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The Kindred Chronicle
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THE MONSTER OF EALING
Last night, several people reported the sighting of a "screaming red monster" in a quiet neighbourhood of Ealing. After a power shortage in the area, a building caught fire. It was then when, what was described as a "man shaped, footless creature" emerged from the flames, leaping, running, and screaming. One woman has told our reporters that the man had "teeth like a wolf, and the face of the devil". Police officers are still trying to get to the bottom of this; neither the power shortage nor the fire have still been explained. A spokesperson from Scotland Yard has stated that the "so called monster" might be a wounded person, escaping the fire.

TRAGEDY IN TOOLEY STREET
The police has found the bodies of three TFL workers in the construction site at Tooley Street. One of their colleagues raised the alarms last week, when the three workers didn't attend their shifts. The bodies of the men have been found in a deep hole, uncovered by the refurbishment works that are taking place in the area. According to the Police, the bodies were horribly mutilated, which has led to the wildest speculations. The names of the three workers are being kept anonymous, following the wishes of their families.

HOROSCOPE
MARCH 8 - PISCES
You are used to making sacrifices, to prioritising the happiness of others before yours. Even though that is a noble attitude, there are times in life where the only healthy alternative is to embrace your own selfishness and allow yourself some enjoyment. Reserve one hour per day to do something you really like. Treat yourself! Your colour for this month is blue.
Echoes from the past ring back into London. Their intensity increases until they are deafening. What once was a faded memory of a glorious time, now becomes a shocking reality. The consequences of actions taken decades ago ripple into the present, altering the lives of everybody in the City. Unguided and blind, Kindred wander around, trying to make profit out of the reigning chaos.


The appearance of four mysterious figures turned the city upside down. Mistrust and jealousy became the official currency of London. Serpents and fiends rise to power, misdirecting the blaming eyes of the Camarilla towards imaginary enemies. Only those with clear vision and the ability to trust each other strive, while the rest run towards a shallow grave.



Across The Board
Current Chronicle: Dragons and Lions; Pride and Fire
Current Season: Spring
Controlling Sect: Camarilla



Index
Getting Started
General Information
Central London
North London
East London
West London
South London
Miscellaneous
Out of Character


Population: 31

Camarilla
Anarchs
Other
Ventrue: 1
Toreador: 5 (6)
Brujah: 2 (3)
Malkavian: 7
Tremere: 2
Nosferatu: 3
Gangrel: 1
Ventrue: 1
Toreador: 0
Brujah: 2 (3)
Malkavian: 0
Nosferatu: 1
Gangrel: 1
Setites: 5
Sabbat: ???


THE CAMARILLA

Prince

Nobody

Sheriff
Meredith Furlong
Hounds
Robyne Sheridan
Rosella Marie Allain


Keeper of Elysium
Davvad Bisset

Grand Harpy
Catherine Wilke

Primogen
Ventrue: Marcus Antonio Russo
Brujah: Thomas Krusen
Gangrel: Alexa Mallik
Malkavian: Ellora Reese
Tremere: Hannah Sundling
Toreador: Arsenio Pozzi
Nosferatu: Dogan Khojak



ANARCHS

Baron

Khoza

Baronets
Enfield: Leslie
Haringey & Barnet: Clarice Harris
Harrow: Jelena Korolenko

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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.

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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 (2,164 Views)
Church
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Putting the 'fun' in 'dysfunctional'
* * * *
What the hell is that?

My ears twitch uncomfortably at the sound, a high pitch whistle that only dogs and Church's can hear. I can see the glistening of something behind her, gladdening her hands with a metallic shine. I can only guess at what it is, but as for what her intent and purpose with said object is, I ain't got a clue. My own particular style of fighting compromises of boxing and knees to faces. I rely on little beyond my own hands and instincts; she relies on honing her abilities to remain the dominant force in any situation. And likely knows how to deal with different variety of 'fanger.' I imagine Brujah have their own unique category, a little section wherein toe-to-toe is suicidal. I imagine it's best to keep distance and whittle away, after all, we are akin to glass cannons. I wonder how she deals with Gangrel?

Should I be charging? Possibly. Considering I myself thought that she's concocted some evil scheme to keep the distance, closing said gap is probably the smartest thing to do. If she wasn't so god damned hard to pin down would be a plus, I could just wrap her up and beat her down. So tempting, I wonder if that's what she was thinking in the mat area, that we go old school wrestling (not that I ever went to school) to determine dominance. And as tempting as that sounds, rolling around and trying to get on top, there surely ain't gonna be enough blood flowing to sate our satisfaction. I take a first step forward as she mirrors me, and the whistling shifts an octane as she lets loose her instrument.

My reaction time has never been exceptional. Good, but not what is required for my rather foolish move. As the glisten of metal homes nearer, I squint to try and understand what it is. Because all the while a bloodied right hand is coming full circle to snatch the implement from the side. But all the while, I have underestimated her and overestimated myself. My fingers are just shy of the object, a metal ball? Wut? They're too damned slow without burning blood, missing the blunt end of the object and instead falling on the chain behind it. I try to grip the shifting length, only to have my grip falter before it can latch on. The ball has already struck home.

I try to cry out in pain, but it's difficult with a solid mass of metal crushing my left cheekbone into nibbles. Teeth crack and snap under the immense force, promptly being expelled out of my mouth in a fountain of blood. My hand has lost interest in grabbing the chain, its more concerned with clamping my jaw and making sure my skull doesn't slip out the skin. The pain is...Oh jebus. I fall to a knee, the left side of my vision completely blacking out as I try to describe this feeling. Now I've taken a few things to the face; fists, feet, the odd baseball bat - but to have this strength compressed into a tight wrecking ball, the pressure alone caused my face to buckle, the force simply smashed everything upon entry. My brain is blanketed by torment, going as blank as the vision in my left eyeball as the nerves scream in protest. Screaming at me. Because fuck me, that was a wakeup call like no other. It keeps things interesting. It gives me a reason to inflict more punishment on that perfect tush of hers.

But being here and being a sitting target ain't gonna cut it.

Should I scramble to the side, hoping to get behind the gym equipment before she can recoil and launch again? I need a plan and fast. And frankly getting behind adequate cover sure isn't as simple as it normally is with two functioning peepers. I make a desperate attempt for the bench press machine, or at least where I thought I saw it, now replaced with a black haze. I jump and roll behind the machine, hoping to cover myself while I reach out for a dumbbell. Gonna see how she likes getting things hurled at her head. Heh. Who am I kidding? Peripherals out the window. To crack that coconut would be an utter fluke, but hopefully it will panic her enough that I can get up close and turn on the juice.

I sigh, the whistling spooling up in the air. Geronimo? I leap to my feet, turn the corner (whilst being wary of flying metal balls...seriously, this an 80's B-movie?) and throw the weight as hard as I can. Of course it's not as aerodynamic, and of course I am not even sure how much she's adjusted to my movement, but I do know that Celerity is pumping these legs. Urging them wholeheartedly to take this bitch out!
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Mac
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Goddess of Fuck and War
* * * * *
It was his turn to fall over and scramble away, and she felt a sort of fiery pride amplify through her burning limbs. She felt a little ... what the fuck was that feeling that accompanied it though? She couldn't really place it, it wasn't one that she experienced all to often. Guilty? Remorseful? Maybe one of those, but they seemed a little dramatic to her. Eitherway, there was something that bothered her about smashing up his beautiful face. It was afterall, fucking awesome to look at. Animated and full of expressions that amused the fuck out of her. Surprise? Yeah, she fucking loved his wide eyed doey surprised face. And his teeth getting spat all over her gym? Fuck, gross. She would have to clean that shit up, if she lived long enough...

Well, maybe less brain smashing on the Brujah then? She just wanted to disable the mother fucker, not kill him. Jesus, what would Aguirre say if she was here? The fact the girl had entered her mind at all was unusual, and she quickly gave that thought train the boot. Oh, wait... did she have plans with Aguirre for tonight? Hahaha, whoops! So much for that! Unless she could survive Churchs attempt to kill her, and crawl over there on... Broken legs? Jesus christ that mother fucker was throwing a god damned 50 lb dumbell at her legs!? Smart boy, take out the legs. Or dumb blind aim.... eitherway, that was a shot she couldn't let happen.

She jumped it, a kick twist in the air as she measured and moved. Her lower body didn't even protest a whole lot, most of the movement in the legs which were still rather unharmed, thankfully. Still spinning the rope dart as she went, so when she came down and shifted closer, she could attempt to swing long and wide and wide.. this time low, real low. She wanted to wrap and tangle his legs up, get the rope dart wrapped up so she could get his ankles real good, and give him a yank to plant him flat on his fucking ass. It would be bondage time if she could manage it, tie that fucking boy up real good. If she managed it, she'd pace over with the prideful walk of a ... mantis damnit. Her statement to Dawid suddenly that much more accurate, considering the state of the side of Churches head.

"Sorry bout that shot to the Dunce Cap, Never wanted to fuck with your pretty face darlin." Her words were still breathy, whatever the fuck had been crushed into her lungs was still there jamming into them. Chest alight with a protesting burning at the way she kept pushing the damaged structure, arms shifting the rib cage around so much it was pretty pissy at her. She coughed a chuckle, then it moved into an exasperated laugh again. God, what kind of monster would she be if she could do that hmmm? If she had knee's of that speed and that extra strength her ghoul structure couldn't quite match?
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"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."
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Church
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Putting the 'fun' in 'dysfunctional'
* * * *
I curse to myself as she effortlessly leaps the weight; for a moment there I thought that sucker was really gonna hit. If I could break one of those legs, man how much I'd like to break a femur on this trucking bitch. But the prospect of having her thighs in my hands would likely lead down different avenues, in which there would be an equal amount of breaking but probably in more subtle places. Also, more biting. That thought alone can lift my damaged moral, knowing that regardless of what happens all this can be fixed. Should I get my hands on her, fixed with her sought after blood. Something that will drive me onwards...but something I can't focus on too much. As much a fan of bloodletting as I am, there is always the beast to consider. Something I wish not to let loose, something I want desperately to save her from. Hence my burning of blood, my willingness to lay down shots as hard as they come; to embrace these dark urges is better than to resist, get hurt and have the urges grow to unpredictable levels. Blood is better spent hurting than patching up from refusing to do so. The animal beneath can go fuck itself, she's all mine dammit!

I know damn well what she's using now, and already its flying again. Though my eye is coming back 'online', slowly the fuel of blood makes its miraculous repairs, I can see through the haze that she's aiming a little differently now. I can already understand the logic, though would sweeping me off my feet be enough? Well...yes. Possibly. This little tussle of ours continues to have that weird 'light-heartedness' about it, that while I can't see this weapon killing me, it's not really her intent to do so. Or at least I hope not. Cause I certainly have changed my tune about my intentions tonight. She's far too good to be wasted, someone who can give me a run for my money and go walk abouts in the sun? Jack wouldn't know what fucking hit him. And the fun. Jebus, I haven't had my face opened up so gloriously since Paris and Letitia, and that was a Baroness showing a pup what it takes to be this way. Hell, I haven't tasted her yet. Not really. Not straight from the tap. And sure, I wanna bend that piece over a table and rock her world, but I don't think there is furniture that could contain our show of physical 'affection.'

The dirty thoughts threaten to shift my focus, but that whistling ensures I don't get lost in my own filthy mind. Plan? I don't believe in them. But I figure priority number one is to get that chain out of her hands. Which is easier said than done, considering she's not gonna let me come anywhere close. So I have to try not to get knocked back on my ass and even the scales. And I think I know just the thing.

The chain collides with my ankle, nothing more than a tickle considering how much my face hurts right now. My pace is slowed as I hope she thinks she's successful. The chain winds, about to envelope the other leg...and I hop. A simple skip over it and it can't hog tie me. Though there remains the problem of having one leg restrained, I hope to act before she does. I dive down, well fall really as the ball knocks into my heel uncomfortably, a clatter of undead flesh and bone down onto the chain. The straining length of chain I now wrap an arm around, digging in deliciously to firm up the grip in my hand and hopefully creating enough slack behind it that I can get my foot free easily enough. I'm still grounded until that time, my free hand fumbling away whilst the other engages her in a game of tug of war. I heave with all my might, hoping she relinquishes the hold or faceplants hanging on. Hell, can this thing take both our strength? Or option C of course, she knows exactly what she's doing with this thing and I don't, and she proceeds to find a new and interesting way to lay the hurting on. Her words though, they make give a bloodied grin. Am I blushing? I've never been called pretty before...
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Mac
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Goddess of Fuck and War
* * * * *
Does this mother fucker just not FEEL pain? She's made him shout a few times, grunt, groan... but he keeps fucking going like the god damned energizer bunny. What the fucking shit? His face is mangled, he's taken several shots to the head and still he plows through shit like he's a god damned Mack Truck. That's HER job, but he sure as fuck was showing less signs of imminent collapse than she was. Her fucking chest man, the lungs... Her biggest flaw was her mortality, and that was the thing she never fucking wanted to give up. As much fun as entertaining the idea of being a Fanger could be, with all the what ifs and postulations, she didn't want to lose her humanity... Whatever she had left. She didn't want to lose naked sun bathing, Bacon, and Vodka, Weed. Fuck, she didn't want to lose the option to drink that fucking jug of expired Orange Juice in the fridge... And Fucking? God no. Take away all the joy in life.

She felt the chain tighten and wrap, her vision only the slighest bit distorted by the swelling from his earlier blow to the face. She was lucky, she was a bruiser but not a huge sweller. Maybe she didn't have enough liquid in her body for it? She was mostly made of booze. Hah, although... She was rather sober at this moment. She hadn't ploughed into it all tonight, and decided to take the edge off her cravings with some weed earlier. God, she could sure use a bottle right now to ease some of her collapsed chest's issues. His other foot however, popped out before it caught... and he was diving, to attempt to direct all his weight and momentum in his own direction when she took out his footing, instead of in her own direction. Oh no, a brand new tactic in chain fighting that I've never seen before! Bull. Hah. She just fucking let go, chucking the handle of the chain at him, not wanting to have her body thrown to the floor with the way her lungs were feeling. She needed to protect her core, as much as possible. She could call a Time Out, but... she'd take the chance of dying rather than give up the exhileration of this clusterfuck.

She doubted he'd be able to do much with the chain, chain work was a lot harder than anyone ever expected. She actually hoped he'd try, the mother fucker would probably end up knocking himself out with it, or get himself tangled in the excess length. Oh please! God, she could use that laugh right now, it would hurt so gloriously to shake with mirth that hard. Hell, maybe the poor sod would just get all wrapped up in it trying to get the fuck up after yanking on it? She grinned, her teeth a touch bloody from biting the inside of her mouth. She did that a lot, without noticing. It was such a habit now, she'd sometimes bite whole chunks off her cheek or lip and not know until she was chewing on it. She'd move for him, trying to prevent him from even getting up from that dive. She needed to keep him down, take advantage now or she'd be fucked shortly... and she wasn't sure if he would be doing the fucking in the fashion she would prefer. That being the non deadifying kind. She'd go to throw the boots on him, to stop down on his chest that she'd already damaged and try and keep him on the floor.

"The rest of you could use some pretty purple though, think it'll bring out the green of your eyes. Do ya'll think so too gorgeous?" Ah shit, her fucking Southern was coming out.


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"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."
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Church
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Putting the 'fun' in 'dysfunctional'
* * * *
I wi-oh shit! Bitch takes the most logical option of letting the thing go, and good thing I'm on the floor otherwise that chain would've come hurling back at me. I don't want anything to do with that shit. It's too damned long to wrap around a fist. Hell It'd be a fucking effort to choke her with it. Now there's a thought, one I don't have time to explore. I'm down and she's not, and I don't want another broken face. My eye sure feels better, blurry is better than blind. I could try and scramble to my feet, get my footing before her next move surely comes. But that chain...what am I gonna do about that? She can just yank me back on my ass. So I decide to get that shit untangled, get my stained little fingertips a-prying. It helps tremendously that there is no leverage to work against, but still I can sure imagine her on some lost island, taking down boars to feast on in her cave-woman-cave. She sure fits that mould. I get it loose, unwinding the length that caught me instead of trying to yank it off like a dipshit. There, I'm free. My eyes turn skyward and holy fucking-

"FUUuuu" Oh hell. Damn. "Wow, that hurt." I mutter in shock as I look down at the foot that just meteored into my bare chest. I think I blacked out on impact, my whole ribcage feels like its wrapped around the shape of her sneaker. There were crunches and snaps for sure, but the moment that stomp hit me is too hard to recollect. I can't stop squirming now, pain rippling out from ground zero and setting fire to everything in its wake. My arms twitch above my head, thrown back along with the rest of me. I'm pinned, powerless! Oh fuck! Something dark inside gets startled and bangs against its cage. The green is sure being brought out of my eyes as they widen in disbelief. Those legs of hers, the skullcrushers, and chest-cavity crushers too, those pins I want wrapped around be so bad. I should've been more preoccupied with breaking them. A good sportsman? Maybe. I think back to my brawl with Letitia, how it was all or nothing. First thing I did was break her arm, cause I knew I needed to and I knew she could take it. Like a sport. Maybe this game of hers has got me all gooey eyed and headfucked. But I do know a body part thats mighty sore.

Crazy chicks. Once again I reiterate...I dig them.

"Sounds...good. But you? I think ya'll would look better in red." I force out weakly, though I'm having trouble focusing beyond that leg. Her face is a blur. Shame. I roll my head, mouth agape, the upper left a mess of bloody shards, corners uplifted in a horrid smile. Not that her ass isn't fine enough already. Am I hurting? Yeah, a lot. Have I got my rocks off? And then some. I ain't been popped so hard in years. Am I done? As much as you might think...this is far from over.

I lock my hands, axe handle that leg with all the force and speed these bones can muster. The impact is rough on my chest, I hope it's worse on her shin. I'm hoping it takes her off her feet and back into the up close and grimy. If she is taken down, it depends. If I can get behind her, I wanna get a chokehold locked in. Get some of that autoerotic asphyxiation working. Bet she'll like that. I'll like having her in that position...I can lap up all the trickles down her face. If I can't get that? I'm sure a bear hug would slow her down something fierce. And if she doesn't get taken down at all? I'll try and get back up. Or cover up my ribs. What with my face being too gorgeous to wail on. Maybe she'll think differently if my genius plan goes accordingly.
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Mac
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Goddess of Fuck and War
* * * * *
She watched him reel from the impact of her kick, absolutely stopping to glory in his writhing figure twisting on the ground. Ain't nothing she was doing going to kill him, he'd just torpor if shit got to bad. Ain't like he was calling quits on any of this fucking insanity, boy was fucking loving it just as much as she was. The thrill of being dogged by him was spectacular, being chased always got her all up and bothered. Chased by church? After all the lead up and teasing? Well, he'd made her hurt real good, although not quite to the level she had been expecting.

She wasn't one to feel -guilty- over hurting someone that was intending to hurt her, but his exclamation of "Wow, that Hurt." Took her by surprise. His eyes lolling about half unseeing, the expression of his fucked up muzzle... Well, fuck. She did feel bad, and that fucking pissed her off all the more. Why the fuck should she feel? Half her face was probably a beautiful reddish purple blotch, sure felt like it. She gave him a softer kick to the side, all toes, less full force and more like testing that he was still functional. Had he fucking called the rag? Was he done?

"Sounds...good. But you? I think ya'll would look better in red" then he was moving, catching her leg to bring her down. She should have known the fucker wouldn't give up like that, she should have kept fucking railing on him! Possibly, had she not been standing in a slick spill of his blood, she may have even been able to keep her footing well enough not to take the fall... As it was? She had no choice, she'd taken to long to look down at his grisly, slightly misshapen face. Admiring it in its bloody humor, still fetching in his own right, all mangled by her own doing. She cursed inside her head as she was taken out, not enough to break the leg, but enough to hurt like a mother fucker. She went straight forward, hands coming out to catch a majority of the fall and try and ease herself down. To bad it was slick with Church face spray, because it made her hands unable to really catch the way they should, it would prevent a face plant. She was smart enough to turn her face sideways though, so that she wouldn't break her nose or anything. She may want every blow, but a broken nose was just terrible to heal. She tried to keep her face from the majority of the damage, sometimes shit couldn't be fixed. The mat came up to her face with a thud.

However, something was still fucking jabbing her in the lungs, and the impact of landing just caused whatever it was to pierce through further. Rib shard, it had to be, from a knee earlier. Jesus Christ, it was an angry little fucker. She wasn't winded in the same way as earlier, she had more time to be ready for this one and brace for the jolt of landing on the Mat. She kept the air in her already, Thank god for it too, because she couldn't imagine staying conscious if she'd hit the fucking cement floor a few feet over. She tried to push up, her chest shooting lightening bolts through it like Zeus was having PMS. She couldn't breath proper, it was like her lungs were made of sand paper and the air was fucking stones going down. She was gasping, pushing up in her hands and tearing at her own hoodie to try and get it off, take some of the pressure off. Fuck. The pain was okay, the pain... Well, that was fucking amazing, it was how hard it was to -breathe- that was pushing it past the level of comfort. Not that any of this had been comfortable. She sounded sort of like she was hyper ventilating, quick short little desperate rasps. Whatever in gods name was he doing, trying to get her in a choke hold?! She tried to get up, get the fuck out of the way of his lumber some form.

"Ya'll make me stupid Doc." Whatever that was, she could barely react to it. She coughed hard, spitting out a decent mouth full of blood as the world suddenly went all... Shifty and blurred. She laughed again, or tried to. Mother fucker, if she died she was going to die laughing damnit.
Edited by Mac, Monday, 14. October 2013, 08:26.
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"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."
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Church
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Putting the 'fun' in 'dysfunctional'
* * * *
Right on the money! Her leg buckles from the blow, and so too does her ability to remain vertical. As she comes thundering down, I spread my arms like I'ma make a snow angel, blood dripping from the twisted smile as I welcome her back to her favourite seat. Well, my favourite seat for her. Well, I can think of a few other thrones that she could be queen of. But something's amiss: I can tell by the way she catches herself, instead of trying to drive her weight behind the fall to get in as many shots as she can, what with my ribs feeling like bags of crushed glass. She doesn't get all cuddly again? Maybe being called gorgeous went to my head...even with a crumpled up face.

But seriously...

She actually avoiding me? Not wanting to crack skulls? As her body flumps down with a satisfying thud, I only then realise that I am without a foot grinding my chest to bits. So, to the plan, get on her and choke that bitch out! I sit upright and lunge, hands desperate to take hold of something substantial and meaty, and start ringing the life out of her. My mucky fingernails claw at the hoodie, trying to grip it and pull her back into my loving embrace. Though my intrusive grabbing is slowed by the reaction I am met with. Bitch is clawing at herself too. Her heavy breathing becomes something more desperate, a struggle now and things start clicking with me. Her lungs could be filling with blood, they could be collapsing, they could be punctured. Hell she could just be choking on one of them fucking tiny knives for all I care, but suddenly I don't feel like choking her. Bear hugging her neither. Regular hugging? Lame!

She tries to get away, but I ain't gonna let her. My relentless groping kicking back up once again but I am not feeling as malicious. Especially as she mumbles about how I make her stupid? Or at least, there ain't no other doctors here. And jebus, as much as I want her melting in my mouth, that smooth red soup that just came up risks turning me vegetarian. Ha, who am I kidding, I wanna get on all fours and lap it up like a dog. I am a fucking dog after all. Fuck...seriously, is that wrong? It smells so damn good. But even so, I can see how much that alone took out of her, even from behind she seems to be swaying on turbulent seas. But she's still wheezing out that final defiant laughter. "You feelin' alrigh' sugar?" My voice is as course as ever, lungs a bloody ruin but hell they don't need to move, really. But it's...gentler. Exhausted? Maybe a little concerned. Hell she doesn't seem to mind being so rough even now. I grasp the hood, pulling it back without jerking her anymore. That blood though. I still want it. I want it from the bottle. Right from that jacked up neck. Am I bringing her closer to make sure she's alright or finally bleed her dry?

"You ain't broke are ya darl? Didn' wanna do that. Well, not anymore. I just wanna see how far you'll bend"
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Mac
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Goddess of Fuck and War
* * * * *
He couldn't really pull the hood without jerking her back, since she was trying to claw it off herself. She managed that, as he tugged back and tore the front down. It split apart, the pocket coming off on one side and hanging limpy, a half crushed cell phone falling out of it and hitting the mat. She breathed heavy, trying to get in enough air to clear her thoughts. It was just one fucking lung damnit, one lung. It was not going to kill her, she still had a perfectly good other lung.. She'd had a collapsed lung more than once, but reinflating a lung was a bit different than being stabbed through one with a piece of bone. God Mac, you're being stupid. It's probably just poking you a bit. Internal shit always got her fucked up, she knew that. She'd had rods put right through her more than once, and she was still kicking. Whatever the fuck was pricking inside of her, not in the polite and acceptable way, was not going to kill her if she didn't fucking let it. She needed to calm down, and she told herself that.

"Ain't broke Fanger, just a little... Splintered." Was it strange that his arms holding her down was helping calm her? Made her make an unusually throaty noise when she pushed against him, they were crushing against her bruised sides, grounding her and making her realize there was more going on outside her body still. She just needed to breathe around it, and cough up some fucking blood now and then until her body pushed that fucker out. As if she could just make it happen she visualized it in her mind, that piece of bone stuck through the Pluera and into the squishy, foamy lung tissue. She loved lungs, squishing them in your hand was fun as fuck because of the unusually spongey texture of them. She imagined that spongey texture pushing that mother fucking little shard out though, and just the mental image seemed to bring her breathing down somewhat.

"Oh I bend pretty far Doc." Her words were smoother, breathing still irregular but not as panicked. He could have fucking killed her then, and she would have had nothing to say about it...but he didn't. She couldn't be 100% on the fact he wasn't going to kill her now, but she had rather more trust on the issue now that he wasn't taking advantage of her hacking up a lung, or parts of a lung. She was twisting in his arms now, bending, trying to get around in her wheezey weakened state to look at him. She needed something smart ass to say, something to get his spirits all back up and get that strangely concerned look off his face... Oh wait, was that concern? Or Hunger? Jesus christ, what that look did to her as she twisted. Her body was screaming in it's bruising, muscles worn and aching, heart hammering like a toddler with it's first Bob the builder set. She was always the most alive when she felt like she was fucking dying.

"You got some Glitter in your hair..." She'd tease, tease so fucking on purpose with a look of complete joy in her face... because he did have Sparkles in his hair, and she owed him for that little misdeed.
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Church
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My hands move back to her waist as I hope she takes it easy. Lord knows I could probably use a breather too, though as I feel the jerk of her hood and the tearing of her hoodie I can only grin. Score one for Church's jacket I think, glancing across the open expanse at the bundle by the door. I turn back at her words; 'Fanger.' Always with the fucking fanger. I know exactly why she says it and it never bothered me, but I hope it's something I can change. Bitch hates us. Bitch fears us. I imagine being a ghoul in the Sabbat would do that, specially one so alluring. Me? Course I was ghouled for some time, but not as a Sabbat stooge, but under Jack. And hell, even if it wasn't the Sabbat that fucked her, it was just one cruel sumbitch master, I can appreciate that too. Isn't that what ghouls are for, doing whatever the fuck you want to them? Jack treated me like a king in hindsight, especially when I think back to Wandsworth. You remember him right? Monroe's ghoul? I hear he got shot. I remember him getting beaten to a bloody mess if he overstepped the mark. And he did nothing but devotedly serve and love his master. And he was killed for that reason. So yeah, I wanna break the mindset she has. I'm hardly a shining example of my kind, but I am not about to enslave her. And surely Aguirre proves that we aren't all fucktards don't it?

My arms wrap tighter, those hips that rolled like thunder for me now grounded in my grasp as she struggles to expel whatever torments her so. I bet she can bend-uugh jebus. There it is, that filthy hacking and coughing bloody murder from those windbags; that's it baby, get it all out. Cause you said it yourself...no more blood from Church. She's gonna just have to use the gift I gave to not die this time. Doc Fanger has been suspended for breaking the Hippocratic oath. She turns to face me, my arms adjusting accordingly to keep her calm and comfy. Right here in my lap, is there any place in this universe comfier?

"Glitter? Really?" I make no attempt to be clever about it, overblown playing dumb at the revelation. Sarcasm is the highest form of wit after all. And as mad as that incident made me, what with the blindness and the cockteasing...here, now? With any animosity being hammered out, I find myself trying not to smile as I continue. "Bitch, s'in my fuckin' beard. S'in my fuckin' eyes and ears. That shit's in my brain now you fuckin'..." I can only chuckle weakly, my chest straining with the unnatural movement which, amazing, mirrors something of her wheezy cough as the liquid clears out. "You fucker, you." I growl. Then again; her face. Jebus, if she looks how I feel, what the hell do I look like? Still, she can rock it all the same. Cause that swell under her eye only reminds me of what a champ she is, and that she can bone like one too. On that note, my eyes drift lower, intending to have another viewing of the magnificent wrack. But...I get stuck. That neck. Fuck. Cause ultimately I was pissed coming out, I wanted to hurt her, make her bleed. But I also wanted to take up her challenge. If I wanted to taste her, I'd have to hunt her. The hunt finished a long time ago, and while I don't know if the fight is over, I am content to wait it out here till she gets the lumps out her throat.

She needs blood for that. I need blood too. To patch up? Nah. To stop the beast? He had a shock, but is back to skulking in this lull of combat. I just want a taste. A real one. But I can't. I shouldn't. Hmmm, maybe? "Mac?" I whisper, looking her dead in the eye again with that hungry look. I hold on a little tighter, leaning a little closer...and snigger. Genius, I think, as I stick my tongue out and, taking my time to savour the flavour, I go true dog on her. I plant it on her chin, and lick all the spilled blood, both mine and hers, dampening that dashing face of hers. Sure she could bite it off, headbutt my nose, yadda yadda yadda. She's too busy dying, and I'm too busy tasting that sweet chilli blood to give a damn. There's something very satisfying about the whole thing; not that I can see her being squirmish, but it's something of a fuck you back to the glitter routine. Not that this makes us even, nowhere near a fucking longshot. I trace across the bridge of the nose, all the way up between the eyebrows before stopping, shaking with contained laughter and a face of absolute glee.

"Sorry, you had summit on ya face."
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Really, at that moment? There really wasn't anywhere more comfortable than his lap, once she'd gotten turned around proper and found herself unable to get away. His hands, they kept a hold of her. Shifting, but holding on. She was ready to throw out an elbow when she made her comment about glitter, trying to rile him up and get him all angry and rage face again. To her surprise, he seems almost amused. Then he was chuckling, low and throaty and deep. Her eye brows shot up, one being rather purple and painful from his decent shot to the face on her earlier. Ow, her expression of surprise -hurt-. That made her laugh a little at his laugh, because no one expects to have a dull throb when they were making faces.

She stopped her windy wheezy chuckle when he called her a 'fucker' though, and beaming a wide grin that showed slightly bloodied teeth. Yeah, she was a fucker and she was proud of it. Especially since he now appeared to see the humor in The Sparkling. In his brain? Could sparkles actually make their way into his brain? She had a momentary vision of a psychadelic brain, all sparkley and lit up with techno lights like a fucking disco ball.

She was hot and sweaty from the struggle of breathing, and the exhileration of their fight. Skin sticky and moist, raging like she was running a fever. She always ran warm, and stress on her body just tended to amp it up all that much higher. When he said her name her breath caught, not because of the small sticking in her lungs but because of the way it sounded on his tongue. All sexy and wanting, rich with hunger. It was like her body reacted without her brain, getting all fucking melting with her own desires. His tightening hands just pushed into the bruising, causing a thrill to run outward like a pebble dropping in the pond, finishing in her fingers, and toes, and finally hitting her brain after some sort of sensory delay. She just fucking enjoyed it for that moment, eyes closing as the shiver ran through her. When she opened them again, his green snake like gaze was staring at her.

It had only been a moments sensation, but it seemed to leave her breathless as she panted in a breath. When he moved closer she shot a hand up to tangle in his hair, to hold on as a thrill of fear and desire rifled through her like a canon blast. Jesus christ, she didn't know what she wanted to happen now. Well she did, she just... Wasn't good at letting things escalate. She tended to fuck shit up on purpose, self destructive and all that shit the psychologist used to say to her. She didn't stop him from licking her face, she just needed to be able to if she realllly felt like she couldn't take it. His cold tongue against her burning flesh felt fucking fantastic, and her hips responded in a roll that had nothing to do with thinking about it, it was all her body simply responding in it's gloriously tortured state. Her skin was raised in goosebumps from fighting to stay still against natural instincts to savage him at his touch, chest rising and falling in short and rapid breathes as he leaned back and apologized.

She grinned at him, her own hunger reflected there, but hunger on a mortal level. Yeah she wanted his blood, but that she could control... She wasn't so sure about the rest of this fucking excitement he had built up in her though. She was doing that thing again, biting the inside of her mouth. This time, entirely fucking on purpose. "You make me stupid Doc." She'd try and pay him back, tightening her grasp in his hair and trying to kiss that fucked up, crushed face of his, bleed into his mouth just to make him hunger that much more.

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Doc. Strange. I don't think in the entirety of my existence has anyone called me that. Perfectly logical that someone might've made that jump, what with junkies getting their narcotics is as good as giving out prescription medication. Sure saves lives! Ends considerably more, but regardless I have done my people proud. And people always ask how ever could they repay such a kindness? I wince as she yanks harder at my hair, I'd can't say I'd noticed she got a handful until then. Cause all I see in those brown puppy dog eyes now is hunger, and when attached to such a ferocious and bloodied creature like her, that equates to something absolutely nasty. I shiver as she pops her lip like a beer, and lets the dribble entice me in. I make her stupid? She made me stupid. This night could've gone badly for either of us, I was reckless enough to come, sure and steady, into whatever she had waiting for me. Whatever she could still have waiting. She's told me herself, she eats my kind. Well...I eat hers. Trust, a two way street and all that shit. And as her lips press down to mine I can be sure of one thing. We don't need trust. We've got some, but, I know she need not worry...cause I want her so bad I ain't gonna hurt her. Ha. I meant kill her.

Stop thinking ya moron.

A clear and crisp taste of her now swills my taste buds in these teasing lip locks. I can't really say for sure, as I haven't seen a mirror, but I imagine she is doing her utmost to avoid digesting anymore of the Church oil. Or doing her best to take sneaky tastes. I close my eyes and enjoy it, my face not quite functioning as it should but getting the job done. I bring those hips closer, pressing the bare skin of my abs against her own. I can feel those strained breaths, that fluttering heart, the shakes and wracks that come with being a mortal after a shock to the system. And she suffered one no mortal should get up from. I lean an arm behind me in order to support my slight recline. Cause I like having her on top. At least while things are calm as they are. But fuck that taste, it only makes me crave her like an old addiction. I wrap a hand in her dreads, sinking my fangs into the bloody bottom lip, a delightful squelch as I do so. It's got nothing on that neck, but even as these trickles slide deliciously down my throat, I don't care. As long as she's serious about Jack, the chance will present itself.

"This got the makin's of a beautiful friendship honey, don'tcha think?"
Edited by Church, Monday, 14. October 2013, 23:54.
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Mac
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She'd never kissed a man with a significant portion of his jaw mangled, and although it wasn't horribley debilitating, you could tell. The corner closest to the damage didn't have the right kind of pressure compared to the rest, but somehow that only made it that much more entertaining. Yeah, she knew she was a fucked up SOB, she didn't really care... The fact that both their mouths blended with a taste of blood, hers and his? That only made it that much fucking better. She wouldn't take it easy in the kiss, absolutely not, she'd push hard against him in the way she tended to be rough with everything she did. She dug deep with her tongue, trying find and taste the last remnants of his own blood in there. She could barely remember it now, The incident in Brent seemed rather far away, until it touched her tongue. Then she remembered the life saving taste of his blood, and her whole body was responsive to it. No, she wouldn't fucking drink him... but she could play the edge of denial and the wanting of him.

She went with him as he reclined, not intending to let their bodies part far enough to let go of her hands grasping in his hair.. Or let his lips disentangle. Her legs and knees tightened around him as she leaned forward, hoping to send a decent squeeze through his crushed front, following, keeping the cool of his flesh against her own burning skin, her leather harness bra the only thing between their upper bodies. Why hadn't he been wearing a shirt underneath his hoodie? Whatever, she really wouldn't have it any other way, infact, had she her way there'd be so much less clothing going on here. Then his fangs were bared against her, and she felt the cool and piercing nip of his fangs catching her lower lip and sinking in.

"With some serious benefits." God, she wished she could have the full breath in her chest and purr out her words, instead of breathelessly gasp them against his mouth. Her body responded to his fangs like any humans did, and while she fucking knew how to overcome the bliss of being bitten, she didn't fucking want to. Not from here, on top, looking into his beautifully smashed up face and listening to his growling words. She drove against him with a sigh, hips rollings, body pressing in a fashion that mimicked sex except for the clothes that seperated them. Fuck, did clothes even matter? She was wound so tight she didn't really think they did. Her body was fucking on fire from trauma and bliss, the crashing together in all the ways that she fucking loved. She yanked hard on his hair, her free hand moving to press hard up and along his bare chest, pushing into the damage she had done to him earlier.

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"You're tellin' me..." I mumble from the corner of my shattered mouth, my body moving in rhythm with hers for what can only be described as an aggressive dry humping. My dead tongue slithers deep, eager to lick up any stray drop or blood flow that may yet remain. Wrapped in an anaconda vice made of thighs, my bones writhe under the pressure, and when that hand presses into me, it is an absolute triangle of burning. A weak squeak of whatever stored air slips away as I slip back against the mat fully, grabbing her ass and hoisting her hips over the sweet spot. And with that done I give her one for my buddy Aguirre. Weird? Meh. I can't quite get the swing to make it crack like a gunshot, but a rough hand crashes down on her rump with harsh intent. I am unable to lip wrestle so well whilst grinning like a fool. I then push her away, the sweaty, wheezing and wrecked form. Push her back as far as her grip will allow me. And if that doesn't I'm sure getting a hand around a few of those dreads might.

I just wanna gawp; her taut body straddling me, undressing what little clothing remains on top cause, frankly I've seen it enough to know. But I never got a taste of the goods. Specially those fruits of the nether. My free hand, pushing her at the shoulder, traces down her front, fingers threading through her enticing cleavage, along the various straps and buckles that confine her so. It rests below the bra, pushing her ruined chest cavity as she pressed on mine. Fucking hell, that doesn't feel right. I almost feel bad. Almost. Though she's a sport, she'll get better. Any maybe a light spot of fucking is just the way to do that? And by light spot I mean ruined her till sunrise. Oh how I'd love to do that. Almost as much as I'd love to...hehehaha.

"Think it's time for me to,uh..." I grin mischievously, not selling it as well as I would hope. "Get out ya hair. S'late. And Pa warned me bout bitches like you." Well ma couldn't, she was too busy being dead. And while Pa did like to go on about my childhood sweetheart being a whore, imagine if he'd seen this monster. My attempts to fake cock block her aren't going too well. Especially as I seem to be getting hard down there, planted firmly between her legs. "You wouldn't take advantage of a lil old farm boy like myself, would'ya?"

Yes.

Please say yes.
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Well, with the kiss broken while he grinned like a god damned imp, the impact on her rear caused her to let out a mighty yelp. Yeah, it hurt, but god damn did that hurt in allll the right sort of ways. Something of her earlier train of thought about being laid across his lap returned, eyes hazey with a certain sort of burning hunger. She let him push her up, but only once he was yanking back on her dreads to get her there, hand letting go of his hair to plant both of them down against his chest firmly. She could let go of the hair, that form of control, to simply press into his shattered chest if things went the wrong way...although, she was seriously doubting that now. He looked as fucking lost in this act of the most preserve wrong as she was.

His hand tracing down her form was painful, skin tense and sensitive after such a short but sweet beating he'd laid down. When his hand came to rest and press against her, the breath in her lungs caught as she gasped out a long sigh. She pressed forward into that hand, to push into the bruising welt of her chest. The warm sweep of pain that washed her body was absolutely fantastic, the deep burn of broken tissue under his hand was magnificent, breath all fucked in her lungs as she moaned out a sigh of such sweet wanting. She was technically alive, and he had stoked the fires of something a lot more insistent than ever her temper. She could get her temper in check, this fucking god damned horniness she'd had riding on her since the Construction site? Not so sure she could check that anymore.

Then he was ...trying to leave? Oh fuck no. She pushed her hands both hard into him, absolutely instigating that he wasn't going anywhere. Not all fangers fucked, but he had her going good and hard and she hoped to go he was the kind that did...He sure seemed the type, especially with the way he met her rolling hips with his own so damn hard, jesus, they could just do that for a while.... Even if he didn't, she hadn't had enough of his fangs on her flesh to be really satisfied yet. "Are you fucking kidding me? We've beaten each other halfway to hell, you've got to want to ride me the rest of the way there..." Like, please? As if her face wasn't puppy dog enough, she turned it to a snarl of contempt that he would just fuck off like that. No, fucking, way. Then her hands were moving, stretching behind her back to take off that damned leather holster bra and chuck it away. He'd seemed pretty fucking infatuated with her tits at the Strip club, there, he wasn't going anywhere.
Edited by Mac, Tuesday, 15. October 2013, 21:42.
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ThERe we go. She pins me down and I continue my toothy, or lack thereof, grin of delight. Too fucking easy bitch, I wheeze out another lungful of forgotten breath, a whimper accompanying its passage as her aggression at the suggestion fires her back up from the purring sex kitten. Oh honey, sweetie, dearest girl. Doesn't it fucking sting? Or at least that's my reaction to her comment, one full of promise and desire. Riding her to hell, I hope that's a metaphor. I still don't quite understand where this place is. "Maybe I'm kidding. Maybe I'm being a cockteasing bitch. Whadda you think?" I raise an eyebrow, as her hands slip away and work at that cumbersome remaining clothing.

Heh.

My hands shift swift and sightlessly, to catch her hands as they make for the bra clasp. To do so requires me to shift back up on my ass, face inches away from her own being teased by those rapid hot breaths. I take the wrists, as the material loosens, beyond their intended target and higher up, straining the bones to uncomfortable positions. The bra pinned between out crumpled bodies, I let my lips hang close, brushing briefly. "We ain't goin' to hell honey. Feels too good to be bad now don't it?" I growl, twisting the wrists more in my vice grip. But ride I shall. Maybe to hell. I hope her lungs can take it or I might fuck her to death. The teasing is just my way of thanking her, for a wonderful evening at the strip joint; sure we could've fucked in that booth though the violence factor might've been considerable lower...which is why it wouldn't have been as satisfying. All that build up led to this, and the tantalizing agony I'm feeling now is only 'half way there.'

And with that, I decide I want on top for the moment. My mouth makes for her neck, false icy breaths huffing and puffing out between sporadic kisses down that throat. I lower her down, pulling those arms back to an agreeable angle though attempting to keep them pressed to the mat. My crotch grinds into hers with a hard and steady rhythm as make it clear I ain't going anywhere. Though my fingers are getting sticky. No...not in a good way. I glance to my hand as it entwines with hers. And the pool they rest in.

"Those my teeth?" I feign interest, ever the hopeless romantic. I want her wound so tight she starts stripping the flesh from my bones to satisfy that cock craving. Or maybe just my pants. Ok, happy medium and skin? Come on you bitch, stop having an asthma attack and break my pelvis.
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Everything that feels good is a sin, I've paved a highway with mine.

Her hands were caught, his whole body shifting to catch her and pin her hands awkwardly. A thrill ran up her spine at his sudden and threatening movement, causing a jolt of adrenaline to burst through her blood and fire up the nerves of excitement. Her teeth ground together as her nose wrinkled in a look of annoyance at the pain in her wrists, his grip bruisingly tight as he twisted. She hissed through her teeth, letting out a shuddery breath of pain and aggression. Her lungs were already starting to feel better, those minutes of downtime spent false fucking and making out had given her enough time to get ahold on it.

When he brought his lips close to her skin again, to brush across her own lips, she tried to bite him. Hell, why not? He was fucking hurting her wrists, and even though she ...well, got off on that shit, having hands pinned behind her back took the power ball out of her end zone. She didn't deal with that well, she was all sex kitten when SHE was in the Top dog position. Take it away? She lost the comfort. She missed biting him though, because he was sinking lower and suddenly grazing all along her neck with his mashed mouth. Jesus, was he going to bite her? Not with her wrists behind her back... Fuck no, she couldn't pull him off if he took it to far that way, and she wouldn't let that Fanger into her skin without a handful of his god damned pretty boy locks.

She went to the mat, half stuck between glorying in the tantilizing idea that he was going to bite her, and struggling with the helpless feeling of it, the need to escape rising in moments of blissful panic. Cloudy judgement, his form taking the dominant role. Partly thrilled, partly seething bloody murder. Ah, but they hadn't gone far from where he had untangled himself from her Rope Dart... and while he was pressing against her in that oh so fucking pleasing mockery of sex between their clothes, those long legs were toeing up part of the chain. “Sure are, could...knock a few more loose if you'd like.” She was laying in the sticky puddle of his blood, it was entirely to overwhelming there. Soaked in his scent, that brain fuzzing aroma of Fanger... not just any Fanger, her fanger damnit. She needed to get moving to get distracted from it, before she completely went mental on him.

She then squeezed tight against him, lifting her legs to slide up along his, to mimick like she wanted to wrap them up around his hips and let him keep the control reigns. Once her legs were up to his waist though, she'd try and thrust him sideways by squeezing him tight and and rolling all her weight in a sudden twist. She'd also be twisting and ripping at her wrists to free her hands, trying to break them between his thumb and fingers at the weak spot of the connection. She wanted to grab the chain and string it across his face, pinning it on either side and trapping his god damned head beneath it's taught chain. It would press against his already damaged noggin, and she would push nice and hard on it. She'd also try and let a knee drive down into one of his thighs, hard, and push with her amazon weight, trapping the other leg under hers to keep him down. She'd also lift her pelvis away from his, to let him know exactly which of them was the cock tease here damnit. She'd let him keep his hands out, because...well, how else was he going to fuck her up further hmmm?
Edited by Mac, Friday, 18. October 2013, 00:02.
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Gorammit, she's a hellcat. A man eater for sure, but one that I would oh so happily spend the rest of the night rolling around with, locked together in all the right places. A feeling I know she harbours as her thighs brush up my own, pressing me into her that little bit extra before taking me for a spin. I get it, she wants to be on top and, frankly, that's fine. I couldn't give a fuck right now. Church takes the top spot cause, well, Church is built for the top. It's never been a requirement when getting my dick wet, it's just natural when fucking at the ferocity that gets me as close to a mortal feeling. But Mac is an anomaly I have yet to experience; as strong and limber as any vamp, with a bloodlust to boot, all the while being warm and devour-able.

So yeah, I'm happy to take the bottom right now. We've got plenty of enthusiasm for other no doubt. But the hard and cold metal pressing harshly into my face certainly comes as a surprise; I almost see it glisten as we tumble, bringing up a hand to catch it but the best I do is push the direction off. It pains me across the mouth as opposed to my eyes. Well, things are going expectedly. I wonder where she keeps the whips? Well she sure was right about making me lose more, as luck would have it I managed to wrap my jaws around the chain before she could break them loose. I grunt, and little more, as she bruises my thighs under her weight.

I can only stare.

Stare in angst as she is so obviously delighted with the way I am trapped; I really should be struggling against the iron gag but, maybe I like it. Just a little. Though disappointed that she lifts herself over so that hot crotch and mine can't wrestle clumsily. My peepers burn intensely as my hands outstretch to her body. As solid and bendable as that chain, it hasn't been bent enough. I wrench my fingers into one of the many straps tracing her body, noting how convenient they may actually be when it comes to all intimate matters that are undoubtedly going to spill out of our scantily clad bodies. Speaking of which, my other hand grasps the leather bra which somehow remains covering her up. Well with that much hair and leather, who knows where it could snag eh? I rip it off, and I know she can see my eyes light up at the sight. Man I love tits.

"Ealleh sshom opcass titsh." I smirk through the chain, the free hand cupping the soft mass and giving it a gentle squeeze. Given how she is, what with being tougher than a two dollar steak, these puppies can't be real. Rules out the possibility of biting them, but hell I sure wanna watch them bounce. The hand shifts north, up that slender neck and to her bruised chops. And then delicacy turns sour. I jam my fingers in her mouth, grabbing the bottom row of teeth and pulling hard. So too is my other hand tugging, pulling her back into me with the tenacity of a pitbull. She doesn't want my blood? Might be kinda hard with my fingers getting chewed up in her gob as I yank away. But that's not really my intent. I'm hoping to pull her hard into the mat behind me, so hard that she has to decide whether to let the chain go or face plant and have her position compromised. Then I'm thinking I'll wrap the chain around her face, see how she likes a little lack of breathing. Or just immense claustrophobia of the facial features. Or if she goes right over I might just jump on her backside and drop trou on us both right there and then. Or sink my teeth into that ass. Jebus, too much to do and so little time. And while this little rough and tumble is enough to keep my mind amused, I feel like it could be done with less clothes. But what I do know is whatever trepidation there was in coming here tonight has well and truly vanished. This is pure enjoyment, and if she distracts me till daybreak and decides to end me in my sleep...

Meh. At least I'll slip away accompanied by the sweetest of dreams.
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Goddess of Fuck and War
* * * * *
Her goal wasn't to break any more teeth loose, just threaten to for being a little fucking cock tease. She had other intentions for his mouth, and didn't want him to drop those fangs anytime soon. She liked them, jesus... She -liked- them, and wanted him to have the ability to bite her for a long while yet. Mac had always been an unfortunately sexual creature, and the first time Marco bit her and she experienced the bliss of the bite? She had been putty. He'd beaten that out of her, forced her to learn how to control that excitement and enjoyment... but just because you -can- control something, doesn't mean you always fucking want to. No, she wanted him to keep those teeth in his mouth, fangs or regular ones. It was already kind of weird kissing a man with a face as smashed as his, she didn't want to feel like she was getting it on with some old toothless geezer. That would be pushing it.

She did enjoy looking down at him though, chain wrapped around his face and muffling his words. Jesus, that was hot as fuck. She wondered what he'd be like really chained up, hands pinned above his head and suspended from her uneven bars at just the right height for her to take complete advantage of his form. She'd have to get the accessories out for that one, just what kind of pain was Church's favorite hmmm? She knew her's, she had two favorite's really... Bruise torture and burning, a runner up being electric shock. She always enjoyed when they brought that shit out in torture sessions, screaming her head off like the world was going to end and she was ohhhhhh so hurt, when inside she was on the edge of an orgasm from it all. The memory sparked a grin on her face of complete delight, especially as Church pulled the leather bra free of her with a hearty yank. It broke on one of the straps, had to really, only way to get it off when she was -not- going to let her hands up to sensually let him slide it free.

The only slurred word she got from him was tits, and that made her chuckle briefly as his hands slid to explore her form. “Those are Tzimisce made, cost me a few arms and legs.” Not her own mind you, other peoples... and a few other body parts too. Worth it though, they were top notch goods that she simply didn't have a natural fat mass for. Unfortunately when you play hard, you lose certain feminine traits... She'd had to compensate, and these babies were worth all the blood sweat and tears they cost. Soft and supple, but forever perky as fuck. His touch was surprisingly gentle, and she'd respond to the gentle squeezing of her breast by driving her knee in harder to his thigh. What the fuck was this, a romance novel? And he'd respond to that by stuffing his fingers inside her mouth and giving her one fucking hell of a yank. That took her by surprise, his approaching fingertips were expected for something more sexy, like licking or sucking at, and less 'Eat the Mat'. Choices? Fight, and let him rip out some teeth, or have this all turned around on her? This choice was hard, because she liked having her teeth.

While she would release his face from the chain to catch herself and not be biting the mat a big one, she wouldnt let it go. Hands catching underneath her in a front bump, body pulled from his and sideways with a clap of thunder as she belly flopped on it. Owwww.... She'd try and roll over if she could, if he wasn't on top of her before she could react. If he was? Well, good thing she had elbows and the flexibility to try and reef him in the side of the head from on all fours to try and knock him loose. She wanted on her feet again... A devious idea passing through her mind.
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"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."
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Church
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Putting the 'fun' in 'dysfunctional'
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I try not to grind my teeth down as the pressure builds with her full weight nearly tearing my face open. I could've ended up like the joker had she not let it loose, and I gasp as the painful stretching sensation eases away. I guess she didn't fancy becoming a toothless wench. Shame. That would've been funny. Maybe too far, seeing as I want to put more than my fingers there. Like fuck. Yeah, I don't want it bitten off. But still, sensible choice doll. I don't wanna hurt that pretty face neither. Y'know, anymore. Which is something I'll have to keep in mind as she isn't a good girl and squirms off. Girl likes a lot of foreplay, I'm more than game. That shit can be the best part, and it's been pretty damn good so far. I came to play bitch.

Burning blood right now seems like a bit of a no no. I wanna keep myself going for the real fight, right? Heh. Sure would be unfortunate if I got a little too hungry for that ass. I've already got her body mapped in my mind for what I wanna sink into, far too many for just one night of romping. So I need her alive, right? Yeah, that's right, for Jack. The man who made me so freaky. Sabbat-ified. Something that is abundantly clear happened to her too. I wonder when that was. Where that was. Here? Imagine running into her if I was still...well...Wrong in the head. Probably with welts a hundred times worse than the one on her face. Why am I even thinking about that shit? I don't wanna.

I sit up and follow her crawl away with my eyes. I scramble up and away, not really wanting to be near her with the crazy shit she liked to pull. The chain could be a problem, but I'm thinking she'd need to spool it up a little more or something before I can close a short gap and knock her lungs back into critical condition. I don't feel too keen on doing that. In fact, that terrible thought of what could possibly, sure as shit unlikely and probably completely wrong considering I don't know dicks about this chick, has kinda...disheartened me. Sadistic isn't something I wanna be. I got no problem smacking sense into people, hell I can enjoy wiping clean smug faces. But every punch I lay on her is glorious. She thinks so too, but I sure know how to take things too far. All that rubbing on each other must've knocked my switch off. I don't wanna do anything fatal. Lungs are pretty important. Every good doctor knows this.

So I'm standing here like a fucking idiot. Wondering if I should clean her clock for good measure. Maybe work over a leg? Meh. Not feeling it. Don't wanna be feeling it anyway. Stupid conscience, when did you come back. So maybe I'll just talk and words will come out? "Come on pumpkin, I got better places to be. I need more than beautiful fuckin' tits to keep me goin." I smirk, my voice strained from the damaged sustained so far. Better places? Certainly not. But I want to keep winding that coil till it snaps. And hurt me good. Maybe I'm being a little selfish, because however much I oppress those sadistic thoughts, the masochist is begging to be beaten into submission and dominated by a sex goddess. Fuck, that sounds good. Church don't need top spot. Church just needs to get more physical, right fucking now.
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Mac
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Goddess of Fuck and War
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He really hadn't learned anything about tussling with her yet had he? He backed off to let her get herself together, or because he didn't know what to do? What the fuck fanger? He was taking it easy on her, and while she could appreciate letting her get her shit together and figure out how to keep on -breathing- earlier with the whole lungs are necessary fiasco, she wouldn't take that bullshit he just pulled. Backing off for no reason, what's going on? He starting to get his knickers in a twist, feel all human and moral? Ashamed? She hoped not, this shit was exactly what she needed after such a shitty and boring ass time in London.

Fuck, as endearing as the stupefying mother fucker was she wanted this game to keep going.... And all that needy desire that knotted inside wanted it to go certain places a lot faster. She hurt all over, skin a beautiful sting from hitting the mat, bruises aching dully when she was on her feet. She took a step forward but stopped, staring at him. They'd rolled on the Mat enough to have traded placed, her back to the uneven bars and his to the kitchen. Did he just call her pumpkin? ...keep reachin fanger, that was -lame-... But he wanted entertainment? Tits not enough? Fine, time to pull out all the stops and send this fucking train home.

One hand went for the button on her jeans, popping it and zipper but keeping her legs wide enough the pants held up by tension... She had the chain in one hand still, the excess length all balled on the floor. Poor mother fucker had no idea did he? You didn't just swing this shit... Her step forward had been to change footing. She'd aim for his ankle, the same one she'd smashed with it earlier, and her foot would lift to kick the fucking ball on the floor like a small steel soccer ball, right for his ankle. Would it be Broken or just seriously smashed? Either way, every mother fucking move he made would be agony. Would that help him reach his fix? What if she ensured he had to move? Keep that pain triggered. Move to follow her, or catch her?

She'd bolt for the uneven bars, wether the steel ball hit or not, letting the chain go in the mean time. She'd then do a decent swing on the bars, kicking her legs out so the jeans just slid off and her sneakers flew away. Yeah sneakers, not combat boots. If you needed to be really silent combat boots were not the way to go, and these were way more comfortable. She wasn't wearing a thong today, perhaps a little to excited for the hunt this morning? Forgotten by accident, or on purpose? Oh, he knew. Then she'd do a small flip up so she was standing on the top bar, turning around so just her harness system sat against her skin, a small flat blade in hand already as she'd look back to him... And slowly draw it along that smooth expanse of pelvis that was bared to his view. A long, deep line of red welling out and begining the slow cascade down her body to slip between those thighs he liked to day dream about. This was stupid as fuck, because really, she was banking on him having enough self control not to frenzy at this point, and that boy would have to be one hell of a masochist to not be losing his shit. That was fine with her though, cuz there'd been enough fucking around with not enough fucking damnit. Mortal needs, still bound to her living body. She never wanted to give that up.

"Awe Doc, whoops... Seem to have cut myself. Clumsy me."

Her skin was on fire with excitement, that rush of being stupid, chest rising and falling with deep and purposefully controlled breathes. Each one hurt still, small blades devouring her chest, but she could manage it... And it made it that much fucking better to know that she was really hurting there, along with the bruising all over her body she felt so god damned alive. Now she wanted to feel good too, good in ways that only a shit kicking like this could really lead up to, hell, he could turn around and walk out and although she'd be pissed as fuck, she'd still feel good... Course, she sure wanted to feel even better, before she vibrated out of her skin with tension.
Edited by Mac, Monday, 21. October 2013, 17:42.
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"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."
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