We've All Got Issues

[Every]

This thread is open to anyone in the Andras line!

There was a chemical taste in her mouth that Every couldn't identify as she came to, nausea dancing through her form. Her head felt heavy, her chin at her chest and for a few moments, she thought she'd fallen asleep on the couch again, that is until she pulled at her wrists and found them bound, a cloth over her eyes. She pulled at the binds holding them behind her, fury igniting in her chest as she could still taste the toxin in her mouth.

"What the ****." She thought irritably, trying to break free until she found it useless. Next, she tried to teleport, finding it impossible. "Who the ****?" She didn't think it was Dylan's brother. The man, though holding a bounty on her head, wasn't capable of anything like this. Kidnapping was one thing, but she didn't believe he was smart enough to learn that she was a vampire.

Not to mention, she'd be able to use her powers to escape.

She could smell decay combined with... Micah? The familiar scent lingered in the air and in a corner, there was a steady drip. Although she no longer was bothered by temperature, she could feel the chill in the air against her skin. "I swear if I'm in a ******* freezer..." Every tried to break the binds again, a swell of nausea crashing against her movements as she stilled. A rollercoaster of sickness rose and fell, blood rising in her throat.

In the back of her mind, there was a comforting reminder that she no longer needed her lungs until the sensation faded. She waited a few minutes before jerking roughly, the sound of the chair she was confined to scraping roughly on a floor. She repeated the action, pausing only when she heard the sound of movement around her.

"So I'm not alone."

The last time she'd been nabbed, she had been knocked out. The woman was beginning to grow tired of her stepfather's brother and one of these days, she would end him. Make him disappear. The plotting would begin soon, she was sure of it. There was a small snort that could be heard from behind what covered her mouth.

Another jerk and the sound echoed once more before she stilled, nauseous again. She shimmed her wrist lightly, trying to get to the small knife she kept tucked behind her belt.

[Satine]

It was another nightmare. Not as bad as the others in the distant past but still it was enough to keep her on the edge of the seat beneath her. The twitches of her fingers tried to curl up and grip a hold on something. Anything to keep her from being pulled a little further into that hellacious pain that was always there when she slipped too far and let herself go. It would be over soon. It always was. It just took a little more time than she felt like investing in the process at hand.

The throbbing over her lips was not half as bad as the lockdown set on her jaw and the merciless pressure that radiated from it up into her head reminded her of something she failed to acknowledge until that moment. Satine remembered a brain rattling blow to the face. It came after everything had went black. She was in her office. The surface of her desk was swamped with invoices, sample products, a shipment of glass bongs and Chester was across the top of it all like a brilliant silver elaborate paperweight. She felt a chill in the air and a sinking feeling. Her body popped up out of her desk chair a second too late.

The sensation of material falling over her head came just as it had then. Satine turned her head and tried to twist her hands and feet free at the same time. Rough, heavy material skimmed across her cheek with the movement. It was far more painful that it should be and it was then that she surmised that her face was likely what stopped a moving brick wall. A flick of the tip of her tongue behind her tenderized lips was another clue that something stronger than her made contact. Two of her teeth dangled beneath the thin slick skin responsible for holding the top and bottom rows in snug and tight. Figures.

As she sat there pondering her painful predicament the question was not so much why something hit her. Satine could think of at least fifty reasons in the last twenty-four or so odd hours as to why something or someone would. The question was who. That narrowed things down a little as far as possibilities. While her fingers tried but failed to make the bindings around her wrists any more loose the necro made similar work with her feet trying to get free. It was no use. For some reason either she was in some rather impressive hold or she had been hit far harder than she first thought.

Satine's lips bunched up and she took in a deep take of air through her nose. There was the scent of week old flesh and it gave her stomach every reason to rock and roll as she held on to it. Great. Just great. Now she was going to be sitting and waiting for the life of the party to show up. She knew who was throwing this shindig. She would bet the rest of her teeth in her mouth just who was behind it. She growled deep in her throat. Here she thought they had come to an unfriendly cease fire and that she wasn't worth it. Well la-dee-*******-da.

[Nishaa]

There was an actual bag over her ******* head. Her senses were awake when her eyes opened only to find brown cloth in front of those onyx hues. She grunted. She didn’t like being cornered. She could remember kissing her wife, having her gun slung over her shoulder as she went out to hunt like she normally did then there was blackness, someone must've hit her over the head and she had dropped to the ground like an anvil. Dead in the water. She grunted. Her tongue clicking against her upper lip as she moved her wrists only to find they had been shackled to a chair.

This was turning into BDSM. Now, who wanted to tie her up and keep her.. Wherever she was right now. It was cold, not cold enough to bother her but it was enough to make it slightly uncomfortable. She huffed through her nose. The material of this hood - or potato bag - whatever it was that was over her face right now was tickling her nose. Making her laugh slightly. Since being hit over the head her senses were a little sluggish but she was sure she could smell rotting flesh - meat. Lots of meat.

That was when she heard it. There was the sound of scraping, another chair? Then another - it sounded like struggling she was sure her ears could pick up on the sound of more chains clanging against the metal of the chair, she knew she was not alone now, there were more people - she inhaled - vampires, here in this meat locker. Wherever they happened to be as she wrinkled her nose.

This was getting quite excited, she was sure there were many people who wanted to kill her - or put her head on a spike. She wasn’t the nicest of people you would come across these days and she was a member of Tytonidae too, they had a lot of haters. She inhaled again. Trying to snuff out who their capturer was and that was when it hit her. Micah. She could smell it, and her blood was singing. He was here.

Was he the captor, or the savior? Well still. This was quite exhilarating. Nishaa was an odd horse, she quite liked this roleplay. Where was the whips and chains when you needed them?

[Roderic]

It was damp in here. I could smell it. The musty, wet smell, laced with death. That was what I smelled first, having first hand knowledge of that smell in all sorts of animals; from what you could find in the wilderness to the guy in the apartment next door in your complex. I could feel the temperature change from hours ago while I hunted down my targets for the task assigned to me, to where I was now, as I sat in a chair in the dark. A chair scrapes and someone groans and I look around in the dark, trying to figure out where the groan came from exactly.

My fingers reach into my leather coat, and pull out my pack of cigarettes, the lighter and then pop the tan colored end in between my lips before I light it. The tiny ember illuminates my fingers as I stare at the two women in the chair. I know not to take my eyes off them; Every and Nishaa. They're members of my faction, so I know they're capable of a lot of tricks and feats of brute strength. Which was why I made sure to bind them as best as I could, as tight as I could. I glance over to the pretend Velveteen, not sure about her yet. What she was capable of, but I figure if she's related to Velveteen, it probably was wise to not take my eyes off her too long either.

I don't and won't say anything. Even if any of them talk, I won't say anything. I'm just here giving a helping hand to Micah, because my nights are pretty empty and kept in solitude if I'm not doing a task for Tytonidae. I'm just a hired hand. Muscle. I glance back over by Nishaa and grin. She had been the easiest of the two to nab only because of dumb luck. I run into her a couple times a week in the caverns, so that was where I started first. Only tonight, she wasn't there. I moved to the catacombs, thinking she was with those guys she always hangs around with. Probably all her creations. And sure enough, there she was in the midst of them all. I stayed hidden in the shadows and waited to pounce. When they went their own ways, it's when I acted and made my move. A good hard conk to the back of her head with the butt of my sword and she went down like a sack of potatoes. I delivered her to the location given to be my Micah and then went on to find Every.

She made me work for her, but that wasn't a problem. I'm damn good at tracking; I know her shoe size, the type of deodorant she (and anyone in Tytonidae) uses, hair crap and other products that give everyone their own signature scent. I came across that scent in the Eyrie and went from there. Micah should be proud. His creation put up a hell of a fight-even when being taken by surprise. I think Every is one of those that live on edge. Always expecting bad things to cross her path. I rub at the back of my head, because it connected with a wall before I smashed a handful of bottles over her head-some of that chick crap chick's wear. Perfume. I grabbed what I could as a deterrent and watched it explode over her head, run down her face and even splash across my own face before I pushed her into a wall. Hard. Repeatedly. Face first.

My eyes move to the pretend Velveteen again as I focus on inhaling the cigarette's nicotine. I wonder how much of a fight she gave Micah. Twins were a fascinating concept. Were they exactly alike, or were they different? Something that might eventually be worth investigating another time and place. On a different set of twins. A couple sets of twins, just to be thorough. I pull the cigarette from my lips with my right hand, my left running through my glossy, slightly greasy hair as I inch to the edge of my chair, stand and move around to Every. I had noticed the movement on her chair, and so I needed to look into the situation with her binds. I tug at them, letting her know I'm aware of what she's trying to do, and remain where I am, smoking away at my cigarette; the mixture of death and cigarettes now encompassing the room more than the soft smell of wet earth.

[Rion]

She was no stranger to the dank, twisted scent of death. It settled into her bones and made her feel at home - but this wasn’t home. Beneath the pungent and sweet odor of decaying flesh and formaldehyde lingered a smell that wasn’t quite right. The faint traces of smoke seeped into the canvas that covered her face, hindering her sight - but not her hearing. “Well, isn’t this just ******* cozy?” The words eased from her busted lip in a sneer, her Southern drawl bellying her discomfort. In a matter of seconds, she had gone from a prone and useless creature to one of uncertainty and wariness. This can’t ******* be happening. Not again, she thought as she rotated her shoulders in a pathetic attempt to loosen the bonds that secured her wrists.

With her hands pulled behind her, fingers clasped together, she knew that whoever - or whatever - had captured her, knew her. They knew how she worked, and they knew that her hands were her most useful tools. Gritting her teeth against the irritation that blossomed in her chest, she tipped her head back and released a steady, yet completely unneeded breath. Her lungs were the least of her concerns, and though they ached with the panic that roared its head at the repeated nightmare she had found herself in, she had no use for them. Calm the **** down and think about this, she berated herself, even as she gave another useless tug at her binds. The heavy twine dug desperately into her skin as she twisted and pulled, and the scent of her blood began to mingle with the others in the rotting, damp air. “I suppose room service is out of the question?”

She wasn’t crazy - or stupid - enough to think that anyone would answer her. Her voice echoed off the walls, and she gave a wry twist of her lips when she it echoed back to her. The room wasn’t that large, and from behind her, she heard a chair scrape against concrete. She wasn’t alone, but without her sight, she hadn’t a ******* clue if it was friend of foe. Not wanting to take a chance, she eased her aggravated movements and relaxed her hands, leaving her fingers outstretched so her blood dripped steadily into a small pool beneath her seat. “Yeah, didn’t think so. Hell of a welcoming,” she continued, her tone bored. She was a master at this game - no kidnapping, but hiding her true thoughts beneath sarcasm and wit. It was one of the few things that kept her sane, if that was even what she could call herself.

Forcing herself to relax, she slid down in her seat, her incredibly short stature making it easy for her to manuver herself in her bonds. She actually had to stretch herself out to have her bound feet touch the ground, and it was then she felt the dull ache in the back of her skull before it shot down her spine like a current. The memory of the blow was hazy at best, and as she scraped her boot against the damp ground, she tried to piece it together. Something had to stick out to her, some sight or smell that could give her a ******* clue as to where she was and why. Try as she might, though, she couldn’t jam the pieces of the puzzle into place. All she saw was the bedroom wall of her hotel room, her fingers gripping the handle to… something… and then there was a blinding pain. It hadn’t been the first blow delivered, but it had been enough to take her to her knees. It was the second blow that was eluding her. Something had been said, a dark voice - but every time she reached for it, it slipped between her fingers like water. Had it been her husband? Had he finally lost his goddamned mind?

As plausible as it was, she highly doubted he would have risked life and limb to assault her. His style was dark, twisted and a hell of a lot more dangerous than this. Even so, she found herself breathing in the sickening air around her, searching for a trace of his cologne, but the welcoming scent of death was far too heavy for her to separate. If he was her captor or captive with her, she wouldn’t be able to tell. Irritation bubbled inside of her once more, though this time, she remained still, her body relaxed as she twisted her blood slicked fingers together until her knuckles turned white. Whoever had her was intelligent, and a little bit twisted, leaving her with biding her time as her only option of survival.