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09/21/2017 08:44 PM
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Where'd you Go? [II] {Drabble}
It had become Clarisse's habit on the days Sigyn was with Jory to come to the House of Filth, spending the day in Exodus's office, curled up on the couch sleeping. Often he would attend to his business and then spend time with her. This wasn't to say that all she did was sleep whilst she was there; on the contrary. Sometimes, he had shown her how to do things in relation to the business, even mundane paperwork. Other times, he'd let her do an auction. She knew the House of Filth almost as well as he did. If anyone had ever told her that she'd find herself quite comfortable and living in Sloane, MA of all the places in the world, she would have laughed. This wasn't the life she was used to, but she had found herself quite happy. People could say what they liked about him, but she was quite taken with him and everyone else could go straight to hell.
However, she had also encouraged him to use some of his merchandise in other ways. "Play their strengths," she suggested. "Several of them have bartending liscences. Some have waited tables. Use them for that. If she makes the club money, keep her a bit. If people are interested, let them bid. You might make more money. Also, use some of them as dancers for the nights where you're not auctioning." Sitting on the couch in his office, she had mentioned these things casually, not entirely certain that he would take her ideas, but she had put them out there, pleased that he had at least listened. Then he had come and sat with her, putting work aside as he pulled her onto his lap, their usual banter becoming silent as their lips met and they'd let their bodies do the talking.
It was strange when she awoke in his office alone. She had no sense of him on the premises. It was peculiar. No. It was frightening. He was always there.
"No auction tonight," she spoke to the staff once she had changed her clothes and had called for a small staff meeting. "Tell the ladies to relax tonight." Whilst Ex saw them as merchandise, Clarisse had trouble labelling them as such. She was more lenient but if they ventured to be disrespectful, then she was as cold as ice. Tonight, the club would be open for lesser business--dinner, dancing, the usual pursuits. Tomorrow, there would be an auction. "Open the doors, send out the invites and the usuals." she instructed, thanking the staff for cooperating with her and seeing to the business at hand.
Deciding to take some air, Clarisse headed out for a stroll. The evening's cool air hit her and she smiled softly. She loved autumn and the nippiness in the air. It wasn't an unpleasant evening. Drawing her phone out of her pocket, she texted Exodus, "Where are you?" He was usually pretty prompt when it came to answering, so when half an hour had gone by without a reply, she felt herself worrying more. Turning around, she was going to check his schedule and see if he had anything penciled in. In his line of work, he depended upon the loyalty and silence of his independent contractors. A meeting seemed rather likely.
She was concerned about him when all of a sudden, a sharp pain went through her small frame. Her eyes widened as she gripped at a wall, holding firm to it. A sudden anger coursed through her; one she hadn't felt or experienced in years. "No...no..." she mumbled, sneaking into an alley, trying to get her bearings. She couldn't fathom where this was coming from. The only way she could make sense of it was if Ex was angry. He had allowed her to feed from him; bonding him to her. She could feel his emotions when high enough. Why was he so angry though? Falling to her knees, she whimpered; his anger was triggering her own. It was triggering the darkness and her own temper, which she fought fiercely to keep at bay. It was stronger than she realised but did her best to fight it off. Were it to overtake her, she wasn't sure what would happen. This was her own version of Mr. Hyde. She did her best to focus on her happy moments, trying to calm down. Thinking of moments on the stage, moments where she had gone horse back riding with her brother, dancing with her older sister, the sound of her daughter's laughter, seeing Ex smile. Anything to fight it off.
It was futile though; it was stronger than ever; having lain dormant for so long. Shuddering at the heat that began to eminate from her, Risse's sense of herself began to fade; her fangs fully extending and a sadistic grin crossed her lips. Inhaling deeply, she could smell the town's inhabitants. They were ripe...their blood thick and calling to her. Hearts pounding like drums filled her head and she damn near swooned and felt herself salivating. Somewhere, she still fought; not willing to give herself over entirely. When the Darkness overtook her, the fire at full strength, her eyes were as black as coal, her skin becoming alabaster in color with dark circles around her eyes, giving them a sunken appearance. Her veins showed through her near transluscent skin and she cackled; her laugh rich and deep. Indeed, she may have been Exodus's light, but he was the trigger for her darkness.
Heading down the streets, she simply grinned as a wave of her wrist would set a person ablaze. The more they screamed, the longer she would take, though listening to screams calmly was not her strong suit. The sensitivity of her ears didn't suffer the loud and insensitive noises that often were part of this world. She didn't say a word, though. And something...she didn't know what, was keeping her from killing people. Perhaps there was still a sense of herself deep within. Fighitng to keep herself from completely going into this mode. Biting on her lip, Risse toyed with a flame on the tip of her fingers. Spotting a couple, she could almost envision draining each of them then melting their flesh, muscles and fat away, burning their bones and crushing them into a fine powder. The male first with the female watching. Though, she was pretty enough. Perhaps she'd be put up on the auction block. She might do well. From the shadows, the idea seemed absolutely appealing. How long had it been since she had cremated anyone? How long had it been since she had played with the entrails of some hapless idiot? But a third heartbeat sooned join the couple's. The woman was pregnant. Disappointing, Risse thought, given her plans. But she wouldn't leave a child alone in the world.Taking off in a run, hair flying out from behind her, she could hear that fading voice tell her, 'An abandoned spot!' Damn her willpower; even when it was meant to be gone, it was still there, whispering and trying to influence her. The light that she carried in her heart never really faded. The Darkness scowled but relented. There would be no death today. When she came upon an abandoned warehouse, she slipped through the fence and the 'warning label' ribbons and headed inside.
 With an eardrum piercing scream, Risse let go, her fire erupting. It had overtaken her entire body, flames engulfing her entirely. She felt herself rising into the air with it. Flames erupted from her in a furious pace, taking over every inch of her body, the flames seemingly tickling her, not harming her in the least. Clothes, however, were a different story. Words from friends echoed in her mind, "freak", "irrelevant", "pyscho", fueling the hatred she felt for those who dared to let an insult pass their lips. She wanted to burn the entire place down, let anyone who ever insulted her burn, to die, to let them see that she should never be thought of as someone so insignifigant. All this pent up anger...her eyes rolled back in her skull and another scream erupted from her lips, airing her frustration, her fears, her pain, her...emotions. This time, both parties let go entirely, enfulfing the entire warehouse in her flames. Hers was the fury, to be certain. And as quickly as it took over was as quickly as the world went black.
Eyes fluttering open, she looked around, one of the security guards from House of Filth sitting beside her. She was weak...so weak and her head throbbed. Groaning, she sat up slowly, greedily accepting the bag of blood being offered. "I found you, passed out. I brought you home," he told her. "And I put you in the boss's shirt. You were.." He blushed and Risse smiled softly, embarrassed but appreciative. "Thank you. I wasn't..er...I didn't hurt anyone, did I?" she asked gently, voice hoarse.
"No, miss. Only the warehouse died." He joked. "I found you sitting in the rubble. Kinda made me think of Daenerys from Game of Thrones. Fire cannot kill a dragon," he quipped, making Risse laugh. A feeling of warmth went through her. She wanted Ex, but he wasn't here still. But despite how he was feeling, she had to stay strong. She couldn't let herself be taken over again. "You should rest, Miss. My name is Steve. If I hear anything, I'll let you know."
"Again, thank you, Steve."
"My pleasure, Miss. And if I may...I'm going to call you Miss Targaryen." The guard gave a smile and once more, Risse laughed, though once the door was locked and shut, she sighed. She was afraid.
What if he didn't come back?
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09/14/2017 10:20 PM
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Drabble: good morning.
good morninga drabble Opening her eyes, she settled her gaze on the lean, tall figure lying beside her on the bed. Soft beams of sunlight danced over his skin and for a moment, she held her breath, afraid she might wake him. For someone who had lived so long, had proven herself to be more than able to survive whatever was thrown her way, she was strangely struck by the fact that Exodus held a power over her; one that provoked fear. Not that she was afraid he'd harm her--though in a temper, she didn't know what he'd do. She was quite certain though, that were she to lose him, that would be the thing that would break her. Moving closer to him, she kissed his cheek softly. She wondered what he dreamt about. Sometimes he spoke out in his sleep or thrashed about. On one occasion, Clarisse had taken her Exodus into her arms, rocking him as she would Sigyn, singing softly to try and ease his nightmares away. When morning came, she hadn't said a word and neither had he. They both had their demons. Finger reached out, brushing over the scar on his throat and to the ones on his wrists. She was gentle in her touch, tender. He stirred then, caramel eyes focusing on her. "Bonjour, mon amour," she whispered. They sometimes lay together like this; quietly. Observing one another. They seemed to be rather in awe of the other's existences. She was a two hundred and forty five year old vampire. He was twenty-six. More of an age with her daughters than herself. His fingers brushed down her side, over her own scar. Jagged and long, going from her breast to her hip, it stuck out sorely against the alabaster of her flesh. The memory of the knife being dragged in her adolescent flesh like butter, her screams loud and pull of agony, yet the torture did not stop. And it was only because her brother, dear Frederick, had found her when she'd crawled out to the carriage house. She'd lain upon the ground, bleeding profusely. Lifting her small frame, he'd jumped into the saddle of his horse, holding her to him as he galloped towards the only hospital; which was run by nuns. He'd sent a servant out to fetch their father. For weeks she had lay in the bed, somewhere between life and death and when she'd healed, finally, she had shuddered. The nuns hadn't wanted to show her, but she insisted upon a mirror. When she had first seen the thing, she'd cried. An ugly reminder of her own mother's hatred of her. Exodus said nothing, merely pushed her arm away as she tried to hide it. "Stop it," he mumbled, pressing his lips against the scar, from top to bottom and back again. "It's so ugly," she whispered, embarrassed. "No, it's not. It's just a reminder that you're a survivor." She frowned at this. She hated to talk about being a survivor of things. It made her feel old. He made her feel old. As she went to protest, his lips covered her own, silently reassuring her of his devotion. "My Dark Beauty," he spoke against her lips before rolling over, a silent invitation for her to curl against him. He wasn't in a rush this morning and she wasn't rushing him out the door. Let the House of Filth wait a little longer. Her body pressed against his; the puzzle pieces once again joined. Her mind thought of the Dark Room and all of the acts that occurred there. Yet, she had watched in silence, struck by the depravity of some people. She was the monster, the thing people warned their children about at night, but there she had been. Watching as some older man had done some unspeakable act to some young, ripe beauty. The only beautiful thing about the woman had been her face; her personality was uglier than the man's bald pate which had scabs upon it. Another man had simply bound a girl in ropes, hung her from the rafters and had been screwing her senseless. The men were not the only ones who seemed to have a dark perversion within them, the women had been keen to be just as sadistic. Others wanted to kill...and they did so. She had sat silently, watching. The Dark Room was where the worst of the worst occurred. Why she had allowed herself to sit and watch, she hadn't been certain. Perhaps she had thought it a challenge to herself; to watch what was happening. To acknowledge that Exodus allowed this to happen. They told her that he was absolutely mad. That he was crazy. But that wasn't what he was with her. They were different with one another. It was strange but wasn't that the way of life? Nothing was quite predictable. Clarisse had promised herself once...that she would never let a human steal her heart. But...here he was. She was in his arms, his willing captive. And yet, he might want to join her in eternity. She had only sired one person in her life; her brother, Frederick. And only last year, he had destroyed himself, unable to take it any longer. She lived in fear of changing of someone else. Lived in fear that he would resent her and loathe her for making him into what she was. Clarisse wasn't pressing the issue. And if she did go through with his siring, he wouldn't be weak. Not like she was when she had first been changed. No, he would walk in the sun. He wouldn't need to feed incessantly. He would be strong. Damn near invincible. Would he become a Lazarus Soul like her? Never able to really die; just changing bodies through eternity. It was a thought that would plague her. But for now, he had dozed off again, his arms draped around her petite frame, tight as a vice. "I've been waiting for you." she whispered, laying her head on his chest. Right above his heart, listening to it beat. Thump thump. Thump thump. Steady. Firm. Like a drum. Her toes moved in time, finding a rhythm to dance to. He was the music that inspired her to twirl, to dance and give herself over to its power. He was her heart; the long silent muscle in her chest. He was her darkness and her bravery; giving her the nerve to do things that she might not necessarily do. Exodus might be a 'psycho' to some but to his 'dark beauty', as he called her, he was hers.
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