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| Welcome To The Night You find yourself in London on a dreary, foggy night like any other. But what lurks in the shadows is the stuff of fantasies and nightmares, far from mortal reality. This game uses the cursed and immortal vampiric condition as a backdrop to explore themes of morality, depravity, the human condition, salvation, and personal horror. We are a writing and roleplaying community dedicated to telling complex and engaging stories. Your fate is your own. Mingle among the ivory-tower elite in the Camarilla, join the fight of the discontented and chaotic Anarch rabble, or set out independently and attempt to survive in London's nighttime underworld. Anything is possible in our World of Darkness. Create Your Account! If you're already a member, please log in to your account to access all of our features: |
| All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy; Open, AU | |
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| Topic Started: Monday, 21. October 2013, 22:08 (5,590 Views) | |
| Jhael | Tuesday, 22. October 2013, 15:40 Post #21 |
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Prince Blucher's Dinner (still not quite house trained)
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"DRACOOOOO!" On the sidewalk outside the house, the tall blonde kid with a knobbed cane and a voluminous black cape draped over his beanpole frame spread his arms in a theatrical here in the flesh gesture, but behind the gold greek comedy mask, he was rolling his eyes. When he was younger, letting on that the imposed nickname made him want to shove a flaming shit torch down everyone's throat only made everything worse. Now that he was much older and wiser at the ripe age of 16, Juilan Veith knew that the posture of acceptance or apathy resulted in a less enraging situation. A slightly shorter person in a suit that bulged with fake rotundness accompanied him. Bits of the suit were torn to reveal mechanical parts beneath and a aluminum tube painted up like some video game cannon stuck out from his sleeve instead of his left hand. Over his face, a mask of the former vice president, but the characteristic sneer ripped up at one side with more mechanical bits beneath. "I. AM. ROBO. CHENEY. I. RETURN. FROM. UNDISCLOSED. LOCATION. TO. KILL. BARAK. HUSSEIN. OBAMA. KILL. OBAMA. YES. I. CAN." The more elegant of the pair grinned to match his mask. "Twenty. Someone is going to punch you tonight." "I. AM. ROBO. CHENEY. THEY. WILL. GO. TO. GUANTANAMO." Dropping the botspeak, 'Cheney' muttered "Fifty. Three punches." "Hi, Draco!" A fishnetted pixie waved as she passed with a good natured smile. "I. AM. ROBO. CHENEY. I. HAVE. A. ROBO. DICK." The 'robot' made some stiff hump thrusts in her direction until she shook her head and left. "Thanks," Julian muttered. "Why? She wanted you to fuck her and I just cockblocked you. If you didn't want anyone to recognize you, should have listened to me. Sithlord Condoleeza." "Shitlord Condoleeza. I'd look like a guidette." Julian wrinkled his nose in distaste, even though Ryan had a point. With his platinum blonde hair sculpted back in plain view, he was obvious even with a mask on. "Come on, let's find that guy who came as Obama. Another twenty for you to follow him around all night." With barely repressed, boyish giggles, they made their way across the expansive front lawn and towards the house, the taller one with a graceful stride and an odd thickness around his torso under the cape, the other hobbling in robot steps. |
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| Nora Penvellyn | Tuesday, 22. October 2013, 17:49 Post #22 |
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Rebel With a Cause
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Gold brushed cuffs, chains, and plates. Brazen leather bonded in bronze and rich red velvet. Tonight...will be fucking awesome. Smokey eye shadow, thick lashes, and a dusting of glitter. White gold, diamond crested studs. Full, pouty, nude glossy lips. I'm gonna live like I'm dying... or something equally as fucking awesome. Inky black tresses pulled back and knotted with brushed gold plates, falling in a loose braid over the shoulder. Shocks of washed out blue, bubblegum pink, platinum blonde, and violet weaving through out. Lenora fastened the haircuff to the end of the braid, gold plated like the intricate hair piece bound to the back of her head. She looked burlesque, something you would want but couldn't have. It was a long ways away from damaged goods, but it screamed daddy issues when worn by a seventeen year old girl with... as many daddy issues as she had. Her hand strayed to the third drawer of the vanity, pulling it open with ease and shoving bottles of hairspray and mousse aside, and pressing down on the false bottom of the drawer. She lifted up the flimsy wood, snatching up three different small baggies out of her stash of goodies and tucking them snugly into the depths of her...slave like bra contraption. Phone chirps, annoyingly breaking the silence. Paul: Your noble stead has arrived! She rolled her eyes, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. She afforded herself one last glance at her reflection before getting to her feet and draping her bare shoulders, arms, torso, and legs in the warm, billowing folds of her Jedi robes. She made her way down the stairs and ducked out of the backdoor from the kitchen with heels in hand, padding across wet pavement to the black stretch limousine parked across the street. She'd made it out unscathed and undetected. Thank fuck for loud televisions and brandy... Smiling to the driver that stood outside, opening the door for her as she approached, Lenora slid into the smooth leather seat with ease and looked across to her date for the night, her smile brightening significantly as she settled back against the now shut door and pulled back her hood, "Look at you," she sighed overly dramatically, an air of playful seduction to her words, "You're the sexiest slug I've ever laid eyes on, mister." What in the fuck am I doing...? |
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| Church | Tuesday, 22. October 2013, 20:08 Post #23 |
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Putting the 'fun' in 'dysfunctional'
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Uuugh. I need to stop doing this. "Doing what?" I stop walking. "Jebus did I say that out loud?" Vic looks at me with a blend of amusement and mocking concern. A face that provokes the redundent joke of 'it ain't halloween.' My brother from another, ugly, mother. And dad to boot. Great thing about being adopted, you're the best looking one in stupid ass family albums. "You feeling ok princess? Regretting it already? You need me to come with you?" He grins, as wasted and loopy as me. "I love halloween, bro. This may be the best one yet. An' I sure as shit don't need your stupid ass ruining it." "Shut da fuck up. I'm not the dumbass who forgot a costume." I shrug. "An' you came as a retard? What with the whole sunglasses at night bullshit. In fact, gimme."I snatch away the unnecessary, and downright debilitating, shades, knocking his hand away as he tries to reclaim them. He's a big boy, but a slow 'un. But they'll go so nice with the bandana around my neck. Well, it's a rich kids house. And while I come from good money, adopted into good money, pa sure is a tight fucker. Or maybe he knows I'll just blow it on coke and tattoos. He wouldn't be wrong, after the sleeve I was hurting for money. Still, that's what big brothers are for, right? That and pinching priceless heirlooms and shit. "I owe yah." "More than you'll ever know baby brother. Now run along and be and try not to O.D." "Heheh. I'll try. Seeya Vic." ![]() I don't do front doors. Especially when I'm probably not allowed to be in here. A quick hop of the fence, grinning at the rather...burnable lawn as it lavishly sprawls into the yonder. Or maybe that's just my brain having technical problems. Gotta love a party, even if it's full of loser. Awh, bit harsh? I don't choose to get to know these people, I just spend a great deal of my life in their company. Reluctantly with some, but my mood with the general consensus is passive. In fact, aside the social gatherings with the football team, I can't say I've ever had a drink with anyone. Even then I can only get along with my side of the ball. Though if there is one thing I have enjoyed during education, its laying the hurt on Flint in practice. Nothing personal, but being a linebacker is the next best thing to that 'reefer madness.' But were there ever time for crazy shit to go down, I sure wanna be on that boat as it sinks. Time to get nosy...and drunk...and let reality slowly fuck off. I'll keep my face hidden till I get my hands on something shiny...aside from the bottle of beer I sweep as I enter via the kitchen. Then...maybe I'll work on getting someone pregnant? Hopefully before the world starts melting around me. That would be bad. |
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| Aguirre Efrain Maddox | Tuesday, 22. October 2013, 22:28 Post #24 |
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Mouse
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This party was progressing so slowly, for Aguirre at least. She had yet to find Sawyer among the ranks of dressed up teenagers, not that it would have been an easy task in the first place. He was probably wearing a mask, or done up in some ridiculous Teen Wolf get up so he could swear his letter jacket with his uniform. She'd been back and forth between the kegs and her current location near the door once or twice now, having polished off a third beer and two shots of tequila, figuring that he would show up to get into the drinks eventually, right? But no, and she wasn't even sure why she was so fixated on running into him. He was the exact opposite of the usual crowd she hung with, so what was the deal? She held on now to a small hand full of vodka-soaked gummy bears, and had herself convinced that he'd only invited her as a joke. She popped a green gummy into her mouth, chewing slowly as she stared off into the crowd; she was supposed to have met a couple others here too, though it was starting to look as though they might not make an appearance either. They'd probably found another party down town, where she would usually be on a night like this. Her cell phone buzzed, but before she could pull it out of the thin pocket of her leggings, someone was grabbing her shoulder and pulling her in without permission. Her eyes went slightly wide when they happened upon a young Clint Eastwood. Wait--no. That wasn't Clint. He had far too many freckles to be the the Man with No Name himself. A bright grin spread over the freak show's features as vivid copper eyes took in Sawyer's costume, comfortable under his arm for the moment now that she knew who was invading her personal space. "Now, hopefully I ain't gonna get smitten by the gods of bad assery here, but I think you might actually pull that costume off better than Eastwood, himself." Aguirre probably slurred just a teensy bit, though hopefully it wouldn't be too obvious that she'd already mooched her fair share of the booze. Shit, though, he smelled like he'd just stepped out of a grade A hot box session, and she had to chuckle at that. Without explaining what was so funny, she held up the palm containing the gummies to offer him one. Why not? A jelly belly was pretty good payment for appreciate of a sufficiently gory costume. Also, Clint Eastwood. Sawyer deserved all the jelly bellies. "What's up is this party. Thanks for the invite. Want one?" A nod in her direction caught her eye, the informal manner of greeting the same one she'd heard every morning for the last semester that she actually chose to go to gym class. She wasn't surprised to see Caston here, since he was the notorious provider of all things good and extracurricular at social gatherings past, but was a little surprised to see that he'd brought a younger brother, and Moshe, and wasn't wearing a costume. Maybe he just wasn't ready yet? Or he didn't care. But how could anyone neglect to dress up on Halloween? "Hey, Cas. I see y'all came bearing gifts", she nodded to the back pack, mischievous grin telling that she had an educated guess of what was in it. Even this small attempt at conversation, as well as maybe hoping he had enough skunk to sell her a dime bag, was interrupted by the only chick on the football team sauntering on into the group. Man, she was scary, though mostly made Aguirre want to kick her ass most of the time. That would be an ugly fight, though; she'd get beaten to a pulp. Half the football team didn't dare take Mac on. All the same, the way she carried herself made Aguirre feel slightly competitive. Maybe it was the previously imbibed drink that encouraged it, but when the sailor (or whatever she was, All Aguirre knew was that her ass was hanging out) offered up the bottle, the lanky girl took it and tossed her head back for a swig. She handed it to whoever wanted it next, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "Shit tastes like gasoline", Aguirre laughed, wondering how anyone could drink so much of that stuff straight. "Hey, cowboy, out of the way." Yet another member of the football team had come to join them, carrying a keg that had to be as heavy as she was and forcing Sawyer to squish sideways into her, which caused her to drop her jelly bellies right onto the expensive cream colored carpet. "Aww, man, holy party foul.." she lamented in reverence to her delicious alcoholic candies. Whatever, though, because at this point she was probably starting to go over her limit. It wasn't so much the revelation of dropping her candies as the fact that she was leaning unevenly into Sawyer that told her as much, though that was mostly just for a crutch. Football players weren't her cup of tea--in fact, she remembered very distinctly being locked in the janitorial closet by a group of them over a holiday weekend, but was Flint among that mob? ...No, not that she remembered. Anyway, dressing up like the Man with No Name totally made up for it if he was. Edited by Aguirre Efrain Maddox, Tuesday, 22. October 2013, 23:51.
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| Alarik | Tuesday, 22. October 2013, 23:45 Post #25 |
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"Papers, Please."
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It was a good thing that the rented black limo came with a driver. Though Paul Kuhn had just gotten his licence, he could hardly be expected to drive safely while dressed up as Jabba the Hutt, a giant slug from some geeky sci-fi movie. The costume covered most of his body, making it difficult to see and almost impossible to move. "I am a sexy slug", he'd said, though, reaffirming Nora's earlier statement after draping his 'tail' over her. Her earlier indecisiveness between the many different indecent Halloween costumes in her size had driven him to just say 'yes' to the idea of having her go as Princess... something... Lei Wa? ... not realising that the matching costume was a body-covering affair that was supposed to represent a bloated space slug. The good thing about this costume, though, was the fact that it covered his entire body, with the exception of his hands. He could stand holding hands with Nora for the duration of the car trip, but he was still far, far too sober to give in to any suggestion that they should fool around. The limo pulled up on the grassy field in front of the house, knocking over a few of the fakey gravestones in the process. Paul had insisted that they be seen to park by the people in the house, as it'd make for a better entrance. He wanted to make sure the other teens were impressed by the car, of course. But more importantly, he wanted that they'd see him go to the party with his girlfriend. His girlfriend. Getting out was difficult, and he nearly tripped before finding his balance and angrily pulling the remainder of the slug-costume out of the narrow car. Waving the driver off, he held open the door for Nora and offered her a hand, a genteel bow accompanying the gesture. "The party, Madame", he said, his fake French accent intermingling weirdly with his quite real German one. |
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| TapestryofShame | Tuesday, 22. October 2013, 23:49 Post #26 |
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Queen of Love (wut?)
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She would look at those James was greeting with creepy eyes of alien blankness, particularly interested in the boy who could barely be considered taller than she was. Hah. She'd never seen him before, most likely because she spent all of her time hiding at school or stuffed into closets and lockers. Victoria she had seen, but never met. Outside of the chess club, which she was president of and had the wildly populated member count of 6, she rarely interacted with anyone except teachers and other kids in the 'special' category. She had infact had an invite stuffed into her locker, but had purposely managed to accidentally, completely not at all planned what so ever even though she had deliberated on it greatly, left it home. She had hoped it would be a no invite no entrance. No such luck as James pulled her in after him. She hissed at the door man, because why not? It was the most noise she was capable of making, and between her blood stained fangs and fractured rotting face, it gave a very decent impression of being a scary ass mother fucker. If only she hadn't also been less than five feet, she may have been able to provide even more of an intimidating impression. She would follow, reluctantly... Creeping in the shadows and turning lights off as she went. She would grab a bottle of some sort of wine, and take off to hide in a closet somewhere until enough time passed she could quietly sneak away and pretend that she had 'socialized'. The emergency sticker with her name on it, incase anyone asked, was underneath her floor length black utility cloak. |
![]() "I thought... I thought that Mexico had chased such grand musings from my heart. That I wouldn't attempt to live so bold and that I would slide away into shadows. Standing here... the silence is so loud with potential I am deafened." - Upon entering the concrete shell that would become, Muse. | |
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| Caston Kane | Wednesday, 23. October 2013, 00:11 Post #27 |
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Don't Be Jealous.
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"I may have something in this little bag of mine." Caston adjusted the strap of his backpack on his shoulder, speaking in a low voice, giving Aguirre a mischevious smile. "A little bit of courage, a heart, a brain, maybe even a trip back to Kansas." Yeah, yeah, the Oz reference may have been a bit overplayed - 'Holy shit. I'm so ridiculously toasted right now.' - but Aguirre certainly got the point. He didn't know if she was looking to buy or just smoke, but Caston sold to her once or twice before that he could remember; he was trying to tell her that he might just have what she was looking for without actually saying it. And that's when they showed up. Douchebag jocks, ever consistent in their ignorance, simply had to come and ruin the freshly started conversation (and possible opportunity to bank a small profit) with Aguirre, doing what they do best: being drunk and belligerent. Perhaps it was the fact that Sawyer was there, and maybe as the Green Creek quarterback, he was a sort of jock bugzapper and drew them all in? Caston had been drawn into Sawyer's presence since freshman year because... well, look at him! He knew that he was straight, which was something he lamented just about every day at school, and that he was teasing himself every time he entertained even the slightest notion that maybe, just maybe he'd one day get curious and that - God willing - he was the one he wanted to test that on, but that hope was always crushed by the conscious realization that he had about as much a chance of that happening as he did of getting mauled by a polar bear and a Bengal tiger all in the same day. Of course, the more the more knuckle-dragging football team members stayed, the more uncomfortable he got. He used the spilling of candies as an opportune excuse to nonchalantly make a brief exit. "Hey, I'll catch up with you guys later," he said, adjusting the backpack hanging from his shoulder again. "I still have a costume to throw on, and I'm kind of the odd man out here." With that, he turned back to Moshe, taking a long sip of his beer. "Bee-R-Bee, mi amigo." Caston slipped past the group and looked around the house to see if there was a washroom he could use to a quick-like-a-bunny Superman change. There were fewer people on upstairs, it seemed, so he decided that was his best bet, and making his way up the police-tape covered stairs, he passed a number of rooms with closed doors toward one at the end of the hallway that was opened and had its light on. And it was.... ...The bathroom! Perfect! He slipped inside and shut the door behind him by leaning on his back. He immediately tensed up when he saw a motion activated tarantula decoration on the shelf of the toilet start moving its legs and making a loud squeaking sound. 'Spiders. I hate fucking spiders.' Thinking quickly, he set his solo cup on the sink and grabbed a towel from the towel bar that was next to him on the wall. "Right, so we're just gonna do this really quick," he said rhetorically as the arachnophobic young man gently tossed the towel over the creepy decoration to stop it from moving and preventing its sensor from being activated again. "And... perfect." He stepped back to the sink and looked at himself in the mirror for a moment. He took off his hoodie and the t-shirt he had on underneath it and looked at his reflection again. He wasn't sure where his strange fascination of checking how bloodshot or not-bloodshot his eyes were when he was high came from; maybe he enjoyed using it as a gauge of how stoned he was. He unzipped his backpack and stuffed the hoodie and the t-shirt inside and took out the bottle of fake blood and an old t-shirt that he'd torn a few holes in and already stained red and slipped it on. Caston hummed to himself as he put some of the fake blood into his palm and began smearing it across his face. 'Zombie? Or muder victim? ...Eh, people can make up their own minds.' |
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| Toran | Wednesday, 23. October 2013, 00:26 Post #28 |
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The Formerly Hated
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Toran regard Aguirre and Sawyer for a moment, then turned to look at Mac. "Hey Mac, Lindsey doesn't believe me that you can do a push up with her sitting on your back. Let's go down and show her who's top bitch, you think?" His blue eyes blinked slightly as Caston appeared, then ran off again. That kid, was odd. Shrugging his shoulders he looked at Mac and then back at Flint and Agu and reached to snag Mac's arm and pull her away. "So come OOOONNNNNNN... can't have a cheerleader thinking you're weak can we?" His other hand rested on the hilt of his prop sword, which he tilted just enough so that when he turned, it smacked hard into Flint's back and, if his plan worked, knocked him harder into the punk girl's embrace. The tackle grinned like a cat as he started to walk away. Edited by Toran, Wednesday, 23. October 2013, 00:27.
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![]() Toran's Voice Can't leave... can't leave... can't leave the girls will eat me.... | |
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| Tzippy | Wednesday, 23. October 2013, 00:42 Post #29 |
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Ancilla
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Moshe blinked, shoulders tensing up a little as the kitchen suddenly became very crowded. Mac, he remembered vividly from freshman year. His lips thinned with a huff of discontent. He might be bullied less now but he could hold a grudge to make anyone proud. Freckles vivid against the flush that alcohol gave him, his small build and relative inexperience making him a bit of a light weight. Two cups of beer vanished quickly. And then he was suddenly having to dodge, a figure behind him and nearly stepping on him. Years of experience in crowded hallways allowed him to sidestep, swearing. "Watch where you're going, fucker!... Oh, hi, Toran." Moshe went even redder, flushing to the tips of his ears as he ducked his head, staring intently at his cup. Toran, he'd known decently well since he'd joined the soccer team sophomore year, one of the few dedicated jocks that had welcomed him. And hadn't gotten angry at him when Brad fucking Wells got his stupid ass kicked off the football team. Smart, nice, and really, really good looking. Not that he'd ever admit it in more than a joking matter. Just teasing, right? Ha ha ha- Oh, fuck. He was pathetic. And here was the guy himself. Shirtless. Well then. Moshe's distraction was enough that it took him a moment to realize he was being ditched, Caston already out of the kitchen before his thoughts caught up. "Wait, what?" |
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| Nora Penvellyn | Wednesday, 23. October 2013, 01:47 Post #30 |
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Rebel With a Cause
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Her hands were lost inside the folds of her robes, slipping her strappy heels onto her feet as he fought to get out of the vehicle. She watched him lumber around, the awkwardly hilarious silhouette of his costume eliciting a short giggle under her breath. Before Paul opened the door, she managed to shed the concealing confines of fabric, smirking as he offered her his hand. Nora emerged from the limo gracefully, scantily clad in a very convincing Princess Leia costume that matched Paul's in an amusingly slutty manner. She laced her slim fingers with his and they walked, "Shall we, Monsieur?" she crooned to him sardonically, strutting languidly side by side with the richest 'Sexy Slug' in the galaxy. She wasn't quite sure what came over her when she finally settled on these costumes, but she gave him props for grueling her indecisiveness and wearing whatever the fuck she told him to. Glancing up to him, she spied his handsome profile amongst the muddy brown fabric that engulfed his body, and still couldn't help but laugh. They'd been dating long enough, if a few weeks were anything to go by. She wasn't quite sure what had brought them together, let alone kept them together this long, but she enjoyed his company, no matter how unlikely a match they were. Sauntering through the front door, she ignored the faces she passed and spied the back of Caston's head bobbing up the stairs and to the left. Her gaze focused on the faces she'd been so diligently ignoring up until now, honing in on Julien's tall, blonde lanky form. She pulled Paul along, "Jules! Hey!" she waved to him, her pierced dimples glittering as she passed by a flashing strobe light, "Have you met my boyfriend, Paul? Paul, this is Julien, Jules, this is Paul!" She sucked in a breath, looking over her shoulder to the staircase before looking to her date, "I'm gonna go to the bathroom really quick, can you get me a drink?" She smiled sweetly to him before letting go of his hand and drifting to the stairs, not even caring to look back knowing what was waiting for her upstairs. Climbing the steps as easily as one could in three inch heels, Nora made her way down the hall, passing all the closed doors and taking a wild guess which one he went into. After walking in on two different couples sucking face, her last option was that door at the end. She didn't bother knocking, pushing her way in and sliding around the door to just as quickly shut it. She jumped at the sight of the spider over the toilet, "Jesus fuckballs, are they trying to literally scare the piss out of people?" She looked over to Caston, a mess of fake blood smeared and splattered across his face and hands. Laughing, she saddled up beside him, bumping her hip against his in front of the mirror and grinning at his reflection, "S'up Cas? Going for the Jeffrey Dahmer look?" She snickered and reached into her tits, pulling out a little baggie bulging with powdery white goodness, "You got a credit card or something?" "Oh hey! I was thinking either zombie or murder victim, but it's whatever." He continued fucking with the fake blood, glancing down at the sack in her hand, "Wallet's in the back pocket. Use my license." "You're a saint!" She bowed her head to him with steepled fingers before her hand slid to snatch up his billfold, fighting to get his license out from behind the annoying plastic cover. She stopped and looked at it, looking between him and his license, "Aww, Cassie, you've got a cute picture on your I.D.!" She laughed and continued looking at it, "I look like Courtney Love in mine," she giggled and went to work, bumping out three lines of blow cleanly on the edge of the sink. She slipped a five dollar bill out of it and rolled it up tightly, sliding his wallet back into his pocket and smiling darkly, "Wanna get in on this?" She asked as she moved to lock the door behind them. |
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| Mr.Gar | Wednesday, 23. October 2013, 02:10 Post #31 |
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Freelance Enforcer
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Rhys blinked at the sheer speed people were starting to move into the party. One moment a guy was commenting on his cloves and then he was gone, through the main room and up the stairs. He wasn't sure what happened to the girl he was drinking with he'd been distracted by the really good make up job on the girl who was only a little shorter than him. He grimaced, realizing that if he wasn't wearing these inserts she's probably be an inch or two taller. He looks down at his clove and turns his head to see if anyone is smoking inside. "Ugh, a white carpet... fu..fine." He flicks the clove out into the lawn and grins at the little monster's hiss at the doorman. Slipping through while the man is confused. He wondered if he could get the girl to dance with him. Then again, he didn't actually know how to dance. Maybe he could... huh, no. She probably couldn't drink, eat or smoke with that mask and make up on. Well, he thought. Maybe he could try and... At that point he got knocked over by a large, ambling bean bag trash bag man. He was about to curse when he saw Nora's barely covered skin saunter past. Why the fuck was everyone in such a hurry? At least she was hot. But... who was the couch? Rhys slipped up behind Paul as he moved to stand by the tall pale kid and considered his next move. On the one hand, the party was so far, a bust. On the other, this guy had almost knocked him over without even noticing he was here. That... required a certain degree of vengeance. Looking around he saw what he needed. One of the curtains had one of those long, pull ropes. Slipping a hand into his pocket he sliced off a decent length and tied one end to the leg of the nearest couch. Then he crouched down, not hard for someone as tiny as him, and tied the other end to the long, stupid, slug tail the guy was dragging around. Humming he walked off to look for the short kid he'd seen a few minutes ago. |
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| Caston Kane | Wednesday, 23. October 2013, 02:16 Post #32 |
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Don't Be Jealous.
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"Shit, Nora, you make a pretty decent Leia." He was happy to see Nora, and he smirked at her in the mirror when she bumped her hip against his. He rolled his eyes at her comment about his ID and glanced down at the three lines as she cut them up and went to lock the door. "I've actually never before.." He was unsure of her offer. Caston only.. well, mainly, smoked pot. He never really got into doing anything harder than that. He tried to maintain a strict 'nothing goes up my nose' policy, but he shook his head at her in the mirror. "Maybe a little, though. Would that be okay? I might need something stronger now that I just totally spazzed out in front of Sawyer Flint, of all people." Nora'd been his friend since eighth grade, and she was the only other student aware that he'd harbored a small 'thing' for the guy since middle school. "Don't know if you saw him tonight, but he's all cowboy'd out downstairs" He said, smearing more blood across his forehead. He ran a hand through his hair, too, to give it that 'fresh head wound' look. "And, you know how it goes, I'm kind of baked right now, and I said, 'Oh, you make a cool John Wayne', right? Guess what?" Caston waited for her to say the obligatory "What?" before he continued to tell Nora his brief story while she cut up her line. His eyes followed his hand movements in the mirror as he took the bottle of blood and dripped it along his temples and his neck. "Well, I'm up here thinking about it and I know what John Wayne looks like and, yeah, I'm pretty sure I got it wrong. That, and I totally showed up here costume-less, and this is the best I've got... So, yeah, fuck my life." He gestured to himself in the mirror. The seventeen year old sighed and shook his head at himself in the mirror, smearing more blood on his neck so it looked kind of bruised. He stopped and took a step back to look at the job he'd done. It didn't look half bad, considering it was an impromptu, ten minute job. He soaped up and rinsed his hands off in the sink and looked down again at the lines. He wiped his hands with a paper towel and shrugged at her. 'Oh, why the fuck not?' "Sure. I'll get in on it. Just a little bit though," he said, waiting for her to do her line and hand him the rolled up bill. "So, how's your night going... you come with Paul?" He tried to keep his distaste for her boyfriend to himself as much as he could. He was kind of a dick to Caston in school. Like, all the time. But, being the friend that he wanted to be for her, he never brought it up with her. He wasn't the type of guy that went whining to his friends every time someone was mean to him, and besides, Paul was her boyfriend. He didn't want to douche on her relationship. |
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-------------------------------------- Caston's Battle Music ![]() English Spanish American Sign Language | |
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| Mac | Wednesday, 23. October 2013, 03:03 Post #33 |
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Goddess of Fuck and War
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"Skirt? I thought it was a belt." She grinned at Toran as he commented on her skirt, giving it a little wave with her hips so the pleats moved about and showed off all the goods below. "Sure does Sugah, but you should taste the reeeallllyyy cheap stuff I got back in my dorm. Like, 96 % ... Now that stuff tastes like gasoline." She turned that smile at Aguirre as she took the bottle of vodka, took a healthy little sip, and passed it along. Good on ya Tits, she thought to herself. She pulled out a jar of pickles from the fridge she making herself at home in, and a brick of Brie cheese, and what looked like a smaller wrapped piece of Gouda. She laid them out on the counter, ready to make herself the ultimate in stoner plates of snack food... When Damon walked through looking all stupid ass Gansta'. It made her laugh, because she wasn't sure if he was supposed to look like a cracker or he was trying to look smooth. Jesus, she hoped it was the former. She unwrapped the gouda, waiting for the bottle of Vodka being passed around to come back her way so she could claim the rest of it. What she'd drank already was burning a warm little ball in the pit of her stomach, and she wanted that warm little ball to expand over her entire body and get her really charged up to have some fun. Whatever that may be. "She doesn't believe that? Fucking cunt. I can do a push up with her on my back ONE HANDED. She's like a fucking toothpick, that's how she gets tossed so fucking high. She better watch it or I'll make sure she doesn't stick one of her landings soon... " At first she was all rage face, and considering she was holding a knife to cut the cheese into pieces to feast upon... that wasn't a really good thing. Then however, she caught on to what Toran was aiming for when he cast anxious looks at Sawyer and Aguirre. She stabbed the knife dangerously into the cheese block, and spun to face everyone as she took her tommy gun up in one hand. She took the bottle of Vodka from whomever had it then in her other, didn't matter, it was hers. "Let's go fuck a cheerleader! And then get absolutely blazed. Let's hot box the basement..." Edited by Mac, Wednesday, 23. October 2013, 03:03.
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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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| Jhael | Wednesday, 23. October 2013, 03:06 Post #34 |
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Prince Blucher's Dinner (still not quite house trained)
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The mismatched pair of Robo Cheney and what looked like one of those aristocratic cultists in Eyes Wide Shut had stationed themselves at the end of a food table after a good half hour of stalking 'Obama.' They hunched together in muffled laughter and conversation. "Oh my god, oh my god. Did you see his face? He was gonna do it. Next time he goes to the bathroom, dare you to stand outside the door, waiting for him. He crushed the can!" "So easy, so easy!" "Dare you to... oh my god, do the robo Dick dance at that chick he's with! She can be your Condoleeeeeezaaaa!" "Holy shit! You're gonna fucking lose. Might as well hand it over now. Gonna get... ten fucking punches." "I don't fucking care! Here, oh my god! Gonna be so worth it." They could barely speak between giggles and the following gasps for air. Julian lifted his mask to wipe tears of laughter from his eyes before sifting through his cape to reach his back pocket without opening the front. He was about to just hand over the bet money as suggested when 'Wilma Flinstone' strolled up with a wide, shiny eyed grin and a shimmy at Robo Cheney. The taller kid shoved his wallet back in his pocket and quickly turned away to pretend to inspect a bowl of pretzels. Here it comes... "Ryyyyyyy, I LOVE it! Dance with me? Please, please, please!" she pouted. "Fuck yes! Hey, Julia... meet later, yeah?" "Sure. Have fun." He held a pretzel to the light with a wrinkle of the nose, then flicked it away to the floor. Nasty. "WATCH OBAMA FOR ME! Alright, babe... let's dance. On the floor. On the table. Under the table. In my car..." 'Cheney' hobbled away with his arm around his sorta 'girlfriend' fling thing while doing his usual sing song sleaze talk in her ear. Julian pulled his mask back down, the golden grin covering a rising brooding session that he was about to take out on the pretzel bowl before another whistled up. "Heeeey, Draco. Want to dance?" She had one of those smoky voices that would probably drive a lot of guys wild. Math class. Rebecca. Julian turned around, his mind already flailing for what to say that would get her to really piss off. Mounds of glittery cleavage met his immediate stare down. They were encased in a pure white little toga thing, white wings and she had what was probably a rum and coke in hand. Perfect! "I WOULD LOVE TO DANCE!" He hissed in a strange, rasped monster voice, hunching to angle the creepy gold mask closer to her face while he whipped his hand behind his back to give something under his cape a tug. The velvet black folds parted with an exploding ribcage. Organs and a cascade of intestine poured out at the 'Sexy Angel'. "EEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAIIIiiiiiiiiiiieeeee!" she shrieked, her drink spilling out her cup and over her previously white costume. "Oh, my god. I am so sorry! Wait, where are you going? YOU DON'T WANT TO DANCE?" Julian sounded shocked and contrite as he called after the girl, ribcage hanging open with skillfully painted organs hanging out, attached with string. The tight shirt beneath was also dyed and painted in the sick colors of glistening flesh. "JULES!" His smile was still matching the fake golden one covering his face when he turned towards the shout. Nora was kinda sketchy, but she didn't irritate him. And she was one of the few people that wasn't calling him a fucking Harry Potter character. Wait, what the fuck is that thing behind her? "Kuhn? Paul Kuhn? That's... oh, my god. Course I know who he is. Uh-" He barely had time to think or say more, then she was gone, leaving him with... A slug? No, Jabba the Hutt. Paul Kuhn, class president and son of the Kuhn family his parents bitched or gossiped of from time to time. Is Jabba the Hutt. Julian pushed his mask up to get a better STARE, his brow reaching for his hairline. "Can I get a picture of this?" he asked as he leaned to inspect it from a different angle, his organs dangling about at his front. Edited by Jhael, Wednesday, 23. October 2013, 03:25.
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| Mr.Gar | Wednesday, 23. October 2013, 03:15 Post #35 |
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Freelance Enforcer
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The tiny kid dodges between the larger folk as he looks for Leo in her creepy costume.
Edited by Mr.Gar, Wednesday, 23. October 2013, 03:17.
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Gar's Antham | |
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| Toran | Wednesday, 23. October 2013, 03:18 Post #36 |
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The Formerly Hated
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MOSHE YOU COMING OR NOT? Toran's voice was like a bass thunder that rumbled over the party as he dragged Mac into the basement to get her away from Flint and Aguirre |
![]() Toran's Voice Can't leave... can't leave... can't leave the girls will eat me.... | |
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| Tzippy | Wednesday, 23. October 2013, 03:34 Post #37 |
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Ancilla
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Moshe jumped at the bellow, juggling the cup and managing to keep it balanced. He frowned over to Toran, tilting his head at the taller kids as though trying to decipher some alien language. "Um... Sure?" A glimpse from the kitchen towards the foyer only added certainty to the decision, a loud groan heard. Paul Kuhn, Julian Veith, and that Ryan guy he was always following around like a fucking lost puppy. Moshe couldn't remember his last name exactly, despite having been tipped in a trash can multiple times by the bastard. The last time, he'd been bitten on the hand for his troubles. Moshe hoped it got infected. Ducking his head down, he skittered through the crowd to follow Toran and Mac. |
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| Nora Penvellyn | Wednesday, 23. October 2013, 04:23 Post #38 |
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Rebel With a Cause
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"Seriously?" She cut her eyes up to him, sharply staring him down in the mirror, "Don't be a pussy. One line. Like so." Nora leaned down, brought the rolled up Lincoln to her nose and proceeded to cleanly polish off one of the lines she'd scraped and cut with his ridiculously cute license. She shot up, letting her head fall back, pinching her nose shut as she sniffed and felt the blow seep into her brain. She slowly lifted her head up, a shiver running down her spine as her eyes fluttered open. Her pupils were dilated to fuckin' saucers in the mirror, grinning from ear to ear and holding the makeshift straw out to Caston, "You're up, boo bear!" she whispered innocently. |
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| Jeremy Starling | Wednesday, 23. October 2013, 23:31 Post #39 |
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Seneschal of London
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Jeremy was reading a novel, when John burst into his room, as ever without knocking first. Why couldn´t his brother ever respect Jeremy´s privacy?! "You´re still sitting here reading? We´ll be late for the Halloween party!" "Go alone, I´m not really bothered. I don´t want to be a monster." "It will be fun! And you don´t have to be a monster. We´ll be Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, and I´ll be the bad boy and you the good boy, as ever." John came closer, took the bood and threw it into a corner, then he dragged his brother to John´s room. "I´ve got the costumes already prepared. Just put on this doctor´s coat." "All right, all right..." Jeremy replied, still grumpy. So Jeremy was wearing a white doctor´s coat with a name plate attached to it, that said: "Dr. Jekyll", as to give a clue to people that they were Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. John had "blood" stains all over his jacket and also on his hands, and out of his jacket pocket was peeping a knife, smeared with blood, too. "That red colour surely won´t wash off? Dad will be furious if he sees you ruined that jacket." But his twin brother just shrugged his shoulders, as usual he didn´t care. They didn´t need any masks, and it was better anyway that everyone could see they were twins...representing two different personalities of the same person. John was "lending" their dad´s car to get to the house where the party was, without their dad knowing about that, their parents didn´t even know about that Party. That was typically John, too. The twins approached the house. Jeremy still wasn´t very enthusiastic. Would here be anybody he knew? He didn´t really want to be here, but John enjoyed it from the first minute. They entered the house. |
![]() English German Mr. Finney speaking English | |
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| Church | Thursday, 24. October 2013, 21:15 Post #40 |
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Putting the 'fun' in 'dysfunctional'
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Whose house is this? Something that might be worth considerin', not that I would gleam anything from it. Whether the person is an asshole and deserves the misfortune of having me in their home. That's about it. Cause I don't care who I rip off, more like, how much I can rip off. There's a lot of shoving and slaloming, being as noticed as a person with a mask can be. Certainly people may recognise the jawline as I take a long swig from the bottle, or notice the tattooed fingers clutching to the glass neck. So what will it be? I enter the, uh, second kitchen? Nope, I believe this is called the 'drawing room' gents. Or is it? Whatever it is: Fancy! Certainly worth a ruffle through the drawers, which give a muted jangle as I wrench them open. Silver wear eh? I shake my head and clear any dumb thoughts; don't think sharks like getting paid in shiny cutlery. And I don't like getting my fingers broken for paying them the insult. Now a TV... "Good lord!" I shout after a bout of desperate coughing. I nearly trip over my own gorram feet as I look to snooping further. But as I polish off the bottle, fuckin' Rufio darts by and causes the foamy dregs to flow down the wrong pipe. Was that Rhys? "Munchkin asshole." I mutter gruffly, shooting daggers into that freaks back, getting back on course and into the lounge. Well don't the fancy just get fancier!? A TV too big to steal. Clever, to deter thieves. Who am I kidding, I can't jack one of them. Well, you'd be surprised what you can do in the morning, where the only people still at whatever party and still awake and breathing are waaaaay too burnt out to stop you. You can just pick up a piece furniture, thank the guest for a wonderful evening and make confident strides to the door. But as I notice the cast assembled, people I know relatively well considering my social etiquette or lack thereof, and swiping a bottle straight from a hand, I know I'm not making it. People I know very well in some ways, if you catch my meaning. Wink wink? Mouse Maddox gettin' all cozy with Mr. Flint, aka, Mr. Headbutt in the facemask whenever possible and feign slipping. Hell, he's even got the protector by his side. Toran was it? A guy I've barely shared words with but know better than most I'll bargain. A respected rival in some ways, or at least out there. On the turf. Where it matters. Being perused by yet another midget, frankly I don't understand where they're coming from. Mac's ass out...as per usual swaying away and being the only part I need to recognise.. It warrants removal of the eyewear for a moment of lewd peepin'. Does it strike me as risky, considering I got me some beautiful green un's, most, if not all, the football team can probably recognise me by just seeing that flash? Well yes, but paranoia is always a constant problem to deal with. Especially when looking to commit anything up to grand larceny. Along with the usual disgusting charges that come with imbibing psychedelic substances. I catch the cowboys eyes in that moment before I lift them back up, pointing a finger at him and grinning beneath my bandana. A gesture as if to say 'I own you. Your ass is mine.' Or anything worded differently but with the same intense jibing. Oh I ain't got a problem with the fella, not off the field, but hey, the dude who's usually holding my ass back just went to blaze it up in the basement. But as fun as it would be to sack him through a coffee table, that doesn't solve my financial issues. Sure would be fun, though. My eyes flicker around the darkened room. Different faces. Old crushes, awkward acquaintances, mild annoyances, disgusting yuppies...absolute fucking assholes in their own special way. Fleeing cheerleaders. Heh. I wander away and continue my careless, rather suspicious hunt. I'm not hiding this terribly well. |
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3:26 PM Jul 11