| Infiltrating Beowawe |
[17 Nov 2005|12:18am] |
The metal was cold beneath her. Each jarring movement of the van reinforced how rigid it all was; their modus operandi and mission as perfunctory as they were systematic. The Scourge found no pleasure in what they attempted, and neither did they feel pity. The scents of urine and fear still clung to the air; remnants of the cruelty the Scourge had shown their captives.
Rhiannon was unaffected by it. She sat with her spine against the wall and her heels braced hard, guarding against the bumps and swerves that tried to overturn her. The Eye of Brahma was still in her hand. In the narrow shafts of light that penetrated the van's otherwise dark interior, she could see the gem's nuances. All the ways it shined and shimmered, and just how special it was.
When the demon across from her shifted, Rhiannon's eyes searched him out. Fingers tightened into a vise around the diamond, and the message to him was clear. Touch it and I'll kill you.
The three demons opposite sneered at their passenger. One kept his hand on the pistol holster at his hip, despite Hannibal's orders to treat their guest with respect. While she held the key to their salvation, the eradication of humanity from a world they planned to reclaim, the Scourge had no intention of underestimating this one.
An elbow jabbed into the soldier at the woman's look. Their enclosed quarters made things uncomfortable at best, the taste of victory so close at hand. A wrong move and it could come undone.
As the van slowed on gravel, the bumps became more severe. They were no longer on the main roads, and only the ghostly light from the car's headlamps and the stars sighing over the desert illuminated their path.
The second leaned towards the third and whispered, a guttural and obscene chatter, which brought another look to their passenger -- and a snort of laughter.
Demonic ears should've picked up on Rhiannon's teeth grinding together. In the corner of her eye, she could see the faint outline of a firearm one carried. A vivid imagination told her how his metacarpals would sound, snapping back over his hand when she took his gun. Opening fire on each in turn, between the eyes or in the mouth. She could finger paint with what was left of their brains.
That was probably true without the bullet holes.
A final snort on their behalf decided things for her. She didn't go for the weapon. But then again, the boot heel at the end of an outstretched leg could do a lot of damage, grinding testicles against that unrelenting floor. "I didn't hear you."
( Scrapping in the Van )
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| Nothing Beats a Beatdown |
[17 Nov 2005|12:48am] |
"That's right, Mr. Rodriguez. Your appointment's at 10:00 tomorrow morning. Uh-huh, right. Yeah, I'll see you then."
Jill hung up the phone with a sigh, rubbing her forehead as she took another sip from her mug--a mug that now stored a literally endless supply of blood. And not just any blood, either...that of her sire-to-be, Victoria.
Least, that's what Elfleda had led Jill to believe, but if the Corruptress was lying about the blood, it was a damn convincing lie. Everything about the blood screamed Victoria: the taste, the smell, the texture, the way it positively hummed as it worked its way through the lawyer's veins. In a lot of ways, it made the fact that Jill couldn't track the vampiress down or research her captors easier to bear.
She still wasn't happy about it, but she figured pissing off Elfleda would be a bad idea. And after run-ins with Katherine and Rhiannon, the lawyer wasn't really too keen on pissing people off.
The lawyer was, however, about getting back to court cases. It was pretty much all she could do at the moment, so she sat at her desk, at 7:00 in the evening, thumbing through the file of a client up on six murder charges. Man allegedly killed his whole family, which made Jill all the more willing to take the case.
She just didn't enjoy the paperwork.
When Quinn finally got back from doing her research, the message light was blinking away on her answering machine. She played both messages back a couple of times, making note that Devon said he was poking around Vegas again and that she'd have to call him back to let him know what she'd learned.
Jill's message left her so annoyed that she played it back more than twice, then deleted Devon's message and popped the tape out of the machine to replace it with a new one. She was going to have to do something about that bitch. She was sick of it now; the attitude, the threats, the...the everything.
She waited for a couple of hours, then dialed the familiar number, hoping she hadn't been call-blocked yet. "My severed head, hmm?" she muttered. "We'll see. We'll fucking see."
( Screw the network! )
( If a squirrel and a bitch fought, who would win? )
( How much of that did you see? )
"Y'all have a nice night," she muttered, forcing herself not to limp as she headed down the hallway herself. That was another rule for dealing with bullies; you never let them see how bad you might be hurt. Otherwise, they'd be on you like a pack of dogs.
Her head hurt. Her nose throbbed. There was a cut on the inside of her mouth, and she could taste her own blood trickling down her throat every time she swallowed. But she held herself upright as she punched the elevator button. She could deal with her injuries later. Until then, never let them see you limp.
Never.
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| Love Comes Crashing |
[17 Nov 2005|10:49pm] |
It was the middle of the night when they came for him and Joseph assumed the worst. He figured that this snatch and grab in the middle of the night was a result of his scheming with Kael, and he was preparing himself for whatever came next.
He stumbled briefly as they hauled him across the ground, and fought back the groan of pain rising in the back of his throat. The demons weren't exactly being gentle. It was hard for him to see where was going, given that it was the dead of night and his eyes hurt as it was. Lack of sleep was taking its toll.
Joseph's clothes hung differently than they had when he had first been grabbed. Hipbones jutted out from his layer of skin and his collarbone stood out more. Any place that had bone just beneath the surface was accentuated in a way; a clear sign he wasn't eating properly.
His hair hung in loose, limp strands across dull brown eyes that, in spite of the change in coloring, attempted to look around for any clue as to where he was going or the reason behind the sudden grab. There had to be a reason. He hadn't pissed any of the demons off just recently, so it wasn't like he was heading into a box. Something that Joseph was grateful for.
He had already asked a question and received a grunt in response. Joseph knew the demon was barely holding back from hitting him, but one more hit wasn't going to kill him.
It would hurt, but Joseph already did hurt. It seemed a permanent state of being right now. It was something he could deal with. He stumbled again and this time, the demon's grip tightened to a near bruising force. Joseph hissed a breath in through his teeth.
Eventually his destination became clear. A shack had come into view, and Joseph couldn't help but notice the demon presence around the shack. He had to wonder what he had done to possibly garner all this attention.
As the seemingly endless seconds dragged by, Rhiannon was grateful to be alone. There wasn't anything in the world that could've prepared her for how it felt to wait for him. Not even the 62 days that had passed since he was taken. 62 days spent aching for his voice, his eyes, his hands, his smile.
Him.
There was nothing Rhiannon wouldn't do for Joseph. Not much she hadn't already done, just to bring her to that shack in Beowawe. And if he looked, it would be there for Joseph to see.
At the end of the road, she was Rhiannon and yet not. Elfleda would've called it infusing her with sin, but it was more that the rest of her was stripped away. She was raw. Visually there were differences. A layer of grime covered the black clothes. Skin was unhealthily pale. Dark circles made her eyes seem deeper set.
But most of the change was in the way she moved, as if restless at all times, barely holding onto her restraint. A physically stronger yet undeniably wounded animal that lashed out lethally at anything that came close.
Rhiannon clung to the diamond that meant so much. Her dirty and chipped fingernails scratched across the planes and angles of its black surface. Memorizing the shape of it. She didn't open her eyes until she heard them coming.
Three sets of footsteps. Two lumbering and sure, and one that staggered across the dirt. She got up and turned, and crammed the gem into her pocket. It wasn't for him to worry about how she'd gotten there. What she'd bartered away to save his life. She didn't care.
Rhiannon's eyes were on the door, and then on the shadows that blotted away the light underneath. Her heart was in her throat, pumping wildly despite the cold sensation in her face, as if all the blood had drained away.
( Demons and Martyrs )
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