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

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

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


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



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



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


Population: 31

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


THE CAMARILLA

Prince

Nobody

Sheriff
Meredith Furlong
Hounds
Robyne Sheridan
Rosella Marie Allain


Keeper of Elysium
Davvad Bisset

Grand Harpy
Catherine Wilke

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



ANARCHS

Baron

Khoza

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

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Welcome To The Night

You find yourself in London on a dreary, foggy night like any other. But what lurks in the shadows is the stuff of fantasies and nightmares, far from mortal reality.

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You know the way that I hide for you.; [Sawyer]
Topic Started: Thursday, 24. October 2013, 00:12 (2,336 Views)
Aguirre Efrain Maddox
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Mouse
* * * * *
[Continued from: Here ]



The walk out of the Warrens was not at all a pleasant one. There was an uneasy feeling brewing in the pit of Aguirre's stomach, the same one that had initially fallen over her when she was made aware of how severely she had fucked things up. It wouldn't go away, this anxiety, nor would the suspicion that Henderson had left out a few key details when they'd spoken. She was sure that the punishment he had in store for Sawyer had been left out on purpose, that she'd been left in the dark regarding what the Primogen had actually been thinking. Big surprise, that. She had little to no idea what happened when she was sent away from the man's office, but with the silence of her usually animated counterpart weighing so heavily, the Brujah wished that she had been left to wait much longer before the situation really started to dawn on her. Even now, for some unknown reason, she found herself wanting to remain underground... Which only made her feel worse, like she hadn't learned a lesson from it at all.

Aguirre couldn't see well enough through the absolute darkness of the tunnels to judge the expression or posture of the man to her left, but the quiet was plenty telling... He was certainly brooding, and she wanted to know exactly what was on his mind--but now that she was finally alone with him, she couldn't muster the words to ask. She didn't deserve the right to inquire, not after all the trouble she'd caused. she wouldn't have even been holding his hand if it weren't for the fact that she'd be stumbling through the tunnels like before otherwise. Even so, her touch was half hearted, hesitant, like she was preparing to be told to bugger off and find her own way to the surface. Every limp forward on her cracked thigh bone was well deserved, as far as she was concerned. The damn thing wouldn't heal until she found sleep, which was just as well.

"So... What happened in there?"

The sudden break in long standing silence drew Aguirre slowly out of her fog, though the blackness enveloping them still made everything feel like a bad dream she was about to wake up from at any time. He was forcing the attempted normalcy in his tone, which wasn't in the least comforting. She had to wait a moment, clear her throat, before answering in a paltry tone.

"He just asked me questions.. Took down my contact information... He offered me a job. I... Don't get it."

While she assumed she'd lost the privilege of asking questions, Aguirre wanted to turn it around on him. She wanted to know why he'd come back to her looking like he'd seen a ghost. With her head down, voice smaller than before, she asked, "What'd he say to you?"

She felt his hand tense up around hers; he didn't want to tell her. Another long few seconds of silence, and she heard him give a shaky chuckle.

"Now would be a great time for you to tell me you're into BDSM."

"What?"

This seemed so out of place. Everything that happened tonight felt like she was putting together a puzzle, but half the pieces she had belonged to a different box. What was it that she didn't know about? She stopped on the spot, hand gripping his now to keep him from moving ahead until he explained what he meant.

"Sawyer, what are you talking about?"
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Sawyer's face fell, his voice shot through with quiet horror.

"Oh. Oh, god. He didn't tell you."

Of course he didn't tell her. Of course he'd left it up to Sawyer to deliver the bomb shell. The primogen wasn't one to miss an opportunity to twist the knife deeper, was he? He'd thought, perhaps, that as bleak as the future looked, they at least were going into it together, each of them as utterly fucked as the other. Granted, the fact that he'd offered a job to Aguirre while offering Sawyer only humiliation and torture really spoke volumes, but still, some bit of hope was still flickering in him that even as dark as things got, she'd be resolutely beside him. Partners-in-crime, partners-in-pain.

Perhaps it was selfish to hope for that. After all, he was relieved that she was otherwise unharmed. Worse than the prospect of seeing her hurt, though, was the fact that she seemed terrified to even talk to him. Her hand was so cold in his, but he squeezed it tighter.

Please don't let me lose you, too. Not after all this.

The silence between them lingered like a storm cloud on dark horizons, and he found himself reluctant to break it. Would she draw even farther away, he wondered, if he told her the truth, if she knew just how much she'd cost him with one simple, stupid request? In any case, she'd know firsthand soon enough, and it did no good to keep anything from her.

"I'm in a heap of trouble, I 'spose," he said finally, eyes downcast, still grimacing. "Can't stay in the warrens. Can't hunt in Hounslow. Fuck, I can't use my disciplines, can I even hunt at all? And then... tomorrow night, well, every night for a while..."

He shrugged, unable to meet her eyes. Thank god it was so dark down here. Thank god she couldn't see his face. "... well, he just wants you to beat me up a little, y'know? Teach me, or maybe both of us, a lesson. Uhm, that won't be so bad, you've beaten me up before, ha ha..."

There wasn't even a touch of humor in that statement, only a lingering bitterness. God, how was he supposed to tell her what the full extent of his punishment would be when he could barely wrap his head around it? He told himself he was simply lucky to be walking out of the primogen's office with his unlife intact, but the inevitable was coming, no matter how resolutely he tried to ignore it. And she had her part to play, a part he'd have to explain, even when just considering what would happen made his skin crawl and his stomach twist in on itself.

He couldn't stand it. Couldn't stand even thinking about what was coming, as if letting his thoughts linger on it made it that much insidious, worming its way into reality like some virulent plague. One night. That's all he had hoped for. One night that was still somehow goddamn normal. Was even that impossible?

And face in a horrible grimace, he began to laugh harder, a howling miserable laugh that echoed off the warren's walls. He couldn't stop, couldn't think, couldn't feel anything at all, a nervous wreck in a fit of maddening giggles. His hand tightened on hers, claws digging into her skin.

You're all I have left, all I have left, allihaveleft-
Edited by Sawyer, Thursday, 24. October 2013, 02:58.
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Aguirre Efrain Maddox
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* * * * *
"No, he didn't tell me. Not a god damn thing," Aguirre said, his tone seeming to make him sound even less like himself. She wished she could see, could read his features; this was odd, considering how little she generally liked eye contact in tense situations. Right about now, though, anything would be better than than being blind in the face of her (clearly overwrought) companion. Hearing the silence again, it was worse this time, because at least he'd broken it before. Moments like these, it was better not to speak until given a very clear go ahead. Then there was the squeeze of her hand, reminding her that he was still there. She figured if either of them was the flighty one there, it was probably her, but it was still nice to know he wasn't planning to leave her there yet. She wouldn't have blamed him if he did.

When he finally spoke again, it sounded so downtrodden--frustrated, broken, at a loss for what to do. She'd gotten him kicked out and stripped of everything that had kept him alive the last couple decades, and was feeling the effects of it roll off of him in waves of mixed emotion that left him out if sorts and off balance. The last part...

"I... W-what? What d'you mean, beat you up? Jesus, that wasn't fun, I gave you a concussion at the Pitt! You're not serious...?"

It was stupid to ask. This wasn't his kind of humor, not that it would have been funny in any way, shape, or form if it was. This was the reason everything seemed so suspiciously 'okay' in Henderson's office; because hearing it from Sawyer would make it so much fucking worse. Aguirre had left him in absolute ruin by being careless and impatient, and now she'd have to break him physically the way she'd already done emotionally, professionally.. The Brujah was sure that the Primogen could have some valid reasoning behind this, but whatever sense it made completely eluded her. Sawyer's twisted laughter, that of a man who had just had everything important in his unlife taken from him in one fell swoop, was louder in the tunnels than it might have been been on the surface. She might have panicked at the sound if she didn't still feel his hand wrapped tightly around hers, getting tighter... And tighter... Until she felt vitae drip from the punctures he'd made. She had never seen him lose his cool like this. In fact, usually she was the one losing her cool, but right now she was simply somewhat frightened. If he were to frenzy now, in the dark, where she couldn't see and much less defend herself, he'd tear her to pieces. As much as he deserved to freak out, to let rip just how hard a blow this was to him, she didn't want to die in these tunnels. She didn't want him to frenzy down here either, at risk of running into something much worse than stray dogs.

"Sawyer", she nearly whispered, biting her lip as his nails sank farther beneath her skin, into the flesh below it.

"Baby, I'm.. I'm so sorry. I didn't know. But you gotta calm down... We can talk about this. I'll help you out however I can, I promise."

Aguirre's free hand would come to rest on his chest for a second before feeling up until it lingered where his cheek should have been. She didn't like to use disciplines on the people she cared about, but he was so distraught; anyway, if he was gonna kill her for the world of shit she'd singlehandedly dragged them into, she wanted to see it coming. Pulling him back from hysteria wasn't the worst thing she'd done to him, and she could deal with the blood running from the hand in his possession until he chose to let her go... Provided he didn't lose his mind instead.
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Her steady gaze and her hand on his cheek instantly calmed him, rooting him to the spot and reminding him to breathe, so to speak. He leaned into her weakly, suddenly aware of her hot blood spilling through his fingers. He screwed his eyes shut. Goddamn it, Flint, you never manage to do the right thing.

"I'm sorry," he whispered with a wince, a flush of embarrassment creeping over him. "I'm sorry."

Yet again, he'd panicked himself into a blind freak-out, as if that solved anything. He could've sworn that there was a time before his nerves were shot to hell; these days, when things went wrong, it was all he could do to keep from running away. A stake to the heart could do that sort of thing to you. But Aguirre was anchoring him to London, and perhaps facing the things he was afraid of was the best way to move on.

He had no idea whether she could read his expression in the darkness of the tunnel; even with eyes accustomed to the underground, he could barely make out her own features. She looked like she might as well be disarming a time bomb, hoping to god that clipping the red wire wouldn't blow them all to hell. How was he supposed to show her that he was in control of himself?

There was still vitae seeping through his fingers, falling to the ground with a steady, eerie drip. He cupped his hands around her own bleeding one, lifting it to his lips. Tenderly, he kissed the wounds he'd made, licking them closed as if it had been his fangs that pierced her pale flesh rather than his claws. His eyes never left hers; each of them was begging for forgiveness in their own strange way, he realized.

Maybe she was scared, Sawyer mused, scared that he'd snap too far, push her away, shut her out. Scared that he'd hurt her. But he couldn't even bring himself to be angry with her, even as the most alien mingling of feelings flooded him. Dread, guilt, fear, and the strangest sense that none of that particularly mattered so long as she managed to stutter out a kind word or two for him. It was that kindness that would wreck him; his clan learned to live with loneliness, bottled up their emotions in some tight, dark place that they'd lost touch with a very long time ago. For her to reach out, touch him, trust him... that was so valuable that he'd never be able to string words together and explain it.

He'd spent death staring through foggy windows, but she'd invited him in, and in the end, he'd never be able to say no.

Her blood was hot and sweet, lingering on his lips as he lowered her hand and attempted a grim smile. He'd not tasted enough for it to matter, but still enough to make him desperate for more. "I'm bein' so stupid. I keep tellin' myself this ain't so bad; hell, I've been in worse trouble, it's not for too long, and I know I must seem like such a pussy right now... You keep seein' me at my worst, and god, I wish I wasn't so pathetic... but..."

He laughed nervously. "It's going to be okay, won't it? Right?"

There was something very childishly hopeful in his voice. He wanted very badly to believe that things happened for a reason, that every cloud had a silver lining. After this was all over, perhaps, he'd earn a place in London, one he paid for with his blood. If she was still there, if she stayed by his side... well, nothing else really mattered then, did it?

"I'm not mad," he said softly and candidly. "I'm just scared, Aguirre. I haven't been this scared in a long time."

Another bittersweet smile. I'm sorry you have to put up with me. You deserve so much better.

" 'Course," he added with a deep sigh, "It don't matter how I feel. I'll be singin' Henderson's praises soon enough after what he did to us, I'm sure."
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Aguirre Efrain Maddox
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When the laughter subsided, and Aguirre's ears stopped ringing from the noise and the nerves, she breathed a soft sigh of relief. He wasn't alright, not by a long shot... But she couldn't let him lose his composure completely. It would hurt him even more if he felt he was losing his grip for real. She didn't want his apologies... They were misplaced, sounded wrong coming from him when he'd endured so much in one evening.

"Don't be sorry," she murmured, kissing his temple as he leaned into her. He hadn't let her go yet, but as he pulled away again and she felt the gentle kisses laid on her bloodied hand, it occurred to her that she didn't want him to anymore. How awful to think that she'd taken such a sweet person and so thoroughly torn him down. On that same note though, she'd be right there to build him back up, if he didn't suddenly decide she should go find her own way. Judging by his behavior at the moment, this wouldn't be the case any time soon. After all, neither of them trusted anyone else enough to lean on them the way they leaned on each other. Where would Sawyer stay, and at the same time be able to feel some semblance of safety? Who would help him hunt while he wasn't able to use his disciplines? Although maybe things wouldn't be so bad if she wasn't there at all... None of this would have happened, and she had the feeling that 'beating him up a little' was severely underplaying what she would have to do to him.

I don't wanna know. At all. And definitely not right now.

He let her hand fall, but she didn't move back; she stood still, stayed close, and listened to what he had to say. He needed someone to listen to him. Aguirre would do it, even if he happened to talk himself back into a panic. She'd tell him what he needed to hear and make it fucking happen. So when he asked if it was going to be okay, she paused, though only for a second.

"'Course it's gonna be okay," she said with feigned certainty, not that he would immediately notice. Maybe she didn't believe it now, but she would make it okay eventually or try until she couldn't anymore. She hated to see him scared, because up to this point, he was always the brave one. He was so much stronger than her, though maybe she hadn't acknowledged that fact. It just wasn't necessary until now. Boy, was this a reality check. If he didn't stay strong through this, it would absolutely devastate him. At that thought, she pulled him in close. Aguirre had every intention of acting as a crutch until he felt he didn't need her anymore.

'Course, it don't matter how I feel. I'll be singin' Henderson's praises soon enough after what he did to us, I'm sure."

What he did..? Who? Henderson? The Brujah was confused again. Not understanding the way he'd phrased the wayward comment. He made it sound as though the Primogen had already started enacting their punishment--but that wasn't right. Was this the ultimate blonde moment she was having? She must have been incredibly dense for not catching what he meant, but out of the interest of self preservation and the fact that Henderson had already begun leaving out certain details, she felt inclined to want to know exactly what he meant. It sounded like a terrible idea... She didn't want him to melt down, on the off chance that he actually might. She just wanted to make him smile, to take his mind away from this for a little while, let him calm down and think through his options; it obviously just wasn't going to happen.

"What he did?" she asked quietly. "I dunno what you mean..? He ain't done anythin' yet."
Edited by Aguirre Efrain Maddox, Friday, 25. October 2013, 03:01.
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Sawyer
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"Of course he did," Sawyer said quietly. "He bonded us. Or did you think he was just bein' polite with those refreshments?"

Surely she knew. Surely she'd had enough presence of mind to at least guess what those glasses had contained. There was no freedom for the pair of them, no escape without a leash for the primogen to tug on when he needed to. Even if Henderson hadn't enlightened him, Sawyer would've understood the consequences of his actions. He'd proven himself useful enough to keep alive, and defiant enough to be forced into loyalty. Aguirre wouldn't be spared the same treatment, would she?

He shook his head in confusion, voice incredulous. "You're supposed to be the smart one, Aguirre! I'm the one who stumbles into stupid shit, makes careless mistakes, not you! Do you really think there aren't consequences for that sorta thing?"

Fixing her with a harsh look of disappointment, he scowled. "You think we're just gonna be runnin' errands, playin' Nancy Drew? Do you have any idea what loyalty means?"

Frustration was building in him, along with a healthy serving of pure disbelief. How goddamn clueless was she? When she'd asked him to come here, he'd assumed she knew what the consequences could be. He'd warned her of them as soon as she asked, though he'd masked it in a joke. Stupid, stupid Sawyer, jokin' around about stuff that could get him killed. And stupid Aguirre, because none of this would've happened if she wasn't so goddamn curious-

With enough force to shatter the sternum of a kine, he shoved her against the concrete wall, eyes blazing, pleading with her to understand. "Listen, I've got no luck. I never had any. I'll drag you down with me. You think that's a future you want? Well, great, be real fuckin' happy because you're stuck in this world now. You wanted to see what life was like for us? Thought we were interestin', like animals in a fuckin' zoo?

Well, congratulations, because now you're the fuckin' slave of James Henderson! You'll get to know all about the fabulous unlife of Clan Nosferatu, starting with how they punish their own. All the while, we'll be doin' everything he says with smiles on our faces and a spring in our step like nothin's wrong at all! Maybe they'll make a buddy comedy about us or somethin', huh?"


With a humorless bark of laughter, he released her, backing away. God, he'd gone too far, he knew it, but there was no stopping him now. The beast was clawing at his mind, urging him to reach out and tear that pretty face off of her, show her what it was like to really be one of them. He had enough control of himself to feel disgusted with the thought, retreating further back into the darkness. At least he'd made himself let her go. God, Aguirre, just leave. I can't help this. Every word was snarled, quiet and cold and punctuated with as much venom as he could muster.

"You have no fuckin' clue what it means to really be kindred. This ain't a curse for you. You can make believe you're somethin' more than just a monster. Whose blood do you have on your hands, huh? No one's, because you're a goddamn mouse, too good for all of this, blushin' and hidin' and pretendin' you ain't just bloodsucking scum like us. Well, now you're in the gutter, beautiful. Enjoy it. And be glad it's only my blood that'll be stainin' those pretty fingers, at least."
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Bonded... They'd been bonded. Aguirre remembered looking into the glass and considering what might be in it... But why? What sense did it make to bond some laughable excuse for a Brujah found wandering around property that didn't belong to her? And why Sawyer, when it was hardly his fault she'd taken to wandering? Sure, she'd been there before, but Henderson wouldn't have known unless he'd taken an interest in them priorly. Of course, he might not have taken an interest in them at all if she hadn't decided to get herself lost in Hell. Anyway, he was right about everything. Not just the insinuation that she should have known, though it was delivered in a more sarcastic manner. She didn't need to be able to see Sawyer to read the dissatisfied tone his voice carried. She was so stupid. The story Dawid told her in the tunnels of Camden about Caine and his accidental bonding to the Crone had been a vivid memory, a fact that left more embitterment for the catastrophe she'd caused and unknowingly accepted. She had no excuse for such a mistake to occur, other than:

"I just, I didn't... I d-didn't think..."

She echoed the same words he'd told the Primogen, though she hadn't heard them herself. Before she was able to put together some kind of explanation, even stutter out another 'sorry' as if it meant anything, she felt a few distinct splinters where both he and the wall hit her. He was getting angry, the way she thought he would eventually. It wasn't just a loss of control the way she'd expected; it was more cutting, personal, and debasing. She never meant to throw a wrench into the gears, certainly didn't look at his life as though it were freely on display to anyone who happened to walk by the cage--a cage he hadn't been in before, one that he would struggle with until he broke his chains. All the while, she'd been in the corner, trying to hide from prying eyes until she was exposed to exactly what their world was made of.

It was ugly, dangerous, and easy to capsize. They needed a bigger boat, or at least a way off the sinking ship. At the moment, all she foresaw for the future was the listless asphyxiation of their freedom of choice and the relationship they had so recently started to build. When Sawyer let her go, she wilted against the cement, arms wrapping around the slight cave in her chest. She would recover over daylight, but for now, she was afraid to even draw in an unnecessary breath the wrong way. She ducked her head down, castigation making her feel smaller and severely insignificant. It was strange to be reminded of how little the Nosferatu actually knew about her, because the blood on her hands was to blame for the weak, inconsequential person she was bound to be. Her existence in unlife began with innocent blood, innocent flesh rent asunder and left in a macabre demonstration of the horror that lived beneath her skin.

"Whose blood do you have on your hands, huh? No one's, because you're a goddamn mouse--"

Mouse.

Her shrinking form jolted very slightly; why did the people she loved always use that apparent term of endearment to hurt her? Why did it hurt so much in the first place? Maybe it wouldn't have been so bad if it weren't for the tone, the context, for the poison behind every word he spat at her. Maybe if it weren't for the way he insulted her with words he used before to draw her in, shallow and aesthetic as they were, it wouldn't have hit her in such a way that was so physically painful. She wouldn't have felt...

What was it she was feeling? It was new, and awful, and her darker self gnashed its teeth with the anticipation of using it to escape from its confines. Aguirre's eyes locked on the ground she felt beneath her feet, though all they took in was eerie shadow. He had, with so many words, brought about a suddenly familiar intensity she hadn't felt since shortly after the embrace. It told her to rip, eviscerate, provoke cries the likes of which would give a person nightmares. Whispers told her to make her lover scream until he didn't have the parts left to do it anymore, use him to scratch away the desolation that lay under her skin the way addicts often scraped at insects they couldn't see.

It was for this reason that Mouse Maddox became reticent, frozen, still as though she'd never been alive. She reminded herself that the ache she felt was null, that he was still there somewhere in the dark even though he didn't have to be. A jittery breath escaped and turned into a short cough.

Aguirre didn't rightly know what to say to him. She hadn't expected Sawyer to decimate her nerves so thoroughly this way, even though he'd always been good at setting her off and she had earned every word of it.

Are you sure 'bout that, mouse?

You ain't gonna do nothin', Mouse, know why? 'Cause you're a wussy. You always will be, too.

The Brujah was all bark, no bite. In fact, she barely even qualified under the 'bark' category. As her eyes unclouded, this was the realization that came forward; her fire was worth nothing, not even the energy she used to smother it. She straightened up slowly, dark hair covering most of her face to hide the vacant expression that was already being replaced by the feigned acceptance of Sawyer's harsh reality check. It would all sink in eventually.

"Please don't push me away", she requested hollowly. He'd never forgive her, and she would never believe him if he claimed to. She wanted be there regardless, because she owed him and that's what she did; she latched on and hoped for something consistent, something dependable. But this had started out as so much more... Such a shame that it might become an understanding of debts.

Perhaps unlife was meant to be so discouragingly fragmented. The pieces weren't supposed to fit together once they'd been broken apart.
Edited by Aguirre Efrain Maddox, Saturday, 26. October 2013, 10:32.
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"Please don't push me away."

Her voice was barely audible in the gloomy corridor, and she sounded so utterly defeated, as if he'd broken something in her that he hadn't even known was there. Had he gone too far? God, the last things she needed right now was his cruelty. He balled his hands into tight fists, head hung low. What good was he doing by kicking her when she was already down?

And still, she wanted him for some reason he couldn't begin to wrap his head around. She deserved someone so much better, someone who wouldn't ruin her life or drag her down into some personal hell, someone who didn't teeter between mania and anger and despair like a spinning roulette wheel, someone smarter, luckier, whole.

"But why?" he asked, voice finally breaking. "All I do is hurt you. There ain't nothin' about me that's worth stickin' around for. So why, Aguirre?"

As far as Sawyer was concerned, he'd done nothing but complicate her life. Yet when he'd flat-out hurt her, her reaction was to beg him not to push her away? It didn't make any sense at all, and in his miserable confusion, it was all he could do not to break down and beg at her feet for forgiveness.

But worst of all was the hollowness of that tone. In the dark, he didn't have to see her face or her slumped shoulders, didn't have to look at the consequences of thoughtless, angry words. But there was no hiding from that hopeless voice. He'd cut her where she was most vulnerable, mercilessly and brutally, and like a slashed tire, her spirit had seeped out, leaving her drained and empty. He'd never meant to strike back so hard, fueled by a temper he'd forgotten he still had, fueled by a cold, all-consuming fear on her behalf.

"I can't see you messed up like this. Sure as hell can't handle bein' the one who messed you up. All... all I want... is to see you happy, and I just keep ruinin' that."

He wanted so badly to reach out and hug her, to kiss her senseless, to show her he wasn't going anywhere, but he was terrified of the possibility that she'd shy away. There would be nothing worse than meeting those golden eyes and seeing only fear or disgust.

"I'm sorry, Aguirre. Sorry I can't do better by you. Sorry I keep managing to fuck everything up."

There was the slightest tremble in his voice as he tried and failed to keep his raging emotions in check. Sawyer was honestly tempted to just turn on his heel and bang his head into the nearby concrete wall until he blacked out.

"You're... better than me, darlin'. But that makes you vulnerable. I'm scared for you. Because I love you."

There, he'd said it, even if it was too early for that particular admission, even if it made him look utterly childish, even if the circumstance made the words sound cheap and maudlin. It wasn't how he'd wanted to say it. But it hardly mattered what he said at this point. Would she be willing to listen to any of it, let alone believe him? He'd ruined so much in his carelessness, like a little boy knocking over a tower of blocks.

Every word was earnest and honest, whispered with a hitch in his throat and his heart on his sleeve. He crept closer to her as he spoke, as slowly and gingerly as if he were approaching a skittish fawn out in the woods he'd grown up in. Don't scare her away, Flint. You've messed up too much already.

"And, y'know, I say a lot of awful things without thinkin', and I'm generally pretty awful altogether, but this is an awful situation all around and goddamn, we owe it to each other to make it a little less awful. There ain't nothin' we can do to change what happened, and it don't do no good to tear ourselves apart over it."

Sawyer was babbling, and he knew it; all the same, he meant every word. He reached out, tucking her hair behind her ear, tracing the curve of her cheek with his thumb, hoping to God she wouldn't shrink away. His hands were trembling again, he realized. Pull yourself together. Breathe. Jesus Christ, what's gotten into you?

"So, please, darlin'. Forgive me. I'm an asshole. And I need you. We need each other."
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'Hurt' was obviously a matter of perspective. Not that having her chest feel as though it was about to cave in didn't hurt, because it most definitely did, but physical pain was beside the point. Physical pain, while still shooting sharply through her nervous system at the feeling of things popping out of place, was temporary and easy enough to repair. It was his words that really caused a break, along with the constant chatter in her mind that it made absolute sense for him to be so upset, so livid. What didn't make sense was the fact that he seemed to be blaming it all on himself--but it wasn't Sawyer who had decided it was a good idea to go snooping in another clan's domain. In fact, she knew he wouldn't be happy with her, but she set out to do it anyway. To say there was nothing about him worth committing to... Well that was simply untrue.

Most of the time, he joked, laughed, pulled ridiculous heroics like the stunt he pulled with Agustin; in retrospect, and with the events of tonight in mind, she realized that if they'd all been caught by Henderson before now they might have been slain and that would be the end of them. He was sometimes frustrating, if only because he saw her insecurities and tried to mend them with the 'throw her in the water' approach... Most of the time was certainly not right now, not when he was legitimately frightened and reeling from the harsh punishment he would have to endure and watch her deliver. It left such a terrible aftertaste in her mouth to think of how dark the future looked for them, and so in that aspect of his tangent, maybe he was right that she didn't want it. In fact, he was absolutely right. It was just that the break in his voice, the scared boy behind the calm and collected facade, on top of everything she had cost him... How could he ask why she didn't want to be blocked out? Not only did she owe him more than to walk away, but she cared so much more deeply for the Nosferatu than to leave him hanging high and dry. The bond was one thing--at least it didn't do any immediate damage, not to their person, anyway. Aguirre did want to make sure he'd be alright through this trial period, however. She would never have walked away and left her counterpart to fend for himself. She wouldn't say all this, though, instead allowing the disembodied voice in the darkness to continue with what it had to say; she wished they were on the surface so she could at least see him.

The Brujah listened to her disheartened guide ramble his apologies, intonation slightly weaker than before. Better... What was better in this world? Aguirre knew very well that she was an easy target, which was why her nature for most of the last thirty years had been to keep quiet and out of the way. Was this perhaps a sign that she should have remained alone in that studio flat until the building finally collapsed in on her? Even now, ever leaving home seemed like the most regrettable decision she'd made in years. But then, she might not have heard him say it. she might not have met him at all if not for the curious impulse that urged her to follow him. It would have been a real shame if they'd never gotten a chance to be fuckups together, hah. She was surprised for such an admission to come out now, of all occasions. Why was he so worried about her when it was his ass she'd put on the line?

Aguirre still didn't believe that he could ever really forgive her for this shit storm--but he loved her. It wouldn't destroy them. If he still loved her after all this, nothing could. It at least meant that they could take this whole thing in stride and keep one another going. She heard his foot steps, felt him brush away her hair just like the first time they'd kissed, which admittedly wasn't long ago.. It sure seemed like forever ago after the night they'd had, though. The difference was that this time, his hands shook, and he was trying so hard to find some calm before the storm. He was pissed, but he still needed her.

Aguirre leaned into his touch, kissing his palm, brows knit as she contemplated what they would do now. They needed a game plan... They needed to get out of the tunnels and discuss it, but not until they'd addressed everything--put his apologies aside. He didn't owe any.

"You know why I stick around?" she asked timidly, trying to find her voice again.

"It's 'cause I love you, too; and 'cause who else would watch your back? Though I ain't the best person for the job, mind you.." Aguirre trailed off; she could be better. She would be better for him. This situation put them in a predicament where they had to act more competently than they had in the past, lest one or both of them end up dead.

Her hands found the front of his jacket and pulled him close, drifting slightly from against the concrete wall to wrap her arms around his neck and very delicately pressed her lips to his own decayed ones. She wanted Sawyer to know he shouldn't be sorry, that none of this was his doing; per the usual, she communicated through actions rather than the words she always seemed to complicate beyond recognition. The Brujah wouldn't let him go, keeping him wrapped snugly in her embrace. Finally after the long moment spent trying to forget the position they were in while simultaneously trying to communicate that everything would be okay, that he wasn't on his own, she stopped to lay one more kiss on his throat. She murmured softly against his skin, "We're in this together. We're gonna make it through--even if it is awful."
Edited by Aguirre Efrain Maddox, Monday, 28. October 2013, 21:36.
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He wrapped his arms around her, at a loss for what, exactly, to say. She didn't hate him. She wasn't angry. All was right with the world. Why, then, did he feel so reluctant to let her go?

She loved him. What a weird phrase, too damn sweet for their current surroundings. Neither one of them was even close to being a kid anymore, but the butterflies in his stomach begged to differ. It had been so long since someone cared about him, genuinely and of their own free will. Let alone someone so kind, so understanding, so indescribably good in the face of all the shit life threw at their kind.

"Okay," he said simply, keeping her close. Probably not his most eloquent response, but it had been a very long night.

No, Sawyer had no idea what he was doing. But more and more, that seemed... okay.

Where to go next, though, was something he hadn't quite figured out. He'd essentially been turned out onto the street; it wasn't the first time he'd had to fend for himself, by any means, but the protection of clan and kin had been something he'd taken for granted for a very long time. Without them, there was nowhere he could hide, exactly, unless he became much more fond of skulking in sewers. Indeed, it was a very strange feeling to be utterly alone.

Not alone, he reminded himself as the girl in his arms nuzzled him like a kitten, tucking her head beneath his chin. Whatever happened, she seemed willing to see him through it; he only hoped he could be as reliable for her. Sawyer had an awfully bad habit of managing to let down the people he cared about the most. But never her. I can't let her down.

Finally, he drew back, leaving a final timid kiss on the top of her head.

"We should get out of here," he said quietly. Sawyer didn't like knowing that at any time, they could have myriad pairs of unfriendly eyes on them, undetectable and lurking in the shadows. That was always the danger of the warrens- never knowing what was waiting on you in the dark.

He shrugged slightly. "I'll find somewhere to go. I mean, I just drifted before I started hangin' out in the warrens, I can do that again. Ain't no big thing."
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Things felt somewhat better now that they had a low level of calm about them... Even with the fact that she couldn't see, and how nervous that made her alone, she felt undeniably better with his arms around her and the venomous inclination absent from his tone. Aguirre would make up for causing him such an upset and putting him in harm's way.. Somehow. It was already miserable to think of how unhappy he would be for the next chunk of immediately foreseeable time; if she'd really have to rough him up, which she already knew was an ugly understatement, she'd also have to be there to help him home, but just being there to carry him wasn't going to suffice.

He drew away and it left her feeling slightly off balance, but after tonight, it was a certainty that they would both be off kilter for a while. It was so difficult to find any silver lining yet, aside from the one blatantly positive note, which was the fact that at least Sawyer didn't loathe her. He was right--it was time to get out of the Warrens. They needed to take the metro home and talk this out. Her hand curled up around his bicep as he led the way, and she stuck close; she was a little surprised that he thought he'd have to actively search out a place to stay. There was plenty of room at the apartment, but maybe he was just playing safe with his assumptions.

"You ain't gotta drift any place, y'know. You got friends, namely me and Church; I'm sure he wouldn't mind havin' you stay for a little while, or at least until you find somewhere you'd rather go. At least stay for tonight...?"

But of course, she would have to actually talk to her roomie about it, and she most definitely wouldn't force Sawyer to stay with her. Damon had offered to let the Nosferatu stay in the fridge before--but there was always a little truth behind the jokes, right?

When they finally reemerged on the streets of Hounslow, they were caught under heavy downpour. Aguirre started to feel a little like they were being followed by a black cloud, the worst kind of hanger-on, but at least the rain did wash away some of the blood, muck, and sewer stink. The Brujah probably looked like hell in her current condition, but it was easy enough to hide behind Sawyer at the metro and find the seat farthest from the doors of the train. The ride home was quiet, a nervous stillness between the two of them as they each contemplated how to get through the next few months. Time had passed very quickly in the tunnels and it was late enough now that street walkers had cleared out and gone home, especially in Aguirre's low class neighborhood. Their footfalls echoed through the humid nighttime air.

Luckily Damon wasn't home yet to see the sorry state she was in, but he would be soon, she was sure--which had her hurrying a little more to unlock the door and get inside. She wanted out of the neighbor's sight, out of her tattered clothing, and clean of filth so there would be fewer questions. After having Sawyer enter behind her, she closed and bolted the door, visibly relieved to be back in her own space.

Since the last time he'd been to the apartment, a row of shelves was built, sanded, and stained with a dark color, filled with an array of alphabetized books that hadn't seen the light of day in years. It was clean, save for her leather jacket sprawled over one side of the couch, and now plastered with both her own posters and a few she had found specifically for Church.

"Home sweet home", she muttered, carefully peeling off her destroyed boots.
Edited by Aguirre Efrain Maddox, Wednesday, 30. October 2013, 21:55.
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Sawyer trailed her silently, taking his own boots off and setting them neatly beside hers. His still-masked smile was a little strained as he looked around the apartment. "Actually looks like home now, huh?"

Indeed, it'd been given a certain human touch, with walls covered in tattered, faded posters that he recognized as the same ones that had plastered her cramped old apartment. Shelves held the countless books that he'd helped lug over here, and those shelves looked very familiar, he noted with a proud grin. The Nosferatu padded over to the bookshelf in a pair of pale pink socks that appeared to be hand-knitted.

"You put these together?" He said, running a hand over the wood, admiring the smooth, dark finish. It really was good work, especially considering that the bookshelves had started out life as sad lil' pallets, now ascended to a higher purpose via the helping hand of Aguirre Maddox. God, she was so nifty. "They're pretty damn awesome. Real professional. Worth gettin' jumped by a hellbeast for?"

Sawyer took a seat on the couch, leaning back and closing his eyes, utterly exhausted. He could've fused with the sofa right then and there, disappeared into the cushions like it was a devouring blob. Furniture didn't have to face consequences. Being furniture would be so much better than being a vampire.

He snorted a little at his own delirious silliness, fully aware he was probably already losing it.

Part of him wondered vaguely where the hell Church was, and how long it would take before the older Brujah turned him back out onto the street. Part of him couldn't care less. Finally opening his eyes, he glanced up at Aguirre, still struggling with her boots in the doorway. They'd been utterly ruined by muck and chaos, but hell, they looked pretty punk rock at the current moment. Maybe she'd keep 'em around as a trophy. Or a painful reminder. Whatever.

"Look, darlin'," he said in a profoundly tired tone, "Please don't see me as a charity case, I can't take that. One night. That's all."

There was little that bothered Sawyer more than the idea of leeching off of other folks' well-intentioned kindness. His dad had raised him that way; when you were at the end of your rope, you pulled yourself up, damn it. He'd be damned if he took advantage of Aguirre- or of Church, as the case may be, considering this was his apartment after all. As far as Sawyer was concerned, neither Brujah owed him anything, and he wasn't going to be a burden on two people he liked and respected.

While getting that clarified was his more immediate concern, something had been nagging at his mind since leaving the warrens. All through that awkward subway ride home, he'd fielded the idea, turning it over, picking it apart. With each unsaid word between the pair, the idea grew, like some awful, unstoppable snowball tumbling down a hill of 'no options left'. And now, alone for the moment, he knew he had to tell her, ask her, beg her- however truly awful an idea it might be.

"Darlin'?" He asked, his voice sounding very small. "Can I ask you somethin'?"
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The shelves... Yeah, they'd turned out pretty well, and Aguirre loved being able to see her books out on display. There were at least a dozen titles she'd pulled out of boxes and wanted to read again, but she doubted there would be time for that now. She'd come back to them some day soon, relax.. Curl up with Sawyer, a blanket, and some radio station thrown together by Pandora. That sounded like a good night. Much better than this trainwreck.

"My father used to be real handy with shit like that. He taught me how to build shelves, fix cars, all sortsa good stuff. Just ain't had a chance to use any of that old knowledge in a long time. I guess they were worth gettin' jumped, and if they weren't, the power sander sure was. 'Sides, Mac ain't as much of a hellbeast as she looks like.."

Struggling with the last boot, she finally managed to pull the damn thing off her foot. It dropped to the floor, revealing the second of two soiled, mismatched socks. A second glance in Sawyer's direction would have her staring at those nice knitted ones he wore--and man, she would have killed for a pair of those. They reminded her of the ones her mother used to make for she and her brothers. Straightening up, she stretched with her arms clasped high above her head, then let them drop somewhat defeatedly as Sawyer spoke in with the tone of an old man who was tired of all the bullshit.

"I ain't lookin' at you like a charity case. I'm lookin' at you like someone I got kicked out of his home. I just wanna know you got a place to go when the sun comes up, is all."

Aguirre wouldn't argue, of course--whatever he wanted to do, she wouldn't stop him, so long as he didn't get himself killed. Jesus, she was already stressing out about how he'd manage. She knew he would, but she wanted to make things easier for him until he could go back home. She owed him that much, at least, but she knew he'd absolutely refuse her help if she worded it that way. She hated to pussyfoot around the point like this, but sometimes it was the only way to sway things in her favor. Anyway, they could talk about all that later. Right now, they needed to relax, clear their minds. Come up with a game plan. The Brujah hated to be without a plan in the face of conflict... But Sawyer knew that already.

"Darlin'? Can I ask you somethin'?"

Copper eyes found him despite the distractions her racing thoughts caused. She still wasn't ready to sit down, because she was afraid if she did, she wouldn't have to will power to make herself get back up again. Considering she'd at least sink in next to someone she was quite fond of. This was an appealing thought all on it's own, but she was also afraid to make a mess of Damon's couch. She tried to pull fingers through her matted hair, to no avail. The knots just wouldn't give, and it only served to wind her up even more tightly.

"What's up?"
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Moment of truth. Don't fuck this up, Flint.

"It ain't really a question... I guess. More a request."

He'd been thinking of how to string his words together for the last thirty minutes, but all of that preparation seemed to vanish when confronted with the reality of actually explaining himself. God, he'd always been so awkward with words, getting by on a cute smile and his good nature, and right now, neither of those was at his disposal at all.

"I... I can't stand the idea of carin' about someone more than I care about you, Aguirre," he said, a desperate edge in his voice. "Can't stand knowin' he could use me against you if he ever felt like it. Blood ain't somethin' you can fight- not like that. And... darlin', I trust you more than I trust myself."

He kept his gaze purposefully on his feet, not sure he'd be able to say any of this if he had to look her in the eyes. "So, um. I... I want you to bond me. Um, all the way. I know it probably won't do no good- I'll still be his, can't change that, but I'll be yours too, more yours, and that's all I need, okay?"

Sawyer wondered if she knew exactly what he was offering her. His loyalty, his thoughts, his future. His love, though? Not quite. He hated the idea of the bond, hated that organic feelings, freely given, would be slowly replaced by ones he couldn't control, couldn't understand, couldn't escape. Oh, he loved her, and he wouldn't consider doing this if he didn't. But if he was truly circumspect about their relationship, he barely knew her. And a blood bond robbed him of the chance to discover every beautiful thing about her and wonder at it, to love her without strings attached. If he did this, if she allowed it- every thought of her would be tinged with obsession. He'd doubt every feeling he had, wondering how much of it was his own free will, trying desperately to untangle the knotted strands of emotion and compulsion. It would change things, perhaps not drastically. But it would change them enough to disturb the hell out of him.

You wouldn't do this if you didn't already love her, he reminded himself again. She's worth it.

But what if she said no? What then? Was he willing to risk divided loyalties? God, not even that. What he feared more than anything else wasn't being forced to act against her. It wasn't even losing her. It was slowly but surely discovering how to hate her. It was waking up in the each night, wondering a little more why he bothered to delude himself into thinking things could possibly work between them. It was losing control, becoming the monster that always lurked so shallowly under his skin. It was wanting to hurt her, to destroy her, to unleash his snarling Beast on her and rip her to shreds, to tear at her cheeks, cut them to the bone, snap that willowy neck. It was the darkest of his thoughts, the ones he couldn't admit, couldn't process.

It would be so easy to tear the two of them apart, he reflected, trembling a little at the thought. That was what Sawyer Flint was afraid of. And that was what he was determined to stop.

She couldn't know any of that. Couldn't know how weak he really was. It wouldn't matter anyhow, if she just let him bind himself to her and forget. She could take that burden away. Take away the chance for him to prove himself as weak. Let him exist only to make her happy. He could do that. He wanted that.

Finally, Sawyer gave a timid, hiccuping laugh, trying and failing to sound a hell of a lot more confident then he felt.

"And, y'know, think of it this way, princess. At least I won't be runnin' off with someone else or nothin' any time soon. Ha, ha."
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The request kept Aguirre rooted to the spot, and as the breath left her lungs, she didn't bother to refill them again--instead, she spent that energy trying to wrap her head around what was being said. It made what little color might have been in her face drain away, though Sawyer wouldn't have noticed unless he actually brought himself to look up at some point. It wasn't that she didn't understand what he was saying, although it had at first fallen on her ears like white noise. It was more that she didn't understand why he was saying it, or why he would have ever asked her in the first place. It was very difficult to think about telling him 'no', and while that had become the norm more and more, now especially felt... Well, like resistance would only bring the serrated edge of this wholly horrendous night down to sever the wavering connection between she and her sanity.

How could he still trust her? How was that even possible with what a blunder a simple visit had become? It was almost like he had no sense of self preservation at all. While it was true that Henderson would be more than able to use Sawyer as punishment or weaponry should he choose, couldn't that scenario also be applied the other way around? What would Sawyer do if Swanky James turned her on him and he couldn't fight back because he was blinded by blood? He would submit to whatever she did. Whatever she was told to do. While it wouldn't be by choice, she would end up carrying out orders from that horrible, cryptic man. Why would her counterpart ever put himself in that kind of position?

Why would he want to be bound to someone with such weak will?

"And, y'know, think of it this way, princess. At least I won't be runnin' off with someone else or nothin' anytime soon. Ha, ha."

"But who am I to take the choice from you?" she asked disconsolately, eyes wide, worried, fixed on him. Her whole demeanor was more reclusive now, overwraught with fear for such a reckless suggestion. She had no idea how to handle this situation, other than to slide down the closest wall with her head in her hands. She always felt more secure with a hard surface to her back. Aguirre wanted to tear her hair out, destroy everything in the room, throw her lover out and tell him to run for his fucking life. The same thought that had been running through her mind all night came back for an encore.

I've ruined him. Destroyed his life, ground it to a fine paste, sold him out to his boss. Taken his home away. And he wants me to go ahead and do it some more, crush what little is left under my boot.

Her legs drew tightly to her chest with her forehead pressed against her knees, hiding, for all intents and purposes. The Brujah felt so dismal--such a sense of remorse, putting herself on the lowest level of unliving creatures. The sky was falling. She mourned his freedom, because no matter what they did short of packing up and hitting the road, it would inevitably be taken away from him anyway. He didn't deserve this, he deserved only good things, but those were in short supply of late.

"I don't want you to be mine. Not like that..." the words were whispered into her lap, eyes screwed tightly shut.

"I just want you to be with me, that's all. Not that you oughtta be. I'm just bad for your health, so far. How the fuck can you trust me with somethin' so important as your independence? I... I can't.. You should just run. You should run so you don't have to deal with this fuckin' nonsense. Find a safe hole and live in it."

Her body quivered lightly. It was all she could do not to get up and take the wall down with her bare hands, especially since she hated what was leaking out of her mouth so brainlessly. Aguirre didn't want him to go anywhere, but she wasn't going to encourage him to stay here and have not just Henderson's, but her own influence swaying every conscious decision he made. She didn't have the same level of faith in herself as he seemed to. She had so much rage for her new boss, too, because just who the fuck was she to have awarded Sawyer such a whirlwind of shit? The punishment didn't fit the crime. She cared way too much for the person occupying her couch to ever sell out he or his clan. Wasn't like she really knew any of their 'secrets'. She'd been chewing on her lip in tense silence for a moment, accidentally drawing blood as she tried to think of some other way out. Figured that after thirty years of living so privately, she'd have just enough time to establish who her loved ones were, then pull them neck deep into flood water. Within a god damn year of being out again. Sawyer was right-- he was unlucky. Unlucky ever to have struck her curiosity.

That thought aside, she lifted her head slowly to lean it back and look at the ceiling. So what could they do? He wouldn't leave. He wasn't exactly stubborn, but he would be about getting out of dodge. She wasn't going anywhere, she didn't know the first thing about travelling, and she'd just get him killed quicker. All Aguirre wanted was to be on a level playing field with him. She was bound to the Primogen too, by Sawyer's logic, and for once his logic was fairly sound.

"Why don't we.. I dunno, compromise?" she started hesitantly, though rolled her shoulders to loosen up and eased into her solution.

"I need things to be square between us. You know we ain't exactly the types to ever get used to somethin' that seems so... One sided. Even if it ain't. And I don't want you givin' me the opportunity to fuck this up anymore than I did already. If I was gonna bind you.. I'd expect you to hold me to the same standard. Then at least it's a leash we both chose to wear."

Her gaze drifted to meet his, if he'd yet to raise his focus from the floor. She was absolutely humorless, since she pretty much assumed he would refuse. Maybe he'd see her point, and she wouldn't have to bicker with him. She couldn't think of another way to to keep them close, to keep things relatively normal.
Edited by Aguirre Efrain Maddox, Saturday, 2. November 2013, 08:17.
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Three timid steps across the hardwood floor would be all it took to bridge the distance between them. Three steps, and he could offer her a hand, pick her up, put her back on her feet. He knew that somewhere in him, he could summon up the right words to cheer her up and let her know he wasn't going anywhere. He was pretty goddamn far from eloquent, but at least he could do cute. Maybe that was all she needed- a smile, a pat on the back, a kick in the ass and a kiss on the cheek. Maybe all she needed was for him to point out a few silver linings. But something kept him rooted to the couch.

He needed to say no. He needed to turn her down, back away, walk out of this fucking apartment, hop into a container ship and get the fuck out of dodge. Maybe go see Australia. He'd always wanted to meet a kangaroo.

He needed to leave, before he willfully ruined her life even more. He'd already managed to upset her by even mentioning any of this. God, what was a bond to his ass worth anyhow? A whole lot of tears and wasted energy, he reckoned. As he'd told his primogen- he was an idiot, had always been an idiot, would probably be an idiot forever. He'd drag her nowhere but down, recklessly and dangerously.

What the hell was she thinking? She was serious about this? 'A leash they chose to wear'? Bonding herself to him was more like a noose. Useless, he was completely fuckin' useless, and he'd already proven that in spades. And hell, they barely knew each other, two stupid assholes too old to call kids, two lonely souls who should know better than this, goddamn it. Sawyer couldn't reign his thoughts in, couldn't help but feel like an ostrich ready to bury his head in the sand. Please, someone else deal with this. Fix it. I'm out.

Instead, he stood up, he took three steps, he sat down in front of her. Cross-legged and awkward, he took her hands in his own, threading his fingers through hers, a perfect circle. She was hiding behind that curtain of hair, yet again, a tangled rain-soaked mess, but he figured she was hiding for a reason. He could understand that. He'd let her. Still, his smile was genuine as he looked her in the eyes, tinged with just the slightest, weary bitterness.

He wanted to apologize with a thousand useless words, to warn her to stay away, but hell, all of that was pointless. She knew where he stood; if he had to guess, he reckoned her internal monologue was every ounce as self-loathing as his own. His words were worth nothing.

Instead, he whispered, "Okay. Tell me what to do."

Please let me be making the right decision. I trust her; oh, I shouldn't, but I want to, I do.
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Aguirre Efrain Maddox
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"Okay. Tell me what to do."

A few things were obvious as she let her gaze finally settle on his again, her own seeming heavy. The first was that he was trying so hard to keep his cool, keep from drowning under the evening's fuck ups... He had been the whole time, and the fact that the most she got was being shoved into a cement wall was incredible. The fact that he was sitting before her now instead of taking to his feet was also more than a little encouraging. She had expected him to give a prompt refusal and 'nope' his way on out of the apartment; Alas, no. He was completely serious about this. He was willing to go through with it, but was it more because he loved her, or because he refused to become a slave to Henderson? He knew Aguirre would never manipulate that bond to deny him freedom. Perhaps that was why. Or maybe it was an absolutely frightening mix of everything in one burnt pot.

She adjusted so that she was on her knees, edging into his direction, the black t-shirt she wore now stretched, torn, loosely hanging on the edge of her left shoulder. It wasn't on purpose, simply a result of soaking up so much rain on the way home, along with the fact that she was too small for the shirt anyway. She regarded him with knit brows, waiting for him to change his mind, but he wasn't going to. Maybe they didn't know each other as well as they should, but they were sure to have all the time in the world to get to know one another better. Maybe it would prevent him from being able to loathe her in the long run. They wouldn't be able to escape one another, even if they wanted to, after this.

"Just hold still, baby", she murmured, with the intention of going first; she wasn't about to let him back out of their deal, bond himself to her and disappear or some crafty bullshit like that. If he was submitting himself to her, there would be equal payment on her behalf, whether he agreed or not. It was for this reason that Aguirre put two firm, yet still ginger hands on him--one at his cheek, the over gripping the collar of his jacket, and leaned forward to bite into the leathery, withered flesh of his neck, just below the swallow tattoo. She was already almost occupying his lap, but as his vitae flooded around her canines, down her parched throat, she was drawn significantly closer. At first he tasted sour, the way she imagined dead blood would taste, but became... Sweet... More like sour candy, and then eventually like honey, before she forced herself to retract her fangs and run her tongue over the punctures she had made. She still hadn't let him go, though, hadn't backed off hardly at all. The after effect--or perhaps just her own addictive personality, combined with how much she loved him and how incredibly important this moment was, whether things turned out better or worse--made her want to stay near.
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Sawyer
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Light-headed and dazed, he smiled at her, not quite trusting his ability to string together words. But why should he worry about that now? All he needed was her skin against his, her gentle touch, the curve of her waist as he wrapped an arm around it, drawing her in.

"I love you," he mumbled softly, a certain shyness evident in his voice. It seemed important to note that, somehow. That at this particular moment he felt something very real, very much his own. His entire world had suddenly been reduced to the golden eyes of Aguirre Maddox, but not by the power of blood. Not yet. Shouldn't she know that? This was all a choice, dancing on the edge of something so vast that it scared him to his core. But how could he be afraid of anything with her so close to him?

He tucked her hair to one side, one hand absently brushing through the tangles as he laid a gentle kiss on her bare shoulder. Tracing the line of her clavicle, his mouth wandered up, brushing lips against the sharp angles of her neck, softening them until she seemed to melt against him, shivering.

Her throat was so very white, thin and fragile as a doll's, cold as he pressed his lips to it. A single fang grazed her skin, leaving behind the faintest line of bright blood, blossoming in tiny beads, stark red against her pale flesh. His smile was hidden as he kissed the drops away, but perhaps she could feel the ghost of it as he leaned in further and pierced her, biting down fiercely, marking her as his and his alone.

Aguirre was curled like a swan against him, still and heavy as she rested against his shoulder, eyelids shut and lashes fluttering. Her blood was bliss, sweet and hot as it flooded his mouth, leaving his mind blank and fuzzy, warm and pleasantly stupid, drunk with a feeling he couldn't begin to describe. When he drew away, a bashful smirk crossing his face, she pressed her lips against his, hungry and insistent, and he could only smile as he tasted his own blood in every inch of her kiss. God, let him be this close to her forever. Let him drown in this moment, her hands curled into fists as she gripped his collar, pulling him closer, firmly in control.

"Still love you," he managed to murmur between kisses, a heady laugh bubbling up as he nuzzled her. "Just the same."
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Aguirre Efrain Maddox
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Three words. Three little words, and her dead heart still fluttered when she heard them, even though she'd heard him say it... What, three times now? But who was counting? Her stomach would never fail to produce butterflies when Sawyer told her he loved her. For a few moments, the rest of the evening vanished like a bad dream the night before that still haunted her for reasons she couldn't remember or completely understand. All she could focus on at the moment right was her befuddled lover. She had loved him before, but it was an unfortunate fact that she didn't always perceive quite so explicitly as she was now, despite the near depletion of life in running through her. She was usually functioning on fumes anyway, with the gas light beaming vexatiously in her eyes, so it was lucky that she'd chosen to replenish before ever entering the warrens earlier. Either way... Currently, it didn't seem like anything could bother her. That was more than likely blatant denial, but hey, one could hope.

The Brujah didn't pause when he spoke, just slowed her attack and kissed along his jaw instead so he words could escape without hindrance. She nipped at his ear in a playful fashion, though drew back slowly from that to gaze into two contentedly bleary blue eyes; she smiled for the first time since her arrival at his door underground. At least she had a reason to now. Sawyer was right here, looking like a lost puppy who didn't wanna go home. Aguirre studied the features of his mask, the freckles, thought about the winning grimace of the Handsomest Nosferatu award below it, which made her grin grow slightly wider. She was pretty damn satisfied with herself--after all, it was awful challenging to somehow find one's way under the skin of a man with two different layers to surpass.

She glanced down to where his arms held that wiry waist of hers; they could have wrapped around twice, considering how small she felt in comparison to him. She felt his clutch tighten very slightly, and she gave the faintest utterance of a laugh, resting her own arms to stretch out over his shoulders, fingers locked behind him.

"I love you, too. I ain't goin' anywhere, not yet. Although.. Y'know, I've probably ruined your clothes with sewer water. Damn."
Edited by Aguirre Efrain Maddox, Wednesday, 6. November 2013, 06:07.
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Church
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"What?"

Did I just hear that? See that shit? What in the blue fucking...I stare with mouth gaping, in the open front door that I've been standing in for...Jebus, I dunno how long. Do I get angry or what? Maybe I am somehow able to rationalize this twisted and morbid paternal instinct of a pack dog. Somehow I just stall and watch, wondering what the fuck goes on when I'm not here. Cause man, I can sure smell that shit too. What in the- who the fuck is this guy anyway? A fucking Cammies is what. A gorram bat eared little snitch at that. Generalize much? Fuck. Dammit. What you got against the Cammies anyway? Well, it's obvious right? But truth is while I wish they, and the Sabbat, would go fuck themselves, I sure am glad they're both around to tear each other to pieces. And with that thought comes something of a footnote that reads 'yeah, but hopefully Sawyer isn't.' And just a minute ago I had a slight inclination to punch him. Why? For the hell of it? Heh.

"So...yeah." Yeah. Yeah? Yeah. I take my eyes off them to close the door, take a few steps in, all sparkles and bleary eyed, trying not to direct myself at them. Into the now somewhat awkward void. Not for me, really, but Aguirre is as bashful as they come and Flint is just a goof. Exactly that. Harmless. Got no interest in me, and I can't see him getting Aguirre into trouble right? Nosferatu's are all sleek, cloak and dagger best of the best as far as Cammies go right? Like Wyoming...he's one bad ass motherfucker. And their Hearts in the right place if you think about it, look after their own and shit. So if this by virtue somehow transfers to Aguirre, she'll be safer if anything, right? Though...look how the construction yard went. Admittedly, Mac's fault. "Not what I was expectin'. I guess I'll put a twenny in the douchebag jar or summit?" I shrug, my face like a fucking abstract painting of my mixed emotions. I think confusion is the look I'm going for.

"Why the fuck do you smell so bad? What you doin' in the sewers?" She said sewers, right? Seemed odd. Cause what would sweet Aguirre Maddox be doing wading through shit? They got up to some crazy shit. A real double act. But this was...unexpected. Jeez...what does his dick look like? Maybe that's a question best saved for a later conversation. I roll my eyes, cross my arms, and give a dose of nonchalance: "And...y'know. What da fuck?"
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