| Bleed |
[10 Nov 2007|09:58pm] |
Las Vegas was a hotbed of activity, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Name your poison and you could find it within spitting distance of the strip. All seven deadly sins could be accomplished between sun-up and sunset, and there was always someone at the ready to lend a helping hand. Sometimes even for free.
The abandoned warehouse wasn't. It cost a small fortune to acquire the dank, secluded building off the Boulder Highway, north of Henderson. She needed a place where revved engines drowned out screams. A perpetual twilight facility, one where vampiric eyes could see, and blind their prey with the absence of natural light. Floorboards so rotten that the wrong step could trip up a hapless, currently chained-up Slayer into the basement. The threat of a broken neck just amped up the overall terror.
Terror. Deanna was all about terror. For so long they'd been adversaries, the brunette and redhead. Slayer versus vampire. Locked in combat outside of soup kitchens, dark alleys. Only when their mutual survival was threatened had they established a temporary truce, a necessary evil.
She sized up Rhiannon. Licked her lips. Game and set to the vampire.
The floor was hard and it scratched. That much Rhiannon could tell just by sliding her cheek. The movement was hidden under her hair. She had a lot of it, dark and thick and sheltering. Beneath its cover she stayed long after she awoke. There wasn't much past the pain of electrocution she remembered. But she knew the instant consciousness returned that her wrists and ankles were heavy, and that meant she was shackled, in somebody's keep. Her eyes opened a sliver and showed her it was dark. Her fingers moved and told her the floor was wood and it smelled earthen. Her mouth was dry.
She waited another hour, because the minute a captive came around, torture started. That's how she'd done it with Collins. Rhiannon wanted to pick when it started. She wanted to be well and truly awake when it did.
She didn't bother wondering who was behind this. It was obvious, or so she thought. Deanna, by way of Victoria.
Rhiannon was as quiet as a mouse, even when company came. She let herself get good and angry. She stroked the rotten floor with a fingertip, thinking about how to get a good chunk out of it later, how to hide it between her palms. Let that redheaded bitch get close enough to bite her, and then poof. Dust. She'd probably starve to death afterwards, but it'd be worth it.
"Coward," she growled.
( Make it scream for me )
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