 |
|
|||||||||
| Welcome To The Night You find yourself in London - but not as a mortal as something entirely different. Welcome to the world of Vampire The Masquerade. The game uses the cursed and immortal Vampiric condition as a backdrop to explore themes of morality, depravity, the Human condition, salvation, and personal horror. Your fate is your own - Join The Camarilla or The Sabbat, rise and become powerful or scheme from the sewers. 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: |
| The Sunken Heart | |
|---|---|
| Topic Started: Wednesday, 1. February 2012, 06:00 (288 Views) | |
| Sullivan | Wednesday, 1. February 2012, 06:00 Post #1 |
Neonate
|
Sullivan wasn't sure why they kept heading south, but he was certain they were in Capetown now - posh houses, parks and well-kept gardens had no place in the North. He hadn't yet dared to ask Nora what she was leading him towards. The first time he'd met her, she'd led him - admittedly, inadvertently - into a pack of shovelheads, those who might've been his brothers once upon a time. Glancing down at his brawny-knuckled hand enclosed around hers, the Irishman kept his mouth shut with a smirking, twisted upward mouth on his face. He supposed that while he didn't know where they were going, at least he knew who'd be there with him. He did sometimes wonder how he had these two, seemingly disconnected sides to him - the rage and rough 'n' tumble of the wandering brawler searching for a sire that deserved a thousand stakes, and then some travelling romantic just hangin' about in the shadow of his bravado. Hell, at least the Malkavians had it easy - they knew they were definitely mad. Everybody else just had to sit and wonder to themselves. Gently, he withdrew his grip around Nora's hand, tracing his fingers up her forearm and moving with almost liquid grace to capture her waist with his arm, his mouth tweaking upward again with a cocked eyebrow. He didn't know what they had - love seemed applicable in one sense, but he'd rather not be help responsible for ruining the word at the same time. Either way, they had a thing - and he loved it. Whatever that ended up meaning, he was happy with that for now. Chuckling, he spoke, his accent giving each word a rhythm that bounce off of one another, "Well, I'm not usually one ta ask stupid questions, Nora - but what're we doin' in the sunken heart o' Capetown?" |
 |
 
|
| Nora Penvellyn | Monday, 23. April 2012, 02:34 Post #2 |
Rebel With a Cause
|
It felt like it'd been centuries since Nora had last set foot here; the nostalgia was almost too much to simply soak in, she felt as if she was struggling to keep her head above water in a sea of memories. She felt Sullivan's hand smoothly pull her closer to him, as if he were a lifeline to cling to as they walked. Her steps had slowed significantly, she ignored his question as she looked above them, behind them, around them... It had been twenty years since she'd seen the stars twinkle deftly through the canopy of these trees, or could almost taste the fog that was rolling off the lake and over the cold ground with a cliche sense of mystery about it. She stopped in her tracks, grabbing Sullivan's hand and yanking him back to her side as she closed her eyes and willed herself to focus, "If there is anything to be said about Vry, he is nothing if not particular... Take every step that I do exactly. He's riddled this place with traps, and I'd really hate to see you get sucked into a pit of whittled stakes." She smirked as she stepped forward, carefully calculating every foot fall and counting their paces as she maneuvered them to the base of a rather ominous, and sadly withering willow tree on the water's edge. She took his hands and swung herself into his line of sight, demanding his attention as if she didn't already have it entirely, "You asked earlier what we're doing here... If you want to stay in London, this is the safest place for us." She continued to look around with the demeanor of a scared bird waiting for something bigger and meaner to come her way. She looked back to Sully again and tried to smile despite the hesitation in her gaze, "I haven't been here in a long time... I can't promise it's the same as I last saw it or if it's even still inhabitable...but it's the best I can give you, and we can make it ours." |
|
I Will Not Bow Down, I'll Rise Through the Sun I'm Transcending I am Claiming my Throne We are Immortal, We Rise from the Wraith We are Eternal You are my Blood Legion ...My Faith... | |
|
|
|
| Sullivan | Monday, 23. April 2012, 04:40 Post #3 |
|
Neonate
|
Sullivan nodded, his smirk vanishing from his face despite how much he wanted to point out that the 'safest place' for them, as Nora had just pointed out, was rigged to kill them both if they approached in anything other than the absolutely correct manner. What happened if they wanted to dive out of sight quickly, or if they were injured and couldn't make the precise movements required? He supposed, Vry being an Elder - or at least, old enough to have sired and had something worth teaching - he ought to have a little faith that he'd have thought this through, but Sullivan was running a little low on that these days. "Alright, ye've got my attention - how do we get inside?" He asked as he watched Nora's feet, careful to place each of his steps exactly where hers had been. As a rule, Sullivan wasn't truly scared of stakes - but then, as a rule you only encountered one or two - usually in the hands of shit-scared hunters who weren't sure it'd work. Make sure to avoid them catching you in the heart, and you got the perfect look of horror on their faces, having 'miraculously' survived. But he had to agree - getting dragged into a whole patch of sharpened wood wasn't on his list of things to do before he died - again - at any rate. Reaching back and pulling some of the strands of his ragged hair out of his gaze, Sullivan trailed his eyes around their environment - he trusted Nora's judgement, but there was no such thing as too careful. By rights, were a Cape to catch them skulking around, they could be staked and executed infront of a crowd. Considering that they'd come here for some degree of safety, the Irishman wasn't looking to get captured by Capes tonight - or anyone else, for that matter. Reaching the depressingly skeletal and unhealthy willow, Sullivan found his hands enveloped in Nora's and listened intently to her words, her voice like a melodious chime of bells in the otherwise silent night. He nearly nodded without thinking, but before he did he stopped hismelf and thought. Nora was right - this was about as safe a place as any gangrel would be lucky enough to find, sinking right beneath the tree - though Nora kept referring to the place as though it'd be more than hiding in the dirt, and he didn't see anything to suggest otherwise. Still... He'd been wrong before. Hell, he'd trusted Alasdair once. The lop-sided smirk returnign to his face as if it'd never left, Sullivan spoke, his voice like gravel tunelessly rattling down a drain pipe, "Ok, Lass. I take it this is where ye show me around?" |
|
|
|
| Nora Penvellyn | Monday, 7. May 2012, 14:34 Post #4 |
|
Rebel With a Cause
|
Nora looked up to Sully with some hesitation as he asked this. All she could manage was a weak nod before burying her face in his chest and holding him tightly as the earth quickly swallowed them. No sooner had they been devoured by the ground beneath their feet were the falling into pitch black darkness to the tiled floor of what was Vry's "family" room of sorts. Nora let go of Sullivan and landed gracefully on her feet before clapping her hands and instantaneously wincing as light filled the open expanse of the haven. She looked to her mate softly before audibly exhaling, "I guess I get the dramatic entrances from him..." referring to her Sire as if he actually had something to do with the woman she'd become. He actually had far more influence on her then she ever wanted to admit. It'd been almost two decades since she last stepped foot in this place, and with it came all the memories she wished she could cherish at this moment. Looking around, the place was practically empty compared to how cluttered and chaotically beautiful it used to be. There was still a spattering of furniture here and there, and as she looked around, she began to notice a pattern in what her Sire chose to take with him, wherever he went, and what he left behind. His beloved Italian leather sofa was pressed against the wall keeping them dry from the lake beside them. She remembered arguing with him and shredding it with her newly discovered claws...she was only two weeks dead then...and he never replaced it to remind her of her impulsive nature to destroy things. He said it was a silent lesson, she said it was stupid. It was then...but now she finally understood what he had been trying to say. She collapsed onto it, her eyes darting across the room, taking in every nuance, every detail of what was left, and the more she looked, the harder it was to hold back tears. Part of her felt like she was finally home. It was the only safe place she'd known in London since her death, yet now she wasn't sure if it was her home or her prison. "I destroyed this sofa because Vry was more proud of his purchase then he was of my first clean feeding... It took me two weeks to get it down without killing someone. I was so angry, so desperate for approval, and all he did was laugh..." She couldn't help but smile through her tears, "That's all he ever did. I couldn't lay a finger on him before he'd have both of my hands behind my back, so I destroyed his things instead. He never seemed to care, but he never replaced anything I'd broken. He'd leave it there to teach me a lesson... That's all he left. The things I broke..." She was on her feet again, smearing blood across her cheeks and avoiding Sullivan's gaze as she began walking through the hallway that broke off from the family room to the kitchen, the bedrooms, and the den. She stopped in the door way of the kitchen, pointing to the floor by the stove and countertops, "I was embraced right there." She took five steps down the hallway before stopping again and looking down at the old Spanish tile, "I died here...it was a mess." Her voice was devoid of any emotion. She stopped at the first door that stood wide open, and once lead to Vry's bedroom. She'd only been inside it once before now, and all that was left was bare walls and empty floor space. She kept walking, pausing at the second door and wondering if she even wanted to open it. "This was--" her voice faded as she opened the door to see everything as she left it the last night she was here so many nights ago. Clothes she hadn't worn since then still strewn across her bed, stacks upon stacks of books beside it. Posters of music bands she used to fancy still plastered on the walls, but something was different... She looked straight ahead to see her vanity with a sheet hung carefully over the mirror. She hadn't left it that way. She looked to Sullivan silently, though her eyes showed some confusion and fear as she moved towards it. Amongst the clutter of make-up and hair spray, there was piece of paper with her name on it, and on top of it laid her mother's silver necklace that she thought had been lost forever. Her hands seemed to move on their own as she looked down to the piece of paper between her fingers with Vry's lovely script flowing across it. She read out loud, as if her own voice was supposed to comfort her, "I knew you'd return for this eventually. Keep it close, for next time it will be added to the collection." She whimpered at the thought, feeling the paper crumple in her balled fist as anger and tangible fear began filling her, "That fucking bastard nearly killed me, sicked two fucking werewolves on me because I wouldn't bend the knee to his precious Camarilla customs, and took the only thing I had left of my mother from my neck as I laid torn to shreds on the fucking ground. If it weren't for a priest that made home in a crypt beneath the cemetery he left me in, I would have fucking burned..." She was pacing now, ripping the paper as she did so, "His 'collection' are the most prized possessions of all his dead childer. The one thing they held most dearly to them from their previous life..." Her voice trailed off as she became lost in her thoughts. She stood perfectly still for what seemed like an eternity before she finally looked at Sullivan. "He will never stop. He will never die. He will only watch, and follow, and take. He wants me dead for what I did...but I will never let him touch you. You will never fight that battle for me or beside me..." She looked down to the necklace she was idly lacing around her fingers as she moved towards him and took his hand, letting it fall in a pretty silver heap in his palm and closing his strong fingers around it, "All I ask of you is that you keep this safe. As long as we're together and beyond that if we part. You'll always have the most innocent piece of me...and I'll never give him the satisfaction of adding me to his fucking collection." |
|
I Will Not Bow Down, I'll Rise Through the Sun I'm Transcending I am Claiming my Throne We are Immortal, We Rise from the Wraith We are Eternal You are my Blood Legion ...My Faith... | |
|
|
|
| Sullivan | Thursday, 17. May 2012, 08:09 Post #5 |
|
Neonate
|
Sullivan blinked, not sure if he'd heard right. Vry... He didn't sound like the kind of person he'd have much liked. Infact... He didn't sound so different from Alasdair. Maybe a slightly different brand of psychotic, but... Well for starters who kept a collection of of their dead childer's old things? Hell, who gave their childer so little assisstance that they ended up with a collection in the first place? He itched the tangled black mass pouring itself in waves from his scalp, his eyes focused on the tiny glints of silver between his pale, thick-knuckled fingers. It felt strange, to have something so precious wrapped in a part of himself he'd long considered a weapon and not much else. After all, no matter how capable he hadn't written in years - he hadn't needed to. Everythign even vaguely civilised about his hands, his arm - even the way he held his shoudlers. All turned into a weapon, a flesh-and-bone warhead. And Nora wanted him to protect something with it. He hadn't missed the similarities to his own sire's 'education methods' either - Vry left behind everything Nora had ever struck due to lacking control. Alasdair... He hadn't done that. The Irishman didn't think it quantified as better or worse, but... Well, what he'd done hadn't left scars on Sullivan, at least not physical ones. But he had his own share of shit. Now, though... This was new. Nora had placed what she thought of as the purest part of her in his hands - and he'd been stunned into silence for longer than he imagined was polite. "I, uh... I don't know what to say. I think Ye know how little I've been in this kind of position, so it's... " Sullivan chuckled, running his rough thumb against the chain, "It's odd. Good odd, but... Odd nonetheless. To be asked to do somethin' good fer someone." Silently, he uncoiled the long length of silver, slipping it over his head and tucking the pendant itself beneath his shirt. He wasn't sure what else there was to say. Nora had just, in effect, given him a house. It was in Cape Town, but there wasn't much to be done about snooty neighbours - and if he didn't break the Masquerade, the Cammies would at worst turn their noses up. He imagined that was half the issue they had with Anarchs - provided they weren't doing anything like siring a fledgling or anything, the Anarchs - through common sense or simple desire to be left alone - mostly followed the Masquerade anyway... They just called it common sense. Slipping his bag from his shoulder, Sullivan set the backpack down and looked around, a lop-sided grin growing onto his features like ivy on a wall, "I, uh... I feel like I oughta give ye somethin'. I mean, this is... More than I coulda given ye. But... Well, best I got is my self-deprecatin' sense o' humour and fantastic taste in women." He gestured for Nora to come with him as he sat himself carefully on the shredded couch, the seating not great but better than he'd expected. Sullivan wasn't sure if he'd really intended to share much about Alasdair - not specifics, anyway - but now, he knew he should've earlier. Now that he knew all that had happened to Nora... Well, she deserved to know more about what had happened to him. "I doubt Alasdair's got this kind o' thing set up back at any of his old haunts. Not after I left. We were back-to-back during the Sword's last big push against the Anarchs - an' Lord on high did we push. I went so far into the horde that Alasdair had to race after me in person - none of the other fledglings he'd raised could keep pace. So it was me an' the man I hated against a whole crowd o' folks I'd give anythin' to join." Sullivan gestured with his off-hand in a dismissive, irritated manner, "We swapped barbed compliments on kills, little quips on each other's weak stance - I tell ye, fer a supposedly 'benevolent' sire - at least he thought he was - he was as caustic as it got. Every word was like spewed bile. I snapped, he snapped, and then we killed somebody - and he went on fer hours. But eventually, he cut too deep - he made what he thought was a throwaway comment about my family. After he'd had me feed on Ma after my unearthing... It was too far. So when the Beast broke free, I didn't try to contain it. I watch my claws tear trenches into him, disfigured him beyond recognition. Then at some point, I was knocked unconscious, and woke up in Anarch terriotory... And he was gone. Last I heard of him, Alasdair had just had the unfortunate news that even flesh-crafting won't heal his wounds fully. I used to think that was a victory, of sorts. But it isn't. It's just proof that I'm not in control of the beast - he is. Now he just looks like it." |
|
|
|
| Nora Penvellyn | Saturday, 19. May 2012, 04:17 Post #6 |
|
Rebel With a Cause
|
"At least you have that...knowing you've left something permanent...It's a constant reminder of what he created, and so carelessly crossed in the wrong manner." She seemed to have slipped into a mood that required the sliver of propriety she had within herself to be present. "Do you have any idea how afraid of you he is? He'll never admit it himself, but he knows that everything you are, you are because of him. He tested you, pushed you past every limit imaginable, and broke you beyond belief so that he could use you as a weapon. What he failed to do was kill every ounce of humanity you had left in your heart before doing so...and for that, I'm thankful. If he had, we wouldn't be here right now..." She sat down next to him and let her head rest comfortably on his shoulder. She hadn't felt as close to another person as she had with him; feeling as if everything was right. As if his body was built to fit her's perfectly. She laced her small fingers with his, studying their hands together for some time before speaking again, "Vry, on the other hand, knows that I'm afraid. He knows that I don't stand a chance against him, and he understands that I'm battling more with myself then I ever will with him. The day will come when I see him again, and all I can do is pray for mercy. I've never been the God-loving type, but what else can one do when faced with their own ends?" She swallowed her pride, quickly changing the subject as she climbed into his lap and faced him. She had a gentle smile pulling her lips, making her look as if she were incapable of ever wearing a frown or disapproving glare. Her fingertips grazed his cheek lightly, falling to his collarbone to idly play with a lock of his dark hair, "I'll have all the broken things moved out tomorrow night, and hopefully, if my connections are still as they were two years ago, I can have all the things I've kept in storage brought in the same evening... and we can make this home." She sounded optimistic about it, her bright blue eyes peering into his with a spark that conveyed only one thing. She nestled closely to him, pressing herself against every rigid muscle and relaxing in his arms, staring off into the distance, "If Alasdair had never killed you, what would you have wanted for yourself?" It was an unexpected question, but one she pondered herself for years. |
|
I Will Not Bow Down, I'll Rise Through the Sun I'm Transcending I am Claiming my Throne We are Immortal, We Rise from the Wraith We are Eternal You are my Blood Legion ...My Faith... | |
|
|
|
| Sullivan | Saturday, 19. May 2012, 08:21 Post #7 |
|
Neonate
|
Sullivan found one of his hands twisting itself into Nora's tresses as his chest rumbled a chuckle around his ribcage, not sure what he'd wanted at the time - it was so long ago, or at least had felt that way for long enough that he'd stopped trying to keep exact track. His life had been so... Ordinary. Sure, the travelling prize fighter was a dream for the guys back at his local club... But once you'd lived it a while, it was less an adventure and more pursuit of your next meal-ticket. What would he have done? Had Alasdair really just been a promoter with an eye for a good underdog, or maybe even just been willing to take a risk without any knowledge of Sullivan's ability beforehand? He'd have boxed for a while, sure... But that wouldn't pay forever. "I'm not sure, really... But I always fancied runnin' a pub. I doubt I'd last long at it, though - too much book-balancin' and customer service. I can't keep up the cheery disposition when all my customers ever do is moan... Y'know?" That said, the Irishman was fairly certain that Nora hadn't just meant a job to settle into. A life. A partner, a family. Friends. Sullivan had known some of those things before his death, but... Well, if nothign else Alasdair had been thorough. Sullivan wasn't even sure he remembered their names right - and some fo their faces he could scarcely even remember the basics. Eye colours stuck with him, but not well enough to distinguish between more than one set of blue or brown. "Aside from work... I dunno. I never wanted ta be somebody special, not really. The way I see it, ye're somebody special when somebody else - hell, anybody else - values you. Friends, a family eventually... Hell, maybe a pet-project in a garage somewhere to keep me busy. An' all that'd be dependant on whether I survived World War Two or not." The mood didn't feel dimmer to him despite the mention of the war, but he imagined it should've. "I wanted so badly to go. To smuggle myself over with the forces and do something worthwhile - I'd started to unravel the bonding at this stage, though I needed a lot of help to get that far. We argued, and he left me chained in a basement somewhere - I don't remember well enough where. Made me starve and kill the first human I found when I escaped, teach me again that people were food now. Never stopped wishin' I could be somethin' better. Might not be all the way there yet, but I gotta keep tryin' - fighting the good fight, heh." Glancing into Nora's eyes, Sullivan nodded his head toward her, gently touching his forehead to hers, "What about you, illustrated princess? Any plans before ye got dragged into all o' this?" Edited by Sullivan, Saturday, 19. May 2012, 08:23.
|
|
|
|
| Nora Penvellyn | Saturday, 19. May 2012, 10:49 Post #8 |
|
Rebel With a Cause
|
Princess...she vaguely remembered her grandfather calling her 'Princess' when she was young. She broke that train of thought quickly as she nuzzled against him and sat back in his lap, balancing her weight on his knees as she stretched and settled herself again, thinking about how to word her answer without getting lost in other things. She was looking at the stacks of books beside the bed, "I wanted to be a writer once upon a time; my mum was journalist for a small paper in Camden, and my father worked for a publishing company in London before he threw his life away and became an alcoholic piece of shit excuse of a man... I guess it was the family legacy or something." She finally looked to him and smiled again, "Can you believe romantic dramas used to be my favorite genre? That and mysteries. I wanted to make my living off of tastefully written smut and timeless love stories. Or poetry. I wanted to get off the coke bandwagon," just the thought of drugs made her skin itch, "Get clean and meet someone worth loving and sharing a life with... Getting twacked out of your mind and fucking until the sun comes up gets old after awhile. More then anything though, I wanted to have a baby boy. I still have a name picked out, not that it'll ever be given to anyone. When I was a part of the pack in L.A., my mate offered to embrace an infant for me...so I could have something to keep myself busy and somewhat fulfill that dream? I couldn't bear to let him do it though... I never wanted this for myself, nor would I wish it on someone so young and helpless..." The idea sickened her, but she remembered how much twisted excitement filled her when he first offered it to her. She knew it was wrong, but some selfish part of her still wanted it. She shook her head and moved closer to him again, paying close attention to bumping and grinding against him in all the right places, "I guess a girl can always dream..." |
|
I Will Not Bow Down, I'll Rise Through the Sun I'm Transcending I am Claiming my Throne We are Immortal, We Rise from the Wraith We are Eternal You are my Blood Legion ...My Faith... | |
|
|
|
| Sullivan | Monday, 21. May 2012, 03:00 Post #9 |
|
Neonate
|
Sullivan felt Nora shift, but it wasn't her movements that tipped him off to what she was doing as much as her eyes. As she'd spoken about her dream life - the one she wished she'd had - Nora's eyes had been hazy, distracted... As if she were watching all that she had described play out before her. He could scarcely blame her for wanting out of that state when the topic of a vampire child had come up. He felt his hand gently slip from her hair, running barely-there touches of his fingers down her spine - and let the smirk he'd been holding back form on his face, a fang pushing against his lip like a middle child desperate for attention. She was goading him, silently perhaps but still... Nora didn't want to talk anymore. Uncoiling his fingers from hers, Sullivan trailed his hand up Nora's arm, tracing her collar bone and eventually toying with her hair again, gently pulling all the different colours through his fingers, "That she can." He felt that there was little to be said, but that they weren't done with this stage of the back-and-forth yet. If Nora wanted him, she was going to have to woo him a little - that much, he intended to make clear. Pressing his forehead to hers, Sullivan slowly made his way through his intended question, one word at a time between presses of lips, "So - what's this about you and tastefully written smut?" The hand that had made itself comfortable at Nora's hip travelled upward, tantalising and firmly stroking each inch of flesh - and paying special attention to the scales - as it progressed beneath the cloth of Nora's shirt, roaming the malleable slopes of her back even as its' counterpart did the comparatively innocent job of nestling its fingers loosely at her shoulder. Sullivan's eyes, operating on an entirely different wavelength to the gentle caresses of his hands, betrayed the true nature of the questions they were both asking - silently or otherwise. His gaze travelled Nora's features hungrily, focusing intently on her lips and the slow heave of her chest as she pressed against him. He didn't make his move - not yet. He wanted an answer first - but mentally, he was certainly hoping Nora planned to escalate the careful little preses and pushes of his buttons. If nothing else, though, he considered himself a master of the teasing comment - and he wouldn't see one so well-timed and relevant go to waste. |
|
|
|
| Nora Penvellyn | Friday, 7. September 2012, 14:53 Post #10 |
|
Rebel With a Cause
|
Nora purred and arched her back as his fingertips sent electric currents through her body, as he had awakened a beast that was sleeping rather peacefully...a very hungry beast at that. Try as she might to fight the urge, she did her best to keep herself composed and focused. She smiled deviously, desperate for a distraction from the itch begging to be scratched...that she was supposed to be meeting someone about very soon at that...and did her best to make her memory serve correctly from a piece she'd written years before. It'd been published in a small magazine for other erotic readers to jerk it to, apparently. "'She gingerly pulled her shirt over head, leaving little to his imagination as she reveled in the feel of her soft curves pressed against his taut muscle.'" Mirroring the actions she spoke and gazing at him beneath heavy bedroom eyes, "'She left a hot trail of kisses from his jaw, along his collarbone, and all the way down his chest, delighted by his shortness of breath the closer she came to his'...treasure trove, I think is what I used." She giggled as she kissed Sullivan's neck and shoulder, moving back towards his ear, where she moved his hair aside and lovingly nibbled as she spoke, "One thing I've learned since then is that actions speak louder then words..." She glanced to the clock on the wall just behind him...fucking hell, was it really that late?! Nora practically jumped and rolled from Sully's lap to the floor, trying to find her bearings and her phone as she patted her pockets and started tossing the sheets off the bed. Finding it, she turned her back to him and stared at it intently, the reminder she'd set for herself to be at the Tripper...in 5 minutes. She scrambled to get her clothes back on, not even paying attention to what her sudden outburst of hysteria was possibly making him think. She almost ran out the door without even saying goodbye, backtracking and leaning down to kiss him on the lips, "I'm sorry, I have to meet up with a friend and completely forgot until just now. I'll be back before dawn, make yourself at home!" She burned blood as she took off through the doorway and down the hallway, practically breaking the door that lead to the exit off it's hinges as she ran. She didn't care if he had questions, or even if he followed, although she hoped he didn't...but he probably would considering how abruptly she left. She finally made it above ground, stopping at a weeping willow, scaling it and just as quickly coming back down with a duffel bag slung over her shoulder. She wasted no time in her endeavors, cloaking herself in obfuscate as she followed the edge of the lake and south, back to Anarch territory, digging a blood bag out of her stash and sucking it down as she moved, quickly and silently, with one thing on her mind: the itch. |
|
I Will Not Bow Down, I'll Rise Through the Sun I'm Transcending I am Claiming my Throne We are Immortal, We Rise from the Wraith We are Eternal You are my Blood Legion ...My Faith... | |
|
|
|
| 1 user reading this topic (1 Guest and 0 Anonymous) | |
 |
|
| « Previous Topic · Chelsea · Next Topic » |
2:31 AM May 23