Vampire The Masquerade RPG
Welcome Guest [Log In] [Register]


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

Register -:- New Posts -:- Active Topics -:- The Staff -:- Contact Us
Welcome To The Night

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

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

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

Create Your Account!

If you're already a member, please log in to your account to access all of our features:

Username:   Password:
Add Reply
  • Pages:
  • 1
  • 2
I'm going Slightly Mad; Closed.
Topic Started: Friday, 13. December 2013, 22:23 (2,987 Views)
Sawyer
Member Avatar
Friendly Neighborhood Vampire
* * * * * *
"He bit your hand off?" Sawyer gawked at her, trying his damnedest not to burst into giggles. After all, even in her current condition, he figured that Mac would be more than happy to beat the shit out of him on behalf of her wounded pride. "The hell were you doin'? I don't 'member you trying to stick your arm down my throat or nothin' when you were huntin' me."

All he really did remember of her approach, honestly, was how she'd tackled him out of nowhere; that sort of thing shouldn't result in lost limbs, unless she'd been going after some particularly wily prey tonight. Couldn't have been that wily, though, considering that his macabre grimace was now lighting up the entire room. Wasn't it nice to have Hammy around? Once again Sawyer fervently decided that he really, really didn't want to know who that head might've originally belonged to.

He watched as Aguirre grudgingly played nurse, a little impressed by how well she could seize up a situation. To be fair, though, he was pretty easily impressed, and all it took was a smile from the Brujah to leave him wanting to applaud. Stupid for each other was, in the end, a pretty damn good way to put it. Still, though, that didn't stop him from wanting to tease her regardless- she wasn't having nearly as much fun with this crazy situation as Sawyer thought she should.

"Aw, quit ruinin' the fun, darlin'. Ain't like Mac stowed the nice gentleman away in your bed." He sniffed in mock disapproval, thoroughly enjoying how completely grossed-out his girlfriend looked. "Anyways, we're s'posed to be real welcomin' to guests, or at least that's what my mamaw always told me."

Curious, Sawyer wandered over to the hand soup. Inside the bowl, the hand floated, seemingly at least fairly fresh and intact, if you could disregard the bite marks. The whole set-up looked like the world's most grotesque game of bobbing for apples. Wonderful!

"I can sew," he volunteered, looking back up and shrugging slightly. "That is, uh, if the doctor over here trusts me. Which he probably don't. He, uh, looks like he's got it under control. But still. Offer stands!"

Okay, really he couldn't sew that well, but hey, it was something! His experience was mostly limited to stitching together the sleeves of sweaters or the toes of socks with a threaded yarn needle, and that didn't exactly require as much finesse as reattaching limbs. Still, he'd had plenty of practice with the warmer, fuzzier sort of DIY work lately, and this couldn't be that much harder, right? Sweater arms, human arms, same difference...

He laughed a little, glancing over at Aguirre. "As for the pickin' bits out part, well, I ain't sure I'd trust Klutz with that one. On account of bein' a klutz 'n all. Might kinda be a 'oh, that's an internal organ? Did ya need that?' kinda thing. But take that risk if you wanna!"
Posted Image
Dialogue color = #9F4438
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Church
Member Avatar
Putting the 'fun' in 'dysfunctional'
* * * *
I gotta agree with what Aguirre noted about our psychotic friend, that there is a distinct lack of misery for her to be removed from. Especially as she concurs with the idea and tells how she would want it. That can be arranged, Princess I think to myself, though with a sort of gloominess that is not becoming of my own suggestion. Though I hope you weren't planning on that blaze of beautiful glory alone. God dammit...suddenly, I can fully understand the hospital process of having 'visiting hours.' Since my roommates have got back, there's been unanticipated delays that have brought us full circle to this fucking moment. Mac's hand is once again enveloped in blood, bobbing below to become finger and vitae soup, and even though I washed that fucking thing once, I guess it buys time for me to screw around and lose this shitty niggling sensation in the back of my skull.

"Ya remember telling me not to bite off your fingers in case they didn't come back?" I ask, pacing across the kitchen and setting down the sewing kit on the other side of Mac near the sink. To the 'non-freaks' in the room, that sentence was pretty damning, but fuck if I care. I run a finger across her lower abdomen, specifically tracing the line of blood that seeps from one of the bullet holes with every unwise swell of laughter she is filled with. In my other hand I tote the pair of tweezers Aguirre has helpfully brought in, twirling the metal in my fingers as I admire the damage. "Watch your ass Flint, woman's got a jungle fever like no other. You stitch her hand on, next think you know she's wanting you to pump her full of lead and bite bits off.

Let's do this shit; Let's get the holes sorted before the hand. Then we can worry 'bout who's stitchin' what."
We can also cover up Mac's fun cushions too. Not for my sake, but for the others. They gawk anymore and Mac might break into a striptease for the thong. Also given the fact that her hand is now being 'preserved' and I can't feel too confident about the sewing aspect of surgery, I like this plan. I tap the little instrument on my chin for a moment as I find my eyes getting bleary staring at her gut. They then travel north to hers and I grin; "Now far be it from me to tell you how much easier this would be if yo' goofy ass would keep still, cause you'll do your own thing." In the hysteria, in the shock, in all the pain she's experiencing, can she stay still? Hopefully with Aguirre's generously donated bourbon. And I pull out the second wrapper of Fentanyl and offer it to her like you would with a kid. "But if you wouldn't mind maybe holding your tits up? They're killin' the light..."

So here I go, awkwardly bent over to get level with the wounds, make sure I'm not yanking things she needs out (as Flint pointed out earlier is definitely a bad thing). I guide the tips to grasp the exposed metal lodged in her, I'll take my time cause I'm not one for being too delicate. I don't wanna break the only tweezers we have here, cause then what? Do it with my teeth? If push comes to shove, maybe, but that's the kind of thing we'd need to take somewhere a little more private... "Your mamaw sounds lik'a classy lady, Flint." I say with all the seriousness I can, my face not even recognising the implications of what I meant. Cutting the tension maybe? You never know...Maybe I met her? The old days. The proximity. With the amount of southerners in this room, I'm afraid of some horrifying and hilarious secret slipping out, that Flint might actually turn around and say he's been looking his whole life for me. Daddy, I love you! Sweet fucking Jebus.

There we go. I get a firm grasp on a slug and start to wiggle the fucker free. My logic is pulling it straight will just result in breaking the hold, and if I can wiggle it out a little more accessible, my fingers might be able to do the rest. Still...it's a tricky little fuck. Am I actually concentrating? Didn't think my mind understood that concept anymore. Hell, if it stops more shit coming out my mouth, it's probably a good thing. I keep wiggling, keep pulling, all the while humming something faint under my breath. Something distinctly...gospel.
Posted Image
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Mac
Member Avatar
Goddess of Fuck and War
* * * * *
Yes he bit it off. It was either stuff a hand down his throat, or let him bite my tits off. You can see which I value more, clearly... and I was just trying to kill you cuz I was hungry, shame on me for playing with this one some. Mama always said not to play with my food afterall...

She waved her stump at him, indicating she definately valued the boobs more. The hand would potentially regrow (not to mention she never dreamed that fucker could actually bite her hand -off-) but her tits? Did Tzimisce body grafting regrow if removed? She wasn't sure, and she sure wouldn't take the risk! They were beautiful mountain peeks of jiggly fun, and she was pretty sure Church would agree that a hand lost was better than a magnificent tit. What would he then compose sonnets to?

She would take all of Sawyers teasing with a grain of salt really, and play the slightly high grumpy faced creature at all the fun poking. Afterall, was it that much fun if she didn't look like it was bothering her a little? It really didn't, she actually liked it. It made Sawyer seem somewhat less... like a carebear that he could poke around at her flailing limb and bullet hole mess. She was flip flopping between laugher, and crossed brows and glared stares. They were indeed all lunatics in this room, except maybe for Aguirre, but she was adjusting to the situation rather nicely. There had been no crying, no flailing, no throwing up. Oh wait, the throw up thing was Mac's route, not a fangers. Anyways, there still had been non of that ridiculos girly nonsense. She'd been a little disturbed, but was growing slowly immune to the insanity of the situation. It was indeed pleasing to see.

She gave Aguirre a little Salute with her good hand, acknowledging that she would indeed remove Hammy and the Picnic basket of horror once she was...well, able. Technically she was able now, but she really didn't want to. This was entirely to much macabre fun. She then reached for the beautiful bottle that Aguirre had brought, giving her all sorts of googley eyes of love.

You're a fuckin angel you are.

She then looked to Sawyer as Church picked up the sewing kit for inspection, giving Sawyer a grim look of “You aint getting my organs sonny!” This manifested itself in slitted eyes and a drawn, thin frown. “The only fanger I like poking around inside my body, in all the good ways, and the bad... is my Doc.” She then shoved a stump at him, although her intention was to point an accusing finger. She -felt- like she was pointing a finger at him, her brain fully thought it was... but only a badly gnawed stump was waving, with a considerable burn at the muscles being tensed for the finger action. Her eyes slid sideways to the bowl of dismembered hand, as if she was checking to see if it was following her directions from afar.

I am ghost fingering you right now, just so you know.... Oiy! Hey, don't you tell them about the sexy times. That's our business.

His finger running along her skin did all sorts of uncomfortable things, including making her bite into the inside of her lip. She was numbed by the Fenawhateveryl, so his touch wasn't so hurting, especially as she brought that bottle of booze up to take a good sized swig. The burn down her throat was beautiful, pure slippery stinging bliss. If no one else was here, would he be leaning over and licking that line of red from her stomach? Both hands holding her hips still, biting into her skin with the nails, gigging his tongue into the open wound and enjoying the torment as she writhed about? Damn fucking hand, if this was just the bullet holes they'd be having sooooo much more fun.

He was handing her another lollipop, and she almost made a declaration that would forever haunt her. Instead, she bit down on the first words that came to mind and shook her head at it. “Nah, I want to feel it... Save it for the stitching... and I only got one hand! Jacks occupying it a little.”

She sobered some, trying to gather her shit in her head for him to slide the cold metal tweezers into the open squishy holes of her gut. She crossed her good arm over her tits, trying to squish them out of the way. Unfortunately, that just added her arm, and a bottle of Jack Daniels she was -not- parting with, in the way of his light and made it worse. She then removed the arm, and tried to lean back as far as she could to get her boobs out of the view. She couldn't watch him to well, but she wanted to. She watched what she could see between the indent between her boobs, making a face of concentration. She didn't feel it as much as she expected to, dulled and numbed by Church's Doctor stash. She did giggle at his shot to Sawyers Mamaw, which made her stomach tense and jump a touch. That hurt, but not unbearably. She tried not to move, although she couldn't help some of the way her hips seemed to roll and arch -into- his digging instead of away, like most people would. He got the bullet, and she was holding her breath a moment as he jiggled it around. God, don't fucking moan in front of Sawyer and Aguirre.... Especially because this was a bad time to give the Doc a boner. Wait, was he humming?

She almost commented on it, almost made a crack about how this wasn't a funeral so there was no need for that humming... But then, he would stop. Instead, she found one of those rare moments where she just didn't say anything. Instead, she just rode the sound of his humming, and the wiggling of the tweezers freeing the first bullet from her soft and fleshy insides. With it, came a sigh. It was like she could feel the bullets added weight dissappear, and the alarms at airports ceasing to ring at the back of her imagination.
Posted Image

"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."
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Aguirre Efrain Maddox
Member Avatar
Mouse
* * * * *
"...I don't 'member you trying to stick your arm down my throat or nothin' when you were huntin' me."

"Hunting you? The fuck? Aguirre muttered. She hadn't fucking heard about this, from either of them. Probably wasn't appropriate to talk about while Mac was on this ghetto operating table, but one thing was certain--she would have plenty of questions for Sawyer once this garbage was resolved. Such as, y'know, what the fuck was Mac doing hunting him? Also, just why the hell hadn't she heard about it sooner? How did he get into so much trouble with these fucking ghouls? Playing with her food, PSHHH...

"You're a fuckin angel you are."

An angel, huh? That was a new one, a describing word that hadn't been applied to the Brujah since... Ever. There was probably a measure of irony there somewhere when one considered that Mac was the first person to apply that word to her in longer than she could remember, especially in this state of damning unlife. An angel, for fuck's sake. They'd see how much of an angel she was when she was kicking Mac's teeth in for fucking herself up so badly. Sure, it defeated the purpose, but if there was anything she'd learned from her current companions--it was that a good ass-kicking tended to get lessons through even the thickest of skulls. This wholly self destructive woman's skull was the thickest one she knew... Aside from maybe her lovably daft Nosferatu's. Speaking of which, there was nothing Aguirre wanted more right now than to just let every single lesson in how to be polite make its way right out the door and start flying off the handle at every person in the kitchen--however, she still have inhibitions, and these inhibitions told her to keep her trap shut while the Adults handled business, and somehow her counterpart was included at the adult table. Somehow. She shot Sawyer a look, significantly less thrilled to be teased than he might have imagined at the moment.

You keep diggin' that hole you're in and you might just find China. Or the couch. Or someone else's couch in China.

Still, even with that vouch of very little confidence, she couldn't help but be relieved not to have to play Operation. Hey, she'd been a professional Operation player when she was younger, and especially when she was quite drunk... but Mac was definitely not a board game, and Aguirre was not a surgeon, nor drunk. Plus, she was particularly fond of the idea of putting her head that close to Mac's chest--because, knowing Mac, she'd probably do something ridiculously inappropriate. She expected nothing less than some fucking involuntary motorboat that ended in all sorts of embarrassment and endless jokes for the next century. Nope, that certainly wasn't happening, and Sawyer's offer to reattach the hand once they were finished removing the pellets was just as well. He'd get to be all up close and personal, not to mention getting to make fun of her the entire time.

Besides, Damon looked as though he were enjoying the job far more than Aguirre would have, and... for that matter.. so did the Amazonian. Man, what the fuck. She let her head drop down and hid her eyes beneath a hand which massaged her temples, the other arm wrapped around her midsection. She didn't understand at all how pain like that could translate into pleasure, or how she could be so god damn easy going when she'd lost a fucking hand and was currently bleeding all over their kitchen. It pissed her off to see that Mac was enjoying herself through this, learning only that this was a gateway to some sort of sick pleasure instead of learning to avoid being torn up. If she weren't chalk full of vitae, she'd have fucking bled out on the way here, or died from internal hemorrhaging caused by the bullets to her belly. She couldn't wait for this to be over so they could get the Ghoul some clothes and get her the fuck out with that head in tow, but that wasn't happening at point soon.
Posted Image
We are all museums of fear.
Font color: #FFDAB9
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Sawyer
Member Avatar
Friendly Neighborhood Vampire
* * * * * *
He watched in morbid fascination as Church fished around in Mac's side with a bloody pair of tweezers, but when Mac let out a moaning little sigh, he had to bite his tongue to stop from laughing. Oh, wow, she was into this. Like, into this. Was this the kinda thing both of them were into? What was that about biting fingers off?! Was Aguirre gonna ask him to bite her fingers off someday?!?! Oh, god, this was awkward. He managed to cover his dismay with a profoundly uncomfortable smile, leaned against the counter, and tried to look as collected as possible.

"... should we be givin' y'all some privacy?" Sawyer said sheepishly, only half joking.

Still, the bullet removal seemed to do the trick, and Mac sure as hell was acting like a trooper. Maybe a very high trooper, but still, better than whining. All this profound and sudden awkwardness made him want to borrow that bottle of Jack Daniel's, though. Maybe share it with Hammy, because that guy sure looked like he needed to drown his sorrows.

"So, uh, why was he going after your boob anyway?" Sawyer said in a desperate attempt to break the awkward atmosphere. On second though, maybe that wasn't the right question for the job. "Hammy, I mean. You playin' black widow or somethin' now? I hear prayin' mantises bite the heads off dudes after they fuck 'em, but somehow I think Church might have an issue with that scenario. So what were you doin'?"

Wow, he was just babbling now, as stupidly curious as ever. Did he even really want to know what sort of shenanigans Mac got up to in her free time?

He glanced over at Aguirre, only to quickly glance away with a guilty "meep!"- she looked pissed. Concern was etched into her face along with a healthy bit of disapproval. Apparently Vampire Ma was taking the Ma thing very, very seriously. And Sawyer had the distinct impression that he, along with the other lunatics in the kitchen, were all going on her shit list.
Edited by Sawyer, Monday, 23. December 2013, 17:54.
Posted Image
Dialogue color = #9F4438
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Church
Member Avatar
Putting the 'fun' in 'dysfunctional'
* * * *
The fucker comes free; I drop it on the counter with a metallic rattle to signal a few final bars of amazing grace before glancing back at the Nosferatu.

"No privacy required. Now, if Mac hadn't gone and lost all her pieces...and was naked...maybe" Cause in my head, she isn't naked. There's still a thong separating her from true, one hundred percent nudity. But she's right, sexytimes are our business. Anyone wants to know about it, it's gonna cost them. I dunno how much of an evening I'm really able to piece together, what with the blunt force trauma and the minutes feeling like hours...I look back at her with begging eyes, almost willing her to magical full health immediately. This shit...fuck this shit. I like to doctor lately but compared to an evening spent being humped by a victorious and blood drunk Mac would've been so much cooler. "And if you have to ask about the tits, I gotta wonder if there's even a dude under that mask of yours."

I hunch back over, placing a hand on her abdomen this time to, well, fuck with her as I extract the second slug. Again, painstakingly tedious and delicate for a brute like myself, but at least I'm not frustrated to begin with. Also, having a patient with a pain threshold that pars on fucking lunacy is a big, big help. She's loving this. And that...fucks me off a little bit. I grit my teeth as the tweezers slip off, reaffirming my grip, trying not to lose my patience....fucking bitch.

"Anyway, doesn't matter none does it honey?" I seem to have followed on from the last thing I said, oblivious to the world around me for a few seconds. I'm looking at her again, still gripping the bullet but not quite ready to pull it out. "I'm sure you've learnt a valuable lesson about the constitution of yer wrists." And you won't do it again, will you, you stupid cunt? That's what I'm trying to tell her with my eyes, accompanied with wrenching the slug free. It gets a little smile, seeing the tremor, the repressed squirm at the sensation. Still pisses me off that she's not gonna learn a fucking lesson from this. She isn't invulnerable, in case she didn't know. Cause up until now, I sure was under the impression she was. Fuck it, I wish I could just take the pain away out of spite now. The best I can do is yank the fucker clean out and let it tinkle onto the floor and place the tweezers aside. She better not go dying on me. Or...

Or what?

"Anythin' else ailing ya now? Do I need to take them off?" It's the usual lewd and crass dialect one would expect from me, but I don't bother waiting for an answer. Bullets, done. Hand next. Which is gonna be a fucker. I make for the kitchen door, to get something for her to wear from my wardrobe. For the sake of lil Aguirre, who seems pissed and disturbed by all of this, and lil Sawyer, who might go blind if he stares any harder.

"You ok, darling?" I ask on my way out, stopping in front of my bloodkin with a frown. I get that she didn't expect this to come home to, but as long as Mac is laughing it off, she should be too right? I should be too. I was but, it's see-sawing back and forth. Between impressed and concerned, amused and steaming annoyed. Aguirre see's the one half, Sawyer the other. Ain't that odd? Jebus, maybe I really am becoming a different person.
Posted Image
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Mac
Member Avatar
Goddess of Fuck and War
* * * * *
You didn't tell Guirre about Camden? You dirty skanky slut monster!”

She quirked a brow at Aguirre, trying to distract herself briefly as Church set aside the first bullet. She'd been here before, not with Church or any of these particular folk, but been in back alley surgeries having bullets removed more than once, -a lot- more. The concern on Aguirre's features was actually throwing her, she didn't really know how to interpret it, how to deal with the fact it made her feel guilty. Why should she feel guilty? This was her life, this is who she was damnit. She'd been doing this for decades. Bullets went astray. She also needed to distract from Sawyers more probing question about exactly what she was up to tonight, so into the past with this tale it was.

She caught that first look from Church, with his big old begging and pleading green eyes that made her offer him an expression of 'Bite me' in return. Seriously, what the fuck was that look about?

I found this fucker in Camden when I was hunting. I have this Hobo Darien I use, just give him a bottle, get him drunk and he stumbled anywhere I point. Anyways, easy way to catch shovel heads... And here comes Slut Monster, all stupid and oblivious to the god damned obvious trap I set with Wesley. Anyways, he takes the bait and I take him down once he's latched on good and drinking from my juice box and distracted...” She stopped a moment, when Church laid a hand on her stomach to stretch the skin and set in anew with the tweezers for the next bullet. A hard swallow at the unusual sensation, before spurring on with the tale of her and Slut Monster in the rubble. “The next thing I know I'm staring into Sawyers ugly fucking mug flailing and freaked out. I don't know who was more startled. He decided to help me find my next meal ticket sine he'd eaten poor Donovan, and left me without. Turned into a pretty little slutty creature to be the next lure... When diner came to take advantage of him, he let the mask on his face drop but kept the tits and slutty skirt. It was fucking amazing, should have seen the asshole on top of hims face!”

Ah, damn...” She flinched when Church lost the bullet and the tweezers jumped a little in her fleshy wound, eye brows flexing as she gritted teeth with a hard blink as she looked to his face again while he played around inside her. Wait, he was probing about her guts and she was prattling on telling tales? That was a new one, because -usually- she wailed and squirmed about flailing when anyone was digging inside her. Maybe it was the Fenatyl, or the gentle attempt Church had been attempting, tweezers being ever more delicate than fucking fingers squishing around... but she wasn't doing the usual routine of swearing and spitting and venom. God, his expression made her want to reach across and punch him. She wished her god damned spare hand was closer, within reach, she would love to pick it up and slap him across the face with it. Make him stop giving her those puppy eyes, like she'd done something wrong?

Yeah yeah. I've learned a real valuable lesson. That I need to find a Tzimisce and get some adamantium laid in my bones. And that you're a lot nicer when you pull shit out of my guts than Toran is.” Humor instead of seriousness, because she didn't feel like being an adult damnit. Fuck that.

Then he was yanking the second bullet out a lot quicker, which made her entire face blanch and her stomach muscles scream in tense reflex. She made a hissed little noise of protest, hand immediately moving to slap over the empty bullet holes and press down. Sooth the angery little flare up with the blunt pain of pressure. She always did love pressure. Was there anything else ailing her? Well, duh. Wasn't she always burning for a certain sort of blissful torture?

Only the usual stuff Doc. For the sake of Ma and Pa Fanger though, we'll skip that particular brand of Doc's Medicine in the current company...

Church was cruising away, stopping to check on Aguirre. Was she really that bothered by this? This ... this was old hat. This absurd situation was the best kind of situation, you had to laugh at it, because sometimes you didn't get an opportunity for laughter for long hard stretches. Take it when you can.
Edited by Mac, Saturday, 28. December 2013, 19:51.
Posted Image

"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."
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Aguirre Efrain Maddox
Member Avatar
Mouse
* * * * *
That little meep! was well warranted, considering what she was hearing from Mac. She’d never imagined that Sawyer would earn a nickname like ‘slut monster’, because honestly, it sounded like a bad stripper name on Halloween, although to be honest, she was kind of curious to see how Sawyer has masked himself for that stupid, stupid event in particular. Damn. Why didn’t anybody ever take pictures when she missed shit like this? Besides that, what in all of Sawyer’s past experience told him that hunting in Camden was a good idea, anyway? He was lucky he didn’t come home as fucked up that night as he had when Toran pulled the shenanigans that now made him a nearly permanent part of the ‘family’, though Aguirre and her Nosferatu didn’t quite agree on that point. If Mac was able to see Sawyer’s mask, this was probably midway through the punishment dealt out by Henderson.… In any case, Camden was dangerous, but at least almost no one would see him. Ah, mixed feelings. Things like Mac could also see him, who was more than a little dangerous on her own.

Anyway, the phrase ‘ugly mug’ was way too harsh, especially for the Handsomest Nosferatu in London. Guess not everybody shared Aguirre’s love for his unmasked face. It was bordering on impossible to stay mad at him when she knew he was just helping Mac hunt, if not in general.

Still, Aguirre’s expression wasn’t exactly pleased—brow dipping lower as she watched Mac give a proper reaction to pain. Abnormal, that look on her features. Dumbass. As long as they somehow put her hand back on, the Brujah couldn’t stay too upset, but she might study the Amazonian a little more closely upon greetings from then on. How many fights had ended this way for her? How many had been even worse? She couldn’t imagine, couldn’t imagine seeing her come in, somehow in worse shape than this. She certainly wouldn’t be showing up on her own two legs if that were the case, right? For fuck’s sake.

”You ok, darling?

Copper eyes met his green ones with a slightly raised brow. It wasn’t like it was Damon’s fault he had a lovable psycho for a love interest. Well, it probably was, and be was a lovable psycho too—in either case, she just wanted to see this all resolved. She wanted Mac to be whole instead of in pieces.

”I’m all good, Doc.”

Ha. Church had a silly nickname now, too. Doc and the Mouse, costarring their companions—Super Psycho and the Slut Monster. Sounded like some kind of terrible independent comic book. The corner of her mouth drew up in a lopsided smile.

”You got anything for her to wear? I might have somethin’ a little more fittin’. Plus you have like, what, one pair of busted-ass jeans? Yeah, c’mon...”

Aguirre led the way out of kitchen. A couple trips weren’t so bad. Besides, she wanted to ask why he’d suddenly become battlefield medic without Chuckles the Vampire Hunter interjecting.
Edited by Aguirre Efrain Maddox, Thursday, 2. January 2014, 02:24.
Posted Image
We are all museums of fear.
Font color: #FFDAB9
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Sawyer
Member Avatar
Friendly Neighborhood Vampire
* * * * * *
Sawyer watched as the two Brujah disappeared, a little crestfallen. Damn, he hadn't meant for Aguirre to find out about that misadventure, or about the fact he'd been hunting mainly in Camden for the duration of the time he'd spent without a mask. Hell, it wasn't as if he'd had a lot of options, right? It was about the only place in the city where the Masquerade was more a polite suggestion than the law of the land, and he'd like to see her try to survive on nothing but rats and stray dogs. Princess Mouse would get why he was taking risks then.

He leaned against the counter, fixing Mac with a disappointed expression. "Hey, I help you out, you get me in trouble with the missus? Man, that ain't cool." His lips twisted into a boyish pout, like an overgrown school kid sent to sit in a corner. "You know she worries about me. And I don't even pull the kinda crazy shit you do. Last time I checked I had all limbs intact, thank you very much."

And hell, he really had been a good boy since arriving in London. Most of the real risks he'd taken had been Aguirre-related in the first place, so it wasn't like she could very successfully guilt trip him. Right? Erm... not really right. Sawyer was a softie, right down to his marshmallow core, and even the slightest look of disapproval from his Mouse would leave him feeling terribly guilty, whether it was warranted or not. After all, any risk he took was risking her, too- that's what a bond, meant, didn't it? They needed each other.

He shook his head slightly, pursing his lips and turning his thoughts instead to her grisly stump. "You, uh, feel anything there?" He said suddenly, morbid curiosity getting the better of him. A faint, false blush crept across his freckled cheeks as he realized with embarrassment how stupid that question sounded.

"Well, uhm, obviously it hurts, but that ain't what I mean... like, uh, what do they call it- phantom limbs? You still feel your hand? Like you could still move it around 'n shit, 'cept it ain't actually there? That'd be so fuckin' cool. I ain't never actually lost anything that important before, huh." He gave an awkward chuckle, still staring at the stump. Better not to let his eyes wander upwards back to that octopus on her chest- Aguirre was already gettin' pissy, and he didn't want more reason for her to give him the cold shoulder later. He sighed a little, pursing his lips before his blue eyes met her own dark gaze.

"You didn't answer my question earlier 'bout what you were actually doin', which is prob'ly for the best. I can only assume it was somethin', uh, you prob'ly weren't s'posed to do." He shrugged, slightly, but there was something in his eyes that might remind her of a pleading puppy dog. "But like, please don't do too much stupid shit. We all know how much he cares 'bout you. I don't wanna know what he'd do if somethin' happened to you. And I like havin' you around. Preferably in one piece."

And really, he did. He didn't exactly understand Mac, to be fair, but he cared about her all the same. She reminded him powerfully of the bad-tempered alligators in the sewers below- once they sunk their teeth into you, they never did seem to let go, and if you let 'em have their way, they'd roll you over and drown you in even the shallowest, most putrid puddle. But damn, there was something admirable about that dogged determination. Sawyer loved the sewer gators. And more and more, Sawyer loved Mac. They might be the weirdest little family possible, but hey, he'd take what he could get.
Posted Image
Dialogue color = #9F4438
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Church
Member Avatar
Putting the 'fun' in 'dysfunctional'
* * * *
I wandered behind her in silence down that corridor, head maybe hung a little in shame even if I ain't the psychopath that Aguirre is worrying about tonight. And why should she be? Church is level headed, calm, collected - or at least he is if he's fed and got freaky in at least the past five days - not the daredevil bitch who can't keep hands attached. The bitch who can actually die a little easier from that shit, doesn't grow limbs back too well. Mouse is right to be worried. I'm gorram worried, I just don't show it too well. And maybe something inside me wants Mac to take heed to Aguirre's body language, know that there will be some serious hell to fucking pay if...

"Thanks." I take the jacket after I realise that I was stood in the doorway day-er-night dreaming about shit I'd rather not. My face isn't the manic gleefulness of presenting Hammy, just a sober scowl to let her know that I aint exactly 'happy' about this evening...but damn if I ain't happy Mac came to her Doc. "I'll try and keep it in one piece. As well as her...providing my sewing is up to scratch. Do me a favour an' stay in here, yeah?"I request, feels almost like begging, with a hand on her shoulder and a hard stare into her pretty eyes. It's gonna be unpleasant to say the least. Hopefully a deterrent for Mac to not lose her limbs again. And what comes afterwards will definitely be best suited behind closed doors and Mac will receive a little bit more in the way of 'punishment.' "Keep Flint outta the way while I do my thing."

And then I get the fuck out.

"My ears're burning." I grumble entering the kitchen, shifting my eyes from Mac to Flint and back, all creased in suspicion. At least he's not prying about the head, not worrying about who it used to belong to. I throw the jacket in Mac's general direction, but I wonder how useful it'll actually be. I mean, it'll hide her tits away...which I'm against...hell, can she even get it on with a stump? Aguirre is skinnier and lacks that chest so who knows if the damn thing will even work. Maybe I can use it to dry off the hand which fucking wisenheimer thought would be a good idea to make chunky Ventrue soup with, even after washing it already. God fucking dammit, a man of science just can't catch a break.

"Flint, you wanna do me a favour and get out?" I ask with a cock of the head, throwing a thumb over my shoulder just in case he is confused as to where he can make a speedy getaway. "As great as you'd look in a nurses uniform, don't think I need one, so...sorry, you're fired." Go keep Aguirre company you fucking pervert. A justified pervert of course, seeing as he's a sewer monster and Mac has holy cleavage. Hell, if he don't leave, I'm just gonna blank him anyway. That way he is a pervert as well as being a slutmonster.

Fuck that stump though.

I step in front of my lover, taking her sawed-off arm by the forearm and trying to inspect it all the way around. Dear lord I hope the hand lines up right, they slot together like some fucking lego and the stitches are just holding it on. I look at the worktops, usually bare and unused, now loaded with the most bizarre collection of items that were not even up to the standards of a back alley abortionist. Then I look at her, dead in the fucking eyes, a mix of pissed and affection at her sorry ass. If this keeps up I might have to go to medical school...or at the very least read a book.

"Far be it from me to actually tell you what to do. But...I'm gonna tell you what to do. And you're gonna listen. We're gonna get this over and done with no fucking complaints." Like don't fuck around, pretty please? I don't really know what I'm doing. I take the sewing kit and pick up a needle, eyeing it with a certain reluctance. "The sooner we get that hand back on...the sooner we can get that thong off." Win, lose or draw on the hand, she still gets a victory fuck. Or just a 'it's been at least three days' fuck. I shouldn't be thinking about it, I know, should be reciting the Hippocratic oath over and over...and break the shit out of it when she asks.
Posted Image
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Mac
Member Avatar
Goddess of Fuck and War
* * * * *
And suddenly, Mac was left alone in the kitchen with Sawyer. Aguirre and Church had scooted off to get her something to cover those magnificent tits with, and she was left to awkwardly look at the drowned rat/cat/golem mutant Nosferatu.

Slut Monster.

The Fenatyl had done its job for the bullet removal, but now that the lozenge was gone her body was tearing through it's drugged effects. It was wearing off, never having been quite enough to kill the pain in the first place... but there was still some lingering brain fuck left behind, leaving her in a somewhat more mellow space than she usually was. Or maybe that was the proximity to her favorite thing, although that had just sauntered out of the Kitchen.

Ain't like I meant to get you in trouble... How was I supposed to know she'd be mad at you for being what you are? Ain't my fault you're keepin' secrets from one another, cuz that's what that is. It's a secret. If you didn't tell her because you just forgot or it never came up thats one thing, but if it's something you do you have to -hide-, it's a secret...Don't keep Secrets from someone you love Slut Monster, they start to rot.”

Words of Wisdom from Mac. Then again, what the fuck was Mac doing giving advice on this sort of thing? She wasn't always a fucking homeless psycho, there had been a time in her youth where she actually had a family. Almost a real one, she just didn't really talk about the good times, they were gone. Maybe it was the Booze, which she finished off and settled the bottle of down on the counter beside her. If she ever bothered to do recycling, she'd probably make a killing on the bottle deposits she'd get back.

“I don't feel anything but burning. I think it's gotta be missing longer than an hour to really get the phantom limb symptoms, and I hope to fucking high heaven I don't ever get to experience that. Tried to magically get my hand to finger you earlier, didn't work.”

She grinned, looking at his young, freckled face with a sort of attitude that was trying to tell him to stop with the soft and squishy puppy eyes he was giving her. The only puppy eyes she liked were Churchs, because they usually held a whole lot of fuck me and a lot less sympathy and worry.

“I like being in one piece too. Ain't like I intended to lose a hand, it was an accident while trying to save the rest of me from being torn apart. You weren't supposed to be here or see this, the apartment was empty... Never wanted either of you to worry.”

Or remind her she could die, that she was human, and that now... she had people who might give a shit if she dissappeared. It'd been a long time since she'd had to even contemplate the aftermath of her own death, so long it felt like she'd never had that sort of responsibility. She had, just so long ago the weight of the need for caution felt like a stranger. She was starting to feel a bit naked in front of him now, and was more than pleased at the returning of Church through the kitchen door. Thank god, she was worried shit was going to get a little to... feelsy with Sawyer. Boy invited that sort of deeper self examination that she tended to avoid like ten variations of the bubonic plague.

There are two kinds of people, those who instinctively reach out to catch something, and those who do not. She was a catcher. The jacket through the air was not a kind gesture, catching a jacket one handed with a newly created stubby arm, and newly healing bullet holes in ones stomach? It was jarring. The zipper on it caught her stub, and she hissed something rude between her teeth with a sharp breath. She used her only hand to just adjust the jacket over herself, ain't no point in putting it on. She didn't want to try and shrug her stub through the sleeve, and she wouldn't fit even if she wanted to. Anyways, being able to move it freely would be a lot more useful than being stuck inside it. Maybe she'd need to procure a little hospital nightie? And some scrubs for the Doc... The thought of him in scrubs did things entirely unsuited to the situation to her, somehow his 'Doctor' persona was becoming sexier and sexier to her fucked up brain. Bringing the joke that much more real, just made her that much more excited about it all. Was she developing a doctor fetish? Jesus, does that exist, is it a real thing?

She wasn't sad to see the backside of Sawyer leaving the kitchen, the humor in the situation had greatly diffused when she was left alone with him and it left her feeling... rather open and vulnerable in comparison to when she was laughing her metaphorical pants off about everything.

Then Church was holding her arm and eyeing the damages for repair, and she was happy to let everything slide into the territory she could feel confident in again. Pain and torture... Except that he was looking at her a lot like Sawyer had been, pressuring and pushing with his eyes. Demanding she listen and not fuck around. Why would she? She didn't want to be sitting on this cold as fuck counter any longer than she had to, she wanted her hand back on. It was to far away, it was to dettached and she was not fond of the idea of its potential -eternity- away from her body. What if it didn't take? What if she didn't regrow the limb if it didn't take, what if she never had a hand again?

“Far be it from me to actually tell you what to do. But...I'm gonna tell you what to do. And you're gonna listen.”

“Sure thing Doc, Whatever you need.”

Just please don't take this somewhere I can't handle, I'm already missing a fucking hand...

"The sooner we get that hand back on...the sooner we can get that thong off."

Oh yeah, that sounded way closer to what she could handle. To bad the Victory fuck wasn't on the edge of the Victory itself, and had been somewhat lessened in its steam by the intermediary handless time... But god, she wanted to pretend the rest of this didn't happen and let everything slide away into bliss against his glacial form. God that's just what she needed to salvage the night, a good reminder of why being alive was so fucking awesome these days.
Posted Image

"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."
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Church
Member Avatar
Putting the 'fun' in 'dysfunctional'
* * * *
"I think I may need to invest in some instruments if this shit is gonna be a regular thing..." I mutter to myself as I try to thread the needle which, surprisingly, these big dumb fingers aren't great at doing. "Maybe I should start charging" I contemplate with a smirk and shoot a look at her out the corner of my eye. "Fuck!" I growl, jamming the tip of the needle into my finger during my shenanigans. Not that it hurts, but damn if delicate shit ain't my strong suit. And it proceeds to drive me fucking loopy when I can't get it. Keeping my mind on a medical thought train isn't working out great neither, but better than the tits. Or is it? Tits make a great motivator, though it's not so much that as the dirty things I'm longing to get up to with her, but I don't know if there is a word for it.

I think about the things I'm gonna do to her, seeing as either way she's a hand down. It definitely ain't hygienic.

"Gotchya ya."

Amazingly it also helped get that fucking thread looped, and I tie that shit off just so I ain't fussing with it again. In fact, I hold it up to our collective eyeline with a grin even if it's going to be used for the most unpleasant shit ever. Even I want a fucking drink before doing this, but hell if that wouldn't be unhelpful. Surely...we can just stick this shit back together, and it'll attach itself, right? Doesn't need to be a good job really. If it doesn't take, I bleed a little into the joint, maybe that'll help? Maybe making blood and finger soup was already in the right direction, even if it does go against everything that seems clinical. I pick up the limp hand, not used to that frigid cold that's taken hold of it. I'm used to burning palms and exploring fingernails, this shit almost makes my stomach turn. I jam the needle between gritted teeth for the moment, bringing up her stump and comparing the wounds to one another.

"I'm getting like, Vietnam flashbacks but...of that fucking arm." I grumble out the corner of my mouth - Operation number one in the history of Macs private healthcare, and testament that this woman is a mortal and therefore can be fucking revolting. The smell that came from that shit, oozing puss and gangrene flesh, Jebus. "Fucking vivid shit. Maybe a nurse wouldn't be a bad idea...just not Slutmonster." Cause that'd be weird, but the idea ain't too shabby. Someone to assist with the nasty shit, as well as the iddy-biddy tedious as fuck stuff, to tell me when I'm gonna do something fatal, to clean up when all is said and done and I try to take Mac's temperature with my dick. Maybe I'll put an ad in the paper. 'Not for the feint hearted.'

"Ok so...as long as it's on straight and it stays on, we're good right? My needlework is gonna suck, but it's all good baby. Doc'll fix ya, and if it's not what you need, he'll make yah feel better, do your body good." I seem to be convincing myself everything will be fine, the humour of a real doctor saying something similar is lost on me.

We got painkillers, we got blood...that's all we need right? Hell all I need is this little needle. I pluck it from my teeth and hold it in a pinch, asking her with my eyes to do her best. This is gonna hurt I imagine...not good hurt. Not our good hurt. I like getting a smack, not stabbed over and over in the exposed and raw flesh, I can only assume she's the same. And while she's promised to be a good girl, well, that's not the Mac I know. Sooner we're done the sooner I can put her mind on other things...and also the sooner it's over. My eyes ask hold still, brace for impact, suck that lolly down girl and it'll be over before she knows it. If she can hold her arm still, I'll jam the hand back into the socket and start threading fast. Worst comes to worse we'll wrap the thing up in a shirt or maybe the ruined Halloween costume she rolled in with just to keep it firm and healing.

"Is this another one that you owe me by the way? We keeping score?" Lord knows she owes me...some. Seeing as Jack is still alive anyway. Until then I'm happy to add up these favours and redeem them in the ways only my dominatrix can. Also, surprise bitch! I jam the hand to the stump and hold it there. She wants to hold it, good, I'll start stitching this shit. If not...well...things might get a little less 'intense' in the bedroom. Don't think they'll get boring for a long, long time.
Posted Image
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Mac
Member Avatar
Goddess of Fuck and War
* * * * *
You know what Sugar, I sure hope this ain't a regular thing. London is fucking aweful for me... I don't know why, but I get hurt here -way- more than anywhere else.

She watched him jam himself with the needle, and was glad she didn't have to many worries over infections. Unsanitary as all get out... Still, that little drop of Church blood that welled out was enough to make her lips wet with a soft hunger, make her want to reach out and take his wrist in her hand and bring that little drop of juicey goodness up to her mouth, and tongue it off. Made her want to take him into her in all sorts of ways, sex and violence all colliding inside her in as she swallowed hard. Sadly, her initial reaction was to reach out with her stubby hand... which caused all the good sex and need to displace immediately with a fiery sting.

Oh god Doc, don't think about the arm... Although I do now and then, I sometimes wonder if any poor fucker actually found that festering piece of rot. I still hope someone slipped on it like a banana peel...God the stench. How the fuck you even managed to keep your shit together in that mess I don't know, still impressed you didn't just run away. I was rank.”

Her bloody stump and stubby hand were taken in his, a soft hiss of protest from between her teeth. It hurt man, even just touching the overly sensitive arm that was now feverishly hot. All of her was fevered again, as she always was when she was trying to heel. Her forehead was wet with a soft speckling of sweat, skin slick and like she'd been working out for the last hour on something heavy. Least she didnt stink like the last time, she hadn't been throwing up everywhere and her body wasn't pussing out ooze from dealing with a venemous toxin pumping through her system.

“I think so... It just needs to heal together. Stitching wont matter a whole lot as long as its tight enough to hold it together. Fuck man, I'm almost tempted just to duct tape that bitch on... Maybe we should do that just for safety after you stitch it. I like... I...” Her words trailed off a moment, looking at him holding her stumpy hand and wrist as she imagined it not healing together. What life could be like if that fucking shit didn't fix itself, if she didn't get a hand back. The same thoughts from earlier, monkey bars and jacking off, but... even more so now that she was looking at him there too, she liked to lay the hurt with -two- hands not one. With one hand, would she ever be a match for a fanger again? Would she ever be able to do what she was god damned born to do, kill? It was sobering, to sobering. She didn't like it, she'd rather die than be left... helpless. It made her stomach churn, insides clench and cramp in a way that without bullet wounds would have hurt, with them it made her face wrinkle and eyes sting.

Score? What? His words brought her back, her face probably in a place of looking like someone kicked the puppy. Before she could tell him to put it on her tab bitch, he was sticking her hand back on the stub with an unnecessary ammount of force. Yeah, bitch screamed. Not the kind of scream he usually coaxed out of her, there was no needy begging in her tones, no heavy breathed orgasm of intense satisfaction. It was a scream of pain and surprise, and while it was short in duration because she clamped her mouth shut on it as soon as she realized it was happening, it still happened. Her eyes clamped shut when she silenced herself, teeth grinding so hard the sound could be heard by someone in the next room. Her whole body was like a sudden and intensely strung elastic band, muscles contracting and holding tense and tightly to keep from saying anything, or punching him in the fucking face.

Mental note, sucker punch this bitch as soon as he stops expecting it. It took a few seconds of agonizing clenching to be able to convince her body to relax, holding her breath for those moments until she managed to adjust to the fucked up sensation of her icy dead hand having been jammed down on her burning hot and raw as fuck stump.

“JESUS CHRIST!” She yelled at him, brown eyes viciously accusing him of being a dick head on purpose. He had so done that on purpose, couldn't even let her get her shit together and give her a count down? Had to make her look like a pussy and scream like a baby. She reached across with her good hand to assist the mother fucker in his additional massacring of her poor arm. God, it was even the same arm as he'd had to cut chunks off that first night they met. Her nostrils flared angrily, trying to keep her own god damned arm steady to hold her wrist in place so he can stitch that fucking shit together. She ground her teeth again, needing something to bite the fuck down on. Last time he'd done such a heavy medical proceedure (I.E removing a huge infected chunk of arm) she'd had his wrist to bite down on. No such blissful bloody offering this time, no where to drown her thoughts and taste buds.

Posted Image

"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."
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Church
Member Avatar
Putting the 'fun' in 'dysfunctional'
* * * *
That scream. That cry of distress that has no place in our usual session of gratifying torture.

"Jebus didn't do this, you did. Don't make me get the gag."

Not that I believe in him, but she should go blaming this pain on others. Like me for example, cause right now she's threatening to dust me with that burning gaze. Now I might not be helping matters; I'm going for speed over professionalism with how I envision this sucker getting stuck back on, and while that might make me a little heavy handed, bitch needs to learn a valuable lesson. Yes, this hurts like a bitch. No, I'll make damn sure to not do it again. I get that shit went a little crazy and she needed to, but damn, I guarantee that somewhere in that fucked up brain of hers something screamed 'this is awesome.' She's a little stupid. A lotta crazy. It's why I dig her, remember? That's why I'm good enough to hold her disembodied hand, despite the cold grossness. That I bother to fix her at all. That I ram this needle in like a god damn boss. Clinging to the needle aint the hardest part as I try to burrow it through her flesh. The hand offered little resistance, but as it sinks deeper and crosses into her forearm, it seems to take more effort. Maybe it's consciously not wanting to be reckless and nick a vein, not that it would be so terrible. Then again bitch was tough as old boots, and physically that shit seems to be a painful truth. She's coiling up, ready to lash out. I could get annoyed that she feels like that but..being the nice guy I am. I take a different route. A more sporadic, ramble-y route.

"Fuck knows where I'd be right now if I hadn't pulled your ass out the gutter." I answer in a somewhat strained voice, calling back to her earlier questioning as to why I bothered to help her that night. My face is a picture of concentration, face furrowed and possible tongue clamped in teeth as my eyes focus only on the stitching. "Wouldn't have stayed sober, I don't think. Would've cracked a long time ago, been calling up crackwhores and just...I dunno, existing." Why am I talking? Why the fuck not. Hopefully she can just close her eyes and go somewhere else while I do this, don't have to feel this cruel little piece of metal pierce her exposed wound again and again. My stitching is surprisingly even, maybe a little wider spread than normal but haste is the key here. Not to mention I don't think it matters how many stitches go on, hands don't normally re-attach. A teardrop of blood seems to develop at every puncture...minor to what she can handle but I dislike it all the same. "But there you were, girl, all covered in booze and throw up. Smelling like a fucking corpse. I can be a sucker for some pretty eyes or a smile...but you being, well you, and every time you opened your mouth...Jeez, I knew you'd be fun, but fucking hell baby, I had no idea how much."

Another loop threaded, so much so that the thing will actually hang on, even if it flaps around like a flag on a pole. Jebus this is headwork, I think the talking is to keep myself calm now.

"Crazy bitch laughing between heaving, ready to burn both our asses the second the fanger started getting weird." I almost wanna look at her just to raise a 'what the hell' eyebrow. Cause you better believe I knew, or at least put together the pieces from getting to know her (what little we do know of each other beyond the physical aspects), that she could've and would've toasted me. Hell, she would've done it with hammy is shit went too south. Crazy bitch I like but there's a little too far aint there? Anything that makes her bleed displeases me really, when it's not as a result of my brutal caress. Even this needle making this web pattern of crimson on her wrist isn't a pleasant thing to see. We don't need any toys. Skin on skin always is that much more satisfying. "Finally a bitch who can keep up with me, y'know? Who can...outplay me."

My hand pauses, I look at her for a moment. Maybe London has got it in for her, but she's also got someone who's willing to put their own fucking blood and guts on the table to help her. I sure as shit aint interested in having her change from the badass that has an appetite for sex that deserves nothing less than worship. So, did I have a point with all that shit? I guess not.

"We'll get this working princess, don't worry bout that. What you should worry about though, making it through tonight. You gonna be able to top with one hand?" I smirk before turning back to my hand. I hope this fucker re-attaches smoothly. I hope she still tries to top. More stitching, less gum flapping. This can all be a bad memory once everything has settled and I can make her hurt in other places, better places, make this one melt away. For some stupid reason, this thought sparks another one; I lean a little closer and trace my tongue across the small pinpricks of blood, hoping they hold the stitch a little better and, well, who am I kidding? I just wanted a taste. I really shouldn't have though. "Seriously, it's been...what, four nights? Doc's all horny, you show up covered in blood. Ugh, fuck. You're definitely getting the gag later." Wouldn't wanna wake the kids now would we?
Posted Image
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Mac
Member Avatar
Goddess of Fuck and War
* * * * *
She didn't really unstiffen, as much as gradually forget to stay stiff and tensed. Church had that effect when he talked, his tangents of verbal spew were so distracting at times he tended to be able to smooth over the worst situations with the strangest conversation.

The initial shock of him jamming her fucking hand back on had been the worst of it, due to surprise and the sickening feeling of it being there, on the end, but cold and unresponsive. It fucked around inside her head, making her think all those thoughts she usually did her damn best to avoid. She had a strange take on her own mortality. She clung to it, loved it, clutched at the idea of death like this redemptive end to her shitty life. Maybe by dying someday, it would make all the shit she'd been through worth it. Maybe dying in some big and important way, it would vindicate all the other shit and make it all seem less trivial. At the same time, she was petrified to go. Didn't know what waited on the other side, either an empty stretch of black nothing (being the best case scenario in her mind) or a personal hell accompanied by everyone she'd ever fucked over. She would be tortured forever... Not like the physical torture of pins and needles, flesh being ripped and torn and patched together to be torn again. The emotional kind of torture, the worst kind for her. The haunting shit that knocked around at the back of her mind constantly, most especially when she was high or drunk and really open to that emotional state she craved, craved to feel human. Sober she could neatly nip and tuck her mental landscape into a guilt free terrain of obstacles that had simply had to be overcome to survive, no matter the depth of the depravity of that cesspool of filth. What she imagined hell was like, constant in your face memory over load, the good times paired with the bad, worse, and worst so that you really felt the loss when it crumbled. Watched it all fall apart, saw with a stunning accuracy that one never gained in their mortal life, exactly where you fucked up each time. Exactly who suffered, as they came to make you suffer. It dropped cold and icy buckets of nickels into her abdomen, and rattled them around like a tin jar in over whelming internal tintinabulation. Thinking about it to long made her feel jittery and fucked up all over, fingers got twitchy and she got panicked. So she wouldn't right now, she couldn't. Had to focus elsewhere... Beyond her own death, inevitable and volatile however it occurs.

His words were that distraction, keeping her shit together in the aftermath of the thrill of killing and making herself feel good and proper. Taking out another monster, the kind that didn't weigh in on her conscious thoughts because she believed he was inherently evil. She was great at the removal of vermin, but this here was the part she wasn't so capable at, the life beyond the killing and the struggle.

Looking at the beautiful face of a Fanger she didn't have the instant inclination to kill anymore, but to fuck and touch, touch with a different sort of intention than she was used to. It fucked her right up sometimes. The way he pacified her so. She still had that urge now and then, an instinct when waking next to a cold dead body. Something base in her brain and in her marrow, that wanted to react instantly at the icey dead weight and roll over and behead it. A decade of hate, on top of a prior decade of obedient worship, it meant waking from tangled dreams was sometimes difficult and a struggle.

Live hard? Sleep hard. Lord, she wanted to sleep. She was physically exhausted, adrenaline crashed now and leaving her feeling light headed with a gentle drug induced ease down her limbs. Mentally though... She was wide awake and invested in the moment, the drained and sore body she was feeling betrayed by was just going to have to suck it up and recover, so she could get to the jubilation that came after a nice high profile kill. Her Doc was promising that sort of thing tonight.

" Hahahaha, I don't remember very much to be honest... That first night I was so fucked up, it was blurry and sideways when I woke up. I had been seeing everyone as reptile monsters at first, from the venom. Jesus, that was... Well, all I really had solidly when I got my ass off the floor in the morning, was that you said you were coming back... And I wanted you too. So I split."

Ain't no secret she was a runner, everyone knew she took to the wind when she got to a point she wasn't able to handle it. Which was every other week wasn't it? She grinned, despite the needle threading through her arm. It's cool steel wasn't felt when it dove beneath her cold flesh, but it stung when it pierced into the warmth of her wrist at the point of detachment (or is it now, reattachment?). It wasn't nearly as painful as him jabbing her hand on though, and she held fast with her good hand to the cold one to keep the stitching steady. It caused her breathing the flutter a little, chest rising and falling beneath Aguirre's coat in deep swells, her heart beating that familiar and fast paced tattoo he'd be so accustomed to now. A serenade for her Doc while he worked.

Her nostrils flared a little as he leaned in and licked along the beading points of blood, eyes narrowing a little as her grin faded to a look of hunger, a look she seemed to get for him anytime they were together. Would it ever stop? The wanting, needing of that wonderful place atop him? Feeling his hands breaking her, and putting it back together again. He did it to her outsides, but it seemed to help on the inside. On so many levels... He was the cool rain in the summer of Tenessee, when her and her Ma ran barefoot into the dust as it turned to blissful mud with the first summer storm. He took the choking dust from the air and made it mud, theraputic. Man, a mud bath with him would be pretty fucking hot wouldnt it? Maybe not when it could get caked into an open and gaping arm wound, but when that shit was all healed up she wouldn't mind a mud wrestling match with the good old Doc. Shit if that tongue on the stitching wasn't somehow the weirdest turn on she'd ever felt, twisted all up with his pretty green eyes and not so subtle innuendo. She just wished she could feel it when it brushed against her cold ghostly hand. Get the fuck back on bitch!

" Oh baby, I told you I could fuck you forever... This ain't but a minor bump in the road to Church bliss. I'll top you into next sunday baby, for putting me all back together so nice. Four nights... Jesus, Sorry, I had some research to do on Hammy... Neglected my bang duties. Maybe you'll have to teach me a lesson about what happens when I leave you to get all... Pent up." Maybe she could top from the bottom? She had that book somewhere didn't she? Picked it up from a book store? No, she probably just read the cover at the book store because it was about sex. Why the fuck she would be at a book store, she didn't know. She couldn't pin point the memory of it exactly, somewhere in a drunken or high state of the giggles.

Fuck, ow! Something hit a nerve, and she startled a bit as a shiver ran through her, wrinkling along her skin from wrist up her arm, down her back and along a leg to end with a foot bunching her toes up in pain. Fucker, ow... White fire shot across her senses, all her hairs standing up as her body prickled with goosebumps. Her face closed up a moment, eyes squinting shut through the strange nervous system response firing off all wrong. Holy shit it felt like he was threading the needle all the way up into her back, whatever nerve clusters he was piercing fucked right to hell.

" Jesus!" It was another quite hiss, eyes closed a moment as she took the lords name in vain. It was pretty much Fuck, or Jesus with her. She liked her swears.
Edited by Mac, Tuesday, 18. February 2014, 06:12.
Posted Image

"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."
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Church
Member Avatar
Putting the 'fun' in 'dysfunctional'
* * * *
"Shush. Fuck up. Don't talk dirty till this hands on or it ain't never goin' on. But I'm serious. I'ma have to gag you or those two are gonna think you're dying the best death ever." Ugh, why do I do it? Go and think about it here and now. So stupid! Fuck. I just wanna start boning her mid surgery, see how well I can multitask. It's an intriguing notion, one that I'd be more than happy to test. Cause I am fucking pent up, wanting to punish her in some way for being such a fucktard. But that won't make me better, this torture right now isn't making me feel better. In fact, the brief display of what can only be described as 'agony' in her face, it's not right. I almost whisper sweet nothings about almost over, but in reality I just wanna get my lips nearer that throat. That sounds good. You know what else sounds satisfying? Making her feel so good, smack her down so ugly, that she's just a quivering, exhausted mess. And I got just the tool for the job. I'll let that, anger or lust whatever the fuck it is, I'll let it focus me, getting through this shitty slow work just a few seconds quicker. And I guess I'll try not to think about sex (ha!), about her screaming till there's no breath left in those lungs...

"You'll get yours. It's gonna be awesome." You fucking idiot. Maybe it's only one night, or maybe a few, but she's gonna be a shadow to her normal self in terms of doing what we do so well. I don't know what dark thing seems so delighted by this, but lord know I need more than two hands two count the shit I'm gonna do.

I can't look at her, what with the awkward finger work and the 'could maul her' sorta thing. But I sure as fuck can smell her. Probably got beads of sweat gathering up on her brow; I sure tasted salt on the skin near the stitches. Add to that the mess of blood and dirt and you've got one smelly she-bitch in your house. I figure someone is due a shower, but, wouldn't it be great to not let her do that? It's the little things that make me smile, even if it's only on the inside as I screw my face up concentration. My eyes see nothing but the fucking stitches and the trickles of blood running off her skin, dripping down my pale fingers. Making them sticky, making this trickier. The thing looks half on now...give or take. I've just noticed I have a serious problem with my depth perception, and I have no fucking idea why.

"This is so annoying. You're a fucking bitch, you know." I murmur, clearly frustrated in my tone. Putting her together is one thing, but I specialize in amputations more than re-attachments. Fuck this bullshit. Still, I lower my tone a little as I chose my words with some care. "I swear to Jebus, Hammy better not come and haunt us. Your ass is definitely in trouble then." I don't mean 'haunt-haunt' cause I ain't afraid of no ghosts, never mind believing in them. I mean more 'This is the fucking capes, we have the place surrounded' kinda haunt. Regardless, I change the subject, cause I don't think I wanna hear any wild-eyed fucking bullshit about her new pet head. "I kinda wanna know is when we get this sucker back on...how's it work? I mean, you ever gonna be able to get back in your place? It'll come back good as new or...not so good?" I'm certainly a handful, would be a shame if she's forever trapped with a cold, dead, haggard piece of shit. Oh...and I guess it would suck for her too.
Posted Image
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Mac
Member Avatar
Goddess of Fuck and War
* * * * *
Did he just SHUSH her? He fucking did, he shushed her while he was stitching her shit back together. Who shushes someone who's had a fucking hand removed, and been blasted full of bullet holes? The fact she was saying anything at all was a good sign, most people wouldn't have made it to his doorstep. She glared daggers at him again, when those brown eyes opened after her hiss of pain. His stitching felt strange now, instead of feeling like the needle was coming out her wrist it felt like it was somewhere up in her shoulder. A hot, blazing anger building up in the muscle of her upper back, as if the area was physically manifesting trauma and swelling in response to what it thought was occuring. She knew what was happening, it'd happened before, but it didn't matter how often you experienced that sort of sensation... Seeing the needle dissappear into a dead hand, and reappear out your wrist, while experiencing it somewhere else in your body? It was fucking weird. She did a long slow inhailation, watching the needle as if it was to blame for this whole mess, eyes squinting a little as it came back into view each time he finished a stitch and moved to the next.

“Why are we so fucked up? How the fuck does any of this make sense?... Talking all dirty while you're sewing me back together like fucking Raggedy Anne...” A fanger patching her up, not even just a little.. but like, fully reattaching lost limbs. He wasn't even the one who'd bitten it off either, the fucker was literally repairing another mans shoddy work on dismembering her.

How the fuck did sex come into this equation either? How could either of them think about the delicious mauling they usually laid upon each other while her skin sweated beads of blood around his working? She was elastic banding between agony and lustful intention, the play between hormones and endorphins not doing anything to ease the fatigue of her limbs. It was strange moments like that, that really rang home in the back of that near empty skull how very fucked up she was. Sometimes she felt completely normal, being that she lived her life all fucked up every day anyways. She'd normalized most of the weird going on in her existence, the constant drinking, endless number of joints she chain smoked, hunting and killing shovel heads like most people hunted out burgers at McDicks, but lately the naturalized weird in her life was getting weirder.

“I'm the Fucking Kraken She Bitch, calling me truths don't hurt my feelings none you twat. Feel free to call me worse, I deserve it.” Yeah she was a bitch, she knew it. What about it? She ain't never claimed to be anything less! He can call her that till the end of the world, wouldn't phase her none, long as she'd earned the title in some fashion she wouldn't deny it. She was however trying to man up and maintain some bad ass status, teeth still grinding but doing her darndest not to twitch and squirm. She eased on holding her wrist and hand together now, feeling like her one good arm was going to fall off due to trying to keep the other pieces of herself attached. Church had done enough that she didn't need to grip so hard, and her muscles ached with a grateful burn as she loosened. She was careful when she loosened though, to keep enough support on the hand that it wouldnt tip over while he was stitching. She did want it to -stay-.

“I dunno... I suppose I could get back in with it just... off. It just has to be open palmed. Thought about that when I got the system, knew someone could just take my hand and get in. Figured that if it was already off my body, I probably wouldn't be left in a state to give much of a flying fuck about someone getting in my digs though. Course, I never thought about the fact that maybe it would be rammed down some assholes throat so far I wouldn't be able to get it out...” Was she sniggering? Yeah, somehow she'd slipped into the giggles again. The mental image of her broken hand rammed down his severed heads throat was exceptional. God, if she could have a painting of it... she would. “I hope it sticks. It should stick... It ain't like I haven't lost shit before. I usually had access to a Tzimisce to assist in the Mr Potato heading of my body though. In the games in Austin once, I had all the top joints of my fingers removed... Got lucky on my pre game dice roll. Another kid lost all his toes. He was fucked, couldn't adapt to the balance and he got taken out in minutes. His Master didn't give a shit enough to pay for his retrieval before he bled to death. Poor shit... other people were luckier and only lost minor shit, like an eye or an arm or a leg broken before they let us loose on each other. Reward for surviving 24 hours was getting your shit put back together proper. Prize for the most take downs was 24 hours off leash.” Do whatever the fuck you wanted for 24 hours, no Master or horde in your space. Be a person for 24 hours, not a mongrel. Yeah, some ghouls slipped the leash longer and took off completely, but that was rare. By the time Marco let her into the games at all though, she hadn't a care in her head to get out forever. She was solidly in the pro Marco category then... If only she hadn't missed certain qualities of her former life, maybe shit wouldn't have gone down the way it had in the end. If she hadn't fucked up so bad that last time, would... Would everything had stayed the same, would she have been a pet forever? When Bishop Cameron came to her, would she have ever done as he'd demanded or would she have removed him as an obstacle for Marco's upwards climb?

Shoulda, Woulda, Coulda's. They were useless now... and that was an avenue of thought she surely didn't feel like contemplating now. She was -free- now, or at least as free anyone could be. She'd stopped sniggering and sobered up though, the humor dying with the memories of the sewers.

“It'll work though Doc... It'll take, I'm thinking positive and all that shit. That's supposed to help aint it? I need all my fingers and shit to play guitar." Couldn't hurt right? Ain't like she was positive about much right, maybe trying it would give her a break and get this shit working.
Edited by Mac, Thursday, 20. February 2014, 16:57.
Posted Image

"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."
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Church
Member Avatar
Putting the 'fun' in 'dysfunctional'
* * * *
It's hard to listen to her talk sometimes. No, not because of her stupid accent (hail to the king, baby!), not because of the distracting cleavage (cause she might be covered up, but I know it's there...), not cause she's one of them gals who prefers talking with her fists (cause I happen to be one of them gir-guys! guys...who do that). It's because it's fucking horrid. It's horrid for her to need to go down inside and pull this shit out, never forgetting how it felt. Course, she was a giggly mess before she brought up 'the games' from her youth, but I can see something inside her die away as she spoke about it. The games is something of a loose term, but Sabbat do love them, and no matter where you are in the world the theme is much the same. Not something I ever had to be part of, not something I indulged in from a purely spectator point of view. It was sick, it always had been. I'm sick but I'm not cruel. I like to hurt people, but I can't just watch them get hurt for my own amusement. I might like fighting, but I would fight with my equals over my lessers any day.

"We're not fucked up, baby. Maybe we were but...not no more." My voice may be a little dreamy as I put the finishing touches on this piece of shit, absently chatting shit just to keep our minds out the gutter. Ish. What do I mean by that? Well, ordinarily it would be strange for people to get randy at this sort of sight, unless they're specifically into amputee shit. We're both horny, destructive and sinful creatures to the point that I don't think there is even a layer of hell that would cater to us. But what does it matter, anyway? It did matter once upon a time, where Church was finding empty delight in a needle point, jamming it into whatever sweet thing I'd seduced or lured or fuckin' paid for after I was done with screwing them myself. Girls who couldn't keep up with me in the sack, and if they could, well, that would just get me going and cause me to up my game, which they then couldn't keep up with. Disappointment after disappointment, women praising me like a god before slipping unconscious from exhaustion. It all got rather boring.

But now I have Mac and she has me, and while it hasn't changed that my balls still don't work, they don't need to when she's on top of me. She knows how to hurt me right, and the more time we spend together, the more she knows what I like. Things can only get better. I dunno why she insisted that I use harsher language to 'hurt her feelings.' That's the one thing I don't wanna hurt, would struggle to hurt even if I tried...and if I ever did hurt would be the most damage you could do to this woman. Cause, after all, take a limb and she'll laugh about it until it doesn't grow back. Kraken she bitch deserves getting hurt in other ways, the right ways, and I'm not gonna give her a 'telling off' for what she's done. I'm gonna make her feel like the goddess she is. A sore goddess at that.

"What you deserve and what you're gonna get are two completely different things. Unless you want me to just call you nasty shit. I should just sulk all night, whine about how you're an idiot and I shouldn't have to fix your crippled ass up before I get to eat that shit. God damned if I can't be fucked wasting my breath on things I don't mean though. While I'd like to make sure you're not going and getting blown up or poisoned or shot-" Those are just a few I can reel off my head right now, but there's been more. "-the moment I patch you up, it stops mattering. You prove to me that you're the badass who pissed in my fucking eye in the strip club. I swear the dumber you are, the dumber I am, cause all I care about is how much time we got till sunrise." I don't know why I felt the need to say that, maybe because I don't know what torrent of shit her minds in after thinking about her past life. It's damned true though. My need to punish her is just another expression of giving her exactly what she wants because she loves it so. And I love giving it to her. I'm gonna go ahead and think it, cause saying it might cause some problems, but I think it's fair to say...I love her. I love being with her. I love fucking her. And lately...I love NOT fucking her. Problem is I say that this bitch will go crazy cause she can't comprehend the difference between loving someone and being in love with someone. I don't think the latter could ever happen. When things are based solely on lust and want and desire and pleasure...

I pull through the needle one last time...my eyes drift between the first and last stitch I made, and they are so very close to one another now. Have we come full circle? Not a shabby job from someone with minimal nimbleness in their fingers. I pull the thread tight, releasing my other hand from her arm and catching it as the tension causes it to snap. Now...do I just tie it off? I can spare a glance at her with the green peepers, shining with that hungry excitement now that this shit is finally looking close to done. I'm no longer slumping over and all huddled up trying to thread the needle no more. Now my body language is giving away the impatience that's, well, not exactly hidden away but certainly being quieter than it should. My fingers are still struggling as I now figure I'll wrap the thread around the first stitch then knot it off, which is easier said than done with sticky fingers like this.

"Alrighty...how's that feel, baby?" I say in no more than a breath, as I discard the sewing equipment my other hand cups around hers. Her fully functioning and still attached hand that is. I take it softly in my own and guide it away from the newly attached extremity. It holds firm, or at least is facing the right way and is no longer a stump. I'm not overly confidant in my sewing though, that and it still looks like shit. A dead fucking hand. "I think duct tape might still be on the cards, but...it looks ok." And now I think about it, I'm sure I've got some in the stash. Never know when you might need to take some hostages. I take a few steps back, bringing the bloodied fingers to my lips and sucking the goodness off of them. The imagery isn't lost as I lick the sticky digits clean, all the while peering at her with mischievous eyes. The kitchen looks like a mess, but hey, at least it got used. I'm not gonna worry about the dress on the floor, the blood in the sink. The head in the freezer. Lord knows I want to maul her but maybe not with the kids here. That shit needs to be taken care of in the privacy of my own room, for sure.

"You feeling alright, Princess? Ready to pay the piper?" Cause the price for reattaching a hand is forfeiture of one's body. Not that she'll need convincing, but I need to lure her somewhere a little more discreet and hope Sawyers ears aren't as pervy as his eyes.
Posted Image
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Mac
Member Avatar
Goddess of Fuck and War
* * * * *
"We're not fucked up, baby. Maybe we were but...not no more." How the fuck did that work? Where on earth did two selfish, vulgar, violent blood worshipping psychopaths come together and find something not darker and more depraved than they were living in before, but something... better? Something that left them both more balanced, more alive, letting out the need to hurt and rip and rend in an almost positive way. How could those things ever have found a niche in the positive category?What they did to each other would make most people blanche, but for them it was like an anti psychotic. Medication for the depraved mind. Getting it out on each other soothed the dark needs and even ... subverted them. Now the need came with a layer of tenderness, the desire not just to destroy but to hurt to satisfy, placate another creatures debased needs. It was their art, one that they were learning so well together she was waiting for the ... fall. Shit this good, it didn't last. She'd already been in London way past what was smart, lingering because of this fucked up little... family. While she was there though, she would enjoy every tiny second of it, even if it was twisted up in this world of ever increasing weird as she watched him as he finished stitching her hand back on.

“I never pissed in your eye baby, but if you're into that sort of thing I can make your dreams come true. Hey... been meaning to ask, still got glitter in your brain?” It was a slight tease, poking at the already pent up beast. It brought her grin back to do it, to tease him and remind him a little more of the nigh she turned him into a walking stereotype of a vampire, the kind that 14 year old girls chase down the street screaming and throwing their panties at. He'd had sparkles in his hair when he Hunted her the next evening, and they'd been scattered randomly all over his apartment the first time she ended up here. Even now, she bet if she looked for them they'd be dazzling and shimmering somewhere in the corners. Sparkles were like being haunted, they never really went away. Sometimes she got lost looking at his face, especially while he was struggling to pay attention to his stitching. He was talking still, but he bit his tongue between his teeth every once in a while when it came to doing something that required any sort of finess, more than just pushing the needle through. God he was pretty, she was getting so used to his face and still though he reminded her of someone. Those green eyes though, the thing that really seemed to get her all weak knee'd, they weren't looking at her. He had stopped looking up at her a while ago, boy was entirely focused on her wrist, and getting that find stitch in place.

Dumber? She wasn't dumb...So if she wasn't dumb, he wasn't dumb. He was using the term incorrectly, and it made her snort in response. They were stupid around each other, not dumb. Dumb means you don't even know any better, stupid means you know better and do it anyways. Both of them knew better, but still couldn't help themselves when in each others company.

His face shifted as he got the stitching tied off, the lines around his eyes that were wrinkled in concentration change, perk up, bend upwards instead of tight. His melting look of satisfaction at the job he'd done echo'd somewhere inside, making her smile soften somehow. Seriously, was he proud of this shit job he'd done on her wrist? He was, and it was fucking adorable. Or he was just happy to be done, and get her all put together again. She knew instantly what she wanted to get him for Christmas, which was a strange thought to be struck with then. She hadn't done christmas in 17 years, so having the thought of a merry fucking christmas evening was a strange one... Either way, boy was getting a set of Doctor Scrubs. The pale green kind, with a little white mask and a Stethescope, maybe a proper and massive first aide kit and a basic medical text... and dog tags, dog tags that Read “Doc Fanger” on them. Strangely, the thought was a turn on. When had she developed a doctor fetish? No, it wasn't just any doctor. It was her Doc, that was the turn on.

“It... It doesn't actually feel like anything. Is that a bad sign you think? Probably just needs more time, if it's as slow as I am it doesn't even realize it's back on it's host body that's all. It'll be giving the bird by the morning...” She looked at the stump, the flesh pale and ghostly looking compared to the rest of her arm. The bloody, mauled line of torn flesh stitched as best as could be expected really, considering it was not a clean break in any way. She looked at it a moment, taking her other hand away completely and letting the hand just rest upright on the point of reattachment. Yeah, that... That was almost sickening. She paled looking at it, the muscles in her arm flexing as she tried to get some sort of response from the hand. Nothing happened, not even the slightest finger twitch. Fucking move bitch, just wiggle a little... Do anything, just a little something to show that you're alive. It was fucking cold too, freezing against the burning wrath of the dettachment point. She always sweated fiery hell when she was healing, and she was aware of that oily layer of slick filth she'd perspired since he had begun the nights medical attentions with bullet removal.

His cool fingers were sliding into the warmth of her good hand though, and it distracted her from thoughts about what was going to happen if a mother fucking finger didn't twitch by morning. Thank god he'd be dead by then, because she didn't think she could handle crying in front of a Fanger. She'd do a lot of shit with him, but that was a little more personal than anyone was allowed to see and live... Then again, by morning, maybe she wouldn't care? She looked around for a clock, wondering exactly where the time was at. How long did they have till the sun came up and he fell over? She didn't want him to die on top of her tonight, they'd managed to avoid repeating that first night folly since. She wasn't sure how to get such a heavy fucker off her with only one hand to leverage with, and the other needing some delicate manuvering. Afterall, technically the fucker could still get ripped off. Jesus, that would suck! “Yeah, I ... I kind of think Duct tape might be a good idea. Or at least, something wrapped around this bitch, Keep it clean and try and help it... stay.”

Then her good hand was being lifted, and he was licking the bloody smear from her fingers, and she was shifting on the counter top and sliding gentley down to the floor. The floor was cool against her bare feet, having kicked the heels off long ago. The remains of her dress were scattered where she stood, where he'd pulled them off her earlier to see the damage. The bullet holes were already healing, but at ghouls speed. They'd be an issue for a few days, but by morning it wouldn't inhibit her to much unless something vital had really been struck. They weren't bleeding anymore, although a little that had gathered in the bullet holes from leaning back was oozing it's self out of the clotting wounds. Yuck... God, she needed to wash, but her knee's weren't nearly as strong as she'd like them to be as she tried to put her weight down. Jesus christ, lose a hand and get a few bullets ridden in you and it's like you can't manage anything on your own anymore. Bull! She didn't like it, she never liked feeling anything less than on top and in the dominant seat. Shit here was fucked up though, physically, she wasn't at her A game... When her eyes moved to his, she knew she'd need to try and bring it though. She'd left him all hot and bothered, and here she was needing to pay the Doc and she didn't have insurance. It was like a cheap 80's Porno, she'd have to figure out 'another way' to pay the medical practitioner. She swallowed hard, trying not to look like a smug little kid at the mental image of them filming porn. Wasn't that one of the ideas they'd brain stormed while talking about a hobby? They still needed a camera man...

“I'm sure I taste a little dirty there Doc, maybe we should retire to the showers...So the kids don't hear?” How could he lick his digusting fingers? She liked shit to be clean, she was a shower daily kind of girl, sometimes twice. She was also sure there were bits and pieces of Archons meat stuck in her hair, and her skin was feeling a need for a decent cleansing. Ghouls didnt really get infections, yet somehow, she had a strange haunting worry about it... Left over from childhood injuries that were left to fester because she didn't like tell anyone when she got hurt. It wasn't a worry now really, but she sure would like to let the water wash her clean.
Edited by Mac, Monday, 24. February 2014, 06:56.
Posted Image

"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."
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Church
Member Avatar
Putting the 'fun' in 'dysfunctional'
* * * *
Even if I was a real doctor I don' think I could answer that question regarding her hand not 'feeling.' Don't think normal people get limbs reattached all too often in the real world, and if they ever did, I bet it takes longer than a whole five fucking minutes for the thing to take. And the less said about the sparkles the better, even if it does make my lips snigger for the briefest time before becoming a deliberate frown. 'Fuck you, you bitch' I say, or at least hope I'm saying, with my eyes. Cause bitch sure loves to push buttons, even if she's going all wobbly in the legs from the blood loss/trauma/I dunno what the fuck else.

I reach out and grab the top that Aguirre kindly loaned her, still clinging onto her chest like some sort of fucking inanimate cock blocking shit, till I yank it away and toss it to a clean counter top. Even though we're making our move, I pause her in place for a couple of seconds while my cold fingers trace the muscles of her abs, gentle skim across the bullet holes which now look, for the most part, clotted. They trail down further and further, south of her navel to trace the waistband of her underwear. God I'm horny, it's a good thing the little fella don't get up an' at them without very clear and deliberate effort to or I'd never been able to concentrate to get her 'stable.'

"You're always dirty girl, even if it don't show on the outside. An' call me a fucking weirdo...but I like seein -feelin'- you sweat. Always taste mighty good too..." I nod a few times at her suggestion of a shower, but don't vocalise the agreement. She needs one for sure, I need something else, and I don't think I can ask for it tonight. Seeing the look on her face as she looks at my handiwork, it hurts a little to think about how...hmm. I dunno if afraid is the right word, but how else would you describe the foreboding feeling that you might never get to use your hand again? That you might become disabled? For someone like me, it would be unfortunate. For someone like Mac, it would destroy her if she wasn't the she-beast, vamp slaying badass I know so damn well. It would weaken her so abruptly that she might not be able to go up against cammy whelps, never mind the psycho sabbat. It's disturbing to see the contract between her arm, with its usual sun kissed colouring, to the dead hand attached. It looks fucking too dead. I might've told her it will come back but what the hell do I know? Well I know what to do. Ignore it. Swallow this fear cause she doesn't need me worrying about it too. She needs me to be there to take her mind off of it, and that's exactly what I'll do.

I start to make for the door, but I stop, turn and consider the bowl of blood for the moment. Maybe she should drink this to help the healing? Maybe pour it in the joint between living and dead tissue, and that'll help? Pour some on my dick and - well you get the idea. Seems like it'd be useful, and it seems like a good idea to blow the lot to grow back a hand and therefore be able to further harvest the Cainites of London as opposed to saving it for next month, but not growing a hand back at all. Just my professional, completely unsupported by any scientific knowledge, opinion. I grab the lip of the bowl and take care (for once in my life) not to spill any of it. Last thing we need is an apartment covered in blood, to go along with the head. And that fucking thing...I started to walk out before thinking about that gnarly motherfucker in there, and the fact that it's not welcome in the house. She brought it for a reason too, didn't she? I'm sure I'll regret it, but I yank the freezer door open and, with gritted teeth, I grab a wad of grimy hair.

"That's it girl, baby steps." I beckon her to the kitchen door with my a flailing head, somewhat mockingly, knowing that I shouldn't help her make her way unless I want an ass kicking. Or want to embarrass her, though I cannot think of a situation in which we'll be around enough people to do so. Right now? I'm trying to go for option three which is please her. Ruin her. Make her go to sleep even more weary and aching than right now, with a big fucking smile on her face so that she forgets all about this hand bullshit. This time I really do leave, make my way down the corridor to my room. But in true asshole fashion, I turn to her again. "I give a mean sponge bath, Princess. Don't that sound nice?" I wink. Cause fuck me, I might've thought it, but till I said it...it does sound nice.
Posted Image
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
1 user reading this topic (1 Guest and 0 Anonymous)
Go to Next Page
« Previous Topic · The Borough of Enfield · Next Topic »
Add Reply
  • Pages:
  • 1
  • 2

Affiliate links:


RPG-D