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</div></div><br/>The room was dark, but shafts of grey sunlight still managed to creep through the rotting structure of the cabin.<br/><br/><i>Faces and profiles half concealed in shadow.</i>Except, perhaps, the white tooth shark grin of Hook as he examined his catch. Short, slender, pale, with a head of straw-hued hair. Too young to have known what life had been like before. And Hook too old that he should know better. Once a paragon of civic virtue, now reduced to his base animal instincts of survive and persist. His greatest foe was other men, and it might save half a battle if one could demonstrate their brutality and ferocity in demoralizing ways. That is what he was going to teach his son, to paint the lessons required for the dark future that awaited them on. And this poor girl’s flesh would be the canvas.<br/><br/>All were silent. The young ones all seemed to regard each other as a marvel. Once numerous, the young and adolescent were a growing rarity.<i>And the young females a scarce resource in these times.</i><br/><br/>Peter said nothing. His jaw was tight. His eyes were wide. He looked at the blonde. Perhaps he never knew that humans could possess such a color of hair in that fashion.<br/><br/>Hook’s smile faded as he saw his son’s hesitancy.<i>Of course, no one liked to play with their father looking over their shoulder.</i>He would not see first hand if the ruined world had properly and adequately prepared his son for what it would throw at him. Would he be soft?<i>Kind, even?</i>The idea was disgusting. He would be taken advantage of, brutalized, tricked, defeated,<i>killed</i>. Something of Hook had to survive beyond him. Legacy was all he had. And in order to extend the legacy of his family…he had to break his son’s mind, to mold him for a dark existence in this hell-turned earth.<br/><br/><i>"I'm ... I'm.... Whoever I need to be."</i><br/><br/>As he expected. Whoever had her last, and he was sure some group or tribe had her before she meandered onto his turf, had conditioned her well.<i>A servant. A pet.</i>Those who did come up in these times seemed to regard the fairer sex as something to possess, to own, or dominate. Hook was more…progressive in his views.<i>Women could do anything men could, it was well proven, though the documentation of that was long lost.</i>But if other fools wanted to underestimate women, it was something he could use, as evident in his foremost weapon; Tinker.<br/><br/>As she was for him, so too might this girl be for Peter.<br/><br/>Hook just nodded at the statement, not caring whether it was truth or lie really. It was not his job to find out.<i>Yet.</i>He turned back to Peter and put his hand on the boy’s shoulder.<b><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(184, 49, 47)">”Be back by nightfall. Leave her here.”</span></b>He just instructed his son, casting a glance towards Tinker, who was really there to enforce it.<i>Someone younger and easier for Peter to relate with. Tinker knew the dangers and perils of this life.</i>Kindness and charity would get them all killed. People, including Peter, needed to know how to fight for their own.<br/><br/><b><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(184, 49, 47)">”And one last thing.”</span></b>Hook added, reaching into his overcoat to pull out a long, bladed object, curved and with a black handle.<i>A scythe.<br/>
<br/>
A hook.</i><br/><br/><b><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(184, 49, 47)">”Mark her with this. As we mark our territories with a sign or symbol, so too should you mark your…”</span></b>Hook glanced at the girl, then back at his son,<b><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(184, 49, 47)">”property. So you’ll always know it’s yours.”</span></b>There was that shark grin again. He patted his son’s shoulder.<b><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(184, 49, 47)">”You earned this. No one will disturb you. No one will <i>hear</i> you.”</span></b>Hook added, by which he meant mostly the girl. She was very docile now, perhaps biding her time. Again, another reason to have the more experienced Tinker here. She would not fail him, even if his indolent son had his mind elsewhere.<i>Dreaming of the sky and stars.</i><br/><br/>Without another word, Hook turned and left. His footsteps could be heard on the creaking floorboards, then crunching on the dead leaf and twig outside and then…he was gone.<br/><br/>A spell seemed to lift off of Peter. Hook was his father, and Peter regarded him with great deference and reverence. He taught Peter many things about this life. And for all his father’s faults, and cruelty both shown and unseen, Peter could never bring himself to criticize his old man. But as Hook departed, a natural sense of curiosity and independence returned to him.<br/><br/>First Peter looked at Tinker with an expression of confusion.<i>This wasn’t Peter’s first rodeo, as some of the old hands liked to say, though Peter didn’t even know what an actual rodeo was.</i>But this was the first time he was being given…first pick of the plunder, so to speak. He could do anything! He had seen what men did with such bounty. Overuse tended to expire them early. Peter knew the value of making a thing last. There were few replacements. For humans, even less so.<br/><br/>The next thing Peter did was step to the bedside…and reach out to touch the girl’s face.<i>Because he always wanted to do that, without having his hand chopped off.</i>Most women were older, and had faces of wrinkles and scars. This girl looked so…supple, and young, even with the dirt and grit. She had been like this for a half a day. Her arms must be aching from the bondage. He looked at the ropes, then at Tinker again.<i>He probably shouldn’t do that.</i><br/><br/>He reached for the girl’s face with one hand, unaware that he was holding the hook in the other,<i>that she would have heard what his father said to do with it after he was done…playing with her for the day.</i>He wondered if Tinker had any such marks, having heard that she and his father used to play as well. She probably knew how to best start a match then, whatever the game or play was.<br/><br/><b><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(65, 168, 95)">”How should we start?”</span></b>Peter asked Tinker, drawing his hand back after a brief touch.<br/><br/><b><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(65, 168, 95)">”Oh right, I know. Do you have a name or should we name you?”</span></b>He then asked the captive girl. He really didn’t know how to begin. The whole merchandise was available to him, but it was…too much. He wanted to try it all, to make her laugh, weep, and everything in-between. He had both the call of protecting something so fragile…and smashing it against the wall to see what would happen. He wanted to completely control everything about her and yet pick her mind about all she might have seen or done in her life. One was taught to him by his environment, the other was natural to his heart.<i>Yet they felt the same.</i>