[/img]"http://i.imgur.com/CP6yqSw.png" style="avatar" style="max-width:25%;float:right;margin:0 0 18px 18px;]Of course she was right.
Ego aside, Chance was still one of the most stunning beasts to grace this shit hole city, and any fool would fawn in her presence as that was exactly what this physical shell was meant for. Attraction was the language she spoke, the air she expelled, the sound she made when pleasured or pained. Seduction was the act she had trained millennia for, with a list of partners from where they were to the city limits. This was not pride getting in the way; just a well known fact. It was driven home by the hundreds - no, thousands - of lovers she had taken in this shit hole of a town, and would continue to be supported through the tomes of time. Rare was there an example of the woman being this angry, but with her company, those angelic features donned a warped disguise of rage that didn't shift or falter the entire journey to his lair. His manhandling came only through sheer size, and if he was smaller, the cold iron would be something the Fae could ignore long enough to devour the monster. Now though, intact as Boukh was, there would be no possible way to lay waste to his bulk without him retaliating with the backing of that supplemental element in question.
A small issue for the time being. It would be worked around.
Chance played the part of damsel in distress, an actress in her private showing, with her guest of honor there to assist with props and location. Their journey ended in the dark of his lair, a detestable man made cavern where the transit system had once run, now converted into the troll's personal torture chamber. Dismembered bodies and carrion remains had been scattered across old train tracks, though were hardly attention worthy, given what she did with such things personally. His toss sent her skidding across the refuse, body relieved of his presence, but still becoming battered due to the impact. Chance rose on all fours when she was able, tasting blood across her tongue, which she spit in the troll's general direction. Another string of profanities followed suit, but they ended with a spiteful laugh. "<font color="1979e6]You live like vermin, you disgusting swine![/font]"
Rising to stand, Chance kicked away the pumps she had been wearing after noticing one heel had been snapped off during the trip. Her dress just barely survived. "<font color="1979e6]You think highly of your abilities. Warp me?[/font]" The illumination of those inhuman irises spun dangerously in the darkness. "<font color="1979e6]Do you know who I fucking am?[/font]" While the room was set up in a way that weakened Chance, she was by no means disabled. Maybe in this little dungeon of his, he was King, but that didn't at all interrupt the Fae's delusions of grandeur. If anything, her fear was only noticeable when he moved to touch her once again. This woman had watched Gods die and she couldn't overcome a bit of metal trapped in the body of a brute?
Pride had never been so prioritized - At least not in memory. Yet, Chance did something she couldn't believe she was capable of, and backed away. It was muscle memory - a learned response to distance herself from things she couldn't easily to overtake. Oblivious, Loe slept dormant in her core, and this massive polyp was only worsening her situation with the haste he moved, his eagerness palpable and revolting. Using the back of her hand to wipe the blood from her mouth, she flashed a fake smile. "<font color="1979e6]Get bent[/font]..." All that backing up hadn't really helped, she realized when she found her figure bumping rear first against a bookshelf. She had walked herself into a corner and there was no more wiggle room to keep her captor at bay.
"<font color="1979e6]Dog[/font]." Ever defiant, Chance's glamoured body flattened into the furniture piece so it was braced, hands rising to try and fend off his much larger fists.
Ego aside, Chance was still one of the most stunning beasts to grace this shit hole city, and any fool would fawn in her presence as that was exactly what this physical shell was meant for. Attraction was the language she spoke, the air she expelled, the sound she made when pleasured or pained. Seduction was the act she had trained millennia for, with a list of partners from where they were to the city limits. This was not pride getting in the way; just a well known fact. It was driven home by the hundreds - no, thousands - of lovers she had taken in this shit hole of a town, and would continue to be supported through the tomes of time. Rare was there an example of the woman being this angry, but with her company, those angelic features donned a warped disguise of rage that didn't shift or falter the entire journey to his lair. His manhandling came only through sheer size, and if he was smaller, the cold iron would be something the Fae could ignore long enough to devour the monster. Now though, intact as Boukh was, there would be no possible way to lay waste to his bulk without him retaliating with the backing of that supplemental element in question.
A small issue for the time being. It would be worked around.
Chance played the part of damsel in distress, an actress in her private showing, with her guest of honor there to assist with props and location. Their journey ended in the dark of his lair, a detestable man made cavern where the transit system had once run, now converted into the troll's personal torture chamber. Dismembered bodies and carrion remains had been scattered across old train tracks, though were hardly attention worthy, given what she did with such things personally. His toss sent her skidding across the refuse, body relieved of his presence, but still becoming battered due to the impact. Chance rose on all fours when she was able, tasting blood across her tongue, which she spit in the troll's general direction. Another string of profanities followed suit, but they ended with a spiteful laugh. "<font color="1979e6]You live like vermin, you disgusting swine![/font]"
Rising to stand, Chance kicked away the pumps she had been wearing after noticing one heel had been snapped off during the trip. Her dress just barely survived. "<font color="1979e6]You think highly of your abilities. Warp me?[/font]" The illumination of those inhuman irises spun dangerously in the darkness. "<font color="1979e6]Do you know who I fucking am?[/font]" While the room was set up in a way that weakened Chance, she was by no means disabled. Maybe in this little dungeon of his, he was King, but that didn't at all interrupt the Fae's delusions of grandeur. If anything, her fear was only noticeable when he moved to touch her once again. This woman had watched Gods die and she couldn't overcome a bit of metal trapped in the body of a brute?
Pride had never been so prioritized - At least not in memory. Yet, Chance did something she couldn't believe she was capable of, and backed away. It was muscle memory - a learned response to distance herself from things she couldn't easily to overtake. Oblivious, Loe slept dormant in her core, and this massive polyp was only worsening her situation with the haste he moved, his eagerness palpable and revolting. Using the back of her hand to wipe the blood from her mouth, she flashed a fake smile. "<font color="1979e6]Get bent[/font]..." All that backing up hadn't really helped, she realized when she found her figure bumping rear first against a bookshelf. She had walked herself into a corner and there was no more wiggle room to keep her captor at bay.
"<font color="1979e6]Dog[/font]." Ever defiant, Chance's glamoured body flattened into the furniture piece so it was braced, hands rising to try and fend off his much larger fists.
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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