Vampire The Masquerade RPG
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The Times
The Kindred Chronicle
Key Figures
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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Stay Hungry; (Private) Pervert radar, activated! WE CAN SEE YOU READING THIS! Naughty Minxes.
Topic Started: Wednesday, 23. October 2013, 22:32 (2,180 Views)
Mac
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Goddess of Fuck and War
* * * * *
Shit, they'd forgotten about that detail... The detail about the sunrise ending the epic adventure of nearly killing each other through the best sorts of sin. At least they didn't have to worry about the deadly effects of sun, as Mac had everything boarded up and bricked over to prevent anyone from staring through the windows and gaining intel the easy old fashioned way. This warehouse her fortress, trying to keep the world out... Strangely enough, she'd let a fucking Fanger walk right in, not even just let him in...Welcomed him in. Welcomed him into her haven and into her now sorely beaten and bruised body. What a fucking awesome night eh?

Not as awesome? Having a fanger just fall dead on you in the midst of nearly coming again. The was more than slightly uncomfortable in fact. When he collapsed on her on the gym mat, which had several breaks in its plastic cover, she would yelp like she'd been stung by a bee and push his dead weight off her...

"Church?" Oh jesus, had he...died? YES! But not from like, being beaten to death. She realized, the sun must be up outside the building. With her heart hammering, she rolled his dead form over onto his naked back and stared down at him. Her entire body was bruised and sore, and she had a sun dead fanger in her house. God, the fucking things she could do to him then... How had that much time gotten away from them? What time was it? She searched out her half smashed phone, finding it and confirming that it was day light hours. Well, fuck! Then she started to laugh, because seriously... the whole thing was hilarious beyond measure.



Edited by Mac, Tuesday, 12. November 2013, 23:19.
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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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Mac
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Goddess of Fuck and War
* * * * *
What does one do with a dead Fanger in the day time? She knew a lot of different things she -could- do, but... Well, you just didn't do shit like that to someone that made her feel so fucking good you could die from it. Like shit, what the fuck was that feeling? Happiness? Fuck that, she'd internalize it into something fiery and tempermental in time no doubt... but for now, she'd just take the fucking awesome stick she'd been beaten with and enjoy it.

Bottle of vodka? Check! Reefer? Check. Getting blazed and half drunk while dancing around in panties and Church's precious red hoodie he'd tried so hard not to get ruined? Check.

She put on her bad 80's music play list, and set the music on full blast. She took care of her fucking home, at least this particular one. She'd lived in some rats nests before, but this place she kept clean. Somewhere along the night he'd actually taken off all of her harness system, and she laid it out to be cleaned later in the day. For the immediate morning, she'd start cleaning up the god damned blood smears that were -all- over the place.

When she went to throw a pound of bacon into a frying pan, she discovered that the granite countertop had somehow been cracked? What the... oh.. Hehehe, yeah. She grinned like a fucking idiot, glad as shit no one was around to see it. When all the cleaning that could be done was done, she made note of shit that needed to be replaced... and what she could reasonably just patch up herself, or leave broken.

When early morning slipped away, and noon was drawing closer? Her body fucking ached to high heaven and she was feeling the fatigue of her beating on her ghouling system. What the fuck did she do with Church while she needed to crash? First she'd sit on him on the gym mat, staring at his healing face and thinking about a whole lotta shit that needed some thinking. Smart thing to do? Chuck the Fanger out into the dust bin outside and leave the top open, fry him in the sun and no one would be any the wiser. Chain him up to one one of the uneven bars till he woke up? Might be a little pissy at that sort of wake up, course... he might like it too. Then again, her body was so fucking broken she wasn't sure she could take on round 2 right away. If she was honest with herself, she knew she needed to fucking heal up. Her blood supply must be low as shit as well, because she had gotten a lot drunker off that vodka earlier than she usually would. Instead, with an aching body she lifted him up and drug him over to the bed. She then rolled him over under the blankets to the far side of the king sized beast, and would hand cuff his right hand and ankle to the posts to keep him from freaking out when he woke up. Hopefully the balance of one hand cuffed and one hand free would help him keep his shit together. Then? She'd crawl into bed and go the fuck to sleep, her body burning and on fire with it's furios attempts to begin healing the insane ammount of damage it had taken.

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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 open my eyes. I notice a number of things.

My brain, with surprising poise and processing power, notices that I am not home. It is even so kind enough to inform me that I did not make it back there last night because, well, I can't remember making it to the bed. There is also the rattle and chime of metal as I attempt to sit upright, and my eyes, as weary and worn looking as ever regardless of what time of day it is, are apt at deducing why. Yeah, I definitely don't remember making it this far. Or having things get quite so 'kinky.' Nothing about last night, or that woman, was kinky. It was all nasty. Every last bit of it and her was dripping in foul, vigorous depravity. So much so that I had thrown caution and sense to the wind in exchange for a hellacious fuck fest. I had left myself at her mercy for the entire day. I had gone to sleep to the lullaby of her pants and screams, with a satisfied grin. I don't know how it could be physically possible, but that was a great fucking sleep. Hell...it was a great fuck. As good as any can be with my condition. Or maybe she just had the stamina and the pace to keep going all night, and lay down sweet hurt across every fibre of my being.

With that thought I roll over to see her, a far different creature sleeping than awake. Her face is not capable of relaying that bitterness while unconscious, her features softer than I've ever seen them. Peaceful...and unnerving. The light gentle snore so unexpected from a 'dragon-lady '-'sex-demon' combo. Bloodied and bruised like I sure as shit am (considerably less sparkly though I'm guessing), If I can look past the damaged exterior, I could not predict what person is hidden away by this time of rest. I do know she ruined me, and that I want her to ruin me again. And again. And again. Likewise I want to hear her crying out, hearing my name from her lips. Begging for more. She almost made up for the lack of biological orgasms by appealing to my other perverted senses in gratitude for bringing her to climax. Repeatedly. I think I might've found the perfect partner in crime.

"Mac?" I ask in a croaky voice, not sure how light a sleeper she is. To be honest I don't know a whole lot beyond a name that seemed fake and a mutual interest in hanky-panky of the most dangerous variety. Deep enough that I can check the authentic feel of those puppies? It would be easy enough to break off the cuffs, mount her (again) and tear out that pretty neck but that's not even a thought worth considering. But one that she may be considered? Or didn't. I guess it goes to show that if you can't kick the living shit out of one another and fuck for longer than some people work a shift, well that creates a certain 'trust', albeit the desire to physically brutalize each other in the future. Even if that's all it is, it's something more than I expected from her, and especially from myself. My free hand grabs the chain of the handcuff on my wrist, holding it firm while I wrench my other hand and try to break the chain. My body's response is to complain in a beautiful web reaching out from my wrist and trailing to touch every last corner of my body. I grunt to myself, turning my attention back to her. I really don't remember having them on going to sleep. What I do remember is down on the ground, balls fucking sore from the lovin', our groins clashing with glorious violence as she wracked beneath me. And then...

"Heh...hehehaha..." A chuckle comes on, slow and strong, exhausted like my dead bones are. I'm not exactly sure what she has planned for me, or if she wanted to wake up and see me at all. Buuut, I figure I'll have the courtesy to stick around a lil while. Thank her for making me feel alive, all that jazz. In the meantime I can keep myself amused with the turbulent images from last night...try and break these cuffs quietly so I can steal a joint? And if I really get bored, well, maybe I'll test how deep a sleeper she really is?
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Mac
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Goddess of Fuck and War
* * * * *
She created a good deal of heat under the think blankets on the bed, her body struggling and pressing try and heal the plethora of damages it had taken. Bones were cracked in some places, several ribs fractured, contusions making a good deal of her body speckled or heavily purple, the centre of the most direct hits a dark near black color in the dim lights that had been left on while she passed out. Her black eye had healed decently though, and her face, a kind gesture on Churchs part, was left mostly unmangled. Her chest had taken the most damage though, and the thick layering of bruises came all the way across her shoulders under the tattooing, and down her front to freckle out into across her belly. How bad must she had looked last night, while they were just fresh? Passed out was the right word for the way Mac slept too, completely dead to the world.

His soft rattling of the Handcuff and gentle call of her name did nothing to wake her. That quiet sound of deep breathing (lady like snoring) kept on rolling quietly from her chest as it rose and fell. She was still wearing his hoodie and a pair of panties, but that was all, the hoodie unzipped to offer a great view of the puppies on her front when he looked under the blankets to peep like a perv. What did get somewhat of her attention was when he attempted to break free, the way the entire bed shifted when he yanked on the handcuff caused her to make a noise of protest at the movement, and then she rolled over to her stomach, arm reaching as if to smack the thing that was bothering her in her sleep. She just smacked Church instead, floppy arm over him that was somewhat a sleepy mockery of a slap. He was cold and soothing under her tempered, slightly damp skin. She was burning a fever, as she usually did when shit got rough to deal with on a physical level. He'd know that from the first night they'd met though, when he hauled her broke, bleeding, sweaty ass to the Lodge to dump the mess into a shower. Least this time she wasn't nearly as gross, although to be honest they could both probably shower.

His slow laugh with her tucked so close began to draw her out of her sleepy stupor, having always been a -deep sleeper- she could sleep through a lot. It was a damn unsafe way of sleeping in her line of work though, and it'd gotten her in shit at the pack house more than once. It usually took hard direct touch to get her up, and if she was having a nightmare? Man, she'd sleep through near anything. Surprisingly though, she hadn't woken up halfway out of the bedroom area and in the kitchen, or on the gym mat. She'd managed to sleep the day light away in bed, without moving an aweful lot at all. Probably because once she had been out, she'd been lost to a near dreamless state where her body was satisfied to try and heal itself. A real good beat always helped calm the nerves, or say they say.

Consciousness however came slowly to her, and usually very confusedly. At first a distant and cool feeling of stiffness, disconnected in the sleepy haze from the true burning wrath of her limbs she'd find later. As she came to more and more, she quietly shifted with the sounds of a child protesting a parent trying to wake them. "Mmm..." She was warm and happy in the silky cocoon of bed linens, body on a low ache that reached throughout her entirely and all the way inside, like a creature on the verge of molting, a spider in it's exoskelton waiting to rise but being just a little too hesitant to slip it's peaceful cage and become all legs and fangs and fear.

Edited by Mac, Friday, 25. October 2013, 06:16.
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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'
* * * *
A limp hand thumps my chest, though the area unfortunately lacks the sensitivity of the previous night. My face has miraculously regained its original shape, though still glazed with the sticky mix of both our blood. The teeth almost fully developed back in the place they were lost. That had been fixed at some point during the rigorous activities. Out of necessity more than anything else, just being able to use my mouth to max capacity was pretty important. To make things that much sweeter for her of course. It was only fair, seeing as it was her blood that fuelled the recovery. That blood...I couldn't get enough. A taste I won't forget anytime soon, and a scent I will hound savagely just as it will hound my hunger. My standards have been considerably raised, for sure. Luckily she kept enough to keep kicking.

Even if the evidence shows the contrary.

"Ain't you just a peach?" I growl, not sure what that moaning sound she just made was. I shall assume one of protest given the blissful look on her face as she huddles away. Even before I was pushing daisies I couldn't have slept like that, and now it's an even stranger notion to think about. I thought I was vulnerable, what's stopping me now having my way? Especially, as I stretch out a hand to move the pull back the duvet, confirming she's rocking my surviving hoodie. This adds to my amusement further that it has suffered a fate worse than those before it; being captured by the enemy. Not to have the merciful death but be draped around a bleeding, and hot, mess. I could maybe sneak it off of her, but I gotta coyote gnaw my arm off first. Or break the cuffs? Or break the bed breaking the cuffs. There was a reason we didn't bring the action this way. Or at least I never took it there, who knows what she did after I slipped away.

"Up an' at 'em, sugartits." I murmur, grasping our coverings still but tugging on it away from her with mischievous aggression. And what with the possibility of being caught in a sudden battle with a groggy Viking, if she doesn't take too kindly to me dozing off when we were going at a hundred miles an hour, I figure I better get this cuffed hand free. I give that a furious tug, and don't think I'll stop till the chain, the bar, my wrist or her zombie like slumber snap.

Turns out the chain is weaker than I thought. Almost immediately I find myself with a new bracelet, cracking like a gunshot as it breaks away. Now I get why she didn't bother getting them out sooner.
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Mac
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Goddess of Fuck and War
* * * * *
It was the sound of the cuffs breaking that pierced the sleepy haze, like a gun shot due to the quick and metallic crisp of the structure giving way. Whatever dreamy place she was in, nearly slipping back to the unconscious level, broke with the noise and sent her spiraling into an adrenline rushed wake up. Her body would react before her brain could really catch up, every muscle screaming in agony at the sudden movement that would be near reflexive at the way she was woken.

A hand went up to the top edge of the bed, sliding along to slip up a knife that was kept tucked into the mattress. She'd always done it, it was habit now to reach for it. Sometimes she did it in her sleep, if shit got to real in the midst of a nightmare. She'd woken up to stabbing herself before, having fallen out of the bed while responding to an imaginary threat in a sleepy state, also not a pleasant wake up. While Church wasn't imaginary, she also wasn't actually fully awake and acting on slightly demented instincts that would force her to attempt to get on top of and stab the source of trouble in her bed. She wasn't much for aim in a state like this, and would go for a vital organ attempt. If he stopped her, it wouldn't be hard. Her entire body was raging with fiery protest to her moving the stiff muscles so quickly, and sleep and fatigue was keeping the majority of her strength at bay.

Wait...Where was she? In her bed? What the fuck. As she moved, she was realizing a few things, albeit slower than was best. A, she was in her warehouse -not- the Pack house. B, There was indeed a Fanger in her bed. C, he was a fucking hot mess of smouldery sexiness. D, why the fuck would that register right now? Oh, because it's Church.

"....Church?..." If he'd started to fight back she'd stop wrestling against him as she started to realize, on a nearly blood level, who it was. Something in that small bond between them taking over, and cooling the surprised rage... and slipping into something significantly more sexually charged as a few images of the night before managed to blink into that thick head of hers. Then came a question, groggily formed. "Who the fuck... is named Church?"
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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'm glad to see her break out of the semi-coma, oh sure, the shift in the mattress letting me know that she is indeed still alive. But I underestimated her in the mornings, perhaps assuming she would uncurl and stretch feeling content and satisfied. Guess I'm hogging the right side of the bed. Her form whips through, to mount me in a heartbeat before my eyes can comprehend it all. What they do not is the flash of metal, and even if I am not able to think, I instinctively throw my hands up to block the blade.

It really is strange to see a superhuman slowed down because they are just that - a superhuman. Of course she had those issues with breathing last night, lungs bruised and battered by a sweet nut of a knee. But her bleary eyes tell the story of her weaknesses, not only physical but something deeper. After all, who immediately starts stabbing the person they slept with a night earlier; girl knows I rather getting spanked. Crazed and exhausted is the only way I can describe that expression as I grab the knife wielding wrist.

She's slow to ease, but I can see something tick over in her face as the cogs start turning. She murmurs my name and as she mellows out somewhat, so too do I. Her question makes me smile, cause it sure is a valid one given how little I have given her in terms of 'who I am'. "Well who da fuck is named Mac?" I snarl back, "Rock my world, take my clothes, handcuff me to the bed. You snore AND drool by the way. It's fuckin' hot. " Sure that is the Mac I know, but the demons that are buried within might cause aggression beyond the kind that lead to the sack.

"My name's Damon, yah maniac." I grumble, shaking her knife wielding hand suggestively so she will give that shit up. She's still burning up with heat, that almost worries me as much as it allures. I tug at her wrist, wanting to pull her into an embrace and leech the heat while I put her to sleep with the a brief description of the Church family. "Though point taken, weird name. Especially for a family of fuckwits living in the asshole end of nowhere Carolina. Didn't have much choice in the matter, y'know? Just like I didn't choose my folks. Folk. all one of 'em.Jeez, I hope my wife didn't keep the name after I left." I can't help but chuckle a little at this. Oh sure, it was a horrid thing that I did, but I made sure she was taken care of long before I was buried. Not like I will ever cross paths with her now...or my son...or whatever grandchildren I may have. That sure would be interesting, just to see if the jerk off genetics were passed down, or if Jessica's goodness managed to smother it.

"Seriously though...that's short for, what, Macaroni?" Well if she wants to start poking into why we are who we are. Maybe we don't wanna be doing this? Might bring up sensitive issues and what not.
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Mac
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Goddess of Fuck and War
* * * * *
She hadn't encountered anyone in her bed since the pack house, where sleeping as hard as she did was not a particularily smart life plan. She couldn't help it though, play hard? Sleep hard. Her body needed time to recover, she was infact not Wonder Woman, and both her parents had been boring old genetic humans. Her wrist is easily grabbed, his Brujah speed out pacing anything she could throw in her clumsy waking state.

The shaking of her wrist as she stared down into his face brought her together more, and she realized exactly what she had been trying to do. Hahahaha, Hey, thanks for fucking me senseless last night. Imma repay you with good mornings stabbings. Jesus Christ Mac. She would flick her hand to the side, sending the small knife over the edge of the bed and down the brick walls crevice to the side. She could have just dropped it, but it was nature to try and remove it from his easy area of reach as well. She didn't think he'd stab her with it or anything, honestly... If he wanted her dead she would be, but old habits die hard.

So Fangers real name, or first name, was Damon. Hahahaha, that seemed just a little to perfectly violent sounding of a name. People really did choose how they fucked their kids right from the get go didn't they? He was tugging her wrist down, trying to pull her burning body down to his chilled form. She resisted a moment, but the rage of fiery limbs and aches screamed in protest that she was -moving- at all, and the cold press of his body beneath her -very- painful thighs was welcome. His icy form was a fucking soothing balm for her over heating form, like being thrown into a cooler. Her body rejoiced with a painful charge as she found herself clinging to the iceblock of Fanger beneath her. Oh man, that felt good...

"No one gets to choose their folks, if they did... there wouldn't be fucked up vagrants like us." She wouldn't comment on his wife, what was she supposed to say? She knew he wasn't a baby vamp, so that would have been some serious years ago. Not to mention, she had just fucked him everywhere in the apartment except the Bed, you don't really settle down and talk about your estranged mortal widower. Maybe there would be a time for that sort of shit later, bonding and what not... but this was more of a general overview of who was who, not a deep heart to heart. Right? Jesus christ, they were... cuddling weren't they? That thought almost made her eyes pop out of her head. She wanted to jump off him and tell him to GTFO, but between the rage in her body (and a significant stiffness in and between her legs) and the small bond of blood between them... She managed to resist losing her fucking head. No, this wasn't cuddling. This was medical attention, bringing down the fever. Yeah.

"Might as well be... Mama was just a little into being 13 when she popped me out. Named me after Toffee. Macintosh. Macintosh Kadence. Didn't even spell it right either, cuz the actual Toffee has an H in it that's not on my birth certificate. Memphis trailer trash me is."

She could feel something in her chest stinging, a small stabbing pinch within the burning glow of her muscles being so tempermental. It was rather uncomfortable as she became aware of it, one of those things that once you realized it was there you couldn't ignore anymore.
Edited by Mac, Monday, 28. October 2013, 05:02.
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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'
* * * *
Man, I guess it would've been too visually pleasing to see a sizzle of steam escape out pressing bodies as I embrace her scalding figure. A heat that is so foreign and so long forgotten that I can't conceivably imagine my body producing such an energy without effort. And maybe it was great effort that brought it on, this burning sickness that can cauterizes my aches and pains, press the sensitive spots and set my teeth on edge with a buzzing sensation. I listen to her tell me of her origins, something I doubt is common knowledge and all the while is likely she told everyone something of it. Almost like I do. I've always had an impulse to give some vague idea of what my father did to me, even if it wasn't as terrible as some peoples, just to portray two very important messages. One, my pa never made me a bad person, but he sure stopped me from being a good one. I don't blame him for who I am today, but I resent him for having such an influence in the choices I made. Though reason two is that blame, there's a reason I didn't have a happy childhood, never lived the common drab life and therefore never got this supposed gift. Then again, that wasn't so much pa as Jack.

But her story, I can take educated guesses. Hell, hadn't Bart told me similar stories of his childhood? His underage mother, his abusive father, how people eventually snap and can snatch the life out of people without really trying or meaning to? But so much am I thinking about this, I almost missed the whole 'Macintosh' announcement. Which...nope. Can't say I really gave it much thought, that Mac is Mac and will always be Mac from the moment we met. Of course, by the same virtue I will forever be 'Doc Fanger' but I can live with that. Or at least the first part. It's seemingly what I was put on this earth to do. For as soon as she settled down my hands set to work, part playful part probing, slowly feeling their way up and down the length of her slender torso and gently prodding the tender spots that may be lining her shell. As the night wore on, things get blurry. Degenerating into a flurry of flesh, blood and sin of which I cannot navigate in hindsight.

"Memphis huh? Thought you reminded me of Elvis..." I mutter to her, only half-joking. Seriously, I don't know what it is, but something about her screams 'Hail to the king, baby.' Of course, that could be the image of her swathing through a mass of vamps, hand mysteriously severed and replaced by a chainsaw...jebus I gotta stop watching that shit. And come round to play more often. "Spent some time there, not that it matters. Before your time I'm guessing. But anyway, when'd you decide to leave? Before or after killin' your folks?"

Another educated guess, given how feral she is I'm gonna imagine that anger comes from an early start. She killed her folks, her siblings, burnt them all up in a trailer fire and pissed on their ashes right? Maybe not. Maybe it was sudden, dark, a constant waking nightmare? Well if that's the case, and she does have feelings that can be hurt, she can always sit on my face and feel better. Or, as I shift my gaze to the ruffled room and feel that pang of regret surface below, we can have a bounce on the trampoline?
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Mac
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Goddess of Fuck and War
* * * * *
His cold hands traveling up her form were merciful on her heated flesh, the probing touches cooling the burning ache of bruises when he'd find them, specific little pockets of fire under the skin as her body sought to heal. She'd make a noise not unlike a moan when he found just the right spots to torment, the flaring pain of the muscles under his touch protesting in that fashion she craved on a toxic level.

"Hey I can do all his classics on the guitar man. All hail the King of Rock n Roll." She laughed a little, chest vibrating with the movement that rattled her body gentley. It all hurt really, the day after never a fun waking process. By tomorrow she'd be pretty much normal again, except in the really damaged areas where a lingering stiffness would most likely remind her of the pleasant evening they'd shared kicking the shit out of each other and fucking. Laughing though, shifted whatever was jabbing inside her chest and moved it just enough to cause it to jab into her lungs.

She stiffened, both with the pain in her lungs and his question about killing her folks. Christ, was she that transparent? Rage immediately flew down her spine on the wings of his question, a deep breath in as she tried to medicate the pissed offness with the fact that maybe, maybe he only read her that well because he'd done the same thing. Afterall, how many people would get that shit if they hadn't lived through it themselves? She'd never been pegged so fucking easy before, or maybe most people didn't have the balls to just fucking ask?

"I never chose to leave, and I Never killed my fucking mom. Never fucking hurt her on purpose." She'd push up off his chest, hard too. Saving no amount of Potence from his chest as she slammed her arching arms and hands against his sternum, to push herself up to try and get the fuck over to the edge of the bed. He was diggin deep, but she also didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing how deep. Maybe she could play it like it didn't bug her at all? Sometimes it didn't, sometimes she could review her life with complete emotional detachment. There was a strange line there though, between detachment and the fucking jabbing thing inside her chest. A hand coming up to thump her chest once before she spoke. "You'd have killed your pa too, if he tried to wake you up on your seventh birthday with his cock in your face and other places...Happy birthday Mac. Reverb of his shot gun knocked me out, but I've had good aim since I was 6 and he got me a BB gun. State didn't think my Mama was very fit to keep me after all that. How the fuck can you guess that sorta shit, you kill yours?"

She wheezed a little, the movement and the talking having pushed whatever was inside her around enough that she was certain it wasn't where it had been plaguing her the night before. Now, now it was higher and blocking her wind pipe better. She coughed, hard and on purpose. She could move it. She began coughing harder, on purpose at first but then moving into a place of not being able to control the action. From intended coughing to out of control, the blockage jamming and choking upwards little by little. What the fuck? Was she about to throw up a lung? Gasps between choking movements, she cupped her hands infront of her mouth, to try and stop the blood that came up first from splattering all over the bed. It was thick and chunky, from sitting in her lungs while she slept. The next mouthful to come out was much redder, and foamy. After that? Well, after that came a small inch long by three mm thick piece of rib, with some spongey long tissue attached to it. Another cough brought up another, much smaller piece...

"Fuck yeah!" She swore loud, winded, but rather enthusiastically for someone who had just coughed up ribs, lung, and coagulated blood.
Edited by Mac, Monday, 28. October 2013, 23:53.
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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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I can almost feel the Goosebumps spread out in cold waves as my question struck a nerve. As she pushes away in a manner that surpasses 'firmly' by a long shot, which my newly knitted bones strain and groan but hold steady in a desperate effort to not break again. She un-mounts me but doesn't get far, something clearly not feeling right that she isn't getting her footing and kicking my ass some.Good I think, as she goes into details of the abuse she suffered. It's...expected, though ending her father doesn't seem to be the major cause of the distress. She never hurt her mother. She never meant to anyway. Jeez, I can relate to that. And as she directs questioning back to me, I just lay there - foot being bound and all that - with no sense of alarm or decorum...especially as she starts choking away.

Jeez, I really did a number on that chest, huh? It's a repeat of last night's biological complications that had, thankfully, not got in the way of strenuous physical activity. Something that had reassured me then as much as now. And with what she just divulged, I know that Mac is still very much mortal, still very much haunted just as much as she is blessed with the memories of normalcy. A heart that feels pain is a heart that can feel the good too. And while having this knowledge might be dangerous, I get that she isn't the kind of gal who wants people knowing she isn't as hard as she may appear, I can at least feel more comfortable in my fanger skin here knowing it won't be flayed off unless she's craving a spanking in return.

I sit upright and give her a few light thumps on the back, like hitting a big red button that causes her to wretch up a messy soup of innards. Another stiffening of her back, another mouthful she can't prevent shooting out speckling the bed, the floor, me, her...and all over my jacket. Well, least it's red right? Maybe it won't end up ruined after all. She finally shifts something big and invasive, and her 'war cry' upon expelling it makes me grin. "We really are gonna have'ta work on those lungs, hmm?" I comment, my hand having glided up from patting her back to resting somewhere in the mass by the small of her neck. I don't pull viciously, though hard enough to let her know that I'm hanging on. Cause till she uncuffs me, she ain't going nowhere. And as much as we both need to shower, I am perfectly happy to lick that body of hers clean should she not oblige with springing me free. I pull it enough to twist her face back into my vision, so I can smirk at the blood dribbled down her delicious tits.

"I killed my mama as accidental as it may have been. She died at childbirth and my pa blamed me. Then...I got him killed. Accidentally of course." I shrug. I can talk about these sort of things with almost no emotion because I really couldn't give a shit. Mama...of course I would have wanted to know her. To be raised lovingly. To not have a father resent me for being alive. Things would have undoubtedly been different, to a degree I can't comprehend. "Gotta work with what we've been given baby doll, and right now I ain't gonna think 'bout what could'a been. You?" My tone is serious and interested enough, but I am deeply infatuated with the blood stained breasts. Another bite after a nights recovery couldn't possibly hurt right? As dangerous and stimulating a thought it may be, I know either way I won't ask. Cause even if she wanted it, she wouldn't want me asking. She'd want me taking. Which...leads me down a different avenue of thought?

I look her dead in the eyes, hard and cold and yet so titillating. "So how many 'fangers' you know exactly? Jus'...I get the impression from ya that the only good 'un is a dead 'un. The only thing better bein' one who tells you where to find their sleepin' friends." Or at least that's my take on it. You don't generalise a people and speak to them with such venom without your reasons, I get that, but as far as people I know she knows; Me, Aguirre, Sawyer, Frankie. Good people? Got bit by Nora, yeah, but enough to know that we aren't the monsters in the Sabbat. And if she's willing to lure one in and fuck their brains out...I wanna know where she stands. "Are me and Aguirre just like the rest?" I know I am. And probably deserve hunting. Mac can do what she wants, but the second she decides she's hungry enough that Aguirre is on the menu then things are gonna get a little...heated.

If she feels that way.
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The thumps on her back helped to dislodge the multitude of grossness, which she took the time to admire in her stained and slippery hands. Red and slightly black, with the pinky white of the bones sticking out and glistening in the low fake lights from the overhead LED's. A small burp follows, and she splutters out a tiny bit more froth as she finds the end of the fit. Fuck yeah.

"My lungs would be fine if I didn't get a fucking heart stopping blow to the chest by your knee. Musta' hit just fucking right, lady fate in your favor." She'd get defensive on that, because ... what the fuck else was she supposed to do? She was a machine in her own mind, human yeah, vulnerable, but she was used to be made of sturdy shit. Lean muscle, so little fat her tits were bought with bodies for a Tmizisces artistic vision. The shard in her ribs during the rest of the night had been rather annoying and at the same time, thrilling. Hard to breath? Hyperventalating a little? Got her that much more excited, came that much harder. She could have died fucking and died a fucking happy little monster.

"Shit happens, you can't play the Coulda' Woulda' Shoulda' game without driving yourself fucking crazy man." What should she say? Sorry about your Mama? Bet she was a nice person? Fuck that. She didnt even consider her Mama a nice person anymore. She loved her, though she wouldn't admit it, but she was still mad as all fucking hell for letting the state take her away. Foster parents were fucking shit, and the next six years going from home to home to home before the Murphy's got her? Was a nightmare. Maybe if her Mama had got her back, she wouldn't be so fucked up. Maybe Marco would never have found her. She tended not to think about that though, because the past couldnt be changed and it only drove you fucking crazy thinking about it. She was crazy enough without that sorta non sense piled on the shit heap.

The hand on the back of her dreads tugged, and she tossed the handful of gore overboard of the bed and into a bucket that was kept beside the bed. Who kept a bucket beside the bed? Well, Mac did. She then wiped her hands on the bed sheets, and turned to look at him. He had such pretty green eyes, an unusual color really. Did they effect her because she liked him, appreciated her fucking mind blowing night with him, or because of him inside her in other ways? Running through her veins. That was half her spite towards him, because she didn't really know. Maybe she didn't want to know, spite made a good fucking wall for when she needed to bail.

She didn't know how to answer the question he was bringing up, because she wasn't sure about the whole thing herself. She had a few answers, because she was full of piss and venom when it came to being probed on an emotional level. She could easily answer the first and most mean thought that came into her head, but her first defensive reactions weren't always the true ones. Sometimes she had to wade through her own fucking mental scape to find what the fuck she actually believed, and not what she thought was the cruelest form of torture for people. She did like to hurt folk... But she didn't want to hurt Aguirre. That much she knew. To fucking innocent, naive, adorable. Like Mels. Could she say that though, out loud? Define herself as someone with actual morals? Fuck, she didn't have morals. She stared at him, hard and angry for a moment as he made her confront herself really. Welcome to the life of a ghoul, perpetually made of rage and bitterness. Some people rose above it, she fucking ate it for breakfast and shit it out on everyone.

"I know where you live Church. Aguirre ain't exactly stealthy when she comes and goes. You're both still fucking here right? I'm already jonesing for my next fix, and I ain't eaten either of you. I eat my kind, the shit and the scum. I prefer the kind of assholes who ate me first, not the kind of assholes who've helped me out. I was born in a pack, still got that mentality. So fuck you for even askin."

Was that a declaration of being a good person? No. It was the statement of someone who was vindictive, spiteful, and carried a whole lotta rage. At least she tried to project it that way. He was alive wasn't he? Wasn't that enough? Trying to manipulate her into sayin something decent. She was pissy now though, and a hand fished down the front of her panties as she pulled out the key for the handcuff that was laced around his ankle. She'd try and simply throw it across the room to spite him.
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"Good. That's exactly what I wanna hear." I make out before I find myself lurching forward, grasping out at the metallic jingle as her hand slips southward. And as sluggish as I feel without a hot meal in me, I get the feeling she's feeling worse for wear, in terms of both physical damage and blood loss. I didn't help in either instance, especially the lack of blood. I tried to be frugal with my bites, only a taste while she rode the waves of pleasure to, as it were, hell.

"I would've looked down there 'ventually, Y'know. Tryin to hang on'ta me?" I keep my hand entwined in her hair, our faces only so far apart as my offhand grasps her own escaping from her nethers. My hand wraps around hers, trapping what I assume to be the keys, squeezing down to ensure she can't slip them away. Also, probably uncomfortable as fuck.

"Don't turn all hissy bitch cause I'm blunt. And don't preach your Sabbat shit. I'm a paranoid outcast with no allies to watch my back. Then you show up, a perfect ally. An' fuck buddy. I figured you were too good to be true, thas all. " she certainly seemed like something Jack dreamt up to lure me in but clearly my being alive was now evidence to the contrary, as she had helpfully pointed out." And as for yo' 'hunger'" I continue though trail off. What exactly can I do about that?

"Summit better handled yourself. Seein' all the shit I've gotten for keepin you alive in the first place. An' I can appreciate your reasons, I can." Imagine what it would be like to have this woman totally devoted to pleasing her Church master? It's something I could buy into very easily, and lose myself to having a loyal Mac, to the point that I might turn a blind eye to her crushed soul and warpable character. And she would kill me as soon as she could. So no. No more of my blood. "But Aguirre is off limits. I don't give a shit that she can make her own decision, cause she's too fucking soft to say no. And you start any shit, I don't want it leading back. As for the filth you like eating well..."

My fingers remain cupped around hers, our faces closer now as I find myself lured to the red stains trickling down her, even if it is a combination of blood and bile. I keep her hair in my grasp, if only to stop her headbutting me in the nose. I do have a solution... Albeit a freaking emergency one. "I've got an old buddy of mine on ice. He's as twisted and fucked as they come. He's also my key to Jack, and would rather not wake him till the times right. But... Y'know. I'd rather keep you fresh. And when all is said and done, he's gonna be a tasty juice bag." a juice bag for her of course, I have never been one for dabbling with amaranth. Not then, not now, not ever. So technically he would make a mighty fine method of payment. Does she accept asshole as payment?

My rough farmer hand grips tighter, pressing those keys in further until she's ready to give them up. Or giving me a smack with the other hand that I seem to be oblivious to the existence of. "As long as I'm still allowed to eat your ass right?" That's what is truly important right?
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Was she trying to hold onto him? The idea was funny to her, hold onto a Fanger with hand cuffs? Nah, you hold onto a Fanger with a stake through the heart. She wouldn't do that though, fuck, she hadn't even drained a jar of him and put it in cold storage. Should have really, but she didn't want the weight of it there. The temptation, and the knowing that she'd then have to hunt the poor fucker and end him if she ever broke down enough to drink it. His hand wrapping around hers to prevent her from chucking the keys was unexpected, not that he'd stop her but that he'd just hold on instead of wrestling them free.

Awe, you think I'm perfect? You musta' taken too many shots to the bean.

Ain't no one ever called her 'to good to be true' before. She didn't even know what to do with that statement. Was he full of shit and just plying her with compliments to let her give up the keys easy? No, boy wouldn't do that. He liked to fight, he'd wrestle for them keys if he damn well wanted them. Her blazing hazel eyes measured him, so close the bloody warmth of her breath would be brushing across his stubbly face as she breathed deep and hard on now righteously better feeling lungs. They felt like new lungs after last night, without the stabbing pains and fluid filling them it felt like she had a whole brand new set. She breathed deep and long, chest rising and expanding as she tested them out. Yeah, felt pretty fucking good. The rest of her? Nah, the rest of her was a mass of sore aches, bruises, and she was pretty sure some fractures. What did her face look like? She wondered if the black eye had gone away completely, or was still there. It was sore, but not swollen closed. She'd need a mirror to tell. He was pressing close though, getting all in her face as he put the boots down on the Aguirre topic. Wow, fanger have a thing for her or what?

I like Aguirre, strangely enough. She's like a fucking care bear with fangs, and I don't wanna see no one fuck that fuzzy shit up alright?

Then she was closer, their faces almost touching. Thank god he wasn't making an offer, because after last night she wasn't so sure she could say to putting him inside her in all the ways possible. What the fuck was going on in her head? Jesus. Fanger made her Hungry on so many levels. Was he talking? Yeah he was, but she was all distracted by the way his lips moved and how much she wanted them to be going to town on other places of her body. She blinked a few times, trying to force her attention to what he was saying. She needed her hand back damnit, his icy hands around hers was tight and painful. It was turning her on, she could feel the warmth glow in the aching area between her thighs. Mother fucker no way! Bad twat, calm your tits.

Keep your Fanger in cold storage till we go for gold Doc. With Camden in ruins they're making baby idiots left right and center to refill the ranks. I can hunt myself diner, you don't need to worry. Shit tastes better when you gotta work for it.

She grinned, but kept her hand tightly wrapped on the keys as he squeezed. She squirmed a little, knees shifting against one another as she tried to not enjoy the painful attention he was forcing on her hands. If he went so far as to break some bones, she'd let go. She did need her hands for Hunting. She'd hold out till then though, breath catching in her throat with a lazy sound of enjoyment.

Course you can... But you gotta tell me about Jack first. Whats your fucking story?

She needed a distraction, pronto... Or she was going to fucking jump his bones again. A nice cold shower wouldn't go amiss, and her eyes slid away in that direction as she though about drenching the heaty storm going on inside.
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Did I say fuckin' perfect? I tug back a little, exposing more of that throat for ease of access. Should I choose to swoop in. But I'll stick by my 'too good' sentiment. Mortals usually don't last long enough...or break. Her? Man, a nice hot pussy and the chops to keep up till sunrise? Cause that's the only thing that stops me . But next time that ain't stopping shit. The least I could do is power through the unbelievable heaviness of limbs and grogginess of mind in order to make the bitch squirt one last time, right? Problem with this damned place, as I only now take notice of, is the distinct lack of natural lighting. Luckily I suppose, cause I could've fried and hell, she might've been able to help if she was feeling charitable. Still, something about being at the complete and utter mercy of her, regardless of whatever trust has been built with the whole bump and grind, makes me shiver. Just like she seems to be getting now, as my hand remains locked and firm in the Church death grip. Is there anything more brutal than keys?

Aguirre. Is it weird to bring her up given who the fuck we are and where the fuck we are, that our eyes are getting rather adventurous? I wouldn't say no to one for the road. Never say no to a lady. But Mac super swears to play nice. Normal people nice so for her like, benevolent. And is she also gonna watch out for our mutual darling? Thank yah Jah. It's comforting to say the least. Mac is one of those crazies, people know her but are shit scared. For good reason. But, as she makes a comment on how shit tastes better when you work for it, I can sure appreciate that work ethic.

Jack. Hmm, odd how little thought I gave him last night. Well, not odd at all, but honestly it started to slip away. Even now, the notion that this hellcat knows where I live, when I sleep and how to use a chain. Could absolutely be working for Jack, hell, even if she didn't know it. Aguirre has been left to her own devices, cooking up trouble no doubt. Seems to know a lot of folk in the Camarilla, which I'm finding it easier to cope with. Much like Jack. I don't know if being clean, well, 99.9% cleaner has settled my distorted brain, the new 'acquaintances' made taking my mind off the matter and sheilding me with their presence or if the passage of time has been all the evidence needed. Nothing bad has happened. Hell, the worst thing that happened this past month was getting a shit kicking and sparkled by a chick who took me every depraved place our environment would allow. Cept the trampoline. See? Jack. Not giving a fuck. It has somehow shifted from keeping my skin on to a vendetta. Oh, yeah, he's still gonna die. Or give me some warped story that I buy into like a gullible son of a bitch and get murdered. Or, you know, he's was an assassin for a scary mother fucker Archbishop. That's why I need Mac...and one thing I have been thinking about, admits all this absent minded, yet clear and crisp version 2.0 Church-shit...

We need more people. More psychopaths to take down the craziest fucker I ever did see.

"I might as well tell you the truth, but...I don' wanna hear it off nobody else, yeah?" My voice is softer now, after blinking out of a lull of intense Church thinking, my eyes now fixed on her heated gaze after lingering on the neck during my inner monologue. One thing's for sure, no matter how sober I am, I'm still fucked. "It's a long story, from start to finish. He's...like a, adoptive sire?" How else is it explained? They're heavy words but I couldn't care about them biting me in the ass right now. With Mac I can lay all the shit on the table, take some weight of my diminishing conscience like I did Aguirre. My hand slipped away from her hair not long after she asked about Jack, but I keep hold of those keys. The sadist in me still had some control during the absence of my mind. "But he goes further back. I met him when I was...Jebus, seventeen, maybe? I can't remember. Things got hazy. In hindsight he fill my head full of chemicals and bred me for bruising. But at the time...he was my best friend." More than that really. Everything. Gave me everything. Took it all away. Even if I live a thousand years, I can guarantee that no-one will ever have such an effect on my life. I can also guarantee I will never live that long. I would blow my head off before that, for sure.

"He didn't sire me himself, I never got why. Maybe he just needed a thug. I came here almost as soon as it happened and been back and forth since. In the meantime, I met Vic. Jacks other kid. Again in hindsight, another dog. Again, at the time, all of us were...best friends." My voice slowly degenerates into a snarl, my grip getting tighter. Uh oh, the sadist doesn't even wanna mess with this kind of heat. That's why Jack is still dying, you see. Because if he had betrayed me and waltz away, hell, if he tried to kill us and hid in his fucking hole somewhere in the east, I could get over it. But Vic. I just...I don't get why? And I don't give a shit. I let go of her hand before anything cracks, shoving it away. The dark craving in my blood to mess up her pretty face melts away if I can't even focus enough on her reactions. Guess you don't get many deaf and blind sadists, huh? What do I know, I just pretend to be a doctor.

"I couldn't care less 'bout what he is. I hear he's running the show in a fucking ghost town, I don't give a shit if he's planning genocide, he killed Vic and left me to die. Simple as that, and I wanna see his face just before I punch it into fucking goo." The boiling blood I have is, bizarrely, tempered with my blunt nature. Somehow saying it, picturing it, knowing that it will happen or I'll die and simply won't remember giving a shit, keeps my head level enough to not smack a bitch to vent. Unless there is indeed a heaven, so therefore a hell for me to spend eternity in. And I don't think I'll care too much then either...what with the fire and such. Jack would look good on fire.

I shrug my bare shoulders, in a sort of 'that's it' kinda way. I kept my eyes on hers the entire time, trying to pick out any signs of, well, anything. Interest, or maybe it's disappointment that it's not meaty enough? Maybe some understanding? Whaddabout...excitement? Hell I'm getting all pumped up just thinking about that glorious fucking night which has yet to be penned into the calendar. And while I was a little distracted with digging up that shit, she sure could make me forget about it. Forget it all for another night. I think I might do that anyway. Cause despite the lack of booze and narcotics, I seem to find a way.

"Whaddya think? Dramatic enough for yah?"
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When his hand tightened in her hair, and yanked back to get her to stretch her neck up to him she was conflicted, a slight sound of protest echoing out on a grunt. Part of her wanted to just stretch every inch of her skin out for his pleasure, let his eyes burn into her flesh as she invited his fangs to follow. Another part of her instinctively wanted to resist, simply because of the commanding way he was trying to get her to submit. The resistant part won, because she was just a stubborn mother fucker like that. His hand still crushing around hers wasn't helping her desire to resist him, because the hard pressure around her fist was causing the key within to cut into her flesh. She was bleeding, although very slowly and from a very shallow wound, but it was deepening with his increasing pressure. She wasn't fighting that though, wasn't trying to escape from his grip. No, that she was fucking riding the wave of, the burning euphoria that came with trying to resist letting her bones be crushed.

It was perplexing really, that she wouldn't just try and break the wrist of the hand that was hurting her. She may enjoy it, enjoy the roller coaster of up and downs as the threshold of pain and pleasure was pushed. She usually fought back against -everything-, most especially when a Fanger was involved. This oppositional defiance was rather irksome, a somewhat uncontrollable part of her temper. The fact she couldn't predict the way she'd react was fucking annoying. Was it his blood in her, or was it this whole...fucking weird shit they had going on? She didn't really understand it, but when the goings good... She knew she had a tendancy to wreck shit. She didn't want to wreck this, especially at that exact fucking moment. The hot burn between her legs, panties soaked from the tension of his hand crushing her.

Oh Sugah, I keep all sorts of secrets. I'll keep yours.

His hand was free from her hair though, and she took a deep breath in as his eyes found hers. He was watching, and she knew he was looking for something in her eyes as he told his story. Listening to that story was difficult though, trying to grasp his words as her head filled with the milky thoughts of how fucking much the key was biting into her skin. She had to force it down, trying to abandon the ride she wanted to be on to listen to him instead. She had no doubt this shit was important to him, and her eyes blazed as she tried to push out the pain and in what he was saying. Surprisingly close to home actually, when she got the gist of it. Seemed like he was skipping out on a whole lotta shit, giving her the ultra condensed version. Probably for the best, because as he spoke he was getting angrier and angerier. His grip tightening, his face devolving into spite and anger. She wanted to say 'Hey, dont fucking blame me. I didn't fuck you over.' but at the same time, she'd just take it if he needed to dish it. She'd sure fucked over enough other people anyways.

Instead she just stared into his pretty face, and when his hand suddenly let go and threw her's back at her? She'd open her mouth with a hiss and a hard breathe, but do her very best not to break the way he was looking at her. He could vent on her, she was inviting that with her eyes, like giving him an unspoken sort of permission to take out rage issues on her thick hide. Wasn't like it'd never happened before. Course, she wasn't promising nothing about not retaliating herself.

She was summing up his story when he hit the end of it, asking if it was 'dramatic enough' for her. Her other hand, still stained with bloody vomit from her lungs, came up to peel the key out from where it had bitten into and embedded in the soft flesh of her hand. God her body was hurtin' now, sore and aching but considerably more awake now than it had been before his story. She could identify with it on so many levels, right down to being a 17 year old idiot when it all began. It made her laugh actually, corners of her mouth curving up as she stared at him. She wasn't always looking in his eyes no, but she sure as fuck was always watching his face. She had tried, between the euphoria and the pain, to pick out the flaws and truths in his story. See what was real and what was a cover for something else, but he'd gone to simplified for her to really try and analyze to deeply. She also wanted to believe him, because it meant he was kind of like her.

I killed my Ductus. He was my Master. Kept me for seven years... Utterly devote and loyal. Doing shit you can't fucking imagine for him, burning me up bit by bit. May have had a soul once... Sure had a chance of one before he got me. Thought he was my fucking soul mate while we were together, that he knew me and understood me like no one else... I killed him, because he killed my sister. Well, he killed her in every sense of the word other than actually ending her heart beat. Cried when I did it...Other circumstances too of course, but I fucking blubbered as I hacked him up. Eventually, when the bond wore off? I realized how much that mother fucker needed ending. I should have done it so long before there, but... Thought we were happy as fuck living in depravity. I look back now? No guilt Church. No fucking sadness. Can't believe I ever shed a tear for him. Fucker needed ending. I sleep hard knowing he's not walking the fucking earth.”

She didn't really enjoy telling this story, she'd never really done so before. She didn't tell anyone about Mellisah, cuz there was guilt and shame connected to the girl. Not to Marco, not to his death. Just to Mels, and everything that happened with her. She gave him the lite version, same as the way he'd given her the gloss over. He didn't need the gorey details, she imagined he already knew a lot of it deep down, or suspected it. Shit she'd done for a mother fucker in the Sabbat, especially when you had as much ability as she did to actually get shit done. Still, just talking about it felt strange, and she felt a little more naked than she was comfortable with. She needed to put them back on track, shove something between them and keep him from getting under her skin in deeper ways. “I'll help you get your revenge Doc. I know what revenge tastes like and it's pretty much crack. I'm going to get a decent blood supply out of it mind you, amoungst other things, as I'll just be takin' all the Fanger bodies that fall in whatever scheme we cook up for it.” She usually got money too, a lot of it. Drugs, booze, weaponry. She could ask for a lot of shit for a lot smaller hits than Jack would be, what did she add to the bill besides the bodies?

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Church
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Well that sure is interesting. We're cut from a cloth so similar I'm starting to worry that we're related. Sure, I might not be her pa which I figure could easily have happened to some poor sucker out there, but it's weird to think how similar a path we took down the road. And I suppose it's lucky that our paths never did cross, cause who the hell knows what that would have led to. Jeez, maybe I would've killed her master myself and claimed her as my own. Maybe that could've been good. Likely, I would've been the one getting dusted by her, but...maybe not. She actually gets along with the sick side of Church. Anyway, what could have been, didn't we agree to forget about that?

My eyes don't register the keys, even though they make a feint jingle as she handles them. But we're still too busy getting all doe eyed at each other. Something in her face shifts during our little history lesson, the lights seem to brighten from the dim awakening. A stupid smirk tugging the corners of her mouth into a weak smile. Eyes positively ablaze with a hunger befitting of a more ferocious face. A look that gets my mouth watering all over again, thirsting for that big ole' steak with legs going all the way up to Canada. My lips part, teeth glistening in the darkness, my tongue absently playing with my labret before shifting and slowly tracing the my front row, fangs and all. Whatever heat her eyes are sending my way is being reciprocated, though admittedly, I think I am probably more in control of this lust. I get to take a bite whenever I want, while she's made a vow to never taste me on her tongue. Shame, especially since I don't have any other bodily fluids she can guzzle down.

Mind in the gutter. Stop it.

But yeah, the things she's saying do hit pretty close to home, and maybe she can get behind this mission a little more. "Funny how things work out, eh?" I grumble rather unempathetically, but sensitive is not my forte. I can't see me blubbering so much a ragefacing when it comes to slicing and dicing Jack. "But he's gone. The weight's gone. The anger gone? That...that's what I need to feel." And if she requires further motivation, a show of how grateful Church will be for her services, I am all too happy to oblige. And if she wants bodies of those that don't get burnt to a crisp, well, she is most certainly welcome. Hell if she can fill a couple bags, put them on ice, and as long as the doners are long since dead to do anything, I'm sure happy. Sabbat blood too...bound to make her even more ferocious and sick than ever. "You can have every last one of them, baby. All but Jack. No-one's drinking that shit. I'm gonna paint my new place with that shit." I grin at the thought, hands having hovered for a few moments how finding her firm thighs in their rough palms. I can fucking smell how wet she is, and as much as I wanna taste it again, I resist. If she's taught me anything, it's how to build up to the moment and do it right.

"You know, I meant what I said. You're so damned good. I seen my share of shovelheads, of the so called fuckin' rabble, but you...anything like you anywhere else? Anyone got that kinda spunk?" I raise an eyebrow, leaning my head sideward to look at her from a screwy angle. "I think we might actually pull this shit off. You're an ace in the hole I never could afford, baby doll. An' as for payment, I'm sure you can think of something you wan'. An' I'm sure I can give it. You just gotta name a price." I can think of a few things I'm willing to give, and even if she refused the job, a coupon to be allowed to scream my name all night long would still not go amiss.

"Don' spose I might be able to use yer shower now, would I? I mean some of this here blood is yours." It's a fair question, and probably another activity we shall find a way of engaging together. Not to mention it's kind of hard to be transfixed by the prettiness when it's hidden under blood and grub, eh? Oh and course..."Who knows, might be able to shake some of this fucking glitter off 'n all. You wanna give me that?" I accompany the challenge with a toothy smile, overturning one of the hands expectantly as if she is gonna be the good little girl and give it. My other hand remains on the steamy thigh, ready to press down and squeeze should she start playing silly twats.

Which, of course, I am hoping for.
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Mac
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Did she need to say that the 'weight' was never really gone? She may sleep nice and hard knowing that Marco Fillipe was not walking this fine and good earth, but it didn't mean that all the weight went with his death. There was always an unquestionable stain left behind by these mother fuckers, even after their bodies were ash and dust. You never really got rid of it all... but really, why bring down his hopes and dreams right? Revenge did feel good, fucking freeing and fantastic... but always different than you thought it would be. Maybe Church was a man without regret and shame, but she doubted it, but maybe he would feel as good as he imagined after. He was being haunted by a past though, a past where he had done some fucked up shit no doubt. She was kind of curios of those details, of the depth to his darkness and the shit he'd done in the name of Jack. Could it match up, or even out weigh her own shadows? Part of her didn't want to know. Why? That was then, this is now. He sure as fuck didn't want to be the same person anymore, he wouldn't have such a hard on for Aguirre if he was still all black and burnt up inside...

No wonder they were so good at being each others fucking punching bags. They were both the same, twisted fuckers inside that needed a good rough romp to release the inner demons. If you leave all that shit all gutted and stunted inside of you, it ate you away. It wasn't just about the sex though, especially for a Fanger. Although they could pantomime the best of the oldies, their bodies didn't work that way. Yeah, all the plumbing was still there and it could semi function... but they couldn't have that beautiful, blissful release at the end. It was about taking and giving, in the best and worst kinds of ways. Finding someone that loved the way you needed to hurt them, hurting someone who you weren't actually going to break and add anymore fucking shit to the pile of fuck ups of your life. At the same time, wondering how far exactly you can push them...till they do break. Part of you wants to, part of yous terrified to do so. How close to the edge you can totter them, while at the same time giving them everything they need because they want that rush. Making them scream suspended in that place between bliss and agony, feeling like the world wasn't so pointless a place when you could feel that fucking much at once. All confused and mixed up and glorious.


Oh sugah, I wouldn't put Jacks blood in me. You can fucking do whatever you want with that creep. No nossies, no Malks. Unless I'm dyin, then maybe I'd make an exception. I had a malk once... the results were unfavorable. I'll help you get him though, you can paint your walls or turn him into a hood ornament, have his skull shrunk down into a fucking keychain head, whatever...As for payment let me dream up something real good....

She bit her lower lip at that, watching the way his tongue was trailing his teeth in ways she didn't know could possibly fuck her up that much. Christ, how could she even want to bone this asshole right now? Body still on the mend from the day before, having just barfed up bits of lungs and ribs, and she was so easily being strung by his manipulations. Just the sight of his fangs were enough to send a throbbing sensation through her skin, like it could remember them on it the night before and was singing the praises to the almighty and wanted more. When he mentioned the shower, and his hands dug into her thighs? She actually arched her back under his touch and had to brace her hands on the bed. She was still so god damned sore, all her muscles tight and painful despite her running fever to try and warm and relax them. Shower did sound good didn't it? But, no. Simply because she was a twat like that, she couldn't just let them get to the shower so fucking easy could she. She had to make things hard, it was her MO. With a head full of cloudy goodness, brought on by his pressing hand on her thighs, she needed to escalate. She didn't want to escalate the easy way, the way he'd be expecting though. He'd expect her to fight for the keys, so she wouldn't.

Shower sounds pretty good. Wanna...earn it? Stay still.

She would turn on the bed towards him, and if he clamped down on her thigh she'd just fucking moan so god damned loud it would sound like an animal, and press against the digging fingers to get herself properly presented to him. She'd give him the bedroom eyes, because she had all intentions of eventually letting it get to that point, but right now she'd take the key he wanted and give it to him. Not hard, but slow. She'd let the keys dangle along his skin, trailing like metallic ghosts as she'd use them to explore. She could fucking stab him hard and painful with them at any point really, and she wanted to see if he'd let her fucking trace her way all the way down his body with them. If he let her, she'd slide all the way up to him and straddle him again, like earlier with the knife but this time with a considerably different intention.

The soft dance of the keys metallic tips trailing down his body, her own heat burning against him as she'd slowly work her way downwards. Her other hand not holding keys would join in, and using claw like nails to rake along his skin hard, so the different tones of play would be from ghost and soft to painful and scratching. She didn't want to open him up, she didn't want the blood... Wasn't sure she could stop herself from consuming him really. Just having him infront of her was hard enough, she just wanted to do some razzle dazzle on the senses. Get him worked up, her body crawling down his towards the handcuff at his ankle. Once there, she'd take the keys and the handcuff in hand, jingling them as she made to unlock the handcuffs... Before bolting off the end of the bed and dashing towards the shower without actually unlocking them. She'd take the keys with her too.

The shower was open to the rest of the room, the floor beneath it slanted tiles that created a small indentation for water to flow into the drain. It had once been a chemical shower for the small factory the warehouse had been, and she hadnt seen the point in putting up walls really. She'd perfer to be able to survey her domain at all times anyways. She hung the keys on the tap, as she turned it on and began to shed her clothes to step within the stream... and wait and see what he did. She was more than excited, tempting herself all over his skin with the keys had left her insides a warm and slippery mess of want that she was hard pressed to deny herself when she'd flung herself off the end of the bed. Course, she'd wanted to make him want to hurt her again... Wanted to get him all worked up. Shit was always better when you worked for it, right? Hahhahaha.
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Church
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Putting the 'fun' in 'dysfunctional'
* * * *
"Fuck!" I bellow, hoping somehow my words can hound the little scamp down and lasso her ass back. I sit at the foot of the bed, having not felt like faceplanting over the edge, giving her the evils as she strips down. "Think I woulda learnt by now, huh? Just goes to show I am one stupid fuck." How very true.

Who knows, maybe she'll train me to be a little smarter. Not fall for the blowjob eyes and the twisted toying and get caught out in situations LIKE these. Not exactly necessary with her, given that she enjoys getting fucked by me so much she seems reluctant to say goodnight, but what if some other maniac gave Church the eyes and perched atop his lap? Maybe he wouldn't be as careless as now, pulling his would be murder-death-killer onto him with enthusiasm? Would he just go brain dead and lay back, lazily watch the metal dance on his bruised form, occasionally look at her face all awe inspired? She moves with a visible weariness, physically lesser than she was one night ago, and yet she still wants to play the anticipation game? Church-I mean...I, what the fuck was that third person shit?- wants to play to. Of course he does. I do. God fucking dammit am I having a stroke or something?

Nails wake me up. Now we're cooking, and as much as I wanna, or she may not actually be able to stomach, another night of breaking each other down, getting tangled up in all the right spots, we can't just keep fucking constantly right? We gotta do shit. Like uh, well...I certainly don't have a job, I have it on good authority that she's a stripper. Aguirre's worry is sure a strong motivator, even as she inches her way down my cool form, leaving a trail of red lines in her wake. A fucking tickle in the grand scheme of things. And as she's just about to set me free, and set her ass up in a world of delightful trouble, she sprints off and leaves me to chase, only to stop at the edge.

So here we are. But I'm smiling all the same. I test the cuffs against my ankle; probably breakable. Hell I know they're breakable, but I never did have the strongest legs. Back, yes, a back like a mule. Arms, yeah, cause seeing as there are some people it's flat out wrong to punch, you gotta be prepared to deliver a K.O. with a open hand bitch slap. But the legs? It's not weakness more than awkwardness, how in the hell do brace myself? I wrap a hand around it, deep in thought. My eyes linger on the metal hoop, both constricting me as well as a new fashion accessory on my arm. Pull the bed to her?

"Well, I hope ya'll happy with yourself...Macintosh." Ridiculous name by the way. Maybe I am a bit of a dumbass, but I know enough to know that she is just mortal. And wanting it so damn much it, and it will burn her up a hell of a lot faster than it will me. I grind my teeth at her, beneath close lips and hard eyes. "I can go without. But if you ain't gonna toss me the keys, can I at least have them?" I point at the discarded panties. Yeah, I'm that much of a perv. With that being said, my gaze returns back to the handcuffs. Wait a minute. I place one hand over the lock on my leg...my other where it attaches itself the bed. Jeez, I am a moron. Or she makes me one. I grip hard, enough that the hard metal edges start to dig in, cut with sheer force over sharpness. And as my hands clamp down, my teeth grind tighter, ignoring the slickness of my palms as I wrench the chain apart with a grumble of curses.

" Well..." I mumble, though maybe she can't hear me over the flow of water. Though that snapping sound sure did, and me rising to my feet with a new jangle on my foot is sure a way things were likely to go. "Got a headache honey? I get it. An' I certainly wouldn't wanna fuck you up too badly." I grin with baited steps closer. I sure could use a shower, and a mad bitch to fuck in it. Would ya look at that!? But no. She wants to play keep away, then I ain't gonna play chase. It gets tiresome if you're busy chasing them all the damn time. Some of the time, sure, but she walks the line of cock tease and cock hungry like no other. Maybe it makes it better? She would know, I certainly have forgotten. So I'll just play my own games, not hers.

"So why don'tcha rest up and give me a call when you're ready to play for realises. Kay, princess?"
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Mac
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"Using my full name? Oh my, am I in trouble Doc?"

She'd watch him from the shower flow, which felt fucking amazing on her skin, like rain. Rejuvenating, like the hot summer when she was four, when everything was dying off from a hard drought that was patching the land. Her and her Mama were growing their first garden, and it was a wreck. Neither of them had green thumbs, but they had tried to do family shit all the same. A vegetable patch? Sounded like a good idea... Till everything wilted and died because there wasn't enough rain, and there was a ban on watering your grass or garden that the trailer park took real serious. Looked like a fucking brown desert.. Everyone stuck inside with the windows open, watching tv to fucking hot to do anything else for days on end. Then it rained, and while the rain didn't bring the land back to life it sure did bring the folk to life. Everyone was outside, standing in their underwear and hanging their mouths open to drink up that fucking amazing down pour. Kids were laughing and playing, splashing in the huge puddles that formed in the once dusty roads, now muddy. It was bliss.

The snap of the handcuff at his ankle brought her mind away from memories, and she watched him. His hard eyes let her know she was treading to close to his edge, and she was hard pressed to pull back from pushing his buttons. She liked pushing buttons, she fucking loved pushing buttons. His anger just fucking excited her, that sadistic nature always wriggling so happily under her skin when she was pushing people around. His baited steps pressing across the floor made her skin shiver with a sort of grim anticipation, like she was excited to have pissed him off and couldn't wait for him to take it out on ... But wait, he wasn't playing the game right. He was going to -leave-. Oh, maybe she did push him to far.

She watched his face when he said a was leaving, butt naked? He'd walk out butt naked and covered in grime? Yes. Of course he would. Duh. She knew that probably wouldn't phase him one bit, he'd stride home with a grin on his face that he'd left her all fucking hot and bothered to take care of herself in the shower. Asshole.

Now what? She had options, let the fucker go and be denied a certain dose of Church like medicine, or ... Or what? She sure didn't have the energy to track him down if he left, how could she imagine she had the energy to fuck him? Because something about him promised so much god damned goodness, that she'd burn out to get it. God damn ghoul mentality, and she knew it. She needed to feed soon, she'd have to get out on a Hunt in Camden... Her sex drive was fucking unreal, no thanks to him getting it all revved up like a Ferrari ready to peel out of the garage at the slightest push to the gas pedal. Was it only because she was edging, or was she wanting him so bad because it was his blood she was coming down from? Usually she didn't get quite this level of idiot, but he had magic in his fangs and in other areas of his body... Course, he sure wasn't leaving at any expedient rate... Did he want something? What the fuck was it? Her to... Play nice?

Fuck you fanger, I don't play nice... But then he'd go as leave her all wanting and needy, and as much of a rush as pissing him of would give her sadistic little beast within, her masochistic need and burning desire in her cunty twat was rather more demanding. She just didn't really know what to do about it, staring at him dumbly with her brows all furrowed. She had a lot of rude things on the edge of her tongue, but she was hesitant to spit them at him. She could see if she could piss him off into it, goad him into the waters stream. Or... Jesus no. Really, no. Get the fuck out! She wanted to yell at him, so her rather somber tone was a little harder to muster through the digging anger it caused under her skin. She'd step out of the waters spray just a little, so she wasn't talking into a stream.

"Come on, don't be that way... You know I need some doctoring in a real bad way, just on for the road. It's a cold dark place out there...."

She'd swallow a hard lump in her throat, the attempt at playing civil was rather a difficult little maneuver for her to manage.
Edited by Mac, Thursday, 7. November 2013, 21:42.
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