we just have a few questions.

[blacklisle]

The Interrogation Meme

Your crimes were unspeakable, your lies were innumerable, but finally you've been caught. They bring you in, sit you down, and chain you up. No matter what power you have, no matter how strong you are, you're not going anywhere, so get comfy.

It's going to be a long night.

Rules

1. Post with your character, canon, and any prefs. Note whether captor or captive.
2. Tag around to other characters.
3. Roll for an option.

RNG OPTIONS

1. Truth serum: You know this person isn't going to confess easily, but you've got a surprise for them. This serum ought to loosen their lips a little.
2. Torture: The old-fashioned way might work best for this particular subject. How about those thumbscrews?
3. Bargain: You've got something they really want, or really need. If they fess up, if they tell the truth of the matter, they'll get it.
4. Blackmail: So, remember that night about ten years ago...? You know something they don't want the rest of the world to know and you're going to use it.
5. Seduction: Just because they're tied to a chair doesn't mean you two can't have a little fun, right?

Comments

natasha romanova | marvel cinematic.

[redhourglass]

( interrogator or interrogated, could be a 5 depending on the scenario, happy to chat more details before we dive into things! canon point flexible, would prefer 25+ unless your character is canonly portrayed as acting older than their age. )

something something spiral of ants

[m1895]

[ Vasiliy lights his second cigarette of the hour as he walks, traversing the cement hallway visually indistinguishable from every other corridor with the confident navigation of a single ant moving through its network of pinpoint tunnels. It's nondescript enough to be disorienting by design, of course. The basement of the Lubyanka is meant to give a sense of unending sprawl and to smell like concrete and mildew and stale water. This is a holding place for enemies of the people, not somebody's dacha.

And another workday like all the others, for him. Distinguished, somewhat, by the fact that the ankle he sprained on the slick floors down here some months prior is bothering him—rain coming, and the poorly made jackboots, no doubt half-disintegrating in their first few months of use because of wreckers they still haven't caught, don't help—but altogether ordinary.

The only thing that's notable is that he's interrogating a former chekist, lowercase c,: from his own cadre, not Dzerzhinsky's, uppercase C. He can't imagine how said fellow chekist could be so outrageously careless, knowing what she does, let alone why she'd said and presumably thought something any sensible person would interpret as Trotskyist apologia to begin with.

Vasiliy pauses before opening the door, taking a moment to adjust his gigline ever-so-slightly off-center: he wouldn't be caught dead making a mockery of work this important on the outside of a cell, but if he's to appear human in a way that the comrade who administered the first round of physical interrogation didn't, he needs to appear less than straight-laced within it.

He opens the door without throwing it open, regarding the woman at the interrogation table with a nod of acknowledgement. There would have been no pause for this, Vasiliy knows, when Comrade Likhachyov visited yesterday night. ]

Natalia Alianova.

[ A reasonably polite introduction. An acknowledgement of dignity, by design the first such instance she will have received since her arrest some 48 hours ago. ]

[redhourglass]

( natasha has been here before.

it's been a long time, of course, and she'd been sitting on the other side of the table. brought along as an observer, an arm ornament for someone-or-another during an interrogation. she'd stood silently in a neat uniform, arms clasped around a clipboard, while the men had spoken. later that night, she'd cut the throat of the official who'd escorted her out through the endless winding halls — his loyalty had always been in question, and he'd let something slip during the discussion that she hadn't caught but her handler had.

it's less interesting on this side of things. her hands are numb behind her back, bruises starting to bloom on her cheeks from being slapped. the room is cold, probably intentionally so; they'd learned about techniques like that during her training. never let a subject be comfortable, never allow them a dignity that you could not subsequently take away or threaten to remove. no doubt they'll waltz in and offer her a blanket next, just to rip it from her later.

the door opens. a man steps in. she stares, eyes flicking from his face to the line of his clothing askew. she wonders if it's intentional or accidental. is he sloppy? surely they would not send just anyone, not for her. )

Comrade. ( neutral, as though her lip isn't split, as though they've met at a cafe anywhere. still, her mind turns quickly — he knows her name. her true name, not one of a half a dozen aliases that the room doles out. that makes this real, something that is actually happening. her pulse quickens.

a test? it could be. she has heard of things like this before, loyal girls dragged in by their hair. some return. others do not. still, she had been the best, the brightest of her class, the only one left and —

ah. she's getting distracted. )

What time is it?

[m1895]

[ Vasiliy glances down at his watch, dark irises shaded by darker lashes. ]

2:13.

[ A.M., of course, though she'll know that despite the complete lack of any indicators in a windowless room underground. Interrogations always happen at night. People are weaker of will then, more likely to be tired. It's disorienting—the same reason arrests and raids happen only once the sun has set.

He pauses to undo the button of one breast pocket, fishes out a crumpled pack of Belomorkanals and holds it out. ]

Cigarette?

[redhourglass]

( 2:13. definitely in the morning, she remembers being taken at 5:00 pm the prior evening, which meant she’d been here for nine hours already. nine hours with the man who stank of cheap vodka and cigarettes, who backhanded her with a hand as big as a dinner plate. he’d split her lip, he’d threatened to do worse —

and now — what? they’ve sent in this man as the foil, the one to make her think that she’s going to be fine if she just tells them what they want to hear? it’s a cheap trick, an old one. the first trick she’d been taught in the red room at, what? age six? )

I would but — ( she raises her wrists, shakes the handcuffs that knock at the back of the metal chair they’ve put her in. her shoulders ache from the movement, circulation long since cut off to her fingers. ) You’ll excuse my rudeness?

( uncuff me, the unspoken ask. i’ll share your stupid fucking cigarette, if you just uncuff me. )