Name/Nicknames: Rochelle Rosaline LaRouge
Most of my family call me "Rosie." My bro called me "Rockie" and my friends... I'd like them to call me "Rockie" too. But then again I don’t need friends anyways.
Age: 23
I just turned 23. But it feels like a decade has passed since I dropped out of highschool. I don't think I'mma see 30 at this rate either...
Appearance: 5'6" / 130lbs / Eyes: Blue / Hair: Black
I wear dark makeup. I sometimes wear red lipstick. My hair is either messy or under a hat. I like leather, hoodies, denim, skater shoes, high top kicks, cut off tops or tank tops cuz I have a tight bod. Legit, no lie. I wear spikes or chains or bones or feathers as accents. Black is my best colour. Anything dark really. I paint my nails black but I paint my toe nails bright rainbow colours to remind me to kick your ass if you hate on girls or lezzies. I have tats and I pierced my tongue, lip and hood so eff you. I will wear rings only if I think I'mma get a beat down, but other than that i won't cuz I gots bad circulation at the extremities when I get cold. And I get cold a lot. I got pale white skin as most white girls have, and the sun burns the hell out of me so I'm pale all the time. Oh, and I do shave my legs, pits and crotch: Fite me, bitch.
Personality:
Abrasive, mouthy, aggressive, pessimistic about people, drinks too much, keeps to herself kinda' loner-ish but definitely a non-conformist with middle fingers to the world. Always goes off about how she hates cats and dogs too.
But underneath it all she is lonely, sympathetic and helps others if in serious need, can be really chatty and sometimes even friendly when drunk (even huggy buddy-buddy with people she knows), good work ethic and even though she dresses all dark and trashy she works out regularly and eats healthy... that drinking though… And even though cats hate her and dogs love her, she stays away from them because she feels bad for 'using them.'
Bio:
I always walk down the alley behind Dersend Street because I hate getting those judging stares from all those out of the closet and openly street hipsters with their new tattoos and second hand designer clothes. Ughs. There are other reasons I walk dark alleys alone, but most of all I walk the alley here because I don't have to bump into anyone I know.
Oh look. Theres a stray cat. And oh look. It's hissing at me and fur and tail all looking like it grabbed a fork and shoved it into an electric socket. Man, sometimes I wish they could just do that and leave me alone. I kid, I joke. But sometiiiiimes…
My moms said dad was like that. A stray cat. Wandering from place to place, working schemes and eating bad food. That and humping any willing pussy cat that it came across. So yeah, as you can tell I never met my dad. So meh. No opinion on the guy. But moms says I gots a lot of his characteristics. I guess she means I’m like a cat too. But
I know… I soooooo know she means I inherited the other part of his mysterious ways. So yeah. I’m not a junkie but she’s right; I am more like a cat more than anyone knows. Especially when I ‘use.’
I’m gonna pull my hood over my head and shove my hands in my pockets and not make eye contact now. Cuz speaking of junkies... here we have two of them. These dudes are pretty strung out too-- Nah, damsit…! They wanna mess with me. Because I’m a chick, or because I’m alone, or because I got a sweet leather jacket with studs and chains patches and prints on it, or just cuz they’re high. I don’t know. And I don’t care. Hell yeah, me.
All I know is that this is the deep down reason why I walk these alleys alone in the dark. I don’t like junkies and I only know one thing from them… and I only want to share
that very one thing with them. Take it back.
Pain.
~~~
Moms only got clean when she had me n’ my bro. Other than that, she collected welfare on us and used our milk money to get her fix. We never lived in anywhere nice. I was the dirty girl in school. They all called me whore and told all lies about me sucking off the whole football team. Yeah, there were times when they all got physical on me, but I’m a fighter and so I fought back. But it was the emotional scars that cut me deepest and hurt the most. They still burn in my brain. So to ease the pain, I took to the happiness found at the bottom of a bottle. Liquor. Yay.
Markie tried to protect me, but there’s only so much a scrawny skid row kid could do. You think I got it bad… he got it worse. If I stood up for him, they took it out on in and it became just that much worse for him… and so… and so I just let him take it. He took it all. And they hurt him. They hurt him sooooo bad. He took it all for me, to protect my sorry ass. My little bro, Markie. He was 17 when he started to ‘use’ to cope with it all. He was still 17 when he OD’d and died choking on his own vomit. He was just a kid trying to cope. Just a sweet kid and I let him hurt for me. He was in pain. More than I could ever know. I was his big sis and I just could not protect him. I just… would not. And now he’s dead. Oh Markie… I am sooooo sorry… I just… I...
And what did moms say? Oh god, I love her soooooo much-- she got clean when she had me n’ Markie --but all she was concerned about was losing that welfare cheque. I love you so much but… god damn you to hell and rot there, you bitch.
We buried him last year with the financial help of public services and donations from some nice people and some nice churches. I wanted to try to repay them but they wouldn’t take it. Oh god, how it killed me that I couldn’t own up for my own kid brother’s funeral. So useless. SO USELESS!! I wanted to die. I sooooo just wanted to end my pathetic, useless, dirty girl-whore life.
But then...
it called out to me as I tied that noose. I’m a fighter, it told me. Keep fighting. It would help me. I thought it was my dead bro come back from the grave to stop me from killing myself. Man, was I wrong. So wrong. And like an idiot I agreed to help it in exchange it would soothe my tortured mind and broken soul. Like an idiot I made a deal with a devil.
So here. Let me come clean. Here’s the reason why cats hate me; I use them for power. And they sense what I can do to them. I am like a leech upon them, sucking away at their life, till they just lie there. Not dead. But maybe worse… man,
their eyes when they lie there… they see something awful; something beyond what I can see from them. Oh, those eyes…
And so what I do to them is; I steal their abilities of Second Sight and Sensitivity. When I’m done with using them, they get their abilities back… but they are never the same. It’s like a lose a shard from their soul; that’s right, I think I crack their souls and take a piece of their soul and give it to My Patron.
But here’s where it gets worse. Dogs like me. And some of them, the more loyal ones, they tell me that they will die for me. But I don’t think it’s voluntary. When they…
when they talk to me, they sound as if they are hypnotised. And they only talk to me when those Others are near. These Others are the enemies of My Patron. And so to protect me, I cause some kind of... ‘distress signal’ and a dog will come to me and give me the power to fight an Other worldly being. But to banish it, I do need them to die for me in the end; I must sacrifice a little doggies life for that power.
Yeah, that’s right. I torture cats to see spirits, demons, ghosts-- whatever you want to call the Other worlders. And I murder dogs to get power to rid of those Other worlders. Yeah. That’s me. That’s Rochelle LaRouge. Wonderful human being.
I would rather send Junkies to hell.
~~~
And so I do.
You see I found a way to spare the soul of a cat and spare the life of a dog. I just need another unwilling victim. Or make that
victims...The two dudes. The junkies are lying there. Comatose. Near dead, but not yet. I wish they were, but that would make them useless to me. So they’re not dead. Yet.
And so here I kneel, stroking the belly of the limp and comatose stray cat in my arm, meanwhile I whisper into the ear of the doggie that came to aid me because it said it would die for me; it’s leash still tethered to it, god only knows where it’s human owner is.
The two dudes. They are in pain. They just received a tasering and a beatdown at the hands of a punk-kitty-lezzie. Hell yeah, me. And so I lean forward and whisper into the big doggie’s ear. I am making a bargain with it to save it’s life. And to save the cracked soul of the kitty in my arm.
“So what will it be…?” I whisper. The few seconds I wait for a response feels like an eternity… My heart is a machine-gun on fire.
The doggie, whose human owner calls him
Marvie, whimpers then lets out a soft whine. I close my eyes and nod. After a conceded sigh: “Then so be it. Do your deed in the name of My Patron then--”
I let out a huge hiss as the jaws of this massive rottweiler clamp onto my arm and draw blood. Marvie just saved his own life by imbuing me the rite of sacrifice and removing it from himself.
And so I lay the cat over my shoulder like I would a towel, then I press one hand each upon the chest of either fallen junkie. They take their final breath as I take their life forces. They will just be another minor missing persons case and will probably get a small blurb in a news report soon. And maybe their bodies may be found in the city dump by a city employee. Maybe not. Whatever happens, I don’t care. I will dump their bodies in a second. Cuz I have other things to deal with right about now.
The cat on my shoulder perks up and hisses at me before clawing at me, scrambling to be rid of my grasp. But as it lands upon the asphalt, it does pause and stare in the direction of where I need to go. And shows me what I need to see. It then turns to glance at me, big yellows eyes seeming to ask, “Okay. There. Happy now, bitch?” I nod at it. It gives me an aggressive upward chin bob then bolts off. Not exactly the best parting but at least I sense its soul is still complete.
Marvie whines and nuzzles up against my hand. His nose is cold, but I can feel the warmth of his heart; he truly does care for my well being. He still says he will die for me too.
“It’s okay, Marvie. You’re a good boy. Such a good boy. Go home now, okay buddy? You are unbound. Go home. You did good. I will always remember you. Thank you, Marvie.” I whisper softy into his ear and scratch neath his chin and behind his ear. I'm sooooo happy he chose this path. “Go now, boy. You are unbound from me…”
One last whimper. One last lick upon my cheek and begrudgingly the big black and tan doggie trots off. I can’t help but wistfully smile and wipe away at the mists in my eyes. If only I could have done such a thing for my little bro.
~~~
But hey, it’s too late now. I’ve become the wonderful human being I’ve become by harbouring such pain and self-loathing. But it’s not too late to use that negativity to push beyond boundaries and into the madness of blurred existence in order to heal me. I'm a junkie-murdering, cat using, dog talking, alcoholic, devil bound, driven rogue exorcist. I am a bad person. Hell yeah, me.
And so now I march into the dark of the alley, headed towards that darkest corner, that one corner that leads into that kind of abyss that stares into the heart of your hearts and reaches out, tempting and teasing away at your deepest fears and supressed depravity. I’m nervous and anxious as I always am during these encounters, and my heart skips a beat as that unnerving cold chills me, sending all kinds of warning signals down my spine. But remember how I said there were other reasons why I walk these dark alleys alone...?
With a hint of a smirk, I continue on, wielding my brother’s name, his true name, as my weapon imbued with rippling power of the life forces of the sacrificed men. The runes are drawn with my hand motions and body sways; my dancing has just created very old and very powerful sigils in the air. The electricity of the raw supernatural power courses through me.
Watch me as I send these Other worldly spawn back to the abyss and close this hidden portal to our world. I know pain. And now so will they. Think I can’t do it?
Just watch me.
