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Post by kurootome on Oct 4, 2010 0:22:16 GMT -5
The adrenaline of the fight wore off. The darkness receded a little, disappointed she did not let it take over. The mess in here could have been a lot worse if it had. The coppery after taste of blood resided in her mouth. He seemed way too stunned to respond to her, how boring.
The rush had past, she won yet again. He whispered her name. The name that meant black, dark, suffering…she reveled in hearing him say it. She shifted her weight off his chest; she wanted to revel in his defeat, to take it in, to cause more pain. No she mustn’t let her demon come forward and tame her. She would tame it.
A heavy sigh escaped her stained lips. She leaned over him, her lips trailed along his cheek and down to his neck. Her tongue flicked tasting his neck, before biting it softly. A coy grin followed suit. Her thigh trained along the inside of his. Hands fell to either side of his head, causing her body to hover over him.
Her lips danced along his jaw. A gentle hand brushed his wound, "I hope you don't expect me to pay for this too." Her eyes narrowed as her forehead rested against his own. "I think this needs a tailor to fix." It was a play on words meaning the hole in his shirt and his arm.
She knew she should get up and let him clean and patch himself off. But a little bleeding wouldn't kill him. Fingers danced across the rim of his red-tinted sunglasses before plucking them from his face and putting them upon her's.
For the first time, she actually looked at him. He was a person, not a biological object. She tilted her chin in, her lips brushing his. It was a soft contact, delicate, and yet left one craving for a bit more.
Yet it was meant to taunt and tease and nothing more. She pushed herself off of him. The bruises on her back becoming evident as she did so. Stepping over him, she made it to the sink, washing her hands clean of the blood that transferred from him to her.
With one of the 'clean' towels that hung nearby, she dried her hands off. The words 'take off your shirt' came to mind, but she decided that at this point, he'd probably be a stubborn bastard. She reached into her jacket to pull out a small medical pack of bandages and alcohol wipe to clean the wound. She tossed it, with the hopes it landed on his chest.
The poor man outside only heard thuds, and was thinking there were having a good time.
There was only an odd silence. .
Leaving the bathroom, not even the sound of her feet padding across the floor was evident until she slid her shoes back on. She went to the bedroom window, which in itself was a glass door that lead to a very small balcony.
Upon stepping out, the reality of Edge came crawling back to her. All the sounds that weren't present in the club, were front and center now. The view was awful, all one could see was building and a back alley way. A very cramped world indeed.
She was debating jumping it, gauging the distance down. Her back was to him now that she no longer perceived him as a 'threat'.
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Post by fricco on Oct 12, 2010 21:29:33 GMT -5
Fricco grunted as he peeled himself off the bathroom's floor and slowly stood. Grasping the first-aid kit in this right hand as he rose, he soon deposited it upon the counter with a clunk of plastic against linoleum. He looked into the mirror, then, to see a half-lidded man stare back. Gritting his teeth, Fricco leaned against the counter made with the slow process of unbuttoning his shirt with only one hand. He then shrugged the shirt off of his shoulders, all the while hissing at the pain caused by the movement. With another grunt, he hefted himself upon the counter and moved to sit back against the mirror. He then balled his shirt into his fist, before shoving the wad of cloth between his left shoulder and the glass of the mirror. It was a sorry attempt to stem of flow of blood from the stab wound that Kuro had inflicted upon him, but it was the best that he could manage in this situation. He wasn't about to ask for her help, not from that conniving bitch. So, once the cloth was firmly wedged between his shoulder and the mirror, Fricco merely sat with his head slumped forward. He was starting to get lightheaded from all the blood loss, and he vatualy suspected that the wound must have been deep. F'king Idiot. He shouldn't have let the women get to him like this. Dammit, it f'kin hurts. At first chance, he was going to pay her back for all this trouble. He'd get even... No... He'd kill her, and then he'd be free of her forever. Free from Kuro...
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Post by kurootome on Oct 13, 2010 22:29:22 GMT -5
She thought about jumping now, but she began to count the seconds to which his stubbornness would come to an end. He couldn’t really patch himself up.
3….2….1….
Thunk.
She heard him fall from the counter and hit the floor in almost a sickening manner. A sigh escaped her lips. She could just leave him there to fester until someone came to get him. But perhaps she was getting soft.
Or perhaps she had other uses for him. Either way, she needed to patch him.
Tearing herself away from the balcony, she walked back into the bathroom. Careful not to move him too much, she took the discarded first aid pack she gave him and removed the rubbing alcohol pad. She ran over the wound with it. If he was awake he may have winced at the pain. The blood was excessive, and she reapplied pressure with the shirt. It was good it was bleeding. The blood will expel any bacteria if it was flowing out. She grabbed the gauze from the kit and quickly replaced the shirt with the gauze, keeping the pressure on it. The blood seeped through, but she quickly added another layer of gauze. The medical tape pulled tightly over the gauze to keep it in place.
Her eyes trailed to his jacket. She grabbed it before stringing one of his arms in it. The first arm was always the easiest. She forced him to get into a better position for her string his other arm into his jacket. The thought of ‘is it even worth it?’ came across her mind.
Once this task was accomplished, she stood up and half picked him up, half dragged him to the door, his shirt, tightly curled in one hand. She opened the door a crack. “Excuse me.” She beckoned the man to her, “Can you call a taxi. My boyfriend had too much to drink you see, and I think it’s better if I just get him home. And can you send someone to help me carry him down stairs.” The man nodded with a slight grin, and left to call the taxi and bring someone up. She went back to the bathroom, to pick up the knife that committed the crime and slid it in her pocket before the man returned with help.
Fricco was then carried out by a burly bouncer down the stairs. Kuro pulled money from a pocket, and paid them for the help, and to pay the bar tender. No need to cause suspicion with having a tab.
The taxi arrived, and Fricco was put in the back seat with Kuro. Kuro grinned slightly as she ran her eyes over Fricco. She told the driver where she wanted to go, and he started to pull off. Fricco better be glad it was her instead of some random man from the bar, taking him anywhere. In this state he was vulnerable.
The taxi came to the stop, and she paid the driver how much the ride was, plus quite a bit over if he helped her carry Fricco to her door way. He was more than happy to oblige. Upon getting to her apartment door Kuro thanked the man and big him a good night. She could drag Fricco the rest of the way. Pulling a key from her pocket, she unlocked the door. Wedging her foot in the door way, she pulled Fricco across the living room to her bedroom. She heaved him up onto the bed, and picked up his legs to put him the rest of the way on it.
She sighed heavily. What would he do when he woke up? Freak out? Try to kill her? Hurt himself more by throwing a fit?
Once more, she peeled off his jacket. It was a daunting task indeed. The blood was still seeping though at this point, but it was starting to slow – a semi good sign.
The drawer by her bed was pulled open, revealing a set of hand cuffs. She proceeded to cuff one of his wrists while she bound the other to the frame of the bed.
Leaning over the bed, she laid him out in a more 'comfortable' position. Her hands ran over the rims of his pants, pressing down firmly to check for any weapons. She mimicked this running her hand down his legs in the same manner. Not satisfied being sure to check his back side, and ankles to make sure he didn't have any weapons that could threaten her.
Standing up, she left the room, to return with a bottle of brandy, a needle, lighter, rubbing alcohol and some thread. She placed them all on the desk. A hand shook Fricco roughly by his good shoulder. She didn’t want him to wake up while she stitching him. Any person would freak if that was the case. “Fricco wake up.” Her voice was on the edge between a command and suggestion. If the attempt to wake him up was in vain, she would just have to wait until he came to.
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Post by fricco on Oct 28, 2010 18:46:04 GMT -5
It was dark… One hand was cuffed to the bedrail above his head; the other was tied lower to the frame of the bed. There was no vibration from the loud music that should have been playing below… Nor did the room smell of weed and sex. This isn’t the Choco-beau. No… It’s somewhere else…
Cicero held still as he lay in the bed, listening and waiting to get a feel for the room in which he now found himself confined. He inhaled slowly through his nose, to maintain the appearance of unconsciousness. Best to avoid letting his captor to know he was awake, at least, not until he had a better grasp of the situation. His shoulder still hurt like hell—even more so now that his arm was cuffed to the headboard—but at least the bed comfortable and lacked the scent of one used by many. Rather, it held a subtle hint of vanilla that was soft and luring. It seemed almost feminine, yet it didn't carry the overwhelmingly noxious fume of chemicals that he'd come to associate with women's perfume. Turning his head to the side and inhaling again, Cicero listened to his surroundings. There was also a muffled clamor of shutting drawers and cabinets coming from what reassumed to be a nearby room. Someone else was there, and it sounded like they were looking for something. Kuro? Had she taken him back to treat him after she had stabbed him? Now that would be just like her—to try to do him in and turn around to patch him up. Cicero almost smiled at the thought. How sweet of her… And how fortunate for me… He was in her hands now, for her to do with him as she pleased. Well, that was fine as far as Cicero was concerned. Had she left, he might have ended up in a much worse situation. Kuro was dangerous, but she would not kill him. She had the chance to do so, many times over, and never took it. She wanted him alive, but to what end? There were only two reasons that Cicero could figure for that: Either she was sweet on him, or she wanted something from him. While Cicero suspected that it was the later, he would not mind the former. Regardless, it was foolish to let Fricco push her like that... to leave himself open to injury. What was he thinking, to allow her to affect him so thoroughly? Fricco, Fricco, Fricco... Your loathing blinds you, and your obsession binds you. Cicero sighed. This game of theirs was starting to get out of hand, and he was doing nothing but encouraging his own downward spiral that could only end ugly… …And it was all due to what amounted to a nearly pathological crush. Oh, Cicero knew this obsession for what it really was... To Loath. To Love. Only a thin line separated them—they were but two sides juxtaposed upon the same coin. Just as himself... and just as her. The door opened, then, and Cicero listed as someone moved through the room toward him. It was Kuro. She called him by his other self, his constructed persona, and asked Fricco to wake. Should Fricco answer? No… Not tonight. Cicero was tired of the game. It was time to give the Mimic a break. And so… Cicero took another deep breath and opened his ice-blue eyes to gaze up at Kuro. He said nothing as he watched her for the count of five seconds before his gaze shifted past her and toward the desk to see the items that she had placed thereupon. Brandy… Rubbing alcohol… A lighter… A needle… And thread. Cicero then turned his gaze back toward Kuro as his temple came to rest against his bicep. Flexing the fingers of the hand cuffed above his head, he made a gesture that could be taken as a half-wave. “Well, well, well…” The words rolled off his tongue in a slow, husky drawl as he stared at her. “Seems I’m all yours, luv.” Then, with a curve to the corner of his right lip, he added, “Please be gentle."
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Post by kurootome on Nov 1, 2010 23:58:48 GMT -5
Kuro watched him curiously. His reaction was much different than what she anticipated. Calmer…more collected. She expected a struggle. It never came.
Instead a wave of something more dangerous came – a wave of calmness. Her eyes followed his to the table. Ah good. At least he finally had some sense to see her motives weren’t completely negative.
Her brow quirked at his words, she found them amusing.
Kuro rolled her shoulders back as she shrugged off her jacket. “Oh but darlin’. I like it rough.” A smirk appeared as she drawled over the words.
Her shoulders rolled back, shrugging the jacket she wore off. She dropped the jacket on the floor at the corner of the bed. Fingers pried at the straps of the contraptions that held her kunai on each arm. Those too were removed and placed with her jacket, revealing herself in a plain black tank top, and the faded burn scars that ran along her arms.
She went to the bathroom to wash her hands of his now dried blood and the germs acquired at the bar. She reappeared with a towel coddled in both hands as she dried them. “I apologize for the constraints, but I am in sure you understand.” Dropping the towel on the chair, she started to undo knot that bound his wrist to the bedframe. Her hand reached up to grab the brandy from the dresser, bringing it to her to twist the cap off. “You may want to have some of this before I start patching you up.” She sat on the bed and offered him the brandy. She would only unbind the arm that would allow her to get to his wound. Otherwise, she did not want to know what more he could do.
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