Odette, a name born of elegance, of beauty and grace, a name that brought such weight upon it's owner. A weight to live up-to the image that her parents had of the beautiful swan that would blossom into society, that would grace the socialites with dignity and an aura of high class up-bringing. Unfortunately for the parents in question that daughter had chosen a path they couldn't even begin to grasp the concept of; tattoos, cigarettes, alcohol, parties, motorcycle clubs, rock. They had spent the last 10 years watching their hopes crash and burn, the hope that their daughter would transform into a skilled pianist; would dine in extravagant restaurants with other ladies born of privilege; would graduate with honours in either medicine or law; marry a man worthy of the family riches and titles.
And instead of seeing what they had envisioned when conceiving the life almost 25 years ago, they had to witness the development of an anarchist, a female who painted her body with ink, that tainted her innards with smoke and alcohol, that enjoyed the raw nature of a fight, and often ended up in the A&E after getting too aggressive with a group of people.
Too many times they'd had to bail her out of situations, and given the lecture of how it would look upon the family, how she should try to attend a church meeting once in a while, to grasp that relationship with Jesus, the relationship that seemed to suck the life out of her parents, and they couldn't even see it.
They hadn't even experienced the raw sensation of throwing a fist into the face of another, feeling the crack of bone. They hadn't enjoyed the freedom that being inebriated wrought upon you, the lack of restraint on the truth you kept hidden, the lack of responsibility.
No. Her parents knew nothing of what it was truly like to enjoy life. They were too afraid of the image they had been born into, and what would tarnish it.
And these were the thoughts that raced through her mind, like a leaf on the wind trying to match the speed of a train. Lean legs moved effortlessly as she jogged, trying to rid herself of the newest conversation her father had tried to spur on her moments before she'd took her keys and fled for her daily routine of exercise. Marriage. And not just marriage, an arranged one. Over her dead ******* body. She'd rather be dead that be controlled in anyway. And marriage was control. No. This caused her legs to move faster, the sound of the feet clapping to the concrete the only sound for miles. That was, until she heard a masculine voice. And then many. It caused her to come to a halt, her heart racing erratically as it attempted to begin composure from her extreme activity.
Emerald irises scanned the area she was now stood within, unfamiliar and dark. Though she was capable of handling herself, or at least destroying a few people in the process, she knew this situation would devolve into something deadly. So she tried to pinpoint exactly where the suspicious behaviour was coming from.
And that had been the last thing she recalled, before an object had struck her mercilessly from behind, cracking the side of her face and rendering her unconscious. When she had awoke she was tied to a chair, her hair clung to the blood that had leaked from the wound, and her mind a groggy mess. All she could seem to make out was some men talking about capturing the daughter and now they could call for ransom, and when could the rape and kill her. Well ****. Now was the only time she'd wished she'd taken her fathers words seriously. ''You need to be more careful out there, you'll get killed one day.'' Yes. Now was that time. Attempting to struggle and break free would alert them to her awareness and that could bring on a whole can of worms she was not able to handle on her own. So she'd bid her time, hoping, maybe even praying something would swing in her favour.
Don't feat the reaper. [Jesse]
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Jesse Fforde
- Registered User
- Posts: 3487
- Joined: 30 Jun 2012, 09:32
- CrowNet Handle: Fox
Re: Don't feat the reaper. [Jesse]
Gangsters.
One could hardly call them the bane of Jesse’s existence. In fact, he rather enjoyed their existence, and he hoped that the city continued to produce them in large numbers. He might have become one of them if his life hadn’t taken a different course. If he hadn’t been so caught up in his artwork and the urge to etch it into living canvas, he wouldn’t have had any other hope. He wouldn’t have had any other skill to give him a leg up out of the sinkhole that his life had become. The skills that he had would have been used to kick people’s faces in; to steal and to get high. He’d probably be dead by now. One of the several hundreds of gang related murders that had occurred over the past few years. The authorities tried to ignore it, he supposed; tried to push it aside and pretend like it wasn’t as important as other deaths that occurred in this city. The slums were a cesspool. Maybe they should just wall it all off. Create a second Quarantine Zone.
The thought made Jesse laugh as he approached one of the many buildings in the area’s vicinity. There were a couple of reasons why he would commit mass slaughter in a place like the Slums. One: He needed to let off steam. Two: he needed something specific. Jesse wasn’t the kind to only go out and get what he needed when he needed it. He liked to stockpile, so that when the time came, he had immediate access to the things that he required. What did he need from the slums? Diamond teeth, mainly. Used Syringes as an aside. The latter could probably be gathered without needing to kill anyone. But where’s the fun in that? Diamond teeth… well, he probably didn’t have to kill anyone for those, either, but it was far easier to wrench a diamond tooth out of a dead mouth rather than a living one.
There is a guy at the door that Jesse quickly and quietly gets rid of; he has his sword in hand, opting for stealth before chaos. No diamond tooth, unfortunately—but Jesse does take the cash from the dead guy’s pocket.
There are voices upstairs; quite a few of them. Jesse slowly makes his way up. He manages to do so without a sound, until he hits the top step. There’s a creak, and the voices hush. Jesse reaches under his arm for the gun that’s holstered there; a powerful weapon with good aim and quick reload. As soon as the first body comes out of the room from which the voices are coming, Jesse pulls the trigger. The sound of gunfire explodes against the former quiet; bullets thump into the human body, the sound magical and satisfactory. The scent of blood weaves through the scent of gunpowder and Jesse finds his groove. Without hesitation he surges forward, bursting into the room. Even if there were only three of them inside, there were more in the building, somewhere. But Jesse doesn’t count, no. He dodges and ducks; he uses the furniture to flip and defy gravity. Sure, he gets a few grazes and bullet holes of his own but he doesn’t feel them, in the thick of it.
He is also aware of the girl tied to a chair in the middle of the room, too. Curious, but not really his concern. He just needs his diamond teeth.
One could hardly call them the bane of Jesse’s existence. In fact, he rather enjoyed their existence, and he hoped that the city continued to produce them in large numbers. He might have become one of them if his life hadn’t taken a different course. If he hadn’t been so caught up in his artwork and the urge to etch it into living canvas, he wouldn’t have had any other hope. He wouldn’t have had any other skill to give him a leg up out of the sinkhole that his life had become. The skills that he had would have been used to kick people’s faces in; to steal and to get high. He’d probably be dead by now. One of the several hundreds of gang related murders that had occurred over the past few years. The authorities tried to ignore it, he supposed; tried to push it aside and pretend like it wasn’t as important as other deaths that occurred in this city. The slums were a cesspool. Maybe they should just wall it all off. Create a second Quarantine Zone.
The thought made Jesse laugh as he approached one of the many buildings in the area’s vicinity. There were a couple of reasons why he would commit mass slaughter in a place like the Slums. One: He needed to let off steam. Two: he needed something specific. Jesse wasn’t the kind to only go out and get what he needed when he needed it. He liked to stockpile, so that when the time came, he had immediate access to the things that he required. What did he need from the slums? Diamond teeth, mainly. Used Syringes as an aside. The latter could probably be gathered without needing to kill anyone. But where’s the fun in that? Diamond teeth… well, he probably didn’t have to kill anyone for those, either, but it was far easier to wrench a diamond tooth out of a dead mouth rather than a living one.
There is a guy at the door that Jesse quickly and quietly gets rid of; he has his sword in hand, opting for stealth before chaos. No diamond tooth, unfortunately—but Jesse does take the cash from the dead guy’s pocket.
There are voices upstairs; quite a few of them. Jesse slowly makes his way up. He manages to do so without a sound, until he hits the top step. There’s a creak, and the voices hush. Jesse reaches under his arm for the gun that’s holstered there; a powerful weapon with good aim and quick reload. As soon as the first body comes out of the room from which the voices are coming, Jesse pulls the trigger. The sound of gunfire explodes against the former quiet; bullets thump into the human body, the sound magical and satisfactory. The scent of blood weaves through the scent of gunpowder and Jesse finds his groove. Without hesitation he surges forward, bursting into the room. Even if there were only three of them inside, there were more in the building, somewhere. But Jesse doesn’t count, no. He dodges and ducks; he uses the furniture to flip and defy gravity. Sure, he gets a few grazes and bullet holes of his own but he doesn’t feel them, in the thick of it.
He is also aware of the girl tied to a chair in the middle of the room, too. Curious, but not really his concern. He just needs his diamond teeth.
FIRE and BLOOD