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Post by rhianmorgan on Aug 11, 2009 19:07:15 GMT -6
A Hostel at witching hour…
Shadows ebbed and flowed across the blood splattered tiles, as passing car lights filtered through the old windows. A patter of drops, echoed. Silence otherwise took over. Not even a breath, not even a heartbeat, and most certainly not hers. Her, who lay in the blood filled bath. Like a corpse amongst corpses. With eyes of white marble, lit by some unnatural light, glowering, projecting, against its macabre landscape.
Rhian lay, bathing in the porcelain tub of the capacious bathroom. Bathing in the blood of her victims past. Red gore, lacing her cold ivory flesh and standing in stark contrast against the cool, white surface of the bath’s sides. All around her, lying in twisted formations, lay corpses with faces left screaming, limbs broken and splintered, drained of their precious fluids.
Young males, travelling from home, resting at the hostel now rested contorted. Their throats slashed out by fierce claws and fangs. Their genitalia disfigured and torn. Two girls, barely 18, their bodies shamefully naked and their limbs scattered. The staff lay prostrated against their desks, empty eye sockets staring blindly towards the floor. Two other guests, where pinned against the walls, hung up with a craftsman’s precision, with spikes and steel hooks, like devilish puppets still warm from the kill.
Rhian had drunk her fill of blood, but only subdued her lust of carnage. Brimming under her glaring eyes was a woman enjoying the last echoes of her chaos, the rapture of screams, the carnage of melee before willing herself into motion once more, to feed once again. Drunk on her nocturnal call, Rhian now relished the aftermath of calm as death had taken its last victim in the hostel. Bathing in blood, she rested a while.
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Post by cormac on Aug 11, 2009 22:40:49 GMT -6
Cormac rode alone on the streets of New Orleans, quietly lonely, quietly free. He'd been urged by Arianna to go to New York, to go away, but he was quite sure that she knew he wouldn't be dissuaded so easily. He'd made a vow, and there was no way he could return without her.
He knew she was still in New Orleans; little did she know he'd caught sight of her several times, always staying hidden from her. He even knew where she stayed in New Orleans. There'd been no need to confront her again so quickly. All it would mean is more pain for the both of them. Cormac was no fool; he knew what returning home meant to her, and he knew she was frightened. He remained calm though. She was still his daughter, and she would overcome this fear. She would return with him. It was simply a matter of time.
As he drove down the streets, suddenly the protective charm on his chest grew warm, a sign of danger. Cormac, never a man to run from danger, simply preferred to become more cautious. He slowed the bike to a crawl, looking around him.
The street he was on was largely devoid of tourists or even traffic. It was narrow, and lined with buildings. He could see nothing dangerous, but that didn't mean the danger wasn't there, it simply meant it wasn't in plain sight.
His attention was drawn to a shadow in a darkened hotel window, from something passing in front of it. Why had his eyes flitted there, he wondered? Something most definitely wasn't right.
He parked his bike across from the hotel, pulling a cigar from his pocket. He didn't light it, he simply chewed on the end, liking the weight of it in his mouth, and the taste of it on his tongue. It tasted like the hunt to him.
He realized then what was wrong-the hotel had no lights on, not in the lobby, not in any of the rooms. He quietly crept into the lobby, opening the door just far enough to let himself slip inside.
The stench of death assaulted his nostrils immediately. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, with only the moonlight for illumination, a scene of torture and suffering unfolded before him. The charm grew warmer, and Cormac realized that who or whatever was responsible for this atrocity was still in the building, most likely the shadow he'd seen while he was outside.
His hand slid to the small of his back, reaching for his revolver. Judging from what he was looking at, this was either the work of either a very messy vampire, or a very clean lycanthrope. Either way, his bullets were custom made for the occasion. They were his handmade "wyrdstoppers", as he called them; silver jacketed, hollow bullets, filled with a pinch of herbs. The silver stopped lycans, while the herbs caused an extra bit of pain for any undead as well as robbing them of a large amount of their speed and strength, making even a vampire an even match. One in the heart was as good as a stake.
Cormac cocked the hammer, and then hopped over the counter. He wanted some sort of a barrier between himself and whatever had done this. This wasn't normal behavior for either species. This wasn't about food, there was too much of a mess. This was about something else, something Cormac wasn't aware of...something Cormac didn't like. That meant he had to change the rules. This was not an ordinary hunt.
He found the microphone to the intercom system behind the counter. With a flick, he turned it on, and spoke calmly into the microphone. "Attention hotel guests," he said, his voice booming with the understated strength he still maintained, "Would the beastie or beasties responsible for the undue carnage please come to the front desk? Thank you."
He braced his arm on the counter, steadying his aim, waiting to see what might emerge from the stairwell. A foe this reckless wouldn't be worried about stealth, he imagined. Cormac would be ready, and he wouldn't miss. Cormac Ab Morgan never missed.
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Post by ariamorgan on Aug 11, 2009 23:12:18 GMT -6
((ooc; whoops sorry i forgot to log out from Aria. Either way THIS IS RHIAN MORGAN's POSTING, not Aria's.))
Perhaps if Rhian were a little wiser, a little more experienced she would of sensed the presence of the man entering the lobby, entering her temple of massacre. Instead her peaceful bathing was disturbed, suddenly, shockingly by a voice over the intercom.
"Attention hotel guests. Would the beastie or beasties responsible for the undue carnage please come to the front desk? Thank you."
Rhian hissed, jumped, like a cat onto all fours from the bath. Her anger, her vehemence cloaking all recognition of the voice. No, those were long ago times, a different life, one she no longer immediately recognised.
Dripping in blood. Her black polished nails scratched the tiled surface of the floor, causing a chalkboard screech. Standing to full height, her crimson lips snarled to reveal her fangs. She stood there, feeling her irritation intensify in ever inch of her body. Then suddenly, with a speed, encouraged by her wrath she sped through the corridors, down the hallways, leaping down the stairs and pulling off the white silk curtains as she went, wrapping them around her naked flesh, staining their perfection with her bloody malice.
She was one door away from him when her senses managed to overcome her anger, alerting her of the intruder and his identity. She paused. Her steps halting abruptly and she stared at the door before her. Unconsciously releasing a feline hiss.
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Post by cormac on Aug 16, 2009 15:20:32 GMT -6
Cormac could hear the commotion of the creature's approach. His jaw moved mechanically as he chewed on his cigar. It was moving furiously fast, making as much commotion as possible.
Cormac forced his heartbeat to slow; he was slightly nervous on this hunt. Something felt wrong. He dug his zippo lighter from his pocket, lighting the cigar, wanting the slight comfort the habit would bring. He'd abandoned the stealth approach anyway. His element of surprise had been his bold declaration, designed to provoke the creature.
The protective charm grew rapidly warmer against his chest. This was no ordinary vampire or lycan. Cormac was quite sure it couldn't be a lycan; it would have howled by now at his provocation. The charm grew warmer still as the creature neared, and Cormac realized he'd probably have one shot, maybe two before the beast could be upon him. This creature was powerful, perhaps even a demon. He'd been around plenty of vampires and other supernaturals, and the charm hadn't warmed this much in recent, or even faded memory.
He heard the hiss from behind the door directly across from him. The beast had clearly realized it might be walking into a trap. It still had control of its mental faculties. The charm was nearly burning him now. This was the most exhilarating but most dangerous kind of prey-the intelligent killing machine.
The hiss unsettled Cormac ever so slightly. There was something familiar about the sound, though he couldn't put his finger on it. Oh well..it was nothing, it had to be an old man's mind playing tricks on him. Still, there was definitely something that simply wasn't sitting right with him about this whole encounter.
Cormac readjusted his aim, staring down the sight of his gun barrel. All that thing had to do was open the door, and it would be greeted by cold lead infused with the wisdom of the old world.
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Post by rhianmorgan on Aug 20, 2009 8:06:06 GMT -6
The anticipation for fresh blood mixed with the annoyance of this familiar smell. Rhian, stared at the door panel before her, as if from her fixed gaze the door would give way. Her senses reached out into the atmosphere, like psychic fingers feeling their way.
When the door remained steadfast, she moved quickly. Rhian leapt toward the ceiling, clinging to the white plaster like a black widow spider. Her fist blasted through the ceiling with vampiric strength and shards of panelling fell below. She swung her body into the opening, then crawled like a stalking cheater between the floorboards. Moving through the panelling then blasting another hole to fall through to land just behind him.
Rhian arose slowly to full height, so he could bear witness to her face. She smirked, a smile of malicious intent and her eyes gleamed with bloodlust.
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