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Post by Oliver James Stryder on May 27, 2013 15:09:07 GMT -5
It was funny, really. How so many feared death--the finality of it, the mystery, the impending black that would eventually come to claim them all. Oliver supposed he would pity those that feared, to an extent--except Oliver didn't do pity, because, to be blunt, Oliver was not the type to empathise; to feel.
He sneered at the word, rolling it across the roof of his mouth with a deft flick of the tongue, his eyes narrowed fractionally as he watched the students of Spurcus Noct wander aimlessly about.
To feel.
It came with such complications--such weaknesses. He shook his head, leaning back against the trunk of the tree, one leg stretched lazily out before him. Happiness, joy and the like; love. What good did they have? His eyes flickered to a couple resting against the East Wall, their fingers tightly linked, his arm cradling her back, her head positioned strategically into the curve of his neck. Resting his elbow onto a neighbouring branch, he rested his cheek against his face, eyes still trained on the couple. The smiles on both their faces glowed, almost--it was sickening.
He wondered whether the boy would still be smiling when Oliver presented the girl to him; limp, lifeless, dead.
You see, that was the catch, with love.
The consequences of it were far deadlier than some small, unimportant thing such as death. Yet still, people chased after it, longed for it their whole lives, whilst cowering in the corner, running from the reaper's scythe.
Oliver clicked his tongue, brow furrowing slightly to show his frustration, his confusion. He would never understand why people ignored the lesser of two evils in order to pursue what hurt most of all--Oliver would know. He'd delivered the pain on more than one occasion.
And yet, it was still celebrated in both humans and vampires, whilst they screamed vengeance at the natural circle of life.
He couldn't, and perhaps would never, understand.
He wondered whether it was because he'd died once, before.
Oliver remembered it well.
The shock--the numbing pain that spread, almost lovingly all over his bloody as that bastard Marluxia left him as a mess on the ground. The desperate attempts of air, the shallow gasps, the panic, the regret, the feeling of this isn't fair illuminating the corners of his mind. He remembered watching Marluxia walk away--his black hair sweeping behind him in a mocking imagery of the final curtain falling to say goodbye. The red of his surroundings--his blood, he'd realised--failing to comfort his thoughts. He remembered thinking of his mother, his father; he remembered, at that last, final moment, whether his father had thought the same as he at his final moment.
And then, that was it--he was gone.
No bright white light, no flash, no ominous voice telling him to cross the waters.
The next thing he could remember was waking up at a hospital a few days later, with only one thing on his mind: he had died, alone, and because of Crissatha Pandora.
And it was because of Crissatha Pandora that he had been reborn.
Twisting his body, he grabbed the branch he'd been sitting on and slid so he dangled off, nails digging into the aging wood before jumping, landing in a crouch onto the floor with a low thud. Straightening up, he brushed non-existent lint off his shoulders before walking towards the dining hall, purpose and a strong superior aura emitting from within every step he took.
Crissatha Pandora--the girl that ran away.
It was quite the title to hold, he supposed. Only, it wouldn't hold for long; not if he had something to do with it.
He'd figured that he'd been brought back from the dead--quite literally--because of one sole reason: to finish what he'd started. He'd been brought back for Crissatha Pandora and nothing else--except, perhaps, for the death of her friends.
And the torture of her love--he sneered once more--Justin Flyte.
Oliver had been keeping track of the girl ever since he'd returned from the dead, and he knew more about her than he supposed her closest friends did; money had a way of making people talk. He knew that her friends, the dread Brat Pack, were no more united as was the sun blue. He supposed he had to thank Julian, for that--whoever he may be. He also knew, that Crissatha had been called home recently, and had returned lacking in the usual spitfire that took residence in her inner core. The split with her boyfriend had further damaged her, much to his delight, and at the time he had wondered whether then was the time to strike.
But then, where would be the challenge? Where was the fun in destroying an already damaged girl?
And so, Oliver had waited.
And waited.
Until now.
He reached the dining hall doors, and using his affinity, forced the doors open, pausing slightly to locate the violet haired girl that he knew so well. The edge of his lips tugged up into a smirk, his eyes dark, and screaming danger, before slowly, much like a predator stalking his prey, walked over to where Crissatha Pandora sat, alone and unguarded.
Grabbing the chair opposite, he pulled it out, the sound of metal stands against the stone floor mirroring nails against a blackboard--except this was no horror film. It was worse.
He sat, placing his elbows onto the table and plopping his chin to rest against his fists. Using his affinity, he mentally pushed the chair forward so it slid across the floor (with Crissatha still in it) and pressed it harshly against the table, knowing that it would cause her pain, and simultaneously pressed a finger to his lips, giving her a quick wink whilst doing so.
He paused, for one, two, three seconds, lapping up the moment, the tension, the undeniable fear and terror that radiated around the room. Locking his eyes with hers, he leaned forward, his voice nothing but a low, almost seductive purr.
"Hello again, my dear." He smiled, his lips twisting into one that asked for trust, warmth--a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"It's been too long."
NOTES: OK SO SORRY I GAVE YOU NOTHING TO REPLY TO BUT I FIGURED CRIS WOULD BE STRUGGLING WITH INNER TURMOIL OR SOMETHING AND I'M A SUCKER FOR CLIFF HANGER ENDINGS OK I'M SORRY BUT GOD I LOVE THESE TWO |
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Crissatha Isobel Pandora
Crimson Vampire
Student/Musician
played by reesa [/size][/i][/center]
Life's a bitch. Then you die.
Posts: 54
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Post by Crissatha Isobel Pandora on May 27, 2013 15:31:58 GMT -5
Cris absently nibbled on the end of her fork. She actually had just been pushing the food on the plate in front of her around without really bothering to touch much of it. She had been restless lately, and she couldn’t quite figure out why. She had been here, there, floating around and really not anywhere at all. Her mind drifted and she found herself just…floating through life. It was fucked up but it happened after she took a mental blow, each time. Right now, she reall was just having a hard time focusing on anything at all.
She didn’t feel like having a good time with her boys, she was avoiding the Pack like the plague because friends just got her into trouble obviously and Lux had been busy doing his own thing, which she supposed was to be expected. It wasn’t’ like she wanted him to be ready for her beck and call or whatever, she had never want that when their friendship was so equal and she had already abused it while she had been losing her mind for a while there. So what to do?
She had gone to the dining hall, figuring that maybe getting something to eat would clear her mind even though she really didn’t need much, mostly she just needed blood so she didn’t feel too bad about just pushing the food around her plate over and over again with a distracted air about herself. She was on her own, she was free to her thoughts and mostly those thoughts seemed to be wandering, though they were also carefully steering clear of certain things that she didn’t want to dwell on. Or rather, certain people if she were to be honest. There were people she didn’t want to think about, events, scars. Absently she rubbed her shoulder and then shook her head.
She grumbled and pushed the plate away from herself and then resumed nibbling on the end of her fork, her thoughts scattering as she did. Fuck what was with her. She really wanted to be able to focus on something, she wanted to be the way she was. Did having friends and a boyfriend damage her? She thought so. Probably. She didn’t want to be weak and she was trying so hard not to be that she was forcing it too hard, but what was so wrong with that?
At least she was on her own while she was having this stupid fucking dilemma. She didn’t need anyone else seeing her fall apart. Or at least, she thought she was alone. Cris had been distracted by her own tumultuous thoughts that she hadn’t notice anyone new enter the dining hall otherwise she herself would have left the moment that he entered. She didn’t even notice the way the doors had slammed open because she was off on her own in a corner, not wanting to be bothered. Instead, she didn’t notice until the chair across from her practically shrieked as it was being dragged back.
Her head snapped up then, all ready to curse out who ever had decided she was good company, even if they were a friend, and tell them that she just wanted to be alone and they could fuck themselves instead. She didn’t want the friendship right about now. Instead, the person who pulled out the chair made her entirely freeze, with her body going rigid like the ice she often called herself after. Fuck. Fuck. What was this? She had thogut he was dead. Everyone told her he was dead. A cold wash of fear went over her. And she was not the sort to be afraid.
But when faced with one’s murderer, it was sort of hard not to entirely freak out and have that cold burst of fear. Especially when she had been told he was dead. She would not have been so calm all these years since if she had known he was alive. Oh no, instead she would have tried to make sure he didn’t stay alive so soon because he scared the shit out of her. He had killed her, basically, though she had got him first king enough to get away anyway.
She went to push herself to stand, to get the hell away from him but the cold press of metal stopped her and she looked down to notice that the bastard had used his affinity. She tugged at them anyway, and was five seconds from calling out, despite the finger on his lips. Fuck, she wanted out of here, this was not how she had planned on her day going. She tugged a few more times at the metal for good measure and then, realizing she was pretty damn stuck, she did her best to shove down her fear and put up the ice walls instead.
”Let me go, Oliver” was all she said, pouring on the stony tone to cover up other things, in answer to his words, not really answering them per se, but doing her best to just…deal with this. Until she could free herself of the damn chair anyway. ”I’m not your anything” she couldn’t resist answering, resisting the urge to spit the foul taste of being anything to him out of her mouth just barely, when he called her his dead. Nope, that was not happening. Never again . Fool me once, shame on me, fool me twice…well…that wasn’t going to happen.
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Post by Oliver James Stryder on May 27, 2013 19:40:36 GMT -5
It was a feeling he couldn't describe.
The look of pure terror on his beloved Crissatha's face, the way her whole body froze like ice, as if her muscles were locked into position with one word. He couldn't decide which he preferred; her screaming in agony, or her scared, and panicking.
It was a good thing he'd be able to experience both.
He noticed she attempted to stand--to run away, he expected--and so with a flick of his hand (he didn't need to, but he was all for theatrics) shoved the chair harder into the table, squeezing Crissatha further between the gap, before offering her a cheerful smile.
”Let me go, Oliver,” she said, and he almost grinned at the harshness of the words, closing his eyes as he took in the cement, the ice, the blunt manner in which she spoke. He was willing to play nice, to only talk, then let her go--but then she pushed it, as she always did.
”I’m not your anything.”
His eyes sharply opened, his gaze dead, and hard. He looked at her, his Crissatha, and he smiled, letting no warmth slip through. "Now now," he murmured, his voice low, cold, dangerous. "Play nice, my darling. You know the temper i have."
A warning.
He flexed his fingers once more, and he released the chair slightly, allowing her more room to breathe, to relax (but still not enough for her to escape) before sharply pulling it back, ramming her harshly back into the table. "Before you have any ideas of making a grande escape, just remember, my dear--" using his affinity, he raised her knife and fork into the air, turning them, as if dancing a slow duet, in front of her, his gaze never leaving hers, "--of what i can do." He paused for a moment, before letting the cutlery drop onto her hands so the tips scratched the surface of her skin, gently pressing against it.
It wouldn't hurt--not yet. He wouldn't hurt his darling Pandora yet.
Letting the cutlery drop back neatly onto the table, he cocked his head to the side, watching Crissatha with almost bored eyes, as if they had met for a casual dinner--and not, as it were, him forcing her to stay against her will.
Licking his lips, he shifted his weight, leaning forward every so slightly, one hand reaching out to take a hold of her hair and run it through his fingers. "Lovely colours, Crissatha," he commented, danger continuing to coat his voice, "why--i do believe this was the colour you had your hair the night you died, hm?"
His eyes narrowed infinitesimally--small talk was beginning to end.
"And, if you remember--which i hope you do--the night I died." He let go of her hair, but left his hand across the table, a few millimeters away from hers. "Do you know why I've come back, darling?" He paused, more for dramatic effect, before adding, "I was reborn for you, Crissatha. Do you see? I came back for you."
Oliver leaned back, a soft grin--almost grateful--on his face. "Just you wait, Pandora. Just. You. Wait."
Another warning--a warning of what's to come. A message that read: be prepared.
"Oh, but wait," he began, "i'm getting ahead of myself--Crissatha, baby, i want you to know why i'm here. Not here as in living, but here. Spurcus Noct." He jabbed a finger down onto the table to emphasise his point, a slow grin starting to settle on his lips.
"I'm not here for you--not now. That comes later."
He paused, enjoying the moment, the tension--
"Darling, i'm here for your boyfriend." He smiled.
"I'm here for Justin Flyte."
NOTES: SORRY IT'S REALLY SHORT AND FOR THE BIT OF GM I CAN CHANGE IF U WISH |
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Crissatha Isobel Pandora
Crimson Vampire
Student/Musician
played by reesa [/size][/i][/center]
Life's a bitch. Then you die.
Posts: 54
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Post by Crissatha Isobel Pandora on May 27, 2013 21:17:31 GMT -5
Suddenly, Cris’s choice of seat was starting to turn from a good idea—she didn’t feel like dealing with people today so she had chosen a quiet corner away from anyone else—to a damn bad idea. It was obvious why it was a bad idea, being that the boy who had basically killed her, though on accident and she was sure he had planned something worse, was now sitting across from her at the table. Fuck, shit, fuck. She was going to kick herself for this choice, she should have sat somewhere right in the damn middle where if she screamed someone would notice.
Not that Cris was the screaming type, of course. No, she was not. But she’d make an exception if he didn’t go the fuck away. Cris still had nightmares about the last time they ran into each other and it hadn’t even been that bad. If it hadn’t been for Cris’s serious panic attacks that had forced the air from her lungs, she likely wouldn’t have died from their last encounter. That had just been pure bad luck, though she supposed he had wanted to kill her anyway, so was it really bad luck? Or just fate going around a way that would likely bring her back? She didn’t think there’d be a way to come back from what he did. She wasn’t sure but she had heard some rumors since.
She had attempted to stand, despite the freaking chair deciding it liked her ankles a little bit too much—his damn affinity getting in the way of her escape—and she suddenly found herself making the acquaintance of the table. Her breath left her with a whoosh as she did and she grunted softly, being that she hadn’t expected it, before pushing at the table, trying to grate the chair back an inch or so.
He looked at her with dead eyes and she did her best to return the favor, putting up the wall between herself and her fear for how close they were, fuck she never wanted to be this close to him ever again. She had thought he was dead. She had hoped he was dead, why the fuck wasn’t he dead? Right. Same reason she wasn’t dead. She shook her head and refused to answer that comment. Yeah, she knew. She knew damn well. But she wasn’t dignifying it with an answer.
She took a sharp breath when the chair moved back, and then another when it slammed back. Well shit, she was going to end up with bruises wasn’t she? She didn’t really like being toyed around with, Cris usually liked having all the power. But she knew that he did too, it was where her need for it had originated, being a tad bit challenging. She watched the knife and fork rise with careful eyes, careful not to give anything away. ”How could I forget” she answered, doping her best to seem bored, uninterested, not playing his damn game. She wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.
The press of the metal against her skin, she did her best ot ignore, to not look at it, she focused on him instead and refused to flinch back, though everything in her wanted to bolt out as fast as she possibly could. That was what every instinct, every Crimson instinct, inside of her was telling her to do, though that was currently not very possible. She didn’t have use of her feet and she was jammed against a table. Kinda made things hard. She pushed against the table again, attempting to at least jam it back a bit.
For all that she was trying to seem bored, the tone of his voice scared her. She wasn’t going to deny that inside her own head for all that she was trying very hard not to show it outside. She was doing her best not to give him anything to work with but she knew that despite all her efforts, she was. Despite trying her best not to give him anything, she knew he had to be getting something otherwise he would have gotten bored already.
He took hold of her hair and it took every ounce of her will not to slap it away from her. She didn’t want him touch her, he was damn well close enough. She growled softly, when he mentioned that being the color she had when she died. She knew full well, she tried to ignore it. It was the reason she hadn’t worn the color since but the purple went so well with the Blue, she had been trying to ignore her history with the damn color but of course he would bring it up.
His words though, she shook her head. They made the fear in her slip a little to give way to a different emotion: Disbelief. ”You are fucking crazy she said before she could help herself. Bating the guy who liked beating on her? Probably not a good idea. But who said Cris had ever been good at doing what she should and shouldn’t do? He was reborn for her. He had lost his damn mind when he had been reborn, that was for damn certain. He had not been reborn for her, he had been reborn because the world fucking hated her, if his rebirth had absolutely anything at all to do with her.
The smile nearly scared her more than his icy looks of before though and she leaned back ever so slightly. She did not want to wait, she wantd him to die. Again. And not come back this time. The sooner the better. She wasn’t usually murderious in her thoughts but she would make an exception for this one.
His next message made her arch her brow, and then try to push back again when he said that he was coming for her later. Now, or later, she didn’t want the boy near her ever again and intended to get away. It was when he mentioned what he was here for that she snapped. And reacted before she had a moment to think.
Now, with her positioning and how she was currently stuck thanks to his affinity, there was no way she’d be able to get a good punch on him. But she could slap him, and she did, right across the face. It wasn’t the best slap that she ever gave but it was still pretty damn good, and she narrowed her eyes, fear gone for a moment just because…well…she was just starting to patch things up with Justin and she fucking loved him. As much as that hurt right now, still. She loved him. She wasn’t going to let Oliver of all people near him. ”Don’t you fucking touch him” she growled, fear aside for a moment. Stupid thing to do? Probably. She barely noticed.
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Post by Oliver James Stryder on May 28, 2013 23:20:10 GMT -5
His affinity was a gift--one he abused, with no mercy.
The crimson remembered when it first appeared within his life, the surprise he felt when the cup he'd dropped had simply hung in mid-air. The wonder he felt, when he realised just what he could do. He smiled faintly at the memories, chuckling a little to himself as he recalled how he'd first killed his first animal--a cat, quite big--by trapping it by throwing all sorts of litter at it with his affinity. He'd later practised so he could handle smaller thing such as knives and the like to be held with precision--to cut with accuracy. It was only a matter of time before he'd mastered it.
He hadn't even reached his teenage years, when he had.
The forced sharp intake of breath, followed by another matched the rhythm Oliver set whilst he toyed with the chair she sat on, his fingers flexing in a dramatic show, bragging to all that saw as a message to say: look what i can do--what i'm willing to do. He raised the cutlery with precision, making them twirl slowly in the air, a waltz performed by puppets in which he controlled the strings.
”How could I forget,” Cris answered, and Oliver smiled at how well she covered up her fear; she almost sounded bored, as if this meeting wasn't the stuff of her nightmares.
But, Oliver knew better.
And so would she.
The sharp edges of the cutlery gently kissed her skin, and she, again, ignored it, a look of disinterest painted thickly over her features, her eyes focused on his. She shoved against the table with the palm of her hand, and with a smirk, his eyes flicked lower to the edge of the table, and with another movement of his fingers, the chair moved; only this time, the table jutted forward in time with the chair. Smiling pleasantly at her, he slowly shook his head--warning her not to try such idiotic actions again.
He had to say, he was impressed.
Before he'd died, he remembered how offhandedly Cris took everything; the rolling of the eyes, the smirks, the general does it look like i give a shit? attitude. And here she was, trying so hard to retain that look.
Trying so hard, yet failing--as she always did. As she always would.
He reached out to play with her hair, and grinned as he watched her struggle to keep still. The internal struggle of forcing herself to endure it was, he was sure, unbearable for her. When she growled his smile widened, and he couldn't resist casually adding, "touchy subject?"
As if he didn't know.
He knew perfectly well, what his words would do to her.
As he knew what his knives would do, later on. He lips twisted into a gruesome smile, as he pondered over the plans he'd poured his heart out dreaming up; months of work had gone over it, and believe me, when he executed it, all that had taken part would receive a standing ovation in applause.
But then Cris opened her mouth, spitting out words that would infuriate him, as she must've known. ”You are fucking crazy," she'd said in reply to him, and he, who'd still been smiling, let it falter, his eyes hardening with each passing second. "You have no idea," he purred, before chuckling and adding, "but soon, you will."
Oliver noticed he leaned back, so with another flick of his fingers, he brought her chair closer, shaking his head once more. He was willing to play nice--but only if she did, too. But then her brow arched, and she re-attempted to push herself away; before throwing herself forward and flinging her arm towards Oliver, her hand making a sharp smack as it rebounded off his cheek.
”Don’t you fucking touch him," she'd growled, and Oliver paused, letting the moment sink in.
The slap still stung, the action leaving a red blush scattered across his skin, and he closed his eyes, fighting to stay calm--his hands clenched, his fingers digging into his palms, and he felt heat rising, radiating from his body, his core. Letting out a slow breath, he slowly opened his eyes, no sense of humour, of playing nice left in the blue irises.
He raised his hand to his cheek, and softly pressed against it with his fingers, watching Cris as he did so. He clicked his neck once, twice, before lowering his hand back down onto the table, not speaking until he was sure he could handle his fury.
"Now Crissatha," he spoke in a low, low tone, the words harshly but softly whispered, demanding authority and fear. "You do realise, that i've, so far, held up the courtesy of playing nice." As he spoke, he'd been slowly lifting her chair, forcing her to rise slowly--not enough for the whole room to notice, but enough to show her just who was in control. To show her how easily he toyed with her life--how easily he could toy with the lives of everyone that mattered to her.
"But," he added, "you've forced me to rethink my thoughts." The chair, which had rose high enough to press her thighs against the table, suddenly dropped, the shock, he was certain, to be painful. "I'm done playing nice, Pandora," he snarled, "don't you realise your actions affect not just your boyfriend, but others too?" He leaned forward, cheek still stinging, blood still ringing in his ears, and smiled, before grabbing her hair and shoving her face into the table. The knife had risen into the air, and he'd planned to take it--to take it and lunge it into her hand, to rip through the skin, the tissues, the muscle--but he forced himself to remember that they were in a public place, after all.
Letting out another breath, he let go of her hair, which he'd kept firmly pressed against the table, and straightened his shirt.
"I'm so sorry about that, my dear," he said in a clipped tone, "but you do remember my temper, don't you? A word of advice; don't piss me off." He cocked his head to the side, the smile still in place.
"Otherwise, who knows what i might do?" He shrugged in a blasé fashion, as if they were merely commenting on the weather. "Oh, by the way; how is that endearing little Pack of yours?" He grinned, twirling his finger to match the pace of the knife that moved, the metal glinting ominously as it spun between them like a mocking barrier which kept them apart.
"Or should i ask how your darling panther is doing?" He smiled. "Chii, i think it were?"
He paused, daring her to object--to challenge him. He'd chosen Cris because of her impulsiveness; her mind which kept him guessing, her actions which came as a surprise, her defying manner in which she hurled herself back every time he'd thought he'd pushed her too far. He'd chosen her, because she never failed to entertain Oliver--not once.
And he knew she wouldn't now.
NOTES: SUCKY ENDING BUT O WELL |
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Crissatha Isobel Pandora
Crimson Vampire
Student/Musician
played by reesa [/size][/i][/center]
Life's a bitch. Then you die.
Posts: 54
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Post by Crissatha Isobel Pandora on May 29, 2013 23:31:45 GMT -5
Now, usually Cris was a brazen sort. She backed down to no one, she didn’t back off, she didn’t stand down, she went right back at people head to head without stopping. There was one exception to this and he was sitting across the damn table from her. With him, she figured running was likely the better option. She had run the night she had died after all, though that hadn’t done her any good she figured it had saved her a nastier death. She had never run from him when she knew him last, she had never had a reason.
Back then he was still acting sweet towards her. Acting being the key word after what she had seen that last night and the face that she was seeing now, and did see back then in glimpses and brief moments, but Cris always picked the abusive ones so she had, in all honesty, barely really noticed it at all. She had een his real side though, and she was seeing it now. And she knew if she had a damn choice she would be running. As far as her legs could take her. She wasn’t the sort to run but damn, she wanted to. She did not want to be in the room with him.
She was scared shitless, at that moment, but she thought that she was doing a damn good job of keeping it hidden. But she still wanted to bolt as soon as fucking possible. As soon as he let the fucking chair let her go and stopped trying to crush her against the table. Fucker. She would hurt him if she didn’t think he’d hurt her back worse, not that she was scared. Okay, so she had already admitted that she was, shut the fuck up.
She hated his damn affinity, and he was showing off, with the show with the cutlery and the damn chair that was keeping her where she was. When she would rather be so out of here. How many times had she thought that now? Whatever. She answered with a bored tone, proud of the way it hid her inner thoughts and she was going to keep that up, keep up not letting him see.
If she could help it anyway.
He made the table go with her chair, gave her a warning look and she scowled right on back at him to hide the fear prickling in the back of her mind. She did not want to be stuck with this bastard. He then played with her hair and she did her best not to move, not to slap him away—a sort of restraint she would lose soon enough but for right then she was behaving. He called it a touchy subject and she rolled her eyes. ”I’m meeting Lux, so why don’t you get on with what you’re here about?” she growled. It was fake, a ploy, a try to make him leave. She was on her own but fuck, it could be true. The boy was always checking in on her.
And then he told her why he was there, what he was there about, and she slapped him. She would have rather punched but slapped was what she could manage. Fuck.
She was still pissed enough that she didn’t much care that she had pissed him off as well, that she didn’t give a shit. He had threatened Justin, and she didn’t take well with that obviously. She knew she shouldn’t have but fuck, Cris was a creature of instinct sometimes. Bad instinct but oh well, she hit everyone. Probably just hit the wrong person.
She was breathing a bit heavier, angry, eyes narrowed but the fear was creeping up again when he reacted the way he did. It was hard not to be just a little bit afraid of the man that killed you, after all. He said he was playing nice and suddenly Cris started to notice that she was rising, ever so slightly, she blinked a bit and tried not to have a total spaz out. Seriously, what gods thought it was alright to give this psycho that affinity?
She didn’t answer him, fuck she was trying not to even listen to him, when suddenly the chair dropped and she closed her eyes against the shock of the sudden drop before opening them to look at him, glaring and trying to hide absolutely every emotion that she was feeling. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. He reached forward, and she leaned back but she was at a disadvantage and she cried out when she was slammed forward. Shit. She struggled, clawed at his damn hand but, again, disadvantage.
He let her up and she rubbed her head with the palm of her hand. The loud bangs, her own pained noise, he snapped too easily he’d get his own damn self caught. She narrowed her eyes at him. And refused to answer.
The pack, he referenced, and she just shrugged. Empty thread towards the bunch that could take care of themselves, or so she made herself think so that way she wouldn’t react again. Besides, she wasn’t close with them right now, they were fucking safe, at least in her mind. Her baby though, the bastard threatened her baby, she narrowed her eyes, but everything in her was rigid. More angry than scared. She didn’t like people fucking around with her baby.
But answering was not a good option for her.
She rubbed her forehead again. ”You seem a tad unstable Oli. Drawing attention to where you’re fucking with a student, won’t that get you fucking kicked off the grounds? she asked, feighning like she didn’t care.
But her mind just kept going back to her baby. Who she knew was with Lux because she had been prone to dropping Chii off with Lux. But then she froze. She hadn’t had Chii back when she knew him before. How the fuck did he know her name? ”You fucking stalker.” was all she managed to mutter in reaction.
OOC: This post is such shit, I'm sorry ><
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Post by Oliver James Stryder on Sept 2, 2013 20:20:48 GMT -5
Her hair was soft--it always was, he remembered, almost surprisingly so for a girl who dyed her hair as often as she. He gently brushed against the purple strands, intricately twisting them gently across his fingers, calm eyes fixed almost lovingly onto the sea of violet. He, fully aware of how the intimacy between the two greatly troubled the fledgling, made an effort to lean in closer, his stomach pressing against the thin edge of the dining hall tables, his lower chest just flattening against the surface.
His fingers still entwined within her hair, he let his gaze fall to settle on those iconic blue, blue eyes--for a moment, he thought he detected fear; or was it annoyance? He wouldn't have been surprised with either, nor would he have been if it were both. Crissatha's viscous reputation preceded her, although he considered her as more of a sleeping dragon than some vindictive school girl. and he knew this all too well. His gaze returned to the lock of hair he currently held in his fist, and he stared, finding himself slightly bewildered at the urge to pull her hair with such a force each and every strand would rip and tear its way out of her scalp. He envisioned how much trouble it would cause; the amount of blood, if any at all, the screams the action would enforce, the unavoidable attention--in the split second he took to considering doing it, he'd released his grip on her hair and had dismissed the childish impulse. For childish it was, and Oliver had come too far to let his plans be foiled by some incessant, puerile need. Now was not the time nor place--he couldn't fall into his desires so easily.
Not when he'd waited so long for this one moment--it had to be perfect.
She, keeping up the blase act--for yes, it was an act. A good one, but Oliver knew her too well; he could see straight through every layer of her wall, as if they were glass not brick--rolled her eyes and roughly growled out, ”I’m meeting Lux, so why don’t you get on with what you’re here about?"
Oliver wasn't foolish, he understood the dig she aimed for.
The mention of Marluxia, the long haired boy who'd caused Oliver's death instantly darkened the vampire's features, a cold mixture of wrath and hatred pulling over his eyes and tugging at his lips. The subject, as it always did, sullied his thoughts, a dark ring of rouge hovering dangerously in the corners of his vision. Licking his lips, he (once more) willed away the appeals of violence, struggling for calm--he always was a creature of impulse, of pure brutality and bloodshed. Instincts demanded for cruelty, destruction, disorder; empathy and placidity were not emotions he liked to comply with; and yet, he must.
He must.
For her--for his dear, darling Pandora.
He pushed the corners of his lips up into a gentle smile, eyes creasing in a fake emotion of laughter, a soft chuckle ready to be released at the tip of his tongue. "Oh, don't you worry about Marluxia, love," he said, "I still owe many thanks to that boy; I'll take care of him after I'm done with you." His smile grew, eyes lifting back up to settle on her soft, soft hair, eye narrowing imperceptibly at the reemerging desires of stripping her scalp. "As for the prospect of him interrupting our date--oh, Crissatha. I would have thought you knew me better than that; i would have thought you were a better liar than that." His eyes, a mixture of green and a similar shade of blue to hers--although not as strikingly beautiful as Crissatha's (although, of course, hardly ever were)--fluttered back to hold her gaze, as if demanding her to tell he otherwise.
It was futile, of course. They both knew Marluxia would never know of this meeting. Firstly, because Oliver had already seen to it that the boy and all of her friends would be busy, and secondly, he doubted Crissatha was the type to run her tongue.
It wasn't pride, he suspected, but more an element of arrogance--the idea that she could handle this on her own.
Indubitably, this idea would never be a reality.
He was her weakness.
She'd never be able to win, and this, they both knew; however much she wanted to deny it.
The conversation moved to the topic of Justin Flyte, and that was when the situation began to perilously slip.
The sound of the slap hung embarrassingly in the air; the brush of red streaked brightly across his cheek, mocking his dominance, questioning his authority for all to see. The pain, although lingering, didn't bother him. He knew pain, he dealt and served pain--it was this unforgivable humiliation that he couldn't take, the idea of someone so weak as she daring to lay a finger on his skin. To undermine his command, his preeminence.
It was the one thing he could not, he would not forgive.
He saw red.
He wanted to kill her.
He wanted to kill her; murder her in such a way that would shock the society to its core--mutilate her body with his bare hands, his nails ripping apart the sinews and muscles holding together her life, her soul as if they were mere pieces of string, insignificant and unworthy. Break her bones, burn her organs and rejoice in her sea of blood.
He forced himself to breathe.
His fingers twitched--imagination allowing his hands to mimic his desires in a miniscule scale, his lips rippling backwards infinitesimally to bare fangs, lowered and poised, ready to rip, destroy.
Oliver flicked his fingers in one, fluid motion; up.
And so she rose.
Slowly, centimeter by centimeter, the sensation similar to floating at first, he imagined, before gravity began it's work, turning the feeling from wonder to discomfort--to fear.
She rose, his darling Pandora, the wonderful, marvelous Pandora, until her thighs pressed harshly against the desk, and yet she did not stop. He watched her, watched her panic, the desperate yet failed attempts to cover up her fear, her terror.
And then, he watched her fall.
Before she could react, he lunged forward, grabbing her soft, soft hair, and pushed down, slamming her cheek into table, his hand firmly in place, keeping her there, keeping her prisoner, in her rightful place. She struggled against his grip, her own hands reaching up to claw at his skin but he easily ignored them, holding her down until the red began to fade.
It was only when the glimpse of the knife twirling in midair crossed his line of vision that he remembered just where they were, and he forced himself back, his hands grudgingly letting her free.
Remember, you're not alone.
The other students, although far too easy to be ridden of, was too much of a hassle--too much mess to clean.
They were simply not worth his time.
He smiled once more, his posture friendly, yet his tone clipped, his words dropping barely concealed threats here and there, about her friends, her filthy pet she kept hidden around.
Surprisingly, (or unsurprisingly) she simply shrugged at the mention of her friends, and yet when Oliver mentioned Chii--her eyes narrowed, her form turning rigid. Anger, he could see, was beginning to replace fear. He, in response, arched a brow, breathing out a soft laugh, the knife still dancing lifelessly in the air. But the blatant anger didn't last long--it never did. She, as always, feigned indifference, rubbing her forehead gently with her fingers before asking, almost in a monotonous voice, ”you seem a tad unstable Oli. Drawing attention to where you’re fucking with a student, won’t that get you fucking kicked off the grounds?"
He nearly laughed at that.
What Crissatha didn't know--what she wouldn't know, not yet--was that he was a hunter. If anyone were to inquire about why there was a scene, all he had to do was say that he had orders to turn the Pandora girl in--that she was causing too much trouble, a risk to the general public.
And who would they believe, an infamous trouble maker, or one of Aurum's very own?
Ignoring her question, he simply smiled knowingly, his eyes never leaving hers. "You ought to control your responses, love." He flicked his fingers once more, and the knife jerked violently towards her direction, flying towards her right eye, before lunging to the left, to the end of the table--halting to a lull near the edge. "Now I know who to kill."
”You fucking stalker.”
His smile grew.
"You have no idea, my dear, darling, Pandora." NOTES: AHHH IM REALLY SORRY THERE'S HARDLY ANYTHING TO RESPOND TO BUT IT WAS ALREADY RLLY LONG SO I FELT I SHOULD STOP IAHFOISDHFSO SORRY IT'S REALLY BAD AH I WILL DO BETTER NEXT TIME LUV U |
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Crissatha Isobel Pandora
Crimson Vampire
Student/Musician
played by reesa [/size][/i][/center]
Life's a bitch. Then you die.
Posts: 54
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Post by Crissatha Isobel Pandora on Sept 4, 2013 18:24:10 GMT -5
Her back found rough bark, scraping and bruising up the pale expanse of skin even through the cotton of the black shirt she wore. She attempted to push back but there was no give in front of her, no, not at all. Her heavy steel toed boots found no grip in the wet dew that soaked the grass under her feet. She winced as she felt the uneven grooves catch and tug violet and chestnut strands, plucking at strands and causing little pricks of pain. Earlier that day she had been reminding herself to redye the violet highlights as critical ice colored eyes had studied her image in the mirror as she had readied herself to go out with her boyfriend. Ha, boyfriend. Laughable word, she thought now. But right then it had been the farthest thought from her mind.
Rough male hands, much bigger then her own, pinned one hip and the other shoulder to the bark making her wince...demanding lips met hers. She kissed him back but she didn't want this. She didn't like this.
Crissatha Pandora hated when she was not in control.
She turned her head away, a gruff, almost inaudible voice passed her lips. She hated to admit how scared it sounded. Cris wasn’t the way that she was no, oh no, death had caused her to become the walled off ice bitch she was now. She wasn’t a sweetheart by any stretch of the imagination, but she still let herself feel back then. Just not fear. Fear she didn’t want near her at all. "Get off. I'm done" She growled softly. Cris had odd morals when it came to love and lovers. She loved to please her boys, especially when she decided to settle down with just one instead of play around...but she never went farther than she wanted to go.
Cris shook her head, cutting off the memory before it could get any farther. She hated that fucking memory. It killed her at night, most nights, causing the nightmares that plagued her. That and dying, that killed her memory too, plagued her when she slept. And all of it, every little bit, was his fault. All the same, she would take the nightmares and the constant horrible memories if it meant she never had to be anywhere near him ever again. As long as she didn’t have to see his smirking face across from her.
Oh she was scared. And unlike that night where it bothered her to be scared, now it absolutely pissed her off. She had been softer then, now she was far from it. And all the same he could reduce her to fear. Fear and anger. Just by being in the same room as her. She wished he really was dead. Why wasn’t he? Lux had told her he was. But then again, he was, wasn’t he? Just like her. In the end. She scowled, but it was more at her thoughts than him, though he could take it as directed at him too.
She knew, either way, as much as she hated him for killing her, she could dig at him using the man she knew had done the same favor to him, for killing her. It was a lovely cycle wasn’t it? Anyway, she had purposely used Lux’s name, and why not? It was totally possible he would show up, he stalked her life that way ever since the incident with Justin. He worried about her, that was what best friends did but with him it was more. He had always protected her. So no shit Cris was going to mention him to dig at Oliver.
She narrowed her eyes at him. His features had darkened which scared her moer than she would admit but she kept it off her face, through years of practice keeping her emotions from showing at all. His answer made it seem like he was going on a killing spree, and somehow Cris would not put that past him. She huffed and shook her head. ”Because taking care of him worked so well for you last time” she said, a mocking tone msostly to cover up the fear. She should not bait him. She should keep her mouth shut.
And yet she just kept talking. Oh you think I’m lying?” she said, arching a brow, really just focusing on keeping her fear from showing and not monitoring the words that were coming out of her mouth.
Or apparently what her hands did.
Being that she did slap him a moment later. Oops. She was a tad bit protective over certain people. She had changed a little since they had last interacted, got stronger. Not that she wasn’t still scared out of her wits, but she was better. And apparently didn’t think before she did a damn thing.
And it came back to bite her in the ass.
He slammed her head down to the table and she shrieked, she hadn’t been exepecting it though with a violent asshole like him she supposed she should have, right? Right. She clawed at his hand, trying to get the bastard to let her go, to let off her. But she really didn’t have any advantage. Locked down to a chair, same level of vamp as him, and he was male. It pretty much meant she was stuck just trying to cause damage to make him let the hell go.
Cris enjoyed control, she liked being in control and being on top. She enjoyed playing for dominance and winning. She did not like when all that control of hers went out the fucking window as it seemed to each time this bastard entered her life and fucked her up.
She jerked back in her seat when the fucking knife went near her—seriously what fucked up god had decided it was a good idea to give him the affinity that he had?—and tried to back up as far as she could from it, because well fuck. It was a knife near her face. He let it jerk away and she narrowed her eyes at him. She didn’t speak, no, not this time. This time she kept her mouth shut. He wouldn’t be able to kill anyone she cared about, she would see to that. She would throw herself on the line of fire before that could ever happen.
Fucking stalker though, fucking stalker.
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