[The suit is folded roughly, shoes and socks laid on top and taken over to the piano just like he's told to. Probably for the best, it's one of his only suits and it cost him far too much despite being a cheap piece of shit, it's nothing compared to the price of the stuff this Armando guy owns but he gets what he can afford.
And then he stands, waiting, hands forward slightly to cover the front of his underwear, shoulders hunched like somehow he'll feel less exposed the more covered he can get himself. It's obvious he's uncomfortable like this, especially when being eyed up, his every day armour stripped away. He supposes that's half the point, to humiliate on top of the practicality of it all, and while he's not ashamed or embarrassed of his body, he really doesn't at ease when practically naked in front of a guy who's promising pain.
Three hours. He had to deal with this for three hours unless he got out early. And the only way he's going to get out early is fighting his way out, which he's already established is a poor idea considering location and amount of goons and everything in between. He's really not reassured by words like 'you're alright' and 'you're gonna be fine', not when they're followed by 'painful', but he's been through it all in the past, shot and stabbed and fallen ridiculous heights. This can't be worse than that. It won't be.
Except Armando's opening up a stairway that leads down. Down is bad. Down is away from living quarters. Ray does shift forward to take a peek at the doom and gloom stairway, curiosity getting the better of him, but then he realises he'll be getting more than just a peek as the mafioso beckons him in.
Shit. No thank you. He'd really rather not.
But he does. Because he has to, taking a slow, steady inhale as he steps forward, bare feet giving a careful placement at each step, the heat from the room billowing upwards, stale and humid. Ray can only imagine what's in there, but even he couldn't come up with what he sees as he descends. It's like a fucking dungeon. Torture? Sex? Both? God, he doesn't even want to know what's happened in this place. He hopes it's just for show. Somewhere to take people to fuck with their minds, and it works damn effectively even if it is just that. The unknown can be scarier than the known after all.
He halts on the second from last step, looking back behind him, although he's not sure whether he's looking for an escape plan or reassurance.]
Guess he better be. And he better be in one piece.
[Not that Ray is going to trust the word of a mobster.]
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And then he stands, waiting, hands forward slightly to cover the front of his underwear, shoulders hunched like somehow he'll feel less exposed the more covered he can get himself. It's obvious he's uncomfortable like this, especially when being eyed up, his every day armour stripped away. He supposes that's half the point, to humiliate on top of the practicality of it all, and while he's not ashamed or embarrassed of his body, he really doesn't at ease when practically naked in front of a guy who's promising pain.
Three hours. He had to deal with this for three hours unless he got out early. And the only way he's going to get out early is fighting his way out, which he's already established is a poor idea considering location and amount of goons and everything in between. He's really not reassured by words like 'you're alright' and 'you're gonna be fine', not when they're followed by 'painful', but he's been through it all in the past, shot and stabbed and fallen ridiculous heights. This can't be worse than that. It won't be.
Except Armando's opening up a stairway that leads down. Down is bad. Down is away from living quarters. Ray does shift forward to take a peek at the doom and gloom stairway, curiosity getting the better of him, but then he realises he'll be getting more than just a peek as the mafioso beckons him in.
Shit. No thank you. He'd really rather not.
But he does. Because he has to, taking a slow, steady inhale as he steps forward, bare feet giving a careful placement at each step, the heat from the room billowing upwards, stale and humid. Ray can only imagine what's in there, but even he couldn't come up with what he sees as he descends. It's like a fucking dungeon. Torture? Sex? Both? God, he doesn't even want to know what's happened in this place. He hopes it's just for show. Somewhere to take people to fuck with their minds, and it works damn effectively even if it is just that. The unknown can be scarier than the known after all.
He halts on the second from last step, looking back behind him, although he's not sure whether he's looking for an escape plan or reassurance.]
Guess he better be. And he better be in one piece.
[Not that Ray is going to trust the word of a mobster.]