Kat's Blurbs [Read only] - Printable Version

+- alonimi (https://alonimi.net)
+-- Forum: Out of Character (https://alonimi.net/forumdisplay.php?fid=68)
+--- Forum: The Repository (https://alonimi.net/forumdisplay.php?fid=76)
+--- Thread: Kat's Blurbs [Read only] (/showthread.php?tid=518)

---

Kat's Blurbs [Read only] - Kat - 12-03-2014


Fae were not conceived as humans were, but rather, they were created. Crafted within the Dreaming, born of the Lae lines where the emotional cloud of humanity's current progress drifted, their fledglings were carved from this recycled energy. The Dreaming was a finite resource, and when the quota had been met, new Fae were not permitted to be created. Elders often succumbed to their younger peers wishes for progeny, and when they expired, they were reabsorbed into the stream of existence within the realm. Here was where the first Fae were molded, and here would be where the last Fae would slip away to with their final breath.

Some Fae would come in pairs to ensure equal traits and clan gifts were passed to their children, but the act usually involved one individual in charge of their own legacy, and their lineage would rely solely on their personal methods of imbuement. Every Fae was different. There was no way to make a complete copy of an existing Fae, though the attempts had been made. Some wished only for clones of themselves, thinking it would prolong their own lives if they leaked enough of their personalities into the vessel. Others wanted what they sought to be theirs, so they made partners and fledglings for the purpose of companionship. Mostly, it was done in hopes of creating someone capable of surpassing their glory within the lineage. If their name was known, so too would their creators.

Kayen Vereaux had already 'fathered' several Fae over his long life. Some of these children knew of his involvement in their birth, but others knew as little as possible for posterity sake. His name wasn't one the council enjoyed hearing during meetings, but when the formal roll call was issued and his titles were presented for the whole of the clan leaders, it made him smile, though the enjoyment didn't reach his eyes. Nothing seemed to breach those cold, circling icicles. His position had garnered him privileges no one agreed he deserved, one of which is the right of progeny towards his legacy. Even after the sculpted youths preceding this moment, he still had space to work - and he planned to do a better job this time around.

Cara was no longer a factor. Other women of the Englos had never held the same fire in their souls as the Vereaux, but they were too loud and opinionated. Too boisterous and too presumptuous. Too loose and too chipper. Kayen sought the chill of winter, and within it, a like-minded heir. Or, this time around, Heiress.

His incorporeal form was a hideous ebony tarnished shade that glided through the umbra almost unseen. The light he once boasted having had long since extinguished, and his burned husk of an aura resembled the veins of a bloated corpse. Kayen's true form frightened even the most seasoned scholars of the Fae, and for good reason. It was a unique appearance earned from the trials, toil, and strife of having his wings bound as punishment. A sick and twisted remedy to shift the attention of his after-hours activities. Usually, his grudges were dealt with in a timely manner without restraint, but as Lucky Vereaux lived and breathed within the fleshlands, he had a debt to pay. His vengeance would come on the wailing gale of a terrible storm, one that stirred beneath the present calm within their clan.

Even as a shade, he could appreciate the idea. A mental smile earned for the trip through dimensions.

Arrival in the Dreaming was acknowledged by wraith sentries. They swayed as flickering remnants of life, trapped between this realm and the Hedge - a place no one wished to end up banished to. Mortals toyed in the abyss for powers beyond their understanding, but the Fae knew their deepest fears remain locked within the surrounding barrier barring non-Fae from their territorial claims to the umbra. Not even Kayen took the threats lightly, though he had seen them with his own eyes, and knew every whispered gossip and embellishment was close to the truth. The Hedge was what one made of it. Twisted minds like his were met with equally twisted apparitions, and the torment was created by the expectations of the victim.

The ancients of the Fae had planned for his ilk, knowing bad apples were subdued best with explicit harshness.

Making his intentions obvious, there was no incident between the parties; his journey shot him directly through the smoky shadow miasma to a vacant opalescent expanse of space. As far as the eye could see, there was nothing. Just milky air and a heavy dusting of some material that shimmered. His fingers rubbed eagerly against the essence coating the air, knowing he had been cast into a submerged state within it's keep. This was a tank of energy, not just an abandoned pocket dimension as most would assume. He would likely have thought the same had he not spent time in this zone before. Slowly, with hands outstretched, he collected the substance in his hands and proceeded to clobber together a rough outline.

Kayen didn't keep track of time here because it didn't exist. What could have been thousands of years on Earth for humanity seemed like a few long hours? His details were refined, and the body was given curves and swells that appealed to his narcissistic nature, keeping his skin tone and dark hair, but also possessing ample breasts and shapely hips. As the figure looked more and more as intended, he drew close and focused on the small details. Every starting follicle and every delicate fold, creases and wrinkles, teeth and nails. These were things that could be ignored if you were in a hurry, but he felt no rush to finish and did everything he could think of doing to ensure this one would be perfect. He would have perfection. This time, or the times following. Eventually, it would happen and his lineage would thrive.

As he finished, the last portion of the awakening was completed by him resting a large palm over the mound of one perfect breast. At the heart, he gave her life, or whatever sort of charge a new Fae would need to rekindle their own life energy. As mentioned, all Fae were just recycled from the pool of their predecessors, and this one was no different. His other arm wrapped around her waist so when she awoke new and alive to the existence he had birthed her into, she wouldn't be startled. For all his flaws, he did have the levels of presence to keep his companions completely sedated through their play dates. In this case, it simply softened the blow of having a rush of knowledge and emotional attachment hit her like a mach truck. After all, she now possessed thousands of years of his history.

That was the true testament to the lineage. Nothing was forgotten so long as there was hope for one's fledgling. The more an elder sired, the better off their history was in terms of not being forgotten. Kayen had always assumed he would be buried beneath the Goliath-like inconvenience the Vereaux had for a Matriarch, but as sometimes was the case, he was wrong.

New lids fluttered open very slowly, mouth parting to form words through a set of vocal cords her elder had lovingly included in her package, "I am... Awake. I was awoken and I am..."

"Did the Dreaming whisper you awake?" He was very possessive in how he cradled the smaller being, his seven and a half feet of height making his shade seem colossal. "I did what I could to make you perfect, and as it shows, you are a vision." He was kissing her cheeks and caressing her breast in a kneading motion, the digits attentive as they tweaked and plucked at her hardening nipple. The peak stretched under his attention, taut with every tug, and the female released a soft whine to indicate discomfort. "Oh yes, it seems you feel just fine. I would say, or boast, or simply declare - you are the most beautiful of my progeny."

His fledgling was still trying to find her baring in his embrace, a bit clumsy and a bit slow, but doing better than outsiders would expect of a newly born individual. Her mind was a spiraling relay that worked overtime to catch her up on who he was, who she was, and where they were currently. These were instinctive features to the Fae, ancestral memories that never really seemed to fade from the patterns of their lives. Every new Fae was gifted with a sense of being; what they did with this gift was entirely up to them.

"Kayen..."

Pleased by hearing his name from her throat, his hand moved up to touch the skin of her neck, thumb and forefinger making a u-shape that seemed comfortable resting near her clavicle. "You are trying to ask a question, and I am eager to hear what you have queries of, but you know as well as I do there is a list of things we need to take care of before any more niceties can occur." The grip on her throat tightened ever so slightly as he added through his tensing jaw, "There is a contract we must make. For your sake, for my sake... This is just the sort of life we are all destined to live. Fucked from the day we are born."

His tasteless laughter followed the thought. "Now pledge this to me, my newly christened Ki, who was blessed to be my greatest accomplishment. Promise your loyalty so this contract can be valid. You will always be loyal to the house, clan, and above all others, me." Idly, his hips jerked against hers in a pleading, rough grind. "Will you agree to my terms? I promise you only the best I can offer. What is mine is yours, and what is yours is mine..." He felt her tense as she was left to stand unaided so his other hand could settle between her thighs. There was a warmth he remembered from countless nights before this one, but he never truly satiated his thirst. Even if she was a female version of Kayen, he was impossibly aroused by her presence.

The vanity it took to see one's self in another was truly astonishing, but more was it remarkable that he could somehow justify her appearance as a dedication to his own well-received personage. After all, there were no unattractive Vereaux. They simply wouldn't survive in a clan so beauty oriented. Waiting for her to speak wasn't too much of a chore and it gave the deviant time to stroke one broad finger over her clit in lazy circles. Her reactions were precious, almost too innocent to be something he created, but the writhing of her body in slow undulations against his was proof enough she came by his libido honestly.

"A-and..." The female began through a weak series of panting breaths, meeting his gaze with a tilt of her head, "I am Ki?"

"For now, yes. My Ki, with your taste on my lips and your voice in my ears." He purred sinfully, absently parting her thighs to give his now throbbing member room to bob desperately against her lower lips. The shaft ran thick and pulsing against her slickness, and he practically hissed his demands to clarify the urgency. "But you shouldn't make me wait. If I get excited, I get rough, and I can't guarantee you will get to keep that pretty face of yours if that happens." Even if he had a slight lilt to his tone, Ki would know he was deadly serious.

So her chin nodded a brief agreement while she continued trying to piece together the words for her answer. "I accept. I just... I don't... This... I am... loss... Words are wrong. Yes, accept-"

Kayen didn't wait to hear any more of what she had to say because, at this moment, his cock was more important than her acclimation to life. Forcing the head beyond her pretty pink lower lips, the massive girth drove itself forward with a bucking of his hips. Ki screamed and it echoed through the heavenly dreamscape they both continued to occupy, heard by no one but the sadistic bastard she technically knew to be her father, and his only response was to groan low and deep in his chest. He made her fit his cock all the way to the base, completely reckless with her body in the way he went about his penetrations. his lips kissed hers, sealed themselves over her airway so she couldn't cry, and he was once more possessive of her hips as they were jackhammered time and time again.

They fucked until she was exhausted from the actions, leaving Kayen to scoop her nude figure up and sling it over his shoulder. They very well couldn't stay in the Dreaming in the state they were in, but he did have somewhere in mind to keep her safe, where attention would be at a bare minimum. It wasn't in his best interests to have her tell this story to the other Vereaux (though his deeds of similar nature were widely known throughout not just their clan, but all seven clans), so he added offhandedly while shifting back into a less tangible shadow of himself, "Let's keep this a secret between you and me, or you might make your siblings jealous. If they knew you were my favorite, they would grow envious and wish to do you harm. I could never allow such a misdeed."

Ki managed a nod, hanging limply where he had collected her for carrying. Whatever Kayen asked was well within her spectrum of desires, and as he worded it, she found herself agreeing with the logic. Yes, because she was his favorite... Always.

---

Kat's Blurbs [Read only] - Kat - 12-05-2014

---

Kat's Blurbs [Read only] - Kat - 12-05-2014

---

Kat's Blurbs [Read only] - Kat - 12-05-2014

---

Kat's Blurbs [Read only] - Kat - 12-06-2014

---

Kat's Blurbs [Read only] - Kat - 12-06-2014

---

Kat's Blurbs [Read only] - Kat - 12-07-2014


“I heard you coming.”

The courtyard was full of Acacia and Deep Lavender, so rich in bloom, the pollen was visible as it lulled lazily through the air. Trails of it cast shadows in the warmth of fallen sun beams and the desert wind blew light enough to take the particles in mellow drifts so they rarely dispersed. A massive male wandered forward from the shadowed arch of neighboring building, his height easily that of the entryway, which meant he was careful not to knock him head when moving closer. Through bunches of the flower extract he tread, breaking the would be future flower clusters against the clean silks of contrasting robes. He wore white then, with red trim and a small crest etched into the few buttons the ensemble required. It was near identical to the woman’s attire, and each shared the same color hair and skin, kissed by the star above to complement their raven hair. “Maybe I should practice sneaking up on you.” He teased before plucking a few of the lush flora to hand his sister. “Unless you’re still mad…”

“Disappointed, Marquee. Utterly disappointed in your conduct.” Romany had been sitting in the garden alone when he wandered upon her, a book across the woman’s lap with words dancing across the page in neat, scrawling Arabic. “But you had fun and that’s all that matters, isn’t that right?”

“She got away.”

“I’m well aware.” Her hawkish golden hues remained on the words she intended to read, rather than look up to meet the offer of flowers and hospitality from her oldest sibling. “I’m not entirely sure how someone escapes you, but the fact she managed to do so is bothersome. Does Rockland have anything to say on the matter?” Romany left out a quip or two she had been thinking, not entirely comfortable with the relationship her brother had with their sister – but that wasn’t what mattered now. Let them fuck one another until there was nothing left of their worthless carcasses but brittle bone husks.


“I don’t think she even cares to acknowledge it happened. If you think you’re disappointed in my performance, go ask her about it.” Bringing a hand up to stroke his dark beard, he continued to smile pleasantly. “Not that I mind her being angry over it. I know how to get on her good side again.”

Romany wanted so badly to comment with something along the lines of ‘stop fucking her, you twit’ but instead found her eyes rolling. A silent way to show her immense disapproval, regardless how little effect on her self-centered brother. “But you came to see me for a reason, didn’t you?”

“Of course. I believe it’s your time to shine, Hariq.” Dropping the plucked blooms at her sandal clad feet, Marquee shifted and turned to gaze upon the expanse of their utopian home, beyond more archways to the open pavilions where peafowl strutted and displayed their unique feathers. “You could easily infiltrate the city and cause a bit of havoc, and I’m sure you would make the entire clan proud. Your cunning is nothing to scoff at.”

“So I’m being sent away?” The book slammed abruptly as the honey hued Fae looked up at the back of her companion, gaze narrowing as though she could see through the sweet words to his true intent. “Am I considered more capable than you?”

“In this matter? Quite. I couldn’t very well show up again and expect Chance to listen to me.”

“But she won’t listen to me either.” Romany retorted with a scoff, her jeweled nose ring clinking as the chain from nostril to ear lobe shifted with her facial moments. “For all we know, she expects us to come.”

“The least you can do is survey the city and take note of what she is up to.”

“Fine.” The tanned woman rose and stretched the ebony wings that had hung limp at her back prior, allowing them to expand in marvelous display of glossy foliage before retracting to once more settle in place. “When do I leave?”

“Now would be wonderful, actually.” Marquee swiveled ever so slightly to catch her fury as she stormed away from him to prepare for the journey. “I’ll keep in touch.”


Romany Zarik Morandori stood tall in her yellow sari, the light fabric perfect for the summer wind as it breathed through an otherwise complacent city. While engines roared and pedestrians rushed from location to location, the Fae simply glided through the foreign locale with little holding her back beside the off chance she may dirty her outfit. What a pity that would have been, trapped in such a hellish place with nothing comfortable to wear; it wasn’t exactly something she enjoyed thinking of. So her movements were slow, precise, and ultimately needless because despite appearance, it was easier to stay unsullied than she had first anticipated. Even when her way grew crowded, the nimble creature was able to slip through the neighboring bodies of individuals out for the evening, effortlessly swaying to and fro until she had somehow managed to cross into down town.

Phone in hand, the woman checked the address she was looking for over, then offered a quirked eyebrow at the destination in question. “One Night Stand?” It took her a moment before she released a loud sigh and shook her ebony crowned head. “Oh come now, that can’t possibly be where she spends her time! Is this a joke?” The goddess must have been punishing her for something from a past life, because Romany couldn’t even begin to know what sort of evil deeds would have stuck her searching out a dive bar in a scum pit like this. Doubt plagued her, but she wouldn’t cease her efforts just yet; it needed to be verified this place existed. So, without any more complaints, the Morandori stalked forward, sulking the entire way into the heart of the downtown area, beautiful visage seeming awfully sour considering the ease of the job at hand.

Eventually, she came to the unimpressive establishment and sucked up her misery long enough to cross the mostly empty street and venture inside. Blinking her luminous gold orbs around the bar, Romany asked aloud, “Is this the One Night Stand?” For all the patrons knew, she was lost in the area, because her attire didn’t seem suited for such a tavern. She’d rather them think that than anything else, after all. No one could ever know what her purpose was. No one could understand the story behind the tanned disciple of Kha’ Naza. That was a direct order and Romany wasn’t one to chance fate and break the rules.

---

Kat's Blurbs [Read only] - Kat - 12-10-2014

---

Kat's Blurbs [Read only] - Kat - 02-18-2015




Errol Capland was, for all intents and purposes, useless.

This wasn't meant to be thought as a slight against her character, but given her general lack of skills and abilities, she was barely a blip on the radar of neighboring supernaturals. Occasionally she was deemed edible, or fuckable, or even conversation worthy - but she wasn't their friend. Honestly, outside social media sites, she didn't have friends. Her mother referred to this sort of detachment from society as 'hereditary shyness', though Errol's mother was hardly shy. Maybe she meant Errol's father, a man the young woman knew next to nothing about, save for the fact he packed his things and left her poor mother eight months pregnant in Valesport so he could 'find himself'. Maybe that was his shyness. Errol's mother forgave the asshole, but Errol never could. Not really.

Regardless of her shyness, she suffered from a number of medical ailments that weren't considered normal. Albinism was the most noticeable, and most restricting; essentially the reason much of her young life had been lived in private. No public school was built to cater to her delicate physique. This, paired with day classes being out of the question, made for a solitary childhood with online classe,s and a mother who was at work twelve hours a day only to come home and teach her for another six. Ramona Capland was a true saint, that much Errol swore to.

But even saints sinned from time to time, and Ramona was no different.

Fast forward to Errol's 21st birthday. There was no cake, no party, and no mother. Really, no reason to celebrate. Ramona was hospitalized a few weeks earlier for a drug overdose, which left Errol to fend for herself in their less comfortable piece of Valesport they called home, and as someone who had never needed to do such things before, everyday living was a struggle. The last place she expected to end up was in some back alley dive bar, but something about the structure had pulled at her heartstrings, and the plead within demanded she make herself known.

Entering the One Night Stand was something of an adventure. Everyone had their preconceived ideas concerning the tavern, though Errol's were probably naive. She expected hookers, and seedy men in biker jackets, and pool tables. When none of the mentioned things were present, she worried that all the movies were lying when they showed her insight into the criminal under belly of big cities - but it was a Tuesday, so maybe the criminals had better things to do. In her mind, at the time, it was perfectly reasonable to assume hookers didn't work Tuesdays, and without women, there didn't need to be men of the burly, menacing sort. The only soul present happened to be a sharp dressed fellow with a martini glass cradled in his slender fingers.

"You made it."

Errol shivered to herself, but managed to shake her head as the stranger's gaze shifted to focus on her. His eyes, like her own, were red - though his seemed to glow ominously beneath his dark lashes and brow. "<font color="e61952]I don't know why I'm here.[/font]"

"Or maybe you do."

"<font color="e61952]No, I really don't.[/font]" Errol protested, her posture straightening so she wasn't slumped lazily in the doorway. "<font color="e61952]I'm just here for directions. I don't know the area that well.[/font]"

"You have lived here your whole life, and you don't know the area? Errol. It's impolite to greet someone with a lie."

"<font color="e61952]What? How do you know my name?[/font]"

He flashed a smile, with perfect white teeth entrapped between thin lips. A pencil thin mustache graced his upper lip. "I know many things. Things about you, about your mother, and even about your father-"

"<font color="e61952]But how?! How do you know anything? Do you know my mother?[/font]" Errol stormed inside without thinking twice, furious and curious, and beneath it all, frightened of the answers the stranger could give. "<font color="e61952]Who are you?[/font]"

"For one so inquisitive, you're inarticulate and boring. These are not the questions you should ask me, nor are they ones that matter in the slightest. I know of your mother, as I know of you. I know of your father as well. I know of most who live in this city, and beyond this city, I know most of those who reside in this realm. These are not important matters to discuss. What I wish to speak of is." At his table, he displayed the seat across from him with a wave of his hand, implying he wished for her to join him. "May we discuss the more important matters?"

Again without thinking, Errol took a deep breath and moved to sit where he wanted her to sit; eyes never leaving his immaculate attire. His suit must have cost more than a months rent, though if Errol was fashion savvy, she would know it was closer to a years worth. He wore white, which contrasted with his hair, which was a raven coif slicked and styled back atop his head. In some ways, his appearance was a charismatic one, though his eyes seemed to argue the seriousness of his person. "<font color="e61952]Like what?[/font]"

"How would you like to be the owner of this establishment?"

"<font color="e61952]W-what the fuck?![/font]" Whipping her head around to search the barroom, Errol stopped and hissed. "<font color="e61952]Is this a fucking prank show? Where are the cameras?[/font]"

"There are no cameras here. Please answer the question."

"<font color="e61952]Look, man, my mother is sick. I can't fucking work at this rat role bar and take care of her. You don't even have any customers here.[/font]" Errol motioned to the empty room, the bar without patrons and the booths without couples. "<font color="e61952]There's nothing going on here. What do you need me working here for?[/font]"

"The establishment needs an owner. Please answer the question." He repeated himself, and while looking perfectly calm, there was noticeable strain in the request.

"<font color="e61952]Why would you want me to own the bar?[/font]"

"Someone must own the establishment. An earthly body. A mortal soul. It asked for you, and now you are here, so answer me please. Will you own this establishment?" He paused to shift in his seat, crossing his legs with a small nod. "I realize it could be something of a new experience for one such as yourself, Ms. Capland, but I assure you: This is in your best interests. Money is guaranteed, and your mother's sickness is temporary. You and I both know she will recover, and with you operating this establishment, there will be enough income to support the two of you comfortably."

"<font color="e61952]You think so?[/font]" Suddenly, his words were far easier to swallow. At first glance, the One Night Stand was nothing to write home about - but there were possibilities to it. Ancient and ugly as it may have been, it was also still running, despite being in the slums. There was a secret to it; one which Errol couldn't pass up knowing. "<font color="e61952]But don't I need a degree, or like, I don't know... Retail experience?[/font]"

For the first time, the gentleman's smile seemed genuine, paired with a soft chuckle. "Errol, you will be a special exception. As most great individuals are." His drink was lowered to the table, to be set down and ultimately forgotten. "Imagine all the arrangements have already been set up, and there are no obstacles between you and this place. What is your answer?"

"<font color="e61952]Okay.[/font]" Errol nodded with a hum, her sneakers scuffing nervously along the ground as her legs swung back and forth. "<font color="e61952]Alright, yeah. If everything is taken care of, I don't see why not. I mean, like you said, the money is something my family needs.[/font]" Glancing down at the space between them, she waited momentarily for instruction, but was met with silence. "<font color="e61952]Uh, do I need to sign anything?[/font]"

"Actually, you do." From nothing came a contract. It simply appeared as magical things often did, and Errol felt the unease return with the addition of the document, only now it was matched with new worries. Her companion didn't seem put off by the contract. If anything, he seemed more pleased. "Just sign anywhere."

"<font color="e61952]I don't have a pen-OW![/font]" Errol hissed again as the sting of a pin prick coursed through her finger tip, leaving a droplet of blood to form across the pad of skin. "<font color="e61952]Wait a minute, are you the fucking devil? Holy shit! I can't make a deal with the devil![/font]" But before her hand could yank itself back, his encompassed the back and moved it to press hard on the paper, smearing the document with crimson smudges along the lower half.

"You flatter me. 'The Devil' is way above my pay grade." He released her without any mention of the action. "Some of the old kind know my name to be Anu, but that was long before the rise and fall of man - longer still before the birth of your kind. Curious little things. Just know me as Botis. I am, after all, responsible for you in this way."

"<font color="e61952]Wait! My kind? Albinos?[/font]" Her body felt heavy, and with it, her mind was dimming. She didn't notice at first, but as she watched him, the subtle change in the lighting hinted she was tired. Very tired. "<font color="e61952]W-wait... Anu, or Botis... Wait, man. Hey![/font]"

But Errol couldn't manage to keep herself awake, and after a period of time where sleep was dreams of a dark sea surrounded by fire, she awoke drooling on the table.

Alone.

---

Kat's Blurbs [Read only] - Kat - 02-27-2015




Sometimes her memories were less sketched out than the minimalist exhibits she had seen in Paris and Prague. Everything had a tendency to fade over time, or simply overlap in a grandiose smashing of events and details and misplaced facts that weren't necessarily untrue, but not entirely true in that sequence. It wasn't so important to remember everything as it happened, but to recall the importance attributing from the memories. Faces that deserved recognition. Tragedies she had caused, or had lived through. Those whom she loved and, more importantly, those who had slighted her. If anything was true, the Fae would hold her grudges to her grave, so long as the memories tied to them were kept intact. With every passing year, the lesser of the offenses became little more than scrambled recollections while their more severe counterparts were emboldened. Exaggerated.

Chance never had a problem exaggerating her distaste for someone, Zeno Ralin being one such individual slippery enough to have evaded her wrath. Yet, he was one she refused to forgive and forget.

It was a cold, bitter New York winter when Chance Arden blew in on the chill of January air. Her body was hidden beneath furs, mink and stoat, the color of the snowy city. The eighties were a flashier time for the Fae, and her extravagance may have peaked at this point, accentuated by the car service she hired to escort her through the local nightlife. Discotheques or pubs or downtown theaters, none of it mattered to the creature where she rested in the back of the Bugatti. It's elongated seat hosted her nonchalance, knees crossed and cocaine spread like the plowed city sidewalks across her topmost leg; hovering features were lowered to snort the lines as the driver chimed information in a drone of cheeriness.

"-lacking proper attire, but they usually manage to sneak their way in. Is that where you would like to go, Ms. Arden?"

Attention was something Chance rarely gave to anyone unworthy, so his words were ignored in favor of another line. The only sounds leaving the back of the vehicle were the short, clean inhales of the Fae.

"Ms. Arden, we're leaving the main strip. Would you like me to take us back the way we came?"

Knuckling her nose with a drowsy shake of her head, Chance righted herself and sat back. "<font color="1979e6]Take me somewhere dark.[/font]"

"Dark, Ms. Arden? What do you mean?"

The driver was new or just plain confused by her vague requirements, so Chance explained her thoughts with a sigh. "<font color="1979e6]I want to go where all the street urchins drink. Take me to the shittiest bar in this shitty city, and make sure you hurry. I'm hungry.[/font]"

As was required of him, the driver found his way to the slummiest area of the city, though he asked repeatedly if she was entirely sure. Of course she was sure. Fucking of course. Had she stuttered? Had there been some sort of miscommunication? Chance's sneer was enough to end his commentary for the rest of the trip, leaving her to finish the final bump of her stash and relax for the remainder of the drive.

The bar she was dropped off in front of was hardly more than a door slightly askew on rusty hinges. Ushering the car away with a wave of her hand, she made her way towards the stoop where a litter of cigarette butts and broken glass greeted her. Heels crunched absently over the trash while she entered, and the dim of the establishment hummed with muffed music from the radio. Several faces turned to take her in, with those furs and the accompanying woman a focal point of discussion, but none bothered to make any sort of approach. There was something intimidating about Chance, with those lush lips poised in a small smirk of satisfaction.

Reaching the bar, she took a seat and beckoned for the bartender, who looked more like the killer in a slasher movie than any employee should. "<font color="1979e6]Sazerac.[/font]"

"Dun' got it."

Eyes alight in their usual swirl of ocean blues, Chance shrugged. "<font color="1979e6]Then go find me some, you incompetent prick.[/font]"

More heads had turned by now, scruffier men than the one serving her beginning to rise from their seats at her words. "I'd watch yer fuckin' mouth, sweetheart. This isn't uptown and I sure as shit ain't gonna let you march in and make demands of me."

"<font color="1979e6]Only, you will.[/font]" Chance breathed, her voice a cold whisper of contempt. "<font color="1979e6]Now find me rye whiskey on those filthy shelves of yours, or I'll break you over my knee like a child having a tantrum.[/font]"

At this point, the group of patrons had closed in on the woman, and one particularly bold fellow in leather thought it a good idea to grab her shoulder. The lights in the bar died just as a blood curdling scream ripped through the room, followed by another in a different set of vocals. Several more came as repeats, each harsh and male and ended quickly with slick, sloshing demise.

When the light returned with the recoil of her Obtenebration, the pulp remains of the men were smeared over much of the establishment and the remaining patrons, minus Chance in her spotless ivory coat. The bartender fumbled backwards in his panic, fear so strong that the scent of piss was almost enough to overwhelm that of the blood. "FUCK! OH MY GOD, FUCK-"

"<font color="1979e6]Now.[/font]" Chance straightened and gave a satisfied smile, head tilting to one side while she looked over the lone attendant. "<font color="1979e6]Get me something to drink. I want Sazerac, and soon, or I'm afraid the lights might go out again.[/font]" There were still chunks of his regulars strewn over his counter top, their thick remains barely distinguishable from rotten fruit, infected with whatever dark entity the woman harbored.

Increasingly disoriented, he didn't manage any sort of verbal response; instead just hustled back to the supply room. When he returned, he carried with him several bottles of what she asked for, as well as others of similar description. Chance grabbed a glass without assistance and gave no thanks for his part in her order, instead pouring the whiskey to nurse over the course of several minutes. The rest of the patrons, who had gore and grim covering them, left when they were brave enough to do so. Before long, she was completely alone with the bartender, but even he was useless now that what she wanted had been received.

"<font color="1979e6]Leave now.[/font]"

Shocked, he shook his head. "I-I can't just leave my bar."

"<font color="1979e6]Well, it's my bar now. So, leave my bar.[/font]" Holding the glass at lip level, the creature peered over the rim with unfocused gaze. "<font color="1979e6]Now.[/font]"

There was no argument as he practically ran from Chance, out through the entrance and into the streets, screaming whatever horrid noises he had been too frightened to make in her presence.

This was a nightly routine to some extent. None of the events had done more than brighten her mood, giving the Fae a sort of radiance akin to a healthy glow. Devastation fed the soul just as well as benevolence, and she excelled in such endeavors.

But her nightcap was interrupted as a set of foot steps approached. Fine soles clicked on the sidewalk, but were harsher still on the wood flooring of the bar; the door of the establishment swinging shut as quickly as it had been glided through. Chance slowly swiveled to make out the person in her company, in his expensive suit with Armani loafers and Vuitton cuff set. His grin was contagious, the sort to rile up ones nerves without fully explaining itself. He smelled like sickness, like brimstone and fantastical evil. Truthfully, his scent was a delicious and sinful mix of sex and smoke. Chance polished off her drink before he took the seat next to her, placing the cup down just as he moved to grab it.

"<font color="1979e6]You came at an awkward time.[/font]"

"Or I came at the perfect time." He smiled, and she couldn't help returning the favor, his strong jawline and blue eyes making for a handsome man, even if she hadn't necessarily wanted such a fellow to show up. "Looks like you had quite a bit of fun without me though. Not a fan of sharing with others? I suppose I'll have to make my own fun this time around." His fingers dropped to her thigh, twisting over the smooth skin beneath the hem of her skirt like the curl of covetous talons. In that moment, he possessed her body and sent the faintest shiver of desire surging through Chance.

"<font color="1979e6]Well, aren't you bold?[/font]" As the stranger grabbed himself her glass, she replaced it with another, and the two were poured new drinks to speak over. "<font color="1979e6]Did you even look to see if you sat in anything unsavory?[/font]"

"I don't care if I did." He answered with a grin, his visage appealing as it peered sidelong at the blond. "I'm too excited to worry about something so insignificance. I'll replace my slacks. You though... I've been looking for you."

"<font color="1979e6]Oh, have you now?[/font]" The Fae chuckled. "<font color="1979e6]And why is that?[/font]"

"Don't act flattered. I'm sure you've heard it before- yet you're humoring me, so you must be interested." He swallowed his whiskey without savoring it, lips smacking as it was taken in. A way to keep from stalling the pace of their conversation. "but let's be honest with ourselves for a moment. Look at you. I can't remember the last time a woman of your caliber has crossed my path, and when I saw you last night, I knew I needed to meet you." While his drink was cradled nonchalantly in one hand, his other was free to run along her inner thigh, tickling at where the lace of her panties kept him from intimate contact.

"<font color="1979e6]You followed me from Amsterdam?"[/font]

"And you didn't even notice. Crushing."

Chance straightened her posture and shrugged, her body lighter with the lift of the drugs coursing through her system. "<font color="1979e6]I wasn't looking for you... So, no. I didn't.[/font]"

Looking around the emptied room, her companion motioned for the door. "Let's ditch this place. If you're game to play with me, I have a place we can go."

"<font color="1979e6]Again, incredibly bold.[/font]" Still nursing her Sazerac, the swell of her breasts strained against her top when she sighed at the thought. "<font color="1979e6]What if you bore me?"[/font]

"If I was boring, you wouldn't be talking to me." His smile never seemed slip or falter, incredibly attractive while still managing to boast things Chance had yet to agree with. Her curiosity was piqued, true, but he had yet to do anything noteworthy.

"<font color="1979e6]Do you have a name?[/font]" Chance finally asked, looking him over with a sweep of strange orbs.

"Zeno." He matched her scan with one of his own. "Will you share yours?"

"<font color="1979e6]Chance.[/font]"

"Is that a pet name for you?"

"<font color="1979e6]Ah, no. It's the name I was given, and after so many years, I've grown attached to it. Call it sentimental, or something...[/font]"

Zeno nodded and finished his whiskey without pause, and then rose to his feet. "Do you ever feel like you need to fuck someone to really get to know them?"

Laughing, Chance followed his lead and stood next to him, where her heels made them the exact same height. "<font color="1979e6]Is that what you want to do? Fuck me?[/font]"

"Ah, see, you're doing it again. Asking questions you know the answers to, expecting different answers." Zeno slapped his hand firmly around the curve of her ass and pulled her inwards to rub the bulge in his slacks against the lower part of her stomach. "Yeah. I'd like to fuck you, just like you want to get fucked by me. Maybe I'll get to know you a bit better in the process. That work for you?"

"<font color="1979e6]I guess you aren't one for foreplay, Zeno.[/font]"

"I followed you halfway across the world because I want to fuck your ass. I'm the king of foreplay."

---

Kat's Blurbs [Read only] - Kat - 03-15-2015



Two fingers spread her lips wide. Those two digits fish-hooked either side of her mouth while a third poked at her tongue, sliding it back and forth so the examination could proceed.

"Her teeth are in excellent condition." The third prodding finger's owner remarked, jotting something down on a clipboard near the table. In the background played a strange synth heavy song, complete with distorted vocals. In ways, it was very close to whale calls, but Dax wouldn't have known either apart. Her body stayed as still as it could during the testing.

"Did they want her with teeth?" Riccard removed his fingers from her mouth and grudgingly wiped the spit slick tips on his slacks. Her eyes had remained wide on his face, alert to any shift in the musculature in hopes of gauging his emotions. As long as the anger remained contained, he wasn't a threat. Had the physician not been present to keep him in line, there wouldn't have been much guarantee the hands who assisted to examine her medical condition wouldn't simply hold her down and have her one more time.

Dax didn't count the acts every time they occurred. It wouldn't be an easy task at this point in her life. Her captor was just another soldier in the war on the universal sense of peace, and while he was not the roughest nor the cruelest she had come to serve, he was the most vocal with his threats. His methods were based on the anticipation within the act; whether or not today would be the day he ruined her. What left he thought there was to ruin, the Lepi didn't know. She just knew he wouldn't pull a stunt any time in the immediate future.

Not with the inspector nearby. The physician wouldn't tolerate mishandling of goods. The Lepi had osmotically garnered what was happening in terms of her existence. Whether it be within the burrow, or on a smuggler's cargo ship cruising distant quasars, it didn't matter. Her voice wasn't necessary to earn answers, but her ears were - though her captors hadn't realized just where those were yet. The antennae were distractions they stuffed with cotton and wedged silicon to keep her from hearing anything, as though she could simply walk away from their slave trade even if she had.

While their plan didn't work for the Lepi, they similarly didn't provide Dax with any sort of comfort. What information they spoke about among themselves slowly unraveled a frightening nightmare she was unable to wake up from. Taken, drugged, stored, marketed, and in process of being sold. Their voices were little more than reminders of her personal hell, embodiments of the fear she had been forced to swallow.

The physician ran a hand down her throat, pressing into the deep markings left by her usual restraints. "You're being too rough with her, Riccard. Customers don't buy bruised merchandise."

"Fur fuckers will buy anything that looks like it's been spliced, and Lepi are a free crop that most dipshits think're high ends splices." Riccard motioned to the patterns on her sides, up and down to stress his point. "She'll have a buyer even if I knock the spots off her stupid fucking face." Form straightening, he pocketed his arms with a shrug. "Just do your job, Price. Give 'er grade A reviews so we can get her the fuck off my ship and into some rich pervert's possession."

Dr. Price was an older man, and Dax thought he looked wiser than Riccard, exampled in how he thought before he spoke, even if it meant interest waned in these silences. Hers didn't. Especially not now. "Do you know what happens to you if I give her a failing grade?"

"I put a hole right between those bottle bottom lenses, you fucking hack-"

"All it takes is one more non-satisfactory review of your work in the organization. Just one, Riccard."

It wasn't well known, but Riccard's temper was hardly containable. Those who did end up crossing him often regretted the decision before they had finished their threats - but this time, the Doctor seemed to know more than Daxet did. The comment hung in the air like the recollection of a lucid dream; surreal and without full explanation. Tension eased when Riccard finally laughed and nodded solidly towards the older fellow, sending his bush of curly-q's bouncing every which way.

"You got me there, Doc. Fuck, you're absolutely right."

"I'm glad we see eye to ey-"

PHWEEEEEW-

Dr. Price was dead before he hit the floor, motionless except for his glasses which slid off after quick descent. Riccard bent at the waist to pick them up, huffing hot air on the lenses before wiping them on his jacket lazily. "Like I fucking give two shits." His blaster hummed at his side as it cooled off in the sterile air, reholstered waist level between himself and the table the Lepi was still seated on. He didn't bother looking at her as he continued to speak, to brag in his usual way. "This is what I'm talking about. One day, you cross me, and you'll be the one I gotta cram in the compost pod to shoot out with the rest of the shit." Unflinching, Riccard spit on the still warm corpse.

"I never fucking liked him anyway. Always fucking talking, fucking full of himself. Thought himself a fucking saint." He finally looked up to Dax, though he received no words from his captive. "if he was so goddamn saintly, why the fuck was he working for a bunch of slave traders? Huh? These fucking pathetic coots, so fucking old school... Can't keep up with the fucking times!"

Rearing his leg back angrily, Riccard proceeded to kick the cadaver for several long minutes, ensuring no one would recognize the Doctor at a glance. The body became a bag of broken bones and mush, the face a scuffed and torn canvas of flesh. Panting frenziedly when he finished, the heavy breathing shifted to coughing, and ultimately to throwing up. The heaves were so violent and sudden that he didn't even have time to cover his mouth, and a stream of foamy blood was purged from his system with gurgling gasps and spasms. Riccard didn't die before he hit the floor, but instead rolled in his filth until he had suffocated on bile and Dr. Price's spilled fluids, sidelong on the floor.

Dax sat watching for several long minutes before she rose from the table, naked and shaking, to find something to wear. An incredible stroke of luck had befallen the Lepi, but the only thing she processed doing in her state of shock was to shrug into a medical gown and leave the room. To anywhere that wasn't the pooled remains of the two people conducting her examination.

---

Kat's Blurbs [Read only] - Kat - 03-24-2015

---

Kat's Blurbs [Read only] - Kat - 03-26-2015


When Eneru's naked body pressed deep inside her, she was home. Stretched muscles flexing along the thickness of his shaft made Chance feel truly alive. If Hell released it's best denizens to drag her home to the deepest, darkest recesses of the void, she wouldn't regret any of her terrible life. That is, up until she lost Eneru.

There was no skin quite like his. No eyes so light a shade of blue, they resembled icebergs lost adrift amidst foggy waters. No other lips quite so adventurous, nor hands so adept, nor hair so radiantly bizarre. There hadn't been another soul so engaged in making her feel complete, and as time pressed on, Chance learned there never would be. Theirs was a love she couldn't explain, though she could obsess over the parts she liked best.

Such as his forgiveness in overlooking her affairs. He was adamantly protective of her investments, even if they were better unprotected. His devotion was given to who she was in the moment rather than who he expected her to become. Chance would always find herself deteriorating; ground into a pulp and reformed through the events that unfolded. This, a daunting prospect sentient beings are expected to suffer through, wasn't meant to be shared. The weight of transition was hers to carry, but damned if he didn't try to ease the burden. To expect any other being to fill his shoes wasn't going to happen. Thinking they would ride the wave as it traversed the path of becoming a tsunami was asinine.

Yet at her most vulnerable, Eneru kept her safe. Even as she grew into the monster the rest of the world needed safety from, he chose to remain at her side. Complete. Satisfied. As Chance reasoned with herself, ignorant.

It had been years since the two had spoken. Sometimes the woman would venture near his home, where a fire was lit during the cold months, and the screen door was left open in the summer. Sounds of family echoed free. Youth blossomed around the manor like geraniums in his attached garden. Often Chance considered taking it all away from the one she loved so fiercely lifetimes beforehand. More often than this, she wished it all to come crashing down around him so he would know a pain unlike any he had previously been forced to bare. As monstrous as Chance Arden had grown to become, the thoughts of annihilation just weren't as compelling as the songs he would sing his children. They were all so full of life, abundant energy sources that zoomed from one side of the house to the other, laughing and playing and fighting and crying and inevitably, growing.

Aging.

The years never ceased to pass, but the hands of time didn't take hold of either lost soul. Chance was given her usual distance from her history, but it was a troublesome system of circling and backtracking. Eventually, it sent her sauntering into his presence one more time. Eneru, his mauve hair still a sheen so fine and pristine, now hunched over the graves of his earthbound family. How long he had mourned was hard to tell, but the dates on the gravestones weren't recent, and Chance didn't know how to express her empathy. Maybe she never had, and that was what led them to this moment, two opposites caught in a loop that seemed endless.

"I'm sorry-"

"Kenji was the last of my line. Dead to a brain aneurysm at forty-one years old." Eneru slowly rose, with white scarf billowing at his rear, eyes still cast towards the deceased in question.

"There were no other children?"

"He didn't bother having any. No, he was the very last one."

"But I remember children everywhere. Small and loud and always singing-"

"Generations ago. You forget how quickly they age, how fast their lives go by. Yuki and Jun have been gone for many years, and their relations came and went. When I say Kenji was the last of my line, I say so with a heavy heart. I didn't want it to come to this."

Chance forced her expression to settle into complacency, agreeable for the time being. "You must have forgotten about our children. I suppose it's been a very long while since you needed to think of them."

"Your children you mean. Yours because I wasn't allowed to be involved in their lives." Eneru turned to offer his profile, though it was a slash of unmistakeable disappointment. "I didn't even have a choice on whether we had children, Chance... But I didn't forget them, no. I loved them as best a man with just a few select memories could. What more was there to do?"

"Nothing. I wasn't implying you needed to do more than you have." Remembering her cigarette, the Fae flicked her ash idly between thumb and forefinger. "Just reminding you of your pre-existing lineage. Watching you like this makes me feel..."

"As I said, they were never really mine."

"Oh, stop it. Stop saying that." Dropping the remainder of the carcinogen onto the ground, a spiked heel quickly snuffed the cherry and smashed the rest into paper bits. "I didn't come here to listen to you deny your involvement in the lives of two individuals you conveniently write off."

"Then why are you here?" Eneru finally turned inwards, looking into swirling orbs with an intensity she could never seem to get beyond. Even in her dreams, those eyes managed to seek her out and steal the wind from her sails. They were a compelling enough argument to travel all this way to see him. One of many traits she had always found enamoring.

"Does it bother you?"

"What does it matter if it bothers me? I knew you stalked around the house all those years ago, and when you left then, I thought you left for good. Seems I'm never right about seeing the last of Chance Arden." The Incubus practically spit, her name treated like a wretched taste in his mouth. "So tell me, why did you choose now to make a grand appearance? Did you think I was going to forget the past several hundred years and hop right back into bed with you?"

Buried beneath all the anger beginning to surface, terror bubbled from what he said. Not that she would admit such things even to herself, but it wouldn't have been a far fetch to expect his company. Wonders waited for them, and all he needed to do was accept her back into his life, flaws and all. Just like old times. "No."

"No, fucking- of course not. You just came to gloat. Fine, here I am. Gloat all you want. Tell me about how wrong I was to fall in love with a human. Tell me how it was my fault you left me. Tell me how good every dick you sucked since mine was." Eneru didn't shout, but his voice rose so there was no mistaking his anger for jest. "Why don't we just sit down and you can tell me all about how being fucked by everything this side of the galaxy could really make you miss me! Why are you here, Chance? Why are you still so hellbent on ruining my life?"

Chance stood in silence while he ranted, but the last part struck a cord. Finally breaking their gaze, she lowered her luminous hues so they needn't focus on the pain entwined with his voice. The sorrow in his shoulders as they hung limply at his sides. His losses, all lined in the cemetery like conquered chess pieces. "I never interfered with their lives."

"But you wanted to, didn't you?"

"Yes." Breathing deeply through her nose, the blond nodded. "But I never did."

"And what? Are you looking for some sort of thanks from me? Fine. Thank you for not hurting innocent people because you were feeling petty."

"You're being unreasonable. I just came to speak to you about us, about our life before all of this, and you refuse-"

Eneru laughed a hollow laugh before bringing both massive hands up to cup his features, hiding the release of a sigh. "Just stop this."

Brow furrowing, Chance chided back, "Stop what? Stop trying?!"

"Yes. Stop trying. Stop visiting. Stop thinking about me." Figure straightening, the demon returned to looking down at Chance as if trying to gauge whether she was truly listening. "I don't want to go back to how things were. Neither of us is the same as we were..."

"But... You said it was forever. How can this be what you expected?" Chance forced herself to swallow, to save herself the embarrassment of crying over rejection. It didn't suit her to cry even if this was incredibly painful to hear. "This is nothing! Hundreds, thousands, millions of years! THIS IS NOTHING! You promised me forever!"

"You aren't worth it." Cold vocals slithered from his lips, hitting Chance so hard she felt physically winded. "I promised to love you forever, and I can't help loving you even now, but we will never be together again. I can't watch you transform any more than I have. I see you now, my beautiful Chance, and I want this to be the last way I see you. Not as the monster, but as the woman whom I love too much for no good reason."

Something must have found its way into her eyes because tears formed along the corner lashes, thick and salty, making the smell of saline all at once overwhelming. "Was this... How I made you feel?"

"I wouldn't wish how you left me on my worst enemy; least of all you."

Shaking where she stood, Chance's entire body felt like it was close to toppling over. "This- This isn't right, Eneru. It's just not right! We are... We have always been... This is us, Eneru. This is all we know!"

"Do you know what sort of fear that leaves me in? How scared I am that I won't be able to resist myself, and we'll end up as we were? Chance, listen to me." Moving closer, arms outstretched, Eneru grabbed her uppers arms and pulled her close. It was the closest the two had been to one another in more than three hundred years. "I won't survive losing you again. Whether it's you leaving me, or it's you becoming the host- it doesn't matter. I just can't."

He released her with a step back, fixing his jacket by roughly tugging the cuffs of the sleeves. "I'm sorry."

Chance was left in the graveyard with pocketed hands and tears on her cheeks. She didn't have the courage to watch him leave, still not fully comprehending the severity of his word. Now she was paused. Thinking. Confusion and pain blended into some new twisted collection of heinous thoughts, saturating what clarity the conversation was meant to provide. Nothing had gone according to plan, whatever that plan may have been. It wasn't until fires were lit across the entirety of her earlier intentions that the Fae muttered something under her breath before skulking back through the ancient cemetery gates.

"You're not sorry... But you will be."

---

Kat's Blurbs [Read only] - Ghostly - 03-29-2015

<span style="font-size:11.1111106872559px;]whoops.</span>

---

Kat's Blurbs [Read only] - Kat - 03-29-2015


When their steps traversed the fleshy floor of the great hall, the walls continued to cave rhythmically as long breaths were taken. The building lurched with every swallow of air, buckling under it's constant shift of anatomic resources; alive, but sleeping while the two moved through it's belly.

Korbin didn't acknowledge the life of their home, though it was a story his kind passed along over the ages despite having no evidence in the matter. No Abaasy was the same, but they all found a way into existence through one of two channels. Either they were born Abaasy as he and most of his peers were, or they were souls who earned their freedom in death from contracts they made with an Abaasy in life. This sprawl of macabre city that housed them was a great and powerful Abaasy, at rest after eons of tireless work. Their deathless end was treated as a torpored pause in their life; time for smaller breathren to toil. By the time the slumbering palace finally awoke, the land of Nod would be long dead; a husk of lifeless space rock with nothing but nightmares inhabiting it. At this point, he didn't know what the massive creature would do - but he knew he wouldn't live to see any reincarnation.

None of his kind was truly eternal. Even the great beast would find true death eventually.

A more interesting individual was his companion for the evening, one who had earned her place in the court among creatures of blood and fire and death through craftier means than he was capable of. Now the woman lived among purveyors and fiends, escorting the Demon deeper into the body of their deathless Abaasy home. There was nothing that stood out to set her apart from the human she'd once been, but it wasn't as though their breed of demon was strikingly different from the humans they snatched souls from.

Abaasy had no particular unity in their appearances.

"Kaithness," Korbin began, though his name wasn't Korbin in this particular circle of Hades where the Abaasy brood resided, "Where are we going?"

Around them, the massive rib cage of the palace seized passively, bringing in the walls a few feet before they were again stretched like the hull of a ship.

"Just follow me." His ginger topped leader stated plainly, though her expression was inwardly pleased with itself. "To the library."

The path they traveled pulsed with energy, but it wasn't that of the great Abaasy in torpor.

Beneath them, compacted, were countless souls of those who dealt with the Abaasy. Piled several meters high on top of one another, crammed side by side, the souls had been harvested to be sealed and stitched tight to their neighbors who shared bonds of similar fates. This formed a spirit padded mesh of woven suffering where the Earth's most despicable denizens were fashioned into flooring. In fact, the souls replaced other types of ground within the palace, stifling every crooked movement with distorted faces and twisted bodies whom the duo bypassed without a second glance.

Horrifyingly enough, neither demon was opposed to the treatment of those their kind conned into contracts. To the Abaasy, it was almost too easy to ignore those beneath them, and even though hands and arms and ethereal appendages of all sorts pressed upwards in some desperate attempt to garner attention from the overlords of the realm, the demons all but forgot about those who fed their slumbering giant.

This was just the way of things. Always and eternally within this circle of hell.

"I have things to do." Korbin, who was not Korbin at the time, remarked at her in a voice similar to his own, yet entirely not his. "Some of us have things to get done."

Kaithness didn't seem to hear him as they ceased moving before a large panel of doors. Her hands were precise in how they shoved through to make a new entrance, cracking bones of several suffering spirits in the process, though they showed no sign of pain. Spirits made no sounds, stripped of the ability to express their torment. Korbin only knew what he saw must hurt them because it was meant to hurt them, and those who did such things to souls did them with the intent of showing off their work. One either did a superb job at torture, or they weren't cut out to be seated in that position.

Kysad had never been a torturer. Not in any serious light at least.

Within the spacious room were shelves fashioned from bodies, the owners of said bodies all still alive and suffering in the obtuse, contorted positions they were forced to exhibit for the better part of eternity. These souls were not as lucky as those who made up the flooring, as those who were in the carpet of chaos would eventually be absorbed by the palace, freeing them from the horror that was their servitude. Lost souls who had been crafted into furniture were permanent fixtures with no chance of release or redemption.

"Do you remember when we met?" Kaithness asked him as her back rested against one of the book lined structures of monstrous creation. "We were here... I was here because of you." Her hands rested flat on the side of the book shelf, upon the skin of whoever had been so damned to become this row of historical texts. "Do you remember?"

He didn't say anything, but he did. How could he not?

It had been a late evening. The howls of the approaching crop echoed through Goliath bowels, pitched and poignant like a battle cry for his people. Riders of the ash cloud streaked by, covered in blood and shit and cum, all filthy and hollering with a collection of humans in tow. Poor, naive humans who had sealed the deal, made the pact, and had become entangled in the forbidden contracts their God warned them not to sign. Korbin hadn't been Korbin then. Korbin had been Kysad, and Kysad offered his support with a series of guttural hoots, chanting when the string of Abaasy paraded down corridors and up flesh puckered stairwells to the vats. Bodies needed to be boiled, stripped and flayed, taken apart so they could be sewn together once again.

All but one body, dangling limply on the back of the parading marauder's cart.

Kysad plucked Kaithness from her corrupted vine as though she had ripened with him in mind. Taking her into his arms while drowsy features looked up at the gnarled maw bearing down, Kysad didn't say anything to his captive. Without a voice, she couldn't scream; she also couldn't protest. He would never ask her what being bound in those leather restraints had felt like. To wear the skin of your fellow human while you lay with demons was beyond his comprehension - yet he would never apologize for giving her this life. He was not cruel to Kaithness as some might think his actions to have been. He only did what an Abaasy was used to doing with a human from realms above, and he knew no other way to treat such things outside of snuffing their life like a flame after midnight.

He remembered when her body was taut and splayed, legs to either side of his waist, knees bent and forced to touch her ears so he could fixate on how he filled both her lower holes. He recalled the crying, and the tightness of how she fit around his manhood every encounter they had, and in the throes of his passion, Kysad had covered her eyes with his hands and demanded she never dare to look at him while he climax. She was not his equal. Even as they stood staring at one another among the books, he saw no equal in his companion and he doubted he ever would.

"What do you want from me, Kaithness?"

Her expression was pained in the framework of fiery mane that was her hair, bright blue hues initially staring into a set of yellow eyes, but finding nothing of value, instead sought to search behind the irises. Beyond his person and off into the rest of the beast he harbored. "Why did you save me?" In how she stretched, with the curve of her back bringing her chest to peak, he swore she was forcing his attention to her body. If this wasn't the case, he debated if he was just in a mood and needed her, as though her baby blues were beckoning him back to a plot of land he had long ago claimed as his, but now was barred from visiting.

Answering her was difficult because he didn't care to, not because he didn't know what to say.

"Because I needed someone to satisfy me in the moment, but you did a good job for years, and that impressed me. I'm not easily impressed. You know this. You know all of this, really, so asking is just fishing for compliments." He tried to smile, but it resembled an ugly gash of broken glass teeth and tar black lips. "Now you're free, and it's history. You made yourself one of us, minus the ugly downside to being a beast of the pit. Congrats." His hands clenched tensely at his sides, busied so he didn't do anything he would regret later. "What more is there to know?"

Kaithness frowned, eyebrows furrowed as he concluded the explanation. Something about how he had spoken had turned the mood sour, though he wasn't given enough time to correct his wording. "Did I stop doing a good job?"

"No. You were the best at what you were."

"But you let me go?"

"Well, I ain't gonna keep you a pet forever. You earned what you got. The last thing I need is to second guess myself, so just drop it." Kysad straightened his posture and breathed deeply through his nose, lids heavy over his gaze while he studied Kaithness. "Why all the questions?"

"Guess I miss it." Kaithness slipped away from the other Abaasy to stroll back towards the door, her weight carried by the dance of her steps, seeming impossibly light based on how she moved. "Can't feel the same as I did. Not in a bad way, but in a missing way... Been missing you, been missing what you were to me." She made a habit of looking at Kysad only long enough for him to catch her out the corner of his eye. When he looked her way, the woman pretended to be staring into the grotesque library. At sinew strung books, into rot encased corridors... Anywhere that wasn't at him. "I didn't want to be a demon. I was happy being owned by a demon. Pretty fucked up, I know, but you spend all that time with someone and you grow comfortable. Numb. Now I'm feeling again, but it makes me want to go back. Back to only feeling you."

The redhead crossed her arms under her breasts and sighed audibly. "I still have human emotions, you know. Not like they were, but enough to notice. I can feel things. I can feel loss and pain. I can feel love. I swear I didn't feel it with you before, but sometimes I see you and I can't help it. Can't help being stuck on you, thinking I belong with you." Something of a laugh escaped her throat, dry like she couldn't believe what she was saying. "Ain't that some sort of fucked up?"

Kysad nodded once and brought his hands to his head, bowing his elbows to either side in a mock stretch. "I can't own you now that you're free. You have rights and shit."

"You feel like I do about it?"

"Yeah, guess so. Ain't like I replaced you. Just haven't been in the mood for it..." Shoulders shrugged quickly. "but even if I did miss it, or felt like what you say is true on my end, so what?"

"Let's go back to how it was."

Kysad hesitated at the thought, his vision lowering to the undulating of the floor where a mess of gaping bodies of uniform size mouthed their pleas for mercy. As per usual, they were ignored like fish in a murky tank. "Can't. You're free now. Ain't my place to keep you kept because you're an Abaasy too. We're all equals here."

"So what? You treat me well now?"

"I don't know." Rubbing the back of his head with his two settled hands, they finally lowered to swing aimless at the sides of his torso. "Do you really wanna go back to how it was? You really dig that rough action?"

"I guess. I mean, I couldn't tell you what my life was like before you. That make any sense?" A smile so faint, it could be overlooked in favor of her curves, settled over her face. "I was as happy as I can manage with you. I don't got a lot of comparison now, but I'm not as happy without you. Missing something- Missing the /you/ parts of me."

"You're a weird bitch." Kysad stated as he closed to gap between the two of them to rest at her backside, arms wrapping around her slender midsection roughly, hoping she wouldn't be able to walk away. "But I always liked that about you. Got this sick fascination with you, even after all these years- even after you earned your stripes down here." He never let her know how proud he was of his creation, but she could feel it in the embrace. As rough and as sexually fueled as it may have been, he was a simple enough being with a limited amount of space in that thick skull of his. When he accepted her there, it was instinct to do so, just like her craving of his abuse had become second nature.

Abaasy weren't humans, so the romance never came - or maybe it did, and both appreciated their brand of love and lust to that of their human counterparts. It was hard to say. Kysad had never been anything but Abaasy, and he wasn't even very good at being one; the lines often blurred. All he knew then was how much he appreciated her tears, and when she cried and begged him to stop, he knew he could keep going.

He knew that was what they both wanted in the end.

---