Post by Trixie Warden on Feb 21, 2016 20:31:10 GMT
She wanted to spend most of her Valentine’s Night with Jude and Kyle, the two men she had come to love so completely, but the drugs had run out the night before. She barely remembered what they had done, if they had done anything at all, but her body ached from their activities and the withdrawals that wracked her every night. She had woken, as she usually did, well before the others that took refuge in their little safe house. Even Addiction, in all his glory, was asleep, a tiny ball of black shadows atop one of the shelves.
Careful not to wake the ones she loved, she placed the softest of butterfly kisses upon Jude’s temple, and then was gone. It didn’t take her long to change her outfit, wearing the shortest skirt she owned and one of the dark corsets that made her skin look flawless. High heeled boots completed her look and off she went, out into the cool Nagasaki night.
Leaving her bike behind, she wandered through the streets, finding her way into Tremere territory. The mountain was known for its illicit activities, street races, and prostitution. If you wanted to pay for a night of fun, you went up there, past the all-seeing eyes of the Prince and the police. She had spent many evenings here, both before and after she had met Jude, her mate in madness. A few of the usual suspects recognized her, but after her extended absence, they didn’t bother to approach her.
It was all the same to her. Most of the ladies of the evening looked run-down and exhausted, their hair stringy and their skin sallow. They would never hold a candle to her. She walked with a confident swagger in her step, moving past their jealousy and glancing at the cars that were parked, waiting for somebody to approach. Most were cheap, old vehicles, or the kind you rented to show off your non-existent wealth to the woman you would only meet once.
One, however, she knew.
She approached the sleek black monster, engine still purring, and leaned over. The window of the passenger seat was rolled down, and inside, a Japanese man smoked a cigarette. He wore dark black sunglasses that hid most of his face from view and a suit known to his kind. Peeking over the neck of his crisp white shirt, she could see the beginnings of tattoos. This Yakuza monster was willing to wait for her, most nights. She wondered what he had been up to since she left.
Resting her elbows on the window, she poked her head into his vehicle. “Hey there, handsome,” she murmured, a slow grin crossing her features.
He looked back up at her, wordlessly, and pressed the lock for his car doors. She opened it with a wide swing and slid onto the leather seat. They didn’t need to speak as he turned, driving off to find a more… private place. He liked things rough, the kind of rough that would leave bruises on both of her arms and all along her back. She would be lucky if she didn’t end up with red rings around her neck. She didn’t mind the violence… She was probably one of the only that could handle it.
He motioned towards the glovebox in front of her. After only a moment of hesitation, she pulled it open, exposing her prize: a large box full of different powders, all organized in little plastic bags. Her fingers quivered with excitement as she looked over it, able to identify most of it just by sight. The others, she lifted and inhaled, the smell wafting through the plastic. She shuddered at one, the smell making her knees weak. She moaned, audibly.
“How much of this?” she asked quietly.
“The entire box,” he answered, voice low and dangerous.
She knew she wouldn’t deny him. It was too good of an offer. She was already shaking, her hips moving of their own accord on the seat. She closed the box and set it down on the floorboard, turning to him with a nod. “Deal.”
“Good,” he whispered, reaching a hand out and grabbing her knee with one hand. He pulled it roughly apart and her hand, based solely on muscle memory, began to move down where she knew he wanted it. “You know where to start. Tonight… you’re mine. I’ve missed you.”
It was going to be a rough night.
Careful not to wake the ones she loved, she placed the softest of butterfly kisses upon Jude’s temple, and then was gone. It didn’t take her long to change her outfit, wearing the shortest skirt she owned and one of the dark corsets that made her skin look flawless. High heeled boots completed her look and off she went, out into the cool Nagasaki night.
Leaving her bike behind, she wandered through the streets, finding her way into Tremere territory. The mountain was known for its illicit activities, street races, and prostitution. If you wanted to pay for a night of fun, you went up there, past the all-seeing eyes of the Prince and the police. She had spent many evenings here, both before and after she had met Jude, her mate in madness. A few of the usual suspects recognized her, but after her extended absence, they didn’t bother to approach her.
It was all the same to her. Most of the ladies of the evening looked run-down and exhausted, their hair stringy and their skin sallow. They would never hold a candle to her. She walked with a confident swagger in her step, moving past their jealousy and glancing at the cars that were parked, waiting for somebody to approach. Most were cheap, old vehicles, or the kind you rented to show off your non-existent wealth to the woman you would only meet once.
One, however, she knew.
She approached the sleek black monster, engine still purring, and leaned over. The window of the passenger seat was rolled down, and inside, a Japanese man smoked a cigarette. He wore dark black sunglasses that hid most of his face from view and a suit known to his kind. Peeking over the neck of his crisp white shirt, she could see the beginnings of tattoos. This Yakuza monster was willing to wait for her, most nights. She wondered what he had been up to since she left.
Resting her elbows on the window, she poked her head into his vehicle. “Hey there, handsome,” she murmured, a slow grin crossing her features.
He looked back up at her, wordlessly, and pressed the lock for his car doors. She opened it with a wide swing and slid onto the leather seat. They didn’t need to speak as he turned, driving off to find a more… private place. He liked things rough, the kind of rough that would leave bruises on both of her arms and all along her back. She would be lucky if she didn’t end up with red rings around her neck. She didn’t mind the violence… She was probably one of the only that could handle it.
He motioned towards the glovebox in front of her. After only a moment of hesitation, she pulled it open, exposing her prize: a large box full of different powders, all organized in little plastic bags. Her fingers quivered with excitement as she looked over it, able to identify most of it just by sight. The others, she lifted and inhaled, the smell wafting through the plastic. She shuddered at one, the smell making her knees weak. She moaned, audibly.
“How much of this?” she asked quietly.
“The entire box,” he answered, voice low and dangerous.
She knew she wouldn’t deny him. It was too good of an offer. She was already shaking, her hips moving of their own accord on the seat. She closed the box and set it down on the floorboard, turning to him with a nod. “Deal.”
“Good,” he whispered, reaching a hand out and grabbing her knee with one hand. He pulled it roughly apart and her hand, based solely on muscle memory, began to move down where she knew he wanted it. “You know where to start. Tonight… you’re mine. I’ve missed you.”
It was going to be a rough night.
