wewillhave .:. B L O O D

[Dominik Conner]

did you hear the howls last night? what howls?
THE howls! ... some dogs got to fighting? so what? it's boston.
but it didn't sound like dogs... -laughs- what did it sound like? wolves?

… They left him for dead but knew, as they went about their pleasurable work, he couldn’t just die. Breaking his neck, shattering his collar. Plucking out teeth one by one and using a hot poker to jab into tender flesh was torture and definitely mark-leaving. But it wasn’t death. They thought to get ‘even’ by their murderous, wretched antics. Retribution was their calling. But ‘even’ never was a word the Dominik knew well. He had to have the last word, last say, last thing. Had to. And the only balance he knew was one tipped in his favor. This was not the end. Simply a beginning. And he proved that, entering the classy comedy club, striding his way to the certain table so centered in the establishment. Using one hand to grip, the other to swing, he tore the man down from his chair and proceeded from there. Most of the audience of the comic hangout was in shock. A man from off the streets had just walked in, came up, and started beating the shit out of a patron. Being of good size, only the bigger boys of the club tried to pry him off… And they only met a tyrant handing out busted lips, cracked jaws and a bloody mouth for free… Before returning to his kill. A kill that wasn’t quite a kill, yet. He couldn’t murder in public. Even in a crazed state of mine hell-bent on one thing he knew that. Taking the other by the collar and dragging him out through the back, he knew that - well. Grabbing and pulling him up, taking him through the back door before shoving him into the alley. A fist to the gut to get the gent keeling, a swing to the side of the head to force him down. Using the heel of his workboot he crashed it into the man’s skull, heard a satisfying crack, and from there he proceeded to proceed. Proceeded to proceed, proceeded to proceed. Retribution was a wonderful thing. Something the Conner boy was well acquainted with. Perhaps too much so. He took things personally, and when he did, he couldn’t give them up. For example this (now unconscious) man, here, he dragged to his vehicle and shoved into. One of five wolves that had cornered him, but this fellow was the unlucky soul he found first. He took him out into the fields, went wolfie himself, and tore him to bits. Literally. The legs, the shoulders, the face, the abdomen. Butchered beyond repair. Our gent left with a bloody mess on his hands and a ravenous mind on his shoulders. He went to the near, abandoned farmhouse, going to the shed to pick out tools hid away from plentiful years of unuse… then returned to the bloody, wretched site. Taking the thing, but harden silver bit of blade in the palm of his hand (which burned readily and quit deep. Sharpness of blade and sharpness of silver both acting…) he carved the organs from the broken body and sent then sailing into the crisp night air. Slinging them far from the corpse (now dead, no doubt) he looked forward to the morning that would bring with it the ravens and crows that would feast on the mutilated body and would attract the attention of those other four… and then his own pack. The Naikuy knew he had a temper, knew that it flared and when it did often in the most unseemly of manners. The fact that he was on ill terms with them, however, was… no doubt going to be furthered by his stunt. Killing lone wolves was fine. But when they were related to others? … The relations rarely accepted their kin's death calmly. … He was bringing more trouble. Causing more rift. Another thing he’d have to answer for. Or would he? Isaac so often habited to intervene…

He used the manual water pump to clean himself up. Leaving the knife where it lay, he ran the cold, cold water still available at the farm through his hands and hair, cleaning up his face and shedding his shirt to wring out stubborn droplets. Not bothering with his pants, he flicked the water off when he was finished. Running them along the back of his loose fitting jeans and then the grass. His tidying job leaving much to be desired as he went back to the car (which, honestly wasn’t his but his victim’s), jury-rigged it for burning… then proceeded to light a match and start a small fire in the backseat. Faith in the still night and the flammable fabric all around, he started his walk back to the city. An easy enough task… and one that he didn’t mind with cool air and clear skies. The remaining ounces of his fierce hate slithering away, creeping as night came and settled. He ached to run, but resisted the urge. He missed the woods, the plains, Europe, Mexico… he missed those places where there were vast sums of land, uncharted, unexplored, uninhabited. Maybe when I’m old and about to keel over I’ll head up to Canada or Alaska or Montana or Nevada… He mused, whilst knowing… full well… that he would not be living to an age when he was truly, truly old. Werewolves had more time, but when their time was numbered they died. When his youth faded and his strength… he would cease. He knew this and accepted it. One day he would die. But no day soon.

Why was he here? … Ha, he didn’t have a fucking clue. It was the day after the murder and he was feeling good. Hyped, ready. Enough so he had went to Marki’s and other lycan hangs. Rapping knuckles with other pack mates, emerging himself in the family environment. Feeding off their emotion while he remained buzzed and energetic. They didn’t know, he could tell, and where suspicious of his shudders of delight but accepted it. Dominik was in a good mood… and overly affectionate mood. He flirted and he teased, played and was played. Musing with the females, stirring friendly rivalry and completion with the males he expressed and outgoing side that the pack knew of, but saw little of. It was odd to see… But the looks Isaac gave said he knew what it was about. And the looks Dominik gave said he honestly didn’t give a damn. He was feeling enjoyable. He wanted to be enjoyed. He had floundered around this night here and there. And only when it was one in the morning did he find himself here. On the streets below her apartment window, eyeing it up in a debating manner. A sliver of delight running down his spine, Goosebumps pricking his skin. Curiosity struck, as he recalled sensations and also the dame herself. She was a collection of smells, thoughts, and feelings. Senses made her up into something… Prey that wasn’t quite prey, she was. Delicate, smooth skin as breakable and fragile as usual… but the personality encased in the frail, curvaceous body was something else. And he grew, as he eyed from the outside, a thirst for that something else. Licking his lips at the taste he had had, recalling it with vivid memory (surprising even to himself - it was odd for him to recall details of one presumptuous young mortal girl… usually his events with those all ran together.). But, he could not go thought he front - that had no style and besides… no doubt the lovely was asleep. So he went around back, eyed the building, scoping it as he heard alley cats hiss and sputter. He found the fire escape soon enough, and assailed it with subtle ease. Coming up to her window, knowing it was hers by the scent, he came in quietly and with stealth any practiced burglar or unusual beast would have. Smirking as her essence overwhelmed. Everything within were pieces of what was her. Did she know that? The fabric for the curtains, the soap, the rugs, the style. It added together, puzzle pieces to show the great picture, mhmm… He went forth with curiosity. Nosiness getting the best of him as he entered her bathroom and examined. But… truth be known the thing he took most interest in was the bedroom he had visited a time before. A grin on his lips, wildness in his eyes as he examined the interior. Ah, it looked different when lust and desire didn’t fuddle things… and when a petite little divine wasn’t acting on both of his minds… Mhmm… Aww… she sleeps like a babe, he thought. Eyeing the creature in her bed, alone, this time, without company. Desire made a quick pass but was batted away. Tameness flicking away primitive, basic wants as he quietly withdrew from the doorframe he had been in and returned to the other rooms of the household. He had a feeling Bopeep wouldn’t like him imagining nawtee things while eyeing her up when she slept so well, and had a feeling that she would rather he fucked off and out of the way. Maybe. Perhaps. Never knew, did one? After all he had never thought the coy little priestess at the bar, seeking shelter from the storm had so much feistiness or daringness or seduction in her… Maybe there were other things to be found if one sought them out at unexpected times and in unexpected places?

[Mizuki Li Amani]

Oh how the lovely slept, slept so well. Breathing deep and even as she lay on her back, one arm tossed above her head with her hand touching the side of her temple. The other thrown carelessly across her bare stomach in her sleep, the darling was partially covered by the plain white sheet that had been kicked at and pulled and twisted about her body, pieces of it draped across her hips and torso, cloaking the black lace underthings that were her only garb in the rather heated night. She never noticed the figure at the window, nor the entrance of said intruder. She didn't hear the footsteps of his booted feet as he pranced around in her apartment, going through the rooms, the bathroom, the bedroom. Mizuki didn't see him standing in her doorway, watching her, watching her. And that was unusual for her.

Normally, the lovely was a light sleeper. She could pick out the strange noises that shouldn't be there, she could sense the prensence of a person that should not be within her home. But the lady had had a busy day, today, busier than was the norm for her. Being woken up by the insistent ringing of her cell phone at 4 am had started the day, the caller being one of her fellow volunteer workers at the downtown help clinic. One of her charges had relapsed and disappeared back onto the street sometime before, and it had just been realized that she was no longer there. Her co-worker had been nearly in tears when she'd arrived there an hour later. It had been the bad start to an even worse day. She'd driven the streets for almost six hours, looking for Annabeth, who was the charge who'd slipped away, before she finally found her coming down from a bad trip in some trashed-up alleyway. Waiting at the hospital with her had been another four hours from hell, but at least she'd been able to catch an hour of sleep while sitting in the waiting room. By the time she'd finally finished all the forms and such and was able to go, it was almost two in the afternoon. By then she was wide-awake, no chance of catching any more restful hours while the sun was up. So the darlingdear headed home only long enough to change into her running clothes -red shorts and a white tank top-, then she'd been off again. She'd spent another three hours jogging around the park and sitting near the lake before finally heading home. Exhaustion had been stumbling her gait the whole three-block walk home, the day's events catching her hard. Once she'd gotten there, she'd barely had the energy to strip down to her black booty-shorts and matching half-cup bra before collapsing on the bed, falling almost immediately into a deep sleep, which she hadn't stirred from. But that could also be because the harmless invader was sneaking around so well to keep her from waking.

Which he seemed to be tired of doing. Any man with that much rugged grace wouldn't have walked into a side-table and sent a lamp crashing to the floor. The ensuing loud shattering of the second-hand light provider sent the femme rocketing up in her bed, hair tousled from her drowsing and eyes wide with shock and terror. Someone was here. Someone who shouldn't be here. As quietly as she could, she fumbled over onto the floor and scrambled for the miniature steel bat she kept hidden there. The sheer fear that assaulted her caused her trembling hands to drop the heavy pipe with a loud thud. Oh, god. She was going to be killed. Worse than that, she'd be raped before they killed her. Her breath was short and erratic as she pressed her back to the wall behind her as she crouched behind the cover of the bed, one shaking hand held against her mouth. Closing her dark eyes, she mentally slapped herself. 'Get a hold of yourself. Get that bat and the bastards aren't taking you without a fight. They'll have to kill you before you'll give them the chance to violate you like that.' Her eyes opened, revealing a determined, angry look in her eyes, the fear in them not diminished but pushed aside. Adrenaline kept her muscles twitching as she grasped the bat again, picking up the club and slowly getting her to feet, eyes glued to the door.

"Who's there? Look, whoever you are, you need to leave now. My dog is in the bathroom and he'll tear you to pieces when I let him out." She bluffed, voice only cracking mildly near the end. What a sight she must make, standing dressed only in skimpy black underwear beside her bed in the darkened room, clutching the bat in a defensive stance with her hair and eyes wild as she watched the doorway alertly. Inside, she was quivering in helpless fear, crying like a small child as she begged for mercy. But on the outside, she was ready to fight for everything she had.



OOC || I know it's a crap post. Sorreh. v.v Best I could do, my brain's slightly dead, I think.

[Dominik Conner]

but if you lose the devil gets your soul

He smirked as the light broke. Yes, yes indeed he could see too much in this dark half-light to have broken anything not on purpose or made such clamor without knowingly doing so. Tipping the lamp from it’s position on a side table he watched it shatter on the floor, his ears picking up the sounds of her moving in the bed. Shooting up and being so, no doubt, frighten by the sudden noise, he listened… intently. Tutting quietly to himself as he heard the distinct thud of a distinct item. Smirking a touch that wild, wolfish grin, he didn’t doubt that she had something of fine weight in her hands (possibly a baseball bat) that, upon spotting and on becoming in range she’d swing at him. A surreal feeling told him so and a list of experiences led him not to question that feeling. Still it was a cute thing to envision, wasn’t it? A poor, helpless girl clinging to a baseball bat and doing her best to fend off an intruder that she hadn’t any hope of… well, fending off. It was an interesting feeling to know that someone would struggle but in the end that their fight would be… nothing more then pitiful. That you could do whatever you liked with whoever you liked and no one could stop you. It was an aggressive, dominant and arrogant feeling but one he had nonetheless. He could and would do what he wanted… No one… would ever stop him. No one would ever say ‘no’. They couldn’t. And so his smirk only grew wider as he listened to her idle threats. Hearing the quiver in her voice and tasting that ‘fear’ once again. Curiosity donned… after all what would she do if her assailant knew her trick was a lie? He was in a fair mood, quite a fair mood, which would no doubt be nothing but ill for the dame. The poor creature, there was no doubt in any’s mind she hadn’t completely thought through the idea of letting a stranger home that night a time ago. Or perhaps she had, and hadn’t thought one of the ‘worse case scenarios’ would be the path that reality choose for their relationship to walk down. Mhm… After all one night stands tend to be that and alittle more. Rarely (perhaps not rarely-rarely. After all if the girl gets pregnant she does, indeed, at times…) does the patron of that one-night-stand return to the house of that one-night-stand and break in… just to toy with the other person of that ‘one-night-stand’ just to. And rarely does that person do that without something in mind. Not that he minded being a rarity. After all he found less thinking the better. Impulse was the better skill, no doubt there. In his opinion, and with his logic, anyway…

He was aware that darkness would not hide him entirely. There were, indeed, windows to the apartment and streetlights outside that cast a dim, haunting sort of lightening. Enough so that his form would no doubt he spotted as her eyes became more and more adjusted to the night… And to the ‘differences’ in the items in her household. She would recognize her furniture, and also the beast that wasn’t suppose to be there. She would in time but he didn’t give her that, impatience and also a desire for attention stroking the beast. She would notice him now. Upon seeing her come closer, the metal pipe in hand, he came forward. Slowly at first, silently and quietly, then faster, though no doubt his large frame was spotted - a darker dark among the black of the apartment. Taking her wrist (with the pummeling object) in his left hand he gripped her strongly. Evident the reason, he wanted her to drop her weapon as he continued his act seamlessly. Moving behind her, snatching her other hand and putting them behind her back he was, as he wanted to be, behind her in moments… and also out of reach of any biting or slapping or hitting, with his hands so firmly on both wrists. Pulling her closer to him, enough so that he could gently nip at her ear there was a large grin on his face… one that a person could nearly ’sense’ to be there. His voice then took on an unexpectly low, husky tone, “Woof. Woof.”

Sorry for the PP (and shortness) butttt I started to fizzle out and I wanted to at least give you something 'interesting' to reply to. =[