[closed/complete]

[al_malik]

Characters: Set (al-malik), Bastet (theprotectress), Hathor (applemantini), & Sokar (deserthawking)
Date/Time: Monday evening
Location: Sokar's art gallery
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: violence, language
Summary: Sokar gets put in his stupid place



Right under gazing view of Hathor’s window, a pretty black camaro came rolling to a stop and sidled up to the curb to park. No, Set wasn’t as eager to take a bat to Sokar’s head twice in a year. For one, he only needed the once to pacify his irritation on the thing Sokar had going with Nephthys. If there was a thing. But mostly, he had an eerie empathy for what the man did. It was a matter of completing an assignment someone gave him, personal feelings aside. Set was taking orders too. And he wasn’t in debt, but the obligation was very much the same. Whether Sokar had love or fear of the future to consider when he took that contract, he couldn’t know. Set’s own loyalty to Ra had its basis in stability and defense of the honor which he took from his wife when he murdered Osiris.

He pulled himself out of the car and walked around the hood to wave a signal before he unlocked the passenger door. Standing unsettled on the edge of the sidewalk, he reached into his pocket and removed a lighter as he tapped a cigarette from the breast-pouch of his jacket. A frown as he rolled the paper methodically between his thumb and forefinger. But as soon as he’d gotten it out, he gave up on the idea and tossed the fresh cigarette on the ground.

Bastet had been lingering near the window the moment out of impatience than much else. There was still a great bit of fury and frustration in her that she hadn't found an outlet for. What Sokar had done was just too much for her to swallow gracefully or let go without retribution. Her nails, so normally kept long and neatly painted, had been cut short so she wouldn't bite on them. She still bit the tips of her fingers though the pain was keeping her from doing that often.

Why had Sokar done this to her? Hadn't she always been good to him despite his fuck-ups with her family? What had overtaken their friendship? Just...why?

For perhaps the fifth time within half an hour, she fiddled with her hair, pulling it back up into a ponytail but within that time she finally caught sight of a familiar face outside. She wiggled her fingers once at Set and then turned to snag Hathor. "We've got to go, babe."

And snagged Hathor would be as she followed her sister's glance, only assuming their chauffeur had made his grand entrance. (A jest, really. She did like the puppy and his perma grumpy-face.) Adjusting her own bun, the younger goddess disappeared out of the living room with a sing-songy 'one moment~' to slide into her boy's office room and grant both of her lovelies a kiss.

Hathor was far from a warrior type goddess, and as Set had so kindly put it, she was just a cow goddess (with a side of feisty), but she was also an Eye of Ra. And any Eyes of Ra would defend their father and their family until the very end, no matter who stood in their way. There was no other alternative.

She emerged from the small hallway and crooked a finger at her sister, beckoning her toward the door, which would be closed and locked behind them upon leaving.

Set pursed his lips and dug his heel into the cigarette, nudging it off the sidewalk with a scrape of the sole. The small flurry of movement from upstairs caught his attention enough to ensure him that he wouldn’t have to run inside and escort them to the car himself. The polite thing to do would be to wait until they were both downstairs so that he could hold the door open. But he wasn’t a family busboy. Set checked that the doors were unlocked before he stepped to the driver’s side and climbed back into the car.

Not waiting to see what progress the girls made on coming, he slotted the key into the ignition and started the engine. There was a little problem, however. He honestly didn’t know where the fuck Sokar was hanging around on a weekday afternoon. He could probably make a lucky guess, but the timing wasn’t quite right. This assignment caught him on an off-day. Reaching forward, he flicked the radio on and kept his hand propped against the gear shift.

At the first sound of the handles clicking, he gazed up into the rear-view mirror and asked, “How are we going to do this?”

"Quietly and without killing him." Bastet refused to budget here, not when she could imagine Fawn's face when she learned of her brother's demise. Despite what Sokar had done, it couldn't be erased and a lesson had been learned for all. And what would murder do? Possibly send one or all of them to jail? Cause someone innocent to hurt? End Sokar's suffering early?

It didn't sit well with her, she decided, thumb pressed to her lower lip as she shifted around in her seat. Do not bite. Do not bite.

"Also, for the record, I always thought you were a Lamborghini kind of guy."

There came a badly concealed laugh from Hathor, who, despite the dire circumstances, could still manage a smile. They had jokes not long ago, her and Sokar, about the possibility of watching Sekhmet brick him. This didn't seem like such a far stretch, only she would be bringing the hurt. Dainty as she might have been, that meant nothing for how much strength her arms held.

"I like the Puppymobile," she chimed in, fingers reaching for the seatbelt once she'd maneuvered herself into the back seat. "It has character."

Set turned and braced his arm against his seat as he looked over his shoulder. The leather inside the car protested. “Aren’t there three of you?” He asked the obvious. “Where’s the third one?” A shrug soon followed. He made an instinctive decision to turn the volume up a little louder. As if doing so would help with his tactlessness when it came to interacting with Ra’s daughters.

“Truth is, I’m partial to going easy on him but both of you aren’t. And since you were the one he grabbed,” a glance at Bastet, “I’ll let you decide what we do and how we run this thing. If you feel sorry for him, we can go in a Lamborghini and he’ll see us coming from the other side of the ocean. But, like mary moo cow over there says, the camaro’s okay.”

Entirely too casually, she reached out and swatted him on the arm. "I was making conversation, not plans. Geez, you're really bad at conversation." But her mind had always wandered off, wondering where Sekhmet was that moment. Unease twisted inside her, knowing that her sister was closer to the man that was going to be bleeding at their feet shortly enough. Hands in her lap, she fiddled with one of her rings. As bad as things could have gone for her, they hadn't. But it didn't mean she didn't understand how Sekhmet felt.

...of course, the volume of whatever the hell the radio was playing wasn't going to help her think.

"Just don't kill him. Either one of you," she muttered finally. "I don't want his sister left alone. Anything else goes. We'll leave him somewhere he can be found later. If he knows what's good for him, he'll be discreet. Is that fine?"

Both of Hathor's hands came up in an 'I'm innocent' pose. "I'm only in for ruining his nose. That nose is mine. That's the least of what he deserves after what he did to not only you, Bast, but Sekhmet, too."

With that, she reached over to snag one of her sister's hands, bringing it to her lips. "We won't hurt him too much. But he needs to be taught a lesson that you do not mess with an Eye of Ra and expect to get away unscathed. Besides." She kissed Bastet's knuckles.

"Luca doesn't need to visit his mom while she's doing time."

The swat on his arm knocked his hand against the radio and flipped the switch off. A pause and a raised brow later, Set pulled the car off the curb and started the drive. “I don’t get paid to talk.” He said, the strange drop in his tone hinting at the sense of awkwardness he was trying not to betray. Finally he added, “Sorry.” As an afterthought.

Making occasional eye-contact with the rear-view mirror as the car rounded a corner and drove another block, he nodded silent agreement to Hathor’s conclusion and then heard the tender sound of a kiss. Set was watching the traffic ahead, but, were they...?

Gluing his eyes to the road and smirking only at lip-level, he brought the car to a stop some minutes later in front of an art gallery.

Sokar hadn’t dared to hang around at the apartment, not when he was sure by now word had spread and he was running on borrowed time. So he had been hanging out at the gallery, working in a backroom with a cigarette at the corner of his lips constantly. Maybe it wasn’t the best idea but he was hoping that if he wasn’t at the apartment for awhile, things would blow over. A vain hope, and certainly not the best thought through one.

So he didn’t notice the familiar car pulling up in front of the gallery for the time being as he sat before a large paper, various designs for future works scribbled out as he blew out a cloud of smoke.

Good ol' Hathor. If anyone could soothe nerves, it was her. But she didn't very much care if they broke every bone in his body as long as Fawn still had a brother. And when the car came to a halt, she saw where they were. The art gallery made sense and yet it shouldn't have. Didn't Sokar think he could be found there? It was connected to him. Resisting the urge to bite at her thumb again or mutter something about 'stupid men'. Yet it still wasn't near enough to Fawn and she could be glad for that.

Man, for a girl she hadn't really talked to much, she had grown on her. Or maybe she was a softie. Maybe both.

Exiting the Camero, she tugged down on her jacket, smoothed out her skirt. "Ok, seriously, I'm not like goddess of secret operations so how do we get in without making trouble for ourselves?"

But Hathor, whose mind was elsewhere, had other things on her agenda, such as getting away from the car and into the art gallery. She wasn't a ninja or a spy, and wasn't going to kid herself about it. She was just Hathor. Just the feisty cow goddess. There really seemed to be no sort of plan outside of 'go in, snatch, beat!', which could be a really excellent idea until Sokar scrambled away or they accidentally did something bad. Like kill him.

But there would be no killing tonight, as promised.

Currently the feisty cow goddess was skipping off around the vehicle in the direction of the front doors, humming a part of the Mission Impossible theme.

“He might be working in the back. And if he’s not, we’ll drag him.” Set replied, clearing his throat as he slid the keys into pocket and got out of the car. “I don’t even know if he’s here. But if he is, he already planned out how to ditch. It’s an art gallery. So just. Play it calm.” Taking several steps toward the door, he paused. “We snatch him together and make it quick.” The few seconds of hesitation was enough for Hathor to get ahead.

She was fast. He gave her props for being upbeat, but -- Set snatched the cow goddess with a quick sweep and locked her in his arms. “Can you please let your sister leave this part to me?” He sighed, facing Bastet like he was offering a stuffed animal.

As soon as Bastet was about to comment on Hathor's speedy need to get inside, Set had already stopped her. She offered a snort of amusement at his methods and reached out to loop an arm around her sister's mostly to keep her in place until Set played his part. There was really no need for them to get too excited when the man had a point about the possibilities of target not even being around.

So while pressing her cheek to the cow goddess' arm, she murmured, "I think you're looking more forward to this than I am, babe. Breathe. It's going to go well. Set's reliable enough."

A disappointed whine left Hathor's throat. Getting cockblocked by Set was not cool, but she had barely been surprised when he'd made a grab for her. She'd wiggled and squirmed in his hold like a proper captive, though she made the effort not to toss her head back to fill his nose with her hair when Bastet approached.

Oh, beloved sisters. How they could manipulate her heart so.

"Breathing. Watch me breathe." And huff.

As soon as he let the cow goddess loose, Set pocketed his hands and pushed the door open with his shoulder. The soft clattering of sound in the backroom came to his attention, and he stepped carefully through the front-end gallery. Before making his way into the working area, he silently beckoned them over with his hand. Surprised as much by the fact that Sokar really was here, of all places (why the hell didn’t he ditch for California?), he reached against his belt for a tazer. And with an efficient stride and a snap of the wrist, he zotted the man in the arm.

“Sorry pal. All-father’s orders.” He said.

Set turned to the sisters. “Someone get ropes, and someone lock the door.” He looked for Bast. “It’s your decision now. We do whatever you want to do.”

It didn’t occur to Sokar to be alarmed when he heard the door open, people came and went from this gallery all day. It wasn’t until heard the footsteps heading towards him that he looked up, frowning slightly. By the time Set entered and the tazer was out, it was too late though and the former god hit the floor hard.

“Shit...” somehow, the cigarette managed to stay between his lips as he grimaced in pain as the shock passed through him. Yeah, he had a feeling that’s what this was for. And Set wasn’t alone either it seemed.

This was very bad for him.

The door being locked was first on her mind but then she saw something else to attend to. "Oh geez," she hissed and bent over to get rid of the cigarette. Like she wanted to smell that or have it cause any trouble. She had foreseen him swallowing, it igniting something, etc. Whether any of that was likely, well. Not going to be a problem in a moment. "You're so much trouble." That was for Sokar, though whether he cared or not wasn't an issue with her.

Straigtening up, the cat goddess looked about the room. Yeah, she had to figure out what the plan was going to be now. "Are we tying him to a chair or just tying him up? Also, do you always carry a tazer? What else do you have on you?"

It appeared the task of fetching the ropes, or hell, maybe even he had a drawer full of ties, was up to Hathor. Unfazed by the sight of the tazer, she slipped to the front of the gallery and locked up first. No one was allowed to walk in unless they had an armful of ropes.

On her way back in her merry mood -- it could've easily been mistaken for blood-thirstiness from an onlooker's perspective -- she sidled right up to Set and with deft fingers began to undo his tie, doing her best not to choke the man in the process. When it was loose enough, she ripped it right from his neck with a smile.

"Tha~nk you, one second. Or ten." With the stolen tie, Hathor dropped down to the floor to grab Sokar's left wrist, then his right to tie them up behind his back. Why were all these boys so damn tall? Damn his long limbs.

“I carry one on me for special occasions.” Like this one? His fingers came up to his collar and pinched at the buttons, as though to confirm the lost tie. And he unintentionally grimaced. Making his way across the studio, he made mental note to keep ropes in his trunk before he pulled open all of the drawers and removed a roll of wires. Set righted the chair on the floor and tossed the roll in Hathor’s direction. Ra’s daughters did what they pleased. “Could’ve saved me a trip to the department store.” He said out loud.

Hooking his hands underneath Sokar’s arms, he waited for Hathor to finish and then he drew the man up against the seat. Set stooped to his knees and braced the legs of the chair against the floor as he glanced over his shoulder. “I have a lighter and lipstick. Did you want to reach into my back pocket?” He asked dryly.

Things went from bad to worse fast with the two goddesses tying him up. “Yeah, I kind of assumed that...” he said to Bastet as soon as he managed to form the words, shaking his head. He frowned when she took his cigarette, watching them. “Hey, I was smoking that...” he protested, it hadn’t really crossed his mind why it wasn’t a good idea to have it in his mouth with his hand tied with the wire.

As Set moved him upright, he grunted and pulled at the restraints and gave the other man an odd look. Granted he was already in a bad situation so how much worse could be make it. “Lipstick? Really? I always thought a light pink would be just your shade...” he grinned despite his present situation. “Never thought you were the type though, Set...”

Sokar wouldn't be the only one to have their thoughts wander away from the present situation to what was in Set's back pocket. Brows up and lips resisting the urge to twist into smile, she took a step back as one finger waved over his general appearance. "Ok, you wanna explain that or should I assume it's for after hours and you've got something in the truck that goes with it. And you can always reach into your own back pocket, babe. Or Hathor can since she's cool with manhandling you. I am so good with not feeling you up. Really."

But while the mystery of the lipstick was good and all, she looked down at their captive. "I think his fingers needs to break first." He had to hurt for how he betrayed her and with him being an artist it seemed logical to go for his hands. She looked up at Hathor. "And then we can do what you wanted to you know what part of him."

Oh yeah, she was not spelling that out purely to make sure Sokar could suffer a little anxiety. Why not let his mind wander to how bad things could get, right?

On a scale of how cool Hathor was with manhandling Set, it probably landed at about a six -- which likely put Bast at about a one. He was a good-looking man, yes, but she was also very taken. Nevertheless, the cow goddess took a couple of steps forward and reached around to boldly grab her great-nephew's ass with a hand. Oops.

"You will never hear the end of this," she informed him with a cheeky grin, evidently not bothered by the way she slid her fingers into his back pocket, curling them around both lighter and lipstick.

Of course the lipstick appealed more to her interests. But that was for later.

“Right. I’m fruitcake straight out of the cup. Just like you.” He deadpanned, swiping a hand in the dirty blonde hair. For a moment he’d pulled his palm up. Was that gel? Whatever. “There’s a blouse in my camaro ten times too small for me. I take it to the queens’ alley on Friday nights. Satisfied?” A sarcastic minute or two later, Set was about to reach into his pocket when Hathor did the honors.

With a jerky twist, he gripped Hathor’s wrist and stumbled a half-step back as he heard the lighter clatter on the ground. Her smile was reflected with a scowl from his lips, and then he let go. “Do you not read tones? Or do you take everything literally?”

Set removed the lipstick and tossed it in Sokar’s lap. “Hands first. You want to show us your fingers?”

“Ok, too much information,” Sokar really didn’t want to know the details (and with Set, sometimes he just never knew..), trying to tip to the side to avoid Set’s hand but his attention was quickly caught by Bastet. “Actually lets not break my fingers, bad idea,” he said quickly though not out of fear. The pain he could handle, losing the ability to do anything with his fingers was he wasn’t good with.

“Not really,” he said honestly. While he knew what was inevitable and he wasn’t getting out of this, that didn’t mean he had to cooperate. “Break my toes or something,” Sokar offered. “Or my nose. That would work better.”

A mock salute went given to Set, barely acknowledging Set's reaction to Hathor's willingness to invade personal space. Really, what else was to be expected from Ra's daughters? They did their own thing. "Yes. This will not get back to my father at all for laughs."

And speaking of doing their own thing, it seemed their captive wasn't cooperating. Taking one hand by the wrist, she held it tight while looking first at Hathor. "Help me keep him still." Then her gaze went to Set. Frankly, while she probably could break the bones of his fingers, the god of chaos could do it a hell of a lot faster and easier. "Break them. He didn't care about what that guy could have done to me. I'm not going to give him more consideration than I already have." He didn’t deserve it. Though maybe breaking his toes later could happen anyway.

What a grabby little puppy. Hathor's smile only faltered with her slight surprise, but her grin returned at his words. There was no response, only a glimmer of something in those dark eyes. Possibly a glint of evil, who knew. But she would leave the chaos to Set.

Toeing the lighter toward their captive, the younger goddess did as commanded and joined her sister to curl her fingers around one of Sokar's wrists. Her fingers looked small and useless, but she gripped tight regardless, eyes drawing themselves back up to their fellow torturer.

"And if he screams, I'll draw on him." Hmmm. "No, I'll draw on him anyway."

He paused as he watched the feline goddess make the first move. Catching Sokar’s gaze, he slowly dragged up a mallet from the artist’s toolbox and held it as he stood before him. Did he have any hard feelings towards the lord of the duat? No. Did he feel sorry for him now? Over and over, he thought he was beginning to. And anyone else. Anyone else at all, would fuck him over now. Twice as badly. “Hold still.” He offered, watching the fingers stretch out tensely. Left hand? He can do left hand. He’ll just step back for the right one.

“It doesn’t have to hurt.”

The moment the blunt end smacked flesh, he heard a sickening crack. “I’ve done my part. It’s your punishment to give. He didn’t care about you. You can show him yourself.” Set dropped the mallet on the floor.

“Shit, yes it does, it’s breaking bone so just do it,” Sokar rolled his eyes. This wasn’t the first, nor would it be the last, time he had bones broken either by accident or on purpose. His eyes weren’t on Set though as mallet hit his palm and oh yes did it hurt. A lot. The former death god took a sharp intake of breath, gritting his teeth but his remained on Bastet. Yeah, he knew this was only fair and he wasn’t going to insult her by making excuses or explaining things.

Pain radiating up from his broken hand but he still tried to move it, wincing and gritting his teeth harder as he did so to assess the damage beyond the fact that it was going to be really bad.

The idea of leaving Sokar painted with Set's mystery lipstick did provoke a grin from Bastet. That was before the sound of Sokar's bones making a sound she was sure would be in her dreams tonight. Goddamn. Knowing his eyes were on her, though, she only shot his broken hand a single glance before looking right back at him.

One more hand to go. Chewing on her lower lip, she let go of the now useless hand and wondered if she could do anything like that to his good hand. With the mallet available just like that, she bent down and picked it up. "Yeah, it is mine to give. Grab his other hand, Hathor. I'm going to take a crack at it. And then you can do what you planned." And if she screwed up then it was a shame but there was that whole make-him-suffer bit. Still, she'd swing well and hard and hopefully take care of it the first go.

And when his hands was stilled by her dear sister, she lifted the mallet, counted to three and brought it down. Once again, the sound made her flinch but something resembling satisfaction was felt. “You should have never done what you did to me, Sokar. Never.”

Hathor wasn't sure what it was that didn't have her physically reacting. No flinching, no turning away. Whatever it was, it had her moving away from those broken hands and circling the captured former god so she could look him in the eye. The poor guy was going to be in a world of pain, but it was deserved.

"And you know what happens when you mess with one of us?" Her smile seemed almost kind. "You mess with all of us."

Unsure of how her fist would connect (she'd never punched anyone in her life), she aimed for Sokar's nose with a might that was expected of an Eye of Ra, but maybe not for a woman of her weight and stature.

Set stood back and tried to look on this scene from some place other than where he was standing. It could be worse. In another lifetime, these daughters would’ve killed him. But watching them left him feeling a little distorted. Like he was watching blemished beauty. And silent, too silent to comment on it, he slid out of his jacket and covered those hands.

“Is that where we’re leaving him? Or did you want more?” He looked around the studio at the molds, the hanging mobiles, and the paintings. Taking away the man’s passion. But the cat goddess was right. Sokar was going to leave her; for dead, even. And if she’d avoided that fate, then this punishment came off like a light warning. A rush of air escaped as he sighed. “This didn’t have to happen.” He regarded the blonde. “It really didn’t.”

Just barely taking note of the lipstick that rolled off the seat, he trapped it underneath the sole of his shoe before it slipped out of reach.

The pain from the second hand breaking nearly made him pass out, for a moment he had to blink to keep himself conscious. “Yeah and what was the alternative?” he muttered but he didn’t expect a response. It had been either Bastet or Sekhmet and he had made his decision.

He didn’t have time to answer Hathor before her fist hit his face and he was actually surprised how much force there was behind hit, Hathor didn’t seem the type that went around punching people. Sokar didn’t answer Set as he felt the blood running down his face. It didn’t matter now, and then he hadn’t seen a way around it so for Sokar, it had been the way it had to be. No going back now though.

"We just have his toes left." She looked around the room and then down at Sokar's feet. She really was not keen on getting near them. What with having a brother, she trusted there wasn't going to be the best of smells near his feet, not when the rest of him didn't smell that great. "Or maybe his shins. I don't want him to walk away from any of this easy."

A hammer was found after a bit more poking about and she crouched down in a safe place beside him so not to be accidentally kicked, willing to tolerate a little discomfort for the sake of his prolonged one. And with one hand his knee, the cat goddess counted to three again and let the head of the hammer connect with his shin with as much power as she could muster up. Unwilling to dwell on it yet, she shifted over to his other side, slapped a hand on his other knee and let herself have a crack at the undamaged shin. Only then did she bother to pay any attention to what she had just done.

It did unsettle her that she felt this numb toward someone she liked so much before. But that was a problem she'd handle when she would be curled up on her father's lap. Though she lived with her family, her movements weren't restrained and Bastet had already explained she would be away for the week starting that day. They could grab her by phone if she was needed.

But for a week, maybe a little more, she was going to be with her father until she felt less like screaming. The hammer dropped to the floor before she straightened up. "I'm done. We can go whenever. He can scream for help for all I care."

Maybe it was a look of appreciation that Hathor shot Set as she dropped down into a quick squat to remove that tube of lipstick from beneath his foot. Yes, this was her finishing blow. It wouldn't hurt like her fist had, not physically, but she wasn't going to kid herself -- it wouldn't hurt his pride, either. Still, it would make her happy.

She uncapped the tube and hummed a merry tune (something Luca had watched that morning, she couldn't remember) while two fingers slipped down to grip Sokar's jaw, both of them placed in such a way that the blood wouldn't get all under her nails. Mommies didn’t need blood under their nails.

"Now be still. That's a good boy." But she had doubts he'd want to move much after all that pain. Like an eager child, she set to the task of smearing lipstick all over those lips -- and not nicely, either. Just for kicks, two circles were drawn at his cheekbones for the effect of blush. Beautiful.

"Okay!" The lipstick got capped, and Sokar was released and stepped away from. "All done." They'd really done a number on the guy, but Hathor wasn’t about to succumb to pity.

Leaving the jacket on the man’s lap, he watched the blood drip onto the nice fabric with a tint of disgust. Frankly, he felt like a babysitter. Watching them was creepily like watching kiddies at the fair. Set reached into his pocket and checked for his keys. Looping the chain on his finger, he kicked the nearest canvas until it slid to a stop under Sokar’s feet. “Try not to drip outside of it. Good hardwood is expensive to replace.”

There was near-sincerity in his voice. His hands came up to the back of the seat and swiveled the chair over its hind legs until Sokar lay prone over the white cotton frame. Ra wanted proof of punishment. This was going to be proof after clean-up tonight. But first the girls had to get back.

Set turned on his heels and pushed the studio door open. This time, he held it (as he would’ve been expected, earlier, with the car door). But there was a reason. He took a long, hard look at the duat god. And while his expression remained apathetic, he knew, he could hear, that his footfalls were getting heavier. Just as with the many other tasks he’d done at Ra’s request, he reserved judgment and moved on.