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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: |
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| They were kids that I once knew; Anarchs | |
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| Topic Started: Wednesday, 10. July 2013, 05:21 (2,679 Views) | |
| Vanth | Thursday, 18. July 2013, 19:15 Post #21 |
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Neonate
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Spoilsports, all of them! First the girl with the laptop had swayed the Cadence-lad to stay inside, where crowds were sympathetic and the fighting odds were in his favour. Then the Other One arrived, barking for them to straighten themselves out and sit the fuck down. Her tone was commanding. "I'll slither back to my snake-hole then, boss-woman", the Malkavian said, desiring to take advantage of the peace that might be enforced by the Other Ones' threat. He placed his pink spectacles back on his nose, always happy to look at the world through rose-tinted glasses. With his back turned to the Other One nearer the entrance, he showed Cadence and the other bar patrons something of a smug smirk. Almost a taunt. Chin lifted. He sauntered back to the seats he had once occupied in the manner of a cowboy from one of the old movies, stretching his legs to occupy them both. |
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| Church | Saturday, 20. July 2013, 19:23 Post #22 |
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Putting the 'fun' in 'dysfunctional'
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Too fucking much! You know the feeling you get after a great fucking night out? That swelling sensation in your brain that makes you grin like a fucking idiot because you're sure things weren't too bad, and you got laid. Then it turns out you're still drunk, and when that warm and confident feeling drains out of you, shit hits the fan. I don't know where I am, I can only hear the vibrant beat of London nightlife and feel the cold, jagged brickwork under my palms. The warm summer air isn't doing me any favours; hell I feel like a sweaty, shivering mess right now without it being a biological possibility. I wish the sun would just burn me up right now, instead it just makes the city smell like fucking shit. I mean, like a rotten fucking corpse. "Oh jeez-"This time I'd done too much. The force doubles me up, shooting my head into the wall and my knees to the floor as a jet of blood shoots from my chops. "I don...do wha?"Again, I eject a puddle of thick crimson before me. I don't know how much I lost, but the sticky warm feeling seeping into my jeans lets me know it was enough. The pressure in my brain subsidies with every lumpy mouthful, and soon I dig my fingernails into the bricks and hoist myself up. Living at the bottom of a bottle had been so-so in the present state of death, and the more I wanted to get away the more I realised that comfort and pleasure aren't things we're privy to. And as I stumble out of the alleyway, I am reminded of this fact even moreso. "Fucking Tripper. Fucking cunts with their fucking bitch Baron. Should burn that fucker down." I mutter aimlessly to myself, my mood suddenly soured by the cold soberness and burning anger. Christ how long had it been? The last time I was here, Linda got got and then I was thrown out on my ass like I was a fucking outsider. Granted I am, but I thought she of all people shouldn't treat me like one. Regardless, sulking with Macey for days...weeks...months? had run its course, and once again I was bored. Wiping the shit away from my mouth with a sleeve, I cross the road and don't delay heading straight in. Familiar were the sounds and smells, but perhaps not the sights. There were only a few that I had met in the city, and whilst none of them had been inclined to shine a harmonious signal in my direction, familiarity was only a bad thing when it became overused. This was unusual, no glaring disdain for what I had done to their precious Baron or for being a filthy addict. Hell, the blond piece is the only one who I can put my finger on being there before, but what kind of lady she was I don't know. Hopefully crazy. Who doesn't love crazy chicks? I catch a few eyes, but the instant loss of interest lets me know that I am once again a god damn interloper in this freak-fest. Especially the bitch with a face plastered like Tonto. You got a Lone Ranger costume? My internal dialogue affords her a smirk before I break off, moving to the bar, staying as far as possible away from everyone in there. Like I have a lot to brag about. Here I am, a night after dedicating myself to going straight and I come here to wake the fucking kraken. Maybe just a quiet drink. Nope. Well, I can't really see any harm in actually drinking the stuff. I don't have to suck on some drunken behemoth. I sure wont miss sucking on some fat bikers fucking neck, just because his nickname is Greg the keg. I hurt all over, my broken nose has healed but theres a fierce fucking cut under my lip. The rest of the damage is concealed is neatly packaged in a dark blue hoodie and black combat trousers and boots. Likely puke-stained. Fuck, maybe I can straighten out my thoughts. Maybe the crazy fuckers will leave me alone and nothing will happen. Yeah...right Edited by Loki, Sunday, 11. August 2013, 22:55.
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| Nora Penvellyn | Monday, 12. August 2013, 01:47 Post #23 |
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Rebel With a Cause
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There was a chilling calmness in the air on this balmy summer night that seemed to fray Nora's already fried nerves as she walked in silence from Brent to Enfield. How the fuck could this world keep turning when her's was practically upside down? She'd never been the selfish type to seriously think the entire cosmos revolved around her fate and destiny, but when it came down to how insignificantly small she and her own problems were compared to everything else in this universe, she couldn't help but be pissed the fuck off with the shitty cards she kept getting dealt. The itch was overwhelming, the hunger had her nearly doubled over in pain, and the real pain? She kept shoving the physical inconvenience into the back of her mind and hoped like hell she could make it to the Tripper before primal instinct eclipsed logical thinking. She was walking a very fine and jagged line, her and her Beast; one misstep, one slip up was all it would take for her to lose herself in the throes of frenzy and really do what she wanted to. She was angry, livid, furious even. What little blood she had left was boiling in her veins. The shit she saw and survived was enough to send most people off the deep end, or at least into some cushy chair to talk about how it made them feel. She didn't have time to feel anything. She couldn't think. She couldn't process. She couldn't act. She couldn't do anything, or this thin, precious sliver of sanity she was clinging to would slip through her fingers like a minnow in the river of shit she was wading through. The cloak of obfuscate she held tightly to as she walked briskly through the warm stillness was wearing on her like an irritating chafe. It rubbed against her patience like an annoying pair of panties that just didn't ride right when she moved. She shrugged her shoulders uncomfortably in the torn and bloodstained canvas of her military coat, tugging on freshly worn edges at her waist desperately. She wanted to shed this skin for a new one. The animal that paced restlessly in her chest yearned to push and pull it's way out of this mortal coil and take it's own shape. Whether it pounced the first viable target or soared off into the dusky dark velvet skies was entirely up to chance, but fate be damned, it'd find it's own way out. The Tripper came into view with a mixture of bittersweet rejoice and tangible fury. Seeing it meant safety, but that idea was quickly plucked from her train of thought as memories of where this whole clusterfuck of fucking bullshit began came to the fore. Her steps slowed as she approached with growing hesitation. She could feel the cracks splintering into a spiderweb across the fragile glass surface that separated her calm exterior from the riot of emotions that warred with each other beneath the surface. Fuck the calm. Fuck the fucking fronts. Screw the fake smiles, the fake laughs, and the fake happy go fucking crazy spirits. None of those things were possible or existent in her quaking being. Dropping her cloak like an unwanted piece of clothing, Nora grabbed the handle of the door with clenched teeth and swung it open in her wake, looking like a walking omen of death and destruction as she wavered in the doorway silently. Her eyes glared that ominously murderous red, lighting her sharp features with a sort of menace as she lingered for no more then three seconds, taking in her surroundings and setting her sights on the door to their makeshift office of shady business dealings in the back of the bar. Her slim hands were balled into knuckle bearing fists, her shoulders set stiffly and her lips pulled back into a bestial snarl, "Get the FUCK out of my way," she said, her sweet silver lilt barely above a growl rumbling at the back of her throat. Stepping into the ashy light cast through the haze of smoke that lingered overhead illuminated her bloody and battered marrow. She was literally covered in five other people's blood from head to toe. Small clumps dried in the wild mess of dark waves and curls that spilled over her shoulders and down her back, it was splattered, smeared, and dripping from the corners of her mouth, down her neck, and across her whole face like war paint. Her hands and fingertips were stained a deep vermilion, her clothing caked in violence. Whatever had happened, wherever she'd come from, was undeniably a blood bath. Dirt and residue dusted her head and shoulders, an open gash running across her cheek from the top of her lip to her temple from the sharp scrape of rocks and earth. Similar wear and tear had ripped the back, shoulders, and sleeves of her coat, the front of her shirt, and down the whole length of her denim clad legs. Cuts, scrapes, and bruises were barely visible among the curtain of gnarled clothing that clung to her body, but she didn't bother wasting the blood to heal them. The silence that enveloped the room was deafening and unsettling, with no responses, only blank and confused stares as heads turned to take in her frantic and bloody visage. She looked like she was on the brink of hysteria, and barely hanging on as she growled and pushed her way through the sea of cold, dead bodies that blocked her from her salvation of privacy. The heavy knock of her boots coming down on the old wood floors sounded hollow as she stomped across the aged boards. Her hands unfurled from their bared fists to push and shove whoever was in her way out of it, her pathway to the door parting like the fuckin' Red Sea. Familiar faces were scattered among the new ones; she passed Espen without even acknowledging her, determination to just make it through that goddamn door just in her reach, if she could only get there faster. Her grip on this hard exterior was slipping, she could feel her hold on the ledge loosening with lost strength and burned blood. It was when Damon's familiar profile passed her line of sight that she stopped in her tracks. It was in those brief moments that she swayed, locking her intense gaze on him, that the glass began to shatter and fall. She said nothing as she sucked in a labored breath and kept walking, willing the blood that welled in her eyes to keep from falling until she got through that motherfucking door. Her hand found the cold knob instinctively, a brief flood of relief washing over her as she opened the door and swiftly slammed it shut behind her, sliding the lock home and turning around to be faced with the emptiness of the backroom with it's old sofa, singular desk and shitty uncomfortable chair, and a shelf lined sparsely with a withering stock of top shelf booze. The light was a little clearer, not nearly as clouded with cigarette smoke and quiet. The music that was playing outside in the bar seeped through the walls, muffled, like white noise. It lulled her delicately frying psyche to give into the torrents of fury, sorrow, and confusion and let them flow from her freely. She crossed the room to the desk, shrugging off her coat and fighting the insatiable want to collapse and fold in on herself as she sat down in the squeaky rolling chair and shakily opened a drawer. Biting her lip as she deftly set an empty glass and a bottle of gin before, it was as she poured the dry and visceral contents that the ceiling of her world caved in on her. You're a fucking failure. You've failed all of them, and they'll all die by your side fighting for a fucking failure with no purpose or worth. You are alone now. You just had to go to that fucking apartment. You just had to be go down into those motherfucking tunnels. You just had to drag them all down with you. You could've done it yourself and saved this city from one less fuck up fucking shit up, but no, you're a fucking pussy! A fucking joke! You sacrificed the one person that meant something to the fucking dogs and now he's fucking gone! YOU FAILED. FUCKING FAILED. Blood spilled down her cheeks in torrential free fall, spattering onto the desk as she clenched the bottle in her hand and threw it across the room with a roar of anger, watching it collide with the wall and shatter into a hundred little pieces, leaving nothing but a spray of gin dripping down the discolored plaster to the floor. It felt good. Too good. Do it again. Break everything. Rip yourself apart. Nora shot up to her feet, bringing down her claws on the desk's surface with no mercy as she carved long scratches from the top to the bottom, and flipped the wood structure off it's legs as her anger and anguish took a hold of her. She whimpered and growled, weeping loudly as she threw and smashed anything within arms reach. She went on this self-loathing destructive rampage for five more minutes before silence finally settled over the room once again. The lamp that was sitting on the desk lay broken and flickering it's dying light in the corner of the room. Nora stood in the middle of the ruins, broken glass, alcohol and shredded bits of paper, cushion stuffing, and whatever else she got her hands on underfoot. She clutched herself desperately, feeling her dead knees buckle as she sank to the floor and let out another long and loud heartbreaking wail of distress before doubling over and pressing her face against the cold, wet floor. The shards of glass cut into her flesh as she let go and continued to cry in a bloody heap amongst the wreckage that was once the back room. |
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| Church | Saturday, 17. August 2013, 14:04 Post #24 |
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Putting the 'fun' in 'dysfunctional'
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I occupy myself for the most part by gazing wantonly at the back shelf of the bar. I have forever been a cognisor of all sorts of liquors, though I can't really remember the last time I sat down and truly appreciated one. Too busy buying other people drinks then getting my investment back when they popped to the pisser. I squint my eyes and zero in on the labels, hmm-ing whether it was worth it. Whether the taste would make time pass a little quicker or lure me into getting drunk. Fuck it. "Double of the Turkey. Might need to keep em coming." I grumble to the barman, tossing a crumpled note out on the counter. The stench alone of this thing could strip the flesh from a mortals nose I tell ya. Short of drinking absolute alcohol, there isn't much left stronger. I raise it to my lips, slowly pouring back the firewater, allowing it to splash over my taste buds. A new smell makes me forget the taste before I can process it. The glass slips out of my hand and clatters on the bar, frantically spilling its contents before settling upright and almost empty. I am too busy staring in slack-jawed awe at what just walked in the door. "Nora" I feel an explosion inside, a insane mix of anger, disappointment, fear, love and pain. While I had been expecting to run into her eventually, there was the issue of how I would handle such an encounter; passive aggressive Church giving her the cold shoulder, or friendly neighbourhood Church letting her know that I believe in the Anarchs cause, just maybe not a belief in her anymore. But this...this is too much. Bloodied and battered, far beyond any state I've seen her in, and certainly worse than 99.9% of the scrapes I've gotten into. I can feel the fury crackle off her, an invisible lightning that whips people out the way lest they taste her wrath. And yet she comes to a brief halt, the expression on her face softening for those few seconds that she dedicates to me. I bite the inside of my lip, feeling a painful stab of concern as I can truly gauge the shape she's in. And just as quickly as she had stopped to regard me, she was racing back to the spare backroom. And I just sit and stare, not sure if the rest of the bar just saw what I did. The barman sure seemed to, a rag in hand to wipe my spilt drink has been forgotten about. I look between him and the slammed door a few times more before I slowly slip off the stool. This...is bad. Mortals are probably wondering why a woman looks like she was nearly flayed alive, and the Kindred are probably judging their baron for shit they don't know about. I know I certainly would. I came in here tonight with the intention of slapping that bitch in the face if she even tried to talk to me. But once again she's unwittingly exploiting my feelings, and I can only feel sympathy for her. I walk the length of the bar, fixated on that door and nothing else. I can't say for certain what's going on, but the closer I get the more I tune out the background noise of the bar and the more I think I can pick up in there. Eventually I'm right up against the damn thing, I let my ear hover by the side to clearly translate the sorrow and chaos hurricane that's comin' through. "Listen man, you gotta get people out." I made my way back to the bar for just one second. "Or at least all the straights. The stiffs don't need to see this though." That they don't. I wonder how things have been since my sabbatical, if the political situation had perhaps shifted. I don't know if Nora is the right leader for this sect, but I do know that it shouldn't be over a single incident that she be de-throned. A frenzy seemed imminent, if she were not already in the throes of one. Hopefully whatever it was passed, as I return to the door and drown out the music, I hear her painful cries. I am powerless to not help. This bitch really has me messed up inside. Here goes nothing. I almost try to do it casually. I check the door but it doesn't budge, seemingly she's had sense enough to lock herself in. It'll keep her from spilling into the bar and killing everyone there I imagine. Though if she really wanted to, the door would be forced to reluctantly buckle under her assault. I ball up my hand and, with a final look around, drive it just below the handle. It sounds a satisfying crack of wood and bone, and my hand springs through the other side. It swings on the hinges, and suddenly I can sense everything in the room. Fuck, this wasn't a good idea. I don't care what the other freaks are doing anymore, I don't give a damn about the Masquerade. I'll do what I can, but right now, I'm under that old black magic called love again. I rip the door open and plough straight in, shutting it behind my immediately (as much as its new found shape will allow). "Nora." even in the minimal light that's flickering, I can spot her broken form. I can smell so much blood, blood that belongs to who knows what. I take slow steps, each punctuated by the squelch of shattering glass pieces. "It's just me darling." I whisper. She seems to have detected my presence, but still she shudders with that horrid despair. I kneel in front of her, slowing my pace to a snail as I edge ever so closely every second. "S'me, Babe." I keep quiet, reaching out with my arms, planning on wrapping her up with them. So I can let her know she's safe...and stop her running off. "What's happened?" I ask softly, letting my hands touch down on her shoulders. And brace for impact. |
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| Nora Penvellyn | Saturday, 24. August 2013, 20:30 Post #25 |
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Rebel With a Cause
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"Take one long, deep breath Nora. Just that scent alone - gunpowder and cigarette smoke, whiskey and citrus-scented body spray, subtle rainfall pierced when ye least expect it by that little mule kick of cocaine. Tell me honestly that ye can live without it - entirely - and I'll leave forever, and never darken your door again. But I don't think ye can - and I know I can't." But he never would darken her door again... The idea of never seeing Sullivan's face shook her to the core. He was gone. Forever. All she had now were the memories that would eventually get lost in the haze of her addiction and be swallowed whole, never to be seen again either. "You are the best I have, the closest I have, to bein' the man I was before... Before this. An' if you need this ta end to keep together yer own head, I... I won't stop ye. But I will never find another like you, Nora - that's as true as it gets. An for better or worse, that's how it is." She pulled her limbs into herself tightly, clutching her hands against her chest and fighting to keep her itching fingertips from doing more damage. Her eyes remained closed, blood still streaming in steady lazy rivers down her cheeks and over her nose to the floor. The sting of pain that was ripping her heart in two was residual... buried deep inside her. She wanted it out. She just wanted the harrowing throb to stop. "I love you, Nora. More than I have words for. I shouldn't, because you're one crazy lady... But you're my crazy lady. So if I'm never leavin' again... Don't ever change." A whimper escaped her as her claws inevitably sharped and sliced into her sternum and the tops of her breasts. She let her hands fall away, straightening her back and allowing them to settle lower down towards her gut before sinking against the floor once more. How was she supposed to stay like this for the rest of eternity? She couldn't live this way. Not without him. When Sullivan was missing from this equation, it lead to nothing but self destruction. Clenching her teeth, desperate for release, her claws sunk agonizingly slow into her abdomen, cutting through dead muscle and flesh with no mercy. "Get off yer oh-so-high horse ye heartless bitch!" The hallow crack of wood breaking against Damon's fist through the door set her on edge, her entire body stiffening with the sound of the door opening. His tentative approach and soft baritone confused her. Her heart wanted nothing more then to be wrapped in his arms, but her mind only wanted peace and privacy. The pain began to simmer and spread through her whole tightly compacted body. "You, who would start a war with the Sabbat and fuck 'em all at the same time?! Why should any of us follow you?! Why should any of us trust that ye have our best interests in mind?!" She'd been reckless once. Reckless with his heart, his trust, and his pride. She didn't know how else to tear him down when all he spoke was the truth. She couldn't stand hearing it, so she hit where it hurt most. Below the belt, with a smug ass smile on her face. She'd never been so cruel and unfeeling as she had in those moments. All because he'd left her and Damon had so easily taken his place while he was gone. "You? You're out of control. Ye haven't got a fuckin' clue where you're goin', but yer the head o' the whole pack here fer Christ's sake! Ye can't lead us like this!" She could hear the angry Irish lilt echoing harshly in her head, rattling around and reverberating against her ear drums uncomfortably. It was loud enough to drown out the crunch of glass under Damon's booted feet, but it couldn't cover his gentle voice of concern as he carefully stepped toward her and lingered over her in silence. "You don't realise what you did to me in Paris. Or maybe you do. I've never found a friend in someone so quickly..." He knelt before her, hovering so close. Why did he feel so fucking far away? "You're special. More than I'd like to admit. I'd never do anything to hurt you Nora...I think I love you too much." He spoke again, his arms wavering just above her quivering form. Goddamn, he was so fucking close. She could feel the shift in time and space as he inched closer...and closer... "Ye said it yerself - ye were lost without me, was it? Ye needed me here? See, this is the thing I see ye aren't comprehendin' Nora. I remember things like that. Details, little things. Ye think I didn't know what'd happened between you an' that crackhead East-boy the moment ye saw both of us in the same room?!" She whimpered and flinched against his touch, but she didn't shy away from it. She let his cold hand rest on her shoulder blade and flexed her fingers, still knuckle deep in her insides. Finally, her eyes snapped open, her lashes clumped with dried blood and running mascara. They weren't their usual rage-fueled red, but the clear, arctic blue. "Time and space be fucking damned, if you and me were simple flesh and blood then I know I could have loved you, without question." Nora slowly sat up, rising and straightening her back like a cobra preparing to strike. Her mouth was flooded with sharp, acidic venom-laced saliva, but she willed herself to swallow it down as she looked at him fully for the first time in months. He looked so different, yet so completely the same. His gentle, worried gaze was as comforting as it was unsettling. Of all the people that didn't dare try to disturb her, he was the one that did it anyways. Did he really love her? She couldn't be sure. How could he love her if he couldn't even trust her? Why would he care if he didn't? She stared at him with wide, shaken eyes full of sorrow and confusion. She couldn't begin to understand what he was after, if anything, but just looking at him made her want to fall apart in his arms. Just as long as he was holding her, she could be as messy and broken as she needed to be, and he'd still keep her together. That much she could trust him with. On a primal level, Nora and Damon understood each other in a way most others never did. Yet she couldn't be sure if he really, truly loved her like he said he had and would've a million times over had their paths crossed in a different life. She whimpered as she pulled her hands away from her abdomen and looked down to the fresh blood that coated her clawed fingertips. She stared at them as the claws slowly returned to their normal finger-like shape, her eyes hallow and fearful as she let them fall to the tops of her thighs, "I don't know." She whispered, "There was a man...So many different men... And tunnels, tunnels for hours and miles. Now it's all gone. We're all dead. Fucking dead." She sounded delirious. Her eyes finally rose up to meet his, the pain that was wracking her body almost tangible in the look she gave him, "He's gone. Sully's fucking gone, and I couldn't stop it," She voice was hitched, and she was shaking like a leaf. "I can't do this. I can't stop this..." Her head feel as she looked away from him, breaking under what felt like the weight of the world, ashamed of admitting it, and hating every minute of it. "We're fucked." |
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| Church | Thursday, 5. September 2013, 20:06 Post #26 |
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Putting the 'fun' in 'dysfunctional'
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Holy fucking crack jesus. As she lifts her gaze, I can't be sure this is even the Baron herself. What with the dim lighting in the foreplay room as well as, oh you know, the gallons of blood she's caked it. She fucking reeks of the stuff. Hers...mostly hers, fresh drops still dabbing the floor as she pulls her hands from within. I shift awkwardly, absolutely torn as to what to do. I want to comfort her, all the while I'm afraid of getting too touchy feely in her current mental state. Likewise, even looking into the broken face of the person I believed was my soulmate, I want to give her a slap and tell her to man the fuck up. She starts to ramble, and I honestly try to piece things together. It sounds like shes coming down with the madness bug. Given how much blood is covering her, I start to assume that maybe something terrible hasn't happened after all and that she's brain damaged from a bus hitting her. "He's gone. Sully's fucking gone, and I couldn't stop it," Ah. Now thats shut me up. I chew the statement over, letting her tremble dreadfully like a junkie who...well like hungry Nora does. I know she's not crazy just from torment shining through her eyes. And yet...I can only think one thing. One little word that would make her feel better. Good Her feel better? I meant me. In fact, its sickening that I can think such a thing, especially as it pains her so. Sully was never my enemy, just someone luckier than me. I can't say I'll miss him. I just gotta make sure I don't look too happy about it. Which isn't exactly hard when the woman you love is dying cause the man she loves just died. Not that it matters, cause we're all dead. We're fucked. The world is ending, the sky is falling. Huh... The sky is falling I lower myself, trying to catch her face as she with my eyes as she slumps back down, hiding away from me. She can't look me in the eyes, and I can't blame her. What I can do though...what I can do. "Lenora. Wake the fuck up." I growl, without any haste I calmly grab her by the wrists to stop anymore self mutilation. "Who asked you to save the world? Is that what you do now, stop the big bad evil things?" It's harsh, but true. I yank her arms, not so rough as to tear anymore of her to pieces, but to get her attention and get her eyes forward. Of course, I am completely ill informed in this scenario, I have no idea what she likes to get up to in tunnels with all these different men, but what I do know is I don't wanna see her like this. That I'm still pissed about what she did to me...and to Linda of course. And most importantly. "Come on baby, you ain't alone. You ain't gotta feel like you gotta do everythin'. Cause I'm sure you know plenty people who'll stand right by yah when the world goes up in flames." With my face fixed into a stern expression, I let her hands go. Unknowingly almost. Instead I reach out and cup her face, a thumb wiping at the layer of grime filth and bodily fluid on top. "Jesus girl, what the fuck..." I mutter, bringing it to my face and sniffing. Lots of blood and lots of fire by seems of things. Hell the way she smells, a lot of shit too. "I'm sorry darling, I really am, but you get your fucking head straight before we have a blood bath right here too. You cause a scene here in your headquarters and the Capes will have their excuse to absolutely rape you." I glance nervously over my shoulder, still the bustle of a bar, the music of a jukebox, all filtering through the creek in the doorway. If she loses it and runs through...but I don't think I can leave her here now, even if it is to get everyone out. I need to start carrying a gun. I bet that'd get folks running. "Yah good?" Obvious answer being no. But I don't want things to get messier than they already are. And I ain't talking with a delirious lunatic, even if it used to be one of my favourite passtimes. |
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| Nora Penvellyn | Sunday, 8. September 2013, 04:48 Post #27 |
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Rebel With a Cause
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"Lenora. Wake the fuck up." Lenora... She hadn't heard that word, that clusterfuck of syllables and letters that was the remains of her past... Lenora this, and Lenora that. Lenora Rosalie, where in God's green earth do you think you're going at this hour? Or Lenora, my love, why do you break my heart so? Lenora, get your head together. Lenora, think of your future! My sweet little Lenora, the apple of my eye... In a very long time. The sound of his growl shook her. The feel of his iron grip on her wrists alarmed her. Nora looked up to Damon with wide eyes, teeming with fear, doubt, and dismay. She let his words sink in. Who asked you to save the world? No one. Is that what you do now, stop the big bad evil things? Sure as fuck seems that way. "Apologies," She breathed, her voice devoid of any emotion at all now, "You caught me at a bad time." He let go of her, and her hands hung stiffly in the air for a few moments before she finally let them fall to her lap. It felt overlapped; every movement she made was delayed by eight seconds. She counted while she was waiting for time to catch up with her. Constantly pausing and buffering. Playing, pausing, and buffering. His hands cupped her face delicately, his thumb smudging beneath her eye with a look of concern haunting his eyes. Jesus girl, what the fuck... He pulled away, smelling the residual blood bath she'd waded through underground on his fingertips. I'm sorry darling, I really am, No you're not, but you get your fucking head straight before we have a blood bath right here too. You cause a scene here in your headquarters and the Capes will have their excuse to absolutely rape you. She laughed. Staring straight into his eyes, what was at first a disbelieving laugh became a genuinely amused one. Hah, you're kidding right? Oh... you're being serious? Ha. Hahaha...hahaha! That's fuckin' hilarious! She lost herself in her laughter, almost falling into him as she wrapped her arms around herself in a fit of side splitting laughter. "You say that," She started, still laughing and clamping a bloody hand on his shoulder as she fixed her eyes to his, "You say that like they haven't already," She exhaled, steadying her breathing, "Been raping me every fucking night since I died." She said this very calmly, as if she'd come to terms with it a long time ago. Which she had, she just hadn't quite accepted the defeat yet. It wasn't that easy for her to just lay down and take it like a bitch. She had too much pride to simply lay down her sword and raise her white flag. "You know, it's funny," she let go of his shoulder, her hand wavering to his face as she ran her thumb along the crook of his jaw softly, "They always tell you that being like this just make it that much harder to get rid of you," She brushed his bottom lip, looking from his mouth to his eyes again, "But they never tell you how much harder it is to survive it." "Yah good?" Nora shook her head slowly, letting her hands fall into her lap in a knot of fingers and flaking grime. There she sat before him, the worst she'd ever been, a ruin of the woman she could've been, and somehow still alive to tell the tale. She sucked in a breath, as if she were about to speak, but sooner sighed at a loss for words and chewed her lip. There was an empty pit in her stomach. A thirst that needed to be quenched. A hunger that need sating. It ached, painfully reminding her of the famished Beast that needed replenishment dwelling inside her. She had been looking down at her hands, but his slightest movement had her grabbing his wrists much like he had taken hers, "Don't you fuckin' leave me," It sounded desperate, distraught... frightened. Fresh tears burned, threatening to spill, "I am so sick and fucking tired of every person I care about leaving me." She closed her eyes, but they fell anyways. She quickly opened them again. Every time she closed them, she saw Sullivan lunging after that fairy fuck face with the pink tie and disappearing... For good. "Please." Part of her wanted to fling herself at him. The rest of her wanted to assume the fetal position, "Don't leave me." |
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| Church | Sunday, 8. September 2013, 22:55 Post #28 |
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Putting the 'fun' in 'dysfunctional'
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Maybe this is why I can't ever recover. The shit she says rings so damn true, it stings. It makes me wonder if shes a big part of the problem I have, the degeneration of my sanity since I got to this fucking city. Right now I bet she feels like death would be pretty sweet right about now. Me...I'm not too fussy. Maybe we could douse ourselves with gas and share a final smoke together. Or maybe I should man up myself and give her a hand. The look she gives me is worrying. Quite threatening really. I'm likewise reluctant to leave her be, but she's in trouble. She needs a tweak pretty damn sharp, or she's gonna absolutely lose her shit. And that would be bad. Despite what she claims about the Camarilla raping her, a word I think I should regret using, I was referring to the fire and brimstone raping. Making her disappear, and you know having the Baron destroyed would either make or break a revolution in this city. I won't let her give them an excuse. As soon as I think about fetching one, she latches on, sudden enough to spook me. She doesn't want to be left alone. She doesn't want the people she cares about to leave. That alone makes my gaze slip away uncomfortably. Whatever it is she has done to me, it's unstoppable. Think Alice Cooper called it poison? "You're hurt honey." I murmur gently, letting my hands dangle loose in her grip. She's making more sense now anyway, but still teetering on the edge of succumbing to a fit of violence. "Now you gotta eat summit, clean up an' tell me what happened so we can..." Do what? Prepare for Gehenna? I doubt she's in the mood for some lovin' and to be honest her being covered in blood isn't as sexy as I thought it would be. As much as she messes with my head, I know I won't abandon her right now. "We'll get you better, thas all that matters. I ain't leavin' you, Ok? Let me go clear the bar an' get some blood." I reiterate the issue a couple times, hoping she's stable enough to focus on my words. I start to get up, the world outside still buzzing on is a lil' bit of a problem. I don't know how many people in the bar are Cainites. I don't know how many saw a blood soaked woman storm through a public house. I don't know what the fuck is going on this psychos head right now. So instead of escaping like I planned I shuffle on my knees, getting a little cozier with and hoping she finds what little comfort there is in the deathly chill of my body. I get as close to a hug as someone can with their hands in a freaking death grip. It's enough to get another set of clothing ruined with blood. "Tell me what you wanna do honey." I ask in a low voice, planting a soft kiss on her forehead, ignoreing the flare of pain from the, by comparison, miniscule cut on my lip. I have a bad feeling about this. Especially since I'm the only fucker who bothered to come and check on a mauled Baron. "What do you need?" |
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| Nora Penvellyn | Saturday, 14. September 2013, 21:17 Post #29 |
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Rebel With a Cause
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He pulled her into an awkward embrace, her hands still clamped around his wrists. So many thoughts and emotions cycled through her exhausted mind in those short seconds as he did so, not quite understanding what was transpiring between them after months of absolutely no contact and leaving their bullshit on the rocks to be dealt with...never? His kiss set on edge; she stared at him with what looked like hesitation for a few moments, confused, hungry as hell, and oh so close to that thick, strong neck of his. She could never shy away from his touch though, no matter how hard she tried to. Practically flinging herself at him, she wrapped her arms around him tightly, burying her face in the crook of his neck as another wave of confused feelings wracked her body. There wasn't really any reason to cry now. Well, there were actually plenty of fucking reasons why she should, but that didn't mean she wanted to. It made her feel weak, vulnerable... Would he take advantage of her? She couldn't imagine why he would, but considering the complete 180 he'd done the last time they'd spent a significant amount of time together... She didn't want to think about it. She couldn't wrap her mind around him and his ass backwards bullshit right now. All she could do was pull away and look at him and wonder what the fuck was going through his head right now. "Why are you doing this?" She thought out loud. As soon as the words left her mouth she regretted even going there in her head. Talking about all the shit they needed to talk about but didn't want to talk about was the last thing she wanted to do. She did a terrible job of brushing the delicate topic under the rug and pressed on, "Never mind, it doesn't matter. Shower... I need a shower," she started, awkwardly breaking eye contact and looking down at herself, "And clothes... a proper meal..." Nora's gaze had settled on Damon's neck, sights set on the solid length of muscle that held up his handsome head. "I'm so fuckin' hungry," she whispered, leaning in closer, finding it harder and harder to keep any semblance of self control... It was right there, all she had to do was take it. Right fucking there...pumping blood she'd dreamed of tasting years ago through it, just waiting for her to sink her teeth in and suck from. She struck him much like the viper she was slowly becoming, quickly and efficiently latching onto his neck and sucking like her life depended on it. The venom in her bite was the last of her concerns for her meal at the moment, gulping down his vitae as if she hadn't fed in weeks. She let herself melt against him, lost in her hunger and feeling the foggy, unmistakable high that came with the consumption of kindred blood...kindred blood...she was gulping down kindred blood? Who...? Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! "I'm so sorry," she breathed, pulling away from him as suddenly as she'd attacked, wiping his blood from her lips and frowning as she looked at the damage she'd done. She wished looking at this would be sobering, but it wasn't. Her snack paled in comparison to what her Beast was demanding, but she couldn't bring herself to even look him in the eye now, let alone finish what she started. She closed the space between them long enough to run her tongue along the bleeding gashes before breaking away from him again and getting up to her feet. Yeah, he was right, she was hurt, but that wasn't his problem. It didn't have to be, and she couldn't understand why he was making it his burden to bear. She wanted him, God in Heaven how she wanted him, and needed him, but for the first time in a long time, she felt guilty for what she just did. Maybe it was because he was somebody. Her somebody. Now she was feeling like the biggest fucking asshole on the face of the Earth. "You don't have to do this," She had her back to him, looking around at all the fucking damage she'd done. As good as she felt at the moment, she also felt like absolute shit. She wanted to run. She wanted to hide. She wanted to disappear and cease to exist. "I didn't..." she couldn't figure out what the fuck to even say anymore, "You should get away from me. I don't want to hurt you anymore." She swallowed the remorseful lump in her throat and stepped aside, waiting for him to leave. She wasn't his mess to clean up, or his responsibility, or even his friend anymore. At least it didn't feel that way. So why the fuck would he stay? |
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| Church | Sunday, 15. September 2013, 15:35 Post #30 |
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Putting the 'fun' in 'dysfunctional'
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"Why are you doing this?" I wonder the same damn thing myself girl. Though we both know the answer, even if you don't wanna rub it in. I sure don't want you to. Having those reptilian eyes gaze at me with dreamy thoughts shut away; I keep my expression stern, but can't stop my heart melting. It doesn't matter anyway. According to her, it doesn't matter that she drives me fucking crazy. I continue to bite my lip, still trapped in this awkward position, trying desperately not to push any of her buttons. A shower indeed was due, as she let her stare slip down back into my embrace. Clothes, you don't fucking say. And a meal. A meal. Shit. I figured she was hungry, and at the words coming from her lips I am about to suggest that I go pick up a doll. An expendable one at that. But instead I'm motionless as her eyes that seemingly focused on nothing are targeting directly on the sweet spot. "I'm so fuckin' hungry," she whispers, the lightest artificial breath tickling my neck as she speaks. Her head slowly settles into position and I know what she's doing. I don't like to do it. Maybe once upon a time in Paris, or the night in Macey's, but here and now? I sigh quietly and shut my eyes, gritting my teeth in anticipation. I guess I don't have a choice. I wait...teeth on edge, waiting for the impact and for this ordeal to be over with. Very few people have I ever allowed to drink from me, much less take it straight from the tap. No doubt I have longed for her exquisite kiss, just as I've craved her body (and look at how well that turned out) Something I still want, still need. I want to lock me and her away, with a steady supply of blood on tap and just fuck her till the Armageddon. A thought that is cut short, but only confirmed as suddenly she is at my throat. A whimper escapes as she punctures my skin, my teeth try to stay gritted but part in surprise. The sensation has long been forgotten. I can't even remember the last person who was allowed to get so close. All the while I think of Linda, how she died in this very building, and I know why. The venom. Not lethal to me, but the pain alone could cause lesser things to wilt away and die from shock. But to me? I had been bracing for the horrors of her particular nibble, but instead I find something different. I wriggle a hand free from her concrete grip only to wrap it around her and pull her closer. It. Feels. Amazing. As damning and delightful as, what I recall another Baron dub, la petite mort, but the fire that trails from the wound, a burning that sweeps through my system and sets every nerve ablaze. My body quivers and contorts in her grasp, trying to keep as still as I can, but with such euphoric pain setting in, most definitely easier said than done. "Oh my God. Yeah, fuck yeah, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. No! No, no, no no no no no, no, no." No! Get out from under my skin! I can't let her do this, I can't get addicted to her instead of the drugs. I want to though. I still want her. She lets go and whispers her apology. I say nothing as she closes the wound and backs away from me. "You don't have to do this," Oh, pretty sure I do now don't I? "You should get away from me. I don't want to hurt you anymore." But I like getting hurt, why else would I put up with this bullshit? I'm thankful she only took so much, though a little disappointed the process as a whole didn't take longer. "You're kidding right?" She steps aside and that causes a jolt of fury to jump right through me. At least she's less dangerous, and at least no-one had heard anything, cause things could still get messy the way she's fucking with my head. "You hurt me enough already babe. I don't see how you can top things wi-" I stop myself, not wanting to bring up Sullivan and the heart ache. Even if she does deserve it. I am reluctant to make blows below the belt in such a way, hopping to my feet so I don't look like some damn cow-eyed schoolboy worshipping her. "Points moot. Who the fuck are you to tell me what to do the way you're lookin' right now? Just...fuck up, alright? Just shut the fuck up." I take unzip my hoodie, patchy and stained with whoevers blood she was doused in. I fling it at her with a distinct lack of care; "Take this, cover up and maybe people in the bar won't notice what's going on. You're gonna take a shower, we're gonna make sure you're good and only then am I gonna leave, 'kay?" I'm sure I would sound like a sweetheart if there wasn't such aggression in my tone. Once again I'm falling under her sway, I want to be nothing more than her plaything. Or devour her and be done with all this nonsense. Gotta shake off the dumbness, get her fit for purpose or throw her out if she's too broken. Am I thinking on the Anarchs? Sure doesn't seem like me. But maybe I'm praying that no-one kills us all while the Baron is off her rocker. "So get your ass movin', seriously, I'm not in the mood for this shit. Go shower, I'll find you something a little fresher to chow down on, and then we'll...we'll sort this out, ok?" I grimace; I don't know what sorting it out entails exactly, but if I can get her head straight and her body healing I can leave and not give fate a chance to make things sour. I hope. |
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| Nora Penvellyn | Wednesday, 18. September 2013, 02:26 Post #31 |
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Rebel With a Cause
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"You hurt me enough already babe. I don't see how you can top things wi-" Nora ears perked up painfully at the cliffhanger of a sentence that fell from Damon's mouth. Was he really about to...? Would he really be that low? Part of her knew she deserved it with the rollercoaster she'd dragged him onto, but jesus fuck, where the fuck did he get off? He was an enigma to her! One minute he wanted to kick her while she was still fuckin' down, the next his only concern was getting her better. She turned to face him, matching his irritated gaze with a glare of her own. Her jaw was set her, lifting her chin and crossing her arms beneath her bust as he continued to rant, telling her to shut the fuck up, do this, do that, lay down, roll over, take it in the ass with no lube, thank him and ask for another, gag on a spoon... she simply stared at him, watching his mouth move and his anger furrow his brow, but hearing nothing. When you had a drunk for a father that rambled and yelled in circles, learning how to tune out the bullshit was easy. He flung his jacket at her, and she just as quickly threw it down on the floor. She'd yet to say anything in response to his tirade, her blood boiling with every other word that fell out of his mouth. Had she missed something? Was there a reason he was suddenly so goddamn pissy and hormonal? Jesus fucking Christ, they couldn't have just one fucking night where he wasn't as up and down as a goddamn teeter totter and she wasn't on the verge of losing her shit. "What if I don't want you to leave?" She asked him, pulling the blood soaked remains of her tee shirt over her head and hurling it at him before crossing an arm over her chest and covering herself. She bent over, pulling her boots off her feet,"What if I don't give a fuck" She chucked one at his head, "What those people out there fucking think?!" and then the other at his groin. She gazed at him warily, her bottom lip trembling as her free hand began working on the button of her jeans, "What if I'll never be good?" she sounded a little heartsick at the idea. She slowly unzipped the fly, "What if we can never get this shit sorted out?" She tugged on the side, shimmying out of that were plastered against her legs like wet paper with blood. She stepped out of them and kicked them at him with a short burst of anger through clenched teeth. There she stood before him, naked, smeared in blood and dirt, and hugging herself tightly, "What if you can't fucking fix me, Damon? What if you can't protect me? What if you can't keep your fucking promise? Remember that one, babe?" She practically spat it at him like it was an insult. "How did it go? Something like 'I'm gonna look after ya, don't run, he can't have you, don't be afraid my love'" She swayed, all the hurt and disappointment laying dormant in her voice, "So much for that, huh?" She disappeared before his eyes, burning what little blood she'd taken from him to bolt and storm downstairs unseen. He'd see the door fly open, and if he watched closely enough, he'd notice the subtle path she'd taken, passing by patrons of the bar closely, just barely brushing past them as she made her way to the door that lead down to the box. It'd open as she slipped inside and left it hanging open for him to surely follow. It'd been a few months since she'd stepped foot down here; the last time being to pack up what remained of Vasili to put away on a shelf upstairs and forgotten about for however many years until someone found it again. She padded across the cold cement floor, running her fingertips over the surface of the card table as she passed. It'd collected a fine layer of dust since she'd last been down here. Despite it's lack of a hulking inhabitant, it was cleaner and smelled...not like blood, gore, and gun powder for the first time since...well, ever. He'd converted one of the dead end tunnels into a make-shift washroom of sorts, with an uneven and botched layer of stone tiling covering the floor and wrapping around the walls with a single drain in the middle of the room and an industrial water hose with a spray attachment rigged to the ceiling. He was nothing if not fucking practical, that was for damn sure. Nora wandered inside, dropping her cloak of obfuscate and the bottle of dish soap and bar rag she'd snagged on her way down here to the floor. The resounding shut of the door alerted her that Damon had indeed followed. She jumped up and grabbed a hold of the sprayer head, pulling the hose down and testing out the trigger, sending a heavy stream of water shooting across the room. It was cold as ice, but it was better then nothing as she wasted no time dousing herself in it and watching the layers of filth begin to wash down the drain. He'd find her bent over, rinsing bloody suds out of her inky, tangled, clotted black locks. She looked up to regard him sharply, speaking as she continued to wash her hair, "So I've hurt you enough, babe? Tell me the ways I've broken your heart. You know, since I'm such a big bad bitch that does nothing but fucking kill every miserable fuck's hopes and dreams." She flipped her hair back, looking at him fully now as she rose back to her full height. He still towered over her from where he lingered, but she wasn't gonna back down that easy. Not by a long shot. "Oh, and heartless. Can't forget that one. I must be one helluva good fuck to keep such good company despite all my shitty character flaws." Her words were dripping with sarcasm and sheer anger, sneering at him as she continuing lathering soap along her arms and across her torso. "So what is it, Damon fuckin' SIRK?" She spat it at him. They may have met in different lives, but that didn't mean she didn't remember it all the same. "What is it that I can't top?" She asked him, spraying herself down again, pale flesh and tattoos beginning to shine through the haze of grime, "C'mon now, you started this, fucking finish it! You think I'm such a fucking cunt, you hate my fucking guts this much, fucking show me much you fucking hate me then! Now's your chance, babe. " She shouted, glaring with the hose in hand, aimed directly at him. "Come on, Damon. Break me like I broke you." She then proceeded to hose him with an ice cold shower of water. Maybe that would get this shit show on the road. |
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| Church | Wednesday, 18. September 2013, 20:34 Post #32 |
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Putting the 'fun' in 'dysfunctional'
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Fucking boot throwing, shit stirring, foul mouthed filthy fucking skank. Whatever guilt she built up inside me is completely washed away with fury at her vanishing. Her last words stung the most, so much for that, like I fucked and forgot her. I never stopped wanting to come back, but now I remember why I didn't. This shit. This stupid shit, the inability to be in the same room without our overcomplicated emotions causing an explosion. I leave the jacket on the floor, heading out the door with a head full of steam. I should probably leave, forget all about this and get the fuck out of dodge, but knowing she's still here and knowing what she said is going to bounce around my head for the rest of the night...I want this sorted. I give the bar the slight attention its worthy of, no-one looking shifty or suspicious of the unrest, of the building animosity of two individuals. Course, this ain't my bar, and while bringing a Camarilla shit storm down on my head is a problem, burning the place down to prove a point isn't. Not sure what that point is yet, but running out on me...again...it's got my hot blood positively burning through my veins. There, the door, the one bleak night I stumbled down into the darkness and met the bear, met Nora's true, animalistic self. Still a person I probably could have loved. [I[could[/I]. It makes the thought of Linda resurface, so insignificant and small in the grand scheme of the universe, but a person she snuffed out like it was nothing. Still makes me uncomfortable to think of her sprawled on the floor, lifeless and empty. I tear the door open and slam it behind, now that I'm not dealing with a wounded and rabid animal, I really don't give too much a fuck. I do know that the outside doesn't wanna hear this. The floor of water leads me to her, the foul, feminine form of the bitch in question. I'm open to being reasonable. We can talk this out and see where it takes us. Problem is, she starts things off and suddenly has really switched into overdrive. It's no wonder her bite is loaded with venom...she's under my skin and making me squirm in discomfort. But this...this is something else. My teeth feel like they'll crack, my jaw is locked so tight to keep my composure as she berates me. The water though...cold and refreshing, I remember no sensation bringing such clarity as I let the water rush over me. It's enough fuel to get this fire started. I lunge forward, knocking that fucking waterpistol aside as I take hold of her throat. I ram her into the wall with a nasty thud, bringing my snarling face to hers. She has the potential to fend me off, sure, she's unrestrained and has the ability to shred me the pieces. But she's not getting me off her. I can't think or feel anything other than what my eyes see and my hands will themselves to do. Namely clamp on her throat like a vice. "You stupid fucking bitch. Why? Why the fuck do this? I wanted to help! You fucking left me! You made me think I was your soulmate and then told me you already had yours! What more can you fucking do!? WHAT, MOTHERFUCKER!?" I spit angrily in her face, shaking as something trembles beneath the surface. The sleeping giant, a demon I don't wish to show its face. I feel my fingers slicken, more blood oozing as her skin cracks beneath my hands. I open my mouth to explain, but there's nothing more to say. We are simply destined to love or destroy one another. Who could've known it would be the latter? My hand releases her, almost surprising even to me. Though the speed at which it balls, bones cracking as I scrunch it into a tight meaty mallet of pain, is not. I hit her, right in the face. I want to do it again, so I try real hard, but pull my fist away before I can. It buries into the wall with a squelch of blood and bone. "You're fucking poison." I managed under my breath, shaking, squeezing, I can only feel pain. "I'm done with this shit. You're a good person Nora. Just it don't feel that way to me." I slip away, stepping back, drawing back a bloodied first though I can't feel it still. My gaze drops down her body, I want to do just what she asked. Break her. Mutilate her. Get her out of my head and life for good. But I shouldn't. I can't, can I? "Have a nice fuckin' life. I'll see you in hell." |
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| Nora Penvellyn | Monday, 7. October 2013, 22:03 Post #33 |
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Rebel With a Cause
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Her eyes widened as he charged at her, knocking the hose out of her hand and grabbing her by the throat. She glared with bared teeth, bracing her impact as he smashed her body against the cold tiled wall behind her. She'd never seen him so pissed the fuck off, and a confusing wave of emotions washed over her as she stared him straight in the eye and took the beating. Her Beast was growling and purring in response, the dominance he'd taken over in those short moments as much of a turn-on as the words that fell out of his mouth were heartbreaking. She wanted to draw claws on him, but she wouldn't. She wanted to knee him in the balls, spit in his face, tear into his arm, but again, she wouldn't. She'd let him have this moment, and she'd take it like a bitch. She deserved it, and finally hearing all this shit made her realize that. Damon's throat crushing hand released her, her feet meeting with the floor once more, only for him to whirl his bowling ball fist into her face. That's what it felt like anyways, a fucking bowling ball dropping onto her fucking face. Her eyes were screwed shut, whimpering as he stepped back and left her to roll along the wall and recoil. He said she was poison, that he was done with this 'shit', like that was all it ever was, fucking shit. Yet he could still tell her that she was a good person, despite his personal thoughts and feelings about her. Was it all really just shit? It didn't feel that way. Was she really poison? She'd been a self-loathing piece of shit bait for quite some time, but it never really hurt when she thought about herself that way. Knowing that this man before her that she loved, somehow, some way, thought that about her too... that fucking hurt. "Have a nice fuckin' life. I'll see you in hell." "We're already fucking here, Damon! Don't you fucking see that?" Her words were a little slurred and less angry and more ridden with pain as she cradled her cheek in her hand and turned to face him, fresh tears spilling, "Why the fuck do you think... we keep... running into each other?!" She cried between heavy shallow breaths, trying to find some semblance of balance. It was out of the question at the moment as she leaned against the wall and watched him warily. She couldn't be sure just how badly her face was beaten in, not that a fucking mirror would help at all, but it felt like her cheek bone was shattered and her nose was literally punched off her face in the process. Her lips felt swollen, her bottom lip was bleeding pretty steadily having been forced against her massive incisors with his fist. She bent over, spitting out blood and a tooth. She looked up to him again, reeling and trying to make sense of what was happening. Was he leaving? No! Fuck no! He didn't get to just beat her face in and walk away from this! "I'm poison..." She rolled it over in her head, too many painful memories associated with the feeling of being called that coming to mind, "You think I don't know that? You think my own father didn't make that painfully clear after my mother died? Or fuckin' Vry for that matter? Jesus Christ, he even told me I was a fucking waste of his. And now you... one of the only people that has ever made me feel like I really fucking mattered... Goddamn it." She moved her hand that'd been nursing her broken face over her eyes, allowing herself a short sob before letting it fall to wipe away the blood that was stinging and streaming down her cheeks. "I don't know what to do! I don't know how to fucking fix this..." Her hand moved to her throat, as if it'd help the residual throbbing. "I'm sorry that we're apparently cursed with the worst fucking timing in the whole fucking universe. I'm fucking sorry we only ever see each other when I have nothing but fucking shit on my shoulders to deal with. How could you have helped, Damon? How?! I left you the first time because Vry had me cornered. You remember that? It didn't mean shit to him that you were standing right in fucking front of me! It didn't stop him from getting in my head and telling me to fuckin' run! You would've just died with me if I hadn't! And the second time? Oh god, the second time I left you," She looked up to the ceiling, her tone shifting as if she couldn't even believe what she was about to say for herself, "You come out of nowhere and tell me you're gonna help me, only to fuck me and tell me we probably shouldn't hang around each other too much, like I'm some fuckin' dirty little secret of yours... God fucking damn." It was obvious that bit struck a nerve, finally looking back at him, "That fucking hurt, Damon. I know I'm no saint, but don't you dare make this all my fault. It's not all my fucking fault, you shady ass prick." All she could was shake her head, frowning as she looked between him and the floor. The last time she'd taken a beating like this... she'd seen him then, too. She was only nursing a few broken ribs then, but this... this hurt so much more. Sure, fighting with Sullivan wasn't her fondest memory of their relationship, but she thought her heart broke then. That wasn't a break, it was a hairline fracture compared to the pain she felt looking at Damon, knowing how badly she'd hurt him, and how badly he wanted nothing to do with her. It broke her heart to think of not seeing him again, or hearing his voice, or feeling his touch. Even if it was his fist meeting her face, she'd take it over nothing at all. She swallowed the lump in her throat and willed herself to push off the wall, nearing him slowly as she spoke, "Before you came back into my life, before Sullivan walked out of it the first fucking time, I thought I had my soulmate too... I'd never been so sure of anything in my life as I was about how I felt about him. He's kin. It was supposed to be right... Supposed to be." She sighed, wanting to get closer but keep her distance from his potentially swinging fist, "Then you came along, like a ghost of Christmas fuckin' past, and now all I can be sure of is that I love you, Damon. I want you, but I shouldn't. I want you so fucking bad that it hurts, because I can't have you... You say I'm poison? Well you're a fuckin' disease, Damon. You're in me, in my bones, in my brain, in my heart, as dead and gone as they may be, you're there, and if I could breathe, I wouldn't be able to because I love you so fucking much, and I don't know how to tell you all of this without sounding like I've lost my mind. But this," She motioned between them, "This is the only thing that makes sense to me anymore, and I hate that it's fucking falling apart. I don't want it to. You don't want it to either. You would've walked away a long time ago..." She sucked in a breath, a shiver running down her spine, a painful jab in the left side of her face reminding her that she needed to heal, but there was no blood to burn. Things would start to get hazy and shaky soon... she'd stop thinking, stop hearing, stop reasoning and just kill until her Beast was satisfied. She was walking a very fine line that she wasn't very good at balancing on. The hunger was evident, her eyes flickering to his neck again before forcing herself to look back at him. "I'm sorry babe. I really am." |
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| Church | Sunday, 20. October 2013, 01:24 Post #34 |
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Putting the 'fun' in 'dysfunctional'
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Jebus, this is...fucking what is this? Why is this happening now? I stopped the minute she spoke again, cause I can't help myself. I can't help feel for her still, even if it is fucking hatred being mixed up inside with all the love. Every time the stupid bitch persists in flapping her gums, I feel a little more dead inside. Damon. Nobody calls me that, because nobody cares to. But it just reminds me more and more why we're terrible for one another. Damon Sirk was the name of a life I wasn't allowed to have, because here I am back in London busy hating unlife. What am I even doing here? I glance awkwardly at her and then back away, piss boiling at the site of her dishevelled form. She makes me nauseous. Her and her gorram words. They make my insides feel rotten...my vision blurry, my brain fucking fry. I can't think of anything but the fastest way to shut her up, and that's by smashing that jaw to pieces, along with her head. To a squidgy mess before eating her heart. I know I'd regret it, well, beyond regret. I would probably end up getting ruined and sunbathe one last time. But it'd make me feel good right about now. I can't interrupt, I can't speak at all really. Yeah, you do sound fucking crazy. I knew you were baby but this is too much. We could've just ran for the hills the first night we got back together, forgotten this fucking excuse of civilization and done whatever the hell we wanted. I wanted to...dearly...but there was a reason why. I'm sure there was a reason but I can't remember. Probably this fucked up situation Or my fucked up mind. My mouth is dry...but I manage out rough words. "I was tryin' to be civil. But if you can't let it go, neither will I." I spit out after the brief hiatus from talking. "But I can't do this now. Cause God help me, you open you fucking mouth one more time and I'm gonna shut it for good and dust your ass." Fact is that as much as my heart bleeds for this woman, my darker and more natural instincts compel me to hurt the things I care for the most. And not hurt like she thinks I have already. I mean superficial hurt. Lay a licking on her like no other, break her skin, flesh, bones. Spirit and mind. "I'm pissed. Ok? Super pissed. I stay here something bad is going down. Something you ain't gonna like. I..." I what? I turn away, I can only imagine how well my body language displays my sheer displeasure of this situation. I gotta get out of here. I gotta think about this shit with a clear head, not a recovering crack fiend. "Gimme time. I need fuckin' time. I can't be near you right now." I shake my head as I begin to leave. I'm not doing this shit tonight. "I'm sorry too." I call back, dreading how weak it sounded. Not especially reflective of my mood. Maybe that's I whisper my final sentiment. "I don't want it to end either." |
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| Nora Penvellyn | Tuesday, 22. October 2013, 20:35 Post #35 |
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Rebel With a Cause
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She nodded silently, swallowing her pride and her anger as she watched him turn away from her and walk away. Sucking in a breath, she stood in complete silence, naked, dirty, and sopping wet. After the door closed behind him, she let the last few tears she had left to cry about this fall. It was all she would allow herself beyond this room. Snatching up the water hose, she finished hosing herself off, lathering up wash rags with dish soap and practically scrubbing two layers of skin off loosening up the caked on blood and mud. You're gonna clean up, and you're gonna find something to eat, and you're gonna be fine. You're gonna be fucking fine. We always make it... We...? Who the fuck is we? Fuck. Nora shook her head, opening her eyes and seeing nothing but nasty, rusty looking water go down the drain at her feet. She needed fresh air. She needed to stretch her legs and run. She needed to feed. She needed to heal. She needed to stop losing her shit so shit like this would stop happening. But that was never gonna happen. Dropping the water pistol, she pulled her thin cloak of obfuscate about herself once more and drifted out of the washroom, up the stairs, and carefully out into the bar, making a quiet and unnoticed exit. |
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3:53 PM Jul 11