19566/Belly of the Beast

Belly of the Beast
Date of Scene:	26 November 2024
Location:	Abandoned stockyard, just outside Gotham
Synopsis:	Harper finds herself at the Pyg Farm. Things seem grim.
Cast of Characters:	Helena Bertinelli, Harper Row

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Helena Bertinelli has posed:
The conditions are bad.

Harper Row was snatched from the boardwalk in Gotham, seized by a pig-masked fiend in the midst of a mad riot of crazed hogs and maniacal behavior. The last thing Harper saw before losing consciousness was Helena Bertinelli being blown through a market kiosk by the force of an exploding sow. Then darkness.

She drifted in and out of consciousness. No way to tell how long. Light and dark though. The sensation of being inside of a sack at first, as if placed in a bodybag. Then the rattle of metal, the bag of a trailer and the constant pressure and noise of pigs. Being transported in a pig trailer, drugged, hidden amongst the swine. A miracle she's not trampled to death and she'll have trotter shaped bruised from being stepped on by the horde.

She's just coming to as she's dumped into a grassy area. Three massive pigpens take up the nearby space, huge racks of stalls for containing hogs, basically cages, into which they'd be herded at night. During the day, they would have a free space. Two of these pens are being used for just that.

The third house, however, holds a different kind of Pig. Dressed in various forms of disgrace, humans are shuffled along chains as well. Some wear pig masks, some don't, but all of the ones doing the herding are pig-faced. One such, a massive male with broad shoulders, his arms tattooe sleeves, approaches. His pig head is black, the bristled main at the top dyed red. He is called Schweinhunde (pronounced in the German fashion, with a v for the w).

"This one's mine," he says, seizing a hold of a groggy Harper by the hair and trying to drag her along behind him.

Harper Row has posed:
With consciousness comes the damage reports from different parts of Harper's body. The drugs were a blessing of sorts in a bad situation. She needs her noggin to figure out how to escape, especially since she got captured without her utility belt and gadgets. It's an absolute hellish way to wake up, like the worst bender she's ever been on. Temporal facts of her situation become more glaringly apparent along with the pounding headache.

Her senses, so long wrapped in cotton and bubble wrap all clamour to be on top. The smell makes her gag while her ears ring and pour a soupy mess of noises. A tongue that feels too big for her mouth, either too dry or a side effect of the drug, has her trying to produce spit.

Her body jerks within her bonds as a flashback of seeing Helena's body get ragdolled by some explosion. An aftershock of mental fear, after the fever dream kaleidoscope of confusion when she was being transported and under the influence. "Huuuh...Lenah!"

"Aaaawwk!" Harper squawks as pain erupts in her scalp as her hair is used as a handle. Instinctively she tries to get her hands to prevent it, use her feet to kick at Schweinhunde, all these efforts to protect herself and lash out before realizing how trussed up she may be. It's kind of hard to even remember if she's in costume until sensation tells her how vulnerable and unequipped she truely is by all the civvie clothes from that night in the market. "Rrrrrrrrrgh!"

Helena Bertinelli has posed:
Harper is dragged off to a corner of the open yard in the front and finds herself tossed forward into a mudhole. While she's staggered, a metal collar is clamped in place around her neck, then attached to a chain tied to a post thrust deep into the nearby Earth.

The accent on Schweinhunde is undeniably German, his build thick and solid. His gloved hands fold under his biceps as he crosses his arms, glaring through the eyes of the boar's mask he wears. There's a shine inside - metal teeth. "Your name is not your name anymore. Your name is Pig. All of our names are Pig, at first. If you want another name, you must earn another name. Does the pig understand?"

Strange chanting can be heard from the nearby barn and there's another sound, of distant screaming. A horrifying thing, like something out of a horror movie and, just beneath, a sharp whine. Most people might not recognize the sound but Harper, being a mechanical gremlin as she is, knows it's a buzz saw, probably hand-held. A terrible thing to have an accident with but there's no way what was happening in that barn was an accident.

Harper Row has posed:
Harper tries to take her roll in the mud along shoulder and hip. Not so much concerned about the dirt but wanting to avoid dislocating anything important for when she kicks the crap out of this freak. One eye shut and mucked shut with mud, the other cornflour blue peeper stares wide in growing fury.

The collar does not help anything, merely rubbing her absolutely the wrong way. The feel of it, the weight, and that clink of chain has her scream out. She immediately tests how sturdy that chain is by throwing herself the opposite direction to the post. She's rewarded by nearly wringing her own neck.

But she's at it again, staggering to her feet, spitting mud and gritting her teeth like a rabid animal fighting against these cold hard restrictions. "Gaaaak!"

The third time she picks herself up, breathing raggedly as all that horrific sound from nearby reaching her through the pounding in her head. Her head whips around towards whatever nightmare is happening for others, her brain trying to think of something clever.

"Porky, no one makes the rules for me." she coughs. "Any second now...It's going to be the worst night of your life. Any minute now, and you'll miss able to walk, talk, enjoy breathing..."

Helena Bertinelli has posed:
Schweinhunde watches just out of reach of the chain, seeing as Harper scrabbles and fights, trying to push against the edge of the lead she's been given. The collar will dig in, bruising at Harper's neck when she yanks too hard on it.

"First rule for you to learn. A Pig cannot speak until it learns to speak like a Pig. You do not have the language to understand me yet, Pig. You have only your human mind and it is weak and feeble and fearful. We will take your fear and we will give you purpose. But until you learn that purpose, you will watch. your. tongue."

He moves with startling speed for his size and then there's the sharp crack of the cattle prod as it hits Harper's collar, the shock hitting her to her bones. Not quite enough to knock her out, but her hands and feet go numb for a moment and she'll drop back down to her hands and knees.

Harper Row has posed:
Harper thinks she's ready for him, feeling like all the anxiety and fear can be used to heighten her responses for fight time. She's taken down just as big, just as bad, surely. This isn't just a minion, it's a crazed zealot apparently. Which makes sense, as her logic and reason offer to burble up more and quicker ways to deduce how deep in crap she is.

"First rule of pig club...can't talk about...Second rule..." she tries to throw shade, mumbling, pitching her tone like a aggravating teen. Unable to talk over Schweinhunde but doing her damndest to try and make him lose his cool.

Harper has dished out a lot of live current to baddies in her work to help Gotham. She's drawn a bit of current accidentally to herself in her hobbies and tinkering. But that surge delivered and conducted through the collar is outrageous in comparison. Having to get a dose of her own medicine has her shrieking to the sky as everything violently contracts and shorts out her nervous system. It's a miracle she doesn't faceplant completely and suffocate in the mud. She's treated to the sight of the stinking puddle, jittering and sucking in breath in quick huffs and puffs while muscles try to decide whether to go back under her command or not.

Her breath whistles past her constricted throat, not quite a squeal yet but definitely pained and inarticulate. Though she ~tries~ to mutter something about what she's going to do with that mask Schweinhunde wears. And something about a car battery.

Helena Bertinelli has posed:
Harper will feel a sharp pinch in her neck, just below the collar. Not hard to guess that it's a needle.

"You will sleep outside until you earn your way into a stall. I believe it is going to rain tonight. If you want to go inside, all you have to do is squeal. Squealing is the first word of Pig, the pleading acknowledgement of your own helplessness. The squeal is ego death. The squeal is the first note of the sacred truth to pass over your tongue. You must do it loud and long and clear. And you must mean it."

"I will check in on you from time to time, to see how you do. You seem like a strong thing. Too strong for your own good. You're going to suffer before you squeal. But that is good. The hardest lessons leave the deepest marks. You will rise with me, Pig. I have chosen you."

Harper Row has posed:
Harper winces at the needle sliding in, caught in a half-palsy at the introduction of Gods knows what. In vain, she tries to focus her thoughts and perspective, to try and fight off what's coming.

All the promises uttered to her, she tries to let them just flow over her like the rain that's forecasted. She's got to maintain her sense of self, bolster her willpower, marshal all that still remains to her until her friends and allies can arrive and kick ass.

She makes promises to herself, to never give in and never surrender. Never give satisfaction to these crazies or betray secrets. "B-be...w-waiting...loooong...loooong ti-" she slurs, collapsing to the mud and onto her side. "Need shuuwwwerr...any...anywaaaay."