Roleplay City
Administration => Infusco Archives => Archives => Old Roleplays => Topic started by: Harlequin on December 20, 2007, 04:02:52 PM
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Morgaine was faced with a problem.
Having narrowly escaped being collared by Joe, her large black bandmate, in Risk, she was left with the dilemma of having to get out of the general vicinity in a very short window in order to keep it that way – and she had her bike here, so it should have been no problem.
Except that she was running on fumes. Gas prices were driving the singer to extremes.
She walked quickly, away from the back entrance to the club, one hand held up surreptitiously in order to hide her distinctively pierced and tattooed face. Not that her short plaid skirt, ripped fishnet stockings, and torn concert T-shirt could have been placed on anybody else inside the club, but it was good to have her options covered.
Grabbing the metal two-gallon gas can from the back of her monstrosity of a motorcycle, parked (illegally) in between two parking meters nearby, she set off in search of a gas station, looking sour.
About half a block away, however, she saw It, and stopped dead in her tracks.
She wouldn\'t have seen It, had a bank of clouds not passed from the face of the half-moon at precisely that moment, sending a silvery beam glancing off of it\'s gleaming chrome.
It was a beautiful machine. A thing made purely for speed (Alright, partially for looks, too...Okay, more than partially. You could\'ve put that fucker in a museum). It was light, sleek. A crotch-rocket in it\'s purest, most beautifully organic form. This gorgeous blue-painted chrome-and-plastic thing was truly God in the machine.
And it was everything Morgaine hated in a bike. Her lips curled into something between a grin and a sneer as she looked at it, finding herself drawn inexorably toward it into the alley. It was a blind alley – only one exit, if it\'s owner showed up, which could get hairy, but she didn\'t care – a plan was forming in her mind.
After all, what good was such a beautiful machine if you couldn\'t run it?
She knelt next to the bike, starting to sing quietly as she unscrewed the top of the gas can, and reached inside to grab the short length of vinyl hosing coiled inside. She sang as she worked; an upbeat song that she nodded her head to, backup band playing in her head, "The American dream starts with me, girls be flashin\' in my Cadillac, booty dancin\' on my lap, sippin\' champagne, chasin\' Hennessey, possibly." She located the gas tank and quickly picked and unscrewed the cap, inserting the hose into the nearly-full tank. She stopped singing just long enough to fasten her lips to the other end of the hose, sucking until she got a mouthful of gas, which she spat out quickly. Letting gravity do the rest of the work, she stuck the end now pouring gas into the can, and waited for it to fill.
Nodding her head, and singing with renewed fervor, she skipped to the chorus, "Rump shaker, heartbreaker, don\'t be a faker, come be my babymaker," Back to the alley\'s mouth, she didn\'t notice the tall figure approaching until he was practically looming over her as she reached for the now-full gas can, "Heartbreaker, moneymaker, don\'t be a faker come be my – Oh." Well, she\'d really screwed the pooch this time, it would seem.
Lyrics © The Suburban Legends
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The vampire whose name had long since escaped him - but he went by Tom, these days - was rather startled to see a woman crouched by his bike as he came strolling up towards it. He hadn\'t been able to find adequate street parking near Risk when he\'d arrived around midnight, so he\'d snuck it into this neat little hidey-hole, figuring it would be safe enough (well, it had been the past two times he\'d left it here).
As he walked, he leaned forward so that he was walking on the balls of his booted feet, ensuring that the wooden heels didn\'t click on the ground and alert the thief of his approach. She was singing away anyway, and likely wouldn\'t have heard him, with his preternatural stealth, but it wouldn\'t do to take chances. He hooked his thumbs into the front pockets of his jeans once he found the right position to stand in, right leg thrust forward and slip hip jutting out. His black leather jacked was zipped up to his throat over his navy blue, long-sleeved button up shirt (with the top three buttons undone, of course), in preparation for his ride. He never wore a helmet over his scruffy red locks.
"Bitch," he said without preamble, a sultry grin twisting his wide lips as he looked the woman over. She was hot, but she was a thief - even if she was only taking his fuel, rather than his bike (as he\'d first thought). "You\'d better have a Goddamn brilliant explanation about what the fuck you are doing with my bike, or I am gonna\' hurt you in ways people haven\'t even invented yet," he promised in his deep voice.
His grin only broadened as he lazily issued this threat, his head lolling on his muscular neck as he squinted at her through bright blue eyes that danced with the promise of much fun to come. He looked as much at her tits and her legs as he did at her face.
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She shifted her stance, assuming a solid, wide-set pose, arms crossed over her chest. His wandering eyes didn\'t escape her notice, and the dark-skinned vixen subtly angled her shoulders to play up her large, round breasts, resting atop her folded arms. If he became distracted enough, she figured she could knee him in the balls and scoot past before he recovered. The light was bad, and he was pretty fucking tall, but she thought she\'d have a shot if she fought dirty. Stalling, she chose to ignore the threat until it became physical. Not that his very presence wasn\'t intimidating enough, especially for someone as small as Morgaine. Given this, she stood her ground admirably.
"Did your momma teach you how to talk to girls? \'Cause that\'s not a nice thing to call somebody." Unlike her unique singing voice, a hint of both an indigenous New York and Indian accent laced her playful yet hard-edged words. A saucy expression of her own played about the singer\'s scarred features.
She\'d been called worse. In fact, she was often called much worse by people very close to her. It was something of an affectionate pet name.
"Besides, you weren\'t supposed to park here. It\'s against the law." All sass, Morgaine didn\'t seem to notice the gas now overflowing from the can and onto her shoes in a steady stream.
Stall tactics? Never.
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"Fuck!" Tom exclaimed, seeing the petrol begin to overflow. That was just wasteful. He moved forward and yanked the hose out of the can, tilting it so that it ran back into his tank. The container was big and he doubted he\'d be left with nothing to get him to the nearest fuel station, but that wasn\'t the point.
Nor was the fact that he\'d moved faster than her vision likely allowed her to see, to get to the hose on time. He didn\'t think about the fact that he was advertising his species in the process, he was just interested in stopping her taking what was his.
With an angry snarl, he transferred the draining hose to the hand farthest away from her and, with lightning speed, used the closest one to step in and grab her throat. A long reach was so handy. He held her firmly, not really enticed by her tits when she was giving him sass instead of apologies, glaring into her eyes and speaking through gritted teeth as he squeezed her windpipe gently (for him).
"I ate my mother the day that I was made, just like I\'ll eat you unless you start being a whole fuckload sorrier about this little stunt!" he snapped, rather regretting the two pretty things he\'d already feasted on at Risk that evening. They were much fun, but didn\'t leave a whole lot of room for him to be draining this bitch usefully; he could always tear her jugular open and leave her to bleed on the alley floor, of course, but that would be such a waste. She had potential, that was for sure.
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Her eyes grew wide as he moved to fix the gas situation, but before her brain could connect to her feet, there was a hand clamped around her throat. It hadn\'t even occurred to her that he might be a vampire, despite all the time she\'d found herself spending at Risk.
Not a mistake she\'d make again.
Her small hands immediately reached up to claw at the hand holding her throat with stubby fingernails, hissing and spitting curses in Tamil, twisting in his grasp like a wildcat; a knee jerk reaction that she stemmed with a small amount of effort. The singer\'s pulse jumped beneath his rock-hard grip, and she gasped out an apology, distress evident in her voice, as her dark eyes, round with adrenaline, centered on his clear blue ones, "Fucking Christ. Jesus motherfucking christ I\'m sorry. I\'m sorry. Oh, fuck me, I\'m sorry." The words were rushed as he constricted her windpipe. She didn\'t care even, really, what she was saying; anything to get some distance between him and her.
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He laughed heartily, amused by her rapid apology. Funny how a little persuasion always got you what you wanted. Still, she was held pretty securely so he turned his attention to the now-empty hose he was holding in his other hand. He flung it to the ground with a disgusted grunt, then looked for his petrol tank cap. Before he put it back in however, he had cause to consider the full can by the bike, and the woman in his grasp.
He swivelled to face her again, frowning curiously. "So, what\'s the deal? Why the fuck\'re you stealing my gas?" he demanded, giving her a shake to indicate that it was now her turn to talk - just in case she missed it.
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Morgaine\'s hands clamped onto his wrist in response to the shake, and she gasped again, struggling for air from the combination of his grip and her rising level of distress.
"I just needed gas, okay?" she spat, "I was walking to the fucking –" she paused, trying to catch her breath, and her grip tightened on his wrist, stubby fingernails digging in out of pure instinct "– I was walking to the fucking gas station and I saw your bike. Anybody with a fuckin\' rig like that\'s got t\'be fuckin\' loaded so I figured you could spare it, okay? I\'m sorry. Jesus Christ, please let go of me."
She wasn\'t used to this sensation. Morgaine was supposed to be the predatory one, the one with the witty lines and all the power. It was different at risk; strictly hands-off, she was part of the club. But outside – she\'d been in a fight with vampires before, but the whole gang had been there, as well as some other supernaturals.
This was different. She was helpless for the first time in a long time, and she didn\'t fucking like it one bit.
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He cocked an auburn eyebrow, considering her thoughtfully from his excessive height, looking down his proud nose at her. "So," he spat, wanting to sum up her story (and he still didn\'t let her go), "you were looking for gas - were walking for it, even - when you spied my bike and decided, just because you think I\'m rich, that I deserved to pay for your fuel instead?" he demanded, his words rising in pitch and obtaining a sing-song quality as he spoke. He threw back his head to contemplate the smoggy sky through the gap overhead.
"Well, well, well," he told that sky, appearing to think over all sorts of powerful and profound questions from his lordly position. Very suddenly, his head snapped forward and he was staring at her again. "Just what do you even need fuel for, anyway?" He looked around the empty alleyway pointedly, then glared back at her. "You got a car \'round here or somethin\'?"
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"Well, when you say it like that..." she muttered, before she remembered herself and bit her tongue.
She involuntarily attempted to flinch away from the intensity of his glare, only to be stopped by the iron grip at her throat. Wincing slightly as she felt his fingers bite in, she held his gaze, suspicious, "I have a bike...around," she said evasively. A piece of long black hair, dislodged by her sudden movement, chose this moment to fall across her face, obscuring one eye. She made no move to brush it back, as that would have meant relinquishing her hold on his wrist.
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He snorted a laugh at her. "You\'re a fucking smartass now?" he asked incredulously, unable to believe she was being evasive and giving him cheek when he had her by the fucking throat. "Bitch, you do beat all!" he exclaimed, his tone implying that he was impressed despite himself.
Enough that he let her go, anyway, his hand dropping to his hip and the other one rising to the opposite side at the same time. He didn\'t look at any damage her clawing might have done to him, for it would be mended in moments and hadn\'t really pierced his indignation to the point where her attacking him had had much impact, really. He was far too busy staring pompously at her, anyway.
"You need to pay me back," he told her succinctly, each word falling crisply from his deviously twisted lips, "and then I\'ll consider letting you keep the fuel."
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She stepped away from him as fast as she could, breathing deeply and rubbing her throat, where his fingers had been. She\'d have a wicked bruise, for sure, but she was glad to be getting away with only that.
The singer bit back a smartass reply to the first comment, and focused on the second part instead. "Fine," she said, "Great. How much?" She knelt down to fish in her left shoe. She came back up with a small wad of bills in her hand – thoroughly soaked with the spilled gasoline. "Aw, motherfuck..." she muttered. She\'d forgotten about that. On top of everything, she\'d need new shoes. She loved these shoes – black leather combat boots; real ones, none of that department store fashion knockoff bullshit. It was a nightmare to find those fuckers in her size.
"Keep the fuckin\' gas," she said, "I just wanna get the fuck outta here before I say somethin\' else to piss you off." Which she was pretty much guaranteed to do, knowing Morgaine.
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He lifted a hand off his hip and waved towards the soggy bills negligently. "I think we\'ve both established I have enough of that," he told her airily, glancing at the money before watching her face intently, hand returning to his hip. His smile just seemed to grow every time he looked at her.
"You\'ll need to come up with something better than that to offer me," he told her charmingly, forcing himself not to look down at her body because that would just make things too easy.
He fully believed she had the ability to say something else to piss him off as well, and that\'s what he was really after. That sort of live entertainment couldn\'t be bought and, now that he\'d got a good look at this bitch (not to mention a feel for how her pulse leapt when threatened), he felt that she was worth investing a little time into, even if all she did was hiss and spit until he made up his mind what he wanted to do with her, one way or the other.
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Her mouth became a hard line, and she looked at him. Just looked at him. Her hands left her neck, and her arms folded again. One hip jutting, her foot tapped impatiently, making a squishing sound every time it came down, "Are you being serious right now?" she asked, finally, in a measured tone.
Because, judging by what she had on her person at this moment in time, there were only two things she could really give him. Kinky fun. Except for the fun part. Yeah, he was cute enough – alright, he was fucking hot – but so far the the skeeze factor was definitely working against him, in that department, "So let me get this straight – it\'s gonna come down to death or a back-alley blowjob...over two gallons of gas?"
Things looked a lot rosier when she was out of arm\'s reach (it was going to take her a bit to realize that that didn\'t mean anything to a vampire), but the ache in her throat was enough to stop her from taking a dig at his masculinity.
"Seems a bit...excessive, doesn\'t it?"
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He gave a full-throated laugh. "I dunno... how much do you generally charge?" he asked once he\'d calmed down, his smile causing his dimples to show. As far as he knew, whores gave blowjobs for about that - not that she was a whore. He just enjoyed implying she was.
"Seems about equivalent to me," he sneered, giving her that look-over he\'d been holding back on, every devious thought he was having evident in his expression now.
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"Generally they\'re free," she told him, with a matching sneer, "For people I like." She treated him to the same callous once over, and snorted, tossing her hair. See how much he liked it.
"So are we done here, or do you need to give me a spanking, too?" she asked, voice dripping sarcasm, one brow crooked.
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"We\'re not done," he drawled, eyebrows raising, "until you have the gas can in your hand and I\'m happy, or I have the gas back in my tank and you\'re still walking on, looking for the cheaper alternative," he told her pleasantly. He folded his arms now, matching her stance.
His lips twisted as he watched her thoughtfully, pondering exactly what he hoped to get out of this situation. He was full of blood. He\'d already cum once. He needed time to recover and his heart wasn\'t in this. She was fun to play with and had a smart mouth that made him laugh but she had snapped his tank cap off (he\'d have to check if she\'d broken it or picked it) and dared to encroach on somthing that was his. Perhaps she had another use, beyond her body (until he was ready to accommodate that use, anyway).
"Tell you what; since I\'m in a generous mood, how about I give you a chance to redeem your dignity - not that thieves like you have any - and your gas - which is actually mine, let\'s not forget - and you can pick your method of entertainment," he declared, quickly holding up an index finger to halt her speaking quickly. "With contingencies," he warned, letting that settle before he elaborated on what they were.
"You can a) come back to my place and liven up my unlife, entertaining me in any and every way you can - that may or may not involve blowjobs and other sexual favours yet to be named. You can b) take the gas, put it in your bike and race me to avoid option a) or c) you can show me what a good anchor you make while we abseil down the biggest cliff in Meadowcrest Woods thereby showing me how brave you are and proving that you deserve to avoid option a). Hopefully you\'re a screamer." He smiled charmingly at her. "So... which will it be?"
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What the fuck was this – Jeopardy? She was annoyed, but for the sake of her dignity and personal safety, she played along.
"I could just make you an omelet. I make a mean omelet," suggested the singer with an ingratiting smile and a spread-fingered shrug.
"Aw, fuck. Right. Vampire. Shit." Her chest deflated, and her shoulders sagged, "Christ, I can\'t believe I\'m actually having this conversation. Fuckin\' ridiculous, you know that?"
She wrinkled her nose and looked at the pavement. Her options were few, and they weren\'t especially pleasent. She most certainly didn\'t want to go back to \'his place\' – at least, not under these circumstances. Maybe if she were drunk or – but that\'s not what she was thinking about right now.
She knew her bike couldn\'t even begin to compete with his fancy chrome toy, so that was out.
"What the fuck is abseiling?" she asked, at length. Sounded like it would make for a good story, at any rate.
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He grinned, enjoying her ignorance to the point where he rocked forward onto the balls of his feet and then landed back on his heels with a dull thud.
"Abseiling\'s where you strap yourself into a harness, thread a rope through a caribiner and rapell down a cliff face at a speed of your choice - assuming you have a decent belay. That can be you, if you like," he grinned, looking her over. "Though I don\'t like your chances of holding me up, so how about we do it the other way? I get you set up, be your anchor and throw you off the cliff, hrmm?"
His eyes were glinting in a truly devious way.
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She looked at him through narrowed eyes, "That sounds the same as killing me." She said, frowning. The omlete option was looking more and more attractive.
But she wasn\'t afraid of heights, overmuch. Plus, it sounded exhilirating and ridiculously dangerous. She griped because she was expected to gripe. It couldn\'t be much more dangerous that train jumping, could it?
"How do I know you won\'t just let me plummet to a bloody end?" She asked, still eyeing him dubiously, "I\'m too pretty to die in a mess of blood and guts at the bottom of some fucking cliff."
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"Oh I agree, absolutely," he confirmed charmingly, nodding his enthusiasm. "If you were going to die, it would be as I drained the blood from your gasping body, so that I could hear that pretty heart of yours stop beating up close and personal," he told her in what he believed was a sympathetic tone.
"No, I have no intention of letting you fall to your death, not when I can watch you get all strapped up and have the pleasure of dangling you over a great height. And, let\'s face it, if I think your form\'s bad or you just don\'t impress me enough, we\'re back to option a)."
His arms dropped and he took a step back to admire her earlier handiwork while that sank in, knowing he\'d have to go back to his place to get all the equipment anyway, and they still had a pillion bike ride ahead of them. She was nice and compact. She\'d fit in front of him just fine.
"I think you\'d better pour my petrol back into the tank now - and I hope you didn\'t break my cap. We\'re going to need a lift to my place to get the gear."
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His sympathetic tone didn\'t work. The look on her face could only be described as horrified, "What a comfort," she muttered. "Why does everything go back to option a)?" she rolled her eyes at having to call it that, "Can\'t we default to the other one?"
Without waiting for a response, she sighed, "I gotta stop by my place," she told him, "Because I\'ll be dipped and fucked if I\'m flinging myself over a cliff in this." She motioned to herself, indicating her outfit, which was indeed quite improbable.
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"If you insist," he smirked, though the look in his eyes said that he was thinking about her being dipped and fucked, rather than thinking about her clothing being the correct attire for abseiling.
With a hand swept towards his bike, he took a step back and admired her form while she reversed all the hard work she\'d done to siphon the gas out of his tank, by pouring it back in (minus what had spilled, unfortunately) and then replaced the cap (which she\'d apparently picked, not broken - clever girl). When that was done, he took the can off her, put her hose in it and fitted it into his rather roomy carry bags attached to the back.
They were designed to carry a lot of gear, since he and Reed had got up to all sorts of trouble, before the mortal left him. Admittedly, a cringe of pain struck his heart when he thought of the way they\'d parted and over Tom\'s offer of vampirism. It had never really resolved but they, as a couple, had pretty much combusted not long afterwards, disproving Tom\'s theory that maybe he was a little bit gay. He wasn\'t at all, he\'d just been devoted to Reed and when the fucker left... well, he hadn\'t seen him or the crew for months, even though they kept texting him with the latest. His heart just wasn\'t in it anymore (or maybe it was, but his heart wasn\'t talking to him because of the last fight they\'d had, he wasn\'t sure).
Either way, here he was still in his favourite city, playing Suzie homemaker and getting his jollies at Risk but missing the old ways enough to offer a bitch he should be slipping his peacemaker to right now a way out, just so he could rekindle a bit of the old excitement. He doubted it would work but what the fuck else was there to do? Sit around and be miserable, lamenting what could\'ve been (and probably never would\'ve anyway, since committment wasn\'t how Reed rolled and how fucking committed would he have had to have been to vamp up and spend eternity with him? Too fucking committed, that\'s how much)? Not this little red duck.
Once her gas can was stowed, he swung a long leg over the bike and settled his tight ass as far back onto the contoured seat as he could get it, patting the soft leather just in front of his crotch as he eyed her off, ready to grab her if she decided to run. "On you get, darlin\'," he smirked, "let me take you for a ride." The words were so heavily dripping with insinuation, it would be hard to figure out where to begin to be offended.
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She groaned, making a face. she supposed she should act more excited, but really – it was this or death, how enthusiastic could he expect her to be? "Does this mean I get to drive?" she asked, with a spark of hope, "I won\'t take off into the wild. Scout\'s honor." As she spoke, she slid into the space he\'d indicated.
Morgaine had never been a scout, but he didn\'t need to know that.
His oh-so-clever single entendre was charming. So charming, in fact, that Morgaine found herself struck dumb. Glad that her redheaded companion couldn\'t see her, she pretended to gag.
Unconsciously, she reached for the throttle.
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He leaned down to speak into her left ear, the smirk fully evident in his smug tone. "Sure, you can drive," he offered, his large hands feeling along her sides and pressing against her flat stomach. As well-behaved as he was being, his thumbs still traced the underside of her breasts thoughtfully, while he spoke. "I wouldn\'t mind having my hands free. Saves you giving me directions, too."
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"Eeeeh," she said, twisting her mouth into a grimace, "Just gimme the damn keys." The wandering hands wouldn\'t be a problem in a moment; he\'d be hanging on for dear life. The crotch rocket was a bitch bike, but she wanted to see what it could do.
Besides, the faster they got to the motel, the faster she could try and pawn him off on Ami.
She kickstarted the bike to life, and opened the throttle. Whether he was ready or not, they shot out of the alley. She handled the bike like a demon – pushing reckless, only slowing for the rare late-night motorist. They reached the motel in record time; though it was a miracle they arrived at all. Pulling into a spot between two stripped-down ratbikes, she killed the engine and dismounted.
"That fucker\'s fast," she enthused, before letting out a whoop. "Fucking awesome. Yeah. Wait here." She tossed him the keys before he could respond, and vanished into one of the rooms on the ground floor, leaving her sodden shoes outside. She took her time putting her jeans on, drawing it out in hopes that one of her band members would show up and distract Tom.
No such luck, the fuckers.
She came back out of the room after about twenty minutes later, in jeans, dragging her canvas-sneaker clad feet. Hopeful again, she held out her hand for the keys as she approached.
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Well, he\'d rather enjoyed the feel of her legs in fishnets and hadn\'t been afraid to pry at where they led, but she had been keeping him a bit off balance with the whole speeding like a motherfucker thing, so he hadn\'t exactly got to poke far. Bitch that she was, he didn\'t expect any less - and Hell, he\'d\'ve done the same in her position - so he was fairly calm as they pulled up outside her place - a motel, apparently - and he was forced to do the waiting thing.
"Nu-uh," he shook his head, allowing her room to get on in front of him again, "this time I know where we\'re going and I don\'t have all night to fuck around giving you directions," he sang waspishly, giving her breast a playful squeeze as she settled against him but then concentrating on steering. He drove just as fast as she had, except he was a little smoother around the turns, proving he was more experienced with the machine than she.
The stop at his house was fairly quick; the automatic door to the garage rolled up as they approached and he walked the bike into the large space. The walls were lined with all sorts of equipment that proclaimed him to be an adrenalin junkie from way back; diving gear, ropes, harnesses, picks and pitons, surfboards, skis (water and snow), parachutes... name it and he had it, generally by the pair. He parked the bike and got off to collect everything he\'d need, having to put her gas cannister on the floor of the garage while he collected enormous ropes, two harnesses, helmets, gloves and a torch lantern so she\'d be able to see - though the view behind her would be what she\'d really be there for, and the lantern wouldn\'t cover that.
When everything was stowed and organised as needed, he climbed on behind his surly passenger again and reversed out, watching the garage door slide home before they roared away into the night.
(Continued in \'Highs and Lows (http://www.roleplaycity.com/forums/showthread.php?p=55961#post55961)\')