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| Behind the dead who are still alive; [Closed] | |
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| Topic Started: Friday, 21. February 2014, 03:44 (898 Views) | |
| Aguirre Efrain Maddox | Friday, 21. February 2014, 03:44 Post #1 |
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The port hadn't changed, although perhaps the perception gained from a trip away always did seem to. Especially a notably chaotic trip, and that was such an understatement to Aguirre's time spent in America that it almost didn't apply at all. Days spent with Cadence on his escort back to Colorado were pleasant, though now completely eclipsed by memories of fire and chains barbed to pierce canine skin were the wearer to move too far from his leash. To say that the Little Brujah that Couldn't wanted to leave the most recent accounts of her life in cleansing wisps of smoke where they belonged would be on point in more ways than one; however, it would never leave the confines of her thick skull, or the expression of an ever present, unmoving, unchanging grimace carved into what was once skin--and now, only pale granite. The upswing for the rest of London, and the driver currently housing the black cloud in his taxi, was that darkness concealed her face beneath the hood of a jacket and jagged angles cast by street lights. Not a single word was said from the back of the car since it had started moving, and the radio played quietly through the two-hour-long drive from Felixstowe Port to Enfield. Despite the noise of the drivel on the radio, overall silence seemed to be a noxious chemical in the air, threatening to suffocate those who required breath. At the moment, the sole living being within a five-foot radius was Jamison Russell, who seemed to know better than to attempt polite conversation with the woman staring out the window. He had done well to stay quiet, up to the point that the Brujah asked him to stop (several blocks from her destination, though he wouldn't have known), and payment had to be requested. "Quite a long drive. Two seventy-eight and ten." "You told me the ride was free. Don't you remember?" Jamison seemed confused, though what she said seemed to.. somehow.. make sense? "I did?" "Yup. We're good friends, you and me. Worked the same job for a time." "What, at the Tesco?" "Sure." Mister Russell didn't remember any of this, of course, but he figured she was right--or at least was not inclined to disagree. Puzzlement continued to crease the lines between his brows as Aguirre stepped from the cab and disappeared down an alley, from which she would emerge on none other than Church Street. Face still hidden beneath a hood and locks of knotted hair that looked as though it had been sheared about jaw length with a pair of especially dull scissors. Stepping up to the apartment, she removed the last of her belongings--aside from the clothes on her back--from her pocket, comprised of all of one key. She unlocked the lobby door, a humorless scoff at the fact that even in two months time, the elevator was still sectioned off by orange tape. It was a matter of sheer willpower, once ascending six flights, to unlock the portal into what was once home and walk in. The key hovered not far from at all from the lock in a shaking white hand that couldn't bring itself to fit the two pieces together. Some part of her dreaded the possibility of running into Damon so soon after arrival, but the part that still had some color of morality told her to march in there anyway; to greet one of those she'd left in the dust as warmly as she could muster and hope she would be forgiven for jumping ship. Still.... Aguirre's hand dropped to her side, more of a slouch pronounced in her body language than only moments prior. I can't deal with this. Just ain't got the backbone. A prolonged few seconds passed before she could shift long legs, which felt as though they were weighed down by cement shoes, in the direction of the stairwell; it was slowly and without purpose, of course, only for her to turn around again and give the door a stare that would have knocked it dead if it weren't an inanimate object. It was an obstacle, a brick wall in the middle of the highway. Aguirre wished it would open of its own accord, no effort, no indecision required. Simply an action out of of her control and wholly unexpected. Let's try this shit again. Key--lock--invisible wall, centimeters, mere infuriating centimeters away. Frustration started to boil up in an all too familiar fashion, but finally, the key was in the door and turning it's father mechanism. Edited by Aguirre Efrain Maddox, Friday, 21. February 2014, 15:44.
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| Church | Monday, 24. February 2014, 14:30 Post #2 |
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Putting the 'fun' in 'dysfunctional'
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If anyone were to come into this apartment right now, they would see a peculiar sight. Church as relaxed as can be sat quietly on his own...with a book. A fucking book of all things. Church knows how to read, for sure, I just didn't do a whole lot of it. Sure, certain words allude him, but that's why I would rather this book might be called medicine for dummies cause it, in some sense, is completely useless for the kind of work I like to do. Forced to do. Eh, it's interesting enough, and gives me some sort of idea as to how one system can impact another so tremendously. I hope I only ever have to put together super ghouls like Mac, cause that I can't seem to fuck up. 'Anaesthesiology has been identified as the medical specialty with the greatest advances in patient safety. Enhanced understanding of disease mechanisms has enabled anaesthesiologists to use safer drugs from which patients recover more rapidly, better monitoring and highly advanced postoperative critical-care techniques. More improvements in the available drugs and computer assisted technologies are still on the horizon. In addition-blah blah blah blah.' I throw to the side and heave an unnecessary sigh. I really wanna punch something. Doctoring is all well and good, but ultimately, it's not what I'm built for, not what I'm good at. And, after a few days absent of my maniac lover, what I crave. That itch beneath the skin that doesn't respond to a mere scratch, no-no, it's something more hellish than that. Addiction...for external sources of pain and suffering, coupled with a desire to find some loud mouthed smug douche bag and knock everyone of his teeth out. I feel like I could maybe get to grips with medicine a little bit better if I had live dummies to put back together. While duct tape and vamp blood might be the ultimate combo in patching just about any ailment up, I don't think it's very practical. I like my blood where I know it's safe, thanks. And speaking of safe...what the fuck is that noise? A noise that causes me to bolt off the couch to my feet and stare down the door. I'm not a dummy, I know what it is, I just can't comprehend how it is. Unless...the door clicks open and slowly is brought ajar. Despite how well my mental capacity has somehow healed itself over the past few months, there is still that ever present fear that the monsters will turn up on my door. While that scenario usually involves then rendering the fucker asunder as opposed to using a key, I still stiffen up. Cause the only other possibility is that it could be... "Wh-Aguirre?" I ask, making sure my warped mind didn't feel like throwing me into a bout of psychosis. Looks like her, smells like her...something's different - physically and mentally, makes me think that it could be something made up by a lonely and fatigued mind. God I hope that isn't true, that my brain is not so far gone sure, but more importantly, that our Mouse has come home. My face twitches, flickering between dumbstruck and delight. I'm...well, confused but what's new there? I'm happy, or would like to be happy, but a few seconds of staring at her and I'm not convinced there is anything joyous here. I take a few cautious steps forward, my arms raising from my sides ever so slightly as something 'care-bear' inside possesses me to hug her. Somehow I maintain the will to fight said urges. So instead I just ask an idiotic question, just in case she was wondering if I got my head out my ass while she was gone. "What's happening?" Nope! |
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| Aguirre Efrain Maddox | Tuesday, 25. February 2014, 00:19 Post #3 |
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Why did he look so happy? As far as Aguirre was concerned, Church should have been pissed the fuck off. Livid. Enraged. He should have been throwing hands as soon as she walked through that door uninvited. Then again, she didn't exactly have the ability to announce her presence in London since her phone had gone up in flame along with two of her favorite books, a good deal of her wealth, and some unsuspecting assholes. She couldn't remember any of the numbers saved in the device except for one, which wasn't Damon's, and she wouldn't allow herself to dial it. There was no way in hell she could handle that phone call. This was difficult enough, the way Church always seemed to forgive unrelentingly for her mistakes, no matter how asinine. Slightly less luminescent eyes locked on him a little awkwardly as she shut the door behind her. The clothes she wore clearly weren't her own, jacket more like something out of his own wardrobe and emphasizing how small the person beneath it was. The woman was hesitant to drop her hood; she knew the amateurly cut mop on her head would draw unwanted attention and questions, sideways glances at such a change that was so much work to maintain each evening but maintained nonetheless. "What's happening?" It sounded more like confusion at the present situation than a general greeting, though she wasn't at all sure how he actually meant the delivery. It was a long moment before she remembered to blink and force a tight smile. "Sky's fallin', that's all." Trying like hell to keep some note of humor in her tone, though to her own ears she failed miserably. She still couldn't quite understand why he didn't just kick her out to the curb. To be honest, she was relieved; she had grown accustomed to to the eldest Brujah as much as she was initially afraid to see him, missed the familiarity of her books and posters lining the walls. It meant something very significant that he kept Aguirre's things despite the fact that she made no promise to return. She hadn't planned to, actually, until she realized how out of her depth she was in New York. It was a place she'd always wanted to see when she was young, but after her experiences in Lower Manhattan, one would have to drag her back kicking and screaming. She certainly hadn't made any friends on that 'adventure', but at least Cadence made it home before the shit hit the fan. The wiry figure stepped in farther from the entryway, though cautiously, surveying what she could see of the apartment for signs of someone she wasn't prepared to see. It wasn't as though Sawyer had done anything wrong, and she was still drawn to contacting him; however, they hadn't exactly parted well--more hurtful than she intended. Aguirre didn't want to see that kicked puppy look in his eye until she knew what to say to make it better, to apologize effectively, and knew the Nosferatu would have significantly more questions for her than Church. The third degree from her roomie was an inevitable circumstance that she hoped to avoid, too, but she had never been able to lie to him without repercussions if at all. She didn't want to explain why she came back looking like a corpse. "Is anybody else around?" she asked tentatively, though was satisfied enough by her own observation to know that if anyone was there, she would have plenty of time to bolt out the door. The last thing she wanted was socialization, and was even willing to marathon Hell on Wheels if it kept the silence alive and inquiries at bay. Unlife was never that easy though, and Damon was adamant about knowing what the fuck her problem was when she had one. Aside from the anxiety, he couldn't possibly comprehend how nice it was to see him, even if the emotion didn't show immediately on her hollowed features. With another couple steps in his direction, Aguirre was wrapping her arms around Church's neck and pulling him into a tight, sincere embrace. Might as well before he got down to kicking her ass, right? Besides, she'd been scared to death that she wasn't capable of that level if sincerity anymore; she'd already lost her handle on happiness, if she'd ever had it at all. "I missed you. Motherland fuckin' sucked," she mumbled. She wouldn't let him go until he pulled himself out of what she imagined was probably the most uncomfortable experience of the night, but at least this confirmed that she hadn't hallucinated coming home. Edited by Aguirre Efrain Maddox, Tuesday, 25. February 2014, 00:22.
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| Church | Thursday, 27. February 2014, 20:08 Post #4 |
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Putting the 'fun' in 'dysfunctional'
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I should've been a little more specific with my questioning maybe. Perhaps 'What happened' would've been a more appropriate query cause it translates into multiple options. What the fuck happened? As in, where'd you go? Why'd you go? What happened there? I don't take cryptic shit from this girl, I always coerce the truth out of her one way or another...ordinarily. But her noting that the sky is falling sends a chill through me; for the life of me I don't remember why. It's familiar in a way, and not just cause it's an apt way of describing the current climate in London. Something Jack said once upon a time, and that mere recognition puts my teeth on edge. He didn't do this, right? This isn't some kind of trick? My mind might be inclined to sniff out any doubts I should have, but the rest of me is soft on her to care. Even if she was stuffed full of explosives and came here to blow me away...I'd apologise for getting her in this mess before the fire comes. But one thing about having an overactive imagination is to push those images away when reality is knocking. "Just me." I answer as plainly as I can - no need to bring up names of certain other inhabitants who frequent the building. Or did back when she was still here. But no, this silence here is something that clung on tight and maintained a lingering presence so long as the Mouse wasn't home. Is that irony? I think so. I take a moment to glance around myself, almost just to reassure myself that the batty fucker hasn't been hiding here the whole time, pining for his girlfriend to show. As a strange a thought as that is, it don't seem implausible. Then I turn back to her, and as she takes steps closer and her arms part, I respond in kind by advancing a step to meet her and wrap my arms around her. "I missed you too, sugar." I reply with the same level of cold enthusiasm, though I don't feel any need to let her know that London has been equally sucky. Perhaps not to America, but it's the same shit threatening to wipe us all out here...better the devil you know, eh? Like the Aguirre I knew. I think she's still in there, but right now I'm not willing to put money on it. Her hair is...nothing. I don't know if it's like that for good or she's had a trim getting back into the country. That look in her eye though, that sure isn't something purely superficial. As nervous and apprehensive as the sweet little Brujah may be, and despite her knowing better around me, everything seems to be crooked. A shadowy version of the Aguirre we know and love...I may not know what the hell is going on right now, but hell, it don't matter. She's part of my flock, so to speak. I won't abandon her. "I don't know what's happened, girl. Cause it's pretty fucking clear that something's happened." I mutter into her hair, not relinquishing this hold even if she regrets entering into it. "Ordinarily I'd make damn sure you tell me. This time? Frankly, I don't give a shit. You're here and that's all that matters to me." And I'm sure it will be the same for all her other acquaintances, so relieved that she did come back to us wretched creatures and make us smile. Or...maybe. If that light in her that fills the room hasn't been stamped out forever. I pull back, though keep my hands on her sides so she can't hide her face so easily, especially now with the mop cut. Still, I dunno what's going on in that head of hers. Fear? Anger? Is it for where she's been or where she is now? It's...fucked. I've always been able to pick up on certain signs in women, primarily revolving around if they dig me or not. This shit though is a little above my head...so the best I can do is let her know she ain't alone. "An' if this is something that might follow you here, don't worry. I hope it is. Cause it comes to our doorstep and I'm gonna punch it right in the mouth, okay?" I smile softly, or at least it has a certain tenderness despite what I vow to do. But I can't say anything more until she, well, does something. But I'm guessing a homecoming party is off the table. |
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| Aguirre Efrain Maddox | Wednesday, 5. March 2014, 10:11 Post #5 |
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There was a concrete sense of ease in the fact that no matter how shitty the situation was, Church was always as genuine as was needed and more. Honesty was refreshing, more often than not, and there should have been no doubt as to how much she appreciated it. The thing about being the Mouse, about having earned that nickname and listening to it follow her into unlife no matter how much she hated it, was that she did more than her fair share of passive-aggressively beating around the bush. Her relationship with Damon was unique in the fact that he knew exactly how to read her, and usually called her on her bullshit--let her know that she wasn't fooling anybody by hiding behind her hair and keeping her trap shut. He always backed the wild animal into a corner until she lashed out or broke down, or both; that was usually a good thing. Except when it didn't happen. In most cases, Aguirre knew very well what would happen if she kept secrets. It frustrated the shit out of him and tended to trigger his paranoia in small doses. A chair was still missing from the dining set, a fact that never strayed far from her thoughts when she was home. The fact of the matter, though, was that she couldn't bring herself to care. She still cared about him; perhaps not the way he would have preferred anymore, like the lost kitten who took time to sit and inquire about his life over bummed cigarettes and the blood of Bukowski. No, it wasn't the same level of passion. It didn't read on her sleeve like classical literature with some profound meaning. It wasn't even skin deep. Strange, actually--a hollow feeling with notes of color on a blackboard long erased, but stained forever with aged chalk. Was it still respect or obligation, anymore than a blurry memory of a Polaroid of an emotion? It was purely a foreign sensation she hadn't become accustomed to yet, a dull scene she wasn't able to put into clear thought. Short moments went by before Aguirre realized what was being said, cold breath on her neck as words weaved through her hair and into her ear; it came through like an echo, the realization that Church was offering to bail her out of another situation brought on by ignorance. The Brujah woman had abandoned everyone she used to love and had some level of emotional dependence on her, only to come back broken, and.... Nothing. No shouting. Not even the angry twinkling of aggravation in his eye or tone. Complete yielding to her wishes, like she was above reproach. She didn't feel guilt--in fact, it simply irritated her now where it had earlier been relief. She wasn't being held accountable for her own shitty decision making, per the usual; what was it about her that made even the strongest assholes in London crumble in their resolve? Why didn't he break something over her head, for fuck's sake? It was like she didn't have the same culpability as every other shit stain on the planet. Why the flying fuck was he smiling at her instead of making her teeth into a necklace? One eyebrow twitched very slightly as Aguirre stared back into tired green eyes, no flinching, no blinking. Cool colors. Cool colors were generally distant. She'd noticed it in Sawyer's even, that although his mask was so capable of portraying emotion he still looked like he was far away. Damon didn't usually give much away, something that had driven her up the wall in the past. She understood a little more now what it was to keep some things close to still born hearts, to let her friends continue to be willfully ignorant. Hands that should have been breaking bones instead held fast at her sides; he probably hoped that offer of protection, the reverse psychology, would convince Aguirre to tell him more. It wouldn't persuade her, nor would a piercing gaze through the gap where a soul should have been break her. It was like looking through an open window in the dead of winter, only to view the carcasses of trees in the snow. "You ain't gotta worry about it. Nothin's gonna follow me here unless ashes grow legs and learn how to walk." The tone was cold, voice dropping a decibel lower than the quiet volume she'd already been speaking in. The rail-thin figure found herself wanting to set him off, to trigger his alarms and push all the wrong buttons just to weather the results--which only a translucent veil of self control kept her from doing. She knew exactly where to throw a fist to make him instantly see red, but wasn't that unnecessarily cruel? She owed Damon better than that. Even if she'd lost her moral fiber, she still made good on her debts. The brunette stepped out of his grasp by a couple feet, backing into a wall before undoing the laces on her boots. Oversized, probably for a man's foot before they graced hers. It would be nice to have her own wardrobe again, holes and all. There was a section of her closet she wouldn't touch, full of dresses and pretty things that never really did fit such an ugly person. "'Sides, ain't nothin' happened that you haven't already seen before. Stupid shit I do to get myself in trouble, which ain't exactly out of the norm. Just had to pay for it this time. Consequences never were presented to me quite as they shoulda been. S'probably a learning experience, if nothin' else. Also--" she dropped one boot like a hot potato, "--You do too much for me as it is. You ain't gotta punch anybody in the mouth unless you'd like to give a couple certain people a go-round, but I sure ain't seein' 'em here." Deflection from the topic, nothing new from a member of the Maddox family. When in doubt, make so little sense than nobody knows which questions to ask. Hide in that mouse hole like a merciless coward. Become absolutely maddening. Edited by Aguirre Efrain Maddox, Wednesday, 5. March 2014, 10:35.
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| Church | Friday, 14. March 2014, 14:47 Post #6 |
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Putting the 'fun' in 'dysfunctional'
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I let her slip away, back towards the door where she begins to remove her boots and I decide to aimlessly wander around the room some. For some reason sitting down would seem ignorant. Though giving her the big welcome back party seems awkward. More so than normal. Just giving her attention seems awkward, I'm not sure what she expected when she walked back in. Maybe to slip past my attention, hideaway in her room like she had thirty years previous. Torture herself. Or maybe that's what the Aguirre I knew might have tried, cause as smart as she is she sure is stupid sometimes. This one...she seems to already have swallowed down whatever bitter pill she was handed in the states. Let it start to rot her away already. "I don't do shit for you girl. Gave you a place to stay but I think that was for my sanity more than yours. It wasn't on the condition that you never leave. Never go off to do whatever shit you needed to do. I ain't your sire-" Perhaps an odd thing to say, because the reality of it is that I would happily have embraced her. Or not as the case may have been. I would've left the quiet, shy little mouse live out her life happily. None of this regret or remorse. Of course I would like to do that, even now, but I was a different man back at that time. It would require building a fucking time machine and change things for her. Even if it means that me or Flint never knew her. "Even if I was I ain't got no right to tell you to do nothin'." Dealing with the consequences, nothing out of the ordinary - as fucking if. I don't think she went off to America to go thieving from, whadda she call 'em, yuppies? Her and Flint and their strange bullshit of taking from wardrobes and jewellery boxes, not so much for valuable shit as nice shit. And that's, well, I say it's fine but my moral compass is a little wonkier than most. Let's just say it's acceptable. In our lifestyles, it's sometimes a necessity in order to get all fancy clothing - something I do miss New York for, cause that place was made for freaking Vamps. London? Eh, it's gotta sleep a little. My gaze is as aimless as my random pace from here to there to over there back to here. As if I'm waiting for her before going out, except for the fact that she just came in. I look from the various posters to stacked and scattered books and smirk a little. This place would be dead without her, it would just look that way. Frankly, she managed to make this place look somewhat liveable and therefore not a big 'Vamps live here, come burn me down" sign. "Thing is you're always hard on yourself." I state in something akin to a heavy sigh. I look back to her with a cocked head, my expression a soft one. "Hard enough that I ain't gotta say shit to make you feel worse. Like I said, I'm just glad you're back. An' I ain't gonna be the only one." She knows what I mean. A lot of people know her, if that party was anything to go by, and while they undoubtedly would all be delighted to see Miss. Maddox again, I can think of a certain Rat who skulked on out of here with the blues when she upped and vanished. I figure if she's gonna have a hard time looking anyone in the eye, it's him. I lift my arms up and around, reaching down to my neck as I give my dead bones a needed stretch, my tired eyes not shifting away from her now she managed to de-boot herself. I don't know what can be said beyond. "Welcome home, darling." |
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| Aguirre Efrain Maddox | Sunday, 6. April 2014, 07:26 Post #7 |
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"Welcome home, darling." It didn't cease at any point through the conversation mostly hosted by her fidgeting (almost nervous?) roommate, to surprise her just how easily he was able to pluck at even the most rusted of heart strings. The music made by such things was a flat, unpleasant bass--but still, it did echo quietly through her rib cage. Aguirre wouldn't show Damon the expression, since she'd gotten exceedingly better at portraying a poker face, but was that not obvious in and of itself? Then again, it seemed as though any expression but one of self loathing was out of the norm. She didn't want to remember being so pathetic, wanted to block out every second, but it was a difficult feat to forget the past completely when it was staring her in the face in the form of a confused old Brujah. "Thank you. Just, y'know, it'd be better if you were the only person who knows I'm here; for now, anyway. I gotta get my shit together before go dealin' with the rest of the pack. You understand, I'm sure." It was more than just a matter of hiding from Sawyer, whom she was somewhat puzzled about not being there--although relieved, nonetheless. Perhaps he and Damon hadn't gotten on as well as she thought? Taking into consideration the pride most Southern men carried with them through every waking moment. Having two in the same apartment, all while surrounded by book and clothing items with memories attached would be difficult--especially since the Nosferatu never did quite shake that feeling of being a free loader. The way Church positioned it, she wasn't a free loader; despite having free room and board, she apparently paid her dues in the form of keeping him.... Lucid? The thought made Aguirre's deathly pale features twist from dull to significantly confused as she studied her contrary roommate. The statement itself seemed a contradiction, a plot which made little to no sense and collapsed before the book was even over. "So... Your sanity. That's how you figure keepin' me around to be a good idea?" She paused for a moment to think this over. Almost a year now, and she'd done nothing since moving in but give Damon problems that weren't his to deal with. She wandered thoughtfully to arm of the couch and settled down against it, legs stretched out and brow raised as she tried to understand his reasoning. "So, makin' all the worst decisions I ever made in my entire existence consistently, dealin' with a fuck ton of baggage that ain't even yours, keepin' them watchful eyes on me to make sure I don't get killed... That's what keeps you sane? And not that I know a damn thing about what a sire's s'posed to do, but if I had to guess, those would be the general agenda. And so, all those things, and you still don't think you got the prerogative to tell me when to sit down and shut the fuck up?" Another short pause, a silence that might have been awkward had the willowy Brujah really cared about uncomfortable quiet anymore, and she shrugged nonchalantly--as if dropping the point altogether. No, it didn't make sense. Yeah, maybe she hoped he would think about what he was saying; if that's all that was expected of her, she sure felt like as much of a free loader as Sawyer portrayed himself to be. It was a deeper debt than Aguirre expected. Still, she wouldn't push the topic unless Damon did. "Alright, man." Edited by Aguirre Efrain Maddox, Sunday, 6. April 2014, 14:02.
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| Church | Friday, 11. April 2014, 22:05 Post #8 |
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Putting the 'fun' in 'dysfunctional'
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"I understand, darling." Boy, do I. I keep my mouth shut about things that she doesn't really need to know, or at the very least, shouldn't be thrown right in her face. A chap named Sawyer Flint for example, no need to say his name, tell her how much he's hurting, make any mention about the night we got completely wasted together...And Mac. Well, she's not worth bringing up for my sanity. I'm trying to forget all about that woman, which is fucking gruelling a task when you're sat at home all day with nothing to do. "Just remember that others will to." Cause I sure as shit ain't the most empathetic creature in London. Carebear Flint should appreciate what she had to do...or be utterly destroyed by it. Not for me to say. Anyway, that sounded more like the girl I knew before she left. Having this concern, this apprehension when facing something difficult. I can see Aguirre again now, even if that's for the smallest window of opportunity. Cause then she's picking on what I said, about living here of all things. I mean, would you look at this place? They say possession is nine-tenths of the law and such. If it wasn't for the fact that my name was on the contract, she could probably claim this place as her own cause, well, there's enough of her shit in it and nothing of mine. In fact, if she didn't call this place home, it'd be a sad fucking sight to see Church and his TV staring at each other in the emptiness. So, first and foremost, I would argue that this place is 'hers.' I just own it. And when Flint decided to move in with us, I wondered when it would be time for me to bail and let them live together in peace. Just like I considered giving the place to Aguirre and Frankie in the first place. She doesn't seem to comprehend how little these four walls mean to me, it's just a roof so I don't fry. "Yeah, you're damn right it's alright. Listen girl, if I want you to sit down and shut up, you'll know. I finally snap back, though I catch myself before I get too worked up and frustrated. Seriously, what was going on? "What is this? Normally you clam up when shit is concerning your ass and my boot. You're practically begging for it. Hell, maybe you wouldn't be making these bad choices or getting yourself killed if I actually did what I promised I would." I somehow turned that on myself midway through, and it's a legitimate statement. I told her I would help her adapt, be there for whatever she needed in her transition from the Mouse that hid for three decades to, well, something better. Which she could do if only she could let this stuff go. But then again, am I so different? I still don't wanna pry, cause I don't think I'm gonna like what I hear regardless of if it's an issue or not. And if it's not gonna follow her back here...it's not an issue. Even if it was, I'd told her I'd slug it in the mouth, and you better believe I would. Don't give a fuck what it was either. But I do if it's gonna morph and gnaw at the person sharing the room with me. If it's gonna be another rollercoaster ride of regret and pain for her, I'd rather exercise it now as opposed to never. "Clearly something happened. Clearly, you ain't alright. Now I need to know if you can deal with this or not, cause I ain't gonna let you tread the deep water alone. You get that right? That I wanna help. Even if 'help' means give you a deserved slap, I'll gorram do it." I let that lie and eye her with accusation. Maybe that'll sink in that stubborn skull of hers. And maybe she'll request a smack. I'll do what I gotta. What can I say? I'm a people person. |
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| Aguirre Efrain Maddox | Monday, 14. April 2014, 06:59 Post #9 |
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Mouse
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It was difficult, exhausting even, for Aguirre to continue keeping her walls up as steadily as she was after so much time away from home; on one side of the same coin, though, it was more difficult to bring them down when she spent and extended and particularly unhappy amount of time building them in the first place. In this case, her definition of 'extended' might have been something for others of the same species to sneeze at, incredibly trivial at best. This Brujah, however, hadn't found herself out in the world long enough to brace for long hours spent on the floor of a warehouse office no one used anymore, waking up on certain nights to the smell of rotten burning flesh or hair, the sounds of laughter that still tormented her like an echoed whisper in her ear. She knew where the whispers came from now, knew how even a brief period of time could take such a toll on what used to be an unchanging mental state. She also realized that her time in the states had taught her something, thought perhaps what she was missing was that she took the lesson too seriously--internalized it in a way that would eventually become dangerous if she let it build up and bottle neck like a shaken up soda. Somehow the walls built around her mind felt safer now than letting her guard down, with the ongoing assumption that she'd taken trust for granted and given it far too freely. Even to Damon. But what sense did that make? The pale woman wondered exactly what kind of person he had been when among the ranks of the Sabbat, an idle thought that sunk its hooks into the soft matter of her brain and proceeded pump in the kind of venom she never imagined would flood the already dark waters that flowed throughout her thought processes. The place she'd always imagined her mind to be, still black waters misted over as the rivers of Hades were in popular mythology, now seemed to scintillate with disturbance of thoughts that didn't feel like hers--though who else's could they possibly be if not her own? Still, tiny lights passed over the waters, leaving ripples in the black satin of the surface... Church told her plenty, but he didn't tell her everything, and for so long she'd overlooked the holes she had always wanted to poke in his story the night he invited her to take up safety under his roof. Was he, at one point in time, akin to those she had the unfortunate circumstance of meeting in America? Was it possible that he might revert back to that without warning one evening in the future? He spat the name of the very sect like a bad taste from his mouth if given the opportunity, but how far would that hatred take him and those associated with him? The options immediately available in her short foresight assured her he wouldn't be ripped from the television screen unless she or Mac asked, though again, the whispers flooded in and argued from the shadow. Once Sabbat, always Sabbat. But that couldn't possibly be correct.. Not to mention she knew so little about the sect in the first place that she had no real way to prove her doubts. Only moments before, she'd been appreciating the genuine intent of her eldest roommate; were her gears turning so slowly that they would serve her this inconsistently in a single sitting? Why did Aguirre feel the need to call his trustworthiness into question when she'd never done so in the past? Ah. That was why. That look; the stare that, again, peered into her depths, however perhaps they didn't plunge as deep as the self-obsessed Brujah thought they did at this point. She hadn't quite grown out of that haughty college student mentality, even thirty-three years post embrace--but she could always chalk it up to the preserved state one entered once they imbibed vitae. The changes made in her since her youth were a wonder to her in the first place when, in her youth, she'd trusted no one but Magdelena, Marcus, and the bottom of any and every bottle. Even books were suspect depending on the author's origins and choice of bias. Men especially roused a sense of distrust in her for one reason or another, especially when they thought they could read her mind the way Damon always seemed to. It was a wonder she hadn't completely questioned every aspect of their living situation up to this point as it was, especially considering how little benefit she believed he got out of the whole deal. He could swear up and down that it was for his sanity; even if it were true, she wouldn't believe him for the simple fact that she believed her own presence to be a nuisance under the most favorable of circumstances. That look, complete with the "don't feed me bullshit" look she'd given Sawyer on more than one occasion, was the first thing to cause enough discomfort for her to unwillingly break eye contact since she'd come through the door. Hadn't she wanted to aggravate him, though? Wasn't that the goal the Beast had in mind and she seemed to follow? Okay, well, yes. But it seemed so much less genuine when she had to outright ask for a beat down. In the event that the two were playing chess, Church would have won almost every time based on the fact that Aguirre was good at nothing but talking herself right into a corner. While her gaze seemed to wander from floorboard to floorboard now, her face remained stony; there was no point in giving up the poker face yet, especially when such strange thoughts were running their fingernails across the surface of her mind. She didn't need that kind of attention, not when she'd spent so much time wallowing in the pits of her own sorrow. It was more than pathetic, a shame, a waste of time that could have been spent doing something that was at least somewhat more productive than lying on the floor of her old studio flat and listening to Nirvana drone through badly written lyrics and wishing she lived in a different pair of boots. It was disgusting the way she'd wasted unlife to feel sorry for herself, and there would be no more if she could help it. There would be no more weeping on the shoulders of people that would continue to enable the self importance until it got her and her counterparts killed, an old concerned backed up by new world experience. She couldn't hide the annoyance on her features as he went on to blame himself for the shitty places she'd put herself in since reemerging into the world, though would choose to save the sermon for when his own was finished. At least one thing that the eldest Brujah in the room was right about was the fact that something had happened while she was away, and that it wasn't pretty; it had left scars deeper than the embrace itself on her self-worth and her humanity, two things that took the most time for her to mend. It was more than deep water she'd set herself in when she chose to show the colors of her expression on her sleeve to watchers in the states, worn the same pin a certain Nosferatu had given her for a formal event for the whole underworld to see and judge. She hadn't expected, despite everything she'd heard, to be so unwelcome on the same soil was born and accustomed to for nearly a third of her life. Fucking thugs, the lot of them, and she'd reduced them to dust in the wind the moment the opportunity arose. Now, was that to say that she really wasn't alright? Were parts of her still left laying on the asphalt of Staten Island's ship yard? She'd come home under that very impression, but came to realize within the last few words of Damon's pledge that it was yet another copout to blame her state of mind on the same assailants who were scattered across polluted waters, never to be seen or heard from again. There was resolution there, a resolution that should have granted her some kind of peace. The fear she had above all else, above facing Sawyer when she wasn't prepared, and above any terror she might experience at the hands of another, was that she would never be satisfied. Was that not the point of unlife, though? They were damned. They were meant to be miserable, evil creatures, and yet most of her company past and present clung more closely to their morals than most kine did. These scribbled thoughts, strung together over the course of a long silence, were the first beacon of hope she'd seen in months. "I'm fine. I'm just goddamn fine. I can take care of myself between stupid decisions and trips to the Warrens, and ain't no way in hell any promise you make is gonna reflect on you because I did somethin' shitty. That's somethin' we gotta get straight toot-fuckin'-sweet." A thin finger jabbed just above the sternum of his chest, eyes suddenly burning into his with a mixture of indignance and offense on his behalf more than her own. "What kinda world do we live in where a promise means anythin' beyond the spit in the palm you shook with? I ain't your responsibility, much as you might need time for that to sink in, much as that seemed to be the case in the past. I ain't more weight to put on your shoulders, and I know we talked about bearin' each other's burdens, but this is more than sharin' a few dirty secrets. If I walk into the sun this mornin', that's on me, not you. If I get in a fight with the fuckin' Prince of London, God forbid, that ain't somethin' you need to feel bad about. I'm a grown ass woman, understand? Ignorant, yeah, and more than a little reckless, but just 'cause you chose to take me in doesn't mean you gotta take credit for all my mistakes. You just gotta be there to slap me upside the head for bein' such a damned moron all the time, and for Sawyer by proxy 'cause he's as much of a damned moron as me--even if we ain't in the same place at the same time, 'cause I don't plan to be on his radar til I got my head on straight. And no, I ain't gonna ask for a slap, that's ridiculous. I'm gonna poke the bear til I ain't gotta ask and you know it." Aguirre paused as she let her hand fall back to her side, inhaling a single breath to replace the one she'd spent on her tirade. Dark brows were still lowered over dull copper eyes that seemed more frustrated with each passing millisecond, perhaps without the intention of poking the bear in as many words as she just had and with more of a... severely southern berating in favor of his innocence. She could still experience the wonders of being pissed off, after all. Edited by Aguirre Efrain Maddox, Monday, 14. April 2014, 07:24.
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| Church | Thursday, 17. April 2014, 19:16 Post #10 |
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Putting the 'fun' in 'dysfunctional'
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Oh wow, she's poking me, really? Where in the fuck did that come from Mouse? I remember a time where my accusations led to fearful whispers of some truth, like a god damn teenager trying to avoid feeling bad by mumbling damning things incoherently. So I hear...not like I ever knew my kid when he was that age. Mouse might've just grown herself a mane and become a lion. The smallest, most adorable lion ever though - so frankly, still a fucking mouse. Church can do tough love right and proper, but with Aguirre, shit, she's got everlasting puppy dog eyes. Maybe I do take it easy on her. So what? Cause apparently that's more torturous than giving her what for. She could be a lot weirder than I give her credit for, but surely she doesn't have that kind of kink, right? "Those things ya'll just mentioned, sure, I probably wouldn't stop that heat dropping on you like a ton of shit but...don't mean I won't try. And that's all there is to it." I press my lips together in the perfect expression of neutrality. God this girl don't ever push my buttons, but I somehow manage to keep some composure where as anybody else would be losing count of the welts on their cheek. "You ain't a kid, you ain't defenceless - I get that, and I hope you don't take it as an insult when I say these things. But you hid yourself away for a good long time, honey, because of something horrible that you didn't mean to do. Good thing as well, cause the Capes would've killed you if they ever found you. You know the world is a dark place, and you know that there's darkness in you..." God this sounds cheesy. Always seems to when I try and make an actual, thought out point. It's why I should just keep my mouth shut in general, but hell, I can't. Usually I'm mouthing off with aspirations of escalating the situation. With Aguirre...I just wanna transmit my thought process out of this thick skull and through her equally thick brain casing. She can probably see that annoyance in my eyes, though I do hope the empathy is there as well. "I don't think you realise how dark things can get. And I don't want you to." I sigh. It sounds condescending, overprotective - hell, I even think I'm trying to point out how badass I am and how badass she ain't. But truth is she hasn't gone through the creation rites of a shovel head, hasn't succumb to the beast willingly and graciously. She killed her friend, but she didn't kill faceless innocents that really just got in the way. Faces that have no story or feeling to them, par the weight in your gut that you slaughtered them like an animal. You acted like one and they died like one. Fathers, mothers, children. Ripples of pain, because it sated your perverted tastes. The beast is one thing. Having the world around you, and the things in it get their hands on you and coax it out is another. "Flint's been a mess. Missin' you. I ain't seen him much but it was long enough to know he's hurting." I kindly inform her, and feel a stone drop in my stomach. Something clicks. I tell her for her own benefit, that she get her head sorted fast to make things right as soon as. But I also get that it's eating her up already. That emotional strain might be less preferable than getting clocked in the jaw and having your stupid brain think of nothing that feels good. And honestly? I dunno...who'd have thought Flint would bring this out of me but...I'm a little pissed at her for what she did to him. Like Mac did to me...but a bond making things a thousand fold worse. Holy fuck. That must be agony. Right now, this second, he must be agony. It's not my place to give her a smack to stop being such a bitch...but it sure would be appropriate. But if she's feeling the reflection of his pain all the time too. Fucking hell, she's an idiot. He's an idiot. Fucking carebears and their fucking bonds. I shake my head a little, still standing firm in the middle of the room and realising how out of place it is. So I turn back to the sofa and settle back in my seat. I don't even look at her now. "I suggest ya let him know you're back as soon as. Or I might just have to." |
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| Aguirre Efrain Maddox | Monday, 21. April 2014, 08:52 Post #11 |
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Mouse
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Quite the turnaround from being the supportive Sire figure to letting her know just how severely she'd screwed everything up by mentioning how wrong she'd been to leave Sawyer behind in more undertones than words. What the fuck was that, anyway? As things stood, she could swear that Damon didn't even like the Nosferatu, and yet here he was speaking on his behalf. It was a little early to judge just how permanent an impact her prompt departure had made on those in her 'family', but so far it was just about as bad as it could get. She'd learned years ago the what the difference between screaming matches and softly spoken guilt trips were; screaming matches, at least, meant that the problem was straightforward. She and Marcus could scream at each other about the problem for a good half hour and forget it completely the next day when she was a teenager, but when she hurt the feelings of a family member with something stupid she said and the whole family heard about it? The dynamics were different. Supper was awkward. Homework time was dead quiet, no one willing to get up and turn on the radio for fear of stirring the air too much. Bed time would come around, and she'd hear her parents tell her brothers good night and walk right past her room, until her father would finally tell her just what she did wrong and how she should apologize so they could all move past it and continue with business as usual. She knew the drill. She also knew that Damon wasn't her fucking father, and the twisted up expression on her face once she'd finished turning to follow his movement as he relaxed back into the couch might have denoted just how little tolerance she had for the idea of being tattled on at the moment. "That ain't your business," Aguirre said flatly through her teeth, tone as cold as ice. The idea that he might tell Sawyer she was back in town set her on edge; it wasn't at all how she wanted it to happen, not that she wanted a meeting to happen at all. What she really wanted was for their bond to break (if it even could) so they could both be free to do what they would, whether it be travel or stay in the city under different social codes and never see each other again. It was funny to think that Church would advocate instant notification when he'd seen the whole situation unfold and informed them of how absolutely ridiculous the snap decision was in the first place. She wasn't going to deal with feeling unsafe under a roof where she was supposed to feel secure, wasn't going to chance walking into the apartment one evening to see Sawyer and Church stationed on the couch for a proper intervention. That wasn't even to mention the fact that whatever darkness Aguirre experienced was nothing Damon could ever control, whether he really wanted to or not. It wasn't even something she could control herself, an obvious notation in the unfamiliar tone of her skin and the demeanor in her features painted there since the last time he'd seen her. Not that she knew just how many innocents he'd killed, but that, in turn, obviously wasn't her business either. "If what you wanna do is hurt him more, you go ahead and tell him I'm here. See how quick he gets on a train and how quick I'll be on one in the opposite direction and try to explain that shit. It ain't like I don't have a good reason for not goin' straight to the lobby phone to let him know I'm here, and whether you believe me or not just isn't the point. But I do expect you to try and trust me on that, both of y'all. Gettin' my head sorted ain't just an excuse, it's a valid concern. You're the only asshole in this city that I can trust to deal with me right now. I'd just.. end up sayin' somethin' awful to him, and that isn't how things need to end. Not that things would end, necessarily. We'd just hate each for however long until we were able to go our separate ways without feelin' like there's a gapin' chasm in our chests. That's significantly worse." |
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| Church | Tuesday, 22. April 2014, 23:54 Post #12 |
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Putting the 'fun' in 'dysfunctional'
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I give up. Or...I wanna. Cause she's right, it ain't my business. Frankly, I don't want any part of this shit sandwich, but biting is one of the few things I'm good for. I can't comment about the relation between the two cause I don't really know. They ain't as...let's say 'in your face' as me and Mac. We may have been a smidgen too loud on several occasions. Those two it's maybe something a little different. Someone that makes it bearable, worth going through the hell. What I do know is they went and got their dumbasses bonded, and that was just...fucked. That, in turn, makes them fucked. Stupid. Oh don't I know that fucking feeling... "Mac's gone Aguirre. She vanished just like you. And it sucks." I have to swallow after saying that name. Choke down the bad taste it leaves in my mouth. I pick up the remote and turn on the TV just so I don't have to look at her. I'm greeted by a herd of penguins trotting along the north pole or some shit, basking in the sun might I add. Cunts. They don't make me feel any better, but maybe if I lose my shit I can pretend I hate penguins. I know I hate this conversation. "She's the only person who's been able to...I dunno. What I know is I miss that bitch every fucking second and...I ain't even got her blood in me. Well, I mean, I did but..." I'm at a loss for words. I'll never forgive these morons for willingly putting each other in hell. "That bond is something more than you realise. You're feelin' it too, I get that...just..." I shake my head. I'm quite content to just walk out of here right now and go to bed however many hours too early. Or, better yet, I know other ways to fill my time. Or not so much fill it as make it pass in a fuzzy cloud of unknowing. It's a bad thought...and without a distraction I get more and more every day. But good guy Church don't wanna walk out on Aguirre, or make this about him. Or make it about the penguins getting fucked up by...what the fuck are those things? I look at her cause I guess I can't multitask. Hopefully she won't see how lousy I'm feeling. Or...maybe I do want her to see it. Might coax out the sweetheart who picked my drunk ass up off a bench. She'll promise to do it as soon as she can, even if that is a few nights, I don't want this lingering. I don't want her hurting and, strangely, I don't want Flint hurting either, albeit my concern for him is somewhat lower in the grand scheme of things...he was the one who got screwed. "I won' tell'im. I won' needta. Thing with a bond is you can sit there and think about that person. And think about where they are, what they're doing. And the blood will respond. He'll know you're back, or at least know you're a damn sight closer." I can speak from experience, even if it was a long ass time ago. I was a ghoul for a long ass time, and being imprisoned with that addiction was fucking...lord. Feeding off Jack was bad enough, when he'd up and leave on business for a few days I never felt comfortable. But with Eve? I wanted to claw those fucking walls down. Go fucknuts whenever she came by for my fix that, in reflection, only made things worse. S'funny...I never really think about her no more. Maybe cause it sucked. Or maybe cause I know nothing about her. She bottled shit like me. Like Aguirre. Stubborn fucks. Everybody I god damn know. I swear I'm saner than most people I've met. "I won't say no more on the subject, alright?" There. Done. Please just...listen. Don't argue with me, don't list reasons why you can't. I ain't ordering you to do shit just fucking absorb it. I wonder if I can say all that with my eyes and words when I'm so much better at communicating with my fists? |
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| Aguirre Efrain Maddox | Wednesday, 23. April 2014, 05:43 Post #13 |
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Mouse
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This whole situation was fucked, which was an apparent silent agreement between both of the uncomfortable figures occupying the apartment, even if they didn't know it. The raging vulgarity in both of their thoughts was something of a hive mind at this point, something of a similarity that they might have appreciated were they not so busy trying not to look at or speak to each other anymore than was absolutely required. This was exactly that shunning silence that every person who ever made a bad decision felt from everyone they loved at least once in their lives, especially if that shitty decision seemed to make no sense to anyone else at the time. Aguirre couldn't even express to him exactly what she was thinking, what she wanted, besides very clearly enunciating the fact that Sawyer could absolutely not know she was home. It was important. It was important for the Nosferatu more than anyone, that he be fucking free regardless of how much he hated being forced into it. Even then, he'd never really be free, because he did so love to be told what to do by whomever would hand him the orders. He didn't need another person twisting the gears in his head backwards though, on top of everyone else he wanted to help and please and look after. "Mac's gone Aguirre. She vanished just like you. And it sucks." She understood his persistence in her seeing Sawyer now, even if it took bashing her thick skull into the information to see it. That cold heart fell right into her stomach, just like it always did when she knew she'd fucked up or pushed too hard. She should have seen it before. She should have noticed the physical pain he seemed to be in, even if she hadn't seen him since January. She still knew him and knew that he didn't mourn a damn thing unless it really, truly mattered--and he was in mourning. He was grieving. He'd loved every second of that crazy Amazonian bitch beating him down, throwing his head into her elbow, Jesus Christ. Their family fell apart at the seams and all the good little bits were leaking out like feathers from a down pillow. What was happening here? After the information settled at the base of her feet, she managed to pick them up--feeling again like weights were attached to her ankles--and stepped around to sit down next to him. Whatever, she had no boundaries to concern herself with. All that distrust, all that misplaced resentment, it went away with that weak little swallow at the mention of Mac. "I didn't know. F-f-f--Goddamnit. Fuck, I'm sorry. I mean, what happened? No, no, that ain't my business either... I'm sorry I bailed on you, sorry everybody did. It ain't right." She heaved a sigh, elbows resting on her knees while she tried to rub the disbelief and need for secure rest out of her eyes. Sure, Mac was fickle, but never for Church. She never would have been able to imagine exactly what would drive her out of his arms so drastically, especially with the kind of abuse they put on each other as a form of foreplay and the amount of love shared between them despite that fact. It wasn't just lust or boredom, it was something worthwhile. It was two crazy fucks finding a sense of synchronization, Damon seeming genuinely happy about something in what she guessed was a very long time. It was unique, and worth the sense of loss. She brought her hands away from her eyes, only to rest a temple on the palm of one hand to turn and look at him with sideways frustration. "Look, I get what you're sayin'. I do. But it's not better this way. That bond's just another form of manipulation, whether it's on purpose or not. For what little I knew, I knew that; s'why I didn't let him keep it one sided like he wanted. Even bonded to him, even hearin' him in my head all the time, I can keep that thought straight. Things only got worse and worse, y'know? That's a sign. A fuckin' omen. But... I appreciate you not sayin' anything. I'll find my way around to him eventually. Not like I got much of a choice in the matter." Yeah, he said he'd drop it. That wasn't the point. Aguirre would find Sawyer eventually, if only because Damon said to do it, and she knew for that reason alone that she wouldn't be able to rip this eternal hangover off like a band aid. She owed it to the older Brujah to do things right sometimes, or at least do what he thought was right when the situation permitted. Besides... Potential black mail was enough to get her off her ass. |
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| Church | Thursday, 1. May 2014, 19:24 Post #14 |
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Putting the 'fun' in 'dysfunctional'
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Little choice in the matter indeed. I could say it, but I won't. I could detail how he broke in here in some fucked up quest of finding her, how he'd wanted to burn things cause, well, cause they hurt to be around I imagine. The vision of seeing things that Aguirre touched or owned, and especially things she made with her own two hands, it was enough for me to worry 'bout lover boy. More than...I was comfortable with. A night that I'd rather forget all the details of. And as for 'the bond' - well, I ain't saying no more. Don't have the right anymore, especially considering what happened down the stairs not too long ago. Fucking baby bitch. But being ignorant and stupid sure differs from entering wholeheartedly and willingly. "You gotta do...what you gotta do..." I shrug, my eyes not swaying from the TV as I flick the channels down into the triple digits and things get distinctively grainier. Hang 'Em High? Classic. Even if I've seen it already this week. Part of me wants to pick out a lucky bag from my stash, find some pretty little thing and make her blood a wicked cocktail. The other part? It wants to watch this dumb movie, or those fucking penguins or gods damn a blank screen...with Aguirre. Just have her sit close enough that I can remember that I have friends. That I can lie to myself that my life won't end alone and miserable. To hope that maybe someday I'll drive someone nuts like those two do with one another. That I'll be missed. Welcome home, Mouse. To the pit of self loathing and wallowing that is London. God fucking dammit. |
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3:14 PM Jul 11