| ghost; prp Giles | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Jun 29 2013, 08:55 PM (98 Views) | |
| Billy | Jun 29 2013, 08:55 PM Post #1 |
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Alpha dog.
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She doesn't know what time it is, the wolf never bother's with insanely human notions as such. It simply runs and lives, eats and shits, protects and prowls it's territory until it feels safe enough to relent. It's only then that the better half can take over shape. As bony and dangerous as her animal counterpart. The only thing different being blunt teeth and a often crippling conscious. That do wonders in speaking blizzards of command. There is business to attend, and the wolf ends up at the edge of motel territory. She set's there, paces, but something in her aligns wrong and crooked and brushes her hackles alert. The sort of out of place feeling up her spine the animal doesn't have the intelligence to decipher. The hovering shadow of weirdness that's better suited for another world. And off somewhere in the woods the animal unravels. It has long sense accepted the role of it's predecessor. They work in eerie tangent, dissolved defiance like sugar in water. She glides to him like an angel of death, poised and violent. Naked, but the lack of modesty draining sexual tension like pus. Werewolves could not afford to be embarrassed -- and maybe once upon a time she was -- but age and years and clothes can be much more of a hindrance than necessity. Sulla is gone, slipping away somewhere perhaps to retrieve supplies. The moment is ideal, and how Billy get's into their room might be forgotten in her loom. Standing stark and pale, empty as the day she came into the world, above Gile's unconscious body. She could easily kill him, end this, teach a lesson that would never be forgotten. But instead there is something deceptively soft about the way her eyes dilate, the way her fingers reach forward and touch the blunt of his head where he'd been knocked. "Wake up." She says leaning, warm breath on his face. |
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| Giles | Jul 4 2013, 10:17 AM Post #2 |
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Newborn
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A cheap hotel room is not where a person would expect to see Giles. He is on the third floor of the cheapest inn in town. For all the money he has there is edge of stinginess still there from days he remembers without. A man in poverty never quite leaves it; the miserable saving indented into his mind parentally. The lights have long flickered out as the branches outside sway, warning of a coming storm. The dark, dreary room is filled with bottle after bottle of whatever beer his fingers could latch onto. Every single one is fresh, the youth of the room unable to get to cleaning them up in time. Countless money must have been spent on the fresh booze that would have been enough to kill a horse. The room is quiet, silent of the man’s usual booming presence save for its quiet slumber on old bed sheets. Pathetic is one accurate way to describe it. He is more like a bear in hibernation than a man in a drunken nap. How the alcohol has not burned through his liver is a mystery like the man’s power. He is still beat up but it is obvious Sulla has worked his healing properties. The night of chaos caused by a feuding jealously has left the teenager worse for wear. Giles was in better shape than he, the one who truly should have been suffering. The impact of the chair still has its scar on his head, a swollen bump a talented youngster vows to take care of in the morning. In silent dozing another creature stirs. Even the old devil will give the woman her dues. Some way or another she has crawled herself into his room, like Romeo climbing into Juliet’s room for a wedding night affair. The thing of old is even forced to acknowledge the sickly romantic and disgustingly vile parts of the scene. War threatens to brink, a towering force waiting on the edge. So like war he waits, flitting around the room as a ball of horrifyingly wicked energy, ready to pounce. Malphas is a lion and Billy his prey, but only if she makes it so. A human could feel it, much less a werewolf that while Giles slumbers the same as an old dog on the porch something else moves in the room. Electricity sparks from corners of the room and one from the chest of the sleeping beast. Devil’s eyes paste to her and her every move. A stench wafts in the room from the same corners a mist seems to slightly develop. The smell is of the dead, enough where you can almost see the maggots twitching in hunger. It is the smell of a dead crow that has been in the sun far too long, to be exact. The room is empty of any true presence, save for if the wolf lets predator eyes wander; she could catch a glimpse of an opening mouth formed by the mix, human yet bird. Dare she face the true hunter? Billy draws her form over the unprepared, unknowing Giles. The misty creeps closer, threatening to force itself in and suffocate all in its path. Malphas is ready; itching for that war he knows looms in the distance. Muscles are not tense simply because they do not exist. But the lion has everything in its less than earthly body ready to kill the bleating gazelle wearing wolf’s fur. A creature far too old catches a familiar look that sparkles in her eyes. He has seen it before, maybe in star-crossed lovers. As much as it roots on Billy to find the better man (Malphas not much of a demon to root for the home team) it is put at ease. The werewolf has no attention of killing, or at least Not yet. The mist deteriorates, dissipating into the air to watch the blond remora in his path. it slips slowly back to his comfort cavern in the back of a sociopaths mind, the closet relatable human it could find save for its lack of logic. Malphas slipping in and out of his head forces him to quietly awaken. Half-awake yet half-asleep the words drift into a tired man’s ears still rung but the clutches of alcohol, ”Wake up.” No swat, no punch, no magic throws its way at Billy if only by sheer luck. It could have been, no should have been, another wound inflicted on her from Giles’ hands but it isn’t. Time after time of Sulla waking him up worriedly or from thrashing nightmares has made him use to another body waking his exhausted. His breathing is shallow and heavy. For a few seconds his mind is running circles, unable to fully comprehend who is there or what is going on. His mood is soft, an odd state Giles only shows once every blue moon when even he has had too much liquor. It is the softness of velvet compared to the hardness of a rock. ”Wha,” he gets out, chest taking in a heavy inhale as a fist comes away to rub the sleep out of his eyes. A naked woman hovering above him with the ability to slice his throat is not what he was expecting. Sky blue eyes that would have been pretty save for the weight of a heavy world hanging in them look at her. He is no better than an animal, a baby rabbit snared in a trap. A mouth falls open; his adam apple bobbing as he tries to get some response out but the loud voice is hoarse. The smell of alcohol drifts in his breath stronger than straight from the bottle. Billy has him right where she wants him; the innocent teenager at the end of a vampire’s fangs. He has avoided woman as if they were a plague, aware of the control their bodies had on his mind. He has never been a man to understand the difference between attraction and love which Billy pushes. Everything he has come to avoid has come to great him right in the face, bare naked and completely there by will. The same eyes catch on bountiful skin. Scars linger along with a tattoo on pale, delicately strong flesh. Giles tries for words again, mouth moving like a blubbering fish gasping for air. Words do not drift from him as he eyes every bare inch of her body. Heat creeps across his body and thighs as he remains helpless to her. Billy has him right where she wants him, the man unable to scream at the sudden control he has for years avoided. Eyes flicker to her heaving chest. He cannot look her in the eye. |
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| Billy | Jul 4 2013, 11:07 AM Post #3 |
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Alpha dog.
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She had not come here to him stark and plaid to seduce him. It's a blatant slap in the face to even consider it, and yet ... the Blackwater alpha has made sacrifice in her own way for the hungry nipple biting werewolves under her command. Where Sabra has always given her morals, skewing the lines like salt in the sea, and Vianne has merely given her trust. As innocent as them all. Billy has suffered the lost of everything. At first it'd been her time, then her peace of mind, next it'd be double of Sabra. Buried in Beau -- a man she'd forced the curse on. And after that it'd been her first love since Mickey in those hay days. So long and carefree ago it seemed like an entirely different time, in a entirely different place. She has suffered and given her everything. Narrowly managing functional skills beyond ruling, and yet cannot remember why she does it. Why this sacrifice, a potential that could very well get her killed. Does not seem any worse than the prior. As any monarch, she is a opportunist. And it does not take a rocket scientist to realize what the man -- sad and wishful -- is yearning before her. Giles is a reward and punishment. She wonders to herself alone. He symbolizes all the power she could have, and how that power would consume her. She doesn't love him, most of the time she can hardly even tolerate him. But he tries in the same back handed ways that may not be practical, but get the job done. It's a yearning for her that she has fed off of for years. Unknowingly willingly leaning into his protective safety net each time Blackwater has threatened to drown her in its namesake. But rather she's thanking him, or using him she no longer knows. It should be insulting, the way he's looking at her carefully with his sleepy eyes and fistful of eyelash. He cannot find her face -- and this isn't the first or last time she has caught him straying -- but Billy only feels flattered. Lacking the embarrassment that exist somewhere off in a mortals world. Where shedding clothes for wolves existed as much more of a hinderance than a advantage. Leaning closer slightly, intimate and fond, she moves her hand slowly -- gradually -- heavy like honey and mood. To slide long fingers from ear to chin and flip. Just before tilting his head to meet her chocolate eyes and genuine grin. She has come here to talk to him, to ward him away maybe. At least for a little bit. But just as his feelings may be sticky so are her's. She thinks -- in these moments -- this would be a good man to love. If not for the essential fact Giles was a wild card, unpredictable with his own agenda, they might work well together. He could provide and then some for her and her nation of children. A fine protector, only needing praise and motivation to go on. A compatibility that may not be entirely desired, but could work under the circumstance. She would make it work. Rather it was her elusiveness that kept him wanting, dragging along unknowingly in tow. And more importantly, he would survive her love. Billy did not come here to seduce him, but in these small moments he has her at his mercy. As she glides forward to swiftly and warmly set her lips against his. It's a small meet. To test the waters, she's far to use to his volatile reactions to not be on her guard, but whatever curiosity she's had -- or maybe it was hope? Flutters out on heavy wings. Like a moth when it's dark it'll seek out the nearest light once more when night falls. This could be her ultimate sacrifice, her saving grace. The sort of selflessness that opens heavens gates for someone like her. "We should talk." she says, and still keeping eye contact reaches carefully past him to pluck the covers and wrap it around her. Aware that he was still a man. But the action falls short -- falls from her fingertips -- and her next motion is risky and private. A promise embedded in the fire of her throat and intensity of her gaze. "... But later." she promises and closes the space between them. Urgent if he permits it, maybe a mirror of how much she needs to love him, tries too, but empty -- hollow. But can't. ------------------------- |
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| Giles | Jul 9 2013, 05:54 PM Post #4 |
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Newborn
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Hollow. Every colliding breath is warm. The small, petite, beautiful figure of a woman that has given more than she should presses to the firm muscles of a man who gives without giving. Bodies threaten to entangle into the beast with two backs. Life’s beauty, the love of a woman and man expressed with heat and pleasure seems close by. But there is no love. There is pity maybe, a chance of passion and pleasure but love isn’t there. The kiss is full of heat and carnal desire but lacks the emotional embrace of two star crossed lovers. Feelings aren’t mutual and it leaves Giles not feeling whole. It hurts. Yet- it feels so good. A woman hasn’t touched him in so long. He has sat in his one too many hotel rooms, curled up alone with his son sleeping in the next room. Women have left him hurt and bleeding. Ladies left him alone to care for himself when they were the only thing he needed. Girls have left him to his own mind as he wasted away like sands in time. They have done nothing to him, only cause pain and Giles is beginning to remember why he ran away. He is remembering when he never let another one close, why the walls had always been there. But seduction is his greatest weakness and he falls to her, giving into the gentle fingers of feigned care. Slow and steady; Billy inches closer before her soft lips press to his. Nothing like himself; Giles becomes, to the very word: soft. Billy might be testing waters but she must certainly not be expecting this. His lips press back, slowly, as if in fear. The kiss is soft with an underlying passion but Giles cannot knock out that empty feeling. It bothers him yet his mind is being overrun, thoughts drifting only to Billy and her body. The woman has him in a trap he cannot leave. Giles is at her mercy and his mind swarms in ten thousand different directions. He would give her anything. Giles is Christmas and Billy is the kind little girl who has sacrificed. She waits beneath the tree, dreaming of things her family cannot afford. Christmas rolls in, seeing the child of good and gives her all. Billy only has to ask for a new car, new necklace, new clothes, or a new house. He will give her all, asking for nothing in return but look at her in desire. He yearns for her like a school boy his first crush. She does not love him, and beneath the fucked up layers Giles knows he loves her and knows she doesn’t. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knows money buys love and tries his best to win her over, like a mother buying her child every new game just to bring him home. The witch is used. The witch is discarded. How much longer can the werewolf drag him on like this; have she no guilt? Escape is not allowed. He tries to ignore the lacking on her part and go on, pretending it is there. But Malphas sees the hole and tears it at it, desiring to make it bigger. Soon it consumes Giles mind and it is all he can think of. Eyes flitter against her naked body trying to pull himself back, but all he can think of is Billy doesn’t like me. Love is the true word but he cannot bring himself to use it. The witch is back to the part where he plays lover boy, only used for a woman’s delight. ”We should talk.” The color of the sky looks up to her, knowing they need to do a hell more than talking. ”But later.” But he can’t Her lips press to his and he kisses her back but melancholy seeps from his flush skin to hers. It hurts, more than the scar that rips across his chest thicker than his own hand hurt when it happened. It is not a foreign hurt but it still shocks. The emotional pain that could make a full grown man a whimpering dog with a queasy stomach rears its ugly head. The kiss drags on, her body pressed to his and it is all he yearns for. Heat runs up his thighs like a river flowing to the sea. Hands push her away, sudden and abrupt. They are pushy and gruff only because his head is swirling along with his stomach. He wants to throw a fit (the closest to him crying) yet at the same time indulge the night away. He can’t handle this and the mental stress is eating him like a termite does wood. ”I can’t do this,” he blurts, his voice a tone or two deeper. He sits up looking her directly in the eyes. He holds the eye contact for a few seconds before he pushes up and away to stand by the window. The man is clad only in boxers. Silence echoes as his hands ring together, balled in fists. He wants to punch the problem into the solution. But something is different. He is soft. Anger does not fly. He is not rash like he always is. He is not blunt or in your face. Giles has become the quiet on looker, a silence among the abused. Malphas keeps pushing him, keeps reminding him he is using her but he cannot think straight. Blood is rushing through his body, clouding his thoughts. He rubs the stubble on his chin nervously, trying to get a hold of the situation though he knows he can’t. Shoulders and back slump though every muscle is tense. How can he handle this? He can’t. ”Why are you doing this?” He finally says, not truly wanting the answer. He reaches for one of the bottles he has thrown in hopes drips of alcohol still remain. He can’t do this without a few in him. ”I’m Giles,” he begins, breathing in heavily as he still throbs. Thoughts swarm his head, almost too much to handle but they all point at the same thing. ”Nobody likes me, especially not like that.” Hell, he doesn’t even like himself. Giles brings the empty beer bottle to his lips, trying to suck down whatever he can though nothing is there. Silence rolls through for a few moments. ”You should go.” |
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2:49 AM Jul 11