![]()
|
|||||||||||||||
| 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: |
| Live like we are Dying; Private, 18+ expect violence, foul language and mature subject matter. Perverts. We know you're watching. | |
|---|---|
| Topic Started: Wednesday, 2. October 2013, 21:40 (2,161 Views) | |
| Mac | Wednesday, 2. October 2013, 21:40 Post #1 |
![]()
Goddess of Fuck and War
|
Mac was not an easy waker, she slept like the dead where ever the fuck she fell asleep. This time, at least she had managed to fall asleep in her own bed, despite the fact she woke up on the floor several feet away. The table next to the bed had been turned over, and her cell phone was thrown halfway across the room. What the fuck had she been dreaming? Whatever it was, she was glad she didn't remember it. The floor beneath her naked body was concrete and cold as fuck, limbs sore and stiff as the icy chill slowly beckoned her awake. When she sat up she hurt all over, and she briefly had to wonder what the fuck she had been doing the night before. One hand came up to her throbbing head, a deep pounding ache spreading through her temples as her consciousness rose. Fuck, waking up Sober sucked so bad, but it didn't matter how much she drank her fucking ghoul metabolism always ate it by morning. She could be laying in the hospital dying of an overdose, and hours later she'd be stone cold sober. She got up with a sound like someone dying, heavy steps moving towards the kitchen area she'd set up in the small warehouse she was inhabiting. She's set the entire place up like her own small kingdom, with an open floor plan so she was always able to see between the fake room area's she'd created. Bedroom, Kitchen, Gym. The bathroom was the same as when she came, both a boys and a girls stall at the far end of the Gym area, which took up the majority of the space. The doors to both bathrooms were always kept open, and there was no point in the entire space that anyone could easily hide without the use of Obfuscate. The entire place was also rigged up with internal and external sensors, in case the Obfuscating fuckers figured out where she lived. She opened the fridge, making a sound like a zombie rising from the dead as she pulled out a bottle of Polish vodka, leaving a fridge only half full of clone like bottles. The other half was stakes and bacon, although there was also a single out of date box of orange juice. She pulled herself up onto the black granite countertops of her kitchen space, rolling open the top of the vodka and sitting back to take a heafty drink. It tasted like ass, and couldn't compare to the much higher grade Vodka that Church had so pleasantly provided for her the other evening, but it had the best results in cleaning up her sobriety problem. The thought of which made her start laughing into her morning drink, which resulted in her choking a little. She coughed a few times, the sensations helping to shake the last of the sleep clinging to her mind. Oh yeah, that was fucking hilarious. The alcohol burned up her nose, causing her eyes to water as she broke out into a full on belly laugh. Greatest night ever. What time was it anyways? She slipped down off the counter, lounging with her bottle in hand over to the bedroom area to retrieve her phone. She still had hours before nightfall, good. She chugged back another heavy gulp, and set the bottle on the nightstand after righting it. Her eyes slipped to the bed, blankets tossed everywhere. It looked like she had enacted a fight in her sleep, not the first time... A grin crossed her face as her thoughts went to a significantly dirtier place, and she shivered as a cool breeze rushed down her skin, riding the tail of a memory. She dressed quickly in short spanks and a tight white wife beater, and hit the considerable gym area to reduce the pent up energy that was burning for an escape hatch. She'd keep it simple today, as she didn't have the entire day to waste away lifting and working on stunt skills. She focused on Core, her favorite way to do so the uneven bars. She didn't use Mats below them, if she fell, she fell and she took the impact like a fucking champ. Better to teach yourself not to fall. After that it was some easy spinning, a half hour with light drumming from her ipod on the stereodeck in the gym. At the end of it though, she couldn't chase away the humming energy of an anxious ill ease. She didn't know if he -would- Hunt her, or he'd say it wasn't worth the time. She thought he would though, she'd certainly played it to the breaking point... and hoped she hadn't pushed him over the edge. If she had? Well, she'd have to find some poor mother fucker to take out all that expectation on. She'd use the open shower in the corner of the space, which had originally been installed for chemical burns. Already naked, she just stepped in and turned it on. It was cold as fuck, and she shivered as the icy water burned down her shoulders and chilled her already cool flesh. Good, she needed that cold shower something aweful, certain human stirrings having been turned on full blast and then completely neglected lately. Mother fucker. She then took out her day clothes, and sat down to wash down her leather harness system. She wore it daily, so she couldn't let it rot. She rubbed the leather with cleaner and a soft cloth, taking time to oil it after to ensure it's pliability. She then began dressing, the elaborate strap harness that went underneath her day clothes taking some time to get on just right. She found a pair of jeans that had been created specifically to go with it, certain rips and holes throughout to allow easy access to different levels of items pressed and clipped to the leather straps. Then a black mens wife beater clung tightly around her falsies, but had the looseness down the waist and underbust to hide the small items tucked into her harness. Black hoodie topping her off, making her more generic on the streets. When night fell, she stuffed her flask in her back pocket, her chain rope dart in her hoodie, and was slipping into the underground stairwell that led to the parking garage. She always came and went this way, because the underground parking was always busy from near by shops and she never had to worry about looking suspicious there. It was a decent cover. When she hit the streets, she'd go Hunting. Hunting for Church though? Or was she hunting... Aguirre? Would he be near her? Was this getting to fucked up? It was. Fuck. Maybe she should just go pick through the rubble in Camden and see if any of the old hippies she was used to spinning fire with were still alive. She could use a good fire jam, that might help release some tension. She doubted it though, it would probably just rile her up more. She stopped down an alleyway, tucking against the wall behind a trash can to listen to the cars going down the streets beyond. Flash in hand, she took another drink and began questioning London all together. This could be the fucking time of her life, but was it going to be the good kind of time of her life? or the worst kind? Edited by Mac, Tuesday, 22. October 2013, 04:03.
|
![]() "You are so fucking Camarilla. All hope and optimism. Maybe we can mount a rescue mission, and everyone can have a cupcake party, and fly around on Pegasus unicorns pooping rainbows." | |
![]() |
|
| Mac | Friday, 4. October 2013, 23:37 Post #2 |
![]()
Goddess of Fuck and War
|
After a seriously needed helping of the flasks poisonous smelling contents, she capped it again and inserted it back in her back pocket. The brick wall behind her had a damp, almost musty smell that was bothering her, and the garbage was top knotch unpleasant to her left. She pushed off the wall, ears on alert for the sound of footsteps coming down the alley way. Her eyes moved upwards, alighting along the fire escapes of the tall buildings that towered into the evening sky. Up was probably the way to go, take a high vantage point to follow the city. Everything in London was so squashed together, you could go blocks and blocks sometimes without having to take to ground to cross empty spaces. With a glance in either direction down the alley, she ensured her solitude before using the dumpster as a stepping stool. Up onto it's edge with an easy pull, balancing cat like on the open edge and jumping for the bar of the escape overhead. She latched on with a metallic squelch of the beams groaning, and pulled herself up with a gymnasts grace. This was why the uneven bars were her favorite core work, the benefits of the balance learned was immesurable. She pulled herself up, moving quietly from there on upwards through the metal stairways. They leveled out the floor below the roof, so she had to grab and swing her way up the brick from there. Rather dangerous, but routine for a creature of dare devil like herself. The thread of falling only sweetened the payload of reaching the top, sliding up onto the roof to slink across on eeriely quiet footsteps. She then found the street beyond, and sat with her arms crossed eyeing the roads below for familair bodies. She took out a joint, admiring the rolling job she had done briefly before flicking the end with a fingertip and lighting it up with one of many Zippo's she kept along her form. She took a nice deep drag, trying to take the edge off a certain level of anxious excitement that was bothering her. She was particularily unhappy with the fact she was looking forward to this Hunt so fucking much. She didn't know what form it would take, as she very well may have crossed the line into getting herself killed... But that just made it all that much more exciting. She didn't want to want it, she wanted to go on with her life without any unusual hang ups like a Fanger who could deal it out like a champ. The attraction bothered her, because she didn't feel like she was in control of herself properly around him. One step bond. God, two? She'd be an obsessive wreck. Three? Three and she'd probably have to kill herself, or him. She was to addictive, and was already feeling like he was an infection. She took a long drag and breathed out a slow smoke trail, passing the time away as she thought of ways to get to Jack. That, that was a fucking awesome challenge now wasn't it? Definately the most excitement she was going to have, the most challenge. Camden was in ruins, now was certainly the time to get on ferreting out the straggling survivors. Sounded like a fucking grand time to her. She could even attempt a little of the initial recon now, while the fangers were awake. It wasn't like she wasn't able to walk amoung them easily enough, especially if her reputation was known. Getting in with them would probably provide the best results, or at least taking one of them alive to torture out the information she needed. Now, would she want to snag a ghoul or a fanger proper? She could fantasize all day about exactly how she would carve the information she needed out of whomever she captured, skin prickling with goosebumps as a full body shiver swept her. She finished her joint, the cool soothing buzz helping relieve some of the knotting tension. It didn't however ease the sudden realization she hadn't eaten any real food, and her stomach flip flopped with a sudden need for bacon. The munchies were a bitch, and bacon was her favorite. She resisted the craving for as long as she could, pissed she had forgotten to eat something solid earlier. To ... distracted? Getting fucking -sloppy-. She'd move a few buildings, light footedly creeping along rooftops to use a seperate, quiet escape to get down. She'd take a seperate route to get back to the underground parking, pulling her hoodie up and tucking her dreads away to dissappear amoung the masses better. Edited by Mac, Friday, 4. October 2013, 23:38.
|
![]() "You are so fucking Camarilla. All hope and optimism. Maybe we can mount a rescue mission, and everyone can have a cupcake party, and fly around on Pegasus unicorns pooping rainbows." | |
![]() |
|
| Church | Saturday, 5. October 2013, 19:02 Post #3 |
![]()
Putting the 'fun' in 'dysfunctional'
|
I've always been an early bird, as well as a night person. Burning the candle at both ends was what defined my mortality, so it's no surprise it clung on past snuffing it. I'm greeted by the same bare room that is slowly becoming a self made prison cell. Seems every time I leave something unfortunate happens. Usually garment related. I pull my nude ass out from under the sheet; I'm normally not so spry. Normally I'll lay there staring, wanting some time to fuck my own head with regretful memories. Tonight is not about regret though, it's about what's right. What's right for me anyways. I catch myself grinning at what I have in store this evening. Hence why I'm so eager to get moving and out the door. I slip on a new hoodie, feeling a little guilty knowing full well this one is going to get ruined, which is a shame seeing as it was a gift. In fact, the hot red colour is one I certainly would not have gone for, it does clash with your eyes, but seeing as I feel like the devil himself tonight...seems appropriate. And it's not gonna make me anymore obvious wearing something unlike me. The cargo pants and boots are the same as I've ever worn though, stains mostly erased or faded enough that they can't be noticed. Clothing will undoubtedly be the first casualty again tonight. I wouldn't have it any other way. Without giving any further thought to the matter, I wouldn't dream of checking a mirror; I leave my room, whisper a soft "See ya later" to sweet Aguirre, I make my departure. It's killin' time! You gotta start the day with a good breakfast, and tonight's no exception. It's a rare fucking day where I go out with the intent of who my prey is, or at least I haven't done so in an awfully long time. Mac is unlike anything that's come before, and while only her blood will cool my anger, I am not going at this with anticipation of her being a meal. I need to be fully blooded for the hunt. And should there be a scuffle, which there undoubtedly will be, I will be fed enough to keep control and enjoy myself. It's an easy enough job, the trick is to start early before everyone's corrupted themselves with booze. A quick trip to the hospital is always a safe bet, and finding a nurse who's just come off twenty straight hours and is too tired to be pissed is a great way of topping up prior to the conflict. Next I find a car from the hospital, anything will do. The dark red SUV does the job, keeps me perched up high but shrouded enough so as not to be immediately recognisable. My speed is a little overzealous as I navigate the grids of London, checking the address on my phone from a 'friend.' I know the region well enough to know exactly where it is; close to home, like a lot of shit tends to be, but far too close to have this lunatic living. It doesn't seem smart to drive right into the complex; visibility would be even lower, though if there was a section I could trap her in with me, that would sure be good positioning. I slow to a halt outside the complex, not caring too much about the legality of such a parking space. I can do very little but sit on my ass and wait. Well, not strictly true, but I am trying to keep things clean and act smartly. I keep the stereo low, popping out the CD, a blank disk labelled 'Memories', and put it back in. I don't recognise any of the music, but it does a nice job of accompanying my hungry staring. I drape my arms across the wheel, leaning on them with my mouth so only my eyes are peeking from beneath my hood. They latch on to every form that exits the doorway to the parking garage, suspicious of every form regardless of how unlike Mac it is. I have to make certain, and even then I am not sure how I want to act on things. Her escape is a possibility. As is a serious violation of the Masquerade should I not get her in privacy. The biggest Issue I can see is her ability to day walk, though she strikes me as a night person she could be out during the day. And if this is her address like I figure, it might already be too late to find out for certain. My eyes glue to a figure; tall, shapely and hiding their face? I realise that beyond physical recognition, I have very little in the toolbelt to use. "Come on you fuckin' bitch...show me that pretty face." I mutter to myself impatiently, perking up in my seat and gripping the wheel as tightly as my teeth. "Where in the fuck are you?" These sort of ops are best left to the experts; the Nosferatu could track her to this garage, but however many buildings link directly to the underground is a mystery to me. Nevermind finding which one she's actually living in, or I would just find her house, smash the place to bits, then do the same to her when she came back home. That's how I would like to do it. And how I had in the past; Jack would find, I would do, it was as straight forward and simple as that. Though I was never as excited back then, it just makes everything that much more frustrating. Fuck this sitting about. I pop the door open and slowly make myself into the street, keeping the streetlights out of my face, my hood cascading a shadow to cloak the features she would recognise. Hands in the pouch at the front of my jumper as I slowly make my way inside. Guess I will play the waiting game, though the more this drags out the worse it's going to be...for her. I think of what possible advantage I have available, and draw a blank. This is going to be as graceful as a mugging. Or is it? As the lighting shifts to a more plain colour from the sickly dark yellow of the outside, I think about what little I know with the actual mechanics of vampire blood. I don't think anyone knows exactly how it works in such a mystical way, but I do know that it bonds Mac to me in deep and troubling ways to herself. But does that compel her to find me? I'm torn as to what I want to think. The element of surprise seems a necessity to get a decent advantage, but all the same I need to find her before I can do anything. "Come on baby, where you at?" I quietly ask, shooting a passerby a filthy look as they stare at the mumbling lunatic. My only option is to linger near the entrance, keep myself unnoticed and find her before she finds me. "Com'ere. Now." |
| |
![]() |
|
| Mac | Saturday, 5. October 2013, 20:13 Post #4 |
![]()
Goddess of Fuck and War
|
Like all women, she thought about too many things at once, her mind a complex jumble of Bacon, Church, and somewhere back there, the desire for a bottle of Jack Daniels. Bit different than her usual, but she supposed that was because she had been pondering hunting Jack so long that the name was stuck and she needed to booze it out of her thoughts. With her black hoodie drawn up over her face, towering figure trying to blend in with anyone coming and going from her neighbourhood. She had a gait that could not be matched, even with her hood up and doing her best to blend in the predatory nature of the creature walking amoung them made people shift over and try and avoid walking to close. People were good at picking up on the monsters, and she hit most people's danger radars like being punched in the face. She always got a kick out of the particularily cowardly types skittering across the road to avoid her, or dropping things when she met their eyes and they tripped and stumbled in a panic. She'd rob the ones that looked like they had money, and then make them forget what she looked like so they couldn't report anything to the police. Those were always one of her favorites, a quick and clean little thrill. She was passing by one of these sorts of prey near the entrance to the underground parking garage. He was parking his Rolls Royce on the top side half a block away, like all money bags he didn't trust the underground garages. When she passed she flashed him a wicked grin, admiring his rather nice car with a look of hungry desire. He dropped his keys while locking up, and fumbled to pick them up offering a very shakey "HHeello...". She made a move for him but stopped, something in her gut jamming in like a fishing hook catching in her belly, and pulling. It sent a wave of nervous anticipation up her body, radiating from her core out to pulsing fingertips. She could almost see the line that was reeling her, summoning her towards the Fanger she would assume was Church. She reached down and swiped the guys keys up, shoving them into his chest as she looked like a woman about to murder. He was absolutely petrified as she moved away, offering a very rough "Have a good night fuck face." as she went. Almost polite and helpful. Almost. She knew exactly where he was, that's how summoning worked. She hadn't though him the kind to know it though, She had thought him all raw and physical in his disciplines. His one attempt at aweing her previously had gone awry for him, because she had interpreted his telling her to -play nice- as lets fucking party. That's what playing nice was for her, scrapping on the play ground. She'd always been a bully, that's how bully's tell people they like them. They pick on them, endlessly. Or sometimes they just picked on them because it was hilarious and they liked to watch people squirm, more the latter in her case but she'd had a few instances of the former. She knew this area, and she was pretty sure she knew it better than he did. Why was the fucker summoning her in her own hood? You summon someone from your own destination, you make a trap and lure them with it. Yet here he was, and she was making her way for him. Why though? She knew these tricks, and they could be resisted... She could fight against it, wear herself out, lock herself somewhere and swallow the key to the room so she'd be stuck. She wanted this too bad though, she wanted his revenge for 'The Sparkling'. She had purposefully got him all pumped and amped up, then shot him down hard to make sure he'd bring on the best beating of her fucking existence. The idea of ducking and hiding, and just making him that much angrier was an appealing one, but she didn't think she had the patience for it anymore. She had almost lost herself in the strip club, and she wanted to tear a strip off him so bad. The garage though? It always had people in it, always. They'd break the masquerade if they did that shit there, and she -wouldn't- break the Masq. She wasn't one for the Cammies in any way, but even the Anarchs kept the masq. She didn't feel like having a full out blood hunt on her ass, that was taking things too far even for her. Was she going to take the Fanger into her warehouse though? There was no good place to fight it out as hard, and possibly as deadly as they were going to engage... Just thinking about it make her blood fizzle with excitement, made her head spin with a dizzy anticipation that could make her stupid. She felt the nagging pull, and she went for it. She'd run now though, because she could run so light and cat like people thought she was a ghost passing by. So she did, she ran for it, careful to thread on the front end of her sneakers to keep to the eerie quiet she broadcasted. She aimed to take him into her playground, and she knew her gym well enough to feel like she may have the upper hand there. She his presence in the area, feel him there in the depths, lurking in the underground as she went. It was actually hard not to stop and redirect exactly to where he was, that call binding her to him through blood and Kindred fuckery. She had no doubt he'd be on her heels anyways, as soon as he registered the running figure. She had a plan, a dumb, foolish plan that required a lot of variables to go just the way she wanted them too. She hoped to gain a second or two ahead of him, hoped he would maintain the masquerade and not use his Celerity, and she would shoot down behind a row of cars to keep some cover and try to reach the hallway behind the door at the end. It was a short hallway behind that door, only about ten feet long from opening to dead end. Five doors came off it in different directions, part of the reason she'd chosen this place because it was damn confusing if you didn't know which door went where. The fourth door was her own, and it required a key card to swipe for entry. This keycard was kept on her person, in that band of weaponry across her mid rift. Easy to get out as she went. The warehouse basement beyond the keycard door was small, damp, and had only one door at the far end that required a hand scan to get in. She'd never make it that far, she'd never get passed the hand scan because it took several seconds to register, she just wanted to make it inside the basement storage area, and get behind the door. If she made it there she could take him from behind potentially, catch him in the chain of her rope dart. Could she lead him into such a trap? It really depended... Everything had to go right, and Church tended to make things go criss cross apple sauce whenever she was around him. Course, maybe if she was quiet enough the Fanger missed her altogether? God, how fucking awesomely hilarious would that be... and Boring. She hoped he noticed her, because if he didnt... this night was a bust and she'd never find the sweet relief on the end of this tension. Whatever relief that may be, good or bad. Living or Dying. This was the fun part. Edited by Mac, Sunday, 6. October 2013, 02:54.
|
![]() "You are so fucking Camarilla. All hope and optimism. Maybe we can mount a rescue mission, and everyone can have a cupcake party, and fly around on Pegasus unicorns pooping rainbows." | |
![]() |
|
| Church | Monday, 7. October 2013, 20:38 Post #5 |
![]()
Putting the 'fun' in 'dysfunctional'
|
I wander aimlessly, walking the full length of parked cars along one if the sides of the structure before turning tail and returning back to the entrance. My demeanour is something suspicious, and short of appearing like a mugger looking to score, if Mac gets a whiff of me, she'll know too well that I ain't after money tonight. And she would know full well what to do with my I'm sure. It's a troubling situation, that I let this girl cloud my head so much that I am here searching for her the old fashion way. An evening that could have been spent, what, watching soaps? Or dealing with the Sabbat myself. Seems like that's gonna have to happen after tonight anyway... Cause I don't plan on leaving her in good enough condition to be my date. Good thing I never stick to a plan. Sometimes it's just too damn not too, but for our for the sake of our continued coexistence, something that may help me walk the line between moron addict and disheartened Hermit. Is it right to kill off this beautiful friendship? Y'know that feeling? Got eyes on the back of your head, a nagging, niggling scratching your skull like rats. A good taste of vulnerability, a requirement to glance about my surroundings to stop the cold rippling down my spine. Something catches my eye. A shadow skittering across the headlights of an exiting car. Not enough to base anything on really, but I'm gripped with a sudden tense sensation. It's enough to force a short jog down a row of cars to get a better look. A jog that ends with a vicious snarl and burst of power. Cause there it is. There she is. It's Christmas. How could it not be her? There ain't no one like her. That grade of freak are the diamonds in the rough. So here I am. Like a lion chasing down a gazelle, though I apparently hunt like a dumb ass. Spooked her much, much too soon. So it's a footrace. A footrace I intend to win, despite her fucking crazy speed. Where's shes scurrying off to? Too exposed to start cooking with gas, if you know what I mean. I also can't kick a woman to death, no matter how normal it looks. Or at least how normal I look. She gonna take me somewhere fun? More likely a trap. Definitely I dare say. Knowing the environment is a nasty motherfucker to not have on your side. Who knows what's behind the mysterious door ahead? I hope it's stupid and dangerous. That's where I bring an A game. |
| |
![]() |
|
| Mac | Monday, 7. October 2013, 21:13 Post #6 |
![]()
Goddess of Fuck and War
|
She couldn't predict the car that turned over her path, casting her long dark shadow as a flicker against the underground parking lot. It gave her away, and she fingered the driver with a snarl as she went. He'd probably never see it, but she needed to flip the bird just to relieve some of the 'OH FUCKING SHIT' that crossed her mind. She heard the sounds of his footsteps on her heels, sooner than she wanted. Way sooner, she definately wouldn't have time to get to the hand scanner. She'd be lucky to get past the swipe card. Lucky for her the thing was already in her hand, and when the door she passed through opened she swung her off hand to try and slam it closed. If he was close enough it would hit him in the face, if he was just beyond that hopefully the closing door would buy her half a second... God... if he was even closer than that, the door would bounce off his hulking frame and wouldn't slow him down at all. She didn't want to waste time looking, but would slide the scanner card through so fast that the door couldn't pop open at a pace to keep up with her, and her weight slammed against it and flung it wide and hard as it unlocked, slamming into the wall of the small basement space beyond. She pressed on to try and get through, waiting to feel that grip on the back of her hoodie, waiting for the tear as she tried to rip free. If it didn't come, all the better, as she'd aim to plant her feet and slid once inside the door frame, and throw an elbow up. If the fucker was moving fast enough, maybe he'd just fucking run right into it like at the construction site. One can hope right? Oh and she did, with a sadistic sort of glee at the idea of being able to tease him about that, twice over. Her heart beat a heavy drumming in her chest, pumping her rising energy and adrenaline as she felt the familiar weight of it burdened by the cage of her ribs. She loved that feeling, loved driving it harder and further until her insides felt like they were vibrating with it's rhythm. She wanted to feel bruised by it, bruised by it on the inside as she knew he would bruise her on the outside. There was that shadow though, that knowledge that he may just be here to kill her... She was a wild card and she knew it, and she may have found his boundaries and then thrown him over it the other night. This could lead to so much more than bruising, and that possibility only ignited her more. She was almost sad he hadn't yelled her name again, yelled it with that heavy heated way he had called her name at the Construction site. She'd never liked hearing her name yelled that much, it had been such a thrill. All his anger and wanting, his rejection and promise of punishment, wrapped up into one little 'Mac'. To bad the party had been cut short, because of their audience. Course, she was partially glad it had. Who knows where that would have gone. Edited by Mac, Monday, 7. October 2013, 21:19.
|
![]() "You are so fucking Camarilla. All hope and optimism. Maybe we can mount a rescue mission, and everyone can have a cupcake party, and fly around on Pegasus unicorns pooping rainbows." | |
![]() |
|
| Church | Monday, 7. October 2013, 22:16 Post #7 |
![]()
Putting the 'fun' in 'dysfunctional'
|
h it's on now; something in her pace intensifies as I get closer. My metaphorical breath all down her neck, breathing in the scent and getting it locked it. Well I can't do that, but I can imagine it. That peppery blood, drizzled all over her like a rare steak... Jebus the things you can do with a steak. And speaking of stakes, it's one of the primary things I will try and keep out of my heart. I don't know if I like the idea of getting captured by this psycho and being tied up in a basement for the rest of my days. I'm sure she'd be good to me. Hell I might actually get what I want. Cause ultimately she delivers the kind of friendship I could only dream about. Maybe if I was high I could appreciate the humour in all this, roll with the motions a little bit easier. Cause frankly her reckless attitude and happy go fucky lifestyle makes me miss being a mortal so god damn much... But gives me a chance to get something back. Sure I've let sadists have their wicked way with me before but that was the Sabbat, evil fucking shits. Big difference compared to the vamp gimper. I don't know if it was in that torrent of bulls hit thought or whether I let the excitement rile me up. As she closes on the door, and I know she's going nowhere else now, I let my inhibitions go. Fuck it. Being beheaded seems like a reasonable price for a night like tonight. Hell I might not need a ceremony if she can jam my head in a door quick enough. But I won't let that happen. Blood courses through me, giving my legs that extra kick to close the gap before she can lose me; I'm on her as the door still remains wide. And being so close, I'm not letting her get away now. It's almost as if the sac of arm shit from our first night makes a surprise return, cause I turn my momentum and speed into a baseball slide. Right into the back of her legs. Maybe I'll blow a knee out. Maybe she'll just fall in me. But as she knows, I don't mind fighting from the bottom. I feel like I should shout something clever before impact. I just hope I hit and don't end up roadkill. |
| |
![]() |
|
| Mac | Monday, 7. October 2013, 23:09 Post #8 |
![]()
Goddess of Fuck and War
|
"Fuck me!" She made it through the swipe card door, but she didn't make it into the basement room proper. Fucker threw on his celerity the moment they were beyond the first door, as soon as it was safe. Part of her had been hoping that he'd play the way they had in the construction hard that night, play without his extra abilities so they were more evenly matches. Either he was to pissed at her to give a shit about 'fair' or he was simply not going to play the game by her rules anymore. Good for him, because on a level field she would be the victor... At least in her mind. With his celerity though? He would top her, and she'd have to fight all that much harder to make this shit roll her way, if possible. Her legs buckled as he took them out, and she aimed to try and thrust whatever of her weight could be managed back into him as she fell, snarling like a wild animal that had been cornered. She tried to use that elbow she had hoped to knock him in the face with to jab him in the ribs, but with the fall being on his terms the motion didn't carry her usual knock out status. Then it would be a scramble to try and get dominance on the floor, and she'd try and take the top the same way as they had before... Maybe this time shit wouldn't get shut down so soon, cuz sure as fuck straddling him and fighting for the top was exactly where she wanted to be. She only really realized how badly she wanted to be there then, with the scent of him on the air in the damp basement space. Part of her instinctively wanted that closeness, his blood fueling through her and making her that much more hungry for him in more than just the mortal flesh, which wanted him pretty bad all on its own. She tried to pin him, she'd use any means she could to trap him beneath her, and give him that shiner she still owed him from so try long ago... His fucking celerity was going to be an issue though, mother fucker. Edited by Mac, Monday, 7. October 2013, 23:51.
|
![]() "You are so fucking Camarilla. All hope and optimism. Maybe we can mount a rescue mission, and everyone can have a cupcake party, and fly around on Pegasus unicorns pooping rainbows." | |
![]() |
|
| Church | Tuesday, 8. October 2013, 18:52 Post #9 |
![]()
Putting the 'fun' in 'dysfunctional'
|
Oh the familiar places. Underneath a nightmarish creature that claims to have once been considered 'a lady?' sure. We've been here before. But from the point of contact onwards it's a wonder I can keep my limbs from jolting out in excitement and fury. And lashing her face. But no its not that either; it's not the scent off her skin, not the warmth of her body. Cause in the struggle that follows, she retakes her saddle and tries to keep me back. Somewhat successful too I might add, especially so as a stray fist comes down and cracks against the side of my face, close to the temple. Cracks is an appropriate word, because that's what the socket seems to do under such a heavy handed blow. The pain causes a hiss and not much more. Frankly it's damned perfect way to kick off proceedings. I manage to push her back enough to sit myself up and grip her hands in my own. It will never cease to amaze, the struggle such a test of might puts me through. Even if only for a tense moment, I stare her face to face, weary of any headbutt that she might let loose my way. Again, something clever, something witty about how I'm gonna eat her face, but I'm caught up thinking how pretty it is. Why did god put such a pretty lid on a freak of nature? For Church to get all gooey when it came down to it? I afford her a brief, vicious smile, twisting hips and sending us for a tumble. Or a short roll till I am in my rightful place in top. The smile becomes a victories smirk as I make to repay the shot to the eye. Make the world blind motherfucker! |
| |
![]() |
|
| Mac | Tuesday, 8. October 2013, 19:42 Post #10 |
![]()
Goddess of Fuck and War
|
A long windy sigh escaped her, between the heavy breathes of the fight, when her fist connected with his face so spectacularly. She'd wanted to give that to him for a while, and was hoping to get herself that little bit of an edge in the hazy aftermath of his sight. Her knuckles stung on impact, protesting the connection with such a boney area of his body. She did prefer the sensation of punching on a meaty part, more cushion, but she didn't know where this fight was going yet. To encourage it to go the direction -she- was subconsciously, and slightly consciously hoping it would go, she rode her body against him underneath her in a rather more encouraging manner than one with pure intentions would have offered. This proved a somewhat impractical moment, one she'd swear at herself for, because it let him push her back and sit up way more than she would have liked. God, she should have taken the time to smash him silly not just given him a shiner... But she wanted that shiner, she wanted to see the bruise and swelling on his face, see her own marks on his flesh. He'd left her with spectacular blotches after the construction site, her jaw and lower back a rather deep shades of an uncomplementary purple. She'd found herself waiting to push her healing on them, taking the time after she'd run to massage them and coax out the most rewarding contentment from their burn. The smile on his lips when they caught each other's eyes only made her heart hammer that much harder, that much more excitedly as he struggled to grip her wrists. If you know how to break someone's wrist lock, they can never really pin your wrists like they think they can. The thumb and fingers point is weak, you just had to be able to angle yourself to break your wrist out through there. Doing so with a brujah meant one hell of a vicious snake bite to the flesh, sometimes it could tear it altogether. She didn't really feel like beari blood yet though, so it made her hesitate. She writhed, his weight shifting as she tried to pull free to roll himself on top. Fine, she'd give him the top if he wanted. She'd also roll her hips upwards, trying to see how much of that sexual nature she had seen in him she could coax out. Make them both stupid for it, or was this a one sided train ride now? Could be. She pressed his buttons, fuck that, she'd mashed them like a kid playing smash bros for the first time. She'd find out. She was more than disappointed she was still wearing so much clothing, wasn't that how these scuffles usually went? Maybe this wasn't such a game after all. His hands were slipping from her wrists though, once he'd found himself on top, returning the blow to the face. Both hand shot up as he lashed out, to try to take ahold of his ridiculously red hoodie and yank it, try and pull him down and collide their heads. Her action was cut short by the debilitating lights that exploded like static behind her eyes. The sound that came out of her mouth was all pain and annoyance, pissed she'd let such an easy shot land. With that came the pissed off aggression of an amazon sized woman , mustering her strength together with a snarl. She needed to get out from underneath him,and aimed to roll over under him and throw that fucker off. She has long and strong legs, she'd use them to drop kick that mother fucker into tomorrow, if she could get to her feet that was. Edited by Mac, Tuesday, 8. October 2013, 19:49.
|
![]() "You are so fucking Camarilla. All hope and optimism. Maybe we can mount a rescue mission, and everyone can have a cupcake party, and fly around on Pegasus unicorns pooping rainbows." | |
![]() |
|
| Church | Wednesday, 9. October 2013, 00:25 Post #11 |
![]()
Putting the 'fun' in 'dysfunctional'
|
I do hope I'm being rough enough for her, cause I feel fucking alive and I ain't even started. I ain't even got myself warmed up, though with crunching knuckles landing down on parts unknown. What with the whole clothing situation. She made a super brutal attempt to tug my hoodie. Awh she showed heart I suppose, even if the most it did was jam the zipper in my lip. Mmm. A couple streams of blood dribble from the insignificant cuts. It just reminds me of something. She rolls, surprisingly not wanting to get back on top. I guess she doesn't like it being on the bottom huh? Well she's gonna have to learn fast. Cause despite the whirlwind of fists that we've wound up in, I can hear the grinding of our hips through the heavy breathing and strained grunts. I had responded in kind like a gentleman should. Truth be told I plan to break something. Why not her pelvis huh? I respond to her gesture with a pressing between her legs with fucking authority. No audience here to stop the magic either. Haha, don't get too ahead of yourself doll. So I fall away, popping up neatly to my feet and, perhaps rather foolishly, remember what I meant to do before things get too crazy. I fall back until I reach a wall, by which I've already unzipped the hoodie. Getting it off is another matter. Something compels me to not ruin a gift from Aguirre before I stop caring. Which, considering how surprised I am that I even care at all right now, is worth the risk. A precious second or two to give her time to regroup, rethink, and keep doing her thing. It's the least I can do to feel like a better person, cause I can't wait for things to get more sinful. |
| |
![]() |
|
| Mac | Wednesday, 9. October 2013, 17:41 Post #12 |
![]()
Goddess of Fuck and War
|
No, she didn't like being on the bottom. Not in a situation she didn't have control in, she could top from the bottom... she couldn't just -bottom-. Not anymore. His body pressing on her triggered that certain hunger, the force and pressure of it causing a sweeping thrill to roll through her skin. She still wanted out though, there was no ammount of innuendo that could keep her underneath this fucker right now, not this early in the game at least. She had way to much spirit left in her, and he had way to much of an upperhand for her liking. She was over and on her feet, though her plan to toss Church off had somehow shifted into him letting go and backing away. Crouched for the first moment as her eyes found him slipping away to the wall, she had to wonder what the fuck was he doing? He was stripping off his clothing? Now who was getting ahead of themselves? She wouldn't let him get that hoodie off though, no way she'd let those moments slip away. He may be trying to let her regroup, but she'd teach him not to ease up even for a second. She hoped he was only doing that because of their strange little relationship, and that the fanger wasn't stupid enough to ever do that on the field. If they went after Jack, she hoped he didn't want to strip for him too. She ran for him immediately, long and muscular thighs aiding in her jump. She wanted to drop kick him so hard his teeth rattled, so close to the wall she hoped to make him bounce his fucking brains off against it. The rope dart in her hoodie clinked lightly, it's chain wrapped around the small steel body of the dart. She could take it out, but the fucking low as shit roof of the basement area restricted it's ability. She'd likely just get herself tangled to shit... she needed a wider space, she needed the wide open space of the warehouse above them. If she could take advantage of him attempting to... strip? Whatever the fuck the idiot was doing, Bash his brains against the wall with that drop kick, maybe she'd have enough time to get to the hand scanner and escape into her play room above. The fun they could really have up there, down here? In the dark and dank basement... She really couldn't utilize her full skill set. She was made for the streets, for open spaces, and she wanted to get her fucking chains all around this mother fucker and stomp him sooo bad, suspend him from the roof and give him a good old fashioned beating. Get to know him as she broke him down, piece by piece, bruise by bruise, bone by bone. Unravel him and get to know the inside of his skull, how he thought. That was it, the plan then. Get ahead if she could, get upstairs. Course, if she could knock him down hard enough she'd always stop an extra second to kick him while he was down, because she was a cunt like that. If she missed? Well, she had some bony elbows to throw. She wasn't useless hand to hand, but she would need to start ducking and dodging if she wanted to gain an upper hand, the side of her face was already burning and she could feel the pressure of swelling begin. It didn't hurt all that much, when you were this excited? Pain turned to blissful adrenaline boosts. |
![]() "You are so fucking Camarilla. All hope and optimism. Maybe we can mount a rescue mission, and everyone can have a cupcake party, and fly around on Pegasus unicorns pooping rainbows." | |
![]() |
|
| Church | Thursday, 10. October 2013, 19:50 Post #13 |
![]()
Putting the 'fun' in 'dysfunctional'
|
There is little that can be done but watch the behemoth sprint at me. Nothing but clench my jaw and will her along in my head to make it a good shot, cause it's the only one I'm giving. It makes you wonder, how gravity can pale in comparison to the speed of our own; the jacket slides to my wrists as she leaves her feet and my eyes widen. Holy fuck, she's making it a good one. Again it's the kind of thing I can almost expect to be pulled out of her arsenal, especially now things are a little rougher than before. I can only regret: regret I wasn't faster. Cause despite all the blood and guts that are gonna paint these walls, I know it's gonna be nothing compared to what we're gonna be caked in. I close my eyes, a defeated smile as I embrace what's coming for me. Sorry Aguirre, I tried. Chest. Ribs. Bones. Fuck. I crumple down the wall as both feet burrow deep into my ribcage, compressing the blighted lungs inside with the wall behind. Shards of marrow splinter off into the useless organs, and while the blood loss will be low, the pain is excruciating. A trash compactor all rolled up in those skull crushing thighs, pushing artificially procured air out my mouth in a broken wheeze. It's a feeling to be savoured, and will not be forgotten. That I am not invincible, that I can be truly hurt. That it's much more fun this way, that my retaliation will be brutal. Most importantly that I am getting what I want, despite not possessing the willpower to keep a dumb promise, and the intelligence to actually fulfil it. Cause despite how sweet a kick that was, she's rubbing me in the oh so right way. Cause she just hit the switch, a switch that doesn't get flipped too often, that releases man in my head, the real lunatic pulling the strings. Bones grind and groan in defiance of the brickwork behind, attempting to go through the wall instead of bounce off it. I don't of course, but my crown follows and collides with a heavy and sickening thud. It causes waves of the impact to echo through to my face, causing an unexpected explosion of blood from my nostrils. Behind eyelids, the balls roll in their sockets seemingly independent of the brain, dizzying and scrambling my head more so. Even my 'funny' bones meeting the masonry, the tips of those sensitive elbows bounce off of it and sting like a motherfucker. I gasp and only gasp, still not wanting to break my silence. Going at it with only grunts and slaps as the music affords a certain mood to the whole scenario. But soon...there'll be nothing but screams. I manage to pry open my eyes, the same tired eyes burning a fiery green. Same thick hair ruffled to its natural messiness. My thoughts upon impact were carried over a split second of time, and I find that she is still falling. I find myself no longer wanting to play, or tease, or tickle or fuck. Now is only about proving a point. What momentum was lost by the wall is reversed, my crashing elbows now propelling me forward, the jacket torn asunder as I ensure she doesn't get away. She gets to land, that much I will give, but the moment she touches down I am already there, with unholy speed and might her ankles are in a godly grip. I have no particular expertise or martial arts to adhere to when it comes to brawling. I simply get the job done, or survive any attempts likewise. I could have fantasised about swinging her around like a cat, but there's certainly not enough room for her slender form. So instead, with malicious intent in my bloodied face, I yank those poles of her skywards, dragging the heavy body with them. Heavy to most, not to a Brujah. She's practically gliding, like a humane balloon, gliding towards the heavens after liberation from a spoilt child. Spoilt. That's what she is, spoilt. Spoilt rotten by myself. As I shift her upside-down form higher, I drive my knee the opposite direction. I aim for her stomach or, should I be successful, the face. Though I don't think the ceiling in this room allows such latitude for her freakish form. As much as I love the idea of getting trapped in even smaller confines with her (imagine the chaos in an elevator shaft), I think about hurling her through one of these doors. Are they thick? Locked? Lead to a fight club? If I'm successful with phase one of breaking the bitch that is. |
| |
![]() |
|
| Mac | Thursday, 10. October 2013, 21:44 Post #14 |
![]()
Goddess of Fuck and War
|
She hadn't meant to bring on the blood spill, she had purposefully been aiming not to. She didn't want the red out in the open, on their minds. She didn't want the scent of it on the air, a scent she'd known since as far back as she could remember... Some memories of it stronger than others. She didn't want that constant burning hunger to come out so strong, she wanted to go blunt. To bad she had underestimated his physical resilience, forgetting that she was Ventrue and not everyone had tough skin. His blood would make her stupid, she knew that. She knew what she was like on vamper blood that was intimate, and it was never a good thing for her. Ever. She had barely noticed this provocative scent however, when his hands were on her ankles suddenly. She hadn't the time to get up and dash like she had hoped, she had meant for the drop kick to scramble his brains long enough to get to the door. She was suddenly being siezed and lifted in the air, his speed something she couldn't match. She couldn't dodge the knee that came at her, lucky enough the ceiling was low enough to prevent it from hitting her face and breaking her nose... Not so lucky that left it open right to her sternum, with blinding impact. The entire world was compacted, every bit of air that was in her coughed out in hard choke, thoughts pressed together inside her brain to the point she couldn't understand what had happened. She couldn't breath, and she -needed- to breath. She was alive still, her heart escalating in a panic to catch some air as the world spun like she had been turned into a dradle. "Huhmm..." She sounded like she was choking, and it was the only sound she was capable of making as she struggled to try and expand her lungs. Was something broken? Her entire chest was a burning cave of compressed pain thundering through her with each painful beat of her heart. When she found air again, it hurt to breath, and she could taste blood in her mouth. Was... was that from her lungs? Well, blow me, he got you good Mac she thought. That first bit of air would bring on her flailing though, trying to break away from his grasp. She didn't want to bring out knives, she didn't actually like knives, but she needed to or he'd win this struggle and she'd do anything not to be the loser. Picking on a vamp with Celerity, she knew how stupid it was. Worth it though, worth it for the pumping endorphins that rushed her body, for the burning in her pained lungs. A hand scooping inside her hoodie, up her heaving chest to pull away a small little blade. She needed to stab him in the fucking leg with it, while struggling to get her feet free from his iron grasp. She wasn't as fast as she'd like to be though, and she could only hope that the fucker was preoccupied gloating on his epic sterum crush. If he did throw her against that door, all that would happen was she'd get even more crunched. It was steel, and thick. It didn't even have a door knob on the inside, all that was there besides the considerably less sturdy door they came in from, was the blank Ipad like panel next to the steel frame, little red light on top glowing in the dim light that was coming through the open door of the underground hallway. |
![]() "You are so fucking Camarilla. All hope and optimism. Maybe we can mount a rescue mission, and everyone can have a cupcake party, and fly around on Pegasus unicorns pooping rainbows." | |
![]() |
|
| Church | Friday, 11. October 2013, 00:17 Post #15 |
![]()
Putting the 'fun' in 'dysfunctional'
|
Oh baby, that felt good. I might've chipped the knee cap if I had got that coconut head though. But the lanky bitch's legs tangle up in the ceiling and I can hoist no higher. The noise is gratifying, like a squeaky toy getting popped from overuse. How terrible that would be, if I had killed the fun too soon. But she's...fucking wild. I dig crazy chicks; she's a whole new breed. An rabid animal that should have been smart enough to get under the nearest moving truck. Though I'll settle for using her as an improvised door knocker. I drop my leg to regain my footing and start a clobbering. But there's a slight problem with that. Isn't there always? My foot never plants down, or at least not before my calf is being drilled with extreme and yelp inducing burning sensations. I don't let go, this is way too much fun, but the leg twinges as the numb wash makes it difficult to find my bearings. Ok, so maybe I do let go. I try to knee again with the wounded leg, all the while potentially dropping the cunt on her head. Whatever it is she's doing I need to stop; legs are too valuable, especially against someone like her. If I'm limping I'm in trouble. Of course she is going to have the same issues, but I'm also playing the advantage with the whole 'don't need to breathe' shit. I fall back, away from the menacing pain that I now see the cause of. However could I forget? She has treats for all occasions. My stony face falters for a moment with a show of discontent for the move. All's fair, and all that fucking jazz? Yeah, true. Can't fault her for that. Because when I caught her I thought I was gonna tear her head off. Maybe that's because I understood why I was so pissed the moment I caught a whiff her. A few nights have passed since the stip club, but oh what could have been in those nights. Too much of a good thing? C'mon I'm in rehab. I gotta have some joy in life. So yeah, maybe it's true I have way too much of a good time with her to end things so suddenly. She can keep the knives though? Oh sure, it's not as nice as that mortal coil rattling bpne sweet,sweet fucking pain but, she does need to even the score. Cause this Church is not a nice one. This Church is the reason that I didn't like Aguirre watching at the construction yard. This Church nearly cleaned Aguirres clock one fateful night. A maniac raised by the man that we will one day feast on. Or...at least if one of us could that would be good too. |
| |
![]() |
|
| Mac | Friday, 11. October 2013, 03:31 Post #16 |
![]()
Goddess of Fuck and War
|
Breathing was like in hailing ice crystals, each heavy breathe raged in her lungs as her chest expanded, each full breath causing her to feel like she was wrapped in elastic bands that were fighting against the basic human need for air. Fanger had her there for sure. Her other arm was already on the ground when he dropped her, knee of the wounded leg rushing out to smash her again. She ripped on the knife in it, pulling it and trying to take it out sideways, severe something more as his knee hit her stomach on her way down. There was little grace left in her at that moment, and she crumpled as the impact reverberated through her already damaged body. Her entire front was a fiery burn of developing bruises and fractures, and she found herself scrambling to get up and get the fuck away from him. She needed space, god she needed away before this mother fucker killed her. Would he? Could he? God yeah, she knew he could if he really wanted to. Then again, she could kill him too. Maybe they'd off each other? Some fucked up Romeo and Juliette shit there, except she hated shakespeare. She wasn't playing to kill him though, she never had been... That was part of what bugged the shit out of her, because she knew it was the part of him inside her already that was doing it. Making her stupid. The hand with the knife was covered in his blood, and a small splatter had rolled off and across her body when he had knee'd her. She stank like him now, like his blood... and damned if it wasn't the best smelling thing ever. Better than Vodka, even the classy shit he'd so thoughtfully provided for her at the Strip Club. She stopped writhing in agony for a moment, sobered by the discovery of him smeared across her hand, rolling to her knee's as she looked at the red palm. Every bit of ghoul self wanted to lick it, tongue already on fire and teaming with prickly sensations of earnest, mouth wet with saliva as she gasped a breath. One little lick wouldn't hurt, you couldn't be bound by just a taste like that... but if she did, she'd have no ability to stop. She'd probably rage on him and frenzy, trying to devour the man and beast in the room with her. They'd either kill each other, or she'd be bound further. Would that really be so bad? Fucker was a looker, sure as fuck. He had great eyes and a build she could appreciate, strength and stamina to keep life interesting. Maybe he'd make a good Master? That thought was enough to sober her, that word wrenching in her gut with memories. Fuck no. Her hand wiped off on her jeans, face as white as a ghost in that second her thoughts all flashed past. She was trying to get up, scrambling with everything she had to overcome the wrenching muscles of her abdomen and get to her feet. She'd crawl there if she had to, to get the distance to the Hand scanner and try and get the fuck upstairs. Put distance between them. She was laughing as she did it, because laughing made it hurt more and made her feel braver. She always laughed when shit got so god damned real. |
![]() "You are so fucking Camarilla. All hope and optimism. Maybe we can mount a rescue mission, and everyone can have a cupcake party, and fly around on Pegasus unicorns pooping rainbows." | |
![]() |
|
| Church | Friday, 11. October 2013, 19:20 Post #17 |
![]()
Putting the 'fun' in 'dysfunctional'
|
I give myself the benefit of the doubt that I can check my leg without getting my head severed. I am not the most attentive sumbitch, and too many times have I been opened up in places I wasn't aware. It's probably toughened me up over the years, to the point where I get a buzz on and I can't feel. It's never got me killed, but that's hardly a ringing endorsement for fighting like a moron. So I look at it, suck my teeth at the sight, and turn my focus back to her as soon as I'm done being a baby bout things. Blood. Sure is a funny thing. Tasty and nutritious, all that shit. Makes Church's leg patch up at medically unexplainable rates. Makes Mac want to fuck her hand. Seriously, what eyes are those? Here I was expecting another drop kick, cause she might be that mental. But no. No, no, no, I know that look. A crisis of faith, something is making those cogs crank inside that head. Me? I get hypnotized by her. I could go ahead and plant a knee, crack that melon right open and let her go cold. But I'm too interested in what she's thinking, looking at my remnants drip from the fingers. She really is crazy. And then she's moving. Not at me, away. To regain her footing? I was stood gawpin' at the purdy lady, though my un-gentlemanly behaviour probably caused some trust issues. Truth be told the second she shifted I felt an impulse, something primal and savage with an itch to break more. But to turn tail and get away? Seems so unlike her it's stinks worse than her arm used to. Trying to lure me in, to more pretty daggers and dark urges to make me bleed. Sounds fun. If that laugh is anything to go by. A manic and pained laughter that I move too, slowly, almost unnatural, so casual given the events of the previous minutes. "Where ya goin' honey?" I ask coarsely, licking my bloodied lips as she slinks away. Church likes what he sees. Thankful that he can see given what led to this glorious night. Slow and steady wins the race right? Not at all. But she ain't leaving in a hurry. She's having a good time was't she? The tiny space ain't giving he nowhere to hide. That can only mean she has something even better in mind. My dead bones experience a long forgotten chill down the spine. Fuck yeah. |
| |
![]() |
|
| Mac | Friday, 11. October 2013, 20:00 Post #18 |
![]()
Goddess of Fuck and War
|
She scrubbed her hand on her jeans as she scrambled to her feet, biting into her inner lip to summon the will power to plow through the burning rage that was her entire abdomen and chest. Ain't no one ever given her such a hard knock so fast, left her entire insides all scrambley with pain. She didn't heal at the rate Church did, she was alive and her mortal flesh was a lot slower at repairing itself than his was. Still, she was trying to get her lungs together. Trying to push away the small crystal daggers that were tearing her up with each rather necessary breath of air. Her hand was scrubbing on her pants as she went, trying to remove enough of the filth of the floor and his sticky, bloody residue to get the scanner to recognize her. She was still breathing heavy, but the more she pushed through the more of the pins and needles in her body were loosening up and letting her get a second wind going. "Oh you know, think I left the coffee pot on." Her eyes followed him, hazels burning in her paled complection. She was usually golden and tawny, but her body was having a bit of trouble compensating for the sudden damage of his Potence laden knee's. She was slick and paling, like the night they had met. She croaked a little as she spoke, sniggering to jolt her diaphragm up and down inside her chest for a few rapid movements, triggering a bodily response to push more endorphins to help work through the pain of it... and give her the speed boost she needed. She still had her legs, all in good working condition. She needed those bitches, because the stairs on the other side of this door were going to hurt like mother fucking punches to the ladies at the speed she was going to have to get up them. When it pops, it makes a soft and mechanical noise like when the DVD player spits out your disk, rotating open to a 45 degree angle. "Just thought I'd go and check. Place is a mess though, you probably want to wait outside." She grinned, keeping her eyes on him and the distance between them, taking in a long and deep breath that filled her crushed chest and made all the pins and needles in her body fire off at once, to inspire the burst of speed she needed to get upstairs. She wanted to throw a flaming fucking flask of Vodka at him to buy more time, but she'd just robbed him of blood on top of whatever he was burning for his speed... Couple that with fire? Well, she didn't want to meet a Frenzying Church, not right now anyways. That was absolutely impending death, most likely hers because of his speed. Right now, she needed to fucking out perform him. She needed to get the fuck upstairs and into the gym, open spaces and leverage for climbing if she needed it. She could attempt the rope atop the stairs, wrap it around her leg and haul herself and it up to try and take five at the top and heal. She had the feeling he wouldn't take to kindly to that though, and she had to many things that could be used as projectiles to try and knock her down with. Who wants a 100 lb weight to knock them out at 30 feet in the air? ... yeah, not her. That's likely a dead mouse on impact. She'd go for the gym mat at the far side, between her flat open bedroom and kitchen area. The open space would allow her to get the rope dart out proper, maybe let her get him all tangled to shit in it... Hand reaching inside her hoodie to extract it as soon as she was pounding up those stairs, her sensitive and bruised insides rather reluctant to do anything at all. Had she the time, if she got there, it would be swinging in her right hand, base of the chain and it's extra length in her left, and she'd be trying to hit that mother fucker in the head with the steel ball on the end. Edited by Mac, Friday, 11. October 2013, 20:04.
|
![]() "You are so fucking Camarilla. All hope and optimism. Maybe we can mount a rescue mission, and everyone can have a cupcake party, and fly around on Pegasus unicorns pooping rainbows." | |
![]() |
|
| Church | Saturday, 12. October 2013, 16:44 Post #19 |
![]()
Putting the 'fun' in 'dysfunctional'
|
In those slight moments I can see the true extent of damage that she's weathered; from the shallow, desperate breaths to the polarising shift in her complexion. Ah lungs, can make even the most monstrous mortal realise they are just that: Mortal. And as impressive as this chick has been, she simply doesn't have the right biology to stand up to me. Cocky of me to think? Damn right it is. As long as it doesn't make me do anything crazy of course. Crazier. Reckless. Um...stupid? I am all these things plus more for this woman, even if she is a shell of her true self after such crippling blow. And one thing I learnt the night we met, she can be shaking hands with the reaper and not have it stop that mouth running off. I don't realise what she's doing before it's too late; what I figured as a door blank, a covering for where there 'used' to be a door, is in fact some space age fucking security. a mechanical click and suddenly the wall is opening, and she's slipping away with a heavy suggestion that I should wait outside. Just another dose of that wise-guy attitude and as she oh so dearly wants me to follow her, lookin' all 'cat eating canary.' And oh how I want to follow. This time, there ain't no running off and leaving Church to pine and sulk. This time, we were at her 'haven' and she has nowhere else to hide. Or she might. But at least I know where to wait, cause I would do just that, wait as long as I need to. Course she could just come back in the day and have her way with me, but details aren't important right now. What's important is that, after another stupid moment to collect said hoodie I was such a bitch about, I'm after her, grabbing the mechanical door behind me and hoping it shuts behind. I don't want any interruptions. I zoom to the top of the stairs, though no longer am I burning blood to do so. I am prepared to hound this woman down and chase her to hell if need be, but thing about walking into fire and brimstone is that it'll getcha killed. And likewise, I can be determined and unwavering in my commitment without running in like a headless chicken. I get enough of a glimpse of that tosh pounding hard across the room. I take in what I can; notably the training equipment taking a tremendous chunk of the space, living simple to live extreme. What I don't see is concerning, the space is vast and the advantage given in knowing the layout, regardless of whatever tricks and traps she has hidden within, puts me on the backfoot. Bout time I suppose. I drop the jacket at my feet and tear past uneven bars, attempting to close the distance between us a little too late; I gazed around the room to in wonderment a little too long. So I don't bother too much, stopping in place. Is that a trampoline? A childish feeling is squashed in an instant. I need to keep the stupid out and the aggression in, and not worry too much about the gesture here. I mean, for a paranoid bitch she's just let me waltz right in here, and though if she plans on killing me it doesn't matter either way, I warm to her even more so. As she scales what appears to be a gymnasts crash mat, I call out, foolishly though it may be; "Nice place baby. Not gonna give me the tour?" I suppose this is it. Or most of it. I reach out and touch the leg press machine, noting the wearing of the pin in the plates. Fuck me, she can press. There are rings dangling high above, she sure knows how to work it. It makes me nervous a little; the lioness' den? Also, would it be a dick move to really fuck her apartment up in the process? She doesn't care. Or at least I don't care. And I'm the guest right? So I guess that's enough care for both of us? Wait... What's that in her hand? Edited by Church, Sunday, 13. October 2013, 15:57.
|
| |
![]() |
|
| Mac | Saturday, 12. October 2013, 18:47 Post #20 |
![]()
Goddess of Fuck and War
|
The stairs were exactly what she thought they'd be, god damned torture to ascend at speed. Each step was a rippling wave through her chest, and her lungs still had fire in them. What the fuck? Something must be broken, sticking inside her. Gotta be a bone, or cartilage. God, please be cartilage, so much easier to heal than bone... her body can reabsorb it instead of having to push it out. If it was real bad, she may have to carve that little fucking piece out, if she lived through the night. Opening yourself up to remove bits and pieces stuck inside of you? One of her top least favorite things to do, absolutely. She wasn't one for the knives, but this shit happened often enough she did keep those medical grade scalpels on her thigh holsters. Hey, maybe church would help carve her open and take out whatever was stuck inside there? Hey Doc, can we please pause this little cat fight and will you slice me open again? I need you to take some rib out of my lungs so I can breath better. Thanks, you're such a doll. Oh yeah, that was likely. Not in his mood, with that dark look on his face she'd caught when he'd wailed into her with his knees. The sight of the open room helped ease some of her tension, and while she hadn't been here long enough to really call it home, it had a certain air of familiairity that was on come level comforting. At least she knew the place, knew the lay out and where all the toys were hidden. Course, there were a few things in here she'd rather Doc Fanger didn't get his hands on and smash up. Course, pointing them out and asking nicely that he didn't destroy them would probably have the opposite affect, so she'd just not look in their direction. Give him no reasons to go looking. "I figured you'd just come in and make yourself at home, no tour necessary." She turned on the mat, her sneakers sliding along it a few inches as she spun to watch him come across the gym at her. Her left hand was wrapped with excess chain, and she was rather glad that his knee hadn't collided with it inside her hoodie, or this would have been over. The steel ball being driven into her gut by the momentum of his knee? That would have blown an organ or two. How boring would that have been? Her right hand was moving, swinging the chain with the round steel ball on the end, her shoulders screaming bloody murder in agony at the movements, chest on fire. She loved that feeling though, that there... the deep pressure, the burning rage of the bloodied and bruised muscles working through the damage. God, what that Fanger could do if he took her across his lap... Her thoughts suddenly to a much smuttier place, reflected on the grin that crossed her expression as she stepped forward to meet him and swung out at his fucking skull, chain slipping through her hand loosely to extend the dart significantly longer than she'd been twisting it at her side. If it missed? Pull back and swing again, thank you ancient Chinese martial artists, for getting so fucking creative with your weaponry. And thank you Hippies. |
![]() "You are so fucking Camarilla. All hope and optimism. Maybe we can mount a rescue mission, and everyone can have a cupcake party, and fly around on Pegasus unicorns pooping rainbows." | |
![]() |
|
| 1 user reading this topic (1 Guest and 0 Anonymous) | |
![]() ZetaBoards gives you all the tools to create a successful discussion community. Learn More · Sign-up Now |
|
| Go to Next Page | |
| « Previous Topic · The Borough of Enfield · Next Topic » |











3:19 PM Jul 11