[It's brief. But to see her shocked face was... A bit worth it, even if it's at a cost of admitting a secret. However, as said, it's brief, and she's back to her empty and cold eyes. Ones he can now tell are eyes that look down at him as if he was garbage. The same look she gave him when she was- they both were -under the influence of aphrodisiac. It's a look to dominate, tame, and destroy.
He should be having a terrible feeling about this, but what he feels instead is... Anticipation and excitement. Despite so, he'll continue with his resistance. Before he could even say he'll do whatever he wants, a ribbon is shoved into his mouth, holding it inside his mouth as to not accidentally swallow. Then, a slap. And another to his terribly swollen cheek. But he remains stubborn. Crimson eyes narrow and brow furrow up at Monika, even as she's taken his ability to speak.
However, when his gaze follows his head inside the picnic basket, then his eyes widen. A champagne bottle? Even if he doesn't know how strong a champagne bottle is, he knows that it's a good blunt weapon, or maybe she intends to break it and use the sharp pieces on him?
Either way, his eyes turn to Monika, then they narrow with anger once more when she shushed him.
She wouldn't---- She would. Before he could even make a muffled noise, the first strike hits him square in the cheek, forcing his head to the side more than her slap did, spurting blood onto the blanket, breaking his skin. A growl, then it's quickly silenced with another slam to his face. Then to his neck. The side of his head. The shoulder. He couldn't tell where she's about to strike next No chance to recover before another hit comes. No pattern whatsoever as to where she will hit next, or she'll hit the same spot, or how hard. No way to shield himself other than to tank it.
To his credit, he's tanking it like a champ. Even as his head is literally being beaten black and blue till blood spill, he doesn't make much of a sound, not a even a muffled sound. The only sound that permeate the air is the sound of the bottle clonking against his flesh. Gradually, the champagne bottle is stained purple with his blood. His blue hair and white side bangs are wet with his own blood.
Each hit brings a warning to his real body that he should turn his avatar off, but he ignores them, forcing himself to endure.
Still, there's only so much beating Soundwave could endure. Eventually, as Monika raises the bottle for another strike, he spits out the ribbon in his mouth, bloodied with his glow, then coughs out more blood onto the picnic blanket, and then turns to face her, finally relenting, begging for mercy.]
I a-apologize! You've made your point. Please, st-stop...
[There is no fear in his voice. After everything he's experience in his life, there isn't much that gives him fear anymore. Not even this would bring fear to him. However, he makes himself appear pathetic and weak so to show that he's finally given up after the terrible assault. His body shivers under her, and his face- terribly swollen purple, lips, cheeks, even one eyelid- looks up at her for mercy, hyperventilating. Cuts everywhere. Not even a hint of his avatar's fair skin can be seen anymore, covered entirely in his own blood flowing down from his forehead to his chin.]
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He should be having a terrible feeling about this, but what he feels instead is... Anticipation and excitement. Despite so, he'll continue with his resistance. Before he could even say he'll do whatever he wants, a ribbon is shoved into his mouth, holding it inside his mouth as to not accidentally swallow. Then, a slap. And another to his terribly swollen cheek. But he remains stubborn. Crimson eyes narrow and brow furrow up at Monika, even as she's taken his ability to speak.
However, when his gaze follows his head inside the picnic basket, then his eyes widen. A champagne bottle? Even if he doesn't know how strong a champagne bottle is, he knows that it's a good blunt weapon, or maybe she intends to break it and use the sharp pieces on him?
Either way, his eyes turn to Monika, then they narrow with anger once more when she shushed him.
She wouldn't---- She would. Before he could even make a muffled noise, the first strike hits him square in the cheek, forcing his head to the side more than her slap did, spurting blood onto the blanket, breaking his skin. A growl, then it's quickly silenced with another slam to his face. Then to his neck. The side of his head. The shoulder. He couldn't tell where she's about to strike next No chance to recover before another hit comes. No pattern whatsoever as to where she will hit next, or she'll hit the same spot, or how hard. No way to shield himself other than to tank it.
To his credit, he's tanking it like a champ. Even as his head is literally being beaten black and blue till blood spill, he doesn't make much of a sound, not a even a muffled sound. The only sound that permeate the air is the sound of the bottle clonking against his flesh. Gradually, the champagne bottle is stained purple with his blood. His blue hair and white side bangs are wet with his own blood.
Each hit brings a warning to his real body that he should turn his avatar off, but he ignores them, forcing himself to endure.
Still, there's only so much beating Soundwave could endure. Eventually, as Monika raises the bottle for another strike, he spits out the ribbon in his mouth, bloodied with his glow, then coughs out more blood onto the picnic blanket, and then turns to face her, finally relenting, begging for mercy.]
I a-apologize! You've made your point. Please, st-stop...
[There is no fear in his voice. After everything he's experience in his life, there isn't much that gives him fear anymore. Not even this would bring fear to him. However, he makes himself appear pathetic and weak so to show that he's finally given up after the terrible assault. His body shivers under her, and his face- terribly swollen purple, lips, cheeks, even one eyelid- looks up at her for mercy, hyperventilating. Cuts everywhere. Not even a hint of his avatar's fair skin can be seen anymore, covered entirely in his own blood flowing down from his forehead to his chin.]