Thread: Monster [ Burke x Arianna  ]

The next room was a smaller square room, brick walls, with a flat black table in the center, a light hanging overhead and several smaller pot lights illuminating the rest. There were small couches and loveseats lining the walls, but the table itself would be the centerpiece. Two men sat at the table. One was the owner, the other yet to be named. Arnaud Mansle was older, with white hair and big gleaming teeth to match, small of shoulder and medium height. His eyes were small and brown, his hands a bit too big for his body, with ears that jut out from his head obtusely. He wore an expensive chocolate brown suit with a beige collared dress shirt and no tie, his shoes a well-polished black Italian design. A single diamond earring decorated his left earlobe. The other man at the table was larger, six foot three, with broad shoulders and bright green eyes. His hair was black and cropped short, forearms thick and upper arms much thicker, the type of person that screams 'muscle' with a touch of ingenuity and intelligence thrown in. He was wearing a white dress shirt, pinstriped with green, rolled to the elbow and unbuttoned down to his undershirt. The pants were black, creased, nice, and his shirt tucked into a licorice black belt. He wore a low-ankle boot, steel-toed, and a nice gold Rolex watch, one ring on each middle finger. There was a board between them, money stacked on either side of it in rows, and various unrecognizable trinkets decorate the board. It was nonsense a big square of blank cardboard, the set pieces were randomized figurines of no consequence a little plastic dragon, a tiny porcelain china doll, a coin, a button, a lego man, a toy car, etc. and both men studied the board with passion, rolling the dice and taking turns moving the toys around the edges while muttering back and forth to one another. Bitches come. Spoke Arnaud softly, gesturing outwardly with cigar in hand. He struck a match, lighting the thick brown stogy cut to size, puffing in a leisurely gesture that had been put off until the entrance of the women, really more an exaggeration and display than his genuine relish in tobacco. The tip of the cigar as well as a small cigar cutter , discarded. My friend. You should enjoy. Plenty to go around, huh? The girls laughed arbitrarily, listening to his grandiose tone and when precisely he laughed really more than the words themselves. They were highly attuned to his ego, and gladly stroked it, understanding fully that men like him tend to set an example early on. This was a show, these women had been asked after, there were several but only two men. Like everything else about him, it was an accentuation. Any one you want. Arnaud grinned wide, spreading his arm, the space on his chest immediately filled with two girls, sneaking over the arm rests of the chair. When his hands came to rest, they rested on skin. He didn't even look at them. Enjoy, ah? He nodded expectantly, the man sitting opposite him slow to react, unmoved in his chair. A young lady approached the edge of the table, leaning on it demurely with a playful smirk. A tight red dress wrapped tight around her slim figure, pressing modest cleavage up and together in firm little circles on a small chest. Her breasts did not touch, couldn't reach, but the prominence of her nipples as an obvious intentional oversight as to the dress's original design made up for it. her If not quantity, then quality, the eye drawn sufficiently to her bust in compensation. It cut high enough on her thigh to threaten intimate knowledge as to whether all her underwear was left behind tonight. Hey stranger. She cooed, moving her spine with something akin to feline grace, pressing the palms of her hands on the cool wood at her back. Why so serious? I don't think he's that serious. Said another, mimicking her counterpart and resting the fleshy mounds of her tightly wrapped behind atop the hard surface. She hopped, and sat, crossing her ankles and swinging them innocently beneath her. Are you, sweetie? This girl wore a pleated, plaid schoolgirl skirt and button-down white blouse, tied in the middle, her larger, milky white breasts hanging heavy in the sling her top made. White socks pulled up to her knees, and the demure black school shoes were red like the skirt and the bow in her hair, which was all done down in pigtails. Her eyes revealed considerably more years than the outfit, however poorly, might suggest. Nahh. He's fun. Cooed another, her five inch heels, clear, with bright red furry tufts decorating the closed toe of her loud shoes. She clicked and clacked around him, laying on a hand at the base of his spine, walking the length of his collarbone and swinging around to his side, fingertips drifting back to his throat and tickling at the nape of his neck. I can tell already. Tons of fun. She wore a strapless black dress, pushup bra underneath to feed as much of her C cup as she could muster, ripples in the dress intentionally hiding the matching panties and lace girdle underneath, the ends of her black stockings peeking out whenever she lifted her thigh too high. The man spoke, addressing the women visually for the first time. His words were not for them, however, nor did them women themselves really expect them to be. While they presented, the conversation continued, the Quiet Man looking these women over in distant appraisal. Looking to win my favor, are you? Said he, looking to Arnaud with something between bemusement and disappointment. He called it an obvious tactic, but appeared ready to reap the spoils of the more aged man's offering. What's wrong with a little polish, huh? Alistair stroked the thighs of two cross-legged women, both steadying themselves on the chair back while he enjoyed luxuriated in the presence of female company. Why bother with all this if not that you may treat your friends? He grinned happily, quite pleased with himself, tugging at the ends of their skirts while he played at the sensitive flesh made available. Why if not to have these things on a whim? You always did know how to party. Replied the Stranger with a small smile, hands folded in his lap, still content to observe. His eyes, when on any specific girl's face, would bring a different expression in her every time. In lingering over one, her muscles relaxed. She would lean in, and search his face for something just outside her range of view. Then she'd move, churn, shift position, it was an odd motion impossible to associate with any known human emotion. There it was, however the female would appear taken, and in continuing eye contact was given to writhe just slightly as though uncomfortable sitting still, something reminiscent of a half-imagined dance move. It was as though she'd want to sway with him to music no-one else could hear, wanted his attention, was eager to maintain some level of contact at least. His face, calm and patient still, did not change as the girl in the red dress moved forward, away from the table. A half-step, but she neared him. He waited, speaking still This won't change anything. We must not forget our manners in times of need. Corrected Arnaud, eager to set himself in a positive light. Without respect we are no different from the Ferals. It is tradition and honor that sets us apart. His short fingers delve between the warm flesh of the two prostitutes' crossed thighs, both taken with surprise but neither interested in raising a stink. They obliged by spreading out for him, the Asian girl in a deep purple mini skirt and matching belly top swallowing her pride a little easier. Her counterpart, in a denim short skirt frayed white at the ends and a white baby tee with a red heart over her prominent chest looked away, cheeks burning, unused to group situations. Of course. Raised eyebrows from the quieter man, drawing the girl with the red dress close enough that she could reach out and touch him. And she did. Not without permission. He corrected with a voice that curled around the words like velvet, teasing reprimand with a note of seriousness at the core. She took the hint and withdrew her hand, standing awkwardly at his side, dazed. The man's eyes turned to the young lady in the mock schoolgirl uniform, and her face changed upon finding his eyes longer than nine or ten seconds. It was as though a switch had been flicked, and she blinked, dopey with interest and unable to look away. The girl in the red dress hovered, impatiently waiting to be addressed. He did, and she took a sudden hopeful breath, but longed yet more with a pout when he returned to the smaller blonde in the colorful outfit. I can't think of a single thing in the world that could make this night better. The guest of honor let his words trail off at the end, hinting. Arnaud grinned wide, and reached into a drawer in his end of the table. Of course. With a flourish he withdrew a yellow velvet cloth, thick, and rolled into a cylinder. Unraveled it revealed a few individually wrapped syringes, a block of what looked like shrink-wrapped tea leaves, a spoon, a small bundle of medical tubing, a pack of cotton swabs, scissors, and a small collection of silver trinkets. There were two liquid containers in the roll as well, neither labeled one white and partially transparent, the other black and opaque. When the cold man's eyes left the second girl, the third backed away, unappreciative of what she saw in the other two's faces. They were limp and vacant, fixated on him, unable to keep from stretching, shuffling their feet, arching their backs and rolling their heads in minute but cumulatively notable motions. At a glance you would say they were standing still, but in watching for a small amount of time you'd see how impatient and uncomfortable they seemed to feel. Arnaud packed a silver trinket, a generous wad of drugs, a squirt of water and a dollop of liquid animal stimulant into his large metal spoon. The matchbox he'd drawn from to light his cigar now produced flame underneath the spoon, cooking up the substance over the span of four matches total, bubbling by the end, the silver trinket having actually dissipated and swirling an effervescent gray in the solution. Silver. Commented the Asian woman, smaller, with blue-streaked white hair. She looked inquisitive, unmoved by the mesmerized women on the opposite end of the table. How did you melt it? The compound in this, it breaks down the silver. Changes the atomic composition. You believe that shit? Arnaud's harsh french accent ground out the words in a way that did not feel natural to him or anybody else. You shoot that? She inquired, further. Doesn't it...? I'm not gonna shoot it. Arnaud corrected, and pointed to the quiet one on the other end of the table. She looked. It'll kill us to shoot it direct. Clarified the stranger, raising his eyes to meet hers. She gave a surprised sigh after tense silence, then hung in the balance. But someone like you... The Asian leaned to crawl across the table, but Arnaud had her by the elbow. He'd dropped a large cotton swab in with the stuff, and drew two short sweeps with the needles to fill either a fifth of the way with swirling purple fluid. He pulled the small woman into his lap, who grunted with displeasure, looking to the hypnotist for clarification. You do whatever the nice man says. Soothed the younger looking man, nodding his agreement to her. What. Ever. She seemed to understand, and turned to face Arnaud, straddling his thighs and allowing him to strap the rubber tourniquet around her right arm. A little spurt of liquid jumped out the end of his needle, and he pushed it into her arm. Like that. He motioned to the girl in the red dress, who recovered the needle and elastic for him, eager to move into his lap. The schoolgirl looked like someone had snatched her candy, but he smiled, and so did she a second later. You're for dessert, my darling. I can't fill up on just this. He motioned to the rail thin woman in his lap, and motioned to his belt buckle. If you wouldn't mind. She tore open his pants, unbuckled his belt and freed him under her aching thighs, immediately under cover of her body the second he could be. She shuddered while he strapped her with the surgical tubing and struck out a vein by tapping, pushing his needle into her and emptying its contents into her blood stream. She gasped when he undid the knot, and her heart carried the liquid through her arteries and into the brain. She moaned, and eyes twitched unnaturally. Ohh... She groaned, staring off into space, lurching in a way that looked altogether unhealthy. They struck. The two male vampires latched onto the throats of their respective mates, and the women cried out in ecstasy as their blood formed shimmering hot pools in the respective mouths, eagerly gulped down and replaced with more free-flowing essence. Both men grew erections instantly, the excess fluid diverted there directly, the writhing prostitute on either side realizing their situations and yielding to the familiar press of a growing man on instinct. The nameless one shuddered hotly, and Arnaud drank in an uglier, more insistent way, the blood vessels on either women standing out remarkably their veins jumped from their skin and changed color, pressing out in worrying purples and blues as the apparently volatile fluid caused a reaction and thickened inside them. Their eyes turned yellow. The women's mouths opened, jaws wide, staring at the ceiling in unkempt revelation, their bodies devouring the now maturely still members underneath and calling out wordlessly while their jaws overextended and larger teeth pushed at their gums, splitting them in their mouths, replacing flat human teeth with long, cruel fangs. The smaller teeth faded into the mouths they lived in, appeared to assimilate into the gums, cannibalized by the body in the shifting of bone structure beneath the skin. A new tone found their screams, and the howls carried two notes one deep, the other hauntingly high-pitched. The vampires drank greedily, inhaling the blood, the drugs, the trace elements of silver, the animal stimulant... It was a potent mix, and Arnaud was seen to blink lazily while finishing out his deep drink from his writhing werewolf cocktail, grinding her down at the ribs to bounce the small twitching body at his base. The women were shifting, right there on top of the vampires, reacting to the silver and changing partially on the spot, a million miles away as their bodies fed blood, drug and sexual dependencies simultaneously.