Rhiannon Lee (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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birthright_rpg2013-09-04 01:28 pm
rhiannon_lee) wrote in birthright_rpg2013-09-04 01:28 pm
Pain is a Demon Magnet
Tragedies left fingerprints on people and places. Death, pain, and sorrow all built up a psychic energy that outlasted any attempts at therapeutic intervention, any renovations made to physical structures. You could paint over smoke damage, tear up bloodied carpet, knock down an entire building and the atmosphere wouldn’t change. The ground itself pulsated with what came before. Such was definitely the case with the MGM Grand. No matter how many millions developers channeled into the hotel or what its new owners called it, the building remained the home of the worst disaster in Nevada history. Fire, smoke, and heights had pooled their resources to kill 85 people. The psychic juice was enough to bait the dead into spending quality time on the premises.
As Rhiannon sipped a drink in the lounge on the ground floor, she contemplated what she felt: A buzz in the top of her spine, a knowledge of otherness in the room, maybe a remnant of hell flexing its muscles, five years later.
And if the fuzzy police reports were to be believed, it was vampire central.
Just like them, she thought, to clamor over the echoes of tortured screams.
The outfit was a new purchase. Nothing in her duffel bag was up to the task. If you were going to hang out in a prime piece of Las Vegas real estate, you needed the right gear. She compromised on a tight pair of black trousers with a wide belt, a black top with lace overlay, a flared jacket, and heeled boots. An assortment of silver necklaces jangled when she stretched her neck.
Whistler thought he had whiplash?
You’re damn right, you’re paying the bill, she had grumbled upon finding the hospital costs covered.
Her elbow still felt like murder. Rhiannon hissed when she forgot and rested her weight on the bar.
[Thread: Open to Valerie]
As Rhiannon sipped a drink in the lounge on the ground floor, she contemplated what she felt: A buzz in the top of her spine, a knowledge of otherness in the room, maybe a remnant of hell flexing its muscles, five years later.
And if the fuzzy police reports were to be believed, it was vampire central.
Just like them, she thought, to clamor over the echoes of tortured screams.
The outfit was a new purchase. Nothing in her duffel bag was up to the task. If you were going to hang out in a prime piece of Las Vegas real estate, you needed the right gear. She compromised on a tight pair of black trousers with a wide belt, a black top with lace overlay, a flared jacket, and heeled boots. An assortment of silver necklaces jangled when she stretched her neck.
Whistler thought he had whiplash?
You’re damn right, you’re paying the bill, she had grumbled upon finding the hospital costs covered.
Her elbow still felt like murder. Rhiannon hissed when she forgot and rested her weight on the bar.
[Thread: Open to Valerie]
no subject
Someone’s in there. She mouthed silently.
They might not even be alone. Nobody was that silent without a reason.
There were no hushed breaths, so she struck sex off the list. Nobodies bowels appeared to be moving either. That still left the possibility for a vampire feeding.
One hand lifted to say hold on as she walked towards the sinks. Deliberately letting her boots echo with each loud step. Heavy, like a man’s. Valerie turned on a tap, flicked her fingers through the water to make it sound as though someone was perhaps cleaning their hands then strode back. Pale fingers grabbed the door handle, and she pulled it wide open, then let it go to shut naturally. The idea had been to make whomever, or whatever, think that they had left.
When the door finally slammed shut she shared a look with Rhiannon and tilted her head to listen.
no subject
As they stood side by side, the silence became as heavy as a blanket settling over them. Rhiannon eased to a crouch and looked for feet under the wall. There was a single pair of men’s shoes and nothing else reflected on the smooth expanse of floor, not that a reflection meant much. Vampires didn’t have them and toilets made good foot stools. She narrowed her eyes to analyze the stance of the feet because there were only so many positions one could assume in a—
There came a sob. A tremulous word. ‘Please...’
“Fuck.” Rhiannon’s fingers fumbled with the hem of her pants. She yanked it up to her calf to expose a small Velcro strap with a carved piece of wood inserted there, its point down. “Valerie, go!”
no subject
”No… No!”
There was no time for questions. The blonde moved quickly, free hand wrapped around the handle of the stall and pulled. The lock inside the door broke, pieces clattered to the floor as she yanked the thing open to reveal the back of a tall man with dark hair. Behind the figure, or rather in front of, crouched upon the toilet was another man attempting to curl into a ball out of fear. Valerie didn’t think as instinct took over, if Rhiannon had a stake and with the way she’d told her to leave, she would know how to use it. The blonde reached in and grabbed the front of the vampire’s jacket as he turned to see what was going on and threw him towards the sinks.
“Come on, get up!” She ushered fiercely, all but lifting the man up by his tie to push him out of the cubicle. Steady fingers caught his chin and she turned his head from side to side. No visible bite marks, no scent of blood. “Get out of here.” Valerie commanded, then locked the door behind him to stop anyone else stumbling on the events unfolding.