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

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

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


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



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



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


Population: 31

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


THE CAMARILLA

Prince

Nobody

Sheriff
Meredith Furlong
Hounds
Robyne Sheridan
Rosella Marie Allain


Keeper of Elysium
Davvad Bisset

Grand Harpy
Catherine Wilke

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



ANARCHS

Baron

Khoza

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

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Welcome To The Night

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

This game uses the cursed and immortal vampiric condition as a backdrop to explore themes of morality, depravity, the human condition, salvation, and personal horror. We are a writing and roleplaying community dedicated to telling complex and engaging stories.

Your fate is your own. Mingle among the ivory-tower elite in the Camarilla, join the fight of the discontented and chaotic Anarch rabble, or set out independently and attempt to survive in London's nighttime underworld. Anything is possible in our World of Darkness.

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I'm going Slightly Mad; Closed.
Topic Started: Friday, 13. December 2013, 22:23 (2,984 Views)
Mac
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Goddess of Fuck and War
* * * * *
She'd parked all the way on the opposite side of the park, having disabled the camera's for the block. She'd also stashed a change of clothes on the opposite side in a tree, taking her time to detour through the small stream and and splash about to try and get the majority of the gore from her form. The water was fucking cold, and it bit into her skin like icy razors and actually made her exclaim aloud with bitter annoyance.

Jeebusss!” If she didn't run so hot, this would be fucking excruciating. No wonder hobo's that fell in the water in winter fucking froze to death, poor mother fuckers had no chance. She ... almost had pity for them, till she decided she pitied herself more and waded across with her teeth chattering like castanets. She tried to control the chatter, to make it into a pattern of beat, but even that couldn't distract her from the fucking chill.

She crawled out, shaking down and putting the basket at the base of a tree as she attempted to retrieve her hidden items. You see, she hadn't expected to be -missing- a fucking hand when she stashed her goods. Tree climbing tended to be a two handed job, and she shivered staring up at it for a moment as if her brain couldn't even comprehend what the fuck she needed to do now. She'd lost all the joints on the end of her fingers before, in the betting in the ghoul games under her Domitor... But she'd still had the first two joints of each. She raised her stump, looking at it shrewedly.

If I can't fucking fix you...and I get nick named Stimpy or something, dude...The rampage I go on will be all your fault, and I will never get that fucking red bike.

Yep, she was talking to her stump. She dropped her useless arm to her side, measuring and crouching to make a very painful leap into the tree. She grabbed it with her good arm, hanging on and swinging her legs awkwardly up around the thick branch. She pulled on the dark bag, and then slid back and dropped with a thud to the ground. She pulled out a long black hoodeded cloak, shrugging into it with some unusual struggles due to her handless ness. She then took out the flask of vodka she'd stuffed within, and pinched it between her sopping wet knee's and struggled to unscrew the top. Then she was tipping it back and draining the entire god damned contents at once, hoping the fuel would help burn her out and warm her core.

She looked like a very creepy little red riding hood as she set off towards the underground parking lot, beneath a black cloak and holding a picnic basket dripping with blood through the wooden weave. She had disabled the cameras down the block and in the parkade, either disabling them by ripping wires or spraying black paint from above over the screens. She skittered down the edges quietly, listening for people or incoming traffic and staying out of sight of the already disabled cameras. When she got to the Van she slid in, the once beautiful paint job on the outside having been killed off with the same black spray paint. She put the basket on the passengers seat, flipping the top open so the head was staring blindly up from smashed in eye sockets. God, it was stinky now. Ugh... She reached into the passengers side and opened the dash, pulling out a handful of plastic baggies with brand new Pine Tree air freshners inside. Opening them was a problem, and she ended up using her teeth and her hand to rip them over and hang a stack of them on the rear view mirror. It ... kind of covered the smell of the Van. That was okay, this Van was going into the Thames ASAP, loaded with concrete blocks.

Well Fanger, I think I need a Doctor. Let's go pay a trip to my specialist. No no, he ain't no shrink. Lord knows I could use one of them too.

She laughed a little, slamming an old cassette into the tape deck. Queen. Awe yeah, that was perfect. She grinned, eyes slipping through the parking garage before she decided it was clear enough. Driving one handed? Also a strange experience for her. Jesus, she wanted her hand back. Fuckkk... Please let her be a god damned Mr. Potato head, just this once. Maybe with enough duct tape they could get the fucking thing to stay? First things first, they needed to pry it out of Archons open, stuffed mouth first. An image in her head of a turkey stuffed for Christmas popped into her mind, and the timing of the image was just perfect... considering the holiday season that would soon be upon them. She was laughing again, harder, muscles clenching and tensing painfully as she shook with mirth.

You know Fanger, I didn't come to London for you. I came to London for Chambers... Man, his security was fucking -tight-. Killing him would have made me famous... I was going to go down for the ship too, if I had to, just to take him out and die in a blaze of beautiful glory. Had my eyes on you once, as a replacement... And here we are, your head's in a basket and I'm fucking Yogi bear or some shit.

She drove on, streets slipping away as the lights came and went. She didn't take a sensible path, weaving her way into Anarch territory where she could drop the Van and then proceed on foot.

I wonder if you count for, or against my whole...Karma thing. If you count against it, I'm not worried. I'm in a fucking hole so deep I don't really give a shit no more. I bet when I punt your head across a football field it'll really count against it!... I'm going for a fucking record. It'll be glorious... and you'll feel like an angel, FLLlyyyiiinngggg free! What? You're scared of heights? Don't lose your head over it man, I'm going for horazontal distance, don't worry. Hey, you shut up a moment... I gotta text someone...

She patted the head in the basket with her stump, before pulling in to park in a dark yard. She texted to make sure the coast was clear, asking “Hey are you home Alone Grandma?” The resulting. “Grandma? What the fuck? Yes... I'm home alone. Are you looped?” She paid the parking meter for a full day, and then took her gorey basket of goodies off to Grandma's house. It was a good walk, but she knew these streets now. She knew these streets so fucking well, they were almost...home. Fuck that was a weird though, as she ducked through an alley and then swept along the sidewalk. This block was safety, Grandma had it all hooked up and the security was properly managed by a Nossie genius, same fucker that found her.

She took the stairs, begining to hum lightly under her breath as she climbed. No one used the stairs, especially at night. She was bopping her head lightly, humming to a Queen tune as she came up to the door, and knocked. A grin spread across her face as she looked back over her shoulder down the hall, to ensure no one was around, and then undid her cloak and took out the head. She stuffed the cloak into the basket, and stood up, smoothing down her poofy, soaking wet, absolutely blood stained and horrific looking dress, torn and ripped from repeated bitings, and bullet holes. She held the head up in her one good hand, and held the stump of her other up with a look of “SURPRISE!” in a wickedly rude grin on her face. She kind of wished she had a camera for this....By kind of, she wished to god she had a fucking camera.

Hey Doc, lend a girl a hand?” She'd throw the head at him.
Edited by Mac, Friday, 13. December 2013, 22:23.
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"You are so fucking Camarilla. All hope and optimism. Maybe we can mount a rescue mission, and everyone can have a cupcake party, and fly around on Pegasus unicorns pooping rainbows."
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Church
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Putting the 'fun' in 'dysfunctional'
* * * *
I send off the text message with a face creased in confusion; Asking if I'm alone is kind of expected, she can drop by anytime she wants, though we both aren't overly fond of having Mr & Mrs Slut Monster as an audience when things inevitably turn rough. Still though...Grandma? That's new. Different. Though depending on how baked she is, it can be expected. I kill a few minutes watching the box, checking the phone every so often to see if she's going to follow up or just show. The knock on my door lets me know it's the latter.

"Ma-Oooh...fuck." The horror. Oh...sweet fucking christ...I've had dreams like this but they weren't so graphic. What the fuck is she wearing? Covered in blood. Where the fuck is her arm? I can't even hear whatever stupid words come out her demented mouth, cause I sure see what she's heaving through the air at me. It's almost slow motion, except I still don't have enough time to react how I'd want. Which is to get the hell away from it. But as that bloody bowl of brain hurtles, with dead white eyes glistening and guts sending licks of blood everywhere...I catch it. Or try. Maybe I'm off my game, maybe I've got hands suited for the defensive side of the ball, maybe this shock has scrambled all the circuits upstairs. But I just can't catch the fucker. It rebounds of my hand and back into the air, where, for some fucked up reason, I try and take another swing at it. Easier this time, right? Wrong, cause now I've got my hands all grubby and slimy, and as amusing as it must be to watch me juggle a severed-fucking-head...I realise just what I'm doing. And let it drop to the floor with a foul, though someone satisfying, splatter-thud.

I contemplate it for a few seconds as the uneven shape rocks about on the floor. Then I look back at her.

"What in the fuck, Mac?" I keep my voice low, though it's sure gotta be strained. My gaze drifts sideways, down the corridor, to apartment four of this floor...and just stare at the damn thing. I don't know who even fucking lives in this building, if they're ever awake at this time of night...if they'll be suspicious of a trail of blood leading right to the fucking door. Besides the potential Masquerade violations, or just flat out getting the cops busting in on the place come day break, there's also the pressing matter of her arm. Or lack thereof. "Why's everybody I know a fucking lunatic?" I know fucking lunatic; I was raised by one to be one and as such am one. What's her fucking excuse? Ok, well, I know hers, but why the fuck drag me into this? Unless...Oh Jebus.

"Get in, right now." I snarl, stooping to grab the head by the hair and take it inside. I wince at the smeared red patch that remains behind...she's crazy if she thinks I'm cleaning this. I'd rather burn the building down to cover the tracks. But Aguirre's books, fuck! Everything about this situation cries 'Fuck.' Maybe it's for that reason that I don't act all gentlemanly about escorting the young lady indoors, instead I grab her by the scruff of the dress and drag her inside, slamming the door behind us.

As I close off the outside world, I don't let her wander straight in but instead push her against the wall, not afraid to smear the gore in here. I don't think I like seeing her like this; course, there's an unhinged delight that comes with making this bitch groan and hurt and bleed...but I like to be the one to do that. Hell, that's what I thought the nutbag wanted to come around for, but also requires her Doc to deal with the matter at hand. At hand. Ha! Bitch is crazy. Working hard doing what she does best, no doubt. I bring my two up to her face, keep it steady and check her pupils to see how far gone she is. Oh yeah, over the fucking rainbow. But still alive, still grinning like a fucking idiot...still managing to amaze me with sheer badassery.

"You feelin' alright, Princess?" Y'know, aside from the obvious. I lift the head up between us, and can't help give a grim chuckle. "Who's he?" Yes, please explain while I freak out and brainstorm as to how I'm gonna fix any of this.
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Mac
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Goddess of Fuck and War
* * * * *
The look on his face! She would never see that sort of shock and awe again, she was sure... But losing a hand? Worth his expression as he automatically reaches to catch the head flying towards him. The look as it slipped from his hands, slimely refusing to be caught by bloody face? Beautiful. She laughed, she couldn't help it, a grating whiskey laugh to chase the earlier evening. The juggling act and revulsion on his features was so perfect, she couldn't help but look like Christmas had come early... Until it hit the floor. Then her face screwed up in all sorts of annoyance, those brows knitting together and eyes slitting with the thud on the floor.

Before she could say anything he was grasping her though, dragging her by her that wet, stained, shredded dress and chucking her up against the wall. The impact of slamming against it reminded her, painfully, about the small balls of metal stuck on in her abdomen. Small fiery bursts of light flickered behind her eye lids, the stub of her arm stinging with a mad blaze of fury as she forgot, and her arms swung to hit the wall with her. Chrisssttt... She squeeked, a whimpering sound that was far from any of the beautiful noises she made for him when they played rough. This was more of an acknowledgement that she wasn't quite right, and that it hurt... And not in the kind of way she liked. She was flaming hot again though, all the chill of the river long since eased under the attempts of her body to begin repairing.

She was staring at him staring at her, hazel eyes full of a sort of expectancy that was perhaps, misplaced. She had expected a lot more... Laughter? This was old hat, this situation was no worse than a dozen experiences in her life. Of fucking course she was a lunatic, she thought he... Dug that about her.

"What the fuck man? I'm fine... Ish.. Don't drop it! That's the -Law-, hahahaha ... That's Archon Hamilton... I shall hence forth refer to him as Hammy. Doubly don't drop it because I need my fucking hand back dude... And it's wedged in his throat. It's easier to reattach than to re grow... Might be to late though..."

Yeah, she was absolutely asking him to assist her in retrieving... Her fucking hand from the mouth of the fallen former Prince. Course, he looked a little to panick stricken to do that. At leaSt he's managed a bit of a chuckle, letting her know she wasn't entirely up the shit house.

"I wasn't followed, Jesus. I'm not a beginner. Took a swim in the river and everything... God, that was cold...so fucking cold..."

She raised her arm, feeling like she was wriggling fingers as she flexed the muscles, but finding only an empty, grossly mashed stump in it's place. Thank god he'd been so fucking juicy, she might have expired from blood loss. Jesus. What a fucking cluster fuck... Instead of getting the laugh she'd expected, she got a flustered and somewhat flailing Church. God, don't be mad at me! He bit off fucking hand! Instead of crying, because she almost felt like she was on that treacherous and betraying edge, she started to laugh instead. Because, she would always pick to laugh it off.

"Come on! It's funny! He choked -to death- on my hand! That's fucking amazing!" Well, the machete had helped too... But still, the absurdity of the entire situation was spectacular. Who else had a life like this? Who?! She was laughing so hard those tears were coming down her face, bunching over as she felt the bullets inside her bite flesh and tissue, sliding down to the floor. Yeah, she was fucking tired... It'd been a bit of a roller coaster.

"It was god damned beautiful!"
Edited by Mac, Sunday, 15. December 2013, 00:24.
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"You are so fucking Camarilla. All hope and optimism. Maybe we can mount a rescue mission, and everyone can have a cupcake party, and fly around on Pegasus unicorns pooping rainbows."
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Church
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Putting the 'fun' in 'dysfunctional'
* * * *
Someone had quite the evening. Should I be jealous? I lift the head of one Archon Hamilton up closer for examination. Definitely not. This kind of pain clearly isn't that gratifying dull buzz in the aftermath of a night knocking boots. Losing a hand...must be pretty intense. Well she's still alive all things considering, and as she makes me swallow my concern away by laughing the situation off in a not so 'I'm-just-a-crazy-bitch-you-love-driving-you-wild' way. She says we can stick that sucker back on? Bring that shit, I'm getting awful good at repairing this bitch. Though I'm not sure how many doctors have to do this...I was trying not to entertain the notion that the mass of meat in his mouth wasn't her hand but what can you do? I like her having two hands. Seeing her laugh so hard is freaking unsettling more than anything, but damn if it ain't contagious. The tears too...either she's having a great time or is right on deaths door. Problem is it's the same fucking thing in her mind.

"He didn't choke on dicks, but I'm sure it was fucking magical. Fireworks and Disney land shit. I take it he weren't a...shovelhead. Heh." I laugh a little as my eyes follow her to the floor before I squat down and shake her fucking trophy. Maybe it is funny? Bitch sure can take a pounding after all. Could be the fact that I was expecting to get my dick jumped on but have to get my white-coat out. I'm sure you had to be there, be one to enjoy the hunt and the kill. I used to be into this kind of thing so I can appreciate the effort to survive. Better her ass lose a hand than a lung. Still, that's an awful lot of blood. Hence I had assumed..."Sorry baby, jus' your ass is looking messier than the debut of Doc Fanger. That dress isj ust...I'm guessing normal people would've died from shock. Even you shouldn't be losing limbs all haphazardly...But ya'll ate his ass didn't yah?" She may have had a bath, but damn if I can't smell that shit on her breath. That and the usual gasoline she ran on.

I sit down cross legged, figuring this grim conversation starter has more to it than she's able to coherently spit out. I rock it slowly between my two palms and give it some though. Nice to meet you Hammy, I'm sure you were a dick. Still, I'm interested. He put up a fight and I bet she enjoyed the ride. And at least he was dead before this world of unpleasantness I am about to bestow upon him. I'm feeling a lot better knowing that she's fucked up but didn't screw me and my roomies too badly. Still, I look into that mangled face and wonder just who the hell he is. I look at her, surely looking a bit more optimistic about how this is awesome, but with eyes making the statement of 'You owe me.' Did she say that it might already be too late? I shake my head and tempt the gnarled mouth with my fingertips.

"What he taste like? What does 'The Law' taste like?" Questions will keep my mind off how gross it is trying to get a good grip on the gooey limb wedged down his fucking throat. I'd rather think about this than if I should approach from the different angle. But seriously, was this guy Judge Dredd or what? See that's why I'm concerned. She didn't chow down on the crazies, right? As hard to believe as that might be. " Archon Hamilton means nothing to me, I'm a fucking hermit. Did you really have to go and feed the guy a hand?"

Avoid all idiotic hand job and head jokes, as great an opportunity that this may be. At least until this horrid sensation passes. I pinch the hand tight, though the sliding the fucker out is a feeling I can't describe. Sort of slick friction that makes my shrivelled stomach wobble. Well, at least it don't smell as bad as the arm incident. Realistically I need to get her in the bathroom to do whatever the fuck needs to be done. She might appreciate cleaning off, though it ain't gonna be as pretty as our normal showers. Doc Fanger is now becoming Doc Frankenstein. With a disgusting sort of 'sucking pop', her missing extremity is free once again. It looks like shit. I put the head aside and give her a sigh.

"Easier to reattach huh?" I cock my head at her. "Easier for who exactly?"
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Mac
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Goddess of Fuck and War
* * * * *
"Fuck you. Shovel head? You think I'd lose my hand to a shovel head? Fuck you asshat. That's the Former Prince. Was a wanker and got booted though....I thought you'd like the dress, we could cosplay. I'm Carrie..."

She was still laughing, how could she not? Jesus Christ, it'd been a long time since she'd been maimed quite so badly. Yeah, she'd been a bit blown up recently... But that was just a massive flesh wound, some brick stuck inside her... It wasn't like missing a mother fucking hand, and being shot. Oh yeah, she was shot too! She went all the way to the ground laughing, her good hand sliding across her ripped and tattered dress to fish a finger into one of the bullet holes.

"I also... May have a few bullets in me..." And the laughter doubled harder, finding a bullet hole already beginning to plug itself up... What about the bullet? She could leave them, but she hated the idea of carrying around endless shrapnel in her body. What if she had to go through a metal detector?

" Law tastes Like Ventrue! Duhhhh! Mother fucker should not have been able to do that! He was frenzying... Hahahaha... God... You should have seen him lose his shit. Thought I was just an innocent dame... Hahahaha..."

She couldn't stop laughing, specially as he sat down cross legged In front of her and began to try and pull her hand out of Archons mouth. Trying to refer to herself as innocent didn't help, because she was such a ducking groady cunt attempting to be a lady had been the last thing she'd thought she'd be decent at. Turned out all that drama in high school might not have been a bad decision, always a potential career path... Well, until being kidnapped and brain fucked by Sabbat. Eh. This was way more exciting than Hollywood anyways.

Her insides were knotting, stomach muscles tensing all over as she fish with her finger to see if she couldn't feel out one of the bullets. Were bullets magnetic? Could they pull one of the alphabet magnets off the fridge and try and fish it out? No... They were going to need tweezers, long ones. Her stubby arm covered her other for a moment as she rolled on her back, taking in deep breathes as her tears leaked out of bleary eyes. She needed to stop laughing, it hurt, it hurt so bad...

Church was now trying to pull her hand out of Archons mouth, and the expression on his face like he was going to be sick was just beautiful. She could barely see it through the waves of blurry tears, briefly thinking about how she should really invest some time in Yoga, learning to meditate and shit. Control this hysterical laughter... But it did feel so good to laugh like that, remembering the entire nights ridiculos events to recount for him.

"Hahahaa... I was just lending him a hand man, trying to help him get ahead in life."

Oh man, too bad, too easy! Too amazing!!! She was calming down though, both because he'd actually just managed to rip her hand free from that disgusting mauw with a gut dropping pop, and because the lameness of her joke was sobering. She rolled onto her side, gasping deep as the laughter subsided.

" I.. I ... awe man... It looks like shit! Think we can... Glue it on or something?"

Her lip have a dramatic wobble as she surveyed the gnawed damage on the wrist of her freed hand, cussing under her breath. Ugh. They needed to try and stick that back on ASAP, or there was no hope. Jesus, there was no hope anyways was there?! Noooo!! She didn't want to be called stubs forever! Fuck! Please reattach! Please be a Mr. Potato head, just this once. She was awkwardly trying to get up now, rolling over and reaching out to grab Archons head by the hair.

"Hammy needs to go in the freezer or summit... Incase Sawyer comes home... Fucking cape. Least he doesn't look like his fucking billboard anymore, and that his smile wasn't frozen on his face... Jesus that would have been frightening! With my hand sticking out of his mouth... God... I miss my hand!!"
Edited by Mac, Sunday, 15. December 2013, 06:57.
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"You are so fucking Camarilla. All hope and optimism. Maybe we can mount a rescue mission, and everyone can have a cupcake party, and fly around on Pegasus unicorns pooping rainbows."
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Church
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Putting the 'fun' in 'dysfunctional'
* * * *
Ventrue? Former Prince? Carrie? Bad fucking jokes?

Between all the spurts of untameable laughter, she at least has the god damn courtesy of giving me a little more information on the sonbitch. Ok so maybe I do need to worry about the situation, even if her giggly ass is incapable of doing so right now. A former prince who fucked up - sounds vaguely familiar - but not enough put a name to the shrivelled and mutilated face now on my living room floor. Clearly not clever enough to clock her as everything but innocent, even with that ridiculous dress. The fact that she's full of bullets just makes this whole thing even more awesome...at least she's suffering for her own dumb shenanigans. That laughter to hide the pain and anguish too well.

I should probably be mad. I'm more intrigued. She really was a slayer of kings huh? Not the kind of vibe you got watching her roll around like a kid with a belly chuckle that keeps twitching the corner of my mouth. Though fishing that hand free might've been all the sobering sights she needed to cut out the hysteria. She looks absolutely crushed, or as close to it as her stunted emotions may permit. Still, there's a little something akin to fear and horror in her eyes, that she might get a special badge for her car. I don't know enough about it...but if she wants Doc to stick it back on, that's what he'll do. He's a dumbass for her after all.

"Hey, just...shuddup a sec, would yah? Doc'll get that sucker stuck back on...somehow." I make a shaky promise before I place a hand beneath her shoulder and help her get back up to her feet, her lack of modesty be damned right about now. She makes a compelling point, that Flint is out right now but won't be for long. "Lemme worry about Hammy, though billboard are you shitting me?-" I take the head off her, holstering it under an arm while I hand her, well, her hand "-Take that there." I figured maybe we'd do this in the bathroom, but on reflection it probably see's more use than the Kitchen, so I guess we'll do it in the latter.

"As long as you had fun, baby. That's what's important right?" I shrug, leading her past the TV that hums quietly with the dialogue of an old horror flick, the name of which eludes me right about now. Not that it seemed too horrifying before she came in all bloody and weepy. I lead her to the kitchen and pat the longest length of marble counter top. "Dress off, Carrie. We're gonna rinse, dry and screw that fucker back on." Dunno if that requires the dress coming off, but it'd sure make the doctor happier. I open the bare freezer, tossing Hammy in with not so much an inkling of care and shutting it. Problem with that Rat living here, this could get messy. I don't know what his stance on this kind of thing would be, but I do hope I don't have to make a very difficult decision this evening. Especially as...well. I pull out my smart phone, the touch screen smeared with filth as soon as I swipe a finger across the damn thing. I lay it flat on the counter next to her, bringing up Aguirre's number and placing the call.

"Just sit there and get all naked and terrifying. Oh, and yeah, pray Aguirre has something useful for this, or I'm using the nails out the furniture." At least I can hope it for her as I put the phone on speaker and listen to the dial tones. Anything really; Tape, needles, staples, glue...I don't hang on to these kinds of things. We scored pretty big at the construction site, but even then I didn't pay much attention to what we jacked and where we put it. I know there's a sander around here somewhere...I hope that won't be necessary. I take the hand off of her and make to cleanse it under the tap. Let's get all the gore rinsed away before we make a judgement call on how this is gonna go.

"And if we can't save it...can I hang onto it?" Probably doesn't make her feel better, though I hope she picks up on the teasing in my voice. Still, she's so whacked right now I don't know what she's thinking. "I promise I'll treat her well..." Jeez, let's not go down that road right now.
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Mac
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* * * * *
His hand under her shoulder helped her, and she didn't even shake him off and flail widly about being a big girl and wearing big girl panties, and doing shit on her own. She just fucking let him, because... Well, fuck man. She had NO HAND. Everything felt strange, she was literally missing a few pounds on one side of her body and it felt off kilter and like her balance center was on mushrooms. Like the earth beneath her feet was actually waves on the ocean, and everything was rising and falling on the swell. The floor beneath her high heels was unwelcome, she had much perfered laying on the ground all things considered. It was easier to give over to a fit of hysteria when you were laying down.. and the high heels fucking sucked? Why was she still wearing those? Oh yeah, because they had these cute little ankle straps with buckles, and what do you need to undue cut little ankle straps with buckles? Two hands.

"Fun? You should have heard this corn ball talking man. At one point he actually said he could arrest the fellow that had 'stood me up' ..." She tried to give quotation marks, but instead found herself giving one set and a stubby flail. What else could you only do one handed, if that fucker didn't come back? She was good at regeneration, but there was always a point in your life where that shit could fail. Masturbating only really needed one hand, and despite being ambidexterous she -perfered- the hand that was stubbed. She couldn't cut a fucking stake properly, she couldn't climb properly anymore either. It would have to be all legs, and how do you move to the next hand hold spot without FALLING backwards?! Monkey bars, not that she did that anymore but really, she -wanted- the option. What about knitting? She could never learn to knit! Meh, she wouldn't have anyways. What about guitar? Mels guitar, sitting in her fucking Gym under the end of the bed... She, she would never be able to play for Mels again. That was the one thought that actually meant something to her, the one thought that stung like a mother fucking heart punch. She would never be able to wallow in the musical misery of missing the most important thing in the world to her.

Course, at the moment she was thinking about that Church handed her back her second, slightly abused hand. She took it with the same sort of instinct he had grabbed the head with, just accepting the thing that was given, before realizing what she was holding and wrinkling her face up. Her beautiful hand! She brought it dramatically to her chest, clutching it with her good hand as her stub came up to cross over that protectively. What. The. Fuck.

“I should have asked for more money..
.” Like, a quarter million. 100,000 for losing a hand? Fuck no. Fuck no! But really, Ventrue...should have been easier than that. What a fucking shit show. An awesome shit show, but a shit show none the less. Money wasn't really important to her at this point, she had so much of it she never fucking touched. It was about the adventure, the risk, the pay off. The pay off in this case had been significantly less epic than she hoped, because it came with the hefty cost of her ability to give the double bird. Please... stick back on. If you don't stick back on, please regenerate! If not... there was always the Tzimisce, but it's been a good number of years since she'd dealt in their services. It wasn't something you undertook lightly, and it always cost you more than you expected.

She was guided by Church to the kitchen, giving him a nasty look as he so careless flung Hammy into Sawyers bachelor pad. She didn't argue though, she just popped up easily onto the countertop he patted. When he told her to get naked she put the hand down on her knee's, and used her functioning one to grip and just tear the shreds of dress off. What? Like she could do the fucking zipper on her own? She peeled it off her upper body, but left the rest of it on her lower torso, the huge fucking poof of a crinoline beginning to itch at her legs annoyingly. How did girls do this shit, seriously? Her torso was a bite ridden mess of fanged rips and tears, from his wild frenzy of biting. That being the reason she had stuffed her hand down his fucking throat, wanting to stop the on slaught. She never dreamed a fucking bureaucrat welp would be able to bite the god damned arm off. She needed celerity.

Well, if you can preserve it so it don't rot ... Yeah. I wanted to get it out of his mouth to beat his fucking face with it, but I couldn't. One of us should beat -something- with it...”

She watched him take her hand to wash it, eyes fixed at the macabre sight of her disembodied hand being tenderly washed by Doc Fanger. She started to laugh again, but not quite hysterically this time. This was just a chest vibrating chuckle, from the sheer absurdity.

Sorry to bring this down on ya... I kinda of thought you'd get a kick out of it. And you know... I couldn't get my fucking hand out...Guess which hand activates the scanner to get into the warehouse? Ouch... fucking bullets are digging in. I'm always scared at airports that I'll set off alarms cuz something will have been left somewhere...”
Edited by Mac, Sunday, 15. December 2013, 21:21.
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"You are so fucking Camarilla. All hope and optimism. Maybe we can mount a rescue mission, and everyone can have a cupcake party, and fly around on Pegasus unicorns pooping rainbows."
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* * * *
I turn on the tap, keeping the water stream luke-warm as it cleans away all the shit clogged on the grotty detached limb. I'm not too worried about the state of the unused sink, but the river running red is not as much an issue as the chunks of flesh that drip off and clog the sinkhole. Residual shit from being stuffed inside someone's god damn skull I guess. Place will start looking like a Tzimisce chop-shop before the night is out; fuck, I hope that's not what I'm turning into with this fascination of putting her together like a jigsaw puzzle. Should have asked for more money? We'll see how much that tune changes over the next few hours, depending on whether or not we're able to save this son of a bitch. How do you put a price on a hand? Especially in her line of work. Especially with her kind of depraved indulgences. I don't think money could even fix that...unless she bought some sort of robot hand replacement...that'd be sweet. Her apology sure is unexpected, even if it is long overdue for all of the shit she's pulled with me.

"Keep your apologies, honey; I was hoping I'd get my cock wet. But hell, I'm always looking to improve my skills. Maybe I can open a back alley surgery? Make some dollar myself." I'll try not to laugh at the fact that she is locked out of her own warehouse, and that such complex and expensive security could be screwed over by such an unexpected twist of fate.

"I ever tell you 'bout the time I lost an arm?" I ask quietly, ever aware of the dialling phone sitting close by. I look the hand over now that its significantly more accessible no longer shrouded beneath a shell of blood; it's not the green-grey rotting color I was fearful of. "Archbishop yanked it off. I was speeding on a meal of Whizz and would not stop fucking talking. So he took it off and slapped me across the face with it...shut me up pretty damn quick." Again I don't know how comforting this will be, seeing as it was an arm I had the luxury and time to regrow back, and if not, could have had made by a Fiend. Something that's a little harder to get your hands on these days, though if push comes to shove, maybe I can find one. "I'm sure it was hilarious to onlookers. And for Monroe if he had a fucking personality. How often do you get to wail on someone with their own arm?" Never had the chance to play around with mine in such a way either, wrapping my fingers around those of the hand and using it like some sort of glove on my palm. Apart from feeling revolted by feeling those dead fingers click into place as I shape it into a loose fist.

"I could sure use this under my pillow when I'm missing you..." Church jerking off with Macs hand? Doesn't seem logical, but he'd be happy to give it a go. In the meantime, I place the hand on the counter next to her and assist her crippled ass in stripping the dress, well, completely off. Not like she's gonna wear it ever again, even if it wasn't covered in blood and shredded to shit. I need it out the way for the bullet holes, even if they are a lower priority, I wanna see how many the daft bitch decided to block. Though more than that, she was caked in wounds too shallow for a knife and occasionally in a very distinct and familiar pattern. "You sure 'bout that Ventrue part? Who knew 'The Law' was so damned kinky." And feral. Looks like the work of a god damn animal, and I wonder had it been a clan more inclined to listen to their violent counterpart that she would even be here at all.

"At least he didn't tear off your tits, huh?" They were ever so expensive, after all. And I am not so sure as to how the machinations of a Tzimisce cling to a mortal visage. If she lost one, would it come back the size it should? She'd really be an Amazonian then. They had one tit, right? Stupid dumb ass thoughts, get outta here. Much too busy making sure my dominatrix is fine. Slowly, I place my hands on her stomach, and from there they spread and smooth along her body with a tenderness that is not becoming of me. Fingers trace the length of gouged meat, the circumference of various bullet wounds as well as checking to feel if any bones are out of place below. God I love that body...it does my body good. I wanna wrap those legs around me while they're still attached. Still, no bruising or swelling that would indicate internal bleeding...fuck, I'm getting good at this shit. My eyes flicker to hers, and I'm powerless to hide my constant pining for her as well as willingness to get her sorted. "Stump under the tap now me thinks, toots." Get that shit cleaned off. Infection and diseases seem like something to be concerned about, but given that my medical knowledge is made up at the best of times, I'll simply ignore the possibility of that. Not too difficult, while that dull tone still sounds and my roomie apparently doesn't wanna pick up.

"Jebus Maddox, pick it up already!" Looks like I might have to do some snooping...I hope Aguirre can forgive me for the careless destruction I am about to unleash on her room.
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Mac
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She watched the gunk and ooze on her hand wash into in the drain, gathering in the bottom and causing somewhat of a bright red water jam up for a bit. That was pretty disgusting, especially a lot of it was her own chunky flesh, although some of it might have been Hammy's fucking throat to right? RIGHT? Jesssuusss. Luckily, a distraction from the horror came in a story only fucked up mother fuckers like them could possibly appreciate.

He ripped your arm off and slapped you with it?! For real? Thats fuckin epic! Hahahaha... God... I wish I could see you on something real strung out, your tongue just flappin away a mile a minute. I'd love to get you that chatty, see what verbal barf you spew up. Are the kind of high kid that talks about serious shit, or do you wax poetic about the meaning of life?” Serious shit being things that have real everyday implications, past experiences, the real world. Not that metaphorical garbage that no one really has any answers to, but just gets everyone angry and arguementative until someone brings up hitler.

Tell you what, if my hand don't stick back on... we can run around and do ridiculos shit to it. We'll have to figure out how to like...pickle it or something, but then... It should become a re-occuring gag. Putting it in the weirdest places, freaking out Slut Monster and the Mouse with it. Hammy can top the christmas tree, and my hand can stick out of his mouth giving the middle finger...”

She hissed a few times while he helped strip the rest of the dress from her, using her good hand to plant on the countertop and shifting her hips upwards so he could slide it off to the floor. It was somewhat of a shame that the dress hadn't survived, there was something of the faintest idea that the dress could be one hell of a sexy prop in the back of her mind. He had liked the school girls uniform afterall... This dress, on a quiet night, hunting him through the streets to drop silently in an alley he was about to cut through? Plant herself on a nice fire escape, and light up a beautiful little reefer with her legs all crossed lady like, and just wait to see his reaction. He'd catch the invitation the moment it was issued... the fire escape wouldn't survive the first five minutes. Neither would the dress... but alas, significantly less dirty a fate had brought it to ruins.

Honestly, I thought he was going to bite right through one or something. He just fucking frenzied, you'd have though he was a fucking Brujah. Seriously, maniac. He just kept flailing and biting... the flailing I didn't really care about, but the biting was starting to fuck me up... So, I shoved my bloody fist down his throat to try and buy time, hoping he'd gag on my juice because he couldn't drink me... It worked, it just had an unforeseen downside.

His hands down her form were comforting, not only because of that fucked up sense of trust she'd developed with him since he'd picked her ass up in Brent months before, but because his icy touch cooled the rage of her skin. Around the bite marks burned warm, but the two bullet holes just under her ribs on the left hand side blazed like small, angry black suns. No broken bones, just a whole lot of bruises from his flailing fists, fucker had even had the sense of mind to hit the bullet wounds on purpose. Had it been anyone less... into that sort of thing, it probably would have incompacitated them. For her, the whole thing had just turned her on... Right up until she lost a mother fucking hand that was. She'd already been planning to seek Church out after, ruin him good and hard and relive the thrill of the moment. Strangely, even with a stubby, gorey arm and a damaged body, she still had some inclination to maul him. Afterall, her cunt was fine. He could help her fix that issue right? No... NO! She wanted two hands more than she wanted a bone, even with Church.

She complied with his request she stick her arm in the taps stream, flailing it out sideways into the drizzle. She yelped, hard and cough like as her face screwed up into a pained expression. Water wasn't supposed to sting like that! But it did, oh god did it ever. She had manged to put up a road block in her mind around the stump, the burning pain dulled due to intense adrenaline overload on her system. Now, with it under the spout? She couldn't block the pins and angry needles that flashed up her arm.

FUCKING HELL!” Nope, fuck that. It could stay all gross and slimey damnit, she didn't need it to get clean no sir. That shit was off the hook painful, probably because she was on the other end of the hour long adrenaline high, and her system was running low on the endorphin overdose. She removed her stub, flailing a splashing of red oozey water as her other hand came to clasp just below the ravaged handless wrist. “That's a whole lotta nope! NOPE FISH SAYS NOPE! Not unless you got a bottle of vodka to spare somewhere... I am to fucking sober for this shit.
Edited by Mac, Monday, 16. December 2013, 02:31.
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Church
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* * * *
"Fuckin' pussy." I growl at her, though I rest a hand on her shoulder understandingly. That exposed wound, that stump feeling rare and stinging; it's not the kind of sweet and tantalizing touch we respond to with shrill cries and plead for more. "Nope fish can say no all it wants, I don't drink, remember?" I don't need god damn anything anymore, hence I chose to ignore her question about the kind of verbal diarrhea I used to spit. I'm sure the whole situation would be hilarious for her, but clean is clean and I ain't breaking a vow just to put a smile on this bitches face. I probably need to pack the kitchen, seeing as how often she's deciding to grace the apartment with her presence. That phone is just pissing me off now, and I impatiently tap a finger on the screen till I can get the thing to hang up. Guess she ain't in the mood for answering, or will get back when she can. Both are tremendously unhelpful to our current situation.

"Hang tight, Princess. I got somethin' to take the edge off. If she calls back, ask her what she got to stitch your pretty ass together." I look her over with those weary eyes, not sure why I'm giving her child like instructions. They rest on the stump for a few moments as I swallow think about how painful all of this will be, never mind just rinsing the damn thing off. I somewhat hope she can regrow the damn thing...cause I'm not sure I can do this. "Hang tight" I repeat, finding the nerve to look her in the eye and give her a weak smile.

I got plenty there, still haven't managed to shift any of it or even relocate the stuff to the storage locker I've invested in. Good thing huh? I move it from it's usual place on the cupboard floor to the bed, tuning in the pin and popping the lid open. So what we got? Some Vicodin and Percocet, those'll take the edge off for sure. I wade through the disorganised load of the brown plastic capsules, trying to decipher the handwritten labels on them. MS Contin? Morphine sulfate...maybe? This is quite terrifying really, having so much available and not knowing my Hydrocodone from my Oxy's...heh, little doctor joke for you there. Oh my; my movement has uncovered a little plain white box, and already I know what is in there. The scribble on the packaging simply reads 'popsicles.' And here I thought they'd all gone...

"You've got super metabolism right?" As I walk back into the kitchen with several on the containers wrapped up in my palms. I recall her making a mention something along those lines, that booze and weed don't really stick in the way she would have hoped. Sure I got a few pills she could pop to feel good in about ten minutes. But for instant relief? I have two elongated paper packets, the kind of thing the Doc at the office keeps his tongue depressor in. I put everything down but those, handing her one. "This is Fentanyl. I think. Fen-tan-yl, yeah that sounds about right." Somehow saying the word slowly reminds me that I am indeed correct. "Strong as fuck, used for gunshot wounds in regular people. Problem is, it's awfully prone to making people O.D. and die, it's class A too, so you know it's bad ass." And hence the convenient sized doses. I rip the pack open and reveal the plastic stick topped with a small lozenge. I stop in front of her, try not to notice her knees as they budge against my hips, and hand it to her good side.

"Have a suck on that and you'll feel like a million bucks." I assure her, cause frankly it's the best way to get this done without any delay. The other stuff? Well, maybe I'll neck some pills and hopefully my dumb ass will get the placebo effect. I take hold of her stump, intending to force the thing under the tap as soon as she's absorbed all that good shit down. I look at all this shit and start laughing. It starts with a slow snicker, like remembering a joke you heard earlier in the day, but it starts building into something wicked and stupid. God, is she oozing crazy?

"S'funny ain't it? All this shit I got and I ain't had no god damn use. Then your raggedy ass walks in my life." I chuckle. Shit is funny. "Hell, I think I like putting you back together. Though....not as much as I like tearing you apart."
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Mac
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"Don't fucking run away... I wont be a pussy anymore! Ugh..though, I keep a fucking storage locker of blood for when you're over, the least you can do is pick up a fucking liquor store for the closet... It ain't like I leave panties or a toothbrush here, just want some booze...

Was she bitching? Oh yeah she was bitching, and man it felt good all things considered. Letting a little verbal bickering take an edge off the sting. Though the storage locker of blood was mostly vampire blood for her own purposes, and the human blood was universal donor so she could do medical patches in.. well, situations kind of similair to this one when she didn't have the luxury of such a juice vamp blood locker. She still had a bottle of Archon too, in the picnic basket of horror. She could suck that fucker back again if she needed to tonight, if whatever they were about to do ended in further horror and bloody gore. If you consumed the same fanger twice in a single night, you usually didn't get a second bond, he was dead anyways... Although, honestly, she hoped whatever the fuck they did didn't make it worse.

She didn't know where he went, just that he gave her a sort of sorry ass look like he knew that she knew what the fuck came next. Yeah, she did... So sue her for being a bit of a baby about it, when the rinsing would be so much easier that the reconnecting. Once he was gone, she looked at the still trickling water with a grimm expression of passion dislike, reaching out across her body with her good hand to rinse the blood and grim from it, as if that would be an ample excuse not to be rinsing the broken and bare flesh of the broken wrist. It was kind of a good excuse, washing and all that shit.. Maybe Church would be so kind as to give her a sponge bath? At least the night didn't have to be a total waste right? While he was scraping around under the bed, she watched the trickle pull away the lighter of the days grime. She needed a serious and deep bath to get the worst of it, but it removed the vividity of the nights horror from her skin. She tried rubbing her fingers against her palm, freeing up more dirt and fleshy grime.

The phone rang, and rang... And she wanted to drown it in the tap as she waited with a growing sort of dread about what was coming. How did she want to play this? Did she want to scream and flail, and just generally let go and have fun with it? Or did she want to preserve some street cred and suck it up, and stay silent about the whole god damned process? She could do either, or a bit of each... But generally, she figured it would be smartest to suck it the fuck up and be a big girl. She did need to keep face (at least somewhat) with Doc. He'd probably lose interest in being bang buddies if she turned out to be a fucking sissy girl. Reputations and all that shit, right?

Then he came back with lollipops, and she couldn't quite help the feeling of gratitude and appreciation that showed in her face as she said “Gimmeee!”. He was kind enough to hand it over to her good side, newly cleaned hand snatching at the depressor and shoving it in her mouth before he could finish explaining what the fuck it did.

Took three times the adult dose of morphine to put me out when I was 7. Nurse thought they were going to kill me... was having a bit of a temper tantrum when they tried to take me away from my Ma...Never saw the bitch again, even though she promised...

She nudged open those knee's when he bumped against them, adjusting in a slow inch sideways so that they crept up on either side of him as the berry flavored losenge in her mouth began dissolving. She had it tucked up in the corner of her cheek, but moved it with her tongue so that it slid to the other side with a slight sideways dip of the popsicle stick. She kept her knee's locked on either side of his hips when he stuck her stub under the water again, giving a somewhat tight squeeze as she sucked down hard on the fucker in her mouth. She didn't want to bite it, because biting it meant putting it into her stomach sooner, and it was a mouth absorbant drug. She'd just wiggly it around in her mouth, trying to encourage it to do it's fucking job. He had another one of these right?

Did you just call me fucking Ragged Anne? Ain't so fucking adorable Asshole... More like Frankenstein.

She didn't close her eyes, but guided his hand holding her arm under the tap by voluntarily putting herself in. She sucked in a breath and held it as she stared at his hands washing at the broken tip of her splintered wrist, trying to put the whole scene into perspective. She was going to live, easy, but a lot of her ego was hinged on having two fucking arms to do a good job. She shouldn't have tried to play with her food before she ate, she should have simply done a cut and dry... But damned if it hadn't been more fucking fun this way, more build up. Had it worked easier, man, she'd be having such an epic bang right now.

I much prefer what you do to me Doc... Although, maybe not what you're doing right now so much...

Oh jesus that suuucckkkedd... But, it was certainly starting to suck a whole lot less, the more she swiveled that losenge around the better it was becoming.
Edited by Mac, Monday, 16. December 2013, 06:37.
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"You are so fucking Camarilla. All hope and optimism. Maybe we can mount a rescue mission, and everyone can have a cupcake party, and fly around on Pegasus unicorns pooping rainbows."
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Aguirre Efrain Maddox
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Mouse
* * * * *
Tonight was so peaceful it was almost boring. That was... a pleasant surprise? Maybe? Only if it remained that way, although it seemed like they never did. In fact, when things were this quiet, it made Aguirre a little more anxious than usual while she kept her eye out for the inevitably shitty thing that was about to fall on her and Sawyer like an anvil on Wile E. Coyote. That was about the place she was in now, walking beside the aforementioned Nosferatu with her brows slightly knit while she gazed down the sidewalk ahead of them.

Maybe I'm gettin' a little paranoid. Is Church rubbin' off on me? Fuck, I think he might be. Dunno if that's a good or a bad thing, either. Can't hurt to be tough as nails, can it? Well.. I mean, it would hurt for the other guy, duh. Meh, if he were really paranoid, don't think he'd really fancy a woman as life-threatenin' and generally intimidatin' as Mac. At the same time... they're perfect for each other. They're both out of their goddamn gourds. They both seemed to enjoy walkin' around covered in ugly purple bruises.

The Brujah couldn't particularly blame them considering how much she used to like a good fight--and still sort of did, every once in a blue moon when she was feeling particularly self destructive or inflicted by ennui. Her thoughts were starting to get off topic, though... racing like they sometimes did when she got stuck on an idea that led to several irrelevant anxieties afterward. She got a little more caught up in thought than she meant, lost track of the conversation...

"...don't get what 's so special 'bout him...

Uh, Klutz, you listenin'?"


She blinked once or twice, coming back down from the clouds just in time to miss.. basically everything Sawyer was saying to her. If she kept spacing out like this, he was going to think something was wrong. It wasn't, she was simply distracted, and she couldn't remember why. The willowy brunette cleared her throat, straightening up to a slightly less slouching form, glanced sideways. She smiled with the smallest hint of embarrassment.

"Sorry. Dunno where my head's at. What were you sayin' baby?"

Aguirre saw that raise of the brow on his masked features, probably a look she deserved for tuning him out. It sure wasn't intentional.

"I said," be began, "I just don't understand what you see in that Bukowski guy. Guy just likes to be unhappy if you ask me."

The beginning of her distraction began to come back now--the subject matter of the conversation had carried her off to something only vaguely related. The plastic bags Sawyer carried, full of several new skeins of yarn that she would probably roll into neat balls once they got settled in at home, brushed noisily back and forth as they walked--not quite an ambient noise when the street was so quiet. She had been taken off into distraction because they were talking about Charles Bukowski, though she'd only started out with one poem in particular, detailing an author he enjoyed for a short time before his writing simply became empty and disappointing. She really related to Bukowski sometimes, finding what translated to her as inherent nihilism to be... Well, something she could appreciate. She loved that low-life genre of poetry, that unique set up, the way he could sometimes fill up a page with so few words but so much substance.

"It's not that he liked to be unhappy per se. In fact, sometimes it's real difficult to tell if he's feeling anythin' more than generally apathetic, maybe overcrowded, and a buzz, but it doesn't take the depth away from his words. Guy spent a good chunk of his life sleepin' on park benches, drinkin' his liver away, hangin' round with the only women who associated with that type. It ain't depressin', it's just... raw, it's honest. Honesty ain't always pretty. I love his poetry for that. "

"That's another thing. How can you go on callin' it poetry? It don't have any rhythm, poems are s'posed to rhyme, aren't they? That confuses the hell outta me. Also, you'd think if it were so raw, maybe I'd get what the guy's tryin' to say more often. It's one thing that it don't rhyme, but it's a whole other when it don't make any sense at all. Ugly hookers ain't that interestin', Mouse, I don't get why they'd be worth writin' about."

"Poetry ain't gotta rhyme to be called poetry. Ain'tcha ever heard of haiku? Free verse? Spoken word? Some of the most... I don't know... Bafflin' poetry comes from disorganized chaos on paper. In fact--Oh, hold on," Aguirre could feel a vibration in her pocket, and more than two quick buzzes for her attention meant a phone call. She patted down her leather jacket, which happened to have a few more pockets than were strictly necessary, feeling the phone against her stomach and chest. She stuck her hands into several pockets... Nope, not that that one.. Nope again... Oh, duh, the inside pocket. She always forgot about the inside pocket. Fuck, she'd only just missed the call; clicking the screen on as they walked up the front steps to the apartment building, she unlocked the door as she read who had been trying to reach her.

Damon Church
Missed call


Church called? Since when did he even give a second glance to his cell phone? Aguirre shook her head, figuring they'd be up to the apartment in a minute or two anyway. If he was still there, she'd see him in less than five minutes from now. She pulled the keys out of another pocket, the pocket of her skinny jeans, unlocking the door and holding it open for Sawyer to catch as she continued to the stairwell. This had become a regular routine since that damn elevator would never get fixed. Nice building, shitty management.

"In fact," she continued after stashing the phone again, "Bukowski's style was part of the reason he was so popular, I think. It was unique, presented things in a new, kinda simplistic light. Just depended, really, he was more complicated than he made himself out to be. I always thought he saw things in shades of grey, like maybe he couldn't see the color in life so vividly and that was why shit always seemed so... for lack of a better word, languid to him. Life just went on along as it would and he had no control over how it turned out, he just went with it, but he did it begrudgingly, dealt in luck, cheap wine, and cigarettes. Mostly that's my own opinion, though."

They jogged up the stairs, footsteps echoing more loudly than necessary, along with their voices. no one should have been up right now, though, and who the fuck cared if they were arguing about some drunken poet? Oh, that reminded her of another of his poems, detailing a narcissistic underachiever who referred to himself as 'the poet'... Ol' Bukowski didn't much enjoy that man's work.

"But if he's so simplistic, why's everyone think he's so deep? Doesn't that sorta defeat the purpose of tryin' to be simple in the first place if he's actually comin'--" Finally, they reached their own floor, walking the short way down the hall to the door marked with their apartment number. Aguirre fished for the keys again, got passed the locks, opening the door, " --across as somethin' more than what's taken at face value? 'Sides, just 'cause you got a theory, don't mean it makes any difference to the argument. Theory don't mean a thing, you need proof. Proof that Bukowski was more than a miserable old bastard with a drinking problem, and proof that his poems actually held any weight. Sounds to me like he don't even fit into a genre of poetry to begin with."

"But he was a miserable old bastard in the end, that's the point. But, well, damn man; I don't know. If you really can't get into his work, and it is poetry, I ain't gonna be able to convince you otherwise--am I?"

Sawyer shut the door behind them, and she realized she heard faucet running...in the kitchen. Weird, none of them usually needed it, considering they didn't exactly eat. Was that a female voice she heard? A.. very familiar female voice. She walked toward the sound of running water in her klunky boots, and talking, bit of vulgar shit she didn't particularly care to hear. The Mouse peaked around the wall into the kitchen before she came around into full view.

"Hey y'a--holy fuck, holy shit, what the Hell happened to you?!"

Her eyes went wide with alarm, coming out from her peaking position. Yeah, Mac was a little naked, and they were pretty cozy, if there was such a thing as cozy for Church and the Amazonian woman. But.. godfuckingdamnshewasmissingahand. A whole hand. This was more than a flesh wound, and was that.. candy.. that Mac was sucking on? Aguirre often found herself confused, and as far as confusing moments went, this one set a new record for most perplexing experience in her entire life. This must have been why Damon was calling her before. Man, her instincts about the suspiciously calm night had been proven absolutely right.
Edited by Aguirre Efrain Maddox, Monday, 16. December 2013, 16:33.
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Sawyer
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Sawyer's eyebrows arched up farther and farther as he tried to figure out what the hell was going on. Utterly confused, he stared in apparent awe at the naked Amazon currently chilling out in the kitchen, arms shoved into the sink.

"Uh..." He suddenly shifted his gaze away from the octopus tentacles framing those perfect, lovely- oh, shut up, Sawyer.

He purposefully looked down, only to see- oh, oh shit.

Jesus, her ink looked like it'd been marred by some sort of gunshot wound- nope, make that multiple shots. Gore-crusted and topless was a state Sawyer wasn't exactly surprised to find her in. After all, that shit was pretty much part of the job description. But oh, something much worse was going on here, otherwise she wouldn't look quite so distressed.

He was pretty sure that bloody stump was brand new. Wonderful.

Sawyer wasn't exactly accustomed to loosing limbs himself, or seeing them fall off of other people. The last time something like that had happened, it had been Wilke's arm in the Blue Noire, and Sawyer was pretty sure the Tremere was even more hardcore than Mac from the way she'd barely even flinched. Then again, he wasn't entirely sure Wilke was capable of showing emotion at all, even when confronted with severed extremities.

Mac, on the other hand... well, Mac was a constant bundle of high intensity emotions. So he was sort of just happy she wasn't freaking the fuck out like he might've expected.

"Okay, okay. Um. Phew." He glanced around at his roommates and kept his calm, setting the big bag of yarn skeins down on the kitchen table. Sawyer gave the others room to do their thing, recognizing his own fundamental uselessness in these kinds of situations. Was he supposed to do something? Ask for an explanation? Did he want an explanation? Probably not. Probably much, much better not to know.

Ugh. Do something helpful. Quit staring. Dumbass.

"Sorry. Bad time to walk in, ha. Uhm." He kept his voice cheerfully even as he moved towards the refrigerator, blithely ignoring severed limbs and glorious kettledrums. "How about I, uh, just get us some snacks..."

He'd been watching a trailer for a vampire movie with that actor Aguirre liked so much, Thor's brother, when he'd seen what had to be the best idea ever. He could only blame never thinking of it earlier on the fact that ShreckNET was, sadly, not more like Pinterest. That idea was, of course, blood popsicles.

Bagged blood was never the best, he'd readily admit, but it was a heck of a lot easier to put into popsicle molds and stick in the freezer. Surely a nice frozen treat would make everyone feel a little better, right? Well, not really Mac, as he was pretty sure she wasn't interested in human blood, and popsicles didn't exactly make limbs grown back... but still! Wasn't that what you were supposed to do in stressful situations- shove food at people and eat your feelings?!

Sawyer's hand went for the door to the freezer, completely unaware of what else he might find inside.
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"Frankenstein was the doctor. You're the monster. Frankenstein's monster. Not to be mistaken for a certain Slut Monster." Or she will be if I ever get this working. Maybe we can sew that head onto her neck and she can really look like a freak, eh? The kind of freak who shrugs off morphine as a kid so they can tear her away from her mom. Again, I don't really wanna touch that. Any of it. Though sure enough all of her fanger-chomping limb-dismembering escapades trace back to her shitty childhood. Don't it all? Yeah fuck that noise; she seemingly gets a dose of 'man the fuck up' and bites the bullet. That shit looks plain nasty, and although she reminds me just what I get to do when she's all better. Or, like, reattached at least. Feeling randy? Hardly. I just juggled a fucking shrivelled, sticky head around - still got that shit sticking to my hands. And call me old fashion for not having an amputee fetish or nothing. I got her undressed fully to check for gunshot wounds, I swear. Besides, she had shown me the tits. Doc needs some motivation I suppose.

I focus my attention on the stump now that she's less likely to yelp away, slickening my hands with water and rubbing my fingers around the wound. Motherfucker sure had a set of gnashers, just look at that bone glisten. As gory as this is, it'll sure be one to look back on and laugh. It's like a crashing your car into something, hilarious when it happens to other people. Course there's folks who don't give a fuck either way, and she's sure taking it in stride well enough. Still...occasionally my eyes flicker to her bullet ridden body and the hand that lays casually on the counter. Looking at the stump is no better, and I'm happy to smooth it over a few times with my palm and call it clean. I don't wanna look her in the eye right now though. I'm a solid liar, but those few moments of me actually shutting my fucking mouth? Cause if I opened my yap I would've only been able to ask 'What the fuck is wrong with you?' Really. What's it gonna take, Mac? And yet...I wouldn't want her any other way. She's trying to find peace, one body at a time. I just. I don't wanna-

I hear the door shut?

I turn to find, for lack of a better tem, excited Maddox. Not surprising, given that Church's apartment is it's natural habitat. And hallelujah for giving me something else to think about. Besides, I could use a hand.

Oh Jebus...

"Howdy." Howdy? doesn't really answer her question. I look at roommate number one as number two homes in behind her. Not a chronological thing I assure you, it is based on how much I like them. Though I can delight equally in their reactions cause, well, I didn't get to see my own I guess. The head...oh right, the head. "Mac was running with scissors. She's kinda dumb that way." I look at her and smirk, now with a bit more composure maybe. Mac can tell them a better story of what happened anyway, now that she's not so whacky. Cause I barely understood much apart from 'he ate my fucking hand.' And sure enough, I don't wanna really go into detail about killing an ex-prince with either of these guys in the room. Sawyer says something about snacks, I fail to acknowledge it as I need. "I tried callin' cause I-" Snacks? I turn away from questioning Aguirre, to look at Flint make his way to the freezer. The...disused freezer. The empty freezer, right?

Fuck.

"Sorry Nurse Slut Monster, your ass is needed in, uh...surgery." Tried to think of the name of the fancy room it actually takes place in, but meh. Don't blow my cover as a doctor. Anyway, I'm too busy getting my ass across the kitchen to stop him opening the door. Um...that looked suspicious. I could use a hand - damnit - but I could've maybe just...swore at him or something. "Besides, you're supposed to sleep in there. What'ya doin' putting 'snacks' in there? Heh." There's a reason me and Mac had spelt out the words 'Sawyers Room' with fridge magnets we found stuffed in the back of a drawer during a dumb ass bet we placed. Maybe I can play the thing off as a joke? Cause it seems like one. I'm sure laughing. A stupid wheezy chuckle as my mind scrambles trying to think this one through. Oh fuck, this is a God damn mess. Church never shies away from tense situations. Motherfucker thrives on them. And frankly, I'm in a room that is essentially my phonebook. Or at least the only people I could ever really call a friend. Who else can I really be the real me with?

Wait! He's got it. Church, you're a genius. An evil, demented genius.

"I don't know...Flint. It's kinda hard for me to tell you this buddy." I lay a hand on his shoulder. I point at the freezer with my other, cause I have two of the suckers unlike some dumb bitches. "I'm letting your room out." I sigh unconvincingly, let him go and creak open the freezer door, reaching in and feeling before I wanna open the thing up any wider. Ugh...there it is. Pretty sure my finger just popped an eyeball.

And yet here I am, willing to gross them out for my own amusement. I grab a handful of hair that feels like it's matted with shit, pull it out and hold it up so Flint can shake an imaginary hand. If only I had the foresight to bring Mac's as a prop for my messed up jesting. Oh come one, everyone's seen a decapitated head, we're all adults.

"Guys, this is Hammy. He's a friend of Mac's."

Just another dead fanger right? No Prince here...no sir.
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Mac
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It was ironic that water burned.

Burned worse and less pleasant than actual fire when she fucked up fire spinning, or just got bored and put her hand down on the oven burner. She'd been scalded quite seriously by explosions a few times as well, but none of it was quite as shocking as the way the water burned over her stubby, torn and unevenly punctured wrist stub. It was an aweful lot like being tortured, but even when Marco would strap her down and slowly strip her skin away from muscle for fucking up, the tingling agony wasn't the same... Wasn't as deep, it wasn't in her bones and it wasn't the watery stimulation. The fucking wind felt better... Maybe because she was used to it? Used to the airy feeling of crisp biting breezes on open wounds.... Could also be the probing fingers digging around the open flesh to get it clean. How often had she ever had a wound bathed and taken care of properly? Especially such machinations brought on her skin by hands not her own? Maybe part of the burn was ... Not entirely physical. Maybe part of the burn was her pride being kicked around inside her head and jammed down her throat. Maybe it was a little bit the kindness of it all. She didn't have a way of dealing when people treated her like a people, rather than treating her like an important kind of people. Church was fucking taking care of her stupid ass like it was something special, going out of his way and piecing her together in a way that made her insides get all gummy and her instincts get all fucking angry at herself. Angry because let's face it, she fucking loved it. Having her ass babied by the same man that fucked her silly and broke bones to make her come that much harder, his commentary on not liking when other people did it just made her smile aloofly. Maybe that fentawhatsityl was kicking in...

Then came the interruptions, freeing her from having to think about any sentimental shit that may have arisen. Because she hoped never to have this opportunity again, because the absurdity of the situation simply could never, in her mind, ever be reached again in this life time... She had to play.

Aguirre and sawyers interrupting presence was not the nuisance she had expected it to be, instead it was a much needed distraction. She used her good hand to reach for her bad one, lifting it by the limp wrist from the counter and giving it a -wave- to Aguirre. It flip flopped on the limp wrist like a half blown up medical glove, still perky and kept in a state of semi life due to her ghoul status. Would rot and fall into rigamortis a lot slower than a kines.

"Hey Aguirre, don't stand there looking dumbstruck. We're a little short handed... Scissors are a dangerous business."

The presence of the roommates had dispelled the subtle sexual tension the entire scene had aroused, her knee's on his hips slackening as the comfort and trusting nature in the air seemed to dissolve like a balloon with a pin prick. It had gone from a private patch job into a public performance, which she was almost glad for. The lack of intimacy with Sawyer in the space would definitely force her to maintain face and take everything to come like a god damned champ. The now almost fully dissolved candy in her mouth was also helping, the berry flavor on the air not enough to compete with the strong scent of blood. The counter under her ass was freezing, and she was rather glad that Church had dismissed her thong as less offensive than the dress and allowed her to keep it on. She was also still wearing two completely floating leather thigh bands, a few small trinket knives tucked in the leather, and a zippo hanging on one side by a clip. She had no body issues, so sawyers open mouthed staring didn't do much aside from make her give him a semi amused look of "You should see me on a good day." Then he was going for the freezer, and she was trying to play rerouter at the same time church let go of we stub and busted across the kitchen.

"Someone make themselves useful and get the fucking stitching kit out of my picnic basket by the door eh? Careful.. It's kind of a horror show inside. The bottle of blood wouldn't go amiss either..."

Oh man, it was to late. Her voice trailed off as Church decided to improvise, and just... Pulled The head from the freezer. She couldn't help it, his poise, his cock suredness as he pulled the disgusting, rotting, aged head from the freezer? The Fentywhatsityl? She was laughing, hard, her chest heaving painfully with the stinging rage of metal stuck in her guys. The hand holding her hand moved to slap it on her thigh a few times, making loud ringing chops in an imitation of a fucked up macabre clapping.

"Needed a bit more rent money since Flints free loading."

She was going to fall off the counter she was laughing so hard, bringing the flopping, mangley hand up to face palm into it. She wanted another lollipop.



Edited by Mac, Tuesday, 17. December 2013, 03:18.
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Aguirre Efrain Maddox
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I am surrounded by crazy people. Everyone I love is insane. Truly, my decisions in life thus far have been successful. My senses are fine tuned to enjoy the company of people who wave at me with their own dismembered hand. Something about this situation is perfectly normal, I just have to look real hard past how suave my slack-jawed boyfriend is while he's oglin' Stumpy's chest, hah, and how terrifyin' she and Church are. Haha. Good times. Fantastic times.

Aguirre sort of... Gaped at them, all three of them, wondering exactly when it was that life turned into fucking Alice in Wonderland. She didn't even remember actually falling into a rabbit hole, just that some how she'd ended up in an apartment full of people who had completely lost their minds. She half expected to see the Dormouse pop out; and wondered in which world pulling a decomposing disembodied head from the freezer to make jokes about it like there was no head at all was okay. It went from the freezer to Damon's hands, held up by the world's worst ventriloquist like a terribly grisly puppet. What little blush colored her features before drained away until she was white as a sheet, especially as they started cracking up like it was the best joke in the world.

"I... What? Did you just say howdy? Since when do you say fuckin' howdy? I'm puttin' a cap on fuckin' westerns. And... Hammy? Man, Y'all named the severed head? I literally do not know who y'all are. I have no clue. . I don't even... Where the fuck is this basket? Must be losin' my damn mind." She grumbled, at great length for Mouse Maddox if they hadn't noticed, skulking back out to the living room to retrieve the things Mac needed from her basket--'cause she loved the shit out of that infuriating woman, and was perhaps a little peeved to see that She'd gone and gotten herself riddled with bullets and considerably less handy. Also that Church was storing what was probably the head of the person who'd fucked her up so bad in their freezer, and had proceeded to pull it out and play with it like makeover Barbie.

Yeah, so, forgive me if I sound like my mother whenever Marcus and I did somethin' fuckin' stupid.

She bent down beside the nasty old basket and pulled out the items requested, though highly doubting that they'd be able to sew that idiot's paw back on effectively enough to keep it there. The leftover bottle of blood might help with that, of course, but she hardly thought that the mangled piece of meat Mac waved like a prop was going to make it out of this.

Then again, she'd never had to help reattach someone's hand before, so how would she know? Sweet Jesus, the inside of the basket smelled simply awful. The lanky woman held her breath until the top of the wicker container was shut, one arm containing both items procured. Maybe she was just a little squeamish. Sure felt that way, especially as she came back into the kitchen.
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He blinked, mouth agape for the second time tonight. He was trying so hard to take all of this in stride, but Jesus Christ, how had that ended up in the freezer? Sawyer looked at the head in morbid fascination, trying to figure out who had once been behind the twisted, distorted features.

"Who is..." He gulped, shaking his head and reversing course promptly. "Nope, fuck it, I lied. Don't wanna know. Don't tell me who."

Age and final death had made the guy unrecognizable- good. Mac's conquests were her own business, and he figured nothing good would come from asking her too much about them. If it turned out he was somebody besides some crotchety old Sabbat Cainite that deserved death as much as anyone, it was better that Sawyer didn't know.

Still, he couldn't help but stare at the head; it was already starting to rot away, skin paper-thin and wrinkled with age, eyes gouged out into gory black pits. Fluid seeped out of the severed neck, a red so dark and deep it looked good enough to drink. Not that Sawyer would particularly want to get on any closer terms with ol' Hammy. He shuddered a little, forcing his gaze elsewhere.

Sawyer plastered a cheerful grin to his face, looking back at Church with earnest blue eyes shining. "I ain't curlin' up with him at night, no sir. It's plenty cold outside, can't you just dangle his ass out the window, tie him up, keep him out there? Erm, if he had an ass to dangle, that is... might be a lil' conspicuous in his condition..."

He shrugged, looking past Church to Mac's stump and hand-puppet. Heh, look at it flopping around... those things did tend to grow back for ghouls, didn't they? At least sometimes? He tried to imagine one-handed Mac forever, and settled on the image of her putting some horrible weapon on the end of it and wrecking havoc to her heart's content. Hmm, how about a mace? Surely that shit had potential; smashing people's faces off seemed right up Mac's alley! Or maybe Toran could rig her up a flamethrower hand or some shit? Jesus, that'd be cool...

"Listen," he blurted out, trying to sound as helpful as possible, "If it don't work, and your hand's too fucked up to sew back on, or it don't grow back or whatever, and you've got a blowtorch or somethin' lyin' around- I learned how to cauterize a wound back in L.A.! Never thought it'd come in handy, but fuck, you never know, righ?"

The Nosferatu nodded confidently, smile still brilliantly wide, even as he registered the obvious dismay of his girlfriend. Oops. Better not look like he approved too much, right? Didn't want Aguirre thinking he was just as much of a barbarian as these two scary motherfuckers!

"I'm assumin' this guy is Bambi's mama or some shit, and this is the result of a real good hunt. You in the business of keepin' trophies now?" He asked Mac with the slightest bit of trepidation, head cocked to the side. "If you ever decide to off all of us, please don't make a necklace out of my ears or nothin'. Just as a common courtesy."
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Church
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"C'mon Flint, that's rude. He's a good looking head."

I don't quite join Mac in a chest jiggling giggle, but to see their reactions was enough to rouse a deep belly chuckle out of me. Enough to make Hammy to swing and dance, like the motherfuckers gone Evil Dead on us and is joining in with the joke. I don't wanna frighten them or nothing. Hell, Sawyers reaction to the situation is exactly what I wanted - Shock, horror, interest, laughs. Though I couldn't quite grasp what Aguirre mumbled as she got the fuck out of dodge looking a little peaky. God damn it Maddox, don't you make me feel bad. Meh. Thing is pretty disgusting; I might modify Flint's idea of keeping it out the window, though mine has less tying and more punting. I turn my hand and lift it so we're eye-to-whatever the fuck is left of his eyes.

I guess even if Bats knew the guy, he's age considerably since the last time they met. Turns out I am a clever motherfucker. Rubbing it in their faces led to them not wanting to know, not that I don't blame them. I'm sure it could've gone that way had I let him just open it up but...probably wouldn't have been as funny. If only I had positioned it to greet whoever opened it with a dead and menacing stare. Maybe make a little sign - 'Hello, I'm Hammy. I live here now.' Actually...little creepy. At least my ass would be sober enough to not fall for it.

"Why am I still holding you?" I ask Hammy with a furrowed brow. Got my hands all mucky again. Totally worth it though, and while Sawyer fills us in with some fascinating medical advice. "Nurse Flint...ha." Damn right nurse. If he ever tries to out doctor me so help him...I turn and yank open the freezer, setting up Hammy with a little care this time before pushing the door shut.

I eye Aguirre with a certain degree of concern as the Slut Monster asks a good question. I mean, I'm assuming that she only took the head cause of what it had lodged inside like a fucking morbid turkey stuffing. She seemed pretty fixed on putting it in the freezer, though maybe just to keep the Rats nose out of it. Which he immediately fucked up. Dick. But now? I put it away to give this delicate piece of surgery the degree of class it rightly deserves. I squint as I spot what my roomie is carrying with her. Did...Mac have that shit in her basket? For fuck sake.

"She ain't keepin' it here, tha's for damn sure." Dude I don't want a head in my apartment. Unless it was, like, a gift? No...but something tells me she's pretty proud of the damn thing. I take a few steps to Aguirre and hold my hands to take what she's carrying, not harbouring any desire to have a drop of this gritty shit on my palms smudged on her. And even as I try to make her see light of this stupid situation by shooting her a brief, but equally stupid face, complete with crossed eyes and jutting tongue at the insanity, I'm at a loss for words as to how I can explain this situation. "So I tried callin'" I sigh at her. "I wanted to ask whether or not we should just put Mac's stupid ass out of her misery."
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This was possibly one of the least sane situations she had ever been in, and hot damn if it wasn't the best laugh ever. She was face palming into her own severed hand, while Aguirre ran away looking like a ghost and Sawyer and Church began to bicker about Hammy, her new pet head.

Jesus, maybe he wasn't a Ventrue afterall? What if that fucker was a Malkavian! She sure felt like it, busting a bullet ridden gut with mirth at the absuridty. Ow.. Ow it hurt, laughing so hard was ripping shit open on metal balls, making the bleeding start again as she winced, calming the laughter, and removed the wiggly hand from her face. Strangely, she almost wished she was wearing a shirt or something... Not because she was ashamed of her body in any way, but because she didn't want Aguirre to murder Sawyer later for staring at the perfect, tentacle framed ladies that Church loved so much.

We better get the fucking end of this bitch into some vamp blood to keep it fresh...” She'd nod to Aguirre, who had come back in bearing the beautiful gifts of a medical stitching kit, and the slick and sloppily filled wine bottle of Archons blood. She would have encountered a whole lot of other weird none sense in the basket, including Archons red tie and Mac's sadly empty, old, rusted flask.

I don't need no fucking cauterizing! I've already stopped bleeding...from the hand at least. Can't really stop around the bullets well till they get out...And NO! You are not hanging Hammy out the window! He's fine in the freezer until I can figure out what the fuck to do with it to stop it from rotting... And no Slut Monster, I don't normally take trophies. However...” And she branished her hand again, to let it flop about madly in the air as she hand talked with her hand holding her severed hand, to amuse herself. “This was stuck so fucking far down his throat I couldnt get it out. Trust me, I tried.

She then leaned back on the counter, to prop herself up on her elbows and lay her severed hand on the counter again, hoping that Aguirre would be of assistance and put the end of that fucker in a glass of blood or something to keep it fresh until they got on with the shit that needing getting on with. The pressure on the severed wrist from the elbow lean wasn't to bad through the foggy effects of the Fentanyl, but it sure made her wince non the less. She needed more room, the counter was to fucking small for the giantess. It was time to get rolling on this shit, there was to much small talk going on, even if all the small talk was so god damned genius she hadn't stopped vibrating with giggles for more than a few seconds.

If you're going to put me out of my misery, I demand a death worthy of a two bit hussy like me. Drench me in Vodka, and set me on fire ... and let me loose at a pack of Sabbat. I'll run around setting everything on fire and go out in a blaze of beautiful glory and cuss words.

She felt along her stomach with her good hand, using her fingers to gather around the bullet holes and stretching the skin wide and flat to awkwardly look down. She couldn't see to well, her tits were in the way.

So... Who's handy..hahah... with some fucking tweezers? The bullets, they can be removed pretty easy... Then I really gotta get that fucker back on the stump, I can sew on a normal day, today I might need a hand. Hahahah... .” Toran would have the bullets out by now, but she'd come to Fangers instead of the living. Course, he had Lucy around so often she couldnt be sure she'd be sold out. She hoped that Sawyer was to dense to figure out who Hammy was exactly, or that he'd at least keep his trap shut when he put the ones and two's together later. Maybe no one would give a fuck and they'd think he'd just taken off for a while again? Still, even without Lucy in the picture... She'd want to come to her Doc. That made her slightly uncomfortable, as she longed for a bottle of the hard shit to help drown it away.
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Aguirre Efrain Maddox
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"So I tried callin'. I wanted to ask whether or not we should just put Mac's stupid ass out of her misery."

"I sure ain't seein' much misery there, Sherlock, looks more like she's enjoyin' the shit outta this." Aguirre eyed Mac with a sharply raised brow, especially at the mention of... soaking the dismembered hand... in stolen blood... from a dead vampire. Holy fuck. She had the image in her head of placing Mac's battered piece of detached meat in a vase like a bunch of flowers and watching it grow, and she quickly realized she was just as batshit crazy as the rest of them, even if she didn't outwardly share the involuntary picture in her head--courtesy of an overactive imagination. Was insanity contagious?

She set the sewing kit in Damon's outstretched paws, keeping her copper eyes on the ground to avoid staring at... Well, there was a plethora of things to avoid looking at in her kitchen at the moment. At least the head wasn't among things to avoid making eye contact with anymore, but that still left a dismembered hand lying on the counter next to a very naked, very loud, very reckless and stumpy Mac full of bullet wounds that she seemed not to feel at all; there was a slightly agitated Church caring for said reckless Mac, calling the shots like he was the head of a back-alley doctor's office. There was a chattering Nosferatu, whom she was trying not to hear as much as glance at--mostly because she assumed he was still doing the exact opposite of her goal, staring blatantly with a dopey fucking grin on his face and talking about ear-necklaces. She could have just stayed out of the room, considering she didn't have the medical knowledge to help at all, nor the practical knowledge to know how to improvise, but that seemed rude.

Ha, rude. I'm sittin' here worryin' about my fuckin' manners.. Jesus H. Christ on a crutch.

"Anywho," she started, picking Mac's hand up with her forefinger and thumb, that queasy look on her face returning very quickly, as she pulled one of maybe three bowls in the whole house out of a cabinet and placed the mangled thing in it. She uncorked the wine bottle--feeling even more irate as she got some of the stolen blood on her palms--and dumped a good amount into the bowl with the hand, nose scrunching up quite solidly into an expression that read variations of what-the-fuck-am-I-doing-right-now? This was an entirely new experience for Aguirre, and fuck the rest of the more seasoned people in the room, because this was alarming and disgusting and far too bloody--in a very unpleasant way--for her taste.

"I agree with Church--I don't give two shits whose head it is, just get it the fuck out of the apartment as soon as humanly possible. It's ugly and greasy, it smells like death, and there's no body attached to carry itself out. I swear to God I'll chuck the damn thing in the Thames myself if it ain't outta here posthaste. That nasty ass basket too--when you've got your hand back and you ain't full of holes, that is."

She set the wine bottle down on the counter and put the cork back in place, and probably would have washed her hands in the sink if it weren't for the fact that it was already occupied by, y'know, basically gore. The thing that annoyed her the most about the situation was the fact that she was incredibly concerned about Mac, despite all her laughing and joking and all the shit she did that was inappropriate to the situation. That bitch could put on a good face all she wanted, but she'd nearly gotten herself killed, dumbass. So here were the people who loved her, coming round to put pieces of her back together like an extremely stupid puzzle. Now she wanted to pick the shards out? Fine. The sooner they got all the bullets out, the sooner she could find a god damn shirt, and that was perfectly fine with the lanky Brujah. She disappeared again for a moment, heard water run in the hallway bathroom. When Aguirre came back, her hands were clean, she had a pair of tweezers and a fresh towel--because Mac was more than likely going to bleed, a lot, while they tried to dig remnants of metal in her abdomen. She'd get clothes later, when Mac was actually able to wear them.

She set these items on the counter beside Mac, unfolded the towel, and pulled out a fifth of Jack that had been hidden somewhere in the room she shared with Sawyer. It was more of a security blanket than something she could actually use anymore, and it would almost definitely go to better use numbing the Amazonian while one of the boys dug foreign bits of metal out of her.
Edited by Aguirre Efrain Maddox, Thursday, 19. December 2013, 15:33.
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