They, being the court, knew this. Every social gathering had been a fiasco with Piper parading around in outfits too revealing, wearing smiles that hinted at private catching up after prying eyes closed for sleep; her mother didn’t approve. Still, the girl's all too powerful father seemed oblivious and in such, didn’t bother to interject on the behavior. Even if he had, there was no doubt the red haired vixen would have done what she did best and ignored the attempt. It wasn’t as though her parents really understood what peculiar feelings bubbled within that fragile being – but did anyone? Even Piper had bouts of confusion towards her actions, which lead to picking apart each encounter with a fine toothed comb. Even now as she leaned against the expanse of glass that opened the grand hall to their outside surroundings, her attention wasn’t fully on the evening festivities. It was someone’s birthday, though whose, she couldn’t say. Maybe even her mothers, though it was certain if it had been, the older woman would have kept her locked out of the main celebration.
Outside, in the endless pitch of space, countless distant stars burned through the darkness. Each one had a civilization within its orbiting bodies, clueless of the presence of Piper and her brood within the massive watch tower above Earth. All the gifted beings within the walls of this creation were powerful in ways most mortals wouldn’t understand, especially in this day and age. All that was known of the futuristic colony was its separation from the overpopulated planet below. Piper should have studied harder, because if she had, the woman would have known more involving her own lineage and why they were chosen to live with so called ‘Living Gods’. A strange idea, but one she had been living with the entirety of her existence. Like the air she breathed, the red head couldn’t see it in party guests, but it was supposed to be true; end of discussion. Azure hues scanned the party goers, noting the ones who appeared alone and ignoring the others who didn’t, but still found themselves looking her way. It was going to be quite the evening by the look of things.
As one of the many servants strolled past, she snagged a glass from the tray they carried, and took a swig of the beverage. A tad light, air-y, similar to Champagne but less enticing. It would do for show though; appeasing the eyes of her mother should they wander onto Piper. If the girl seemed to behave herself, there’d be fewer complaints after all the guests left, and the life she knew would remain an easy one. If only that were the case. Just as she had made her way from private solitude near the bay windows, another guest arrived and all at once, a feeling of dread overwhelmed Piper. Now, based on how blank her face remained as she continued from one side of the massive parlor to the other, little attention was drawn. The usual suggestive stares were lacking at the moment as all eyes turned to the newcomer, then elsewhere; back to the other guests and the appetizers and whatever else wasn’t the black sheep of upper society. Aidoneous Pitt, a man some snickered about in hushed tones, had arrived and no one seemed thrilled by his presence.
Save for Ezekiel Verona, the host, who graciously made an introduction near the stairs.
Piper rolled her eyes at the display of hospitality, half expecting her father to get on his knees and beg for money, because in her mind, she assumed that the reason for Aidoneous’ invite. Why else would he be here, at their little shindig, if not to contribute to some scheme Ezekiel had concocted? She was at a distance from the two and hadn’t a clue what they spoke of briefly, but soon her father was once more attending to other patrons and Aidoneous was alone among the elite. Piper took another sip of her drink, meandering as she did so in attempts of avoiding contact with anyone capable of blowing her cover; she often made enemies with lovers scorned, and by her count, there were at least two such individuals attending the party. They kept their distance though, probably content not to stir up trouble in public, but lingering tensions were obvious and the girl felt with each slow step, she was sinking deeper into a pit of her own making. If only she knew what was to come, she’d have taken the initiative and stepped away to retire for the evening...
Suddenly, Piper paused where she was as someone grabbed her upper arm and pulled the red head back from most of the crowd, where in hushed tones, the person whispered a quick message. “Did you see who just showed up?”
“Oh, Mother… You scared me.” Turning to face the other, it was almost like looking in to a mirror; Demeter Verona retained all the good qualities she’d had some twenty years prior, adding only a shorter hair-do and a pair of dark rimmed glasses to otherwise matching features. The two were often mistaken for sisters and if it were up to the older woman, that’s how their relationship would define them. Piper saw things very differently though and often brushed off the forced closeness with obvious disgust, preferring to keep their relationship one of simplicity. Related, but not close – This was how the two needed to remain. Still, if her mother was eager for her attention over Aidoneous, Piper would play into the questioning. After all, the girl knew little of the man she’d been weary of and considered any insight helpful in keeping him at bay. “I did. Why do you ask?”
But what she hadn’t noticed was the trailing look her mother gave as she had spoken, only catching the hint when Demeter commented, “Did someone steal the rest of your clothing?” Frowning, the younger woman looked down at her outfit and noted it was rather short, the strapless ebony dress cutting off at mid-thigh, whereas most other females present had chosen more traditional flowing gowns. Clicking her tongue as Piper once more lifted her gaze, Demeter continued, “Well, I think you should go talk to our guest. Mr. Pitt may appreciate good company and you’re some of the best I know.” But the tone used was full of venom, mercilessly pointing out the past behaviors Piper was notorious for.
Had she brushed off the suggestion, there would of course be consequences, and the girl wasn’t ready to juggle avoiding past flames and quelling the wrath of an angry Demeter. Sighing, Piper raised her free hand to push back the cascade of her red hair, tucking countless strands behind one ear so she could finish the contents of her glass. “Father needs him.” There was no question to why she was now being sent to make friends with the male, and if she hadn’t already had her suspicions, Demeter successfully shed light on whatever financial dependencies the family suffered. “What exactly do I need to do? Please, give me a guideline if I’m going to get involved.”
Smiling, Demeter quickly looked around to be sure the two weren’t overheard, then answered, “Whatever you deem fit, Piper. I’m not asking you to go overboard, but if you could coax him into making a donation, then life would be easier on all of us. Your father is working hard to keep our good name clean, and you doing this is beneficial to all of us.” Issuing a nod towards her daughter, that plastered smile didn’t wane for a second and even as Demeter began walking away, the girl knew it was an empty mask to hide her fear. If their family were to fall on hard times, even briefly, their social standing would be lost; you didn’t fall from the highest echelons just to crawl back. The sad reality was, you could climb forever towards the top, but could never recover from a misstep. This was all she could think about as she swallowed whatever hopes she had of enjoying her night, and it was all she’d think on in weeks to come.
“I guess I have no choice.” Mumbled Piper as she began moving again, and after a moment spent dodging other chattering party goers, the woman stopped at the side of the gentleman in question. Having never seen him up close, it was a pleasant surprise he wasn’t unattractive, though few individuals were in this day and age - Especially within the orbital city, where wealth and beauty were always in great supply. For a few awkward seconds, piper couldn’t bring herself to speak, but upon clearing her throat with mock cough, she started an introduction. “I don’t think I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting you, though from what I hear, you’re quite a well-respected man.” Not entirely untrue, Aidoneous was respected within the inner circle, but also quite feared; Piper didn’t actually know why this so happened to be the case. Another reason to get to meet the strange male. She had questions and if they got far enough in their conversation, maybe she’d have the chance to ask a few.
As it always was, as it always would be in the seclusion of the top floor of the tower, where Tera remained hidden away like a modern day Repunzel. Olive eyes flickered between the pages of the tomes before her, then to the small squeals that drifted from shadowed hideaways within the chamber itself. Despite the modern décor of the pent house, it was obvious how eerie the ambiance of the scene was by the several dark flamed candles and the etched scribbles of various ancient symbols; things the normal citizen wouldn’t be able to decipher. These were her tools, all displayed like the best wares in a phantasmal black market stall – but this was her home. Sanctuary in the pitch of artificial night, illuminated only by the warm and silent burning of wax figures, and the face of the female used this small set of discovering light to study more of incantations and theory.
So this was the life of Tera Naples, the seamless socialite. A secret magician, a creature of the abyss… A very curious character.
The sounds had grown louder, those whines of something inhuman, and finally the woman raised her gaze to turn and face the black of the furthest corner of her home. Cages upon cages the size of refrigerators all lined the far wall, and within those barred confines stared the beady eyes of strange beasts, their restless breathing the only sound to meet the inquisitive stare of the sorceress. For a time she allowed herself to bask in their presence, accepting not only their strange company but their unique appearances. These were things others would never see, at least not until the time was right; creatures of the lair. Finally a smile split cherry lips and Tera released a cold click of her tongue, dismissing their distress like one would a tantruming child. These were her children, after all. Creations of a twisted psyche, visions of man and beast forced to inhabit the same fragile frame – anthromorphic abominations.
Therians she had called them.
Features of a feline seemed to smile back in the seconds that followed, a hunched tiger beast all poised to strike with humanoid claws for hands, wrapped among the bars. It was hungry, needy, tempting her to release it from the prison she had chosen to leave it in. Only by now, the beast must have known it was highly unlikely anything of the sort would be happening this evening; in fact, she would be late if she didn’t get ready. Rising from the ancient desk and chair where her studies had taken place, she glided towards her captives and gave them closer examination in the way one would inspect ripe fruit. Tera wanted them feral, and with each passing day, clinging remnants of broken humanity seemed to shed and be replaced by a more bestial rage. When the time was right… Well, she had plenty of plans for them. These once mundane people would prove to be of further use in this life than they ever were before they had the misfortune of crossing Ms. Tera Naples.
“I have the Gala tonight.” Purred the ebony tressed girl, teeth biting her bottom lip in a teasing fashion as she turned away finally, done with whatever examination she’d mutely performed. This was normal for her, day to day progression. “So I’ll be home late. Please mind your manners while I’m gone. I’d rather not return to a Zoo.” These were the words of an angel, voiced clearly in a lyrical tone that seemed to refuse to let up. It was almost too soothing in light of the current setting, but there wasn’t a hint of pause in her statements, like she’d already driven herself to overcome small bouts of irony caught in her regular speech. As Tera vanished from sight, there were audible clicks of her heels on hardwood and the distinct snap of a door being shut; and all at once, darkness returned.
Tera Naples hadn’t always been such a mystery, but those who knew her best were long dead, including her past flame and her weak willed nature. How she despised those reliant on others, their pleas for saving as foul as the smog of downtown. It left a bitter taste in the mouth of the witch, which she quickly swallowed as one might do away with a terrible cocktail - Just to be done with it for the time being, because as far as she was concerned, she was beyond spitting. Such a pitiful planet she was forced to inhabit, cast here like garbage, and each passing year only proved to further her theories on the stupidity of its inhabitants. And super heroes, if only there were words for the disgust felt towards the do-gooders. Crutches for a cripple society, that’s all those meddlesome costumed freaks were; and one day, she’d have her way with that League of theirs. Each and every one of them.
Leaving the massive tower in the jungle of similar buildings, Tera knew her secrets were safe behind runed doors and spell spun steel, with layer upon layer of reinforcement to assure any fluttering of her heart. She wasn’t born yesterday, after all. In such, she knew just how to stay out of the public’s eyes while still being the absolute center of attention; call it a gift. The dark arts had kept that beautiful portrait and figure of hers flawless for centuries – no, millennia even. Every ripe curve and every swell of flesh all seemed as fresh and intimately unique as could only be expected from such an enigma, though her smiles seemed distant. Was there really any chance to get with such a bombshell when all she was capable of in public settings was putting on a charming veneer and strutting her stuff like she owned the place? Maybe. Tera enjoyed a little mischief when malevolence wasn’t possible.
Like tonight, there would be little for her to deal with in terms of entertainment. At least nothing she’d caught wind of as of late. Not to say she was as involved in the affairs of other villains within the city reaches, but it was almost impossible to keep up with the lives of others when one was so absolutely narcissistic. Tera loved herself in every way a woman could, and rare was the time when the sorceress could tear away from her perfection to delve into the details of the lesser. Oh, of course there were some she held interest in, and of course she kept a close watch on their progress through the years, but these rare exceptions were few and far between. Tonight, there was chance one in particular would be at the Gala, and that was the sole reason she even bothered to show up in the first place.
Usually Tera liked a private party.
Reaching the private garage at the bottom of her pent house lift, a line of various vehicles stared at their sole observer, each ready to be driven and as fresh and new as Tera appeared. Easily she continued her pace to the far back, and with a wave to the night guard on duty, she lifted the helmet from the seat. Her favorite motorcycle in the color of Grecian red wine was the obvious winner in this contest of pizzazz, and secretly Tera knew every time she entered the private garage that this would be her method of transportation. Spell modified and easily the most reliable bike she’d ever owned, how could she not agree to showing up on it? Mounting the figure with a muffled giggle through the visor of helmet, she revved the engine with a roar and kicked up the stand in one fluid motion, giving herself a push in the process. With that, the witch streaked off into the night, casting otherworldly violet streams of light from behind.
Moments later after a dodge and weave through traffic, Tera Naples made her usual flawless transition from biker bitch to classy heiress in a snap of her fingers. Literally. A valet approached her to walk off the bike just as the sorceress had shifted her clothing from the torn up leather and denim of her riding attire to the figure forming black dress and heels she’d chosen for the event. His face changed from boredom to mild shock in less than a split second, but not because he’d caught her changing; no, that much was assured. Really his surprise was because of her appearance, and she knew this as well as anyone, because there wasn’t a soul alive who was more attracted to her then she was. A simple canvas of dark shades painted her eyes, accompanied by red lipstick and a light blush, while dark stones glittered at her wrist, ears and throat. She cleaned up well it seemed, because her current admirer couldn’t seem to find the words for what he so eagerly had thought to say.
But she hadn’t the time to allow him to fawn, and clicked her tongue knowingly before stating bluntly, “Don’t fuck up my bike. One scratch and it’s your head.” Handing him the helmet to finish their involvement with one another, the Greek female sauntered away towards the other guest arriving and entered through the main doors with whispers seeping through like a cascading flood. Maybe some of them involved her, but if one thing could be promised in all the soft chatter, it was how little Tera seemed to notice it all. Just like white noise, the buzz of conversation could be overlooked for the most part, because none of it carried any real weight on the situation at hand. The Gala wasn’t about her, after all, and she wasn’t looking to make idle small talk with lesser beings. At least not yet.
As usual, Tera had plans. Big plans. But just what they were, well, that was a secret.
Vance had picked up the slack on his current project because in recent months, a great change came over the man. Something marvelous, something promising – really, it was something otherworldly. Only, as a sound minded scientist, he knew better than to ever assume something could go unexplained. His new found ability was no different from anything else he’d stumbled across in his studies, and though the byproduct of a freak occurrence, he felt the powers suited him. Vance, no… Scratch that. Mr. Freeze had been born to harbor dark secrets and this was probably the most strange and fulfilling one he had. Cryokinesis, a term he’d coined to sum up what he could do, was an ice breaker for an otherwise stagnant life – a way to get out of the rut Noel’s death had left him in.
Oh, if only she could have lived to see it; the things he could do. Every strange manipulation of elements, each odd ice sculpture he made of the shower water, all the hail storms and sleeting rain he’d forced to flutter about for hours on end like he’d walked into a snow globe – these were the things he’d have shared with his deceased wife. But to Vance, he had shared them, just like now he was sharing coffee with her instead of going to that gala. He figured it best to just avoid the mainstream parties entirely, otherwise he was likely to slip up and show off too much in the company of the city’s hierarchy. They didn’t understand him anyway, not his research or his needs as a person, or even his sense of humor.
Really, only Noel seemed to get him. Only, she was dead – though that hadn’t stopped their talks. Actually, they talked more than ever now that she lived inside his head, though he wasn’t at all oblivious to how strange he must have seemed speaking with an empty seat in front of him. Thinking ahead before he’d come into the café, Vance wore a blutooth headset on one of his ears and each time he’d been sent a strange look by other customers, he had simply motioned to the electronic device before continuing to chat with his lovely wife.
“You didn’t order me anything.” Noel said after a moment, though that coy smile across her faint pink lips seemed to scream the joke the two of them shared. Still, it brought a small frown over Vance’s hunched figure and he gazed blandly into the tar colored cappuccino he’d received. They both knew she wasn’t there, and he wasn’t one to believe in ghosts, so the trauma of her death had likely left him with delusions of her presence. How he saw her then was how he remembered her, no more or less, with that grey cardigan and powder blue shirt, a pair of jeans and her favorite well-worn flats. Perfect golden hair cascaded over her shoulders, spreading like a sun ray across pale skies. Her cobalt eyes still sent chills through the male, because each time he looked into them, he believed her to be real again. It was dangerous business, talking to hallucinations, but Vance couldn’t deny Noel anything – not even in death.
“You shouldn’t tease me like that.”
“Why not? You need to relax, Vance. Who cares what the people here think?” Presenting her portrait, Noel seemed preoccupied glancing around the small café, her voice a tad distant as she added, “Unless you’re worried they’ll tell on you.” Maybe she’d been right and he just didn’t know it, subconsciously projecting deep seated fears through the conversation of his imaginary wife, or maybe he knew and just couldn’t admit it. All the same, Vance shook his head and raised the small cup to his lips in hopes of enjoying the overpriced beverage. One cool breath along the top of the liquid and suddenly it was chilled; almost an icy slush instead of the steamy drink he’d recently been given. Parlor tricks that seemed to amuse only him, especially with Noel’s attention elsewhere.
“I wish you were here.” He managed softly before continuing to down his cappuccino, face somewhat hidden behind the rim of the mug.
“Don’t be silly. I’m always here…” Noel stopped suddenly and pointed one slender, manicured hand to the tv the waitress had turned on, and Vance followed her finger to the image on the screen. A message flashed across the bottom of the news report, and the words almost sent the scientist into a fit. TERRORISTS AT LARGE IN WINDSOR MANOR – HEROES ON THE CASE. Heroes? Cursing softly, the professor could only shake his head and sigh, muttering something under his breath. Disappointment seemed to wash over him briefly, silencing the rest of the room and it’s chattering while he tried to figure out just why he’d passed up this opportunity in the first place. Really, it wasn’t like there wouldn’t be other opportunities for the male to make his introduction to the world, but this would have been a greatly publicized venture and his name would be known instantaneously.
“But are you ready for them?” Noel asked in her usual cool manner, smile ever present on roseate lips. “I don’t want you going in unprepared.”
“Who knows? This city is a nest of masked vigilantes it seems, and every day another one introduces themselves. I need more information on the big players though…” There was a pause as he set down his empty coffee vessel and brought his hands together to steeple his slender fingers. “I’m sure they all have weaknesses to exploit.” And if there was one man to find these flaws, it was Vance, because for how methodical and deep thinking he came off, that was only the tip of the ice berg. Everyone had dark secrets after all, but no secret every stayed quiet for very long…
“Why do you hold such a grudge against them, Vance? Really, what did the Justice League ever do to you?”
“They didn’t save you - of all the people in this filthy hell hole… And for that I’ll never forgive them. They might as well have pulled the trigger, the phony fucks. To say they’re fighting for good, but all I see is one big publicity stunt after another. That isn’t justice, Noel. That’s a joke. They’re all a joke.”
The light had never shared its kindness in the way darkness had, with a sweeping embrace so rich and full, there was the immediate impression of home. The darkness never questioned who or what may rest beneath the ebony shroud. Whereas the light was a liar, and a coward, hiding it’s face when things were at their worst. The light offered nothing but cruel trickery, and remained firm in presence only when it was best suited to do so. There was no middle ground to be found where the two could meet peacefully. Instead, there remained a rigid line where the light was willing to go, and from there, a creeping beginning to where darkness ruled entirely. Days passing proved this, and existed as justification to the Fae, giving him countless reasons to frown at the thought of one more moment in the light of humanity’s day; Of any day, really.
Basque knew the city was a clogged artery. He knew the world was hardly more than a stretched vein, throbbing with the life of billions upon billions of helpless mortals, but of his kind? Well, he knew they were the virus infecting mortality. Even as the blood welled from gaping wounds, and the body beneath his jerked and squirmed, his tanned figure couldn’t help but admire the handiwork. No, he couldn’t help but admire his designs. This abomination, this sweet girl, with her picket fence smile and gutted eye sockets that stared their empty pleas at his face and chest, barely breathing through all the fluids gargling up her windpipe. Diligent with drill in hand, the looming male remained hunched over her dribbling maw and continued his work, an electric whirr echoing through his dingy warehouse home. By the light of a dim halogen he saw her, and as it swayed ominously above, so too did her broken features seem to distort.
Basque loved the darkness because in moments like these, he need not see his prey. It was preferred he just hear the beat of his victim’s dying heart, as it was enough to send him into a fit. The air thick with her stench, her filth - and his arousal. A spray of pheromones and a rush of endorphins. She would love him even if it killed her. He would love her and it killed her. The two danced this dance until there was nothing left but congealed pulp and a bent drill bit. Such was another quiet day in the shop, with Basque soaked in a maroon basting while his hand jerked roughly around the length of his cock. He dedicated this load in particular to whoever the nameless mess was before him, and finished after a few moments with an unceremonious grunt. He licked his fingers when he was done.
Basque wanted to taste this victory.[/sub]
-----
[b]
She said shut up and fuck off. His filet knife had retorted that she talked too much. The knife had the last say on things, as usual, and it aided to cut out that pretty windpipe like it was a slice of cobbler.
Back in the garage, Basque had a growing collection because he thought vocal cords were something of a novelty. Some were in better condition than others, but this one he had been careful with. This one he felt attached to. Wrapped in medical gauze, with the blood seeping through the already stained face, it vaguely resembled panties of a newly deflowered girl. A fully bloomed woman. Parsimonious on occasion, he recycled what he could, bandages included. His peculiar obsessions weren't cheap. They didn't pay the bills, either. Not only did Basque spend most of his life scrounging for loose change; he also carved up pretty girls.
His doe eyes belied his personal history. There was charm in his pores, and when he sweat, it filled the room with a cinnamon aroma. Shoving his cock inside holes he made in their skin was the only way he knew how to please himself. Pushing away the knotty, stringy insides to coat him in their life essence. Thinking about it was a mistake. Thinking about it was tenting his slacks, and he quickly re-positioned his member to tuck the head in the waistband of his boxer briefs. His bundled prize was pocketed, and forgotten while his steps lead through the back lot of the Valley Oak mall.
He didn't get home until late. No one greeted him. He didn't have a pet or any inkling to get one, and his luck with women was rough. Something about the way he talked seemed to make them angry.
It always started with a condescending bout of snark. In order afterwards: A pompous, arrogant chuckle. A loud, booming bark. A violent, threatening whisper.
His last girlfriend, Sara, had made him promise he would never do her any harm. He even made a contract with her. When she did die, at no fault to Basque, he went through the stages of mourning. Her funeral had been hard on everyone, but especially hard on him because he had just seen her alive and breathing. Laughing even, playing her guitar with her morning coffee nearby. The apartment had always smelled like pressed espresso and pine, nutty and wooden and lived in.
Their sex had been an adventure for Basque because he never once tried to slip his fingers under her eyelids and pluck out the balls of her eyes. He never sank his teeth into her flesh just to rend it from the attached ligaments. He never once imagined her dead, dying, decayed, or entirely skeletal.
So at the funeral, when he was hovering over her casket with a glassy gaze, everyone avoided being too close. There was an edge to his stride when he left the funeral parlor, and for several days, he was a ghost. No one heard hide or hair of the doe eyed man. At least not until he was ready to be seen again.
Sara's corpse had already been buried by the time he fucked it. Fucked her. He slid his twitching member in her mouth after the stitches had been popped open. Her tongue was dry as sandpaper. Basque, with some effort, flipped the body over and sank his length in her ass with the full force of his hips and a half bottle of hand sanitizer, but was met with less resistance than he expected. They mentioned the smell of the chemicals made the experience all the more exciting, but there was too much time between her embalming and his violation. All he could smell was a pine box and the washed dress they had put her in. Maybe the lingering obstruction of heavily caked on make up, but he tried to block the rest out. None of it mattered.
When he crawled out of the grave, he didn't feel any less inclined to kill. He missed Sara but he wouldn't stop for her. He still liked to kill pretty girls, but his attention shifted to those who reminded him of her. The ones with Tiffany bracelets and scars on their elbows. The ones who popped their gum loudly. The ones who didn't mind being mean to their server at a restaurant. The ones who smoked after sex, and at the bar, but never in the house.
Everywhere he went, Basque made sure to carry his knife, as well as something to collect souvenirs in. Sometimes the thrill wasn't in following them. Sometimes it came from when their eyes widened as their minds worked to understand details he never bothered to share. His pretty girls died confused, and on occasion, alone. He couldn't always sit around while they gurgled out their last croaks for air. It was a pastime initially, but since Sara died, Basque didn't find himself interested in other hobbies.
Even his sex drive suffered.
This obsession of his was a labor of love. In some ways it was all for Sara, who was now an Angel with the lord. She could look down and see his deeds and know his commitment. All those pretty girls with dark curls and tight cunts. Ribbons and braids and necklaces with crosses. Love handles and cutter scars. Little peg teeth with a few that snagged on their lips when they spoke.
Basque didn't pause long in his doorway to peer around the darkness. He just unbuckled his pants and pulled out his cock, his squared fingers rough and knowing as they gripped near the head to pull back his foreskin. Sara had liked the hood of flesh, going so far as to slurp at it when she sucked him off. No matter how kinky his girlfriend had been, he didn't think of her in that way when he wanted to come. Instead he thought about the sounds of bones cracking, and the mechanized whirring of a drill bit being forced through an eye socket.
He climaxed at the panic in her eyes when he told Sara about his collection.
[/sub]
The world seemed to sing tonight, a chorus of absolute dread – like the news had already reached the sleepless city that Kindred were well on their way. Tiffany had been a bit late to the party, true, but it wasn’t as if she was a figure of authority that needed to be there. Actually, in this city, she was little more than another nameless Cainite, which gave her a little more time to wind down and enjoy herself; at least until once more thrust into the political game. That was the way of life within the Camarilla, after all. Rules were there to be followed, your betters were there to be respected and most importantly, no matter who you are outside of Elysium, you’re just another city member when within that chosen location. Unless you hold the standing to back yourself up, your mouth should be shut and your ears open. Depending on the Prince, there might even be a quiz on what was discussed, meaning you should know your court and its workings like the back of your hand; And so Tiffany knew the etiquette and manner in which to act when in court, as she knew you didn’t speak with the Prince directly unless asked. You spoke with your primogen, who spoke within the council or to the seneschal – But never did a lowly court member approach the Prince.
Strange how she could rattle off all this useless information, but was still tempted to approach them as though none of the teachings the Toreador had learned mattered.
Well, as it was, Tiffany was on something of a mission. Having just arrived in town, she had little more than her ghoul Rabban Mercer – her publicist – and two packed pieces of luggage. The male carried them, as well as a bag of his own, into the night and Tiffany followed lithely at his heels. From the airport to their hotel, they’d traveled in silence with nothing in the way of contact outside of the occasional glance, but as they exited their means of transportation, it was back to business. Rabban made arrangements at the front counter for the two to share a room and to never be disturbed except every other night between the hours of 2am and 3:30am, since Tiffany was usually out then and wouldn’t mind others cleaning when she was gone. Even as her male companion rattled off the restrictions he expected workers of the Luxor to uphold, Tiffany seemed off; distant in ways many would deem unnatural.
The only real saving grace for the woman was the hour in which she stood transfixed over various pieces of artwork surrounding the lobby. There was an art show in the hotel’s neighboring studios celebrating the grand opening, and the Toreador could only dedicate as much of what she saw to memory as was expected of her clan, because as beautiful and captivating as they may have been, they weren’t her preferred media. No one else seemed to be around as Rabban made the steps toward Tiffany, extending a hand so she would follow, and she moved in gliding and fluid retort to her counterpart with the room key. They appeared rather fitting of one another, though they had no real connection outside the blood the Toreador had enslaved him with – and even that was miniscule on the grand scale of things. Never the less, they passed off as the dynamic duo to mundane inspection and that was enough for life to continue on as Tiffany was accustomed to: Flawlessly.
“Do you really think he’s here?” Rabban said as elevator doors closed behind the pair, his arms settling the baggage he’d been loaded down with onto the floor of the cabin. “Or are you just hopeful?” Often the two spoke candidly with one another, which may have seemed a curious thing to others with human property, but Tiffany valued the opinion of her publicist. Though he was technically biased in most things because of the compulsion the blood caused, his line of questioning did its part to stir up sunken thoughts within the creature. Their trip towards the top floor was taken in silence because Tiffany hadn’t known just what to say, and when they reached their destination, it was still hard for her to manage anything responsive to her ghoul.
“Not sure.”
As much of the recent years had started and ended with Tiffany’s uncertainty, so had this one, reminding the Kindred just how fickle fate was. Initially when coming to terms with her existence as a Vampire, Tiffany slowly became comfortable with the idea of feeding off others to survive. Only, as time passed, so did the novelty of feeding – because you can only suck blood for so long before coming in to questions like ‘Why me?’ and ‘Is this really my life for eternity?’ In truth, these were things she could already say she knew the answer for, because common sense wasn’t something she lacked. Why it had been her chosen was dumb luck, and obvious admiration from her maker. A flattering thought to some, but a painful memory to the ageless beauty. If she had been such a catch, a prize of some sort, then why had her maker abandoned her?
More questions, followed by less answers.
Immortality didn’t exist really, since even ancients could succumb to final death – which meant eventually, they all would. If the strange whispers of ‘dead gods’ wasn’t enough to convince Tiffany, it was the countless court involved executions she had seen. The woman didn’t agree with every reason behind such punishments, but she knew that without a strict societal hierarchy, there would be chaos and a decline in their numbers. This left them vulnerable to any and all forms of attacks, be it the Garou and their need to cleanse the world, or the Hunters and their vendettas against children of the night; made no difference what could be lurking in the darkness so long as there was forced peace within the kindred’s hidden courts. The Camarilla was Tiffany’s business, and in such, the Sabbat were enemies by proxy.
The two made their way through the long hall on the top floor until they’d reached their room, and from their Tiffany unlocked the door and gave Rabban room to carry their bags in before she followed at his heels. Two beds, a bar set up and an open view of the skyline below – this room would cost a fortune. It was a good thing Tiffany was rather well off with her resources; otherwise she’d be mistaken in settling into such a lavish setting. Exhausted from the flight into the city, and the constant restrictions put on her in public, Tiffany collapsed down on one of the beds and rolled over so she was face down in the linens. Rabban diligently followed and took a seat next to her, though he didn’t seem to find anything wrong with his mistress by how she acted. Plus he was busy fiddling with a remote to the blinds. Figuring out the buttons, he pressed one and waited to watch the windows become completely hidden behind impenetrable cover, assuring the ghoul that Tiffany wouldn’t come to harm from sunlight.
“Do you think they reinforce the windows like this for when rock stars and other famous alcoholics come and get trashed, then need absolute darkness to nurse their hangovers?”
“Rabban, I’ll never know just what makes you tick.” More questions she couldn’t answer, Tiffany rolled onto her back and brought a hand up to sweep back her bangs. All she wanted to do was sleep and as the hour got later, it seemed less and less a bad idea. “You made sure to send a message to the Harpy stating we’re coming to town, right?” Strange hues searched over the face of the male, checking it as though expecting a bullshit answer from her retainer – though it was almost assured he’d never lie to her, Tiffany had a case of classic trust issues. Heterochromatic irises settled on his neck while she spoke, then fluttered away before he could give his response; restless wandering that ceased as lids flickered shut. Tonight was nothing special really, but the woman knew that no matter how calm the waters looked, it was what rest beneath the surface that mattered most.
“Of course. “ Giving a nod, he rose from her chosen bed and made for the one opposite hers, where he began to settle in as he added, “Who do you think had slept in this room other than us?”
Rhett Rodion gave no fucks. Honestly, she had no fucks to give.
Not once did she give any thought to others when it came to how her life was run, despite a very wholesome upbringing during her mortal years. It wasn’t as though the Brujah didn’t care for others, but more that she allowed herself leeway when it came to them affecting her day to day activities. No one in this city, or any other, ruled Rhett; regardless their title or position within Camarillian society. Not even Lance Jackson had that power and he was as close to a father as the kindred female had had in almost 200 years. Lance knew how to stay out of the way and make his presence scarce when need be, so whatever qualms her maker had in terms of her behaviors were muted. That’s why the two got along so well. He stood for rules and morals within the clan, and she acted as a swift and precise hand of justice for those rare times when someone within the court needed a good verbal lashing.
It was even in Rhett’s power to discipline the Prince, but there had never been any need for such a venture. At least not yet.
Tonight Rhett had taken time from her busy schedule to do the usual wine and dine with a few local Vampires and despite her rough around the edges demeanor, she had made a good hostess. They ate and laughed and eventually separated to continue forth with other business, which gave Rhett quality alone time; just the famed Brujah harpy and her trusty bat which currently lay across the bench seat of her pick up. Not really one to follow the times, she had driven the same torn up Ford for a decade and had intended to continue doing so until the damn thing burst into flames – though preferably not with her inside. Cruising along the well lit main streets, green hues danced over the various pedestrians to either side in close examination, as if attempting to capture every pulse presented in great detail.
It wasn’t unlike the court figure head to drive around searching out new kindred, and on a few occasions, she had been lucky enough to catch a few that slipped through the cracks. It was after all obligatory that newly arrived kindred present themselves in court, and it was preferred they call ahead and inform the current Harpy of their intent; not that everyone bothered to do so. As if acting on whatever impulse usually drove the woman, she found herself coming to a short stop at the light, to which she leaned back in her seat. The roads weren’t overly crowded this late and most people still out were patrons of the casinos, but something about the quiet of the particular evening gave Rhett the chills. Tongue poking at her canines, the woman slowly turned with traffic onto the next street and came to another slowed glide from point a to point b.
It was then the blond noticed something strange. It wasn’t anything too out of the ordinary, but enough to cause Rhett to park in the middle of the street, blocking incoming traffic for a moment. Horns blared and drivers called out for her to move, which eventually brought her back to her senses, but not before catching the strange collection of cats. Several felines sat on their back haunches with glowing amber eyes watchful of the pedestrians while others paced along in between the alley and the road. Swallowing at the dozens of creatures taken to the shadows, Rhett let it go and drove off from the scene towards the parking ramp in muted worry. Even as she settled in and exited her truck, the skin on her arms prickled to attention; like she had struck a bad omen somewhere in her travels.
It had been years since she had firmly believed a superstitious thought that popped into her head, but mortal habits die hard. Rhett was old enough to remember small things like throwing salt over your shoulder and avoiding cracks when walking on pavement – though she had been a child for some of it, and felt excused from ridicule. Now though, a rush of buried emotions unearthed in full effect, giving Rhett a feeling of dread to carry in place of her usual stoic resolve. “But they were just cats.” She reminded herself as the automated door jerked open, one of her hands fluttering above her ample cleavage as though attempting to cool her down. “Nothing strange about strays.” But the more the Brujah thought about it, the less she liked the weird gathering of animals.
Idly lingering in the corridor before entering the elevator, Rhett checked her phone; mostly out of habit than anything else. A name blared across the screen as a missed call, one she often ignored, but now felt obligated to investigate. Upon pressing the button to take her to the lobby, she managed to connect with Lance Jackson, her sire and missed call. Neither said a thing at first, just familiar white noise exited the receiver, until Rhett managed a small greeting. “You called?” A laugh barked back at the woman, crackling through the ear piece like splinters. Wincing, the woman continued in hopes of keeping Lance’s attention – which often was lost on the television. Even with the obvious sports highlights in the background, Rhett fought hard to control the conversation taking place, if only to comfort her conscience. “I saw something weird a few minutes ago. Like really weird.”
“Darlin’, I could tell ya all about weird. Like murders goin’ on and Sabbat sightings. Weird shit.”
“Mine isn’t so weird I guess.” Rhett admitted softly as the elevator came to a stop and reopened to expose the lobby and lingering hotel patrons, their conversations distant and somewhat ignored. “I just saw a group of cats hanging out in the alley by my hotel. I mean a lot of them, just chilling in plain sight.” Repeating the details made the worry she had felt prior seem unnecessary, but Lance grumbled into the receiver in response. Sensing how bothered her maker came off with such noises, Rhett continued, “So what do you make of that? I mean, just a coincidence, right?” Rhett lingered in the main hall for a few seconds in wait before her steps lead her towards the front desk to wait in the current line.
“No, that ain’t no coincidence. Bet it has to do with the new crazies in town.”
“Think they’ll show up for court?”
“Eh, maybe. Sometimes they do an’ sometimes ya gotta pull ‘em out of their hidey holes.” Lance didn’t sound happy when he said this, finishing with a sigh. “An’ sometimes they end up diggin’ their own graves. Just watch yer back, Rhett.”
He was yelling, and she, well... She didn't care. Kismet Vereaux was always hearing some sort of complaint when it came to just what she was doing, and with a cigarette being held loosely between her thumb and pointer finger, the bitching could continue without so much as a quip of response from the blond. This man, whatever his name was, wanted more than he could ever hope to bargain for, and the female didn't really know how to let him down; so she had been honest. 'You're an idiot' explained the girl, her pouting lips parted only to expose an amused grin, 'And you don't really have anything I want.' Well, it hadn't gone over well, and the female soon found herself in the vehicle with a raging driver, his anger bubbling across the spread of seat to where she absently gave her smoldering carcinogen a flick. Maybe Kismet didn't have the heart to lash out, or maybe she was as bored as was assumed, but the rise she had managed to get from the stranger was surly entertaining.
"Just get the fuck out and walk, you stupid bitch!" Hands moved to grapple the passenger, and the male was avidly trying to push her from the car at this moment, only she didn't give him that satisfaction. Instead her free hand breezed to the handle and with a sharp pop, it opened to the cool night air. Exiting the liquor coated interior of the Subaru, her body shifted to catch his reaction while her mouth was continuing to expose those pearly white incisors - a mocking sort of smile, if it could be considered a smile at all. Silent as usual, she slammed the door shut behind her and started her trek while the stranger pulled away from the side of the road he had left her, and went about his merry way into the night. Strange Kismet wasn't concerned by being stranded on the side of the road, but she generally took this sort of thing in stride, knowing she'd find what she was looking for in time.
The night was upon the rural stretch of highway, but that shouldn't have been enough reason for the lacking company the blond noted; no cars and no city lights this deep in the wilderness. All she could hear was the sharp cries of night creatures and the general buzz of something else - something insect in nature, or so she assumed. Kismet brought up a hand to brush away golden locks from her pristine features, her tribal face paint already smeared in a fashion best suited for the whore she was. She had been at a party most of the evening but had decided to ditch in favor of more lucrative affairs, though they had proven stale and she was bored. Instead of being spooked, she retained that quiet arrogance that seemed a natural flaw of a woman with her appearance. Still, there wasn't any reason for her to keep such a smug expression now, because the truth of the matter was she was in deep shit.
"Who dumps a girl in the middle of nowhere?" Kismet murmured after about an hour or so of stumbling steps, because by this time, she had given herself the time to mull over the consequences of her actions. Still, the girl couldn't have helped it and being stranded at whatever shitty apartment the male lived in wouldn't have been any better for her in the long run. At least now she had the opportunity to see the sights, and take in the quiet whispers of the evening fog. Actually, why was there so much fog surrounding this secluded pass? Far be it from here to know geography at any great extent, but were the mountains always so densely covered in the blinding mist? Every step brought her closer to whatever this distant looming shape was, and every moment reminded the woman of just how stupid this who evening out had become. Nothing could really lessen the extreme distaste she felt towards her surroundings, save the idea that eventually, she'd come to a stop.
The fog dissipated at some point, at least enough for Kismet to see her surroundings, and in this, there was a small victory. Green hues narrowed a bit, making out what looked to be a massive sign to the side of the road, and she caught the words that peeled and cracked against the face of the directional marker. SILENT HILL - NEXT EXIT. A laugh broke from her throat, something pleasant to break the silence, and she pumped her fist playfully. "Fucking finally!" All this mindless walking had finally led her to a town, and there was nothing more fulfilling than knowing the blind journey was finally coming to a close. Donned in her halter top dress and edgy heels, she probably didn't fit into the setting of the hick town, and whatever inhabitants would probably see her as expensive trash, but all she needed was a phone and whatever thoughts came to mind when they met Kismet were pointless. No need to share, and she wasn't about to dwell on the opinions of others.
Let's face it, Kismet was a slut anyway.
So, soon the town took shape on the horizon, images appearing to be buildings and storefronts popping into view under the veil of darkness and mist; which honestly gave her the creeps - but there was light in the distance, and that was enough to assure her there were people here in this small blip on the map. At the edge of town, she came to a quick stop and searched her tight knit dress for the pack of cigarettes she had hidden, which she recovered quickly enough with skilled hands across her evident curves. Opening the pack to produce the tucked away lighter, she lit one of the smokes and took a deep drag, letting the vapor drag out after it had done its part to calm her nerves. "Silent Hill... What a strange little place." But it didn't seem quaint and it surely wasn't hospitable by the look of it; more like some large truck stop, by first appearances. "I gotta get out of here."
An echo of an alarm blared toward the sleeping eardrums of the professor as 6am came full circle, a mirror image of days prior where Vance McCoy would slowly open his clear blue vision towards the waiting face of his wife. Today had been no exception; his bright hues immediately finding quieted solace in the face of the blond female next to him. Of course a hand moved to stroke her cheek, his visage patiently edging closer towards the fair skinned figure until her fragile vanilla fragrance became intoxicating. Lips quivering, Vance waited there, so close yet so far – unable to close that hairs width of a gap between them. Not out of respect for her personal space, and not out of love… Vance couldn’t kiss the sleeping Noel out of fear. After all, Noel wasn’t real. At least, not in the fashion he needed her most.
“I know.” Came the obligatory response, just a soft utterance before the scientist found himself pulling away to sprawl on his back. “Just need a moment to collect myself.” Outside the far window came the usual welcoming traffic of a busy metropolis morning, complete with cars honking and distant construction. Though the couple had lived high above the usually loud cityscape, there was still that time in the day when the entire world seemed just below them, loud and constant, which generally assured Vance wouldn’t be sleeping in. Even if he did, his dreams would work against him, and the deceptive persona he now harbored would be there – if not to mock him, to silently torture his already strained heart. Imaginary friends were supposed to be things children dealt with, not fully grown men with their masters in molecular biology. Some would say Vance had snapped when Noel was murdered, but in all truth, he’d been slipping for some time. That just acted as a catalyst; the gateway to his odd behavior, and it worked to equip him with a sense of understanding as to why he still saw her.
He needed Noel, and his mind did just what it needed to do to keep her around.
So the fictitious doppelganger remained a perfect replica of his deceased spouse, with honey blond hair and pale green eyes and a smile that seemed to dash all the discontent in a situation. It had been a long time since she first appeared and it had been just as long since Vance had tried to will her away. Now she just was. Rising from the sheets without much resistance from the female, there was no more to be said between them. The morning worked to keep the two apart. Coffee was made, a shower was had and steps were taken from one end of the spacious apartment to the other, but Noel didn’t seem to want to take part in anything to do with the morning schedule. As if still tired, she remained in the swath of sheets until Vance was entirely dressed and ready to leave, which seemed to trigger response from the ghost. “Will you be speaking at this university function?” The question came in a whisper, her pink lips curled into the barest smile as her eyes worked him over. They both had been present when Vance had agreed to attend the event at the University, so the answer didn’t need to be said, but it was often a sign that the imaginary Noel was trying to be thoughtful. After all, real Noel would have asked, even if she knew the answer prior.
“Will you be coming?” He bypassed her initial inquiry with one of his own, his hands still busying themselves to push out any wrinkles in his blazer. Noel gave a nod as she appeared near him in matching attire, a navy blue dress with beige heels gracing her figure so the two became almost the same height, save the inch of so difference Vance retained. “I called a car to pick us up. I believe it should be here by now…” Pausing, Vance took out a small Bluetooth headset and placed it firmly in his ear, which was something he did out of habit by this time in his life. One looked rather silly talking to themselves, as it were, so he figured he could pass off any conversation he had with the imaginary Noel as one with a distant phone contact. Usually worked, save one or two times when he’d forgotten to actually wear the device – but he’d gotten past the weirdness at this point. Vance had been at the game too long to slip up again.
“I have a bad feeling about today.” Noel said as the two stepped out of their home and began the trip towards the ground floor. “I can feel it in the air. Something…” She eventually trailed off when Vance nodded in agreement, his face a mask of stoicism as though it didn’t matter one way or another. Still, Noel was simply speaking his inner dialogue and she brought up a point that soon became apparent: Something was very off about today. It was only when they had reached the ground floor that the earth seemed to shake beneath them, a distant quake that vibrated up through Vance’s feet towards his middle and top, causing him to grunt and grab the female with him as though aiming to hold her tight through the violent shaking. Noel gave a sigh, face turning into his chest as the cityscape before them distorted and what had been Metropolis was replaced by the image of shadowed figures and cheers of excitement. Vance closed his eyes tight as a rush of wind whipped at the two figures, and in such, Noel too was sightless to the change that occurred in their setting. At least until they had fully materialized and Vance was donning his heavy metal plating, helmet and goggles included.
The Cryomancer was a behemoth in the gear, towering another several inches above the image of Noel, whose eyed were now wide in shock. Forget the two had been teleported to some strange arena with stone podium steps jutting from a watery ground level, and forget the ominous presence of chains and blood splatter that decorated the arena; instead Vance had chosen to focus on himself and Noel, and eventually the dark haired female who stood a few yards away. Was this her doing? He knew of the brotherhood in a sense that he had worked with Circe before in the past – but he didn’t recognize this girl and it wasn’t as though he’d have appreciated being summoned in such a light even if he had. A frown covered his face from behind the thick glass of his helm, the cold already exuding from his core to ice the inner layers of the suit in a preliminary glaze. He’d had asked just what was going on, the words at the tip of his tongue, but someone else spoke first and Vance could only strain to catch every detail of the message as the words boomed across the arena.
"Welcome, champions! I am the Master of Games, and you are hereby invited to compete in the Tournament of Heroes! Rest assured, when the tournament is complete, there will be magnificent prizes. And, of course, the winner will prove they are the most powerful metahuman on Earth. The losers will be sent home. Remember, winning is not everything. But it is the only thing that matters. Now, the tournament begins! Prepare for competition!"
Metahuman? He’d never thought of himself as much more than a talented individual whose powers came at the price of great loss – but then again, Vance had better things to do than dwell on the supernatural aspects of his life. The frown remained tight over his lips, testament to the displeasure felt over his kidnapping, since he hadn’t volunteered to be a fighter in this tournament. It was only when the female with the dark hair spoke that Vance was compelled to let his posture slacken, his grip on Noel released so the ghost could hop a few podiums away to watch. “Is that how you handle major problems? You get kidnapped and told to duke it out with a stranger, so you willingly do so? Maybe you should crawl back into your bottle. Doesn’t seem you have much use outside of it.” His tone was calm, but obviously peppered with hints at his infuriation towards being abducted. Noel acted as his eyes on the far end, taking in the various obstacles of the arena while Vance seemed put off and willing to argue with whoever this drunkard he’d been paired against was. The professor really didn’t like the idea of hitting a woman, but after an occasion when Circe tried to spike his drink, he’d learned it was occasionally necessary to discipline the fairer sex.
“Now you can either tell me what you know so we can get out of here, or you can try and take me here. Either way, I’m more worried about your safety than my own.”
Hard to say what made Kade uneasy the first night away from the settlement. Maybe it was just how the shadows fell around the campfire, dancing and strange like demons on the jet background. The sounds may have had something to do with it as well, because there was never a more quiet moment then the one that followed a strange twig snap somewhere in the dark. Her eyes had grown accustomed to peering away from firelight, and seemed to constantly roam the desolate ash waste of the forest floor. This had been a wonderful place to explore years prior, but after the fallout, all that remained was the towering trunks of dead wood and ankle deep ash. At least such things made a fire easy to hide when it was time to go, to keep the trackers off your trail, and the cannibals from gathering skin. Kade had heard stories, humors from frightened villagers, and took them as seriously as one might have taken a story on the evening news.
Once upon a time, life was a distant thing viewed through a television screen.
But they didn't have the luxury of such things at this point in history, because once powerful nations all had a bone to pick with one another. How giants fall, not gracefully, but with a mighty thud. So down came empires and governments and churches and knowledge, followed by decency, morality and God. Things that had no place in this new world were cast off like the bindings of once freed slaves - giving everyone more a reason to fight, but less a reason to live. If there was a God left in all of this Hell, they sure had one hell of a sense of humor. Each night Kade was on the move, her trek had lead her farther from what small world she had known and deeper into the bowels of the wastelands. Every fire side pit stop was a fearful one, and all her traveling was done at a slugs pace, slowly creeping through whatever seemingly lived in areas she found. Hardly could she trust these established gangs of fools and cretins; she didn't know them well enough to borrow a cup of sugar, let alone put her neck on the line to meet and greet them.
But there was hope in the form of one hint, a scribbled sign on aged plywood that read in bold letters: Settlers Pass. A name could mean everything, or nothing at all, so Kade could only hope what she remembered about the locale was true at this point. If it hadn't been raided, or pillaged or even burned down, there was hope she could stop in and take a few days off. So within a few days travel, she was greeted with gate guards in gaudy flannel and hunters caps, a gun slung over each of their shoulders, even as their attention seemed without regard for Kade. Her eyes narrowed and her hands moved to brush away stray locks of strangely dyed hair tufts, making herself seem a bit more presentable before she emerged from the bushes. Slow steps towards them signaled she wasn't a threat, as did her seeming lack of weapon, because she knew one small show of arms was liable to get you shot by anyone with the gun to do so. No one liked a tough guy, and even less did they like a mouthy teen.
"Wait!" And there was a pause as Kade came to a slow, all wide eyed and confused like a rabbit after catching sight of a sneaking predator. No motions could frighten her more than the guns being pointed in her direction, and for one bitter moment, she tasted blood and bile at the tip of her tongue; only the sharp crack of a shot whizzed past her, and a small pounding noise hit the ground at her back. So she swiveled to catch what the men had been shooting at, and felt herself sigh in relief at what had been the target. Squirrel. Just a plain grey Squirrel, now bleeding into the dirt path where she remained, and the two guards were now back to squabbling over who should get it.
"...And I shot it, so it's only fair."
"Seriously? I spotted it, told you it was there, and you're gonna shaft me over it? What a dick."
"Not even. Look, I have a family to feed. You have just one fat whore with a mouth that never shuts, so I think I deserv-"
"She's pregnant, you bastard!"
And on the two continued as an oblivious Kade seemed to slip stealthily through the gate behind the pair. And so she was in town, and the look of it hinted at two things for the girl; One being how walled off and neat the settlement seemed, but the second was a tad less obvious. No one was around. People seemed to be elsewhere for the time, far from the small shops and makeshift homes that lined the visible path. Kade assumed this was a road, though really it resembled a simplistically managed dirt walkway, with stones lining each side in attempts to give it a more upkept look about it. Not that she cared what sort of decorations the town had decided on, but the idea they had time to do this meant they were far more at ease then she. So she followed the available directions on markers periodically placed along this solo road - assuming this was indeed the only way through town, save the tight 'alleys' between tiny homes.
Eventually the most common word in the new English language showed its ugly face in the form of a rather large and tacky adornment over the doorway of an old theater. TAVERN. Crudely painted images of topless women accompanied the word, but Kade knew better then to assume she could get a drink without some poor girl on a stage with her tits out. That was the only way some people could make money, or in most cases, earn food; and being helpless in this time period really limited your options. You better be really good looking, really influential or just fucking desperate, because without a skill to rely on, you were as good as useless and probably candidate to being booted from a colony. She'd seen it happen a time or two with the rambling vagrants of her home town, ones that would have been ignored under normal circumstances - but were now considered a liability. So off they were sent, into the wilds to fend for themselves.
Kade was sure they had been eaten.
The doors swung lazily on their hinges as the girl pushed through, dressed in her filthy attire with her hair stuck up in weird directions, colorful in the obvious disarray. Attractive, but obviously in need of a bath, she kept the lower half of her face behind a grubby scarf while her piercing storm grey eyes bounced over the various patrons of the bar. All normal in the sense they were much as she was: dirty, timid and quiet. Really, these were the huddled masses for her, and she felt better knowing the people of this settlement were just like the ones she had grown used to in her time. So she made her slow steps count, taking it all in before she came to a stop at the bar, where a seat was taken and her eyes took to settling on the working bar tender. Probably the only overweight man in the place, it was obvious he had made a good bit of profit off brewing booze. Seemed a lost art now, hence each town only seemed to have one Tavern, and it was always the most populated venue around.
"What'll ya have, Kid?" Asked the male, a bushy mustache moving in a wave over hidden lips as it directed the question to Kade.
"Just water, if you have it. Clean water." Taking out her canteen, she pushed it forward then reached into her front pocket and retrieved a cigarette, which was added to the exchange. "Whatever a smoke gets me."
"I'll fill the canteen for it. Hard to find smokes in this season." With a nod to the female, the bartender vanished back, towards behind the liquor display, where his form slipped through a small door labeled 'Storage'. As this building had once been a theater of some sort, it seemed rather odd in its set up, with various chairs still randomly placed about the room, though most were gone with only rivet holes and discolored spots left in the concrete. Still, it was near silent and the people didn't once try and stare her down, so this was just the place to start looking for recruits. So far, no one promising stuck out, but it was early and she had the time to spare. At least she hoped so.
» One could make out faint sounds as they traversed the cityscape, distant voices echoing through the shallow darkness of the metropolis; Zaun was never quiet. Instead it thrummed with dark energy, pulsing from stoop to door step like the thumping of a massive heart. This organ had no emotion, nor thoughts of it's own, yet it gave access to the pumping citizens who ushered through the evening as though it was in tune with their steps. The Storm's Fury moved with purpose, against the currents of the pedestrian crowd, unimpressed. Her agenda led elsewhere, down through the catacombs that fed deep towards the core sector, with the dying sounds of Zaun's citizens flushed by distance. It wasn't until she had entirely broken from the rest of the nightlife that she eased her pace, regardless now difficult it may have seemed to do so, floating along as she did. So focused on her destination, she seemed oblivious to the rest of the world; locked away mentally by the personal affairs steering her through Zaun.
Upon her eventual descent down a series of rickety steps, Janna came to her senses - at least enough so that she didn't drift from her current path. The railing had long been stripped away, be it torn down or worn out by weather and time, but that didn't seem to make the beaten stairs any less traveled. It was only a matter of time before their wrapped body fell away from the column they were snaked around, sending travelers to their death in the series of pipelines hundreds of feet below. Zaun had been built originally as any city may have been, from the ground up, but that didn't mean the construction stopped underneath. The sewers were deep and trench-like, funneling into further depths and dangerous drops that led to nothing but vats of toxic waste. The lower she went, the more apparent the disparity was between Zaun and Piltover, the latter being a skyline capital that prospered. Zaun was likely considered an industrial misstep that proved unhealthy and caustic in most ways. How she had survived her years amongst the filth and rabble of the city, it was hard to say; though she rarely bothered to speak on the matter.
Those in Piltover lived posh, fortunate lives. She needn't burden them with a sense of dread.
Her movements never ceased, even if she seemed relatively prone while she did so, gliding along near silently in the darkening deeps. When her destination was finally reached, the location proved to be little more than an equally rickety shack built into the body of the massive metal column. Ducking through a door ajar, breath caught in her chest. Tight, forced breathing followed, but it was quite apparent she was finding more than she had planned for with this adventure. Across filthy sheets in a bed made of discarded scraps, something wheezed. Swallowing back her tears, her floating ceased, setting her on the ground next to the dying urchin, whose age seemed to have finally brought an end to his days. Cataract covered orbs stared up towards the ceiling, oblivious to the darkness of the unlit shack, while chapped raw lips barely moved with each stolen lungful of air. Janna hadn't felt so overwhelmed in quite some time, torn between fleeing the hellish squalor of the room, and fighting desperately to hold him tight to her bosom so her could share in her warmth. "I-I asked you to wait for me. I promised I would return."
Remaining close to the decrepit old man, she produce a small flame and lit a nub of candle, letting it flood the small, filthy building with cleansing light. Sadly, the imagery grew worse as she was given illumination to the details. Red welts covered the caved, starved torso of her own guardian, glaringly bright against his pale parchment-like flesh. The culprits of these wounds, cigarette butts, were still strewn in and around the bedding. Feces and filth coated him, releasing a toxic smell of the sewers, as well as the pungent aroma of death. Well calculated timing or not, Janna had come too late. Maybe he was trying to speak, but she could not make out the words, instead met with a soft gagging that was likely his throat closing around a folded tongue. There was nothing to give him, nor help to be offered. All that was left was to wait silently next to his side and acknowledge his life one last time.
"You have made me a liar it seems. I can't save you after all."
Her mentor died penniless and desecrated beneath their city of perpetual sin, but he did not die alone.
----
Hours would pass and Janna found herself unable to fully focus. Her plans had come undone at the seams, torn and tattered like her hopes, but moreso noticeable by how she seemed to wander. Where did she go and what was she to do? Had the league not been a means to this horrible end? A flash of memories all seemed to flood in at once, leaving her rather preoccupied. A smiling face and a kind word, food when she had needed it... A warm place to sleep that took her off the streets. The mage had once been a miscreant on the streets of Zaun, fugitive from the city run orphanage, and thief of the despicable perverts who inhabited the lower districts. Her earliest memories were dark and dreary, with acid rain and experiment victims being her only company at times. The horrors of the scientists and the upper class seemed to fall to the lower class, thrust upon it by the sheer ignorance and inconsideration it brought. The Medical practices of Zaun were far less humane than her master's finally living conditions were, so she was lucky to have found him as she had. At least the old man had been intact, for the most part.
Even as she drifted along in her dream-like, preoccupied state, there were signs of the times still present in plain view. Used needles scattered across the ground where barefoot street children played, or hanging posters bribing citizens to donate parts of their person to science - all of which had been so common place to her when she was still living within the city. Now it was a foreign hell in comparison to Piltover and she wished only to leave...
Yet the buxom blonde stayed and reminisced for the time being, appearing glassy eyed and confused. Everything had a reason, yet nothing made sense. What did she have left?
Caydence was a soul raised to lead; a creature strong in mind and heart, true to values instilled in her by a well-meaning mother. Despite her husband’s blatant hatred for the Theikonians and their ruling party located somewhere in the city, the Queen felt no hatred. Of course the entire conflict was difficult for everyone involved, but her qualms were better saved for things close to her heart. It might have seemed like a dream to some, being wed by the handsome and heroic King Leoric, but this was no life Caydence chose. While it was her honor and duty to serve Erenon, it certainly wasn’t by choice that she ends up with a drunkard with an endless list of enemies. He still loved his deceased first wife – that was the first thing the youth noticed. Next came the bouts of rage he suffered through, brought on by the alcohol and endless pressure brought on by the throne. Again, some would wish this life for themselves, but Caydence knew better than to pretend to be charmed with her fate.
Still, in time, she would make a life worth living.
Amerys was the kind of place the Queen would have enjoyed living, given the freedom to do so. Had they not been begged by advisors, her father included, Leoric and she would never have come for the celebrations. How strange to think about their life together, locked away behind the rock walls of their castle, bickering until one of them ended up silenced. More often than not, it was Caydence. Bruises healed though, and when one is under house arrest, they needn’t worry about showing their battle scars to the public. Now though, beneath the high moon of the Amerysian sky, faint and fading injuries gleamed on her pale skin. Quiet testament to what sacrifices were made to run a kingdom.
Dressed in robes of the finest materials, Cayde blended in well with the native nobles of this nation. The colors they wore may have been brighter, but the quality remained impeccable no matter whose gown or robe you focused your attention on. Her blonde locks were loose around her shoulders, a veil to keep impressed marks on her neck and throat hidden, and her delicate hands were clasped at her front. Behind her, two hand maidens trailed, with their near equally stunning gowns and their hair also down. As though choreographed, the life of the Queen was a stunning affair aesthetically. Her dutiful servants in tow, she was on her way down the main strip of the celebration, pleased by the sights and turn out, as well as how the people of this land seemed happy to make way for her highness.
Caydence had been warned of the thieves here, but had yet fell victim. Of course, it was only a matter of time until someone noted the foreign royalty as fresh meat. No amount of book smarts could impart the knowledge of the streets. “Do you believe us safe?” She asked of those with her, otherwise impartial maidens of the court. “Or should we wait for the rest of the Erenonians?” And as though they had been struck, neither woman gave an answer; instead looking dumbfounded Caydence had bothered asking them their opinions. The queen’s eyes rolled.
“Never mind. We’ll wait so not to anger Leoric.” And the three halted in from of a rather makeshift tent, left to listen to the happy celebrating coming from all sides.
Where the world they knew collided with the ones they didn’t, that was where darkness fed into existence. The spectrum of good and evil intact because the most heinous beings never stopped to wonder where they fell on it. Did every good deed really earn a punishment? Was there reward to hard work? No strange spectral wraith or haunting wailer would argue one way or the other, just as the sweeping embrace of oblivion didn’t mind where on the chart you happened to align yourself. The all-encompassing dimension of the void had no objections to making deals with saints, as they were no longer saints by the time this option would seem viable. The truth of the matter was always evident by the fear someone felt the first time the abyss made contact: There would be no redemption for them.
Philiedus Loe existed, and in such, it corrupted. It had shared in the madness of the abyss, having felt every slithering tendril and corrupting force shift and writhe over it’s being since the moment of conception; it was a part of the great machine of madness by birth and right. The ravaged minds and bodies of countless victims all made for study, for there was a great much to learn from the lesser beings of the universe and Loe had been there for much of it. The question wasn’t whether Loe enjoyed the existence it shared in, but rather it was capable of understanding the impact it left. Was it selflessness or selfishness that drove Loe to seek the children of the elder races as worthy vessels? A dark path could be the way home for some, but the lonely end for others – so who was there fit to decide the truth?
Many would resist Loe. Few would manage to fend the being off with willpower alone, but those who accepted the gift received exactly what they asked for. The abyss had no need for gimmicks or lies. It only needed vessels and from those, it would earn a place in the galaxies of present. Every long dead star had been home to planets the void had visited, with each of those hosting countless carriers of the foreign malignance. Each had purpose, serving as the eyes, ears and hands of the Great Old Ones. Loe was a hand and his vessels were fingers, from which history would be made. Wars declared and ended, miracles offered and hope stolen; the outcome all based on the will of the ancient ones. Loe did not question this because Loe was unable to do so.
Loe did have feelings though. Crude, rudimentary things that acted more like numbed appendages than anything else. Love, hate, jealousy, fear. Loe would tell you whom it’s favorite vessel had been, but not why they were special in comparison to the others. It could tell you why it chose it’s victims when it fed, but the reasons would seem strange. It was known to be a jealous being, but only when truly threatened by the existence of another, and it feared the ancients. It had seen the birth of this universe after the destruction of the last. There was good reason to fear them, but also to be in awe. Maybe that was the most impressive part of the being Loe – it was capable of true admiration for those it deemed worthy. In the past, the vessels had varied from barely sentient amoebas to wandering behemoths the size of small moons. Male, female, other... A sea of different souls that had all been rightly chosen, despite what or who they may have been in that life.
Humanity came in time. Springing up like a fungus on the surface of a planet no one had bothered to acknowledge, they seemed to rise to power at a speed unknown to much of the multiverse. The Abyss watched, curious, because there had been no such race in their time observing who rose to power so quickly. They had no natural predators, yet from humanity, predators would mutate. Daemons of a low dimension, Vampires from the dead, and Therians from the very people fearing the wilds. All these things were so perfectly placed, they would thrive and spread just as humanity first had, but with different rules in place. Stronger to some degree, but weak to the most mundane of things. Sunlight and faith in a makeshift God, and even silver. The void would be laughing by the time the newest being would find its way to the world of humans, though this special race would be the one Loe took special interest in.
The Fae were different from the other offshoots of humanity. They never had been human, yet they were made from humanity just as the rest had been. They were the embodiments of dreams, desires, wants and needs. To be Fae was a mix between being the hero of the story and the ultimate villain, with good reason to be both and neither. As a whole, the creatures wanted nothing more than to live in their separate civilization several dimensions away, yet they were cursed with the curiosity of man, and in such made the mistake of mingling with humanity. Loe watched as these hedonistic creatures soaked up the culture and the history of the creators, longing to be part of this short-lived collection of apes, yet were always unable. The Fae lived eons if they were content to remain in Arcadia, yet they seemed to die off like flies while they were on earth. Loe longed for them, for their plight, because they seemed to deserve better than a filthy mortal death. They were beautiful to Loe, as humans found butterflies beautiful, and the being resented every other being off the abyss that was able to have one as their vessel.
But in time, Loe would be given what it wanted. A vessel fit for Loe was one by the name of Chance Rilo Vereaux, and the being instantly felt connected to the frail fae. Chance was young then, barely more than a fledgling and Loe had to take her while she cried in the throes of endless pain brought by her first evolution. How delicate Loe had been, words so sweet and promising that no one could ever deny him; this would be the one the being was given and there would be no opportunity for failure to arise. To Chance, Loe was the savior willing to bear her burdens and slay the dragons for her – but to Loe, Chance was the experience of a lifetime. How the being loved her then as she bled on the dirty, cracked cement of that Tokyo Park. Graffiti lining the walls of the tunnel they were in, her body splintered and filthy with changing limbs and regenerating tissue trying to keep up, half scabbed over her pulsing carcass. She had asked if it would hurt, but Loe laughed, thinking how he could have said yes and she still would have succumbed. It didn’t though.
A guide to better utilize the English language for intimate moments in writing.
Note: I follow four simple rules from Elizabeth Benedict's The Joy of Writing Sex
1. “A good sex scene is not always about good
sex but it is always an example of good
writing.”
2. “A good sex scene should always connect to the larger
concerns of the work.”
3. “The needs, impulses, and histories of your character should
drive the sex scene.”
4. “The relationship your characters have to each other –
whether they are adulterers or strangers on a train – is critical to
what happens in a sex scene.”
Also, I am using this as an explanation for curious writers on my thoughts on erotica, rather than a direct lesson about sex in fictional writing. Take it as a guide or take it as opinion. c:
Part one - intimate terms for female specific anatomy
Let's begin with the more commonly mentioned parts of the human anatomy in relation to erotica and smut. Many of the common terms used are ones easily identified with as being smutty, but to shield your writing from becoming an awkward juxtapose of filth, spicing up the details helps alleviate the feeling of paperback trash writing.
Let's begin with the vagina:
Vagina also can be referred to as the pussy, which is a slang word. Other common slang terms are cunt, gash, muff, vag, box, twat, and snatch.
These can be seen as offensive to your audience, but depending on your motives, can make sense in context.
Similar diction levels would refer to the vagina as hole, canal, opening, vulva, center, core, orifice, sex, slit, and womanhood.
Higher diction levels would refer to the vagina as a cavity, concavity, perforation, burrow, aperture, and femininity.
Flowery, more feminine terms include flower, blossom, lady bits, muffin, kitty, slot, and sheath. Some may find some these as offensive as the words mentioned under slang, as they can be seen
as sexist.
Due to their relation to the vagina spatially, I'll be brief on terms for the clitoris and labia.
Clitoris can also be referred to as the clit. This is the most common term used.
Other words I find to be acceptable include pearl, organ, jewel, bud, bean (not one I use), nub, and button (which I also don't use personally, but find no real issue with).
Labia can also be referred to as lips, or petals. I see no real issue with these terms.
Other words I find to be acceptable include folds, crease, cleft, or sometimes, slit.
Part two - intimate terms for male specific anatomy
In the same fashion I mentioned female specific anatomical writing terms, I'll cover their male counterparts.
Let's begin with the penis:
Penis can also be referred to as the dick, which is a slang word. Other common slang terms are cock, johnson, snake, stick, staff, dong, knob, bat, pole, and crank.
These can be seen as offensive to your audience, but depending on your motives, can make sense in context.
Similar diction levels would refer to the penis as shaft, length, member, prick, package, manhood, hard-on, and hammer.
Higher diction levels would refer to the penis as a beam, erection, virility, organ, and phallus.
Rougher, more masculine terms include sword, scepter, thickness, girth, serpent, piece, and column. Some may find some these as offensive as the words mentioned under slang, as they can be seen as sexist.
Due to their relation to the penis spatially, I will be brief on the terms for testicles/scrotum and the glans (head of the penis).
Testicles can also be refered to as the sac. This is the most common term used.
Other words I find acceptable are scrotum, balls, and jewels. Referencing to them with 'cupping' or cradling, something along those lines is a better bet than trying to use other phrasing.
Glans can also be refered to as the head. This is the most common term used.
Other words I find acceptable are crown, tip, and helmet. Some people also use the term bulb, but I typically don't.
Part three - intimate terms for both sexes
This section covers body parts both sexes possess such as nipples, g-spots, butts, and anuses. I want to keep these brief as I've found, despite some writer's preferences, my own tend to keep these areas peripheral to the main act.
While I choose not to put great depth in my writing in regards to these body parts, that doesn't mean you can't.
Nipple: commonly known as a point.
The good: Peak, bud, nub - All of these work just fine. When they harden, try phrasing it like they 'drew tight' or 'stiffened under his/her touch'.
The okay: Nips, in a cutesy sort of way? Not all the time. Some people like pebbles? I don't.
Breast: commonly known as tits.
The good: Breast is generally the best term here. Otherwise, being vague works best. 'He cupped the weight of her breast in his palm', or 'She kneaded the flesh with hungry digits'.
The okay: Tits can be alright, I guess. Mounds isn't awful. Bosom is old timey, but fits. I still think sticking to breasts is a better choice.
G-spot: commonly known as the sweet spot.
The good: G-spot, hot spot, sweet spot.
The okay: weak spot - it implies the participant isn't interested, but maybe that's the goal?
Anus: commonly known as the back entrance.
The good: Reference it as an opening or the specific feeling attached to it. Ring, tightness, rear, backside, behind, hole. Power term: Tight entrance.
The okay: Posterior, or bottom. One sounds stuffy, one sounds not very sexy. Try to avoid making mention of heat/warmth in relation to the anus. It comes off gross.
Buttocks: commonly known as the ass, or butt.
The good: Backside, cheeks, ass.
The okay: Butt, rear, cushion.
Fluids: commonly known as cum. Fluid(s) is solid, honestly.
The good:
Men: reference to the act, like spasms. Cum.
Women: Wetness, slickness, juice.
The okay:
Men: Semen, precum, his release. (Definitely think referring to the act of coming is better for a male when it's mentioned as a release.) Climax, orgasm, limit.
Women: Cream, nectar. Climax, orgasm, limit, etc. Same as with men.
Telling a Story - How to do This Without Ruining it
There's a fine line between writing a sex scene into a story, and writing storyline into a sex scene; both have a time and place. Neither are comparable to the failure of having no story at all. That is what we call cybering, and while you are free to do this, claiming your writing isn't just that is something only storyline can provide. If there is no plot, there is no story.
There are five commonly used steps for plot in fiction:
1----Introduction or Exposition - setting, characters, main conflicts are introduced to the reader; this is the beginning of a novel or story and may be short or long, but is always flat (little action or emotion).
2----Rising Action - the round characters are developed, the conflicts are increased and acted out in many ways, motives are introduced, things happen; generally, the major part of a novel or story.
3-----Climax - the "high point" of a story in which the major conflicts erupt in some kind of final showdown (fight, argument, violent or physical action, very tense emotional moment...); at the end of the climax, the "winner" will be clear (there is not always a winner!).
4------Falling Action - what events immediately follow the climax; a kind of "cleaning up."
5-------Resolution - where everything ends; the reader may have some sense of "closure" or may be asked to think about what might come next; in fairy tales, the Happy Ending; in some novels, you will read about the characters many years later.
Even when you write about a sexual encounter, there should be a plot line with the following points. Laziness is what brings a scene to a 'they met, fucked, and the scene ended'* mentality, and it discourages readers from wanting to continue reading your work.
*In role plays, this is especially disappointing because scenes often require ALL parties to produce an equal amount of plot, and the weakest link reflects on the quality of the overall thread.
- Beyond the steps being skipped in terms of plot, bad writing often shows itself in the form of the writer not allowing their reader any chance to discover plot pieces along the way.
-Spoiling the surprise too soon will leave a bad taste in the mouth of your readers.
- While this is harder to do in a role play, divulging every small tidbit of information in regards to your character the moment you post with them will likely bore your audience.
- Avoid over detailing the basics of your character, like appearance, unless it's your introduction post, and even then, try not to be too long winded.
- Reflection on the history of the character is good filler for posts, and it stands as a way for your audience to get to know the character in question, but don't make that the only thing your character has going for it.
- Use your 'five senses' when it comes down to description, but be careful of supersaturating your writing with an abundance of adjectives and adverbs. Mary Sue doesn't need to 'sexily sit down' or 'sensually eat a sandwich'.
- Understand that your characters are not all knowing and all seeing, therefore they can experience shock and surprise. Things are not always going to work out for them. They will be blind-sided, and possibly hurt.
- Showing too much of the scenery and setting can become just as boring as disclosing too much information on the character's appearance. Describing snow is fine, but describing snow for ten pages is not fine.
- Write for your audience. If you want your readers to understand what you're saying, keep in mind their level of diction - otherwise, they won't get the gist of the story unless they have a dictionary on hand. No one enjoys constantly word checking.
- Don't write with bad information. While a character can be an expert in things the author isn't an expert in, it's the writer's job to have a vague understanding of what they are talking about. Don't make things that already exist up!
- Don't mix metaphors, or use them in inappropriate ways. Use one good metaphor and leave it be, otherwise you're drowning the reader.
- Spice up your words. Repeatedly using the same words per page, or post, makes for a dull read.
EX:
'She quietly sat in the quiet room. Looking to the door, the hall was also quiet and empty. She frowned, disliking the quiet.'
Trust me on this.
- Don't insert dialogue that doesn't matter in a scene with more going on than small talk. Character development through dialogue is important, but there is more to life (yours and your characters) than shooting the shit for no reason.
- Don't tell your reader how every character feels. A focal character is your main point of interest, not the other characters involved in the scene. They aren't important and their expressions/mannerisms/actions/dialogue will let readers know for you.
- Don't tell your readers what every character says with a feeling and an action. It isn't needed every single time there is dialogue.
EX:
"I didn't think you'd believe me." He said, his right hand tapping the counter impatiently.
"Of course you did. You always know..." She said with a sigh in between, downtrodden by the words.
NOW CHANGE IT TO:
"I didn't think you'd believe me."
"Of course you did." She sighed. "You always know..."
- Know how to write a beginning, middle, and end to your story. If you have to pretend there is resolution to your story, you never reached the end.