crawl on me sink into me die for me

skinner | monster first, vampire second

[lrivkin]

"That was before she flipped the switch, Tommy." She heaves out a sigh, watches him as he circles her - but she makes no move to break the pattern, simply sitting and waiting for him to make his big show, make his big play. It's coming. It has to be.

She sucks in, clicking her tongue against her teeth as she does so -- This man.. Lara wants nothing more than to remove his blackened heart from the cavity in his chest, but she'd promised. It's not hers, it's Birdie's win. It's Birdie's life.

"Not a problem." Very much a fucking problem. She leans forward, glances over to where Birdie's hiding and then turns her attention back to grabbing her phone out of her pocket - cracked screen and all. Instead of dialing the number herself, she slides it to the middle of the table.

"There. She'll answer if it's my number."

[wretchedsums]

"You want me to call her? Announce that I'm here? From your number?" That's either cold or devious, but it makes his face go sly then, because he feels like there's an angle here - one he's maybe missing. He walks over to the door, puts a hand on it like he's feeling for the heat of a fire on the other side.

Then he locks the door - from the inside.

"Makes me wonder - but for why? So unattached you wanna give me her teeth like trophies but you won't set up an ambush? That math ain't mathin' Rivs."

He steps back to the table, and picks up a glass - no liquor, just ice, and eyes it for a second. "You know - took a lot of doing, getting my hands on this thing." He pulls a knife out of his jacket - nothing new, or flashy, or modern - it's something very old looking. "But I'm assured it is... just absolutely nightmarish for Vampires. Real hardcore witch shit. You know what werewolf bites do to us? All of that, but none of the dead. I want her to know that it's me who gets to put the quit in her, yeah?"

He turns it, sheath and all, over in his hands. "But it occurs to me - any witch trying to hock this kinda shit - hardly seems trustworthy right? So how about - I call Birdie, but only after I figure out if this thing works a advertised.

Before he's even got that last word out, he lunges, the old athame leaving its leather envelope and lashing out for her. He feels it bite into something drag on skin and bone, before he brings it back inwards and he's on her again, pinning her up to the wall, pushing the knife edge into her cheek. "That hurt? It's about to hurt worse." He presses the blade in again, drags it down her brow, over her eye. Along her cheek. "What should I send in the text, Lara? What piece of you'd look best on a fucking OLED, hm? Maybe that other pretty eye? Hm? Maybe an ear, yeah? Maybe your fuckin' nose, hm? You feel that sick in you already? That's wolf spit putting you in your god damned place."

He stares into the CCTV camera in the corner of the office. "Birds, hear her screaming for you? Don't that tickle the pickle a little bit? Make ya think of Santa Barbara?" He redoubles his grip on Lara. "I wrote this fucking playbook, Lara."

—

minutes previous...

Birdie's got her arms folded over. Something about seeing him - knowing he's this fucking close. That SHE is this fucking close, makes her feel electric fast and sloth slow all at once. She knows the signal. 'Silver'. That'll be the queue.

There's a sort of twinge somewhere in the back of her mind, listening to how well Lara's selling that's she willing to throw her under a bus. It makes her lip curl. Lara's given her the run of the camera room for the evening, even if the club itself isn't closed.

So it comes as a surprise when the door opens. She turns just in time for a set of knuckles to drag across her face - thick with the scent of Vervain as she feels her skin tear under the glamour.

Birdie feels her chin hit the ground and feels teeth snap through the meat of her tongue for the trouble, and she's almost up to her knees before she feels wood bite into her back, feels it peel just to the side of her heart before someone catches a fistful of her hair and hauls her up by it before pummeling her again, one, two, three, times.

"Get her up. Deac says she gets too froggy just dust her."

Another vampire pushes a stake-loaded shogun to her back shoulder. "He says he wants you to see this."

The other one pulls her swaying face up, lands a few more heavy cracks against it, then holds her there, making sure she can't take her eyes off the screen.

[lrivkin]

"She's not wrapped around my finger." Used to be, hasn't been for quite some time now. Lara heaves out a sigh and leans back, getting comfortable in her seat. This has to go well. It has to be the end of this fucking nightmare. "Besides, her deal with you is her deal with you -- I have no part of it."

She starts strong, but Skinner continues, and it's all Lara can do to keep her face taut and at least somewhat unaffected. She gestures for him to go ahead and smoke if he likes, and rubs her fingers together under the table - a nervous tic more than anything.

Birdie is here somewhere, not too far away, waiting for her moment. But there's always a chance someone fucks something up. She just hopes it's not her. "..but if the cost of doing business with you makes me a part of it, then so be it. I assume you'd like proof? How about the silver in her mouth?"

[wretchedsums]

"Pft, Bullshit." he sneers. "Saw how she looked at you, that night at No Man's Land. She is whipped, Whoo-PSH." He mimics a whipcrack as he paces the room. It's a nice office. He can see himself enjoying it.

Lara explains herself, and he takes a long drag as her circles back, sitting sidelong on the desk, staring down at her as she offers him - what, a trophy? Help? He laughs. "Damn, I gotta respect that kind of commitment to neutrality. But, no, no, naw, sweetheart. No need to get that pretty face of your stuck in the mud. Let me handle her, I got her number."

She smiles, and its carrying the weight of his confidence in it. "Got something real nice, put her down, real quick. In fact, why don't you get her down here now? Bing bang boom, get this loose end tied up and we can discuss the future without looking over our shoulders, hm?" He narrows his eyes at her. "Unless that's... a problem?"

[lrivkin]

"I know what's good for business, Tommy." Lara gives him her own leveled sneer - as if to say she's doing this because she has to, because it works, not that she wants to. It's about as good as it'll be, and it's better than trying to act out some sort of bullshit heel-turn. He'd smell that a mile away.

She leans forward when he sits and drums her fingers on the table, "They were hard line because for the same reason they're now gone. I know what I'm doing, I know how we can make an extra buck and funnel it back into the Cabaret. I scratch your back and all."

Lara stares at him, maybe a little too long, trying to figure out if he's nervous, if he's going to make some sort of move.. But she's been out of practice reading him for decades now.

"Have your drink. Relax, it's just business, right?"

[wretchedsums]

"I don't know, I feel like we got a pretty big fuckin' elephant to talk about before we call anything just business, Lara. A big blonde one with sad fuckin' eyes that's been squeezing my nuts in a vice for about a half a year now. That you had wrapped around your fuckin' lil finger, or so I'd thought."

He stands up, takes the drink he's offered - sniffs it for good measure - just liquor. He drinks it. "Bitch is gunnin' for me over a bad deal for seven years now, whole lot of something over a little nothing, and she's managed to get Nsilo turned on me, and Reardon folks. The stiffs over at Pretorius won't give me the time of day, and the Lomidzes? What the fuck am I even gonna do with that fuckin' pretzel of a family. So you see why somebody suddenly wantin' to play ball, it, uh, it sets my hair on end."

He reaches into his jacket, fishes around, pulls out a pack of cigarettes. "You mind?" He doesn't wait for an answer, lighting up before tossing the pack onto the desk. "I cut you in on my shit, you get her done with. I don't know where she found the spine all the sudden, but, heh, I'm gettin' a lil worried, Rivkin."

[wretchedsums]

satin cabaret

who: @lrivkin

VIP area here is always quiet, but it's especially quiet tonight, because this is business. Good business, if the night goes well, and finally the leg up he needs.

Because boy, does he need it.

"Surprised you're down for this, Lara - given uh, our last meeting, and the fucking months of fucking stone silence and, you know. Mutual involvements."

The smirk he wears is half-joking, half-sniveling. "But you know, glad you're open to sensible discussion."

He's a little nervous, because his normal backup isn't here - she isn't anywhere. It makes him feel very exposed, and makes his nose twitch because he smells a rat. But that's a problem to deal with once the two of them have this sorted out.

He takes his seat, eyes a drink laid out before him. "So, change of heart, why? Guy and gal before you were pretty hard line, it seemed."

[birdieofprey]

2018, august

The buzz hurts more than the actual needle these days - but only for a few moments - it doesn't take long for it to get lost in the dull haze of dissociative uncaring she spends most of her waking life floating through.

Besides, needles are far from a concern anymore.

Her hands grip at the back of the chair as she sits on it backwards, feeling something etching into the skin of the back of her neck. Maybe she's sweating because it hurts. Maybe it's just hot out here in the desert. Maybe it doesn't matter.

"You did good." The Artist says. "Keep doing that maybe he lets you go out more."

She doesn't say anything, because what would she say? Something hits a nerve and she jerks, just so, tongue rolling in her mouth, constantly exploring what still ranks as new and unfamiliar geometry; broken teeth patched together, gaps filled with silver and amalgam. Her jaw hasn't set right for months, giving the whole of her face a crooked feel to match the way it looks.

"He treats people good, when they behave for him," The Artist says. "No muss, no fuss."

Birdie turns her head to look up into her face, feels the burn at her neck for a moment for the effort, and then goes back to looking at the floor, dirty with dirt and sand and grit and dark stains - weird, disgusting grit that creates a sort of disgusting paisley on an unclean floor.

Off to one side she catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror and it's like she's having an out of body experience. She knows she should be sad, or horrified, or worse. But she' got nothing. Nothing in her at all, it's burnt out by needles, tattoo or otherwise.

A door opens behind her and she tenses when she sees him in the mirror. He talks like she isn't there. Something about making a run. Something about needing more people.

"Bring her," she hears him say. "People upstairs aren't picking her anymore, say she depresses the shit out of them, or when they do she just lies there like a fuckin' board. And I'm tired of feeding her and her habits for free. We'll see what she can do out there tonight, and dump her if she can't take it."

She doesn't move, or speak, or anything in response. When she feels his hand run its fingers through her hair, though, she winces, wondering if its coming again, but then he just offers a thumb-stroke on her cheek before he stalks out of the room, and she feels the breath swell out of her when the door closes.

[wretchedsums]

2018, november

"Birdie, shut the fucking van door, you're gonna get us pulled over."

He knows she isn't catching feelings now. She knows what happenes when she catches feelings. decides she's above all this.

"Shut. The door. And sit. The fuck down."

She looks at him, then turns her head to the highway rushing down outside, into the ravine they're driving alongside, to the two whimpering pieces in the back of the van. It clicks. "Don't you fuckin' dare."

He stands, and he's on her in a blink, fingers threaded like screw-tread around her throat. "You wanna fucking eat pavement? You think you'll survive a bit of fucking roadrash long enough that we can't stop this fucking box and catch up to you? You think you deserve something that they don't? I fucking own you."

He slams her to the ground, and her face is already going strange colors as her eyes bug under the pressure of his grip. The road rushes by beneath her, just a few feet away, like a belt sander.

"You wanna see what'll happen?" He says - because she has to learn. He slides her out, so the wind catches her hair, lowers her, closer, closer closer. "You think you've got the stone to do it, Birdie? Take the pain?"

She's yelping apologies, or trying to - they're really only escaping as airy hisses around the grip of his vampiric strength. She pulls at his hands, and her eyes, bugging, pour tears as he watches her lips pale over.

"You don't get to leave." He says, before pulling her back into the van, throwing her hard across the floor, until her head thuds with a dull empty sound against the inside of the van and he slams the door shut.

"Get the fuck up, and sit the fuck down."

Skinner moves back to the front of hr seat when he hears it, over the din of the vehicle. But he doesn't turn quick enough, and he feels something he hasn't felt in fifty years;

Teeth sinking into the side of his throat.

[birdieofprey]

2018, may

The needle digging into her feels like nothing at this point, or not like nothing, but doesn't hurt. The woman digging needles into her is a vindictive monster, and as she lies there, face down on a table, having God only knows what etched into her back, she tries not to think about what she's done to earn this so-called privilege.

She can't even protest, because her jaw hurts too much to open.

She feels her fingers dig into the underside of the table when the needle passes over skin that's too thin over the bone. A door opens and she can't see who comes in, but the voice makes it apparent, and so she just screws her eyes shut.

"Havin' fun?" His voice echoes over the buzz of the needle gun. "Oh, sick."

"Bored." The Artist says.

"She giving you any more trouble?"

"No."

"You done with that piece?"

"Done enough, I can finish it later."

"Cool, take five, I wanna chat."

The door closes and she feels him close, winces and tries to pull away when his thumb pulls her eye open. "Hey there. You know what you did?"

Birdie doesn't answer, but she does let out a shout when he takes her hair up in his hand and pulls her free from the table. "You broke my things. That's my job. You don't get to break my things, and then you try to leave? No no. Nobody leaves unless I tell them they can leave. And you are never gonna leave"

He smashes her head back down onto the table, and the thunder in her already broken jaw is enough to make her vision go gray and too bright, but then she hears the buzz of the gun again as his hand pushes hair off of her cheek and holds it there.

"I was gonna give you what you wanted. Put you out of your misery, man, I was so pissed, but that'd be letting you win, I think. So I'm gonna make sure you remember now why you're still here. Give you something you can't wash off."

The buzz gets closer and closer and closer and then she feels it in her cheek. His hand is so strong, no amount of struggling can push off of it. "Shh sh. Stop. Stop." Don't wanna hit your eye, do we?"

It doesn't take long, but every second of it fucking hurts like a drill boring into her cheekbone. Lying there on the table, hot fire on her cheek, she bites into the ragged cotton in her mouth, and that hurts too. The door opens again. It's the woman.

"Jesus fucking christ, Deac' That is fucking ugly, what am I supposed to do about that."

"I don't fucking care, you'll figure it out. I've gotta go get somebody to clean up her fucking mess. Finish your playtime, put somebody on her to watch; give her the good shit so she doesn't hurt so much. And get somebody in to fix her teeth; nobody likes looking at that."

[wretchedsums]

2018, november

"Yeah, we're on the 101 right now. Naw. Just two. The missus is too old to do anything with. The other two'll be worth effort, though."

He hangs the phone up, continues sucking blood out of the older woman's throat. The only other sounds are the faint, begging whimpers of the other two tied up, trying not to look at the state of the third passenger as she slumps lifeless against their captor.

His eyes drift to Birdie while he's teeth-deep in the woman's neck. Eyes the gun she has sitting level at the other two while she stares a hole through the two of them.

"Bird. Hey. Earth to Bird."

He gets her attention after a moment, and she stares up at him. "Yeah," she says.

Skinner throws the shallow-breathing heap of a woman to the floor of the van, nods his head towards the coastal cliff rushing by outside of the van. 'Dump her, would you."

Birdie eyes the dying woman, looks back to their other two captives, and then looks at him, and he sneers. "Do it, we don't need to keep her."

She doesn't move, just stares, and so he stands, stepping over the woman and grabbing her by the shoulder and flinging her out of her seat. "I tell you do somethin', you do it. Open the fucking door and dump her, Birdie."

He watches her then, pick herself off the floor of the cargo van and swing the door wide open, letting the wind into the cab. He sneers when sticks her head out, briefly, to make sure there's no traffic behind or in front and then when she pulls the woman to the edge and her hand numbly paws at Birdie's face while she mumbles something that's either more begging or appeals to humanity that's not to be found here, he smiles. "C'mon, do it and close the door, s'cold in here."

Skinner finds his seat again and cranks the music up, then he sits back and watches as she kicks the body out, letting it topple down the coastal cliff side opposite the highway.

[wretchedsums]

2018. november.

"You know what to do."

"Yeah."

"S'go make papa proud, then," he says, pushing the clump of fabric into her hands. Hands wrapped in ink take it from him, turn it around in hands peppered with the phantoms of knicks and cuts and bruises and too many tiny horrible icons etched in indigo ink. Her eyes crawl up to his and he stares into them, dismissive of the hestation he finds there.

"Aw no, none of that," he says, stroking the back of his hand along her cheek before it spins to take her cheeks up in his thumb and forefinger. "Think about what you're doing for me. For them. This is your freedom, Birds. Do this and you can be one of us. Get a piece of the whole damn pie. Live forever."

His eyes crawl all over her face in that moment, the face he'd built. Not that pretty shivering little thing from SoCal. Annoying resilient, this one had been, and who knows how many times he'd considered just… ripping her neck out, or giving her something to really pout about before he snatched the life up out of her. But look at her now. Wicked little thing; He'd taken some little designer dog and turned it into a trained dog, all mange and nicked ears. Ugly. He did love breaking pretty things.

He watches her pull the black mask on on the way over like an executioner's hood, listens to the way her heart thunders in her chest, amplified to absurd rhythms by drugs and anxiety and an all consuming fear of what fucking this up could look like. He sneers as he watches her pull a revolver from the pocket of the coat and checked it for bullets, can practically feel her playing with the idea of turning it on him, or the driver, or maybe herself. She won't though.

No compulsion needed, because she's not brave enough for that. She'd have done it already if she were.

"Alright, kids. Show me how much you all wanna be a part of things." The black van door slides open and a throng of them flood out, and Skinner follows behind, watching a few fan out, going around the sides of the house. He watched them smash the door knob off and file in, flipping the sparker on an old lighter to pass the time before he sparked the tip of an old cigarette.

It's Birdie who brings a guy back to the threshold, gun pressed to his head, a trickle of blood streaming down the side of his face from up beyond his hairline. "Invite him in." She says, pushing the gunbarrel into his temple. Skinner watches her eyes bounce between him and her hostage. Hesitation sees her thumb pull the revolver's hammer back. "Invite him in or it's your fucking brains on the fucking wall and then I go get your wife."

"Hi," Skinner grins apologetically, his face almost splitting in half with how many teeth the expression showed. "I'd listen to her, this bitch is… phew, crazy. I might be your last hope."

"…C-c-come in." He says.

Skinner nods with a little too much glee, crushing the cherry of his smoke between his fingers before tucking it behind his ears and stepping across the threshold. "Thank you," he says before taking in the beautiful home. Wine country. Isolated. Big. They have a couple other stops to make tonight before the long haul that sees them vanish back into the desert.

He spreads his arms wide as he steps down into the den, the rest of his little clan-to-be shoving their selection of hostages down stairs and into place. Meat for the grinder. Raw product. Reinforcements. He examines the hostages, walking in front of them, all lined up like it's boot camp.

“The guy’s useless to me.” He says, turning back to Birdie.

There’s a pop and a spray and a thud and then the ghosts of screams, but hands clamp down over mouths and arms wrestle themselves around necks to tamp down the spirit of rebllion. Skinner looks at Birdie's eyes, pupils big enough to hide the color of her eyes, looking at the crumpled heap in front of her, blood all over her face. She tries to wipe at it, but it only smears into a ruddy stain.

Skinner nods. “Score one for feminism,” he barbs before turning back to the rest of the family, leaning into each of them, peering an authoratative stare into each of them with a predatory eye. “Shh. Not a peep until I say so.”

[killvrinstinct]

        skinner really is nothing like nsilo. it doesn’t watching him sell himself like this any less of a masterpiece, carefully crafted with rips at every edge. it’s stunning, actually, to see the contrast. it makes them wonder if fifty years is long enough to have fought for the clan before, if skinner’s come for a reason. they all come together to form another long list of questions that, clearly, they can’t ask him at the first meeting. they file them away for later, but it’s what they truly want. truth, information, there’s a safety in that that money can’t provide, nor whatever sense of protection he boasts for himself. in either direction, she imagines it’ll take time to earn their way inside. vera’s not expecting to be let in the house from the cold without earning it first.

        they smile, letting the smallest scrap of amusement slip through.  “ well, then, i thank you, for your faith in me. ”  thankfulness is not one bit what they feel as his words crawl atop her skin, leaving a disgusting grime. they’re not sure what makes more sense: that they’re supposed to buy it, or be terrified?  “ i understand better then to disappoint you. ”

        people like us. they do accept the token, and understand, deeply, the sense he makes. they’ve already thought about it. where the vampirism brings instincts, it’s just another thing to learn how to control. but the immortality is something they’ve never once thought of. vera adjusts, sitting back in their chair.  “ is that it, then? or, do you have something in particular you’re looking for, now? ”

[wretchedsums]

Skinner leans forward and clips a pen out of some recess in his jacket, swipes a napkin, and gingerly scratches out a set of numbers. "You need for something - money, info, people, you need somebody to move a body or someone disappeared, feel free. You just sink yourself into Kanemaru's good graces as best you can. Anybody new shows up, you call that too. You're my little spycam, kind of."

His teeth flash a needle's smile. Canary in the coal mine, more like.

"I take care of people, it's what I do. Get down, all the way down, into the dirt, so other people don't have to. It's my giving nature."

[cursedholloway]

She's alone... as alone as someone who's constantly tormented by someone dead asshole can be, and the cemetery is peacefully quiet while she walks to her car. It's been weird days since the grave robbery, she's not seen much of Nikko around here and the night drags longer, quieter.

So when she hears someone call her name, Eliza turns sharply towards it, a jump on her movement as her hands move up to her chest and her magic stirs within her.

The frown that grows on her face is immediate, and she takes an instinctive step back, away from him. As if there was a warning coming off of him telling her to stay away.

"What kind of business? Because I'm not sure I'm interested." She answers dryly. Gripping her phone tighter. Calling her brother crosses her mind. Or Riley. "Who're you again?."

[wretchedsums]

"I'm a man of no consequence," he says with an earnest smile, dressed down in his congenial best. "A prospective customer, if you are who I hope you are. I get it, it's random, short notice, weird. But I know what you are, what you can do, at least I think I do — and I have a... well, a problem that requires a special touch, if word is true."

His hands don't fall, still up in surrender. "Genuinely, just here to pay you for goods and services rendered, no funny business."

[killvrinstinct]

        they have met castillon. it’s not hard to connect the dots. keeping secrets from the clan representative and runner of the shit-pot leads to an unfortunate end, they see his angle. better to keep these things separate, then. the teahouse, casino, and the council. they’re not anywhere close, right now, it doesn’t mean vera feels any safer, per se.

        something doesn’t feel right, it’s too plain a deal, with no real weight. a show of trust, sure, but they don’t know enough about them, he’s as new as she is. their head tilts, a small bit of interest inviting a slight furrow into vera’s brow.  “ what are your take-ins? ”  for now, information is precious, but it won’t always be. they have francoise for the basics, leaving castillon for the upper-below, and skinner for below-below. vera has eternity, don’t they? it’s all floating in we’ll see, no matter how much they hate it.

        “ and, who are your people? ”  seeing as none of them are close enough for what he wants them for.

[wretchedsums]

The smile never does leave his face; in his rocker-boy days his band's logo had always had a hyena, baring its teeth in a vicious, disarming laugh - a threat display in the animal, one that, in the days before google could answer any question, had been often misinterpreted to the ruin of many. He smiles and shoves a roll of hundred dollar bills across the table. Money is an interesting thing to vampires - especially young ones. Some still crave the accumulation of it, maybe she does to, but he has other offerings to be gained, if not now, hen later.

"They're my people," he says - it's all the answer she'll get. In previous times he might have spoken about them like a religious man - a flock, a congregation; that had only ever been theatrics and effective marketing. His people saw him as a prophet and benefactor, if they knew what was good for them.

"That and more."

[wretchedsums]

hc + drugs

Drugs make a lot of things. Drugs make money, drugs make power. But the most important use for drugs Skinner's ever found is that they grant, with enough time and the right pressures - the perfect catalyst for pliability. Better than any witch hex or vampiric compulsion, you get somebody hooked on something, convince them and their body that they need it? They'll do anything to avoid the kinds of cursed living that come with going without.

[killvrinstinct]

        they’ve made a list, a hundred reasons why skinner could’ve called them to meet. it sits back at the apartment, stashed away with everything else, but they can see it clearly in their mind as he leads them both to sit. not one of those reasons leaves her mouth, or flickers across their eyes, they wait it out. most importantly, they watch him. from what they’ve gathered, he hasn’t done a lot here. not yet, anyway. a grotesque history follows him like a stench, even if the specifics haven’t found her yet.

        vera keeps their jaw set as the offer draws a rolling feeling of hunger. they have food at home, where they control every aspect of when and how they feed off of their starving roommate. but she also knows how this works, a show of trust. the girl extends her wrist across the table, still sitting. compulsion never ends to fascinate her. it’s perfect, and unquestionable. a dull, polite smile sits on her face, don’t be rude. vera’s comes to match it, plain, instead of dull, as they take the serving girl’s wrist into their hands. it’s unnatural, for them, to be fed like this. the blood even tastes different, this way.

        “ thank you, ”  her wrist is returned, vera keeps their eyes off of the wound.  “ i’m listening. ”

[wretchedsums]

"I'm sure you've met Castillon by now. Or if you haven't you will. She runs the Maru in this shit-pot." Skinner reaches for the more mundane of the drinks at hand, takes it up, swallows. Another. Ringlets in the serving outfit obliges. Skinner adjusts under his little lap-candy; even dead, some things still work.

"I need to get some things in town established here in town before I set up a check-in with her. It's fairly imperative that she doesn't know I'm here yet, actually." He smiles - a bad bit of info to just hand out to somebody new, who might have the kind of upstart ambitions that come with being new to the rush of power that vampirism can dust into the mind.

"You keep this little thing between us, you keep me a secret, and keep me abreast of Kanemaru affairs while I uh, heh, build back better, and I will keep you flush with a cut of my take-ins. You try to fuck me, then, well, I'm not so friendly, nor are my people."

[wretchedsums]

who: @killvrinstinct where: ever

Two Years Ago

It's human territory (read: neutral), but it's one he's made sure isn't going to be full of Kanemaru folks or Nsilo's little yuppie fuckbags. This new bird though - she can be his in.

"Leave the bottle." He says to the serving girl as she drops the drink off at their booth, and as she goes to leave, he snatches he wrist, pulls her close, looks into her eyes. "Actually, leave yourself, too, c'mere, sit down, listen to us, stay quiet. You're gonna keep everything here a secret." She sits, and Skinner, in all his rat-bastard glory, pulls her onto his lap, looking across the table to Vera as he pulls the serving girls wrist taught, traces his eyes along the vein, takes a bite into her wrist, disguised as a kiss. He licks his lips clean. "Go ahead, sweet-thing," he commands, "pour me and Vera here a drink, and offer her a bite too. Don't be rude."

Skinner slouches, looks at the girl. "You don't know me, and I don't know you. But I've got a proposition."

[wretchedsums]

who: @cursedholloway where: Siltshore, Night Time.

Cemeteries make his skin crawl - not because they're scary, or that he's worried about ghosts or zombies, but just because, well, as the primary domain for goths and witches, he knows he's never really gonna have a good time in one.

But he's not having a good time right now, period. So maybe tonight will be different.

"Eliza Holloway?" He says, stepping out of a car, trying to get her attention before she steps into hers. Where he got her name, not important - he has ways of finding people. Skinner is clean cut these days, a far cry from his previous styling as an obvious rat-bastard of counter-culture. Well dressed, well clipped, ink hidden under nice clothes and a subtle cologne.

"Wondering if I could interest you in dinner." His hands go up in pre-emptive surrender. "All business, I promise."

[lrivkin]

Her grip loosens only when Skinner drops the bomb -- all the shit they'd talked about, it was of her own volition. Not that Lara cares particularly, if not compulsion - Skinner had still forced Birdie to do it, simply by fucking with her head and expecting her to do it to keep herself safe. She can understand that it's too much to hear.

She's caught in the middle of this. Birdie's sulking away, but she reaches for her again -- letting her fingers brush her wrist before deciding not to try again.

Lara heaves out an angry sigh and closes the distance between her and Skinner, "Don't hire me again. Don't fucking think about going after her." To punctuate it, she clocks him in the nose with a fist.

[wretchedsums]

Skinner feels a little bit of satisfaction when Birdie pulls free, though it's short lived, because she stumbles a few feet away and he growls because his little trap is only half-sprung. He expects her to jump him, but he doesn't expect Lara. "Glkt-you... you fuckin' skag!" He says through a broken nose, cradling it for few moments while it pours out onto his silk shirt. "Fuckin' christ." He wipes his nose on his sleeve, staring at her as he stumbles back to catch his balance. "Fucking heard, you nasty little...guh." At that point, a car door opens, a woman steps out, covered in ink herself. "C'mon Deac," she says. "You fuck with that one and you're gonna fuck us all over." Her appearance seems to bring Birdie back into the scene, if only for a moment. Skinner back pedals towards the car, and he only has a finger to point at Lara and Birdie both before he disappears into it and it peels off into the night.

[birdieofprey]

She isn't built for this. Whoever's in this cage with her has done this sort of thing a thousand times, and Birdie fights like a cornered dog - for her life and little else. She isn't use to the structure of not being able to go for the jug, and she's been assured that a deathmatch sure as shit isn't going to be performed above board. She sees Lara though, out there, and then she sees him next to her, close. On eachother.

She sheds her jacket, all wire and ink underneath it, hair pulled out of her eyes. A week now she's been jobbing fights here on the notion he'd show up. It's finally payday, and so she books it the second she says they do. A hand lands on her shoulder at one point to pull her back in and she shakes it off - sickly or no, a human can't touch her. She stops at the door instead of following them out, watching him wave his arms around, that annoying fucking voice squawking after her. She's fishing wood out of the jacket in her clutches, a small thing thing and long just enough to find the heart. It's all she fucking needs. She's on him in a second, flashing across the parking lot. But he's faster, and he turns, the stake bites into his arm, not his chest, and he grabs her like a scruffed cat by the hair, throwing her to the ground and kicking her hard enough to skid her back a dozen feet. Birdie pushes herself to her knees but he's already on her, and her vision snaps white as he belts her across the face, once, twice, three times, and then stuns her with a knee before he pulls the stake out of his arm and flips it in his hand before he lifts her, dazed, back up.

"Well well well, just like a rat to a piece of stinkin' minging cheese. Congratulations, stupid." She pounds at his arm, strong enough to powder human bone, but all but nothing against him, not on rat blood and spite. Her eyes are staring into his as they soak up in red. "I love this for us." === @lrivkin

[lrivkin]

She does not want to be party to this shit -- Lara can hear him behind her and she already wants to do nothing more than to turn around and tell him to shove his dick up his own ass, but she doesn't have a chance to.

She whips around at the sound of commotion and her eyes widen as she sees in Birdie attack and then get taken down in quick succession. Without giving it a second thought, she rips Skinner backwards off of Birdie, and brings her foot up with all the speed and strength she can muster right between his legs. "Fuck off, Tommy."

Her attention turns to Birdie, and she lifts her up off the ground, pulling her in close. "You're going to fucking die if you try this now." She wipes her face and keeps another hand on the back of her neck. Her voice is so low when she speaks again, "He'll rip you apart."

[wretchedsums]

He gets ripped away from her, and a stream of profanity effuses out of his mouth so acrid and foul that it draws a handful of eyes to the ruckus in the relatively empty lot.

He grabs at himself - pain is pain, and it takes a lot of it to make somebody who doesn't breathe feel breathless, but fuck him, she cleared that bar easy. It's one thing dealing with the Rat, all wrung out, it's quite another to deal with Lara, he reckons - age trumps all when it comes to the potency of undeath, after all.

He coughs, some instinctual psychosomatic need to expel the demons bubbling out of him. "Jesus fucking Christ; you must have wide feet, you fuckin' got both of them, you bitch."

He leans on the car, letting the pain fade and examining the tear in the his shirt and jacket, wiping spittle from his mouth on the sleeve since it's ruined anyways. Glaring at the two of them, he shakes his head, motioning to them in disbelief.

"Yeah I fuckin' will." He says, taking a step forward. "The fuck, Rivkin? Just let me off her, look at her she's fuckin' misery incarnate."

Birdie, for what it's worth, is trying to pull away, but weakly. Lara's too strong, Skinner's too strong. Too. Surprised you care, she wants to say, but she doesn't say it because she doesn't want to risk agreement. "Let me fucking go!" She says through clenched teeth.

"Yeah, Lara! Let her go! Come on!" Skinner taunts, pitching his voice into whiny tenor. "Look. I'm sure she wooed you with the whole sad story, yeah? And I bet you bought it, huh? Always do like the down and out ones - speakin' from personal experience, of course."

[lrivkin]

Little fling. Fuck, fuck, fuck -- When did? She wants to hiss and sneer and wrench away from him. She does none of it, and sinks back into the seat and watches as the object of her vehemently denied affections gets her shit rocked.

She has to play the perfect sycophant because she's being paid to. Hell, Lara barely even flinches when he slings his arm back over her shoulders. She watches, and wills Birdie to stand up quicker, to make good on this misplaced anger.

Every hit makes a sound get caught in her throat. "She told me she was looking for you." She manages to tear her gaze away from the fight up to him - "I didn't know she meant you, specifically."

[wretchedsums]

"Yeah?" He asks. "What she say, hm?" Probably too much. Oh well. "Actually nevermind. I don't give a f- wait, Lara-" Lara's already up and out of the chair, and he's up after her, buttoning his vest as he leave the poor suck behind. He'll wake up later, probably; he's already been comp'd, both for the memories and the blood. "Lara, fuck, come on, Jesus," he says, following after her, wading through the clientele, boos sounding behind him from some unseen upset in the ring. They spill out into the quiet lot, the icy morning dead quiet save for their steps and his fat mouth. "Makin' such a big fuckin' scene over nothin', s'embarassing. Makes for an unsatisfied custom-AH, SHIT."