Post by Robin on Jul 15, 2006 0:46:10 GMT -8
It's not my usual story setting. This is completely new characters, and VAMPIRES, which is something I never do. I made up this whole scenario where this chick gets sugar daddies and then one is a vampire and he's like 'hoe let me make you a vampire' and she's like 'no girlyman' and he's like 'f u =(' and then they go through this long thing where he tries to convert her and he uses her son to get to her and she goes all Detta Walker on all their asses and then finally she gets turned into a vampire at the end and eats her son and then it's over. I may wake up in the morning and be like 'oh man what was I thinking I gotta get rid of this shit' but for now it sort of tickles my fancy. Be aware that 'now' is two o clock in the morning. So yeah. But if this actually turns into something cool that'll be totally tits.
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Noises in the other room. That girl, that demon child that Mark had sent to torment her, sliding around in the dark with her son.
Luke.
The much-abused name rang in her mind, a mere whisper of its usual shriek, but an intense whisper, the kind of whisper that let her know that the primal part of her, the part that she knew everybody had but that had never really bothered her until that girl began working Mark over, would have no qualms with ripping out both their windpipes just to keep him from consumption by that girl.
Luke.
She stirred on her bed, folding her hands first across her chest and then bringing them up and cracking the knuckles swiftly, so swift that there was almost pain, and in the dark she would feel a smile of satisfaction flickering across her face. Now wouldn’t it be nice to crack that girl’s neck like that and
Luke.
She wanted to get up so badly, wanted to go in there and end whatever it was they were doing and whatever it was Luke thought they were doing. He would think she was going to take his virginity, yes, he would, up until the very end when her teeth sank, sharp as needles, into his neck and the pain came sweet and silvery and she took his mortal life instead. So why don’t you go in there and do something yes do something and keep your son your son at least for a little while longer do it do it
Luke.
She was sitting up; her feet were sliding out of bed. Her conscious mind told her not to do it, told her that what she would see she wouldn’t like one bit, but the primal one, the autre, it controlled matters with Luke. Always the matters with Luke. It was as if it had no care for what happened to her except when it needed her. Then, it would sink her claws into whatever it deemed necessary, even her son himself, and woe to the person who said otherwise. Yes woe to the person even you I could kill you now I could let her take you she’s crazed now you know it and she’ll play with him but not with you and he’ll be so angry oh Mark will be so angry he may just kill Luke himself and make you watch and then make you eat your own heart oh wouldn’t that be
Luke.
Her hand reached out, almost of her control, though some dim vestige of her conscious mind was supporting the movement but, spiteful bitch it was, added a bit of tremble just to make the autre angry. Oh, and was it angry.
Luke.
The. The door was open. There they were, just now turning to her with bleary doe-eyed surprise, the girl on top of him with her lovely dark hair hanging in her face like two panels of silk, her hands like long white butterflies positioned on his neck, caressing with a lover’s touch that was meant for the blood underneath and not the vessel carrying it. She heard the silken hiss of indrawn breath.
“You bitch,” the girl whispered, her voice harsh and no complement to her elfin features, her eyes losing the glassy deer-in-the headlights look and narrowing, and she was off of Luke and in front of her in the liquid blur that still amazed her after all these months. The girl’s hand came up, slashed across the side of her face. Stinging pain came, and it was almost welcome. And then the girl’s hands were locked around her throat, squeezing, and her own were doing the same, the girl wearing an expression that suggested that the blood in the body she was throttling was not worth drinking, she feeling a snarl contort her face that was as much the autre as it was herself.
“Did he invite you in?” she grunted, twisting her body and thumping the girl against the wall, trying to maneuver her head into a position where she could snap that swan-like neck, watch the will-‘o’-the-wisp, ghost of a pulse under the chin from a recent feed dissipate quickly, drop the body in the backyard in the old woodpile and burn it until it was nothing but ashes.
“I wouldn’t be here if he hadn’t, Bonnie,” the girl said, and that the vampire knew her name wasn’t as surprise. The girl’s head was beginning to be bent at an odder and odder angle, and she kept waiting for the tell-tale snap.
“He doesn’t own the house, you know.” Squeeze, bend. Squeeze, bend. Tighter idiot squeeze tighter do you want her to throttle you before you can break her little milksop neck look she’s killing you can you even breathe anymore I doubt it you’re lucky I’m here you can’t hold your breath at all but I can so you’re a damn lucky bitch now break her neck she’s just a vampire who tried to turn your son go you bitch
Luke.
Squeeze, harder, twist. There was a little pop, and the vestiges of light that had been in the girl’s eyes dissipated. The butterfly hands fell away from Bonnie’s neck, and she stood, rubbing at it distractedly. Luke was sitting on the bed trying to focus his eyes. How pretty his eyes are, she thought fondly, and was glad that, for the moment, the autre had gone. She checked him over quickly but, though he was flushed and heated and far from orientated, he had not been bitten. And that, at least, was a relief.
--------
Noises in the other room. That girl, that demon child that Mark had sent to torment her, sliding around in the dark with her son.
Luke.
The much-abused name rang in her mind, a mere whisper of its usual shriek, but an intense whisper, the kind of whisper that let her know that the primal part of her, the part that she knew everybody had but that had never really bothered her until that girl began working Mark over, would have no qualms with ripping out both their windpipes just to keep him from consumption by that girl.
Luke.
She stirred on her bed, folding her hands first across her chest and then bringing them up and cracking the knuckles swiftly, so swift that there was almost pain, and in the dark she would feel a smile of satisfaction flickering across her face. Now wouldn’t it be nice to crack that girl’s neck like that and
Luke.
She wanted to get up so badly, wanted to go in there and end whatever it was they were doing and whatever it was Luke thought they were doing. He would think she was going to take his virginity, yes, he would, up until the very end when her teeth sank, sharp as needles, into his neck and the pain came sweet and silvery and she took his mortal life instead. So why don’t you go in there and do something yes do something and keep your son your son at least for a little while longer do it do it
Luke.
She was sitting up; her feet were sliding out of bed. Her conscious mind told her not to do it, told her that what she would see she wouldn’t like one bit, but the primal one, the autre, it controlled matters with Luke. Always the matters with Luke. It was as if it had no care for what happened to her except when it needed her. Then, it would sink her claws into whatever it deemed necessary, even her son himself, and woe to the person who said otherwise. Yes woe to the person even you I could kill you now I could let her take you she’s crazed now you know it and she’ll play with him but not with you and he’ll be so angry oh Mark will be so angry he may just kill Luke himself and make you watch and then make you eat your own heart oh wouldn’t that be
Luke.
Her hand reached out, almost of her control, though some dim vestige of her conscious mind was supporting the movement but, spiteful bitch it was, added a bit of tremble just to make the autre angry. Oh, and was it angry.
Luke.
The. The door was open. There they were, just now turning to her with bleary doe-eyed surprise, the girl on top of him with her lovely dark hair hanging in her face like two panels of silk, her hands like long white butterflies positioned on his neck, caressing with a lover’s touch that was meant for the blood underneath and not the vessel carrying it. She heard the silken hiss of indrawn breath.
“You bitch,” the girl whispered, her voice harsh and no complement to her elfin features, her eyes losing the glassy deer-in-the headlights look and narrowing, and she was off of Luke and in front of her in the liquid blur that still amazed her after all these months. The girl’s hand came up, slashed across the side of her face. Stinging pain came, and it was almost welcome. And then the girl’s hands were locked around her throat, squeezing, and her own were doing the same, the girl wearing an expression that suggested that the blood in the body she was throttling was not worth drinking, she feeling a snarl contort her face that was as much the autre as it was herself.
“Did he invite you in?” she grunted, twisting her body and thumping the girl against the wall, trying to maneuver her head into a position where she could snap that swan-like neck, watch the will-‘o’-the-wisp, ghost of a pulse under the chin from a recent feed dissipate quickly, drop the body in the backyard in the old woodpile and burn it until it was nothing but ashes.
“I wouldn’t be here if he hadn’t, Bonnie,” the girl said, and that the vampire knew her name wasn’t as surprise. The girl’s head was beginning to be bent at an odder and odder angle, and she kept waiting for the tell-tale snap.
“He doesn’t own the house, you know.” Squeeze, bend. Squeeze, bend. Tighter idiot squeeze tighter do you want her to throttle you before you can break her little milksop neck look she’s killing you can you even breathe anymore I doubt it you’re lucky I’m here you can’t hold your breath at all but I can so you’re a damn lucky bitch now break her neck she’s just a vampire who tried to turn your son go you bitch
Luke.
Squeeze, harder, twist. There was a little pop, and the vestiges of light that had been in the girl’s eyes dissipated. The butterfly hands fell away from Bonnie’s neck, and she stood, rubbing at it distractedly. Luke was sitting on the bed trying to focus his eyes. How pretty his eyes are, she thought fondly, and was glad that, for the moment, the autre had gone. She checked him over quickly but, though he was flushed and heated and far from orientated, he had not been bitten. And that, at least, was a relief.