![]()
|
|||||||||||||||
| 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: |
| Stay Hungry; (Private) Pervert radar, activated! WE CAN SEE YOU READING THIS! Naughty Minxes. | |
|---|---|
| Topic Started: Wednesday, 23. October 2013, 22:32 (2,181 Views) | |
| Mac | Saturday, 30. November 2013, 18:36 Post #41 |
![]()
Goddess of Fuck and War
|
"Cept Bacon and Booze" She repeated, because, well, she liked that. Hahaha, no one should ever moderate the bacon and booze. Each movement was a rather throbbing reminder of his heavy presence between her legs just a handful of minutes ago, steps achingly beautifully and slower than she would have regularily sauntered from the shower. She could probably defend her life a little right now, but holy shit she was a hurting mother fucker. Standing upright was hard enough, rather than functioning. Did he fracture her Pelvis? He may have, maybe even her spine when he slammed her down and cracked her skull a good one. Whatever it was, fuck, it was awesome. She was wet, and the cooling water on her skin soothed her mild fever as she stepped across the floor. She didn't feel like slipping and falling, that would be oh so undignified right now. "You got, what exactly?" She watched him beeline for her kitchen, quicker than she was able to be considering she was sure she had half the ammount of blood in her body one was supposed to have. She would soon replace a large part of that with booze, but if he was going to attempt to be heroic and fetch her the bacon part... She'd go and put some proper blood like fluids back in her body. Was he serious though? How old was he....? When was the last time he cooked? She was no chef by any means, all she cooked was meat. When she had a hankering for anything more than that she went out for food. Killing was a full time fucking job, she didn't have a lot of hobbies or interests outside of violence related activities. Cookin? Definately Home Ec, which she had never been keen on. "Are you going to fucking burn my house down? I like this place, it's new and shiny and I aint ever managed anything so big before. There ain't no rats either, so that's a fuckin bonus... " She spoke to him, over her shoulder a little as she made her slow walk to the bedroom area she'd set up, opening the stand up closet to pull out a two large blue beach towels. She threw his down on the edge of the bed incase he wanted it, but she wasn't going to drag her ass all the way across the room and back. She wrapped it around herself, nice and slow so she didn't fall over or anything fucking ridiculos and all that crap. She had guests, she couldn't be lame and faint or nothing pansy ass like that. She dried her hands especially, so that when she made her way over to the large Locker Armory, her hand could better slide up against the Ipad like panel and take a quick scan. The garage style sliding doors clicked as lock mechanisms inside released, and she pushed gentley on them to start the sideways roll up as the door fed back behind the case in a loud series of grindings. Inside was her Armory, her precious pretties all hung up and shiny, with boxes of the ammo for reach loaded across the bottom and stacked. A small fridge in the corner was her goal this time, and she took a red kit from on top of it and opened the fridge with a hiss of the seal breaking. She pulled out three red blood bags, checking the stickers on them for official hospital notes instead of her own nearly unreadable scrawl. "You hungry, or you a vein only kind of guy?" If he hadn't got enough from her, having spent... well, a buttload on healing she was sure, she'd shove a juice box in his face. It was the least she could do. And, weirdly, VERY weirdly, she would probably find him drinking a little juice bag somehow adorable. He had these ridiculos facial expressions... Pairing those with a juice box? Hahahaha, golden opportunity for adorable. Wait, what the fuck. |
![]() "You are so fucking Camarilla. All hope and optimism. Maybe we can mount a rescue mission, and everyone can have a cupcake party, and fly around on Pegasus unicorns pooping rainbows." | |
![]() |
|
| Church | Sunday, 1. December 2013, 03:10 Post #42 |
![]()
Putting the 'fun' in 'dysfunctional'
|
Her concern is noted. And is she has quite the right to be very concerned with the wellbeing of her flat, her possessions, and even her goddamn life. There was a time I could cook, sure. I was a normal human being once upon a time. Though round about the time I was made a ghoul, life on the road with Jack meant dining in a different place every night. So...what, late sixties? Sgt. Pepper Beatles? As long as I don't set myself on fire, I think I might be able to pull through. "S'fine. Calm your fine ass. Think I'ma lil less likely to burn the place down than you right now." I bark without breaking my stride, though the closer I get the more my eyes fill with a helplessness as I try to the remember all the mechanics of this shit. Frying pan. Where the fuck does she keep the frying pan? Bacon...fridge. For sure."Besides, I like this place too. Already got a ton of good memories. What in the fuck?" I yank open the fridge, the fresh sounding pop is greeted with confusion. And hilarity. "You weren't kidding girl." I say to myself more than anything as I grin at the bacon and booze. No choice of taking that shit in moderation by seems of it. Is that what she tastes like? She tastes good for sure. And bacon tastes good. But ok, here we go. I grab a pack...and another. Um...how much does she eat? I'm guess a lot. She's a man-eater 'n all. Or a Churchivore. Also, doesn't bacon like...spit burning fat? My exposed junk is a problem. I don't wanna end up getting randy again...or losing my shit. I turn to face her holding up some packaged juice. Definitely not a bad idea Church, considering how much your ass got whopped. All the superficial shit was washed away in the shower, but I'm probably too dumb to realise the amount of bones that are twisted up and chipped to pieces through all my anatomy. High tolerance to the stuff helps, though not when you're trying to get your rocks off. Though my new buddy plays rougher than all the other freaks. I throw the packs of meat on the counter, approaching her with the normal weary eyes now that the fire and lust has been contained. Bare feet patting along on the gym mats I had so much fun on, noticing she seems to have even got me a towel makes me wonder is she getting all sweet on me? Hell, maybe she's as lonely as I am and appreciates likeminded company. Lord knows I do, and wanna do what I can to, well, not spook her ass. Cause this shit right here is as much therapeutic as it is gorram ecstasy. "Yeah, gimme." I hold out a hand and grasp at the air like a greedy kid. I'm guessing my eyes go a little childish when I peak inside the open locker, admiring all the good looking, cruel implements. "Got alotta purdy things, don'tcha? So you really are a hitman, huh?" Jeez, I'd hate to burn the place down, destroy all the nice things and piss off a professional killer. Though if I kill her doing so, I'll be fine. "Kill anyone I know?" How did she go about this shit? Was it confidential or, y'know, good for the street cred? What kind of people did she kill exactly? Did she hunt fangers for dollar, or is Jack gonna be the first? "Or isir for 'nother strip routine of yours?" |
| |
![]() |
|
| Mac | Monday, 2. December 2013, 00:36 Post #43 |
![]()
Goddess of Fuck and War
|
She grinned as he called her ass a fine one. It was the truth, she had a great fucking booty, but a girl did like to ave compliments lavished upon it after all. No false modesty from this one, no embarassment or blushing of the cheeks, just a sort of cat like grin of basking in the glory of his compliments. She'd take them all. Tons of memories? Hahaha, yeah, tons... but not quite a wide variety. They were all very similair in their pain blurred, sex toned dominance. Good memories to be sure. He was laughing at her fridge, which confused her for a moment before she realized the limited assortment in there must look slightly peculair. Ah yes, everything in moderation except Bacon and Booze. Her fridge was like the ultimate testimony to that statement. "I aint no gourmet chef, I just keep what I know on hand. I feel like a burger or something I go out..." She offered him the squishy red juice pack, giving it a slight toss so he'd have to catch it as he 'Gimmie'd in such a childish manner. It made her grin a little, corners of her lips curling up as Hazel eyes brightened on him. Then she was following his gaze back into her locker, as she moved to carry the rolled up red kit and two other blood bag's she'd procurred to her bed. Ah, yeah. She supposed it was moderately impressive, although it wasn't nearly her stock back in America. Everything in London was... limited in comparison. The strict gun laws made her miss home immensely. When he asked her if she'd killed anyone he knew, she may have gone pale. Possibly the blood loss though right? But he was asking an honest question, and one she didn't have an honest answer to. It made her uncomfortable, because ... Had she killed anyone he knew? Why did it suddenly seem like she'd done something wrong as well? If she had killed someone he knew, wasn't her fault. Ain't like she'd known Church very long, and it wasn't like he introduced her to all his friends and said "Hey don't hurt any of these folks." Still, the possibility that she'd killed someone he may have cared about somehow didn't sit right, and she panicked a moment inside that she even felt that way. Oh fuck that. No. Couldn't be helped even if she had. "Dunno. I get a name and a description, picture's better. Their usual haunts. Even better if it's a time and a place and the hit's arranged proper with less work on my end. It's easier in America than here, there I got a Ventrue dude that I've got a work relationship with. He can only eat Kindred, and he ain't so fond of bonds. Aside from the usual Hunter methods and connections, he connects me with clients and every so often I send him off a batch of blood bags as payment. London I aint got the network I got back home, so really... I just pick off stupid baby shovelheads every once in a while. Originally came over here for a big job, but some mother fucker got there first..." She moved over to her weight bench with the arm load of contents, hanging one of the blood bags up on a small hook hanging off the grip for the bench press bar. She then sat down on the bench, not worrying about sanitizing anything. She was a ghoul, she couldn't really get infected by anything unless it was something really extreme. Such luxurious safety from the typical mortal woes of sickness, cancer, colds and flues. She unrolled the red kit, taking out the small needle like IV that would support the rest of the transfusion process. She also took out a saline bag, adding it to the hook next to the blood so that the bags of fluids cuddled creepily. She pushed the needle into the vein in her arm like it was jewelry, without blinking or pause, the silver glint of it's tip dissappearing into soft supple flesh and life line. She then took out the connecting line, which should simply be a long narrow tube. This one had a modifier on one end though, near the top, about two inches long and battery powered to provide a quicker pump to the usual gravity powered blood transfusion. She'd then went about connecting and starting the Saline, removing clamps, and getting the blood spike ready to swap over. She wasn't a brainiac, and this wasn't surgery. It was simple medical knowledge that kept her the fuck alive, cuz god knows she's found herself fucked in enough situations and bleeding out profusely to the point she should die. After enough hospital trips she started taking a more active role in her medical care... She went over everything twice before connecting it though, muttering under her breath to make sure her brain was properly going through the steps and she wasn't missing something vital due to her light headed state. " Ah damn, I should have gotten a doobie out for this... " |
![]() "You are so fucking Camarilla. All hope and optimism. Maybe we can mount a rescue mission, and everyone can have a cupcake party, and fly around on Pegasus unicorns pooping rainbows." | |
![]() |
|
| Church | Monday, 2. December 2013, 04:14 Post #44 |
![]()
Putting the 'fun' in 'dysfunctional'
|
As fried and frazzled as my body, mind and soul might be right now, it's amazing that I'm able to snatch the tossed juicepack out of the air without giving the thing too much attention. Maybe Church could've made it to the pro's in football with such hand-eye coordination, but then again, Church would've probably offed himself by now instead of living out the latter years of his life. Getting old is a sucky thought, and one I am glad I no longer have to think about. Must suck for her though, and is a damning good reason that she keeps draining sorry shovelheads unfortunate to get in her way. As she tells me all about her 'work', while my magpie eyes get all drawn into the shiny pieces of murder, I glance back at her a few times. Interesting, for sure, but she ain't exactly comfortable with it, I can tell. Something about the nonchalance, the fact that she didn't jazz it up some. Sure she would take every opportunity she could to remind me what a badass she is and how lucky I am to be a fuck buddy. But maybe if all she does is hunt vamps, hell she picks off shovelheads just to eat, maybe that makes me that more wrong. So, best leave that one I think. I keep the bloodbag in my hand, making for the bed while she takes her place on the bench press, hooking up an IV. I put the bag down for a second while I lift the towel and give myself a rough once over drying. I'm not a particularly dirty dude or nothing, but the days of frequent showering are long gone. I seem to have gotten a lot filthier, and bloodier, the past few weeks, but nothing a splash in the sink won't handle. Showers are usually for head-to-toe, stinking like shit incidents, but maybe if showering were as interesting as it has been today, I could spare more time for it. With a rapid and violent shake of the towel on my hair, I wrap it around my waste and lay my eyes back on her. God, I almost feel bad if she hadn't been screaming out for everything I did, reducing her to a god damn hospital patient. Her lips moving silently with focused intent, I should probably keep my mouth shut and not interrupt. Not like Doc Fanger really knows anything 'bout medicine. So I return to the task at hand, with my goods all tucked away and a meal clutched in my fingers, I am determined to make this bitch some Bacon. And the best way to do it is by not thinking about it at all. I open a cupboard, pull out a frying pan, plant the fucker on the hob and crank up the dial. Butter. Bitch got no butter. Huh...how's this gonna work? Shit gets a little sticky, don't it? Or maybe pigs have evolved in the fifty years I haven't been eating them in...maybe they're all glorious and genetically modified to not stick to the pan, saving people tens of dollars a year on butter costs...I hear her mutter about a need for a doobie, don't she know she's preaching to the choir here? Now a joint is certainly something I could knock together with eyes closed. Bacon is mysterious and potentially vomit inducing. 'Spose it paints a very vivid picture of the direct my life took even before truly dying. I peel off some cuts of the meat, spreading them out and laying them down evenly on the pan with a memorable hiss. Then I turn back to her. "I can imagine things bigger in the states." I'm going back to what she said earlier, about the whole hired killer business? "I was practically in the same lin'o'work for a good number of years. Though, wasn't so much being a hired gun so much an employed gun. Most things were for Jack's benefit, no-one else." I take a few steps away from the hob, though I lean back to snatch up my breakfast, unscrewing the cap with a dumbass grin. "All came down to dope in the end, he was determined to control it. Remember him sayin' he was trying to do somethin' with it. What exactly I don'wanna know. Gettin' in people's heads...yeesh." I imagine it's strange, to hear me talk about the man who raised me with such...neutrality. I can't even channel the hatred bubbling down under, because ultimately I am still confused and reluctant to accept what Jack has become. Then again, he screwed up my head so bad, maybe this is the way I wanna think. With...no emotion. Being the dipshit I am, calm and collect surely is better than all angry and...Brujah. Instead I just take a few gulps of 'juice', trying to suppress that squeaky sucking sound but, these things weren't designed to be consumed like this. And while cold and surgical tasting it may be, that little demon in my belly is loving it. "You...like it? You need it, what's the deal?" she seems the kind to get addicted. Booze, bacon, some of that refer madness. I just wonder what it means to her, wonder what else she does. As straight and sober as I may be, she starts pumping shit in her system and there could be...complications. Even so, I hold my hands out wide and look around as if to say 'where's the grass? I'll fetch it for yah, cause I'm your bitch.' And ain't that the truth? |
| |
![]() |
|
| Mac | Monday, 2. December 2013, 16:37 Post #45 |
![]()
Goddess of Fuck and War
|
She adjusted the saline drip, spiking in the blood line and flipping the motor on the line that would give it a somewhat faster push than gravity would do on it's own. She was still muttering, as if she didn't quite trust what she was doing. Then, once she was pretty sure she wasn't going to somehow kill herself instead, she'd recline on the pench press wrapped in her towel, and stare upwards at the towering roof two stories above. She could hear Church in the kitchen, opening the cupboard to find the pan and settle it on the stove. Not hard, she didn't own a lot of other culinary items for him to get confused with. The fact that he was however, in the kitchen cooking her bacon? That confused the hell out of her... Why was he sticking around and cooking? How long had it been since he'd had to grill anything at all? He sure looked confused for a few moments, as her eyes slipped sideways to watch him working from the corners of peepers. It was like she didn't want to look directly at him, maybe the added pressure would cause her kitchen to erupt into bacon greased flames. Marco never cooked anything for her, Marco also never fucked like that... So maybe, she shouldn't be doing a mental comparison of her monster then, to this one now. She needed to relax, to stop being all anxious and confused about letting a Fanger between her legs and into her skin. It had been ducking awesome, she didn't regret it. Jesus, she never had a night that left her glowing in such rough houses bliss. As much as she could tell her brain that, think it over dully and come to the conclusion that if he killed her with bacon, it's be worth it... Her gut instincts were all twisted and muffled, unsure and crazily weary. She'd been fucked so thoroughly (and not in the good kinda way) by Fangers, that feeling all special and happy having one cook her bacon? Fucked with her head, because there was that little voice back there just saying "Shoot the mother fucker and bottle him. Bleed him out and let his body fall to dust, ain't got ok soul. He's an abomination." But then again, so was she right? Thinking hurt. She needed to cease that behavior at once. Best way to let her brain slide while Doc Fanger was cookin her a bacon feast? Sing. Her mama had always taught her that, they'd sing on the floor together giggling their faces off while getting high. She wasn't high, which would surely make her less self conscious, but whatever. She needed to busy herself. Her voice was unrefined but not untalented, in no way could she stop an audience on a street corner but she had excellent rhythm and tone. She sang quietly though, maybe not wanting to distract him? He'd hear no matter what, even if it was just under her breath. Somehow though, it felt less terrifying it she wasn't belting it out. "I bet you didn't know it, but I'm a fiddle player, too. And if you'd care to take a dare I'll make a bet with you. Now you play a pretty good fiddle, boy, but give the Devil his due. I'll bet a fiddle of gold against your soul 'cause I think I'm better than you." Then he was emerging from the kitchen, waist wrapped with a towel and his hair all everywhere from an untidy drying. Boy was so pretty. And he was talkin, oh good. Distractions. "I'm a bit of an addictive person... I either gotta be half baked, or half cut to get my brain and body workin together. If I don't have something going on, I kinda... Get lost inside my head. I'm not a good person sober, and I ain't a particularly good person not sober either. So you can imagine what I Mean by not a good person. Can substitute being hurt for it for a while though, a nice bodily burn instead of intoxicants...being high though, well... I dunno why, but it's always made me more ... Social? Ain't like I ever want to hug n cuddle and shit, but it sure takes off the anxiety and makes me less cunty." She'd raise her hand, opposite the arm with the current drip sending her body some much needed fluids, and indicate the freezer. That's where everyone kept the weed didn't they? She did. She had some stuffed in her guitar case too, but that wasn't much. The freezer housed the real stash of goods. "Freelanced for some drug lords for a while in America, had a pretty sweet gig. Poolside all day long, whacking folk at night. To many humans though... I don't know, maybe I'm trying to keep what fuckin humanity I have left, but I couldn't do it anymore. When I got in one the trafficking people, it.. I dunno... Stupid as fuck, I saw the light? Had to ditch. God the weed ran thick and heavy though... How long did you work for Jack? ... How the fuck did you guys meet? You were kind of light on details earlier..." Distract me with the story Doc, that's what her eyes said. Wasn't particularly comfortable having a cool IV drip pushin fluids into you, and... She wanted to know. Inquiring minds and all that business. Edited by Mac, Tuesday, 3. December 2013, 21:46.
|
![]() "You are so fucking Camarilla. All hope and optimism. Maybe we can mount a rescue mission, and everyone can have a cupcake party, and fly around on Pegasus unicorns pooping rainbows." | |
![]() |
|
| Church | Wednesday, 4. December 2013, 00:17 Post #46 |
![]()
Putting the 'fun' in 'dysfunctional'
|
Well that's...interesting. I shuffle back towards the kitchen, grasping the handle of the pan and shaking the bacon around in its confines, flipping the friend meat over and laying it back down while I open up the freezer. What's interesting is her answer, the fact that she is rather reliant on the poison to lubricate the social etiquette and help her be more of a 'people person.' I can relate, a little bit more than I would care. Though I imagine she's too much of a fanatic to do anything that is detrimental to her health, what with maintaining a killer body (hell this place is testimony to that shit), it ain't like she's secretly a heroin junkie. It's important to think about, really, cause I've made a promise to myself to not go down a bad road of intoxication and repression of memory and senses. But I like feeding from this bitch, and if that means dirtied veins...I dunno. I don't gotta look too far, grabbing a stinky bag out from the cold mist and slamming the door shut behind me. "Papers?" I ask, making my way back over to her as she tells me about America, how that she grew a conscience when shit started hitting a little too close to home? So, she isn't a monster. Or at least a monster with some sort of compass built in. That's why she hunts fangers? Cause she knows they're evil? It's true, but, still a little greyer than the black and white she may be used to. We're all evil, even before the embrace, everyone has the choice to be a monster. And some do. Most do. Some don't, though. I would hope she can see the difference, but what with Aguirre and Sawyer already in her sights as "As-good-as-they-get-guys" then what's the issue? Dead fangers not gonna bother me none. I drop the bag between her legs, chewing over the question she just presented. "It's weird." I'll explain best I can girl, but please bear with me. "He showed up on my door when I was still a kid really. I was living on a farm with my pa and decided to run away with a childhood sweetheart. I get to Atlanta, tryin' to make an honest livin' an' he shows up with my daddy's prosthetic leg and his condolences." I shrug. I hated my daddy...but he never deserved that. I turn away, moving back to the pan. "He took me everywhere, made me his 'thug' an' a damn good one I was. Paid me enough to make sure the wife an' baby boy weren't wantin'." I glance at the silver wedding band as my hand pulls open a few cupboards before getting hold of a plate. Jebus, ain't there some sort of celebration after fifty years marriage? Then again, she sure as fuck wasn't waiting for me. Or at least I hope she didn't... "An' as for our history." I wanna tell it like it is, but something hard fills my throat. It's...difficult, and I don't know why. "The whole time it didn't feel like I was 'working' for him, y'know? At first, maybe, but he really took my under his wing and showed me shit I never thought I'd see on that farm. And fifty years of friendship is a damned long haul. I found out what a piece of shit he was in January. An' planning to kill him ever since." There's something...pathetic in that, and I'm sure it came across in my voice. The inability to act against him, frankly because I don't think I could. Hell, I know I can't. Not alone. And while she is the first in what I hope to be many allies, it still requires a plan. Some means of pinning the fucker down and driving the blade in his heart. I'd love to take him alive but...I'll take what I can get. I almost forgot about the pan in my hand, were it not for the overwhelming plumes of bacon puffing in my face. Even now, that shit smells good. I dump the rashers into the plate, set the pan down and throw some more cuts in for frying. Hope she likes it crispy... "So I guess, if you wanna be technical about it, I never quit and he never fired me." I give a short, bleak laugh at the idea, but nothing more. It doesn't feel too great thinking about it. Man, I preferred it when we were fucking. I take a swig from the bloodbag before setting it down and turning back to her, suddenly finding myself able to keep my mouth shut for a change. Save one, quiet comment as I bring her some glorious bacon. "Man...I miss getting fucked up." |
| |
![]() |
|
| Mac | Wednesday, 4. December 2013, 06:02 Post #47 |
![]()
Goddess of Fuck and War
|
She was curios about his wife and boy, curios about his relationship with the woman... How it had ended, and how his son had turned out? Did he just drop all contact in his death, pretend he actually was dead and never bother them again? Or was he one of those Fangers that let his family live knowing he was alive out there somewhere, and just didnt fucking want them? She wasn't sure either were really okay, they both had a bad stink about them. Then again, what DO you do when you become immortal? ((Immortal save for certain events, like her own interest in most of em fuckers)) She didn't have to think about that much, cuz she didn't have anyone to leave behind. She'd killed it. Whatever legacy she may have had, whatever good shit she'd done, it was all fucked up and ruined by her own stupidity and selfishness. The bag of weed hit her legs, and she sat up to retrieve it. The blood bag was emptying now, nearly done. She'd pop the ziplock seal on the bag Church had given her and fish the papers that were hidden in the thick and beautiful greenery out. She held them up between her fingers, as if saying 'right here mother fucker' with a grin a shitty grin of smart assery on her face. The smell that came with the popping of the bag was fucking awesome, immediately settling in and of itself. Skunky bliss. This shit rocked her world, always had. Six years olds and giggling on the floor with her Ma, baked out of her tree, belting out tunes at the top of their voices. Talking stupid shit, her Ma being so god damned childish still, sharing dreams of the future. Dear Ma, Remember when I said I wanted to be a rock star? Well, that never really happened. I did however, become a trained psychopathic serial killer, pulling ever greater and more ridiculous stunts in hopes of somehow satisfying an ever increasing need to be a mother fucking idiot. She watched him walk away, wishing she had the mental powers to pull the towel from around his waist. She liked to look at him, was it wrong? To simply enjoy the gorgeous lines of his body, thick shoulders, and incredibly fuckable hip line? He was also, still wearing a cuff at wrist and ankle. She'd left the key hanging in the shower, having been somewhat light headed and forgetful when they were done getting dirty. She went to work on rolling one out, a giant fatty creation that required her to sit up good and proper. She didn't pull out the IV, it was almost done. It was on it's way out in just a bit, might as well let it drip the last of whatever it could into her... Afterall, the more that's in, the more his fangs were able to bleed out. She followed him coming back to her with an outstretched plate of Bacon. It was possibly the strangest moment she'd ever known, and she'd had a lot of really fucked up moments. Church. Aching. Weed. Bacon...Blood lust. A crashing of her thoughts as she regarded him, worried her eyes would give away the Hungry neediness that swept her. She wanted him in all sorts of ways, ways that messed her up. 'You make me stupid Doc.' Did he even realize how true that was? Christ. Him and Aguirre, getting into her skin and fucking her up. Throwing a whole lot of shades into her world she didn't know how to cope with. Weed might help her cope. "I love being alive man... Epic Sex, Deep hurting, Bacon, Booze, weed? This is pretty much the high light of being alive. Though, I don't really get fucked up... Got this fucked up constitution, cleans me out so fast it's depressing. Though, I fix another blood bag in the IV... and You're welcome to take a hit once I smoke this beast, whom I shall call Filbert." She'd light the joint she rolled, with a lighter that came from underneath the bench press, attached to it's underside. There were also several small blades, and a two shot very thin flask stuck to the underside. You'd have to be on the ground to see them, or know they were there, hidden the way they were. "So... Fifty years... is a long fucking time man. You never knew he was a prick balls before then?" She wanted more really, because that story was a sad little summary. It had no meat, no grit. She couldn't get a grasp of him and who he'd been, other than this new and not so Sabbat style Church had been a very recent turn. Jesus. He was doing better than her. She'd been out of Sabbat hands for a decade, and she hadn't made many friends and set up viable roots the way he had. This was the longest she'd stayed anywhere, and fucked up enough, it was probably partially him. She should have taken off after the stupid night the Baron had bitten into her ass, but instead... She'd stayed. Not only that, she'd moved into the Anarch hood. Of course, a large part of that was probably that she'd lost her own place in the Camden crash. She'd then started sleeping in random locations for a while, not giving a flying fuck really, waiting to figure out where she was going next. Edited by Mac, Wednesday, 4. December 2013, 06:34.
|
![]() "You are so fucking Camarilla. All hope and optimism. Maybe we can mount a rescue mission, and everyone can have a cupcake party, and fly around on Pegasus unicorns pooping rainbows." | |
![]() |
|
| Church | Thursday, 5. December 2013, 04:50 Post #48 |
![]()
Putting the 'fun' in 'dysfunctional'
|
Jebus, what am I still doing here really? To the melody of hissing fat, I suddenly I feel like I've lingered too long, that I've said his name too many times and I'm gonna bring down hellfire and brimstone on this here sex dungeon. Or maybe I don't wanna get so mopey and crazy over this chick cause you know where that always fuckin' leads. Frustrating and piss-boiling places. Oh and the fact that she rubs in how great being alive is don't help none. She's got this gig right, for sure. Be a Ghoul and get best of both worlds, and go one further and axe the motherfuckers you drain so you don't get all weepy and shit. It's freaking perfect. And further questioning about Jack brings up thoughts of my own enslavement, except almost everything I did for that guy I did willingly, though yeah some shit was unwittingly. And I loved the guy...even if he hadn't Ghouled me, I would've owed him so damn much for giving me some worth. Even if it was full of bad intent. "Boo-hoo constitution. Try immunity. Well...spose I could get fucked up but s'not the same. An' I need a break. But hell, no offense...I miss real sex." I look at the bacon I had to her for a couple seconds. Then up at her purdy face. I don't want sex with bacon. "If I ever become a real boy I want you to fuck me to death, m'kay?" If you believe the Caine bullshit, why can't you believe in some saving grace? If I ever did get a wish, that would be at the top of the damn list for sure. I've never wanted this...but I didn't wanna be an old man neither. I do know I could happily die getting my balls drained by this chick. Experience heaven and then burn for all your sins in hell? Ah why the fuck not? At least that thought coaxes a weak smirk outta me, I always wonder if my eyes glaze over when I'm thinking on this deep shit? I shake it off and shed the towel, making my smirk part to a humorous grin. I'd make a shit stripper. "Oh I knew, course. He weren't exactly saving orphans from burnin' buildings. He was puttin' heads on spikes and making sure everyone was fuckin' scared of him. I knew he was crazy, so the Malkavian thing weren't so much a surprise." I talk as I once again walk away, though this time I cross over the mats and pick up my pants still lying in place from tearing them off the night before. The blood has mostly dried, just a little crusty and sticky but it's all the right kind of wrong. I scoop em up and head back to my chefing duties, though I do wanna take up her offer of a hit of the old reefer. I'm getting all nostalgic anyway, right? Flip that bacon, son. "He sorta looked out for me, but he always had things planned out so I wasn't gonna get wasted on his behalf. Fucker really screwed me over in Vegas, though. Fucking ultimate screw job. I always drove but I was so outta my fuckin' mind he figured he would do it. I dunno if he actually couldn't or not but he managed to crash and leave me in the wreckage with a trunk full of dope. Prison is not fun, I got to spend the last dozen years of my life with nothing but dudes and the occasional 'be a good boy' fuck from my actual, biological sire. He got me out and turned me straight away. An' I told you that first night we met Princess, I never wanted this shit. You got good reason not to." I sigh, poking a rasher before remembering just where these fingers have been. I'm convinced some shit don't wash. The bitterness of my embrace is something I'll always have, but I don't need therapy to understand why I'm angry. It's real fucking simple. I dunno, is that she wanted to hear? Meh. I step back to pull on the pair of trousers, cause of the splattering and such. "I never saw it coming, if that's what you mean. Maybe I even wanted to be a fanger back then, an' aside from that he never threw me to the wolves. An' the same with Vic who he'd had tagging along longer than me." Not a good idea to bring up that name. He was a piece of shit Sabbat but he had better reason than most as to why. Whatever neutral tone I managed to maintain with Jack slips when I bring up my dog faced friend of old, tenses up like my hand on the cracked kitchen counter. "Every day I realise more and more what a shit person he helped me become. And still I think that life would've been so gorram boring without him." That make sense? Oh I don't care. I grab the pan with the intent of bringing her second helpings, and meet Filbert. |
| |
![]() |
|
| Mac | Thursday, 5. December 2013, 19:22 Post #49 |
![]()
Goddess of Fuck and War
|
She could tell she rubbed something the wrong way, which hadn't been the intention what so ever. Why piss off someone you've just had the best night of your life with? She could die, and at least she would be able to say she'd had a night of sex and violence that was so heavenly she didn't mind burning for it. Then he asked her to fuck him to death, and the confused expression on her face slid away into something so much more raw and gleeful. "Done that a few times. I suppose you might survive a bit longer than most...Sure wouldn't mind listening to you buckle and give under me, jesus..." Imagining him as a human was a little much for her, visualizing his face in the midst of an actual Orgasm as she ... Her eyes closed a moment, and then flickered open and closed a few times to clear the heated imagery. As hot as that was, it wouldn't last long. They couldn't fuck the way they did, with such fury and carelessness if he was -alive-. She enjoyed his ride so hard because he could actually take it, and as amazing as the visual of him as a human, hot and slick with sweat was, she liked that he was... A fanger. He was cold where she burned to warm, it cooled her down, made him strong, made him actually able to dish back that torment she needed so much. Made him able to survive her. Fuck him to death was truth, and she kind of hoped for repeated nights like this one. She listened to his story, finishing rolling up Filbert and letting him log roll back and forth between her fingers a moment. She then reached for the plate of Bacon that Church had so graciously prepared and brought to her, feeling like a mother fucking queen of the world, and stuffed a piece in her mouth. The instant burst of Bacony goodness was amazing, and she looked pretty much like she was on the edge of a mouthgasm as she chewed down. "You ain't a shit person Doc, I've met shit. Hell, I am shit sugah. You're at least tryin to be a decent ... " What? Decent human being? He wasn't fucking human. What the hell was she doing trying to comfort a god damned Fanger? Yet she was, and it was like the ultimate mind fuck. " Person. Least you still got a concept of it. Always harder to actually do it, but tryin's worth something." She lifted Filbert to her lips, taking a light hold to lift her lighter and get that joint smokin. She didn't cough, even with the initial hard burn of the first inhail. She was long ago used to this sort of smokin, she hadn't been a cougher since she was a preteen. How sad was that? A life where you smoked so much weed as a kid you were a champ by 13. She filled her lungs, the thick and herby taste filling her mouth beautifully. An exhail through her nose, to try and get the taste to overwhelm all her senses blissfully. Her blood bag was empty, and it was runnin saline now. She simply gave it a tug and pulled the needle free, letting it fall to the ground beside the bench. She'd have a clean up job later, right now she was going to enjoy the wind down of tonight. She was also going to say thank you, before she pissed him off with her next question. She hoped he didn't get all butt hurt over it, but he might... So just to ease whatever anger she might stoke in him, she plotted. She took another deep in hail, filling her chest up with a mighty swell of delicious and hearty smoke as he brought the pan back with more bacon. She'd stand to take the pan from him, and drop it down on the weight bench where she had been sitting. Then she was biting the inside of her lip just a little, enough to let a few drops of the good stuff slip about inside her mouth as she pulled away the joint and leaned up to kiss him, and breath that good old herbal smoke into his mouth as she did. She'd make it a good one, full of a sort of fiery want that she wouldn't get to take advantage of tonight, like a ....please come back and do it again, I'm not done with you. She'd taste like bacon, weed, and blood. That was a thank you kiss right? Course, maybe he'd be grossed out. Hahahaha. She'd find out! " If we actually try and kill this fucker, you actually going to be able to tender your resignation? I don't want to get our asses fucking chopped, and you lose heart at the last second... ." Edited by Mac, Friday, 6. December 2013, 00:02.
|
![]() "You are so fucking Camarilla. All hope and optimism. Maybe we can mount a rescue mission, and everyone can have a cupcake party, and fly around on Pegasus unicorns pooping rainbows." | |
![]() |
|
| Church | Friday, 6. December 2013, 20:01 Post #50 |
![]()
Putting the 'fun' in 'dysfunctional'
|
To hear that lesser men have died between the legs of Princess Macintosh Cocktease is not especially hard to imagine. Even if it's exaggeration, I buy it completely, and feel a little humoured flutter that it's a promise she'll have to keep if the invisible hand of fate throws a paradox into the mix. At least I can fill my empty head full of dirty, smutty thoughts - to succumb to a white wash of bliss and not get back to earth before my heart stopped. And as for her being shit, well, yeah. That's what happens when you're treated like shit your whole life. Maybe she doesn't get that people can appreciate that, and understand that a freak in need is a freak indeed. Or something like that. I sure like her. She's scratched some troublesome itches that have been niggling for, fuck, years. Sure, I've shacked up with Tzimisce's who've laid down a hurt on me like nothing can describe. But Mac is more...organic. More real. I want to be pinned beneath her and a slave to every fucking cruel whim. To be her little bitch. And I'm fine with that. I'm more than fine. If I wasn't such a good sport, I'd have her use me like a punch bag. But something about putting a smile on that bitches face, just makes me feel all godly. Makes me wanna stick around a little longer, even though bacon joy pales in delight to the screams and body spasms. I doubt anyone could fuck her to death. Even if I could I wouldn't wanna. Though, like she said, trying is worth something. My stony expression is probably cracked by trying to put those filthy images to sleep, handing her the pan of bacon instead of blindsiding her with a concussion. As much as I loathe not being able to experience the same kind of sensations, damned if I don't wanna do anything but that shit. Though I'll settle for a little sugar. It's unexpected...savage and sweet all in one. More than just the blood, it's a taste of everything that I will forever associate her with. That fridge/freezer setup will always linger in my memory from hereon. I kiss back, hard and ferocious, wondering if there's smoke coming out my ears, cold tongue sliding in and seeking the source of that damning nectar. We'll do this again honey, that's the safest damn bet you could ever make. I'm not done with your ass either. And as we part, and I find my hands had tucked away behind my back in an effort to not molest her, it's almost as if she was setting me up for a hard question. I freeze in the headlights, eyes locked on those damned handsome features of her, sighing at the difficult thought. "It's not gonna be a problem." I eventually am able to make that promise, sincerely, albeit with a quiet voice and a wisp of smoke being caught in the artificial breath. "He killed Vic. I don't give a shit why. He's gonna pay." I shrug in a matter of fact kind of way. It is that simple, he's probably gonna throw reasons at me, justify it in a twisted way that I might believe, but god I hope I don't. "You're willin' to help me do this. Even if I am payin' ya, don't think I don't appreciate it. I'll have yo' back...unqestionably." Cause if I do try something stupid, she'll be there to stop me right? If Jack talks his shit, she'll sic 'im and get me raring for blood. "I'd love to do it slow I think...take him apart piece by piece. But that ain't exactly smart. So we'll do it fast so I can't have those doubts. And even though I'd like to hurt the guy a bit, it don't matter none. No regrets. Cause when he's dust baby, the heaven I'm gonna put your ass in, s'gonna be unreal." That promise is one much easier to keep, if we aren't already dead. Cause as much fun as strapping a bomb to my chest and blowing him to kingdom-fucking-come sounds, I'd like to celebrate our victory in the only way we know how. I mean, I sure like thinking about it... "I should probably get going." |
| |
![]() |
|
| Mac | Friday, 6. December 2013, 23:24 Post #51 |
![]()
Goddess of Fuck and War
|
She cocked a brow at him when they parted from the kiss, wondering exactly why the boys hands were suddenly behind his back all military style. At least he had a kind of dopey expression for a second, like he was damn proud of himself and felt like the whole evening had been a job well done. Well, good. It was. Fuck, was it ever. So well done it was leaving her with quite the mind fuck as the result, and this mind fuck hadn't even come with a hard case of dominate and a serious knock to the head. Well, alright, one of those two things. The back of her head was still tenderly throbbing, but it was the kind of throb she could ride the waves of, surf the aches and pains that were stiffly making themselves known with her lack of movement. Had to keep warm, keep going, keep them stretched. She needed a Jacuzzi, or a hot tub. Next upgrade to the flat? Very likely. Maybe she needed to go shopping soon. The though made her grin, which doubled up when he declared himself able to do the job. Hey, even better? He didn't turn into a fucking piss head about it either. It was a serious question, because her worthless life was going to be on the line for this hair brained stunt. Well, aint like it wasn't along the same lines that brought her to London anyways. If she was going out, out with a bang man. She stepped away from him, his cool form leaving her warmth feeling somehow to hot. Cool shower after this, sweep away all those...thoughts she was having about him being alive. "Takin them apart slow doesn't make it any better. You may feel a little ripped off after, if you have to get that shit done quick and clean... but in the end, deads dead baby. That's what matters. Rather them be dead quick and clean than if you do it slow and steady and they some how get the fuck away from you in your sadistic joy. Both aint to bad, but you realize... well, nevermind. You'll figure it out. " She sat back down on the bench, looking at the bacon with an expression of somewhat reluctance. Yeah, he should go. Marco was falling into her mind again, heavy and rudely. Dispelling a nice evening with his crushing ghost. Everyone had their monsters to slay, to bad they still came after you. She stuffed some bacon in her mouth, maybe grinding her teeth through it would help chase away shitty thoughts on waves of bacony awesome. "Yeah, you better fuck out for the night before Aguirre comes after my ass thinking I've slayed you. Hey, I kind of got lung throw up on your hoodie. Better leave it, I'll have to do laundry cuz of the bed too... Snag one of my black ones from the closet, and I'll wash the sick off the hoodie when I get around to it, so you don't go home wearing anymore shit than you have too.... I can't believe you put those groadie nasty pants back on... " Edited by Mac, Saturday, 7. December 2013, 05:04.
|
![]() "You are so fucking Camarilla. All hope and optimism. Maybe we can mount a rescue mission, and everyone can have a cupcake party, and fly around on Pegasus unicorns pooping rainbows." | |
![]() |
|
| Church | Saturday, 7. December 2013, 21:13 Post #52 |
![]()
Putting the 'fun' in 'dysfunctional'
|
Dead is dead - I'll trust her with that sentiment. I sure believe it in respect of the dearly departed Gangrel. Dead's dead, and the sooner every fucking Sabbat in this city is buried the better I'll be. Maybe I'll leave when it's all said and done, before I get too attached. Who cares right now man, I'm done thinking on this shit. Right now I'm...happy. Satisfied. Feeling well fed, yet still got that tingling dull ache nuzzled in every muscle. This bag of dead bones has loosened up considerable over the course of twenty four hours, most certainly the best I've felt since going straight. Hell, I can't think of many times that stack up to this which weren't genuinely horrendous experiences. Monroe and the arm incident spring to mind. And to think how everything was so cloudy and muzzled in the midst of the constant cocktails blended into the blood. Nice clear cut pain with perfect clarity. I feel all warm and shiny inside. That sounds familiar... "Ain't you a proper lady?" I smirk, quite certain that I should take her up on that offer. Frankly, I'm surprised the damn thing survived the night till she went and brought up her guts on it. Bitch. But yeah, I think I'll cover up so I don't look like I sold the shirt off my back for a few hours with a dominatrix. The curse concerning my garments is far more disturbing. So yeah, I make a move back towards the bed, resisting the urge to get into it (as it might be the one place I haven't had her...cept the trampoline) and instead sliding the wardrobe open. Try to make sure I don't pick out one of her body harnesses, I don't think it would look as good on me, I take one of the hooded jumpers off a hanger and pull it over my head. It's scary how close to a good fit this is, maybe if I was a little slimmer in the shoulders. Bitch is big, and mean, and so fucking...Did I once call her too good to be true? Damn I was accurate. "Let's just hope the place is still there. I can' help feel Flint is gonna burn that place down someday." Maybe not intentionally, but, that guy is plenty dumb and always coming round to pine over everyone's favourite Brujah. "But I think it's safe to say Aguirre won't come snooping. Mainly cause I didn't tell her. Partly cause you terrify her." I look at her, happily enough, but with a shake of my head that begs the question 'why you so mean?' I move again, jebus I can't fucking stay still, this time to park my ass on the mat and slide on my boots. That's where I seem to have unburdened myself with them. Along with my pants and a few stray teeth. I give the apartment one last look over, with a fondness that goes beyond just banging. It was a pretty sweet setup, if not a little terrifying. Eat, Fuck, Kill, Sleep. Though in what order, I probably don't wanna know. And with that thought, my eyes settle back on her bacon guzzling form, and my amused face once again breaks out in a fully fledged grin. "What can I say? It's been emotional." Only a few violent and passionate emotions, all the right kind for sure. Flesh burning, body breaking emotions that have left me with a feeling akin to liberation. Church can keep sober, cause Mac might be the most invigorating and potent substance to ever grace them veins. I pull the laces tight before tucking them inside, raising up to full height, slightly disappointed that I am actually clothed and leaving. Willpower for the win. "Don't go missin' me too much now, y'hear?" Seems strange to end the evening without a big finish, but whatcha gonna do? Can't exactly give her a dicking goodbye now can I? Hell, kissing on the mouth was almost soppy. I don't think anything needs to be said anyway, other than leave things where they are and pick them up when it's her turn to come a-calling. So that's it, now that I'm adequately clothed, I'm done. Next thing I know I'm yanking the door open, almost surprised by the flight of stairs behind it. There is a gap in my memory, almost a blue of scrapping in the corridor below and somehow ending up on the crash mats. This...makes sense. I'm sort of amused by the thought of seeing that room now, all caked with blood and full of Church shaped holes in the wall. But before I'm gone, I look at her one last time. And blow her a kiss. Ha! I crack myself up. "Byyyye" |
| |
![]() |
|
| 1 user reading this topic (1 Guest and 0 Anonymous) | |
| « Previous Topic · The Borough of Enfield · Next Topic » |











3:19 PM Jul 11