<img style="max-width:25%;float:right;margin:0 0 18px 18px;" src="http://i.imgur.com/CP6yqSw.png" style="avatar]His spine cracked like a walnut.
Chance was admittedly surprised when the bones splintered and the joints dislocated in a series of messy pops, echoing through their alleyway like there were firecrackers being set off. For barely a second, the sound covered the droning of his screams. Her heel continued to grind down in a repetitive twisting motion long after he stopped making noise, out of spite, making it seem as though she had aimed to get the message across to whatever recently released wraith was still levitating around the body. Chance didn't bother to eat him. She didn't even want to look down, instead stretching stunted and hideous wings under layers of glamour, her bloody foot shaking absently to remove the larger chunks of gore from the tread of her pump.
Ash was flicked towards the corpse, smoke rising in jagged trails upwards, fidgeting fingers bobbing the filter every which way within their hold. Multicolored irises swirled like whirlpools of madness, void of discernible emotion. All that remained was something primal. Human tongue had no word to describe what sort of feeling sentient beings experienced in her presence, but it was considered by her kind to be the most heinous of sins. Chance was never to return to Arcadia, nor did she have any real friend within the council. All the abomination could boast was a name she didn't bother to associate herself with, and a lineage she had gladly populated without the permission of her elders.
Again, the skeletal wings shifted to move, and idly, the creature brushed their paper thin membranes with the tip of a singular nail.
Even when the beast was ripped apart and cast back into the abyss as spectral waste, her progeny would continue spreading her likeness across this world and the next. What a fitting way to say fuck you. Perfectly neat Chiclet teeth were bared for a smile, and strangely, it was an attractive sight. Far more attractive than it should have been, though as the Fae often swore, even the ugliest of their kind trumped every beautiful face humanity threw into the cosmos. Ugly, pathetic things.
At a mere 6'1", Chance Arden was only intimidating to those inferior to herself. Of course, that number was proven larger than one would expect as often as she found herself making enemies. With a knack for running her mouth, fucking anyone remotely attractive, and destroying whatever made her angry in blind rages, there wasn't much to like about the woman. An hourglass figure and fuck-me stares only worked so long as she remained seemingly harmless, and despite finding it otherwise pointless, she kept her glamour up to ensure no one saw the grotesque appendages hanging from her back. They also needn't bare witness to the swirling miasma of obtenebration, which bubbled and slurped around her lower half, whipping it's serpentine appendages like tar blasted tentacles, hissing and sightless features snapping in every direction.
One would find it rather hard to count every head controlled by the alien parasite in contract with this Fae, but it could be done. There was an end to the amount of souls one could consume in any given amount of time as there was an end to the amount of living things in the woman's vicinity. Hers was a collection built over centuries of tried and true methods. If there was a food chain to follow, Chance was an apex predator who fed solely on humanity. The pinnacle of achievement, she was a creature mutated and evolved, yet nothing more than a host body. Her potential was limitless elsewhere, but in the company of the mortal realm's populace, it remained dulled.
A weapon forgotten; hidden behind platinum blonde hair, perfect tits, and promising curves. A waste.
When finished with her cigarette, it was discarded nonchalantly, left smoldering in the dead man's hair so the entire street would soon catch wind of that pungent odor. Burning hair, burning skin - anything on fire made Chance Vereaux nervous. Chance Arden, however, feared no man or god or breathing beast. Certainly not fire. As her wicked irises could attest, what passed for life in the woman was not comparable to humanity. As the quote went, 'Our Gods swallowed yours long before your race was conceived'.
Glancing up through the cloud coverage, it looked like it would rain. Pity. She didn't have an umbrella on her. Heels hard on the concrete, she crossed the street with a hustle and a scanning sweep of the street, hoping she could still make it downtown before anything exciting happened.
Chance was admittedly surprised when the bones splintered and the joints dislocated in a series of messy pops, echoing through their alleyway like there were firecrackers being set off. For barely a second, the sound covered the droning of his screams. Her heel continued to grind down in a repetitive twisting motion long after he stopped making noise, out of spite, making it seem as though she had aimed to get the message across to whatever recently released wraith was still levitating around the body. Chance didn't bother to eat him. She didn't even want to look down, instead stretching stunted and hideous wings under layers of glamour, her bloody foot shaking absently to remove the larger chunks of gore from the tread of her pump.
Ash was flicked towards the corpse, smoke rising in jagged trails upwards, fidgeting fingers bobbing the filter every which way within their hold. Multicolored irises swirled like whirlpools of madness, void of discernible emotion. All that remained was something primal. Human tongue had no word to describe what sort of feeling sentient beings experienced in her presence, but it was considered by her kind to be the most heinous of sins. Chance was never to return to Arcadia, nor did she have any real friend within the council. All the abomination could boast was a name she didn't bother to associate herself with, and a lineage she had gladly populated without the permission of her elders.
Again, the skeletal wings shifted to move, and idly, the creature brushed their paper thin membranes with the tip of a singular nail.
Even when the beast was ripped apart and cast back into the abyss as spectral waste, her progeny would continue spreading her likeness across this world and the next. What a fitting way to say fuck you. Perfectly neat Chiclet teeth were bared for a smile, and strangely, it was an attractive sight. Far more attractive than it should have been, though as the Fae often swore, even the ugliest of their kind trumped every beautiful face humanity threw into the cosmos. Ugly, pathetic things.
At a mere 6'1", Chance Arden was only intimidating to those inferior to herself. Of course, that number was proven larger than one would expect as often as she found herself making enemies. With a knack for running her mouth, fucking anyone remotely attractive, and destroying whatever made her angry in blind rages, there wasn't much to like about the woman. An hourglass figure and fuck-me stares only worked so long as she remained seemingly harmless, and despite finding it otherwise pointless, she kept her glamour up to ensure no one saw the grotesque appendages hanging from her back. They also needn't bare witness to the swirling miasma of obtenebration, which bubbled and slurped around her lower half, whipping it's serpentine appendages like tar blasted tentacles, hissing and sightless features snapping in every direction.
One would find it rather hard to count every head controlled by the alien parasite in contract with this Fae, but it could be done. There was an end to the amount of souls one could consume in any given amount of time as there was an end to the amount of living things in the woman's vicinity. Hers was a collection built over centuries of tried and true methods. If there was a food chain to follow, Chance was an apex predator who fed solely on humanity. The pinnacle of achievement, she was a creature mutated and evolved, yet nothing more than a host body. Her potential was limitless elsewhere, but in the company of the mortal realm's populace, it remained dulled.
A weapon forgotten; hidden behind platinum blonde hair, perfect tits, and promising curves. A waste.
When finished with her cigarette, it was discarded nonchalantly, left smoldering in the dead man's hair so the entire street would soon catch wind of that pungent odor. Burning hair, burning skin - anything on fire made Chance Vereaux nervous. Chance Arden, however, feared no man or god or breathing beast. Certainly not fire. As her wicked irises could attest, what passed for life in the woman was not comparable to humanity. As the quote went, 'Our Gods swallowed yours long before your race was conceived'.
Glancing up through the cloud coverage, it looked like it would rain. Pity. She didn't have an umbrella on her. Heels hard on the concrete, she crossed the street with a hustle and a scanning sweep of the street, hoping she could still make it downtown before anything exciting happened.
BDRP Admin. Writer. Villain. Personal Blog.
I tried running from the memory and the mourning.
I tried running from the memory and the mourning.
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