Avatar of bowels
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    1. bowels 10 yrs ago

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Alright, people; I'd love a good roleplay right now. I've got one fantastic one going, but the rest are duds. Visit my site, then let me know if you're interested?

Click right here!
No, you gave me more than enough! And, I'd just like to say, our roleplay is amazing. 8D
It felt like she had a hangover. A dull sting resonated in the cavities of her skull and her body was sore. Everything was too bright, the leather blinds pulled up high on her windows, and something was burning. She couldn’t tell whether or not the ache in her stomach was hunger pains or sickness, but the overdone smell had filled her room up to the ceiling and made her nausea do somersaults. Groggily, she sat up, slumped over the edge of the bed for a minute, and got up. She pulled on a previously worn turquoise v-neck and didn’t opt for pants.

Last night’s events weren’t at the forefront of her mind, but they hadn’t been forgotten. They nestled tight behind her eyeballs, biting, but not necessarily bringing anything to the surface.

Walking down the stairs all bruised up wasn’t an easy job, what with her awkward and stiff gait, but she grabbed onto the recently polished wooden railings and made her way down. When she hit the small square of tile at the bottom, the odor forced itself up her nostrils, and she frowned, confused.

“Mom?” she called out skeptically. Her mother never burned anything—and on the rare occasion in which she did, it smelled a hell of a lot spicier. This wasn’t necessarily a bland smell, but it wasn’t her mother’s. She found herself analyzing the stink like an array of colors, almost primitively, and once she caught herself she bit her tongue and pushed it off.

In the kitchen, Tzich stood—most things splattered across the counter, and a murder of incongruous ingredients spilt across the stove and floor in front of it. Her eyebrows narrowed and an outburst brewed on the horizon of her expression.

“I told you to get lost!” she crowed. “What did you do to my kitchen? Christ, what are you making?”

Whatever it was, it cackled and hissed at her, and she groaned dramatically at it.
Well, she lives with her parents, but her parents won't be there! She lives in a decent two-story home and in a fair enough neighborhood. x3
We could skip to the next day, perhaps! Maybe he goes to her house? Maybe she goes out and he seeks her out?
Carly looked up at Tzich slowly. His words haunted her—nested in her ear and gnawed on her brain. Her head stung and she felt the threat of tears rise, pricking her tear ducts and making her throat weak.

When she felt too vulnerable she looked away, jerking her head almost violently in the other direction. No, it wasn’t a threat—a warning, more than likely a promise. Because fate was permanent, and it’d already encroached. There was no looking away now. It was present and demanded attention.

Rather than agreeing, or maybe trying to reconcile with him, Carly said nothing. She got up from the concrete steps rigidly, then walked down the sidewalk. She held her red leather jacket, cut at the shoulder, tight against her and she didn’t look back. She cried while she walked until she reached the front door of her house, which she opened to find empty.

Tiredly, she climbed the stairs and took shelter in her room, and after shedding her khakis and the damp polo she’d worn underneath her now tattered jacket she wriggled underneath her sheets and tried to wrap herself up, and to ward off the assailing thoughts that Tzich had planted. Sooner or later, the pain meds worked her over well and she was dead to the world.
The rest wasn’t so easy to swallow. Carly’s eyes grew wide, but they weren’t crazed like they had been before. Fear lingered beneath the amber of her eyes. Her heart thudded lonesome in her chest. Everything spun for a second.

“No,” she murmured, “you don’t know what you’re talking about. I have parents. I have a dad. His name’s Hector.”

Tzich knew how she’d felt before—the thrum in her joints, the acid adrenaline that had pulsed in her heart and burned. But he couldn’t know this much. She wasn’t a monster—she wasn’t the legitimate spawn of Satan. Because if she was, it explained too much of her life in a haunting, gut-wrenching way.

“No,” she groaned again. This time she fell back against the railing and rested there, her hands smoothing back her thick and wild black hair from her face. She shook her head.

“I’m not. I can’t. It—“ It made perfect sense. She’d always been demanding, commanding, and always the leader. She never played nice. When crowds had been easy and manipulative, they always followed. If she wanted a one night stand, she didn’t have a problem roping people in (even if the quality wasn’t always best).

Maybe she wanted to cry. Or, no—beat something bloody. Or both. She breathed shakily.

“I don’t want to. No thank you. Goodbye.”
It explained everything: the eeriness of her parents that morning, the horrible day, and certainly the nightmarish creature that’d mauled and restored the (assumedly) innocent woman hours ago. And the somewhat bizarre, or more or less suppressed, itch that had come to play. It’d be a lie to say that she’d never felt that hunger. However, she’d also been a teenager, rampant with hormones and an undeniable thirst for status, but in reality power. The nature of this famine had evolved.

Still, considering she’d come to a realization about her life and the world, it didn’t elicit much of a reaction. Carly was quiet, and if she were to be jabbed by a finger she would’ve stiffly rocked back, much like a board.

“My parents sold me off?” she summarized, skipping over the important lines, like ‘powerful heritage’ and ‘clamor.’ “They asked the devil to create me so they could sell me back later? That’s stupid. What a shit deal. Not for me, even, but—“

That’s right. She hadn’t made the deal. She’d been stitched into all of this, and that meant there were terms of this agreement she’d yet to be aware of. When dealing with the devil, how much was enough? Was there ever enough?

“Alright,” she breathed in and out, “so there’s me. Now that my parents’ end of the deal is through, where does that leave me? Does the fucking devil have my soul?”
Looking!
After three hours of blood transfusions, tamed anesthetics and stitching, Carly hobbled out of the doors she’d come in. A nurse had been kind enough to lend her a washcloth to wipe off the streaked cosmetics, and they’d disinfected and wrapped her bum leg. She got a rabies shot on the house, too, and watching a long needle sink into her belly was just the icing on the shit cake.

Overall, she looked more relaxed, but that was courtesy of the drugs still pulling through her veins. Dazed, she looked across the waiting room, then found Tzich. Even with the fog of anesthesia, she formed a stern glare and nodded at him with iron will.

“You,” her voice was hoarse and tired, and she pointed with her thumb to the exit behind her, “come with me.”

Once he was up and following her, and she’d signed her paperwork (and endured the inexplicably rude glowers of the nurses at the front desk), she went out the door.

Outside she sighed and stuffed her hands into her pockets. She raised her eyebrows to Tzich.

“Alright, I’m pretty lost and damn tired. Tell me what I need to know?” Most of the spunk had been knocked out of her.
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