Weakness

The first few days were odd in the sense that Roslyne didn't know exactly what she was supposed to do, staying out of everybody's way as best she could, but it was still tolerable. At some point during the morning of her third day, she had left her room in hopes of retrieving food (successfully knicking a bread roll from the dingy kitchen), and when she returned, she found a crate full of books at her bedside, all of them incredibly worn and begging to be read.

The gesture brought a smile to her face, and she spent most of her waking hours pouring over the texts and doodling on scraps of paper she could find to pass the time.

She also had the cance to meet and re-meet some of the soldiers, Bane actually taking the time to introduce her to his more trusted men, mercenaries, as they called themselves.

One was a scruffy, glassy-eyed man called Barsad who seemed to always have a dazed smile on his face. Strange as he was, he was still pleasant, and if Roslyne had to like any of them, it would be him. There was also a rather tall redhead, Mücher, who wasn't so bad, but he didn't speak much, the only times she had caught him opening his mouth being to tell Gillen to stop being an arsehole. Roslyne supposed that's why she liked him.

The fifteen-year-old was also briefed on what exactly it was that the army of sorts did, and she wasn't at all surprised to find out that it wasn't legal.

Mostly, they were hired by powerful people, business-men, usually, from all over the world, and were asked to complete some sort of favor. Hits (both on people and, often, stocks), thievery, drug cartels, and sometimes, just black-and-white terrorism, taking cities by storm and ruling until they either grew bored or were somehow stopped. However, they were never caught.

Apparently, Bane had made quite a name for himself, and had Roslyne actually had proper access to a television or radio in the past few years, she probably would have known this. Circumstances being what they were...

Currently, the mercenaries were laying low, waiting to be contacted for another job of sorts while also planning some sort of heist. Weapons were constantly being built, most of them by Bane himself. It didn't take Roslyne long to realize that the man was extremely intelligent, genius status, and she wished to hold a conversation with him that lasted for longer than five minutes in order to question him on just about everything, where he was from, what was motivating him to do all of this, what in the world the mask was for. Unfortunately though, kind as he was being to her, the man wasn't all that approachable.

Conversing with Bane was also a bit challenging due to the fact that he was almost never actually in sight, usually holed up in the secret room toward the edge of the compound. She had never seen him eat, bathe, or really take part in any ordinary activity. She had seen him exchange a few words with his followers, and had at one point at the end of the first week, stepped into Roslyne's room to find her reading Washington Irving's Sleepy Hollow and asked how she was adapting.

She had shown a small, tight-lipped smile, held up the battered book and told him honestly, "Haven't been happier in ages."

Bane nodded, gestured to the book and acknowledged in his odd voice, "One of my favorites," then left.

And, that was that. He was a very intriguing man, and Roslyne was fascinated by him. She just never got the chance to study him.

The second week was about deeper exploration. Roslyne continued to read and draw, but she also dug around a bit more, even being allowed in Bane's lair, as she had begun to call the secret room. She was silent as she paced it, not touching anything but staring at the weapons, the gadgets, some blueprints, and the motorcycles for a good twenty minutes. The muscled man had been there the entire time, working at his table as she ghosted around the room, and didn't say a word either.

She also discovered the other women who occupied the compound, not as mercenaries but as--

"Concubine would probably be the best way to describe them," Barsad said, standing across from Roslyne in the kitchen. "They aren't really here for any other reason than release."

The girl made a face and examined an apple before taking a bite. "A little gross, but I didn't expect anything more."

He raised an eyebrow but nodded in agreement, "Boys will be boys."

"Do you... partake?" She asked curiously. The watery-eyed brunette was easy to talk to, very calm and collected, small in stature but built with wiry muscle.

A wry smile twisted his lips, and he shrugged. "From time to time. It doesn't take much effort, though, and that takes some of the fun out of it." Roslyne rolled her eyes, growing bold enough to shove him a bit. Barsad laughed and held up his hands. "Just telling the truth, doll."

She had yet to see any of the females but started scouting for them. Either they remained in the soldiers' rooms throughout the day and moved about in darkness, or they were fucking invisible. They had to be there, though, because, now enlightened to their existence, it was easier for Roslyne to hear them, especially when she roamed the compound at night. None of them were what anyone would call quiet.

She idly wondered if eventually, she would become one of them, why she hadn't yet. The fifteen-year-old was grateful, of course, but she couldn't help but feel a bit useless, doing nothing to repay Bane for basically housing her, and though giving herself to men in the compound wasn't particularly high on her to-do list, she could understand if it was necessary.

The first time Roslyne came in contact with one of the other females was in the shower. It was late at night, and the mousy-haired girl was bathing in the washroom nearest to her own quarters when a new figure walked in and shed the few clothes she had on as if nobody else was in the room.

The woman was tall, thin, and busty with tan skin and a severe face. She looked very tired and worse for the wear, but Roslyne could tell that she was really quite attractive and felt odd standing next to her, all bones and awkward teenage development.

"I'm Tabby," she introduced herself casually, as she turned the knob on the shower next to Roslyne's.

"Roslyne," the girl replied, eyeing her and feeling self-conscious about her body. The need to bathe outweighed the need to remain modest, though, and she forced a smile and focused her eyes on the shower head above her, squinting in an attempt to keep the sharp streams from paining her.

She didn't really know what to say, or really if it was appropriate to say anything as she showered next to this nude stranger, but her confusion was put to an end when Tabby supplied the conversation.

"I heard about you coming here, the young girl from the streets. Gillen told me the other night." Roslyne grimaced and wondered if everybody referred to one another by last name, or if it was just the mercenaries. Tabby must have noticed her face because she let out a short, high-pitched laugh and added, "I know he's a bit of a jerk, but he's pretty good in the sack." That did nothing to get rid of the sour expression Roslyne wore. It did, however, peak her curiosity.

"How long have you, er, been here?"

Tabby began to wash her hair, closing her eyes as she answered simply, "Couple years, maybe."

"And, how did you come about it?"

"Same way you did, probably. They found me on the streets, only, from what I hear, they weren't quite as nice to me as they were to you."

The younger of the two shrugged her shoulders. "They weren't exactly pleasant on the way here. It was only when I arrived that everyone fucked off and left me alone."

"Hmm," the woman made a noice in the back of her throat, opening one eye to look at Roslyne sideways before saying in a voice that was supposed to scome off as thoughtful but sounded more annoyed. "Wonder why that is."

Roslyne ignored it and changed the subject. "I don't mean to sound offensive, but I was wondering... Does everyone, you know, sleep with, um..."

"The girls and I?" She supplied. Roslyne nodded. "Not everyone is interested, no, but the vast majority of the men here do. Whenever they feel the need, they sort of just pluck one of us up."

"How many of you are there?"

Tabby twisted her face up in thought, like she was counting faces in her head. "About fifteen, I think."

"And, where do you stay? You're the first I've met."

"Mostly in the rooms with whatever guy we're with, but we have our own rooms, too. The more we walk around, though, the more likely it is that we'll get brought to bed by one of them, and, contrary to popular belief, a girl needs rest from sex sometimes."

Roslyne cracked a smile and nodded as if she understood. She didn't. "What about Bane?" She found herself asking. "Does he, like, have his own personal girl?" She felt young and inexperienced as she questioned her, almost as if she was asking about the act of sex itself rather than the girls.

Tabby smirked. "No, not that I know of. I've only ever seen one of us get called by him, and when she came back out, she looked like a wreck, couldn't walk right for days."

Roslyne made another face, not really interested in those details but listened anyway. "A lot of girls, we call ourselves merce-cherries sometimes," she laughed at herself, then continued, "Have tried to get with him, more out of curisoty than actual desire, but it never works."

"Why merce-cherries?" The girl asked, hoping to get off of the topic of sex with the hulking man. She couldn't even imagine how painful it probably was. He could snap everybody in the compound in two.

Tabby paused in washing herself, stiffening a tad, then answered shortly, "Because we were all virgins when we got here."

Roslyne swallowed hard, feeling a tad naseous at the implications, and decided that it was a good time to go back to her room.

She rinsed any excess soap off of her body, then turned the shower off and dried off quickly before uttering a quiet, "Nice meeting you, Tabby," and left.

She wondered how in the hell she could feel so at ease in a building filled with what had to be despicable men, men who kidnapped and killed and stole the innocence of young girls. Obviously, Roslyne had a few issues with judging character.



The third week was when it happened, when Roslyne finally found her place, though it didn't spawn from the best of circumstances.

She had just finished up a nice little kitchen chat with Barsad, something that was becoming a bit routine, and was walking through the hallways to pass a bit of time before returning to her room for the evening. She had met a couple other women since her talk with Tabby, a curvy blonde named Cynthia and a freckled redhead named Ruth. Both were nice enough, but Roslyne couldn't help but feel a certain tension as she spoke with them. She supposed it probably had something to do with Roslyne not being forced to give her body up to the men every night and truthfully felt somewhat bad about it.

She wasn't going to do it if she wasn't forced to, though.

It was in the midst of the reflective thoughts that one of the doors opened to her left, a familiar man stepping out into the hallway right in front of her. He was of average height but was a bit on the skinny side. A full meal probably would have done the man a world of good. His face was slightly scarred and oily, dark hair greasy and clumping together, and when he caught sight of Roslyne, he raised an eyebrow and smirked.

"I was wondering when I'd run into you again."

Strade was his name, one of the men who had brought Roslyne to the compound.

"Oh good, now you can put that tiny thing you call a brain to rest," she said sarcastically, not very keen on the idea of standing around and chatting with the man. The feeling of rough hands throwing her around and guns getting shoved into her back had not yet left her memory.

Strade frowned, inhaling sharply before stating firmly, "You can't talk to me like that."

"Really? I must have missed that memo."

He growled, taking a menacing step forward. "Don't think that just because we didn't hurt you before doesn't mean we can't now."

Roslyne sneered and moved to pass him, not surprised when he stepped into her path. "Real mature," she mumbled.

Strade wrapped a large hand around her arm and tugged her small frame against his. "Nothing is stopping me from hurting you right here, right now."

If Roslyne was supposed to be scared, she wasn't. She had fought off a few too many homeless men much more threatening than Strade to be afraid of him.

Glaring at him, she hissed, "I'd like to see you try."

His mouth stretched into what could be easily described as a lecherous grin, eyes darkening, and he said in a sure, even tone, "You're gonna wish you never said that, sweetheart." She attempted to pull her arm free of his grasp, failing, and rolled her eyes. "Think you're so tough because you lived on the streets for a few years--" Eight years. "But, we'll see how tough you really are when I'm fucking you into oblivion."

Roslyne felt bile rise in her throat, blood beginning to boil at how god damned cocky these men could be, and did the first thing that came to mind.

Using the arm he was already gripping, Roslyne grasped Strade's forearm tightly and smoothly ducked under the limb, pulling it with her and twisting it behind his back so that Strade's wrist was pressed against his spine at an awkward angle. Now behind him and using the element of surprise to her advantage, she swiftly kicked the backs of his knees with quite a bit of force, bringing the man to the floor so that she stood over him.

Smirking triumphantly, Roslyne crouched down, listening to his aggravated breathing. She could actually feel the agitation radiating from his body, and he squirmed in her grasp, only getting his own arm shoved roughly against him. He had to have been a newer addition to the mercenaries, as Roslyne couldn't imagine actually taking on any of the other soldiers and winning so easily. It wasn't as if she was particularly strong, just strategic.

"Like I said," she whispered low in his ear, "I'd like to see you try."

She gave his limb one last push before letting it go and standing up, turning on her heel to walk away briskly and stopping before she could even take one step.

Bane was standing at the end of the hallway, looking menacing as ever as he stared at Roslyne. All of the confidence that had been surging through her just seconds ago drained from her body, and she bit her lower lip before shuffling over to him.

Clearing her throat, she began stuttering, "I- I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that, but he, well, h- he was threatening me, and it sort of pissed me off, a-and I didn't even think about it before doing it. I'm sorry. I should have just done what he asked." Nevermind the fact that Strade (who had scrambled back into his room as soon as he caught sight of Bane) hadn't actually asked her to do anything as much as he told her what he was planning to do.

He stared her her for a while, having to tilt his head downward to accomadate the size difference, then spoke slowly through the mask. "That was very impressive." Not what Roslyne had been expecting, but she would definitely take it. "Did somebody teach you defense techniques?"

She shook her head, feeling her nerves melt away. "I picked it up over the years, I guess."

"Hm," he crossed his arms over his chest then nodded in the general direction of Strade's room. "What exactly was Strade saying to you?" She could see his brow furrow, a frown dominating what few facial features Roslyne could actually see.

She shrugged her shoulders and responded nonchalantly, "You know, just something about just because he couldn't hurt me when I first got here didn't mean he couldn't now, and how he was going to fuck me into oblivion." She snorted. "It was all rather cliche, exactly what I'd imagined he'd say."

Bane's eyes narrowed, creasing in the corners as if he was fighting a smile behind that mask, then jerked his head to the side, motioning for her to follow him.

She did, of course, taking longer strides than normal in an attempt to keep up with him. "So, you aren't angry that I just shamed one of your soldiers?"

Something that resembled a laugh escaped him, sounding a bit chilling when mechanized, and he told her in an amused (moreso than usual) tone, "I'm not angry in the least bit, Roslyne." Hearing him say her name caused her lips to pull upward while also sending shivers down her spine. It was an odd mixture of satisfaction and anxiety. "In fact, it's given me an idea."

They walked the twists and turns of the compounds until stopping at one of the workout rooms. Bane pushed open the door, taking one look at its few occupants before pointing to the door and ordering them out.

Curiosity was simply bursting within Roslyne, as she had no idea why he had brought her here, and soon, Bane was shedding his shirt and tossing her two boxing handwraps, both of which she caught and hastily wrapped around her wrists and palms.

Looking back up to Bane, she flexed her fingers and balled them into fists, lifting an eyebrow when the man in front of her crouched slightly, holding his own fists up. The paling of her face was not lost on him, and his eye crinkled at the corners again. "No need to worry, child. I'll only be defending myself. No swinging on my part."

Roslyne relaxed, then threw her arms out to pop her elbows before holding them up in front of her face in what she hoped was a sensible position.

"Now," he breathed out loudly. "Let's see what you can do."

And, the training began.