[color=#DEC5D6][center][img]https://i.imgur.com/33bpHQY.png[/img][/center]
[color=#8D3B72]Time:[/color] Evening
[color=#8D3B72]Location:[/color] Tough Tavern
[color=#8D3B72]Interactions/Mentions:[/color] [@CitrusArms] Stratya, [@Lava Alckon] Drake, [@princess] Charlotte and the gang, [@Tpartywithzombi] Ariella, [@Samreaper] Kazumin, [@Potter] Olivia, [@ReusableSword] Roman
[color=#8D3B72]Aesthetic:[/color] [url=https://i.imgur.com/V5HP5na.png]Outfit[/url]


[center][img]https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/1064772112633569330/1100627858638000148/Banner.png[/img][/center]

Kalliope felt the pressure of the razor, the hot, stale breath in her ear, and the sticky, cold blood from Marius’s hand pressed near hers. The smell of sweat and blood was the only thing real in the room. Her own lips curved into a slow, wicked smirk, the corners of her eyes crinkling with genuine, dark amusement. She met his intense stare, daring him to find the break. She allowed her hands to be splayed wide on the counter.

The [b][i]THUNK[/i][/b] of the razor plunging into the wood between her thumb and forefinger was startlingly loud, but she was ready for it. The bar counter jumped under her palms, sending splinters flying, but Kalliope didn't flinch, didn't blink, and didn't twitch a single muscle. Her eyes remained locked on his, steady and challenging, even as his pupils blew wide with the private rush of his destructive fantasy.

[i]Tap. Tap. Tap.[/i] The blade moved like a precise metronome between her fingers. On the last tap, the razor twisted, kissing her pinkie and slicing the skin. Kalliope merely let the small, hot stream flow.

[color=#99546F]“There it is,”[/color] he whispered, eyes never leaving her face. [color=#99546F]“You feel that? Barely nothin’. But your head’s already racin’, ain’t it? If that’s a start, where does he stop?”[/color]

Kalliope’s smile sharpened, mirroring his own feral grin. She slowly, deliberately, lifted her injured pinkie finger. Her eyes never left his as she brought the digit to her mouth and traced the bloody cut with her tongue. The act was intimate, primal, and utterly unhinged. She licked the blood away with a slow, deliberate grace, savoring the salty, coppery taste.

[color=#8D3B72]“If that’s the start,”[/color] she murmured, her voice silk-low and dangerously curious, [color=#8D3B72]“then you need to carve deeper, darling. You might find there isn’t much left in here to take.”[/color] She brushed hair away from her face, making her scar there much more visible and showing she’s no stranger to torture like this. She leaned in, her voice dropping into a chilling, conspiratorial murmur, her gaze tracing the tension lines around his eyes.

[color=#8D3B72]“I finished peeling my own mask off a long time ago. But you… you didn’t start with yourself, did you? You started with them.”[/color] She tipped her head, her eyes softening to an unnerving semblance of compassion, diagnosing him. [color=#8D3B72]“Was it Mummy who always told you to keep your hands still? Who hurt you after he hurt her? Or was Daddy the one who carved the first scar across your knuckles just to prove he was bigger? They made you feel small, worthless, unlove…but you were so much more clever than them, weren't you? So you made art of them too, didn't you? Made them scream, and it sounded beautiful.”[/color]

Marius slammed the razor’s spine down beside her hand. Again, she didn't flinch. She held the eye contact, absorbing his manic laughter, and then the sudden, eerie flatness of his face when he laid the razor along her throat.

[color=#99546F]“By the time you’ve cost me a barrel, we’ll play a fun game. I’ll walk you down this room an’ ask: Which one of you knows her?”[/color] Kalliope’s expression shifted, the amusement dying instantly. The threat of taking her identity, of erasing her, was a deeper cut than the one on her finger. [color=#99546F]“An’ you offered that to me,” he said almost tenderly. “You put the knife in my hand and said, ‘Do your worst.’”[/color]

Kalliope’s smile returned, cold and utterly dismissive. She met his eyes, finding the fear of inadequacy that lurked beneath his theatrical sadism. [color=#8D3B72]“Physical disfigurement is fun... for amateurs. It's the mental destruction that shows a true artist, Marius. Making an art piece of their mental state so they wish they were physically disfigured is where true masterful artistry shows. Your worst is predictable, darling. I’ll enjoy seeing you try.”[/color]

Her smile remained fixed on Marius, cold and utterly dismissive, until Garran inserted himself into the space, bringing the scent of calm, pragmatic violence. She immediately shifted her focus to the man who was clearly the true leader and tactician.

[color=#997657]“She’s right about the girl,”[/color] Garran said she gave Garran a sharp, tight nod that held no fear, only confirmation. She had won the mobility, but the true price was about to be revealed.

[color=#997657]“You want the tap? You get it. Go refill everyone’s tankards.”[/color] Garran leaned in, his breath dry warmth at her ear, laying down the true terms: consequence transference onto her allies. [color=#997657]“You slip? I don’t start with you. I start with [i]your little friends[/i]. One spilled drink, one person screams. Two spilled, two scream...”[/color] 

Kalliope’s green eyes locked onto Garran's with unnerving intensity, showing she fully registered the weight of the threat. She gave a short, final nod, her acceptance immediate and absolute. [color=#8D3B72]“The rules are understood. One scream for one drop. I will ensure the flow is uninterrupted.”[/color] She didn't offer a retort, a challenge, or a complaint, only a terrifyingly calm acknowledgment that she was now responsible for the lives of her friends via liquid delivery.

[color=#997657]“Move.”[/color]

Kalliope instantly pulled her hands from the counter and efficiently took the barmaid’s place. She gave the girl, who was now weeping over a barrel after Marius shoved her, a quick, cold glance that was more a command than pity, though her words were deceptively gentle. [color=#8D3B72]“You’ve been relieved of serving, dear. You can make yourself useful over there. Polish the glasses for me. Use your best, yeah? Make them shine.”[/color]

[color=#8D3B72][I]Tanner's Lye,[/I][/color] Kalliope thought, her hands already reaching for the taps. [color=#8D3B72][I]The acid used for stripping leather and cleaning the worst stains. Every barmaid keeps a jar for emergencies. I hope she's smart enough to know what a 'best' really means.[/I][/color]

Her hands moved, pulling the handle with a strong, even motion that ensured no foam and no splash. She was focused, calculating how quickly she could fill the tankards.
[color=#8D3B72][I]I have the room now,[/I][/color] she thought, her eyes flicking across the crew members and noting the distance to the doors, the quality of the floorboards, the visible weapons and the possibilities of where hidden weapons might be, and the proximity of her allies. [color=#8D3B72][I]I'll count their mistakes. They won't count mine.[/I][/color]

Her hands were now a blur of motion, effortlessly working the taps with surprising efficiency. She watched the fluid rise in the tankards as her mind was already mapping the room and trying to anticipate the next move. She deliberately filled a few tankards for the nearest, neutral tables first, creating a necessity to move away from the bar and into the main room.

As she moved on her first circuit, delivering the drinks, she executed her reconnaissance. Her gaze swept over the stationary crew members: Ox near the door, Marius still lingering by the bar, and the others keeping watch. Her attention lingered most on Maelen approaching Garran. She noted the faint, darkened veins around the witch's throat and the forced steadiness of her hands as she consulted her spectacles, something that seemed to have a special quality to them.

[color=#8D3B72][I]The spell cost her,[/i][/color] Kalliope realized. She didn’t know much about magic, but she did know from Hafiz and observing him and the mages he used that it always came with a price. [color=#8D3B72][I]She’s brittle. An opening will be there soon.[/i][/color]

She placed the last drink down, returning swiftly toward the bar just as Kazumin's voice cut in, cheekily proposing a drinking game. She felt her heart stop for a moment as she realized what this suggestion could spur. It took everything in her not to glare daggers at the young man.

Then Garran gave a sharp whistle.

The sound was the trigger. Ox moved like a wave, engulfing Drake and wrenching him from the table. Kalliope was already at the bar, snatching up some empty tankards to fill them, and she watched as Drake was slammed against the sturdy post and roughly bound. The focus of the room had narrowed instantly to the hearth, and Garran’s voice cut across the room, announcing the terrifying rules of the drinking game. Three full tankards each. No stopping. No spilling. No vomiting. Every failure earned Drake hot iron. She saw the iron in the hearth, already heating up, and a memory threatened to bubble forth, but she shoved it away.

She snatched up the tray and began loading the tankards for the game. As she worked under the new, intense pressure, she cataloged the new positions and actions of the threats: the man that had stuck the poker in the coals, the other crew member circulating to collect valuables, and Ox now standing guard over Drake.

Kalliope felt the cold shock of the rules crystallize into immediate, scorching fury. She could see the iron poker in the fire beginning to glow and she prayed that those at the table could be steady enough to spare the young Lord that iron.

[color=#997657]“Show ’em what brave buys, then.”[/color]

The man with the iron didn't hesitate. A few strides, and the poker was applied to Drake’s back. The hiss was loud, wet, and sickeningly final. The smell of scorched fabric and burning flesh rolled out in a wave, heavy enough to choke the air. [color=#8D3B72][I]That feeling,[/i][/color] Kalliope thought, the sound and smell triggering again that same raw, visceral memory she had spent years trying to suppress. The rage that filled her was a pure, unbridled, white-hot torrent. Little did they know that they had invoked her own trauma and they would pay.

[color=#8D3B72][I]Death is too good for them,[/i][/color] she decided instantly. [color=#8D3B72][I]They won't just die. They will pay slowly.[/i][/color]

Her mind raced through the crew, assigning each a meticulous, agonizing fate.

Marius, she decided, would have both hands broken beyond repair. She would break them bone by bone until every one was broken so he could never again perform his “art”. Then  she would slowly gouge out his eyes with a spoon and attach them to a necklace she could place around his neck. Never again could he gaze upon a “masterpiece” and he would feel the weight of those eyes upon his neck until they rot and fall off or he gets someone to take pity on him and remove them.

Maelen, she would remove her tongue, prepare as a fine delicacy, and then feed it to the woman. Then she could remove her hands, slowly, starting with the tips of her fingers. She would slowly saw off each and every joint as she watched, feeding each piece to starving dogs, until all Maelen had left were little nubs. She would ensure that the woman could no longer speak her incantations or use her fingers to weave spells.

Ox, well that one was simple. She would heat that iron poker as hot as she could get it all while tying him to that post with chains. She would force his mouth and slowly force that hot poker down his throat as she revelled in the sound of his choking screams.

Now Garran, he would be the most fun. She'd string him up with his back facing her. Slowly, carefully she would start peeling layers off his back until she reached his ribs. From there, she would crack each rib open. One. By. One. She would do all of this to them while gently singing a comforting lullaby, like a mother singing her children to sleep. Make sure that those who survived could never hear the sound of a mother singing again, the sound of a lullaby, without thinking about what she had done to them.

With the tray loaded, Kalliope lifted it smoothly, her face a mask of efficient concentration, and began her slow, deliberate walk to the table. She set the tankards down in front of each person. She leaned in, her voice an almost imperceptible breath, meant only for those nearest her. [color=#8D3B72]“You heard the man. Fast. Clean. Don’t breathe if you don’t have to.”[/color]

Then, even quieter, her gaze sweeping their faces to ensure focus, but lingering on Stratya. [color=#8D3B72]”Razor psycho boy’s pistol was a single shot, however he’ll have knives, maybe a second gun, but watch his hands. My guess is he won't use a second gun unless absolutely necessary. It's too quick for him. And the witch? She’s brittle. The magic cost her. Look for the fissure. Now drink.”[/color] The final look she gave Stratya was one of preparedness. It was a look that said “I'll be taking action soon if you don't, but if you do I will follow and support you.”

She did not wait, but instead lifted the tray and walked straight past the table toward the hearth, a single shot of whiskey now revealed upon it. She stopped before Drake, ignoring the large man standing watch and moving quickly. She hoped Garran and the others were too focused on the table to immediately notice her action.

Kalliope set the empty tankard tray beside him and gently picked up the small glass of whiskey. She placed the cool rim to Drake’s lips, steadying his chin with her other hand, ignoring the proximity of the glowing poker nearby. Let them use it on her for all she cared.

[color=#8D3B72]“Every burn is going to be hell like that,”[/color] she whispered, her voice barely audible over the fire’s crackle. [color=#8D3B72]“I’m so incredibly sorry. But you have to fight this.”[/color]

She tipped the glass just enough for the strong spirit to touch his mouth, forcing him to swallow. [color=#8D3B72]“Think of something that makes you happy. Something that keeps you fighting. Focus hard on that.”[/color] She let him drink, her eyes holding his with fierce assurance.

[color=#8D3B72]“This will be over soon.”[/color] With the whiskey drained, Kalliope swiftly moved away, returning to the bar for the next round, the silent promise of imminent action hanging between her and Drake.[/color]