering flames from his arm dismissively, watching with a fascinated eye as the yellowed, scale flesh bubbled from the burn. Despite eons of being cut, shot, stabbed, blown up, and all other manner of damaged, he never tired of watching himself heal. There was some sort of primal, base attraction to the way his flesh stitched itself back together.

He clenched his fist and rolled it on his wrist softly, the cartilage popping as his knuckles cracked.

"Do? I don't really ask for much, my dear, and to tell the truth, there isn't really anything I want you to do..." he said, setting the lit candle on the chair's seat between her spread legs, "Besides scream, that is..."

He tapped the candle playfully with a little twitch of his finger. It fell forward, spilling the hot wax across the seat of the table, the flame flickering out and the wax spreading across every point of her flesh that came in contact with the chair, scalding it.