In a world in which fetish is strictly forbidden, society finds itself more desperate than ever for a little bit of release. Some find themselves simply itching for what they can't have. Others, however, dangerously attempt to explore their limits in the dark underbelly of the city. Where do you belong? Will you risk everything for a just a moment with a whip in your back? Or do you prefer to wield the proverbial sword?
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Manhattan, 2410. The world isn't quite what you remembered it to be. Things are darker. Dingier. We find ourselves in the underbelly of the underbelly, and survival is not a guarantee.
It is currently summer, and the temperature (thanks to global warning) is close to 125 degrees Fahrenheit.
POLICE FORCE: 3
Group: Police Force
Member No.: 28
Joined: 6-July 11
SORRY I'M NOT HOME RIGHT NOW
TIGHTEN THE HANDCUFFS, AND THE MIRROR IS GONNA FALL TONIGHT
sonya lillian falke
AGE AND D.O.B.:
twenty-six, october 29
rensselaer, new york, usa
special agent with the fbi
princess in the frog prince
October 29. Age 11.
My dear fuckin' little diary,
I'd like to call you a 'journal' but seeing that you're my birthday gift from Daddy, I think you're gonna be helluva lot more important than that. Ooh, maybe I should give you a name! I'll call you Jenny from now on. K, Jenny, so anyways, Daddy told me to write you every day even if it's nothing. Then, I can go back when I'm bored and see all the shit that I've done and enjoy it or laugh about it or something and that it'd be good for me. Daddy always says the best things to me so I'll do what he says even if I don't understand it. It'll make more sense to me later on, probably. That's what all the adults say. Well, anyways… I always dunno what to say when I'm actually supposed
to say stuff. I guess I'm not very creative when it comes to starting things. I'll just list some swear words for now, to fill up the page, and go tell Daddy that I already wrote a lot and stuff. Mommy always tells me to "watch your language, young lady", but I do watch it. I do it purposefully. I hear Daddy say them a lot to other adults when he's angry, and I think it's so funny. So, teehee, a salute to all the bad words I heard him say:
fuck, shit, bullshit, son of a bitch, bastard, twat, cocksucker, cunt, motherfucker, jackass, dickhead, prick, whore, asshole, douchebag, dumbass…
… Oh hell, it's dinner time already. Mommy always makes the best meals, and I think she's made pot pie- I can smell it because I have a good nose. I gotta go hurry now to get there first and get the biggest slice. Bye!
May 15. Age 15.
I'm going out today with a boy. Oh god, I'm so excited. His name is Rocco Sullivan. He's no stranger, either. We met in the quad during lunch break- well, we literally crashed into each other. I know, typical right? Mr. McDougal, one of those tight-lipped supervisors who always seems to have a pole stuck up his ass, was chasing after him, and Rocky just ran into me. Since, he was bigger, laws of physics said that I belonged on the floor while he was pretty much unmoved. I would've gotten back on my feet, cursing, and just socked him right there in the face for that, but then I saw his large, dark brown eyes and the strong jawline- I think I just melted. So, I just sat there a little wide-eyed and stared. Haha, I felt like such an idiot! But then Rocky stops, apologizes, gives me his hand to help me up, and we just clicked. Can you believe it? He stopped for me, haha. What a fool, but sweet. He got caught, of course. I still don't know what he did, and he won't tell me. I think he's really different, because I haven't been this high since I got my first pony. Yesterday wasn't the only time he's asked me out either. The first few times, I turned him down of course, but we got closer, and he'd ask again. Talk about persistence, heh. But, he's the only guy who ever did that for me- like some kind of fearless unicorn who's not hurt by words or rejection. The other boys usually avoid me like the plague after they compliment me on my appearance and I tell them thanks, but they should probably get rhinoplasty for their ridiculous, zucchini nose for me to be able to say the same. I guess it was my sort of thing, making snarky comments about their faces or clothes or lack of intelligence, and they took it to heart. My girl friends admit that's one of the worst things about me, too: how I can be too honest, spoiled, distant, and sometimes just spiteful for no reason, but they also say it's okay, because I make up for it by really taking care of the people I like. I've thought about it too, and I'm thinking it might be because I have a hard time trusting people. My dad's the CEO of a high-end luxury car company, and my mom's a serious heiress to an oil tycoon, so I keep thinking some of my friendships might only exist because they want connections with my family's success; it's happened to me a few times in middle school. Besides, some people just don't seem to trust me, either. I know a few tend to think I'm the type to buy new friends if they don't like me, and they told me so out of spite. But frankly, I don't really intend to push people away, not so much to isolate myself, anyways… I just like being mean- maybe a little experimental and curious. It gives me a thrill to see how sensitive people are. But, this guy, Rocky- he said he liked that about me. He told me I was unique and claimed he could see me for who I am: that underneath the 'ice queen exterior' (which I think is amusing, and those were his words, not mine), I have a lion's heart. I think those are nice words. Cathleen thinks he's really cute, too, and even Mommy approves. It's because I don't have too many friends, and she usually thinks the best of anyone who'd want to spend time with me- boy or girl. She trusts me… and my taekwondo master, haha. The problem is I haven't told Daddy yet. I don't want him to worry about me, so maybe I'll let him know if I see this going somewhere.
April 3. Age 17.
My little brother is such a fucking bitch. I wouldn't be surprised if he was born of the devil and by some unlucky accident, adopted into our family. Andy already has a beautiful girlfriend, Ashley- or whatever the fuck her name is, and he has to go behind my back- and hers!- to fuck my boyfriend instead. In the past, I've been an eye for an eye kind of girl, but right now, I don't think stealing his girlfriend is gonna get him back- the way he's acting, he probably doesn't give a rat's ass about her. I'm so fucking disgusted, revolted... frightened… My head's spinning. How could Rocco do this to me? The worst thing is, I can't tell anyone- not without putting them in danger, anyways. I know, and they know, that they can get murdered for that kind of shit. They're goddamn criminals, and I want to hurt them, so very badly like they did to me, but I don't want them to be killed over that. Ugh, those cuntfaced, faggot whores! I'm no good with emotions, so I just dumped the cheating shitbag. I'm never going to see him again. It's the logical thing to do, right? If only I can get rid of my brother the same way.
April 12. Age 17.
Some weird ass shit went down today. So, I took a horse whip from the stables- very much like Indiana Jones (I like to think)- and snuck up on my brother with it. I only meant to scare the fuck out of my brother, but the next thing I knew, he lunged at me, and we were fighting, throwing punches and kicking. The whip was on the floor- I had dropped it- but I saw it again when the butt of it hit my shoulder. I grabbed it, pushed him away, and threatened to use it. Do you know what he did? He derided me, daring me to hit him as if I didn't have the guts. So, I laid it on him, just twice: right across his left thigh and on his back when he instinctively turned away from me to protect his face. It was only after he moved to face me again, showing all the signs of anger and confusion, that I saw it. The little shit was turned on, so I dropped the whip and walked away- no, more like ran with the demons behind me. My hands are still trembling, and I'm wondering why I felt like I had to hit him again. Only one would've done.
November 20. Age 17.
Why did this godforsaken thing have to be from Daddy?! It's you. You don't deserve a name. The world around me is literally turning into shit, and I can't write in you to keep my fucking head sane because you were all gift-wrapped with pretty pink ribbons and shit and handed to me from the very being, the person- no, monster? who's so graciously the bountiful source of my agony. The FBI agents came knocking on our door today…
Daddy, I'm sorry. I can't do this. I don't think you murdered all those women… twenty eight of them… fucking shit, really, twenty eight? Ugh, god… how long have you been doing this? Did you fucking kill one every Christmas Eve as a little present for yourself? No no… You couldn't have done that. You were always so fucking nice to me. You're a great person. Yes, you are because I love you to death, but I have a question for you: why'd you let me and my mom live? You should've killed me instead. I don't want to be known as a serial killer's daughter. Yea, that's what they're calling you now. Todd the Shredder. Isn't that funny? You've become a fuckin' joke. Hahaha. My Daddy, a serial killer of 28 women- 15 of them girls under the age of 18. His M.O. is asphyxiating his victims and then bleeding them to death- You always did like hunting too much, and I thought you were so cool for taking Andy and me on those deer season trips and fishing and camping; I didn't know you wanted to do that to humans, too. Fuck, one of the girls was my friend from school! We all thought she went missing in the park, but they found your journal in your secret room- the one you never told me to enter- with all the shit that you did. It's too much evidence to fight back. I can't trust you anymore. Those memoirs… Is that what you intended me to do with my own journal as well? To go out and stab people multiple times, ejaculating over their goddamn mutilated bodies while writing it all down and taking pictures so I can go back to these entries and relive the murder fantasies? What about Andy? Why didn't you give him a fucking diary? He wasn't enough like you? Was I better? You always did give me more attention. Andy was always so jealous, you know? But he doesn't need to be, because I know why. You wanted to protect me from people like you- other serial killers- because you, you know about these people better than everyone else because you are one. You white-trash homicidal fucker. Well, I'm not your little girl, anymore. I've grown up, and I don't need protection. I'm gonna fight and catch bastards like you, Daddy. You shouldn't have been in such a hurry to get your rocks off. You shouldn't have escalated; maybe all this wouldn't have happened, and I'd have kept the blindfold.
January 1. Age 17.
Today was his funeral. I talked to the priest afterwards and asked him what I should do now. He told me my father's sins weren't mine to redeem; all I can do is to pray, serve God, serve the country, and serve my family as best as I can. I'm joining the military. Maybe I'll die then, and at least, I'll go to the grave a heroine.
February 10. Age 21.
They discharged me from the hospital today. The navy also discharged me a month ago for getting shot in the shoulder, and they won't take me back on account that my arm is still in a cast. Ugh, I know I can still fight. I'm one of the better soldiers out there, christ.
February 21. Age 21.
I'm too idle here. I'm restless again. I'll admit that in the past few years, I felt like I was at peace, or I wished I was and believed it enough- I still think I believe it because I want it so badly. It was nice to not be able to think and just follow the orders of my superiors. In the military, money, background, and whoever the fuck you are don't mean a thing. Everyone was the same; we were all in uniform, and we were all robots, just mindless machines of something bigger. They said we were saving lives and protecting our nation; I wanted to believe them, and never mind that we were killing sons and fathers and friends also. They weren't our sons, fathers, or friends, and that's all that really matters.
Mommy says she's relieved for me… and maybe deep down, a part of me is too. I'll have to find something else to do, however. I don't want to stay safe and sound like she wants me to be. The idea of sitting down with a needle and string in my hand, embroidering tigers and golden geese on a goddamn quilt like Mommy, is chilling. She's still in her special art room, sewing, threading under and over, under and over, under and over, and her eyes are dying… God, I'm better than that.
June 17. Age 24.
I did it. I graduated at the top of my class at NYU and signed my soul over to the government again. It feels good to go around with a gun in my holster, catching criminal scum, and putting them behind bars where they belong. Andy is still his usual worthless douchebag self- sitting on the couch and watching TV all day. He hasn't been talking straight or doing anything right. I'd say it's typical of him, but I know that look. He can be pretty weird, but not like this. Something's wrong with him again, but I have to leave for Washington D.C. I hope our mother will wake up and find out what's going on with him- or maybe one of his moronic friends will come over and help him.
March 4. Age 26.
He just got back from rehab. I requested a transfer to the FBI field office in New York so I can keep a better tab on my brother's health. I still have to travel around very often, but at least I'm closer to whatever's left of my family. God, it made me go insane when I first found out he was dealing drugs and pot and shit, but that was over five years ago- right after I came out of the hospital with my arm in a cast. Apparently, his share of the inheritance wasn't enough. We're fucking rich- we always were- and he goes off selling drugs like some destitute whore? Apparently, he had a good reason, too. He was laughing when he told me he wanted to be some kind of futuristic drug lord. What a cocksucking dumbass. I'm not sorry that I hit him that day either. He fucking deserved it, and yet, he still doesn't learn or change or feel guilty for all his fuck-ups. I gave him a chance, but he must've relapsed. He's only in rehab, because he O.D'ed. I was practically living at the hospital for weeks for him, and I'm still covering for his sorry ass. When I left and he moved out, no one gave enough of a damn about him- not even my mother who's still in and out of life. She's better now; at least she's going out and attending all the dinner parties like she used to- but she doesn't give us a second look anymore. I understand her, though. Our mother already went through hell and back when our father was arrested and killed. She doesn't need anymore of this shit, especially not from Andy. Why are all the men such heartless idiots?
July 5. Age 26.
… Dear Jenny,
This life is doing me in. The FBI psychologist, the one I'm supposed to see once in a while to check that my job's not gonna make me go batshit insane like before, warn me that I constantly engage in risk-taking behavior- but they haven't done jackshit about it. I haven't been fired or anything- not yet, so the head honchos must like me. I give my job everything, and I do it well. I play rough from time to time, like everyone else with the government, but I'll agree on one thing with the shrinks. Lately, I've felt that it's become something more than that; I sometimes see my father's face when he should be dead. He talks to me through these animals, reminding me again that they're still human and they could have a family- fuck, I know that they have families. My brother comes in sometimes, too. He taunts me by saying he doesn't give a fuck and goads me into hitting him. I beat the shit out of them until they can't fucking talk anymore, but my bosses pass it over as part of the job: they resisted, and I took care of it. Who ever gives a damn about these criminals except us? Most of them are going to die anyways, or should; that's what my colleagues say, but secretly, I don't want them to die. So, I break their jaws for being so careless, and they break my ribs, arms, and everywhere else. Why do they do it when they know it's wrong? Why are they so selfish and inconsiderate? They're not only hurting others, but also hurting the people who ever cared about them. In callous betrayal, they're abandoning me.
July 7. Age 26.
… I liked it. I -god- I enjoyed it, and now I am so fucked. What the deuces is wrong with my family? And me? Here I am, a fucking FBI agent who's supposed to make things better, and I'm becoming a monster. I don't want to turn into my bloody idiot brother, or worse, nothing ever, ever like my father- but something is just driving me. It started with my brother talking about it over the phone a few days ago. I must've caught him by surprise, because he grew all secretive and quiet. I know what my brother does, and whatever he does, it usually turns out for the worse. I needed to know. So, I left my badge at home, went out smelling like cinnamon and vanilla, and asked around about the club that was called Something Grimm, or something like that I remember. It was fucking hard to get into, and the only reason I must've made it in was because the guy seemed to know Andy (the fucking slut is a regular there?), but he didn't know what I did for the government- he didn't even know Andy had a sister or a family (what a bastard). I made up a story. To him, I was a freelance artist from California visiting my brother Andy, who told me about this place. I threw him my charms, never minding how I felt like such an imbecilic slut, and forcefully grabbed the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer into me. I was prepared to dominate him if I had to, but he let me in, saying he could see the resemblance, though unlike me, Andy usually wasn't one to play with the doorman. I'm still refusing to believe what he meant by that- that Andy was ever here at all- but I bit my lip into a smile and pulled my act, until it wasn't becoming such an act anymore. I'm going crazy then, but it's always been there… I'm already lost; I can't fucking help it. God, it was just so fucking hot the way that bastard screamed. I burned him bad, branded him like a fucking steer. It's not gonna be permanent, but he'll remember. He asked for it; really, he did, and the way he demanded, no, he fucking ordered me to do it. It turned me on. And, most of all, he made me feel better- told me afterwards to realize that for some, pain wasn't undesirable. It made me wish how wonderful it could've been if all those girls Todd must've abused and the people I must've hurt- if only they could've felt the same alternate way that this man felt, then I would not feel so much guilt. But, I know that's not how this works; it takes a special person to endure that way, and those people never deserved it.
… If anybody recognized me, I'll tell them that I was undercover. Jesus lord save me, I feel sick to my stomach. I'm never going back there again. I'm a good girl. I am… All I wanted was to save the damn fucking world from ourselves.
With love, Sonya
I'M WALKING INTO SPIDER WEBS
OH PLEASE, WAIT TILL YOU SEE MY AMAZING ROLE PLAY SAMPLE
Normally, he would've sent Crispin out to collect the money, but in a rare occasion, his right hand man was nowhere to be found. Daxos was not particularly worried, having before noted Crispin's recent tardiness with increasing frequency, and on his part, increasing displeasure. He would have a talk about his absence with the man later, but for now, he would be the one to go out and make a certain barkeep pay his dues before the young man thought he could test Daxos' patience any longer. Gathering his usual bodyguards, he headed out and strolled to his black town car. A few minutes after opening the backseat door and getting in, and no movement of the car near made him roll his eyes and snap the idiot driver's neck in sick exasperation. Instead, he turned his full attention to the front and snapped at the chauffeur to take his lazy foot off the damn brakes and fucking drive. Ghouls. He had to wonder sometimes if the vampire blood made vile chicken shit out of what was left of their brains, but their sealed, unquestioning loyalty more often made up for their stupidity and mindlessness.
Driving in slowly, they parked next to a curb a few yards from the bar. As he got out, he saw a small girl walk aimlessly by him, and all his senses suddenly tuned onto her being. There was so much emotion exuding from her uniquely confused walk and posture: animosity, fear, and weariness. It was interesting, and it also sparked his predatory recognition of a perfect prey. He naturally turned his head as his green eyes followed her in her general path. Even though he wasn't all that hungry, he could never really pass up the chance to pursue a stray from the herd. His tongue ran over his fangs in anticipation. "Sir?" someone called, and he snapped out of it, shifting his focus back to his original task. "What is it?" he responded mildly, but he already knew what they were waiting for. "We're… uhh… ready when you are." Daxos gave a quick nod and signaled his men to walk ahead of him, "Let's go."
He casually sauntered inside, allowing his fellow men to check the area ahead of him and search the rooms. Things were quiet at the pub. Daxos had come at a good time as most of the customers were either gone or were too inebriated to be conscious. He was left alone with the owner, and he was free to do whatever he wanted without interference from the public. There would be no witnesses except for him, his gang, and little Tom the barkeep, here. Some time later, the mob boss was done, and he was behind the counter washing the blood off his hands. A stickler for sanitation, he used the soap obsessively and wiped his hands clean on a fresh-looking towel nearby. He would have to take a nice, hot shower to be completely free of the sweat and the dirtiness of his job when he got home. From behind him, he could hear the guys exchanging violent jokes among themselves. "How do you stop a cat from eating?" A different man suggested stapling its face to the floor, and a round of laughter rose. His co-worker responded with his own joke, "What's the difference between a baby and a dart board?" Daxos smirked to himself. They had the sickest sense of humor, but he could not help but be amused along with them. They were all cold-blooded killers like him, and it was understandable.
Back outside, the streets were quiet as usual and seemingly deserted until he heard the unrestrained sobs of a young girl. He halted in his tracks and hunted for the source of the sound. Raising a hand for his bodyguards to back off and stand guard at their cars, he veered into one of the shady passageways that connected with the road. The boss had an instinct that it would be the same, little doll that passed by him from before. If it was, it was the second time he was seeing that girl, and now he definitely had to find her. Daxos weaved along the small back alley, unfazed by the darkness. Having lived in the night for so long, he was used to observing everything without much light, and he didn't need the lamps to tell where she was. He could hear her.
The vampire approached her slowly, carefully placing his steps around the broken pieces of trash and debris that littered the filthy ground. He stopped at a comfortable distance away from the girl, enough to show that he was not here to harm her. By being nearer, Daxos sensed something new about the child that threw off his appetite as quickly as her nervous mannerisms intrigued him; he could sense the poison in her blood - a werewolf. He hadn't noticed it the first time since she had been too far away to tell. But, they were much closer now, and he could not ignore it. Nevertheless, he spoke to her benevolently to get her attention. His baritone voice was friendly and gentle, "Hey there."
LORELEI - 20 - ABOUT 6? - PACIFIC (GMT -8) - PM - CHARLIZE THERON
Administrative Sugar Daddy
Member No.: 2
Joined: 29-March 11
Welcome to Gilded Cages! What a strong, powerful character. I love the development of the diary entries, how you can really feel her growing up in both her voice and the things she talks about. And you made every detail really significant to the character--even the fact that the diary was given to her by her father. Brilliant writing, and I'm looking forward to seeing this character in action. Now go get writing, bitches. Don't forget to post in FACE CLAIM and the CAST LIST.
CREATED BY SUMMER OF ATF AND CAUTION 2.0