Lamb Of Sodomy (Seeking Literate Smut)

Cloning technology was a slippery slope of sorts, two sides of a coin that presented equal amounts of opportunity and tragedy. On one side, advocates voiced the possibilities of farming organs and experimentation, of seeking new sorts of treatment and other medical and scientific breakthroughs that were otherwise impossible due to resources and time. The other side however disliked taking that extra step forward, in playing God and tainting the sanctity of life, willing to entertain the thought of subjecting lesser creatures to such operations but staunch defenders in preventing man from being replicated.

Perhaps you've heard of Dolly. If not, I certainly don't blame you, as she's more of a footnote than a landmark, more known for the controversy that was brought about than the advancements that came with. In a little corner of the world however, under the watchful eyes of government operation, they're conducting another variant of the cloning experiment on a somewhat willing host, having coaxed them with a sufficient amount of cash and incentive. The technology however was different as well as the limitations on the final product and when everything was said and done... Well, we have another human, but that's why we call it experimentation.

Possible kinks: Exploitation / Possible M/M, M/F, or M/ Futa / Public Scenes / Mutual Masturbation?

It’s a hard life being a saint. In some ways, the status is identical with being that of a martyr; absolving others of burden and pain wears on the soul. Many start young, committing themselves to a lifetime of virtue and fellowship to those in need. The good ones either rise in the ranks, finding favor from the old guard, or find an early grave before the toll becomes too great. Despite being a brotherhood and sisterhood of pious individuals, new recruits are often seen as fresh meat for the grindstone, sent on dangerous expeditions or stationed in the most unsavory of locations. With but the blessings of their elders, a bible at their side and the teachings from the Church, many are sent on a mission not to enlighten and convert, but as scapegoats and pariahs.

On 34th street, in the impoverish sections of town where even light rarely bothers to venture stands one of these abandoned bastions of God. A market of underground trade, forgotten classes, the homeless and ruthless, it welcomes its resident chaplain with broken stained glass windows and a broken front door that may as well be revolving. For each morning that a new priest is appointed, it seems that by the end of the night, another saint has been broken in that festering pool of sin. Folklore speak of demons standing shoulder to shoulder with the underprivileged, of drug rings and slave trades, frenzied cults and other hedonistic pleasure in that deepest darkness. The good ones either die young or fall a long, long ways down.

Possible kinks: Bondage / Corruption / Slavery / See You Sunday

Newlyweds. There was that feeling of anxiety days before saying ‘I do’, being chastised by his friends for making that final commitment and pressured by his parents to take the deep plunge into holy matrimony. He dated her for a few years, becoming a believer in love at first sight, only hoping that the theory of your significant other changing after settling was a half-truth at worst, a fabrication at best. Waiting at the end of the aisle, surrounded by loved ones new and old, it was an endorphin high to see her walking down the aisle with a pristine smile, the same blush that made him fall head over heels. The feeling that nothing could get better crossed his mind, that assumption easily shattered when she echoed his brash confession, the words ‘I do’ echoing in that small room. For a moment, he felt like his heart stopped.

A year later, her heart did.

It was an unfortunate joke of sorts that she had changed, but not in the way that he was dreading. Instead of fearing that they might drift apart gradually, instead his beautiful bride had exchanged a white wedding gown for a white medical gown and, were things to not improve, would be in black garbs instead of lovely white. The doctors left her for dead, keeping the feeding tube in, but promising little more. The last thing they could offer was an experiment with a new drug which would require a waiver as it was still in a testing phase, promising no results. A few doses and some careful monitoring, and what started as a tragedy brought the woman he loved back… although she seemed to be different; a bit more gullible, open to suggestion. He agreed to bring her home, taking with enough medication to nurse her back to health, intending on keeping her on that regiment.

Possible kinks: Bimboism / Blackmail / Manipulation / Probably Divorce Court

Star-crossed lovers; a romantic notion lost to Shakespearean times and afternoon daydreaming. True love is an entertaining thought, but the numbers rarely lie. If there is somebody out there specifically meant for you, the odds are against you in finding that perfect match. But every once in a while there's that feeling when your minding your business, going through the motions, walking through the sea of people and you see someone within that crowd. Your heart flutters. Your mouth runs dry. Your mind hits the floor running whether you're ready or not. And as crazy as it sounds, because you don't even know this stranger's name, you feel like you've been here before.

Nostalgia?

Your name might be Thomas. Her name might be Stacey. At least this time. Last time it happened? You probably don't remember anymore, but you went as Leonard, she went by Elizabeth. The time before? The gender roulette might have been a little more adventurous that day and you were David, he was Eric. But the most important part is that despite not knowing anything about this person now, you've known them all your life. Well... your past lives at least. So why not step up, introduce yourself, smile and shake hands? Yeah, the name is different, but you've been here before, time and time again.

...at least, you think so, right?

Possible kinks: MxF and/or MxM / Reincarnation / Romance / Would Child Support Carry Over?

Peerless. Doubtless. Faultless. Guiltless. Sinless. All qualities that humans can fathom, sometimes attain, but rarely sustain. It's rather appropriate then that such attributes are considered superhuman, not merely features of a hero of justice but what the public expects from a defender of justice and the common folk. With such privilege however comes not only great responsibility, but greater burdens: criticism, expectation, double standards, hypocrisy. A hero can do no wrong. A hero should do no wrong. Privacy is a luxury that no longer exists when a person of great virtue decides to shoulder the laws of the world and maintain some semblance of peace. Gods can be condemned and forgotten, ridiculed and despised. It shouldn't be surprising that a single mistake can get such a response from the same people a superhuman is suppose to protect.

Sheep shouldn't be surprised when the lion bites back however, having been poked too many times.

What happens when a hero no longer abides by what is expected from him, but what he himself fancies? How badly can things spiral if he turns his back on the world, starts holding things ransom, demands tribute in order to retain his services or auction off justice as if it were just another public good? The only difference between a hero and a tyrant is the love of the people, but that shouldn't matter if it can be dropped at a moment's notice. The path of perfection is a long and arduous walk, almost as treacherous as that of redemption.

Possible kinks: Hard Bondage / Magic / Pet Play / Inevitable Terrible Goku Vs. Superman III Death Battle: The Battling

Ever hear a song and swear that it’s about you?

In a world of borrowed ideas and manufactured superstars, top hits were churned out in systematic way that took the heart and soul out of the creative process. Perhaps it was what the people wanted, use to patterns, but much of the musical foundation was stockpiled from a selection of tried and true melodies and harmonies, accompanied with lyrics that were written by companies that did their research behind the screens and on the basis of degrees instead of inspiration. It was through that stagnation of the musical industry and some brilliant campaigning from his agent that a boy from nowhere USA managed to start climbing the charts with songs that, while lacking the refinement and polish that other billboard hits had, captured a certain authenticity that seemed to have been forgotten in these last few years. “My talent is inspired by and writes all of his own music” they would proudly say.

Whether it was a song about fawning over a girl he’d been thinking about, the disdain about a recent heartbreak, or something a bit more lusty that was unusual given the demographics that attended his concerts, there was an understanding perspective to each song. The music itself may have been impulsive and emotional, but the album releases were more like clockwork, going on tour for approximately a month straight for ideas and soul searching, playing previous albums and interacting with the fans before once more going into seclusion to write his new list of songs. The majority of his fans kept true, but if one were to do some snooping on the interest, it would suggest that he happened to be a bit closer to some of them than previously indicated, giving them the attention they wanted for just a little bit of inspiration.

Possible kinks: Abduction / Celebrities / Stalking / Smooth Jazz

Negotiation is a messy enterprise.

Whether in the political realm, the business market, small talk between friends or less savory deals behind closed doors, negotiation is often considered the exchange and compromise between two parties in order to (ideally) achieve some sort of verdict or joint agreement. The ones advertised on public broadcasts or for general consumption are the sort of exchanges most people consider when the word is thought up, when parties attend the meetings voluntarily and usually have some interest in trying to reach middle ground. That's either blissfully ignoring or willfully sweeping away the network of individuals raised and refined to conduct shady deals to guests of honor at a banquet that they may have never wanted to go to.

You've probably met a negotiator without knowing it. While slim, you may have run into the same 'negotiator' later on in life, as they often exchange different appearances (and likewise lifestyles) as per both the venue and the mission requires. Wordplay is like foreplay, an act of expertise that requires both finesse and at times, brute force in order to properly execute. When vendors and people realized that negotiators could be hired for things besides attrition and blackmail, for petty grudges or ruining lives, it didn't take long to hire out a personal militia of assassins that didn't necessarily take lives, but would do all they could to alter them. Again, to a negotiator, wordplay is like foreplay in that they are merely tools to an end. It doesn't matter if you don't want it or consider the intrusion uninvited.

In the end, surely all parties can reach an agreement.

Possible kinks: Affable Evil / Attrition / Loss Of Innocence / Yeah... These Plots Are Messed Up. Eh...

In the name of progression, the government first revised how prisons were handled, eliminating the privatization and business models of some of the larger organizations. Many critics applauded such a bold move as a liberal advancement, while others considered it short-sighted without a specific follow up. The second stage that followed, with mixed controversy, was the complete abolishing of the incarceration system and replacement with a more 'rehabilitation' style system that eased off of government budget, placing the duties in hands of mostly public charities, experimental studies and the majority to private shareholders. At first enforcing a 'strict' policy of reporting, supposedly the process devolved into a hierarchy of indentured servitude, but the recidivism rates and reallocation of public funds that were more transparent allowed the system to flourish.

Flourish enough to the point where individuals, without a prior record, could be screened to determine potential for criminal activity to not only safeguard the general public, but to be auctioned off to the highest bidder. No longer was a populace deemed innocent until proven guilty, but if the degree of assumption was considered legitimate enough, a 'criminal' could be stripped of their personhood and shipped off for a session of rehabilitation until their employer deemed the person no longer threatening to society. A true class system was instated of not simply financial standings, but of rights and privileges, where people could be openly traded, sold, bought, used and abused until they were no longer considered a menace.

Possible kinks: Collars / Possibly Offensive Material / Slavery / Do Not Pass Go

Nobody likes to work. Well, it’s a blanket statement that isn’t true, but for the majority of the people, employment is a flimsy relationship at best, a cruel master at worst. Being an accountant was such a lifestyle, a gatekeeper to what kept the world spinning: money. Crunching numbers and predicting the future was a combination of pseudo-black magic at times and mind numbingly monotony at others, having to deal with various investments and their owners always looking to use a person. Thanks to civility, for the most part however, the worst lashings were verbal or distant threats, the sort of thing that a night on the town and a bottle or two couldn’t remedy. Then again, sometimes people happened to get a little more aggressive when they either didn’t get their way or when they could impose their personality on others.

Five long days and a police report later required a fresh start.

Credentials and the sympathy of some government employees can get a man back on his feet, even from the brink of despair. It wasn’t so much a complete renovation as a new coat of paint, shipped off to a new town with a new name, given a parting basket of pain killers and psychotropic to keep him company should the demons ever catch up… figurative or literal. The change from an accountant to a teacher seemed natural, if not ironic, keeping the label of civil servant with emphasis on the latter with the notion that there was little that teenagers could do to otherwise bully an adult around. Then again, it had been a while since he was in school, so quite a lot could change in those years since he had been on those public grounds. Likewise, even if it was against his will initially, a person could change quite a bit in five days with the right bit of persuasion.

Possible kinks: Addictions / Intimidation / Persuasion or Hypnosis / Oral Exams

Like it or not, everyone has a price.

The scary part is when that applies to the government, no matter how secretive or obvious it is. Show of hands; how many people here have met an honest politician? No need to rush. Problems became more evident when a select few became less discreet about their spending habits and where their influence went, creating a deeper rift between the elite minority and a much more mortified populace. Backlash would have been inevitable except that a sizable portion of public security had been conscripted into private militias, drawing the line in the sand even further. Speaking against the haves were taboo, standing up for one’s self just made you a bigger target. But is it really considered living rotting away in the shade?

Torn in the middle, between the deep pockets of wealthy clients and the ethical duties when they were sworn in are the remaining police departments. Underfunded and often having to find ways to make due with what they have, some officers have made deals behind their precinct’s back to make ends meet, others willing to take the high road even if it means being a private target and a public enemy. Having to keep the peace is hard enough in a country heading towards civil war, but being the last officially recognized power standing means it’s difficult to not abuse that privilege. Abiding by the law would maintain the scraps of one’s reputation, but bending the rules could get enough money to get through the month and take whatever, or whomever one wants.

Possible kinks: Hand Cuffs / Power Abuse / Possible Romance / Miranda Rights

‘Tell me, are you always so mad?’

Through a stained looking glass…

‘Only for you,’

---

Sunlight beamed downward lazily, casting elongated shadows about and bringing with a steady gale. The breeze was somewhat drier than usually, the scent of distant streams and sugar tickling her nostrils, leaving with the bitter aftermath of burning cinder and reluctance, cigarettes that weren’t completely stomped out or bottles of spirits left unattended late into the night. Stretching slightly from that summoning, her lithe body curved and stretched before curling upwards, palms grazing against that mushroom top before getting her bearings once more. Curved, wicked nails would dig against the brilliant red and spotted white, topaz orbs flickering downwards in fascination as she scraped away that top layer of luster and innocence, seeing the polish and glamour fade into dust and leaving an ugly aftermath in the wake of her digits. If one were to wander by and glance up in those grassy hollows, despite it being somewhere between dusk and dawn, they wouldn’t have been criticized for thinking the sky was an awkward dusk, the clouds a peculiar shade of sundown that was interrupted with the wide smile of Wonderland’s sole occupant.

Silver was anchored against leather, cuffed tightly against her neck in a loving fashion, about the only similarity since her last recollection. Engraved in childish scribbling was the name she had been given for all those long years, ‘Cheshire’ on one side and ‘Alice’ forged on the other. When that promise had initially been made, she hadn’t taken on such an… unusual form, intended on being little more than a companion that offered misguided information for a troubled young mind, amused in her owner’s frequent visitations from reality when daydreams happened to frolic with reality. Somewhere down the line though, things happened to change, her dearest friend growing up and Wonderland following suit, taking the alterations in stride and answering the call for whatever need came with. What started merely as amusement and association turned into exploration and grievances, deviation and escapism. Not that Cheshire would complain of course, that half moon promising good harvest as she glanced towards the looking glass in the distance, anticipating her owner would come once more to play, pink darting out and slowly grazing against brilliant rows of sharp white.

‘Oh Alice…’

She was a shoulder to cry on.

‘Why bother running…’

Plump thighs to ride on.

‘…when all roads lead back to me.’

A soft giggle followed as her mind happened to wander, insanity and impulsiveness seeming to be the only constant that kept up. Her ears perked up slightly, those feline appendages swept within waves of light purple, rather messy and unkempt and even moreso considering she was just summoned from a dormant sleep. Despite adoring sleeping in whatever meager sunlight Wonderland offered, her complexion veered towards a more pale shade, contrasting the deep yellow of her stare that always seemed to be occupied with some specific fancy or idea. A somewhat heavy jacket adorned her shoulders, the sleeves crossing the front of her chest and anchored against clasps towards her thighs, stained a deep purple with black accenting. Against her waist was more leather, matching the brand that nestled against her neck, lacking any markings and making way for a plaid skirt that alternated in checkered squares of light turquoise and dark grey. The smallest amount of skin was yielded as she crossed her legs, knee high black boots making up the rest of her current appearance as ambassador of Wonderland. The comparison to a straitjacket certainly wasn’t lost to Cheshire, contemplating if it was for her own benefit or for Alice’s.

Reaching into the inside pocket of her jacket, she fished out a trace of gold, palming a small trinket. Her thumb slowly traced the circumference before popping the button on the top, the chain rattling softly in time with her swishing tail as she watched the minutes pass by, tilting her slightly in amusement at both that passing souvenir from the White Rabbit and that her guest of honor happened to keep her waiting. All things considered, it was rather rude since she had prepared their Wonderland…

Alice’s Wonderland…

No… Her Wonderland, specifically for that lovely reunion. Gone were those extraneous voices, the fools and charlatans, that legion of insufferable references that thought they knew better. Wonderland wasn’t a haven for insight or knowledge, for epiphanies or camaraderie, responsibility, civility or morality; and with that were those puppets like Caterpillar and Hatter, March Hare and the lot of them. Coughing for a moment, she blinked back a few tears, placing a closed fist against her mouth and struggling with herself as her throat happened to disagree with those previous endeavors. Leaning towards the side, she reached in, containing her gag reflex as she withdrew a ball of cotton, inhaling afterwards with a slight pant before staring towards the red stained fur. Just as quickly as the notion came, it had passed, tossing those leftovers over her shoulder and likewise returning that watch to the confines of her person.

Cheshire’s ears perked up as she heard those familiar noises, leaning over the edge of that mushroom cap and looking downwards towards that state between waking and dreaming. Even though minutes had only passed, it seemed the night had promised close to that of a full moon, her heart racing as her ‘owner’ came back to that world she had forgotten. And it had been so long… So very long… Alice was always running from something, using Wonderland as a temporary Heaven of sorts between awful days and sleepless nights. Perhaps it was time to show her that it was worth staying around, tempering herself against her more primal nature of playing with her food. Cheshire’s eyes widened slightly as the glass broke into dust, seeing that familiar silhouette come into being. A soft purr followed as she pushed herself off from the edge, falling towards the ground, landing against those blades of grass and the scent of burnt sugar.

“Welcome home.”

She went by many names. Scalper. Demon. Tyrant. Bitch. Words that her tongue didn't bother to replicate but her mind would fondly recall, guessing that it was a combination of endorphins and shock that drove a person that far into madness. Death was the ominous shadow that was always several steps away, the specter stuck in the back of one's mind but something one rarely had to contend and confront. If anything, it validated her own perception as a just creator, giving even the most useless and worthless of urchins an audience of one, a moment for themselves. People believed that you were most exposed when left alone in the darkness, isolated from judging minds and the opinions of others. Time and trial again suggested otherwise, that after being submerged in such dire circumstances, those ugly, true identities came out in the light.

Dead people hold no more secrets, a problem that she was more than willing to fix.

Moriganna Morris clicked her tongue softly, her expression a mixture of pity and revulsion for the creature that was battered and brought forth before her. There was something to be said about the brutality that her partners seemed to favor, wondering whether it was simple procedure or more of a personal past time that each of her debts happened to arrive in a condition of such disrepair. An outsider observer may have mistook her thoughts as a sort of empathy, but if her goods couldn't be salvaged and fell too far into disrepair... There was always an open market for bodies, but it didn't do nearly as well as the forums that were looking for souls.

Then again, she could afford the occasional missed opportunity, letting her sharks run wild if it meant that once in a while the net caught little more than a bundle of bruises and dried blood. Her eyes trailed up and down a person that had traveled beyond the grave and back from the cradle, affectionately accustom to the aroma of viscera heavily diluted with a blended cocktail of isopropyl and chemical agents. While some may have considered the process revolting, if not a crime of heresy, she considered it a miracle of sorts that couldn't be replicated. And if she was capable of that, her word must be law and her throne couldn't be challenged, founded on faith and decorated with wealth.

So deep was her own madness that her own identity could only be traced off that legacy of fortune and the reputation that preceded it, her namesake stretching farther than the horizon and garnering different perspectives depending on who was peddling her wares... or persecuting her campaign. In the end, the only mantra that mattered was her own, a simple phrase that could silence the screams and quell the inquisitions:

'I sell dreams.'

A question drifted into the air, interrupting her own train of thought, bringing about another delightful smirk. It seemed that death wasn't enough of an educational tool for some, shaking her head slightly at that notion. She wouldn't be in the position she had attained today if she required an additional signature after that initial down payment. Interrupting her own internal monologue, she raised an eyebrow slowly, brandishing an expression that seemed too jovial about withholding just the right information in such situations.

"That's the problem with people like you... Or should I say your family," she said, her tone changing just slightly to reflect the fact that her newest arrival was not here of her own volition or fault. But still, she had required some sort of collateral and it happened to be the wrong place, wrong time... "Dreams are an expensive trade. You have to read the fine print," she continued, rambling onward, tapping her chin softly as if reviewing in her mind the various clauses and agreements that few happened to notice.

"In other words, there's no reason for property to sign an agreement," she bluntly summarized, stating that the paperwork was not a revision to the previous terms, but instead her current balance and what was to be expected in the future. She expected little more out of this conversation, finding that usually her company either fell into despair and proved to be useless for the night or finding another nickname to add to her ever growing list. Dainty fingers would move to adjust her neck tie, clearing her throat softly as she let her captive learn about her fate. It was a matter of picking amongst bad choices, often times ranging from conscription to experimentation, if not sometimes abusing her new found toys for business or pleasure. And if they refused? Of course, such an option was available, but it was a rather awful fate.

"The first time is rather awful," she added, commenting on the revival process that they had eventually perfected, suggesting that she had herself experienced it firsthand. Expounding further on the only option that offered 'freedom', she continued her story without bothering to see how her company was taking the news. "Mmmm... It doesn't get any easier each successive time. They speculate that the body takes longer to resuscitate and revive. And those friends of mine..." she added, taking note of those on her roster that tracked down her bounties, finding that a little more PTSD never hurt anyone. "...they try to be gentle the first time."

Figures... You bring someone back from the brink of death and they can't be bothered for a simple shred of gratitude.

Everyone had a price.

If there was one tidbit of advice, one simple lesson he had inherited from his folks, that was the sage secret he was willing to take to the grave. Sitting in the back of the classroom, Lee Maesters slouched in his chair as usual, preferring a regiment of evening classes in order to adhere to a lifestyle of nighttime benders followed with morning repentance, usually in the form of a chaser and some attempt at breakfast. Fingers would tap against the wooden desktop, scoffing slightly at the somewhat eroded material; then again, he was in the commons area that was funded through the general university and taxes. What else was there to expect from a populace that knew nothing more than struggle?

Numbers.

When it came down to it, everything could be reduced down to little more than numbers and nothing else. The disgusting commonality that his family happened to take advantage of was that often, a dollar sign preceded whatever figure was being negotiated. Dark brown eyes gazed ahead at the rows of students that were going through the daily routine, holding back a chuckle at those that bothered to be engaged in whatever the headmaster was bickering about. Then there were the daydreamers middling about, lost in a haze and thinking about what could be instead of what was. There were the jocks whose precious moments were fleeting, the harlots of which the sight was more familiar compared to their more prudish sisters...

And while he knew they had names and faces, it mattered not in the end. Whether it was circumstance or reputation, desperation or indulgence, often they happened to be on the other end of the bargaining table and he associated their identities not with whom they were, but what they were worth and what they could be bought with. A slight sigh followed as he recalled the small empire he build within that academia, not bothering to keep the noise at an appropriate level, interrupting the instructor's tedium for the day but at no real consequence. They were on the payroll as well and he was protected, his family endorsing and one of the current sponsors; were it not for silly things like tradition and the community outrage that would have followed, they could have named the institution after his pedigree.

And then there was the matter of her.

J... Ja... It was on the tip of his tongue, not so much bothering him because he failed to remember as much as a secondary priority. The grapevine was real, gossip as viral and disruptive as ever. Did you hear what someone said? And like a terrible game of telephone it happened to embellish and exaggerate, often into some terrible rumor that could otherwise ruin one's stay. As a senior, he was on his way out, having little to lose, but a small exchange in the hallway happened to bring about an amusing revelation.

Jamie.

That was it. Probably.

She was a fun little investment, a nice rebound when he happened to need some attention and lacked the effort needed. And although he Lee was a remarkable student, the motivation was simply absent, attached to other indulgences that would have gotten the senior blacklisted were it not for the prestige associated with his last name. There was something fascinating about her that compelled him to keep her around, a combination of fragile innocence he found was slowly being tarnished and an honesty that was otherwise extinct on the campus. Sure, he had friends and associates he could discuss matters with, girls he could get a nice lay with, but they were vultures and traitors willing to throw each other under the bus in order to get another piece of scrap.

And her?

She was a jewel indeed.; unremarkable in practically every definition, but a keeper because of how much she was willing to tolerate. Like all investments however, there was risk and reward to be assessed and if his little whistle blowers happened to be telling the truth... well, he wasn't against dumping what was otherwise a good ride and starting over anew. While everyone was busy considering the future, he was interested in the here and now, scribbling a few things down on some paper as the teacher ended lecture and dismissed them. A small chuckle followed as he put his plan into place, checking his phone for the time, deciding to make a small detour or two before deciding whether she was willing to truly part ways.

Time. Attention. What was another hundred dollars worth considering that a whole year had passed? Placing an order on his phone, he requested a local vendor deliver a ring to his dorm, returning as well and taking his time to adopt a visage that would be more appropriate for what would follow. He figured she'd appreciate seeing him like he was the first time they met, black hair slicked back with just enough gel. A nice button up shirt followed, the fabric a light blue, contrasting with a dark pair of slacks. Gold cuffs adorned his wrists and lastly, he put on a light layer of body spray, emulating that first encounter to a key.

With parcel in hand, he took his time in walking over to her dorm, letting her think about exactly what she had done and giving him some additional time to plan. Methodical. Borderline sociopathic. But those traits allowed him to excel and, for the most part, remain unchallenged by his peers. Then again, being backed by a small fortune didn't hurt, but he doubted things would have gone drastically different were the fates less kind. Reaching her door, time be damned, he gave a knock against the hard surface, the corner of his mouth rising just slightly. If he remembered right, she always looked nice when he came by. Hovering just a few inches above the peephole, standing at 5'9, he often ended up looking down on her... but then again, it wasn't too hard to, all things considered.

Another knock followed, the noise somewhat impatient despite being fashionably late, eyes exuding a jaded bit of anticipation for what was to follow. He could feel the ring sitting just in his shirt pocket, amused at just how much a paltry $100 or a broken promise could stretch.

It certainly wasn't death knocking, but he was intent on collecting either way.