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Post by Basini on Oct 8, 2010 20:55:44 GMT -5
Stefan knelt before the door, straining to observe a scandalous array of feminine flesh through the keyhole. There was theoretically a legitimate reason for him to be there, for a generous region constituting "there", but not the specific location. Skulking about near the dancers' dressing rooms after a rehearsal... rather difficult to rationalize as merely enthusiastic patronage of the arts.
Adolescent hormones surged. He could feel his pulse in his throat, and strove for a closer look.
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Post by Meg Giry on Oct 8, 2010 21:54:13 GMT -5
Inside the room, girls helped each other out of practice costume and into their normal underwear that would go under day dresses, fought over a bottle of whiskey, and in a few cases even smoked in the corner.
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Post by Basini on Oct 8, 2010 22:05:04 GMT -5
This was the closest one in Basini's position might get to a tableau of innocently frolicking woodland nymphs or something. The girls managed to be terrifying and intensely alluring at the same time, and for a moment his eyes lost focus.
He lost his balance a little as well, putting out a hand against the door to regain it, and there was a muffled little curse.
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Post by Meg Giry on Oct 8, 2010 22:12:53 GMT -5
It was like a twig cracking outside a den of wolves. The girls stopped in unison and exchanged glances.
They looked at the door.
One girl crept toward it. Meg seized her by the skirt and tried to pull her back, but the other girl managed to push her back and leaned toward the keyhole.
A moment later, the girl peering through the keyhole screamed.
So did the others.
The door flew open with a bang and a hydralike formation of female hands flooded out, seized Basini by whatever they could grab, up to and including his throat and hair, and pulled him inside, where he was unceremoniously pulled to the floor and pelted with powder puffs and toe shoes while they screamed various weak but effective curses.
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Post by Basini on Oct 8, 2010 22:24:59 GMT -5
At least he had a split second to, er, fix his clothing before being completely hauled off of his feet. Not that it would have helped against the chorus of feminine shrieks and abuses and the fact that he was presently being pelted with toe shoes. It was all the more disconcerting for the fact that, while strange and inconveniencing, all these projectiles were hardly painful. Just terrifying and disorienting, that was all.
Stefan took the whole business rather stoically, if going ragdoll-limp with fright and assuming a submissive posture without crying out too much counted.
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Post by Meg Giry on Oct 9, 2010 6:06:07 GMT -5
There were comments to the effect of "snivelly little coward, won't even fight back" and at least one exploratory kick in the ribs by one of the smaller dancers, who had apparently been waiting for an opportunity to inflict a little damage of her own. One of the older girls- twenty, at least, and with no excuses- tapped a bit of cigarette ash over his face.
"Well, well, well," she said. "Looks like someone got lucky." "Or we did," another dancer interjected.
There came a little chorus of suggestions, including that if he wanted in so badly he ought to be dressed in girls' clothes and escorted out to the foyer that way. Another voice suggested they take a pair of scissors and slash up his clothes and maybe his hair for good measure, and this turned into a full-on deluge of eager ideas of how best to torture their new captive.
"Stuff him in the cupboard for a few hours-" "No, no, he'll just piss himself in there-" "Eeeeeeuuuuugh, dirty little beast-"
Around five or six of them pulled him up in renewed fury, shaking and knocking and scratching and kicking him in preemptive punishment for being so disgusting as to urinate, until yet another girl shouted that she had an idea.
The dancers turned to look at the girl who'd spoken. She was leaning against the mirror.
"I say that if he wanted to wank off while watching us, we should just take turns with him in the closet and show him a girl's better than his sweaty little hands."
A few girls ooohed excitedly at this idea and leered at their captive, but others shouted objections that he was an ugly little toad and probably diseased and they wanted nothing to do with him, and still more looked utterly horrified and protested that that was simply barbaric.
"I don't want him even touching me-" "Yes, let's teach him a nice little lesson-" "Jennie, you're a disgusting lump of dogs' droppings sometimes, did you know that?" Meg said acidly.
Jennie rolled her eyes. "What, you want him all to yourself now that your ugly Italian's gone and abandoned you, you little slut?" "Tybalt's not ugly!" Meg shouted. "He's beautiful, and you're a- a-" "A what?"
Meg's little hands balled into fists.
"A wretched old hag already!" she shrieked. "Least I'm not some freak's whore-"
Meg slapped Jennie across the face. Jennie stared, and then laughed.
"And now you've already moved onto that blond boy who walked you back here yesterday? The one with that awful beer-garden accent? Someone's got a liking for foreign parts-"
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Post by Basini on Oct 9, 2010 11:55:54 GMT -5
His protests all came out half-formed, and his voice seemed particularly prone to terrified cracking.
Ingrid had nearly mauled him for the whole garter affar, but she was smaller than he was, and it had only been one girl, shrieking like he'd cut off her plait. He couldn't remember why he'd even come here, had nothing to say for himself -- and he could only understand half of what was being shouted at him, everything flattened into sound and dull sensations. Being struck and clawed and kicked was a very different sort of pain by comparison than what he was used to. With Beineberg deliberating over him everything went sort of out of focus, dull around the edges. It was a different world before, and calling Basini dirty and beastly was simply stating a fact there.
He'd knocked down a wasp's nest once; this was more like that. He wasn't particularly aware of Meg.
Very tentatively, he tried sitting up, nose running, and ended up pushed back down again. He held onto the inside of his cheek with his teeth, trying to keep from unseemly tears.
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Post by Meg Giry on Oct 9, 2010 12:59:42 GMT -5
Basini was more or less forgotten in the ensuing scuffle, though he was still kept pinned down for good measure and slapped if he moved. Meg and Jennie were already on each other, not bothering to dress or avoid positions that could prevent him from seeing cleavage or asses from new and exciting angles, even if that was what had caused the girls to attack him in the first place.
Someone thumped at the door outside and shouted "FINISH UP IN THERE!", causing the girls to freeze, exchange looks, scream, and then immediately return to dressing in a hurry. Basini was hefted up and shoved in the closet, the door slammed behind them, and there was a firstly strong and then gradually weakening thunderous sound of twenty or thirty sets of young female legs scurrying away.
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Post by Basini on Oct 9, 2010 13:44:56 GMT -5
Stefan wasn't particularly inclined to get up to see if the horde had left, or to move much at all. Now everything hurt, dull pain with a pulse in it, and he lay with his cheek to the floor in utter shock. An irritating little trickle of something was working down his cheek, and he was too frozen with fright to do more than take dim account of it.
After some while, he realized it might be better not to lie there all night. Shakily levering himself up on his elbows, and to a sitting position.
He peeked out of the closet door, saw he was not quite alone, and quickly withdrew.
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Post by Meg Giry on Oct 9, 2010 13:47:29 GMT -5
Meg was sitting there in silence with her knees tucked under her chin.
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Post by Basini on Oct 9, 2010 14:04:05 GMT -5
Even in the dim light, the trickle of what came from his cheek was obvious enough to identify. Several places -- even when his reflex had been to cover his face -- stung fiercely, and trying to feel out how bad they were without anything to look in was a bad idea. He whimpered and dug for a handkerchief.
Eventually he gave up and just crawled out into the light, hardly having any dignity to sacrifice.
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Post by Meg Giry on Oct 9, 2010 14:10:35 GMT -5
Meg looked up and glared, though not very enthusiastically.
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Post by Basini on Oct 9, 2010 14:13:22 GMT -5
It would have been impossible for Basini to look any more wounded and innocent, like a Goddamn baby deer.
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Post by Meg Giry on Oct 9, 2010 16:27:44 GMT -5
Meg's mouth pursed and her nose wrinkled in the closest to vicious disapproval she could manage.
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Post by Basini on Oct 9, 2010 16:36:37 GMT -5
Stefan just blinked, and dripped a little.
"I should leave now, shouldn't I..."
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