Stacey bowed low to her teammates. She bowed repetitively to each of the five groups she was a part of whenever their online voting results were revealed. She could only apologise and apologise and apologise for her groups getting the lowest scores.
"You've been saying sorry all night," Zanity patted Stacey on the back, while Vera prevented her from bowing anymore. Chastity dabbed the tears that kept flowing from Stacey's eyes. "It's not entirely your fault. Who else has had to perform five times in one night? Of course you're tired and can't perform so well. Nobody would be able to do all five performances without a mistake. Who would be able to keep up such high standards unless they'd specifically prepared for a three hour concert or something?"
"And we chose you, despite knowing the possible consequences," Vera said. "We would rather be loyal to you, our friend, than to go against our consciences and abandon you. Don't worry. It's only a ranking challenge. We're all very strong people who are confident in our abilities. Don't you worry. You just focus on preparing for your performance tomorrow."
"At least it'll be over quickly," Chastity said with downturned lips. "The program isn't going to linger over this section."
"Stacey's punishment section is really a turn off for a family friendly entertainment program like this," Vera muttered, turning her head away from the microphone and cameras so it wouldn't be recorded. "It's stupid."
"You're not the only one who thinks so," Zanity said, "but remember," Zanity put a finger to her lips and shook her head.
All the trainees in the halls that were discussing noticed Zanity's gesture. They immediately stopped complaining and looked away from the cameras. There was a heavy and unnatural silence in the auditorium. When they started talking again, people talked about how hard working Stacey was and how it was a pity she had needed to split her concentration between so many performances when they had all only needed to focus on one.
"As Stacey has fallen in her ranking to the bottom half of the list," Beryl said in an uncomfortable voice, "according to the rules of her participation, unlike the other trainees, she will be punished with corporal punishment. Our viewers have voted upon the type of punishment she will undergo and the number of strokes she should suffer. Final results on the polls show that she is to be paddled five times for each performance, leading to a total of twenty-five strokes."
"And now," said Hugh in a flat voice, "let us welcome Stacey's husband, Lord Huo, onto the stage to perform the public paddling."
The long punishment bench was brought on stage and Stacey was told to lay on her stomach on it. Her limbs were secured so that she would be unable to escape.
Stacey could only watch with wide eyes when Thieren came on stage carrying a long oar. A literal paddle normally used to propel a boat in water. His rowing actions made a few people crack smiles.
Like last time, he reassured Stacey and told her what to expect. Putting her head down, Stacey shut her eyes and gritted her teeth.
The oar rose and fell. It made a loud slapping sound and she could feel it land on her backside but it didn't hurt as much as she expected. Every five strokes, he would land a hard and painful smack onto her backside. It made Stacey bite her lip and sweat profusely. Stacey did her best not to make a noise but sometimes a squeak or a muffled cry of pain would escape her.
Thieren must be doing it on purpose. Firstly so that she wouldn't be seriously injured, and secondly so that no one would know he was going easy on her. That way she'd have a proper and natural reaction to the beating. Even so, it was demeaning. She really wanted to hate him.
When Thieren was done, he untied Stacey and hugged her. Then he gave Stacey the oar to carry and she used it to lightly slap his backside when he turned around. He jumped and wrinkled his brow at her, while the crowd cheered and whooped with laughter. Due to the mask, Stacey couldn't tell what sort of expression was on his face. His steady gaze unnerved her, resulting in Stacey looking away and offering the oar up.
Instead of taking the oar, he picked her up and carried her off stage. Stacey buried her head in his shirt in embarrassment. In a quiet and private room, he left her with some medication. Stacey rubbed a cooling cream on her backside.
She could only take small, awkward steps back into the auditorium. Although she really didn't want to return, she had to.
"Have a seat, Stacey," Vera invited.
"Thanks, but no thanks," Stacey gave an awkward smile. "I'd rather stand."
The mentors on the stage noticed Stacey standing in the aisle instead of returning to her seat.
"How do you feel, Stacey?" asked Phineas. "Are you all right?"
Stacey took a moment to think of a way to provide a G rated response and get the spotlight off her.
"I feel like I should dance to try and escape the sensation of having my pants on fire. The only problem being that any dance I try to perform wouldn't be suitable for a family friendly show, because it would involve a lot of bottom wiggling. The stop, drop and roll doesn't work for putting out this kind of fire."
That made everyone cringe and laugh awkwardly.
"In that case, I won't ask you to demonstrate what kind of dance you feel like performing. I think that everyone has a good idea what you mean."
"On the upside, I think I may not be able to sit for a week. It'll make for some extra exercise. Do you think that means I can skip my lessons?" Stacey continued to joke.
The laughter following that was more natural.
"Somehow, I don't think so," Phineas replied.
"Pity," Stacey rubbed her nose. "I was hoping I'd at least get something good out of this. But then, if wishes were fishes, we'd have a whole sea of dishes. In short, I'm going to stand for the rest of tonight. I hope nobody minds."
"Of course," Telea teased, pausing for effect before saying, "not."
"In that case, I'll pretend that I'm being punished to stand during class for making such awful jokes," Stacey said, waving a hand. "Everyone, please ignore me. I can feel an uncomfortable number of eyes trying to see whether my backside has been smacked clean off. Don't worry. I'm pretty sure it's still there unless it ran away when I wasn't looking."