[color=b4b148]"I don't have any money, but you can tell me what you want, instead of hurting me again. I won't resist."[/color]

Fear radiated from the boy's every gesture, his eyes only breaking contact to survey the wound he had just received. Orwell moved back to the group, giving him space - a gesture of neutrality.

[color=905f5a]“Why didn’t you leave your coffin?”[/color]

Orwell faced the tall, teenaged girl, glanced at her hand once more, and shrugged.

"Seems to me that he's more cautious than most... Six. In a sense, you could say this room is just one big coffin, too, if we lose the game."

Pointing to the wall, he then turned to talk to the boy he had just pricked. "We are in a situation, and those seem to be the rules. I don't know about you, but I don't want to be the first one to experience the King's retribution. I'd say a small beauty mark is a small price to pay to survive another round." Orwell then pointed out the boarded up exits around the room. "And quit talking about money. There's no use for that in a place like this."

A sudden, but familiar creak of the dumbwaiter signalled that another round was about to begin. Seeing as he was "tagged" by the last order, he made his way towards the device, peered into it to survey its contents, pulled out the note card and read it aloud.

"Player #5 and Player #1. From one a tooth and from one a nail." He placed the card back inside and stepped away from the device, as if to make way for either Five or One to make a run for the dumbwaiter. "There is a nasty pair of pliers inside... looks like the King's getting serious."