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| Welcome To The Night You find yourself in London on a dreary, foggy night like any other. But what lurks in the shadows is the stuff of fantasies and nightmares, far from mortal reality. This game uses the cursed and immortal vampiric condition as a backdrop to explore themes of morality, depravity, the human condition, salvation, and personal horror. We are a writing and roleplaying community dedicated to telling complex and engaging stories. Your fate is your own. Mingle among the ivory-tower elite in the Camarilla, join the fight of the discontented and chaotic Anarch rabble, or set out independently and attempt to survive in London's nighttime underworld. Anything is possible in our World of Darkness. Create Your Account! If you're already a member, please log in to your account to access all of our features: |
| Don't Push Me!; {NSFW, Possible Triggers} | |
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| Topic Started: Monday, 6. March 2017, 16:58 (589 Views) | |
| Robyne | Monday, 6. March 2017, 16:58 Post #1 |
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-- Hound --
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[avatar=https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LbdkK76VoWI/WL2AotmAmYI/AAAAAAAACPM/0ZGfHcuDSewp4G2FYEyySI8jl8YGZBaPwCLcB/s1600/Liam.jpg] [alias=Liam] NPC -- Liam, Mortal ![]() Cheam, Sutton, London Cheam... a shitty little hole in the shit-end of everything. Not much here to look at. Not much here to do. Church ladies, old people, a second-rate nightclub that rips you off, and not much else. No jobs here, no real money here. Nothing to do or see here. You could go east or north but you won't get far without money. Won't get far without at least fare. Not much to do. Not many places to hang out. Not many places where a bloke like me wouldn't get thrown out on sight. If you look needy, look and smell like you haven't showered in a while... they'll toss you out. No one has patience for a drifter or someone down on their luck. That's what I am, down on my luck, really. For real. Sure I made some bad choices in life. Who hasn't? I smoke a little, drink a lot-- but who doesn't? Everybody that's a drop out or lost a job drinks something or smokes something. What else is there to do? No one is going to give a drop out a break. Never liked school. Never liked the teachers or the people I was with. They were all snitches. You couldn't do much of anything in school. And I was sick and tired of being told what to think, how to think, and having everyone looking over my shoulder. Didn't like being pushed around. Didn't like the way they looked down on me and kept telling me I'd never amount to anything. They made me believe I was worthless and no good. Yeah, I was worthless-- but I didn't need them to remind me and rub it in my face. The least they could so was prop a bloke up and help him out. But maybe I couldn't be helped. Maybe I didn't want their help. I didn't like their kind of help. I didn't buy into the Jesus shit. That's not freedom and that's not right. Telling people how damned they are and how everything is a sin from the moment you're born. People think like that and it's no wonder no one can get anywhere in the world. Nothing they do will matter if it's never good enough. Nothing was good enough for my teachers. So why should I have bothered to try? What's the point of anything if all you can do is be a fuck up? _________________________________________________________________________________ Liam takes a long pull and gulp from his bottle and walks up the hill towards the flat where his girlfriend is crashing. A friend of hers was letting her stay the night. She worked something out with her friend and agreed to watch her kid if she could crash on her couch and use her shower or something. She probably got a little money too. Though she probably spent it already. Julie can be rude like that. Inconsiderate. Self-centered and selfish. Always thinking of herself. He could use a hit too. He could use a hot shower and a place to crash. Why couldn't she hook him up? He could have sat around and watched a kid for few hours. Fucking Julie was getting high, that's what she was doing. Getting high without him. Fucking bitch. Edited by Robyne, Tuesday, 7. March 2017, 20:54.
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| Robyne | Monday, 6. March 2017, 17:27 Post #2 |
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-- Hound --
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[avatar=https://3.bp.blogspot.com/--XDDjp9CkQM/WL2Aos6Z2NI/AAAAAAAACPI/0qQFYZ1oTIQxPsh3_NW-CQjWL9iHiv7owCLcB/s1600/Julie1.jpg] [alias=Julie] NPC -- Julie, Mortal![]() Thank God for friends. Thank God. You know? I mean, I wouldn't know where I'd be without friends. Bloody well on the street, shaking, freezing cold, probably dying and I wouldn't even know. I know I'm messed up. The whole world knows. The whole sick fucking, bloody, damned world knows I am messed up inside and out. Whatever it is, I probably smoked it, shot it up my arms and between my toes or thighs, or sniffed and snorted it or gulped it down with something. I am sick inside and out. I know it and God knows it and everyone in the whole bum sucking world knows it. I did it to myself and I know that too. I ain't blaming anyone else for my problems and screw ups. It's on me and I know that. I chose smack and draw. I chose to shoot. I didn't know any better. I have this ADHD shit running in my head all the time and I hear voices-- I really do--all the time. My brain is like constantly running like a hamster in a wheel. I took pills to slow it down and when that didn't work-- pills gave me nightmares-- I drank to numb my brain. When that wasn't working, I tried something else, and something else, and something else and something else. Now I burnt out half my brain and one of my lungs or something. I am tired all the time but can't sleep. The voices and nightmares keep me up. Clinics won't take me until I clean up and totally detox. I want to though but I don't like the shakes and how my stomach feels. I don't like puking up stuff and I don't like sweating. I don't want my brain to go spinning inside my head. I got to detox like gradually. My friend says she can help me. But I think I'll just get hooked on methadone or suboxone. _________________________________________________________________________________ Julie sits on a brown, worn out, beat up old couch and stares blankly at the television. Some game show is on but she hardly pays attention. Her eyes are glazing over. She's exhausted physically, mentally, and emotionally. Her brain is spinning in a blurry haze of heroin bliss and cheap vodka. She is barely awake and there's hardly anything apparently registering in her brain right now. Just the blur, whirring about in a constant spin cycle that is just now beginning to sort of wind down. On her lap, 8 month old Caitlyn. In a teddy bear patterned onesie, sucking on a bottle. Her head up against Julie's slight breasts, her eyes blinking sleepily. The infant is tucked in Julie's arm. The child smells. Her diaper needs to be changed. The child could also use a bath. The living room is full of stale smells and cigarette smoke. The room is full of scattered garbage. Magazines on the floor, empty drink cups and empty bottles, scattered kids toys, empty take-out containers and pizza boxes, a pile of dirty clothes sits in a corner of the room smelling of shit and urine and other rank and stale smells. Flies are hovering over the clothes and a overstuffed kitchen garbage bin. There are bed bugs crawling all over the couch cushions. There are roaches skittering about from their hiding places. None of it registers in Julie's mind whatsoever. It's as if it is all background white noise and fog. Edited by Robyne, Tuesday, 7. March 2017, 21:54.
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| Robyne | Monday, 6. March 2017, 18:21 Post #3 |
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-- Hound --
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![]() [avatar=https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qtG5GzmMFsg/WL2UD-lYqDI/AAAAAAAACQA/1OVEySWjUn8B-R0maD6Ie7IQhH5JR8BawCLcB/s1600/RAV.jpg] It's hard to say where Cheam is at these nights. It has been a while since I felt I could dedicate a whole night again to just my home and haven and special places. I never knew London could be so overwhelming and my responsibilities as Hound could be doubly so. Yet, if I wasn't Hound, I doubt I would ever be taken seriously or given any respect. And I wouldn't trade it for anything, really. London needs a Hound like me. They may not know it, but they will soon enough. Someone has to care about people, places, and things. Someone with some kind of heart and some kind of compassion and some kind of empathy needs to look out for everyone. Someone who still has a foot planted on solid ground and their head screwed on. I just wanted my own corner of the world. My own spaces and my own places. I just wanted to call Cheam my home and take care of it. I wanted to belong to Cheam and hoped Cheam would belong to me. Cheam has grown on me these past two years. It really has. And I come to find it needs me and I need Cheam. We suit each other. The people here are in need of a guardian and protector-- a kind and inspiring spirit. And I need them. I need their company. I need them to need me. Whether I am in Westminster, visiting Russo, trying to figure him out and help him see the light... or I am in Richmond Park, keeping an eye out for Mr. Raveling... or patrolling Kingston-Upon-Thames making sure the Tremere and Brujah aren't declaring war on each other's feeding grounds... my heart always belongs here in Cheam. Whenever I am gone, I am always missing Cheam and always needing to go back here. I can see that some areas are still plagued with drugs. I think no matter what I do or what I can do, there will always be drugs slipping in and out. I see things are looking a little more grey and dismal on the east side of town towards Wonderland and in that direction. I noticed some store closings. A few more apartments are boarded up with "for sale" or "for lease" signs up. I see a few more lonely people... a few more drifters and wanderers walking up and down the streets looking aimlessly for nothing in particular. Things aren't looking so good. Still better than what they were lately... but still depressed and still struggling. When I first came here... Cheam was a bit happier and brighter, even at night, there was more peace and a sense that things were okay. But I guess the more I looked around and the closer I saw things and took notice, the more I realized not everything was so rosy after all. Underneath all the nice things... were people trying to ruin everything-- especially themselves. And I wish I could know why. Why were some people so destructive to themselves and others? Why could people be so cruel and heartless? _________________________________________________________________________________ The town wasn't looking quite like it used to in Robyne's gleaming fox eyes. While keeping up with her responsibilities as Hound, doing sweeping patrols all over London and taking surveys of her fellow Kindred, she had neglected to keep some regular tabs on Cheam. She neglected to notice the gradual decay and decline of some of her once familiar neighborhoods and surroundings. Some of the progress she has made over the last two years was beginning to lose some of its polish and shine so to speak. Seems some of the nasty elements she had scared off or thinned out, were again beginning to creep back in-- like vicious weeds in her precious garden. This might make feeding interesting again and opportunities a little more plentiful... but these were bittersweet observations she was making. She truly only wanted the best for Cheam and now she feels guilty for letting Cheam begin to slip through the cracks again. If only there was some better way to balance her duties and find a way to take better care of Cheam. Edited by Robyne, Tuesday, 7. March 2017, 22:36.
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| Robyne | Tuesday, 7. March 2017, 21:47 Post #4 |
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-- Hound --
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[avatar=https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LbdkK76VoWI/WL2AotmAmYI/AAAAAAAACPM/0ZGfHcuDSewp4G2FYEyySI8jl8YGZBaPwCLcB/s1600/Liam.jpg] [alias=Liam] NPC -- Liam, Mortal ![]() Nothing pisses me off more than betrayal. Nothing pisses me off more than someone letting me down, selling me out, or cheating on me. People who promise one thing but do the complete opposite. Julie promised me a lot of things. Yeah, I know she's a dope head and she's messed up... bollocks, we're all messed up. But look at where we are and what is going on around here. All we have is our promises. All we can seem to keep for ourselves is promises. She promised to have my back and I promised to have hers. She promised to split things fifty-fifty. We lose jobs, lose our homes, lose our families... we lose our friends too. We don't keep much or get much. Well we get a lot of slogging and slagging. We get tossed and kicked around. We get run out and run over. We take our lumps. Society gives it to us. The town, the county, the people man. Bollocks. Who cares now what we do except to keep promises to each other. The rest of the world can eat shit and die. No one cares about us anymore. We can only care about ourselves and each other. But if we don't care about each other, then there isn't much to care about, is there? _________________________________________________________________________________ Half the way up the hill and half a bottle later, Liam makes his way towards 232 Kingston Avenue. Grain alcohol-- cheap vodka in a plastic bottle really--has dulled his thinking, dulled his eyes... yet has added some fuel to his growing temper. He is pretty sure he knows where he is going but is certain about where he needs to be and what he needs to be doing. He needs to find Julie and set her straight about some things. She can't be making money behind his back. She can't be scoring hits without him. Where is she now when he needs someone to have his back? He's feeling low. He's feeling left out. The day was long. The night was feeling like a drag and he needed a hit of something to sort of change the mood. He needed a high to spike himself up from the downward slide. The downward slide... it was always downward and always steep. It was a constant. Not many ups and way too many downs and he was tired and miserable and fed up with it. And if he was miserable, he needed company. Misery loves company. He can't handle misery alone-- and why should he? Where's Julie? "Julie?! Julie?! Where the fuck are you?!" Liam bellows and shouts out. His head sways easily left to right and right to left. He looks around. The street is dim and dark and as he approaches the corner of Walton Avenue, his swagger is gaining strength. The cold night air is egging him on, motivating him. The vodka dulls his senses but sharpens his fiery mood. The night air chills him but doesn't quite sober him up. "Get out here you fucking bitch! Where are you?!" he screams and shouts. "Get the fuck out here!" It doesn't matter if anyone shouts back. It doesn't matter who is telling him to bugger off or shut up. He is oblivious to any complaints or shouting. He is looking more than listening. And as far as looking went, he is really only looking for one thing in particular-- one person in particular. "Julie! Get the fuck out here!!!" Edited by Robyne, Wednesday, 8. March 2017, 22:28.
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| Robyne | Tuesday, 7. March 2017, 22:33 Post #5 |
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-- Hound --
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NPC-- Julie, Mortal [avatar=https://3.bp.blogspot.com/--XDDjp9CkQM/WL2Aos6Z2NI/AAAAAAAACPI/0qQFYZ1oTIQxPsh3_NW-CQjWL9iHiv7owCLcB/s1600/Julie1.jpg] [alias=Julie] ![]() Must be nice to go on a quiz show, answer a few questions and win a ton of cash. Must be nice to win a fancy car or trip somewhere or a new dinette set or bedroom set. Must be great to be frightfully smart and brilliant. Must be great to be so clever and lucky. Otherwise... well if you're not smart or clever... you're a loser. You're me. You're hopeless. I'm hopeless. Look at me. Look at my clothes... look where I am... I am like white noise. Meaningless and annoying and just there in the background. I feel worthless. I am so very tired. So tired... but I can't sleep. I have bad dreams... nightmares.... It hurts that I can't tell the difference between bad dream and waking bad life. Real and dream and nightmare feel the same, look the same, and smell the same. It all looks and smells like shit. It's all shit. I am so tired of shit. I am tired of feeling and looking like shit. But what can I do? No one wants me. No one wants to listen to me or hire me for a job. No one gives shit the time of day. My clothes smell... my hair smells... my skin itches... my eyes burn... my body shakes. My stomach burns, my throat burns. My voice is hoarse and cracked. I can't think straight. I need a fix to set me straight but it eats away at me and burns more of me out. I do shit to even me out but it stresses me out just thinking about how up and down and all around I am. The voices in my head scream if I don't do something to numb or silence them-- no I can't really silence them. Awake or sleeping, the voices still say things or shout things or murmur or whisper. When you have nothing... when people take it from you all the time... or when you give it all up... you feel the holes and suddenly want to fill them up again with something. I have nothing. I am stupid. I trust too much and give to much... I am too trusting. But I also know I am a stupid. I know I am a stupid person. If I could have done differently, I would have liked to not have been born in the first place-- because I know I would just ruin everything. I wouldn't have tried dope or heroin... I would not have tried smoking rocks.... But what fills the hole when there's nothing to do, no jobs, no places to hang out.... When the hole is deeper and bigger and blacker than a lost job, a fight with mum and dad, a broken down car, a dead end life in a dead end town... what fills that hole? What could? I feel swallowed up in the hole. I feel dragged into it. Pulled into it. Sucked in. Or shoved in sometimes. _________________________________________________________________________________ She needs a hit. Something to silence the voices in her head. The angry voices. Shouting in her head, calling her name. Voices that accuse her, demand her attention, want her where they can see her. Julie reaches for her "works". She needs something to pull her up and pull her out. She needs a high for all this low. In her little black bag, a syringe, some magic powder, a bent spoon, and her little white lighter. On her lap, eighteen month Caitlyn is crying. She's been moved and jostled. And now she is picked up and dumped aside on the couch-- like a heap of magazines or another heap of dirty clothes for the laundry basket. The crying and screaming doesn't register in Julie's mind. It doesn't seem to compete with the voices in her head, shouting her name. Julie wraps the tourniquet around her left forearm and tightens it. She looks at the scars and cuts and trails she has made. She is searching for a vein that hasn't been tapped... an artery that hasn't been wrecked too much. The wounds are many... many of them self-inflected... some not so much. And if every scar or slice into her flesh that has become something like a wicked tattoo had a story behind it, she'd have a library. In some sense, her skin and body is a library. A library of poverty, despair, depression, and self-destruction. She lights up and cooks her magic powder in the spoon... she watches it sizzle and bubble... and the kid is screaming in the background, with the white noise on the television... and the screaming in her head. Edited by Robyne, Wednesday, 8. March 2017, 22:56.
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| Robyne | Tuesday, 7. March 2017, 23:11 Post #6 |
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-- Hound --
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[avatar=https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qtG5GzmMFsg/WL2UD-lYqDI/AAAAAAAACQA/1OVEySWjUn8B-R0maD6Ie7IQhH5JR8BawCLcB/s1600/RAV.jpg]![]() Things are much easier when it seems when the world seems smaller, feels smaller-- more, familiar? And it becomes more familiar when you feel you can wrap your arms around it and embrace it and approach everything at once. I like that. I like the feeling I can embrace something and wrap my arms around it. Because then I can be close to it and try and understand it and commune with it. I like being close to people and places and as I look around Cheam, I am glad it is a small place... a small town. I feel I can wrap my arms around this town and hold it all in. I like to know the people around me. I like to know their joys and their happiness. I like to know their sadness and struggles too. I want to know their good and their bad stories. I want to feel their joy is my joy and their hurts are my hurts-- or they become my hurts. I want to know their hurts so I can help them and heal them somehow. I don't like seeing people suffer. I don't like watching good people suffer in pain. I don't like it when bad things happen to nice people. It doesn't seem right. It doesn't seem fair at all. I want to know what's wrong so I can try and make things more fair somehow. It would only make sense. Here I am with all this power and special abilities and things and you would think that some good has to be possible from having all this. Why would God Almighty put me in these shoes and not expect me to wear them? Why would God have this happen to me if He didn't expect me to do something with what I've been given? It may be bad... but it doesn't have to always be bad or stay bad. Couldn't some good come from the bad? Vampires weren't born this way... they were made this way. I wasn't born to be a killer or parasite on humanity. I was born to be an ordinary girl doing ordinary things in ordinary ways. I became someone who stuck up for people and protected friends and chased after bullies and did the right thing. Why should that change just because I happen to have fangs and claws and such? Why are so many convinced that I am a monster? When I look around, I see people who are far worse than I am. I see brutes who take advantage of women and beat them and rape them and toss them around like garbage. I see sleazy drug dealers selling death in pills and powders to kids who don't know any better. I see people who don't care about themselves or anyone else who simply want the thrill of killing just to break up the boredom in their lives. I see people who would kick a family out in the street just because they were falling behind on their rent. I see people who would molest and abuse children because they can't find love anywhere... they don't want normal relationships, they want to control and simply have sex with the helpless and powerless and completely trusting child. Call me a monster? That doesn't make much sense in this world I see. I am trying to help the world and heal it-- not kill it, molest it, rape it, or destroy it. I am taking the evil away. I am purging the evil to make more room for the good. I am trying to protect the good things and the innocent things. I am trying! _________________________________________________________________________________ Whittaker Road was just one of several streets Robyne patrolled on her way to the Kimpton Industrial Park. Most of the apartment flats all pretty much looked the same at this end of the street. Some in better shape than others. Some of the apartments were looking a bit more drab than she remembered. A few places looked a little more neglected than others. Out in the small lawns of some, signs were posted advertising "For Sale" and "For Rent". Quite a few apartments and homes seemed to be advertising that. Were rents going up? Lots of reasons for folks to want to leave... Families grow out their home and seek more bedrooms for new additions... people find better jobs and need to move closer to work... but there are other reasons to leave too. Crime drives people away... job losses... kids growing up and leaving home... lots of reasons. Cheam had always seemed like a nice place to be. At least Robyne thought so and still thinks so. But maybe she was missing something? Maybe it has been a while since she had done a proper and real thorough patrol in her proverbial backyard. Maybe she was slipping? Maybe she wasn't being as proactive and as vigilant as she could be? Maybe she was spread too thin. Maybe she was taking on more than she could handle? Maybe she needed to reconsider her feelings about being a Hound? Robyne paused with that thought. And in that thought-space, something broke the silence around. Some shouting... a voice-- a shrill, angry, vicious scream and shout. Her fox ears perked and she had to brush her curls around them to get a better listen. There was real rage in the voice. It was close... very close... maybe a street nearby... a very loud shouting that really carried and echoed. Edited by Robyne, Tuesday, 7. March 2017, 23:19.
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| Robyne | Wednesday, 8. March 2017, 22:52 Post #7 |
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-- Hound --
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[avatar=https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LbdkK76VoWI/WL2AotmAmYI/AAAAAAAACPM/0ZGfHcuDSewp4G2FYEyySI8jl8YGZBaPwCLcB/s1600/Liam.jpg] [alias=Liam] NPC -- Liam, Mortal The fire inside Liam grows but the sharpness behind it dulls and his words and thoughts slur with each heavy gulp of vodka he pours into the furnace of his throat and belly. He's angry because he feels betrayed, left out, and cheated. But it isn't just about Julie. It's about his whole stinking life. But he can't admit that. He can't see that. Either by choice or because he's just too drunk. It is so much simpler to blame someone else-- blame the other guy or society for all his faults and flaws and fuck-ups. It was not about his choices or his stubborn, thick-headed defiance. No... it was always someone else's fault. He didn't get fired from his job, no... the boss didn't like him. He didn't flunk out of school, no... the teachers simply didn't like him. The classes challenged him too much. His classmates were too stuck-up or they were bullies or there was too much homework... or he didn't have enough tutors or people helping him... or he didn't get enough sleep. It wasn't the drugs, no... of course not... it was the stress that made him smoke... it was the pressure of society getting on his case that made him drink so much... and if people would just cut him a break and give him some slack, he wouldn't be so angry and pissed off all the time. It was always someone else at fault... never did he look in the mirror and point to himself and say, "Here I am... here lies the problem." Julie... fucking Julie getting high right now, making money behind his back... probably having the time of her life... and secretly thinking she was somehow better than him too. He could see the way she looks at him... or avoids his gaze and looks. Which explains why she runs off to her friends so often and they don't make out as often as they used to. Maybe Julie thinks she can do without him? A few more gulps of shitty vodka seems to drive that idea deeper into his muddled head. The things he'd like to do right now to Julie-- to get some things straight-- to make things even again. He'd slap her around and remind her of who she was and where she was at. She ain't no better. She's no better than him or anyone else they know in this shithole town. He'd knock some sense into her. "Julie! Where the-- where the fuck are you?" Liam demands. His head rolls around on his shoulders and he stumbles and swaggers and sways wildly along the pavement. He whips his empty vodka bottle at a parked car. There is an explosion of glass as the car alarm erupts with horns and whistles and obnoxious sound. Porch lights and living room lights come to life along the street. Curious residents peek through curtains to see what the commotion is. Liam doesn't care. Maybe there are people right now calling the police, reporting the disturbance he is making. He doesn't care. They an all sod off and go fuck themselves. "JULIE!!! GET THE FUCK OUT HERE!!!!" He screams out until his throat burns and in the effort something inside erupts and he has to fold over and puke some of it up. He stumbles into a trash can and knocks it over in a loud clanging cymbal smash. He kicks it out of the way. The world is shit and garbage all around him. Beating Julie is the only thing that will make anything better in his mind. Because he is out here in the shit with the garbage and she is somewhere else having a jolly old time with the magic dragon and his pixie dust. He looks around. He has no clue where he is now. Nothing seems familiar anymore. But he stumbles on until Julie comes to find him. If she comes out to find him. She better find him, he demands. "Come find me Julie! Come find me right the fuck now! Right this minute!" he screams and throws a fist in the air. He kicks around the garbage he has spread across the street. He almost trips over something. Someone shouts at him-- curses at him from the safety of their front door. A big old man in his boxers and stained white t-shirt. There's a challenge. Liam turns and faces the big fat slob... or the blur of a well-cut man... doesn't matter. Liam doesn't say no to a challenge. Liam reaches behind him and pulls out his monkey wrench from his belt. If he can't fix a fucking car, he can sure as hell fix this man's bloody face. He may not be trusted to re-align some tires or change the oil on a customer's car... but he sure can realign a face and knock some teeth in and out of adjustment with this wrench of his. He can most assuredly do that. "You wanna fuck with me bloke?" Liam shouts out, waving his wrench around. Edited by Robyne, Thursday, 9. March 2017, 20:38.
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| Robyne | Wednesday, 8. March 2017, 23:18 Post #8 |
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-- Hound --
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NPC-- Julie, Mortal [avatar=https://3.bp.blogspot.com/--XDDjp9CkQM/WL2Aos6Z2NI/AAAAAAAACPI/0qQFYZ1oTIQxPsh3_NW-CQjWL9iHiv7owCLcB/s1600/Julie1.jpg] [alias=Julie] The needle finds its mark and pierces through skin and finds the river of blood. Slowly Julie presses the syringe plunger and sends the clear amber liquid into that river. And her eyes flutter and roll up to the sky in instant ecstasy. And the rush surges through her and numbs her and silences the world around her-- and silences the voice shouting in her head from wherever it comes from. She shakes, but she has no feeling. Her body jerks, but she is somewhere else. All of the dragon's magic juice is in her vein now, rushing to her brain where it will do its stuff-- it's magic. Where it will burn some neurons, dissolve some memories, cleanse away some feelings and emotions... and just leave her... sort of.... floating. In the land of the dragon, everyone floats. Everyone floats with dragon juice and pixie dust. And when she floats, all her problems seem to float away too and dissolve into nothingness. There is just painless, silent, numbness... and empty relief. As Julie leans back on the couch, her head back and her pupils floating away skyward... her mouth gaping open... as if in awe... of how wonderful the feeling of nothingness.... drool and bubbles of frothy foamy spittle and saliva gather in the corners of her mouth and dribble down her chin.... Most of her muscles twitch and spasm... but others relax completely... and sink into the couch... while she feels herself floating away... and dissolving.... The infant beside her is crying and screaming on the couch cushion beside her. There is a noise outside. There is a voice shouting and screaming. A garbage can is rolling along on the pavement, its content spilling out-- but neither Julie or the infant can comprehend what is approaching and what is happening. Julie is dissolving... the infant is screaming and crying... and hungry... and hurting. A door suddenly blasts open with a sharp piercing crack. It gets kicked in and breaks from one of its hinges. The sudden burst of sound terrifies the baby. Her screams shriek louder. Something gets knocked over, then gets kicked across the room with an explosion of sound against a wall. Something breaks and shatters... and splinters. There's shouting and yelling... the baby keeps screaming out-- her little hands grasping at nothing, her pudgy little arms reaching for someone or something to comfort her and hold her-- but nothing and no one comes to her rescue. Julie's eyes are glassy white marbles... her body is shaking and trembling... her mouth is frothing white frothy saliva... she is having an overdose of dissolving magic dragon juice... she is dissolving away-- where there is no baby, no stress, no anxiety, no shitty dead-ends, no arguments with mum or dad, no fights with her dead-end boyfriend... no white noise from the television... no voices in her head trying to fight with her.... there is just floating... empty... silence.... Sort of.... almost... almost silence.... almost... nearly there. Edited by Robyne, Thursday, 9. March 2017, 21:13.
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| Robyne | Wednesday, 8. March 2017, 23:55 Post #9 |
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-- Hound --
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![]() The shouting was getting louder and sharper. She could actually feel the anger in the air. Yet she could see nothing and couldn't be sure where exactly it was coming from. It was close but she couldn't pinpoint where to go meet it. Left or right? Up the hill or down? Was it only an echo that was carried or was it closer than an echo? Was it coming from behind her or in front of her? She pushed her hair away from her ears and stood as still as she could and craned her neck in every direction, like her head was a sort of Gangrel radar dish. She was tuning in to the anger. Her Beast was tuning in eagerly and expectantly. A feed was coming. The Beast was jumping inside her with anticipation. Robyne tries to follow the noises... tries to steer herself towards the most intense epicenter of it. She focuses. In her way, she becomes something like an emotional Geiger counter or seismograph... making every part of her sensitive to emotional vibrations and tremors... testing the air around her for radioactive hate, rage, and aggression. She takes a left and looks both ways as she darts across an empty street. Lights flick on from some of the flats and houses on the street. Someone is definitely disturbing the peace around here and that disturbance is very close.... and very pissed off. Robyne can finally make out some words... actually a name... "Julie". The name means nothing to her accept that its the name of someone who has stirred this man's deepest, darkest anger. And she could feel that anger like an incredible invisible shockwave against her chest. Like a supernova with after shocks and wave after wave of percussive energy with every shout of that name... "Julie". Robyne sniffs the air and quickens her pace. She continues to follow the voice nearby as it grows louder and more vicious to her ears. She hears a tumbling garbage can. She hears more shouting. She quickens her pace even more and continues now to jog up the hill... upwards towards a shadowy silhouette of a man partially illuminated by a street light. Robyne pauses and looks around. There is a man coming out to challenge this loud, angry shouter. A door slams. More shouting. A throat burning scream erupts ahead... its too dark for Robyne to see... and the shadow or silhouette had darted away through a space between some hedges and a low brick wall. Robyne didn't quite catch exactly what she saw... still a bit far off. Robyne sprints in that vague direction, not sure what is happening... what will happen... or what could happen. Her Beast is ready and willing and crouching inside her, ready to lash out and strike any second now. A rush flows through Robyne and the instinct or reflex or compulsion to summon claws and fangs and gleaming red eyes is overwhelming, but she fights those urges back... she must be careful... she doesn't know where she is going and doesn't know the threat or danger. There may be eyes watching her every movement now-- and watching the street, watching and waiting some something to explode here.... The scene was unfolding and there would be witnesses. Just now... an explosion of sound... more shouting... Robyne leaps at the sound and sees the front door of an apartment flat just ahead, barely hanging on by a single hinge. Edited by Robyne, Thursday, 9. March 2017, 00:01.
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| Robyne | Thursday, 9. March 2017, 21:12 Post #10 |
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-- Hound --
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[avatar=https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LbdkK76VoWI/WL2AotmAmYI/AAAAAAAACPM/0ZGfHcuDSewp4G2FYEyySI8jl8YGZBaPwCLcB/s1600/Liam.jpg] [alias=Liam] NPC -- Liam, Mortal Liam kicked and shoved his way in like he did with most things that seemed a nuisance or to get in his way. Except that wasn't true of all the obstacles in his way. He didn't really fight to keep his job at the mechanics shop. After his boss caught him drunk and mouthing off to people waiting on their car, his boss really had no choice in the matter, did he? An apology didn't even register in Liam's mind. Why should he apologize? He was so much better than the job, he thought, and so much better than these wankers who couldn't even be bothered to do their own oil changes or refill the windshield wiper fluid or replace their own break pads. He also didn't fight to get better grades in school or achieve more than just enough to pass by here and there. He wasn't even willing to fight to get into a good trade school-- where he knew deep down he'd fit right in. He liked fixing things with his hands and knew a thing or two about taking apart and putting engines back together again. But he lacked patience. He lacked self-discipline. And initiative. And a few other important ingredients as well. But no matter. He's resigned himself to where he is at now for the most part and has resigned himself to getting what he can get from those who won't give him lip or a hard time. Julie here won't give him a hard time. _________________________________________________________________________________ Looking at her, sitting there on some shit brown couch infested with bugs, smelling of shit and piss and other musty old smells... she is leaned all the way back and staring off into space. Her eyes glazed and glossed over and her nose is stuck up in the air. Her mouth gaping open with drool and froth dribbling down her chin and down the front of her neck to the canyon between her tits. She's all in La La Land... the land of dragons on pixie dust. The bitch went and blew her cash on blow and magic powder. Stupid bitch. Now she has to pay. Liam grips the monkey wrench nice and tight in his right hand. There is no doubt in his mind whatsoever as to what he wants to do, what he needs to do, and how he plans on doing it. Without a second's hesitation, he lunges in and closes in swinging, with all the force he can muster, he whips his weapon across the left side of Julie's head-- hard and fast-- with an incredible crack of sound. Right into her skull--full impact--heavy metal into cranium and pudgy, cheeky flesh and fragile jawline. Julie's head is thrown and the rest of her follows. The force of the blow instantly fractures her skull and a portion of it caves into her brain with blood gushing out like a sputtering fountain. Liam pulls his arm back and cocks it for another whipping strike--this time, backhanded-- into her face, directly into her face. Crushing her nose in another explosion of blood. The impact sudden and as lethal as the first blow. Or so he thinks... an arm blindly flails as her whole body twitches and shakes... a horrendous, throaty scream shrieks out of her with sputtering, gurgling sounds. Somehow she is still alive. Somehow. Shocked, Liam drops his bloodied wrench and steps back. He almost stumbles back into the squat living room table. The shriek jolts him. He kicks at the living room table and shakes his head violently as if finally shaking off the fog in his head. But he is reminded instantly why he is here. Julie cheated him... cheated him of money and was wasting that money on hits of dope he should be or could be enjoying with her. She went behind his back. She left him. Liam swung out at the air in front of him and lurched forward again, this time, grabbing for Julie's hair. He pulled her head up even as she struggled or flailed or shook. He pulled her head towards his face and threw her back into the couch hard. He balled his hands into fists and proceeded to punch Julie and strike her-- until his knuckles bled-- in a blind, drunken, hazy stupor and rage-filled fog. As hard as he could. There was screaming, and he added to that screaming now with his own shouting and curses-- so loud he was drowning out all other sounds. |
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| Robyne | Thursday, 9. March 2017, 21:24 Post #11 |
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-- Hound --
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NPC-- Julie, Mortal [avatar=https://3.bp.blogspot.com/--XDDjp9CkQM/WL2Aos6Z2NI/AAAAAAAACPI/0qQFYZ1oTIQxPsh3_NW-CQjWL9iHiv7owCLcB/s1600/Julie1.jpg] [alias=Julie] Drifting, floating, and dissolving away.... Peace at last... calm at last... silence at last... _________________________________________________________________________________ Until something hard and fast and heavy cracked and crushed and struck the side of her head, sending blinding light into her vision. Something rocked her head and made it explode but it took seconds for her nerves and senses to react and send pain messages she'd understand. There was movement-- violent world shaking movement-- but no pain just yet. Just flashes of light and lots and lots of red... all over her face, covering everything around her. Then suddenly... instantly... An explosive, desperate wail erupted from her, from the center of her chest outward... and everything was on fire or struck by lightning or sizzling in acid. The worst pain she had ever experience ripped through her head, across her face, down her neck and through her spine. She jolted and flung out an arm, blindly through the red fogs and veils and clouds. Something rammed itself into her face and took the air out of her. Red became black.... She screamed out and threw her arms over her face and head but she was losing herself... losing consciousness, losing her mind... she wasn't sure what was happening, where she was, who she was, how this was happening... if it was happening. Something firm and strong was jabbing into her chest and ribs... then back at her head and face.... All she could do was curl up and wail.... until she was silenced from within when everything, everything went black forever... silent forever... no red, no light, no pain... nothing... just nothing. Edited by Robyne, Thursday, 9. March 2017, 21:26.
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| Robyne | Thursday, 9. March 2017, 22:41 Post #12 |
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-- Hound --
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The wailing of a terrified young woman erupted in Robyne's head as she bolted up the front steps and charged through the awkward leaning front door. And no sooner had she crossed the threshold, when she watched a man in a hoody striking a curled up woman with bloodied fists. This man was hunched over her pounding into her head and chest and ribs in rapid-fire succession. He was shouting over her screams and gurgled, pleading, desperate, and hysterical wails. He was shouting over her and through her. The stench of blood was powerful-- instantly filling the room to become the only smell filling her nostrils. Her Beast jumped and lunged immediately inside Robyne's body. Whether she knew it or not, she was already unleashing her fangs and claws and all her body surged forward with blood rushing through every limb and muscle and every fiber of her being. Protean 1 + 2 Fortitude 1 Her eyes burned hot and her claws extended fully as she jumped upon the hooded figure and grabbed him by his sides and rammed her claws into his flesh, thrusting her full weight against him, to bring him down to the floor. She opened her jaws and latched onto the back of his neck, at the base of his head and immediately a gush of hot, thin, fiery blood rushed into her mouth and filled her throat. It was the Beast in ecstasy instantly. This man's blood burned like fire in her chest but flowed easily and quickly like a fountain of water rushing from a waterfall. And she latched on and dug her claws into him deep until his struggles were no more. And she continued to draw his blood in. She pressed against him and heard the sound of his heart pounding and pounding... banging in her head, violently and viciously-- as if trying to fight her. As if a mortal could fight her Beast. She'd laugh at the thought, but she is locked in the feed. Her mind is elsewhere, overwhelmed by this incredible fiery ecstasy she feels. She is consumed by the rush of heat and warmth flowing so freely and completely in her body. Only when the beating and pounding in her head subsided... when there was only silence... and stillness... when the blood in her mouth stopped flowing... and only trickled on her tongue with a hint of cold.... Robyne pulled herself away-- thrust herself away and wiped her face with her sleeve. As the haze thinned and the heat on her lips cooled... she saw what occurred here... and what she had done. The young man she had tackled laid before her on the shag carpet, in a pool of his own blood... soaking the carpet, darkly. His flesh torn along the sides of his torso, some ribs exposed... along his back, gashes and lacerations only her incredible claws could have inflicted. Torn, shredded muscles... flesh split right down the middle of his spine-- as though she had ripped open a big fleshy lobster. Holy shit... holy... But on the couch, in a fetal position, a young woman... bludgeoned. Her head partially caved in on one side. Her face mashed in and blooded beyond recognition. She was twitching and shaking seemingly involuntary. The last desperate twitches of her nervous system? Oh God... oh God... oh God help me Jesus... oh Christ.... oh Christ almighty help me... help me... help me.... Robyne reached for the coiled figure only to recoil with a determined force of will. The scent of blood was so thick all around her. She needed to get out of here. She needed to run. But she couldn't pull herself away. She just couldn't. She was planted on the floor, on her knees, staring helplessly at a dying or dead young woman. A woman she didn't save. She was too late. Maybe just minutes too late... maybe even just seconds too late. Oh God... just seconds... just seconds... seconds away.... Robyne's eyes drifted across the couch... then... Oh God... oh God.... oh for the love of God... kill me... just please kill me.... oh God. A child. A little child... very little... an infant... maybe a year old... a little older. Robyne tried to look away but froze. Her eyes locked upon the horror. The tragedy. The sickening sight.... Oh fuck me... fuck me... oh God... kill me... just do it... do it... kill me now... An anguished roar of sound erupted from Robyne... from the core of her very being outward in a piercing wave of deafening scream. A scream that anyone would freeze to and be chilled by. A scream any mother would know and fear... a scream a sister might know and fear... any human with any love in their heart and compassion in their soul would know and be stricken by. It is the incoherent wail of helplessness at the senseless murder of an innocent child. Lying beside the child, the crushed form of a child... a bloodied wrench.... Seconds... if she had only rushed in a few seconds sooner, she could have spared this child a gruesome and savage death. Seconds... just seconds. The sound erupting from Robyne as she thrashed about on her knees and whipped everything away from her within reach was almost bestial... not entirely bestial... but becoming bestial. There was nothing she could do. Not a damn thing. She was too late. She was too late. It didn't matter if she was only ten minutes late or ten seconds late... the young woman was dead and so was the infant child. _________________________________________________________________________________ Behind Robyne, sirens were approaching from the bottom of the hill. Someone had called the police, probably fifteen to twenty minutes ago when the commotions and noises first filled the street. The screaming sirens were fast approaching. Neighbors were already gathering out in the front lawn, drawn by the screaming and commotion. None dared approach the apartment though. None dared walk up the steps. They remained on the curb or on the street, watching and waiting for something more to happen or to wait and see what the police would do when they arrive any minute now. The sirens startled Robyne and shook her from her rage. She turned and looked out through the spaces between the living room curtains. She could see the hints of police lights and a gathering of people on the street. She was in deep shit. The deepest. This place screamed Masquerade breach if ever there was one. Holy shit was she dead meat. She needed to think fast and act fast. She needed to flee but at the same time she couldn't just leave things the way they were! Obviously! She might only have a few minutes to do something. Robyne jumped to her feet and immediately pulled the hooded mass of torn flesh towards the kitchen and draped him on the tile floor. She threw glances over at her shoulder. Police were just arriving, their sirens screaming. People were parting like the Red Sea to make way for the cars to park-- only two cop cars that she could see. Robyne hoped the kitchen had a gas stove... gas would solve her problems. Just blow out the pilot lights, pull the gas main out and run like hell and throw some kind of spark. The stove was gas... good... Robyne had to unleash the gas somehow and do it quick. She rushed back to the living room and grabbed the wrench and rushed back into the kitchen. Cops were shouting outside, trying to clear the small crowd gathered in front of the living room door. Robyne couldn't believe what she was doing or willing to do... she couldn't believe the shit storm she was in... the dead child and woman still very vivid in her mind-- they will always be in her mind. But right now her mind needed to focus on escape! With the wrench she banged and pulled and banged some more on the metal hose that fed the stove with gas. It took a lot of effort but she had the strength and plenty of blood-fueled energy to probably rip a hole in the wall if she wanted to as well. Gas whistled through a gash she made in the pipe. She turned and looked outward as a pair of police with flashlights came forward towards the front door. Robyne needed a spark to set the spewing gas alight and send this house up in flames. She hoped to create an explosion-- like in the movies and on TV. But she couldn't be in here in the kitchen to make that happen.... or could she? Fuck me... why not... why not just go up.... why not? I couldn't save them... God kill me. Robyne scrambled through the kitchen and grabbed whatever was small and metal-- duh, the wrench! She shoved the wrench in the microwave and set the timer for twenty seconds. The kitchen was filling with gas... lots of it... thick smelling gas... and Robyne pressed the START button on the old Panasonic carousel microwave and ran for the back door, plowing into it with everything she had. And if she died... so what... if she lived...? 18... 16... 14... 13... 12... 11.... 10....9.... 8.... 7.... 6.... 5.... Robyne slams herself against the kitchen door. Cops shout into the house, their flashlight beams streaking across the living room... 4... 3... 2... 1.... ![]() Edited by Robyne, Friday, 10. March 2017, 18:50.
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| Robyne | Thursday, 16. March 2017, 15:33 Post #13 |
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-- Hound --
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... ... .... [avatar=https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UjzyejaOco8/VvKc7CA3JaI/AAAAAAAABNA/2rGqjCossX84bzfKLpxSRF-sq3lPTrNUg/s1600/Avatar3.jpg] [alias=Malalai Yosef] Malalai Yosef's Room Nonsuch Academy for Girls Cheam, Sutton 11:30 PM Meanwhile... The news was too good to be true and too big to contain all to herself. Allah be praised a miracle was happening! A mysterious donor had just delivered a check to her family to cover the majority of the costs for her facial surgeries and treatments! An incredible sum! More than she or her family could ever expect or think to pay on their salaries. And if that was not enough, miracle of miracles, a clinic had agreed to see her and perform the delicate procedures that would smooth her features and reconstruct her fragile jawline and replace her misplaced and crooked teeth and so on. What the NHS couldn't do, a private clinic and this donation was stepping in at just the right time! Such news needed to be shared with Robyne as soon as possible! Sure, they may have had a falling out or row but hopefully this will change everything and take some of the pressure off Robyne and patch things up between them. Allah knows they both could use some good news and relief! Even though it was late, Malalai had no doubts that Robyne would likely get her text message or answer her phone or check her messages. Robyne was a night owl, and total workaholic. .... Ring, ring, ring... ring ring ring.... "You've reached Robyne Sheridan at Star Steppers Dance Studio. I'm sorry I can't come to the phone right now but if you leave a message at the beep, I'll get back to you as soon as possible. *Beep*" "Hey ya Robyne... I got some incredible news to tell you! A miracle! My family just got this incredible check for like a ga-jillion Pounds for my surgeries and I just wanted to tell you about it. When you get this call me!" Edited by Robyne, Friday, 17. March 2017, 14:04.
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| Robyne | Friday, 17. March 2017, 14:03 Post #14 |
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-- Hound --
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.... .... ...... The Following Night Star Steppers Dance Studio 42 The Broadway Cheam, Sutton 8:30 PM [avatar=http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8o6bB3KPHPw/Vl8khDB9XkI/AAAAAAAABF4/P_npgptMMaw/s1600/Ballerinas.jpg] [alias=Jennifer, Karen, and Ashley] For the girls of Peer Mentorship Program, "Introduction to Ballet" by Miss Robyne Sheridan was basically the highlight of their week. For most, if not all of them, this was usually their only time when they didn't have to deal with bullies, harassment, home dramas, peer pressure, or stress. Whether they really enjoyed ballet or even learned anything from these lessons actually wasn't so much the point of coming together to be here for about an hour and a half on a weekday night. The point was escape. The point was being some place safe for a change. And whether they thought Miss Sheridan was a total square or goof or absent-minded workaholic or hippie cat lady... that didn't matter either. The fact was, and they couldn't or wouldn't deny it, was that Miss Sheridan was giving them that safe space and escape. Not only that, but she was protecting that space as well. They could count on Miss Sheridan to actually be here for them. Especially when it seemed no one else was there for them. For most of these girls, they certainly felt like Miss Sheridan was the only one who ever actually listened to them, cared about their problems-- big or small-- and actually went out and did something about them. Their teachers never seemed to care so much. All they cared about was giving and receiving homework and handing out grades and looking the other way when they had problems with boys or whatever. It was as if the teachers didn't have time to be bothered with problems. Miss Sheridan, weird as she may be at times, certainly seemed passionate about giving them time. So as they gathered in the lobby for their 7:30 class, dressed neatly in their tights and leotards, they were understandably stunned to see that Miss Sheridan wasn't there to meet them. 7:45 rolled around... still no Miss Sheridan. The other teachers and instructors shrugged and had no idea where she was. They called her home... no answer. They called her cell phone... no answer... they knocked on her office door upstairs... no answer. 8:00 became 8:30 and still no sign of Miss Sheridan. It was possible the ditz left her phone off... it was possible that she lost track of time or got hr schedule mixed up... wouldn't be the first time, they knew all too well. But usually Miss Sheridan left notes or called in with an explanation... she was quite reliable even when she goofed. "I don't get it. Where is she?" Jennifer asked. "This isn't like her." "I hope the program isn't cancelled," Karen replied. "No way, she wouldn't do that to us," Ashley piped up. "She loves us too much to want to quit." |
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| Robyne | Friday, 17. March 2017, 14:21 Post #15 |
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-- Hound --
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[alias=Jenny] [avatar=http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gFlmLqKdkKM/VjpJzW_f48I/AAAAAAAABA0/7cpolQFp_o4/s1600/Story3.jpg] .... .... ..... A Week Later.... St. Dunstan's Church St. Dunstan's Road Cheam, Sutton 3:30PM It was the flow of happy, joyful memories that brought Jenny out of her shell and out of her funk. That, and the prospect of being the first to sign up for the big Spring Fling Girls Retreat. The Cheam Children's Fund was sponsoring a retreat for a select group of girls in need to attend a week-long retreat at some nice country club. There would be all sorts of sports and activities, arts and crafts, different workshops, and really it was just a week-long get away from being stuck doing nothing and feeling sorry for one's self. When Jenny got the voucher to register for last year's Summer Adventure Camp, it was like the best thing that had ever happened to her in her whole life. She learned how to swim, she got to dress up for Pirate Dress-Up Day, she got involved in softball games, tumbling, learned how to row a canoe, and ate S'mores American-style, and learned how to play all these different card games... and she made friends. That was the big thing. She actually made friends. Friends like herself-- real friends. And she also got to see cool things... she got to pet different animals... she got over her fear of spiders and snakes somehow... Miss Sheridan was a whizz with animals and critters.... and she told the coolest ghost stories ever.... She looked forward to seeing Miss Sheridan again, along with all her friends at the sleepover retreat. But as she searched the church bulletin board, she found no sign-up sheet. It could be that no one had posted it yet. Could be that Miss Sheridan or one of her staff forgot to put it up yet. Or maybe the sign-up sheet was somewhere else... or some cranky old church lady took the sign-up sheet down and put something else up in its place instead? |
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| Robyne | Friday, 17. March 2017, 14:39 Post #16 |
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-- Hound --
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[avatar=https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-34zckkPlCKI/VxUpWl5o-yI/AAAAAAAABTU/JxDnKqTYLFUZ2kinZdus7ZtqNQX4YvoTgCLcB/s1600/Blah.jpg]![]() [alias=Nonsuch H.S. for Girls] Later still.... Nonsuch Academy for Girls 2:00 PM Sunday Afternoon There were rumors circulating among some of the girls. For some, the rumors were shared with indifference. For others, a sense of tragedy and sadness. Among some of the older girls, it was said that one of their regular tutors, Miss Sheridan, had been killed in some kind of freak car accident. It definitely had to have been a freak accident because most everyone knows Miss Sheridan didn't drive, let alone own a car. She must have been hit by a car while walking somewhere. Other say she took a job at some other school somewhere and didn't bother to tell anyone. She was a ditz after all. Among the younger girls, there were other rumors... much sadder rumors. Some say old Mrs. Grinchley, the mean old witch-lady who has those vicious dogs... she got Miss Sheridan. She must have. That was the only reasonable explanation. Everyone knows Mrs. Grinchly takes her mean old dogs for walks by the wooded patches, looking for girls who try and sneak off-campus. Mrs. Grinchly hates everybody. Miss Sheridan could have been putting up her bird feeders or checking to see if the park path was shoveled of snow... and Mrs. Grinchley could have snatched Miss Sheridan away and fed her to her mean and nasty dogs! She would totally do that. Others among the younger girls... a few of them... at least one or two... have mentioned something about missing Princess Merida of Cheam... really missing her. They hoped she'd show up to tuck them in at night or stand guard outside their window at night to keep the monsters away. Though there haven't been any bear attacks or ghosts or goblins poking around so far... they fear that without Princess Merida of Cheam, they just might come back and get them. |
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| Robyne | Friday, 17. March 2017, 15:24 Post #17 |
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-- Hound --
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Requiem for the Princess of Cheam![]() Her life did not flash before her eyes. In the span of the twenty seconds it took for the bloodied, rusted old monkey wrench to spark in the microwave, in the kitchen, of the one-story flat at 51 Whittaker Street, the only image in Robyne Sheridan's mind was that of the 18 month-old child, who laid lifeless on the crummy living room couch. 18 month old child... small... vulnerable... fragile... dead. Not just dead. Murdered. Senselessly. With that fucking wrench which had 20 seconds to rotate and ignite sparks in the microwave. The child's head... her small head... bashed in. Her eyes bashed and splattered... her face... a bloody mass of crushed in skull and nose and tiny little baby teeth... everything, bloodied and broken and mangled.... And for all she knew, if she had only rushed in maybe 20 seconds sooner, she could have at least saved the baby. 20 fucking seconds... just 20 seconds could have given that child a chance. 20 seconds could have separated the loss from a win. As Robyne slammed herself against the back kitchen door, she really had no intent on simply pulling the knob and rushing out. She had no intention of simply turning the knob and pulling the door open. She had no intentions at all. None. All her plans and all her goals and all the things she ever hoped to do or wanted to do or imagined herself doing... just died. All of it... just died. Within these last 20 seconds. Everything she was inside, deeper than the fangs and claws and even deeper than her Beast and the Hunger... died about 20 seconds ago, when she tossed the murderer's weapon in the microwave. Deep inside, the very thing that made Robyne, Robyne... was most decidedly dead and gone. The thing inside that would fight and claw and push against the Beast, had finally surrendered. There was no point in fighting anything any more. How does one pick up their sword or take up their bow or put their heart back together after seeing the mangled, bashed in face of an 18 month old baby you could have saved if only you were just a few seconds quicker up the steps and through the door? Did she not have immortal blood in her veins? Did she not have fangs and claws and reflexes beyond mortal comprehension? With all her heart and compassion and sense of humanity in her, she still couldn't save the child... or the young woman. Not a single life was saved here. Not a single one. As fire flashed all around her and the force of the explosion threw her through the door... as fire and debris and wreckage ripped through her, she could not have possibly considered the lives she touched, the good she has done, or the differences she had made for those around her haven. As flames licked her body and devoured it, there was no way she could possibly know the real good she had accomplished with the curse she had been given. And there is no way her fellow Kindred could know... let alone appreciate what she has done. No Kindred would recognize the joy expressed by the troubled girls of Cheam who can now proudly look at themselves in the mirror and feel they are beautiful, despite all the haters and bullies. No Kindred in all of London would have the honor or privilege or even the understanding that Robyne once had, seeing the frightened and shy soul blossom into a butterfly at a ballet recital. No Kindred could possibly grasp the satisfaction of seeing life bloom and brighten and shine in the midst of such darkness. The other Kindred of London did not seem to understand how precious that light is that shines within a mortal child who is protected, loved, cared for, nurtured, and empowered. They didn't get it. Robyne did. Perhaps it was because she was so much a child herself? Who knows? As her physical body is washed in flame... it doesn't matter. She can no longer think or feel much of anything now. The only thing screaming right now, is her Beast. Her Beast is screaming desperately, frantically, terrified and helpless. Awash in flames. The Beast can't win either. And in that instant, perhaps Robyne gets a little comfort. But it is hard to say if she catches that victory or not. The explosion is an instant. The flames wash over her in an instant. Death comes in an instant... less than 20 seconds. Less than the moments needed to save anyone. And for the first time in years of struggle to do so... she is finally able to meld with the earth. Ashes to ashes... dust to dust. Long live the Prince... the Princess is dead. |
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| NPC | Friday, 17. March 2017, 17:49 Post #18 |
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The Game Master
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The rushing flames engulfed her. All that Robyne could think of was the lives she could not save, and she surrendered to the blaze without attempting to flee. The Beast within broke itself against her conscience, furious and untamed. Warmth washed over her and she felt a glimpse of comfort from it just before the Beast ripped her open from within and the fire reached her at last. Her conscience was ripped apart and surrendered to fear of red. The Rotschreck. It was too late, like the thinnest paper her skin burst apart as flames began to destroy her at a molecular level. The sheer force of the explosion sent her flying through the door and delivered her outside, where the Beast instinctively attempted to meld with the cold ground... To no avail. She simply did not possess the power to do so. The Beast thrashed, but the flames burned the Kindred body deeply until there was no muscle for the Beast to use. Robyne Sheridan suffered Final Death, and her body slowly corroded into ashes which scattered across the earth, melding with it. [avatar=https://puu.sh/uNcVb/cc3ce8ebbc.png] |
| The NPC is not an admin nor does it have one singular user behind it. No PM's may be sent to the NPC and neither can you communicate with the NPC outside of role-play. Please contact Staff if you have any questions or queries. The NPC serves to only bring new information into role-play, members of staff have access to the NPC and will regularly be different people. | |
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| Robyne | Thursday, 23. March 2017, 23:51 Post #19 |
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-- Hound --
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3:21 PM Jul 11