Post by JR on Dec 10, 2015 2:35:18 GMT -8
Characters: Abaddon & Alice Clare
Summary: Just a typical December 8th, where Abaddon lures Alice to the lake side where they performed so many rituals before to surprise her with another one that turns out to be more ceremony than ritual.
Triggers: Bloody stuff, a slight bit of cannibalism. Nudity. Language.
wrecked ships [1:03 A.M.]: The lake, the lake, the lake! Alice was very excited about the note that she found with instructions that she should head there. It was cold out, but that wasn't a thing that ever deterred our water-witch. She loved the cold! The night was pretty clear though, with a glowy moon lighting the way through the trees as Alice tra-laa-laa'ed down an invisible path. Eerily it was the exact path she'd taken on her flight for life through these very woods with a lion hot on her heels and her leg practically torn off and flesh dangling and splattering her blood all over for any ol' animal to get a whiff of. It was a quick jaunt from the house the lake, but Alice took her time through the dark woods; her white dress trailing behind her. It was a flimsy thing, old fashioned and lengthy -- though the skirt of it was slit and open in a few places, making the dress dance in the wind that she created with her airy movements. The front plunged low through the neckline, and was dotted with little seed pearls. It had long sleeves, but they were covered in a loose fitting open lightweight gray sweater. The only other thing she wore were a pair of rubber rain boots that went up to her knees in a dark color. They squished the ground beneath her steps, crunching leaves and twigs and bugs with the hard soles. She was in an excellent mood, despite having recently died by her love's hand, and it might have been the drugs in her system that helped that. Alice wasn't entirely sure what they were. Just a handful of something she found in the basement, and stuffed in her mouth -- and now? There was nothing, she was sure of it, that could take away this euphoria. As she made her way, she gathered things from the trees -- twigs and winter berries and leaves, twisting and bending them into a little crown, that just as she was breaking through the treeline to the shower of their spot, she was placing the ring of it atop her head; nestling the pretty thing within the dark gold of her crown. "Baaaaadddy," she called out, not immediately seeing him. -d-
one reaI bad man [1:41 A.M.]: She wouldn't see Abaddon first, no. Instead the first sight to come to her eyes was a person of bizarre construction, quite obviously out of place. Obsidian flesh and a flare headpiece of various bright colors, long feathers spewing back into the air in flamboyant show of 'importance'. Bone was lodged between nostrils, and thick discs hung in massive loops of those ears, and all along his almost naked body were various brands, tattoos, and piercing's all in his flesh. Only the white of glossy eyes and yellow tinged teeth glowed in the dark, while he spoke in foreign tongue that was smothered in various clicking noises with tongue against cheek. Rattle shook and a hyena's laugh was expelled in deep throaty thing, and then Abaddon would come into view. He had been sitting alongside that fallen tree, but he rose as he heard his little witch's voice. Brown hair was styled and swirled up, made it look like a chocolate tidal wave just about to spill over the top of his forehead, but frozen in time. Suit was glamorous and red, tuxedo style with polka dots on the bow-tie hanging right beneath the ferocious stab of spaghetti beard. Maniac's smile glued to the wolf's grin, gleaming greens picking her out. Ruffles of an almost pinkish colored vest beneath the spread of red were stroked at lightly by painted fingers, voice responding with that gnarly guttural grit. "What did you call me? Baddy? I'm not all bad." He said with grin still attached and tongue peeking out from his pearled mouth, teeth pinching the end of pink muscle while head tipped to the side. Foreign clicks and ancient tongue again rehatched behind him and the immortal wizard spun about, with another sharp laugh before returning a click or two back that seemed to get a rise out of the shaman. <done>
wrecked ships [2:02 A.M.]: Alice came up entirely too short, enough that she wobbled where she froze, wide eyes going even wider at the sight of the man who greeted her sights rather than her love. What the heck was this? He was naked, but adorned, and entirely foreign -- and Alice, as intelligent as she was, wasn't even sure what sort of foreign the man was. He started clicking his tongue, and it set her into motion. She crept forward, wondering for a moment if this was just a side effect of the drugs she'd swallowed. Not real, right? She had to be hallucinating this image, this creature. She came to a rolling pause in front of him, fingers already stretching up to attempt to touch, when there was Abaddon. Alice looked as if she got caught in the cookie jar a moment, stuck in the position she put herself in, though her face turned towards the red-suited wizard. A smile broke out across her features, immediate and blooming, and she giggled out a sound. "Nooo, you're the worst. My worst," Alice laughed now, full blown, and took the appropriate steps to connect herself with him; nestling her front to his, and winding her arms up to drape them over his shoulders. "Who's this?" A gesture with a notch to the setting of her skull in the magic man's direction -- the unfamiliar one, who Abaddon was clicking at too. So many clicking tongues. She rather liked the sound of it. Leaning her weight into him, while the excess of her loose flowy white skirts tangled around her bare thighs and rubber encased calves. Just listening to the small exchange, still with the wide doll eyes going back and forth between them. -d-
one reaI bad man [2:13 A.M.]: "Awhile ago," Longer than she would have guessed, much longer. "I stumbled upon a tribe while I was looking for the bones of an ancient demon that was said to have walked the earth thousands of years ago and I stumbled upon The Auri-Nari, cannibals tucked away in the Andohahela. They're decent folk, worshipped me as..." Various clicks and sounds were again transferred over while the voodoo doctor Alice a look over, and he waved his hand at at her a little. Abaddon sifted in the limbs of the girl who draped herself across him and he responded, in what could be best described as "heated" clucks of his tongue and then silenced any further conversation with a sharp lift of his hand. But, it was apparent that the out-of-place Shaman was upset about something. He spit and waved his hands in the air and turned about, wiping slender hands through mud and reaching into a leather pouch at his hip, dipping fingers into red-powder which he flicked then at the ground. Abaddon watched him only for a few moments before returning attention back to his beloved soulmate. "... as I was saying, eh.. I don't recall.. oh, yes... wedding. Just a more.. acceptable form to me, than what you're most likely accustomed. Oh, he doesn't approve of... your... You're skinny, and he felt there were more larger, and more suitable brides in his village." Explaining casually as he unwound those limbs from around his neck and pressed a hand against the center of her chest. Pointer finger stuck her right in the breastbone and gave a slow push forcing her to take a step back. "No touching, no kissing, till it is done."
wrecked ships [2:22 A.M.]: Alice loved stories. Why do you think she was often immersed with her nose in a book? Stories! She lived them, breathed them, and with as old as her love was, you'd think he'd be so free with them, right? Nope. He never told her shit. But she hung on his every word now that he started on something that had happened in his past. The words he used -- Auri-Nari, Andohahela, they were gibberish to her, but she loved every one of them; but confusion struck when he started to make those noises at the tribal man. It was clear they were fighting about something, it was clear that the man was far more upset than Abaddon might get, and it was him her attention was fixated on throughout it all -- nearly missing what Abaddon was saying until he brought up her .. breasts. "He doesn't like my breasts?," the question came in a stage whisper, and she managed to even look rather hurt about it as she was ushered away from Don with a push of his finger between the plump things that hadn't a bra to hold them up tonight; just the tight silk of her bodice where it clung to them on either outer side. "Wait. Wait," she held up both of her hands, like surrender. "Hold the phone. Wedding? Bride? Is this .. are you .. are we?" Alice took a pinwheeling step back; her boots sinking in the sand some. "Abaddon," she breathed. They'd talked about this, but he hadn't seemed to keen on the idea of actually going through the ceremony, the ritual. She was already his wife in his heart, and that was good enough for him. It was she who rather liked the tradition, and the security of an actual marriage. But they'd not discussed it again, and now here they were. With a shaman. A hoarse laugh broke from her throat. "You'll be stuck with me, forever, you know," she brought up, though the time had long since passed that neither of them could see a future without the other. -d-
one reaI bad man [2:39 A.M.]: Hands rose up together to grab a hold of the flaps of his suit, straightening out the already straight and then doing the same to bow-tie. He beamed brightly under the glare of moonlit sky and writhed Italian soles into the sludge of mud that road on lake's coast. Pointer from his right hand was lifted and pointed innocently over towards Alice after a series of clicks and foreign words, and then a stick with heavy bristles slapped her across the face. Following that was a handful of that red powder that assaulted the senses like seal-team-six, burning and reaping havoc on her sinuses. It was enough to even make Abaddon give a little cough as he turned his head when he was slapped and given the same flick of crimson-tinged dust. Hand that pointed made a fist and he grunted out another rough cough, but then managed to find words. " You don't have a ring, I'm sure, but that's okay. You can get me a hat or a watch, or something nice later." And then another barrage of clicks and words Alice couldn't hope to comprehend and the bristles again smacked Don across his face before it was brought back to hers. The shaman then reached down and scooped up the mud in one hand, and used it as finger paint with the other. Reaching and speaking to the girl while he drew muddy lines across her face. Don watched, but as he watched he was also up to his own little ritual. Perusing his right hand casually while slithering out that bone-hilted blade they'd used to murder a few people with so far. Edge of blade was dug at his right hand, falling into the gap between fingers and cleanly snipping the ring-finger from his right hand. He grit his teeth and grinned through the pain, the squirt of blood that poured cauterized by quick flare of apple-scented magic. The now dead finger was plucked from the muddy ground and brutalized hand was tucked in against the red of his suit, so the blood that stained him didn't even show up. He was smart. Finger was lifted to his mouth and teeth gnawed in against the flesh, peeling away skin and muscle in a quick rip and tear of his face, painting his mouth and beard in the red grime. It was a quick process, considering, and one that was probably hard to witness especially with the Voodoo doctor continuously smacking her in the face before painting more lines across her cheekbones and forehead. Meanwhile, finger bones were being pulled free the shell of flesh and muscle by his one good hand and mouth. <done>
wrecked ships [2:57 A.M.]: With none of her questions answered, Alice was going to have to piece this all together herself. That was hard. She had a million questions, but he seemed to want to just go ahead with the ritual blindly, and maybe that was honestly for the best. She'd be jabbering off if given the opportunity, and Abaddon knew best how much his brook could babble. But she wasn't at all prepared for the smack to the face, or the following dust that was thrown. She coughed, raising hands to shield herself, only to have them smacked away. Coughing again, and squinting at Don, she managed to sneer at him, "And I suppose you've got one, huh?" He must have, after all, he'd planned this whole thing. Wasn't it just a pure coincidence she was wearing white, and had put the decorations in her hair? It was. No one but Don had any clue this was happening. The shaman was smacking at her face again, smearing sand across it, and Alice tried to wriggle away, but a few assertive grunts stopped her squirming. "Fine, fine," she sighed at him, and stood perfectly still while he did what was necessary in his culture. But her mind was whirling. Married. Right now. Abaddon Bell's wife. She tried to peek at the man, but every time she got even a hint of a glimpse at him, the shaman did something that got in her way, or jerked her attention back to him while he readied her for the ceremony. She was nervous though. Easy to tell with the way she was so .. bouncy. Jittery. Twisting her fingers together. "What sort of hat?" It'd be better if he was talking to her, that was for certain. -d-
one reaI bad man [3:08 A.M.]: Bloodied hand was pressed tight against his chest because despite the wound being closed it still hurt as though his finger had just been cut off and sealed with a branding iron. Bits of finger skin and blood painted his mouth, and finally it was mainly bones (some sinew) left.. and gory red all in his palm. Again a flare of magic whipped through him and centralized on the contents of his hand, right in line with the Shaman turning away and administering some more face whacks and a little face painting for Abaddon. The amount of time spent sifting mud across his face was much shorter, as she had about six or seven symbols inscribed upon her skin, he was given ony a triangle on the forehead, and a wavy line under each eye. Again the shaman twisted away, but returned quickly after with clay bowl and a read heat. Bloody muscle was plucked from the bowl and gripped in both hands held over the Shaman's head while the wind howled by in the first real chill of the night. The sickening sound of torn muscle was made, the flesh ripped in two and blood poured out down across the top of the voodoo priest's face, tongue out, the bone pierced pink thing catching blood as it spilled. Alice and Don both were each given a half. "Eat, fuck, and then complete." He said quite sweetly before ripping teeth into the meat of his half-heart, tearing a large chunk and then chewing vigorously before doing it again, and then popping hte last piece into his mouth. Chewing hard and long as raw meat was grounded down and swallowed, blood smeared all across his face and putting big splotches of red on that pinkish frills of that vest beneath suit-coat. Magic finished and then white ivory ring was left in the palm of his hand, blood-colored rubies affixed to the top. Waiting for her to finish consuming her portion before he hesitantly took her hand with the maimed one of his own, and slipped ring onto her finger. A perfect fit. Like Cinderella, except it wasn't a glass slipper, but a ring made from his bone and blood. <done>
wrecked ships [3:20 A.M.]: A breath sucked in, more so from the bristles that hit her eyeball than the way her attempt to make conversation while they were getting ready for all this was ignored. What was she here? The bride or something? Little did she know that .. this wasn't getting ready. This was the thing. And what an asshole was Alice Clare for talking about hats during her wedding ceremony. Because before she knew it, the shaman was finished with her and stepping back to lift a still bloody heart from a bowl above his head. Cold wind picked up, dancing through her skirts and the lengths of her hair to lift and twirl them about while he ripped the thing in two, and suddenly Alice's own heart began to pound incessantly against her ribcage. She watched as blood rained down on the shaman, and he handed the two of them each a half of this heart. It looked human, and she wondered if it mattered at all who the heart had belonged to. Later, she'd ask later. Now, she accepted the half of the thing; blood smearing across her fingers and a brow raising to Abaddon when he gave the three simple instructions. He tore into it with such vigor that Alice couldn't help but flash a grin, though she was slower to bring the thing to her mouth. It was a step she hadn't ever thought of crossing. Cannibalism. But what she did do was respect other cultures -- a whole variety of them in fact, and if Abaddon wanted this ceremony, wanted this to be the way they were legally bound. So be it. It was brought up to her mouth, gripped in her fingers like an apple, and Alice sank her teeth into the fleshy thing. Tough, made of sinew and muscle, it was hard to take the first few bites -- not to mention the taste wasn't exactly desirable, but she made it through. Devouring the half-heart until there was nothing but gore left on her fingers and smeared across her mouth and dripped from her chin to the pale gold of her breasts and beyond that to the delicate white of her dress. It even marked the sand in dots between her feet. She aimed a bloody smile his way when he reached for her hand, but concern writ her features when she saw the state of his. Finger missing, nothing but a seared off space left in it's place. The question didn't leave her tongue, but he'd see it in her eyes when they flashed back to his. Something heavy and cool slipped onto the fourth finger of her left hand, and Alice brought both of their hands, where she'd curled her fingers between his first two, to see. It was a lovely thing, all white and red and sparkling in the wan light, and it warmed her belly. "It's beautiful," came a soft breathy compliment, and she took a rolling step towards him -- cautiously, in case she got smacked in the damn face again. -d-
one reaI bad man [2:53 A.M.]: He aimed to soothe his darling after it soured with concern, so he rose mutilated hand up and casually spread the digits out as wide as they could go. Searing pain lanced through his forearm, tore at the recently melded flesh, and should have blinded him in agony, but instead eyes widened only slightly and he grinned so hard and wide. "Oh, don't worry, it doesn't hurt so bad." It did, but Abaddon had a way of displacing the agony aside, turn it into the background and not the focused sensation. "That, I do believe takes care... Usually they perform an extraordinarily long dance and music, and sing-songs for hours, sacrifice things... but it's all to try and get attention of the Gods, and well, we are the Gods. So it wasn't really necessary." The grin remained a sharp cut through the bark textured beard, eyes tilting towards nearby shade of tree where Frank lurked. "Francis, we're done here. Please take care of Mahwruahahti" With a click at the end. Golem sauntered over and cleared his throat some eyeing over the blood-smeared faces of his tormentors. Mumbling a 'this Maw waw, let's go' and taking the Shaman back towards the house, the way Alice had come. Four-fingered hand went up and pinched at bow-tie, loosening the design with a pull and then wrenching strap of cloth from about his neck, tilting green scaled eyes down to the crown she made for herself on her way over. Aw, how precious. Hand stretching over to brush back of knuckles over the temple of the water-witch. "I'm glad you think so." Hands raised up to the front of her garment, each hand curling along the edges and then he pulled. Well, tore was probably the better descriptor, tore at the garment, meaning to puck her petals as quickly as possible. <done>
wrecked ships [3:07 A.M.]: How could he tell her not to worry? Wasn't that what wives did best? Gingerly, she curved her hand around the back of his injured one; stroking her thumb along the side of his own, but there was no stopping the return of the grin he gave her. Supple mouth spread wide with it, and the rest of his words. "Then it's official? We're married? Don't we have to .. sign something?" Wasn't that how contracts worked? He brought up Francis, and Alice was surprised to find him there. She hadn't known, or even sniffed him out in the rush of all that had just happened, and she watched quietly as the Golem lead off the shaman until it was just she and Abaddon left at this sacred place. The lakeshore cove was alive and teeming with the remnants of their magic from all the times they'd been there -- alone, or together. Ritual after ritual, blood spilled, pleasure taken. It all lingered here, like an invisible fog soaked into the sand and the water, the grass and the trees. Alice vibrated with it now, tilting in his direction when his reach grabbed the front of her dress. How easy it tore for him when she tipped back in the opposite way to help the process -- the antique fabric of the thing ripping at it's sleeves and the seam that kept it together in the back, until there was nothing but the open big sweater she wore above it, and her rain boots to cover her. Nothing more than his wife's lush curves all a-glow in the light that reflected off the water from the pull of the moons beams. Since he was occupied with the fabric in his hand, and the tugging of his tie, once Alice was free of the tattered garment, she took a pendulum step back, something rather sly surfacing in the smirk of her mouth and the glint of crystalline blues. "Am I the first Mrs. Bell? The first you've put a ring like this on?" A turn put her back to him, bottom swells of her heart shaped rear playing peek-a-boo with the hem of her sweater as she stepped away to find the fallen log he favored; spinning back 'round to plop her bare ass on the uncomfortable bark and lift one long leg to drape it over it's twin. A demure cup of her fingers over her raised knee, the rubies of the ring made of bone and blood taking over that lights spark. A brow lifted, waiting for his answer. -d-
one reaI bad man [3:20 A.M.]: Legalities and what not were none of his concern, a contract by way of ritual it still was--no matter how foreign and peculiar, ritualistic binding of two halves was close enough to a technical marriage for Abaddon. The pain continued to throb in his hand, the skin red and swollen, but it was not too much of a bother. And he would have done it earlier, but it seemed more appropriate to have it forged in the moment rather than beyond. The pain was part of the symbol of it, what he'd endure for her to have something nice to recall the memory. Next question was made as she tilted and turned, teasing in minx like fashion and his grin remained firmly in place. Blood smeared with it caking in the curls of thick beard. "You're the first Bell." Not a lie, but an omission and given with silver-tongue. "And my only soulmate." He stepped tenderly, carefully forward, no longer poison in the words he spoke--but truth, nothing left to pull her in.. she was already there and it was obvious she was always meant to be. At least to the dragon it was obvious. Stalking step moved him a bit closer, shrugging out of the tuxedo jacket and frilled vest, buttons peeled away and popped into the mud as he opened the dress-shirt and revealed painted chest. Green gaze in a constant stretch across what ever piece of flesh played peek-a-boo next. <done>
wrecked ships [3:27 A.M.]: "Mmm, the first Bell. I rather like the sound of that." She should have been more specific. That was the key with him. He could get around any thing she left open, but he tended to be honest when she was more direct. Plus, she wasn't asking to get jealous, or start a fight -- the man was centuries old! How could she get jealous of something that happened before he even met her? "Am I your first wife?" The dust and sand on her face was rather itchy, and delicately she brought a hand up to rub at her cheek, watching his approach with steadily climbing heat in the blue of her stare. "Your only soulmate," Alice Clare sang, and shifted so that both hands met the tree trunk on either side of her, stretching out for balance when she leaned back some; her grandpa cardigan ( It might honestly belong to Charles ) sliding with the opening of her arms. Plump breasts took over center stage. Dotted and streaked here and there with the blood that had dribbled from the half a heart that she'd consumed, that sat still hot and potent in her belly. Blood smeared in red dust and sand. "There isn't anything I won't be for you. With you. Because of you. How you wash my world in your darkness, and burn me whole with your heat," her voice was nearly a mused purr as arousal grew the more he came closer. The more clothing he peeled from his body. "I want you," she needlessly stated, and lifted her left arm out, palm up, and fingers his for the taking. -d-
one reaI bad man [3:44 A.M.]: "Yes, my true soulmate, there can be only one..." He didn't even give comment or reaction to the other question, instead giving into the desire that only Alice could sate. She was murmuring more endearments and crafting beautiful lyrics in brooksy ways, and exposed herself beneath the spotlight of glowing moon.
wrecked ships [3:53 A.M.]: "I'm your Highlander," Alice preened with the revelation, her head lolling back with a laugh. She felt a little tipsy. Love, whatever semblance of happiness this might be, the drugs she'd eaten earlier.
Summary: Just a typical December 8th, where Abaddon lures Alice to the lake side where they performed so many rituals before to surprise her with another one that turns out to be more ceremony than ritual.
Triggers: Bloody stuff, a slight bit of cannibalism. Nudity. Language.
wrecked ships [1:03 A.M.]: The lake, the lake, the lake! Alice was very excited about the note that she found with instructions that she should head there. It was cold out, but that wasn't a thing that ever deterred our water-witch. She loved the cold! The night was pretty clear though, with a glowy moon lighting the way through the trees as Alice tra-laa-laa'ed down an invisible path. Eerily it was the exact path she'd taken on her flight for life through these very woods with a lion hot on her heels and her leg practically torn off and flesh dangling and splattering her blood all over for any ol' animal to get a whiff of. It was a quick jaunt from the house the lake, but Alice took her time through the dark woods; her white dress trailing behind her. It was a flimsy thing, old fashioned and lengthy -- though the skirt of it was slit and open in a few places, making the dress dance in the wind that she created with her airy movements. The front plunged low through the neckline, and was dotted with little seed pearls. It had long sleeves, but they were covered in a loose fitting open lightweight gray sweater. The only other thing she wore were a pair of rubber rain boots that went up to her knees in a dark color. They squished the ground beneath her steps, crunching leaves and twigs and bugs with the hard soles. She was in an excellent mood, despite having recently died by her love's hand, and it might have been the drugs in her system that helped that. Alice wasn't entirely sure what they were. Just a handful of something she found in the basement, and stuffed in her mouth -- and now? There was nothing, she was sure of it, that could take away this euphoria. As she made her way, she gathered things from the trees -- twigs and winter berries and leaves, twisting and bending them into a little crown, that just as she was breaking through the treeline to the shower of their spot, she was placing the ring of it atop her head; nestling the pretty thing within the dark gold of her crown. "Baaaaadddy," she called out, not immediately seeing him. -d-
one reaI bad man [1:41 A.M.]: She wouldn't see Abaddon first, no. Instead the first sight to come to her eyes was a person of bizarre construction, quite obviously out of place. Obsidian flesh and a flare headpiece of various bright colors, long feathers spewing back into the air in flamboyant show of 'importance'. Bone was lodged between nostrils, and thick discs hung in massive loops of those ears, and all along his almost naked body were various brands, tattoos, and piercing's all in his flesh. Only the white of glossy eyes and yellow tinged teeth glowed in the dark, while he spoke in foreign tongue that was smothered in various clicking noises with tongue against cheek. Rattle shook and a hyena's laugh was expelled in deep throaty thing, and then Abaddon would come into view. He had been sitting alongside that fallen tree, but he rose as he heard his little witch's voice. Brown hair was styled and swirled up, made it look like a chocolate tidal wave just about to spill over the top of his forehead, but frozen in time. Suit was glamorous and red, tuxedo style with polka dots on the bow-tie hanging right beneath the ferocious stab of spaghetti beard. Maniac's smile glued to the wolf's grin, gleaming greens picking her out. Ruffles of an almost pinkish colored vest beneath the spread of red were stroked at lightly by painted fingers, voice responding with that gnarly guttural grit. "What did you call me? Baddy? I'm not all bad." He said with grin still attached and tongue peeking out from his pearled mouth, teeth pinching the end of pink muscle while head tipped to the side. Foreign clicks and ancient tongue again rehatched behind him and the immortal wizard spun about, with another sharp laugh before returning a click or two back that seemed to get a rise out of the shaman. <done>
wrecked ships [2:02 A.M.]: Alice came up entirely too short, enough that she wobbled where she froze, wide eyes going even wider at the sight of the man who greeted her sights rather than her love. What the heck was this? He was naked, but adorned, and entirely foreign -- and Alice, as intelligent as she was, wasn't even sure what sort of foreign the man was. He started clicking his tongue, and it set her into motion. She crept forward, wondering for a moment if this was just a side effect of the drugs she'd swallowed. Not real, right? She had to be hallucinating this image, this creature. She came to a rolling pause in front of him, fingers already stretching up to attempt to touch, when there was Abaddon. Alice looked as if she got caught in the cookie jar a moment, stuck in the position she put herself in, though her face turned towards the red-suited wizard. A smile broke out across her features, immediate and blooming, and she giggled out a sound. "Nooo, you're the worst. My worst," Alice laughed now, full blown, and took the appropriate steps to connect herself with him; nestling her front to his, and winding her arms up to drape them over his shoulders. "Who's this?" A gesture with a notch to the setting of her skull in the magic man's direction -- the unfamiliar one, who Abaddon was clicking at too. So many clicking tongues. She rather liked the sound of it. Leaning her weight into him, while the excess of her loose flowy white skirts tangled around her bare thighs and rubber encased calves. Just listening to the small exchange, still with the wide doll eyes going back and forth between them. -d-
one reaI bad man [2:13 A.M.]: "Awhile ago," Longer than she would have guessed, much longer. "I stumbled upon a tribe while I was looking for the bones of an ancient demon that was said to have walked the earth thousands of years ago and I stumbled upon The Auri-Nari, cannibals tucked away in the Andohahela. They're decent folk, worshipped me as..." Various clicks and sounds were again transferred over while the voodoo doctor Alice a look over, and he waved his hand at at her a little. Abaddon sifted in the limbs of the girl who draped herself across him and he responded, in what could be best described as "heated" clucks of his tongue and then silenced any further conversation with a sharp lift of his hand. But, it was apparent that the out-of-place Shaman was upset about something. He spit and waved his hands in the air and turned about, wiping slender hands through mud and reaching into a leather pouch at his hip, dipping fingers into red-powder which he flicked then at the ground. Abaddon watched him only for a few moments before returning attention back to his beloved soulmate. "... as I was saying, eh.. I don't recall.. oh, yes... wedding. Just a more.. acceptable form to me, than what you're most likely accustomed. Oh, he doesn't approve of... your... You're skinny, and he felt there were more larger, and more suitable brides in his village." Explaining casually as he unwound those limbs from around his neck and pressed a hand against the center of her chest. Pointer finger stuck her right in the breastbone and gave a slow push forcing her to take a step back. "No touching, no kissing, till it is done."
wrecked ships [2:22 A.M.]: Alice loved stories. Why do you think she was often immersed with her nose in a book? Stories! She lived them, breathed them, and with as old as her love was, you'd think he'd be so free with them, right? Nope. He never told her shit. But she hung on his every word now that he started on something that had happened in his past. The words he used -- Auri-Nari, Andohahela, they were gibberish to her, but she loved every one of them; but confusion struck when he started to make those noises at the tribal man. It was clear they were fighting about something, it was clear that the man was far more upset than Abaddon might get, and it was him her attention was fixated on throughout it all -- nearly missing what Abaddon was saying until he brought up her .. breasts. "He doesn't like my breasts?," the question came in a stage whisper, and she managed to even look rather hurt about it as she was ushered away from Don with a push of his finger between the plump things that hadn't a bra to hold them up tonight; just the tight silk of her bodice where it clung to them on either outer side. "Wait. Wait," she held up both of her hands, like surrender. "Hold the phone. Wedding? Bride? Is this .. are you .. are we?" Alice took a pinwheeling step back; her boots sinking in the sand some. "Abaddon," she breathed. They'd talked about this, but he hadn't seemed to keen on the idea of actually going through the ceremony, the ritual. She was already his wife in his heart, and that was good enough for him. It was she who rather liked the tradition, and the security of an actual marriage. But they'd not discussed it again, and now here they were. With a shaman. A hoarse laugh broke from her throat. "You'll be stuck with me, forever, you know," she brought up, though the time had long since passed that neither of them could see a future without the other. -d-
one reaI bad man [2:39 A.M.]: Hands rose up together to grab a hold of the flaps of his suit, straightening out the already straight and then doing the same to bow-tie. He beamed brightly under the glare of moonlit sky and writhed Italian soles into the sludge of mud that road on lake's coast. Pointer from his right hand was lifted and pointed innocently over towards Alice after a series of clicks and foreign words, and then a stick with heavy bristles slapped her across the face. Following that was a handful of that red powder that assaulted the senses like seal-team-six, burning and reaping havoc on her sinuses. It was enough to even make Abaddon give a little cough as he turned his head when he was slapped and given the same flick of crimson-tinged dust. Hand that pointed made a fist and he grunted out another rough cough, but then managed to find words. " You don't have a ring, I'm sure, but that's okay. You can get me a hat or a watch, or something nice later." And then another barrage of clicks and words Alice couldn't hope to comprehend and the bristles again smacked Don across his face before it was brought back to hers. The shaman then reached down and scooped up the mud in one hand, and used it as finger paint with the other. Reaching and speaking to the girl while he drew muddy lines across her face. Don watched, but as he watched he was also up to his own little ritual. Perusing his right hand casually while slithering out that bone-hilted blade they'd used to murder a few people with so far. Edge of blade was dug at his right hand, falling into the gap between fingers and cleanly snipping the ring-finger from his right hand. He grit his teeth and grinned through the pain, the squirt of blood that poured cauterized by quick flare of apple-scented magic. The now dead finger was plucked from the muddy ground and brutalized hand was tucked in against the red of his suit, so the blood that stained him didn't even show up. He was smart. Finger was lifted to his mouth and teeth gnawed in against the flesh, peeling away skin and muscle in a quick rip and tear of his face, painting his mouth and beard in the red grime. It was a quick process, considering, and one that was probably hard to witness especially with the Voodoo doctor continuously smacking her in the face before painting more lines across her cheekbones and forehead. Meanwhile, finger bones were being pulled free the shell of flesh and muscle by his one good hand and mouth. <done>
wrecked ships [2:57 A.M.]: With none of her questions answered, Alice was going to have to piece this all together herself. That was hard. She had a million questions, but he seemed to want to just go ahead with the ritual blindly, and maybe that was honestly for the best. She'd be jabbering off if given the opportunity, and Abaddon knew best how much his brook could babble. But she wasn't at all prepared for the smack to the face, or the following dust that was thrown. She coughed, raising hands to shield herself, only to have them smacked away. Coughing again, and squinting at Don, she managed to sneer at him, "And I suppose you've got one, huh?" He must have, after all, he'd planned this whole thing. Wasn't it just a pure coincidence she was wearing white, and had put the decorations in her hair? It was. No one but Don had any clue this was happening. The shaman was smacking at her face again, smearing sand across it, and Alice tried to wriggle away, but a few assertive grunts stopped her squirming. "Fine, fine," she sighed at him, and stood perfectly still while he did what was necessary in his culture. But her mind was whirling. Married. Right now. Abaddon Bell's wife. She tried to peek at the man, but every time she got even a hint of a glimpse at him, the shaman did something that got in her way, or jerked her attention back to him while he readied her for the ceremony. She was nervous though. Easy to tell with the way she was so .. bouncy. Jittery. Twisting her fingers together. "What sort of hat?" It'd be better if he was talking to her, that was for certain. -d-
one reaI bad man [3:08 A.M.]: Bloodied hand was pressed tight against his chest because despite the wound being closed it still hurt as though his finger had just been cut off and sealed with a branding iron. Bits of finger skin and blood painted his mouth, and finally it was mainly bones (some sinew) left.. and gory red all in his palm. Again a flare of magic whipped through him and centralized on the contents of his hand, right in line with the Shaman turning away and administering some more face whacks and a little face painting for Abaddon. The amount of time spent sifting mud across his face was much shorter, as she had about six or seven symbols inscribed upon her skin, he was given ony a triangle on the forehead, and a wavy line under each eye. Again the shaman twisted away, but returned quickly after with clay bowl and a read heat. Bloody muscle was plucked from the bowl and gripped in both hands held over the Shaman's head while the wind howled by in the first real chill of the night. The sickening sound of torn muscle was made, the flesh ripped in two and blood poured out down across the top of the voodoo priest's face, tongue out, the bone pierced pink thing catching blood as it spilled. Alice and Don both were each given a half. "Eat, fuck, and then complete." He said quite sweetly before ripping teeth into the meat of his half-heart, tearing a large chunk and then chewing vigorously before doing it again, and then popping hte last piece into his mouth. Chewing hard and long as raw meat was grounded down and swallowed, blood smeared all across his face and putting big splotches of red on that pinkish frills of that vest beneath suit-coat. Magic finished and then white ivory ring was left in the palm of his hand, blood-colored rubies affixed to the top. Waiting for her to finish consuming her portion before he hesitantly took her hand with the maimed one of his own, and slipped ring onto her finger. A perfect fit. Like Cinderella, except it wasn't a glass slipper, but a ring made from his bone and blood. <done>
wrecked ships [3:20 A.M.]: A breath sucked in, more so from the bristles that hit her eyeball than the way her attempt to make conversation while they were getting ready for all this was ignored. What was she here? The bride or something? Little did she know that .. this wasn't getting ready. This was the thing. And what an asshole was Alice Clare for talking about hats during her wedding ceremony. Because before she knew it, the shaman was finished with her and stepping back to lift a still bloody heart from a bowl above his head. Cold wind picked up, dancing through her skirts and the lengths of her hair to lift and twirl them about while he ripped the thing in two, and suddenly Alice's own heart began to pound incessantly against her ribcage. She watched as blood rained down on the shaman, and he handed the two of them each a half of this heart. It looked human, and she wondered if it mattered at all who the heart had belonged to. Later, she'd ask later. Now, she accepted the half of the thing; blood smearing across her fingers and a brow raising to Abaddon when he gave the three simple instructions. He tore into it with such vigor that Alice couldn't help but flash a grin, though she was slower to bring the thing to her mouth. It was a step she hadn't ever thought of crossing. Cannibalism. But what she did do was respect other cultures -- a whole variety of them in fact, and if Abaddon wanted this ceremony, wanted this to be the way they were legally bound. So be it. It was brought up to her mouth, gripped in her fingers like an apple, and Alice sank her teeth into the fleshy thing. Tough, made of sinew and muscle, it was hard to take the first few bites -- not to mention the taste wasn't exactly desirable, but she made it through. Devouring the half-heart until there was nothing but gore left on her fingers and smeared across her mouth and dripped from her chin to the pale gold of her breasts and beyond that to the delicate white of her dress. It even marked the sand in dots between her feet. She aimed a bloody smile his way when he reached for her hand, but concern writ her features when she saw the state of his. Finger missing, nothing but a seared off space left in it's place. The question didn't leave her tongue, but he'd see it in her eyes when they flashed back to his. Something heavy and cool slipped onto the fourth finger of her left hand, and Alice brought both of their hands, where she'd curled her fingers between his first two, to see. It was a lovely thing, all white and red and sparkling in the wan light, and it warmed her belly. "It's beautiful," came a soft breathy compliment, and she took a rolling step towards him -- cautiously, in case she got smacked in the damn face again. -d-
one reaI bad man [2:53 A.M.]: He aimed to soothe his darling after it soured with concern, so he rose mutilated hand up and casually spread the digits out as wide as they could go. Searing pain lanced through his forearm, tore at the recently melded flesh, and should have blinded him in agony, but instead eyes widened only slightly and he grinned so hard and wide. "Oh, don't worry, it doesn't hurt so bad." It did, but Abaddon had a way of displacing the agony aside, turn it into the background and not the focused sensation. "That, I do believe takes care... Usually they perform an extraordinarily long dance and music, and sing-songs for hours, sacrifice things... but it's all to try and get attention of the Gods, and well, we are the Gods. So it wasn't really necessary." The grin remained a sharp cut through the bark textured beard, eyes tilting towards nearby shade of tree where Frank lurked. "Francis, we're done here. Please take care of Mahwruahahti" With a click at the end. Golem sauntered over and cleared his throat some eyeing over the blood-smeared faces of his tormentors. Mumbling a 'this Maw waw, let's go' and taking the Shaman back towards the house, the way Alice had come. Four-fingered hand went up and pinched at bow-tie, loosening the design with a pull and then wrenching strap of cloth from about his neck, tilting green scaled eyes down to the crown she made for herself on her way over. Aw, how precious. Hand stretching over to brush back of knuckles over the temple of the water-witch. "I'm glad you think so." Hands raised up to the front of her garment, each hand curling along the edges and then he pulled. Well, tore was probably the better descriptor, tore at the garment, meaning to puck her petals as quickly as possible. <done>
wrecked ships [3:07 A.M.]: How could he tell her not to worry? Wasn't that what wives did best? Gingerly, she curved her hand around the back of his injured one; stroking her thumb along the side of his own, but there was no stopping the return of the grin he gave her. Supple mouth spread wide with it, and the rest of his words. "Then it's official? We're married? Don't we have to .. sign something?" Wasn't that how contracts worked? He brought up Francis, and Alice was surprised to find him there. She hadn't known, or even sniffed him out in the rush of all that had just happened, and she watched quietly as the Golem lead off the shaman until it was just she and Abaddon left at this sacred place. The lakeshore cove was alive and teeming with the remnants of their magic from all the times they'd been there -- alone, or together. Ritual after ritual, blood spilled, pleasure taken. It all lingered here, like an invisible fog soaked into the sand and the water, the grass and the trees. Alice vibrated with it now, tilting in his direction when his reach grabbed the front of her dress. How easy it tore for him when she tipped back in the opposite way to help the process -- the antique fabric of the thing ripping at it's sleeves and the seam that kept it together in the back, until there was nothing but the open big sweater she wore above it, and her rain boots to cover her. Nothing more than his wife's lush curves all a-glow in the light that reflected off the water from the pull of the moons beams. Since he was occupied with the fabric in his hand, and the tugging of his tie, once Alice was free of the tattered garment, she took a pendulum step back, something rather sly surfacing in the smirk of her mouth and the glint of crystalline blues. "Am I the first Mrs. Bell? The first you've put a ring like this on?" A turn put her back to him, bottom swells of her heart shaped rear playing peek-a-boo with the hem of her sweater as she stepped away to find the fallen log he favored; spinning back 'round to plop her bare ass on the uncomfortable bark and lift one long leg to drape it over it's twin. A demure cup of her fingers over her raised knee, the rubies of the ring made of bone and blood taking over that lights spark. A brow lifted, waiting for his answer. -d-
one reaI bad man [3:20 A.M.]: Legalities and what not were none of his concern, a contract by way of ritual it still was--no matter how foreign and peculiar, ritualistic binding of two halves was close enough to a technical marriage for Abaddon. The pain continued to throb in his hand, the skin red and swollen, but it was not too much of a bother. And he would have done it earlier, but it seemed more appropriate to have it forged in the moment rather than beyond. The pain was part of the symbol of it, what he'd endure for her to have something nice to recall the memory. Next question was made as she tilted and turned, teasing in minx like fashion and his grin remained firmly in place. Blood smeared with it caking in the curls of thick beard. "You're the first Bell." Not a lie, but an omission and given with silver-tongue. "And my only soulmate." He stepped tenderly, carefully forward, no longer poison in the words he spoke--but truth, nothing left to pull her in.. she was already there and it was obvious she was always meant to be. At least to the dragon it was obvious. Stalking step moved him a bit closer, shrugging out of the tuxedo jacket and frilled vest, buttons peeled away and popped into the mud as he opened the dress-shirt and revealed painted chest. Green gaze in a constant stretch across what ever piece of flesh played peek-a-boo next. <done>
wrecked ships [3:27 A.M.]: "Mmm, the first Bell. I rather like the sound of that." She should have been more specific. That was the key with him. He could get around any thing she left open, but he tended to be honest when she was more direct. Plus, she wasn't asking to get jealous, or start a fight -- the man was centuries old! How could she get jealous of something that happened before he even met her? "Am I your first wife?" The dust and sand on her face was rather itchy, and delicately she brought a hand up to rub at her cheek, watching his approach with steadily climbing heat in the blue of her stare. "Your only soulmate," Alice Clare sang, and shifted so that both hands met the tree trunk on either side of her, stretching out for balance when she leaned back some; her grandpa cardigan ( It might honestly belong to Charles ) sliding with the opening of her arms. Plump breasts took over center stage. Dotted and streaked here and there with the blood that had dribbled from the half a heart that she'd consumed, that sat still hot and potent in her belly. Blood smeared in red dust and sand. "There isn't anything I won't be for you. With you. Because of you. How you wash my world in your darkness, and burn me whole with your heat," her voice was nearly a mused purr as arousal grew the more he came closer. The more clothing he peeled from his body. "I want you," she needlessly stated, and lifted her left arm out, palm up, and fingers his for the taking. -d-
one reaI bad man [3:44 A.M.]: "Yes, my true soulmate, there can be only one..." He didn't even give comment or reaction to the other question, instead giving into the desire that only Alice could sate. She was murmuring more endearments and crafting beautiful lyrics in brooksy ways, and exposed herself beneath the spotlight of glowing moon.
wrecked ships [3:53 A.M.]: "I'm your Highlander," Alice preened with the revelation, her head lolling back with a laugh. She felt a little tipsy. Love, whatever semblance of happiness this might be, the drugs she'd eaten earlier.