Thread: Monster [ Burke x Arianna  ]

Would you? Continued Arnaud with a crooked smile. I didn't realize begging was on the table. Arnaud took in his counterpart lazily, his head lolling with the drugs and pleasure, his hands mussing through the hair of whomever knelt at his feet. Those two with waterworks, and two hundred. Final offer. There's begging on the table. Confirmed the green-eyed terror, those sparkling irises stretched wide like a frog's, unnaturally dilated with the untamed mix of fluids surging through his body. Isn't there, little doll? Will you help me make a deal with this unreasonable creature? He reached again for Alexandria, taking her under the knee nearest to him in one hand, the other scooping up under her neck, squeezing fingers around the far side of her cervical spine while shoving his thumb up against the base of her skull, pushing, effectively forcing her head to turn away, her hips leaving the wood with an easy lift. His grasp was irresistible. Her upper body stayed put against the wood, but her one leg dangled mid-air, hips rotating out to face Arnaud, as did her face. Please Mr. Mansle! He shook her obscenely, forcing her body to undulate with grotesque, torturous display of power, jerking her just hard enough to make the muscles that weren't flexing quiver and sway. Please take the deal! Please be generous! His voice was a high-pitched farce, an imitation, meant to be ridiculous and demeaning. This man is evil! He'll kill me if you don't! And then you'll have a big big mess! Please, oh please Arnaud! Have mercy, do have mercy on my poor little soul! He was sloppy with intoxication, and barely paying attention to her. Arnaud's face lit up with cockeyed laughter, folding a fist over his mouth and giggling into it nervously. Hardly like you to play with your food. Scolded the older looking vampire, tut-tutting his friend. He was not privy to the level of enjoyment had here, and watched this scene play out warily. It had not gone too far. Yet. And he was nervous that it might. You don't know me that well. Countered the cruel, dark best holding Lexi hostage, who was still splayed out half-hung in the air like a desperate, crippled puppet. She's too stubborn to stay afraid. A cold eye rolled down to her, and he let her see him do it. Brave. He uttered the word like it was dirty. A deer in the headlights, is she? Everyone reacts differently to fear, of course, but patterns absolutely form, and you may well see every symptom in a given person on a long enough timeline. He knew basically what was happening here, but did not grasp the situation entirely. I'm sure you'd rather she cry. I can call for another...? It wasn't good that someone so monstrous as Arnaud was inviting Lexi away in favor of someone else, anyone else making a feeble attempt to separate the two... something hung in the air even more nerve wracking than the idea that these two had absolute plans, and it was indeed that even a situation so cold and victimizing as this was all the time spinning father and farther out of control. And admit defeat? The man with the green eyes shook his head. Under no circumstances. We're just reaching an understanding. Aren't we, pet? Instead of turning her to face him, he just shook her further, and the moment of silence stretched between them while her body rocked against the hard surface, forced to look away. She won't look at me. She could hear the pleasure in his voice, something akin to the purrs she'd heard from the transforming women, though not at all to the same degree. I think it's important that we protect these little liberties in our victims, don't you, Arnaud? Especially the ones we like. She was dropped back to the wood, but still forced to stare at the suited man across the table. His eyes were all for her face, and she could watch his arms move, feeding himself to the woman under the table endlessly. There was rustling... the man lording over her searched through something not directly attached to her, but close. Arnaud's eyes flickered over what went on outside her view with interest, calculating her odds of survival. You don't like her that much, do you? It was almost a moan, which could be attributed to the attentions he received under the table, but it certainly did not feel that way. Alexandra Stafford. Said he, now, turning her head ever-so-slowly, allowing her to watch the contents of her long-forgotten purse perused and spread across the table, a pack of gum, a few pens, a calculator, and her wallet, now in his hand. You know, it's funny. It was his turn to refuse looking at her, now, as a matter of dignity. You're the first girl in a long while I've seen bring her purse to an event like this. The word 'event' dripped with irony and implied regal distastefulness, the way you'd invite a jester to a suarez that they might pour molasses over their own heads and roll in feathers for the benefit of whomever the actual guests were. I wonder. Intelligence flashed through his face, regarding her anew, excitement flickering over his distorted face. His eyes fell on hers, and this time real interest surged from whatever lurked behind them. It was like the color in his eyes reached out in an emerald gray mist, some powdery, sentient effluvium snaking out to dance in forking streams and settle down around her. Pixie dust, effervescent, promising lips but sinking in like teeth. It was impossible not to watch. It seemed to rush her tear ducts and nose, surge in through her mouth and her ears, and the world vanished. They were alone in the dark. Tell me. He whispered in the black, his hand at the base of her skull, the other tense on her stomach, sneaking under her shirt to play at the flesh somehow the bond between them intensified when he contacted her further. The woman's head cradled in the palm of his hand, he penetrated her very being, forced his way into the fabric of who and what she was, dragging things kicking and screaming to the surface to lay them all out in a neat row for both of them to see. Tell me. He repeated, slavering intensely, expression beyond anticipation. She stung with terror, stood on a windy block just outside her highschool, stopped outside of a convenience store by a man with a knife. Gimmie the bag. He insisted, glancing nervously around, suspicious looks to the passing cars, eying the door she came out of wearily. He knew every second counted. Give it to me! He was loud, and angry. He looked like an addict. She was a strong young woman, smart, handled stress well. But the knife... it was too much. She was too young. She should know what to say. Just hand him the purse! Gimmie the fucking bag! He shouted, stepping closer, eyes wild with panic. He was more afraid than she was that's what's most terrifying, of course. Anything can happen with a junky so excited and desperate as he. His knife was dull, and short, and looked as though it were from a kitchen set. His big baggy black coat had the hood up, tied tight across his chin, saliva having dribbled and frozen in the shoelace knot he'd secured in the hopes of covering himself in lieu of a hat. What are you, retarded? He was overcompensating, yelling louder, getting angrier, bulldozing poor Lexi in sensing her fear. Dumbly, she'd held out her hand, and took a step back, offering the purse and inadvertently moving away in her shock, the two actions hadn't felt connected. Please. Was the only word she'd squeak to him throughout the entire ordeal. Fuckin' idiot. Now, the best. He snatched the purse, and in one last fleeting moment of eye contact, he considered her. His eyes wandered tip to toe, and he thought to himself, easy . He could have her shove her into his car, have a hostage, she'd play along. Maybe he'd miscalculated her as a person wholly. Or maybe, just for that moment, he was absolutely right, and she'd cave completely. Bow to his every whim, just one intimidating bellow away from compliance at any given time. She'd read the thoughts in his face and not known which was true, as she would wonder for years after the fact. It had been the most debasing experience of her life, and in trembling, allowing herself to be weighed, felt shame pure. That same shame that blossomed in her spread over into him. The man felt disgusted, and reviled at his own nature everything he'd put her through, and all the considerations he'd allowed into his head. He felt dirty. Awful. Seethed at his dank nature. His dick went limp and his bowls retracted. The man's heart shrunk altogether, perhaps permanently another notch smaller. With that, he was gone, and she was left to shiver in the January air. One spoke of being mugged after the fact, and described their pursuer as loud and holding a knife, but we tend not to detail the experience this way. There are things that register in the moment and are gone just as quickly as they appear, things we repress, details we forget, elements we cannot communicate or even name. Lexi was not one to belabor the details willingly, and after a few weeks of nightmares had successfully repressed the majority of it. The vampire returned to her field of vision, never having left, but invisible in the midst of her re-living that private pain as though she were there again, as though it were the first time. The glimmering green eyes were as overwhelming as a sunrise at first, but soon his entire face was in view, akin to a full moon, hovering untouchable in the night's sky, omniscient and immovable. He stretched her memory and wore it like a suit, wiggling into the experience in a way unfathomable, locking it away in his mind, raping her very essence and taking what he pleased with a song and a dance. He left her mind at once, and she felt completely naked. As though his power was a warming, soothing, reassuring blanket, the kind you didn't know you had on until it was removed, and one's bare skin is left vulnerable to the elements. It was not uncommon for a human to breathlessly cling and scratch, begging to have it all back, however traumatic or desperate an experience the mind-bending was. He'd rolled her easily and now frolicked out of her mind with an unearthly smile, pinning her down, holding the back of her head to the wood, his hand covering her forehead. He had apparently gathered her arms and crossed them over her breasts, holding her chest down, neither forearm able to move. He was breathing heavy, now. Heavy lidded. Drunk on yet another substance fear. She knew now, through and through, that her fear and humiliation had fed him in some unholy way. His spine shuddered and he gave a giddy wiggle, looming over her. Say it. He encouraged. Say it to me, like you said it to him. His breathing was heavier, more shallow, required more energy. Say it now. He growled, the pressure on her chest momentarily enough to take her breath away, in his shifting. The vampire straightened his legs, locking his knees, lifting his hips to Shauna, under the table. Say 'please'. The words rumbled in his chest, leaning back with heated labor, face flush with blood. He was close to orgasm. Say it or die, bitch. The words did not sound like a voice, more like a scythe dragged across a long strip of sheet metal. Red swelled around the thick black dots of his eyes, intruded on the green, and the lids widened. Say it or you'll never leave. He promised, raspy, so desperately close. A moment later, he was at his peak, and lurched forward, body spasmodically jerking forward and letting out a string of connected low moans. His hands released her, and he caught himself on the edge of the board. Oooh... He finished, unable to open his eyes. Oh my fuck... He uttered, a new sensation on him, back arching out and carrying him to crash back into his seat fully extended, curving back like someone had tied a noose around his neck and dropped back down behind his chair. That's... He panted, gripping the armrests, open-mouthed. That's the stuff.