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Chantarelle
Planetoid
- Joined
- Apr 28, 2018
- Location
- USA
"If all we have is this imagined empty canvas of endless possibility...this potential heaven...then let it be our haven. A place of marriage between two souls desperate to feel something beyond the cruel tedium of real life. If we truly be the masters who dream these dreams then let our innermost desires fuel the adventures we create and the love that we make here, let it all unfold endlessly or for only a brief moment in time but for as long as it breathes let it devour and I will forgive you your boldness if you will be so good as to forgive me mine..." ~ Chantarelle
Disclaimer: It's been months since I've last written and I'm a bit rusty. Please forgive as I regain feeling in my limbs and breathe life once again into my pen (or…erm…keyboard).
I've been writing role-play for 20+ years of my life and pride myself in having grown much throughout the years. Developing my skill as a writer has been a serious endeavor for me and I've always striven for improvement and have found that in order to best aide in this pursuit of self-betterment its been crucial for me to seek out writers who's skill level matches or (even more helpful) surpasses my own. I am a multi-paragraph storyteller who puts strong effort in character development and as much as I do enjoy a good 'love at first sight' story I have oft times an even greater adoration for a challenging love/hate dynamic between mains. It should also be noted that I will never write stories where the main focus is smut, sex of course will always make an appearance in the worlds we create together (slow burn and sexual tension is a requirement for me) but it should be treated as a cherry on top of the sundae rather than the sundae itself. Kink-wise I am - so sorry to the majority who read this - a vanilla(ish) sundae type of girl. Those who reach out should be aware that the stories I tell through my characters come saturated in mature and dark themes. Lastly, I ask that my partners use discord as a homebase for all OOC socializing and collaboration as well as use actual pictures (or no pictures at all) for FC's.
Secondary disclaimer: Additionally to what is written below, I am also interested in creating new characters, perhaps based on a story or character presented to me or one we hatch up all our own.
And now…my girls…
AVAILABLE
Genre: Modern Supernatural
"Either werewolves or brain cells...either way I'm killin' somethin' tonight."
Full name: Leora "Harvey"
Face Claim: Eliza Dushku
Species: Human
Occupation: Hunter
Notable features: Alcoholic / Stubborn / Reckless / Lost / Chaotic / Dark witted
Age: 39
Eye Color: Hazel
Hair Color: Dark Brown
Height: 5'5
Sexuality: Straight
Likes:
Dislikes:
Strengths:
Weaknesses:
Personality: Harvey tends to keep to herself but not in the "shy, keeps her head down" sort of way, more like in the "she just wants the world to leave her the fuck alone" kind of way, at least that's the vibe she (strongly) gives off but really she just doesn't want to feel anymore, nor does she want to get anyone else killed, she can't take much more guilt you see, something she'd never admit to readily so it's just easier to appear heartless to keep people away. If it ever were to happen however, if someone were to infiltrate her heavily guarded heart, she'd be fiercely protective.
History: Leora was always a free spirit; loving, happy, tender. She grew up in Oregon; normal life, loving parents, only child. She was a literal Prom Queen, a girly-girl in many ways, a stark contrast to the reckless, bitter alcoholic she is today.She met her husband Ahmik through a friend. He was wild, untamed, lived remotely. A hunter and tracker, he lived off the land and taught her how to do the same. She fell in love with him and his family (notably Mata Toma, Ahmik's mother) who were of the Coquille tribe living along coastal land. Leora loved her visits to the reservation, she basked in the culture and love his family showered on her and afterwards, for a brief moment in time she lived with them there, trying to heal after the tragedy that occured. Mata always said Leora had a good spirit but after Ahmik and Ahote's passing she feared for her deeply, she'd seen the shift in her eyes and the numb, distant coldness take hold. The day she left the reservation was the day she stopped answering to Leora as Leora had died with her husband and son and she refused to use a dead woman's name. From that day forward she was just Harvey.
She found "The Order" nearly a decade ago, or more like it they found her after discovering a string of her kills which all too easily led straight to the grungy, cheap motel she'd holed herself up in. After a few blows and some conversation, a sort of reluctant but mutual agreement was reached. Harvey would join The Order and swear allegiance to its mission since it was made clear to her that she didn't really have a choice in the matter, it was either join or be killed and since Harvey had yet to accomplish her vendetta against the werewolf who had killed her husband and son, she begrudgingly acquiesced. She submitted to The Order and its intensive training program as well as to being microchipped, she even took the dipherium, the cocktail The Order injected their Hunters with to enhance their "natural human abilities". Where it didn't quite level the playing field it at least made the fighting more fair and as much as Harvey hated shooting up every month and as much as she loathed the feeling of being traceable 24/7 by big brother, in the end she told herself that it would be well worth since playing good little soldier gave her access to resources she could use to find and kill her ultimate target, namely the werewolf Dolan Cole.
Story: "The Order", an organization of (human) hunters who's proclaimed goal is to maintain a healthy equilibrium between preternatural entities and the human populace. While not officially admitted however, it is widely understood that The Order finds no moral hesitancy when it comes to alliances of convenience and scientific experimentation if said collusion and research can be justified in furthering its own unspoken goal of supernatural exploitation and eventual subjugation. The drug they give to each hunter for example, dipherium, is a direct result of said experimentation. Combining a slew of occulticly "infused" ingredients, it's main components however include modified DNA derived from uncanny donors. These ingredients when mixed properly induced enhanced strength, speed, endurance, and healing. Over time the drug loses its potency and boosters are required.
Nearly a decade after joining The Order Harvey has yet to achieve her goal and has long since resigned herself to the fact that the werewolf Dolan Cole is likely dead and thus so is any chance she will have to ever feeling the vindication she's craved for years. She'd been told hunters tended not to live past thirty and now she's pissed because she was lied to about that. Career life expectancy aside, she figured the booze would take her out way sooner than it has because of the dipherium. She'll turn 40 this year if she lets herself but as the nights march on the number 39 seems a nice, little odd number to hang her hat up on. It's mostly just a joke since Harvey had never been the "easy way out" kind of gal and yet reality is that she's become very reckless these last couple months, almost as if she's courting her demise subconsciously. For instance, it seems she's actually managed to forget her last shot of dipherium. It's weirdly just slipped her mind altogether somehow and the poor things starting to feel the effects.
It's October now and she's holed up in Seattle in some grimy no-name motel ordering disgusting Chinese take-out she barely touches while playing drinking games with no one but herself. One swig for every negative thought she has. She's good at the game. She's built a pyramid made of empty whiskey bottles she's erected on the rickety wooden table beside the TV she's set on a channel that only gets snow. She keeps the room dark because she likes the television statics light.
Story Notes: So, obviously all of Harvey's issues stem from loss. She's lost her husband and her baby at the hands of a werewolf and through those losses she's lost herself and what very little she didn't lose of herself on the night they were killed she's been slowly drowning with whiskey. This girl does not want to be here, yet she's very against the direct route of just taking her own life so she's stopped taking her monthly dose of dipherium instead. When our story begins she will just be starting to feel the effects of coming off the drug which will be a severe power nerf, rendering her merely mundane-human level strong. She'll be slower and weaker of course as well as immunocompromised compared to the healing capabilities the drug had given her before, she'll prolly also start feeling the consequences of her years of drinking sooner rather than later. It should be noted however, that all she needs to do in order to remedy herself is to just start shooting up again. Easy-peasy! But unless she has a real reason to shoot up (one way more convincing than dying) the girl just won't do it. That's where YC comes in…
Just how beautifully and twistedly poetic would it be if the girl who's whole purpose in life is torturing and killing werewolves (oh, did I mention torturing?) were to fall in love with a wolf? That the one person that could turn Harvey back into Leora be a wolf? Well, that's my vision. How clean the process is I can't promise anything, but I can promise a good time. Looking forward to your own thoughts and visions.
Genre: Modern Supernatural
"Either werewolves or brain cells...either way I'm killin' somethin' tonight."
Full name: Leora "Harvey"
Face Claim: Eliza Dushku
Species: Human
Occupation: Hunter
Notable features: Alcoholic / Stubborn / Reckless / Lost / Chaotic / Dark witted
Age: 39
Eye Color: Hazel
Hair Color: Dark Brown
Height: 5'5
Sexuality: Straight
Likes:
Dislikes:
Strengths:
Weaknesses:
Personality: Harvey tends to keep to herself but not in the "shy, keeps her head down" sort of way, more like in the "she just wants the world to leave her the fuck alone" kind of way, at least that's the vibe she (strongly) gives off but really she just doesn't want to feel anymore, nor does she want to get anyone else killed, she can't take much more guilt you see, something she'd never admit to readily so it's just easier to appear heartless to keep people away. If it ever were to happen however, if someone were to infiltrate her heavily guarded heart, she'd be fiercely protective.
History: Leora was always a free spirit; loving, happy, tender. She grew up in Oregon; normal life, loving parents, only child. She was a literal Prom Queen, a girly-girl in many ways, a stark contrast to the reckless, bitter alcoholic she is today.She met her husband Ahmik through a friend. He was wild, untamed, lived remotely. A hunter and tracker, he lived off the land and taught her how to do the same. She fell in love with him and his family (notably Mata Toma, Ahmik's mother) who were of the Coquille tribe living along coastal land. Leora loved her visits to the reservation, she basked in the culture and love his family showered on her and afterwards, for a brief moment in time she lived with them there, trying to heal after the tragedy that occured. Mata always said Leora had a good spirit but after Ahmik and Ahote's passing she feared for her deeply, she'd seen the shift in her eyes and the numb, distant coldness take hold. The day she left the reservation was the day she stopped answering to Leora as Leora had died with her husband and son and she refused to use a dead woman's name. From that day forward she was just Harvey.
She found "The Order" nearly a decade ago, or more like it they found her after discovering a string of her kills which all too easily led straight to the grungy, cheap motel she'd holed herself up in. After a few blows and some conversation, a sort of reluctant but mutual agreement was reached. Harvey would join The Order and swear allegiance to its mission since it was made clear to her that she didn't really have a choice in the matter, it was either join or be killed and since Harvey had yet to accomplish her vendetta against the werewolf who had killed her husband and son, she begrudgingly acquiesced. She submitted to The Order and its intensive training program as well as to being microchipped, she even took the dipherium, the cocktail The Order injected their Hunters with to enhance their "natural human abilities". Where it didn't quite level the playing field it at least made the fighting more fair and as much as Harvey hated shooting up every month and as much as she loathed the feeling of being traceable 24/7 by big brother, in the end she told herself that it would be well worth since playing good little soldier gave her access to resources she could use to find and kill her ultimate target, namely the werewolf Dolan Cole.
Story: "The Order", an organization of (human) hunters who's proclaimed goal is to maintain a healthy equilibrium between preternatural entities and the human populace. While not officially admitted however, it is widely understood that The Order finds no moral hesitancy when it comes to alliances of convenience and scientific experimentation if said collusion and research can be justified in furthering its own unspoken goal of supernatural exploitation and eventual subjugation. The drug they give to each hunter for example, dipherium, is a direct result of said experimentation. Combining a slew of occulticly "infused" ingredients, it's main components however include modified DNA derived from uncanny donors. These ingredients when mixed properly induced enhanced strength, speed, endurance, and healing. Over time the drug loses its potency and boosters are required.
Nearly a decade after joining The Order Harvey has yet to achieve her goal and has long since resigned herself to the fact that the werewolf Dolan Cole is likely dead and thus so is any chance she will have to ever feeling the vindication she's craved for years. She'd been told hunters tended not to live past thirty and now she's pissed because she was lied to about that. Career life expectancy aside, she figured the booze would take her out way sooner than it has because of the dipherium. She'll turn 40 this year if she lets herself but as the nights march on the number 39 seems a nice, little odd number to hang her hat up on. It's mostly just a joke since Harvey had never been the "easy way out" kind of gal and yet reality is that she's become very reckless these last couple months, almost as if she's courting her demise subconsciously. For instance, it seems she's actually managed to forget her last shot of dipherium. It's weirdly just slipped her mind altogether somehow and the poor things starting to feel the effects.
It's October now and she's holed up in Seattle in some grimy no-name motel ordering disgusting Chinese take-out she barely touches while playing drinking games with no one but herself. One swig for every negative thought she has. She's good at the game. She's built a pyramid made of empty whiskey bottles she's erected on the rickety wooden table beside the TV she's set on a channel that only gets snow. She keeps the room dark because she likes the television statics light.
Story Notes: So, obviously all of Harvey's issues stem from loss. She's lost her husband and her baby at the hands of a werewolf and through those losses she's lost herself and what very little she didn't lose of herself on the night they were killed she's been slowly drowning with whiskey. This girl does not want to be here, yet she's very against the direct route of just taking her own life so she's stopped taking her monthly dose of dipherium instead. When our story begins she will just be starting to feel the effects of coming off the drug which will be a severe power nerf, rendering her merely mundane-human level strong. She'll be slower and weaker of course as well as immunocompromised compared to the healing capabilities the drug had given her before, she'll prolly also start feeling the consequences of her years of drinking sooner rather than later. It should be noted however, that all she needs to do in order to remedy herself is to just start shooting up again. Easy-peasy! But unless she has a real reason to shoot up (one way more convincing than dying) the girl just won't do it. That's where YC comes in…
Just how beautifully and twistedly poetic would it be if the girl who's whole purpose in life is torturing and killing werewolves (oh, did I mention torturing?) were to fall in love with a wolf? That the one person that could turn Harvey back into Leora be a wolf? Well, that's my vision. How clean the process is I can't promise anything, but I can promise a good time. Looking forward to your own thoughts and visions.
This wasn't about the girl. Harvey had to remind herself of that as her hazel eyeballs continued to steal shameful glances at the unconscious beauty lying all supine and pristine behind her in the backseat of Harvey's '76 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme. Really, there was quite literally in fact no girl at all for this to possibly be about. Oh, it was true that there used to be. Once upon a time, pre-bite, but now? Just another rabid animal to be put down. It would be a "mercy" killing, so to speak. And Harvey was, if anything, merciful.
Rewind...
Her plan, one month in the making had gone off without a hitch and she'd been rather lucky in a sad, poetically maudlin sort of way to find such a fitting target. She was a beautiful, happy, relatively young thing (as far as werewolves went). Fresh. Effervescent. Gregarious. Full of life (though not for long) and most important of all...loved. She was perfect...but...this wasn't about the girl...
"Oh, thank fucking Christ...I thought no one was gonna stop for me...I was this close to bursting into tears..." Harvey had laid on the desperation thick enough to persuade even the most suspicious of skeptics. She'd even dressed the part of a harmless, bougie woman stranded in some bad, unforseen turn of luck. She was wearing a dress for fucks sake! Of course, nothing had been wrong with the car, it was all a rouse to catch her target off guard just long enough to taze her in the throat, a tactic that almost didn't work well enough so Harvey had to zap the bitch a second time.
Time skip...
To make things easier on herself Harvey parked on the side of the wolfs house right on top of the grass. Getting in was cake and she wasted no time breaking into the gate leading into the back yard and winding her way towards the rear entrance of the house. Lock picking while under-the-influence 101 always came in handy.
The thing about unconscious bodies being super heavier than awake bodies? Yeah, definitely true but this one wasn't so bad honestly, there was definitely a difference in difficulty between dragging a males body across a lawn and up a few steps compared to dragging a females, especially a females as slim as Sarah's but that isn't to say it was a breeze.
Harvey let the body rest on the carpet while she went back to her car for more stuff. She'd put together a duffle filled with everything she'd be needing for the night and thanks to the fifteen feet of chain she'd brought, carrying the bag turned out to be more of an effort than dragging the wolfs carcass had been.
Truth be told, from initial scene of crime to actual scene of crime it did take Harvey a minute, what with all the driving, dragging, finding a proper chair, keeping the wolf propped and vertical while chaining her up. It was all very hard work, none of which she was sure would be appreciated one iota by the bitch for whom it had all been accomplished.
Now Harvey raked her fingers through the sleeping wolfs mass of healthy, shiny blonde curls, pushing back her head to view that lovely face in the light. She'd seen her enough times, in the pictures she'd covertly taken of her as well as live in person. She'd studied her features; the way she moved on and off stage, the way that perfect button nose crinkled when she really, really smiled and the way that smile always managed to reach all the way up to penetrate behind her pretty green eyes. This one was all in. She wasn't one foot already in the ground like Harvey, oh no. This one still relished life and with an innocent, sweet enthusiasm that left Harvey with a bitter taste in her mouth.
Let her sleep for awhile longer, Harvey thought to herself.
See? Merciful.
The place wasn't too shabby. Certainly wasn't fancy. It was just normal. Boring really, in all the ways a comfortable home should be boring.
I should burn it down.
Putting an inspired pin in that thought, Harvey made her way slowly down the hall, her eyes unable to help but linger over the framed pictures of a 'perfect' couples blended lives; their friends, their families, the breadth of their love on display, each image a reminder of what had been taken from Harvey, each smile for the camera a big fuck you to her pain, each "cheeeeese" a penny in her hate bank. Restraining herself was not a virtue that came easily for Harvey, nor was it necessary for her to be right here and now and yet Harvey surprisingly controlled her very strong impulse to rip every single portrait from the wall and replace it with a hole made from her fist and managed to make it to the wolfs bedroom with relative ease, though she would not be walking out with quite same degree of constraint.
It was just a bedroom; vanity, dressers, bed, closet...but Harvey wasn't really seeing any of it, instead Harvey's mind had overlaid reality with visions of her past; her own vanity, hers and Ahmik's dressers and closet...hers and Ahmik's bed...
Harvey had to physically shake her head to dislodge the mirage and the subsequent emotions it had evoked, that her sight had to land on her own reflection in the mirror directly above the wolfs vanity was unfortunate. Staring back at her was a stranger. An ugly, sad pretender wearing a Leora shaped skin suit, not super unlike Edgar the bug villain from the 'Men in Black' movie except for instead of sugar water she drank straight whiskey. Harvey began to laugh at that. A loud, hearty laugh that nearly doubled her over.
Still laughing, Harvey stumbled towards the vanity and chose at random a stupid, girly item which happened to be a tube of lipstick called...Harvey squinted to read the microscopic writing at the side of the tube..."Cherries in the Snow"...how very vintage. It had been years since Harvey had worn anything on her face besides a scowl. If her math was correct, eleven years, but then her math was likely wrong because, well...fuck math. But hey, it appeared red was still her color. After she was done painting her lips Harvey used the cosmetic as a pen and the mirror as paper to randomly scrawl in Tututni, "Can you forgive?".
It was a very good question but the answer was obvious.
Once dropped the lipstick fell against the surface of the vanity, leaving a crimson smudge only to roll off the edge onto the ground where it hit the floor and continued its roll under the bed.
"Oops."
Getting down on hands and knees Harvey peered underneath the bed planning to keep the lipstick, thinking maybe the wolf would appreciate a little color, something to help her become casket-ready. Immediately she saw the open tube but as soon as she began to reach for it she spotted a curious box.
it was large, in mint condition and whatever was being stored inside was obviously very special since no one kept tissue pepper unless the item wrapped inside of it was important. Harvey set the box on top the bed, lifted its lid and began to tear at the paper so impatiently you would have thought whatever lay inside was a gift for her and in the end perhaps it was, only one gifted to her by a twisted God that despised her.
Harvey did not move or breath upon the big reveal, she simply stared unblinking, stunned. For a split second Harvey swore she could remember what happy felt like, like a kick within her stomach from her unborn child, so real was the feeling that her hands actually rose to clutch at her abdomen but found it was flat instead of distended and full of whiskey instead of full of a baby. half a second later...a switch was flipped...
Makeup, brushes, perfume, everything that was atop the vanity, every girly thing flew into the air and collided with the wall. Every drawer that could be yanked from its cubbyhole was yanked, every item of clothes ripped from their hangers, every shoe thrown, every mirror shattered, every burlesque feather that she could find plucked, every item of lingerie torn, and the worst of it was saved for that dazzling piece of shit dress. Every shade of eyeshadow, every hue of lipstick, every caked mascara wand, and every drop of perfume was used to sully the wolfs happy until satin, silk and jewel encrusted appliqués were unrecognizable and Harvey's hands were stained and stank. Because now?
This was about the girl.
Rewind...
Her plan, one month in the making had gone off without a hitch and she'd been rather lucky in a sad, poetically maudlin sort of way to find such a fitting target. She was a beautiful, happy, relatively young thing (as far as werewolves went). Fresh. Effervescent. Gregarious. Full of life (though not for long) and most important of all...loved. She was perfect...but...this wasn't about the girl...
"Oh, thank fucking Christ...I thought no one was gonna stop for me...I was this close to bursting into tears..." Harvey had laid on the desperation thick enough to persuade even the most suspicious of skeptics. She'd even dressed the part of a harmless, bougie woman stranded in some bad, unforseen turn of luck. She was wearing a dress for fucks sake! Of course, nothing had been wrong with the car, it was all a rouse to catch her target off guard just long enough to taze her in the throat, a tactic that almost didn't work well enough so Harvey had to zap the bitch a second time.
Time skip...
To make things easier on herself Harvey parked on the side of the wolfs house right on top of the grass. Getting in was cake and she wasted no time breaking into the gate leading into the back yard and winding her way towards the rear entrance of the house. Lock picking while under-the-influence 101 always came in handy.
The thing about unconscious bodies being super heavier than awake bodies? Yeah, definitely true but this one wasn't so bad honestly, there was definitely a difference in difficulty between dragging a males body across a lawn and up a few steps compared to dragging a females, especially a females as slim as Sarah's but that isn't to say it was a breeze.
Harvey let the body rest on the carpet while she went back to her car for more stuff. She'd put together a duffle filled with everything she'd be needing for the night and thanks to the fifteen feet of chain she'd brought, carrying the bag turned out to be more of an effort than dragging the wolfs carcass had been.
Truth be told, from initial scene of crime to actual scene of crime it did take Harvey a minute, what with all the driving, dragging, finding a proper chair, keeping the wolf propped and vertical while chaining her up. It was all very hard work, none of which she was sure would be appreciated one iota by the bitch for whom it had all been accomplished.
Now Harvey raked her fingers through the sleeping wolfs mass of healthy, shiny blonde curls, pushing back her head to view that lovely face in the light. She'd seen her enough times, in the pictures she'd covertly taken of her as well as live in person. She'd studied her features; the way she moved on and off stage, the way that perfect button nose crinkled when she really, really smiled and the way that smile always managed to reach all the way up to penetrate behind her pretty green eyes. This one was all in. She wasn't one foot already in the ground like Harvey, oh no. This one still relished life and with an innocent, sweet enthusiasm that left Harvey with a bitter taste in her mouth.
Let her sleep for awhile longer, Harvey thought to herself.
See? Merciful.
The place wasn't too shabby. Certainly wasn't fancy. It was just normal. Boring really, in all the ways a comfortable home should be boring.
I should burn it down.
Putting an inspired pin in that thought, Harvey made her way slowly down the hall, her eyes unable to help but linger over the framed pictures of a 'perfect' couples blended lives; their friends, their families, the breadth of their love on display, each image a reminder of what had been taken from Harvey, each smile for the camera a big fuck you to her pain, each "cheeeeese" a penny in her hate bank. Restraining herself was not a virtue that came easily for Harvey, nor was it necessary for her to be right here and now and yet Harvey surprisingly controlled her very strong impulse to rip every single portrait from the wall and replace it with a hole made from her fist and managed to make it to the wolfs bedroom with relative ease, though she would not be walking out with quite same degree of constraint.
It was just a bedroom; vanity, dressers, bed, closet...but Harvey wasn't really seeing any of it, instead Harvey's mind had overlaid reality with visions of her past; her own vanity, hers and Ahmik's dressers and closet...hers and Ahmik's bed...
Harvey had to physically shake her head to dislodge the mirage and the subsequent emotions it had evoked, that her sight had to land on her own reflection in the mirror directly above the wolfs vanity was unfortunate. Staring back at her was a stranger. An ugly, sad pretender wearing a Leora shaped skin suit, not super unlike Edgar the bug villain from the 'Men in Black' movie except for instead of sugar water she drank straight whiskey. Harvey began to laugh at that. A loud, hearty laugh that nearly doubled her over.
Still laughing, Harvey stumbled towards the vanity and chose at random a stupid, girly item which happened to be a tube of lipstick called...Harvey squinted to read the microscopic writing at the side of the tube..."Cherries in the Snow"...how very vintage. It had been years since Harvey had worn anything on her face besides a scowl. If her math was correct, eleven years, but then her math was likely wrong because, well...fuck math. But hey, it appeared red was still her color. After she was done painting her lips Harvey used the cosmetic as a pen and the mirror as paper to randomly scrawl in Tututni, "Can you forgive?".
It was a very good question but the answer was obvious.
Once dropped the lipstick fell against the surface of the vanity, leaving a crimson smudge only to roll off the edge onto the ground where it hit the floor and continued its roll under the bed.
"Oops."
Getting down on hands and knees Harvey peered underneath the bed planning to keep the lipstick, thinking maybe the wolf would appreciate a little color, something to help her become casket-ready. Immediately she saw the open tube but as soon as she began to reach for it she spotted a curious box.
it was large, in mint condition and whatever was being stored inside was obviously very special since no one kept tissue pepper unless the item wrapped inside of it was important. Harvey set the box on top the bed, lifted its lid and began to tear at the paper so impatiently you would have thought whatever lay inside was a gift for her and in the end perhaps it was, only one gifted to her by a twisted God that despised her.
Harvey did not move or breath upon the big reveal, she simply stared unblinking, stunned. For a split second Harvey swore she could remember what happy felt like, like a kick within her stomach from her unborn child, so real was the feeling that her hands actually rose to clutch at her abdomen but found it was flat instead of distended and full of whiskey instead of full of a baby. half a second later...a switch was flipped...
Makeup, brushes, perfume, everything that was atop the vanity, every girly thing flew into the air and collided with the wall. Every drawer that could be yanked from its cubbyhole was yanked, every item of clothes ripped from their hangers, every shoe thrown, every mirror shattered, every burlesque feather that she could find plucked, every item of lingerie torn, and the worst of it was saved for that dazzling piece of shit dress. Every shade of eyeshadow, every hue of lipstick, every caked mascara wand, and every drop of perfume was used to sully the wolfs happy until satin, silk and jewel encrusted appliqués were unrecognizable and Harvey's hands were stained and stank. Because now?
This was about the girl.
AVAILABLE
Genre: Modern Supernatural
"When you don't know who you are you can be anyone or no one at all. Sometimes the freedom feels like heaven but most of the time it's hell."
Full name: Lola Gil
Face Claim: Britney Murphy
Species: Human (Discarded Vessel)
Occupation: Unemployed
Notable features:
Age: 32
Eye Color: Light Brown
Hair Color: Blonde
Height: 5'3
Sexuality: straight
Likes:
Dislikes:
Strengths:
Weaknesses:
Personality: Wooden / Co-dependent / Contemplative / Sensual / Numb/ Fearless / Insecure / Impulsive / Liar
History: "You see her?"
The boy couldn't really. Not through the blood and dirt caked in his eyes.
"You see her?!"
The mans grip was like iron twisting scalp skin by long, greasy, tequila-drenched hair owned by one Diego Morales who's broken mouth twisted and spat out pieces of his own teeth. He made many sounds as he choked on his own blood but none resembling syllables either in English or in Spanish.
"Come closer, mija."
The smells of dust and gasoline finally made way for the soft, sweet scent of the 'Queen of the Night'. The orchid cactus bloomed only once a year, filling the entire dessert with its perfume. It wasn't poisonous, just beautiful. Like her. Or so Diego once thought.
Blinking through the crimson fuzziness of his vision he finally saw her. She got down real close, even lying on the dirty desert floor to get on his level where his temple dug into a large rock half buried in the sand. Big doe eyes dead and unnerving. Vacant. Expressionless. Had they always been that way?
"You see her now, chico?"
Diego's "si" came out deformed thanks to his lack of incisors but unfortunately he was understood well enough by the man Pascual who promptly severed the beaten boys carotid artery with his navaja. Only then did Lola's eyes flicker alive if only for a moment.
Story: Maybe she could have been somebody a long time ago. But now? Ella es Nadie. (She is nobody.) Except of course to Pascual. To him she is his vengeance, his vessel in which he pours all of his spite and vindictiveness. She is completely human, completely innocent and completely broken. Her only crime was being born to a woman who shattered and blackened the once Supremes heart, turning him away from the sacred path and towards the dark...a road to be covered with bodies...starting first with the bitch who'd betrayed him, Lola's mother.
Afterwards, in Pascual's keep, Lola Gil became Nadie. Kept under the influence of some very potent blood magic, Nadie was used. She effectively became Pascual's daughter and eventually Pascual's lover. A brainwashed puppet and perpetual victim, she did what she was told and she baited who she was told to bait, until the night Diego Morales was killed and for the first time she felt something new, something she hadn't been told to feel…and it scared her...
Story Notes:
Genre: Modern Supernatural
"When you don't know who you are you can be anyone or no one at all. Sometimes the freedom feels like heaven but most of the time it's hell."
Full name: Lola Gil
Face Claim: Britney Murphy
Species: Human (Discarded Vessel)
Occupation: Unemployed
Notable features:
Age: 32
Eye Color: Light Brown
Hair Color: Blonde
Height: 5'3
Sexuality: straight
Likes:
Dislikes:
Strengths:
Weaknesses:
Personality: Wooden / Co-dependent / Contemplative / Sensual / Numb/ Fearless / Insecure / Impulsive / Liar
History: "You see her?"
The boy couldn't really. Not through the blood and dirt caked in his eyes.
"You see her?!"
The mans grip was like iron twisting scalp skin by long, greasy, tequila-drenched hair owned by one Diego Morales who's broken mouth twisted and spat out pieces of his own teeth. He made many sounds as he choked on his own blood but none resembling syllables either in English or in Spanish.
"Come closer, mija."
The smells of dust and gasoline finally made way for the soft, sweet scent of the 'Queen of the Night'. The orchid cactus bloomed only once a year, filling the entire dessert with its perfume. It wasn't poisonous, just beautiful. Like her. Or so Diego once thought.
Blinking through the crimson fuzziness of his vision he finally saw her. She got down real close, even lying on the dirty desert floor to get on his level where his temple dug into a large rock half buried in the sand. Big doe eyes dead and unnerving. Vacant. Expressionless. Had they always been that way?
"You see her now, chico?"
Diego's "si" came out deformed thanks to his lack of incisors but unfortunately he was understood well enough by the man Pascual who promptly severed the beaten boys carotid artery with his navaja. Only then did Lola's eyes flicker alive if only for a moment.
"Fool. There's no one there."
Story: Maybe she could have been somebody a long time ago. But now? Ella es Nadie. (She is nobody.) Except of course to Pascual. To him she is his vengeance, his vessel in which he pours all of his spite and vindictiveness. She is completely human, completely innocent and completely broken. Her only crime was being born to a woman who shattered and blackened the once Supremes heart, turning him away from the sacred path and towards the dark...a road to be covered with bodies...starting first with the bitch who'd betrayed him, Lola's mother.
Afterwards, in Pascual's keep, Lola Gil became Nadie. Kept under the influence of some very potent blood magic, Nadie was used. She effectively became Pascual's daughter and eventually Pascual's lover. A brainwashed puppet and perpetual victim, she did what she was told and she baited who she was told to bait, until the night Diego Morales was killed and for the first time she felt something new, something she hadn't been told to feel…and it scared her...
Story Notes:
Her world had never been this loud before, not ever. Why was it wailing like that? It was like a bombardment, like actual bombs being dropped on top of her head.
The passenger sitting shotgun beside Carlos directly leaned in through the little window that separated compartments and snapped the command viciously at the woman holding the screaming infant across from Nadie. She'd been trying to shush it since Monterrey but nothing had worked. She'd tried feeding it, rocking it, patting its back, singing to it. Nothing. But now, spurred on by Carlos' partner, aka the angry-man-with-the-gun, the woman began her efforts once again at double urgency, practically begging the swaddled bundle of squalls to quiet.
After another five loud minutes the angry man had gotten out of the van, marched around to the side sliding doors and ripped out mother and child who were both crying now. Soon, Nadie was watching the image of the woman holding her baby in the middle of the dessert getting smaller and smaller as the van they once rode in (somewhat) comfortably drove away, stranding them. It was hard for Nadie to wrap her head around just how she should feel about the situation so she let her big eyeballs glance around at the other immigrants sharing her space. She noticed how they barely lifted their heads to watch the ejection and subsequent abandonment and so it was that this lack of a reaction sent a clear message to her that this was all very normal, that she wasn't required to feel anything at all about any of this and so Nadie didn't flinch, she just watched the two sad souls fade into a dot and disappear, thinking to herself in solace that at least it was quiet now.
She was used to living inside her head where the space she occupied was small. Where life was a movie scree of sorts, though more like watching a movie screen through a whispy, dream-like fog. She was there, going through the emotions as life played out on one big, fuzzy panoramic blur before her eyes but she couldn't interact with it, not really. She couldn't command it. She could only suffer along. Especially, at first. Oh, at the beginning there'd been nothing but the confused, muffled torture of a little girl confined but eventually...well, Nadie was proof a person could become accustom to absolutely anything.
But things were different now...
Nadie wasn't used to running away, so much so that the actual physical act of her legs pumping up and down underneath her body which made up the action that equated to literal running felt wrong. It felt like she were a fish trying to fly. It felt unnatural. Her adrenaline pumping, her breath gasping, her heart pounding so hard it made her think it might explode.
Please explode.
Nadie was suddenly halted in her tracks, a rifle aimed at her midsection by hands attached to a man with blood splatter on his clothes. Blood that had belonged to Carlos.
It had been right after crossing the Rio Grande when they'd all disembarked the raft and set foot one step closer to the U.S. border that things had gone awry. There'd been men waiting for them with mean-looking weapons far scarier than the rifle 'angry-man' carried. At first sight there had been panic as realization set in Carlos that he'd been set up by his compadre. There had been words spoken in the heat of anger and even a fist thrown. But only one. In the end Carlos lay dead and the small group was taken by the cartel minus one: Nadie, who was taken by Carlos' killer, the angry one with the rifle, the one who'd thrown to the elements mother and child and the one who'd managed throughout his brief struggle with Nadie to maintain his erection for her.
She was used to no one hearing her. She'd stopped screaming on the inside years ago. She was used to just watching the movie play out. She was a receiver. She was used to obeying and so she got down on her knees and simply waited to receive.
The sound of a car engine and the rolling of tires over the gravely terrain is what paused the one-handed unbuckling of the mans britches. He fell still for only a moment before reaching down to grip a fistful of blonde hair, enough to firmly drag her off into the darkness with him just as the lights of a vehicle swept over where they both had been.
There wasn't much that could hide a person out here on the plains, best bet was to keep moving and rely on the nightfall to secure sufficient cover from any potential searching eyes or border patrol.
With rifle under his armpit the man yanked the blonde up onto her feet telling her to keep moving without a peep, instructions that were wholly unnecessary since Nadie had no intentions of disobeying. She was unaccustomed to having a working fight or flight response trigger and now it seemed to be glitching, forcing her back into her go-to default of acceptance. That she'd ran from him initially had been a surprise to even herself. He'd slapped her across the mouth as hard as he could knocking her to the ground for slowing down on their journey to god knew where and the pain from his ring slicing open her lip had been so technicolor vivid that it had brought memories back to her that she had no idea ever existed.
"Shut that kid up!"
The passenger sitting shotgun beside Carlos directly leaned in through the little window that separated compartments and snapped the command viciously at the woman holding the screaming infant across from Nadie. She'd been trying to shush it since Monterrey but nothing had worked. She'd tried feeding it, rocking it, patting its back, singing to it. Nothing. But now, spurred on by Carlos' partner, aka the angry-man-with-the-gun, the woman began her efforts once again at double urgency, practically begging the swaddled bundle of squalls to quiet.
After another five loud minutes the angry man had gotten out of the van, marched around to the side sliding doors and ripped out mother and child who were both crying now. Soon, Nadie was watching the image of the woman holding her baby in the middle of the dessert getting smaller and smaller as the van they once rode in (somewhat) comfortably drove away, stranding them. It was hard for Nadie to wrap her head around just how she should feel about the situation so she let her big eyeballs glance around at the other immigrants sharing her space. She noticed how they barely lifted their heads to watch the ejection and subsequent abandonment and so it was that this lack of a reaction sent a clear message to her that this was all very normal, that she wasn't required to feel anything at all about any of this and so Nadie didn't flinch, she just watched the two sad souls fade into a dot and disappear, thinking to herself in solace that at least it was quiet now.
She was used to living inside her head where the space she occupied was small. Where life was a movie scree of sorts, though more like watching a movie screen through a whispy, dream-like fog. She was there, going through the emotions as life played out on one big, fuzzy panoramic blur before her eyes but she couldn't interact with it, not really. She couldn't command it. She could only suffer along. Especially, at first. Oh, at the beginning there'd been nothing but the confused, muffled torture of a little girl confined but eventually...well, Nadie was proof a person could become accustom to absolutely anything.
But things were different now...
"Slut!"
Nadie wasn't used to running away, so much so that the actual physical act of her legs pumping up and down underneath her body which made up the action that equated to literal running felt wrong. It felt like she were a fish trying to fly. It felt unnatural. Her adrenaline pumping, her breath gasping, her heart pounding so hard it made her think it might explode.
Please explode.
"Where you think you're going, slut? My cocks right here not over there."
Nadie was suddenly halted in her tracks, a rifle aimed at her midsection by hands attached to a man with blood splatter on his clothes. Blood that had belonged to Carlos.
It had been right after crossing the Rio Grande when they'd all disembarked the raft and set foot one step closer to the U.S. border that things had gone awry. There'd been men waiting for them with mean-looking weapons far scarier than the rifle 'angry-man' carried. At first sight there had been panic as realization set in Carlos that he'd been set up by his compadre. There had been words spoken in the heat of anger and even a fist thrown. But only one. In the end Carlos lay dead and the small group was taken by the cartel minus one: Nadie, who was taken by Carlos' killer, the angry one with the rifle, the one who'd thrown to the elements mother and child and the one who'd managed throughout his brief struggle with Nadie to maintain his erection for her.
"On your knees."
She was used to no one hearing her. She'd stopped screaming on the inside years ago. She was used to just watching the movie play out. She was a receiver. She was used to obeying and so she got down on her knees and simply waited to receive.
The sound of a car engine and the rolling of tires over the gravely terrain is what paused the one-handed unbuckling of the mans britches. He fell still for only a moment before reaching down to grip a fistful of blonde hair, enough to firmly drag her off into the darkness with him just as the lights of a vehicle swept over where they both had been.
There wasn't much that could hide a person out here on the plains, best bet was to keep moving and rely on the nightfall to secure sufficient cover from any potential searching eyes or border patrol.
With rifle under his armpit the man yanked the blonde up onto her feet telling her to keep moving without a peep, instructions that were wholly unnecessary since Nadie had no intentions of disobeying. She was unaccustomed to having a working fight or flight response trigger and now it seemed to be glitching, forcing her back into her go-to default of acceptance. That she'd ran from him initially had been a surprise to even herself. He'd slapped her across the mouth as hard as he could knocking her to the ground for slowing down on their journey to god knew where and the pain from his ring slicing open her lip had been so technicolor vivid that it had brought memories back to her that she had no idea ever existed.
"Not a fucking word."
AVAILABLE
Genre: Modern/Period Supernatural (Vampire Masquerade)
"I am not a woman that needs any meaningless verbal utterances suggesting even in the slightest way that I might be loved by someone. Lusted for...now that's a different animal all together, darling."
Full name: Elise Eloise du'Clermont
Face Claim: Adrianna Lima
Species: Vampire (Lamia)
Powers:
Occupation: Night Club Owner/Investor
Notable features:
Age: 282
Eye Color: Blue/Green
Hair Color: Raven
Height: 5'8
Sexuality: Straight
Likes:
Dislikes:
Strengths:
Weaknesses:
Personality: Articulate / Captivating / Individualistic / Passionate / Sophisticated / Glamorous / Sensual / Vain / Hedonistic / Venomous
A small quirk about Elise is that she more or less subconsciously and actively seeks brushes with her own death and not because she wants to really die but because she wants to really live.
Whereas the once young and human Elise du Clermont was prone to mixed feelings that often changed her mind, one day happy and sure, the next anxious and uncertain, now when Elise decides upon something she is immovably resolute, a characteristic her sire would attest to if he were still alive to do it. When she must she calls forth traits found in the ghost of the old Elise brought up under the scrutiny of courtly nobility. Visits to Versailles has taught her many things including charm and wit to win over favor and advantage and she will use these social gifts along with her charms if needed to further her pursuits.
In love with the idea of being in love she used to be susceptible to falling like a brick tied to a boulder and flung out into the deepest parts of her hearts ocean and it was men; debonair, enchanting, beautiful men who way back when had the dangerous potential of flinging her there. Fortunately and in no small part thanks to her late sire Elise has grown up and replaced her ideas of "amour eternel" with more imaginative ideas of how exactly to make the men who do unluckily cross her path pay for the sins of that one who'd disillusioned her.
History: Elise du Clermont was born to a prostitute and Francis Louis du Clermont, the Duke of Burgundy in the late winter of 1738, in France. Her father would tell her when she was old enough to really hear him that her mother was an angel that took one look at Elise and flew to heaven not wanting to have to compete for her fathers affections. He loved his daughter more than his wife who never knew the child ever existed since the Duke kept her locked away in his hunting lodge some many leagues from his home. Elise was constantly surrounded by adepts in their various fields of knowledge; medicine, philosophy, history, religion, art, law, even courtesans would come to teach the young girl how to be a woman.
When she had come into her own she signaled it by becoming headstrong and far too curious about the outside world for her fathers liking. Their constant fighting culminated finally one night when she told him flatly that she wanted to move away from the lodge, to experience life on her own, promising that she would never reveal her true identity lest she ruin her fathers reputation. Tearfully and after much convincing he agreed, even giving her a monthly stipend to keep her afloat out in the world.
She waved to her father as her carriage began its journey to Paris, not knowing that in less than a year she was to suffer the first of two greatest misfortunes of her life - she would fall in love. Her husband, ended up taking the shape of a tall, dashing young man who spoke French and Italian perfectly and had promised her an exciting life full of pleasure in their estate neighboring Versailles.
Life with her husband, a staunch libertine with hedonistic tendencies, was a roller coaster of sensual delights. With him she experienced love, glittering society with all its intrigues and scandals and midnight parties. She fell in love with him hard and savagely but like with all mortals they expire whether through old age or calamity and in her husbands case it was the latter. Pierced through the heart by some other woman's husband who had found out that he'd been fucking his wife. Elise's broken heart reduced her to wishing she were dead, swearing to herself that she would never fall in love again. Their marriage had lasted a total of three blissful years. Making things excruciatingly worse, shortly after her husbands death her father died from an attack of the heart adding exponentially to her pain. The fact that both men had left her with a substantial sum of money assuring her that if she were cleaver with her purse she'd never have to work again did not ease her shattered soul. Tired of France accompanied by its happy memories she moved to London feeling drawn to the rain that she'd always found tied to romanticism and inspiration.
In London she kept friends and lovers at an arms length and stayed mainly to herself as she grieved. She became a recluse for a span of time learning various languages while she drank absinthe, and smoked hashish imported from India. She still took on lovers from but it was few and far between as she waited for her depression to lift. It would be in 1767 at the age of 28 that she would meet a tall, handsome stranger that would change her life forever.
His name was Armand and he was a vampire in love with a beauty he could not resist capturing for eternity and over the years, as well as parenting her Armand seduced and spoiled her, making her fall in love with him slowly yet utterly until he haunted her every thought. Yet, blessings are quickly outlived by a vampire and Armand was no exception. When Armand met his "unfortunate" end it was at Elise's own hand as for the second time in her life she had found out that she'd been betrayed by the man she loved. Elise swore to herself for the last time that she would never love again and so far she has kept that promise. She'd rather live eternity alone than to ever feel those pangs of torment again.
Elise, a wealthy woman by then, having invested her money in successful business ventures, used that wealth to leave London for America, it was during these days that Elise became a monster, venturing out only to feed or abduct a victim to torture slowly as she tried to process her pain and anger at existence in general. Today she has calmed down some in her cruelty but she is no less restless and bored of life's joyless existence and so on a whim she decided to start a little business for her own entertainment.
Elise's baby, NUMB has gained a reputation spread by word of mouth for being a contemporary Studio 54 and just like that famous disco tech at NUMB not everyone can cross that red velvet rope but the lucky ones who did were promised a scandalously good night. It does not discriminate by species, its only prerequisite? Be beautiful. Something worth looking at. Simple. Once inside (if you are so lucky), depending on the night you might see aerial chain or burlesque performers, human statues, masked DJ's, caged dancers, fire eaters, or any number of novelty acts.
List of Services:
* Three fully staffed bars (one for each level).
* Can be rented out for private parties and events.
* Underneath the main floor is an even more exclusive area of NUMB known as The Dungeon which caters to membered guests only.
Cali, or Calliope as Elise, who was fond of using peoples proper names, much preferred, was a relatively new addition to the vampire's life. She was hers, contractually speaking, for the next five years or until such time Elise grew bored of her enough to sever ties prematurely or unless unfortunate circumstances required Elise to let her go sooner than anticipated for reasons besides those of a capricious nature. In other words, this arrangement was not ever meant to be a forever thing, no matter what the ebony-skinned beauty came to believe to be true, or thought she was being led to believe to be true, and Elise would never be made to feel guilty over any feelings the young woman may or may not have developed whilst serving Elise nor for any wishful thinking that may evolve over their time spent together, just as she had never felt a drop of it before with the others. Her butterflies. And there had been many.
Story:
Story Notes:
Genre: Modern/Period Supernatural (Vampire Masquerade)
"I am not a woman that needs any meaningless verbal utterances suggesting even in the slightest way that I might be loved by someone. Lusted for...now that's a different animal all together, darling."
Full name: Elise Eloise du'Clermont
Face Claim: Adrianna Lima
Species: Vampire (Lamia)
Powers:
Occupation: Night Club Owner/Investor
Notable features:
Age: 282
Eye Color: Blue/Green
Hair Color: Raven
Height: 5'8
Sexuality: Straight
Likes:
Dislikes:
Strengths:
Weaknesses:
Personality: Articulate / Captivating / Individualistic / Passionate / Sophisticated / Glamorous / Sensual / Vain / Hedonistic / Venomous
A small quirk about Elise is that she more or less subconsciously and actively seeks brushes with her own death and not because she wants to really die but because she wants to really live.
Whereas the once young and human Elise du Clermont was prone to mixed feelings that often changed her mind, one day happy and sure, the next anxious and uncertain, now when Elise decides upon something she is immovably resolute, a characteristic her sire would attest to if he were still alive to do it. When she must she calls forth traits found in the ghost of the old Elise brought up under the scrutiny of courtly nobility. Visits to Versailles has taught her many things including charm and wit to win over favor and advantage and she will use these social gifts along with her charms if needed to further her pursuits.
In love with the idea of being in love she used to be susceptible to falling like a brick tied to a boulder and flung out into the deepest parts of her hearts ocean and it was men; debonair, enchanting, beautiful men who way back when had the dangerous potential of flinging her there. Fortunately and in no small part thanks to her late sire Elise has grown up and replaced her ideas of "amour eternel" with more imaginative ideas of how exactly to make the men who do unluckily cross her path pay for the sins of that one who'd disillusioned her.
History: Elise du Clermont was born to a prostitute and Francis Louis du Clermont, the Duke of Burgundy in the late winter of 1738, in France. Her father would tell her when she was old enough to really hear him that her mother was an angel that took one look at Elise and flew to heaven not wanting to have to compete for her fathers affections. He loved his daughter more than his wife who never knew the child ever existed since the Duke kept her locked away in his hunting lodge some many leagues from his home. Elise was constantly surrounded by adepts in their various fields of knowledge; medicine, philosophy, history, religion, art, law, even courtesans would come to teach the young girl how to be a woman.
When she had come into her own she signaled it by becoming headstrong and far too curious about the outside world for her fathers liking. Their constant fighting culminated finally one night when she told him flatly that she wanted to move away from the lodge, to experience life on her own, promising that she would never reveal her true identity lest she ruin her fathers reputation. Tearfully and after much convincing he agreed, even giving her a monthly stipend to keep her afloat out in the world.
She waved to her father as her carriage began its journey to Paris, not knowing that in less than a year she was to suffer the first of two greatest misfortunes of her life - she would fall in love. Her husband, ended up taking the shape of a tall, dashing young man who spoke French and Italian perfectly and had promised her an exciting life full of pleasure in their estate neighboring Versailles.
Life with her husband, a staunch libertine with hedonistic tendencies, was a roller coaster of sensual delights. With him she experienced love, glittering society with all its intrigues and scandals and midnight parties. She fell in love with him hard and savagely but like with all mortals they expire whether through old age or calamity and in her husbands case it was the latter. Pierced through the heart by some other woman's husband who had found out that he'd been fucking his wife. Elise's broken heart reduced her to wishing she were dead, swearing to herself that she would never fall in love again. Their marriage had lasted a total of three blissful years. Making things excruciatingly worse, shortly after her husbands death her father died from an attack of the heart adding exponentially to her pain. The fact that both men had left her with a substantial sum of money assuring her that if she were cleaver with her purse she'd never have to work again did not ease her shattered soul. Tired of France accompanied by its happy memories she moved to London feeling drawn to the rain that she'd always found tied to romanticism and inspiration.
In London she kept friends and lovers at an arms length and stayed mainly to herself as she grieved. She became a recluse for a span of time learning various languages while she drank absinthe, and smoked hashish imported from India. She still took on lovers from but it was few and far between as she waited for her depression to lift. It would be in 1767 at the age of 28 that she would meet a tall, handsome stranger that would change her life forever.
His name was Armand and he was a vampire in love with a beauty he could not resist capturing for eternity and over the years, as well as parenting her Armand seduced and spoiled her, making her fall in love with him slowly yet utterly until he haunted her every thought. Yet, blessings are quickly outlived by a vampire and Armand was no exception. When Armand met his "unfortunate" end it was at Elise's own hand as for the second time in her life she had found out that she'd been betrayed by the man she loved. Elise swore to herself for the last time that she would never love again and so far she has kept that promise. She'd rather live eternity alone than to ever feel those pangs of torment again.
Elise, a wealthy woman by then, having invested her money in successful business ventures, used that wealth to leave London for America, it was during these days that Elise became a monster, venturing out only to feed or abduct a victim to torture slowly as she tried to process her pain and anger at existence in general. Today she has calmed down some in her cruelty but she is no less restless and bored of life's joyless existence and so on a whim she decided to start a little business for her own entertainment.
Elise's baby, NUMB has gained a reputation spread by word of mouth for being a contemporary Studio 54 and just like that famous disco tech at NUMB not everyone can cross that red velvet rope but the lucky ones who did were promised a scandalously good night. It does not discriminate by species, its only prerequisite? Be beautiful. Something worth looking at. Simple. Once inside (if you are so lucky), depending on the night you might see aerial chain or burlesque performers, human statues, masked DJ's, caged dancers, fire eaters, or any number of novelty acts.
List of Services:
* Three fully staffed bars (one for each level).
* Can be rented out for private parties and events.
* Underneath the main floor is an even more exclusive area of NUMB known as The Dungeon which caters to membered guests only.
Cali, or Calliope as Elise, who was fond of using peoples proper names, much preferred, was a relatively new addition to the vampire's life. She was hers, contractually speaking, for the next five years or until such time Elise grew bored of her enough to sever ties prematurely or unless unfortunate circumstances required Elise to let her go sooner than anticipated for reasons besides those of a capricious nature. In other words, this arrangement was not ever meant to be a forever thing, no matter what the ebony-skinned beauty came to believe to be true, or thought she was being led to believe to be true, and Elise would never be made to feel guilty over any feelings the young woman may or may not have developed whilst serving Elise nor for any wishful thinking that may evolve over their time spent together, just as she had never felt a drop of it before with the others. Her butterflies. And there had been many.
Story:
Story Notes:
Beige swarovski crystals twirled lazily betwixt slender, bronzed fingertips where long pointed nails glazed transparent and reflective in the passing lights just outside the tinted windows of Elise du Clermont's midnight black Rolls Royce. The wand in her hand topped with a simple mask the color of Victorian flesh had been thoughtfully chosen as to not draw the eye too apparently, though Elise's cerulean irises haunted by verdant shades of green might do just that anyways and thus compete too evenly matched with what exquisite fashion covered her eternally ripe body on this night of rare occasion outside of Club NUMB. But for all her incessant Venetian mask spinning Elise could not keep her mind from floating away from her. For only a moment at a time it seemed her attention once having becoming firmly fixed by conscious grasp would in the next instant trail off rebelliously back into the past, a place where her stubborn minds eye had been explicitly forbidden to cast its curious gaze.
Nostalgia, like most feelings of sentimentality would always be an enemy of peace, since with its sweet always came its bitter and with its bitter always came its suffering. But then, she'd only done this to herself tonight, hadn't she?
Silk chiffon. A material worn to represent wealth and standing since the 1700's had evidently come to represent much more than that to Elise du Clermont as every time she wore it (a thing she rarely did) it seemed to always transport her to her tragic human youth. For example, the weight of it on her frame felt not only akin to the lightness of a cloud but also felt plainly like the excited, tingling sensation of adventure. In fact, the very exact sort of feeling of one particular mademoiselle leaving home for the very first time to start a new life in Paris, France in the Spring of her 19th year...and that was not all...because that softly draped delicate mesh as well had the unfortunately uncanny power of evoking the recall of emotions that could only ever belong to an effulgently stupid young woman in the clutches of life's greatest and most cruelest trick...love. Thankfully however, almost mercifully then did the shimmering fabric hugging her with its devastating elegance also cast upon her senses the delightfully redolent memory of vengeance committed through her own sires end, even if it had been a fleeting satisfaction, one that still to this day came and went like the waves of an ever angry, spiteful ocean, it still at times held the magic to console Elise, if only momentarily.
Thus, with full knowledge and understanding of just what effect this textile had on the vampress, why would she choose to torture herself?
Was the answer not obvious? It was gorgeous. Daresay, spectacular.
"We're nearing our arrival point, madame."
Smoky eyes flickered towards the world outside her window just as her transport drove around a limo haphazardly parked along the side of the road where some activity was taking place towards the back of the vehicle, a situation perhaps? And one that she was not in the least curious about. "Take me around the back."
Elise had no coat to check, nor did she have any keen interest on being surrounded by drones of the colony or for all eyes to be on her all at once. She wasn't even in a social mood, so why had she come? She could be back home at NUMB where her comfort would not be in question, where she could sip on Calliope, spectate the frenzy below her birds nest and be left alone. But she was here, surrounded by architecture reminiscent of France, attending a ball thrown by once upon a time French nobles that she may or may not recognize depending on which royal courts they had haunted. Lord knows their name did not ring any bells inside her head. De Verre?...Nothing.
Her Rolls Royce slowly rolled to a stop behind the Crimson house rocking Elise gently in her seat and after a few moments of silence her driver's voice again reached her ears: "Should I circle the premises a few more times, madame?"
"You're perfect where you are." She reassured him in a soft, distant voice.
Of late her mood seemed to change like seasons to God and her choice of fashion on this night had not helped her stability. Graceful fingers splayed upon the soft silk barely covering her thigh before lightly tracing the patterned gold sequins there.
It was perfect. The stitching. The execution. Stunning. She could not possibly hate it even if it did hurt her so. It was poetry. It was resplendent and it deserved to be adored. Perhaps then she was not here purely out of boredom or morbid curiosity to watch the sheep prance and bleat before their cult leader. Perhaps she was here to honor one of the best designs she had ever seen...
There was a chill to the air that if she were human might have unnerved Elise but as it was it was easily ignored. It had taken her a handful of minutes to collect herself as memories once dredged were hard to settle back down into the murk but eventually she had stepped out of her ride with the help of her chauffeur who's years of experience with his employer aided in his taking patient care to avoid stepping on or closing her gown in the cars door, an error that he knew would not be taken lightly. Helpfully and with a focused sort of patience all her own Elise paid special attention to the piece of art she wore as well, making sure its short train was safe from the doors closure before giving Charles a little nod to dismiss him. He'd been with her long enough to know exactly what was expected of him which of course now, was nothing. He was to wait for her right here with the car until her return whenever that would be, whether that be an hour or a day, he would loyally stay put and be paid more than adequately for his dependability. Good help was hard to find they say and as far as employees go Charles was one of her best.
Having yet to raise mask to face or even to move a muscle for that matter, Elise's notice was taken suddenly by a figure approaching the halo of soft light she stood within coming from the single wall sconce directly above the backdoor...
Nostalgia, like most feelings of sentimentality would always be an enemy of peace, since with its sweet always came its bitter and with its bitter always came its suffering. But then, she'd only done this to herself tonight, hadn't she?
Silk chiffon. A material worn to represent wealth and standing since the 1700's had evidently come to represent much more than that to Elise du Clermont as every time she wore it (a thing she rarely did) it seemed to always transport her to her tragic human youth. For example, the weight of it on her frame felt not only akin to the lightness of a cloud but also felt plainly like the excited, tingling sensation of adventure. In fact, the very exact sort of feeling of one particular mademoiselle leaving home for the very first time to start a new life in Paris, France in the Spring of her 19th year...and that was not all...because that softly draped delicate mesh as well had the unfortunately uncanny power of evoking the recall of emotions that could only ever belong to an effulgently stupid young woman in the clutches of life's greatest and most cruelest trick...love. Thankfully however, almost mercifully then did the shimmering fabric hugging her with its devastating elegance also cast upon her senses the delightfully redolent memory of vengeance committed through her own sires end, even if it had been a fleeting satisfaction, one that still to this day came and went like the waves of an ever angry, spiteful ocean, it still at times held the magic to console Elise, if only momentarily.
Thus, with full knowledge and understanding of just what effect this textile had on the vampress, why would she choose to torture herself?
Was the answer not obvious? It was gorgeous. Daresay, spectacular.
"We're nearing our arrival point, madame."
Smoky eyes flickered towards the world outside her window just as her transport drove around a limo haphazardly parked along the side of the road where some activity was taking place towards the back of the vehicle, a situation perhaps? And one that she was not in the least curious about. "Take me around the back."
Elise had no coat to check, nor did she have any keen interest on being surrounded by drones of the colony or for all eyes to be on her all at once. She wasn't even in a social mood, so why had she come? She could be back home at NUMB where her comfort would not be in question, where she could sip on Calliope, spectate the frenzy below her birds nest and be left alone. But she was here, surrounded by architecture reminiscent of France, attending a ball thrown by once upon a time French nobles that she may or may not recognize depending on which royal courts they had haunted. Lord knows their name did not ring any bells inside her head. De Verre?...Nothing.
Her Rolls Royce slowly rolled to a stop behind the Crimson house rocking Elise gently in her seat and after a few moments of silence her driver's voice again reached her ears: "Should I circle the premises a few more times, madame?"
"You're perfect where you are." She reassured him in a soft, distant voice.
Of late her mood seemed to change like seasons to God and her choice of fashion on this night had not helped her stability. Graceful fingers splayed upon the soft silk barely covering her thigh before lightly tracing the patterned gold sequins there.
It was perfect. The stitching. The execution. Stunning. She could not possibly hate it even if it did hurt her so. It was poetry. It was resplendent and it deserved to be adored. Perhaps then she was not here purely out of boredom or morbid curiosity to watch the sheep prance and bleat before their cult leader. Perhaps she was here to honor one of the best designs she had ever seen...
There was a chill to the air that if she were human might have unnerved Elise but as it was it was easily ignored. It had taken her a handful of minutes to collect herself as memories once dredged were hard to settle back down into the murk but eventually she had stepped out of her ride with the help of her chauffeur who's years of experience with his employer aided in his taking patient care to avoid stepping on or closing her gown in the cars door, an error that he knew would not be taken lightly. Helpfully and with a focused sort of patience all her own Elise paid special attention to the piece of art she wore as well, making sure its short train was safe from the doors closure before giving Charles a little nod to dismiss him. He'd been with her long enough to know exactly what was expected of him which of course now, was nothing. He was to wait for her right here with the car until her return whenever that would be, whether that be an hour or a day, he would loyally stay put and be paid more than adequately for his dependability. Good help was hard to find they say and as far as employees go Charles was one of her best.
Having yet to raise mask to face or even to move a muscle for that matter, Elise's notice was taken suddenly by a figure approaching the halo of soft light she stood within coming from the single wall sconce directly above the backdoor...
AVAILABLE
Genre: Modern
""
Full Name: Elise Dawn-Marie Rothschild
Face Claim: Adrianna Lima
Species: Human
Occupation: Socialite/Investor/Model
Distinctive Features: Speaks fluent French, Japanese, Italian, and Spanish.
Age: 30
Eye Color: Blue
Hair Color: Brunette
Height: 5'4
Sexuality: Straight
Likes: Compliments / Attention / Wine / Cocaine / Fast Cars / Yachts / Versace / Paris
Dislikes: Being told no / Aging / Birds / Bergamot / Driving
Strengths: Terrific liar / Rebellion / Confidence
Weaknesses: Cocaine / Liquor / Vanity / Holding grudges / Narcissistic
Personality: If over-the-top were a person, that would be Elise. Extravangent and spoiled, she loves all the finer things in life, and why shouldn't she? She can afford it.
History: Elise had not always been a Rothschild, she'd been bestowed the name through adoption. Her father had always had a thing for Latinas and was a notorious philanderer which came part and parcel with fame and old money. He had a dynasty to protect yes, but he was also a man with a heart, a heart he lost to a bronzed beauty he'd met in Spain while globe-trotting. What singled her out from his litany of other mistresses became like catnip to the gossip mill as well as a shameful scandal for the family itself. A scarlet letter of sorts would always follow Elise who of course became the blacksheep of the Rothschild clan.
A rebellious teenager, Elise would forge her own path no matter how rocky. She'd realize her beauty early on and though she had no real need for any currency besides that of her family's wealth, she craved independence, an unchaining from the golden leash her parents kept tight hold of. She'd use her face and name to her advantage until she had just enough advantage to make a clean break. Years later, she'd still be wondering whatever happened to that plan?
Of course, not everything in life runs smoothly...even for a Rothschild. For a while, Elise's Modelling career had been what any objective observer would have called successful. She'd reached the summit in her industry; she'd walked Fashion Week year after year, was on beyond friendly terms with every major fashion house and premier designer. She dated and bumped elbows with celebrities, attended every major party and event, even socialized with royalty and foreign dignitaries and all of this despite public knowledge of her love of "white horses". Her party, jetset lifestyle or that she was labelled a 'wild child' and a 'homewrecker' in the press never seemed to stop her momentum or accomplishments. Then one day...it all ended seemingly overnight and Elise Rothschild disappeared...
The Story: A woman in her early 30's could hardly be considered over-the-hill, at least in normal life, but in the world of modeling, it could amount to at least the beginnings of a dying career, especially when combined with a powerful ex that has it out for you. Sure, Elise has investments and a family name which will guarantee her dying rich, but to Elise who's vanity is on the level of Venus de'Milo and Aphrodite combined, dying rich is no consolation. At the commencement of her story she is at odds with her family and battling a drug habit.
Story Notes: Elise has returned from "isolation", fresh out of rehab, ready to reclaim her name. She is embroiled in family drama stemming from an exposed secret, thanks to her ex-fiance, Charles Dixon. She is poised to lose everything and the fight is likely, an uphill and pointless battle. Her only industry friend, Donatella Versace, at least, has taken pity on her and has invited her to walk in her show for New York Fashion Week, a show that has the potential to reinvent her career and that hope is all that is keeping Elise holding on.
Genre: Modern
""
Full Name: Elise Dawn-Marie Rothschild
Face Claim: Adrianna Lima
Species: Human
Occupation: Socialite/Investor/Model
Distinctive Features: Speaks fluent French, Japanese, Italian, and Spanish.
Age: 30
Eye Color: Blue
Hair Color: Brunette
Height: 5'4
Sexuality: Straight
Likes: Compliments / Attention / Wine / Cocaine / Fast Cars / Yachts / Versace / Paris
Dislikes: Being told no / Aging / Birds / Bergamot / Driving
Strengths: Terrific liar / Rebellion / Confidence
Weaknesses: Cocaine / Liquor / Vanity / Holding grudges / Narcissistic
Personality: If over-the-top were a person, that would be Elise. Extravangent and spoiled, she loves all the finer things in life, and why shouldn't she? She can afford it.
History: Elise had not always been a Rothschild, she'd been bestowed the name through adoption. Her father had always had a thing for Latinas and was a notorious philanderer which came part and parcel with fame and old money. He had a dynasty to protect yes, but he was also a man with a heart, a heart he lost to a bronzed beauty he'd met in Spain while globe-trotting. What singled her out from his litany of other mistresses became like catnip to the gossip mill as well as a shameful scandal for the family itself. A scarlet letter of sorts would always follow Elise who of course became the blacksheep of the Rothschild clan.
A rebellious teenager, Elise would forge her own path no matter how rocky. She'd realize her beauty early on and though she had no real need for any currency besides that of her family's wealth, she craved independence, an unchaining from the golden leash her parents kept tight hold of. She'd use her face and name to her advantage until she had just enough advantage to make a clean break. Years later, she'd still be wondering whatever happened to that plan?
Of course, not everything in life runs smoothly...even for a Rothschild. For a while, Elise's Modelling career had been what any objective observer would have called successful. She'd reached the summit in her industry; she'd walked Fashion Week year after year, was on beyond friendly terms with every major fashion house and premier designer. She dated and bumped elbows with celebrities, attended every major party and event, even socialized with royalty and foreign dignitaries and all of this despite public knowledge of her love of "white horses". Her party, jetset lifestyle or that she was labelled a 'wild child' and a 'homewrecker' in the press never seemed to stop her momentum or accomplishments. Then one day...it all ended seemingly overnight and Elise Rothschild disappeared...
The Story: A woman in her early 30's could hardly be considered over-the-hill, at least in normal life, but in the world of modeling, it could amount to at least the beginnings of a dying career, especially when combined with a powerful ex that has it out for you. Sure, Elise has investments and a family name which will guarantee her dying rich, but to Elise who's vanity is on the level of Venus de'Milo and Aphrodite combined, dying rich is no consolation. At the commencement of her story she is at odds with her family and battling a drug habit.
Story Notes: Elise has returned from "isolation", fresh out of rehab, ready to reclaim her name. She is embroiled in family drama stemming from an exposed secret, thanks to her ex-fiance, Charles Dixon. She is poised to lose everything and the fight is likely, an uphill and pointless battle. Her only industry friend, Donatella Versace, at least, has taken pity on her and has invited her to walk in her show for New York Fashion Week, a show that has the potential to reinvent her career and that hope is all that is keeping Elise holding on.
The Big Apple. One of the worlds fashion capitals that make up the "Big Four" alongside it's European sisters London, Paris, and of course the city where Elise was "discovered", Milan, or what she respectfully referred to as fashion's Mecca. New York, though not her favorite city out of the four (which would always be Paris although not specifically for its fashion) still held a certain place in her heart. She had made a lot of friends here over the years, made a lot of love too, as well as broke a lot of hearts...most notably her own.
Elise glanced down at the red IPhone in her hand. 2:42 pm. It had been only two minutes since the last time she'd checked it. "Alex, could you put on my music?" She asked her driver as she shifted in her seat restlessly, uncrossing her legs only to cross them back again the other way. She was stressing and anxiety was not a good look on her. She unlocked her phone for no reason whatsoever and stared blankly at the home screen before choosing to randomly scroll through old text messages without really thinking about it, just something, anything to keep her eyes from wandering to her little black purse at her side.
The Weeknd began to emanate from the speakers and Alex turned it up without having to be told. They say good help was hard to find, truth was it was hard but not impossible and Alex was proof of that. After several years of being away from the city that never sleeps she considered herself lucky that he was still around and available for her when she had called to make arrangements for her pick up at the airport, and after a month in rehab and a nine hour flight from Rome to New York it was nice to see a familiar face even if it was bought.
Dropping the phone in her lap Elise closed her blue-green eyes, leaned her head back against the leather headrest and tried to let the thumping beat lead her to some kind of happy place of distraction far away from reality and of where she was heading to this cold winter afternoon. Not as if she didn't want to be going to her niece's event or that she didn't want to reunite with her family. On the contrary, she missed her Gracie, she missed all of them. They used to have fun together before Elise' life turned upside down. She loved them. What she didn't love was having to apologize for her long absence with made up excuses to her or to anyone else that might be there, her other nieces or nephew who she also loved dearly or to any other members of the clan that might show up...her brother. Especially her brother because she knew he was the one person she would not be able to lie to. Oh, she might try, would likely try, but he'd see right through it and when he did she just knew she wouldn't deal well at all with the look of disappointment on his face, but even he didn't know what she'd been through. She opened her eyes and looked down at her purse, her hand reaching for it despite herself.
She had done well. No matter what look Gabriel gave her or what he might say, she was proud of herself. One month sober was something! Even if it ended today (which was feeling more and more like the case) she'd still be in a far better place than she had been thirty days ago. One might think being a Rothschild made you impervious to life's little curveballs and the depression and panic they brought with them. It didn't. At least in Elise' case. The others always seemed fine, stable even. Able to deal with the pressures that weighed on them all. But who really knew, right? Behind their broad smiles and turned up noses perhaps they felt like they were dying inside too but just couldn't or wouldn't say. Too dignified for that. Too proud. They all were. She couldn't deny that she was just as guilty of pretending. That's why she had been away so long, a curveball had been thrown and she just couldn't pretend anymore, not after...
"We're here, Lady Rothschild." Alex broke through Elise' thoughts. She hadn't realized he had stopped the car and had been staring at her in the rear view mirror. She wasn't quite ready to be here yet. "Just keep the music on, Alex. I'm not getting out just yet."
She stared down at the small silver vile she had pulled from her purse as she rolled it gently back and forth between her glossy, manicured thumb and forefinger, battling with herself quickly turning into bargaining with herself. She didn't need much. Two bumps would help get her through the door, after that there'd be alcohol inside to balance out the high if she got too antsy. After tonight she'd refrain from taking anything intoxicating until New Years she swore to herself. She'd be just a casual user, an every-once-in-a-while user; functioning, able, content. She'd be stronger than she had been because she had to be. Of course, these sorts of promises she made to herself now were nothing new but this time after four weeks clean, for the first time (at least in this moment) they felt credible to her.
"I can't feel my face when I'm with you..." Elise sang barely above a whisper along with the song as she unscrewed the top of the vile. "and I love it...and I love it."
The rush of Euphoria was instant and after her time of abstinence it was also intense as her heartbeat began to speed up and her body tingled all warm and fuzzy. She used her compact mirror to clean any residue off her nostrils before applying a fresh layer of red lipstick and quickly checking her hair, already feeling restless and needing to move her body. Scooping up her purse, Elise bundled herself up against the chilly December air if only to feel the black fur of her coat against her neck. "Im off, Alex. Stay warm." She said as she stepped out of the black escalade unaided. The world around her was brighter than usual seen through cocaine eyes, it sparkled.
Feeling confident, sexy and alive she entered 'Gracefully Vintage', her eyes immediately scanning the pretty, rich people who had come to her niece's Gallery this afternoon. Not seeing anyone she knew at first glance she shed her fur revealing a simple yet snug bronze silk dress that hugged her down to mid-thigh. "Bourbon or champagne, Lady Rothschild?" A slender man appeared beside her, his cheeks ruddy. She traded him a glass of sweet whiskey for her coat with an engaging smile. "And where do you know me from, sir?" She asked him, flirting pointlessly but amusedly, her gay-dar going off, her ego wanting to be stroked and getting the feeling that she would not be disappointed by this one. Slightly embarrassed, the man leaned towards her somewhat and spoke in a secretive manner, soft but excited, "I get Vogue in the mail and I may follow you on Instagram, too." Elise' smile widened. "Well, thank you for the follow. Tell me, is Grace around here somewhere?" She asked the man who responded by rising onto his tiptoes gracefully and pointing her out amidst the crowd. Elise was sure to thank him with a wink setting off on her mission without hesitation towards her niece. "How much for the whole lot?!" She inquired grandly to get her attention albeit louder than she had intended and thus garnering stares from guests throughout the room.
Elise glanced down at the red IPhone in her hand. 2:42 pm. It had been only two minutes since the last time she'd checked it. "Alex, could you put on my music?" She asked her driver as she shifted in her seat restlessly, uncrossing her legs only to cross them back again the other way. She was stressing and anxiety was not a good look on her. She unlocked her phone for no reason whatsoever and stared blankly at the home screen before choosing to randomly scroll through old text messages without really thinking about it, just something, anything to keep her eyes from wandering to her little black purse at her side.
The Weeknd began to emanate from the speakers and Alex turned it up without having to be told. They say good help was hard to find, truth was it was hard but not impossible and Alex was proof of that. After several years of being away from the city that never sleeps she considered herself lucky that he was still around and available for her when she had called to make arrangements for her pick up at the airport, and after a month in rehab and a nine hour flight from Rome to New York it was nice to see a familiar face even if it was bought.
Dropping the phone in her lap Elise closed her blue-green eyes, leaned her head back against the leather headrest and tried to let the thumping beat lead her to some kind of happy place of distraction far away from reality and of where she was heading to this cold winter afternoon. Not as if she didn't want to be going to her niece's event or that she didn't want to reunite with her family. On the contrary, she missed her Gracie, she missed all of them. They used to have fun together before Elise' life turned upside down. She loved them. What she didn't love was having to apologize for her long absence with made up excuses to her or to anyone else that might be there, her other nieces or nephew who she also loved dearly or to any other members of the clan that might show up...her brother. Especially her brother because she knew he was the one person she would not be able to lie to. Oh, she might try, would likely try, but he'd see right through it and when he did she just knew she wouldn't deal well at all with the look of disappointment on his face, but even he didn't know what she'd been through. She opened her eyes and looked down at her purse, her hand reaching for it despite herself.
She had done well. No matter what look Gabriel gave her or what he might say, she was proud of herself. One month sober was something! Even if it ended today (which was feeling more and more like the case) she'd still be in a far better place than she had been thirty days ago. One might think being a Rothschild made you impervious to life's little curveballs and the depression and panic they brought with them. It didn't. At least in Elise' case. The others always seemed fine, stable even. Able to deal with the pressures that weighed on them all. But who really knew, right? Behind their broad smiles and turned up noses perhaps they felt like they were dying inside too but just couldn't or wouldn't say. Too dignified for that. Too proud. They all were. She couldn't deny that she was just as guilty of pretending. That's why she had been away so long, a curveball had been thrown and she just couldn't pretend anymore, not after...
"We're here, Lady Rothschild." Alex broke through Elise' thoughts. She hadn't realized he had stopped the car and had been staring at her in the rear view mirror. She wasn't quite ready to be here yet. "Just keep the music on, Alex. I'm not getting out just yet."
She stared down at the small silver vile she had pulled from her purse as she rolled it gently back and forth between her glossy, manicured thumb and forefinger, battling with herself quickly turning into bargaining with herself. She didn't need much. Two bumps would help get her through the door, after that there'd be alcohol inside to balance out the high if she got too antsy. After tonight she'd refrain from taking anything intoxicating until New Years she swore to herself. She'd be just a casual user, an every-once-in-a-while user; functioning, able, content. She'd be stronger than she had been because she had to be. Of course, these sorts of promises she made to herself now were nothing new but this time after four weeks clean, for the first time (at least in this moment) they felt credible to her.
"I can't feel my face when I'm with you..." Elise sang barely above a whisper along with the song as she unscrewed the top of the vile. "and I love it...and I love it."
The rush of Euphoria was instant and after her time of abstinence it was also intense as her heartbeat began to speed up and her body tingled all warm and fuzzy. She used her compact mirror to clean any residue off her nostrils before applying a fresh layer of red lipstick and quickly checking her hair, already feeling restless and needing to move her body. Scooping up her purse, Elise bundled herself up against the chilly December air if only to feel the black fur of her coat against her neck. "Im off, Alex. Stay warm." She said as she stepped out of the black escalade unaided. The world around her was brighter than usual seen through cocaine eyes, it sparkled.
Feeling confident, sexy and alive she entered 'Gracefully Vintage', her eyes immediately scanning the pretty, rich people who had come to her niece's Gallery this afternoon. Not seeing anyone she knew at first glance she shed her fur revealing a simple yet snug bronze silk dress that hugged her down to mid-thigh. "Bourbon or champagne, Lady Rothschild?" A slender man appeared beside her, his cheeks ruddy. She traded him a glass of sweet whiskey for her coat with an engaging smile. "And where do you know me from, sir?" She asked him, flirting pointlessly but amusedly, her gay-dar going off, her ego wanting to be stroked and getting the feeling that she would not be disappointed by this one. Slightly embarrassed, the man leaned towards her somewhat and spoke in a secretive manner, soft but excited, "I get Vogue in the mail and I may follow you on Instagram, too." Elise' smile widened. "Well, thank you for the follow. Tell me, is Grace around here somewhere?" She asked the man who responded by rising onto his tiptoes gracefully and pointing her out amidst the crowd. Elise was sure to thank him with a wink setting off on her mission without hesitation towards her niece. "How much for the whole lot?!" She inquired grandly to get her attention albeit louder than she had intended and thus garnering stares from guests throughout the room.