03-23-2018, 02:50 PM
(This post was last modified: 04-10-2018, 12:44 AM by Little Rose.)
Cassandra was right behind the freely floating fairy of hell, she chased after her with the same urgency she expressed a moment before. Not because Clownpiece was in a hurry, but because of her mentioning Dane in need of help. Instantly it struck the vampire that she had to do something to save her friend.
She had no ability to fly and her steps were - as she was - slightly heavy. Her bare feet slapped across the dirty wooden planks that make up the second floor, narrowly they missed exposed nails sticking out of the dirty floor. As she did she began to see strange after images of everything. The golden locks of the American flag girl was a fan of brightly yellow rays that moved like the ocean. She saw her puny fists in her peripheral slow down so that she could see it in motion, like when they revealed to her how cartoons are made - frame by frame…
And in the distance, she could hear the ticking of a clock, the pendulum that she used to keep a beat when she sang to herself signed by a swinging gold arm. It ticked at the seconds but slowed down to impossible speeds, the clicking it made echoing forever down the hallway.
Sandra remembered the hallway as if it were days long, but doesn’t remember how she reached the bottom of the stairs at all. It had been as if she teleported; Mostly because she did.
From the outside, she had been too slow for the speeding off fairy, but just as the blond little girl appeared without warning and kicked the jaw of some poor canine who evoked the wrath of the small girl, so did the girl with short brown hair at the bottom of the stairs. She looked as shocked as anyone else would be if they'd been paying much attention to the spot at the end of the steps.
Instantly she was assaulted. Not by the figures that reared up in arms to fight the hell fairy as well as the initial intruder, but by the intoxicating sweet smell of blood. Every inch of the air was laced with an extremely familiar scent that made her mouth water and her fangs twist in pain. It had been far too long since she experienced even the slightest desperation for blood, this fact made Cassandra happy. It was the opposite conclusion that left a bad taste on the French woman’s tongue, it has been a great deal of a time since she had fed on a human. Suddenly it felt as if it had been way too long.
If she recalled at all, it was a drunk man that barely knew she had been there. It was a gutter in the far-off shadows of France, an empty alley behind walls after walls. It had been safe, and he’d been vulnerable enough. She had done everything in her power to be polite about it, no matter how unresponsive he’d been, how her voice echoed off the exposed stone and mingled with sounds of moving sewage - dripping dirty water off the drying clothes that curtained the sky above them. She’d asked for permission twice, all he had to say were mutters and drunken pained groans.
It had not been the nicest thing she’d done, but her way of life has changed so much since when manners meant anything.
He saw the slumped figure in the distance, like a ghost in her past, then a second later her dazed was pierced by the sight of the snake twisting around the child-sized fairy. She twirled like the toy ballerina in those jewelry music boxes, the slightly off balanced jerk after a few twists included, torch brightly illuminated the room with an insane shade or purple. Dane was fighting not to be mauled by the wolf when he seemed to noticed. He gave the lycan a kick in the jaw which sent her over some furniture and breaking it as she did before he readied himself to be the hero. Or at least not letting the snake kill her before he could punish her for coming alone.
A bit too quickly, however, the wolf-girl recovered from the kick and exploded from the debris that was the lobby’s attempt to be homely.
Roaring out in frustration as she extended her claws, she successfully gathered Dane’s attention in a bored ‘wasn’t expecting that’ kind of face as he mentally does the statistics to see what reaction was worth his mana. The observant type, however, he caught the fur of the transformed flutter to an utter and complete still as the entire room turned blood red as if he was seeing this through a filter. He would be able to hear a grandfather clock's arm ticking away before coming to a complete stop. He may have even swore he heard it chime once.
The next second everything was normal, except he was on the other side of the room, watching the werewolf come down on someone outside his view because they were on the ground now. At first, he wondered if it was an outer body experience, which was strange because this hasn’t happened before in his near-death experiences, nor even his death. He continued to stare at the scene, dazed with his inner thoughts as he watched the wolf rip into the unfortunate body.
He caught brief glimpses of the gore in the Clownpiece's light, crimson liquid following the slice of the wolf's claws, strands of darker brown hair caught in the saliva dripping jaws, shreds of blood-stained cloth.
Dane glanced back over and could see CP’s torch waving frantically, he could see she was screaming and even tears coming to the corners of her eyes. He thought it was strange his death would create such a reaction when she knew he’d be back.
Wait. Something else was off, her mouth, it wasn’t making the shapes for his name...
“CASSY!” Her young voice pierced the illusion he had and struck him with the lightning realization that something entirely different had happened. “Get off her you fleabag!” the young girl's voice broke in a screech. She shook the torch again, a strong desire to just throw it at the werewolf if only she didn’t need it. She cried out in pain as the snake squeezed harder. As if mocking her futile attempts to save the other girl. “WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU DANE!?” She cried out, the folds of the snake coming over her head now.
Behind her the werewolf relentlessly ripped the young girl apart. It seemed not to matter to the ravenous wolf woman that it was not her intended target. The tender flesh of the young french woman ripped much easier between her claws and teeth. Blood sprayed brutally across the floorboards of the ground floor's floor.
Myst's body stopped struggling in the middle of it, her limp arms danced numbly in the air as the werewolf continued to tear into her.
She had no ability to fly and her steps were - as she was - slightly heavy. Her bare feet slapped across the dirty wooden planks that make up the second floor, narrowly they missed exposed nails sticking out of the dirty floor. As she did she began to see strange after images of everything. The golden locks of the American flag girl was a fan of brightly yellow rays that moved like the ocean. She saw her puny fists in her peripheral slow down so that she could see it in motion, like when they revealed to her how cartoons are made - frame by frame…
And in the distance, she could hear the ticking of a clock, the pendulum that she used to keep a beat when she sang to herself signed by a swinging gold arm. It ticked at the seconds but slowed down to impossible speeds, the clicking it made echoing forever down the hallway.
Sandra remembered the hallway as if it were days long, but doesn’t remember how she reached the bottom of the stairs at all. It had been as if she teleported; Mostly because she did.
From the outside, she had been too slow for the speeding off fairy, but just as the blond little girl appeared without warning and kicked the jaw of some poor canine who evoked the wrath of the small girl, so did the girl with short brown hair at the bottom of the stairs. She looked as shocked as anyone else would be if they'd been paying much attention to the spot at the end of the steps.
Instantly she was assaulted. Not by the figures that reared up in arms to fight the hell fairy as well as the initial intruder, but by the intoxicating sweet smell of blood. Every inch of the air was laced with an extremely familiar scent that made her mouth water and her fangs twist in pain. It had been far too long since she experienced even the slightest desperation for blood, this fact made Cassandra happy. It was the opposite conclusion that left a bad taste on the French woman’s tongue, it has been a great deal of a time since she had fed on a human. Suddenly it felt as if it had been way too long.
If she recalled at all, it was a drunk man that barely knew she had been there. It was a gutter in the far-off shadows of France, an empty alley behind walls after walls. It had been safe, and he’d been vulnerable enough. She had done everything in her power to be polite about it, no matter how unresponsive he’d been, how her voice echoed off the exposed stone and mingled with sounds of moving sewage - dripping dirty water off the drying clothes that curtained the sky above them. She’d asked for permission twice, all he had to say were mutters and drunken pained groans.
It had not been the nicest thing she’d done, but her way of life has changed so much since when manners meant anything.
He saw the slumped figure in the distance, like a ghost in her past, then a second later her dazed was pierced by the sight of the snake twisting around the child-sized fairy. She twirled like the toy ballerina in those jewelry music boxes, the slightly off balanced jerk after a few twists included, torch brightly illuminated the room with an insane shade or purple. Dane was fighting not to be mauled by the wolf when he seemed to noticed. He gave the lycan a kick in the jaw which sent her over some furniture and breaking it as she did before he readied himself to be the hero. Or at least not letting the snake kill her before he could punish her for coming alone.
A bit too quickly, however, the wolf-girl recovered from the kick and exploded from the debris that was the lobby’s attempt to be homely.
Roaring out in frustration as she extended her claws, she successfully gathered Dane’s attention in a bored ‘wasn’t expecting that’ kind of face as he mentally does the statistics to see what reaction was worth his mana. The observant type, however, he caught the fur of the transformed flutter to an utter and complete still as the entire room turned blood red as if he was seeing this through a filter. He would be able to hear a grandfather clock's arm ticking away before coming to a complete stop. He may have even swore he heard it chime once.
The next second everything was normal, except he was on the other side of the room, watching the werewolf come down on someone outside his view because they were on the ground now. At first, he wondered if it was an outer body experience, which was strange because this hasn’t happened before in his near-death experiences, nor even his death. He continued to stare at the scene, dazed with his inner thoughts as he watched the wolf rip into the unfortunate body.
He caught brief glimpses of the gore in the Clownpiece's light, crimson liquid following the slice of the wolf's claws, strands of darker brown hair caught in the saliva dripping jaws, shreds of blood-stained cloth.
Dane glanced back over and could see CP’s torch waving frantically, he could see she was screaming and even tears coming to the corners of her eyes. He thought it was strange his death would create such a reaction when she knew he’d be back.
Wait. Something else was off, her mouth, it wasn’t making the shapes for his name...
“CASSY!” Her young voice pierced the illusion he had and struck him with the lightning realization that something entirely different had happened. “Get off her you fleabag!” the young girl's voice broke in a screech. She shook the torch again, a strong desire to just throw it at the werewolf if only she didn’t need it. She cried out in pain as the snake squeezed harder. As if mocking her futile attempts to save the other girl. “WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU DANE!?” She cried out, the folds of the snake coming over her head now.
Behind her the werewolf relentlessly ripped the young girl apart. It seemed not to matter to the ravenous wolf woman that it was not her intended target. The tender flesh of the young french woman ripped much easier between her claws and teeth. Blood sprayed brutally across the floorboards of the ground floor's floor.
Myst's body stopped struggling in the middle of it, her limp arms danced numbly in the air as the werewolf continued to tear into her.
Quote:Death Count: 2
In case its still unclear.