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Lifestyle of the Sick and Shameless [Ephraim]
Posted: 27 Aug 2017, 02:38
by Sawyer
By the time she had managed to drag herself back to the apartment, it was well past curfew. It didn’t faze her, really. It wouldn’t be the first time she had stumbled against the door, trembling hands pounding against the reinforced wood. “I don’t know why they keep a ******* curfew, anyway,” she muttered as she brushed a hand through her hair, the recently darkened curls knotting around her fingers. Using a heavy boot to kick open the front door, she watched in bland amusement as the ancient glass trembled in the cracked pane.
The entire building was threatening to collapse around them, but they refused to move. It didn’t matter how often she’d tripped on the broken stairs, or she found herself trapped in the elevator as it groaned in a feeble attempt to heft the cart to their floor. Instead of listening to her, Ephraim and the old **** did what they did best. They tuned her out – like she was some kind of ******* child. Shaking her head, she twisted her arm to bring the face of her watch up, the cracked glass impairing her view of the time. It would be a decent enough excuse, were she to give a **** enough to come up with one.
Instead, she shrugged as she watched the clock strike two, and slowly made her way up the stairs. Each step squeaked and groaned beneath her weight, and as she gripped the splintered railing, she sighed. The scent of whiskey was heavy on her breath, but she was far from intoxicated. She knew his limits. He’d still be furious that she had left her phone – and keys, and sword – at home, but at least she hadn’t drunk herself into oblivion like she was known to do. And ****, at least she was even bothering to come home. That had to count for something, right? Shrugging her shoulder carelessly, she tried the old brass knob of their door, and surprised to find it unlocked, shoved it open with a sigh.
That could only mean one thing.
He was awake.
And he was alone.
Re: Lifestyle of the Sick and Shameless [Ephraim]
Posted: 27 Aug 2017, 02:39
by Ephraim Steele
The quiet rasp of steel against stone filled the air, the darkness disturbed only by the rhythmic stroke of the whetstone against the blade of his sword. Razor sharp and made of the hardest steel he could manage, it was an impressive weapon of righteousness in the hands of a man of diminishing morals. In a city of evil, surrounded by darkness and the sinner’s taint, faced with the hordes of the damned, it was easy to lose sight of right, to slip into the grey ambiguity between right and wrong, until you were so lost you had no idea where you even stood anymore.
That was where he was, right then, as he sat in the darkness and waited for the door to open. He knew that she would be coming, she always came back. She knew better than to stay gone, knew that, in the end, this was the safest place for them all. Together.
When he heard the knob turn, he paused his hand against the edge of his blade, the stone in his palm as he cant his head, listening for the familiar creak of the old hinges. When it finally came, a low, stuttering groan punctuated with a rusty squeal, his hand began to pass the stone over the blade again. The raspy hiss filled the air again, even as the unsteady pounding of her boots carried her into the apartment. Typically, Jenna’s snoring would have been in harmony with the whisper of the whet stone, and the old oil lamp in Osmond’s study would still be flickering through the night as he studied his paperwork, going over expenses and handling the finances of their operation, but tonight, they were out on a date of sorts, as the elderly Bear called it, and the slender young blonde had laughed with her agreement.
That left just the two of them over Osmond’s aging flower shop, only the darkness to accompany them, the store long closed and the small staff the old man kept gone for the evening hours ago. He waited until she was wobbling her way around the corner to give the blade another swipe of the stone. A fair brow arched as she stepped into his view, admittedly less unsteady than he had anticipated, a credit to her for it as he swiped the stone away from the blade and gently set it aside. “Welcome home.”
Re: Lifestyle of the Sick and Shameless [Ephraim]
Posted: 27 Aug 2017, 02:39
by Sawyer
Balancing on the precipice of hell or freedom, she curled her fingers around the decaying wood of the frame. It would only take a step – one step, and she would be inside, facing the bane of her existence. His long hair would be pulled back, and he would have that stern twist of his lips that did fucked up things to her mind and body, even as he lectured her. His face would tint red as he fought to remain holy and pure and not give in to the devil she brought out of him. That was if she decided to say **** it to her high and step inside. Otherwise, she could turn on her heel, stumble back down the stairs, and disappear into the night.
She had no idea what awaited her outside, but it had to be better than this, didn’t it?
“****.” Pushing her hand through her tangled, damp curls, she dropped her bag off by the door as she took that last step in. The heavy oak swung shut behind her, collapsing into the weak frame with a thunderous explosion that still made her jump. It was too similar to the sound of her signing her life away. It took her back to that first night, where she learned of all the dark and twisted things that existed outside of her mind. It brought her back to him. Sinking her teeth into the pad of her thumb, she unsteadily made her way across the oddly pristine floor, following the quiet whisper of his blade until he finally came into view. He was a man of power, it pulsated from every pore. Strong, tall, muscular – goddamn, was his muscular – and bright. Not just in intelligence, but in aura.
He ******* glowed like the goddamned sun.
With irritation flashing in her eyes, she slumped against the wall, one booted foot crossing over the other as she continued to bite into her thumb. “What a home it is.” Her words here only slightly slurred, proving that she had still had most of her wits about her. For how long, of course, was going to be determined by how this night went and how quickly she could find her stash hidden beneath the floorboards in her room. Pushing from the wall, she sauntered over to him, fingers reaching out to attempt to brush over the sharp edge of his blade, something she knew drove him mad.
“It’s quiet tonight. What the **** are you doing still up?”
Re: Lifestyle of the Sick and Shameless [Ephraim]
Posted: 27 Aug 2017, 02:40
by Ephraim Steele
At her flippant remark about their home, he clicked his tongue and ran his thumb along the leather bound hilt of his blade. It was a point of pride for him, the quality and sheer lethality of the weapons that he kept. He watched her as she swayed on her feet, even though her eyes were, for the most part, clear as crystal. She appeared to have let herself loose, but, at the same time she had held herself in check. She knew the dangers that lurked in the dark... that was how they had met, after all. She knew how evil lurked around every corner in this damned city, and she knew how it would have upset him, to see her sliding back into her old ways.
It would have, had he not been feeling the exact same way himself. Every day in this city was a struggle, maintaining a righteous path was harder than he had been willing to admit to anyone, even to himself. He was the example to those around him, to those in the fight with them, and to see his resolve crumble would have been the end of it all, before they had really done anything of any real value. That was something that he felt would have been the greatest failure of them all. To see it all fall apart before they had really made any sort of difference at all.
He sighed, and pulled the weapon away as she reached for it, his hand swiping out and snatching her wrist, pulling her close, until he whipped her around and sat her on his lap. His arm went around her waist as he held her tight, his other hand taking the blade and, with a power he had, until recent years, never known he possessed, he jammed the point of the blade into the floor. The sharpness of the blade met the soft, half-rotted wood and pierced the floor like a white-hot knife through room-temperature butter. Had he half a mind to, he could have driven the blade down to the hilt with little effort at all. He lifted the hand away from the blade and took her jaw in his grasp, turning her face toward his, looking into her eyes for the depth of her intoxication.
It was minor, even though he could still smell the whisky on her breath. It was an alluring scent, one that reminded him of a time long ago, when he could really enjoy himself. When he could taste of what life offered him. And he missed it.
“I was waiting on you, girl. The city is a dangerous place at night, and you left without your protection.” He jabbed his thumb toward her room, where her blade lay open on the bed. He sighed, and let his fingers gently squeeze her jaw as they brushed away, falling to her shoulder. “I was worried. Too worried to sleep, even a little.”
Re: Lifestyle of the Sick and Shameless [Ephraim]
Posted: 27 Aug 2017, 22:07
by Sawyer
He had reacted as she had thought he would – for the most part. She had anticipated the irritated sigh, had almost welcomed the touch of the metal as he slid it from beneath her fingers. What she hadn’t prepared herself for was the warmth of his chest against her back when he hauled her against him. It wasn’t often he embraced her – ****, it was rare that he touched her at all – and for the moment, she was stunned into silence. There was no retort primed on her tongue, and her mind was a vacant wasteland as she felt the beat of his heart against her skin. Swallowing thickly, she allowed her lashes to drift closed as his fingers found her jaw, her own heart pounding in the center of her throat.
What kind of fucked up game are you playing?
Broken from the spell when she heard the thud of the metal sliding through wood, her eyes snapped open, radiant gaze ensnared by the cool ice of his own. “You know, Osmond is going to blow a ******* gasket when he gets back. He hates when we **** up the floor.” She didn’t understand why. The apartment was one gust of wind away from collapsing around them. Her only hope was that the moment it did, there were a few vampires trapped inside to get impaled by raining stakes. Clicking her tongue against the brilliant white of her teeth, she narrowed her eyes as he stared at her.
“Why in the **** would you be worried? I can’t haul that thing around everywhere I go. It’s not like I can shove it under my skirt,” she muttered, hand dropping to lift the edge of the plaid material to make her point. There wasn’t a lot of room under there, and the sword he had crafted for her was almost as tall as she was, anyways. “I swear, you need to get laid, man. It’d loosen you up a bit; get you closer to God and all that. Maybe then you’d get some rest and stop being up my *** all the goddamned time.”
Re: Lifestyle of the Sick and Shameless [Ephraim]
Posted: 28 Aug 2017, 02:12
by Ephraim Steele
Shaking his head, he ran his thumb along the line of her jaw, before giving a quiet sigh and dropping his hand from her face. She hadn’t leapt away, as he had expected. That much, at least, was a surprise. Her crude quip, however, was less than inspired, another line on a broken record that skipped on into eternity. If he’d heard that bit once, he’d heard it ten thousand times. What she probably didn’t know was that, on his own, he had been giving the whole thing some thought. What good was it, if he kept himself so devout? He spent every night breaking one of the lord’s very ten commandments.
Thou shalt not kill, it had been written. Not to kill, he would scream with righteous fury, even as he cleaved a head in two, sending another of Heather’s whores back to the shadows. It seemed hypocritical, and every night the weight of the inconsistencies, the burden of his struggle to remain above the impurities of the things he did in the name of a righteous and holy cause dragged him down, further and further into the muck, until he was lost to the things that he had done. He was no better than any of them, when you looked at it all. His hands were just as coated in blood as Heather’s had always been. So what made him right, and she wrong? What made him and his god any better than her and her lust?
He had been giving considerable thought into throwing it all away, and again, there she sat, the bane of his honor, perched atop his knee, chirping her same shrill message again, as she had night after night since they had collided. Give it up, and live. She might not have realized it, but those were the things he heard; those were the things that she was really saying to him, the message that was really getting through to him. He was happy before. He had shouldered the burdens of his responsibilities in life, but he had also enjoyed life, and the fruits that it had offered him. He knit his brows as he looked up at her in concentration, in deliberation, as he shook his head and offered her a grunt of mild amusement.
“And who, pray tell, will be the poor unfortunate soul that would endure something like that? Surely you aren’t volunterring, are you?”
And the trap snaps shut.
Re: Lifestyle of the Sick and Shameless [Ephraim]
Posted: 31 Aug 2017, 18:54
by Sawyer
His touch sent a chill down her spine, and she turned her head away when his hand dropped, teeth sinking into pliable flesh of her lower lip. This wasn’t Ephraim. He didn’t touch her like this – he didn’t talk to her in that soft, husked tone that made her forget her own ******* name. He sure as hell didn’t haul her into his lap, his arm banding around her slender waist to keep her there. “The **** happened to you, Eph?” Her voice was quiet, and as she narrowed her eyes, she lifted her hand to curl a lock of blonde around her finger.
She never touched him like this, either. She would taunt him, sure. He made it so ******* easy to do. From the second he had trapped her in his ‘God is Good’ prayer and washed the toxins from her system, she had haunted him. Every step he took, she made sure that he knew how fucked up his life was. He didn’t enjoy it. He sat in the dark, he killed his girlfriend’s minions, and he pretended that she was the dirt beneath his scuffed boot. He had her watched like a ******* hawk. So, yeah, she would taunt him by brushing against him in the morning, when he reached for his tea. There were times she made sure that she wore something tight and short, just to watch him glare before he turned away.
This, though. She never touched him like this, with an uncertain tenderness that made her uncomfortable. Dropping her hand as if his hair scorched her, she shifted in his lap, her fingers working at the hem of her skirt as she tried to get comfortable against the hard muscle of his thigh. “I’m sure Osmond has some numbers stashed somewhere. That old **** is hiding something. It wouldn’t surprise me if it were a bunch of hookers,” she scoffed, lips curving into a devious smirk that matched the mischief in her eyes. Had he really just asked her if she would **** him? Sinking her teeth harder into her lip, she paused when she felt the pain.
“What? Do you want me to be the one to loosen you up, boss? I would think I was too dirty for you.” Her voice dropped then as she leaned closer, lips a breath away from his. This was a game – he was playing a game. He had finally caught on, and he was trying to take her down. There wasn’t a way in hell that Ephraim ‘I am God’ Steele wanted her sinner’s hands on his body.
Was there?
Re: Lifestyle of the Sick and Shameless [Ephraim]
Posted: 21 Oct 2017, 01:38
by Ephraim Steele
“The **** happened to me, she asks.” He laughed, and let a hand swat at her side, his powerful palm feeling the curvature of her ribs beneath his touch. She was thin and fragile, like a thing made of glass caught beneath the power of his mighty grasp. Though, he didn’t dare to discount her strength, she was a tremendous amount stronger than she appeared. Many in this city were, though they were among those gifted with strength from the powers of life and the world of the living, rather than those cursed with the wicked magic of the undead. For that much, he was thankful, that Sawyer hadn’t become another Heather. It would have ruined him, to have seen that much taken from the living.
He had, through their time in the fires of adversity together, grown to feel closer to sawyer than he had ever felt with Heather, though he doubted that even she realized it. The pompous fat *****, however, had seen it, and had been calling him on it for months. She had taken a special interest in seeing that Sawyer was snuffed out, sending those that she selected as her “best,” orders to take down the paladin at his side without prejudice. They, in turn, had been eliminated without mercy.
He didn’t know what he would do, when he finally failed. His fingertips moved along her abdomen, his hand splayed across her taut, tight abs as he took an easy breath. Everything around him was evil. Was it not a greater service to life, to bring just an ounce of love into this bleak, black hole? His fingernails bit gently into her flesh as he gave a quick shrug of one shoulder, his arm pulling her close. “I’ve got no need for a hooker, Sawyer. There’s more I want out of life than a quick **** and a thank you note in the way of cyphilis a month down the road. I want more substance than a single night, a few meaningless hours, is going to give me. I think, in the end, you might want that, too.”
Re: Lifestyle of the Sick and Shameless [Ephraim]
Posted: 21 Oct 2017, 01:39
by Sawyer
She had been right. There was something seriously fucked about this entire situation. She had gone out, had broken every rule that he had laid out for her, and she had anticipated the punishment. She had almost welcomed it – and then she had entered the door. Instead of being met with rage, she had found herself trapped on his lap, his hand pressed to her abdomen. He touched her as if he couldn’t get enough, as if he actually wanted her. With each brush of his fingers against her skin, she shifted, the strength that radiated from his palm enough to frighten her – not that she’d ever admit it.
There had always been something about him that had pulled her in. He was the light that illuminated the darkness that had been her life. He had saved her from her addiction, and when she felt the need claw at her, he was there to help her fight it. How many nights had he stayed by her side as she screamed in rage as the drugs ripped her apart? How many showers had he sat with her in, as the cold water beat against their clothed skin and washed away the sweat and vomit that caked her flesh? She had never once thought to deny any amount of feelings for this man, but this… this was something else.
This was something she wasn’t sure she knew how to handle.
Raising a brow, she tilted her head as he spoke, her eyes darkening for a moment. “Did you get into Osmond’s stash again, Ephraim? You’re acting like you have feelings or some ****,” she muttered, though her voice shook as she ran her fingers through her tangled hair. If there was one thing she missed, it was the splash of color against her pale skin. Now, the brown was rich, the natural tone almost boring to the paladin. Maybe she’d talk them into blue this time. “You don’t know what you’re asking for, big guy. I’m not the relationship type. I’m just good for a **** and nothing more. If that’s all you’re after, I’m your girl,” she grinned, her eyes dancing with amusement. This was just a game, wasn’t it? He didn’t actually want to **** her. She was dirty whore, and he was… well, God.
There was no ******* way he’d be in her tonight.
Re: Lifestyle of the Sick and Shameless [Ephraim]
Posted: 21 Oct 2017, 01:41
by Ephraim Steele
A rush of air left his nose as he shook his head, the scruff of his beard brushing against his chest as he took another deep breath and allowed the lack of his amusement speak for itself and the authenticity of the moment. His bright, steely blue eyes bore into her like an ice cold flame, a glint of light in them harder than the steel he forged, colder than the fury that couched his heart each and every time he looked into Heather’s eyes and knew that what she had become was beyond redemption, knowing that all that lay between him, her, and Tré, three of the closest people that he could ever remember knowing, was a black hatred that could never be doused.
He had lost everything in the inferno of Harper Rock. He had seen the representatives of the church fall before the might of the vampire hordes, and with their backs broken, retreat like whipped dogs. He had remained, along with a scattered few, and while they fought with all of their might, the vampire numbers grew each and every night, while they were swiftly dwindling. Men and women died all around them, only few having been in the fight more than a few days. Osmond, Jenna, and Sawyer were what was left of the band he had pulled together his first few nights in town. They were the best that he had, and the ones he wished to protect most. It was a point of tremendous pressure on his conscience, weighing each and every night the value of their success against their lives.
He didn’t want to lose any of them, and so many had died anyway.
He knew that the time that they had was little enough, without the blood and violence that stained their lives. There was precious little that they would have time for, even in a normal life. Living by an old law, in an old way... it just didn’t seem to be viable. It didn’t seem... possible.
“If I’m going to feel anything while I am alive, then I doubt that I really have the time to wait for the “right moment.” I doubt that there will ever be[/i] a “right moment,” Sawyer. So...”
If he wanted to feel anything positive in this world, with the woman that had stricken him for the first time since he had fallen into the dark pit of this city, then he had to act now, because if he waited until the threat of the undead was banished...
Every night, it seemed more and more likely that night may never come at all.
He sighed, and grasped the woman’s chin, glaring into her eyes, watching her gaze as she remained tentatively in his grasp. She was like a doe, poised to bolt at the slightest indication of an overt threat, the natural representation of awesome power that he had become notwithstanding. He could feel the way she was torn between staying, and distancing herself, in breaking free. He could hear it in her words, in the way she danced around the subject and made light of the very thing she’d pushed about his plate for months.
His fingers wrapped gently about her chin, he took a quick breath. There had been words. They had been there, and he could still taste them on the tip of his tongue, but they were gone. Instead, eloquent as ever, “just shut up, girl,” he grumbled, and pulled her forward, until their lips met with a fierce heat that threatened to sear the darkness from his soul, the weight of the dead lifted from his heart as he held her in his fierce embrace.