chesspolitik | One night in [Tabula Rasa] and the tough guys tumble...

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One night in [Tabula Rasa] and the tough guys tumble...

As Anatoly slowly made his way back to the land of the conscious, the only coherent thought he could muster was that he hurt. His head, his shoulders - every muscle in his body ached and he couldn't quite remember why. He had a vague sense of something happening, something terrible, but the more he tried to fish it out from the depths of his mind, the less tangible the memory was.

His eyes fluttered open and he gasped as he saw nothing but stone. He tried to move and discovered both his hands and feet were tied. He turned his head here and there, but at the angle he was sitting, he could see nothing but shadows. It seemed no matter which way he looked, he was trapped.

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Anatoly met Lionel's gaze defiantly. "Tell me, Mr. Luthor. Why is it that you are so afraid of me that you must resort to these petty tricks? Molokov is just a bully with delusions of grandeur but you - what am I supposed to think of you?"

Lionel laughed from deep in his chest. "When a fly is buzzing around your head, it's an annoyance but you don't hate it." He slapped Anatoly's cheek with his free hand, hard, to further the metaphor. "And you still swat it dead."

"A bully?" Molokov's eyes narrowed and it was with the greatest of difficulty that he refrained from beating Anatoly into a bloody pulp. There was a plan, a very carefully constructed plan, and he had to wait.

"If by bully you mean someone who has looked after your wife and children while you cavorted with another man's mistress, then I suppose I am one."

His cheek stinging from the sharp slap from Lionel, it took a moment for Anatoly to register Molokov's words but when he did, he flushed angrily and tried to lunge at him. Hampered by the ropes as he was, he only succeeded in wrenching his shoulder.

Lionel's grip in his hair never faltered as he looked to Molokov as if having a friendly conversation. A friendly conversation covered in ice. "Young men these days. No respect for their elders and what we do for them. I think it's about time we used some international cooperation to teach them a lesson, since it seems neither of our cultures can do it right alone." It was a sneering concession, and Lionel wasn't stupid to believe Molokov would fall for it. But it was pretty words to torture Anatoly, since they were Lionel's favorite weapon.

International cooperation for as long as they were united in their common goal was more like it, but that was something Molokov was happy enough to live with. Should Lionel get too unbearable afterward or in the future, he could easily be dealt with.

"Indeed," Molokov agreed as he knelt beside Anatoly, lightly running a hand along his arm with a practiced air. "You will allow me to start, I trust?"

Anatoly flinched from Molokov's touch, an icy ball of fear forming in the pit of his stomach. The reality of the situation hadn't quite hit him until now. He'd foolishly thought they would limit themselves to words and leave once they'd grown tired. It seemed that things would be otherwise.

Lionel had similar thoughts about Molokov. Sergievsky was right, the man was a brute, but it wouldn't be the first time Lionel had dealt with men like him. They did have their uses after all, since Lionel preferred not to get his manicured hands dirty. Anymore.

"Be my guest." Lionel said with a small nod, before he released Anatoly's head and stood up to give the man room to work.

To do this properly, it meant untying Anatoly's hands. Of course, Molokov had prepared for this eventuality well beforehand. His preparations had to be primitive as he lacked much of his usual tools. Still, he was nothing if not flexible, and he could work very well with what he had.

He acknowledged Lionel with a nod then crouched by Anatoly, placing one knee firmly on his back. Methodically, he untied the other man's hands. He fished a pair of handcuffs from his coat pocket and handcuffed Anatoly's left hand to a bar that he had screwed into the cave wall earlier.

"Mmm, I think a finger first, just to warm up," he said conversationally as he grabbed Anatoly's hand. Without a pause or change in expression, he bent the man's ring finger back until he heard a satisfying crack.

Even knowing that Molokov was capable of all kinds of cruelty, Anatoly was still unprepared for how swiftly the man could move or how little effort it took him to break his finger.

He let out a pained cry at that, the heavy weight of Molokov on his back keeping him from moving. The only thing he could do was close his eyes and hope they would soon lose interest.

Lionel watched Molokov work with bored interest, though his smirk was like the lion who got the gazelle. He moved a few feet away so he could sit on an outcropping of rock to watch the proceedings with his arms casually crossed over his chest.

Not even flinching at the crack of bone, Lionel nodded to the damaged finger. "You mentioned he was married. I wonder, where is the ring? Or does he hide the fact to lure people into his bed..." He trailed off, his implication clear.

"Oh, I can answer both questions," Molokov said easily, dropping Anatoly's hand for the moment. The man underneath him winced and he took a moment to bask in the sound. "He's hidden it somewhere, perhaps in that nightstand or under the mattress. All the better to avoid inconvenient questions, am I right, Tolya?"

He viciously dug his elbow in the small of Anatoly's back. "I wonder if he's ever mentioned all the women he's had to Lex? He certainly never bothered to tell his poor wife."

Anatoly grunted in pain but said nothing in response to either Lionel or Molokov. Let them make all the wild accusations and twist the truth as much as they liked. He owed them no explanations or justifications of the choices he'd made. Lex knew; that was all that mattered.

Lionel gave a small snort. "Please. If Anatoly has slept with half the amount of women Lex has, I'd be impressed." He said with a small sneer, since most had been in Lex's 'piss off daddy' phase. "No, it would be the marriage bit that would scare away my son. For some reason, despite two wives trying to kill him, he respects it far to much then to sleep with a married man. So what exactly did you tell my son to get him into bed...or did you just decline from mentioning it at all?" He asked curiously, raising an eyebrow as he waited for a reaction.

"I think the better question is why Anatoly is sleeping with your son at all." Molokov grabbed Anatoly's hair, jerking his head up so that Lionel was clearly in his sight line.

"I thought you had put those urges behind you, Tolya. Why now? Did you go through all the women in this place?"

Despite his extreme discomfort, Anatoly kept up his show of defiance. "I think you both should go to hell," he muttered. "What Lex and I have or why we've done what we have."

Ignoring Anatoly's pitiful attempt at defiance, Lionel continued conversationally, "Whenever Lex tired to find a woman for a more...permanent arrangement, he would be attracted to tall women with dark brown hair. Women that reminded him of his mother. Being your a father yourself, perhaps that is what he wanted, to find that" He sneered "loving connection he missed from her."

But then his expression changed into one of sharp amusement. "Though since your a /father/ I can't help but wonder if it wasn't his mother he was trying to find the connection with. So Anatoly, what could you and I have in common that would have my son so desperately seek out your companionship and your bed?" It was a long shot yes...but Lionel knew it would hurt which was the point.

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One night in [Tabula Rasa] and the tough guys tumble...

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