Dark Alleyways [Archive] - The Phantom's Opera

Daroga

10-09-2007, 01:14 PM

Jean Sauveur

Jean had found the appointed place nearly an hour before he had been told he was going to be expected. He had walked casually by it twice and even stopped in a bar at the end of the block before actually taking the initivate to enter it. During his milling around he had noted outlines of occupants of the cramped space that he could see in the dim light, cars on the streets, lights on in nearby windows. Basically he had created for himself a very detailed mental image of the scene before blending flawless into it, leaning casually against the wall halfway down the alley and pulling a cigarette from the brest pocket of his leather jacket.

In a way he did belong here, and always had. It wouldn't matter how many suits he owned or operas he attended, this world and this life was in his blood and refused to be denied, he had tried and failed at doing so. Still it was clear to see that in this underbelly of society as well as the polite sort he was on a slightly higher tier than most of his companions of the night. Though his attire was all black it was of good quality, his shoes were shined, and the gun resting comfortably against his back was a top of the line. If he'd wanted to look homeless he could, if he wanted to look like a drug dealer he would. Tonight he was a buisness man, a master at an unusaul craft, and chose to dress as such.

More than a few heads turned at the sound of someone approaching the mouth of the alley, most of them belonging the homeless gathered around a trashcan fire near the street. Perhaps it was because they could first see how unusual the woman approaching appeared in these surroundings. But Jean didn't move his head, his gaze merely slid slowly to the side as the sound echoed off the buildings on either side, signifying the owner had entered the alley. As soon as he saw he Jean reflexively drew back slightly, shifting slowly into the deeper shadows. This woman was here for a purpose, or else she wouldn't have been here at all that much was certain. And he couldn't help but suspect that he was that purpose, but just as he had with the place he wanted a moment to look her over. It was never wise to approach someone with his kind of buisness unless you were certain they were the person who wanted to hear it.

She strode past him to the end of the alley and pulled from underneath her coat a large wrapped package which she quickly tossed into the dumpster to the protest of the man who had worked hard to successfuly win that shelter for the night from his compatriots. She scurried away at the noise and stopped almost right in front of where he was standing. He smiled to himself as he pulled a lighter from his pocket and struck it, for a moment casting his sharp dark features into vivid contrast by the harsh light. He took his time bathing the tip of his cigarette in the fire before releasing the flame, then drawing his first deep inhale and watching as the cloud he exhaled drifted slowly in the stagnant air.

"When I tell you that you look lost," he said slowly in the refined tones of a learned tongue that a woman dressed as she was would hopefully appreciate, "you have to know that I have never in my life meant the phrase more."

Raoul de Chagny

10-15-2007, 05:49 AM

Ava Belle

The brunette cautiously stood at the appointed place where she had told who she was meeting to find her. Even though this was an appropriate place for such business she was looking for, she didn't belong here, and fear continued to gnaw at her the longer she remained in the alleyway amongst the creatures of the night.

She kepted her emerald eyes wide open, remaining alert for anything or anyone coming her way. Her ears listening intently for any sounds that might be for her, but at the moment all she could hear was the man in the dumpster still shouting at her for throwing a brown paper package into his bed. What she wasn't alert for was the sound of a voice behind her, and the smell of cigarette smoke.

"When I tell you that you look lost," the voice drawled slowly and in a refined tone. It was a familiar voice of someone who sounded like they too didn't belong here. "you have to know that I have never in my life meant the phrase more." Ava spun around to come face to face with a businessman. He looked like he belonged here, however his voice was deceiving. The only thing certain was that he knew what he was talking about, and obviously had some business with the british woman.

"Are you?" she started, her voice quivering with fear as she worried that maybe this wasn't the person she was supposed to be speaking too. "Are you an assassin?" she whispered, hoping he was the right person.

Daroga

10-15-2007, 05:37 PM

Jean Sauveur

Typically meetings such as this would be arranged over an amount of time, if deemed necessary to be held at all. In most cases they weren't necessary as all relevant information would go through an agent, someone who could be discreet and was in no way tied to the job involved. Prosititues had pimps, drug dealers had supliers, and people in Jean's line of work had such men to arrange these affairs. Except that for Jean, when he had planned to lead a respectable life, before this gnawing in his stomach had started to grow, all ties to such individuals had been severed. And it was easier to take this meeting himself than it would be to rebuild those connections, that would sure demand more from him than this one job.

Even bearing all of that in mind it was stilla forcible slap in the face of just how much of a novice at this his companion was as she asked with a trembling whisper into the dark, "Are you? Are you an assassin?" It was only with supremeeffort that he managed not to eat the end the of his cigarette. Perhaps there weren't alot of people in the dark alley around them, and even fewer who gave a damn about thier comings and goings, but being homeless did not make people deaf. He pushed roughly away from the wall and crossed in a single stride the space between them as it was all the narrow alley would allow.

He dropping his tone to a deadly whisper as he placed a hand on her elbow and guided her backwards into the shadows, "An assassin kills someone of political standing. Unless you are planning to throw an election, I am simply a buisnessman who happens to be in a line of work you might find useful. And" he added in a scolding tone, "unless you are trying to spend a very long time in prision I would strongly suggest that you be more careful what you say here."

He didn't bother to look around them, if they had been over heard it would have been noticeable more by sound that sight. Yet the faint sounds of muffled conversation still drifted on the stagnant air, meaning that no one had paused in conversation in order to overhear theirs. He breathed a small sigh of relief and turned to lean up against the wall next to her, looking pointedly at the wall on the other side. "Just to be clear... You don't need to know my name, and I sure as hell don't want to know yours. All I need to know is when and where I'll be having this blind date."

Raoul de Chagny

10-16-2007, 11:23 AM

Ava Belle

The british belle was frightened and unaccustomed to these surroundings. She didn't know what to expect but only dark figures that may decide to mug and torture her. This place was like a twilight zone, as if Ava had stepped into a different world far away from the wealthy aristocrats of her society. She looked up at the man who had spoken to her. He hadn't spoken to her with cursed words like the man in the dumpster, so he didn't seem to be a kind who would do her any harm to speak to. She could only whisper, though in such a small and narrow alleyway, a whisper could still travel far to curious ears.

As soon as she asked the man if he was an assassin, he roughly came out of the deep shadows he had been hiding in, taking hold of her by her elbow and bringing the brunette into the shadows with him. In any other circumstances if a stranger did the same thing Ava would've screamed for him to take his grubby hands off her, but at the moment she did not make another sound as he began to speak to her again in a harsher tone.

"An assassin kills someone of political standing. Unless you are planning to throw an election, I am simply a businessman who happens to be in a line of work you might find useful. And, unless you are trying to spend a very long time in prision I would strongly suggest that you be more careful what you say here." Ava shrugged her arm away free, staring at the man with wide emerald eyes. She didn't having her mistakes shown to her, but she wasn't in a state to argue. She had a task to do, and must regain her composure and remain calm.

Now leaning against the wall next to her, the man spoke again. However he wasn't looking at her. "Just to be clear... You don't need to know my name, and I sure as hell don't want to know yours. All I need to know is when and where I'll be having this blind date."
"Blind date?" she asked, wondering what this had to do with the actual job. I already have a date, Frederick is my date. The tenor wasn't technically her date, yet. But that would no sooner be arranged when the bimbo who called herself his girlfriend was taken out of the picture. If this was how the man in the shadows went about in completing the job, Ava had no choice then to go along with it if she wanted him to do away with Isabella Delancy.

"Very well." she breathed. "The Halloween Ball, in the courtyard."

Daroga

10-31-2007, 09:43 PM

Jean Sauveur

"Blind date?" she asked incredulously and it took an extreme amount of self-control to keep Jean from burying his head in his hands and groaning loudly. He was perhaps a bit spoiled in these matters. But that to him was the reward of doing the job very well for quite awhile. He was used to working with people who understood the rules the procedure and the decorum. In short he was used to working with other professionals. She on the other hand had clearly never been involved in a deal such as this. That point was being made more and more clear to him with each passing moment. "It's a euphamism," he growled to himself quietly, under his breath.

"Very well," she said in a resigned tone. "The Halloween Ball, in the courtyard." Jean's face half turned to her before he regained control of himself and forced his gaze forward, his brow noe furrowed heavily as he took a long slow drag from his cigarette. It wasn't enough information for his purpose but it was more than enough to raise his hackles. "What Halloween ball?" he asked very slowly, deliberately keeping his voice steady and tone even. There was a sinking suspicion in his stomach that said he knew exactly where she was going to tell him, that he knew it well.

Katzenklavier

01-29-2008, 03:18 AM

Manya Vezirov

It was that sweet time again. That time that lingered between day and night, that silvery shadowy time from which visions and deceptions seemed to emerge in the gray uncertainty. No, it was not yet night, but there was plenty of shadows in which could lurk. It was prime for Manya Vezirov. Sure, she could be stereotypical and play her games in the dead hours of the night. But this was when the average grinders lethargically journeyed home, exhausted and unaware. Joggers and other street lingerers felt safer in the relative illumination of twilight than they did in the darkest hours. Guards were dropped, and the pickings were easy. As she strode, thick smoke poured from black-caked lips, which pulled back frequently to reveal a Cheshire Cat grin. A brilliant turquoise-hued gaze roamed the surrounding street, watching and waiting for suitable prey. It was all a matter of patience. Good things come to those who wait. And she was in the mood for something fun tonight. Probably defaulting towards blood or sex. But perhaps something intellectual and fancy, like a fine meeting of the minds manifested into a sadistic brawl. Several nights ago she had several pieces of glass wedged into her arm. Come to think of it, it was all very strange she had managed to survive. Well, those who revered Kali and understood the inevitability of death did not do so much to tempt its fervent lusts...

It was the darkest, shadiest, and dare-she-say ****tiest part of town. La Fauncy or whatever the crap they called it was like the hellish necropolis that might pop out of a particularly disturbing nightmare. Just think. These ancient winding crypts of alleyways had probably been housing druggies and whores since the birth of ol' Pa-ree. There was something reverent about that. She was probably in one of the oldest crap districts in the world. Damn, was she inclined to get on her knees and pray. As she meandered her way through the maze, she kept her eyes open for susceptible persons. Preferably the aware as opposed to the abundance of homeless liquor slaves. They were just too damn easy to be of any amusement tonight. No, she wanted a good prospect. A challenge. And may the gods help the first target who crossed her shadowed path.

Daroga

02-02-2008, 05:46 PM

OOC: I just started writing hoping to come up with something that would be a good reason for him to be there in a good position for you to approach. Most of it is for me to remind myself of the mood. Sorry it's so long... hope there's something you can work with... Cassie if you read this... yeah I'm making a few assumptions about our scene. BIC:

Pieter Lachen

Pieter had lead a varied life that had, at this point, faced him with an array of obstacles that had each been overcome in its turn. He didn't complain about it, there was no use in complaining. In fact he told himself frequently that he wouldn't have had it any other way. The challenges in his life had made him who he was, and he was for the most part happy with who he was. There were a few things about the way he conducted his business that he was starting to question but that never made him question the person he was, only the person he would be in the years to come and how different he would be. It seemed logical to him that a person would change, either slightly or greatly, through the course of their life. The child, as he essentially had been, who had spent hours beyond count pushing his body to limits it should have never endured at the barking order of a coach was a far cry from the man who defied all manners of authority on a regular basis treating with mercy and skill those the world looked at with scorn. Who he was as he had actively participated in spy games and subterfuge attempting to thwart the will of unjust government would possibly not recognized the aging man willingly contemplating settling down for a quiet life far away from the country he had bled for, cried with, and vowed to lay down his life for it's citizens. Change was possible and sometimes necessary, but it was never easy. Yet for Pieter that made it all more exciting and worthwhile, he loved rising to a challenge.

The trick, he'd found, was that there had to be a plan. First you needed a plan of action on how do make the necessary changes in your life. That part had been easy. In fact it had presented itself in a manner that made his choice to walk away from the dark associations of his past seem almost fated. He had come to Paris on vacation, he had met a reason to stay in his beautiful dark hair musician. The way to stay, a job (as he knew himself well enough to know he was not made for too many long lazy days and needed something to occupy himself) had practically tripped over him. He had wandered the halls of the Opera House looking to relax and think of anything besides work when he had stumbled on the small clinic in need of a physician, a clinic practicing the kind of medicine that he had once loved and before even coming to Paris begun to miss. The plan and the rationales had present themselves to him so easily, that for a man who for whom nothing had ever come easily, it was almost enough to make him wary if he wasn't so excited.

The but besides the action of change was the wariness of change, the unknown was never comforting. There would be doubts, fears, regrets, and suspicions mixed in with the thrill of excitement at new possibility. For that he needed a plan as well. It was the one thing that had gotten through so many moments of dark contemplation before. And at the rhythmic, solid, steady, and comfortingly familiar sound of his footfalls on pavement he could feel his stress begin to melt away as he was filled with a sense of sublime control of his own fate. Running was simple and uncomplicated. The action was so simple that humans did it instinctively moments after mastering the feat of waling at all. But the drive to do it day after day to push for that extra block, that extra mile, any distance once the muscles in your thighs began to burn along while the cold winter air cut through your lungs like a million razor blades was a challenge that was completely within the individual to overcome. The sidewalk offered no competition, no passers by would try to stop you or push you on, the challenge was completely within one's self. And there in lied the glorious beauty of it.

His runs had gotten shorter lately. The distraction of his infatuation with an exciting and passionate younger woman had made it harder to push himself into the pain, his thoughts wanting to turn to the pleasure of what he had, in most cases, left in his bed. But today was different. This evening he needed the push and the pain to overcome the troubling thoughts that been haunting him all through his day that had been mockingly mundane. Last night had been stressful, the kind of stress he thought he was busy leaving behind him, In fact his lawyer was busy charing him exorbitant fees to make sure that when he sold his share of the practice in Hamburg that he had started with his own sweat and determination, that he never be associated with that life again. It would be strange to be without it, but he would not regret to see it go. He promised himself he wouldn't miss the people who knew his name there. The ones who did dark deeds and often came to him when their plans went terribly wrong. It was supposed to be simpler here until those lives and secrets had found him once again in the one place he had convinced himself he would safe.

He was glad that Alexander had found him. He would not regret being able to help his friend or that he had the requisite knowledge to cover the young man's tracks into dealing that he yet to realize could land him in serious trouble. But he was likewise not comfortable with the fact that the boy was getting involved with people like this man that he had apparently left for dead somewhere beyond the bois. As much as he was fearful for what those associations would do to the gentility of the young soul he greedily didn't want to walk away from that in Hamburg only to fall back into it Paris. That was why he had come here, to the darker side of town. Was he really naiive enough to think that he could escape the clutches of worlds like this? Was he being honest with himself to say he wanted to? All of these thoughts pounded through his mind as his heavy steps pounded the ground.

Pieter turned one more corner stubbornly ignoring the glances of the people around him. No one ran through this neighborhood unless they were running from someone, most likely the police. No one did it in navy blue track suits with proper reflective striping. No one did it for enjoyment. But he would, if only because he shouldn't. He was six foot three of impressive physical strength, he felt secure in his safety even if he wasn't experience enough in the world to have the knowledge he felt he would need to overcome any obstacles that came up. Perhaps he was tempting fate, but fate tempted him often enough... it only seemed fair he thought as came to the end of a dark alley and knew he couldn't run a pace further coming to graceless halt and doubling over to taken deep panting breaths with his massive hand clutching his knees.

Katzenklavier

02-05-2008, 08:37 AM

Manya Vezirov

As she meandered through the mazes, she whistled a charming and cheery little tune. It was bold when she was attempting to sneak up on unsuspecting victims, but hey, life was good. Manya knew she'd probably kick it before she turned forty, so she might as well enjoy it while it lasted. There was even a bit of bounce to her step. But both displays of her good mood suddenly ceased as she heard loud echoing footsteps coming from an adjacent alleyway. Yeah, like that wasn't too convenient. She paused, brows lifting as she caught a pretty damn spectacular view. He was a big guy. Six foot something or another, she speculated. Not that she was paying much attention to that. Nah, there was a nice distraction right in her view. She had been praying for a good target, and the fates had decided to grant her one on so many levels. Thank everything there was to thank that this man had gotten exhausted and decided to bend over. Yes, this going to be plenty of fun.

And what the hell. Was that a navy blue track suit? It was potentially the dumbest thing she had ever seen in this part of town. Sure, the man was large and fit (from what she could tell by her damned amazing view), but only a fool would wander around these parts in a track suit. He had target scrawled all over him. Well, if he was that masochistic, Manya would only be happy to oblige. A man with a fantastic ass wandering all alone in the alleyways? Good things did indeed happen to bad people. Although, of course, he could be a predator using his appearance to deceive other crawlers. After all, he was here for a reason. Probably looking for a woman or two to drag back to his dingy little hovel. Maybe he'd overpower her easily and have his naughty naughty way. Either way, again - good things just happened to bad people. Her padded leather shoes barely making any sound against the stone beneath, she crept up behind the hulking figure, enjoying all the details that were steadily becoming more obvious. Muscled arms, blond hair, oooooh very pretty. Dare she dream he had the front to match the behind? Sure, Pearcey had been serving many of her physical needs lately, but she had a penchant for variety. Besides, as savagely passionate as the man was, vigor couldn't always compensate for age. She could stand a few rounds with a younger model. Ah, and the poor baby was exhausted. Maybe she could get his energy flowing again.

The Glock barely made a sound as it slid from it leather confines her coat, and with an abrupt step forward, she pressed the serrated edge against his most exposed area. Which of course happened to his ass, since he was still attempting to recollect himself. "Nice, baby. Very nice," she murmured, her tone husky with...appreciation. "Now let's not make any sudden movements or do anything else that might force me to mar this flawless hunk of flesh, huh? Why don't you straighten up real nice and slow. Don't worry. I'm a friendly neighborhood pervert when the mood strikes me. Let's just start by having a little chat." Despite her words, her grin was wild and hungry. She was already making all sorts of lovely plans. First, she'd try to charge him for a wild romp (if he had anything in that ridiculous getup). That would include benefits. And if not, well, she'd make him acquiesce anyway and probably rob him too. She could probably sell his suit to some bum for a couple of coins. What a lovely day this was turning out to be.

Daroga

02-06-2008, 07:33 PM

Pieter Lachen

In through the nose, out through the mouth, Pieter was forcing himself to take longer, calmer, deeper breaths until they became steady. Each inhale felt like a sharp vice in chest constricting painfully and his heart was pounding loudly and rapidly in his ears. A normal person would wonder if perhaps they had pushed themselves a bit too far, but having been an avid runner for three decades now Pieter relished the feeling. To have the control over one's self to be able to push this far, he instead was wondering if he couldn't have gone just a little further if he had just--

His head pulled up sharply as his panting breath hitched at the feel of something prodding in to his backside. His right hip and shoulder dropped slightly as he twisted in place to steal a glance over his left shoulder. Catching a glimpse of a girl in heavy dark makeup and a gun pressed into his rear. "Nice, baby. Very nice," came the murmured comments as he hung his head once again; this had to be some sort of sick joke. "Now let's not make any sudden movements or do anything else that might force me to mar this flawless hunk of flesh, huh?" For a moment he wished she would shoot him rather than continue to wax appreciatively about him as though he were side of beef displayed in a butcher’s window. He had been held at gunpoint before, enough times that the simple act of it failed to make his heart immediately leap into his throat as it once had. Likewise his physical stature had on more than a few occasions made his personality a negligible asset to women before. Still the combination of the two was disturbing on a whole new level. An opinion that was not quieted as she added, "Why don't you straighten up real nice and slow. Don't worry. I'm a friendly neighborhood pervert when the mood strikes me."

This would have never happen in Hamburg, the bitter voice in the back of his mind reminded him as he stood slowly, his hands clearly visible where the remained on his knees until he stood all the way and the fell by his side. He was known at home to be someone with close ties to many dangerous people (how much closer could you get than the guy who stitched knife wounds, removed bullets, and preformed your prostate exam). The police had never been able to prove these close ties to northern Germany’s most dangerous crime lords, to their perpetual shagrin. This was such common knowledge amongst those of a certain society that once when he had been pick pocketed in the mayhem of the Hamburg Harbour Festival the young boy had brought the wallet back without a single mark missing after reading the license and discovering who’s it was. The fact he had done nothing to flaunt or seek out this favor had ironically only earned him more. As he had been, only moments ago considering his move to Paris it was this connection that had gone to the top of his list of things that he wouldn't miss about his old life, until the misfortune of having met this young woman.

"Let's just start by having a little chat." "That would depend," he said confidently, his tone dripped of frustration not fear, his run was ruined, and his already challenged composure from his earlier mood was being pushed even further, "what is it exactly that you want to talk about? Other than the status of my ass." At that Pieter's mounting frustration and embarrassment caved and he impetuously took a single step forward, pivoting to face her. Perhaps it was stupid, perhaps she would shoot him. But in his professional opinion if he were to be shot, the area she was still aiming at was the best possible scenario for that. But what he found when he faced her gave him a moments hesitation. Perhaps there an attractive woman under there somewhere. Under the makeup and piercing and looks bordering on madness. A single blond eyebrow arched itself a bit higher as he continued to study the mesmerizing nature of her relentless gaze. Something about it put him much more ill-at-ease than he been moments earlier. It was the gun in her hand; it was the glint in her eye and the way it seemed almost... carnal...

Katzenklavier

02-08-2008, 07:39 AM

Manya Vezirov

Full lips curved downwards in a pout. "Aw," came her disappointed remark, "ruin my nice view. Ah well. At least I now I see that the face matches the hot bod." Indeed, the guy was pretty handsome. Strong features and a nice smile. Distinctly European-looking, really. Made all the more attractive by the well-concealed fear that just barely contorted those distinctive features. She hand it to him - there was definite calculation in that darting gaze and confidence as well. And a hint of surprise, probably at the fact she was both young and a woman: a rarity in the crime circuit, particularly of the alleyway pervert and thief variety. Manya was fond of thinking she was progressive that way. She caught his somewhat somewhat appraising gaze on her features, perhaps curiously in some sense. A brow arched as she bared her teeth in a strange smile. "Don't feel the need to return the compliments, y'know. I get we aren't exactly friends yet. But hey, don't let the fact I'm randomly threatening you in an alleyway let you think that I'm not really a nice girl abused by society."

"That would depend. What is it exactly that you want to talk about? Other than the status of my ass." Status of his ass. That was just too cute. She wondered how an ass could have status. Were they particularly powerful asses as opposed to low-class ones? Hm. A question saved for more philosophical times. Her movement was swift. The barrel of the gun was quickly pressed up against his chest as she came around to his side, snaking one arm around his brawny shoulders. The sinewy firmness of her arm demonstrated considerable strength, but still nothing compared to his. She almost had to reach in order to grasp him in the supposedly casual gesture. "Oh, don't worry, love. I'm not gonna shoot you if you keep being so sweet. This is just to ensure that you don't crack my spine while we walk and talk. See, a recent development has gotten me down in the dumps. I could really use a good conversation." Her nail suggestively traced along his collarbone, lightly skimming the sensitive realm of his neck. Pearce drifted up in her thoughts, ruining a bit of her good mood. He was just too damn fun to let die. Hopefully, Dante would hire someone who could be of use while she scrounged for expenses money. But she had been working hard all day. She could use a bit of a break. And who could blame her? This was just too much of an irresistible opportunity. "Or a bit of friendly fun, if we should hit it off. So tell me. What are your hobbies? Profession? Bad habits? Favorite color? I'm just begging to know." Damn, she was talking too much. Less talking and more action. Digging her little friend deeper into his chest, she began to move forward, falling into a comfortable stroll. She resisted the urge to break out into a song just to see his reaction. They were so cute when they were realizing she was completely and delightfully mad.

Daroga

02-09-2008, 06:50 PM

Pieter Lachen

The phrase 'abused by society' as she used it struck him as immensely odd. In his life Pieter had seen hundreds if not thousands or more of people to whom society had been particularly unjust or unfair. And though many of them were angry about it and some of them even got a sort of revenge, in their brass and unrealized ways, there were few that wore it like a badge of honor as she seemed to do with her pronouncement. In all fairness he had once seem himself as a victim of a society, granted a society that no longer exsisted but a victim nonetheless. But his musings on this point were cut short by the flutter of his heart under the barrel of her gun as it pressed against him. He closed his eyes for a brief moment as she strolled around him her arm slithering around his shoulders in a far too casual manner.

"Oh, don't worry, love." she remarked as though she could feel his disquiet with the situation growing. "I'm not gonna shoot you if you keep being so sweet. This is just to ensure that you don't crack my spine while we walk and talk." A part of him wished he could say that he hadn't even considered the possibility, but that wasn't true. As much as he got aggitated with people stereotyping him because of his size or stature or any of a thousand other reasons he was inclinded to do so himself on occasion. He did have an obvious size advantage over her, and though he was not going to discount her as weak, he was much stronger as well. But he wasn't entirely certain he was ready to resort to violence to end to situation. Ridiculous as it might have seemed considering she was pointing a gun at him Pieter was still adverse to hitting women unless he was certain he had no choice. He wasn't entirely certain he knew what was going on anymore making it hard to assess how much danger he was really in.

"See, a recent development has gotten me down in the dumps. I could really use a good conversation." His teeth gritted as her nails etched along his neck. The shudder that it sent down his spine was impossible to suppress. Thirty-six hours ago a similar gesture by Maureen had been enough to drive him wild with passion. Now he ground his teeth together and pushed back the sensation along with the anger that she had no right to touch him in this way or any of the many ways it implied. "Or a bit of friendly fun, if we should hit it off." She began to move forward and he found that he didn't have any choice but to follow unless he was ready to try and overpower her. "So tell me. What are your hobbies? Profession? Bad habits? Favorite color? I'm just begging to know." He glanced at her skeptically out of the corner of his eye. She wasn't serious was she? He walked at her pace for a moment wanting to stay stubbornly silent and see if it didn't convince her he wasn't worth her time and perhaps she would leave him alone to be on his way. But the glean of her was indeed quite mad and judging by the first thing about him she had been drawn to he wasn't sure he liked to consider what options she would pursue if talking failed.

Pieter sighed heavily to voice his dislike of the situation and answered her in a tense tone of aggitation, "Hobbies? Running. Like I was trying to do before I was interrupted. Profession? Medicine. Bad habits? As few as possible though I have been known to enjoy my beer too much on occasion. Color...? Blue," he finished sneeringly at ridiculousness of her last question. "Anything else you would like to know?" he said stubbornly stopping in his tracks. If she wanted him to keep walking and playing this ridiculous game she may well have to shoot him or tell him what she really wanted. He found it hard to believe that gunpoint was the only way she could hold someones attention.

Katzenklavier

02-11-2008, 10:23 AM

Manya Vezirov

She made no move to force him forward after he paused. Not like she really could - it'd be roughly equivalent to like trying to move a boulder with a toothpick. Or some sort of metaphor that was equally lame. "Hobbies? Running. Like I was trying to do before I was interrupted. Profession? Medicine. Bad habits? As few as possible though I have been known to enjoy my beer too much on occasion. Color...? Blue. Anything else you would like to know?" It was perhaps just a little sad that the first place her mind went to was, "Cool! My favorite color is blue too! Blue and black!" If it were not for the current rather lethal situation, her statement would seem more in place with a gossiping gaggle of schoolgirls. "Of course, that's often how I leave those who piss me off." She barked a laugh at that and then paused. That really wasn't very funny. Perhaps this was something to - wait, he said medicine. The chaotic sloppy jumble of her usual state of thought suddenly gained some focus. Fate was so very kind to her. She had departed from the apartment a few hours ago in an attempt to divert her thoughts from the situation at hand. And here, she had found the doctor that they had needed. But how to convince him to come along? Although she saw this sort of thing as friendly chatter, she knew that she tended to come off as just a hint mad. Nobody really understood her conversational style, she guessed.

Her gun withdrew and she placed it to her head with a teasing smile. Before there was too much suspense, she fired. A single jet of water doused her greased black spikes. "Sorry to disappoint you, sweetie. Guns really aren't my thing. I'm just shy around handsome men and want attention," she murmured, stepping back and pacing around him. It was rather true. Men generally didn't appreciate it when more forward women trampled all over their egos - only Pearce seemed to have a sort of visceral appreciation for that. Though Manya doubted she'd transform into a variety of wallflower anytime soon. As she viewed this most fortunate find, her gaze was (for once) intent and serious. Any moment, she knew, he could attack. Now it would be little contest given their statures. Provided, of course, he could reach her before she went for her more artistic variety of weapons and devices. A twist of the taser to his chest should put the hulk out nicely. He didn't seem the type to bleed her, but she just expected violence by default. "Medicine, huh? I guess you're in the business of helping people, then. Hippocratic Oath, right?" She paused and nudged the ground with her foot. "I need help. Uh, a friend needs help. He can pay well. He's got connections. If you can do him up well, he'll make it worth your while. You get paid, you leave, and you're not involved at all." She doubted he would answer yes. There was no reason to believe she wasn't leading him into some sort of trap. But she supposed it was worth asking.

Daroga

02-12-2008, 03:03 PM

OOC: Sorry if it's rough... I had it typed when the power flickered and I lost it all and had to retype so it was a bit rushed... BIC:

Pieter Lachen

"Cool! My favorite color is blue too! Blue and black!" He quirked a pale eyebrow at his strange companion from the corner of his eye. The situation would have been hilarious in its ridiculous if it hadn't been for the fact there was still the element of danger to himself. "Of course, that's often how I leave those who piss me off." He openly rolled his eyes at the laugh she gave. Unpredictable didn't begin to describe this bizarre woman. One moment she is eyeing him like a piece of meat for her own enjoyment, then giggling like a school girl, then placing her gun to her own temple. This last move took a half instant to sink into him.

In his first true moment of consuming fear Pieter felt his heart leap into his throat as she raised the gun to her temple. "NEIN--" he started lunging towards her with hands out stretched intent to grab the firearm as a stream of water emitted from the barrel wetting her head. His foot landed hard on the pavement before her from his diving step forward, his outstretched hands balling into fist. He had been duped. He couldn't say that he would have done much differently in this bizarre encounter had he known, besides this latest moronic moment of attempting to say her from a toy. And he could justify it to himself that with it pressed against his backside and held against his chest below his chin he really hadn't gotten a fair opportunity to look at what was in her hand to know. But the simple truth of the matter was that she had fooled him and he sincerely did not appreciate it.

"Sorry to disappoint you, sweetie. Guns really aren't my thing. I'm just shy around handsome men and want attention," he felt himself go slack, arms dropping to his sides as his head hung at her mockery of his momentary concern and embarassment of being tricked. Sighing annoyedly he placed a large hand over his eyes, rubbing them roughly and wishing that he was at home. Clean and warm and perhaps in Maureen's company. Maybe even in the hotel lobby, listening to her play the piano for him. Any place but in the company of this strange woman.

"Medicine, huh? he glanced up with a furrowed brow out from behind his hand, apprehensive of what she could be playing at now but equally aware of a noticeable change in her tone. Her gaze had changed as well in a startling fashion causing him to eye her cautiously. "Ja...." he said haltingly. The mocking and maddened look was gone. It had been replaced by a look that could have almost been mistaken for sinceritty and concern. "I guess you're in the business of helping people, then. Hippocratic Oath, right?" The bashful way she toed the ground only increased his confusion. Timid did not suit her at all, just as the what she wore, that the insanity she seemed to radiate, wouldn't have been acceptable on many others but fit her well. "I need help. Uh, a friend needs help." It was at this point that she had his attention. All that came afterwards were annoying details he didn't really need but people always assumed he'd want to hear, "He can pay well. He's got connections. If you can do him up well, he'll make it worth your while. You get paid, you leave, and you're not involved at all."

He eyed her warily for a long moment. In the five minutes he'd known her he was already ready to prounce that she was not acting like herself in the moment, which to him spelled trap. But there was the possibility that she was telling the truth. But she had also been lying about the gun. And besides he was trying to get out of this life anyway. Trying to get away from mysterious people with dark intentions and unexplainable injuries that would make him concerned about 'getting involved'. He couldn't help everyone, that was an idealistic idea he had left behind long ago. But was he ready to start now, start being more selective of his patients with this girl friend? He should walk away. As of yet he hadn't really done anything in Paris that would keep him building the life he was planning. He had helped Alexander's friend secretively, but he rationalized that that didn't count as he was accepting a position as Opera House physician and she was an employee of the Opera House. Beyond the reasonings he still just wanted to walk away. He had been insulted and degraded, humiliated and irritated, not to mention was still a bit uneasy about how far this young lady's sanity could be trusted. He drew a few steps away from her, shaking his head. He didn't need this.

Pieter turned on his heel and began to stride away down the alley in the direction he had been headed before having been so rudely interrupted. Each step he took it was harder to keep up his resolve that he was doing the right thing, no matter how much he repeated to himself that odds on she was lying to him again. But this only held him through a few steps before he stopped. He'd been practicing medicine for over twenty years now, and in that time he had never turned down anyone who had come to him for help. And that anyone had covered a very wide spectrum of someones. "Prove it," he said over his shoulder. He would hate himself if he walked away from someone who needed him but if she wanted him to help she was going to have to give him a reason to trust her. "What kind of injuries does your friend have?" he asked as he turned to face her studying her closely looking for any reason to trust his first impluse and continue disbelieving her.

Katzenklavier

02-14-2008, 06:56 AM

Manya Vezirov

"NEIN--" the man cried, lurching towards her with every intent to prevent the apparent snap suicide. His expression seemed genuinely concerned. Which turned to shocked revulsion the water dampened her already slicked black spikes. It was just such a completely incredulous look that she almost burst out laughing. Yet, it did make her wonder. Was he really so damned altruistic that he was prepared to intervene on behalf of a woman who had just held him up? What a guy. If she were the type to worship the big strong heroic kind, she'd so be swooning at the moment. Of course, such morality could also easily be converted into foolishness. She'd just have to take advantage of the fact that he didn't seem likely to intentionally damage a patient. Eh...then again, Pearce could probably afford to be damaged quite a bit more than he already was. All part of the scheme, Manya, she reminded herself. She smiled and watched her new companion's internal struggle with vague interest. Perhaps even the slightest hint of admiration. She didn't understand operating by a strict code, or why anyone would bother to. Those that did adhere were a source of both fascination and derision. If she could help it, she'd see to it that Pearce or his feisty biznitch, Marco Denthead, wouldn't hurt him. He was just too adorable.

More than likely, any consideration of doing this was out of a fetish for ethics than self-profit. Good. That meant they had to pay him less. Her lips drooped slightly as the man turned on his heel and began to stride away. Aw. She hated it when she lost blossoming friendships. Tilting her head, she considered threatening him to do her bidding. It wasn't like she was at any loss for real weapons. But she figured that would be a bit redundant at this point. And apparently unnecessary as he halted a few moments later. The clogs in his brain were practically grinding. He considered her over his shoulder thoughtfully. "Prove it," he said over his shoulder. "What kind of injuries does your friend have?" Perhaps his analytical gaze could catch something that was not quite concern lurking under the surface of her expression. A faint hint of something dark and bitter lurking within those luminous orbs. But then, that was mostly vague poetry, as one could only show so much with eyeballs. She maintained her rather timid demeanor. Though it was worth noting she did even timidity in the extreme.

"I don't know how I can prove it. He fell from a building. Before that, suffering several wounds. I know he has a concussion and only some standard painkillers to help as well as my summoning of the spirits." She said that last part quite casually. Having been mired in the slums of London for about a year now, she had become an exceedingly superstitious person. Only the blind and the needy coveted cold science as an excuse. "He's probably gonna get some severe brain damage. There are bruises all over his body." She turned her gaze from his, staring at nothing in particular. "I don't want him to die, you know." He had so much more to do before that, after all. It'd be so anti-climactic for him to croak now. But she affected her voice with emotion, made her tone heavy and completely lacking its usual rather madly humorous accentuations. Manya generally didn't care to manipulate - it was a tool of the powerless and those losing all the little games. But she supposed she was halfway decent at it when she needed to be. Not great, but not terrible. "People like me don't get many friends on the streets. Young women are slaughtered here on a daily basis. That's why I gotta be careful and attack instead of becoming prey. He's really the only shot I have left at surviving. Not just that, but I kinda like him too." Her eyes fell back on him. There was actually an element of truth in that - it was amazing she hadn't been found dead in a ditch at this point, despite her talents with a shiny blade. But she realized it as all part of the circle of pleasure and pain, not something to be used to garner sympathy or pity. She chose her condition, after all. "Please do help. I can remember a favor. Even if you do it out of your morals, I promise to make it worth your while." And she would.

Daroga

02-18-2008, 02:34 AM

Pieter Lachen

The fact that she was continuing with her inappropriately demure manner did little to dispel his concerns. It was almost offensive that she seemed to believe that he would be more concerned if she seemed more pitiful. Nothing about this woman made him feel that she was one of the weaker members of the fairer sex. "I don't know how I can prove it. He fell from a building."

His face remained intent on hers and stoically unchanged as his stomach dropped. He should have kept walking. He should have never turned around. Granted Paris was a large city full of buildings that one could fall from. But to hope that this was someone else falling from some other edifice seemed to be asking for too much good fortune from a world that seemed to be handing out less and less these days. He did believe her though, believed her to the point that he felt he may be sick. It was less than twenty-four hours ago that Alexander's only sense of relief had been gained by the amused knowledge that a doctor would be of no use to this man. Yet here he stood. "Before that, suffering several wounds. I know he has a concussion and only some standard painkillers to help as well as my summoning of the spirits. He's probably gonna get some severe brain damage. There are bruises all over his body."

She finally turned her gaze away from him and her found the opportunity to swallow the large lump of disgusted disbelief that had formed in his throat. There was still a chance that he was wrong. But Pieter put little faith in chance or his own good luck. He made the good fortune in his life by dealing with moments like this when they arose. "I don't want him to die, you know." A moment of bitterness possessed his mind, That would make you the only one, he thought before remembering he shouldn't be wishing death on any of this potential patients before knowing for a fact that they were the psychopath he suspected this one to be.

"People like me don't get many friends on the streets. Young women are slaughtered here on a daily basis. That's why I gotta be careful and attack instead of becoming prey. He's really the only shot I have left at surviving. Not just that, but I kinda like him too." He openly rolled his eyes at her. He had an intimate understanding of hardships of life and had known so many to survive the cruel streets. He had deep sympathy for the plight she mentioned, but throughly less for those who tried to use it as a way of manipulating him as she was clearly attempting. "Please do help. I can remember a favor. Even if you do it out of your morals, I promise to make it worth your while."

"If you really want my help," he said slowly, "you would do well to keep my ethics and the oaths I've taken out it. I've never forgotten them before and I don't need a reminder now." Despite the fear that he had of who her friend was, he knew that he would do this. If for no other reason than to confirm his fears or see the man with his own eyes, he would do this. Perhaps he had known from the moment he hadn't walked away, and his resolve hadn't changed. He knew that he would do it with the same calm and composure he always did his job, but this time that knowledge made him disgusted with himself. It should matter what this man had done, that he had tried to hurt Pieter's friend and so many others should have been a factor. But as callous and heartless as he felt to realize it, he knew it didn't. He was a man that needed his help. And one of the only things that differenitated him from people like this man was the fact that he would help, not harm, anyone who asked him.

"It would also be better if you didn't assume what I would and wouldn't understand about the life you lead," he said pushing up the sleeves of his light jacket and assume the stoic dispoisiton of one with a job that needed to be done. "Is there a pharmacy around here. I'm going to need some supplies." He reached down a pulled a few folded bills from his sock as his track suit had no pockets. He hadn't brought much and he was already creating a mental list of what he would need and how far he could stretch the meager bills. "I assume I will be reimbursed for those as well," he said vaguely. He didn't care about the money truly and would in all honesty prefer to have none from this man should it be what he feared it was. But asking for payment made people more comfortable as so many in places like this were quick to distrust kindness.

Katzenklavier

02-20-2008, 05:55 PM

Manya Vezirov

"It would also be better if you didn't assume what I would and wouldn't understand about the life you lead." Manya's eyes narrowed at that last remark. In addition to his exaggerated eye roll, it was immensely irritating. She had to wonder exactly how much she actually sucked at attempting to manipulate. After surviving this long, was it really that easy to see through her? Or was this man just imbued with enhanced levels of perception? After his last little idiotic deduction, she had to doubt it. Despite her little practical joke earlier, she was actually quite well-armed. Maybe it would be good to force him the way after all. Nah. Not when he was all nice and willing. But just as she might have had a momentary hope of some sort of connection with him, it was replaced by resentment. After all, if he was so accustomed to these locales, why would he cling onto a sense of morality? How was that even possible? Not to mention how he had somehow managed to afford training as a doctor. Or the fact that he didn't appear damaged in the least. And perhaps most importantly, going through the bad side of town in a bright track suit, completely unaware of his surroundings. She detected the stench of freshly laid bull****. And if he was telling the truth, the presumption that his gender would understand the position of women on the street was presumptuous. Now she was annoyed. Then again, in the mad chaos that was her emotional state, who knew how long that would last? Outwardly, she settled on just a pleasant smirk.

"No, you don't understand," she replied calmly, her words lacking the formerly cloying tones. "You're a man and a big one at that. Men aren't prey by default. At least until I'm around." A hint of a wolfish grin. "You can see it but you probably won't ever feel it." Her hands drifted southward along her navel, and there was a somewhat distant cast to her eyes. "Feel the pain in the dark places..." she breathed before her lids fluttered closed. A moment of silence, and then it was gone. Manya's fingers went around the hilt of her knife inside her coat, her head tilted slightly towards Pieter as she turned, gaze rapt on every movement. She didn't pull a weapon out but the message was clear: she was ready if he decided to attack. Wouldn't surprise her. The ones that always pretended to be nice were usually the worst (or the best, depending on how you saw it) of the lot. "There is a pharmacy, but there's not much stuff there. You'll have to make do. I got some money you can use for you what need, and you'll be paid nicely for this round. But I recommend not trying anything funny." Her finger slid down the edge of the blade, fresh blood welling in the cut. It wasn't visible to him but it made her feel better, anyway. "Let's go. I'll take you there." She took a few steps to the right, then paused, waiting for his final decision. What would she do if he finally just walked away? Probably shoot him at this point. She was in a bad effing mood, her pride having been ground into a fine white powder and passed around for kicks at this point.

Daroga

02-20-2008, 09:16 PM

Pieter Lachen

"No, you don't understand," she said emboding the complete opposite of one of the few things he had asked of her while she asked of him a fairly substantial amount. But at least she wasn't playing at pitiful and helpless anymore. And that was a step forward in his opinion. "You're a man and a big one at that. Men aren't prey by default. At least until I'm around." His teeth ground gently as he sighed through his nose. He wanted to retort. Normally he didn't care what people thought of him, mostly because it was either for the best that they didn't think him to be part of a world of shady dealing and even less decipherable moral codes or they were already more than aware of the level of his involvement. He wanted to tell her that she was only half right, he was a man and he was big and that only made him a bigger target. She knew nothing, and clearly cared to know nothing, of what it was like to be actively pursued when you stuck out like a sore thumb in every crowd you stepped into.

"You can see it but you probably won't ever feel it." She seemed to have stummbled back across the line of madness that she had been toeing. He spent a few long moments turning the words over in his head, wondering if it was her sanity or his language skills failing the most in this instant. Her hands travelled over her body as he continued to stare at her incredulously. "Feel the pain in the dark places..." she said with an orgasimic sort of satisfaction. It almost sounded to Pieter as thought she was reciting some sort of nonsensical demented poetry, emphasis on the demented as her gaze shifted to become almost threatening. But if she really did have the job for him that he believed she did he preferred to get on with it to spending more time with 'playtime at the psych ward'.

"There is a pharmacy, but there's not much stuff there," she informed him as though remembering the reason he hadn't just walked off and accepted the consequences in the first place. "You'll have to make do. I got some money you can use for you what need, and you'll be paid nicely for this round. But I recommend not trying anything funny." He took a deep sighing breath, another threat. Why did some people insist on making it so hard to want to help them? "Let's go. I'll take you there." She took a few steps away before stopping to watch that he was coming along. Hadn't he already said that he planned to do this? Hadn't he turned back? Hadn't he offered to pay himself? Her distrust might not have been recieved so poorly if he hadn't felt that he had already been insulted enought for one day without being mistrusted himself by a girl who had first assualted him. Pieter trudged along following her to the end of the alley where she had stopped and paused too to look directly at his dark companion. "Funny business? I was not the one playing jokes," he said accusingly. "Besides, how scared should I be when you already said how much you need me and I'm going willingly?" he said daringly striding past her and out on to the street ready to be done with all of her excentricies and on to the matter at hand.

OOC: I leave up to you if this scene is done to be continued when ready at the motel or not BIC:

Katzenklavier

05-01-2008, 10:45 PM

OOC: It's been a while...I think it's okay if I post here...right? ^^' BIC:

Manya Vezirov

What the hell was going on here? She hadn't even done anything yet, and fate was branding her with a hot iron. It was not playing well for her constant battle with her superstitions that no matter where she went, Pearce seemed to follow, like a disembodied demon intent on ruining her fun. She was beginning to think he literally was a Belial incarnate of some variety. For hell's sake, she had gone into a library. A library! And, for no apparent reason, one of his *****es started to annoy her. Was she going crazy? Was she bugged or something? Did he just have an army of harpies that he sent flying out the window while he chuckled maniacally? Was he really that bloody bored and petty? Questions aside, she was pissed. It seemed that all of Paris was really out to kick her ass. Oh, she certainly deserved it with her record, but the extent was getting a bit ridiculous. She was going to have to start keeping tally marks for all the times she was smacked around by someone, especially for no fugging good reason like that ****head man-***** of Pearce's. Her cheek hurt and was growing constantly sorer, a new bruise adding to the ones that were just healing. But it was nothing compared to the damage being done to her pride. It seemed so pathetic that she was bitter, but she was. All she had wanted for a couple of hours was a break. But it ended with her being grabbed by security called off the street by a terrified librarian, and her being thrust out.

"I'm going to go out on a limb and say you know Pearce somehow," *****face had declared, "so I'll tell you this; if you touch me again, you will regret it. If either one of you even looks my way funny, I will take that nice gun of yours and make you swallow the bullets." What was even more infuriating was that her usual horny nature was perceived as a knock-off of Pearce's. Goddamn, did he have it trademarked or something? "If you think for one second that you can get me to spread my legs whether I want to or not, you are sadly mistaken, and you can pass that onto him as well." Manya felt like ripping her hair out with frustration. Of all the enraging things, the thought that of him being with someone else was foremost. Even with attentions as lethal as his, she craved being foremost in his thoughts. All the other flies that swarmed around him were just obstructions. There was a method to some of her whorish madness. Spreading out her passions with a number of people prevented her from getting too attached. When she did develop a fixation, it was intense.

Those obsessions had always lead to trouble. And it didn't seem any different now, as Manya tracked her competition through the Parisian streets. She had spotted her target as soon as she had left the library, apparently heading to wherever home was. Not one to pass up on an opportunity, she melted into the crowds as best she could, following at a distance. She had just stolen a drab brown woman's trench coat off a table in an outdoor restaurant and fit it over her clothes. That, combined with smoothing her hair down a bit and rubbing off her make-up, made it a bit easier to blend in. Her little journey took her down the Champ and several other populated areas where she could stick with the crowd. Boiling fury obstructed any chance of logical thought, reminding her that getting blood on her hands would probably not be a good idea. At this point she just didn't care. Someone was going to pay for all the repressed rage and hurt pumping through her veins. So she could only grin as the woman eventually made her happy little way into Manya's territory - the bad side of town. Even if there weren't the same crowds here, she knew the place well and could navigate expertly. It made her even more delighted to see that her prey opted for the alleyways that she was so familiar with. As the woman ducked into one, Manya opted for a side route that would allow her to cut in front of the other passage and arrive at the meeting point before her target would. She estimated about two minutes or so of an advance before the girl would show up. There was a lot of trash strewn about the alleyways. Taken a few glass shards, Manya coated the ends with a strange dark brown liquid - the same she ground up via mortar and pestle and mixed into her lipstick, when necessary. In her line of work, it helped to have an edge that most people didn't expect. Where guns failed...poison was queen. Grabbing a nearby trash bag, she hit the glass shards beneath the plastic and laid the bag across the alley ground. As she heard footsteps, she realized she was out of time, then ducked quickly into the adjoining alleyway, waiting. It would be her hope she could go for an initial easy paralysis, and then have her fun. If not, however, she knew her aim could take the woman out in a second. Now it was just a matter of waiting.

Erik

05-03-2008, 01:56 AM

OOC: This post is pretty much pointless because I just needed her out there so that our charries can cross paths again (insert evil laugh here). Sorry it's so sucktastic and heavy on thoughts.BIC:

Pandora Villas

When Pandora had stomped out of the small room that she had been in at the library, she had announced with a hiss to someone behind a desk that there was a crazy woman in the room that she had just stepped out with, and had stomped out, leaving the staff to deal with whoever it was that had tried to choke her to death in there. Who could have forseen that after so much uneasieness and fear, the one time she had made it to the library without turning back, she had run into someone exactly like Pearce? She tried to tell herself that it was all in her head, but that thought did not last long. It was a bad sign, telling her that she should leave it alone for now. After all, the way things were weren't terrible right now, were they? She never saw Pearce, and she was becoming a master in the art of avoiding her boyfriend at all costs. True she felt a constant fear and she continuously watched her back, but she could learn to live with paranoia. She would just have to avoid the Bois de Bolougne for the rest of her life, and she would be fine. This thought lingered about as long as the first, before she dismissed it and called herself crazy. She would just keep hiding in her apartment until she reached another plan and that was all that she could do. She kept on walking, keeping her head low and lifting it only to glance aroud her to make sure that no one was following her. It was hard to shake that feeling to paranoia once she began walking in crowded areas where everyone was everywhere, and she hurriedly marched onto a less busy street.

As her clicking heels became more noticable to her when the noise from the crowds diminished, the only other sound that plagued her was the hum of cars from busier streets, and her own thoughts. She decided that while her ultimate goal was her home, she would take a detour for the sake of taking a detour. She needed to sort through her thoughts a little more considering what had just happened at the library, and she found herself wandering to the less favourable streets in Paris. In the darker side of the city, where the rent was low because of the incredibly sketchy area, these were the neighbourhoods that she had lived in when she had left home with her brother, forsakeing her inheritance and every single penny of her parent's fortune in the name of equality, something her parent's never could get their heads around. She had lived further in the depths of the chaotic danger of the shady side of the city she loved so much, and she continued to walk around the shadowy streets, her only real concern not fuelled by the fact that she was in a horrible neighbourhood, but that this place seemed like the type of area Pearce could be found in. Despite this thought, she kept going, because she really knew nothing of the man that had raped her besides the fact that he read old classic literature about sex and death, and he could very well enjoy living it up in the posh areas of town moreso than the area she was wandering around at that moment. Besides, in the aftermath of her attack, stubbourne Pandora needed to be ure of something, and right then she was sure that she wanted to visit the apartment that she and her brother had shared hundreds of laughs in spite of the poverty they had faced.

As she stepped into an alleyway en route to the old apartment building she once lived in, she found her thoughts wandering back to the insane woman in the library. She probably would not have attacked Pandora if she had gone unprovoked, but she had seen only her own needs and had gone right ahead and banged her stupid shoe on the table anyway. And thinking back on it, Pandora did feel a little guilty for not finding another way to get out of that room, because in hindsight the other dark haired woman had a few bruises already standing out in contrast to her shockingly pale skin, but Pandora had acted on instinct, and she couldn't be blamed for that. Besides, having been deprived of oxygen for what seemed like an eternity, her punch and her slap absolutely couldn't have hurt that much. Pandora was so wrapped up in her thoughts about what had just happened that she didn't even notice the sound of glass smashing, something that had been a natural background noise while living here, and she kept her head down still as she walked. She was glad she had chosen such an unused alley, filled mostly with garbage and the occasional alleycat, because it was much easier than travelling down a better known street in this area and being accosted by homeless people, drug dealers, and prostitutes, who would either want money, want her off of their turf, or recognize her from the days when she was in league with these people, just with more dignity and a better sense of self-worth. And cleansliness. One of the things she appreciated most about the luxuries of leaving this place had been leaving the smell in the alleyways on her way out of there. She walked through the secluded alley, hoping that some clarity would come out of her adventure. All she found for the present moment, however, was the unpleasent crunching sound of her stepping on glass, a garbage bag carelessly strewn on top of it and thereby sheilding it from her view. "Ugh," she said in unamusement, and paused to examine the bottom of her shoes to see if any shards had stuck in them.

Katzenklavier

05-04-2008, 07:58 AM

Manya Vezirov

Her tongue slithered out across her lips as her prey wandered into sight. Such a stupid little girl - appearing completely unaware that it was conventional wisdom not to go wandering around alone after pissing off a bad girl. Either she was really naive or Manya had barely scratched the surface of her enormous swollen ego. Looks like she'd have to stop poking and go straight for a pop. For some reason, she envisioned the balloon filled with guts that she had seen in a horror movie a long time ago. For some reason, the image was oddly comforting. She had loved that movie. Her fond recollections, however, where interrupted as there was a crunching sound. Her target suddenly stepped over the glass. With an annoyed sound, the woman bent over to attend to her shoe. Well, it had been her hope that some of the glass might penetrate *****face's skin, going right through the sole and into her foot. But no such luck. Ah well. At least she had a perfect angle from here. Pale blue eyes roamed the exposed back. Good thing this chick was scrawny - her spine was left perfectly visible. Rifling through her equipment, Manya selected a knife with a long and slender blade, the end slightly crooked. Her finger ran along its edge as she judged the spine's focal points, searching for the faint bulges where the end of the spine reached the hip. Well, even if she didn't strike the nerve center dead on, it'd still be good enough to get *****face down. Manya then paused. Did she really want to sever this woman's spine and leave her paralyzed? Even for her, it was pretty cold. They hadn't really done much. A shudder ran through her body, pain spreading across her forehead. No. She had to hurt the rival for Pearce's attentions. Most of all, she had to make someone bleed for her. It had been too long...and she had done too much to turn back now.

As if moving on itself, her arm snapped back and then arched forward. The blade made several rotations through the air before thwacking into Pandora's spine, directly into the sensitive spot between hips and back. The woman felt something like a hard pinch before her legs went numb. Then, shortly afterwards, there was no sensation at all as she crashed down onto the concealed broken glass, poisoned ends penetrating her flesh. Manya stepped from her concealment and walked over with a casually confident air, lifting up her boot and then smashing it down into Pandora's stomach, holding the woman in place. It was perhaps a bit superfluous, as her prey wouldn't be rising anytime soon, but it made her feel good and that was all that mattered. She wanted to see the reflection of herself in the woman's dark eyes - powerful and utterly in control. "Made it easy for me, y'know," she murmured, searching the woman's pained expression, "so it's kinda your fault for being so damned stupid. Maybe you just want to die. He hurt you badly, didn't he? That's why you stayed in your apartment so long...you knew that if you came back, you'd be tempted to end the pain. Leave forever. Maybe I should just consider this a mercy killing." She reached into her coat and pulled out a large case that had been held in one of the pockets: this was the biggest member of her little collection. Unzipping the container, she reached in and grasped the handle, pulling out an enormous curved blade attached to a small pole. The sickle (http://www.piedmontwine.com/sip/sickle.jpg) was basically a miniature version of the scythe. Manya had recently been training herself with it. While the control was a bit difficult, the visual and symbolic element of wielding a weapon most equated with the Grim Reaper was just too good to pass up. Smiling down at Pandora with a strange sense of peace, she ran her tongue along the edge of the blade.

"If you long to live, now would be a good time to beg. But now that your legs aren't much use, you have no way to run from your troubles. Or you can just accept death. Your choice." Manya enjoyed giving options like this. It was an extent of her odd compassion, really. To give the victim some control over their own fate. Of course, *****face would probably decide to be unoriginal and try to spit at her. Or just squirm in her own misery. Whatever. Manya watched with an intent fascination as she waited for Pandora to respond to her choice.

Erik

05-06-2008, 03:51 AM

Pandora Villas

Pandora had been examining her shoes with a critical eye, trying to determine if she would need new ones or not, when all of a sudden she felt a sharp pain that caused her in inhale sharply, too surprised to cry out, before she lost all feeling in her legs and the ground seemed to fly up at her. She hit the ground, she was sure of it because her palms had outstretched in automatic defence against what was happening, but she couldn't feel it at all below her waist. Panic rose in her, and she used her stinging palms to turn her body around. She lay on the pavement, staring at the darkening sky, trying to figure out what had just happened to her. And while she was in the process of asking herself why she could not feel her own legs, she was reminded that she could certainly still feel her stomache, compliments of someone stomping on her with force and purpose. The wind successfully knocked out of her, Pandora gasped for air, unable to remember a physical pain so intense in her life.

When her dark eyes opened, after having squeezed shut due to the immense pain, all she could see was the woman from the library, with her shockingly pale skin that was emphasised by jet black hair. Though she didn't know how it had been done, as soon as she saw Manya's face Pandora knew that it was she who had paralyzed her, and surprise temporarily relieved the look of terror in Pandora's glassy black eyes. "Made it easy for me, y'know," she said in response to Pandora's unspoken realization. "so it's kinda your fault for being so damned stupid. Maybe you just want to die. He hurt you badly, didn't he? That's why you stayed in your apartment so long...you knew that if you came back, you'd be tempted to end the pain. Leave forever. Maybe I should just consider this a mercy killing." Pandora said nothing to these words, thinking them over as quickly and thoroughly as she could. If there was one thing she was sure of, it was that no matter what happened to her, Pandora would never be suicidal. She was strong, and she had always been confident in herself, which was why Pearce's actions, or rather the effect they had on her, had rattled her so much. Because she was used to being in the driving seat of her life. Whatever could have or might have happened afterwards, Pandora knew that she would find a way to deal with it and move on, she just had to discover the best way to do so. And until then, her plan was to be taciturn and sullen, but it would seem that while she was pinned to the glass-strewn concrete behind her with a crazy lady's boot pressing into her stomache, she was not in control of her own destiny. It was then that the realization of the exact situation she was in slammed into her like a tonne of bricks. She was in an extraordinary amount of pain, with someone who had just told her she would kill her in a casual sentance standing over her. Pandora suddenly became very aware of every single shard of glass sticking into her through the flimsy material of her blouse, and she instinctively tried to stand, but to no avail, because standing required her legs, and the Parisian could not feel anything from her waist down.

The woman who stood over her, like a vicious cat over a defenceless mouse, oulled something from her coat, and after a few seconds of trying to make her eyes focus she saw that it was some twisted weapon that looked like it could tear through any part of her body with no problem. Pandora's heartrate increased, and she felt more afraid than she had ever been in her life. She was strong, she was intelligent, and she was an overall fantastically confident person, but she was also a human, and no human could stare at that weapon and keep calm. If they could, they were heartless, or just plain insane. "If you long to live, now would be a good time to beg. But now that your legs aren't much use, you have no way to run from your troubles. Or you can just accept death. Your choice." "Some choice," Pandora said through clenched teeth, the first words she had spoken so far. This woman was telling her that she could spend the rest of her life as a parapallegic with no pride whatsoever, or die by the her hands with that ridiculous weapon. "But who am I to say. If you're enough of a heartless ***** that you would paralyze me then offer to kill me, then why should I think you'll honour my decision?" she asked, though it was more of a statement than a question. "So if you're going to do it anyway, do it," Pandora said with a false bravado, thinking that she had begged when she was motionless on the concrete a few weeks ago, when Pearce was about to rape her. And she had fought with everything she had, and look how much good it had done her. Now, the second time around, there was less sex and more violence but it might as well have been the same situation. So Pandora stared into Manya's cruelly determined eyes, with fear evident in the way her breathing had excellerated, and what parts of her body that could move shaking. But her eyes were dry, and she would not beg.

Katzenklavier

05-06-2008, 10:54 PM

Manya Vezirov

At last. There was some of the terror she had been craving. It had taken *****face long enough, since it was by sheer luck that she had walked out of that library without getting shot. Manya had to admire her guts, though. In the short time in which they had become acquainted, this little trick had displayed more balls than the whole male population of Paris thus far. It took a damn lot to keep a clenched jaw when pressed into shards of poisoned glass with an enormous blade raised over one's head. She was having a hard time deciding whether it was so adorable that she should just pat the woman's head and walk away, or so irritating that she should make her victim suffer with all the capability her imagination allowed. "Some choice," Pandora hissed. Manya shrugged at that. Some display of gratitude - she had thought it rather clever, actually. "But who am I to say. If you're enough of a heartless ***** that you would paralyze me then offer to kill me, then why should I think you'll honor my decision? So if you're going to do it anyway, do it." Despite these words, her terror was evident, body trembling and breath coming shakily. Yet her eyes burned with resilient fury. Despite being a victim of Pearce's, her pride was still intact. Damaged, but intact. How disturbingly admirable. At least she would die, then, without sacrificing her pathetic ego. How dare she deprive Manya of that ultimate pleasure.

The strange smile returned, wider than ever now. She pulled a black cloth from her pocket, then leaned to shove it into the woman's mouth. Rising up, she regarded her with a promising gaze. "Your honor disgusts me," she murmured sweetly, then brought the blade down. It sliced through the side of her prey's cheek and through her ear, slamming into the ground beside her. Smoothly, she raised it once more, blood splattered across the silvery gleam. Pausing, she pulled out her cellphone and snapped a shot of the woman beneath her, commemorating it for future occasions. The transformation of beauty into deformity had always been quite fascinating. And now, the flawless cheek had been torn to shreds. Manya repeated the process on the other side, followed by another picture. Her cellphone disappeared into her pocket once more. Kneeling down, she straddled the woman's hips, her blue eyes growing wide. In her mind's eye, she had transformed into that strange doppelganger from her nightmares. Did this almost-corpse see her as a broken doll or the goddess of death? It didn't matter. She rose the sickle up above her head, finding the exact point that she wanted to penetrate. A cool, calm peace had swept over her. She had done this before. It was what she was meant to do. Ever since it had started, all those years ago. "I love you," she whispered tenderly before bringing the sickle down onto the woman's exposed throat.

***

Manya sucked in long, deep breaths as she sat nearby, back pressed to the filthy alley wall. The dead woman's eyes wouldn't be leaving her thoughts anytime soon. Nails dug into her flesh as she clutched at her forehead, trying to gather her concentration. Quite suddenly, she barked a laugh. A laugh that quickly turned to giggling as she rose up from her spot, wiping tears aside. Walking over to the corpse, she tilted her head, then remarked, "Damn. Not so pretty anymore, are ya, *****face?" Had to wash the blood off. Such a pity. Her company would probably find it a turn-on. But then, walking into an exclusive hotel splattered in blood probably wouldn't turn out very well. As for the body...well, it'd just be another sad leftover of the Parisian streets. She wondered how long it would take to be reported in this condition. Just to make it extra difficult, she had removed most traditional sources of identification - wallet, ID, and other things. Pandora Villas, huh? How perfect. It was a name that she automatically identified with a cheap hooker. Pandora. Anyway, that would give her a little time. As for witnesses....there was the librarian and the security guards. That would be difficult. Well, she'd just live off Pearce's numerous methods of avoiding criminal prosecution.

Anyway, it was worth it. She felt more relaxed and elated than she had in a long time. Following her little breakdown, the guilt had quickly disappeared. Stepping over Pandora Villas' remains, she took off down the alleyway, whistling "In the Hall of the Mountain King" to herself cheerfully. The sun was coming out, and it was going to be a beautiful day.

angelofthenight

06-02-2008, 07:33 PM

OOC: Calvin and Jade. BIC:

Calvin Booth

So after getting thrown out of the library he'd said nothing more to the infuriated Miss Jade Jolie and instead he'd gone to a nearby bar for a drink. He'd down two martinis before realizing that she'd busted his lips with her fist. A smile had turned up the corners of his mouth at this relization and he stared at the crimson spot on his finger. The fact that she had hit him satisfied him immensly. He still had the ability to get to her and that pleased him more then a thousand solved cases.

So as he strolled through the alley between the bar and another run down building that he didnt' know that name of Calvin stayed on his toes, his hand on the end of the revolver that was strapped to his belt but concealed by his black leather jacket. It was habit for him to be edge but being in a dark alley sent his sense of alertness through the roof and he jumped at every little sound. Although it may appear that Calvin was paranoid he was not in the least, he simply liked to know what was going at every moment everywhere and in a dark alley that was easier said then done.

WanderingChild<3

06-03-2008, 03:16 AM

Jade Jolie

Thankfully, her and Calvin had gone there seperate ways. Jade wanted to admire her work she had done on that face of his, but of course, she didn't feel like confronting him at the moment. She was fuming, and you didn't like her when she was fuming. So, she had made her way down the street, not entirely knowing to where she was heading, but not giving a damn anyways. Her mind was on other things. Like that fact that not only was someone trying to ruin her life, but she was loosing it herself. Seeing him, only brought back horrid memories of America, she had come to Paris to forget. It was as if she were trying to get away from something, she would never be able to. Which was, her past.

Shoving her hands into the dress pants, which were sagging on her, Jade let out an audible growl, as it echoed in the darkened alley she had ended up in. Obviously, she wasn't in the "good" part of town, but being where she was now, made her at ease. It's where she belonged, and where she fit in. She felt a sense of power when it was dark, and the determination she once had to fight was growing. She couldn't let Calvin chase her away again. She couldn't allow him to get under her skin. He was in her territory now, and there was no place to go now. Though, in a way, Jade ruined his life. He had lost her job because of her, and pretty much everything. So, she should feel, accomplished, to say the least.

Not knowing that the man she loathed with a passion was coming up behind her, happening to end up in the same place she was, Jade sighed, leaning against the cold brick wall, feeling the wetness against her bare skin. She shivered slightly, running her hands up and down, trying to get warm. Her back was to him, not aware of his presence.

angelofthenight

06-03-2008, 03:39 AM

Calvin Booth

His hand went straight to his gun when he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. His muscles tensed and each step was cautious and deliberate. He pulled the safetly off and lifted it ready to shoot if the form made any suspicious movements. Slowly he slide his hand into his back pocket and pulled out a lighter. He'd never smoked but it had become a habit of his to carry it everywhere he went, just like his gun.

It was then that he realized the figure was not armed for combat or for the weather for that matter and he wondered what on Earth they were doing here. Without a word he held the lighter up and dropped it when he saw the famliar face of Jade Jollie. The hands of fate were indeed cruel and he opened and closed his mouth before finding his voice. "So this is where you live Miss Jolie... I shuold've guessed as much." he said wtih a sarcastic smile as kept a tight hold on his gun.

WanderingChild<3

06-03-2008, 04:20 AM

Jade Jolie

"So this is where you live Miss Jolie," A sudden voice came from behind her, shooting Jade up from her leaning position, and twirling around ready to fight, until she met eyes with non other than the ******* himself, Calvin Booth. Of course, she wouldn't mind fighting him, but she thought she would need to use self defense, had it been a stranger. It was just him though, and she did not need to defend herself. He would be the one needing too. Her brows furrowed darkly, lips tightened, and muscles tensing. Did he really think he had the upper hand?"I should've guessed as much." Came his sarcastic comment, which was meant to plainly insult her. She heard worse. "You better watch it, Booth," Came her reply, which was firm and harsh, her hands rolling into clenched fists. "Wouldn't want to get another bloody lip. You're lip is fat enough." She sneered, with a devilish grin, reminding him of the great blow she had taken earlier at the Library. Clearly, the highlight of her day, thus far.

She wouldn't be suprised if he had taken a hit on her now. Of course, it was known, "a man should never hit a woman", but she wasn't a woman, and he wasn't a man. At least, not in their relationship. Jade stood tall, keeping a good eye on him, awaiting for the next move. She could barely make out his figure, as night had fallen, darkness taking the alley whole. He loomed over her, but it didn't frighten her in the least, and if he thought he did, he was certainly at a misunderstanding. "So, what's it gunna' be Calvy?" She asked, her eyes sparking with demonic delight, rising a brow in question. "Are you gunna' keep verbally attackin' me? Or are you gunna' fight like a man?" She was testing the waters, inviting him in, and seeing how far she could take him until he would actually explode. She knew he wanted to hit her, why wouldn't he? Jade could take him. She knew she could.

"C'mon, you private eye priss." Jade hissed, urging him on more, trying to get under his skin. She strode forward, getting close to him, directly in his face. Taking her two fingers, she shoved them into his chest hardly, sending him back a few steps, "I dare ya'."

angelofthenight

06-03-2008, 08:18 AM

Calvin Booth

"So, what's it gunna' be Calvy?" She muttered lowly and her voice penetrated the night like a knife, making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He only tightened his grip on his gun as he murmered just as menacingly. "I'll leave that up to you..." he said, lifting the gun slightly as they stood there in the darkened alleway. "Are you gunna' keep verbally attackin' me? Or are you gunna' fight like a man?" she asked and he raised an eyebrow at this, shifting from his right foot to his left and back agina. "I would never hit a woman... not even one as worthless as you..." he hissed, knowing what he said was the truth. No matter how far Jade pushed him, even if she hit him again he would not hit her, that would only give her the satisfaction of getting to him.

"C'mon, you private eye priss." Jade hissed stepping forward and gettiing right in his face. Narrowing his eyes at her he slipped the gun into it holster and turned away. "I wouldn't waste my time..." he said cooly, shoving his hands into his pockets and turning on his heels, walking in the opposite direction that he had come. As he walked he even began to whistle, making a point that they would go on after this encounter with indifference, that it until her voice penetrated the darkened alley once more. "I dare ya'."

Before Calvin could do anything he'd pulled out his gun once more and swung back around. In two strides he was in front of her and in to more he had her pinned against the wall, the barrel of his gun pressed hard under her chin. "Dare me to what Jade! Dare me to what!" he hissed, his lips pressed to her ear, his breaths coming short and hot as he gazed down into her face, that face had had spent many times studying. "Dare me to do this?" he asked and with the gun still pressed to her throat he pressed hisl lips to hers in a fierce savage kiss.

WanderingChild<3

06-03-2008, 08:45 PM

Jade Dawson

It was apparent that Jade's urging had no effect whatsover on Calvin, as he began walking out of the alley, whistling. She knew that she had, but he just did not like showing it. It was his way, she knew him to well after all these years. It wasn't until her last comment, her "dare", that had indeed pushed him over the edge. In one swift flash, she found herself being pinned against the cement wall, letting an audible grunt as her head connected hardly with it. Calvin shoved a gun under her chin, which stung, but Jade didn't let out a cry of mercy, but stared at him in anger, her breathing becoming unpatternly, not knowing if he were going to pull the trigger or not. Isn't that what he wanted? "Dare me to do what Jade?! Dare me to do what?!" He seethed wickedly, in a voice she had never heard before, and she twitched, feeling his hot lips against her ear. Every word sending a shiver down her spine. Her body shook under his grasp, and through she was trembling on the inside, Jade never let him see the true fear, but only a hard facade. "Shoot me." Came her rasp of a demand, knowing, that he wouldn't.

The only thing that was heard now, was both of their heavy breathings. Jade met his eyes and noticed how he seemed to be studying her, in a way he never had before. In a lustful, aggressive way. Desirable. The way the others looked at her, but without the spark that shown in his eyes. "Dare me to do this?" His mumure came, and before another word was said, Jade felt his lips press hardly against hers in a harsh manner. She felt her body give a jolt, in complete shock. He kissed her, though, it wasn't at all in a loving way. It was in a hateful, cruel, and wickedly lustful manner. Something that definately had turned her on, but she couldn't help but think..He was Calvin Booth. The man that tried ruining her life for years. He wanted to play this way? Fine, let him play this way. Let her ruin his life.

Jade shoved him back, her breathing slowing down, as she examined him. The darkness of the alleyway made him more powerful looking, as his brown eyes gleamed from the pale moonlight that showered down on them. Never before had she looked at him in this way before, and she couldn't help but like what she saw. Staggering a few steps forward, her eyes shot at him, wondering if this was some trick? Of course, Calvin and herself could make quite the adventure on what they felt one another, if they took it in sexual manners. To hell with it...

"I hate you." Came her grumble, as she darted at him, pounding her fists into his masculine chest, shoving him into the wall, kissing him firecly and aggressively.

angelofthenight

06-03-2008, 09:31 PM

Calvin Booth

He wouldn't have been surprised if she struggled. He wouldn't have been surprised if she'd hit him. But he was surprised when she didn't try to pull away from him right away. Finally she did what he thought she'd do and she pushed him away. He wiped his mouth, his gleaming with lust and desire as he looked her over in the pale moonlight. Her beautiful slender body was sillhouetted against the brick wall he'd had her pushed against. Never had he taken heed of just how erotic the curves of her body looked, he'd always seen as a job, a chore, but now, now that he was no longer working to crack her he could enjoy her curves and assets that she possesed.

"I hate you." She grumbled and rushed towards him, pounding her fists on his chests and knocking him into the opposite wall. Before he could retalliate she was kissing him again, fierer then before and he snaked his arm around her shoulders, squeezing her to him in a stone cold embrace. "I wouldn't have it any other way..." he retorted, shifting their positions so she was the one that was once again pressed agianst the wall. "This changes nothing..." he said pulling away for a moment, his brown eyes burning with desire, one that he had never known and never had for this woman that had now had pinned between him and the cold brick wall of the alley.

WanderingChild<3

06-04-2008, 02:55 AM

Jade Jolie

"I wouldn't have it any other way." Came his sly reply, which only fired Jade up even more.

It all seemed unrealistic. The "criminial" and the "investigator" going at it, in a dark alley in Paris. Clearly, it was disgraceful to her and his kind, but at the moment, they both didn't seem to mind. Jade ran her hands up and down his chest, feeling his strong arms wrap around her, squeezing her against his body, so they were now against one another, with not a single inch of space. Aggressively, Calvin spun them around, so now she was the one pinned against the wall, taking power. It was like a game of who was in control, but she thought it was quite a "sexy" game, to say the least. She didn't know that Booth had it in him, and there was a lustful animal inside of him. Especially, for her. She felt him pulling away, as the hateful but desirable emotion sparked in his eyes, "This changes nothing" He reminded her, which meant that sure, they could do whatever the hell they wanted with one another...But then afterward, it would be back to bumping heads with one another. With a dark grin, Jade took the collars of his jacket, pulling him back onto her body, "No ****, sherlock." She mumured huskily, pressing her lips against his fiercly, hiking up her leg onto his waist as she did so.

In all her years, she never thought she would be doing this with Calvin Booth, in a dark alley, in the middle of the night. Though, of course, it looked worse for him then her, which was the fun of it all. Their hatred for one another, was the fire that fueled it all, and the way they seemed to be taking out the hatred on one another, was nothing but pleasurable. Of course, an alley wasn't the greatest place to be..doing this, but Jade then reminded herself of the motel that was the next building over. Maybe things would get very interesting afterall.

angelofthenight

06-04-2008, 03:05 AM

Calvin Booth

Never had he slept with someone he'd interogated, although truth be told there had been times he'd wanted to. For example, they had investigated a murder at a night club and the stripper's that worked there were some of the main suspects. He'd spent all night interrogating them and most of them had been well behaved, most... except for one. Although at the moment he couldn't recall her name she'd been determined to get him to sleep with her, which he didn't do but he did go along with her little 'game' resulting in a confession from her and a higher pay check for him.

"No ****, sherlock." She said in reply and he knew at that moment that matter what they experienced tonight, or any other night, they woudl go on staying hte same, their lives would remained unchanged by day and drastically altered by night. He pressed his body hard against hers and used it to pin her there while his lips traveled from her mouth to her neck and he kissed her hard enough to leave decent bruises in the morning and even nipping her with his teeth in a couple places.

While he was doing htis he gathered her into his arms and while his lips explored her body he slipped into the door of the motel. Without so much as looking at the receptionist he carried her to the nearest room, kicked the door open and steped with her over the threshold and into the room. Their breathing was ragged and he unbutoned his shirt in one clean sweep and hers in another, laying her back against the pillows as he covered her body with fierce kisses and savage caresses.

WanderingChild<3

06-24-2008, 07:15 PM

OOC: That scene ended. Different scene between Calvin & Jade BIC:

Jade Jolie

Everything from lastnight was a complete and utter blur. All she could remember, was being dragged away from Calvin, after their confrontation, and being knocked out. Well, that would be after he, being Dominique's brother, threw her around a bit, and had his way with her. So, telling from the way Jade looked, you could tell she had a quite eventful night. Now, as her eyes fluttered open, she realized she was in an alleyway? What was this guy doing? Did he even have a plan of action, or did he just like moving places? It was frightful of what just he was going to do to her. Afterall, she did kill his brother. This was bound to happen someday. Revenge. It sucked ass. Especially, if really, you were the innocent one. Jade had no idea how long she had been knocked out for, but she guessed all day, hence, it was night now, and morning since she had last been concious. So, this was it. She was sure of it. He had probably brought her to some alleyway, to do away with her now that he had his fun.

An audible moan escaped from her swollen lips, as Jade became concious, her head moving from side to side against the brick wall, attempting to get some kind of strength. She at least wanted to try and fight for her life. So far, it had been an unfair match. Her whole body was in pain, and she could feel a deep cut in her side. The dried up blood that stained her shirt, kind of give it away. Everything was a blur around her, until Jade kept still until it all came into focus. Yes, she was right. She was in an alleyway, it as night, but she had missed something else. Like the looming figure that stood over her, looking down at her. That was him. Did he really have to kill her? Couldn't he have just, flung her in here, and left? That would be, the best thing that could have happened. No, he was like his brother...Had to make everything a big dramatic scene.

"How we feelin' Jade?" Came his question, in that awful sadistic tone. Surely, he was completely insane. Almost as insane as his brother, but not quite. It had been a continuous battle with him all night. Jade attempted to fight back, but the shiny glock that pointed at her, made it quite hard. She had begged him to listen to her, when she told him that his brother was going to kill her. Of course, it didn't matter to him. He probably was just happy that he was the one who got to finish her off. That's how that family worked. She wondered how she could have ever dated Dominique? Clearly, one of the worst mistakes in her life, and she had a lot of those.

She was defeated. Completely defeated. Jade's head throbbed from when he hit her over the head with the gun, and it was still bleeding a bit. So, there went her balance...She literally was suprised she wasn't dead yet, because that's what she felt like. Death. In knowing this was probably it, she didn't feel like begging or sobbing for her life. Why not just make the most out of these few minutes or so? "Ya' know," She began, her voice raspy and pained, but through all the blood and marks, Jade forced that wicked smirk of hers to show, as her eyes met his from below. "Not too bad...I mean, considerin' how your ******* of a brother felt when I put a bullet in him, I feel great." Yes, it was a bold thing to say, especially for the situation she seemed to be in, but Jade knew this was it. It really did frighten her, but she would never show it.

A barbaric growl was heard, as he shot at her, lifting her up by the neck. Jade winced in pain, as she had no choice but to follow him upward, now being pinned against the wall. Her hands shook, as she held his arm, trying to pull his hand back, so she could breathe. "I'm about done messin' with you, Jade." He seethed demonically through gritted teeth, his grip loosening, as he began getting out the gun from his trench coat. At least it would be a fast way. "Too bad, you c-couldn't have been through with me lastnight," She said breathlessly through her grasp, her eyes shut, as she tried speaking, but he was squeezing even harder. "It w-was the worst screw I've ever had." Surely it topped the cake, and he shoved the glock into her stomach. She coughed roughly, blood coming up, but he kept her pinned against the wall. The crimson blood trickled down her chin onto his hand. Jade knew, this was it. He was going to shoot her, and just toss her to the side, and go back to America.

You know how they say, your life flashes before your eyes? Yes, that's a bunch of bull****. All Jade could think about, was Calvin. She couldn't help but too. Everything about him came to mind, all the way back to New York, from lastnight. When he told her he thought she was innocent, she thought he was insane. For some reason, now she believed him. She only wished she could have told him that lastnight, or maybe she wouldn't be in this predicament. Jade hated herself for thinking of Calvin, but allowed herself too. Those eyes of his, that always looked at her in the most peculiar ways. Filled with lust and desire, yet something else was there, and it always would send that shiver down her spine. Those nights at the motel...She didn't know what she felt for him, or what the feelings were, but she wouldn't be able to find out.

"Goodbye, Jade." He whispered, kissing her on the lips for a brief moment.

Jade squeezed her eyes shot, awaiting for that shot to ring out. Her breathing became heavy, and she only wished he wouldn't wait so damn long...It wasn't until footsteps were heard, that she felt his grip loosen. Jade coughed even more, now being able to breathe, but his hand covered her mouth, "shushing" her, as he began to turn the corner to see whom it was.

angelofthenight

06-24-2008, 11:48 PM

Calvin Booth

Calvin knew Jade was a less then reputable woman but he hadn't thought that she would be so heartless as to leave him unconscious and bleeding on the sidewalk. He'd been wander listlessy for the past two hours, After going to the Rouge and asking them about their employee they'd reported that she hadn't been in yet but that they would gladly give him a call when she showed up. He had thanked them and coudlnt' help but smile at how they must precieve his and Jade's relationship.

Well that really didnt' matter now. With a sigh he leaned agaisnt a poll and that was when he heard it, whimpering and shushing. Coming from... where? If he could only figure that out. "Jade!" he yelled, he woudl've known that whimper anywhere... he'd heard it far to many times to be mistaken. "I didn't think you were heartless enough to do that even to me Jolie!" he yelled anger flooding him. If she didn't hear him, it still felt good to get this off his chest.

WanderingChild<3

06-25-2008, 08:16 AM

Jade Jolie

If she weren't so weak from the earlier beatings, it would have been the perfect oppurtunity to kick this guys' ass, as he was distracted to whomever was coming down the street. Jade squirmed under his grasp, but focused on getting a breath in, before his hand would begin squeezing her neck again. "Jade!" Immediatly, her eyes widened with shock. That scream she would know from anywhere. It was Calvin Booth. She had never been so thankful to hear that *******'s voice. He had come looking for her? She was shocked more than anything, and her body froze in place, realizing that if she didn't warn him somehow, he was going to be finished off as well. Vincent's attention was surely grabbed, as the glock, he pulled back from her side, beginning to take a few steps back, for comfirmation that it was Calvin. Jade gulped, watching him closely, as he continued to move backward, poking out his head. "If you hurt hi-" She began warning, trying to look menacing with all her power, but the blood oozing from her side, wasn't helping it look as evil as she wanted too. She looked more like a defenseless idiot than anything.

Before Jade could finish her setence, already Vincent had her slammed against the brick wall once more. Her pained grunt was muffled with his hand, and everything was spinning around her. He had about, four eyeballs, which didn't flatter him all that much. "Shut the f*ck up!" He spat, and her stomach knotted up in anger, feeling her blooded knuckles roll up into a fist. One thing about Jade, is she absoutely loathed being talk down too. Now, there was nothing she could possibly do about it. That, was killing her alone. Vincent's low chuckle made her wince, as his eyes flickered out to the street, and back at her- his face beaming with utter sadistic delight. "Seems your little boyfriend decided to save your ass." He's not my boyfriend, you *******... "I'm suprised you haven't put a bullet in him yet...Well, I can take care of that." Her eyes glared at him, breathing harshly under his hand. Did he find it nesscary to bring Booth into this? That damn idiot had to come after her." I didn't think you were heartless enough to do that even to me Jolie!" What the f*ck are you talkin' about Booth? Seemingly amused, Vincent did a little jump of a glee, seemingly already having a plan in mind.

Roughly, he took her by the arm. Jade growled, now worried what he was planning on doing to him. Her eyes looked straight forward, hoping that Calvin would just, turn around and go back. He had no business being in this, at all. Though, he already was, since he was against her in this too. She wondered if he would be joining Vincent or what? "Step out, under the lamp post," He mumured to her, "Just stand there, make him come to you. Was this guy stupid? He actually thought she was going to do this? Harshly, he twisted her arm behind her back, and it took everything in her power not to let out a scream. If he kept it up, her arms would be falling off shortly. "And dont, pull try and pull anytine..I'll have a gunpoint on you the entire time." With that, Vincent pushed her forward, but on the borderline of the stepping out the alley.

Sure, she could have refused, and let him blow her brains out. Though, he probably would have moved onto Calvin anways. If she actually stepped out, would they even have a chance? Taking a breath, Jade silently staggered out, the fresh air hitting against her face, and causing her to almost fall over. It felt good to breathe again...Trembling fiercly, Jade stood there, like a helpless fool, in the middle of the sidewalk. Her eyes, she forced not to look at him, as tears streamed down her cheeks. Blood was coming from all places, and she looked like a disaster. It was hard not to stand, but even harder not to scream for him to turn around and run. Slowly, her eyes glanced over to the alley, and all she could see was the glare of the glock, pointing right at her head. Soon, it would be pointed at both of them. She didn't know what was worse...Reeling Calvin in, or showing weakness in front of him.

angelofthenight

06-25-2008, 08:24 AM

Calvin Booth

Calvin had to admit that he'd never felt worse in his life. But he had to find Jade and if that meant roaming the streets of Paris all night. Yet why should he care so much? She was the one that had left him laying on the sidewalk unconscious while she disappeared to who knows. where. He drew his gun and began to fiddle with it, careful to keep the safety on. He'd had bad experiences with guns that didn't have the safety on them, some of them were pretty gruesome and Calvin really didn't want to think abotu them at the moment.

It was then that he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. It only took him a moment to recongnize the familiar form and he smirked coldy at her. "Well it's about time you show up Jolie..." he said cooly, approaching her slowly, then he stopped, despite the shadows she stood he coudl tell soemthing was wrong. "Come over here Jade... let me have a look at you..." he commanded rather harshly, knowing that something had happened ot her and Calvin was determined to find out what, even if it meant dragging ehr under the street lamp soe he coudl see her better, still he couldnt help but wonder why he cared.

WanderingChild<3

06-25-2008, 08:33 AM

Jade Jolie

"Well, it's about time you showed up, Jolie." Came Booth's smart ass tone again. Jade kept her eyes down, not bringing herself to spit anything back at him, or say anything for that manner. More tears leaked from her reddened eyes, not being able to hear that voice of his. She was getting him into deep trouble, and it was hard to stand and what it unfold, let alone, be the bait for this creeps plan. She could hear his footsteps approaching her, and she winced, not wanting him to come closer. The closer he came, the closer they were to death. Thankfully, he had stopped, and Jade could feel her knees waning to give out, and it took everything in her for her not to warn him."Come over here Jade... let me have a look at you..." His command was harsh, but the tone wasn't what was bugging her. It was the order. If she had him look at her, would that be the end of it? Then again, if he did, she could give him time to run.

Knowing that she wasn't going to win with any decision she would made, Jade unwillingly staggered toward the streetlamp, and her body simply couldn't handle it anylonger, and everything around her was spinning. Her body fell against the poll, as she began coughing uncontrollably, her side throbbing with each cough. Crimson blood became visible on the sidewalk, and she turned her head away from Booth, not wanting him to see her in such a state- wanting to at least have some dignity- and she didn't think she could look at him with what she was doing too him.

Apparently, Vincent wanted to torture with this, as he watched the scene unravel, quite entertained...though, the glock kept pointed at her.

angelofthenight

06-25-2008, 08:46 AM

Calvin Booth

Calvin knew the moment Jade staggered forward that something was wrong. Exactly what he wasn't sure but he'd been involved in his profession far to long for him not to know that something was up. Instictively he drew his gun and pointed it past Jade as she stumbled past him, intot he light of the streetlamp. Without glancing at her her walked backwards so he was under the street lamp with her and when he looked down at Jade his stomach chuned uncomfortably at what he saw.

Jade had taken a beating, from who he wasn't sure but as she leaned against the pole and began to cough uncontrollably he walked over to her and wrapped an arm around her wasit, holdign her as he continued to throw glances at the alleywa, expecting at any moment for soemthing to jump out at him. "You can't keep yourself alive can you..." he said with a teasing tone but his features were serious as he watched Jade turn away from him, trying to hide what he had already seen.

WanderingChild<3

06-25-2008, 07:17 PM

Jade Jolie

It was obvious she couldn't hide that damange Vincent had done from Calvin. That all didn't matter; what mattered was saving his ass. Who cared about herself? Jade had it coming ever since she pulled that trigger. Booth deserved to live. Her thinking that, was both shocking and frightening all at once. Just as she was about to completely fall over from her position under the lamp, his strong arm wrapped around her waist, holding her to him. "You can't keep yourself alive, can you?" He asked in typical Calvin fashion. What he didn't understand was there was an insane asshole, about ready to pounce on him if he didn't shut the hell up for once, and listen to her. Which, would be difficult for him.

The coughing had ceased, and Jade glanced over at what Calvin was doing. The idiot had whipped out his gun as well, and was pointing it at completely the wrong place. Yes, it was all very heroic, but now wasn't the time to play good cop bad guy. It was time to fight for you life, before you're head gets blown off. "C-C-Calvin," Came her rasped, pained voice. Her throat stung as she spoke. Her hand grippd his shoulder with all the power she could, bringing their faces only inches apart. Blood had seeped onto his jacket, and she couldn't help but feel a bit embarressed and what he was seeing. "R-Run, please." She begged in a low whisper, tears streaming down her pale and scratched cheeks. "He-"

Before she could even finish her sentence, Jade saw Vincent appearing out of the shadows. With all of her might, using every fiber that she had left in her, she pushed Calvin away, "Run, dammit!" She screamed in a sob, falling back onto the pole, hoping that he would listen to her for once.

angelofthenight

06-25-2008, 11:42 PM

Calvin Booth

Calvin kept one eye on Jade and the other on the street in front of him. He'd in numerous situations of this nature so he couldnt' understand why his heart was pounding so hard, why he could barely hold the gun because his palms were so clammy with a cold sweat that had assaided him when he'd first seen Jade step out of the dark alleyway. Was she trying to lure him into somthing. Calvin wasn't sure but he knew that something was right... he could feel it.

"C-C-Calvin," Jade called to him hoarsly and he looked down at her with caring eyes. At that moment Jade grabbed his shoulder and pulled him down to her level. He made no attempt to pull away from her for he knew it would not be wise to make her strain herself in her current condition. "R-Run, please." Calin looked at her and for a moment he wondered if she was becoming delirrious. "Jade what are you talking about?" he asked sternly, carefully removing her hand from his shoulder so he could straighten and look back over his shoulder once more.

"Run, dammit!" Jade yelled and Calvin was momentarily shocked but hat disappeared when he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. His hand tightened on the gun he held and he took a step toward Jade, knowign she would be angry at him for it later... if there was one. "Well, well, well... agent Booth... long time no see..." a familiar voice drawled, making sure to stay out of the street lamp's light. But Calvin didn't have to see the man to know who it was. "Not long enough..." Calvin said back, lifting his gun in the man's direction.

Calvin's whole body went cold as he heard the man laugh lowly. "I wouldn't do that if I was you Booth... after all you wouldn't want us to have to hurt anyone here would you?" It was then that Calvin knew what Vincent was insinuation and he took another step toward Jade. "You won't lay a finger on her..." he growled, lfting his gun at the man again. "No you're right I won't... but they will..." he said and as if on cue four large men stepped into sight all holding glocks that worked just as well if not better then Calvin's.

"Now I suggest agent Booth that you put the gun down and get on your knees.." Vincent commanded and Calvin didn't budge, still holding the gun at Vincent. Vincent seemed to understand he motioned to one of the larger men that stood around them. Calvin held his ground and the larger man came toward him. "One more step and he dies..." Calvin said to the men around him, poing the gun directly at Vincent. "I mean it!" Calvin threatened, taking the safety off the gun.

Vincent seemed to find the whole thing quiet amusing for he laughed. "Well aren't you just the hero Booth... always have been I guess..." with those words Vincent snapped his fingers and before Calvin could say or do anything he felt somethign heavy collide with the top of his head. As his knees buckled and fell to the ground he could hear Vincent's develish laughter all around him. He felt someone's foot collide with his ribs and he gasped in pain. "Not so easy to be the hero now is it Booth?" Vincent drawled and Calvin felt one final blow against his head before everything went black.

angelofthenight

07-21-2008, 05:10 AM

OOC: New scene. For Rose and Bella. BIC:

Bella Karina

Bella and Rose had spent all day shopping. After picking up the package that contained her dress fromt he post office they'd takne it to a clothing store and had it hemmed. The end result (http://www.bridalonlinestore.com/Collection/product-page.asp?q=Wedding+Dress&SKU=Ella&i=20074355068) was now in a large clothing bag draped over Bella's shoulder. After stopping there they'd also stop at the florist's shop and picked out a wedding bouqet (http://www.cupidsarrowweddings.net/image_uploads/DSC01424.JPG) of lavender and white roses. They had yet to decided on a bridesmaid dress but that would come next as they made their way through the alley that was a shortcut between two stores that they'd just visited.

Bella for once in a long time since meeting Edmund's father, was enjoying herself. It had been only five days since meeting Edmund's father in Le'arpege and Bella had no thoughts about meeting the man while she was with someone. As they rounded a corner a shadow passed by the corner of Bella's vision but she figured it to be a cat or soemthing insignificent. Glancing at Rose she smiled at her. "You up for stopping at the bakery to discuss a cake design or are you ready to go home?" she asked but Bella would never know if Rose was up to it or not for at that moment the shadow grabbed her around the waist and pinned her to the wall.

"Long time no see Miss Karina... how long has it been... two days... I think..." he hissed and she gasped, the all to familiar voice made her whole body go numb and her legs give out beneath her. She was shocked that the man had the audacity to assault her while she was with someone... now all sense of joy and security was gone. "Please..." she plaed and he only laughed mirthlessly. "Please what my dear? I'm quiet eager to oblige you..." he whispered and began to kiss her bare shoulders, biting the skin in places hard enough to draaw blood. Bella only turned away and shut her eyes, knowing struggling was useless and Rose was far to weak to help her... Bella coudl only hope that the man didn't go after her friend.

SocialMisfit

07-21-2008, 06:08 AM

OOC: Sorry... kinda long... But I'm bored, so that's why. Bear with me. xD BIC:

Rose Lee Peace

Rose had spent the beautiful Saturday morning with Bella, shopping for wedding stuff, and evening began to settle over the city. Even though Rose was tired, and hated shopping, she had to admit that she enjoyed spending time with her friend, and was happy that Bella for once felt at peace and joyful, just like she should be.

"You up for stopping at the bakery to discuss a cake design or are you ready to go home?" Bella asked. Rose grinned.

"Well, If we get it done now, we won't have to do it l..." Rose was cut off when she realized that Bella had vanished. Awake and alert, Rose's unusual gold-flecked eyes rapidly scanned her surroundings, searching the dark alley for some sign of Bella. She saw a shadow, and a flash of gold, and that did it.

Rose dropped the stuff she was carrying, and tore off after them, adrenaline pounding through her veins instead of blood. Her pupils dialated, and her eyes were wild, the gold flecks flashing light lightning across their dark gray irises.... And Rose seemed to be more of a wild animal than human. Like a mother wolf protecting her pups, she'd fight feircly to the end.

Flying around a corner, she found a man pinning Bella to the wall, kissing her feircly, and Rose's vision went red in response. Even though the cancer had taken a toll on her, nothing could stop the balistic fight or flight response. With her lips pulled over her gleaming, white teeth in a snarl, she threw herself at the man with every ounce of force she had inside of her, catching him off gaurd, and sending them both crashing to the ground.

"BELLA!!! RUN!!!" she roared.

Rose wrestled violently with the man, breaking his nose by smashing the back of her head into his face, getting blood on her thinning, dark hair, she getting hit in the face which would end up in two black eyes, and a bruise the size of Texas on her jaw. She sent another fist into his face, enjoying the sick and twisted way his face crunched beneath the contact, not caring that she was ripping the stitiches in her knuckles every time she threw a punch. The man turned around and spat several blood-covered, white things out of his mouth, and a sick smile twisted Rose's lips. She fought hard and dirty, and she didn't give a damn.

The man tackled her, and pinned her to the ground beneath him, hitting her in the face yet again, giving her a busted lip, and pinning her down by her neck, cutting off her windpipe. His eyes raked greedily over her form.

"Well well well. What a little spitfire. How exciting. Bella, you really do have the most interesting friends, but tell me," he said, directing back to Rose, tracing her jaw line, and over the scars on her cheekbone and over her throat with his finger lustfully. "Are you as good in bed as you are fighting?" he asked. Rose growled, and rammed her knee into his groin, before kicking him off to her, and rolling to her feet.

"I dunno. Maybe you should ask my husband that, you filthy peice of scum!" she spat acidly. She had positioned herself protectively between Bella and the man she had guessed to be Edmund's father. He got to his feet again, and Rose, just like an angry bull, charged him head first, headbutting him in the gut and knocking him down. She was going to kill him, if it was the last thing she did. Nothing could stop the insane instinct now.

But somehow, she once again turned out to be the only bare-knuckle fighter in the joint. The man had slipped out a knife, and slashed her side open, causing Rose to release an animalistic howl of pain. Angrier than hell now, she snapped the wrist of the knife-welding hand in one quick movement, disarming him. She grabbed the knife, and pressed it sharply into the flesh of his throat, not drawing blood... yet...

"So tell me, you sick *******. Do you always suck this bad at fighting? Is that why you prey on weaker beings, you son of a B*tch," she hissed, spitting in his face. The man wouldn't speak. He just gulped, and tried to get away from the bite of the blade at his throat.

angelofthenight

07-21-2008, 07:10 AM

Bella Karina

Bella half staggered half walekd away from the the fight that was gong on behind her. The only thing she was aware of at that moment was the warm blood that oozed from the gash in the back of her head. She was beginning to feel dizzy and as she walked further her vision blurred and she fell to her knees against the wall. Then she saw it, the two-by-four that leaned with a bunch of other scraps of wood against the wall.

Picking up one of the pieces she stagged back over to the fight and as she neared she saw that Rose had the upper hand... but Bella knew it wouldn't last long. The violinist was right as Edmund's father twisted out of the hold and switched positions, pressing the blade to Rose's throat. Bella stood there in shock for the longest moment before she raised the piced of wood and hit the man on the back as hard as she could.

Everything happened fast enough to make her head spin even more and she felt his hands close around her throat before it was to late. "I could break your neck..." he hissed, caressing her cheek with the back of his hand and she began to whimper. "But I won't... because then it wouldn't be as fun..." he muttered, his hand inching up her thigh... but just then a door opened and a man stepped onto the steps that led out of a restruant... a shotgun in his hand.

Before she coudl do anything Edmund's father had dropped her and she began to gasp for breath, her head pounding as tears squezed through her closed eyes. Then she remembered Rose and looked up frantically. "Rose... Rose are you alright?" she croaked, looking around desperately for her friend and knowing that she was in pretty bad shape.

SocialMisfit

07-22-2008, 07:54 AM

Rose Lee Peace

Rose was used to this kind of trauma and bloodloss, but her current struggle with cancer had taken a lot out of her, making it so she wasn't as strong as she used to be.

She was fairly lucky that Bella had hit the man, but there was one problem... The knife had caught her along her jawline, though thankfully, not her throat, and the gash revealed the brilliant white bone underneath, and was bleeding as profusely as the one on her side. Rose felt the fight evaporate from her, and she felt dizzy.

When the nice man holding the shotgun came out, Edmund's father dropped Bella and took off. Rose was too weak to scream 'shoot him', but she struggled to get to her feet... She could have been the main attraction of a freak show, with her gruesome appearance... Her face was black and blue, her lips were busted and bleeding, her jaw was sliced open, her neck was covered in bruises from his hands when he tried to strangle her, and her side had a deep, critical wound in it, and she was covered in blood. Rose fell against the wall, and pushed herself back to her feet.

"Rose... Rose are you alright?" Bella choked, panicing. Rose staggered over to her friend, and hauled her to her feet. "No. And I though I was a trouble magnet," Rose muttered in a gravelly voice. "Xavier's gonna put me in a straightjacket and lock me in the bedroom once he's put padding on the walls when he sees this one," she rasped, shaking her head. Her vision started to black out, and she began to sway.

The man with the shotgun came over to them.

"Are you ladies alright?" he asked, a heavy French accent clouding his words. Rose was slowly loosing it. She put her hand to her forehead in an army salute.

"Courtesy of the Red, White, and Blue!" She said deleriously, before her knees buckled. She had passed out from bloodloss and exhaustion, and went down before the man had time to catch her.

BIC: Haley, sorry this took so long. My grandma was teaching me how to sew, and My neighbor taught me how to drive his pony-pulled wagon. Should you post one more time before we move it somewhere else? BIC:

angelofthenight

07-22-2008, 04:36 PM

OOC: Yep and I think we shoudl bring both Xavier and Edmund in eventually. BIC:

Bella Karina

Bella didn't wait to hear if Rose was alright because as arsm closed around her she slwoly began to feel tired, tired enough to sleep and she was happy to oblige this inclination. But a strong firm voice came from somewhere, very distant, but somewhere, above her. "You can't fall asleep miss... that head wound looks pretty bad...going to need surgery that one...I"ve called the police already but I don't think you're up to staying around for questioing are you?" he asked and Bella groaned in reply, hoping he would understand it as a no.

"I didn't think so... which is why you're lucky I'm an intern at one of the local hospitals. I have a room at the motel not far from here where we'lll take you and your friend. My wife will tell the police if they want to question either of you to come there... sound good?" Bella managed to nod this time, sending a fiery pain down her neck and back. Then she became aware of the slight pain in her abdomen... and all she could think about was the baby.

Bella began to struggle frantically and try to tell that kind man who was holding her what was the problem. He seemed to partly understand for he picked up his pace and yelled back in French, to someone who was probably carrying Rose. "Make sure my baby's alright please... makee sure..." she pleaded as tears began to squeeze through the corners of her eyes. The man stopped at that moment and laid her down on something hard, the ground Bella assumed. "How far along are you madamoiselle..." he asked and Bella struggled to remember.

"Almost eleven weeks..." she answered after some thoguht and she felt a hand rest on her ribs and sigh of relief escape him. "There's nothing worng with your baby... although if this knife had gone any deeper there might have been... we need to get you back to my room..." was all he said and then hoisted her back into his arms, sending another wave of pain through her abdomen and causing her to rapidly lose consciousness.

OOC: End of scene. Start us at the motel nancy. BIC:

The Countess

10-14-2008, 04:15 AM

OOC: For Mark Blaze and Vagabund Wertloser. This should be interesting…

Vagabund Wertloser

It wasn’t unusual that Vagabund found herself in this part of town. The alleys were much like herself after all. They were shadowy, silent, and full of unexpected danger. These dark alley ways were the black cat that ran through the streets of Paris. She smiled thinking of herself as a cat such as that; one that scampered along where ever it please with no sort of baggage or worries. Unfortunately for she, Vagabund Wertloser was teeming with all that and more.

The walk back to her box had always been an unsettling one. All sorts of people ran in these parts at night. Drug dealers, gangsters, thieves, you name it. Once or twice Vagabund had considered finding some way to get her hands on some pepper spray but had forgotten on several accounts. Besides, Vagabund was a feisty kind of woman who had always been convinced that she could handle anything that came her way.

The alley was wet from the previous rainfall and glistened in the moonlight. It would have been rather pretty if Vagabund had not a deep feeling of dread clouding her senses. She could have sworn that she heard a thumping noise, this heartbeat like sound pulsing behind her. It’s just your mind playing nasty tricks on yous. However, the sound came again but louder and faster. This caused her to immediately change her pace into a fast walk until it grew louder and faster more. Gathering up all her spunk, she whirled around to face the unknown heartbeat, to confront it! Nothing was seen or found in the darkness before her. Grazing her face with her hands, Vagabund rubbed her tired eyes. See? Nothing. she clutched her trench coat closer to her small frame continued the journey home but was stopped once again. In her path was a rather tall, rather evil looking man…

OOC: The whole heartbeat thing was a reference to Edgar Allan Poe’s The Tell Tale Heart. The heartbeat is non-existent and is all in Vagabund’s head. It’s meant to represent her insanity and add some suspense for fun.

Black Mask

10-14-2008, 07:32 PM

Mark Blaze

For Mark Blaze, it was one of those nights that he could not sleep. Though having horrendous nightmares was nothing new to him, it was still something he could not get used to. Before he left his apartment, it had just stopped raining. The soft sound of it hitting the ground had always been a comforting sound to him, he would sometimes stand out in it to feel at peace, which he hardly was. Instead of going to his usual place, the cemetary, he decided to take a night stroll through this side of the town. He had heard many say that bad things happen here, drug dealing, murders, and mor things like that. He didn't really care though, he could defend himself against anyone, he had been doing it for most of his life. He silently walked through the empty streets, every once and a while he would step into a puddle. As always, he wore his black trench coat and hat with black boots and fingerless gloves. He also had his black sleeveless shirt and pants. Turning a corner, he headed down a other street, but immediately stopped when his sensitive ears picked up what sounded like brisk walking. He turned his head towards the source of the sound, which was coming from one of the many alleyways. He thought for a moment, keeping his gray green gaze on the alleyway. Should he go and see what it was or should keep going? His curiosity was eating at him, making him want to go and look. Even though most of him wanted to, a part of him wanted to stay away and keep walking. He growled lowly when he knew he had to.

'Curse me and my curiosity.' he thought grimly as he stalked over to the alley. What he saw slightly surprised him though he did not show it. It was a woman, probably in her late thirties, with her back turned toward him. When she turned, she stopped and stared at him. His eyes darkened slightly, not liking the way she was looking at him. He did not like it when people stared at him because it made feel like he was not human or that he was a monster. He had too many stares like that in his lifetime. If she thought he was a beast then he would show her the true meaning of ‘fear’. A dark smirk appeared on his lips and there was a dangerous glint in his eyes.

“What do we have here? A woman in the alleyways alone at night. How…” his voice turned into a soft growl, “Interesting.”

Black Mask

12-22-2008, 12:43 AM

OOC: Sorry for double posting, but it was necessary. For Mark and Calvin. BIC

Mark Blaze

A tall, dark figure walked quietly along one of the many streets throughout this part of town. It was one of those nights Mark Blaze could not sleep because of horrific nightmares about things he would never want others to see, not even his worst enemy. Even though he was used to seeing terrifying things, his life was a terrifying thing in itself, nothing could prepare him for his nightmares. He hadn’t been able to sleep for three to five days because of them and he was thankful he didn’t have them all the time. He didn’t feel like having to deal with anyone right now, that’s why he was walking on the street, and he wanted to get away from the noise and stress. The dark streets were wet from the rain that had just stopped before he started his walk. The street lamps were lit dimly and the soft light made the small puddles sparkle slightly. Reaching in his left trench coat pocket, Mark brought out a small silver heart-shaped locket and looked at it with a soft gaze. This was his mother’s beloved locket that she would always wear around her slender throat. Gently pressing the button on the side of the locket, the small trinket opened to reveal it’s secret. Inside it was a small picture of three people, a man, a woman, and a child, standing with each other, a smile on their faces. The man and woman were his parents and the boy was him, or used to be him. After that fateful night, something in him changed and left him a hollow shell of his former self. Stopping, he closed it and closed his fist around it gently, holding it close to his heart. Looking up at the full moon with eyes full of sorrow, Mark sighed quietly as he placed the locket back in his pocket and wondered why this was happening to him. He was so engrossed in his own thoughts, that he didn’t hear the footsteps coming up from behind him.

‘If only-” his thoughts were broken by a stinging pain in his right shoulder. He gripped as he hissed lowly in more of shock than pain. He removed his hand from his shoulder and looked at his hand, seeing that it had a thick coating of blood. His expression slowly turned into pure rage as he slowly turned his head and glare at whoever dared to stab him. It was a ruff looking man that was skinny, but much shorter than Mark. In his head hand was a bloody knife that he had used to injure the larger man. The man seemed to notice of how much of a mistake he had done as a enraged Mark turned fully toward, seemingly not noticing the large slash wound he had just received. In reality, it felt as though his entire arm and shoulder was on fire, but his anger made him ignore it. The man quickly turned his heel and ran as Mark let out a inhuman roar of fury. Even though he was bleeding profusely and the pain was almost unbearable, the enraged man still made his way after the stranger. The stranger quickly turned a corner and ran down the dark alleyway. The stranger heart dropped when he founded out that the alley had a dead end. When he turned around to leave though, the figure of Mark Blaze appeared from the darkness, as if he was part of the shadows himself. With every step the larger man took, the stranger took one back until he slipped on one of the puddles. He started to crawl in a futile effort to escape the wounded man’s wrath.

“Please, sir, please don’t hurt me! I-I’ll do anything, you name it! Just don’t hurt me!” the man pleaded desperately. Only a sinister grin of a lunatic grew on Mark’s face, a insane glint in his grey green eyes. It was far too late for begging. Nothing was going to save him from the larger man’s rage.

“I don’t plan to hurt you.” the stranger sighed in relief, “I plan to make you suffer a fate worse than death!” Mark laughed darkly and grabbed him by the throat, lifting him by one hand at the same time, as the man screamed in terror.

angelofthenight

12-22-2008, 06:13 PM

Calvin Booth

Calvin had never been fond of the dark. In Iraq when ever he'd walked back with his men after a mssion in the dark he'd often requested that they walk close.. it woudln't do for them to wlak separately becasue then they coudl be more easily picked off.. he knew that from experience more then anythigne lse. If a sniper was aiming at someone is was much easier to shoot someoen that was walking alone then someone who was walking with another person. Of course when it caem to the Irqi people killing American soldiers he knew for a fact that they didn't care who they hit.. which meant that the chance of survival was higher if they walked closer together becasue it woudl give the others more time to duck for cover and defend themselves. Of course Cavlin ahd never wanted to sacrafice any of his men. which was one ofthe main reasons he'd reuqested missions during the day when they coudlg et away with them.. at the time eh ahdn't known that the very request he'd made to protect his men.. woudl be the very request that woudl lead them to their death.. if he hadn't made the request then the night before they'd gone out to check on a bombed village seventy miles east of the base. they woudl've been going on watcha dn been to tired to check it out.. but he'd made his request.. and thus they were one of the only untis awake enough to drive out there adn check it out.

Regardless of Calvin's strong dislike for the dark he coudln't deny that keeping in shape was important to him. It ws the mian reason he was out so early in the morning.. he wanted to get his run in before the sun came up.. becasue once it did he would have to go to work and eal with the tedious things in the day. For now however, it was only him. The only sound he codul hear in the stillness of the night was the rubber soles of his teniss shoes agisnt the pavement. Unlike most people calvind id not listen to music while he excersised.. preferring ther sound of th world aroudn him as opposed to the sound of music. He slowed to a fast walk as he reached the end of his run.. he'd been joqqing for an hour and he'd made six miles. It wasn't to bad considering he'd only been jogging and not sprinting. Then agian his body wasn't in the shape it had once been in when he'd been in high school.. though it wasn't far from it. When he returned home he woudl lift a couple wieghts down at the excercing room in his apartment complex.. if it was warm enough eh woudl'v swam but unfortunately a blanket of snow covered the gorund and the promise of more looked imminent.

Calvin felt his lungs burning for oxygen and he slowed his fast paced walk to a liesurely stroll as he rounded the corner. It was at that momentthat he heard it... a piercing scream. Calvin imediately drew his gun, whcih he carreid everywhere with him. Calvin turend ont he light on the to pof the gun and suqinted int he darkness as he turen dodwn an alley. He roudned a corner and saw a large man holding a significently small man above the groudn by his throat. Calvin didn't even hesitate as he lifted the gun and pulled the trigger, shootingthe larger man right in the arm that he was using to hodl up the smaller man. When the larger man staggerred slightly Calvin rushed forward and dragged the smaller man out fo the larger man's reach. Calvin pressed the speedial on his phone, calling the departmen and telling them that he would need an ambulance and a police car. They said theyd' ben there in a moment and when he hung up he turend his hard gaze on the large man. "I coudl have you arrested for attempted murder.." he accused as he gazed at the larger man. He didn't know why people like this large fellow felt liek they had to hurt people just because they coudl.. it was soemthign that Calvin Booth woudl env erunderstand.

Black Mask

12-22-2008, 08:06 PM

Mark Blaze

Mark continued to laugh ominously, ready to give the smaller man what he deserved, which was a painful near death experience. He should have know better than to mess with him. If he did, he should have know that if he messed with him that there would be consequences, deadly consequences. His insane grin grew as his vice like grip tightened on the man’s throat. The stranger coughed slightly for the lack of air and clawed desperately at the larger man’s arm, but it didn’t effect him in the slightest bit. He heard footsteps enter the alleyway, but ignored it, more intent on making the man in his grasp suffer. A gunshot rang throughout the alleyway as the person behind him fired their gun. The smaller man fell hard to the ground, grunting slightly once he hit the ground, as gripped his left forearm where the bullet entered. He growled lowly, now he had a stab wound, that was still bleeding profusely, and he had a gunshot wound. He removed his hand and he saw that he was bleeding a lot just not as much as the laceration on his shoulder. As the person, now identified as a man, dragged the smaller stranger away, he gazed down at the puddle of blood that laid at his feet. He felt slightly light-headed, but he paid it no mind. He slowly turned his animalistic gazed towards the man and the stranger as the man called someone on his phone. The right part of his trench coat was soaked in blood and part of his left sleeve was also covered with the thick substance. Mark’s sensitive ears could pick up the soft dripping of blood falling on the pavement. The man with the gun looked up at Mark, his gaze hard and not intimidated.

"I could have you arrested for attempted murder.." he said in a condemnatory tone. His lunatic grin reappeared on his face, entertained by what the man thought. From the looks of it, the man seemed to be officer. That was going this all the more satisfying. Mark had a bad history with the police, they seemed to always treat him unfairly from other criminals. Maybe it was the way he looked like or his attitude towards everyone. Whatever the reason, it seemed that the police seemed not to like him. As for the way Mark was acting now, he merely reacting in self defense and to the pain. Even though he didn’t show it, the larger man was in extreme pain. His pain-filled mind couldn’t tell right from wrong, it could just tell what he felt like doing to the man. Mark laughed lowly as he continued to look at the officer with a crazed glint in his eyes.

“I think you’ve got it all wrong, officer. I was merely minding my own business until this man attacked me with a knife.” he switched his gaze to the cowering stranger, “Isn’t that right?” he asked lowly. The man shook his head furiously in denial.

“N-no, officer, he’s the one who attacked me when I was just walking on the street. I merely attacked in self defense. He should be thrown in jail to rot.” the man lied as he looked form the towering man to the officer and back. The enraged man narrowed his eyes into slits, glaring venomously. Suddenly without warning, Mark launched towards them both in a blind rage.

“LIAR!!!” he roared in fury. Without thinking about it, Mark grabbed hold of the officer’s arm in a bone crushing grip and practically threw him across the alleyway. Once the man was out of the way, he once more grabbed the stranger by the throat and tightened his grip until the man couldn’t breath.

“I’M GOING TO KILL YOU!!!” he bellowed, shaking the man in his grasp.

angelofthenight

12-23-2008, 05:40 PM

Calvin Booth

Calvin had never been one to jump to conclusions.. especially when he walked in on a scene like the one he'd just seen. He inwardly cringed as the gunshot echoed through the alleyway and his hand tingled from the force of the gun in his hands. He kept hsi gun pointed at the man as he slowly walked forward, closer to the smaller man who was coughing and sputtering for air. Calvin grabbed the half choked man by the collar of his shirt and slowly dragged him out of reach of the larger man. Calvin really ddin't want to have to file papers for a murder tonight... he really didn't want to be here when the cops arrived becasue someoen had heard the gunshot that Calvin had just fired. It would all be so tedious and he wante dto get back to get home before he had to go to work at Opera House. Calvin looked down at the man, making sure that he kept an eye on the larger man. For the most part he was going to be fair and listen to boht sides.. and use his best judgements to figure out who was lying and who was telling the truth..a nd if he wasn't upt to that he codul arrest them boht.. make sure they were put in separate police cars... and interogate them down at the station so they woudln't be able to interrupt what the other was saying... but as Calvin pointed his gun at th larger man and the smaller man wheezed heavily trying ot catch hsi breath Calvin realized taht there woudlnt' be any waiting for the statoin.. they'd ahve to get this resolved now.

“I think you’ve got it all wrong, officer. I was merely minding my own business until this man attacked me with a knife.” the older man said and Calvin looked at him fro a moment, gazing at him.. trying to figure out if he was being honest or not.. and then with the larger man's gaze turned to the smaller man that was huddled just behind Calvin, the officer turned his gaze tot he smaller man as well. “Isn’t that right?” the larger man asked darkly and the smaller man shook his head furiously... Calvin was certanit hat if he shook his head much harder hsi head would dettatch itself from hsi neck.. witht he ferocity in which he was shaking it. “N-no, officer, he’s the one who attacked me when I was just walking on the street. I merely attacked in self defense. He should be thrown in jail to rot.” the small man told Calvin and he gazed down at him for a long moment, knwoing very well that he codul arrest them both. It wasn't that he wanted to take the easy way out and arrest them boht he just wasn't interested in showing up at work the next to day looking like he'd gotten in a bar figh or something.. he was sure that would be interesting to try and explain to his employers... but he coudl see that he had no choice in the matter.

“LIAR!!!” the larger man cried and before Calvin could think to do anything he felt his arm in a bone crushing grip and he coudl pratically hear the bone splinter as the man trhoguh hism across the alley and he collided with the wall opposite the two men. He felt strangely dizzy and disoriented but that did not deter him from rememberin what he had to do. “I’M GOING TO KILL YOU!!!” Calvin was grateful that he leanred to shoot with both his right and his left hand as he staggered to his feet and aimed once more.. he knew he coudl kill the man.. he was a good enough shot that he could inflict a fatal blow that would make it so he didn't feel a thing.. but Calvin didn't think that was the best route to take and so Calvin inched closer his gun still pinted at the man. "Drop him or I swear I will shoot.." he hissed lowly as he pressed his gun to teh back of the man's head. "and I assure you it won't be quick and painless..." he muttered lowly as he tok the safety off his gun that always seemed to click back on after he pulled the trigger once. Calvin waite dto see what was to happen.. his arm was already aching something fierce and he felt his eyes beginning to tear up from the pain. "Now put him down!" Calvin demanded in a menacing voice, shoving the gun against the guys head to enforce his point.

Black Mask

12-24-2008, 04:18 AM

Mark Blaze

The enraged man blocked out the rest of the world and focused on one thing, making sure that the stranger who attacked him was going to be nothing but a shell of a man once he was done with him. Mark ignored the loud thump of the officer crashing into the wall opposite of them. His hazed mind could only focus on one thing at a time. He was in so much pain he couldn’t think straight and all of his actions were merely based on primal instinct. He felt even more light-headed from the loss of blood from both wounds and every moment he made, the pain was amplified ten times over. Mark couldn’t remember the last time he had been in this much pain. He was sure that he had been in more pain than this, but he was too busy dealing with the pain he was in now to try and remember. The knife must have went a lot more deep than he expected for it to be this painful and the bullet wound didn’t help either. The larger man had been stab many occasions, so many that Mark stopped counting long ago, and always made sure that people didn’t know how much pain he was in, much like he was doing now. But Mark knew that he was still human and this gimmick of not being able to feel pain was not going to last forever. Hopefully though, he would last long enough to give what this man deserved. He gave a other firm shake, pain flaring mostly in his shoulder, and the man gasped for air, clawing desperately at Mark’s arms. He hissed lowly when the man hit the bullet wound and tightened his hold on his throat, his face darkening even more. He didn’t noticed the footsteps coming from behind until he felt something on the back of his head.

"Drop him or I swear I will shoot.. and I assure you it won't be quick and painless..." Mark heard a soft click behind him, "Now put him down!" the man yelling in a demanding voice, pushing whatever he had against the back of Mark’s with force. Taking one of his black leather clad hands from the stranger’s throat, the dark-haired man stood to his full height and towered over the police officer. The stranger gripped his uninjured arm, practically shaking in fright. Mark glanced down at what was in the man’s hand, which turned out to be a handgun. The barrel glinted softly in the moon’s lit as it aimed straight at him. Mark merely chuckled a bone chilling laugh.

“Go ahead, I dare you. You already have shot me so what is stopping you now?" he asked in a low growl before switching the subject, "So you’re going to believe this,” he sent a quick glare to the stranger in his grasp, “man instead of me. I should have know, it seems that you officers are all the same, or at least in how you treat me. You seem to care for this man’s well-being more than you care to make a right choice. I’m the one who is slowly bleeding to death while this man remains unscathed, for now at least.” he growled lowly, looking at the stranger with a evil smirk on his face. When the stranger saw the look on Mark’s face, he began to struggle once more.

Please sir, don’t hurt me anymore, I beg of you!” he switch his petrified gaze toward the officer as Mark began to chuckle lowly and start to apply pressure to his throat, “Help me officer, please!” he wailed before coughing from the lack of oxygen.

The Countess

01-11-2009, 03:08 AM

OOC: Long awaited post for Vagabund and Mark. Short and sweet to start

Vagabund Wertloser

“What do we have here? A woman in the alleyways alone at night. How…interesting.” Vagabund’s heart leapt into her throat and turned to ice all in a matter of seconds. The stranger’s voice gave off a certain innuendo that reminded her of her past. She had seen his kind before. The brutal, violent types. He was frightening to look at. Blending in with the shadows, he stood before her as if he we were a messenger of death. The man looked like he could be dangerous, but if Vagabund needed to, so could she. But, his brutality and appearance couldn’t faze her. She had to keep her guard up at all costs and not to look as frightened as she truly was.

In one strong movement, she locked her fist to her narrow hip and swallowed hard. “Ja,” Vagabund retorted in her German voice, “and vhat do ve have ‘ere? A ghost? A fantome?” she questioned not knowing if the man was French or not. Damn him to hell if he is a French. I cannot stand those men. I mean, French and frightening? This is not my day. Vagabund couldn’t bring herself to look the stranger in the eyes, fearing how he would take her banter.

Black Mask

01-11-2009, 04:00 AM

Mark Blaze

At the sound of his chilling voice, the woman quickly turned to face him. From her outer appearance, this woman wasn’t like the others he had met. Most other females he had met or seen before seemed to think that looks were all that matter, but the woman in front of him seemed not to share the idea. If it weren’t for her pale complexion, the disheveled dark brown hair, and the dark rings under her brown eyes, she would probably be beautiful, but Mark looked at every woman the same so it did not really matter. Though it did remind him of himself though, black circles appear under his once emerald green eyes when he was only a child. Now though, his eyes were a soulless gray green and showed nothing of the life he used to have before that night. He focused on the woman in front of him when placed one of her small fists onto her hip.

“Ja,” by the accent of her voice, he knew she was German or had lived in Germany at one time, “and vhat do ve have ‘ere? A ghost? A fantome?” she asked, keeping her ground. Raising a eyebrow, he gazed at her silently, slightly amused. The titles he usually received were along the lines of ‘monster’ or ‘demon’, this had been the first time he had been called ‘ghost’. He chuckled lowly, taking a measured step toward the woman.

“Strange.” he started in a quite voice, as if to contemplate what she had called him “I’ve never heard someone call me that before. People usually call me ‘demon’ when we’ve only just met.” he took a other step toward her, this time making it seem more threatening, “You seem to be different than other women I’ve seen. Let’s see if my assumption is correct, shall we?” he stated in a monotone voice, keeping a comfortable few feet away from her.

The Countess

01-12-2009, 12:49 PM

Vagabund Wertloser

The man looked like he took enjoyment in her fear. Quickly, she shoved her now trembling hands into her trench pockets letting it open to her dark and tattered cami and sweatpants. It had been a long time since she was so physically exposed in front of a man...but she didn't think that that was what he was looking for.

“Strange.” My 'toughts exactly “I’ve never heard someone call me that before. People usually call me ‘demon’ when we’ve only just met.” She flicked up an eyeborw at this and shrugged. "I do not know," she said letting guard down only a little, "you don't seem to be real. Monsters and demons are real. Ghosts are not." She stated this as if it were some kind of an insane fact from an insane person.

He continued to draw closer which made her blood run cold. If it were possiable, her grey skin turned greyer. "You seem to be different than other women I’ve seen," he said with a menacing tone. He stood only feet away from her now.

"Let’s see if my assumption is correct, shall we?” She swallowed once. "Same for you. I am Vagabund Wertloser," she started with her German accent, "and I'm unvanted."

Black Mask

01-12-2009, 10:33 PM

Mark Blaze

He saw that her hands were quivering in fright before she hurriedly pushed them in the pockets of her trench coat. When she did this, her coat opened to revel frayed camisole and sweatpants. Yes, she was completely different from the other women he had met from the way she dressed. He could tell that she was afraid of him even though she tried to hide it. It was relatively simple with years of experience of seeing so many people intimidated by his mere presence. After he took a step toward her, she shrugged her slender shoulders lightly.

"I do not know, you don't seem to be real. Monsters and demons are real. Ghosts are not." she said with a raised eyebrow. Fine, if she did not believe that he was real then he would have to show her how real he was. Once he finished talking, her lips twisted to where she looked like she was pouting. The dark-haired man did not care though if she was pouting, he was merely satisfying his interest. Even though he would not tell her, his interest had been peaked just studying her. Why was she so different from the others? Not many people gained even the slightest bit of his interest, he only deemed only a handful worthy of his curiosity. The woman in front of him was one of those lucky few.

"Same for you. I am Vagabund Wertloser," she started with her German accent, "and I'm unwanted." she finished. He tilled his head slightly to the side in curiosity. So, he was not the only one the world did not want. This just become more interesting. Looking straight at Vagabund, he began to close the distance between them much like a hunting panther would do to its helpless prey. His steps were silent and unhurried which made him even more threatening than he appeared.

“And I am Mark Blaze.” he said in a quiet tone, “It seems that you and me have something in common for I am also shunned by others.” stopping in front of her, he placed his leather clad index finger under the woman’s chin and lift her head until soulless gray green eyes met dark brown eyes, “And I am very much real.” ‘And alone.’

The Countess

01-13-2009, 01:08 AM

Vagabund Wertloser

He drew closer still narrowing the gap between them. At last, Vagabund finally could get a good look at him. If at all possiable, he looked like a male version of her. Not so much physically, but more his eyes. The green holes lined with black staring back at her had a hungriness to them and almost a crazyness that wasn't so unfamiliar. They were weathered by the world, as her's were. “And I am Mark Blaze.” She gave a quick nod as he came even closer toward her. Strange enough, she no longer felt afraid even though the danger was drawing nearer. “It seems that you and me have something in common for I am also shunned by others.” Her neck muscles tightened. It was like she was a lost species being reunited with her kind.
His long, black index finger lifted her chin up to meet his bearded face. “And I am very much real.” She broke their gaze only for a moment to look down. "I-I think I believe that now..." She searched his face for traces of amusment.

"You..." her long lashes fluttered, "are not vanted in dis vorld either..." she said slowly almost not believeing her words. All her life, she only felt excepted at the prostitute house and never believe that there were others, others who were unwanted. She trailed off and slowly knitted her eyeborws together. "I think," she said slowly, "that you are not like no man I have seen too..."

Black Mask

01-13-2009, 02:48 AM

Mark Blaze

The more he looked at her, the more similarities she shared with him he discovered. Not only were their dark rings that surrounded their eyes, but also how the world treated them. There were probably more similarities between them, but he did not what they were. Maybe if he continued to talk to her, he could figure what they were and in turn, satisfy his own curiosity. The woman looked down for a moment before looking back up at him, meeting his gaze full on.

"I-I think I believe that now..." she started slowly, "You… are not vanted in dis vorld either... I think," her voice trailed off, her eyebrows furrowing, "that you are not like no man I have seen too..." she said, still keeping his gaze. So, she thought the same of him. He never thought he would find a woman that was much like himself. All the women he had met seemed to be accepted by everyone and not have any problems, able to make friends fairly easy. When the very few women tried to make him their friend, they would fail miserably, running away minutes later after meeting him. They did not understand what he had gone through and still was going through in his life. It seemed that Vagabund understood at least some of what kind of pain he had gone through because people would not accept him. He nodded silently, removing his finger from under his chin.

“Yes, I am not like other men, not physically,” he chuckled ominously, “or mentally. Every I have went to, I was never accepted, I wasn’t even accepted in my hometown. You and me though, we seem to be similar in many ways it seems. One of them would be the way that people have treated us, isn’t it…” his voice dropped to a low, rich purr, “Vagabund?”

The Countess

01-13-2009, 03:43 AM

He removed his finger from her frail chin letting her head bob like a newborn baby's. “Yes, I am not like other men, not physically.” She stared up at the at least two feet in height that he had over her. “Or mentally." She gave a small half smile and to walk around with arms loosly crossed. "Vell, I am the same. Mentally, physically," she said parading on not going in an particular direction. Every moment spent with him, her confidence in stride grew.

"Every I have went to, I was never accepted, I wasn’t even accepted in my hometown." She nodded still walking. "Ja, streets are always accepting though. No matters vhat." She casually leaned on the the cold wall of the dark alley. "You and me though, we seem to be similar in many ways it seems. One of them would be the way that people have treated us, isn’t it…Vagabund?” It could have been the night, but the way that he said her name sent another freezing bolt of electricity down her spine. It's quite possiable that she actually shivered. "Vell," she sighed, "people, nasty people, do not cast eyes on prostitues and tramps like I. Only in disgust." Vagabund straightened herself back up. "And vhat of you?" She began to pace with one finger glued to the corner of her mouth, examening him further. "You certainly are not a man of regular station. Vhat are you..." she copied his tone of voice when he spoke her name but with a more seductive undertone that she was so accustomed to, "Herr Blaze?"

Black Mask

01-13-2009, 07:13 PM

Mark Blaze

Once he had started talking, she looked up at him with a small grin on her face. With her arms folded in front of her chest in a relax manner, she began to walk around him. The larger man kept his gaze on her, knowing that her self-confidence was growing the more she stayed in his presence. This made him even more interested because that was usually the opposite of what other people felt around him. They usually became more intimidated by him until they couldn’t take it anyone. The results of this were either they would drop in a dead faint or run away screaming. Usually though, it was the latter of the two.

"Vell, I am the same. Mentally, physically," she said, continuing to walk around, showing that she was very confident in herself. He continued to speak as he kept her in his line of sight. At his statement about not being accept by anyone, she nodded her head lightly, but still was walking around the dark alleyway.

"Ja, streets are always accepting though. No matters vhat.” she stated before leaning against one of the dark walls of the alley. After he purred out her name, which was unusually for Mark to do, he saw her shiver slightly. He had to mask his amusement behind a empty stare. For all he knew, the woman could have shaken because of the chilly night air, even though he ignored it, but it was most likely how he said her name. She let out a quite sigh, which reminded the dark haired man of himself. It was a sound he found himself making a lot, especially when memories of his past were haunting him. Yes, she was very much like him.

"Vell, people, nasty people, do not cast eyes on prostitues and tramps like I. Only in disgust." she pushed herself of the wall and looked at him, "And vhat of you? "You certainly are not a man of regular station. Vhat are you..." she purred seductively as she began to pace, her slender finger at the corner of her mouth as if she was thinking hard about something, "Herr Blaze?" So, she was a prostitute. It did not matter to Mark what she was. Since it seemed that everyone view him the same way, everyone was the same in his eyes, but those who raised his interest like Vagabund did. But for her question, he didn’t know the answer to it. What was he exactly? Taking what everyone had been calling him all his life, he was a monster, a demon, or a thing. It seemed though people preferred to call him a monster. If she was referring to ‘jobs’ though, he was a undertaker in the States before he came here. He enjoyed his job very much, enjoying the silence and solitude that came with the title. Also, he was able to be at the place he loved to stay, a graveyard. Something about a cemetery made him feel at peace and content, something he usually did not feel.

“Yes, people look at me with only hatred and fear in their eyes. As for what I am, you could say I am a undertaker, but not many people know that. They only see me as I told you before, a monster.” he walked silently toward her, stopping only when he was only about a foot away from her, “The world seems to share it hatred for you and I. Maybe we can both benefit from this meeting.”

The Countess

01-13-2009, 08:25 PM

Vagabund Wertloser

“Yes, people look at me with only hatred and fear in their eyes. As for what I am, you could say I am a undertaker, but not many people know that." Vagaund raised another slender eyebrow. "I'm not surprised. Way else would you look...vell like some kind of shadow, " she said indicating to his dark attire. He stated that he was a monster once more. Vagabund surprisingly found this to be untrue. She had seen the real monsters and demons in this world and thus far he did not fit the description. He was frigtening, yes, terrifying even but she could not place what he really was. So, in her scrambled up mind, she still thought of him as a ghost.

He began to take silent strides to her again as Vagabund kept a cool head and ground. "Maybe we can both benefit from this meeting.” Her eyelids narrowed only in the slightest bit as she raised her chin in interest. Taking another step closer to the giant man before her she said, "How so?"

Black Mask

01-14-2009, 02:46 AM

Mark Blaze

When he walked up toward her, she surprisingly stood her ground, a calm expression on her face. If anyone was watching the two, they would probably think that the woman was staring Death in the face. To other people, she was probably either extremely brave or very foolish to stand up to the larger man. To Mark though, she was looking at someone who was just like her. Once he finished his statement, her eyes narrowed slightly, not in a angered sort of way, and lifted her chin in curiosity. She stepped closer to him, leaving mere inches between them. For the first time in his life, he didn’t feel uncomfortable with a new person close to him. Maybe it was because she was very much like him or maybe it was something entirely different, he didn’t know exactly.

"How so?" she questioned with interest, continuing to look up at him. He stayed silent for a moment, thinking of the right words to say.

“Well, now you know that you’re not alone in this world, that there is someone that just like you.” his paused for a moment, examining her once more, “You can finally have a companion in this world that knows what you have gone through.” he stated softly.

The Countess

01-14-2009, 11:25 PM

Vagabund Wertloser

She awaited hos answer wiht baited breath. Mark remained silent for a moment, looked at her once more, and said, “Well, now you know that you’re not alone in this world, that there is someone that just like you.” For the first time, he actually came up more timid than before. I could have been that she was growing more and more comfortable by the second but then again perhaps he wasn't timid at all. She nodded attentivly and slowly, drinking in every word. “You can finally have a companion in this world that knows what you have gone through.” She raised her eyebrows and then lowered them in amusment. "Vhat makes you think that you can trust me?" she responded playfully.

She bit down on her index finger, an old habit, and began to circle him once more. "I have had many....mmmmm....companions in this vorld. None like you. You seem to more of the loner type. I vas once as vell. I supp'pse you can't remain like dat forever."

Black Mask

01-15-2009, 01:59 AM

Mark Blaze

The woman’s eyebrows raised only to lower a few moments later. He could tell she was amused by something, but at what he didn’t know. He saw nothing amusing about what he had said. There was probably no one that was more like her than he was and she could probably never have a other chance like this, nor could he.

"Vhat makes you think that you can trust me?" she asked in a playful tone. That was a good question, but he already knew the answer. Truth be told, he didn’t trust her at all, he was merely comfortable in her presence because she was very much like himself. When he was young, he had given his trust freely to those who said they wanted to be his friend. Though in reality, they were just using him for their own personal gain, leaving him once they were done with him. When they were done with him, they usually left him alone in pain, mental and most of the time also physically. She once again placed one of her slender fingers to the corner of her mouth, circling around like a vulture that found a rotting carcass.

I have had many....mmmmm....companions in this vorld. None like you. You seem to more of the loner type. I vas once as vell. I supp'pse you can't remain like dat forever." she said, continuing to walk around him. He merely kept his predatory gaze on her without moving his body, a dark smirk appearing on his lips as he chuckled ominously.

“Whoever said I trusted you?” he asked lowly, “Yes, I am a loner, I always have and probably always will knowing that people will always hate me.” once again he chuckled darkly, “I can ask you the very same question. What makes you, Vagabund, trust me?” he asked threateningly.

The Countess

01-15-2009, 02:31 AM

He smiled devisghly as she finished her last sentance “Whoever said I trusted you?” This was true. In fact, their conversation had only been of who and what they were. “Yes, I am a loner, I always have and probably always will knowing that people will always hate me.” Aren't you the optimistic one.

What makes you, Vagabund, trust me?” His voice was dripping with danger but the man had grown like a weed on her and it had little effect now. but it was a good point, why did she trust him? Perhaps the only reason that they were even having this conversation was because they were two nonentities with nothing better to do. But it had to be more than that. She rolled her eyes up as if she were thinking but brought them down again in a flash to meet his eyes. "I do not know. Perhaps because if you vanted to cause me harm, you would have done so vhile my back was turned. She spun around on her heel in graceful manner. "And my back 'as been turned many times, Mark Blaze." She folded one arm across her body and limply lifted the other in a conversational way. "Besides, what reason, if you needed a reason, would there be to harm me? I was just a normal woman at a bad place at a bad time of time before our chat. You may say dat you are a monster, but even monsters...if there vere monsters then they vouldn't randomlly attack strangers." She shrugged in a 'I could be wrong' way and waited for his reaction.

Black Mask

01-15-2009, 08:57 PM

Mark Blaze

The threatening tone in his voice seemed to unfazed the woman, unlike other people who usually would have been shivering in fright. She must already grown used to him, which interested him more, but he hid it by a deep scowl. Usually, no one ever got used to him and the very few that came close took a good while for them to get that far. It had been only a little while since they had started to talk and she was already used to him. On the inside, he laughed darkly. If she thought she had seen the worst, she hadn’t seen nothing yet. The woman rolled her eyes in a thoughtful manner, only to quickly bring them down to met his gaze full on.

"I do not know. Perhaps because if you vanted to cause me harm, you would have done so vhile my back was turned.” as graceful as the ballerinas at the Opera House, she turned, her back facing him, "And my back 'as been turned many times, Mark Blaze. "Besides, what reason, if you needed a reason, would there be to harm me? I was just a normal woman at a bad place at a bad time of time before our chat. You may say dat you are a monster, but even monsters...if there vere monsters then they vouldn't randomlly attack strangers." she said with a shrug of her shoulders, one of her arms crossed in from of her chest as one was raised in a relaxed fashion. Mark stayed silent for a moment, a sinister gleam flashing in his gray green eyes. He was very capable of harming in any way he wished with or without her back facing him. The larger man could take on twenty men if he had to. Well, he did fight at least fifteen at once and easily defeated them. But those men brought it upon themselves, pushing him past his limit and evoking his wrath. Let’s just say he didn’t start fights, he finished them. Slowly, his dark smirk reappeared on his face.

“If I really wanted to hurt you, I wouldn’t need you to have your back turned. I also don’t cause harm to just anyone, the person would have to had done something to receive harsh punishment.” he answered lowly, folding his muscular arms in front of his broad chest, “Many people might think that I am a monster, but I do not hurt those who did nothing.” That statement was one of his oaths because when he was a child, he was tortured when he did nothing. His entire hometown, besides his mother and father, had practically destroyed his childhood, if you would even call it that. But the one who ruined it the most, the person who lead the town and who Mark hated the most, was the priest. If he ever met him again, Mark swore that he would make him pay the ultimate price for what he did to him all those years.

The Countess

01-16-2009, 02:03 AM

Vagabund Wertloser

Mark stood before her with a smile that reminded her of a clown and an executioner at the same time. He remanined silent for a moment causes great suspense in her twisted up little mind. Fianlly he spoke, “If I really wanted to hurt you, I wouldn’t need you to have your back turned." the phrase struck her as delicously dark and morbid. But he always used the word 'wanted' that put her more at ease.

"I also don’t cause harm to just anyone," he continued while crossing his massive arms that could probably crush her as if she were made of porclain, "the person would have to had done something to receive harsh punishment. Many people might think that I am a monster, but I do not hurt those who did nothing.” She nodded because she could more than relate to that. Just by the tone in his voice, she could tell that he had a great vendetta against a person or people. She in fact wanted Daddy dead. Perhaps that would be something they could help each other with in their possiable friendship.

She cocked another mischevious smile up at his still figure . "Vell then, it's good to know dat I vas only valking." She laughed a little and uncrossed her arms to hold them up in front of her. "I have done some bad things in my past, but I do not think that they are worthy of murder...yet."

Black Mask

01-16-2009, 03:11 AM

Mark Blaze

Stalin. No words could describe how much he hated that name. He wanted to forget, forget the pain and misery that came with it, but at the same time he made sure he remembered even though there was no way he could purge it from his mind. He wanted to make the priest that practically ruled the town with a iron fist pay for all the pain he had caused him. For the past years since he had left his parents, Mark would sometimes make malevolent plans of revenge, making sure that the man would feel all the pain he felt ten fold. Not only would Stalin pay, but he would make his family suffer for following and believing his words, but they would not get it as worse as him. He would probably make them watch him wither in pain, but that was if he every got his hands on him. The larger man did have his ways to finding people though. He switched his focus from his thoughts of revenge to the woman in front of him. She had a impish grin on her face as she looked up at him.

"Vell then, it's good to know dat I vas only valking." she laughed lightly, raising her hands in front of her, "I have done some bad things in my past, but I do not think that they are worthy of murder...yet." she said, her roguish smile still on her face. It was his turn to laugh, but his was more low and bone-chilling.

“So it seems. I probably have done far worse things than you can possible every imagine. My acts to most are worthy to a fate worse than death, but I was merely giving what they deserved.” he said lowly, once more chuckling darkly at the sinister memories.

The Countess

01-16-2009, 03:30 AM

He laughed the dark laugh of Satan as she finished her last words. It was good that he was doing more than standing and staring at her with his piericing green eyes. His laugh, although icey and cold, brought ease to their conversation.

"So it seems," he began at last, "I probably have done far worse things than you can possible every imagine. My acts to most are worthy to a fate worse than death, but I was merely giving what they deserved.” Understandable. "So you are very vindictive, then? Tell me, do you enjoy taking the lives of men? What's it feel like?" She asked taking interest in the drastic conversation change." I myself haven't done so...yet," she muttered repeating the same tone and words that she used before. "But I want to..."

Black Mask

01-16-2009, 04:22 PM

Mark Blaze

"So you are very vindictive, then? Tell me, do you enjoy taking the lives of men? What's it feel like? I myself haven't done so...yet," she mumbled in a low voice, "But I want to..." His frown, which had returned before she began to speak, deepened slightly. She was a other person who thought he had murdered someone. Sad to say, for her at least, but he was no murderer. No, he done much more dark things to people. On some, he made sure they would never look at anything else the same again once they got of the hospital, to others he sent them to insane asylums for the rest of their miserable lives without doing any physical harm on them. Mark was not only capable of doing extreme physical harm to someone, he could also do severe mental torture. With some simple, yet dark, words and a few minutes alone with his victim, he could make a tough and sadistic criminal a shivering mass of tears.

“True, very true. I wish to punish the one who practically destroyed my childhood and my life. But you are wrong when you say that I am a murderer, for I am no such thing even though I have brought many closer to death than they could every imagine.” he said lowly, his voice almost a animalistic growl, “Though I have not killed anyone physical, you could say I killed them mental, destroying their souls and their very will to live. And I must say, I do take a form of sadistic pleasure from it.” he said in a dark tone.

The Countess

01-17-2009, 09:53 PM

Vagabund Wertloser

“True, very true. I wish to punish the one who practically destroyed my childhood and my life." She let out a deep sigh. She hated to be sympathetic because she herself hated other peoples' pity so much but his story was a sad one. After all, she herself didn't even remember her childhood or even her parents. With a little hint of difficulty, for she had never really shown sympathy for ours, she said, "I am sorry for that." Perhaps she had gotten in too deep with his personal side. After all, this was a person who was actually speaking to her without any pity or hate...just interest. Next time she spoke, it would be more blunt.

"But you are wrong when you say that I am a murderer." I vas... "For I am no such thing even though I have brought many closer to death than they could every imagine. Though I have not killed anyone physical, you could say I killed them mental, destroying their souls and their very will to live. And I must say, I do take a form of sadistic pleasure from it.” Her eyebrows raised at the end of his statment. "A man who kills the mind instead of body..." she said as if she were done speaking, "Interesting."

A sharp pain reached her chest as she tried to hold back another bloody cough. Without another word or awarness of Mark, she slid to the ground. For a moment she let out small wheezing noises until she finally hacked into a hankie that she whisked out from her cami. The white cloth quickly turned from pure white to red as the coughs slowly faded. Silent as a grave, she folded her arms delicatly across her chest, shutting her trench, and letting the cool night air soothe her.

Black Mask

01-19-2009, 01:22 AM

Mark Blaze

"I am sorry for that." she said quietly. He could hear in her voice that it was difficult to say that, but he didn’t care. He hated, on the borderline of loathing, it when people pitied him. It made him angry and sick when people pity, even if it not him their pitying. Vagabund lifted her eyebrows in what seemed to be interest. Well, the feeling was mutual because he was equally, maybe even, more interested in her as she was in him. He couldn’t remember the last time he was this interested in a person, especially a woman. There was one however, but he wanted to forget her even it was very unlikely he was able to. Just like Stalin, he wanted to forget her, but at the same time he wanted to remember her. Her name was right under the priest’s name on his hit list. His was tore from his vengeful thoughts by the woman’s voice.

"A man who kills the mind instead of body... Interesting." after she said this, she leaned once again to the alley wall, sliding down it until she was sitting on the ground. She started to wheeze quietly as Mark watched, his eyes soulless and callous. He would never lower himself with pitying someone, not even himself. It was a useless emotion in his mind. She then began to cough violently, her white handkerchief that she withdrew from her camisole turning red as she hacked up blood with every cough. Even with his limited medical knowledge, Mark knew that coughing blood was not normal. After her coughing calmed into normal breathing, the woman crossed her arms in front of her and sat quietly, as she didn’t know that Mark was even there. This little fact infuriated the larger man slightly. He did not like it when people ignored him. It was disrespect to him and he did not tolerated it. Even though most people were either afraid or hated him, they all respected him, he made sure of that. Without making a noise, he silently walked, more like stalked, toward the woman until he was beside her.

“Get up!” he snapped harshly, grabbing her arm in a bone crushing grip and lifting her up to her feet with one hand easily, “I’m not going to pity you or anything that has to do with caring, but I think you should go to the doctor to get that cough checked.” he said lowly, meaning every word. He didn’t care for her in anyway even though he was greatly interested in her because they had only just met. He didn’t care anyone but himself, excluding his parents and the two real friends he had. If she expected him to start caring for so easily, she had a other thing coming.

The Countess

01-19-2009, 02:42 AM

Vagabund Wertloser

She wasn't in the habit of showing off her condition in front of others but it was impossiable to hold bak her fits of coughing any longer. When they finally settled she was surprised to see Mark sulking over to where she was seated. Her brow furrowed in confusion but returned to its place as he barked, "Get up!" Surprised by his sudden violent tone, she merely sat with her mouth agape. His hand clutched around her arm and swung her onto her feet as if she was nothing more than a rag doll. “I’m not going to pity you or anything that has to do with caring, but I think you should go to the doctor to get that cough checked.” He obviously didn't really care about nor did she truley believe that he really cared for anyone, but his words were serious. Ever since she was young, she's had these fits and yet she was never sent to get medical attention. No one bothered. She didn't give a damn if said that he didn't care, but he was one of the soul people in the universe to acknowledge her well-being. It wasn't care, but at least it was satisfying.

She shrugged a little like it wasn't a big deal and tried not to look at him for now. "It is nothing. I've had it since I was young vhich was a good time ago." She took in a deep breath and continued. "Besides, as if I could go to doctors." She laughed a defeated ironic laugh. "They vould think dat I vas there for das Goodwill. Or begging. Or dat I vas just lost. Trust me, doctors do nichts " For as long as she lived, a good 30 years or so, she had known that the truth was truth. To accept it would be far less painful than to live in fantasy. Her reality was the blood that spewed from her mouth. But did Mark, Herr Blaze, live in fantasy or reality? This she would hope to found out with his response.

Black Mask

01-19-2009, 10:17 PM

Mark Blaze

He noticed that she was taken aback by the sudden harshness that had was in his voice, her mouth open like a goldfish. It did not matter for he quickly picked her up by her slim arm with one hand, showing only a small taste of his strength. Once his was done by his statement, he could tell that she knew he didn’t care for her in any way. That was good because he didn’t want her to believe that he actually cared about her when he truth he didn’t. Something else shined in her brown eyes that he could not identify, it matter little to him even though a small part of him was curious about what exactly it was. Even though he said he did not care, did she really like that he recognized her health. He focused on her when she shrugged her slender shoulders lightly, as if her health didn’t matter to her.

"It is nothing. I've had it since I was young vhich was a good time ago." she sighed slightly, "Besides, as if I could go to doctors. They vould think dat I vas there for das Goodwill. Or begging. Or dat I vas just lost. Trust me, doctors do nichts." she said with a defeated laugh. He stayed quiet for a moment, staring at her with a soul-piercing gaze. He didn’t even know why he told her she should go to the doctor. He himself despised going to a doctor’s office, even if it was for a routine check-up. If it was up to him, he wouldn’t go to a doctor unless he truly needed to. Sadly though because of his condition, which was him slowly loosing his ability to feel things that had processed over the years, he had no choice but to go. Every time he would go the doctors seemed more reluctant to examine him, knowing that it was very likely the were going to hurt in some way. With each visit, the doctors would tell him he was still loosing his sense of touch. Let’s just say that the doctor that had said that usually had to see a other doctor after Mark was done, but most of the time it was a therapist they had to see. He highly doubt she would figure out his ailment or he would actually tell her himself.

He released his vice-like hold on her, “Fine, if you want to suffer, so be it.” he growled, a little bit of his previous anger still lingered in his voice, but after that statement, it became monotonous, “It seems that you share the idea that doctors are of no use. They are always unenthusiastic to do even a simple check-up on me, fearing that they will get hurt. Well,” he held his chin as if he were thinking hard about something, “many people have told me that I was unpredictable as a wild animal. I guess that was true.” he chuckled lowly at the thought.

The Countess

02-22-2009, 02:29 AM

OOC: Sorry for the one month delay. take your time posting back to me considering I took so long...

Vagabund Wertloser

For a moment she thought that her words word further anger the evil man in front of her. Her lips slowly pursed together in pride, waiting for the worst. To her relief, Mark undid his iron grip on her frail arm. “Fine, if you want to suffer, so be it.” The words came from her mouth without warning, "Suffer?" Astonished at her own sudden tone, she had no more to say. His statment astonished her. Although she did not mistake him for a caring or kind indivdual, every person, no matter how strange, never left her to her own sickness. He showed no remorse or hesitation. In a sick way, it was a refreshing change.

Forgetting her outburst, she continued to listen to Mark Blaze's words. “It seems that you share the idea that doctors are of no use. They are always unenthusiastic to do even a simple check-up on me, fearing that they will get hurt." This was certainly relatable. In the past doctors were never too eager to even go near her either by her reputation or apearance. It was a sad thing that any other human shared the same miserable fate as she, but she dared not show it on her face.

Mark took a hold of his strong bearded chin and continued, "Well, many people have told me that I was unpredictable as a wild animal. I guess that was true.” He laughed, the same laugh that sent shivers down her spine with unknown feelings. Recollecting herself, she stated dryly, "Vell, I cannot say that that is untrue, Herr Blaze." She took her tingling arm out trying to make blood flow once more. But, she was glad that all her blood was still inside her.

Black Mask

03-09-2009, 10:38 PM

Mark Blaze

She seemed once again surprised by his actions, this time he showed just how much he didn’t care for her. It seemed that she was used to people trying do something to help her, but he wasn’t like other people in more ways than one. Though he knew she didn’t see him as a caring individually, she still seemed surprised at what he said. He could feel his darker side want to be set free to show her just how unpredictable he was, but ignored it even though he could feel a small headache from its struggles for control. He continued to talk, scratching his chin in a thoughtful way as he told her that many have called him as unpredictable as a wild animal, letting a cold, heartless laugh at the end of his statement. Crossing his arms in front of his broad chest, he saw her shiver ever so slightly from something beyond him. The dark haired man continued to stare at her with a empty grey green gaze as she began to speak.

“Vell, I cannot say that that is untrue, Herr Blaze." she said as she outstretched her arm to make the blood circulate once more. Just as quickly as he became interested in her, he was becoming bored of her. Yes, it was a somewhat relief to find someone who was kinda like him, but she just wasn’t keeping him interested. He heard his darker side tell him to hurt her so he could make things a little more interesting, but Mark immediately rejected the suggestions. He let out a low and slightly irritated sigh before he began to speak.

“I grow tried of this.” he said lowly before turning on his heel to leave, “This is getting neither of us nowhere, so why spend precious time when we can do something better in our pathetic excuses for lives?”

OOC: Totally understandable and I would have replied sooner, but I couldn’t just think of anything for this post until now. BIC:

The Countess

03-12-2009, 03:18 AM

Vagabund Wertloser

“I grow tried of this.” The words came from his mouth like a sigh of the cold wind. This offended Vagabund immensily and it was visable on her expression. Had he not just about torn her arm off for having a coughing fit? Did he not consider that rude? Vagabund suddenly found him to be a bit of a hypocrite.

“This is getting neither of us nowhere, so why spend precious time when we can do something better in our pathetic excuses for lives?” Vagabund straightened herself to look a little bit more than 5'3. She said in whisper, soully to herself. "Vander the streets? Beg for food...steal it maybe. Yes...that all seems so much better than this. Don't you understand there never vill be a better." She knew that what she was saying meant nothing to him but her own strong headedness wouldn't allow her to say nothing. She stood sliently, staring at the ground, fully prepared to leave the ghost-man Mark Blaze.

Black Mask

03-19-2009, 06:07 AM

OOC: Sorry for not replying earlier, life has been hectic and I couldn’t get to it before now.

Mark Blaze

The larger man could feel that the woman was affronted by what he had said. Yet to tell you the truth, he didn’t really care because just as he said, he was growing bored with her. He only wanted to stay and talk with her long enough to see what she was like and now that he knew, he wanted to leave and be alone once more. As for why exactly he had reacted about her coughing, he didn’t know why, but what he did know was that it was what people called a ‘softer’ side of him and he wouldn’t let that happen again. Though she probably only meant for herself to hear it, the dark haired man heard it loud and clear as she began to speak.

"Vander the streets? Beg for food...steal it maybe. Yes...that all seems so much better than this. Don't you understand there never vill be a better." she murmured lowly to herself. He turned his head slowly and threatening until only she could see his profile. His grey green eyes were glaring harshly towards her and a deep scowl was on his face. Even though he didn’t have to beg for food like she did, he knew his life was much worse than hers in many different ways than she could count.

“Yes you’re right, how can our lives possible get any better than what they are now?” in the blink of a eye, he was fully facing her and his eyes were grey with rage, “I know, you could easily make everybody else’s life just as worse as yours and make them feel the pain that you feel everyday of your life.” Mark snarled in a demonic voice.

The Countess

04-22-2009, 03:39 AM

OOC: Late, late, late I know. Forgive me, sil te plait

Vagabund Wertloser

Vagabund barely rose her brown eyes from the ground as mark answered her outburst in the same throaty voice that he'd been using in their everlasting conversation. Yes you’re right, how can our lives possible get any better than what they are now." Vagabund wanted to nod in agreement, but didn't feel that that a gesture of any value at this point. Instead, she merely flicked her doe-eyes up and then down again.

"I know, you could easily make everybody else’s life just as worse as yours and make them feel the pain that you feel everyday of your life." His words, as usual, sent a shiver down her spine. For a brief moment, she thought of what she could do or have done to ruin another's life. But it was only for a moment. The next thing she knew, her eyes were at the black, star-less sky. She remembered that when she was young, she used to think that stars were the hopes of millions of people across the world. And yet, she saw no stars. The look of that cold emptyness almost made her want to cry. her own words from before bit into her like parasite. There never would be any better. It didn't even occur to Vagabund that the words were forming again, silently, on her lips. Vagabund did not know how long she was so entranced by the evil stars, but she was no longer aware of the very noticable man beside her.

Black Mask

04-22-2009, 04:55 AM

Mark Blaze

At his question about how their lives could get better, he expected her to at least nod in agreement, but instead he only got a movement with her eyes, which made him twice as mad. He hated when he was wrong or things didn’t go his way, usually it ended up with someone hurt due to the rage he felt. He balled his hands into larger threatening fists, holding back his rage. If it would have been a male he had been talking to, he would be already be pounding them into the concrete, but sadly that was not the case. He was dealing with a female and he wasn’t the one to hurt women, unless he was continuously provoked. Continuing on in a more demonic voice, he told her that she could make everyone else feel her pain just as he did. Of course, it was more easier for him because of his strength and size, but she could also make some ways to make it easier for her. Once more he saw her shiver at the sound of his voice, but that did nothing to lighten his mood. Without saying a word, Vagabund looked toward the starless night, almost looking in dismay to not seen any of the twinkling lights. The dark haired man couldn’t help, but growl lowly in anger, tightening his fists until he knew that his knuckles were bone white under the leather. She was trying his patience, something that he had little of, and he knew he had to get out of there fast before he snapped. Though he saw silent words form on her lips, Mark paid no heed to them, not really caring what her words were. As silent as the grave, he slipped back into the shadows, disappearing just as quickly as he appearing into the darkness he called home.

OOC: Mark has left the scene. BIC:

The Countess

05-03-2009, 02:12 PM

Vagabund Wertloser

The stars were still cold and unforgiving as Vagabund heard a low growl. At first, she thought it was God or the stars expressing their hatred of her. But when she turned a looked at where the noise came from, she saw the departing form of a ghost, returning the night. Mark Blaze was gone, and Vagabund found herself alone again. No stars, no sanity, and not even a ghost to keep her company. She jammed her icy hands back into her pockets and fingered the bloody handkerchief. Taking huge stride and stepping within the stones, Vagabund walked on the same way she did before she met Herr Blaze.

OOC: Vagaund has left the scene. great scene, I had a lot of fun doing it :) BIC

witch

05-10-2009, 12:18 PM

OCC: For Mark, Cara and later Calvin

Cara Blaze Andovea

Cara Blaze Andovea though hold her husbands hand was a little nervous at being on the bad side of town, she had heard rumors that it was not the place to be and unlike the old mansion there were not many places to hide. Even with her tall, strong, half demon husband Cara couldn't help her feeling of uneasiness.

"Okay, so I know I asked you to show me more of your life before you meet me but I'm sorry this place just makes me feel like someone is watching me."

Little did she know.

Earlier that night she had asked Mark to show her more of his life as a way to get both their minds off the unknown maybe baby that was growing inside her, it had been just yesterday that she had been ordered into the hospital by her husband and gotten blood taken to be tested of much to her dislike and the doctors fear. For the morning she and her husband had seemed to of had an easy time busy working but as soon as they where done for the day... well let's just say the walk was not just to take their minds off things.

"So did you used to stay around here or hide here?" Cara asked as they walked hoping that talking would get her to stop thinking about the shadows and what may or may not be lurking in them "I can't imagine anyone staying here for long."

At the sound of something behind her Cara dropped Mark's hand and spun around her eyes scanning what little places she could see in the darkened Alleyway before turning back to face her husband who looked down at her with concern telling her with only his eyes that she had nothing to fear.

"Yet again," she said while looking up at the towering man "you may of felt right at home"

The very thought saddened her and though she had once lived on the so called "bad side of town" she had never taken the alleyways.

"I would have been looking over my shoulder every secound."

Even now as she walked she felt goosebumps rise on her arms, the hairs of the back of her neck stand on end, she just couldn't shack the feeling that someone was watching them.

Black Mask

05-12-2009, 12:36 AM

Mark Blaze

The couple walked silently hand-in-hand throughout the streets of the bad side of town, the only sources of light were the very few lamps and the moon above them in the starless sky. Mark was rather puzzled when Cara asked him to talk more about himself before she came into his life, but when she had told him it was to get their minds off the unknown, it was then that he understood why she asked. His footsteps made not a single sound on the pavement beneath his feet while his young wife’s made soft taps with every step. The larger man could tell she was antsy, but he didn’t know. He knew that a person had to be alert when they were in this part of town, but she didn’t have to be this nervous with him around. If there was any trouble, he would surely sense it and take action before you could even blink. He had always lived like this, to be a predator or become prey. He always had to be on the look out for any sort of threat in order to survive. The dark haired man was snapped from his thoughts when he heard the young female’s soft voice.

"Okay, so I know I asked you to show me more of your life before you meet me but I'm sorry this place just makes me feel like someone is watching me." she said, her shifting from place to place as though trying to see if there was anyone one watching them. As they continued to walk, Mark moved his grey green gaze calmly around them. Even with his impressive night vision, the larger man didn’t see no one nor did he sense anyone around or near them. Why didn’t she believe that she was safe with him even though they were in a dangerous part of town? Surely she knew that he had lived in places like this for a majority of his life and knew what to do in certain situations, including in a fight. As they continued to walk through the dark streets, Cara continued to speak, her voice still soft.

"So did you used to stay around here or hide here? I can't imagine anyone staying here for long." he was about to answer her question about him staying here when suddenly she quickly dropped his large leather clad hand and turned on her heel, hearing something from one of the many alleyways. He also looked toward the alley that she was looking at and even though she did not see it, he saw that it was merely a stray cat trying to find food in the garbage. As she turned back toward him, the larger man looked down at her with a slightly concerned look in his eyes, sending her a silent message telling her she had nothing fear while he was with her. She looked up at him with a soft gaze, but he could see the nervousness hidden in them.

"Yet again, you may of felt right at home." the larger man could sense something saddened her, but be didn’t not voice his concerns because he knew she was going to say something else, "I would have been looking over my shoulder every second." she said as they continued to walk to a unknown destination for them both. The young woman was nervous and with good reason, this part of town was very dangerous, but with him around, no one, unless they had a death wish, would dare mess with them. Also it was understandable, she lived what he would call a ‘soft life’, at least from a fighting for survival viewpoint. Unlike her, Mark was completely calm yet he was still aware of his surroundings. He had to teach himself this, to be calm even though danger surrounded him, and he once he did learn it, he had always been like it. Looking down at his smaller wife, he began to speak.

“Yes, I did come here to get away from everyone because I knew not many people come here. I still come here every now and again, but I go to the graveyard more than here. Believe it or not, there’s something very soothing about a cemetery that I can’t quite place my finger on.” he shrugged his broad shoulders, “Also, there’s nothing to be nervous about, darling. I’ll protect you with my life if anyone dares mess with you.” he said quietly.

witch

05-12-2009, 01:40 AM

Cara Blaze Andovea

Though his hand was in hers and she knew he'd never let anyone harm her Cara couldn't help but feel on edge as if she was back in Mark's hometown where she was forever fearing that someone had found out she was now a Blaze and come after her to get to Mark.

She could tell that her husband knew she was uneasy her body shivering just a little before she spoke trying to put not only some noise in the silence but also voice why she was scared.

If you had asked, she would of said it was just a feeling, one she couldn't shake more and more she felt like she was being watched, feeling the eyes burning into the back of her head knowing that as soon as they where done with her they'd be after Mark and unlike him she would not survive.

Even at her smaller height she could tell her husband was on the look out to both relaxing her and making her fear grow wishing that they could speed up a little or at lest get into some light. As they walked she found herself talking again, talking taking her mind of the unknown asking her husband if the alleyways of Paris had once been his hide away or his home the very thought making her sad before voicing the thought that he, a man so much born of darkness would fit right in.

“Yes, I did come here to get away from everyone because I knew not many people come here. I still come here every now and again, but I go to the graveyard more than here. Believe it or not, there’s something very soothing about a cemetery that I can’t quite place my finger on.”

Even at the word graveyard Cara's mind flashed to Russia a place she still needed to go as she took her husbands hand again she nodded not saying anything half seeing his point a view. There was something soothing about a graveyard, so quite, so still at yet... her mind flashed back to when she had almost died in a graveyard... there was something just as unnerving.

“Also, there’s nothing to be nervous about, darling. I’ll protect you with my life if anyone dares mess with you.”

"I know you would" Cara answered as soon as the words feel from her husbands lips "I just hope you'll never have to, that one day I'll be able to protect you"

She lend her head on his arm then a shiver still going up her spin still so sure she was being watched but pushing it aside.

"Maybe, maybe one day I should learn to fight, just in case your not around, I'm pretty sure the tricks I used against Dementis and even you wouldn't work under in a normal fight."

A hand went to her belly then and unable to hold back the question any longer she asked.

"If we find out I am with child what are you hoping for, a boy or a girl?"

Black Mask

05-13-2009, 06:26 AM

Mark Blaze

Walking through one of the many dimly lit streets of the dark side of town, Mark could easily sense that his young wife was on edge. Perhaps she sensed that there was something or someone hidden in the shadows following them even though he saw no one. Whatever the reason was, he wanted to make her feel safe in his presence so he also kept a watch out for anything out of the ordinary. The only sounds that were heard were the soft footsteps of the smaller female and the quiet night breeze that blew around them, making everything more creepier for Cara. Mark was used to this kind of silence, having lived with it all his life, so it did not affect the dark haired man one bit. Breaking the silence between them, the young woman told him that even though she had asked for him to tell about himself before her, this part of town made her nervous. As his moved his gaze over the shadowy parts of the street and alleyways, he wondered why exactly it seemed she did not fully trust him to protect her. Was it because of Dementis? He surely hoped that not be the case. Cara continued in her usual soft voice, asking if he had stayed here or if he had just hid away here and told him that she couldn’t imagine someone staying here for long. The larger man was about to answer her question when she heard a noise come from a nearby alleyway and immediately dropped his hand to see what it was. He also looked that way to see that it had been a cat merely searching for food. Turning back to him, she met his slightly concern gaze and told him that he must have felt at home here, which was true, and that she would be looking over her shoulder every second. In a calm quiet voice, he answered her question, telling that he came here to get away from everyone else and that he still came here sometime, but he preferred to graveyard than here. She merely gave a understanding nod as she listened to Mark tell her that she didn’t have to be nervous because he was there to protect her with his life. After he had spoken his words, she immediately answered.

"I know you would. I just hope you'll never have to, that one day I'll be able to protect you." even as they walked she laid her head against his muscular arm, him feeling her shiver slightly, "Maybe, maybe one day I should learn to fight, just in case your not around, I'm pretty sure the tricks I used against Dementis and even you wouldn't work under in a normal fight." he watched silently as a slender hand went down to her stomach, "If we find out I am with child what are you hoping for, a boy or a girl?" she questioned, looking up at him. Mark looked away with a contemplating gaze, thinking about her question. It was something he had never thought before, thinking he would never have of his own in his life. Though it might have seemed simple to any other person, it was like a complex riddle to the dark haired man. He didn’t have any experience with children so he didn’t how a boy or a girl would act. A few moments later, he knew what his answer was and looked back toward his young wife.

“To tell you the truth, it wouldn’t really matter to me because I would love the child just the same.” he paused for a moment, seeing that she was still nervous, “Perhaps we should go somewhere else if you’re so uncomfortable around here. If you do, I know a shortcut through the alleyways that can get us away from here faster.” he said quietly.

witch

05-13-2009, 06:54 AM

Cara Blaze Andovea

The cool night air, the very dim lights... all they needed now was a thunder storm and it would be the perfect setting for a horror movie. It always seemed to be in silent and dark places or an alley way that something bad always seemed to happen and here they where combining the two.

Within the darkness she heard noises more then her gentle footstep's, a heavy foot steep, a running foot steep one that made her more and more on edge even with a mountain of a husband beside her knowing he'd protect her from anything seeing the look of disappointment when she seemed not to believe he would something that she tried to clear up start away before trying to change the topic once again.

A hand going to her belly she voiced the question that was forth most on her mind did Mark want a boy or a girl?

“To tell you the truth, it wouldn’t really matter to me because I would love the child just the same.” He answered a few moments later.

Some help you are Cara teased inwardly where outwardly she would of rolled her eyes if she wasn't so tense.

Looking down at her Mark looked as though he could still see how nerves she was.

“Perhaps we should go somewhere else if you’re so uncomfortable around here. If you do, I know a shortcut through the alleyways that can get us away from here faster.”

And now I feel like such a wimp. A sigh passed her lips.

"I'm sorry Mark, it's just... I just can't shake this feeling that I'm having and I know this place, the darkness is your friend but... I think we should take the shortcut, maybe... maybe we could come back here in the morning when there's more light, besides we should be hearing from the hospital soon it might be a good idea if we where sitting down when we get the news."

OCC: Thinking maybe now as they go through the shortcut Mark could get the call.

Black Mask

05-13-2009, 10:31 PM

Mark Blaze

As the couple continued to walk, Mark felt the young female lay her head on his arm, feeling some comfort in the action even though he felt her shiver slightly. He silently listened to her as she told him that maybe she should learn how to fight in order to protect him or herself if she had to. If you were to ask the larger man if he needed to be protected, he would have told that he didn’t. He had to always fend for himself, never had anyone to depend on, so he was used to protecting himself with no one’s help. Letting a hand fall to her stomach, Cara questioned him if he would rather have a boy or a girl as a child. He looked away from his wife, thinking about the question she had just asked him. For what was a simple question for most people was a complex riddle for him. After contemplating hard about the question, the dark haired man looked back towards his wife and told her that it didn’t really matter to him because he would love the child just the same. The dark haired man she was thinking of something, but didn’t exactly know what she was thinking. He couldn’t help but wonder if it was good or bad, but hoped it was the first of the two choices. Even though she was with him, knowing she was safe, he could still see that she was on edge, which slightly disappointed him because she did not seem to truly trust him to protect her. With the young female’s happiness in mind, the dark haired man suggested that they should leave and that he knew a shortcut through the alleyways to get them away from here sooner. With a low sigh, Cara began to speak.

"I'm sorry Mark, it's just... I just can't shake this feeling that I'm having and I know this place, the darkness is your friend but... I think we should take the shortcut, maybe... maybe we could come back here in the morning when there's more light, besides we should be hearing from the hospital soon it might be a good idea if we where sitting down when we get the news." she said quietly looking up toward him. With a simple nod, he began to lead her through a nearby alley that he had been through many times before. Knowing this part of town by heart, the larger man knew that they only had to make a few turns and they would be near the Opera House and a place where she would feel comfortable at. Walking down the alleyway, Mark was about to tell his smaller wife that there was nothing to apologize for and that they could come here tomorrow morning when he suddenly felt something vibrate in one of his trench coat pockets. Stopping, he reached into his pocket with a leather clad hand and retrieved a slick black cell phone. When he had first bought it, he wondering why he had got it and who exactly would call him, but now since he was with Cara, he called he got. He looked at the caller ID and saw that it was the doctor who had done the tests on his wife and opened it and answered with a simple ‘hello’. It was silent for a few minutes, only the slight murmur coming from the larger agreeing with the doctor. A small smile appeared on the dark haired man’s face when the doctor told him that she was with child. He was actually going to be a father. He felt so proud of himself and his fears seemingly disappeared. Suddenly, Mark went as tense as a bow string and his smile dropped after hearing how long Cara had been exactly pregnant. If he calculated correctly, she had gotten pregnant when she was over seas. With a low growl, he roughly placed the cell phone back in its place before the doctor was even done talking to him and curled his hands into large threatening fists. He could feel his rage start to quickly grow within him and his blood begin to boil in anger. Without warning, he quickly turned toward her, his narrowed into a venomous glare and his features full of rage. If he remembered correctly, she had never seen him this angry, not even with Calvin.

“How could you?!” he roared out in pure rage, “How could you go behind my back and cheat on me?! Wasn’t I a good husband? Didn’t I put your wants in front of everything else? Didn’t I not leave you like so many other men have done before? I thought you were going to be different, someone who would truly love me and never leave me, but apparently I was wrong! You’re just like Katie and everyone else! I LOVED YOU CARA YET YOU STILL RIPPED MY HEART OUT!” he quickly grabbed a nearby empty trash can and threw it at her, nearly missing her head by mere inches, and let out a feral growl, “I’ll kill you for this!” he bellowed out demonically before he started to make his way toward her, fully intending to do what he said.

witch

05-14-2009, 04:22 AM

Cara Blaze Andovea

Cara couldn't help but see and feel the dicappoment between them she hated herself for feeling so scared hating it even more that she hurt Mark after saying maybe she should learn to fight. Yes she trusted Mark more then anyone else in her life but did he not understand how helpless she sometimes felt... how helpless others made her out to be?

It was because of that fear that Mark asked her if she wanted to leave to cut through the alleyways and get out sooner, now she really felt like a fool a sigh passing her lips but she couldn't help the feeling of wanting to run overtake her making her say that she wanted to take the shortcut though she did suggest coming back in the morning.

His only reply was a small nod of his head making her hung hers as she fell into steep beside him also making it known that they should be getting a call from the hospital any time now. As they walked she felt her heart growing heavy she didn't like making Make leave a place he loved hated showing him that it made her fearful just standing there, she also knew that he wouldn't hold it against her the look in his eyes telling her just that.

It was about half way down an alley way that Mark suddenly stopped and pulled out a cellphone from his jacket looking at the caller ID but not saying a thing to her. After a while she watched as a smile come to his face, why she wasn't sure but she couldn't help but smile along with him but when it fell her body went just as tense as his did.

He seemed so rough when he snapped the phone closed his eyes seeming to turn red alike she had ever seen them before let alone when he or even Dementis looked at her it made her heart race, her blood turning cold.

“How could you?!” His voice roared “How could you go behind my back and cheat on me?! Wasn’t I a good husband? Didn’t I put your wants in front of everything else? Didn’t I not leave you like so many other men have done before? I thought you were going to be different, someone who would truly love me and never leave me, but apparently I was wrong! You’re just like Katie and everyone else! I LOVED YOU CARA YET YOU STILL RIPPED MY HEART OUT!”

A look of shear confusion crossed over her face but she had no time to think about it for no sooner had he shouted the words had a near by trash can sailed past her missing her head by a mere inch.

“I’ll kill you for this!”

She watched as he steeped forever closer each steep making her take one back until she was up against a wall. It was only when her back hit the bricks that she swallowed her fear.

"Mark I don't understand, I'd never cheat on you, you know that, please tell me whats wrong?"

Tears ran down her face as it seemed her words come to a deaf ear he just seeming to steep closer and closer the rage seeming to blind. It was within a second that she knew she had to run or she would be killed.

OCC: I'm not sure if you want to bring in Calvin yet but I think either before or after your post we should ask him to join us.

Black Mask

05-14-2009, 08:43 AM

Mark Blaze

Seeing that she was uncomfortable and on edge, Mark suggested that they should take one of the shortcut through the alleyways he knew so they could get out of there soon. With a quiet sigh, the young female told him that she wished to leave and that they could come back here in the morning when there was more light. He could tell she hated doing this, hated to make him leave one of the few places he enjoyed to be, but he didn’t blame her. For someone who have lived a life filled with light most of the time, he would come to expect she didn’t the dark and morbid parts unlike him. With a understanding look in his eyes, the larger man gave a silent nod and started to lead through one of the nearby alleyways he knew, not seeing Cara hanging her head lowly. When they got halfway into the alleyway, the dark haired man felt his cell phone vibrate in his pocket and stopped in his tracks. His smaller wife watched silently as he glanced at the caller ID and answered it with a simple ‘hello’. He silently listened to the doctor’s slightly shaking voice on the phone with a few murmurs of agreement, unknowingly turning away from Cara as he did. When the doctor told him that his wife was indeed pregnant, a small ghost of a smile appeared on his face, proud in the fact he was going to be a father. Though when the doctor told him how long she was pregnant for, his smile dropped and his body became tense. When he had calculated when she got pregnant, the dark haired man felt his rage sky rocket as he harshly closed the phone before the doctor was done and roughly placed it back in his pocket, clenching his hands into fists, his knuckles becoming bone white underneath the leather. Quickly turning on his heel, he questioned in a enraged voice how could she do a thing and asked her wasn’t he a good husband and didn’t he put all her wants in front of everything else, his features full of fury. The larger man continued to yell at her, telling her that he thought she was different, but he was wrong and that she was just like Katie and everyone else. He then told her that even though he loved her, she still ripped out his heart and before she could say anything, he threw a empty trash can at her head, but much to his disappointment he missed by a inch. With a other infuriated roar, Mark threatened to kill her for what she did before he started to make his way toward her, fully intending to do what he said. With every step forward he took, the young female took a step back. When she felt her back touch the cold brick wall, she began to speak in a fearful and confused voice.

"Mark I don't understand, I'd never cheat on you, you know that, please tell me what’s wrong?" she asked her furious husband. Through his blinding rage, Mark ignored the crystalline tears that flowed down her cheeks. The only coherent thought that ran through the larger man’s mind was to make Cara pay for what she had done to him. As he continued to step closer towards her, sneer appeared on his lips before he began to speak.

“Don’t play around with me, girl!” he snarled, venom dripping off his words, “The doctor told me how long you’ve been pregnant and at the time you got pregnant was when you were at my hometown. I wasn’t with you so it couldn’t be my child and thus you had to betray me!” getting closer to her, he slightly lifted his right fist, signaling that he was about to strike, “Now tell me, who is the father so I can kill him too.” he growled lowly. Before she even had time to answer, he let his fist fly, intent on delivering a killing blow.

OOC: Yes, I think it is best if Angelofthenight comes in now and Cara can run away and dodge Mark. BIC:

witch

05-14-2009, 01:04 PM

OCC: Reading that last post I can't help but post again before Calvin comes in. I also thought that if I sort of did Samson here Angel might have something a little more to work with.

Cara Blaze Andovea

Where a kind and giving man once stood was now a fearful sight fire burning in his eyes chilling Cara to the core her heart beating wildly as breath seemed to catch in her lungs as he came forward making her walk back. Never, never had she seen so much rage in her husband, not when Dementis took over, not when he had mistaken her for the priest never.

Steep by steep he backed her into the wall she still not understanding what it was that had gotten him so upset, so angry at least not until he started yelling at her his words cutting into her heart and here she thought he knew her better than that.

I'd never cheat on you she had told him preying that through her tears he'd see the truth but he seemed so blinded his knuckles, she knew, where turning white under the leather that encased them.

As she stepped back she watched him throw a bin at her seeing the hate in his eyes that he had missed telling her more than words that he truly hated her.

With a bump she landed against a wall pinned between it and the bull about to strike a failed attempt of pleading falling from her lips.

“Don’t play around with me, girl!”

If he were a snake he'd be ready to strike killing her in one blow.

"The doctor told me how long you’ve been pregnant and at the time you got pregnant was when you were at my hometown. I wasn’t with you so it couldn’t be my child and thus you had to betray me!”

She could only shack her head as she watched his fist rise in the air the doctors must have it wrong; she knew they had to have it wrong.

“Now tell me, who is the father so I can kill him too.”

She was just about to answer him when she court his fist coming at her and ducked just in the nick of time hearing his fist smash into the wall with so much force she knew he would of killed her with the power behind it.

Rolling on the ground she then side steeped around him free from the wall and him.

"I never, ever cheated on you."

And then fearing for her life she ran away from her husband a man she promised never to leave fearing for her very life.

Her feet carried her through the alleys though she had no idea which way to go the place seeming like a maze and she a lost mouse within it. Deeper and deeper she seemed to go until true darkness over took her, all lights gone hardly able to see a hand in front of her face as her legs crumbled from under her tears flooding her view.

It seemed like a long time she sat there and cried her heart ripping into little pieces her life and marriage now seeming over if Mark had his way. Her hand hanging in her hands she sobbed not hearing the footsteps coming up behind her.

"Excuse me miss but are you alright?" A voice from above seemed to ask. "Here let me help you up."

Two hands suddenly seemed to be pulling her up before they slowly started to turn her.

"Hello Cara"

She knew that voice:

"Samson, w..What are you doing here?"

"Oh you know, I did a little more searching after you left I couldn't help but wonder why someone had come to my home town and after so many years asked about a monster that she just happened to of heard once lived there."

His hold on her suddenly become tighter as he leaned in almost as if to whisper into her ear:

"You see Cara I know who you are... tell Mark I said hello"

It was then an ear splitting scream filled the night a shocking pain plugging into Cara's back as she fell to the ground warm liquored running from her.

"Two Blazes one Knife."

angelofthenight

05-15-2009, 01:17 AM

Calvin Booth

Calvin was extremely exhausted. He'd just gotten a done with a dinner meeting with Rebecca for the most recent case they were working on and he'd been trying desperately not to yawn through the whole thing. About halfway through the meeting Rebecca seemed to realize how exhausted he was and when she asked him about it he simply told her that he was just stressed and that he just needed to sleep.. which he wouldn't... he was catching what Parker had and he would go into these random coughing fits that he attricuted to the bug that he'd caught from his son. He'd been drinking tons of fluids and making sure that he continued to work out.. konwing that it woudl help keep up his immune system.. it seemed like late at night was when he felt the worst but at the moment he actually better then he had in the past couple of days. Though his whole body had ached when he woke up that morning he got up and ran six miles in thirty minutes... a new personal record... he lifted wieghts for thirty minutes then did push ups, sit ups, crunches... and ended with some relaxed stretches that his physical therapist had showed him helped loosen and relax the muscles at the same time.... it made him feel better... and the cold air from the cool Paris night seemed to be helping him now as well.

He decided to cut through the alleway to get to his car which was parked a couple blocks away because Rebecca had insisted they keep his nice silver mercedes as far away from the bad side of town as they could without making it extreme. He'd agreed... glad that he woudlnt' be putting one of his most prized posessions at risk. He was glad that he had his gun tonight.. though he couldn't remember if it was loaded or not... he seemed to be rather forgetful of late too and as he rounded the corner he leaned against the wall and massaged either side of his temples with his thumbs. He breahted slowly in and out. It was just the stress getting to him... what he really needed was a vacation but he couldn't do that.. he had to keep an eye on Parker.. who seemed to be feeling better after a week or so of not feeling well. Rebecca and Taressa had both suggested he go see a doctor but Calvin had assured him that he was fine.. besides he hated everything about doctors and hospitals.... he didn't need to go to one for a cold that woudl probably go away on its own. He pushed himself off the wall and started walking again.. allowing his thoughts once again to wander.

He thought about Rebecca then. The concern that seemed to come into her eyes whenever he would fall into one of his coughing fits. It was a dry cough.. evidence that there was no fluid in his lungs or chest which meant that it wasn't something that they coudl treat with antibiotis. Three times she had asked him if he was alright and after a drink of water and clearing his throat he woudl hoarsly assure that he was fine and that he intended on going home and getting some sleep tonight. At least he was if he could find his way back through the winding maze of allies behind Nothing Special. He and Rebecca had spent a couple hours at the rather rund own bar... eating dinner and questioing people about a missing person in an ongoing investigation who had worked at the bar at one time or another. Calvin knew that boht of them would have preferred more hands on work where they actually had to go dig up a murder weapon or something but lately crime had been slow and Calvin found himself that he was thankful for it.. it gave him time to recuperate and try to recuperate and get some strength back.. though he didn't tell Rebecca he didn't for see himself getting better unless he got some much needed rest.

At that moment Calvin was pulled from hsi thougths when he came aroudn the corner and saw a looming figure in the alleyway. He stopped walking and squinted in the darkness. Calvin wondered if he could take on the person should they attack him and feeling rather paranoid he took out his gun and slowly walked towards the large individual, doubting he woudl be getting any sleep tonight like he'd planned. "Turn around slowly wiht your hands up!" he ordered, not wanting to get to close in case the person pulled a knife. Calvin flicked the chamber of his gun open and saw that he had three shots.. he didn't need all of those.. he was certain he coudl hold his own with one but he was grateful for the extra though he docuted he woudl be able to use the other two if the first fialed. "Police..." he said firmly, realizing that indiviual wasn't making any move to turn towards him. "Turn around or I will shoot you..." he threatened, now worried that the individual.. he coudl now determiend to be a rather large man might be loading a gun of his own. Calvin reached out and grabbed the man's arm, spinning him around he was shocked to see whoe the man was standing inf ront of him... and that was when Calvin knew that something was very wrong.

Black Mask

05-15-2009, 06:25 AM

Mark Blaze

When the doctor on the other end of the line told him that he was going to be a father, Mark was proud, joyous even, at the simply fact that he was going to have a child. The larger man never thought he would be the father of a child in his life, or have a beautiful wife none the less, but it seemed that this was one of those rare times of happiness in his life, not that he was happy with Cara by his side. He was so happy and proud in the news, that a small ghost of a smile appeared on his lips. Only a few moments later, his world came crashing down, his smile disappearing with his happiness. The doctor had just told him how long she had been pregnant for and Mark had had calculated when she had became pregnant. His answer enraged him and he harshly closed the cell phone before the doctor was done and roughly put it back in its place. His blood beginning to boil, the dark haired man clenched his fists tightly until they became bone-white underneath the leather of his gloves. Quicker than a blink of a eye, he turned on the young female and yelled at her, asking her why she had cheated on him when he had been such a good husband. Before she could answer, he had already thrown a empty trash bin and was disappointed when it missed her head by a mere inch. As he started towards her, she stepped away, confusion written on her face as she asked what he was talking about. His words came out in a venomous snarl, telling not to play games with him and that the test results had showed that she had gotten pregnant while she was at his hometown. Tears flowing down her cheeks and him lifting his large fist, Mark questioned her who was the father so he could kill him along with her. He gave her little time to answer when suddenly, he threw his fist towards her, her barely dodging it while his fist slammed into the brick. In his blinding rage, he didn’t feel the pain nor the blood that started to flow from his knuckles under the leather as he turned towards her as she started to back away quickly.

"I never, ever cheated on you." she whispered before turning away and running for her life. With now grey eyes, with only pinpoints of green, Mark let out a inhuman roar of fury before picking up a other trash can and throwing it as hard as he could into the brick wall. With heavy rage-filled pants, the larger man just stood there, the only coherent thought was still to go after Cara and kill her. He was in such a rage that he didn’t hear the footsteps nor the all to familiar voice come from behind him. The dark haired man suddenly felt a hand on his arm and quickly turned on his heel to see none other than Calvin Booth. This just made his rage go even higher, not really noticing the shocked expression on the cop’s face through the rage induced haze. Harshly grabbing the wrist that he had used to touch him on the arm in a bone crushing grip, Mark easily threw officer Booth in the direction Cara had ran, letting out a low feral growl as he did.

“KEEP AWAY FROM ME!!!” Mark bellowed in pure fury before quickly turning on his heel and making his way down the opposite side of the alleyway that Calvin was on.

OOC: Mark has left the scene.

Hope that’s alright, if it’s not though, just PM me. BIC:

witch

05-15-2009, 07:35 AM

Cara Blaze Andovea

"Two Blazes one Knife."

The words now rang in her ear, sticking fear start into her heart like her husbands raging cry had. Never in her life did she think she would end up like this tied, gaged a person whom she thought she could trust standing over her a double edged dagger/knife known as an athame used in spiritual ceremonies sticking out of her back.

Cara's breathing had already become weak, her face paler then the moon as she felt her life slipping away.

"You must pay for your sins Cara and Mark must pay to you are to be the message" Samson's voice came from above. "I can't quite figure out who's sins are worse his for being born a monster or yours for first marrying one and then giving yourself to it."

At those words Cara's eyes couldn't help but go wide, laughter falling from Samson's lips as he smiled.

"Yes I know that you're with child my father got a doctor friend to look you over when you passed out back home, neither one of us could believe it. We thought about killing you then but it was my father who realized you weren't just there for a story, you where there for the truth"

His hand went to her belly then making Cara try to pull away though she couldn't the ropes far to tight the blood loss already making her world cave in making her wish she was back facing Mark's wrath.

"I'm so sorry to kill a child of my own making... or so I' lead to understand fear can work so greatly into a plan. I even wrote you're husband a little note which a copy of I'll be sending to the police, you see it's Mark who will be blamed for your death."

No, Cara managed to shack her head coursing Samson to roughly grab her chin.

"Yes but first me must cleanse you're soul... if you still have one."

From the corner of her eye she watched as Samson pulled out something from his pocket watching as he held up a lighter, watching as the metal began to change colour until it became red and dropped it to her left shoulder blade making Cara scream against the pain as it burned into her flesh before being pulled away, and with it the world as she slowly sank into darkness knowing that this time she wouldn't be waking up.

OCC: Angel before you reply to this please read the P.M I sent you.

angelofthenight

05-16-2009, 01:14 AM

Calvin Booth

Calvin stood his ground as he waited for the man to turn around. Many different scenarios seemed to drift through his mind like a sideshow of pictures across a projected screen. He now knew who the man was and Calvin wondered if he was in for another ruffling up.. he'd gotten his cast off a couple months ago and was not fond of the idea of having to get another. Another run in with the doctors and he was sure he would strangle one of them. He was just grateful that his gun was loaded and the mind set he'd always managed to get himself into as a sniper set in... he knew he would shoot if the man was threat to him.. when that thought occurred to him he thought of the promise he'd made to Cara... how he'd promised not to tear apart her family and slowly he lowered his gun though he kept both hands on it. He'd promise the girl, who might very well be carrying this mans' baby... that he would do everything in his power to protect Mark from the law... he knew then that he couldnt' live with himself if he pulled the trigger... no matter what the man was going to do to him. Slowly he slipped the gun back into his pocket, clicking the safety back on he reached out and rested his hand on the man's arm... hoping to get his attention.

Suddenly Mark turned around. The rage in the larger man's eyes was enough to make Calvin wonder if it was a mistake. When Mark grabbed his wrist in a vice like grip he knew it was. He felt his body come into contact with the opposite wall and he slumped against it. “KEEP AWAY FROM ME!!!” he bellowed and Calvin lifted his eyes to the man, watching him retreat away from him on the other side of the alley. Calvin managed to bring himself to his feet and looked his wrist over.. no broken bones this time thankfully... though his whole body seemed to ache... as if it were covered in one big bruise and he rolled his shoulders and he slowly made his way to his feet. At that moment another coughing fit assailed him and for a moment he was a puppet to the hacking. He ended up down on his hands and knees as a result of the pain that ripped through his chest from the fit. He maintained that position for some time after the coughing fit, trying to catch his breath.. climbing up to his feet he staggered slightly, feeling a little headed. It was just because he'd been thrown against the wall.. he would get his bearings back in a moment... all he had to do was get through the alley and find his car... it couldn't be that far now.

At that moment a scream pierced the air. For some reason the origin of that scream sounded familiar and Calvin felt adrenaline pumping through his veins. Pulling out his gun yet again he started to job in the direction of the scream, knowing that whoever was inflicting such agony on someone would surely be armed and dangerous. He contemplated calling Rebecca and having her help him but he wasn't sure there was even time for that so he just kept running through the dark alley. The coughing fit that he'd experienced moments before was long forgotten and he embraced the sense of urgency that filled him. He slowed to a walk when he rounded a corner and could vaguely make out a crumpled heap of something on the alley floor. Holding his gun up in front of him he squinted in the darkness trying to see just what it was as he continued to make his approach. Reaching it without incident he reached out and realized that it was a girl. Reaching out he touched her and realized in that moment that it was Cara and he felt his heart drop. He took out his cell phone and used it for a light, trying to get a good look at her and a knot formed in his throat, his stomach turning uneasily when he saw the burn and stab wound on her shoulder. Immediately he removed his jacket and wrapped it around her... then stood up... looking around... the culprit that had done this to her couldn't have gone far.

"I'll kill you!!!!" he swore into the darkness... standing just next to Cara... at that moment he heard a taunting laugh that seemed to be coming from every direction but Calvin did his best to remain calm as a voice overshadowed the demonic chuckle. "I would love to see you try..." it teased and Calvin swore he saw a shadow on the opposite wall.. then he heard another sound from the other end of the alley. He moved so he had one leg on either side of Cara... a protective stance... the man would have to get through him to get to her. "Why don't you come out and fight.. coward!" Calvin yelled into the darkness and that dark chuckle filled the air yet again. "I would but you having a gun.. that just doesn't seem fair.. now if you were to unload your gun and throw the bullets away... well then we might have a deal..." he mused and Calvin tensed... put down his gun.. sure he could fight without it... but he was still getting over a cold that seemed to have weakened him severely... was his body up to the physical demand this fight would take. Looking down at Cara he could see her chest was rising with quick short breaths and he knew he didn't have much time to deliberate... without another thought except of saving the young woman he opened his gun, emptied the ammunition into his hand and threw.. the metal hitting the cement seeming to echo through the darkness. Calvin turned away from the direction he'd thrown the bullets and then he spread his arms out in front of him. "There... a deals a deal..." Calvin said and lifted his fists into a ready position... not knowing what was to come but holding his ground nonetheless.

witch

05-16-2009, 02:42 PM

OCC: Please note: Samson's action's and speech shall be in red writing. This is to help define between Cara and Samson. Cara's speech and actions will remain as always. I hope that this is okay.

Cara Blaze Andovea

So much pain, so much agony the feeling of being helpless one Cara never had wanted to feel. With Mark and Dementis she had always been able to stand her ground, sooner or later finding some way out, either it being trick, luck or love this time... this time she knew everything was against, knew as soon as the dagger bite into her back.

The feeling in her legs had soon crumbled leaving her unable to run even if she somehow managed to get away from Samson long enough to either escape or run into someone that might be able to help her.

She could feel her breath slowly going her body feeling cold and numb however the nightmare had only just started.

In Samson's eyes she saw the very devil himself, the very devil that Samson thought Cara and Mark to be... or at lest be a part of, telling her that he was to cleanse her soul if she still had one.

It had only been out of the corner of her eyes that she had watched as fired light turned metal blood red while she chocked on every laboured breath the scream that pierced the night as she felt it burn deeply into her skin was the last thing she felt before blacking out.

Samson couldn't help but laugh as he watched Cara black out the dark eyes he had watched fill with fear closing the dagger already doing part of it's job although it hadn't helped with the ear splitting scream as he, as some would call it, brand her the metal of the joyous heart (http://i76.photobucket.com/albums/j32/witch016/Story%20Photos/ter210am.jpg) eating away at her skin.

It was it that state that Samson pulled out the dagger from it's sleth in her body blood dripping from the know free wound and blade though soon it tracked a new course, a pentagram soon being drawn into Cara's lower back... a sign and a message all in one.

Standing up Samson looked over the fallen, bleeding body, the smell of burnt flesh rising to his noise. It was then that he started kicking her, beating her... at lest up until he heard someone coming, footsteps of a running beat.

Picking up the dagger he run into shadows watching, waiting his work not quite done yet.

He watched as a figure emerged from the shadows a gun gleaming in the little light that the alley way had. He waited watching as the man found Cara placing a jacket over her after he run a dim light from a phone over her body.

"I'll kill you!!!!"

At the words Samson couldn't help but laugh.

"I would love to see you try..." he had voiced into the shadows moving so as the man didn't detect where it was coming from.

"Why don't you come out and fight.. coward!"

Again Samson chuckled watching as the man whom seemed to know Cara and have a soft spot for her take a protective stance over her.

"I would but you having a gun.. that just doesn't seem fair.. now if you were to unload your gun and throw the bullets away... well then we might have a deal..." Samson said, knowing that with the other man having a gun he would loss, for surly as soon as he steeped out into the little light the man would fire it.

To Samson's shear amazement he watched as the man unloaded his gun to then throw the bullets away.

"There... a deals a deal..."

Steeping out into the light thinking that if he killed this man and made it look like Mark did it the monster would surly pay but first...

"And I've never been one to back out of a deal" he said. "And now that you've put that gun away you can help get this girl to a hospital or at lest ring the police."

Steep by steep he walked over to Cara only pretending that he cared.

"I'm sorry to of hidden from you but I feared that you might of been the monster that did this to her, poor child."

Another steep and then another and then he was right beside Cara his hands in his pockets, his fingers wrapped around the daggers handle though he pretended to be shocked when the man didn't make a single move to help, or otherwise.

"You can't believe I did this, do you?" he asked.

angelofthenight

05-17-2009, 01:04 AM

Calvin Booth

Calvin had learned something while he was a sniper. He was extremely stubborn. When he'd been a corporal he'd defied his superiors more then once just to do something that he believed was right. More then once he'd taken a shot when his Sergent commanded him to hold his fire, at least a dozen times he'd moved from one position to the other without telling anyone like you were supposed to. Often things like that had gotten him in trouble with the Chief of Staff and his superiors but when it became apparent hat no matter how many times he was verbally reprimanded for what he did he would do it anyway every one just left him up to his own thing and in the end that was what got him promoted to the position of Sergent at the tender of nineteen. He recalled being called into bunker where the chief of staff stayed during his visits to the U.S. bases in the Middle East. The three Sergeants that were above him were standing around the room, looking at the ground as if they couldn't look at him. Calvin wondered if they were ashamed of him and Calvin saluted the chief of staff... a formality... though Calvin defied their orders he had no desire to lose their respect. The man set him at ease and Calvin relaxed... waiting to be scolded but instead the man smiled.. and told him that he would be leading tomorrow's mission as the newest Sergent... he would get his own bunker with Sergent Parker and they would be in charge of investigating a village about eighty miles away for any signs of the man, or his comrades... which they were looking for.

Calvin had maintained that stubbornness now... eleven years later and it was that firmness of mind that kept him standing over Cara even as demonic laughter reverberated off the walls around him. It was that desire to protect her that made him empty his gun of bullets and then throw bullets away in order to get the man to come out so Calvin could teach him a lesson. Calvin looked down at Cara... recalling his personal promise to protect her and Mark in any way he could. Gazing at her bleeding and burnt body he couldn't help but feel as if he'd failed. He should have been able to protect her.. he shouldn't have let them go to the hospital alone as much as Mark would have hated it at least he might have been able to prevent what happened from happening.. whatever that was. Calvin straightened when he heard a noise, it sounded like footsteps but he couldn't be sure. He tensed, ready for whatever may come. He had personal experience with many street fights and he'd been to numerous fight clubs in the bad side of New York City.. Jared had taken him there when he was seventeen while his friend had been trying to wean him off the lifestyle of the streets... he was confident that this guy would be no problem... but if he had the weapon he'd used on Cara.... he might have a bit of difficulty....

"And I've never been one to back out of a deal" the same demonic voice said in a calmer tone and Calvin turned to see a man step out of the shadows just behind him.. if the man had wanted to kill Calvin he would have done so already... the cop was sure but he still stood over Cara's body... just in case. "And now that you've put that gun away you can help get this girl to a hospital or at lest ring the police." Help? This man wanted help? Calvin wanted to laugh... there was no doubt in Calvin's mind that this was the psychopath that had done this to the poor girl... and he was acting like he had no idea what was going on... didn't he just tell Calvin that he would like to see the cop try and kill him... instead of asking him about it and pointing out an error in his charade Calvin simply stood there, waiting for the man to pick up on the fact that Calvin wasn't buying into anything he said. "I'm sorry to of hidden from you but I feared that you might of been the monster that did this to her, poor child." he muttered and Calvin felt hatred and disgust fill him... a bitter taste coating his mouth and he knew it was the bitterness of loathing that he felt for the vile creature that stood in front of him.... his hands in his pockets.. and Calvin though he saw the man's hand brush something... but he was torn from those thoughts as the man came a little closer... to close.. he was getting to close to Cara and Calvin had to do something. "You can't believe I did this, do you?" he asked and something inside Calvin snapped.. his eyes smoldered and before he could even think of what he was doing.. he lunged at the man.

His hand closed around the man's throat as he threw him with all his strength into the wall and then held him there by the front of his shirt. "It doesn't matter what I think..." he hissed darkly as he slammed man into the wall yet again and drew his switchblade from his pocket.. he was just as practiced with a knife as he was with a gun... his skills... were lethal. Pressing the sharpened blade to the man's throat he glared at him.. hatred controlling his every action. "You did this to her..." he accused, pressing the blade into the man's skin hard enough to draw blood. "and I intend to carry out the threat I made..." with that Calvin plunged the knife into the man's shoulder and then pulled it out, stepping back and watching with satisfaction as he crumpled to the ground. Calvin hated hurting people... it was not in his nature to hurt people and yet this man... this man had gone to far.. he'd hurt someone Calvin cared about... could have killed her.. it was his job to see that the man suffered as he'd made Cara suffer. Calvin had vowed when he became an FBI agent that he would somehow atone for the lives he'd taken as a sniper by putting away more people then he'd killed work in the military... but tonight he would have another death to atone for...

witch

05-17-2009, 12:55 PM

Cara Blaze Andovea

Walking out of the shadows Samson meet the challenge of the brave man protecting Cara after watching him throw away the bullets within his gun, a mistake on his behalf.

Pocketing the dagger Samson decided to play it cool pretend that he was worried about the young girl on the ground and steep closer, a target not just on the man above her but her to.

Steep by steep he came closer until he knelt down beside the girl trying to read if she was still breathing or not, not seeing a rise or fall of her chest or if there was it was to small for the eye to see even under the jacket covering her otherwise torn clothes and naked back.

As he had steeped closer to Cara he had tried to read the man's face seeing if he bought into the tail he was spinning somehow it didn't look as though he did.

"You can't believe I did this, do you?" he had asked.

It was a second later that he felt a hand go around his throat, a hand that then threw him up against a wall pinning him there the fingers of the man holding the front of his shirt as he spat words into Samson's face.

"It doesn't matter what I think..." the man hissed.

Samson's eyes noticed the fact that the man holding him was fishing around for something his eyes drawing wide as it was revealed that he to had a knife, it was within another second that the tip started to bite into his neck.

"You did this to her..."

Blood started to trickle.

"and I intend to carry out the threat I made..."

A scream came from Samson as the man plugged the knife into his shoulder, Samson falling to the ground as the man backed away a few steeps ready for a fight but Samson had other idea's, playing to the mans weakness as he had done with Cara.

"And while you're carrying that threat out you leave her to die" He said slowly getting to his feet. "And it wasn't I who harmed her it was a monster of a man, I've seen those sorts of marks before on a man I know has come to live here, a man to know to be very upset with the young girl right now... you see sir I am the father of her child. Mark Blaze her husband did this to her, pay back, not I"

Breath leaving her, her body growing cold Cara thought she heard noises as she came back to the waking world only to slip back out and in again. For the life of her she could no longer feel the burning pain in her left arm, in fact, she couldn't feel it at all and that wasn't the only thing she couldn't feel, she couldn't feel her legs either.

What she did feel was numb, cold, dizzy and weak all at the same time, a blurr of noises feeling her ear though to none could she make it out. It was in that moment that she tried to move her head but she couldn't even do that and when she tried to so much as whisper, no sound came out.

It wasn't long before her breath and world started to fall away again once more slipping into darkness.

"Mark" she finally managed to whisper wanting it to be her last breath... the last thing she'd say if her will didn't pull her through this time.

angelofthenight

05-18-2009, 01:38 PM

Calvin Booth

When Calvin killed there was no fictional washing of the hands to rid his skin of the metaphorical human blood that covered them. There were no thoughts on how this would effect anyone else... the only thought was what he had to do.... and the signals his brain sent to his finger to pull the trigger or throw the knife in some cases. There were no troubling thoughts until afterward. In Iraq, Korea and Panama where he'd gone and done jobs for the government there had been long hikes back to the base or to where the helicopter was supposed to pick him up. To be alone with yourself after something like that was worse then being in a crowded room of people and telling them what you've done. The crowded room of people would probably be much more understanding. His own conscious though referred to him as a monster... someone who took human life without questions or concerns for who might be effect... Calvin had often found himself talking out loud... arguing that those were his orders.. he hadn't even known the guy... all he knew was they were a threat to the United States and they'd had to be eliminated... still though.. Calvin carried the guilt of all the people he'd killed as a sniper with him.. he'd lost track of the number... but he had a feeling that when he matched the number of criminals he'd caught and put away to the number of people he'd killed as a sniper.. he would feel it.. a peace... he just knew he would.

Yet tonight he was contemplating killing yet another man... even if this man had tried to kill Cara and was determined to try and kill him Calvin already felt the nagging of conscious.. he was a murderer... no better then anyone else... just because he'd been carrying out orders.. but he shook the self pitying thoughts off. He was not. What he'd done was noble and good.... he'd protected his country... he was a man that had helped terrorist attacks from every even taking shape... he'd done good by many of the people he'd killed.. he had to tell himself that... because it had to be true. Yet Calvin was blinded by rage... and though he'd threatened to kill the man it took all he had to even drive the blade into his shoulder... and when the man screamed he knew that would be something else that was added to his nightmares.. an ear piercing scream of pain that was unlike anything he'd ever heard before.. he'd never been in this close of a proximity and prolonged someone's death.. normally it was quick and easy.. most of the time they didnt' even see it coming... but on rare occasions... like this one... he was torturing the man he was going to kill... and he shuddered at the thought... but pulled the knife out just the same.

"And while you're carrying that threat out you leave her to die" He said slowly getting to his feet and Calvin tightened his hold on the knife... his eyes not leaving the man who was now holding his shoulder... crimson blood seeping through his fingers. "And it wasn't I who harmed her it was a monster of a man, I've seen those sorts of marks before on a man I know has come to live here, a man to know to be very upset with the young girl right now... you see sir I am the father of her child. Mark Blaze her husband did this to her, pay back, not I" he said and Calvin wanted to laugh.. if he hadn't seen Mark Blaze moments ago and how distraught he looked Calvin might have believed the man... might have entertained the thought for a brief moment that he was telling the truth.. but he'd seen Mark... and the man was obviously upset but he was not in any state of mind to do something that meticulous on the back of his wife... Calvin knew people... he knew that the man.. no matter his record... was not capable of such cruelty when it came to another human being... he could see it in the man's eyes.. he was not a killer... though he liked to hurt people that deserved it.. he was not a murderer... not like the man in front of him.

"You know if you'd caught me ten minutes ago I would have believed you..." he admitted, twirling the knife between his fingers, taunting him.. wanting him to see the sharp blade that would cause the end of him. "You see I ran into him on the way over here.. he wasn't in any state to do something like this to his wife..." he said with a bemused expression on his face. Without warning he threw and it buried itself int he man's thigh.. which he'd been aiming for... knife throwing had been a popular game among the snipers that had stayed on base in the Middle East... and Calvin had been the best. As the man lost his foot yet again Calvin caught him by his hair and held him up so he couldn't fall to the ground. "Let's talk shall we..." he hissed darkly, the palm of his hand on top of the knife, ready to push it in deeper if the man didn't comply. "and you're going to tell me everything or I will cut your throat and leave you here to rot..." he threatened, his voice serious though inwardly he wasn't sure he could do it. "I could put you away for the rest of your life.. or on death row... maybe deaths to good for you... maybe I should just let Mark get a hold of you..." he speculated... knowing that with some criminals the speculation of all their different punishments caused them mroe pain then any physical injuries Calvin could inflict on them. "Did you do this to her?" he demanded to know and applied pressure to the knife, driving it deeper into his thigh. He was determined to get his answer.

witch

05-19-2009, 02:13 AM

Cara Blaze Andovea

Holding his shoulder Samson had cried when the knife had dug into him his anger building inside him though he didn't show it, there was more to his plan then killing the man before him demanding his surrender which wouldn't come, or at lest not yet.

Ever since the man ad arrived Samson had never taking his eyes off the prize the dieing Cara on the ground a red spot seeping through the jacket a fact he made known as he got to his feet, the second part of his plan coming into action.

Blame, and the bringing down of Mark Blaze with it. It seemed as though however the man didn't believe him almost as if he knew Mark himself knowing that the monster of a man would never do something so heartless... showed how much the man knew.

"You know if you'd caught me ten minutes ago I would have believed you..."

Samson watched as the man twirled the knife he held seeing the blade glimmer in the light as it circled.

"You see I ran into him on the way over here.. he wasn't in any state to do something like this to his wife..."

Samson would of laughed if it wasn't for the cry that once again took over everything else a blade now sticking into his leg as once again be fell into himself only to be held up by his hair.

"Let's talk shall we...and you're going to tell me everything or I will cut your throat and leave you here to rot..."

Again Samson would of laughed yet the man's hand rested on the handle of the knife ready to push it in deeper and deeper... yet a knife could only go so far and as for the threat something told Samson that he wouldn't go through.

"I could put you away for the rest of your life.. or on death row... maybe deaths to good for you... maybe I should just let Mark get a hold of you..."

At that Samson's eyes went wide the very though of Mark Blaze turning his blood into ice.

"Did you do this to her?"

From her place on the ground Cara's body seemed lifeless, every laboured breath becoming harder and harder to take in.

Where once she hadn't been able to feel her legs or her left arm she now couldn't feel anything at all the coldness she had once felt now turning into numbness.

For the brief moment her eyes had opened she thought she had seen shadows within the darkness only now to believe she was mistaken, she would die alone, on the cold hard ground the unborn baby dieing along with her.

Within a few moments her body started to buck and jump a state of shock taking her over.

From his place on the ground Samson felt the blade being pushed in deeper the temper of the man falling away.

"Like I'd tell you" he whispered. "You're just wasting your time and while you're trying to get an answer out of me you leave her to die... some hero you are. Look at her she's gone into shock and after that she'll die and it's you who had done it trying to get an answer out of me instead of helping her."

He laughed.

"As for Mark not doing that to her you don't seem to know that monster as well as I, he'd kill, he almost killed my father and for what? I saw scares along that girls neck weeks old are you to tell me they aren't from Mark, from a blade that would of taken her life? No matter though in another few minutes she'll be gone.... along with you"

With that he pulled his own knife out of his pocket and plugged it into the man before him aiming for his arm pit but only getting his arm. With all his might he pushed the man away and started to use the wall to help himself up again as he pulled the knife out of his leg.

"Mark may not be a killer, but how about you?"

angelofthenight

05-19-2009, 03:19 AM

Calvin Booth

Calvin had once been told that he'd inherited his father temper... yet somehow despite that he'd also been blessed with his mother's patients and his grandfather's compassion.. a man that Calvin had only met once when he'd been very young. Most of the time his compassion and patience overrode his father's short temper but at this moment the lust for blood was consuming him.. to see this man leave this life.. watch as the light faded from his eyes was filled him and blindly he stabbed the man in the thigh. There had only bee one other time when he'd been this angry and it had been in the underground prison in Iraq. They'd just finished torturing one of the corporals that he'd led into this situation. The man was huddled in the corner.. bleeding to death from the wound in his tounge caused by the nail tha had been driven through it and was still lodged there. Calvin could hear him whimpering and long ago he'd managed to untie the ropes that bound him and took turns going aroudn to the corporals and talking to each one individually, hoping to provide some comfot. On this particular day Calvin walked over to the dying man and sat beside him... saying nothing. It was then that the door opened and a flashlight was shined in their direction. Shiedlign his eyes Calvin saw the men come over to them.. and he saw that the man had a whip that was coverd in spurs peant to hit a horse or a cow with. As the man moved towards already suffering soldier Calvin shileded his body with his own. The Iraqi soldier knew wihtout Calvin uttering a word that he woudl have to get through the young Sergent to get to his original prey... Calvin remembered being hit until he was no longer conscious and when he woke up he was lying next to the cold, lifeless body of the corporal that he'd been trying to protect....

The urge protect Cara was just as strong as the urge to protect the young soldier had been then... perhaps even stronger considering the fac tthat there were two lives on the line.. hers and the baby he was certain she was carrying. It took all his restraint not to stab the man in the neck and just end it all in that moment but he wanted to see suffer unimaginable pain that would make him wish he'd left Cara alone. So he drove the knife into his thigh, demanding answer from him but kowing quiet well that he probably woudln't get them no matter what he did. It had been a long while since his insticts to kill had been squelched and stashed away... never to be called on agin.. but now.. now they were reawakened and Calvin.. though he was certain he woudl regret it later.. intended to kill this man before him.. even if he had to do it one strand of hair at a time. He knew that every second counted.. despite his desire to kill this man he knew that Cara's life was on the line and that she was dying even as he dallyed with the amn.. it was then taht Calvin realized he wouldnt' be able to kill this man tonight.. if he wanted to save Cara he had to get her to a doctor as soon as he could.. but he would have to do something so Mark coudl take care of him when he wished too.. though he didn't believe in human being punishing other human beings for the sake fo revenge the cop was certain that if Mark didn't do it.. Calvin would.

He demaned to know weather he'd done this to Cara... driving the knife deeper into his thigh. "Like I'd tell you" he whispered and Calvin's grip on the knife tightened to the poin that his knuckles were turning white and he coudl feel his fingers beginning to cramp up. "You're just wasting your time and while you're trying to get an answer out of me you leave her to die... some hero you are. Look at her she's gone into shock and after that she'll die and it's you who had done it trying to get an answer out of me instead of helping her." He already knew that Cara was dying and he arleady knew exactly what he was going to do. Whent he man laughed he felt rage fueling his every move and he drove the kinife even deeper.. "As for Mark not doing that to her you don't seem to know that monster as well as I, he'd kill, he almost killed my father and for what? I saw scares along that girls neck weeks old are you to tell me they aren't from Mark, from a blade that would of taken her life? No matter though in another few minutes she'll be gone.... along with you" Calvin was observant and he saw the blade even before it was plunged into his arm... but before he coudl react it was to late and a searing pain shot through him.. making him gasp as loosen his old on the man in front of him.

The man pushed him away and Calvin fell back.. trying to catch his breath.. a cold sweat breaking out on his brow. He closed his eyes as he clamberd to his feet.. slowly his hand slipped into his pocket... "Mark may not be a killer, but how about you?" Calvin gaze dat the man for a moment and thenwithout thought he lunged at him.. slamming aginast the wall he had his handcuffs out in a flash... one cuff was around the man's wrist.. the other around a storm grate... he woudl not be going anywhere for a while. "I am not a killer.. not like you..." he snarled and then climbing off the man he staggered over to Cara and picked her up into his arms.. queit a task considering the fact that he coudl feel the blood soaking the sleeve of his shirt. He tunred to the man and smiled rahter bemused now. "Don't worry Mark will be here soon to keep you company..." he assured him and with that he wrapped his jacket more cloesly around Cara and as he carried her toward the mout of the alley he looked down at her. She seemd so pale and so weak.. as if he were watching ehr wither away and he carried her... hoping against hope and for the sake of the child that she was carrying.. that he wasn't to late.

OOC: What now? BIC:

Black Mask

05-22-2009, 05:40 AM

OOC: I’m bringing Mark back in as requested. Also, I’m just going to put to where Mark just beats Samson into a coma in this one post. BIC:

Mark Blaze

Returning to the moonlit alleyways, Mark Blaze walked silently with his gloved hands in his trench coat pockets and his shoulders hunched, signaling that he was still in a foul mood. The only sounds to be heard were the quiet night breeze and the small squeaks of protest from his gloves when he balled his hands into fists. The larger man was very reluctant to come back this way because of what happened merely a hour ago, something that broke his heart and made him extremely angry, but it was the only way back home from the graveyard he went to. He had found out from the doctor that Cara was indeed with child, something that made him proud at first, but his world came crashing down when he learned when she had gotten pregnant. From what he had heard from the doctor, she had gotten pregnant when she was over seas in his hometown, a place he would never go back to, and thus he could not be the father of her child. The very thought of her, the one woman who he loved and she loved him back, cheating on him made his blood boil, making him clench his fists until his knuckles were bone-white. He was actually surprised when he felt a sharp pain in his right hand when he tightened, making him stop in his tracks. The dark haired man removed the black leather that encased his hand to revel his hand covered with dry blood and the wound on his knuckles open and bleeding again. He wondered slightly how he had got the wound in the first place, but then he remembered he had punched the wall without holding back, meaning to hit Cara with a killing blow. With a low sigh, he merely placed his glove back on his hand, not really caring if he bled to death or got a infection. After what had happened tonight, he had nothing else to live for, he had lost everything in a matter of moments, and he was going to die anyway so why do anything about it. Right now, he felt like drowning in his misery and let his sadness take over him, but both his pride and Dementis would not let him do that. Just when he was about to turn a corner, Mark’s sensitive hearing picked up what sounded like metal against metal. It sounded as something was struggling to get free and it perked the larger man’s natural curiosity, making him go into the shadows to find out what exactly it was. When he saw the source of the sound, he was rather surprised that it was a young man, about 18 or 19, handcuffed to a metal grate and struggling to get free but have no luck. After a few moments of studying him under the pale moonlight, Mark grey green eyes narrowed into slits when he noticed that it was none other than the priest’s son, Stalin who was fighting to get free. The larger man felt his rage sky rocket and his lust for blood overtake him, his darker half telling him that he was the child’s father and deserved to die along with Cara. Listening to his demon counterpart, Mark stepped out of the shadows, his eye almost fully grey.

“What have we here? Aren’t you a long way from home, boy?” he asked in a cruel voice, the younger man turning his head towards him with wide eyes, and Mark heard Samson whisper the word ‘monster’, “I’ll show just how much of a monster I am, but first tell me, are you the father of the child that grows in Cara?” he questioned lowly. The other man tucked on the handcuffs, desperate to get free before the larger man got his hands on him. He had heard the stories his father had told him, all the devious things the dark haired man had done, and he did not want to be the next victim to this beast. Suddenly, a idea popped into his head, making him still his movements. The idea the smaller man had thought up was part of his original plan, but it was better and it would be for sure that the demon would pay for his sins. With a smirk on his face, Samson stood straight to his full height, which was a mere 6 feet, and met Mark’s gaze, some fear still in his blue eyes. He ran a hand through his short blonde hair before he began to speak.

“Yes I am, in fact, I’m very proud of it. Such a pity that even though she married you, she loves me more.” he laughs at his statement, making Mark furious, “My father was right about you, your nothing but a monster and something that doesn’t have a right to live. I don’t know why someone as beautiful as Cara would ever marry the likes of you!” he spat venomously before tugging on the handcuffs again, keeping his eyes on the larger man. By this time, Mark was seething, his almost fully grey eyes glaring daggers at the trapped man. Samson, who was still tugging hard on the handcuffs, took a quick glance toward it to see if it had become loose before looking back at Mark. The younger man nearly jumped out of his skin when his gaze met the larger man’s broad chest and then started to franticly pull on his restraint, his past courage leaving him in a instant. Quicker than the blink of a eye, the dark haired man’s large hand was wrapped around Samson’s throat, cutting off the oxygen to his lungs. The other man began to claw feverishly at his hands to escape, but it did not effect the enraged man, only making his grip more tighter. Without warning, the larger man throws him across the alleyway, the force of his throw break the handcuffs’ chain that connected them, and watched as he hit the wall with a sickening thud. After he fell to the ground, Samson shook his head and looked toward Mark, a terrified and dazed look in his eyes when he saw the dark haired man stalking toward him. He then began to back away quickly while he was still on the ground, but he was too slow for Mark had reached him, grabbing him by his ankle and lifting him up to the air. With a low and feral growl, the infuriated man slammed the priest’s son into the brick wall, letting go of his ankle as he did. Samson screamed in pain when his body connected hard to the wall and once he fell to the ground, he clutched his ribs, feeling that some were broken. The larger man roughly grabs the back of the smaller man’s head and lifted him up with ease until his feet no longer touch the ground. He quickly slammed his face on the wall and started to grind his face against the bricks, not stopping until that part of the wall was covered in blood. As he did this, Mark relished the bloodcurdling screams that came from Samson, taking a sick and twisted kind of pleasure from his suffering. He had been wanting to do this to Stalin for all his life, but doing it to his so would do since it was his flesh and blood. He was not only getting some pay back for what his father did to him for so many years, he was also releasing his rage at Cara for cheating on him and at Samson for being the father of the child and taking Cara away from him. He finally released his grip on the young man, letting him drop to the ground, and watched as the blood continued to flow from the man’s now shredded face. Mark looked upon Samson with emotionless eyes that had a glint off bloodlust, showing that he didn’t care if the man died or not. The priest’s was still for a few moment, not making a sound, before he started to gasp for breath and roll onto his stomach, weakly trying to crawl away. Samson didn’t even make it a few inches away before Mark grabbed him by the leg and slowly pulled him towards him. Still bleeding profusely, Samson looked back at Mark, shaking his head weakly and tried to beg him to stop, but no words came out of his mouth. Using both hands, the larger man grabbed both above and below his knee and without a second thought, forced his leg to go the wrong way, thus breaking it. As the sickening crack of bone sounded, Samson screamed in agonizing pain before he let out a even louder one when Mark broke his other leg the same way. The dark haired man dropped his leg carelessly to the ground before calmly, yet threatening, toward Samson’s arm, not worrying about the younger man escaping now. He placed his boot the other man’s elbow and grabbed his arm before forcing it into the wrong direction, breaking it much like he did his legs. Once again, Samson let out a bone-chilling scream of pain as Mark broke both his arms, tears now pouring down his bloody face. Mark knew now the priest’s son was totally defenseless now, but to him, his job still wasn’t down. One more thing should complete it and he cared little if it killed the man or not. Kneeling down to one knee beside the younger man, Mark watched with emotionless eyes as Samson tried to get away from him, looking away from the dark haired man in fear. He roughly grabbed the boy’s chin and forced him to meet his gaze, seeing the pure terror in his blue orbs.

“Your father should have killed me when he had the chance.” he stated in a emotionless voice before using a technique that he had learned while he was on the road and something he hardly used before. Letting his hand run down from the other man’s chin to under his jaw, Mark placed his thumb on one side and his other fingers on the other, both where major veins were. Quickly applying hard pressure to the veins and pressing upward, Mark kept his eyes on the terrified man, watching and waiting until the other man slipped into unconsciousness. He had actually learned this technique from a martial arts master who had been a associate of his and it was the only one he wanted to learn, nothing more. He didn’t know the exact name of it, but he knew it had to do with the pressure points and it kill someone. He watched silently as the younger man’s eyes rolled into the back of his head and his breathing went shallow and the blood continue to run down his face, it glistening in the pale moonlight. He knew he had slipped into unconscious, but he wanted to kill him for what he and his father did to him and continued to apply pressure under his jaw, not hearing the footsteps coming closer from behind him.

angelofthenight

05-22-2009, 01:46 PM

Calvin Booth

Calvin had left Cara with the bartender. He felt rather bad about doing it but he wasn't sure he would be able to stay around and then not get looked at by the doctor that he was calling. Rebecca had given him the man's number in case he needed it for something. He never though he would but when he'd carried Cara in there he already had the card out to hand over to the man. Calvin could have used his cell phone but then that would have meant he'd have to stay and wait for him to get there and he was in mood to do that. The cut on his arm was superficial... he could stitch it up when he got home with the kit he kept under his bed. The bleeding had stopped and the sleeve of his long sleeved shirt was stiff with dried blood and sweat. Though his shoulder was throbbing his arm felt numb and he couldn't even move it... it hung uselessly at his side and he wondered momentarily how he was going to drive home. His car was manual but it wouldn't be very easy. He supposed he could call someone but that would be a pain.. who would be up this late at night.. for some he supposed it would considered this early in the morning... needless to say he wanted to get to his car... because there he was certain he got cell phone service.

He decided one again to cut through the alleyways. He knew that most people would have taken what had happened as a lesson and probably never do it again but Calvin was like most people. He viewed what had happened as something that was supposed to happen. It was his job to protect people like Cara from the pig of a man that he'd left handcuffed tot he storm drain. He wondered if he should go and see what had become of him if Mark had found him. At that moment a scream filled the air... and blood curdling scream that made the hair on the back of Calvin's neck stand on end. He turned in the direction where he'd left the man.. already sure he knew what his fate was.. from the sound of it Mark had already found him. Another scream and Calvin, against his will remembered hearing those screams in the underground cell in Iraq. His men had screamed like that.. one particularly had literally begged to be killed as they nailed his tongue to a board... Calvin remembered that one... he remembered seeing the man as he was thrown into the cell.. and he remembered trying to protect him when the Iraqi soldiers tried to glean more information from him.. when Calvin had come out of his unconscious state the man was dead... and Calvin had sat there... in that spot... the ceiling was so low that a man like Calvin couldn't stand up straight... usually when they were taken to the 'other room' young boys were sent to get them... and Calvin could never bring himself to fight the youth that had to be no older then ten or eleven...

Another scream pierced the air and Calvin picked up his pace a little.. how many screams had he heard that had been mingled with his memories. Whatever was being done to the man he was suffering and Calvin felt a strange satisfaction overwhelm him. Calvin tuned the corner and entered the alley where he'd left the man. Then he saw Mark, hunched over to the collapsed figure and Calvin knew without even walking over there that Mark was intent on killing the man. Suddenly Calvin's own feeling of loath came to him and he recalled how badly he'd wanted to kill him at one point.. yet he probably wouldn't have done it... he had a hard enough time pulling the trigger when it was an order or when his life was threatened.. to do it deliberately because the man had hurt someone he knew just seemed barbaric.. it wasn't his place to punish him... and yet Calvin knew for a fact that if someone tried to hurt Rebecca or Parker he would not hesitate... the scar on his chest from the bullet he'd taken for his partner was evidence of that... the men he had killed who had tried to take her revealed that too... but those were the only people he would willingly kill for... the only people that he would not hesitate for...

Calvin knew what Mark was doing even before he was close enough to see. The big man had put the smaller man in a coma and Calvin knew that he would be in pain the rest of his life.. the coma this man was in was not complete... he may look like he's asleep but he was in pain and Calvin knew Mark would rather have him be in pain the rest of his life then kill him now... it was to quick.. surely Mark realized that. "You know any more and you're going to kill him..." he said gravely... standing a good enough distance from Mark that he would be able to move and Mark tried to attack him. "If you stop now he'll be in pain the rest of his life... he deserves that... death would be a blessing to him..." Calvin told him... wondering if he sounded just as heartless as he felt. "Your wife Mark.. she's in pretty bad shape... a doctor should be seeing to her now... but I couldn't stay... I didn't want to deal with questions..." he explained with a shrug of only one shoulder since his left one was useless. "She was asking or you... the whole time I was carrying her she called your name..." he told him, knowing that Mark was distraught and enraged... but Calvin hoped that the big man would have the sense to go be with someone who loved him... it helped in these kind of situations.

Black Mask

05-23-2009, 01:27 AM

Mark Blaze

He was so close to what he had been wanting to do for some many years to Samson’s father, only a minute or to left until he reached toward his ultimate goal. Even though it was just Samson, it was just as satisfying to the larger man, knowing that he would take out someone of Stalin’s own flesh and blood. Dementis’ voice reverberated throughout his mind, telling him to finish him, to hold nothing back and make him pay for what both his father and he did to him, and that was what he was going to do. In the past, he had swore not to become a murderer, but since he had nothing to live for now and had nothing to lose, he was going to do what his darker side wanted to do, kill him. The dark haired man didn’t care for what consequences that laid ahead of him with the blood of the priest’s son on his hands, he didn’t care if he was sent to prison to rot, he didn’t care about anything anymore. Kneeling down next to the terrified man, Mark told him in a emotionless voice that his father should have killed him when he had the chance before pressing down and upward on the pressure points on Samson’s neck. He watched with soulless eyes fell into a coma from the pain and him putting pressure on that part of his neck, but the larger man continued to apply hard pressure on his neck despite this fact. He was so intent on killing the younger man that he didn’t hear the footsteps come from behind him and stop a few feet away. When the officer’s voice reached his ear, Mark merely looked over his shoulder, his grey green eyes empty and lifeless, a gaze that perhaps the officer never saw before.

"You know any more and you're going to kill him..." the other man said, but the dark haired man didn’t care if he killed the blonde haired man, "If you stop now he'll be in pain the rest of his life... he deserves that... death would be a blessing to him..." he said, showing his more heartless side and catching Mark slightly off guard, but not enough for it to show in his eyes, and taking his suggest into consideration, "Your wife Mark.. she's in pretty bad shape... a doctor should be seeing to her now... but I couldn't stay... I didn't want to deal with questions..." he shrugged one shoulder as if the other one had gotten injured somehow, "She was asking or you... the whole time I was carrying her she called your name..." he explained. Looking back at the unconscious man without saying a word, Mark thought over what Calvin had said. He did have a point, death was far too merciful for Samson after what he and Stalin did to ruin his life. Yet he had to wonder where this more heartless side of the cop came from. Did this young man do something that made Officer Booth mad. Yet where ever it came from, Mark actually kinda like this new side of Calvin. After a few moments of thinking over, Mark finally released his hold on Samson and stood to his full height, turning around afterwards. He looked down at Calvin with the same dead gaze he had before and crossed his muscular arms in front of him, ready to leave at any moment, but not where Calvin thought.

“Why should I care? She cheated on me, Booth, and ripped my heart to shreds. I thought she loved me, but she doesn’t, not at all. I loved her and she said she loved me, but she betrayed me by going behind my back with a other man, with him!” he spat the last word as he gestured toward Samson, “Don’t you see Booth? She lied to me, she doesn’t love me, in fact, she’s carrying his child! So tell me why I should care what happens to her now when she turned her back on me?!” he snarled venomously, glaring harshly at the officer.

angelofthenight

05-23-2009, 05:41 PM

Calvin Booth

Mark was in pain... that much was obvious. Calvin knew what that pain felt like for he'd seen the very look in his own eyes the night Taressa had refused ot marry him and then left to go heaven only knew where. Life had seemed to end as he knew it. He'd been studying for finals but that suddenly took a back seat as grief and feeling of betrayal filled him. What had he done? What had happened that would make her feel that he couldn't provide for her and their unborn baby? He'd grown used to the idea of becoming a father, writing in tot he the chief of staff and telling him that he coudln't come back to the rangers becasue he had a family. Instead he wrote a letter begging to coem back, to be sent anywhere as long as he didn't have to be on American soil for a long time. So he'd been sent to Northern Korea, there he repressed the happy memories of Taressa by replacing them with things that one only saw in hideious nightmares. He'd lost a shell of himself there, a shell that he'd done so he could survive college life. It was gone, and he told himself that hsi feelings for Taressa were gone to, for all he knew she had gotten rid of the baby but then she had to go and show up in Paris and show him his son, and everything changed... now he was living with her again and though he loved every moment with his son he knew that he and Taressa were growing further and further apart...

Calvin tried to tell Mark that the woman he loved wasn't in the best condition... hoping that it woudl get through to hima nd he woudl stop trying to kill the man that was still handcuffed to the storm grate despite his broken arms and legs. The unconscious man's chest rose and fell eradically and Calvin wondered if he would live much longer even if they were able to get him to a hospital and his vitals stable. He hoped that by telling Mark of Cara that the man would go to her... love was a powerful thing.. it made people do things that normally they would never think about doing... like taking a bullet for someone... he'd taken a bullet for his partner while in New York because he'd promised he'd protect her, and at that moment it was the only solution hat presented itself... still they'd gotten her and he'd snuck out of the hospital, threatened her imprisoned brother and gotten her back... but it was what you did for those you loved.. it was what he did for his partner... when love ran deep enough no matter what they did, said, or acted like it didn't matter to you because in your eyes they're perfect... and his eyes his partner was perfect... if Mark felt a fraction for Cara what Calvin felt for Rebecca the man would alredy be up and running to her.. but he wasn't.. he stil stood there glaring down at the man.

Finally Mark looked over at the cop and Calvin waitd in silence, staying in the shadows so Mark woudlnt' see the weakness that his lifeless arm caused him.. the man could decide that he didn't want to hear what Calvin had to say and decide that the cop deserved the same fate as the man that was now in a coma. Finallly Mark released the hold he'd had on the man and straigthened to his full height, towering over Calvin's hieght of 6' 1''. Calvin looked up at himw ithout fear as he crossed his arms and looked down at the cop with an empty gaze. The agent had never been afraid of the big man in front of him. He was former sniper and FBI agent... things that scared him were no longer related to people. He todl Mark that Cara had been asking for him the whole time athat he'd carried her to the bar, which was the the truth.. every tim eshe'd muttered his name Calvin had felt guilt overtake him because he knew that it should be her husband carrying her to a doctor.. not him. “Why should I care? She cheated on me, Booth, and ripped my heart to shreds. I thought she loved me, but she doesn’t, not at all. I loved her and she said she loved me, but she betrayed me by going behind my back with a other man, with him!” he spat the last word as he gestured toward Samson and Calvin raised an eyebrow at this... cheated on him? He honestly thought the girl could cheat on him with that pig of a man? “Don’t you see Booth? She lied to me, she doesn’t love me, in fact, she’s carrying his child! So tell me why I should care what happens to her now when she turned her back on me?!” he said and Calvin suddenly understood. He thougth she had cheated on him and the baby was Samsons.. he could see why Mark was upset.

"Do you have proof that the baby is his?" Calvin asked firmly, still believing that Cara would never cheat on Mark.. the way she had protected him at the cafe when they'd first met was testament to that. "You honestly think that Cara would do something like that.... she loves you... its obvious..." he trialed, hoping that some how he was getting through to Mark but knowing that he owuld need hard solid proof that the baby was hi and not the other man's. He knew then he woudl have to appeal to Mark's sadistic side.. that he would have to say something that would make him want to go for the wrong reason.. but what to say. Taking a breath, and really not being able to compeltely believe he was saying it he muttered. "If you hate her so much then go just to make sure the baby is dead.. to make sure that his child.." he motioend to Samson. "Will never come into this world..." he suggested... knowing that it was a twisted way of looking at it but Calvin was sure that if he coudl just ge teh man there that everything would be okay.. his gut told him so and Calvin had always followed his gut. "and if nothing else go to say goodbye before you leave..." he suggested as well and Calvin waited to see if Mark would listen to him.. or if he woudd turn the other way and leave... as the cop coudl see he wanted to do.

Black Mask

05-30-2009, 02:08 AM

Mark Blaze

When he heard the officer’s voice pierce through the darkness, Mark merely looked over his shoulder with a dead gaze, not removing his gloved hand from the young man’s neck. Keeping within the shadows and a safe distance away, Calvin told him that if he held Samson any longer like that, that he would kill him. The look on his face told him that he didn’t really care if the man lived or not nor did he care what happened with himself even if it meant him going to prison. Since he had figured out that Cara had betrayed him, he had nothing else to live for and he had actually lost the will to live. When officer Booth told him that if he would let him live that he would be in pain for the rest of his life and showing his more heartless side, it slight caught the larger man off guard but he did not show it as he considered what the other man had said. He had been rather surprised by his words, showing him a side that he never thought this cop had. The officer also told him that when had taken Cara to get some help, she had been called his name the entire time. Without a word and not showing his displeasure of hearing her name, the dark haired man looked back at the unconscious man, who’s face was still bleeding profusely. As he continued to gaze at Samson with emotionless eyes, Mark thought over what Calvin had said, seeing that he did have a point. After what his father did to him and what he had said to him, death was far too merciful for him. Yet he had to wonder where this more heartless side of the cop came from. Did this young man do something that made Officer Booth mad? Yet where ever it came from, Mark actually kinda like this new side of Calvin because it was like himself. After a few moments of thinking over, Mark finally released his hold on Samson and stood to his full height, turning around to send the soulless gaze down at Calvin.. He crossed his muscular arms in front of him, ready to leave at any moment to where ever he wished to get away from everyone. In a callous voice, the larger man questioned him why should he care because the young female had cheated on him with Samson. He also told that she had lied to him and asked him why should care what happened to her when it was clear she didn’t care about him. He Calvin could tell he was in pain and he didn’t like that one bit, it just made him even more angrier. Realization shinned in Booth’s eyes and he began to speak.

"Do you have proof that the baby is his? You honestly think that Cara would do something like that.... she loves you... its obvious..." his voice trailed off for a moment, trying to get the larger man to believe, but he was failing miserably, "If you hate her so much then go just to make sure the baby is dead.. to make sure that his child.. will never come into this world... and if nothing else go to say goodbye before you leave..." he said in a quiet voice. Keeping a steady cold gaze on the other man, Mark once more thought over his words. Though it sounded tempting to kill the baby to make sure the Stalin bloodline ended, he knew he couldn’t do it, but he knew his darker side would be more than happy to do so. He himself could never hurt a child on purpose not, he would even hate himself if he hurt a child in a fit of rage. Though that fact was true, he did not want the officer to know so his face remained emotionless. After a few moments of thinking, Mark unfolded his arms with a slight nod.

“Fine, I’ll go, but not because of your reasons.” he stated in a lowly voice and made his way past Calvin, but he stopped before he left the alleyway, keeping his back toward the cop, “And as for proof, the doctor said the child was three months. Three months ago Cara went to a place where I would never go again and he was the only person she had became friends with there. You should be able to figure out from there.” With those words said, Mark walked out the alleyway and toward Nothing Special, to see Cara for one last time.

OOC: Mark has left the scene. BIC:

WanderingChild<3

08-12-2009, 08:03 AM

Rebecca Cross (http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ouC92wvILSw/SGJm5RRBr6I/AAAAAAAAByQ/CmE1aFS7HPY/s400/emily-deschanel-picture-1.jpg)

Rebecca had been on patrol when she had gotten a call that there had been another murder. It was one of the alleyways next to Nothing Special, and as she approached the crime scene, stepping under the yellow tape, she felt like she had already done this before. The murder. Nothing Special. A young girl. Of course she had just gotten back to the Department, but the last scene she was at, she could have sworn it was almost like a replica of this. The Department informed her when she had returned that they hadn't caught the murderer, and it was pathetic, but it somewhat boosted her confidence; perhaps even made it cocky. They needed their Detective Cross.

"Remember that last murder at Nothing Special?" The Chief of Detective walked up to her, his plump belly rolling along with him. It was disgusting to look at, but Rebecca had learned to look from the waist up when she was speaking with him. She made no flinch or the question didn't cross her features; Rebecca stared coldly at the scene before her, watching as they zipped the body up. A strand of blonde hair straying and being left caught in between. The Chief, knowing what this meant, shook his head, staring at the scene too. "Of course you already figured it out by now." He murmured, sliding his hands into his pockets. "One more murder and this sonofa***** is going to be a serial killer." He flinched at his own words; Rebecca grimaced, but not so outwardly. Serial killer. Someone who kills just for the hell of it; no puzzles to put together, no connections. Just killing. One of the scariest.

"Not if I can help it..." Rebecca said to him, watching as the ambulance road off- their signals did not blare.

Looking over at her, his eyebrows raised, the Chief took a step toward her. "You alright to take this investigation?" Not wanting to offend, he caught himself. "Not that you couldn't take it, you're the best, but-"

"Leave the paperwork on my desk." Rebecca interrupted. She knew what he meant. Everyone wondered why she had left so suddenly, so rash the way she did, and they had been treating her like some dainty China dish. She hated it. It drove her absolutely insane. With everything going on in her life, she needed this. She needed the work, the papers, the investigating, the adreniline back.

He patted her shoulder before leaving. "Welcome home, Cross."

A shiver ran up Rebecca's spine as she was left alone by the patrol car, watching as they began brushing down things, looking for fingerprints and bagging any evidence. Something felt abnormal about this; just not right, but she couldn't put her finger on it ... yet.

Belle Ballerine

08-12-2009, 08:19 AM

Jax Azzor (http://spotlightinternational.com/content/images/hugh_jackman.jpg)

Never had he felt so accomplished, so complete. "Detective Cross..." The name rolled off the tip of his tongue, the name feeling like he was meant to say it; that she was meant to be with him. Where had she gone? Jax had gone absolutely insane. She had vanished without a trace; she had managed to get away, and now he was determined to keep a watchful eye. This murder. This beautiful scene he had created with his own two hands had brought them back together again. If this is what it took, this is how it would be. It was entertaining to watch her face studying the scene, analyzing it, no doubt. Rebecca Cross was very tactful and professional in that manner. What she didn't know, is that the beauty had created this herself. She murdered someone. She was the cause of this. It was erotic and lovely. The game had just begun, and Jax was all the more determined and ready.

Watching as the Chief left, Jax made his way through the scene, no one paying attention to him. Where a determined and serious look- no one pays attention. Approaching the patrol car, he leaned against the driver's door, folding his arms, his eyes twinkling with amusement, as he released a dark cackle from behind her, shaking his head with a sigh. "Been here for only a couple days, and already the Detective has her work cut out for her." He was excited now; excited because he was so near to her. All she needed to do was turn around, and the games would begin.

WanderingChild<3

08-12-2009, 06:09 PM

Rebecca Cross

Rebecca's eyes never left the scene, observing carefully what evidence was being set in the bags, the placement of where the body had been left, the wounds to her face. Usually Detectives would need to be up close and personal for this, but not her. It was a better tactic, to observe from the outside eye. She stood still, her arms folded, nothing breaking her concentration until... until a muffled cackle came from behind her.

"Been here for only a couple days, and already the Detective has her work cut out for her."

Startled by the manly, yet somewhat familiar voice, Rebecca spun around to meet- him. How could she have forgotten? There he stood, like an instant replay of last time, leaning up against her car, a half smirk painted on his face. He was wildly attractive and exotic looking- it drove her absolutely crazy. Men like him shouldn't be sexy. It should be some new rule. Jax Azzor; she had looked his profile up right when she had gotten back to the Deparment last time. It was only a month or so ago that she had him nailed up against the wall, threatening to, well, kick his ass and send his ass to contempt, but then he had told her of the murder. Wait, did he know about this one too? Right now, that wasn't her main concern, though it should have been. What she was wondering was, what was he doing here?

Rebecca looked around frantically to make sure no one was watching her. He shouldn't have been there. Darting at him, she snarled. "What in the hell are you doing here?" She spat, grabbing ahold of his arm, and throwing him up against the car, standing in front of him. "I thought I told you never to come near me, or my scenes ever again," She took in a step, gritting her teeth. "or I will have you in jail."

Belle Ballerine

08-13-2009, 07:57 AM

Jax Azzor

Detective Rebecca Cross spun around, her shoulders slightly jumping from being somewhat startled. Her hair whipped in the breeze, her stance taking an already defensive one, and her green entrancing eyes meeting with his. That's when Jax had almost lost his breath. He had missed her. He wondered for a moment if she would remember him, but then again, how could she have forgotten? He had left quite the impression, and it wouldn't be a surprise if she had looked him straight away after their encounter. Her eyes looked suddenly paranoid and frantic. Oh yes, she remembered him. Jax licked his lips, not being able to slightly grin, as she darted from her standing position, looking left and right. "What in the hell are you doing here?" She was angry and shocked. He was loving every bit of it. It was like watching apart of his favorite sitcom.

When she aggressively grabbed ahold of his arm, throwing him against the side of the car, Jax had never been so turned on before in his life. He crookedly smirked over at her, his hands against the car at his sides. She, on the other hand, had her arms crossed. Oh, the body language. "I thought I told you never to come near me, or my scenes ever again-" She inched closer, his eyes gazed up and down her for a moment, enjoying it all too much. "Or I will have you in jail." Rebecca Cross wasn't lying; she was one of those badass cops that meant every word she said. Yet, Jax doubted that he would get himself to that point with her. See, he was at the pressing her buttons phase, and now it was the charming phase. "I guess this is the part where I start sobbing, drop down on my knees, and beg for mercy, correct?" He asked in a mocking tone of innocence, raising his eyebrows at her.

The Australian took a bold step forward, his eyes lowering down at hers with the same intensity hers held, only with a more humorous and flirtatious flair. "Though, I would go down on my knees for you," He purred, leaving absolutely no space in between them now- his eyes turned down completely serious, enjoying the proximity, but now it was business. He wasn't going to be pushed around by her; though he somewhat enjoyed it. "This is not your scene Detective Cross. Oh no... It's the dead little blondie's scene." The scene that he had created and the scene that she had caused.

Chuckling with disgust, he took a few steps back, pointing at her. "See, that's what bugs me about you cops," He began, going into one of his tangents, which he did quite often. Putting a hand on the car, he leaned against it, nodding out into the scene. "Always saying it's your scene, your case, your bla bla bla. No. No it's not." Jax looked over at Rebecca, raising a brow, half shrugging. "It's theirs Miss Cross. You just can't bluntly label someone's death a scene."

Now she will think he has some depth. Oh, Jax was good.

MystMoonstruck

10-20-2009, 08:04 AM

Easy "Cat" Tanner

So, prowling had won out tonight, and here he was, back on the bad side of the city, alone in the dark~for now. Easy shivered as he leaned against the brick wall, taking typical hustler's pose: right foot flat against the wall, pelvis thrust forward, arching his back, thumbs hooked in the pockets of tight, tattered jeans, purchased for a decent price through the local "black market", his Slut Puppies T-shirt, still managing to stay together though more battered each time he wore it, a black leather jacket that had started life before he was born, and a new pair of black Adidas. What a joke he was: a too-old boychick wearing more money than most hustlers could hope to make during many nights on the streets! But, that wasn't sending him home, was it? He was standing here hoping for some sort of miracle: someone like Devlon Deemer, Jules Roland, or even Rafe Chancery.

He had tried to stay home. Wandering around Sanctuary had made him increasingly antsy, and he had been unable to settle on doing anything~not violin, piano, sketching or anything else. He had paced like a caged panther, trailed much of the way by the large, black cat Phantom had turned into, now neutered so that he wouldn't wander as his (supposed) master did. It had seemed like a horrible betrayal to Easy, when he arranged for the surgery on advice he had received via a note from Jamil Mehmet, delivered by one of the "Mehmet Men", as Iah Raksha had dubbed them. It had given him an eerie feeling, realizing that what transpired in Sanctuary must not go unobserved. Just how much did they know and see? He wondered if he was being "tailed" anymore since Calvin Booth claimed to have ceased working for the men who amounted to his owners though he now told people that they were his patrons, a word borrowed from his conversation with Cara Andovea. "Patron" sounded much better than what their actual relationship was.

It was a chilly, drizzly night, meaning most people were sensible enough to be inside, whether a bar, home or, if they were lucky, a room for the night. He had positioned himself close to the rundown motel that was noted for such activity though he could have gone to Nothing Special, where he kept a room upstairs. The few drifters who had taken a look at him seemed to have somewhere else to be or hadn't won his interest, departing after his snarled "Get lost!", which, though in English, seemed to get his point across.

Then, as he was staring longingly across the street at the shelter of the motel, a heavy hand landed on his shoulder, gripping with painful strength, causing his head to snap to the side so sharply that he winced from the additional jolt of pain. The man was big, well over 6 feet, dressed as shabbily as could be expected in this end of town~a denizen, not a visitor. His face was shadowed, but the touch told the youth that there could be only a scowl there and cruel eyes, an image that caused him to shiver convulsively as his right foot slid down to rest on the sidewalk. A slight movement away told him that he was caught in an unyielding grip. If he decided to run, he'd have little hope of breaking free. The pressure increased, and he bit at his lower lip, yet a whimper escaped that angered him but made the big man laugh throatily, a sound as sepulchral as Mark Blaze or that entity he claimed possessed him. Only, that man would never have approached him with this one's intent. A rumbling voice asked him something in French, making him think once again that he needed to learn some very essential words of the language if he was going to ply this trade. After all, the guy could be asking him, "How much?" or if he had a specialty or maybe even telling him that he was about to crush his shoulder. When he feared that was inevitable and that he would have to cry out from the pain, he was released. Rubbing his shoulder, Easy remained silent, his golden gaze wary, doubting that the man saw him anymore more clearly, perhaps a pale face against the darkness. Wide-eyed, he likely looked much younger than in daylight, which suited him. If he could, he would live his life in the shadows, but his new life had nearly as strong and painful a hold on him as this man had only moments before.

"Changed my mind," Easy muttered, taking his first step away but finding himself restrained by a huge hand that had engulfed a good share of his upper left arm so unexpectedly and painfully that he did cry out this time. The deep laugh came again, the cruelty in it unmistakable. In the not-too-distant past, he would have melted, rendered incapable of resisting, overwhelmed by the threat. To his surprise, he said with more force, "I said I changed my mind! I said NO!" It came out so loudly that he knew he startled the man as much as himself. In a swift motion, his free hand slipped into his jacket pocket, emerging with the butterfly knife that had been a longtime companion, snapping it open in its almost-musical fashion. Being left-handed, he was at a definite disadvantage, and his clumsiness betrayed that fact as he tried to wield the blade in a convincing way. Southpawed, he might have had a chance. "NO!" he yelled with all of the strength in him, only to have the knife dashed from his grasp, the big hand slapping him upside the head with such strength that he saw those proverbial stars, sparks in the darkness. Bowing his head, he flung his right arm around it to protect himself from anymore blows, so he never saw the fist coming at his unprotected belly.

OOC: Hmmm... I did not expect that! Think that's dramatic enough to get a helpful response from Rachel? BIC:

witch

10-20-2009, 11:59 AM

Rachel Loucellan (http://i76.photobucket.com/albums/j32/witch016/Story%20Photos/her1.jpg)

The run down side of town where empty beer bottles littered the street, broken glass crushing under heavy biker boots and the air... well lets just say it made the hair on your neck stand up.

Rachel was used to these kind of places the run down, 'bad side' of town still, that didn't mean she liked it.

With no classes for the day and wanting a chance to explore the darker side of Paris Angel Loucellan had put on her dark wig, dressed in nothing but black and hit the road her gun once again ever present so far everything was quite as she walked through the shadows her trained eyes just looking for trouble.

It was only when she rounded a corner that she thought she heard someone yelling out in fear and pain.

"I said I changed my mind! I said NO!"

She started off at a sprint her ears picking up on the way to go the darkness her friend at this moment for it would give her the element of surprise if she had to jump into action, rounding another corner it become clear she would have to. as another.

"NO!"

Was screamed into the night.

A gleaming flash court her eye as the sound of metal hit the ground a grone coming from a fallen form as a big tough guy took out his anger, showing strength this was one time Rachel was glade her gun was loaded.

Walking out from the shadows she slowly made her way over to the thug who was still kicking and beating a smaller male. With a smug look on her face she tapped the guys shoulder.

"Why don't you pick on someone your own size."

The guy turned around then a smile on his face as he looked her up and down, a mistake he'd soon regret.

"And would that be you honey for I can think of something better to do with you."

"Come on then."

As soon as the guys hand went for her shoulder Rachel took the advantage taking hold of his wrist and flipping him so that he landed on the ground with a thud.

"Why is it you guys always think a pretty guy can't defend herself?"

She straddled the guy then placing her weight down on him as she quickly felt him trying to get to his feet.

"You're not going anywhere."

Sadly she was mistaken for when she heard a grone from the smaller male her eyes darted to the side the bigger male taking advantage of this and taking her gun, pushing her backward so she now lay on her back.

"Now baby where was I? oh yeah you where about to make my night."

"How about I make you black and blue instead?"

Quickly the trained fighter took over doing a kip up before swatting to the ground and preforming a spinning heel kick which set the guy back on the ground this time she took out her hand cuffs and cuffed him up.

"Tell me are you still having a good night?"

She made him get up then and cuffed the other end of her cuffs to a broken street light to then frisk the guy over before turning and walking over to the victim.

"Hey there hope you're not one of those guys who thinks less of himself because he was saved by a girl. You okay? My names Rachel I'm a cop."

MystMoonstruck

10-21-2009, 08:44 AM

OOC: So, the guy speaks English after all? I figured he was speaking French to Easy, who wouldn't have a clue what he is saying. I guess we can have him speaking English to Rachel. However, Easy was still upright, not on the ground, with a punch aimed at his stomach. I hope it's OK if I edit that a bit, as I figured she'd get there before the punch landed. Maybe I'm wrong. Let me know, and I'll change it. BIC:

Easy "Cat" Tanner

Before the potentially body-breaking blow could land, Easy heard a woman's voice: "Why don't you pick on someone your own size." Oh boy... Now, two of them were going to get pounded into the pavement because he couldn't be cowardly enough to make a break for it if the guy went after the brassy lady. Could he? Besides, how big could she be?! Instead of battering the youth at hand, the big man made a move that caused Easy to dare taking a peek under this sheltering arm, noting that the man's attention now was on the black-clad woman. Relinquishing his hold on Easy, the man apparently had decided that he saw prey he liked better, and Easy had the fleeting image of himself 1) leaping upon the broad back, 2) encircling the thick neck with his arms and 3) knowing he didn't stand a chance in hell of managing either 1) or 2). So, he stood quietly wary, braced to run in whatever direction seemed best at the moment.

"And would that be you, honey? English! So, the guy had been holding out on him, pretending not to understand him! But, the thug wasn't done: "For I can think of something better to do with you." So, she was the rescuer and competition? Not that he wanted this guy's amorous attentions... Very likely, she didn't either.

"Come on then," she challenged him, at which point, the two became combatants, with Easy withdrawing to just around the corner of the building, peering around to check out the outcome, figuring that he should at least help what was left of the woman to the nearby motel or some other shelter~if the guy left anything of her. "Why is it you guys always think a pretty girl can't defend herself?" OK~so~she could! Easy was dazed to see her take out the man in what had to be record time, making Easy wonder if Paris knew there was some sort of superhero patroling its badness. "You're not going anywhere."

Easy began emerging from hiding, bumping his aching shoulder against the wall, a moan escaping him and distracting her. It was all the man needed to make an escape attempt, quickly gaining the upper hand, confident enough to growl, "Now baby where was I? Oh yeah you where about to make my night."

How fickle! Easy mused, unsure as to what he should and could do about this. The image of leaping-on-back returned again, only to be dashed away as the woman proved to be down but not out.

"How about I make you black and blue instead?" Feeling as if he had tumbled onto a movie set or into some action movie come to life, a wide-eyed Easy watched the woman do some moves he had seen in several of those action films, down to subduing and cuffing, before demanding, "Tell me are you still having a good night?" With seemingly little effort, she soon had the man on his feet, at which time the youth saw that his hands were not cuffed together, making him wonder if they wouldn't fit over the formidable limbs. Instead, she latched the other cuff around a pole that should have been a streetlight had the bulb survived this neighborhood. After frisking the man, she turned and headed Easy's way, causing the youth to take several backward steps, fearing that she had another pair of cuffs for him.

"Hey there hope you're not one of those guys who thinks less of himself because he was saved by a girl. You okay? My name's Rachel I'm a cop."

He had guessed the cop thing though she was dressed like none he had seen. Wait! She was probably one of those undercover cops! But, she wasn't going to pass as a hooker. Or, maybe they looked different in this part of town. He had to admit that he hadn't paid much attention to the working girls around here.

"Yeah. Yeah. I'm OK." Rubbing his aching left shoulder with his right hand, he winced, suddenly wondering how much trouble he was going to have playing. Would they believe a bad fall? With the size of the bruises, he might be able to pull off that lie. "Well, sort of OK," he amended. "He sorta got the wrong idea. Must've been waitin' for a friend the wrong place." With luck, he wouldn't look like a hustler to her either, just a lost boy looking for a friend. "Don't know where she is," he pushed on, guiding them away from the possibility of him being a boychick who had run into the wrong hawk. He was still puzzled why he had decided to turn down the brute. 'Cause you're turnin' into a wimp and a woose, Cat! Kittycat! he sneered. "Maybe I'm on the wrong street~or..." He looked one way for a long moment then the other, noting the eerie stillness and realizing how fortunate he must have been to have found a rescuer.

"Look... He just misunderstood, OK? I was waitin' for a friend, and~and... He wasn't tryin' to rob me or nothin'. Why don't you let him go? He wouldn't have jumped you if you hadn't..." He stopped, sighing heavily, head bowed and studying the sidewalk, where he had begun scuffing at the concrete, putting wear and tear on the new shoes. It was a nervous habit he had never gotten away from, as all of his shoes could attest. "Maybe he had too much to drink. You're not gonna haul him in, are you? Rachel?" he added, as if it might help. He felt guilty for the man's predicament. Easy knew he had been advertising, and the man just happened to try to take him up on the offer. "Yeah, he'd probably hit me a few times. Maybe I could've bribed him. I mean... I got money on me~plenty of cash." It was a good idea to carry some euros so that, if he was stopped and questioned, he could prove his solvency. Me? A hustler? You must be mistaken, sir~or madam. I'm a poor, lost, little Kittycat. At that thought, he widened his eyes and raised his head, a mournful look on his pale, beautiful face, the golden-brown eyes rather like those big-eyed waifs in paintings he used to see in second-hand shops, pictures that were popular in the Sixties he had been told.

OOC: You might know the paintings Easy is referring to, as they were popular into the mid-Seventies and likely show up places like ebay now: http://besmirched.tripod.com/walter.html Everyone I knew back then, including me, owned some of these prints. Heck! I might still have a few stuck in drawers! BIC:

witch

10-22-2009, 04:44 AM

Rachel Loucellan

She had been called 'the black window' when she was training true names not being used the funny thing was the black window spider was a cover name in and of itself... maybe that was why people used it on her.

Dressed in nothing but black Rachel would have been hard to see, she could of kept watch of the two males and they not even know she was there but when one of the guys was beating the other guy it was not something she could stand, as a cop, as a women, or a person.

She had jumped into action and gotten under thought (as always) only to prove the guy wrong and cuff him to a broken street light now letting her quest for answers be carried out, although, there was one question she needed answered before all others to which the reply was:

"Yeah. Yeah. I'm OK."

Angel raised a questioning brow as the young man seemed to rub at his shoulder, a wince making her think the bigger guy had coursed him some pain making her wonder just how much he'd inflict if she hadn't steeped in. The look on her face seemed to tell the younger male that she didn't believe him, why was it even when beaten men still seemed hell bent in keeping their pride? She had seen a guy almost bleed to death once because of that.

She had been training with swords, fencing, and had been put up against one of the best students the swords being real, no protective clothing save for a protective vest and mask leaving legs and arms free for attack she had gone for a strike to the lower body the other guy had tried to block, spinning her sword seeming to miss. To Angel she had felt like she had landed the blow cutting open his side however at the time he had said she had missed no blood showing at that time and therefore the match had gone on until she had won.

The student being male and one of the best had not wanted to let on that she had indeed landed the blow, cut him open and so he had bleed only to be found out when he had passed out when he was put up against her again.

"Well, sort of OK,"

Finally, she said to herself though now she wondered if he had opened up by choice or if he knew she saw the pain he was in.

"He sorta got the wrong idea. Must've been waitin' for a friend the wrong place."

Rachel said nothing, she found that even with a raised brow and an otherwise blank face people slipped their hearts out, broke under the pressure of just being with a cop.

"Don't know where she is, Maybe I'm on the wrong street~or..."

Now she could tell that last part was a lie, the wheels in her head busy trying to put two and two together. Was this young guy here by mistake or was he here for the wrong reasons? His words seemed to imply the later. Angel knew that hookers hung out on this side of town, the young she had cuffed asking if she was looking for a good time (more of less) and hadn't the male before her said he may of gotten the wrong idea?

"Look... He just misunderstood, OK? I was waitin' for a friend, and~and... He wasn't tryin' to rob me or nothin'. Why don't you let him go? He wouldn't have jumped you if you hadn't..."

A look of fire shoot into Rachel's eyes "hadn't what? Been doing my job?" she almost dared him to challenge, it lest he seemed bright enough not to do that instead bowing his head.

"Maybe he had too much to drink. You're not gonna haul him in, are you? Rachel?"

She glanced over at the cuffed man still trying to get free making a smile spread to her lips.

"Yeah, he'd probably hit me a few times. Maybe I could've bribed him. I mean... I got money on me~plenty of cash."

"Seems like you're just biging yourself into a beep hole there." she said at last finally speaking and maybe braking some of the tension. "As for letting him go, is that what other cops around her do? Sorry but I'm taking him in for questioning just like I might with you. I heard you say you had changed your mind, tell me does that mean what I think it means? Are you selling yourself?"

MystMoonstruck

10-22-2009, 06:46 AM

Easy "Cat" Tanner

You never knew, when around a cop, just how savvy he or she was or just how gung ho. From the looks the woman was giving him, he wasn't certain if his story was going over. Maybe he could make a run for it since she already had to deal with one person~though securing him to a lamppost meant she had her hands free to nab a certain young Alleycat who did not care for the thought of having a police record. The thought sent his heart fluttering, and he began feeling fearful that he was caught in more of a mess than he could handle without the help of his "patrons".

"Seems like you're just digging yourself into a deep hole there," lady cop said. "As for letting him go, is that what other cops around here do?" He had to shrug at that because, to say he had seen no police around here would be to admit that he was familiar with this part of town. Oh no... He was not going to fall into that trap, so he shrugged noncommitally, as if he was a poor, lost kid who hadn't a clue what police did or did not do. "Sorry but I'm taking him in for questioning just like I might with you," At those words, he could swear that his heart and stomach plummeted through his body and splatted on the sidewalk~a truly disgusting image. The fear in his tawny eyes was real, and he needed that look of fright because an innocent boy certainly would have it. Alleycat would have been bluster and wheedling, anything to get out of a tight situation. "I heard you say you had changed your mind, tell me does that mean what I think it means? Are you selling yourself?"

Easy's ivory face approached ghostly pallor as he realized that she had heard his shouted words. Full lips parted in a gasp, and he fell back another step as a fist seemed to tighten around his heart, the sensation making it difficult to take a breath.

"S-sell~m-myself? Wha..." Calling upon every bit of acting skills he had used throughout his life, he blinked rapidly, not needing to reach for tears, feeling them well up then burn their way down his cheeks. "N-no." A moment later, he shook his head negatively and persistently, as if repetition would drive home his confusion and innocence. "M-my friends... They~they bet me I wouldn't come down here and~and..." He hesitated, swallowing hard, which was not pretense as he truly was frightened. California Cat had nothing much to lose if he was caught doing something illegal. Easy Tanner of Paris had responsibilities and a step toward a respectable life, no matter how much he might be resisting. "You know. Like~like an initiation. They said I~I had to~to..." He stopped, biting at his lower lip, partly to buy some time. "They said I had to trick a guy, make him think... You know. Then, I was supposed to run away. But, they were supposed to be here somewhere, watching, so they knew I wasn't lyin'. I got scared 'cause I didn't see anybody anywhere, just him." Scrubbing at his face with the backs of his hands, he sniffed then began fumbling in his pockets for a tissue, knowing she would be on guard. Gratefully, he found the clipped bundle of bills he carried with him. "Look." He held out his right hand, palm up, the moneyclipped euros resting there. The gold clip bore a tiger's eye cabuchon. "It was a birthday present," he explained. "It matches my earrings," he pushed onward. "If I have all this, why would I be~what you said? Please, ma'am~Rachel. I was playin' a trick on the guy, and I got scared. That's all."

witch

10-23-2009, 02:35 AM

Rachel Loucellan

There was something about the look in the eyes, the fact that he was here in the first place that set Rachel's mind to believe he was playing a part, telling her lies. When she had turned around the corner she had heard him yelling that he had changed his mind making her question the guy still struggling to get free setting new ideas within her head for he had asked her if she was going to make his night, did he think she was the exchange?

When she told the tiger eyed male that she just might 'take him downtown' she saw his whole face drop her skills as an actress herself telling her then and there that he was putting on a show for her.

"S-sell~m-myself? Wha..."

The stutter in his tone where before he had been so sure, the blinking and seeming to refuse to even look away, as a cop she had been told to look for those things when questioning someone now she could tell even his words where false.

"N-no. M-my friends... They~they bet me I wouldn't come down here and~and..."

She waited ready to hear what ever story he was cooking up her mind working just as his was ready to lay down even more traps if needed, somehow she was going to get the truth.

"You know. Like~like an initiation. They said I~I had to~to..."

Her blank face changed a little when she heard the word 'initiation' and so the trap could now be laid for initiation on this side of town often meant only one thing.

"They said I had to trick a guy, make him think... You know. Then, I was supposed to run away. But, they were supposed to be here somewhere, watching, so they knew I wasn't lyin'. I got scared 'cause I didn't see anybody anywhere, just him."

Inwardly she rolled her eyes as he started for his pocket looking for a tissue 'over actor' come to mind, sure sometimes things did turn out this way, tears, the tripping over words but this, there was more to him then what he was putting forth.

She watched as he pulled something out of his pocket a pile of money with a money clip attached to it, not the tissue he had tried to think he was going for.

"Look." he told her holding out the money "It was a birthday present,It matches my earrings,"

She had noticed.

"If I have all this, why would I be~what you said? Please, ma'am~Rachel. I was playin' a trick on the guy, and I got scared. That's all."

"And now it seems like you're trying to play a trick on me" She told him stepping closer to him lifting her eyes to his face. "You're bigging yourself deeper into that hole. So you said you're doing this for initiation, so you can join some gang, steal from them? Let me guess you tried to steal that money from that guy but he found you out, stopped you but he's also looking for some payback, a good night out."

She was putting words into the young males mouth, telling him what she was hearing from his bad acting and though it was an act itself she was hoping he'd panic.

"You know the thing about gangs are you never really can trust them, you make a blood oath and more often then not you pay with your life. Now unless you want me to take you up of changes I suggest two things drop the act and tell me the truth or I swear there will be no more miss nice cop."

MystMoonstruck

11-01-2009, 08:06 AM

OOC: I apologize for the delay, but I've been battling the flu, and it feels as if it's winning at times. Since we turned our clocks back at midnight and I now have an extra hour, I'm going to try to get some scenes written. BIC:

Easy "Cat" Tanner

Frankly, Easy was deeply frightened at the moment. Unlike his life on the streets in California, this one did not allow anonymity. He had confidence that his connections could get him out of trouble, but the two men who amounted to being his owners would not be pleased to learn that 1) he still was Alleycat in every sense of the name and 2) he had come to the attention of the Law. His impulse was to run away, but he had a feeling from what he had just witnessed, that she would have no problems running him to ground.

"And now it seems like you're trying to play a trick on me," she stated as she came nearer, causing him to fall back a step as she stared into his eyes. "You're digging yourself deeper into that hole. So you said you're doing this for initiation, so you can join some gang, steal from them?" He shook his head in a panicky way, truly alarmed at her question. How did she come up with gangs?! Then, it dawned on him that he wore streetclothes. But, him in a gang... That had never crossed his mind. "Let me guess you tried to steal that money from that guy but he found you out, stopped you but he's also looking for some payback, a good night out. You know the thing about gangs are you never really can trust them, you make a blood oath and more often then not you pay with your life. Now unless you want me to take you up of changes I suggest two things drop the act and tell me the truth or I swear there will be no more miss nice cop."

"N-no! Not a gang! School! Initiation at school! You know... Like~like the popular guys! Not a gang, lady! I don't do that stuff!" It was true: He had never been gang material and had avoided any group like that, especially after a horrifying experience when he was about 15, an involvement that had resulted in a death threat if he ever crossed them again. "They said I had to do this. That's my money~from my patron. He used to be my guardian, but he em-emancipated me, and I take classes~dance, violin, that stuff! I got that for my Christmas present a couple years ago. See?" He tilted his head, a finger pushing at his left lobe so that she could see the tiger's-eye stud there. "It's 'cause of the color of my eyes." If possible, he widened them even more, blinking nervously because he was nervous and should be in this situation. "That's not his!" he persisted, a hurt expression on his pale-as-ivory features. "It's mine! I'm not joinin' a gang, just this group of popular guys~a... What do they call it? A clique? Please, ma'am!" It wouldn't hurt to be polite, would it? "Please~just~can't we forget this happened? I wasn't gonna do it~go through with it. It was a joke, OK? Well..." He bowed his head and wrapped his arms around himself, feeling the need for comfort, even if only from himself. "I guess it was a bad joke~a stupid one. I didn't know it was breakin' a law," he finished meekly, head still lowered, his heart racing the proverbial mile a minute.

Raoulsgal0689

02-23-2010, 02:04 AM

OOC: For Reese and Vicentio!![/b]

Reese Cordova

She should have known this would be a bad idea. She was starting to find a lot of downfalls with being so outgoing...one of which was you tended to be expected to go to just about every gathering, including the ones you didn't want to go to...maybe Christian had the right idea in being quiet and shy. She wasn't the type to go partying and drinking and such, but her friends had convinced her to go out with them to a "really awesome bar" they knew of...which turned out to be just like every other smoke filled, filthy bar in the universe. She'd stayed as long as she dared, but her friends were starting to get a little rowdy and once they'd gotten drunk enough that they'd started making out with each other, Reese decided it was time for her to go. She'd used the phone to hail a cab and headed outside to wait, finding herself in the middle of a dark, dingy alley.

She'd turned back to the entrance, wondering if it might be a better idea to wait inside, when two guys who looked to be about as drunk as her friends came stumbling out, eyeing her with obvious interest. "Well, well! Look here bud! Its the little pixie queen we saw inside! We thought you'd gone home sugar..." one guy murmured in slurred dialect. Reese smiled a bit nervously. "I'm just waiting for a cab....I think I'll just go wait inside..." she said, heading for the door that was suddenly blocked off by a burly looking man, the other guy who'd come out. "No problem sweetheat! We'll keep you company Tinkerbell..." he said with bawdy laugh, grabbing her arm and pulling her away from the door. "That's all right! I'll just go inside," Reese insisted a bit frantically, trying to pull her arm away to no avail. "Come on...stay with us!" the first man insisted as the two of them suddenly had her back up against the brick wall with no where to run...Reese had never been so terrified in her life and all she could do was stand there and wait.

PhAnToMeSs07

07-19-2010, 07:01 AM

(OOC: For Santiago :D ) BIC:

Maureen Dawson

Maureen was no stranger to situations she shouldn’t be in and she certainly had been in worse places at night back in New York but she would have been lying to say she wasn’t scared to enter the alleyway in front of her. There were two ways back to the Opera, the main street that took way longer than she wanted to think about and then the shortcuts through the alleyways, which would cut that time in half. It was the walking down the alleyways in the dark though that was becoming a problem in her mind. She’d done it numerous times during the day because even if people up to no good were out, they most likely didn’t mess with you in broad daylight. But this was much different. However, Maureen wasn’t one to turn down the promise of an adrenaline burst, which she would get if she took the darker alley and, seeing as she was now coming down off an adrenaline burst from…previous activities with a ballet brat at the motel, a new burst would do her some good. And with that thought, she ventured off the street and into the alleyway.

She thought about the events leading up to tonight’s events as she walked. It wasn’t unusual to find younger girls in the ballet who had been sheltered their entire life and suddenly, being in chorus line full of women who practiced with each other and eventually changed with each other, discovered they quite liked the look of a woman’s body over that of a mans. Or, they thought they did and needed to find out exactly what was going on inside their bodies. Still, Maureen wasn’t a pervert and she made sure they were all at least eighteen. She wasn’t for breaking the law in that way even if fourteen year old's had begun looking like they were twenty. There were perks to being friends with the ballet mistress in that, even if a girl lied about her age, Maureen could find out the truth before pursuing her from Madeleine.

And once they were in the clear age wise, how could they resist her? They needed an outlet and Maureen gladly presented herself. It was a clever game of cat and mouse. She knew how to catch them and make them do things they hadn’t imagined themselves doing. Of course, there was the one or two who thought they should start dating her and Maureen had quickly turned down the notion. She wasn’t one for dating girls who left her for men, which most of the ballet rats would end up with. Still, she made sure to give each one that wanted it the ride of their life. And sometimes, the girls she chased needed extra persuasion and because of such, she ended up in things like the outfit (http://www.odgirl.com/item--Black-Dress--26340-020.html) she was wearing tonight. It was this thought that made her hope she didn’t run into anyone in the alley that thought because of her attire, they would get the same attention.

Mrs Nadir Khan

07-19-2010, 07:19 AM

Santiago Ortiz

The motorcycle made its leisurely way down the alleys of La Zone Fonecée. which, Santiago supposed, must have looked a little iffy. The Spaniard had come to know the bad side of town as well as he knew any other part of his adopted hometown. He looked like a shadow rider in head-to-toe black. It may not have been particularly safe to drive around without reflective clothes, but it wasn’t really safe to ride a motorcycle around La Zone Fonecée in the first place. But Santiago was itchy in his skin. He’d killed a man and had yet to be caught. Not that he thought he would be. Santiago was practiced and thorough. It was the fact that he had dragged someone along for the ride for this crime; someone who didn’t fit the criminal mold and who didn’t deserve to be put in the same category as jail-hardened inmates and on-the-lam convicts. Rachel Day. Santiago had yet to get the girl out of his head. Not that he really wanted to. After all, she was still under his wing of protection. But what bothered Santiago were memories of their night in the motel after the murder was done. He wanted to remember her shaking fear and the gratitude in her eyes when he actually managed to say the right things. What he didn’t want to remember was the time in between the murder and the trust-truce they’d worked out. He didn’t want to remember being in Rien Spéciaux’s bar. He didn’t want to remember how she’d gone from scared, little girl to possessive and hungry would-be lover. He knew it had been an act, but it had all seemed too real at the time. And even in reflection, Santiago couldn’t shake the sensation he got from remembering the way her breath felt against his skin. He’d always been something of a night owl, but this… This was insomnia. The past few nights, Santiago found himself riding his motorcycle around the city. It seemed no matter how far away he got from La Zone Fonecée, he always returned before daylight began and he had to go about his duties as stage manager.

He almost felt guilty at work, too, as his dark eyes scanned the theater for a glimpse of Señorita Day. Santiago reminded himself that it was his duty to keep an eye on her, so he was doing nothing wrong. Failing that, Santiago forced himself to remember their first encounter. Señorita Day was the girl who tangled his fly system, called him “a jerk in tinfoil” (an insult he still couldn’t quite wrap his mind around), and used him as a human shield when her skirt ripped. And when that didn’t work, Santiago put a hand to the healing wound on his forehead from when the girl had whacked him with a picture frame. That wiped the dopey, wistful, un-Santiago-like grin off his face instantly. He rounded the corner when his headlight flashed up against bared skin.

Prostitute, he classified instantly as his eyes roved over the woman. Nice legs, nice curves, nice… face… Face?!

Santiago’s bike came to a grinding halt as he made out the face of one Señorita Day on the ill-lit street. .

Speak of the devil and she will appear…

Except this wasn’t the Señorita Day that Santiago knew (or thought he knew). The Señorita Day Santiago knew was modest and seemed to be violently averse to showing even a little skin. This one left little to the imagination. Santiago had to repress the whistle forming on his parted lips. On the one hand, Santiago was just a man, appreciating the view, but on the other, the whole thing rubbed him the wrong way. He made a hasty, illegal turn and pursued her.

What the hell is she thinking, running around La Zone Fonecée dressed like that? Is that a new act, perhaps? Or a costume?

He parked a little ways ahead of the girl and removed his helmet, twisting around to get a better view.

“íOye! íChica!” he called out as his lazy smirk she had once threatened to slap off formed on his lips. “It isn't safe for women to walk the streets around here, even professionally."

That should get her attention. He could hear it now. The little feminine gasp, the ‘Mister Santiago!’, the stamping of her high heels. And even though Santiago was pissed that Señorita Day wasn’t taking his advice about laying low, he couldn’t help but take a small amount of satisfaction in making his displeasure known.

PhAnToMeSs07

07-19-2010, 07:51 AM

Maureen Dawson

Maureen heard the sound of an engine long before it ever got to her and she panicked inside her mind and immediately scanned the area from somewhere to hide; however, it was a search in vain for there was nothing, not even a random garbage can to hide behind. She tried to breathe evenly and keep her calm as she registered the engine getting closer. Perhaps they’ll pay you no mind if you ignore them. And so she continued walking forward, moving closer to the edge of the building so the motorcyclist could pass without hitting her, all the while dreading each moment. She held her breath as headlights lit up the entire alley. Not even facing the biker, she couldn’t help but squint at the bright light that her eyes were not accustomed to in the darkness of the alley. And despite her attempt to keep to herself, she turned her head to peer at the biker who turned his head at the same moment while passing. And due to such, the man’s bike came to a sudden halt a few feet away from her. ****. Play it cool Maureen, just play it cool.

She continued walking forward as she watched him remove his helmet, twisting around on his bike to look at her. “íOye! íChica!” Maureen knew rapists usually fed off of fear and she wasn’t one to show that even though she was terrified. She walked closer as if to show she wasn’t afraid, the man coming into view and she realized that he looked slightly familiar. “It isn't safe for women to walk the streets around here, even professionally." She sighed dramatically as she realized her worst realizations were coming true and that he did think she was a prostitute. She shook her head at his ignorance and decided to go along with it. She walked over to his bike, closer than she should have been to someone she didn’t know and leaned slightly into the man sitting on the bike, "Why should you care?” And she leaned over to whisper in his ear, “I'm more than you could afford, big boy,” and she patted the seat of the motorcycle at such words. Now that she was this close, he looked extremely familiar and yet, she could not place his face. She hovered for a second before pulling back and leaning against the wall of the alley, chuckling, “And anyways, it isn't safe for you to be gallivanting around on your motorcycle either. I'm a big girl, I can take care of myself."

Mrs Nadir Khan

07-19-2010, 08:34 AM

OOC: Pardon the slight godmodding!! You told me he’d recognize her this post. BIC:

Santiago Ortiz

Santiago put the kickstand down and leaned into the handles casually, hanging the helmet off the side of one handlebar. He watched as Señorita Day walked towards him and his smirk only grew wider.

That’s right. Acting time is over, chica. Be a good girl and get on the bike. I’ll take you home…

But as “Señorita Day” stepped into the Santiago’s headlights, the Spaniard sat up straight. This was not Señorita Day he was talking to. It seemed that Santiago had really come across one of Paris’ fallen ladies. And yet, she looked exceptionally familiar.

Matrixing, Santiago dismissed. The power of expectation. Wishful thinking.

Santiago racked his brains, trying to recall ever picking up a Parisian prostitute. Being unable to elicit such a memory was unsettling. Either he subconsciously remembered this woman from a night of too much partying (which Santiago seldom did in the first place) or he really hadn’t shaken his desires for Señorita Day back at Rien Spéciaux, after all. Santiago wasn’t sure which he found more revolting. He was not so depraved as to seek out prostitutes and he hoped to God he wasn’t so sentimental as to mistake every brown haired girl for Señorita Day…

The woman leaned into Santiago flirtatiously. Santiago clenched his jaw. He may have killed a man, but he didn’t really want to tarnish his reputation further. After all, Santiago Ortiz had always been able to pick up a beautiful woman without hitting the red light district. Only the most cuckolded and unfortunate looking of men had to resort to that.

"Why should you care?” the somewhat familiar prostitute purred. Then, dropping her voice and bending in close to Santiago’s ear, added, “I'm more than you could afford, big boy,”

Santiago supposed that his worn out leather jacket didn’t exactly scream wealth. And true, Santiago wasn’t living in the lap of luxury. But he was comfortable. Santiago really didn’t like having his authority at work questioned. But to have his manliness and financial standing questioned, too, was frustrating. Santiago rolled his eyes and looked for an escape route. If he took off fast enough, the woman would fall lose her balance and hit the pavement. The idea amused Santiago and he reached to rev the engine as the woman began walking away with a chuckle.

“And anyways, it isn't safe for you to be gallivanting around on your motorcycle either. I'm a big girl, I can take care of myself."

The last sentence jolted Santiago’s memory.

“From the top of the piece, then, Señorita. If you think you can manage to play it straight through without letting Madame Ledoux be a distraction. I’m sure plenty of other pianists are simply dying to play the pit of the Populaire.”

“I think I can take care of this myself!”

Santiago’s smirk was back, but this time, for a completely different reason.

“Señorita Dawson,” he said, adopting the tone he used during daylight hours as the stage manager. “I didn’t realize that the economy was so rough that pianists had to take on less-than-reputable night jobs.”

PhAnToMeSs07

07-19-2010, 04:38 PM

(OOC: Loved your post btw, its really got Maureen freaking out haha) BIC

Maureen Dawson

It wasn’t the first time Maureen had gotten the feeling she had said the wrong thing to the wrong person. The feeling always crept up on her and it always made her feel nauseous. Before he ever said anything to her, a smirk playing across his face, she knew that the man knew her and that she should know him. This was the same feeling she got the next morning after sleeping with Madeleine minus the fact that she hadn’t slept with this man. “Señorita Dawson.” And that was all it took for her to realize that she did indeed know this man and that her career could possibly be at risk since he had already gotten on her earlier that day at rehearsal. Of all the luck in the world, the stage manager of the f**king Populaire. Seriously? Half of her was relieved and the other half was just as afraid but for other reasons. She knew him to be a nice enough man and she wasn’t too worried about getting raped and killed now that she had identified the man on the bike, or, to be fair, he had identified her.

“I didn’t realize that the economy was so rough that pianists had to take on less-than-reputable night jobs.” She dropped the act like that and wracked her brain for some way to convince him that she was not, under any circumstances a prostitute. She never had dabbled in that business. Though you could say she loved sex and that she inclined to have it whenever she wanted and with whoever, she never accepted money and so she supposed it just made her a little whorish. She sighed, rubbing a hand across her forehead, and realizing that there was no reason for pretenses now and that to save her job, she might as well just straighten up and be honest. “Monsieur Ortiz….” And she began murmuring for a split second, “mother f***er, are you kidding me God? Or higher power, or whatever?” She cleared her throat, and looked at him, “would you believe me if I said I was just acting and terrified that I was about to get taken away by a man on a motorcycle? I mean really, it’s only natural for the person who thinks they are about to be attacked to not act scared.”

She knew she was rambling but what else could she possibly do? She was aggravated now at the fact that a good night of being careful NOT to get caught had turned around to do just that. “Look, I swear it’s not what it looks like. You know, sometimes…people don’t want to be seen…copulating with me, if you catch my meaning. And so, they drag me all the way out here because they think they won’t get seen. I’m just on the way back home and didn’t feel like taking the long way back to the Opera.” She had spoken with him many times at rehearsal and she couldn’t believe she hadn’t recognized him to begin with. Hopefully though, he would see she was telling the truth and that regardless of her apparel, she was not a prostitute.

Mrs Nadir Khan

07-19-2010, 06:32 PM

Santiago Ortiz

Santiago had read somewhere that it only took four seconds to realize that the person you flipped off was your boss. Now, as he spoke to Señorita Dawson, he learned that it took a few minutes longer in a dark alleyway to realize that the man you taunted with fake come-ons was the stage manager. Santiago’s eyes, which were fairly well adjusted to the darkness thanks to the years he’d spent prowling similar streets in Spain, picked up the way Señorita Dawson’s body language changed. She rubbed her head and straightened up.

“Monsieur Ortiz….” And she began murmuring for a split second, “mother f***er, are you kidding me God? Or higher power, or whatever?”

In the still alleyway, Santiago caught every word. He snorted. Such delicate and lady-like language, really… Not that Santiago expected to come across delicate and lady-like ladies around La Zone Fonecée. He waited for an explanation with a cockeyed grin and tilted head. This was going to be interesting.

“Would you believe me if I said I was just acting and terrified that I was about to get taken away by a man on a motorcycle? I mean really, it’s only natural for the person who thinks they are about to be attacked to not act scared.”

Santiago snorted. If that was the case, then he was extremely lucky not to have a face full of mace right about now. But Santiago found it difficult to believe. Most people, when they feared attack, got scared. Señorita Dawson was una mujer extraña if she thought that pretending to be a prostitute was the best way to approach a strange man on the wrong side of town.

“Look, I swear it’s not what it looks like. You know, sometimes…people don’t want to be seen…copulating with me, if you catch my meaning.”

Did she actually use the word copulating? Santiago wasn’t offended by the term, and the Spaniard understood her loud and clear, but his eyes widened just a little. She could go ahead and say it how everybody said it. People don’t want to get caught having sex with me. It wasn’t like Santiago could fire her for language or what she did after hours. He swore far too much, even on the job, to get riled up about vulgar language and if Señorita Dawson had any idea what sort of things Santiago did when away from work—he thought particularly of the gun holster clipped to his hip—she would understand full well why a little nighttime romp seemed so benign to him.

“And so, they drag me all the way out here because they think they won’t get seen. I’m just on the way back home and didn’t feel like taking the long way back to the Opera.”

Santiago nodded and picked up his helmet off his handlebar. He extended it to her.

“Get on. I’ll take you back to the opera. Like I said, this isn’t the sort of place you want to wander around alone.”

Hypocrite.

PhAnToMeSs07

07-19-2010, 09:31 PM

Maureen Dawson

Maureen didn’t get embarrassed often seeing as she was an attention whore that basked in any spot light she could get; however, right now, she was immensely glad for the dark of the night because she imagined her cheeks were burning with a bright red shade by this point. He was her boss and he had already scolded her at rehearsal on several occasions. In her mind, this would be all he needed to fire her though usually what went on after work or outside of work was no concern of an employer unless it was brought into the workplace. And, though Maureen was indeed involving people of the work place, he still did not know that and so she planned to not discuss it. And though she really couldn’t lose her job over this event, his laugh and smirk irked her as she could tell everything she was saying wasn’t doing much good. Still, she was grateful when he offered her a helmet, “Get on. I’ll take you back to the opera. Like I said, this isn’t the sort of place you want to wander around alone.”

And between all her gratefulness at being offered a ride, an idea wiggled its way into the back of her mind. This man was her boss and though he couldn’t exactly fire her for these events, she couldn’t imagine what he was thinking. Perhaps if she befriended him or had a chance to explain herself further, he would change his mind. She took the helmet but paused before climbing on, “How about this, Monsieur Ortiz…I’ll ride with you back to the opera if we stop at the bar on the way out and you let me buy a drink or two.” As soon as she said it, she realized that maybe she needed to add further explanation, for her boss did not need to think she was trying to seduce him and since he already thought so poorly of her, she knew it wouldn’t take much for him to assume so. “And I mean that, monsieur, in the sincerest way possible, no funny games or tricks.”

Mrs Nadir Khan

08-23-2010, 07:14 AM

OOC: Santiago is meeting someone. He just doesn't know it yet. Erica, whenever you're ready! BIC:

Santiago Ortiz ( http://s256.photobucket.com/albums/hh172/Rollergirl_0/Squishy%20Misc%201/?action=view&current=NewAd2.jpg )

Freedom tasted a lot like smog and cheap wine. It looked like the streets of La Zone Fonecée. While Santiago thought he preferred the open air on the tributaries of the Seine, while he protested that the catwalk was his office, and although his address was located in Le Marais, when Santiago needed an escape, he found himself treading the streets of Paris’ shady side. Here, Santiago figured he could do his best soul-searching. Here, among Paris’ homeless and criminal. Here, past the red light district and the cat-calls from the local prostitutes. Here, where Santiago had spent a night hiding out after killing a man with the one thing he knew could not possibly be here.

Rachel.

She lived in his house and worked in an office down the hall from his. He drove her home. And when Santiago said “home”, he meant the apartment they now shared. She was with him physically for at least half of the day and the rest of his time, she plagued his thoughts. He’d squeeze his eyes shut and see her behind his closed eyelids. Rachel, dancing with him at the Masquerade. Rachel, curled up on his bed. Rachel, pinned up against him on his soapy, kitchen floor. Santiago would clasp his hands over his ears and hear her voice reverberate in his head. Rachel, laughing as they wrestled for control over the load of laundry. Rachel, singing as she danced across the stage. Rachel, moaning his name against the bathroom sink…

The September breeze blew Santiago’s hair from his face, but Paris was still too oppressively hot for a little gust of wind to be the kind of cold relief Santiago needed right now. He understood one thing. He was falling hard for Rachel. Falling blindly, stupidly in lust with her. His dreams, which had once been filled with memories of Gisele or the sound of bullets flying, were now these sweet tortures filled with thoughts of Rachel. Not always memories. Sometimes, they started off that way. But Santiago’s imaginings always took him the step further than he seemed to never quite complete when the real opportunity presented itself. In his dreams, Santiago didn’t let Rachel’s date snag her away. He didn’t urge her to disappear in the crowd and forget what they’d been doing. No toilet flush, no knock on the door, no ringing phone could distract Santiago’s subconscious from its goal. In his dreams, Santiago’s lips didn’t brush Rachel’s hand or cheek. They claimed her lips, fiercely, intensely, and clung there, unable to let go, until soaring downwards to explore the rest of her. His hands, intrepid and fascinated, explored everything they could touch.

In his dreams.

In the light of day, Santiago avoided Rachel’s touch when he could. The burning in his veins and the crawling of his skin scared him. Santiago could handle roaming the grimy, back alleyways of Paris, but the thought of actually pursuing Rachel terrified him. Because Santiago knew that one wrong move, and Rachel wouldn’t need his urgings to leave. She just would.

Rachel wanted the fairytale ending. Santiago could only bring to her the language of a lover. He couldn’t even dream of giving her the battered mess he called a heart. She wouldn’t want it. Santiago didn’t even want it. Rachel needed a man who could sail through all of life’s storms with her. Santiago would have snatched the wheel from her with a sigh and an eye-roll. She wouldn’t like that. Rachel wanted everything and she deserved it.

But all Santiago wanted was Rachel.

The sight of her in the dining room, taking her hair down and pulling off her shoes while Santiago tossed his jacket on the back of a chair seemed far too domesticated for Santiago. Perhaps it wouldn’t have driven him so mad if it was more than a trick of the light. If Rachel was really his live-in-lover, if Santiago had been looking forward to a night of massaging each other’s stressful days away in the bed up the stairs, it would have excused the tightness in his chest and groin. It would have excused the misty look in his eye. But it took all of thirty seconds for Santiago to realize that there was absolutely nothing between him and Rachel, besides a whole lot of unresolved sexual tension and conflict. Santiago didn’t back down from most challenges, but there were certain things he knew he couldn’t muscle his way out of. He muttered something about running errands and disappeared out the front door.

Now, slipping through the unlit alleys, Santiago wondered why he even bothered running away. A few months ago, he could have passed through La Zone Fonecée with ease. A stride, with a certain cocksure spring in his step. A few months ago, Santiago wouldn’t have called bar-crawling an errand. But now, the sweet taste of sangria tinged his breath and it still hadn’t done its job. Santiago wanted to be swept away into some sort of pleasurable, mindless state. He wanted to be ushered into the first truly dreamless sleep he’d had in months. He wanted to not think about Rachel. He needed to think about something else—anything else—if he stood half a chance of looking her in the eye whenever he got home.

He paused underneath a street lamp for a cigarette break. Restless though he was, Santiago’s legs had carried him further than he expected them to. The concrete curb was cold beneath him and Santiago procured his lighter from his pocket. Instead of lighting a cigarette, he distracted himself with the flame. Flicking the lighter on and off again and again.

Lust. It was such a disgusting term for what Santiago felt, even if it was partially accurate. His body ached for Rachel’s touch. When he avoided her, it only made things worse. It made each touch burn and ache and send him into overdrive. Santiago spiraled out of control, further and further every day. But now, he had to question if it was lust or love he felt. Because for all that Rachel’s touch drove his body crazy, she had tapped into a deeper side of Santiago only a few nights ago. The two had been alone on the catwalk, first discussing work, when conversation took a turn for what Santiago thought was the worse. She asked about where he had learned to kill. Typically, Santiago avoided the question. His answer, no matter what, reflected him poorly. It highlighted the worst choices Santiago made and rendered the handful of good things he’d done in atonement absolutely useless. But something about Rachel prompted Santiago to talk. That was not lust. Santiago knew full well that once he told a girl about his past as an assassin, the last thing said girl would want to do was get into bed with him. Rachel, most especially. She was such an innocent thing. No, not innocent. She had seen him kill before. But there was some delicate trait she had that Santiago had never quite been able to place. To know that the man who saved her life was a practiced killer would break the trust Santiago had fought to earn from her.

Or so he thought.

Tears flowed from Rachel’s eyes, but she did not accuse. She shied away from more information, but she threw a drowning man a lifeline.

“I know you, Santiago, for the man you are now. And I know that I could have died without the man you are now—and—and-- The man you are now, is not the man you were before."

Was it so wrong that when Santiago heard her say “I know you” he almost heard “I love you” instead? Wishful thinking, he knew. Terrifying wishful thinking. Worse still was that Santiago—the man for whom lovers weren’t his “thing”—felt a stirring in his chest that he hadn’t before. Once, he had been so sure that he knew what “love” was. It was something that he was so sure had died with Gisele. But when looking at Rachel, when hearing her miraculous forgiveness, Santiago realized he’d been wrong.

Santiago knew he wasn’t infallible. Everyone made mistakes and his had been bigger, more devastating mistakes than most men ever made. But the second he thought he might be in love with Rachel, he hoped that he was the most wrong he had yet been. She didn’t need an ex-assassin mooning over her. Santiago would have made for a jealous lover with a quick trigger finger saved for any man who so much as flirted with Rachel. Santiago would have made for a mercurial lover with moods that changed almost unpredictably. Rachel deserved so much better than that. Santiago had said it a thousand times since the Masquerade. Rachel deserved to be treated with love, tenderness, and patience. The way she treated him. But Santiago was rough and impatient. Even love didn’t quite make up for that. Rachel had said it herself: there were things about Santiago she couldn’t handle.

Even still he had considered kissing her on the catwalk, before they went home. Their faces had been sticky with tears; their hands trembling. The fantasies about the Masquerade paled in comparison to the dreams he had about their night on the Catwalk. In his dreams, Santiago took Rachel’s quaking hands into his and pressed them to his lips wordlessly. He didn’t hold back the tears threatening his eyes, nor did he keep from kissing her. The hand he used to stroke her hair drew her face to his gently until their lips found one another. The first kiss, meant to be tender, always seemed a little rough no matter how many times Santiago imagined it. But this one came as close to gentle as Santiago could probably have mustered in real life. The soft touch of lips intensified and in his mind’s eye, Santiago was able to pull away long enough to say more than just his pathetic “thank you”

“I love you.”

It was the only one of Santiago’s dreams where those three words could be heard. And Santiago often awoke, praying that he was not a sleep talker. In this dream, he’d said it a hundred times. Again, and again, until he heard Rachel say it back. Until he was convinced that they both meant it with every fiber in their beings.

In his dreams.

Santiago pulled out a cigarette and lit it, snapping the lighter off quickly. He never claimed to be brave, but Santiago hadn’t thought of himself as a coward until it was only in his subconscious that he could handle three, little words. Words were just words. Santiago was a firm believer in action. And yet, it felt unsatisfying to hide from them—and from action, too. Santiago’s gun lay nestled in its holster, easy enough for Santiago to access should he need to fire a warning shot or even a kill shot. But there were fleeting, childish moments when he wondered if turning it on himself would be the better part of valor. Put himself out of his misery; let Rachel move on. But Santiago knew that was the alcohol talking. Sangria may have had a seductive siren call, but it wasn’t nearly convincing enough for Santiago to seriously entertain the thought. Even if it was only as a bodyguard, Rachel needed him. He couldn’t rob her of that and Santiago knew that if he did anything so stupid and weak-willed, that he never had been worth Rachel’s time. He certainly couldn’t be of use to her dead. Taking a drag from the cigarette, Santiago pushed the thought aside. He was morbid tonight. Mostly because morbidity seemed to be his only escape from the throbbing sensation he was feeling pulsate in two exceptionally problematic areas. He could ignore one—but not for much longer. His heart, on the other hand, was making its presence known in ways Santiago forgot possible.

He was in no mood to be bothered tonight. He just wanted to be alone with his thoughts of Rachel and this was the loneliest place he could find. Even here, Santiago wasn’t truly alone. Even though Rachel was safe in the apartment, she might as well have been with him right now. And even here, Santiago knew that he was not nearly as free as he pretended to be.

MysticMasquerade

09-06-2010, 09:53 AM

OOC: For Verity Ravensdale and Dorian Grayson. BIC:

Verity Ravensdale

This was probably a bad idea, Verity thought to herself as she rounded another dimly lit street corner. She had never been to this part of Paris and, now, she understood why. The pungent smell of fish and alcohol hung heavy in the air, and the dingy buildings stood farther apart than those on the other side of town. A chilly breeze carried with it a sense of unease, seeping into Verity's skin and spreading slowly throughout her system. She wouldn't have found herself here at all, were it not for a less than pleasant encounter she'd had with her Aunt Simone mere hours ago.

Verity had returned home after rehearsals to see her aunt sitting by the fireplace in her living room, tears staining her cheeks, a half-empty wine bottle in her hand. When Verity had stepped further into the room to question her, she had seen a framed picture of her mother, Lisette Gravois Ravensdale. Without even questioning her relative, she had spoken up, revealing to Verity that she could frequently not stand to look at her, due to her striking resemblance she bore to her mother. She had made her exit silently, gathering what little she needed and leaving for the night.

That was why she was on this side of town, looking for a cheap place to stay for the night so that her aunt might have time to grieve without her sister's ghost walking her halls. Verity's friend, Cara, had mentioned a little motel in the area that sounded acceptable enough, considering her circumstances and finances. She only hoped that she would stumble across it soon, so that she might be out of the present public's eye.

Pulling her jacket more tightly across her frame, Verity pressed onward. Her feet were growing tired from walking and rehearsals, and as the minutes past, she grew more and more impatient. Perhaps there was a shortcut around? And someone had to know where the infernal place was.

Oh. Alleyways.

While they certainly weren't preferable, they would get her places. Heaving a sigh, Verity turned into the nearest decently-lit alleyway. At first glance, it didn't truly seem all that threatening. It wasn't until several moments later, when a man turned in from the other side, moving forward at a relatively quick pace, that she began to feel threatened. Verity did her best to focus her gaze straight ahead, making it evident that she was not about to acknowledge his presence, but he didn't seem to take the hint, calling out to her instead.

"Well, hey there, girly." He greeted loudly. Swallowing hard, she gave him a sideways glance and a brief nod, but continued walking. He wouldn't have it, however, blocking her path by stepping in front of her. She shuddered inwardly as his gaze raked over her. "What's a lovely little thing like you doing in this part of Paris?"

Plastering a small smile on her face, she responded: "I'm just looking for the motel. It's pretty late."

"Hmm...the motel?" The frenchman mused, stroking his moustache. "A fine place for hiding out or, perhaps, sharing a tryst."

Dear God, was this really happening? Biting her lower lip, she shook her head. "Neither of those two. I'm just going there to get some rest."

The unkempt man chuckled. "How very dull, sweetheart. The things that we could get up to..." He trailed off, reaching a hand up to brush against her cheek. She flinched away, her grip on her purse tightening.

"Then again," He continued, moving closer to her, snatching her wrist in his tight grasp. He twirled her around, pulling her closer until her back was pressed against his chest. "Why go to the motel when we can do the same thing here for free?"

Her breathing growing heavy, she squeezed her eyes shut. I'm so stupid, I'm such a damn idiot, she hissed to herself. How could she have let this happen? Hadn't she learned her lesson already?

The man leaned down, inhaling her scent and pressing his lips to her neck, his hands traveling over her hips and inching lower. Her cry rang out in the night, reverberating off of the alley walls as she struggled to free herself from his iron grip.

Her attacker's laughter followed, and his grip on her tightened. "Do you think anyone cares what happens to you? Now, be a good little doll and keep quiet."

A whimper fell from her lips at his words. Verity was sure that this happened on a regular basis on this side of town; what was one more abused woman to its inhabitants? Inhaling sharply, she braced herself for what was to come, praying that he would simply leave her lying on the ground like garbage when he was done with her.

MystMoonstruck

09-08-2010, 08:31 AM

Dorian Grayson (http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_1ZixJAUFz20/SqVZ7qw9iDI/AAAAAAAAAEg/f9wOE5fftaI/s320/EduardoVerastegui.jpg)

*THUNK*

To Dorian's trained ears, the empty bottle he wielded like a club had made a satisfying sound as it grazed the back of the assailant's head, just enough to daze and/or disable the fellow who, to his satisfaction, folded to the ground, or at least to his knees, holding his wounded head and moaning. A flat-footed kick to the middle of the back sent the big man face down, at which Dorian slipped the empty back into the pocket of his long, black coat and grabbed the woman's hand, beginning to hurry toward the street-opening of the alley. He could hear the skitter of heels on the pavement and pictured scarlet tresses flying, as he had been studying this particular femme fatale as she had made her tentative way into trouble. Taking pity on her, Dorian halted the escape, stepping into a building recess that should shelter them, drawing her around to face him, finally looking fully into the face that he had become so curious about.

"We should be safe here~for the moment," he assured her in his lightly accented voice that kept his origins such a mystery, a way of speaking so evasive that it would have demanded a great deal from a linguist to unravel. If luck was with him, she spoke either English or some language he could claim not to know, and he could claim not to know 'most any language. No one had ever accused him of being a scholar, not under any name he had ever used~which brought him to the big question here: Who was he to be? By the faint glow of the streetlight, he studied her, his pale jade gaze flickering about as if he wasn't certain where to start.

"Now, we should get you someplace safer," he decided, "should you choose to trust me." Patting the packed pocket, he grinned and assured her, "I'm ready for a rematch whenever he is." He jerked his head in the direction from which they had come. "Did you have a cab drop you here? What the hell is a lady like you doing in a place like this?" As soon as he had blurted out the cliche, he chuckled, willingly laughing at himself. "It's simply that you do not look as if you belong anywhere near La Zone Foncée."

WanderingChild<3

09-08-2010, 07:11 PM

Rachel Day (http://http://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_d3TjYw4uS-U/TH51RMPuWCI/AAAAAAAACQE/5C-F7-DxkoA/s1600/0831-05-lea-michele_li.jpg&imgrefurl=http://thechroniclesofbeauty.blogspot.com/2010/09/lea-micheles-cover-shoot-for-glamour.html&usg=__6HYfJxSOGWS81BahiHp7qrAUY-U=&h=338&w=438&sz=19&hl=en&start=669&zoom=1&itbs=1&tbnid=XTpXWIJKsfk40M:&tbnh=98&tbnw=127&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dlea%2Bmichele%26start%3D651%26hl%3Den %26sa%3DN%26gbv%3D2%26ndsp%3D21%26tbs%3Disch:1)

"While shivering in my shoes ... "

Crack!

Rachel Day's flat connected with a shattered piece of glass on the sidewalk. From the sound breaking her ballad, her body twisted skyward, her hands flapping into the air that just ten minutes ago, she could describe as crisp, but being where she was at this particular moment of night ... it was anything but.

"I strike a careless pose-"

She continued onward, just as Tim would in the King & I, when the mother made him sing this song on the ship about being frightened- hence, that would be the song she began singing when she entered this poopy side of Paris. Not that, Rachel Day was... frightened or anything.

"AH!"

She squeaked into the air, feeling a warm fuzziness around her ankles. A rodent made it's way across the sidewalk where she was walking. A rat! Eww! Oh goodness, she could feel herself stiffen, her bottom lip quiver-

Alright. So, maybe she was slightly frightened.

Just keep singing, She thought to herself, mustering up some sort of confident composure, her hands rolling into fists as she began walking along again. Singing, scares away the monsters.

Well, that was the theory when she was little anyway. Yet, now, Rachel Day was so sure that her singing couldn't possibly scare off a monster, or even what was the scariest monster to her- a critic. In fact, her singing voice may even bring out all the monsters, creepers, and stranger danger to her, because they are so compelled by her singing voice.

Being talented was crazy tough.

Whatever. If anything happened, or if she was just humiliating herself by being afraid, she would just blame Santiago anyway. This was all his fault! It was difficult enough having to share living space with someone, but to get locked out of it was truly just annoying. At least, Rachel knew it was suppose to be that way, yet she was not irked in the least bit- thus making her irked that she was not irked! Living with Santiago, was ... well, it was worth getting locked out a few times. She had called him, and figured he was here- so what better way than to come to him? Rachel didn't want him to stroll all the way back to the apartment just to let her inside. She would come to him.

Alrighty, so some of that over polite thinking was caused by the fact that Rachel... Well, she missed him. Ugh, that sounded so needy! She did, though. Even though, they lived with one another. It seemed that more and more, she enjoyed his company, and wanted him around her. He made her feel good. He interested her. So, that didn't give the true reasoning why Rachel Day was wanting him around so much, and was willing to travel to evil territory for his company. The fact of the matter was: Rachel couldn't get Santiago off her mind. She was willing to do so much for him, and for so little or nothing at all. Wherever he went, she was interested to go too. What was that!? What were these feelings of suddenly wanting- no- needing him to be around her?! She never felt that. She never had that.

The scary thing though, besides the fact that she saw a shadow in the corner of her eye? The feelings all the way back to the catwalk had never truly died down. They weren't insignificant or dramatic feelings either! They were raw, real, and ... and just terrifyingly strong. She had thought sexual things about Santiago, she had crushed on him like a little scool girl, she had gone off on him like a mother who needed prozac, she had been frustrated at him on more than one occassion, and now, she was falling for him. Falling in love.Goodness gracious it was ridiculous, inappropriate, and the feeling so wasn't mutual so what was the point?! It hurt to even thinking that the feeling was not mutual. She knew it. She was just a pesty mess he had to protect, but they were, buds or whatever. Still, Rachel Day could just swear that sometimes- the look he would give her, was the same way she felt inside.

"And no one will suspect!"

Rachel's voice grew louder, her arms wagging at her sides as she now was walking in front of an alleyway. She accidentally hit an empty can on the ground, sending a crushing echo noise to bounce off the alley brick walls. She brushed it off- but when she heard the hault of two muffled voices her ears had heard faintly while in deep thought- she knew that this couldn't be good.

Her head slowly turned to the alley, seeing to figures holding something white in a little baggy, and something silver that Rachel didn't need to Google to understand what it was in the man's other hand. She couldn't really make out their faces since they were turned around, but as their hips began swivelling in her direction- the direction of the noise- Rachel knew that soon she would be able too.

".... I'm afraid." She huffed out the last part of the song, her entire body at a standstill, knowing that she should be running about now- but her ballad was over, and so was she.

Mrs Nadir Khan

09-08-2010, 10:45 PM

Santiago Ortiz

There was no reason for Santiago to stay on the street corner all night. The later he stayed out, the more agitated Rachel would be when he hauled his tipsy, angst-ridden carcass home. And while he thrilled to every rise he got out of her, Santiago was finding that it was less and less exciting to hear Rachel yell every time he got to hear her laugh. He felt ashamed to admit it, but Santiago wanted to please her. He was no stranger to disappointment, though. Santiago was a disappointment, in a lot of ways. A fugitive, an artist; he was a far cry from the fisherman son Carlos and Sancha Ortiz had expected to bring into the world. He had never lived up to his father’s dreams that he would fashion himself into something in line with the Spanish code of machista and honor that Carlos himself lived by. Santiago had never done what his mama wanted and settled down to raise a family. But Carlos was in Spain and Mama was dead. It was only Rachel’s expectations that Santiago strove to meet. But other than being her bodyguard, what did she expect of him? Santiago hadn’t expected himself to fall in lusty-love with Rachel in the first place. And if it had caught him off guard, there was no way Rachel saw it coming, either. It almost seemed that no matter what Santiago did—whether he tried to move on or whether he confessed how he felt—someone was going to lose. And either way, Rachel was going to be disappointed. Santiago could not have been what she wanted. She certainly deserved better than an embittered, ex-assassin, who was too cowardly to show affection. And if he moved on, he would look like this uncaring brute of a man, who had used her and discarded her after realizing that he wasn’t getting into her pink underwear anytime soon.

And the worst of it was that neither description adequately described Santiago.

He was scared, yes, but only of rejection. He wanted Rachel, yes, but he wasn’t just waiting around to bed her. She was the only woman—hell, she was the only person—who seemed to actually like Santiago, warts and all. He couldn’t help but to notice that they so often ended up in the same room, even when they had plenty of space to spread out in. He couldn’t help but to see her smile when he suggested they do something together. There was something there…

Yeah, just a lot of wishful thinking. Get up, Ortiz, and stop brooding about Rachel. Go home, don’t apologize for being out, and go to bed.

Santiago pushed off the ground with a soft growl and shuffled down the side street to lead him back towards Le Marais. He stuffed his hands into his pockets, only to find that the drawing of Rachel was still there. Also, nestled in his pocket, was his cell phone. The Spaniard pulled it out to check the time, and instead was greeted—again—by Rachel.

Missed Call: Rachel Day

Santiago swore under his breath and jammed the phone back into his pocket. She was probably beyond angry that he had bolted out of the apartment without a proper explanation or goodbye. If she’d left a message, it was probably a tirade about not worrying her like that. He didn’t need to listen if there was one; Santiago could envision the sermon already. In fact, he could envision it so clearly, that Santiago was positive that Rachel would be in no laughing mood tonight when he got home.

He broke into a run, tearing down the mostly quiet alleyways. It was deathly still in some of the more abandoned parts he frequented and as he passed them by, Santiago heard nothing out of the ordinary until a very familiar singing voice brought him to a grinding halt.

"And no one will suspect!"

Santiago looked around, trying to dismiss it as part of his lovely, buzzed and sentimental mind, but when his eyes fell upon a familiar silhouette and he watched as Rachel clumsily knocked into a can, Santiago felt the bottom of his stomach fall out. What was she even doing here? Her name swelled in his throat, when strains of other voices caught his ear. Male. Unfamiliar. Not good.

Rachel froze in place and Santiago looked beyond her towards the other sounds. Two men were headed her way.

And all she was doing was standing there like an idiot, whispering to herself.

Where was the Rachel Day who had taken on the patrons and staff at Rein Spéciaux? The one who toted a fake gun with her and walked around with confidence?

Well, chances were, that Rachel was scared ****less—and rightfully so. Santiago was probably among the safest of men around La Zone Fonecée and given the gun he carried and the switchblade he occasionally stashed in a pocket that should have said enough about what sort of unsavory vermin called the slums home. Santiago sauntered up behind her, standing erect and looking less like Santiago the Stage Manager and more like he had all those nights ago when he and Rachel first ventured into La Zone Fonecée. It took five quick strides until he was right behind her. Instantly, his lips were at her ear.

“Don’t worry, chica,” he murmured. “It’s me.”

His right arm snaked its way around her waist, pulling Rachel into him protectively. But now that he had her safely in his arms… What was he supposed to do with her?

MysticMasquerade

09-09-2010, 12:50 AM

Verity Ravensdale

Just as her attacker's hands began to tug at her shirt, Verity heard a loud thunk. She felt herself leaning forward the man behind her swayed before falling away from her, crumbling to the ground with a moan of pain. She spun around, her eyes widening at the sight of a male stranger. She barely had time to register what was happening as he shoved an empty bottled into his the pocket of his coat before grabbing her hand and pulling her along as they flew out of the alleyway, ducking into a niche of a nearby building. Verity looked fearfully into the streets, inhaling sharply as her rescuer spun her around to meet his gaze.

"We should be safe here~for the moment," He told her. His voice carried a hint of an accent that, for the life of her, Verity could not place.

As she caught her breath, Verity examined the face of this new man, noting that he studied her with equal curiosity. His features were dark, and he had a rugged look about him, one that reminded her of seductive pirates and scoundrels. His eyes, however, were an exceptionally pale green, serving to confuse her more in the ways of determining his origin.

"Now, we should get you someplace safer," he decided, "should you choose to trust me."

The general vibes that Verity got from him insisted that, no, she should not choose to trust him. He seemed as though he was a wild card, and she took great care never to trust such enigmatic people. Now, however, she was willing to make an exception; this man had saved her from a horrible fate, the least she could do was offer him some of her trust.

Verity felt a twinge of relief as the man patted the bottle in his pocket, a grin passing over his lips as he assured her:"I'm ready for a rematch whenever he is."

Had she been in a different frame of mind, she was sure that she would have been unable to keep herself from posing a remark to his words, one supporting him and his statement. Now, however, she simply allowed her muscles to relax and nodded.

"Did you have a cab drop you here? What the hell is a lady like you doing in a place like this?" He questioned with a self-depriciating laugh. Oh, cliches. Her lips curved upwards softly at this; it had been a while since anyone had referred to her as a "lady." The term wasn't commonly used in New York.

"It's simply that you do not look as if you belong anywhere near La Zone Foncée." He explained.

Wetting her lips, Verity began to detail a small part of her circumstances. "I walked here. I'm living with a relative, and things got a little tense. I needed a place to stay for the night, and I heard that there was a place on this side of the city. I was trying to find it when..." She trailed off, glancing back to the alleyway. "That happened."

She brushed a lock of hair behind her ear before speaking again. "Thank you for...getting me out of trouble. You have my trust; I can't think of any other way to repay you."

MystMoonstruck

09-11-2010, 11:20 AM

Dorian Grayson

Dorian hid his surprise as he heard her confess, "I walked here. I'm living with a relative, and things got a little tense. I needed a place to stay for the night, and I heard that there was a place on this side of the city. I was trying to find it when..." He followed her glance in the direction they had escaped, especially because it wouldn't hurt to verify that he wasn't going to have to go a second round with the rogue who had accosted this beauty~not that he would have minded. He figured he could clock the guy as effectively face-to-face as with the sneak attack that had taken him out. "That happened." He studied her as she tucked a shimmering lock behind her ear in a gesture he had seen many women make. Somehow, he always had taken it for a welcoming one, whether the woman was conscious of it or not. He'd heard or read somewhere about a woman flashing her palm being a courtship signal, but he was willing to give her the benefit of a doubt. "Thank you for...getting me out of trouble. You have my trust; I can't think of any other way to repay you."

Her words practically begged for a devilish grin, but he managed to control the impulse, making it a polite smile as he weighed his own words. "You trust me?" he mused. "I suppose that's repayment enough, especially if you will allow me to escort you somewhere safe. If it's money that concerns you, there is a motel near here that I can guide you to though I warn you that it is as seedy as the rest of these surroundings. If you have the funds, I know of an admirable establishment in a much-safer part of the city. I know that it's none of my business, but you might find the motel nearly as dangerous as the streets." He wasn't going to offer his companionship. It was up to her to suggest it. Right now, he wasn't certain what she was, but she looked high-maintenance. How in the hell had she come to this territory to find a bed for the night? It was beyond reason.

"Pardon me, but I must say you do not look as if you belong here, Mademoiselle. I would hate to see you escape molestation one place only to succumb elsewhere." Ooh! Listen to those fancy words! He was beginning to feel rather dashing and even international spyish! Hmmm... Which name suited such an identity? Well, she still hadn't identified herself, so perhaps it wouldn't be necessary to select from his list. Now, would she choose the motel or allow him to show her more-elegant surroundings, ones he might never be able to afford on his own, thus never allowed himself to dream about? If only he had access to the houseboat... That would be a picturesque setting. However, he had not accumulated quite enough to afford that luxury.

WanderingChild<3

09-11-2010, 05:58 PM

Rachel Day

This was it. This was the end. Rachel Day's life was done for. Just look at this situation! An alleyway, two men, white powder, a gun, and ... Rachel Day. It was like one of those english assignments she was given in first grade, where she had to pin point what did not belong out of those. Obviously, it was Rachel Day. Goodness, this deathly situation seemed like it had happen more than once; it was a very familiar feeling. Yeesh, that wasn't a good thing. Well, when they turned around, whatever they were going to do with her, or to her- See, she couldn't even finish the bright side of that sentence. The fact of the matter was- she was terrified at this point. She couldn't scream. She couldn't move her body. She had no control over herself!

So this was the part where her life flashes before her eyes, right?

Wrong.

Before that could even happen, an arm snaked around her. Rachel's body stiffened, about to gasp or singout a high note, or make some noise but a familiar voice whispered right into her ear.

"Don't worry chica, it's me."

Rachel could complain that 'me', isn't a very descriptive word. Me, could mean many people. Though, she didn't know many people who called her chica, and had such a shady purring voice. She only knew one.

She could feel Santiago's body against her back, his grasp on her protective and whatnot- but what good was it when they were still standing there? She didn't even have time to feel the sense of relief having him come to her rescue, what seemed like the millionth time, but something snapped in her- as the men were now almost facing them. So, instantly, Rachel's mind went into overdrive, knowing that she needed to cook up something to make them... well, look like they were not in their business. She needed to put on a show. She was good at doing that.

Without even telling Santiago the game plan, because they had no time, and he should just be use to this by now- Rachel grasped his arm that was around her, and quickly flung herself against the wall next to them. She would say 'ow' later, as the brick connect with her head. Right now, this was show time.

Yanking him to her, Rachel wrapped her arms around his neck, bringing him down to her level, and placing her head on his shoulder, turning her face so her lips were just brushing his chin. This was what the theatre world called a 'fake make out'. Wel, she called it that. There was some professional term out there somewhere. Her chest was pounding up against his, her body trembling. Whether it was because of the situation with the men, or the very close situation with Santiago was beyond her, but Rachel didn't want to emotionally explore that.

"Well, damn!"

One of the men cooed out to them. Rachel couldn't help but smirk. It was working... well, hopefully.

"Touch me or something."

She whispered, not having to speak loud since she was right by his ear. Now, this was all for the act, but the words- she didn't have to be in character to say them.

Yike.

MysticMasquerade

09-11-2010, 08:25 PM

Mrs Nadir Khan

09-11-2010, 08:32 PM

OOC: So… I had a thought. It’s a very nice thought to keep our scenes organized. Meanwhile, RS-sexiness ensues. BIC:

Santiago Ortiz

So Santiago knew what he could do with Rachel. It seemed that the safest course of action in a place like La Zone Fonecée was to act like a passionate, lusty couple, who didn’t care about anything but each other and presented no threat. Santiago could very easily latch on to Rachel, shove her into the nearest wall, and let his hands and lips do what they’d been wanting to for months. But the prospect scared him more than the drug thugs at the other end of the alley.

Because at this point, Santiago wasn’t acting and Santiago knew he wouldn’t be able to stop himself if he got started.

She felt so good against him; soft in all the right places and so touchable. Santiago’s arm quivered slightly as he held fast to her and shut his eyes. But as he felt himself spin around, his eyes snapped back open.

He couldn’t remember pinning Rachel to the wall, even though he’d wanted to. And yet, somehow, he and Rachel were pressed into each other against the cold, hard brick. He barely had to step forward as Rachel reeled him in. His eyes happily slid out of focus as Rachel’s lips grazed his chin. He could feel her frantic pulse—or maybe that was his—beating wildly against his chest. Santiago exhaled slowly, trying to wipe the haze from his mind.

"Well, damn!"

One of the voices from the alleyway catcalled out to them. Santiago blinked in sudden confusion. He and Rachel were not alone. This was another show for her. This was Rachel, using him as a puppet-like body guard, playing with his marionette strings. His emotions, his body… She knew what she was doing to him. She had to. This was, for Rachel, an act.

"Touch me or something."

But it wasn’t an act for Santiago. The invitation was one Rachel would probably regret offering to him, because touching her was exactly what Santiago had wanted to do. Sparks ignited in Santiago’s eyes and an all-too-real grin spread across his face. Hunger. Desire. Passion. It was the opera bathrooms all over again. Except there was something else flaring in Santiago’s eyes.

Between him and the brick wall, was the girl he loved. He wanted her, but he also loved her. She did not have the predatory gleam in her eyes the way she had the first time she pretended to be Santiago’s lover. They were the eyes that Santiago caught himself gazing into from across the dinner table. Santiago suddenly wondered if maybe he was wrong. Maybe this was an act, yes, but a necessary one. She was not toying with him. She needed him. She trusted him. He was supposed to protect her. The thought of potentially frightening her with too rough a kiss, too harsh a grab entered Santiago’s mind before he did as he was told. They were in enough danger, with two approaching drug-dealers sneaking towards them. He couldn’t claim her lips and devour them. He couldn’t make love to her in the grimy back alleyway. He had to play this game her way, even if it meant delaying gratification. Getting out of here with Rachel in tow was all that mattered.

No. Being here with Rachel was all that mattered. His timing could not have been more perfect and that they were together, her asking him to touch her, implying a plea for protection, was what mattered.

He reached out to caress her face, stroking the soft skin of her cheek tenderly with his callused fingers. He arched forward, nuzzling the place where his hand had just been with his lips and his hand fell to his side.

It didn’t stay there for long

Santiago gripped Rachel’s waist, fingers digging a little into her hips, and lifted her up against the wall so he could lean into her. His lips swirled away her mouth because he knew that any kiss he would plant there tonight would be too hungry, too needy for Rachel. Too real.

But, aye, Dios did he want to kiss her.

He could feel the desire throb in his veins, sending ache to parts of his that he had been trying to ignore earlier in the night. Breathing shallow and shaky as he tried to slake the burning want, tried to pair it with level-headedness, Santiago’s lips found Rachel’s ear.

“You’re trusting me to touch you?” he murmured; his voice raw and filled with quiet intensity. “Is that what you really want?”

Please say yes.

Because no matter what Santiago told himself, he wanted to touch her. To take her. To have her.

She just had to say the word and the inhibitions Santiago was putting in place would crumble to the ground.

WanderingChild<3

09-12-2010, 12:21 AM

Rachel Day

Touch me or something. It wasn't emotional recall. It wasn't her getting into some fantasy character that she made up on the spot, from images of old movies or television. It wasn't acting. It was raw, real, and a demand that Rachel Day was saying, herself. Something just felt so different than what it felt like back at the motel months ago. That night had been her diving into her acting vault, and whipping out something new that... Well, it had turned into something real, but she hadn't known what. Now, she knew what. Rachel Day knew that she was falling in love with Santiago Ortiz, or, had already fallen. This situation was automatically heightened, increasing every desire; every throbbing emotion rippling in her lips to touch his. She was telling him to, giving him the okay, but ... it was an act. It was a show. This only happened when they were in situations like these. It probably would never happen in reality- when it was just them. It was wishful thinking, but the truth was, it was never going to happen. If he felt something with her, wouldn't he had made a move already? Goodness, he had to feel the same way. There couldn't be any possible way he didn't see what she offered all in the way she looked at him. Rachel could have sworn sometimes, that he was looking that way too. Ugh! This shouldn't even matter right now! They were in a dangerous situation right now, but ... Santiago was still, all she could think about. Yeesh, thinking about someone while in a possible very dangerous situation- that had to mean something!

Rachel's fingers began trembling against his neck, her eyes being forced to stare straight into his from the short distance they were from one another. It was as dangerous as the gun the alley bad guy was holding. Rachel hadn't seen such a raw expression from Santiago in all this time of being with him. She could see all the emotions her body was aching. It was terrifying and thrilling. The grin that took over his lips, sent chills down her spine, making something tingle in her body. She didn't even realize that she was grinning just as much as he was at that point. Surely, in a situation like this, in a bad place such as this, a person would never think they would be grinning and feeling all- well, Rachel was frightened of the word used to defy this, but anyways, it was a very unqiue moment happening. For all she knew, they were the only ones in that alleyway.

At the first touch his fingers to her cheek, Rachel's head reflexively jolted toward it, her bottom lip touching his wrist. She shut her eyes for a brief moment, sucking in her breath, until she could muster up the courage to face his intensity. Just as she opened her eyes, though, she felt his lips pressed up against her cheek. At that moment, she was shocked she hadn't just melted, and slid down the wall into the ground. The only other time she had ever felt this, was when she had been half asleep, and he had secretly done so. Now, she was awake and he knew it. There were no excuses. The only complaint Rachel had, was still, that he had missed yet again.

Desire rippled through her, twisting in his grasp of her waist- loving the feel of his fingers digging into her sides. It made her want so much more than just a kiss.

"You’re trusting me to touch you?” Rachel gulped, her eyes shut tight- his lips pressed up against her ear now. She titled her head back into the cement wall, pursing her lips. “Is that what you really want?” A faint whimper escaped from Rachel, feeling her body slide downward, feeling her hands slide down to his shoulders, squeezing tight- not knowing how to answer, and the question rising so much images and thoughts in her mind. He was doing something to her that Rachel didn't know if she could hold in aymore. She wanted him. She wanted him more than anything. She needed him. She needed him to need her and take her. Oh goodness, did she ever want them to happen now. After all these months, hours, minutes spent with one another- the underlying meaning in things they said, the quick glances at one another when they were decked out at the restraunt, the hidden kiss when she was asleep... It was beginning to all burst out, all the tension.

Trusting him to touch her...

Rachel’s hands stopped gliding across his chest and Santiago felt her push her palms against his chest hard. Santiago’s hand went from Rachel’s leg to cup her chin in his hand. He pulled her closer. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he promised in one ragged breath.

With the thought, with the current moment, Racehl twisted in his grasp lightly, swallowing hard, as her hands ran down to his chest, digging her fingers into the muscles she felt. "I trust you." She whispered breathlessly, her hands twisting the fabric of his shirt, everything heightening at this moment, and she did not know where to go from here. They couldn't pull back now. Everything was swarming around her, and her hips lurched forward, taking an almost grind into his. It was getting too far, but then again, wasn't it always?

"Santiago-" She blurted out in the moment, her eyes squeezing tight. She wanted to tell him she was sick of this acting, she was sick of this waiting around for something that always seemed to almost happen. She didn't want almost. She wanted it to happen. Now. Right at that moment. Rachel almost felt like crying. She loved him. Dammit, did she love him! "Santiago, just-"

Hold me. Kiss me. Take me.

"What kinda' action do we got here?"

Rachel Day jolted out of her... well, spell, realizing that- they were in this situation. It was pretty odd to say that she had forgotten that there were two guys with guns in the alley, but- Santiago was to blame for that.

"Do something!" She pleaded, slapping his chest now in a sheer panic whisper, her eyes widening at the sight of the two men coming toward them, their eyes taking the two in to see just what they were up too. Which meant, they had to be doing something or they were going to get it. Well, at least, it would have been a fight or something. She was sure that Santiago could probably take them, but she didn't want to have to hide bodies again.

"Do something to me!"

Mrs Nadir Khan

09-12-2010, 01:00 AM

Santiago Ortiz

"I trust you."

Rachel’s breathy whisper carried so much weight. Santiago seldom inspired trust in others, but to have Rachel trust him so completely with her life and now, with her body sent pure elation through Santiago. I trust you. She might as well have said I love you. I trust you. It was more than love. It was trust. Love came on its own, trust… Trust was earned. Santiago’s predatory grin gave way to something less primal, tenderer.

Her hips twisted against his and Santiago couldn’t do much to stop the groan of pleasure bubbling up in the back of his throat. A man with less self control would have been unzipping and stripping away the fabric barriers between them. Santiago found that his own hands were gripping the top of Rachel’s pants, the tips of his fingers just inside, absorbing the warmth of her body. He wanted to dive deeper, explore, and for a moment, his eyes transfixed on his hands. They weren’t doing what he wanted at all. They just stayed still.

"Santiago-"

Instantly, Santiago met Rachel’s eyes. Heat emanated from his, but Rachel’s squeezed firmly shut. Santiago wondered if she was backing out now or if she was having second thoughts. He swallowed hard, waiting almost anxiously for her to go on. He wasn’t going to hurt her. He’d promised that ages ago—in the Manager’s Office, at the Masquerade—why would that change now? Now, when he was in love with her, why would that change?

"Santiago, just-"

Before Santiago’s grip on Rachel could even slacken, a male voice too close by for comfort piped up in mild curiosity.

"What kinda' action do we got here?"

Santiago instinctively held Rachel tighter, pulling her into him so that no space remained. Pressed this close together, Santiago could see Rachel’s face change to a look of panic. She hit his chest.

"Do something!" she hissed, her voice desperate. "Do something to me!"

Santiago didn’t think twice before his lips made contact with Rachel’s jaw-line. To the left they went until coming to her chin. He paused, his lips massaging the skin, but instead of trailing upwards to her mouth Santiago moved down her neck, slowly and deliberately, tasting the flesh beneath his mouth and exploring. Exploring every inch of her jaw, her neck, until pausing on the collarbone and deeming that their resting place. Santiago kissed and kissed and kissed the place, longing to travel further down. Down, down, down…. Or wanting to soar back up to claim her lips. Rachel’s lips fascinated Santiago. They seldom held still. She smiled, frowned, pouted, grinned. She licked her lips to get his attention when they were out; pursed them in displeasure when he messed up the simplest household chores. Her lips were full, lush, the sort Santiago wanted so desperately to kiss. Instead, he stayed at her collarbone, working the skin with his own lips, plying it, and taking out months of pent –up passion on Rachel’s unsuspecting skin. He traced the ridge of her collarbone, coming to the dip just above her breasts and moving to the other side. Then, again, Santiago worked his hungry way up her neck. Suddenly, he was in no rush. This was foreplay. This was to be enjoyed. Slowly, deliberately, passionately. Gone was the rushing, desperate need he had shown against the sinks at the masquerade. Instead, Santiago wanted to prolong this moment forever. He didn’t want to ever come up for air; just for a kiss in return.

Once, Rachel had asked him what a lover was. What they did. What it all meant.

This was it. The desire to touch and be touched, paired with enough love for the person you held in your arms to trust them completely. Rachel could have done whatever she pleased to Santiago now, as he ran his lips against her soft skin and he would accept it.

Is this the something you wanted? Is this good enough? Should I do less? More? Tell me and I’ll do it.

Instead of voicing this flurry of thoughts, only one word escaped Santiago’s mouth between kisses.

“Rachel…” he moaned into the crook of her neck. ““Rachel…”

WanderingChild<3

09-15-2010, 01:47 AM

Rachel Day

She was running out of ideas! The distance was driving her mad- distracting her! Which… was not helping, because she was suppose to be distracting them. Not... herself. Oh goodness. Rachel should have known that throwing Santiago on top of her against a brick wall wouldn’t be the best idea. Long ago, it probably would have worked. Rachel Day would have taken up some sort of character, like she did long ago at the motel, and would have been doing something to make the gunmen think they were lovers or whatever of the night. That was long ago. Things changed. Things changed a lot. Long ago, Santiago Ortiz didn’t have this much power of Rachel Day’s emotions with even just the slightest glance of an eye. Long ago, Rachel Day thought that everything sexual was just so grotesque, but now- sexual tension was all that was in her life lately. Long ago, she was annoyed at the ‘jerk in tin foil’, but now … Rachel Day was in love with Santiago Ortiz.

Santiago Ortiz did something to her alright.

Rachel Day half expected him to pull out his gun that was hidden who knew where, and was big as who knew what, that could kill who knows how many people. Not that she approved of that method, but it wouldn’t have been the first time (or last) that she would see Santiago lash out in some ferocious way. So, at this point she didn’t know whether to cover her ears and brace for the gun shot (her ears were very sensitive), or twirl away from him to avoid the soon to be brawl that would happen with the meanie gun carriers that were coming toward them. She had made a distraction like usual, but goodness, did he expect her to carry them throughout this entire thing? By this point, by how close they were, Santiago got the picture, and would have them in safe in no time!

What the little actress didn’t know was that she would play a part in this road to safety.

Rachel Day’s gaze was stolen away from the men creeping toward them, and bulged out to look straight out ahead. Her body thrashed up against the wall, shocked at the sudden feeling of Santiago’s lips connecting with her chin. She froze in her place, her hands that once thrashed up against his chest, collapsing to her sides lifelessly. Her entire body felt somewhat like putty, and her lips ached for the feeling of the pair that was just centimeters away. She swallowed hard, trying to calm down her pounding heart so he wouldn’t feel how badly this was affecting her. Well, how good…ly.

He was just going to keep them there to act like he was faking kissing, right? Well, that was certainly not the way to fake kiss. His posture is all wrong, his lips should be-

Santiago Ortiz’s lips ceased at her neck, kissing it frantically and passionately.

Rachel’s mouth hung open, cries of surprise ecstasy longing to escape. Her body squirmed upward, grinding against him rough now, not having any control suddenly of her reaction. His lips lowered dangerous to the top of her cleavage; her hands almost wanting to push him down to have him go further. She had never felt his lips like this before. So many nights she imagined what it would be like to feel them underneath her skin. So many times she was caught staring at them- at how they did a distinct curve when he found something sadistically humerous. How they pursed together when he was in deep thought- giving no indication exactly as to what he was thinking about. The ridiculous expression his lips did, that Rachel Day could have sworn she was probably the only person on this planet who had actually seen a genuine smile from. Now they were taking control over her entire body. They were devouring her, and rippling tingles through her body, that she had never felt before. That she never knew she could feel before. That she wanted to keep feeling- but feel even more than just on her neck.

Her eyes lolled back, looking up skyward, shutting tight as soon as his lips dipped teasingly. If it were her shirt that was keeping him from dipping lower, at this point, Rachel Day was willing to tear her sweater into shreds. Oh goodness! What was this? She was turning into an animal! She felt so… so… so good. So, ugh she couldn’t even put words to it! Just sounds! She wanted him. She wanted him so bad. Everything inside of her was boiling. Everything was tingling, and she felt like a heavy weight of bricks were on her chest- the tension building up.

“Rachel…”

Rachel gasped out in delight, her ears ringing at the sound of her name- her body gliding upward at the pleasure that came in between.

“Rachel.”

“Yes…” Rachel groaned out breathlessly, not knowing at this point if she were thinking she needed to respond to the name- but ‘yes’ seemed like all she could muster up. Yes to this feeling. Yes she wanted him to keep going. Yes she was enjoying every minute of it. Yes, her name sounded so good coming from him. Feeling him work up into new territory of her neck, her shaking hands slapped on his back, taking up the material of his shirt, twisting it between her fingers. She grinded her teeth together, not knowing how to just take this paradise of pure pleasure. She swallowed hard, feeling him work up to her neck. Her body moved up and down against the cement wall slowly, her breath catching in her throat again. “Yes.” She moaned out again, not helping but to respond to this.

Rachel Day heard the footsteps of the men stop in front of them, but what her body did next had nothing to do with this little ‘distraction’ show they were supposed to be putting on, but something that was beginning to become unleashed from what Santiago had just released within her. Something that had been built up from the time that he had pinned her up against the sink, from each time she felt the urge to relive that moment. This was every day. Every day she had felt this, and now she had no control over herself, as she pressed herself up against his body, making every effort she could to feel every part of him up against her. Rachel tilted her head backward, so more her neckline and chest were exposed out to him, longing for him to not leave an inch of it untouched by his kiss. Her leg slid up his slowly, stretching out, and wrapping around him. She winced in ecstasy, her fingers clawing at his back. “Santiago…”

“Well ****, don’t let us stop you.”

It had worked.

Rachel Day couldn’t tell if they were still standing there, if they had walked away, or if they were pointing a gun at them. All she knew was this felt good. She knew that it was going to take a lot of something to pry her off now, and that she did not want to stop. She was in a completely different mindset now. A wild one where the usual Rachel Day who could control this tension- had absolutely no power when it came to the way Santiago pressed up against her skin. She had never felt his lips before, and only wanted to keep feeling them until her lips had the opportunity too.

Mrs Nadir Khan

09-15-2010, 02:47 AM

Santiago Ortiz

With each breath, Santiago could taste Rachel’s skin. His tongue pounded, wanting desperately to run over her flesh for a real taste. The sounds of her below him, gasping as he made contact with her, only intensified his longing.

“Yes…” she moaned as he murmured her name.

Rachel’s grip on Santiago tightened. He could feel her fingers tearing at his jacket and he wanted so badly for her to just get the damn thing off of him as things heated up. He wanted her to dig into his skin until she left scratches on his back. He wanted her to cry out his name into the night. Beneath his lips, he could feel Rachel swallow, feel her breathe. His lips rested against her jugular, feeling the beat of her heart. She slid down against the wall and Santiago’s grip on her tightened. He wasn’t going to let her get away from him. This was not the masquerade. This was not the opera house. This was La Zone Fonecée. Who was going to stop them? There were no limits to what they could do here, against this back alley wall, and Santiago wanted to do it all. To and with Rachel. Everything.

“Yes.”

Santiago’s lips trailed up Rachel’s jaw –line as her head lolled back and she pushed against him. Santiago did nothing to stop the growl of pleasure from rippling out of his throat. Self-control lost all meaning as Rachel exposed to him the whole of her neck and the top of her chest. Santiago had been intent on her ear, but the newly presented opportunity brought his lips back down. He felt something crawl up the side of his leg and for an instant, Santiago froze. But as Rachel’s leg wrapped around him he kept going. His lips plunged downwards to her collarbone again, this time, intent to go lower. Santiago wasn’t one to turn down an invitation…

One hand reached out to steady them against the wall. The instant they fell to the ground, there would be no stopping them. Or at least, no stopping Santiago. And while he hoped that Rachel’s moans were real, the nagging thought that she was a classically trained actress flitted into his mind. There were few things Santiago wouldn’t do, but if Rachel only said the word, he would stop. He would wrench himself away from her and walk her home as gentleman-like as he could, feigning embarrassment for touching her and for letting himself get so aroused by what to her may have been an act. But Santiago wasn’t embarrassed. He wanted this. He needed this. He loved Rachel. And the only thing that could get between him and her right now was her. Santiago would never, could never, do anything to Rachel against her will.

Santiago’s other arm encircled Rachel and held her fast to him, holding her so closely that he could feel every quiver, every twitch. In fact, Santiago wondered just how much of his own, rising response Rachel could feel. Could she feel his lips tremble against her skin? Could she feel his arm shake as it unsteadily supported them?

Santiago took Rachel’s writhing beneath him as a “yes”.

“Santiago…”

Her fingers gripped down on him and Santiago groaned. Santiago’s hand instinctively cushioned Rachel’s head as he slammed into Rachel and the pair made harsh contact against the wall. Leaning into her, Santiago wondered what was stopping him and Rachel from tearing their clothes to shreds and—

“Well ****, don’t let us stop you.”

Santiago stopped mid-kiss. That was why he was kissing Rachel in the first place. Drug addicts at the end of the street that, if they perceived Rachel and Santiago as a threat, would have killed them without a thought. Santiago , with his back to the street, could not tell what they were doing and he strained to hear, but his lips remained pressed to Rachel’s collarbone as he inhaled and exhaled, heavy, hot breaths. Don’t let them stop? Santiago did not mind the sound of that.

And if, by some unjust twist of fate the men behind them decided to aim fire, Santiago would rather the last thing he ever did was kiss Rachel. He wanted to kiss her forever. And right now, the sun was not going to rise, work would not start in the morning, and Santiago and Rachel never had to go home. Unless Rachel wanted them to. Because Santiago had no objections to taking Rachel home with him, to the home they both lived in.

Santiago’s kisses gained intensity again, this time, sailing down just past the collarbone with purposeful deliberation.

MystMoonstruck

09-18-2010, 10:02 AM

Verity Ravensdale

Verity was growing slightly more at ease, and her rescuer's polite smile helped to advance that, if only a little.

"You trust me?" he mused.

She wanted to reply to his words. She wanted to make it known to him that her trusting him at all in such a short amount of time was no small matter. She did not offer her trust up easily, and when she did, she did so with great care. Perhaps then he might understand the depth of her gratefulness.

"I suppose that's repayment enough, especially if you will allow me to escort you somewhere safe. If it's money that concerns you, there is a motel near here that I can guide you to though I warn you that it is as seedy as the rest of these surroundings. If you have the funds, I know of an admirable establishment in a much-safer part of the city. I know that it's none of my business, but you might find the motel nearly as dangerous as the streets."

Well then, perhaps her plans were best not kept. She'd initially had a hard time believing that, even in the undesirable part of Paris, she would be unsafe behind a locked door. But now...well, this man was forcing her to reconsider. He certainly sounded as though he'd seen his fair share of seediness La Zone Foncée.

"Pardon me, but I must say you do not look as if you belong here, Mademoiselle. I would hate to see you escape molestation one place only to succumb elsewhere." She heard him continue. She couldn't supress a gentle grin; he was quite dashing, she realized. He spoke in a tone that had a subtle charm to it, and she had to admit, it wasn't unpleasant to hear in that moment.

"Thank you for your concern," She began. She felt foolish as the thought passed through her mind, but she was rather glad for his presence. "I suppose I have sufficient funds to stay at the place that you suggested." And she did; she had some money left from what Alistair had sent her, although she had been attempting to use it sparingly. This instance, however, seemed like one in which she could, or rather, should splurge.

"I'd certainly appreciate your company in getting there." She said, fearing what would happen if she separated from him in this part of the city. "I'm Verity, by the way."

OOC: Forgive the lengthy delay, please! I finally am having some luck managing to complete some posts without them disappearing. And, I think we've worked out a plan of action as to our thread-hopping. I hope I don't get mixed up! BIC:

Dorian Grayson

"Thank you for your concern," she began, and he merely nodded his assent, graciously accepting her thanks, knowing he was being rather smug but thinking it fit his dark hero persona. "I suppose I have sufficient funds to stay at the place that you suggested." He was disappointed to hear that, as he was rather out of his element when it came to someplace like Le Meurice. His rough edges undoubtedly would show in such surroundings though perhaps he could try the old undercover cop or secret agent bit. After all, she was meeting him in a place where he fit in and she stood out. "I'd certainly appreciate your company in getting there."

"Of course," he conceded, assuring her that he intended to remain her protector for as long as necessary.

I'm Verity, by the way."

Here it came: The moment of truth~rather, untruth as he weighed which name to offer. "Verity~a lovely name," he commended. "Truth," he interpreted, seeing the irony in the situation. "I? I am Malachy," he decided. "Malachy the Messenger," he added as further definition. "Now, my task~pleasant as it is~is to guide you to safety. If we walk this way..." He gestured toward the quickest way out of this region. "...we shall find a cab driver brave enough to come near. I have a thought: Perhaps we should make a stop so that you can call ahead to the hotel to ensure you have a room ready. If not Le Meurice, perhaps elsewhere. I know just the place, if you would care for something to eat, perhaps a nightcap. And, since I made the invitation, it is my treat, as they say. Now..." He offered his left arm to her. "... I shall guide you to safety, Mademoiselle. Malachy Storm at your service." The rogue otherwise known as Dorian Grayson was grateful that they encountered no more thugs during their trek out of this place, which allowed him to finally deposit his weapon on a stoop before hailing the promised cab. "Shall we try Note Bleue?" he suggested.

OOC: I'm so sorry for the brevity, but I didn't want to take over too much. If you'd like to add a finishing post, feel free. Otherwise, we can pick up at Note Bleue. I LOVE thread-hopping! BIC:

WanderingChild<3

09-20-2010, 11:49 PM

Rachel Day

The outside voices hadn’t stopped Santiago’s passionate kisses, and they weren’t stopping Rachel Day’s moans of pleasure. Her eyes remained shut, knowing that if she opened them- the world would just be a blur anyway. Her muscles wouldn’t allow her to move anymore, and she didn’t want to move away from this anyway. Never, had she felt this way before. She never knew that these feelings could exist. It was one thing to watch movies and plays- but to actually not be a character and feel this way, was something Rachel had never before experienced. It was a heightened emotion of wanting, needing, and…loving.

“Seriously, get a room.”

It was hard not to ignore the two men that stood right by Rachel and Santiago, watching them and laughing the entire time. Her face was looking straight at theirs; Santiago’s taking a dive in her neck as a hiding spot. No fair. Well, alright- so fair. She would not want to trade places. It felt too good. The men being right in there little private square, making her tense up, and ease away from Santiago. Not that, she wanted to stop. She could have kept going all night! Rachel just didn’t feel particularly comfortable moaning and groaning with the utmost pleasure in front of two bad guys.

Rachel’s shaking hands, pushed against Santiago’s chest, swallowing hard, and trying not to think about all the rippling sensations that were still devouring her. “We should…” She croaked out, her voice breathless. She was obviously panting, perspiration covering her forehead and chest. Her hand fell from his chest, down to his hand, grabbing it tightly. She hoped that he wouldn’t realize how clammy it was, and still shaky from all the… adrenaline.

One of the men hungrily looked at Rachel, and then went to Santiago with a congratulating wink. “It’d save me a movie rental, if you know what I mean.”

The little actress furrowed her brows. “No, I don’t know what you mean.”

The men’s grin faded away- Rachel ruining the sexual driven joke. The other men slapped him in the arm, beginning to walk out of the alleyway. “We don’t need to make friends here. Or porno partners.” They began walking out of the alley. “Now lets scram!”

Rachel swallowed hard, her body swaying slightly from how dizzy she still was, her hand squeezing Santiago’s. She leaned into the wall, taking a deep breath. A deep breath of relief that they had not managed to kill someone, and another one because… Well… Damn.

Mrs Nadir Khan

09-21-2010, 01:24 AM

Santiago Ortiz

Lower, lower, lower…

Si, yes, si…

Santiago’s eyes closed happily as his lips explored every inch of Rachel they could find.

“Seriously, get a room.”

His eyes shot open and Santiago was met with the sight of Rachel’s creamy skin. Nothing but skin and sweater. He inhaled sharply, only to smell and taste the scent of Rachel. Blinking rapidly, he tried to escape the haze without moving. The male voices were back. They were closer than before. They were watching.

It was a good thing that Santiago was not easily ruffled. Allowing his lips to linger, he listened to the intruders’ laughter. They were little more than annoyances to Santiago now. But Rachel tensed up beneath him. Santiago wondered if it was the strangers or his touch that made her so skittish tonight. As long as she was with him, she was safe. His gun was still readily clipped to his hip and if he thought there was any real danger, Santiago could draw and shoot dexterously. He would, too, if it meant keeping Rachel safe.

Trembling, Rachel reached for Santiago’s chest and forced him away from her body. Santiago looked at her questioningly.

“We should…”

“Mhmm…” he agreed. They should. Get a room. Yes, they should. They had plenty at home to—

Rachel’s shaking, clammy hand grabbed for Santiago’s own. And as they held hands, Santiago noticed for the first time that Rachel wasn’t the only one quivering in anticipation.

At least, for Santiago, it was anticipation. Rachel was probably more concerned about the approaching footsteps from behind Santiago. The Spaniard blinked. So much for ‘not easily ruffled’.

“Chica—“ Santiago started breathlessly, before being cut off by one of the men in their accidental audience.

“It’d save me a movie rental, if you know what I mean.”

The man winked at Santiago. A year ago, Santiago might have chuckled and grinned darkly back. Now, the hoarse sound coming from his throat could hardly classify as “dark”, even though his eyes clouded over angrily. The fingers on his free hand flexed and for a moment, Santiago considered firing a warning shot into this scumbag’s head. Rachel was not some cheap form of entertainment she was—

“No, I don’t know what you mean.”

-- either exceptionally clueless or playing this the right way. Santiago wasn’t one-hundred percent sure. All he knew was that the stranger’s grin faded instantaneously and if the man was fool enough to try and explain his little joke to Rachel, Santiago wasn’t going to let him cheapen the moment he and Rachel just had.

Cheapen. How much cheaper does it get than a quick make-out against an alley wall?

The second stranger nudged the first suddenly and Santiago’s dark eyes followed them.

“We don’t need to make friends here. Or porno partners.” They began walking out of the alley. “Now let’s scram!”

Santiago wanted to wait until the men were completely gone, completely out of sight before he tried to deal with the reality that he had just let his lips, teeth, and tongue have a field-day against Rachel’s skin and the even more important reality that she was still here, still holding his hand. But as Rachel squeezed and sighed, Santiago was forced to come to terms with reality long before he was ready.

Rachel leaned into the wall and Santiago bit down on his tongue. Part of him wanted to ask if she was all right. Part of him wanted to ask why the hell she was wandering out here alone. Part of him wanted to ask if she was ready for round two.

Part of him didn’t want to ask and just wanted to do.

He shifted his jaw and unclenched it, instead turning his gaze to Rachel. She looked… winded. As though the wall was the only thing keeping her standing. Even that did not completely remove the desire in Santiago’s eyes. He forced himself to look away.

“Come on,” he said, squeezing Rachel’s hand gently. “If you want, on the way back home, you can tell me why you were out here. We just can’t stand here, though, in case more of those cochinos show up…”

Mrs Nadir Khan

11-16-2010, 06:08 AM

OOC: Double posting because BS is about to go down. Rissy, we are gonna rock this dynamic! Bill/Santiago only! BIC:

Santiago Ortiz

Alone. The word once brought Santiago solace. He liked alone time. He liked having time by himself with his thoughts. He drew comfort from being able to separate himself from the gang and his so-called friends. He’d always been grateful for time away from so-called novias he took on back in Spain. Even when arriving in Paris, Santiago was just thankful he knew no one and could make a fresh start. Now, though, having a steady girlfriend and best friend who were in New York together for a whole slew of funerals and memorials and legal mierda, Santiago found that being alone was rather… Well… Lonely. Since she moved in, Rachel and Santiago had not spent more than a few hours apart. Since they began dating, they hadn’t slept in separate beds. Not a single night had passed without them kissing. Making love was routine. Never mind the fact that during the daylight hours while they were apart, Santiago was either working or spending his time with Myron. Myron, whose witticisms and jack-ass remarks were beginning to be missed severely by the Spaniard.

It was getting bad. Day two since their departure and Santiago couldn’t bear the silence of his apartment. But even the sounds of Le Marais were of little comfort to Santiago. He heard snatches of friends’ banter. He saw lovers entwined on porches. It was enough to make Santiago want to stab his eyes and ears until they literally bled.

Instead of self-harming, though, Santiago chose to revisit a more familiar vice.

La Zone Fonecée. He hadn’t been here since murdering Morales and though he had implied to Rachel only a few nights ago that he was not at peace with what he’d done; though he’d told Sauveur he was past all that… He couldn’t help but long for the familiar sights and sounds of an alleyway or corner bar. But Rien Speciaux brought back too many memories—of Rachel and of Maureen—so Santiago took his Voll Dam beer to the streets after ordering. He quite possibly looked like any other denizen of the bad side of town, leaning against a lamppost, beer can in hand, watching a yowling stray cat dig through the garbage. The thing was scrawny, pathetic looking. Santiago wasn’t much of an animal person though, so he wasn’t sure if he was considering putting it out of its misery for selfless reasons or because he hated the screechy sounds it made. The thing was practically skin and bones. It perched on top of the dumpster after an unsuccessful search. Santiago shook his head. If Rachel had been here, she would probably have felt sorry for the cat. She might even have cajoled Santiago into taking it home and taking care of it.

Santiago threw his can on the ground and crushed it underfoot. The cat, startled by the sound, scampered away.

That would work, too.

He needed to think of something else. Anything else. Santiago welcomed distraction and perhaps that was what really led him here tonight. On the wrong side of town, Santiago was always sure to find something to distract him…

masquerading rose

11-16-2010, 06:40 PM

OoC: If thi spost isn't finished, I apologize. I'm in Chemistry class. Don't worry, sis, I have all my work done! BiC:

William MaCarthy

When Bill entered the bar, the sun was shining brightly-- too brightly for the mood Bill was in today. Today, the only thoughts running through his mind were scenes and screen caps from last night.

The knock on his door had been frantic, awakening him from his daze of news and weather channels. It was only after her prolonged, spontaneous kisses that Bill realized who this midnight visitor might be. He peeled her from him, getting a good look of her in the hallway lighting. Victorine. Victorine, the reason he took this job in France was at his door. Was she here to apologize finally? Was she here to accept his marriage proposal from a year ago?

But no questions were answered that night, and Bill was left with the rembrants of her kisses, the events of last night riding on his conscience and a bucket of self-doubt that seemed to swell up inside him. And, as he had expected, when the morning light gleamed through the window, Victorine was nowhere to be seen.

The cold shower and the walk in the brisk autumn morning didn't cure him of her, couldn't shake him from this funk. Every turn, every leaf, every second in Parisian time, reminded William of Victorine. The only solace Paris provided was the dark alley way, lined with **** and garbage covered streets, decorated with violence and graffiti, and where bars were abundant.

Clubs had become Victorine's hiddey-hole, but bars repelled her, sending shivers of repulsion down her spine. So the bars opened their arms to Bill, welcomin ghim sweetly, offering him an escape from last night's events.

It took hours to get drunk. Being Irish, Bill was very capable of holding his liquor. He could remember (vaguely) drinking competitions, all in jest, with his brother Ben, both of them still lucid after several shots.

But now, the sun was far past low beyond the horizon. It was now a time for stray cats to nibble away at the scraps of junk in various garbage cans. It was the time when gangs appeared, and prostitutes offered discounts.

The cool autum breeze turned into a cold wind, and brick wall offered support, a temporary rest stop.

Bill stood, his insides twisting, exploding from his mouth the false promises of the alcohol. His shirt now smelled, covered in colors blurred by his vision and too dark to see in the current lighting. He stumbled, leaning into the wall. He would pay for this later. This would be on his conscience. God how he hated Victorine.

Mrs Nadir Khan

11-17-2010, 04:21 AM

Santiago Ortiz

Santiago’s eyes followed the cat as it ran away. He expected to see it scamper into empty darkness, but as it ran past a shadowy figure, Santiago suddenly wished he could go back to utter aloneness. At least then, he wasn’t on edge. Now, seeing a human form he hadn’t noticed previously made Santiago’s adrenaline start up.

“You’d get out of here if you knew what was good for your health,” he said in a low, almost threatening tone as he drew nearer the man.

Santiago didn’t mind playing his role of gang member every now and again. When he thought his life might be in jeopardy, it was reflexive. And though he knew little about the man before him, Santiago knew anyone in La Zone Fonecée was less-than-savory. You had to be bigger and badder than who ever you came across, or risk death. Santiago drew himself to his imposing, full height and in the dull light, he flashed the man a glimpse of the gun clipped to his hip under his jacket.

But as Santiago’s eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, he realized that he was facing not a threat, but his assistant stage manager.

“Oh, ****ing hell…” he murmured under his breath, running his free hand through his hair. “MaCarthy?”

Santiago grimaced and rolled his eyes skyward. Then, an oily smile played on his lips as he readjusted his jacket.

“You live out here or something?”

masquerading rose

11-18-2010, 06:24 PM

OoC: In chemistry. Sorry if it isn't finished. BiC:

William MaCarthy

“You’d get out of here if you knew what was good for your health.”

You don't know me! Bill screamed from inside his head You don't know what's good for your own health! Honestly, Bill didn't know what he thinking, and he couldn't tell if he was thinking it, or if the words were actually fumbling from his mouth in a string of jumbled nonsense.

“Oh, ****ing hell… MaCarthy?”

Oh, ****ing hell.... it's not! Again, Bill could have been shouting this out to the heavens above without knowing it. It seemed as if he was thinking it, violently screaming it in the echoing caverns of his intoxicated mind.

“You live out here or something?”

"Are you talking to me? Are you talking to me? I'm sorry, sir, I don't speak your language."

Bill squinted into the darkness, catching one, no two, no three shadowy figures of a man. "Are you a Dago? Are you here to shoot me?"

A sober Bill would have either greeted the man or would have walked calmly away, ready to go home, or complete a series of exceedingly mundanes activities to get his mind off of anything bothering him, or he would hop on his motorcycle and drive until the signs were in German, and he would be forced to turn back the way he came. But this intoxicated Bill didn't even know where his motorcycle was, and stood in front of this man stupidly in a dark alley way, practically asking to be killed. Which, judging by the day's events, Bill wouldn't have minded.

Throughout Bill drunken little phrases, the strangers voice was still registering. He remembered it vaguely. It was a voice that usually yelled at him, or snarled at him, heavily coated with a think layer of accent.

Work. The opera house. Saw dust and sarcasm. Threatened little pink slips and angry, frustrated remarks.

Oh ****.

Bill slumped against the wall, feeling each brick slide harshly against his shirt.

"Oh ****." Bill said, this time, knowing he wasn't thinking it, but saying it with quarter-sober realizaton. "I'm in trouble, am I?" If Penny, his younger sister, were here, would pull her head out of her arse for a moment and correct his drunken attempt at grammar. Thankfully, she wasn't here. But her absence also meant that Bill was alone to fend for himself. And there was no one and nothing excpet the brick wall for him to turn to for support.

Mrs Nadir Khan

11-19-2010, 12:16 AM

Santiago Ortiz

Was it Santiago’s imagination or was the stench of alcohol coming from MaCarthy? It was certainly stronger by the Brti, but Santiago initially dismissed the alcohol smell to their proximity to the local bars, but when MaCarthy opened his mouth, Santiago could no longer give him the benefit of doubt. The man’s breath reeked and the sheer rankness of it surprised Santiago.

"Are you talking to me?” MaCarthy slurred. “Are you talking to me?”

Regrettably, yes, Santiago was talking to MaCarthy. There was no one else in the abandoned alley. And while Santiago would rather smash his own face against the lid of the nearest dumpster than chat with his clearly drunken assistant, it was damn lucky that Santiago found MaCarthy before MaCarthy had a run-in with La Zone Fonecée’s less benevolent residents. The idiot would probably have wandered into a mugger’s waiting hands or managed to find the precinct’s only patrol cops and get himself arrested. For MaCarthy’s sake, this little meeting was probably the best the Brit could ask for.

“I'm sorry, sir, I don't speak your language."

But then again, Santiago was not the patron saint of reckless fools. He could walk away now and return to his empty apartment. There would be no consequence for Santiago in walking away now. He motioned to leave.

"Are you a Dago?” MaCarthy asked.

The offensive term halted Santiago. MaCarthy’s brother had called him that. Dago. A term that lumped Spaniards and Italians and portugales and gitanos together in a giant category of derision. Santiago, who could spew off some of the most colorful Spanish and English phrases took offense at that. His shoulders tensed and slowly, Santiago inhaled and rolled them back. He had to maintain self control.

“Are you here to shoot me?"

Though Santiago would hardly consider MaCarthy’s death the greatest tragedy the world had ever known, he could not bring himself to reach for his gun. Self-defense, only, he’d told Rachel. Though at the time, the regulation applied only to her, Santiago was now following it, too. He could imagine the horror and anguish on his girlfriend’s face if Santiago was arrested while she was in New York City. Especially over MaCarthy. No matter how frustrating the man was, no matter how much he deserved a good thrashing, shooting MaCarthy would be extreme. Santiago stared at MaCarthy with a lifted eyebrow and mild disbelief.

And then slowly, realization overtook MaCarthy’s pasty features. He began slipping down the wall.

"Oh, ****," MaCarthy said. “I’m in trouble, am I?”

Santiago chuckled, dark eyes flickering in amusement.

“What you do off the clock isn’t my business,” he admitted, thankful that the same applied for him. “But work should be the least of your worries. People who stagger around here drunk and unarmed are usually found a week later, rotting in the dumpster. You’re extremely lucky I found you before some deranged murderer did.”

masquerading rose

11-19-2010, 11:11 PM

William MaCarthy

“What you do off the clock isn’t my business. But work should be the least of your worries. People who stagger around here drunk and unarmed are usually found a week later, rotting in the dumpster. You’re extremely lucky I found you before some deranged murderer did.”

Santiago's words were interpretted by Bill as slurred noises than ran together in nonsensical blurbs of sound. The only words that registered to Bill were the ones in the final sentence. Bill laughed humourlessly. "Ha. Lucky. Yeah. I'm lucky." His voice was almost as bitter as the liquor that laced his breath. "I'm the luckiest man in the whole ****ing world. I am the entipome of lucky!" Bill didn't even flinch at his inebreated attempt at 'epitome'. He continued on with his bitter slur of frustration. "No. If I were lucky, I would've woken up the way I had hoped. And even if I didn't, if I were lucky, I would've drinken myself dead. Stone cold dead. That would've been lucky. But no. Nothing of any of that sort happened tonight."

Bill put his head to his knees. He tried not to cry. Crying wasn't is style. Even as a drunk, crying wasn't his style. Ben was the weepy drunk, Penny the crazy drunk. Bill was the neutral drunk, the Swiss drunk. He didn't cry. Tear ducts were useless to him, with exception of every morning when he put his contacts in. Speaking of which, where were they?

"Just go home." He put his head back on the wall, letting it roll over weakly. "Just go home."

Mrs Nadir Khan

11-20-2010, 03:28 AM

Santiago Ortiz

Santiago didn’t think his tirade would process. MaCarthy’s too-loud laugh only confirmed that suspicion. Santiago shut his eyes and braced himself for a round of word-vomit, if not for actual vomit. The more MaCarthy laughed, the more Santiago realized the level of inebriation his assistant reached. Santiago wasn’t sure if he could recall a time when he’d ever gotten so drunk.

Of course not, you idiot, he chided himself. If you were that drunk, you probably wouldn’t remember anything at all.

"Ha. Lucky. Yeah. I'm lucky."

Santiago opened his eyes at the sheer bitterness of MaCarthy’s voice. Here it came. The sarcastic rambling about how ‘lucky’ MaCarthy was to be spending part of his weekend wasted while his boss stared at him like a disgusting science experiment gone wrong.

"I'm the luckiest man in the whole ****ing world. I am the entipome of lucky!"

Santiago winced. That he spoke better English than the Brit would have pleased Santiago if MaCarthy had been sober. But now, all Santiago heard was garbled nonsense. He’d take MaCarthy’s barbed sarcasm over this any day. He peered down at MaCarthy, who was now sitting on the dirty sidewalk.

"No. If I were lucky, I would've woken up the way I had hoped. And even if I didn't, if I were lucky, I would've drinken myself dead. Stone cold dead. That would've been lucky. But no. Nothing of any of that sort happened tonight."

MaCarthy’s suicidal sentiments surprised Santiago. The Spaniard wished him dead every now and again, but that was out of frustration and very seldom—if ever—serious. But trying to drink yourself dead… That was far more serious than any half-hearted death-glare doled out by an exasperated stage manager. Santiago crouched down in front of Bill, resting on his haunches, trying to study him.

And then it hit Santiago just how little he knew about his assistant.

There were some employees he could rattle off information about. Hennings was born in Maine and had been in the United States Military. Cam got a kick out of androgyny on and off the clock, but mostly she just had a pretty damn powerful kick. Stuff like that. People he’d actually invested in. He had never really invested himself in MaCarthy. Though Santiago didn’t like to bother with regrets, he inevitably did. And now, staring at MaCarthy and not knowing what to say to the younger man, Santiago wondered just how different things would have been if he’d been a little more welcoming when MaCarthy was first hired.

"Just go home," MaCarthy said. His head flopped over limply. "Just go home."

Santiago, who didn’t willingly reach out to touch most other people, seized firm hold of MaCarthy’s hand and tugged the other man to his feet as Santiago himself stood.

“All right, I’ll go home. But you’re going to walk with me. You can’t just sit in an alleyway all night.”

Yes, he can! something inside Santiago protested. He’s not your responsibility! Just go home!

But it dawned on Santiago that, regardless of whether MaCarthy was his responsibility or if the man could languish in an alley on the wrong side of town, Santiago wanted company. His best friend was out of town. His girlfriend was, too. He was walking home to an empty flat in Le Marais. Though MaCarthy was hardly Santiago’s first choice in companion, he was better than nothing for now.

Besides. If MaCarthy died out here of alcohol poisoning, that made more work for Santiago. He already had to replace two staff members. A third? He might as well make the Opera Populaire a one-Spaniard show.

masquerading rose

11-20-2010, 04:24 AM

William MaCarthy

Bill expected Santiago to walk away, leaving Bill alone. As he sat there, he tried not to replay last night's events in his mind. But instead, they played, bouncing around in his head. Victorine saying his name, over and over again. He could listen to her say it forever. But as Victorine's voice played over and over in his mind, it morphed into a chorus of other voices. "William. Oh William." Victorine's voice was angelic. "Oi! Will! She's playing you!" Ben's voice was loud and angry. "Bill, darling, I'm worried about you!" His mother's voice was matronly and concerned. "Bill!" "Will." "Billy..." "Willy." "William!" "Bill MaCarthy." "MACARTHY!!" It was beginning to drive him mental. They overlapped each other, different chants in differnt tones, different frequencies, and occasionally different dialects. He clenched his fists and grabbed at his hair. Was it his imagination (or the alcohol), or were the voices singing?

Bill was almost glad when Ortiz didn't say his name, but instead agreed with him. “All right, I’ll go home."

Bill sighed. Good. Leave me here. But two hands grabbed him and yanked him. Bill's head rushed. "Wow." The earth swirled before him.

"But you’re going to walk with me. You can’t just sit in an alleyway all night.”

Bill's smile fell into a droopy, lopsided frown. "I may be drunk, but I am not going home with you. You can't take advantage of me, Ortiz!" Bill said, choking down a hiccup. "And I can sit here for as long as it takes her to find me and feel bad for what she did. She's a Circe, that one is." Bill wasn't sure where this metaphor was going. It had something to do with Victorine being determined to make every man out to be a pig, and about she tempted and enchanted them, just to spring the trap at last minute and be gone the next morning. That was Bill's experience, and he couldn't fathom how many other men like him there were, dehumanized and turned into a piggish tickmark on her bed post. He shuddered at the thought of just how many others there were.

Mrs Nadir Khan

11-20-2010, 05:38 AM

Santiago Ortiz

"I may be drunk, but I am not going home with you. You can't take advantage of me, Ortiz!"

You just had to move him? You couldn’t leave well enough alone…

Santiago was a murderer, never a rapist. He certainly wouldn’t try to take advantage of MaCarthy. He rolled his eyes at the drunken man’s concern.

"And I can sit here for as long as it takes her to find me and feel bad for what she did. She's a Circe, that one is."

Girl problems. … ****.

Santiago should have known. Not because he was blessed (or cursed) with infinite knowledge about the life of Bill MaCarthy, but because there were few things that could drive a man to getting that drunk. A woman was usually it. Hell, Santiago was on this side of town because of a woman. Whether you were angry, lonely, or happy because of a woman, if you were a man, you were going to do something stupid. Trouble was, even though Santiago knew that… He didn’t know what to say.

“Women,” he said, almost sympathetically. Then, pausing, added, “This girl, Circe, is it? She is your girlfriend? Wife?”

masquerading rose

11-21-2010, 05:29 PM

William MaCarthy

“Women. This girl, Circe, is it? She is your girlfriend? Wife?”

Bill arched an eyebrow at his boss. "Who's Circe? I don't know a Circe."

Bill was confused. And Bill was drunk. Drunk and confued did not make for one good feeling.

He looked down at his hand. No wedding ring. Rings for fun, rings for style, but none of them had attatched to them the importance of matrinony.

"I know a Victorine. She started this whole rotten affair. She's the reason I'm here, in this mess. I hate her, I hate her so much. But I love her. Is she my wife? No. She should be, but no." Bill put his head in his hands with anger. How could he love Victorine with everything he was, but hate her so much at the same time? Life was full of complicated paradoxes that did nothing for his mental health while drunk. He would contemplate it later, while gathering up the things Victorine left ay his house. He would send them to her like a real gentleman, instead of keeping them (like he wanted). He wasn;t going to cling to her belongings like a creep, in hopes of seeing her again. He wanted to prove his worth to her. And chances were, he wasn't going to get there by getting drunk in an alley way.

Mrs Nadir Khan

11-21-2010, 11:55 PM

Santiago Ortiz

"Who's Circe? I don't know a Circe."

This was why Santiago didn’t like drunks. They couldn’t keep their stories straight. Santiago preferred a clear story to any drunken confusion, regardless of the truth. Truth was subjective anyhow. Clarity was not. He rolled his eyes.

"I know a Victorine,” MaCarthy continued. “She started this whole rotten affair. She's the reason I'm here, in this mess. I hate her, I hate her so much. But I love her. Is she my wife? No. She should be, but no."

Santiago quirked a brow, but did not say anything. He hadn’t taken MaCarthy for a romantic. In fact, he was pretty much sure that the man didn’t love anyone or anything on the planet. If Santiago was a grouch, MaCarthy was a *******. At least Santiago had friends and a girlfriend. He never really saw MaCarthy hanging out with anyone. He couldn’t recall ever hearing the man laugh without laughing at someone. In fact, MaCarthy was a British version of Santiago five years ago, minus gang involvement. Maybe that was why Santiago really didn’t like spending time with Bill MaCarthy. Maybe that was why right now, he gave the younger man’s shoulder an affirming squeeze. Even longer ago than five years, Santiago had been in a one-sided love-affair. He’d spent nights drinking and smoking and hitting the local street corners with his so-called friends (who he later learned were all in the gang), wishing that Gisele picked him over Joaquin. He shook his head.

“She’s French, hmm?” he asked with a knowing smile. “Frenchwomen have knack for trampling hearts without even trying. It’s a sport for them, I think. Tell me about her.”

masquerading rose

11-22-2010, 12:38 AM

William MaCarthy

“She’s French, hmm? Frenchwomen have knack for trampling hearts without even trying. It’s a sport for them, I think. Tell me about her.”

"Well..." Bill pondered this. But pondering was hard when drunk. That and making good descions. But for Bill, it was mainly pondering that was hard for him in this state. "She's... French. That says a lot." Bill swallowed down a pool of sick that formed in his mouth. "She's tricky. But that be the French. She is so amazingly talented, and most likely possible the most beautiful woman in this planet." Again with the unnoticed, horrid grammar. "She's really fun to be with when she's not, you know, trying to kill your soul." Bill tried walking with Santiago, leaning against the stage manager. "Its almost unpossible to be negative feelings towards her." A sober Bill would cringe at the horrendous grammar, and try to decifer it, while laughing at the drunken person's attempt at speech. "But don;t ask me what she's like. I like everything about her. Ask her yourself. She lives with you." Bill hiccuped after this.

"No. She works with you. At the Opera House. I'd be so bloody aggro if she lived with you. But I wouldn't be surprised." Bill looked forward but saw nothing but foggy dark. "Where are we going anyways, Ortiz?"

Bill felt his stomach lurch again. There was no more than alcohol in his system, running haywire on emptiness. Bill hadn't eaten since lunch yesterday. "Can we go eat, Ortiz? I'll pay."

Mrs Nadir Khan

11-22-2010, 01:29 AM

Santiago Ortiz

Despite his hatred for drunken babbling, Santiago knew it was best to keep the drunken person talking. Keep them awake. Keep them focused. He didn’t feel like asking MaCarthy a hundred times over where he lived and what his mother’s maiden name was. So… He’d let MaCarthy take the reins of the topic. So… They were stuck talking about this Victorine girl.

Just super. Exactly how Santiago wanted to pass his first night without Rachel.

"She's... French. That says a lot."

The Brit was slurring loudly as they moved. Santiago was just waiting for some offended Frenchman to come out of a nearby apartment and try to beat them up for the anti-French sentiments spewing off MaCarthy’s drunken lips. But, so far, not a soul paid them much mind.

"She's tricky. But that be the French. She is so amazingly talented, and most likely possible the most beautiful woman in this planet."

Santiago made a guttural “mhmm” sound as he listened. Amazingly talented and most beautiful woman on the planet? Santiago wasn’t too sure about that, but he did hope that his idea of the most beautiful woman on the planet didn’t come home to find out that Santiago spent his weekend sitting with the poster child for alcohol poisoning in some hospital or another. Regardless of MaCarthy’s inebriation, the man sounded over-the-moon in love. It made Santiago’s stomach twist. Either that or the foul smell of MaCarthy’s breath was doing that.

"She's really fun to be with when she's not, you know, trying to kill your soul."

MaCarthy leaned heavily into Santiago. The stage manager grunted but did not shove his assistant away. God, he hated being a human crutch… But what else was he supposed to do now? They were walking.

"Its almost unpossible to be negative feelings towards her. But don’t ask me what she's like. I like everything about her. Ask her yourself. She lives with you."

“What?” Santiago stopped walking, his eyes riveted to MaCarthy’s face. Rachel wasn’t French. She certainly wasn’t a soul killer.

"No. She works with you. At the Opera House. I'd be so bloody aggro if she lived with you. But I wouldn't be surprised."

Santiago kept on walking, tugging MaCarthy along. So the girl was French, slutty, tricky, and a soul-killer and MaCarthy still loved her? What a pathetic waste of emotion. Santiago had done his time with the whole unrequited love routine. But he’d always picked a woman worth the heartache. First Gisele and later Rachel. Well, Rachel hadn’t turned out to be unrequited love. Thankfully. But even if she had, Santiago wouldn’t have felt regret for falling in love with her. She really was the most wonderful woman he’d met. She’d be worth any pain or heartache. But this Victorine? How was she worth it if she was such a heartbreaker?

Ah, well. MaCarthy’s brand of masochism wasn’t Santiago’s problem.

Where are we going anyways, Ortiz?"

That was a good question. Santiago didn’t have an answer. His goal was to just get out of La Zone Foneée.

"Can we go eat, Ortiz? I'll pay."

Food. Excellent idea.

“Of course. I know just the place.”

WanderingChild<3

01-04-2011, 11:59 PM

Teagan Scot (http://wpsmedia.latimes.com/image/backlot/2009/8/25/Zombieland_emma_stone_gun/Zombieland-418-large.jpg)

"Ah, shee-ite." It was not the typical reaction from a padre Scot phone call, but on this particular night, at this particular moment in Teagan Scot's life, it was a reaction that fit well. She watched her green turtle of a cellular device (http://blogs.consumerreports.org/.a/6a00d83451e0d569e20120a4cf27ed970b-800wi) vibrate in her hand, and she debated for a long internal dialogue infested moment. It was not like he had to sign a paper waiver permission slip, but Teagan knew that if she answered this phone call, he would so find out. Because, she was going to tell him. She told him everything. It was one of those relationships, where if she did not, she felt guilty and far apart from him. Not that, there was anything the London pops could physically do something about it. It was not like he could just, trot on over to this grungy side of Paris, and take her back, or defend her honor in an all too over protective fatherly duty way. It was just, when they parted their ways, he specifically told her to not go galavanting off into this part of town. He, being the one to use the word galavant. Personally, it is rather cliche', and used quite redundantly with adults, when they begin to over dramatize. But, daddio Scot should know more than anyone, that chances are if someone warned about how bad a particular place was, or warned about the dangers- Teagan Scot was so going to investigate it.

Not that, there had been anything eventful going on tonight. It was actually, quite pathetic. If a place was going to have this reputation for being the bad side, or whatever inflicted round fear into the corneas of most of the Paris population, then it should really prove to Teagan Scot just that. But, nothing was proven, nothing was happening, and nothing could be used for her column. Seriously, where was the murder and mayhem? Not that, she were hoping for some Jack the Ripper to pop out of the bushes and begin thrashing great amounts of people, but it would make for a great story. A story, that would so make her journalist. Which, was all she wanted. Teagan Scot was never handed anything in life, and she did not want to be handed anything. But, like any person, she had wants. Teagan worked hard, and made sure she got what she wanted.

"Dad?" Ignoring a phone call from him, would just be too cruel. Sitting at the bar all night, getting hit on by men who look and smell like a deathly skunk, beer that tasted like stale tortilla chips more than it usually does, and people watching human beings that did not look like human begins- it would be refreshing to hear a familiar voice. But, bad side of town, or whatever everyone calls it, lived up to the reputation, with just one thing: It had bad reception. "Ey! Dad!" Teagan stopped mid-walk, holding a hand to her other ear that did not have her phone, that was only picking up this white noise that freaked her out after watching that one Michael Keaton movie, and waved about, trying to find some satellite in the sky. Then, the phone went dead.

"What in the hell?" Thanks night! Wow. Such a great night! Such a great moment to add into this night, of abso-freaking-lutely nothing going on! This part of town, was beginning to piss her off. Teagan slammed her cellular demon shut, sliding it into her pocket. No story. No murder. No good beer. No screaming fights. No cell phone reception. So, this dramatic inner monologue tantrum, could be classified as a pity party, and exceedingly pathetic, but Teagan rarely had an episode like this, so when it happened, she just sat back and watched.

Just, like she did for the upcoming event, that may just lived up to this side of town's reputation.

A_Single_Rose

02-08-2011, 03:59 AM

Chianna Mimieux (http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iZ8cE0djdU8/TNr6KWi4hmI/AAAAAAAAA9w/09WQMquJXHU/s1600/melanie-laurent_ilove80.be.jpg)

The cold made her skin prickle in a painful, soothing way. The goosebumps were familiar all along her skin and she closed her eyes for a moment to let the small tingling sensations soak in until she became numb yet again. Chianna - or as she was called in this part of town, "Coco" - inhaled the cigarette smoke and blew it out. She could barely see the smoke in the dark corner, but she could smell every bit of it. Such a terrible smell. She loved it. Her last customer had left less than 10 minutes ago. He had been a quick one, much to Chianna's amusement. She'd gotten over the disappointment of those quick-finish guys a long time ago. She closed her eyes and could still see him stumbling out of the motel room drunk off his ass, his zipper fly still wide open. Chianna'd been tactful enough to save her laugh until after he had left the room.

So now she stood in the alleyway on her break, in a way. She had already had two men tonight, which was pretty decent. She wasn't a machine for God's sake. It was enough for Chianna to almost call it a night. Almost. She stuck her cigarette into her mouth and adjusted her black beret to the side of her brunette head. (It had been a while since she'd last gone brunette.) As she walked the short sleeve of her loose-fitting shirt slid off of her shouder. She didn't bother pushing it back up. She shivered a little, her legs still getting used to the night air. It was no use going back inside. They motel owner was too cheap to install any kind of heating system. So she might as well stay outside.

"Salope!" Before she could turn around, Chianna was shoved forward from behind. Stumbling, she caught herself before she completely fell face first into the pavement. Qu'est-ce que ça?! She whirled around, cigarette hanging from her mouth and glared at her assailant. In a threatening stance, a woman in high heeled boots and a fur - false, without a doubt - coat around her skinny shoulders. Although Chianna didn't know her name, she knew she seen her around. "I saw you, putain. You stole my customer!"

Chianna scoffed. "Too bad, con. That's how it works. Deal with it. Je m’en fou." Really, what was this b-tch thinking? That anything here was fair game? Suck it up. In two seconds, Chianna saw it coming. The woman breathed in sharply and suddenly lunged at her. Chianna caught her head and shoulders and was thrown back. She struggled to keep upright by clinging to the blonde’s greasy hair. A stream of pain swiped down her arm and she yelped and hissed. She scratched blindly and furiously, knowing she caught some skin somewhere, before shoving the pute with a sudden burst of energy and force.

She almost laughed in triumph when the other whore flew back and hit a red-headed broad. Wrong place, wrong time. To hell with it, she didn’t care; she just started laughing.

angelofthenight

04-16-2011, 05:38 AM

OOC: For Alex and Santiago. BIC:

Alexandra Hunter

Run! It was the only thought filled her mind as her legs obeyed. Her throat burned horribly and the metallic taste of blood filled her mouth. She'd bit her cheek when the man had thrown her. Her arm had also been scraped up pretty decently when she'd been thrown too. Her hand hurt and she felt the blood on her knuckles. They must have split when she'd punched him. She couldn't think about that now. She just new she had to run and not stop. The adrenaline kept her going as rounded yet another corner. She knew the night was rather cold because she could see her breath but she didn't feel it. Her skin had gone numb a while ago. She was supposed to be back at her apartment. Doing a paper for her class that she had rather early int he morning. She wasn't sure if she explained to her teacher what had happened that he would even believe her. She had never turned in an assignment late for any reason. She wasn't about to start now. She just wish she knew where she was and how she could get him from here. She felt her muscles screaming in protest as she slowed to a walk in front of a bar, the sign of which she couldn't read or comprehend.

She jumped at the slightest noise as she rounded the corner into the alleyway. She heard people laughing inside the bar and she pressed herself against the wall not sure what was going to happen to her now, where she was, or who she should ask for help. She knew wasn't in a good part of the city. That if she talked to wrong person she could be in more trouble then she was now. She glanced behind her as she walked further into the alley. She ran a hand through her hair that was sticky with both sweat and blood from a superficial gash she had on her forehead. She was certain she looked horrible, perhaps she fit in around to the part of town that she'd somehow managed to wander into. She jumped as the door to the bar open and two men stumbled out. She closed her eyes and saw the man that had followed her in the Seine. He hadn't even been a man, he'd been a monster. A horrible monster that probably would have done horrible things to her if she hadn't fought so hard. He had grabbed her by her arm, she was certain a dark purple bruise would show that. She removed her sweatshirt from around her waist and slipped it over her head as she tried to slowly move away from the two men that were laughing rather loudly in the alley. Thankfully they hadn't noticed her.

It was then that she heard a noise close by and instinctively she bolted right into someone. Panicking she began to fight and she felt someone firmly grab her wrists as she tried to punch. She had a good right hook, as the man who she'd fought off in the Seine would obviously testify of. It had been the only thing that might have saved her from a worse fate. She was not a shouter and so her struggle was silent as she tried to fight off the person who now held her. Her mind screamed at her that she needed get away from whoever was holding her. Yet the grip was to strong and she powerless to do anything. Pus she could feel the throbbing in her head now and the pain of her road rashed arm. Before she could do anything felt heaving sobs escape her throat as what had happened to her back at Seine seemed to catch up with her. She felt broken and afraid as she felt her legs give out. She still wasn't sure who it was that had such a firm hold on her but she could still hear the men faintly in the background, still laughing and oblivious to the misery that she now felt as she tried to fight off the memories of that man and the look in his eye, the hungry look in his eyes that made her feel as if she was something that was meant to be devoured.

Mrs Nadir Khan

04-16-2011, 06:06 AM

Santiago Ortiz

Another night in La Zone Fonecee was probably not what Santiago Ortiz needed. But his motorcycle had led him here after work, yet again. He wasn’t sure if it was Rachel or work that had him driving aimlessly through the street of Paris’ worst neighborhood. It was stress; it always was. It was funny. In Spanish, there was no word for “stress” until English permutated the language, but Santiago Ortiz was probably the most well-acquainted with the word. He’d almost rather be fighting off gangs than working double time at the Populaire. At least then, he got to release built up tension; channel it physically. Maybe he was even looking for trouble tonight.

Don’t think like that, Santiago told himself. You think like that and something will go wrong.

He’d deny it until the Second Coming, but Santiago Ortiz was a superstitious man. He didn’t like to tempt fate. God didn’t particularly like Santiago; there was no need to piss Him off. He turned down the twisted streets of La Zone Fonecee, breeze blowing in his hair. His fingers itched for a cigarette and after about fifteen minutes of aimless driving, Santiago pulled over for a smoke. He parked the Harley and walked to the sidewalk nearby to light up. Just as he pocketed his lighter and brought the cigarette to his lips, a force rammed straight into Santiago.

The cigarette flew through the air and landed feet away.

Santiago, prepared to fight, turned on the stranger, ready to punch back.

But Santiago was greeted by a strangely familiar sight.

Firstly, it was a girl who’d run into him.

Secondly, it was a girl he knew.

Alexandra Hunter worked in the Populaire’s medical clinic and the two of them had occasion to ride the subway together to work. They’d gotten on well—surprisingly so, in Santiago’s book—and he had yet to forget her. Even bloodied and thrashing, she was a familiar face.

Bloodied and thrashing?

He seized her wrists instinctively and held her fast, in hopes to calm her.

“Alejandra… Alex!” Santiago called out her name. “I’ve got you. It’s Santiago Ortiz from the opera… You’re safe! Stop flailing!”

Sobs wracked the young American woman and she sank to the ground. Santiago lowered himself to the sidewalk beside her. In the dim light, he could see scrapes down her arms and a gash on her forehead.

“Shh…” he said, still holding her awkwardly. “Dios mio, girl… What the hell happened?”

angelofthenight

04-16-2011, 06:54 AM

Alexandra Hunter

Her mind was reeling. She couldn't seem to get her thoughts to catch up with her emotions. She was still processing what had happened in the Seine. It had all happened so quickly. She had been running, planning on what she was going to do when she returned to her apartment. She hadn't seen it coming. She should have, she should have thought that no good could come from running alone in the evening. Yet she hadn't expected what had happened. He had come out of no where. Grabbed a hold of her arm. She'd managed to pry his fingers off her arm and told him to leave. Alex could be a little spit fire and there were times when that got her into trouble. Her actions and words had made the man angry. The look in his eyes had been beyond angry and he had grabbed her again. This time around the wrist. She had beat on him with her fist but it was like beating a wall. It made little different. He had tossed her like a rag doll. She scraped across the pavement a good fifty yards and she had landed in the grass, the wind knocked out of her and her right arm screaming in pain. He had picked her up and set her on her feet, obviously it wasn't enjoyable for him to hit a victim while they were down.

Alex was normally a relatively reserved person. She felt almost embarrassed by the way she was acting but at that moment it didn't seem like she was completely in control of her emotions. Plus the fact that some stranger had a hold on her wrists and wasn't letting her go. She was reminded all to well of the time she'd spent in the mental institution in Texas. She'd been restrained like this before. It had been one night when she'd been having particularly vivid nightmares and she had been lashing out, while asleep, at the other patient in her room. They had been forced to restrain her while another worker sedated her. She had gone through a phase where she couldn't sleep soundly without being sedated. That time had long passed. She still suffered from minor insomnia now and then and it kept her up on night. She did her best to stay away from prescription drugs. She worried that she would become dependent on them and like now she would not be in complete control of her thoughts and emotions, she would become a shell of her former self like many of the people she'd seen in the mental institution, that would forever call that place home.

The pain seemed to catch up to she could no longer support herself as the adrenaline evaporated from her bloodstream, replaced was a feeling of exhaustion and fear and it came out in the heaving sobs that escaped her throat. Dimly through the fogs of her thoughts she heard the voice of a familiar man, something that she might have called a friend. “Alejandra… Alex!” the voice called, it was gentle but firm and Alex knew somewhere within her muddled mind that she could trust it. “I’ve got you. It’s Santiago Ortiz from the opera… You’re safe! Stop flailing!” the voice commanded and she stopped trying to pummel his chest with her fists. Santiago. Santiago Ortiz. She turned over the name in the mind and for some reason it brought her a sense of comfort even as the sobs continued to escape her lips. She tried to calm them as Santiago spoke again. “Shh…” he his arms around her almost tentatively, almost as if he was afraid she would break if he touched her to firmly. “Dios mio, girl… What the hell happened?” he asked and she tried to get a hold of herself. Her sobs quieted and she sat there for a moment, closing her eyes she took a deep breath and let it out.

She tried to gather her thoughts and she ran a hand subconscious over the gash on her forehead. The wound was caked with dried blood and she had a horrid headache. For some reason she couldn't help but think that it would make getting up tomorrow morning rather inconvenient. She was not much of a morning person. In fact she was rather grumpy in the mornings. Her injuries would make her extremely sore which would mean getting out of bed would be quiet the chore. She looked up at Santiago, her eyes intent on the Spaniards face. When she spoke her voice was surprisingly steady, surprisingly indifferent when one considered her meltdown a moment ago. "I was stupid.." she muttered shaking her head as she looked away from him. Why did she care so much about what this man though of her? She barely even knew who he was. "I just went for a job.... thirty minutes... forty five at most..." she closed her eyes, a horrible taste and she grimaced as she went on. "I didn't even know he was there until he grabbed my arm..." she trailed off... she didn't want to talk about it.... not here... not in this dark alleyway where she didn't even feel that safe despite the fact that she had run into a friend. She hadn't been dealt all bad cards this evening she supposed.

Mrs Nadir Khan

04-17-2011, 02:09 AM

Santiago Ortiz

As Santiago appraised Alex, he was glad she wasn’t worse. He’d seen worse on people he cared more about. His stomach jolted at the memory of Gisele’s crimson blood seeping through her white nightgown and onto the tiled floors of her house. He could still feel Lorenzo’s large, firm hands pulling him out the back door and keeping him from throwing himself over her dying body and taking his own life. He could even remember the scrapes down Rachel’s collarbone and quivering stomach, after Ignacio de Lorca attempted to rape and kill her. His jaw muscle twisted under the skin. He’d seen death up close. Alex’s scratches and superficial gashes were nothing terrifying. She would probably scar up a bit. Nothing too bad, though. Santiago had been run through with a knife and had cut bullets from his skin. His scars were nothing irredeemable; Alex’s wouldn’t be, either. They’d just be on her face. He studied the girl, caked in blood as she was, and wondered how she’d come by her injuries. They weren’t the worst Santiago had ever seen, but to say they were short of nasty would be a lie. You didn’t get banged up that badly from running into a wall or falling down a flight of stairs. Alex looked up at him with wide-eyed after-shock.

"I was stupid…" she muttered, ripping her gaze from him.

Clearly, Santiago thought wryly. Running around here at this time of night, a lone girl? That has “stupid” written all over it.

"I just went for a job.... thirty minutes... forty five at most… I didn't even know he was there until he grabbed my arm..."

“A job,” Santiago echoed. Please don’t be another prostitute. “Any job this late at night on this side of town, when done by a lone woman, always attracts the wrong kind of attention. You might want to start at the beginning and explain exactly what happened.”

Mrs Nadir Khan

07-12-2011, 04:59 AM

OOC: Reese/Santiago BIC:

Santiago Ortiz (http://imstars.aufeminin.com/stars/fan/kylie-minogue/kylie-minogue-20080325-392199.jpg)

There was something pretty about La Zone Fonecee that only Santiago seemed to see. Maybe it was in the way the ragged-looking children kicking soccer balls around in the street or the way the setting sun hit the smog-grimed windows and made them shine bottle-green. Maybe it was because the shady clerks who were usually the fiercest of hagglers had given Santiago free fabric samples and reasonable prices because he had Reese in tow and they didn’t want to look bad or dishonorable in front of a “real” lady. Or maybe it was because walking through the bad side of town was like taking a trip down memory lane; showing Reese the backstreets of his adopted hometown was as close as he could ever get to proudly displaying Malaga to his friends and loved ones.

Today, he was running errands in the pawn shops and thrift stores lining the crooked alleys. He’d thus far shown Reese what he considered to be a very good time. They’d scrutinized supposed 18th century timepieces in one store; even Santiago knew the watches weren’t the real thing, but they’d been reasonably priced and perfect as far as a stage production went. They’d visited a half-price fabric store and compared what they had to offer to the costume renderings Santiago had been given by the designers. They’d placed orders for twenty yards of red cotton and ten yards of lace from a bent-old woman with steel eyes and a shotgun on the wall. Lunch in a hole-in-the-wall pub had been surprisingly delicious, even if Santiago didn’t want to know the sanitation ratings of the restaurant. It had been a shockingly good day; all in Reese’s lighthearted and bubbly company. Santiago supposed he, in part, wanted to assure her that he was in no danger here. He also needed Reese to know that this was where he came from; not La Zone Fonecee in particular, but a place frighteningly similar. That there were reasons—dozens, if not thousands—why he was the way he was. And maybe there was a little part of him that got a thrill from the danger, the oddity, of bringing a pretty young girl like Reese out here, even in broad daylight. He pulled one hand from his pocket and slung his arm over Reese’s shoulder in a moment of rare, unguarded affection and squeezed lightly.

“This reminds me of home,” he told her. “Where I grew up, what I used to do.”

The unspoken “thank you” hung in the air. Right now, Santiago felt about a dozen years younger, about a dozen times happier. He wouldn’t have those days back; the days with Gisele when she ventured into the “wrong” side of Malaga for an afternoon with him, or the nights on the docks with Lorenzo. He still bar hopped with Cam (Cam, who was in a relationship—open or not, a relationship—with Maureen), but it wasn’t the same. It probably never would be. But meandering through the cracked cobblestones with Reese now brought back that weird phase between gangster and not; innocence and not. It had been those grey days that were the best. He couldn’t tell Reese that bit, but he could smile at her and hug her to him and let her know how happy he was in her company now.

“Well,” he said, grinning lopsidedly, suddenly. “I didn’t by fabric when I was a kid.”

Raoulsgal0689

07-12-2011, 06:13 AM

Reese Cordova (http://www.celebritylatest.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/september/dpa/rachael_leigh_cook_dpa_gift_lounge_1.jpg)

She was honestly surprised by just how much fun she was having that day. When she'd come along with Santiago that morning on a prop mission she was just excited to not have to spend the day listening to ballerinas gossip again...Santiago was a much better option. They ended up having a great time together, just chatting and laughing as they browsed through the most amazing shops filled with the kind of things you couldn't find any place but here. They even had lunch together at a small pub. She hadn't eat much at all, but it had been very good.

Most of all Santiago was in a shockingly good mood the whole time. It was so great to see him so happy. He seemed to be very at ease in this part of town, pointing out things to her as they went along, just showing her this place he frequented. Here in the day, there wasn't anything scary at all (aside from maybe some handmade clown dolls a vender was selling) and she wondered if he was trying to show her she didn't need to worry about him being here. She had to admit, it was working. It was actually kind of nice here in a strange way...

Santiago's strong arm rested on her shoulder and she smiled up at him as he gave and affectionate squeeze. “This reminds me of home,” he told her. “Where I grew up, what I used to do.” He paused for moment, thinking something over. “Well, I didn’t by fabric when I was a kid.” he corrected with a grin.

Reese laughed and wrapped her arm around his waist, rolling her eyes. "I should hope not...that would just be odd," she said, shaking her head.

She took and peered into the bag of the props that they had found, including the timepieces and she mentally added the fabric they'd ordered. Reese had been proud of helping choose the design there. "So what's next on our list, oh almighty Stage Manager," she asked teasingly. She slipped from under his arm, beginning dance and skip around him. "I'm surprised you actually left the Opera House for the day. You sure McCarthy can handle it all by himself," she asked, still teasing him as she grinned at him.

Mrs Nadir Khan

07-12-2011, 05:11 PM

Santiago Ortiz

Some days, Santiago forgot what it was like to be the reason someone was laughing. He didn’t crack jokes—even smiles—often, especially at work. And though he’d gotten his act together at Cam and Reese’s prompting, since Rachel left, he certainly hadn’t felt up to making a girl laugh. He hadn’t been sure he could, really. He’d somehow managed to convince himself—between drinks, probably—that that whole relationship had been a fluke and that his ex-girlfriend had to have been mad to think he was ever “cute” or “funny” or whatever else she called him that he clearly wasn’t. But walking along the road with Reese, making her laugh and smile all day, told Santiago one of two things: he either surrounded himself with madwomen, or he ought to reevaluate his self-perception. Now, Reese’s laugh washed over him and softened his eyes. He felt as accomplished making her laugh as he did when he made MaCarthy swear or squirm. Reese wrapped an arm—small but strong—around Santiago’s waist. The familiar move didn’t shock him as it would have a week or two ago, but Santiago instinctively gave a small start before looking at her and relaxing into the moving embrace. Reese rolled her eyes and shook her head.

"I should hope not...that would just be odd,” she said.

“I was an odd child, chica,” he assured her quietly, playfully. Santiago grinned again, watching as Reese—ignoring him—went into the bag to look around at their purchases. Santiago, who detested clothes shopping like any man worth his balls, actually loved this sort of errand running. He was working, without being tied to the opera house and never ceased to find treasures for the Populaire that even MaCarthy couldn’t procure on a tiny budget his bosses seemed to admire.

"So what's next on our list, oh almighty Stage Manager?" Reese asked teasingly. She slipped from under his arm, beginning dance and skip around him. "I'm surprised you actually left the Opera House for the day. You sure McCarthy can handle it all by himself?"

Santiago’s grin became a wicked looking thing. His feud—over what now, it was hard to say—with MaCarthy wasn’t exactly a secret. In reality, Santiago thought the Brit capable enough to take over for a day or two while he ran pressing errands. But saying it out loud was out of the question.

“Well,” Santiago said conspiratorially. “If he screws up, I now have an excuse to ship him back to England.”

He laughed at the thought, knowing it wouldn’t happen and that without MaCarthy, he’d probably get landed with some incompetent moron for an assistant, which would leave the Opera in shambles on days like today. If MaCarthy did screw up today, though, Santiago would never let him live it down. Ever. And that would be almost as gratifying as saying goodbye. He shook his head, watching as Reese skipped around happily. He wanted to reel her back in, bring her safely back to his side, if she didn’t have the sense or inclination to do it herself.

“You really don’t hold still,” he said seriously, instead of pulling her in. “You’re lucky the sun hasn’t set yet. This place changes at night.”

Raoulsgal0689

07-12-2011, 05:56 PM

Reese Cordova

It was no secret that Reese liked to be constantly moving. Even when she was young, she had preferred crawling around and getting into things rather than being held. Now at 23, she still couldn't hold still for more than a minute or two at a time and she had too much energy to just walk. She liked to dance and skip and bound around much as she was doing now in a little circle around Santiago. She teasingly asked him if he was certain that Bill McCarthy could handle to Opera House without him there, knowing how dedicated Santiago was about the place.

“Well,” he began. “If he screws up, I now have an excuse to ship him back to England.”

Reese paused for just a moment, a shocked expression on her face as her lips pulled into a grin. "That is so mean," she cried wtih a laugh. She started to dance around again having held still long enough. "Being English myself, I'm trying to decide if I should take offense to that," she teased.

“You really don’t hold still,” he said in the kind of voice that reminded Reese of her older brother James trying to make her stay beside him at the fair.

"Nope," she declared happily. "I just get too bored standing still."

“You’re lucky the sun hasn’t set yet. This place changes at night.” he warned.

Reese went dancing back to his side with a small sigh. She grabbed his hand, tugging on it playfully. "Come on, Santiago. I'm just having a little fun," she insisted wiht a smile. "You just said yourself that night is when it get dangerous. Its the middle of the afternoon..."

Mrs Nadir Khan

07-12-2011, 07:50 PM

Santiago Ortiz

Reese danced her way back to him. Santiago looked at her gratefully. Perhaps he was overcompensating caution now, where he’d thrown it out to sea in his youth.

"Come on, Santiago. I'm just having a little fun," she insisted with a smile. "You just said yourself that night is when it gets dangerous. It’s the middle of the afternoon..."

Santiago grunted noncommittally.

“I just don’t want you dancing off,” he insisted. “Determined criminals don’t care what time of day it is.”

He sounded paranoid, but he was speaking from experience. From being a victim, from being a perpetrator, from being a witness. Sometimes, Santiago felt like he’d already lived a hundred lives; he felt like a different man than the one who’d lived a life of crime. Even his run-ins last summer seemed a lifetime away. He sighed and shook his head.

“You know what I mean,” Santiago mumbled. He nodded at a shop with a paint-chipped sign. “C’mon. One more stop. I ordered a shipment of costume jewels for Les Enfants du Paradis… They should be in today.”

Raoulsgal0689

07-12-2011, 08:29 PM

Reese Cordova

The grateful smile Santiago gave her as she danced back towards him only confirmed that he was concerned. It confused her, honestly. Either it was safe enough for him to be here or too dangerous that she shouldn't go dancing too far away from him. But she figured that Santiago knew what he was talking about, so she stayed beside him now though she insisted that it was the middle of the afternoon. It shouldn't be that dangerous.

“I just don’t want you dancing off,” he told her. “Determined criminals don’t care what time of day it is." He seemed to get lost in thought, shaking his head after a moment. “You know what I mean,” he insisted.

She knew he had a point. She nodded and looped her arm through his as they continued down the street. Santiago suddenly nodded towards a run down looking shop with a sign painted with fading lettering. “C’mon. One more stop. I ordered a shipment of costume jewels for Les Enfants du Paradis… They should be in today.” he said and she followed him into the shop.

There was someone already in there when walked in. They seemed to be trying to haggle with the owner and it didn't look like either party was going to give in soon. Reese gave a sigh and looked up exasperatedly at Santiago. They were going to be here for a little while.

Reese began to look around the shop while they waited, gazing at the jewlry that was on display, occasionally trying on a piece or two. She looked up to see Santiago on his phone, making a motion that he was going to take it outside. She nodded and waved him off. She could take care of the costume jewels for them. At least save their place.

OOC; Just a tiny bit of God-modding there at the end to have him go outside. Let me know if you dissaprove and I can change it!

Mrs Nadir Khan

07-22-2011, 06:35 AM

Santiago Ortiz

Haggling was a part of the culture of these back alley stores. Santiago knew it better than anyone. It didn’t mean his patience wasn’t a little frayed by the storekeeper and another customer arguing at the cash register; it wouldn’t shock Santiago if they came to fisticuffs or if someone pulled a gun. Reese looked up at him, exasperation in her eyes. He shrugged, almost apologetically. There was nothing they really could do about it. Reese made her way to the display case, leaving Santiago to wait in line alone. He folded his arms over his chest comfortably and he slouched a little. He just had to pick up this last order and then he and Reese were done errand running. They had the rest of the day off, to do with as they pleased. He wanted to get her out of La Zone Fonecee, but there were other pockets around Paris, particularly in Le Marais and near the Seine he could show her. He could even take her back to his apartment to show her his terrace view of the city. The patio stretched at least the length of his apartment and overlooked what Santiago considered the best vistas in town. He hadn’t shown anyone it since Rachel left him. It was his private sanctum and he wondered what it would mean to share that with someone else—anyone else. What it would mean to Reese or to him. He wanted to, but even Santiago knew that he would probably overwhelm Reese with his world if he added even one more thing. He’d had her to himself all day, after all. He nibbled his bottom lip in thought. Surprised at his ringing phone, Santiago bit down just hard enough to draw blood. He jumped and rolled his eyes at his own carelessness before flipping the phone open.

“Hello?”

“Ortiz, hey. It's Bill,” said the voice on the other line.

“MaCarthy?” Santiago echoed, a little dubiously. His assistant had his number, but very seldom called. They had an unspoken agreement to leave each other alone for the most part. The temptation to knock each other’s teeth out was too overwhelming otherwise. A sudden thought entered Santiago’s head and he smirked a little wickedly. “Don't tell me you burned down the opera.”

“Not this time, Ortiz,” MaCarthy assured him. Then, pausing a little, added, “This is much more serious.”

Santiago licked his lower lip, tasting iron. He always thought it would be sweet revenge if MaCarthy screwed up. Now, though, all he could feel was concern. There were a million things that could have gone wrong and even if they happened under MaCarthy’s watch, Santiago would probably end up sharing in the blame. He pressed the phone to his chest and caught Reese’s eye. He pointed at the door and nodded in its direction. If he had to yell at his assistant, he wouldn’t do it in front of Reese or the shopkeeper. Reese waved him off, granting him the only permission he needed to leave and Santiago sprinted down the steps of the shop and pressed himself to the building wall to speak. He brought the phone back to his ear.

“Talk to me.”

“It's not life or death or anything,” MaCarthy assured him. “But we manage some incredibly careless ballerinas. You know that?”

Santiago groaned a little. Tell me something I didn’t know, he thought. His mind whirred with faces of the ballet company and settled on two in particular—the Opera Populaire’s most mischievous dance troupe members.

“Was it Lamaroux or Madeleine?”

It was a wonder the Danseur Noble and Ballet Mistress weren’t nicknamed Thing One and Thing Two. They were destructive in their own ways and Santiago couldn’t help but marvel at their boundless energy and respective talent for trouble. Rafael Lamaroux was a jokester. Everything was funny to him and he moved like a child in a candy store, erratically and exuberantly. He was technically superb… when on task. His natural expressiveness made up for any missteps. Santiago could easily imagine him breaking things or being a little careless with a female dancer and making her laugh mid-lift. Madeleine Ledoux was just badly behaved. Santiago had found her in rooms he could have sworn were locked; she meant well with her dancers, but wasn’t above a too-blunt comment that could send even a seasoned ballerina to tears—maybe even lawsuits. Santiago half expected either of them to get in trouble if he so much as blinked for more than a millisecond.

“Neither,” said MaCarthy. “I don't who it was, really, but they were at lunch when it happened. When I say "It" I mean the mirror breaking because some one took it off the bloody prop table to check their make up. Do they not realise we have these lovely things called "dressing rooms"?”

Santiago exhaled for a long moment. As angry as MaCarthy was, as irritated as Santiago was that there was a broken prop, it was far less damage than Santiago expected when leaving the Populaire in MaCarthy’s hands. He knew exactly which mirror it was, too. Marguerite’s from the opera production of Faust. It was just a hand-mirror. Something easy to replace cheaply.

“Anyways, though, I had it cleaned up and told them I wasn't mad,” MaCarthy said, calming himself down. “I was very unimpressed with that hand mirror anyways. It didn't translate well to the audience. Doesn't look much like a mirror, really. So maybe you could get a larger one while you're out? I'll find out who broke the original and you can take it out of their salary.”

Santiago smirked. He’d never tell MaCarthy, but the Brit was coming to sound like him, understand him. Santiago Ortiz was a man who settled for nothing shy of perfection when it came to his professional world. Anyone failing to meet expectation would know about it one way or another. Often, the most effective way was a pay-cut. That was the sad reality. Though no Scrooge, Santiago was frugal enough to appreciate saving money where he could—even as a punishment. He nodded to himself.

“Sounds like a plan. I'm prop hunting anyway.” Santiago paused, then asked, “Is that the only thing they broke?”

“That's the only thing they broke,” MaCarthy said. “But I was just informed by the set design team that we need a shrub.”

Santiago squeezed his eyes shut and pressed himself against the wall. The only nursery in La Zone Fonecee was ridiculously seedy—if you could pardon the pun. The front window was broken and dirty. In the display were some half wilted roses and a particularly nasty looking Venus flytrap. Santiago had seen a couple drug deals go down there and would have sworn that the plants in the back were cannabis plants and not ferns, as the florist once swore they were when Santiago asked. He wasn’t taking Reese in there.

“A shrub?” he echoed, trying to keep desperation out of his voice. Where was he supposed to get a shrub? “Ay Dios... Not a real one...?”

If he had to, he’d stay after hours and make one his damn self. He’d even dig up one of the shrubs in his apartment complex’s courtyard if he had to.

“I don't think real or fake matters much. It just needs to be real-looking and big,” said MaCarthy.

“Dimensions?” Santiago asked.

“Not specified.”

At least there was some wiggle room. Santiago would come up with something.

“Got it. That everything?”

“Other than that, everything is just Robin Hood,” MaCarthy promised.

Santiago wrinkled his nose at the Cockney slang. He hated it when MaCarthy did that. It was like the younger man liked to point out that his English was somehow separate and untouchable by the likes of Santiago. It was show-offy and often confusing. If Santiago didn’t know better, he’d ask what that meant. The tone of MaCarthy’s voice, though, indicated that everything was just fine.

“Right. Well, hasta mañana,” Santiago said, choosing Spanish deliberately to irk his assistant right back. He’d see him tomorrow, just as he said, but let MaCarthy chew on the words overnight. “Hablaré contigo luego.”

The phone clicked off and Santiago stood against the wall for a moment to think. He was suddenly very aware of a pair of eyes—at least one pair of eyes—directly on him. Irritated and wary, Santiago turned his head to see a man sitting on the porch of the butcher’s shop and apartment complex next door. Well-muscled and dressed in cut-off jeans and a sleeveless white t-shirt, the stranger was eyeing Santiago with distaste. His bare arms were heavily decorated with ink. A slow smile spread on his lips, cracking them and revealing a gold tooth.

“Spanish, yes?” the man said in a piqued voice. “Why so far from home, con?”

Santiago bristled at the last word. Gisele’s cousin, Gabriel, used it as “guy” or “man”, much to the dismay of Gisele and her father. In south France, it was friendly slang; everywhere else, it was a slur. Santiago studied the stranger.

“ Je suis dans ma patrie,” Santiago assured him. France was as much his home as Spain these days.

“Your accent’s funny,” the stranger continued. “And don’t think I didn’t hear you earlier, espagnol. Think I’m dumb?”

Santiago rolled his eyes and pushed off the wall, walking towards the store again.

“F*ck off,” he muttered.

Before he reached the door, a pair of thick hands came down on his shoulders. The guy had leapt from his lazy position on the porch and—with a firm grip—he pulled Santiago from his walk.

“Show some respect,” he hissed. “You’re on Bonnot territory now, salaud . We own these streets.”

Santiago turned around slowly. A bubbling heat sprung up in his veins. He knew that tone. He’d used that tone. For years. It ignited something in him now. A lazy grin overtook his features and he plucked the man’s hands off his shoulders one at a time. He was twenty something again. This was Malaga. The Bonnots were Ñetas. He didn’t care about French gangs; he cared about being touched unwantedly and told to leave. He cared about being insulted when all he was doing was going about his shopping.

“Funny, I didn’t see your name on ‘em, chupaverga.”

The insult cost him dearly. A swift blow to the cheek left Santiago’s gums tender. It had been a while since he got into a fist fight with anyone. He kneed the man in the groin, almost instinctively and the man howled in raged pain. Santiago backed off, reaching for his switchblade, but the Bonnot recovered and launched himself onto Santiago. The Frenchman was heavier and knocked Santiago to the ground. The cobblestones scraped the back of Santiago’s neck and he groaned, struggling for control. One of his arms was pinned down by his attacker’s knee. The stranger pulled on Santiago’s shirt and something underneath, showing just a little in the light caught the Frenchman’s eye. He ripped Santiago’s shirt in two rough pieces, revealing a Garduña insignia on Santiago’s now bare chest. The stranger spat in his face, temporarily blinding him.

“I should have known,” he growled. [b] “This place has been crawling with Garduña vermin for years. Every time we kill one of you, two more pop up. You breed like filth, espagnol. Like rats. Was your mother a rat, con?”

Santiago elbowed the stranger in the nose with his free arm. The satisfying crack of breaking bone filled the air. And as the larger man howled in pain, Santiago managed to wriggle free and get on top of the man. He delivered several punches to the man’s face, born from anger now and not self-defense. Santiago could hardly feel his knuckles splitting, but he knew the blood on the stranger’s face was partially his own. But he pummeled away, all thoughts about shrubs and hand-mirrors and fabrics long gone. He had as much a right to be here as anyone, probably more. Santiago Ortiz had worked for years to get here and he’d be damned if some French thug tried to cheapen that.

Raoulsgal0689

07-22-2011, 09:15 PM

Reese Cordova

It had taken a while, but finally the annoying complainer at the counter finally gave up and left in a huff. When Reese came up and simply asked for the order for the Opera Populaire which the clerk had ready, sitting there, he seemed almost relieved he wasn't going to have to deal with another problem customer. She thanked the man who put the fabric in a bag for her and she made her way outside, wondering what had happened to Santiago. He'd stepped out but hadn't come back. Was he still on the phone with whoever it was?

She got her answer when she stepped out. She dropped the bags when she saw Santiago, looking bruised and beaten with his shirt torn in half, pinning down another man and beating him. "Santiago!" she cried out in surprised, shocked at this turn of events.

Her first instinct was to run to him and stop the fight. The man wasn't really moving and was probably unconcious. She took off running towards them when suddenly she felt herself being grabbed from behind around the waist. She screamed in surprise as she was practically lifted off the ground by a grimy arm. They set her down but still held her captive around the waist even as she struggled to get free.

"This your little girlfriend, con," they sneered. "Get off my friend and maybe you'll see her again..."

Up till now Reese's mind had been running in full on panic mode, not really thinking clearly. Suddenly she remembered the moves that James had forced her learn in case she should ever be attack like this...well maybe not like this...but it still applied. Thankfully the man hadn't thought to pin her arms to her side. Using as much force as possible she cup her fist in one hand and rammed her elbow backinto the man's solar plexis as hard as she could. It was painful enough that he let go long enough for her to shove him backwards and go running to Santiago.

"What is going on?! Who are they," she cried, eyes wide as she clung to his arm.

Mrs Nadir Khan

07-23-2011, 09:03 PM

Santiago Ortiz

The Bonnot was unconscious now. Served him right. Santiago could feel his shallow, hard breathing beneath him; he rose up and down slightly from his place on the man’s diaphragm. An old, long-checked bloodlust welled up in the back of Santiago’s throat and he wanted to stop the rhythmic motion once and for all. Make an example out of someone, as that someone would have done to him. He reached down for the Bonnot’s throat, wrapping his long, callused fingers around it and preparing to push down.

"Santiago!"

His grip slackened and Santiago looked up to see a horrified-looking Reese at the foot of the shop steps. Their shopping bags lay askew at her feet. She took off in a run at him, but from the corner, another man appeared and seized her around the waist.

“Reese…!” Santiago croaked.

"This your little girlfriend, con," they sneered. "Get off my friend and maybe you'll see her again..."

Santiago pushed off the unconscious Frenchman and took a few steps away from the motionless body. He’d thought the florists was dangerous for Reese; he wasn’t about to let her die at the hands of some thug in the middle of the street. But the move seemed unnecessary. Reese dug her elbow into the second stranger’s solar plexis, leaving him winded and swearing. She ran to Santiago and clutched his arm. Santiago hadn’t noticed how tender every part of him felt until Reese’s frightened grip reached him

"What is going on?! Who are they?!”

“Gang scum,” Santiago growled. “Never seen ‘em before today.”

Talking hurt; one of his teeth was loose and his jaw ached. He wouldn’t be shocked if it had little, hairline fractures running through it or something. He pulled out his gun from his hip and pointed it at the one who had attacked Reese.

“Grab those,” he told her, gesturing to the bags slightly. “We’re going.”

Raoulsgal0689

07-24-2011, 07:51 PM

Reese Cordova

She felt safer now as she reached Santiago. She trusted that he wouldn’t let any of these guys hurt her. Though who these guys were was still a mystery. Where had they come from and what exactly did they want with Santiago?! Why had they beaten him up like that (though Santiago had the upper hand when she had stepped out)? Reese was deeply confused and rather frightened by this point and found herself clutching his arm a little too tightly.

“Gang scum. Never seen ‘em before today.” Santiago growled in a low voice.

Gangs?! Reese had grown up in a rather nice neighborhood and had never come into contact with gangs…unless you counted multiple viewings of “West Side Story”. She didn’t think that applied. She had never even heard of a real gang around where she lived or seen any evidence of it. She felt a bit naïve for being so surprised that there were gangs here in Paris, though what Santiago had done to bring a couple of them down on him she didn’t know.

Reese gasped softly as Santiago pulled out a gun, pointing it at the man who had grabbed her who was now recovering. She briefly wondered if it was the same gun he’d been carrying the first time she met him. “Grab those. We’re going.” he said, motioning to the bags and Reese didn’t give a second thought before rushing over and gathering the bags.

She looked up at Santiago with concern, the frightened look from earlier still there. Slowly her lips pulled into a very tiny, sad sort of smile that lacked any real joy a smile should have. “Looks like I get to take care of you after all,” she murmured in a quiet voice that held a flicker of teasing, leaving the two men behind.

OOC: End Scene...unless Cassie had something more to add. *shrugs*

witch

11-21-2012, 11:50 AM

OCC: For Cara and Dorian.
Cara Blaze Andovea

Cara didn't know why she returned to this part of Paris over and over again...okay, so maybe that wasn't true maybe she did know hoping in her deepest heart that someday the outcome would be different.

Where once long ago she didn't know the maze she now almost knew it like the back of her hand, every twist, every turn, every broken light. She sighed, running her fingertips along the brick wall her mind going back in time.

"Yes, I did come here to get away from everyone because I knew not many people come here. I still come here every now and again, but I go to the graveyard more than here."

She heard her husbands voice saying, recalling it as clear as glass. She didn't feel like going to the graveyard today however and so, absent mindedly she wondered apart. Recalling, hearing his voice again.

Cara couldn't help but smile as she remembered how nervous she had been her first time in coming here. She had asked Mark to show her all the places her loved in hoping of getting to know him better. She had voiced her fears and worries only to have Mark whisper quietly:

“There’s nothing to be nervous about, darling. I’ll protect you with my life if anyone dares mess with you.”

Her smile vanished after that remembering how she had told him that she prayed he'd never have to defend her, remembering how she had told him that she may learn to fight herself.

Her feet carried her to a spot she knew well, one that always made her stop, the trash can, the one he had thrown at her head a land mark. Turning her eyes scanned the wall finding the chipped brick the slight blood stain that still remained along with tiny fragments of leather.

"Mark" she whispered gently closing her eyes tears slowly forming as she hugged herself.

(Note: Hope Mark wouldn't mind my using some of his old thread quotes. RIP)

MystMoonstruck

11-22-2012, 10:14 AM

Dorian Grayson (http://i85.photobucket.com/albums/k76/cynsemele/Dorian%20Grayson%20Eduardo%20Verestegui/eduardo118.jpg)

The man who now called himself Dorian Grayson wondered what he was doing back on these streets, especially at night. Was he mad to think he would encounter the lovely Verity here again, in the place where he had rescued her in a remarkably dramatic way, like something out of some spy drama? That was why he had quickly adopted another identity, just as he had fashioned Dorian Grayson and all of his other persona. For her, he had been some intrepid spy, and she had believed him without hesitation.

Maybe coming back here was a way to keep his edge. After all, he wasn't crashing random places now that he had the houseboat, and he might find his senses dulled by so much security. How long did he expect to remain at the Opera House? The gleanings remained regular~just enough to cause people to think they had mislaid or simply lost items. It then was a mere matter of a trip to the local pawn shop to send the procured goods on their way to new homes.

As he strode along, he kept all senses attuned to his surroundings, not allowing himself to become so lost in any thought that anyone would get the drop on him. Thus, a small figure that was drastically out of place in this setting drew his attention. He veered in that direction, slowing his pace, suddenly realizing who this was although what she was doing here seemed a distortion of reality, like finding a bunny rabbit in the midst of a minefield.

No longer concerned with startling her, he picked up his pace till he was upon her, towering over her in a consciously threatening manner. Fisted hands on hips, he glowered down at her, demanding in a growl, "What the hell are you doing here?!"

witch

11-22-2012, 10:36 AM

Cara Blaze Andovea

Lost in her own thoughts of times gone by Cara wondered what would have happened to the man that had left his blood behind. She could feel her own growing cold as for what seemed like the centillionth time her head come up with different images and even more unanswered questions.

With dark eyes closed she didn't see the tall shadow fall over her, didn't hear the footsteps it even took a moment when words claimed her ear.

"What the hell are you doing here?!"

For a moment, just a slight moment she heard her husbands deep voice, for it would have been a question he'd ask upon finding her here.

Opening her eyes however she sighed upon seeing who it was.

"Does it matter?" she questioned. "Besides, what would you care? Lets not pretend you do, not after all this time"

MystMoonstruck

11-23-2012, 08:19 AM

Dorian Grayson

She did not shrink in terror or let out a cry, not even a single, solitary *eep*. Scowling still, Dorian realized that he really was going to have to work on his intimidating look, maybe perfect a louder roar, throw in some f-bombs though the latter certainly would break rules set out by his mentors, who had the early duty of cleaning up his gutter language. He had been well-armed verbally as a boy.

So, Cara Mia, Lady of the Tears, found him no threat.

"Does it matter?" was all she had to say. But, no, there was always more: "Besides, what would you care? Let's not pretend you do, not after all this time."

His fierce demeanor dissolved, which was good because, as Miranda would have reminded him, frowning meant wrinkles and anyone in their line of work ought to avoid them as much as possible. When it came down to it, he supposed they had been trying to tell him not to worry, not to fret the proverbial small stuff. However, he rarely had found reason to fret, taking life as it came. This woman had been an object of his teasing but also, at times, a minor aggravation. He had been a fool to approach her, but there was something in him that could not leave her on the streets.

Grabbing her by the right elbow, he pulled her to his side, figuring that anyone who had been eyeing her would think that he was the intended encounter. The pale green eyes were hard as stone as he glared down at her. "I suppose I should get you home then. Apparently, you don't have the sense of a goose or you'd know you don't belong here. Really! Have you gone mad?! Now, we'll get someplace and find a cab, get you home to your children, where you belong, silly woman!"

witch

11-23-2012, 10:09 AM

Cara Blaze Andovea

Fear had long since left Cara, one supposed it was normal when you lived with a demon, when you were hunted down, branded, cut and marked for dead so when she opened her eyes finding a man before her not even a shimmer of fear ran through her. Fact was she didn't feel anything.

Not the normal hate she felt towards this man, not the anger that had made her call him a snake nor the rage that had once lead her to slap him. Just....numb as she had been all day, as she had been for weeks as she had been for almost a year now.

She couldn't help but question his concern though, he had never shown it towards her before....well....not in it's true form, her mind going back to when she had fallen into his arms.

However, that didn't stop the look of question that fired in her gaze as he lay claim to her elbow, pulling her close as if he had the right to do so.

"I suppose I should get you home then. Apparently, you don't have the sense of a goose or you'd know you don't belong here. Really! Have you gone mad?! Now, we'll get someplace and find a cab, get you home to your children, where you belong, silly woman!"

"I'M being silly?" she questioned. "Says the man who could be seen as attacking me and forcing me against my will?"

She pulled her arm back at that.

"And how is it you know where I belong?"

In truth the alley ways now seemed like a second home, as did the grave yard and the old mansion. She just couldn't get them out of her mind, no matter how hard she tried.

"Just leave Dorian, it's you who don't belong here"

MystMoonstruck

11-25-2012, 10:34 AM

Dorian Grayson

"I'M being silly? Says the man who could be seen as attacking me and forcing me against my will?" She pulled away from him then, and he let her~for the moment. He might as well hear her out. It could be that she was meeting someone here though he doubted it. "And how is it you know where I belong? Just leave, Dorian, it's you who don't belong here."

"Then, you do not know me, silly girl!" It was a snarl of an accusation though he did not feel the anger that colored his words. "Where do you belong? With your children, Cara, that's where you belong! Are you a neglectful mother then, to roam these streets and place yourself at risk? Do not think that you will be left here. I'm warning you." He was glowering now though he doubted that would have any effect on her. What a self-destructive creature she was! Did she really wish to orphan her children? She risked it by being among the undeniably riffraff sort who made this neighborhood their own territory. She was a lamb before wolves. As they said: like a lamb to the slaughter.

witch

11-25-2012, 11:57 AM

Cara Blaze Andovea

God he got under her skin, not even Dementis had managed to do it so well, so easily. One word, as easy as breathing had her skin crawling.

Like everyone else he claimed to know her, where she should be, how to act. The weak little girl who'd cry at the drop of a hat, still....she had never run away from a fight and never again was she going to let someone walk over her. Command her.

"Where do you belong? With your children, Cara, that's where you belong! Are you a neglectful mother then, to roam these streets and place yourself at risk? Do not think that you will be left here. I'm warning you."

"You're warning me?" She laughed at that. "I'm at risk every second of the day. It comes with having enemies."

Her gaze turned down the street where she had once run to get away from her husband.

"As for my children, they are fine, safe. Not that you care anymore about them then you do me"

She walked over to him then looking him dead in the eye.

"Or do you? Dose Dorian Grayson actually care about something other then himself?"

MystMoonstruck

11-26-2012, 06:50 AM

Dorian Grayson

"You're warning me?"

Her laughter was surprising him for he could not recall her making such a sound in their not-so-many meetings. Was she baiting him?"I'm at risk every second of the day. It comes with having enemies." He had to refrain from rolling his eyes. What now?! Enemies! Did the woman never cease drowning in drama? How had she survived this long? If she had her way and he left her to this place, he wondered if she would finally cease surviving. Now, he was not a newspaper reader, and he certainly never watched news programs, much to the distress of his mentors, the Kensingtons, who believed that one must remain knowledgeable of world events, never knowing when such information might be worth retrieving at some social gathering. But, he wasn't playing those games now. This was a whole different playing field.

Averting her gaze, she continued: "As for my children, they are fine, safe. Not that you care anymore about them then you do me." No, he did not. But, he had supposed she was some sort of passable mother. He had a feeling that he had misjudged her. Then, she came close, glaring up into his pale eyes. "Or do you? Does Dorian Grayson actually care about something other than himself?"

"I would prefer not having your blood on my hands. If I leave you here..." He exhaled loudly, almost a snort, and thought that he should be pawing the ground like a taunted bull. "You think I am a snake, and perhaps I am. But, it is not within me to wash my hands of you, with you placing yourself in harm's way. I would leave no fool on such a path. You know nothing about me, woman!" Dorian was rarely angry, but she was forcing him toward accountability. "My mother was a selfish woman in some ways. Some of what you see before you is the result. So, Cara Mia..." He made a sneer of the usual teasing endearment. "Is this what you wish your children to become, what with your mad husband and your lack of caring for them? At least, my mother had only one child to toss aside. Now, you will come with me, and I shall take you to your home. Now!" The jade green eyes skewered her, daring her to defy him.

witch

11-26-2012, 10:55 AM

Cara Blaze Andovea

Innocent, it had been what everyone had called her, weak and breakable the basic D.I.D waiting for some knight to come and save her. Well HER knight had gone, to where she didn't know and Mr Dorian Greyson was not going to fill that role even if he HAD wanted to.

For awhile now Cara had, had to stand on her own two feet and looking back on it she had, had to do so ever since her parents had died. She had to live on her own, fight to stay alive more then once, had to outwit a demon on a daily bases and now....now she had to raise two children alone.

The snake before her therefore, should have been easy.

Looking him right in the eye she almost silently dared him to keep pushing her. Instead pushing him back a little a challenge coming forth.

He seemed to go about thinking he was in control, he was above it all. But... was he showing a weakness?

"I would prefer not having your blood on my hands. If I leave you here..."

They both snorted at that one, Cara throwing in a roll of her eyes to go with it.

"Then just pretended you never saw me and slither away"

"You think I am a snake, and perhaps I am. But, it is not within me to wash my hands of you, with you placing yourself in harm's way. I would leave no fool on such a path. You know nothing about me, woman!"

"Really?" she questioned "Then please, do tell"

"My mother was a selfish woman in some ways. Some of what you see before you is the result. So, Cara Mia..."

She brushed aside the nickname he had long ago placed upon her, knowing full well it's meaning and almost being sick on it.

"Is this what you wish your children to become, what with your mad husband and your lack of caring for them? At least, my mother had only one child to toss aside. Now, you will come with me, and I shall take you to your home. Now!"

His eyes shot fire at her, daring her to challenge him. Moving a hairs breath away from him she looked even deeper into his eyes.

"Thanks for shearing but my kids need answers and so do I, therefore I'm not leaving just because some big shot orders me to. So build a bridge and get over it"

(Oh Cara with a back bone LOL. Anyways just to be clear D.I.D aka Damsel in Distress)

MystMoonstruck

11-28-2012, 08:39 AM

Dorian Grayson

An exasperated Dorian wished that he had never seen the woman standing there. If something happened to her, it would be "no skin off his nose", as he'd heard it said by an American friend. He supposed that would be applicable here. But, he had seen her. He did know the creature was incapable of taking care of herself. The first sign of attack, she'd likely faint at the attacker's feet. Either he would take that as invitation to do his worst or decide to go elsewhere to feed on fear.

Well, there seemed just one thing to do.

Moving forward with what he supposed she might consider serpentine speedy, he scooped her up, tossing her over his right shoulder, arm clamped around legs so that he wouldn't get kicked, and strode in the direction that should take them out of his dangerous territory to somewhere a cab might dare to stop~unless he was fortunate enough to meet a taxi with a driver foolhardy enough to seek passengers here. It wasn't likely to happen, but it certainly would be welcome.

"You are being waylaid, woman. Put up a fight, and I slap your bottom," he growled his threat, supposing it would fall on the proverbial deaf ears.

OOC: I didn't want to godmod, but this is what Dorian would do. If you don't like it, I can rewrite it. You know that Dorian tends to be hands-on, ever since their first meeting. BIC:

witch

11-28-2012, 10:24 AM

Cara Blaze Andovea

Cara had, had it up to here with people telling her what to do. Where once she had sort the advise of others and they had been rather reluctant in answering now seemed to take an unwelcome turn mostly when it came to the man before her.

She stood so close to him she could feel the warmth from his body, knew just like everyone else he was a good head taller then she herself. She could also see the quick lose he had of his control and the speed in which he moved. Slower then her husband but quicker then she could steep back.

Almost as quickly as he had taken her she was over her shoulder her legs clamped together by his strong arms making her sigh.

"You are being waylaid, woman. Put up a fight, and I slap your bottom,"

"Waylaid? What..... you're going to do more to attack me? I'm sick of fighting but Dorian please, you don't understand" she said her voice shacking, it dearly above a whisper ever this close to his ear. "I need answers, I need to know so I and my family can move on. I need to know if Mark is dead"

She supposed he wouldn't care about that, that he wouldn't care about how much it ate her up inside.

MystMoonstruck

12-13-2012, 01:35 AM

Dorian Grayson

"Well, you are not going to get answers in the middle of the night in this patch of Paris!" Dorian's snarl dropped to a mutter as he ended with "Fool woman!"

Once they were a distance away from where he had found her and near enough to lure a taxi, he paused to reshift her body as he scanned the area around them. Thinking that it might be more acceptable to some cabman, he once more moved the woman so that now she was cradled in his arms. His handsome face had taken on a stony quality, and his jaw clenched, revealing his emotions much more than he intended. He was grateful to see a taxi approach, and he found it tricky but possible to signal, hoping the driver saw only a man helping the proverbial damsel in distress though there was no telling what other stories their image might inspire.

Somehow, he managed to open the door. Heaven forbid the man offer to help! To be honest, few drivers would do so, he grudgingly admitted to himself. One knee on the seat and minding that he didn't whack his head as he did so, he managed to deposit Cara far enough over that he could quickly join her and be on their way.

"Your address?" he prompted. "You might as well give it. Your place right now is home with your children, not galllivanting about the underside of Paris, true? True," he stated firmly. He did not like being out cabfare, but what else was he to do? It wasn't as if he was completely without a conscience though the woman at his side seemed to think so. And, what for?! Had he taken advantage of her in her helpless states, she having a tendency to hit the floor in a faint?! No he had not! And, he could say that he had not been very tempted. A cold fish did not inspire lust. True, she had some fire in her, but obviously it had not served to keep her demon lover with her.

He hoped that the ride would be on the quiet side, but this woman always seemed to have something very loud and very scornful to say. If he had left her there, he would be a snake. Now that he had taken it upon himself to rescue here, what would he be? Yes: a snake!

Damned if you do; damned if you don'! he thought fiercely, seething, hands on knees, fingers flexing. What a maddening woman!

witch

12-13-2012, 04:24 AM

Cara Blaze Andovea

It was clear that Dorian didn't understand; why would he? She didn't know if he had ever lost anybody, let alone lost them to the unknown. That was the hardest part, the not knowing.

"Well, you are not going to get answers in the middle of the night in this patch of Paris!"

She was about to protest that when he went on.

"Fool woman!"

Her head hung, already over his shoulder she had no choice but to either kick and scream (which from other times with him she knew didn't work) or deal and come back another day.

Saying nothing she let him take her out of the maze and to a taxi, silently smiling at his struggle.

"Your address? You might as well give it. Your place right now is home with your children, not gallivanting about the underside of Paris, true? True,"

For a moment she refused to answer before pulling up her knees and wrapping her arms around them.

"Thank you" she finally whispered, sure it had been the first time she had ever said it to him. ""I'm sorry, I just..." she sighed knowing he wouldn't care, doubted if he'd even listen and therefore sat in silence her eyes glued to the floor, somewhat broken.

MystMoonstruck

12-13-2012, 07:11 AM

Dorian Grayson

Dorian would admit that he was relieved that she had not launched into the expected histrionics now that she had an audience. He had supposed that she would claim kidnapping or worse. Likely, the cabbie would have written it off as a domestic spat. Yes, that would be the way to play it: a put-upon man retrieving a wandering lover. But, now there was no need to do so. She had curled up beside him, obviously yielding.

"Thank you." He was surprised to hear the softly spoken words. "I'm sorry. I just..." The explanation perished with a sigh.

"I am not a cruel man," he stated quietly, staring ahead. "At least, I am not uncaring. You call me a snake and other such things. If I were that, I would have left you and returned to my own business. I have~eh~acquaintances, friends if that surprises you, who taught me many things. Among them was that an occasional act of thoughtfulness harms no one and just might pave the way to the edge of heaven or a cooler place in hell." Recalling those words from his mentors, the Kensingtons, he chuckled softly, his mood mellowing slightly. "Drive," he ordered the cabbie. "Where to?" he asked the woman who persisted in being part of his life in Paris.

witch

12-14-2012, 03:55 AM

Cara Blaze Andovea

Broken, Cara had been there before in more ways then one. Body she had been there to many to count over the past few years, the scares on her back proving so and mind... maybe when she had cheated death when she had hit her head HAD been her true time, never meant for love, kids, friends...now...now the time left was a curl trick.

She curled in upon herself and for the first time stayed somewhat silent, tonight, tonight she finally realized he wasn't coming back.

A hardly there 'thank you' crossed her lips making it clear she was beaten, for she had never said it to the man beside her. The fire that had raged in her no longer simmering on the coals but well and truly puffed out.

"I am not a cruel man," A voice spoke from beside her. "At least, I am not uncaring. You call me a snake and other such things. If I were that, I would have left you and returned to my own business. I have~eh~acquaintances, friends if that surprises you, who taught me many things. Among them was that an occasional act of thoughtfulness harms no one and just might pave the way to the edge of heaven or a cooler place in hell."

Cara said nothing to that. Her ideas and heaven and hell....she once thought she knew, now...now she could hardly see the line making her curl up even more trying to hold back the tears.

"Where to?"

Shrugging a shoulder she didn't answer for a moment.

"T...t..the farm on..." she couldn't even bring herself to say it.

Sure it had been empty for ages now just her and her children, one would think you'd get used to it.

"On....the outer part of town" she forced out before turning to Dorian. "C...c..can I ask you something?" she questioned waiting trying to think of a way to form her question "What did I do that was so wrong?"

MystMoonstruck

12-14-2012, 04:47 AM

Dorian Grayson

"Wrong?" He shot her a questioning look. Really! The woman was in sad, sad shape. "Loitering in La Zone Foncée is a leap in the wrong direction. Wandering about seeking a mad husband is unforgiveably foolish. You have your children. I thought perhaps you had some priorities in the right place."

Meanwhile, he was thinking, Farm! Exactly how much of a dent is this going to make in my pocket? Of course, he could rely on food from the opera house kitchen, he mused, and perhaps hit some parties and do some lifting... No. Now was not the time to make such plans. He would see her home and leave her there~or so he hoped. Her behavior hinted that perhaps she would not venture out again. If she did... Well, hadn't he done his best?

"You are a mother. Be one," he muttered, his tone dark. "Do you wish to be emotional baggage for your children once grown?" At that, he made an outburst of sound, a bark of laughter that held little humor. "Are you going to endlessly seek this absent husband of yours? Do you truly think you could find him on your own when you have nothing but an alley to begin with obviously? No. Do not bother to answer. Or... Perhaps the fellow you were with, the one in the boxcar... Work your wiles upon him, and perhaps he will hire a detective for you." He wasn't certain if he was being facetious or making a herlpful suggestion. Undoubtedly, she would find whatever he said objectionable.

witch

12-14-2012, 05:31 AM

Cara Blaze Andovea

All she had ever wanted to know was what she had done to make Mark leave. She had wondered that the first time and low and behold he had come back this time, this time she had a feeling she'd never see his face again and it pained.

"Wrong?" His voice rang out in question almost making her think the answer should be as plan as the noise on her face. "Loitering in La Zone Foncée is a leap in the wrong direction. Wandering about seeking a mad husband is unforgivably foolish. You have your children. I thought perhaps you had some priorities in the right place."

Finding answers where wrong priorities when all Skyla had been saying for the past few months was 'where's Daddy?' Did not children blame themselves? Cara knew full well Mark's leaving wasn't to be placed upon her young daughter but... was it to be placed on her?

"You are a mother. Be one,"

"I...I..I'm trying" she whispered though she knew it would never be good enough for him.

"Do you wish to be emotional baggage for your children once grown? Are you going to endlessly seek this absent husband of yours? Do you truly think you could find him on your own when you have nothing but an alley to begin with obviously? No. Do not bother to answer. Or... Perhaps the fellow you were with, the one in the boxcar... Work your wiles upon him, and perhaps he will hire a detective for you." Dorian voiced through a burst of laughter making it hurt even more.

"He doesn't care" she told him "No one does, they all think I'm better off without him. I...I don't want to hurt my children Dorian really I don't I just... want to know if he's dead or alive. Is that really to much to ask?"

Somehow she thought the answer to be yes.

"As for wiles...no one loves me like that, I mean, you, you can hardly stand me. Just....good enough for a few kisses and...what have I to offer? Nothing."

MystMoonstruck

12-15-2012, 10:33 AM

Dorian Grayson

Attempting to ease off his seething, Dorian listened to the woman though he did not look at her.

"He doesn't care," she told him of the gentlemanly fellow who had accmpanied her, but he had his doubts, recalling the animosity. "No one does, they all think I'm better off without him. I...I don't want to hurt my children, Dorian, really I don't. I just... want to know if he's dead or alive. Is that really too much to ask?"

"It is if you place yourself in harm's way, as you did tonight. What were you going to discover hanging out in some alley? Nothing!" he spat, irritation rising yet again. "You only endanger yourself and punish your children with your absence."

"As for wiles...no one loves me like that," she claimed. "I mean, you, you can hardly stand me. Just....good enough for a few kisses and...what have I to offer? Nothing."

He snorted, picturing himself as some cartoon bull with steam blasting from his nostrils, eyes fiery and ready to charge. She was very good at this lost damsel thing, and he imagined that she could be quite manipulative if she wished. Hadn't she pulled that coquettish trick at the apartment that time? What had been on her mind to approach him in that manner? Then, there was the talk of kisses again. Did she take everything so seriously? Did he need to ask that?

"Once you are home with your children, stay there if you have any wits. I doubt you are going to find your husband hanging around alleys in that part of town. Or, does he? Only at nights? Hmmmm... I doubt that you will find him. As I said, play up to that fellow. From the looks of his clothes, he can afford one of those PI fellows." Moving restlessly, he glanced out of the window into the dark that at times was dappled with lights now that they were leaving Paris' underside. "Just how far is this farm?"

witch

12-15-2012, 11:00 AM

Cara Blaze Andovea

The question she had asked no doubt meant nothing to the man sitting beside her but to Cara is was one that she truly wanted answers to. There had been 5 men who had ever kissed her since coming to Paris not counting her husband or his other half and all of them... had vanished from her life soon after. She was starting to think it was her, sure, shed had asked one of those 5 to kiss her upon her death dead but...

Steam would have been coming from his noise and ears, face redder then red if he had been a cartoon and no doubt a though bubble over his head picturing his had tightly squeezing her neck. It was all Cara needed to realize Mr Dorian Graysan would not speak the truth. Instead he was on his own bender, ranting and yelling. His mind set ferm to another question she had asked.

"It is if you place yourself in harm's way, as you did tonight. What were you going to discover hanging out in some alley? Nothing! You only endanger yourself and punish your children with your absence."

She sighed gritting her teeth a new feeling washing over her.

"Once you are home with your children, stay there if you have any wits. I doubt you are going to find your husband hanging around alleys in that part of town. Or, does he? Only at nights? Hmmmm... I doubt that you will find him. As I said, play up to that fellow. From the looks of his clothes, he can afford one of those PI fellows. Just how far is this farm?"

"Why don't you just say it Dorian? You think that a women should stay inside the house cooking and cleaning bowing down to their male masters, yet.... does the same apply to a pute? For it's clear you think I just hook up with any man I see. Just drop me off here, a roulure should be on the streets after all...right?"

MystMoonstruck

12-15-2012, 10:29 PM

Dorian Grayson

"Male masters?!" He shot her a hard, disbelieving look. "You are as mad as your husband! I pity your children if you look upon them as some sort of sentence to a prison. As for dropping you off: not till we reach your house. Did I suggest that you are a whore? You do like to hear and see things that are not there." He made a sound nearly like a growl. "I do not care what women wish to do or not do. But, I thought you were a woman who felt the obligation of motherhood. I was severely mistaken."

"Driver!" he snapped, reaching for his wallet, a fine leather piece he had "found" one evening of pleasure. Peeling out enough euros to take her home or at least partway, he asked for the cabbie to stop. Getting out of the taxi, he leaned down to tell her, "Go home, Cara. Do what you want with your life. You obviously will see and feel only misery. I shall not be part of that. Consider this my final rescue." Then, with satisfaction, he slammed the door then stormed off toward the nearest patch of lights, all the while begrudging his lost funds. You make a lousy Good Samaritan! he accused himself, that parable being a fragment of what he knew of religion. He should have remembered how that chap ended up paying and paying, with no feedback. Perhaps employment and a home were making him soft. He'd have to watch that, wouldn't he?

pyrate

01-10-2013, 05:13 AM

OOC: Samantha White is open to meeting anyone BIC

Samantha White

Samantha walked down the dark alleyway, clutching her shawl closer to her. The red flaming hair was starting to attract some unwanted attention in this dark side of town. She knew she was lost, she was just trying to find her way back to the Opera House. So far, the journey had not been fruitful. Her body gave an involuntary shiver as she passed a group of gentlemen that did not look friendly. Her feet scurried past them quickly.
Her attire of heeled boots, tight black jeans and laced blouse were probably not helping the looks that she was getting from these men. Her breath came in ragged shots and formed as mists in the cold winter air. She tried to remain calm and not show them fear.
"Come on Sam, you are fine. You have pepper spray in your pocket. Just relax. Don't freak out. Which street did you need to find? You should have brought a map. Why didn't you bring a freaking map?
Her fingers touched the top of the container in her pocket. The brisk air swept against her petite form standing still on a dark corner. There was a light at the end of the alleyway. She strutted her way towards it, hoping to see some face or setting. Abruptly, she ran into someone's shoulder. The force was so hard, she looked up and saw...

MystMoonstruck

01-10-2013, 08:24 AM

Dorian Grayson (http://i85.photobucket.com/albums/k76/cynsemele/Dorian%20Grayson%20Eduardo%20Verestegui/eduardo118.jpg)

Dorian was in a rare foul mood, frustrated with everything though he was accustomed to taking it all in stride. His black ensemble echoed his turmoil, black for anger, black to blend with the night, the darkness scarcely interrupted by the occasional streetlight. His thoughts blasted out in such a way that he could picture those he was passing being swept away in his wake. What the hell were they staring at anyway? Generally, they seemed about as aware of their surroundings as~well~metaphors and similes had never been a skill he possessed. Whatever was happening, they appeared to be on the hunt, obviously having sensed a victim. His immediate thought was that the foolish Cara had returned to seek her supposedly demonic husband. Was she serving herself up once again, making herself a target? It would be just like the vixen to stubbornly return to the place from which he had evicted her. The memory did bring a smirk to his lips, fractionally brightening his mood.

Abruptly, he had the urge for a smoke, a rarity for him, just as this foul mood was. He stopped just near the streetlight, one that flickered but worked to "undarken" a small spot in which he stood rummaging through his pockets, finding an intact Turkish cigarillo with a touch of mint, one of a dozen he had pocketed while at a recent party. Although Bramwell had advised him to use a match, not a lighter, he retrieved the gun-shaped lighter, complete with red laser pointer (http://i85.photobucket.com/albums/k76/cynsemele/Dorian%20Grayson%20Eduardo%20Verestegui/gunlighterforrDorian.jpg)~another "borrowed" item, one that fit snugly in his pocket and could be wielded in a rather convincing manner if necessary. Cupping his hands around the cigarillo, he flicked then breathed in the first lungful, exhaling luxuriously. He was about to slip the lighter back into this pocket when he was jolted by someone, at first making him think that someone had been crazy enough to tackle him. At 6'3", it would take someone with nerve, and so he glowered down~then down some more to find himself puffing smoke into the face of a girl who looked ghostly pale and terrified out of her mind.

Immediately, he looked in the direction from which she had come and saw the stragglers, the jackels hoping to bring down prey.

"VAMOOSE!" he growled, his voice guttural, relying on the word~alien in this environment~to throw them offguard. Without really thinking about it, he brandished the gun-shaped lighter, switching on the red beam and playing it about, from one forehead to the next. "Who's first?" he snarled, figuring he'd be in~well~deep excrement if anyone else was armed. Instead, the hyenas turned tail and made it their business to be elsewhere. Waggling the cigarillo between strong, even teeth, he chuckled deep in his throat as the lighter disappeared into a jacket pocket.

"Now," he began, his green gaze on the redhaired girl, "exactly what are you doing here?"

pyrate

01-11-2013, 02:55 AM

OOC BIC
Samantha White

"VAMOOSE! "Who's first? Now,exactly what are you doing here?"

Samantha looked up into a face that was full of smoke. A man leaned down and stared into her eyes. His green spheres were full of anger. She scooted back a little further. "Please, don't hurt me. I'm lost," her boots were the only thing in his reach. Standing slowly and perhaps a bit seductively, she never took her eyes off him. She turned her body towards him. "Thank you for scaring the men away," Her flaming red hair flew behind her. She met his gaze with timid eyes. "Parlez-vous français?" she asked politely. Her jacket had come slightly open revealing her red corset underneath. Her soft chest heaved a little bit, but she prayed that he did not notice. She had soft curves, the kind that fit against many men. She was looking for foreign adventure and the man before her looked to be the type that she would want to have for it.

"I'm Samantha. What is your name, sir?" she bowed her head slightly before readjusting her jacket. She had to pull it open completely to wrap it around again. Her top clung tightly to her breasts, showing off her tiny waist, and flared to her hourglass hips. The color of red always stood out against her pale skin. She closed her jacket quickly, blushing slightly, knowing his eyes probably just examined her, even in that brief moment.

MystMoonstruck

01-11-2013, 09:30 AM

Dorian Grayson

Dorian had not considered how his semi-act ("semi" because he could be a formidable fighter, right?) might carry over to the rescued lady. Now, she was staring up at him as if he was some beast who might ravish her. Hurt her? Well, he supposed he could if that was his nature. But, he wasn't one to work off anger on another human body. That's what punching bags and weightlifting were for. Release anger; get buff. It was an exchange that worked for him.

She got to her feet before he could offer to hoist her, and he wondered if he had been mistaken. After all, he had seen many ladies of the night dressed very much as she was. Perhaps she was a rookie~yes~a rookie hooker. He had to stifle the laugh at his almost-rhyme, puffing at the cigarillo to cover it.

When he did not respond at first, she shifted to French, at which he grunted and shook his head "no". Plucking the cigarillo from his mouth, he tapped it with a finger, sending ashes to the ground. "I speak English," he reminded her. Hadn't he threatened her pursuers and sent them scrrambling away? Perhaps her corset was affecting her hearing. That time, the chuckle escaped, and he returned his smoke to mouth.

"My name?" He considered for a moment. Once before, he had rescued a redhead, the sinfully desirable Verity. This one was not the same vintage. She was too nervous and skittery he decided. "Storm," he stated, "Malachy Storm." He was silent for a moment, studying her. "Just exactly what inspired you to dress like that and go walking the streets? First time out?" He laughed throatily then, slipping an arm into hers, he began walking, slowing his long strides to allow for her height and those boots. "It's best we put some distance between us and them," he informed her. "They may decide to take me up on that challenge if they feel~eh~hungry enough. If your feet are up to it, we'll get you to the safer part of the city~if that's where you intended to be."

He didn't like that their footfalls could mask an attack from behind. Yet, if it came, he supposed he could handle himself as he could anywhere else. But, he did want to know something very much: Exactly what force in the universe had decided that he was the defender of womanhood?! Why was said force determined that he check his moral compass? He had never been one to tread that straight and narrow that some spoke of. What was to become of him? Oh, well, it was time to let Malachy Storm take care of business before slipping away into the night.

At last, they reached a sort of No Man's Land: quite close to the Parisian underground yet beginning to court with respectability. There was a basement-level cafe where they had held fast to the old ways, as if haunted by the ghosts of Scott and Zelda, of Hemingway and others from the Forgotten Generation. He guided her across the street then down the narrow stone steps into the smoky, candlelit cafe, where he was greeted by waves of hands, which he returned as he piloted them to a corner table from which he could keep an eye on things, particularly the coming of anyone who might look unwelcome. He doubted they had been followed, but taking care was second nature to him.

Once settled in, he leaned back, relaxing, awaiting the ebony-tressed, dusky-skinned girl in gypsyish attire, all scarves and strands of coins, a number of which he had given her~very good for the touristy types searching for latter-day Paris. She set down the makings of absinthe for him without being told. "Wine?" he asked the girl. "Samantha, isn't it? Verushka," he said, catching her attention and winking conspiratorially. "Any messages for me? Storm is the word." It was enough for her to play along.

The girl looked as if she might smile, perhaps giving him away. Then, with a slight frown, she shook her head, sending her earrings jangling and the coins rustling musically. Her attention turned to the redhaired girl then.

"Order what you wish," he invited. "Are you hungry?"

pyrate

01-12-2013, 07:38 PM

OOC BIC

Samantha White

Slightly shocked at his quickness, she allowed herself to be lead. She walked swiftly with him and looked back. The other men were gone and the shadows were now chasing them as they retreated back into a more respectable part of town. He paused in front of a restaurant. She resisted for a moment but continued inside with him. They sat down at the table and she sat quietly. Her jacket was again opening and the red corset was beginning to show again. She adjusted her top slightly. Crossing her ankles, she sat upright. She was imagining that she was back at her high society meetings and was being watched. She gained a calm and cool composure. She did not want to come off as needy or not mature enough for an encounter. She found this man very attractive. Her breath was shorter and her cheeks were flushed with color. Her curls bounced playfully against her shoulder as she looked at him with an intense stare. Her heel slid up her leg, causing shivers and her lip trembled slightly.
"Mr. Storm, I don't eat very often. But, what is that?" she pointed to the absinthe. She had never done drugs and was a light drinker. Living in paris was going to be an adventure for her. Wanting to touch it, she raised her hand slightly, and placed it back on her knee. She shook her head no to the girl looking at her, waiting for a menu choice. She folded her hands neatly in her lap. " I have never seen that before,"
"I was lost," she paused before getting a defensive look, "My attire is just what I'm comfortable in," she pulled her jacket closed a little more. She smiled at him. "What do you do here in Paris, Mr. Storm?" Her hair got into her face and she hastily pushed it back. "Though, if I may say so, I don't think that is your real name," she said softly and looked down.
When her eyes met his again, she began to read his body language and tone. It was something that she had become good at during her high society parties. There was still mystery about her so-called rescuer. She was a little uneasy and was not sure if having a one night stand was a good idea. However, she was young and wanted to try new things. Her conservative home was nothing like Paris. She had finally met an attractive man and wanted to see what else would happen during this night. Scolding herself in her mind wasn't going to change anything that she was about to do. It was time for action. This man deserved a thank you; a proper thank you with lots of steamy... Her mind wandered off into taboo thoughts. She licked her signature red lips before leaning back in her chair, her jacket popping open. She did not fix it this time, but met his gaze with a strong hunger in her eyes.

MystMoonstruck

01-13-2013, 05:19 AM

Dorian Grayson
aka Malachy Storm

At least the girl had given him no trouble during their journey to this smoke-filled, dimly lit subterranean retreat, a favorite of his. It was a step up from other places, nearer to the traditional cafe. Occasionally, brave~or perhaps foolhardy~tourists decided to explore the underbelly. If they went past this point... Now, that would be a risk. So, how did this girl wind up here? She did look as if she was peddling something, but then didn't the average female he encountered?

To his invitation to dine, she refused, which also wasn't surprising. Too many women starved themselves, which was why he had been so delighted when Verity dined with him. What was the point of looking what was perceived as attractive if one could not enjoy life~wine, food, all the bounty the world had to offer? Even gutter-poor, he had begged and stolen to have the things he wanted, bartering his body if necessary. The latter is what he suspected of her, but the fidgeting with her clothing was an irritant. Obviously, she was not comfortable in her skin. The clothes were wearing the girl, not the opposite, as it should be. Perhaps she simply needed seasoning.

He found that he also did not care for her attitude, knowing that he had hoped she might savor the adventure this had turned into. Instead, he felt as if he was applying for a job, what with her questioning him about not only his drink of choice but also what he did. Then, she dared challenge his name! Setting the cigarillo aside, he then set about preparing the absinthe (http://i85.photobucket.com/albums/k76/cynsemele/Dorian%20Grayson%20Eduardo%20Verestegui/ABSINTHE.jpg) though he generally allowed someone else to do it.

"This is absinthe," he explained, his movements graceful with practice. "Place the sugar cube onto this~called an absinthe spoon not surprisingly. Pretty, isn't it? Now, one holds this over the top of the glass~a Pontarlier glass. Some call it a reservoir glass. Set the spoon~just so~atop~crosswise. See? The sugar must be centered just so~very important," he assured her, holding up a lecturing finger. Returning to his project, He picked up the pitcher. "Now, slowly pour the water~very cold water~icy, in fact~over the sugar. Pour at least three times the amount of liqueur that is in the glass. Yes, it is very strong. The sugar and water mix till there is~You see?~this cloudy, milky color. Sugar all gone now," he quipped. "Remove the spoon." He did so. "Set aside." Carefully, he placed the decorative utensil on the table. Picking up the heavy glass, he moved it in a toastlike motion. "Sip slowly," which he did, closing his eyes as he savored his creation~just a few sips~before setting the glass down. "Next, I shall show you how to do it with flame. Very pretty."

Targeting her with his cool, pale green gaze, he refuted her: "You are not comfortable in that attire or you would not be fussing with it the whole time. Careful. Many men might consider all of that as a come-on. I am not one." Again, he lifted the glass to his lips as he signaled with his left hand for the waitress to return. "Apparently, she does not know her own mind. Café au lait~with mother's milk" he suggested drollly. "Perhaps two pastries~cherry tarts, wouldn't you say?" His wink was not hidden from the girl at his side, and Verushka, vixen that she was, tossed her head and laughed, a bawdy sound that had Dorian joining her. She swept away in a swirl of skirts, leaving the sound of coins and bells in her wake.

"What do I do?" Once more, he targeted her but with a stone-hard look in his eyes. Smiling grimly as he spoke, leaning in very close to her, enough for his breath to be felt, he warned her, "If I told you, I'd have to kill you." Chuckling throatily, he withdrew and returned to the absinthe.

OOC: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Absinthe BIC:

pyrate

01-14-2013, 03:26 AM

Samantha White

Samantha sat quietly as he explained the drink. Her attention was completely focused on him. She did not want to partake. Even though she was feeling adventurous, she did not trust herself with this type of drink. She had no idea what type of effect it may have on her. Her breath was short while she talked to him. This tall Greek god that sat in front of her; he seemed so out of her league. She was determined to make a good experience out of this. He seemed irritated. She frowned slightly; she was trying to get a rise out of him.
"You are not comfortable in that attire or you would not be fussing with it the whole time. Careful. Many men might consider all of that as a come-on. I am not one." Samantha wanted to growl at him, however given that he probably just saved her life. She bowed her head for a moment before returning her eyes to his face. "Perhaps that is what I am going for. The more I adjust my attire, the more mens eyes are attracted to the red color. A clever plan, in my opinion. I do regret that it does not attract your attention Mr. Storm. I was hoping it would." she smiled. She remained quiet as he talked to the waitress. He ordered two cherry tarts- was he mocking her? Calling her a cherry tart? She did not say anything and refrained from making a smart comment.
"If I told you, I'd have to kill you." When his breath brushed against her collar bones, she paused before leaning close to him. In one swift motion, she took a hold of his face and kissed his lips. He tasted like sugar and he smelled of sweat. She was not going to push her tongue into his mouth and released him and sat back in her chair. She blushed and did not move. Expecting him to get up and leave her, she again crossed her ankles. "I.. don't know why I did that," her cheeks burned and her body was on fire. She was completely in shock of her forward action. She had done some wild things but grabbing a stranger and kissing him like that was something new for her. "I... don't..know..what to say," she blurted out. "I can't say I regret doing that," she pulled her jacket open as her adrenaline kicked in.

MystMoonstruck

01-14-2013, 06:13 AM

Dorian Grayson
aka Malachy Storm

It wasn't as if he hadn't expected such an impulsive act from the girl. This wasn't gratitude though. It was desperation. Didn't the silly creature realize what could have happened to her if he hadn't come along? So, she had baited her trap but had ended up at the wrong rathole~until he came along. As usual~after all, this wasn't the first such incident~he took the stolen kiss in stride, resuming his enjoyment of the absinthe, thinking that he preferred the more-flamboyant way of preparing it.

"Clever?" Again came the deeply throaty laughter, a smile barely touching his lips as he once more picked up the cigarillo, puffing a few times to revive it, again savoring the minty smoke. Wonderful thing about Parisian clubs: They did not concern themselves with lungs and liver~unless the latter was pate. None of that non-smoking regime~though it wasn't as if this was a habit. It did lend something to his persona he supposed. "Any cleverer and you might have been a victim of rape. That's what this place would mean to you if I hadn't happened along. Either they would have left you for dead, taken you to the Seine for~eh~disposal, or decided to trick you out, which you look as if you wish to do. You are walking a dangerous path, trufa. Next time, there might not be a rescuer. Or, should there be, he may require a price you might not be willing to pay."

At that time, the coffee and desserts arrived, and his cool gaze met Verushka's of melted chocolate. He saw the merriment dancing there and knew that he was in for some teasing and taunting later.

"Your tart?" she murmured as she placed the dishes in front of them. "Café au lait"~behi not ama. Will that be all, Monsieur?

"Yes. That will be quite enough," he responded, his tone stern but knowing that she would know his intent. Enough of her teasing! He would deal with her later. And, did he not look forward to that? When she had gone, he glanced at Samantha, "Eat. Drink. Enjoy." Tamping the cigarillo, he left it resting on the ashtray, picking up the fork to begin his attack on the tart, which he knew to be excellent.

OOC: trufa = tease behi= cow ama = mother BIC:

pyrate

01-16-2013, 03:13 AM

Samantha White

Samantha did not know what to say. She could not believe what she hearing from this man. Inside her mind, she was screaming at herself for sitting with him. Her usual pride was not standing up to this gentleman- if that is even an option for him. The sharp tongue that she was usually so proud of had failed her as she sat silent.
"Clever? Any cleverer and you might have been a victim of rape. That's what this place would mean to you if I hadn't happened along. Either they would have left you for dead, taken you to the Seine for~eh~disposal, or decided to trick you out, which you look as if you wish to do. You are walking a dangerous path, trufa. Next time, there might not be a rescuer. Or, should there be, he may require a price you might not be willing to pay." She silently picked up her fork and began to eat. She had not thought about that. Deciding she was a little hurt by his comments, she pouted for a moment. Looking back at him, she smiled slyly. "Would you make me pay that price, Mr. Storm?" she said while laying her arm down on the table and leaning a little forward. Her jacket was still open and her breasts were all but exposed in her low cut top. She wanted another kiss from this exotic man in front of her, but she was not going to forcefully take it again. "I would like to tell you that I am not a whore. You have made several indications that you think I am. I come for a certain price that only real men can pay," she lowly growled. Finishing her tart, she realized her frustration had shown through in her reddened cheeks. Tucking the one strand of hair that always fell into her face behind her ear, she pushed her empty plate in front of her. "Thank you very much for the pastry." She crossed her arms and sat back waiting for his response to her.

MystMoonstruck

01-24-2013, 11:25 AM

Malachy Storm
aka Dorian Grayson

Dorian supposed that the girl would think about his warnings, eating tart along with crow. However, after a brief time, she renewed her efforts, much to his chagrin.

"Would you make me pay that price, Mr. Storm?" she asked as she placed herself on display once more. Again, he did not rush to respond, his attention barely straying for a second from the dessert before him, which he ate at a leisurely pace, as if nothing in the world was more important. "I would like to tell you that I am not a whore," she said, which was in contrast to her behavior, he noted. "You have made several indications that you think I am. I come for a certain price that only real men can pay." He admitted that it was difficult to stifle the laughter that wanted to break free as she attempted to vamp him. Then, rather like an obedient child, she finished eating and pushed the plate aside. "Thank you very much for the pastry." At that, she leaned back, going into what seemed a defensive pose.

Turning slightly, his arm along the back of the chair, left hand with fork pointed toward her, he stated, "First of all: I never pay. Second: Try to decide just what you are. In this place..." The fork swept in a circular motion. "... yes, you would be mistaken for a prostitute, a scarlet woman, a strumpet, a tart," he ended, returning to his dessert and the absinthe, which made for a combination of flavors quite odd, he decided, thinking that he also should have chosen coffee. "A real man? What is that? A man you can have on your own terms?" He pushed the half-finished tart aside then gestured to capture Verushka's attention. "Cafe Bonbon, (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Cafe_bombon2.jpg)" he called out before returning his attention to the girl at his side, wondering exactly how old she was since her actions made it difficult to guess. It was as if she suddenly had decided to act worldly~act, not become~because he wasn't certain that she truly intended to follow through. "I do not believe that you want what you claim to desire. You must be certain. I am not in the habit of delivering lectures on morality. Why I am doing this now, I do not know. I seem to be developing a streak of..." He paused, smirking, self-mockingly this time. "... decency perhaps. Return to wherever you are from. Lose whatever you must there. Understand?"

pyrate

01-28-2013, 04:02 AM

Samantha White

"First of all: I never pay. Second: Try to decide just what you are. In this place... yes, you would be mistaken for a prostitute, a scarlet woman, a strumpet, a tart." She looked down as he tried to scold her. Her body shivered slightly as the cold air from outside rushed in from the opening and shutting front door. Closing her eyes for a moment, she listened hard to his voice and sat still. Her eyes did not meet his until he began to say, "I do not believe that you want what you claim to desire. You must be certain. I am not in the habit of delivering lectures on morality. Why I am doing this now, I do not know. I seem to be developing a streak of... decency perhaps. Return to wherever you are from. Lose whatever you must there. Understand?" " No, I do not understand. I do not think that you are a decent man. I do not believe half of what you have told me. Fortunately, that does not bother me at this time. I'll play along with this little adventure. I know what I want. Perhaps I should show you." she stood quickly. She was flirting with this beautiful creature. If he wanted to play rough, so would she. "I have already thanked you for saving my life. However, I feel that there is a misunderstanding of my actions. I am not a whore. I find you very attractive, Mr. Storm," she took a step closer to his chair. When she was directly in front of him, she plopped down on his lap, straddling him and bringing her mouth very close to his ear. Her hand began to reach for the knife stuck in her boot, just in case he tried to fight with her in this public place. "I am not usually like this. You weren't understanding my advances, so I thought a more direct approach would be more suited for you. I would consider you a real man, Mr. Storm," she smirked. Her lips were so close to his neck, she resisted the urge to kiss or nibble on his juglar vein. Pulling her face back, she tried to meet his gaze. She blushed slightly. "I can not go back to where I am from. I don't have enough money at the moment. I am working at the Opera House and must stay there until I have enough money or I can find another way home. My parents used to pay for everything. Unfortunately, when I told them I got accepted at the Opera House, they said I had to pay for the trip out here and to come back. I don't have enough to go back and I want to have some adventures," she put her hand on his chest, pushing slightly and scooted her body closer to his, "Any suggestions there?" The knife in her boot was now visible and shining against his glass that sat on the table.

MystMoonstruck

03-26-2013, 07:29 AM

Malachy Stone
aka Dorian Grayson

As soon as the girl began her new moves, having obviously not gotten the lesson he had been trying to teach, Dorian could feel that not-so-deeply buried anger rising, like lava in a volcano, too ready to erupt. That was occasionally allowable but not when he had to consider how breakable the object of that rage was~and the witnesses came the sour thought though he supposed they would go along with any story necessary. Hadn't he reminded her how nearby the Seine was? Obviously, she had not taken to heart any of his warnings.

Should've left her to the rabble! So, why hadn't he? What was in it for him to keep saving women? After all, they weren't ending up in his bed. In fact, with Verity, he supposed he had gone hopelessly gallant. With Cara, he merely refused to give her what she wanted. This girl... Didn't she know anything about luring a man? No. She had been around clumsy boys, he supposed, not that they were without their dangers~taking but rarely savoring.

"Real man?" he growled, suddenly rising to his full height, his strength overwhelming, tumbling her onto the cafe floor in a flurry of skirts and boots, his left hand moving in a blur to snatch the knife from her and, in the same swift move, slamming it down into the tabletop next to them, burying an inch of the blade, releasing it so that it stayed quivering where it had been planted. Continuing with the lithe movements, he grasped her arms in his, hoisting her from the floor and setting her atop the knifed table. Freeing her, he banged a big right fist onto that surface, rattling it.

"Here! Auction time!" he pronounced, pale green eyes like stone set in the carved face of a young god~a very angry one, his wild black hair and duskiness lending him a pagan aura. This was the fellow who stalked into any bar, daring with his presence anyone to cross him~inviting them to do so and promising to make them regret it. His appearance could be deceptive till he dropped the veil of civility. Beneath was the beast of prey he could never rid himself of, a part that had been champing at being reined in as the meek custodian at the opera house. This was his territory!

His smile was icily cruel, and he turned hard eyes on the redhaired girl on the table, aware of the question in some eyes. How far was he taking this? How set was he on this sudden turn of events? It wasn't as if this they had never witnessed this exact scene and even been participants. Their eyes, too, took on a sharpness, a hardness that viewed the newcomer in quite a different way.

"See?!" he challenged her. "Any one of these~eh~gentlemen might be your master..." He flashed a savage grin. "... your companion for the evening, shall we say?" Turning back to them, he flashed a wink, seeing hints of disappointment but trusting they understood.

Three of the men~of varying statures and build~separated themselves from the bar to take stations around the table now serving as an auction block.

"We have here a~a female of some youth who says she wants adventure. She needs a real man you see. No money she says. She places herself in our~hands. Is that not true, my little tart?"

pyrate

03-28-2013, 06:26 AM

Samantha White

Samantha let out a gasp as he stood quickly. In his swift movements, she went crashing to the ground and hit her head.She lay for a moment against the cold and hard ground, softly moaning to herself. Still dazed and confused, he picked her up and slammed her into the table. Her legs dangling off the table, she sat up slowly. The knife was inches from her legs and his fist had almost struck her. Perhaps he was warning her that his next flying fist would be directly at her?
Hearing him say that it was auction time, made her look at him with questioning eyes. She felt every eye staring her down, undressing her with their eyes. A few of the women were even partaking in this horrible arrangement. She was glad that her coat was still closed or one of these men may have already taken her off Mr. Storm's hands. Taking a deep breath, she got off the table and went over to him. Laying a hand gingerly on his chest, she sighed quietly, almost fearful.

"Please, sir, I beg you. Do not continue with this. Let us sit down and quietly discuss. I will give you anything you want," her eyes traveled to his face. She took a quick look at the three men standing around. They were not attractive and did not look very friendly. "Please. Just take me back to the Opera House and you will never have to deal with me again," she said with a deep regret. "I'm sorry that I offended you," she removed her hand from his chest, tucking back a piece of flaming red hair that had fallen into her face while she was being dropped unto the floor and table.

"We have here a~a female of some youth who says she wants adventure. She needs a real man you see. No money she says. She places herself in our~hands. Is that not true, my little tart?"

"It is true," she hung her head. She didn't understand what had happened. She was flirting with Mr. Storm. He got angry and now this indescribable creature had emerged and she was terrified. He was going to sell her! Like a common whore! She could no longer meet his gaze. She folded her hands slightly before a hand came forcibly beneath her chin and she was forced to look at...

MystMoonstruck

04-09-2013, 11:14 AM

Malachy Storm
aka Dorian Grayson

Before his lesson could continue, the girl took it upon herself to depart the "auction block" and approach him once more. As her hand rested against his broad chest, he sighed deeply, hoping she would sense the exasperation.

She begged his forgiveness, or so he supposed, then understandably tried to wriggle her way out of the situation though not with the bravada shown before. Perhaps she had bought the whole act, which was the best for her. Someday in her future, she might look upon him as someone who had stood in the way of potential destruction. Now, she was ready to go... Where?! The Opera House! It seemed the spirit of the place could reach out its tentacles to entwine him even when he was outside its walls.

As she moved slightly away from him, one of the men reached out, forcing her to look at him, a practicedly cruel smile on his rugged face, giving him a Charles Bronsonian appearance that might frighten or intrigue, depending on the female. "Too bad," he pronounced. "If you change your mind, let me know." The voice was gruff, and the comments might have been aimed at the girl or the big man who had brought some excitement into the night, even if it had been for show. He allowed his hand to be brushed aside by the handsome man, whose lips twitched with a fleeting smile.

"Very well," he conceded. "I'll take you there. But..." He paused, his own hand catching her under the chin, forcing her to look at him. "... no more monkey business. Understand?" At that, he grabbed her by the wrist and headed toward the door. "Come along now. It's past bedtime for all would-be adventuresses." Outside, they would catch a cab though he disliked spending his money in that way. It was simple: He would have to cease becoming a rescuer of damsels in distress, particularly of those who placed themselves in harm's way. He did not intend to become a hero. There was no profit in that, was there?

As they were nearly free of the region considered by many to be a danger zone, it was just a matter of time before he was able to hail a taxi. Once settled inside, without looking at her, he asked, "Have you truly learned your lesson?"

pyrate

04-12-2013, 08:47 PM

Samantha White

The man that had touched her first smelled heavily of whiskey. She shivered and felt repulsed. Mr. Storm caught her attention by saying he would take her home. Relief washed over her; perhaps he was not as bad as he seemed. She paused for a moment before his hand went beneath her chin and he looked directly into her eyes. Samantha felt a chill go down her spine. Those eyes were so pointed and unnerving. She tried to pull out of his grip. The strength of his fingers alone was surprising.

No more monkey business. Understand?
She nodded slowly. He took her wrist and forced her out the door. His strong fingers once again stopped her full resistance. A nagging thought came into the back of her head that she should pull away. Logic told her to stay calm and get into the cab. She followed him with a little resistance. Climbing into the cab right behind him, she sat quietly. This was going to be a long ride. His scent surrounded her as they began to drive. She placed her hands on her knees and let her eyes travel over him. He had a nice taste in clothes and his presence was overpowering.
"Have you truly learned your lesson?" he asked.
She turned to face him. "I did learn something. I don't want to be a tease in a city that I know nothing about. I am still upset that you had me hit my head against the floor," she rubbed her head as it still did hurt. "I also was trying to be attractive to you, a flirt. You could have had me in your bed," she hung her head. "I can see you do not find anything attractive about me," crossing her arms, she stared out the window. "You won't have to deal with me after this trip," "I do not like rejection, let alone humiliation by a man I just met." she sneered slightly.

MystMoonstruck

04-14-2013, 07:02 AM

Malachy Storm
aka Dorian Grayson

"And, I do not care for women who fling themselves at me~little girls either. Before you tell me you are old enough to be considered a woman... There is far more to being one, and you are not there. You were like some child window shopping with no real notion of what might happen. Perhaps you should look elsewhere. Why throw away what you have? Are you one of those who wish to dispense with the innocence and get on with it? Surely there are any number of men at this Opera House place you speak of who could scratch that itch?" The latter came with such a harsh expression, visibly dismissing her efforts at snatching at him as she still seemed to wish to do. But, why not? He was the traditional tall, dark and handsome, true? He did not allow the mental smirk to spoil his fierce look.

"Brazen may attract some men, but it scarcely works for me~and not at all in your case, girl, if you were giving it a thought. You cannot even decide whether or not to spill out of your clothing. When you do, you cover up, then you expose yourself again. Think on this, if you will:

Whenas in silks my Julia goes,
Then, then, methinks, how sweetly flows
The liquefaction of her clothes!

Next, when I cast mine eyes and see
That brave vibration each way free,
—O how that glittering taketh me!

Understand? No? Yes? A woman must be comfortable in whatever she wears. Casually reveal, a careless revelation, then, as a man looks, pretend modesty. You~eh~fumble, tug, bring too much attention to what you wear. If you are not comfortable with the attire, you must find the style that allows you that sensation. You must study people~females and males alike~to see what draws your attention in the right way. Why do you look at whomever you find interesting? I guarantee they are not tugging and fumbling as if undecided whether to strip or to button up." He sighed heavily wondering why he was being so verbose on the topic. He had never been one to lecture, but the girl at his side was a puzzle.

"No one wishes for rejection, but you deserved humiliation. Rejection is a minor lesson. We rarely forget the circumstances in which we were humiliated. I easily could have gone through with that auction, and there would have been nothing you could have done about it. Consider that the next time you decide to toss yourself to wolves."

Throughout this, he had been reminding himself to be very careful at the Opera House. It wouldn't do for her to recognize the custodian with the mop as her rescuer and tormenter.

"Look in safer pastures," he said with finality, thinking that he never would have followed such advice had he received it. Of course, by whatever age she was, he had had inestimable notches on the bed post~had he had a bed to his name most of those years.

OOC: The poem is "Upon Julia's Clothes" by Robert Herrick. BIC: