knives out || why don't we

"Marionette"

37

𝚠𝚑𝚢 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚠𝚎

The white face paint covered his neck, ears and pale skin, eyelids closed and body restraint. The brush dipped into the black face paint next, lining out a part of his lips to make them seem smaller, a smile being formed. His eyebrows were painted over, a small tear under his left eye painted next.

The lineout of Corbyn Besson's lips was filled with rose-red paint, a red colored, French beret placed on his blonde hair. His face crunching at the forming headache.

A groan fell from his lips, but he was quickly silenced by a soft shush. "Mimes don't talk, my sweet marionette," Zachary Herron talked to him softly, tying the strings around his wrists. The blond's eyes opened, wandering around the lit up room.

The wall papers were maroon and chipped. Mold scattering the corners of the room and leaving the nauseating stench which traveled through his nostrils. Further, the room was empty as far as he could see, the body of his captor blocking his view.

"Easy, now, sweetheart. You'll ruin my precious work," Zach gripped the younger's jaw carefully, keeping his head steady and turned towards himself. "What are you doing?" Corbyn's words slurred together, the aftermath of the drugs he had been forced to take. "I told you not to talk. I won't give you a third warning. You're not allowed to make a sound,"

The half open eyes stared up at him, the tightening of the rope around his waist loosened as he was freed. Zach gently set the wood, on which the strings were attached, down in Corbyn's lap. He carefully swung his marionette's legs over one arm, placing the other on his back and standing from his crouched position, Corbyn in his arms.

The blond let his eyes wander while Zach walked, body stiff in the stranger's arms, but with a hallway full of pretty paintings in his sight. The paintings all displayed a marionette, dressed in their assigned character's uniform, blood spatters on their clothing. There must have been at least twenty on the walls, the narrow hallway seeming never ending.

"He got a new one," The whisper was heard through the room as the door opened, two heads turning to their master and his new, sad colored marionette. "A mime, it means he's not allowed to talk," Now the whisper was even softer, making sure their captor's ears couldn't catch his words.

Zach opened the glass display box, placing Corbyn down on the wooden doll stand. It wrapped around his waist immediately making the twenty-five year old push down the lock around it and turn the key. His marionette would have no way of escaping its glass home. Zach smiled down at Corbyn proudly, the younger's eyelids falling closed again, with no care in the world, as the glass door was closed and his captor left the room.

"He's pretty," Jonah Frantzich, as the card glued to the glass displayed, spoke softly, going on to describe the blond's features for his recently blinded friend. "The box doesn't have a name displayed yet. It's a boy, he's thin, doesn't seem to have much muscle. His character's a mime. He's wearing a black with white striped shirt, black jeans with red suspenders. His hands are covered by white gloves, a beret on his head. It's red, but it isn't bright, it's darker, almost like it's bloody,"

"And his face?" Daniel Seavey spoke softly, feeling another drop of blood run down his cheek. "It's painted white, his lips seem very thin. His nose is round, like a button, but not flat. His cheekbones aren't as visible as mine are, but you can still see them evidently," There was a small pause as Jonah tried making up the words in his head. "I can't figure out how to explain his features further. I'm sorry,"

"That's okay," But the wavering of his voice told Jonah otherwise, the man holding them captive had taken everything from Daniel. "You've never had to describe a person before, it's fine," No other words were exchanged between them, both feeling their minds lose their consciousness when nightfall appeared.