"—Lisa is dead, Jason." || from Beth, mispronouncing her name bc it's "funny" 🙄
He answers first with silence, uneasy hesitation. Staring the pirate down, willing her to burst into flames from simply his vengeful anger. She doesn't -- predictably -- but the daydream is nice.
It takes him a moment, wrapping his head around the possibility. The chances Beth isn't lying, that Liza really is gone. This whole thing -- his own fault, wasn't it? His idea that lead them all here?
He already knows that much. Already knows he's at fault for Grant too.
Does he care?
he'd like to think so.
"You suck at lying," comes the response -- and yet, he's not sure. Knows Beth loves to torment him, loves to see his turmoil. But is she merely lying? Or does she know something he doesn't, know Liza's fate and intend to hold it over his head?
"Liza is with the others. You wanna hurt me? Show me proof."
Jason doesn't respond. Too absorbed into his task, too deadset on the goal. She had information he needed. There was little more to it than that, just one person squeezing information out of another.
The trouble was not killing her outright in such endeavors.
The knife pushed in that much more, dragging so slowly. It was sharp, wicked so, and even when he cut himself it took a moment for the pain to register. And that had been small nicks here and there -- he can't imagine how she must be feeling.
Hopefully not turned on, the bitch.
Trying not to smirk, trying not to smile as he made her bleed more.
"I'm gonna ask again. Where. Is. Vaas."
Feeling his anger and frustration flare up again, Jason gifts her a punch to the jaw. Knuckles already bleeding from how much he's used them, he sucks in a breath. Lets it out slow. Don't let her get to you. Don't lose your cool. She can tell when you do.
"I know he told you where he was going."
Pulling a smaller knife now, feeling the tip of it with his finger. Wondering just how fucked in the head one had to be to torture. She certainly was, and one might argue it was due time for her to taste her own medicine. But Jason -- a simple white male from California? Never thought he'd be there. The one holding the knife.
With every word she spoke he felt his anger growing. That dark cloud over his head multiplying, getting bigger, darker, all-consuming so much so that he can barely think. Can't concentrate, can't focus -- and can't help from letting out a frustrated breath. Keep it together, Jase, don't let her know she's getting to you. Easy. Concentrate.
Settling down on her lap, confident he'd tied her down well enough, Jason just takes that knife. Drags it gently across her collarbone, nicks at her neck. Watching the thin rivulet of blood trickle free as he actually puts in pressure for the opposite side.
"Y'know, if I didn't know better I'd say you were into this."
Feeling his anger and frustration flare up again, Jason gifts her a punch to the jaw. Knuckles already bleeding from how much he's used them, he sucks in a breath. Lets it out slow. Don't let her get to you. Don't lose your cool. She can tell when you do.
"I know he told you where he was going."
Pulling a smaller knife now, feeling the tip of it with his finger. Wondering just how fucked in the head one had to be to torture. She certainly was, and one might argue it was due time for her to taste her own medicine. But Jason -- a simple white male from California? Never thought he'd be there. The one holding the knife.