(07-23-2017, 07:06 PM)Luci Wrote: I would get so high that you would die halfway through drinking me.
EDIT: That was for cell lol

Quote:You reach for the expensive wooden box that holds twelve absurdly expensive cigars arranged in two neat rows of six. The gorgeous leather of your executive chair crackles as you recline back deeply and rummage for your lighter in a nearby pocket. After groping for a moment, you find it and twirl it in your fingers with unnatural dexterity.  There is a soft knock on the mahogany door at the entrance of your chambers, just as you take the cigar cutter in your fingers.

“Come in!” you shout impatiently.

A meek servant dressed in a garish gangster suit enters meekly and approaches your desk with a gift wrapped box.

“What the hell is that?” you ask with an authoritative edge.

“The delivery boy said it's a present… a peace offering from the Hutts, to congratulate your growing leadership in the Westside.”

“Bullshit!” you snarl back. “Did you check it for explosives?”

“Of course madam, we wouldn't dare open something addressed to you, but the scanner came up negative for bombs or chemicals.”

“Leave it here,” you growl.

The servant obediently places the package on your desk, careful to lay the large 3 foot by 2 foot gift box on your empty blotter, avoiding the pricey cigars. He turns, and exits out the door, leaving you to the curious item. You twirl the guillotine-like cigar cutter in your fingers and consider how to even open it.

You rise and push aside your luxurious chair and stand over the desk. You look at the box and feel a strange sense of dread, even though your associates assured you there was nothing explosive inside. You stand above the box and press a single hand on it's top, feeling the coarseness of the white paper wrapping.

Riiiiiiippppppp!

With a sudden crackle, a hideous taloned finger rips through the cardboard and out the white paper. It wraps around your wrist, the nail digging into the veins of your forearm as the rest of the malformed claw juts out and clasps your arm with monstrous strength.

You drop the cigar cutter from your fingers and it lands with a soft thump to the thick carpet. Your eyes widen with the sudden heart clenching surprise, but you do not taste fear on your lips until the second arm shoots out of the package, like a zombie rising from a shallow grave, then snares your shoulder. Held by the two revolting appendages, a mass of tissue with an almost human face bursts through the gift box. It's needle like teeth are bared and a low moaning growl escapes out it's throat. It lurches forward, it's fangs latching onto your cheek. You struggle fitfully as it closes and opens it's mouth. You can now taste the blood along the edges of the hole where your cheek once was.

Your fists clatter uselessly against the deformity to no avail. Still clutching your shoulder with one arm, it releases your wrist to thrust its fingers through the hole in your face, and forces them down into your throat. It's nails tear, and tear, and tear.