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    I am a wolf in sheep's skin.
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    This … is a massive house.

    That was the first thought that came unbidden to the forefront of Jei-Lynne’s consciousness. Imposing even by her city-dwelling standards, she could only guess at the costs it would take to maintain this place, to say nothing of the sprawling grounds it resided upon. It didn’t even look as if there was a roof to the edifice from where she presently stood. But she hadn't been chided as “bull-headed” by family and peers for nothing.

    Well then. Challenge accepted.

    She was not a woman to be denied. At least, she wasn’t most of the time. Not to be outdone today, she rose on the tips of her toes to help gain a better vantage point, angling her head up nearly ninety-degrees and then some. There had to be a roof – every building had one. In fact, she was pretty sure they were obligated to by virtue of their definition. A waterfall of chestnut locks tumbled down the length of her shoulder blades, momentarily liberated from the confines of her scarf as she craned her neck skyward for a better look. Just a couple degrees more … before a sharp crack sounded from the base of her skull.

    “.. Ow.”

    Her head slumped instantly in painful resignation. It looked like she only succeeded in giving herself whiplash with little else to show for it. Defeated for a second time in a row that day, Jei expelled an exasperated sigh before returning her hand to her side.

    Another day, another Master.

    Or maybe a Mistress this time?

    Who knows. Jei certainly didn’t. She had changed hands so many times over the course of her life that even names were beginning to evade her. The histories of her keepers were now nothing more than grainy faces in the backlog of her memory. She often mused that it was a product of psychological repression, that she had some semblance of control and thereby chose to forget the men and women who put her to work with all the dignity of selectively-bred cattle.

    But even she knew that all her imaginings of power over herself and future were only in her dreams.

    Presently, it wasn’t long before she couldn’t help but scrunch up her pale features in growing discomfort. She was beginning to rue the competitive nature of her personality. You would think that years of tempering by various masters and mistresses would have tamed her unruly inclinations, but you would’ve thought wrong. Jei was still as wild and unbecoming as when she was first brought kicking and screaming into this world. She began reaching a hand up to the nape of her neck, intending to nurse her self-inflicted wound. But it didn’t have to travel far. Her hand had only wandered a scant inch before almost immediately jerking to a complete halt. It came up a good ten inches short from its original destination.

    The culprit in question?

    Chains.

    The metallic jingle of iron-forged links was a harsh reminder of the reality of her situation. Yet in the unsettling calm and relative beauty of the mountains and woods they had traversed to get here, she had nearly forgotten she was a slave. With dappled swatches of sunlight playing across her face through the forest canopy, she sometimes fancied herself as a free-spirited woodsman, coming and going, hunting and living as she damn-well pleased.

    But it was always the chains that brought her ruminations crashing back to earth.

    They kept her clapped in irons at all hours of the day. Both her and the brawny man they had purchased alongside her. Lennard was his name, she recalled. Day in and day out, they walked, set up camp, slept, relieved themselves, and then walked some more – all in fetters that joined their shackled wrists to their equally bound ankles. She was beginning to feel her yielding flesh giving way under the constant chaffing, rubbed chapped and raw as they were made to challenge the mountain and woods on foot while their slavers had the luxury of riding pack mules. It was a bitter point of contention for Jei. Lennard, her equally helpless kindred spirit (whom she suspected was more of an outlaw than he was willing to admit) often confided to her that he had ways of shedding their manacles.

    But they both knew better than that.

    No, not because they were being sold to a household that was renowned for providing all the basic necessities of life – a luxury that few could afford during these wartimes. And no, not even the strange disappearances weakened their resolve. You see, there were rumours that their slavers were privy to. It was said that there were reports being given on the sly that during the monthly full moon, otherworldly events were taking place in this general vicinity. What exactly, she could not say. But what Jei and Lennard had been instructed to do was to wait, listen and learn. She quickly caught on that the dealings and purchases being made today were a complete farce as far as the household owner was concerned. Sure, there would be an exchange of bodies and currency. But it was all a front. There was a greater profit to be made somewhere and the slavers wanted in on it. All they had been given in terms of material preparation were carefully-moulded ivory covers that played the part of false teeth caps. Within them, the slavers had jammed something metallic into the empty pocket before forcing them onto one of each of their upper-right molars. Jei had smacked her lips curiously after the man-handling of a procedure.

    Her new tooth tasted strangely like … silver.

    Whatever the men intended for her and Lennard to do, she had a sinking feeling that she was in way over her head. Shuffling her feet as the two of them stood leashed to the nearest hulk of a slaver, the second man soon returned, his boot strikes reverberating against the wooden porch as he signalled his partner to bring the “wares” indoors. A dozen half-steps – thanks to the limitations of their shackles – and the foursome were finally out of the overcast weather and into the surprisingly pleasant warmth of the house.

    Jei dry-washed her hands as a knee-jerk response to her growing anxieties.

    The experience of being bought and sold wasn’t new to her; she had been subjected to it countless times before. But something felt … different, this time around. The way the few household servants eyed them in passing, leveling silent, knowing looks their way. Jei couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to this household than they were letting on.

    It wasn’t long before they were brought to kneel before who she could only assume was the prospective buyer. As per custom, Jei kept her luminous jade eyes plastered to the floor, not entirely willing to brave a look at their potential mistress. She had learned this small courtesy the hard way; the last master she had resorted to cuffing her during their first meeting when she allegedly slighted him by making eye contact. Until she figured out the idiosyncrasies of the woman, she wasn’t about to risk a misstep.

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    I am the hunter, you are the hunted.



    Zairea
    Roleplay: Loyalty is Key
    Date: Aug 30th, 2012
    Theme: Master/Slave, Werewolves, Undercover
    Gender: Female
    Sexual Preference: Yuri
    Word Count: 1,227

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“W- … Will this suffice, Mr. Conti?”

Steely gray orbs flickered at the intrusive inquiry.

He did not enjoy having his concentration broken on anyone’s prerogative but his own.

Slowly but surely, Sebastian pried his focus from the greyscale newspaper print to the mousy-looking contractor who was busy dry-washing his hands to the bone. His look was one of absolute apathy, perhaps tinged with a pinch of contempt. He had been so engrossed in the petty ongoings of current events that he had nearly forgotten the man was there. A corner of his mouth twitched in mild disdain at the interruption, but that was as far as he allowed his discourtesies to permeate. After all, the contractor had been working around the clock to fulfill Sebastian’s little whimsical fancy; he was even being paid a handsome sum for his troubles.

He supposed it wasn’t easy building a room where the walls were substituted with a sprawling aquatic set-up.

Sliding a forefinger against the bridge of his glasses so that they rode up to an appropriate height on his angular features, he tilted his head skyward to get a better look at the renovations. His study – a once rustic alcove where every surface had been coated in a mahogany finish – was barely recognizable. Three of the four walls had been demolished and replaced by double-paned glass tanks that held several hundred gallons of crystalline water. Within them, a miniature underwater biosphere swam in hypnotic circles, illuminated by the gentle glow of led lights embedded in the artificial seafloor. The tanks were so massive that they soared well into the heights of the vaulted ceiling twenty feet above them. Despite his initial misgivings, everything had turned out relatively well.

When he had satisfied himself with the visual once-over, Sebastian took his time to fold the newspaper neatly before setting it down onto the coffee table before him. The poor contractor had no other choice but to continue wringing his hands raw, his intensifying anxiety nearly palpable in the still air. Sebastian was a man who could not be denied. Wealthy, well-educated and deeply connected to a network of high-ranking individuals, he was imposing at his best, tyrannical at his worst. Thankfully, the contractor’s woes were swiftly put out of their misery when Sebastian gave the curtest of nods and waved him away with a dismissive flick of his hand. That was the cue for his youthful-faced, bumbling oaf of a butler to fill the silence with a gush of verbal diarrhea.

“Yes, everything looks satisfactory. On behalf of Mr. Conti, we thank you for all your time and hard work.”

As an afterthought, the boy quickly thought to add: “Ah, and please do bring in the specimen. Mr. Conti has been looking forward to seeing her for himself for several weeks now. I do hope you haven’t damaged her on the journey over. That would be … most unfortunate. Both for her, and you.”


Zairea
Roleplay: Stones & Glass Houses
Date: Aug 30th, 2012
Theme: Mermaids, Wealthy Man, Capture
Gender: Male
Sexual Preference: Het
Word Count: 492

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“Certainly,” the slight woman chirped, doing her utmost to keep the surprise from her expression at the odd breakfast order.

“One egg and ham burrito and one pancake, coming right up!”

With that, she performed a dainty hop from the stool and proceeded to fill the orders, no thanks to the bickering staff to her far left. The industrial-sized griddle hissed defensively when she painted a stroke of oil onto the surface with a brush. Two grade A eggs later and she had herself a festive-looking heap of scrambled eggs, replete with traditional Mexican spices. She quickly repeated the process by spooning a ladle of batter onto the heated surface. Soon, she was rewarded with a generous pancake, playfully teased into the shape of a bear’s face.

Or … was it a dog’s?

Hanako had a knack for cooking, but often fell short when it came to presentation.

Still. She often joked and dismissed the lacking skill set as something that lent a ditsy charm to her cooking.

Pale, slender fingers deftly swaddled the burrito in the classic red-and-white checkered wrappings. The pancake was easier to plate as it only required a dollop of butter and a bath of warm, Canadian maple syrup. Relegating the dishes to separate trays, she gingerly sidestepped the elderly couple’s wild arm flailing in order to deliver the food to the window safely. She slid them through the opening, one after the other, before flashing the handsome couple a warm smile as they headed off in search of a table.

“Whew.”

She raised an oversized sleeve of her cardigan to dab at imaginary perspiration on her brow. For some odd reason, it helped flesh out the feeling of accomplishment whenever she did that. But speaking of accomplishments … She cast a resigned glance over her shoulder at her squabbling coworkers. Hanako stifled an urge to sigh. What happened to the generic stereotype where old people were frail, kind-hearted and low-key? Must be something in the water, or maybe in the food they served and were given free rein to consume as staff members.

And then her morning went from bad to worse.

Her delicate features fell the moment the familiar silhouette filled the open window.

Lo and behold, the Jinshin Academy terror had risen from the depths of his cave for daily sustenance. The fine hairs on the nape of her neck prickled just at the sight of him. But, a job was a job. Some small part of her – however embittered – reminded herself that he was just a teenage boy trying to find his way in a world that punished nonconformity with scorn.

Still. Would it kill him to tack a “please” or “thanks” onto that request?

Heck, who was she kidding.

That wasn’t a request.

It was an order.

No – a WORD.

It took every ounce of self-control to even out her features into some semblance of a tolerant smile. Her voice, although still a gentle sing-song, had noticeably cooled.

“My name is Hanako, Kaido-san. Not ‘Juice.’ You would do well to remember that next time. I’m sure your brother would agree.”

Begrudgingly, she hopped off the stool and swiped at the nearest juice box – a peach straggler that had wandered too far from the uniform herd in the fridge. That was often how she felt whenever she dealt with Yang. Isolated, awkward, alone. Not even those heavily-tinted shades of his could hide the angry burn of his gaze. Honestly now – what was his problem?

Once she had squirmed back onto her seat, she passed the item through the window with all the dignity she could muster. Yang and Hanako had a strained relationship at best over the years at Jinshin Academy. She couldn’t entirely recall the catalyst that had set them off on the wrong foot, but what she did know was that by now, there was no turning back. Day in and day out, he would give his usual clipped remarks at the window and she would return them with a smaller smile with every visit. One day she was convinced she would need the other kitchen help to deal with his manic mood swings. Folding her hands neatly onto her lap, she frowned in confusion when he continued to linger before her. Together, they glanced at the strawless juice box, then at each other. Understanding dawned on her expression. Still, she couldn’t help the tinge of mirth that touched a corner of her lips.

Karma’s a funny thing, isn’t it?

Not that she’d dare to voice that aloud.

“Oh! Sumimasen. Let me just –”

She had begun reaching over to a container of spare straws when a deafening boom reverberated through the kitchen. In an instant, something wooden-sounding clattered beneath her. The floor and ceiling abruptly changed places. Before she knew it, she was sprawled out in an unruly heap on the tiled floor, surrounded by coworkers as they took turns frantically fretting over her prostrate form and screaming at the boy through the window.

“Jesus Christ!! What is the MATTER with you, son?!”

The old man was even more red-faced than when he was verbally combating his wife.

“Dear, can you stand?”

The elderly woman cooed as she encircled a liver-spotted arm around the girl’s shoulders. Soon after, her head snapped up towards Yang with eyes that seethed with indignation.

“That was unbelievably childish of you, Yang. Do you know how dangerous that was for Hanako?”

Hanako groaned before propping herself up on an elbow. Spurred on by her efforts, the old man and woman momentarily set aside their differences to gently help her into a sitting position.

Her head was pounding like taiko drum at a summer festival.

Dazed and disorientated, she brought trembling fingertips to her temple for a cautious feel.

They came away red and glistening.


Zairea
Roleplay: Kanamori Town
Date: Aug 30th, 2012
Theme: Slice-of-Life
Gender: Female [NPC]
Sexual Preference: Straight
Word Count: 971

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___ TERRENCE
xxxxxxxxJOSEPH
xxxxxxxxxxxMCLEOD ♜

When you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back at you. When you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back at you. When you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back at you.
THERE IS ALWAYS SOME MADNESS IN LOVE
BUT THERE IS ALSO ALWAYS SOME REASON
IN MADNESS
_____☭━━━━━━━━━━━━


“Yup. Perfectly within my rights as a tax-paying citizen.”

Terrence allowed the strange, nebulous remark to hang between them for a moment before breaking its hold with a clipped chuckle.

“Really though, I’ll be fine for the next ten minutes or so. See?”

He angled the polished face of his Rolex towards her.

“9:30am. My class has the misfortune of being in session right before lunch at 11:30am, so I have a good half-hour to kill before I have to try to convince a classroom of ravenous teenagers about the benefits of Tolstoy and Shakespeare.”

“Although in hindsight, I could spend it prepping instead …”

He made a show of thoughtfully pausing. Resting his chin between a thumb and forefinger, he gazed elsewhere for a moment before finally returning to rest on her steely eyes and their bespectacled sheen.

A devilish smile creased his lips.

“But why would I do a silly thing like that when I could be spending it with you?”

Really? Not two bites into breakfast and already you’re breaking out the cheese?

Smooth man. Real smooth.

It wasn’t hard to find seats in a half-empty cafeteria. Thanks to the truancy officers, only the students with legitimate reasons to loiter around were left. Of those, only half were worrying away at their breakfasts; the others had their faces nestled into arms folded atop the long tables, lost in a haze of light and insufficient sleep. Seeing others wolfing down their food reminded of his piping hot meal. Wasting no time, Terrence undressed the top half of the burrito – feeling only slightly scandalous doing so – before taking a hearty bite that would have done Jaws proud.

His eyes briefly rolled upwards as he hummed a sound of approval.

Fluffy, savoury and filling. The heady taste of earthy Mexican spices blended wonderfully with the eggs and ham. It came as a complete surprise to him that cafeteria food could taste as good as it did. He certainly didn’t have that privilege back when he attended high school. Questionable tuna casserole and mystery meats were all the choices he had available to him – and don’t even get him started on what the poor vegans and vegetarians were left with. He took another ravenous bite and savoured the experience all over again before washing it down with the last of his coffee. Peeling away the last of the wrapper, he gestured in an animated fashion towards the burrito.

“Estelle, you won’t believe how much punch this burrito packs. Did you want a bi –”

The words faltered, only halfway out from his lips.

In his excitement to share his newfound culinary delight, his gaze had fallen on a sullen figure occupying the window on the side where they once stood. A muscle lining the square of his jaw rippled almost imperceptibly as he clenched his teeth. The spasm compelled him to absent-mindedly scratch at the minor cut from this morning’s shaving mishap.

That boy. Something felt … off, about him. Terrence had been in his fair share of brawls on the street as an anarchic preteen and knew a thing or two about troublemakers, considering he was one. Then again, this was a respectable school. All students’ admission depended heavily on either a strong academic record, or referral by a prominent staff member. Surely, no one was stupid enough to risk getting expelled from a prestigious institution over breakfast.

Satisfied at having talked his fears back down into submission, he was about to resume small talk with Estelle when a deafening boom shook the cafeteria. He could feel the shockwave all the way through his seat. Three dozen heads – theirs included – snapped up from whatever it was they were preoccupied with (napping, eating, conversing) and swivelled towards the incriminating figure. Navy-blue optics darted up just in time to see the student direct a well-aimed kick into the aluminum divider just below the window. Half a heartbeat later, the slight woman behind it wobbled for a split second before disappearing entirely.

“What the …”

Terrence’s face was a portrait of shock and disbelief. But it quickly melted away under the heat of a sudden onset of rage. What had the poor woman done to incite such an act of violence? That was beside the point. Regardless of the exchange the two may have had, this was absolutely, one-hundred percent unacceptable. Terrence rose from his seat in such a rush that his chair jumped and clattered away behind him, his burrito long forgotten. His fists were balled so tightly at his sides that his knuckles protruded like the white capped mountains that surrounded the town.

“HEY.” He boomed in a deep, menacing snarl.

The honeyed tufts of his unkempt mane had fallen lengthwise over his right eye in all the commotion. Behind the umber waterfall, his piercing blue optics seemed suddenly luminous to the point of glowing as he seethed. Without ado, he rounded the table and began a brisk walk over to where the teen now stood. All eyes were fixated on the classroom drama. It was like witnessing a train wreck; no one particularly wanted to see what happened next, but were inexplicably unable to look away either.

Terrence rapidly closed the distance between them. He took a moment to quickly lean over the windowsill and inspect the carnage below. The woman was mostly unharmed, but looked to be sporting a nasty gash to the right temple. A lifetime of dealing with martial arts-inflicted injuries sprung to mind. He was half-tempted to vault over the counter and staunch the bleeding himself. But that wasn’t where he was needed, and he wasn’t alone.

Retracting from the opening, Terrence made eye contact with Estelle who was still aghast and seated across the room. He did what he could to keep the anger out of his voice, although by the looks of terrified students nearby, he wasn’t doing a very thorough job of it.

“Estelle! I’m going to need you to take a look at her. They have a first aid kit back here that you can use better than I could.”

And now, the boy.

Calm … Above all else, I must remain calm.

He’s just a kid.

… A joyless, shitpail of a kid.

Terrence stalked over to the boy. His heavy footfalls struck the tiled flooring with all the ferocity of a rawhide mallet against an anvil. He didn’t tower as poignantly over him as he did with most high schoolers, but he didn’t need to. His gravelly voice and scarcely-contained indignation was more than enough to make his point clear.

“Look kid.

I don’t know what happened, or why you did it, but quite frankly – I don’t care. That was completely unacceptable and in direct violation of the school’s code of conduct. You have caused bodily harm to a hard-working staff member of Jinshin Academy and that could well warrant an arrest for battery and physical assault. Do you understand?”

Terrence held his gaze in a vice-like grip to be sure he did. Although to be honest, the high-gloss on the boy’s shades was making it difficult to know which way it fell. He made a mental note to have him adhere to the dress code as well.

The tense silence was being intermittently broken by a flurry of whispers. Terrence caught a snippet from a trio of boys – all queerly sporting black eyes and split lips – that “Yang” was in deep s**t now and that Mr. Kaido was going to set him straight for sure.

Mr. Kaido …

The gym teacher? Are they related?

As much as Terrence wanted to ream the kid out for such a violent outburst, he knew better than to churn up drama when they had such a volatile audience. High schools were renowned gossip machines; feed it enough fodder and the rumour mill could run itself longer than a nuclear power plant.

That settled the matter.

“‘Yang,’ is it? Forget about your next class; we’re paying the Principal’s office a visit.”

Scarcely able to contain his disdain for the boy’s outburst, he circled around him and placed a large hand on his shoulder. His grip was firm and meant business. If the boy really was related to the gym teacher, then he suspected that he was well-versed in hand-to-hand combat as well. To guard against further violence, Terrence had centered a thumb just beneath the base of the student’s skull, teasing a pressure point with all the threat of a loaded gun.

One move that he didn’t like, one arm or leg out of place, and he would squeeze it.

The result would be complete but temporary paralysis.

Terrence only rued that the pressure point spared the nervous system – the boy looked like he could deal with a measure of pain, or at least some of what he had caused.

Now that any collateral damage was insured against, Terrence gave a meaningful nudge towards the doors.

“Let’s move.”


Zairea
Roleplay: Kanamori Town
Date: Aug 30th, 2012
Theme: Slice-of-Life
Gender: Male
Sexual Preference: Bi
Word Count: 1,569

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                                                    “What won’t be?”

                                                    The voice was crystalline but feminine, playful but curious. It complimented the way she chose to make her entry. She had chosen to swing downwards from an overhead branch until she dangled by the crook of her legs, arms folded in comedic nonchalance across her chest. The wooden sheath of her katana clattered faintly as it swayed from the strap slashing diagonally across her back. She knew that her presence had gone entirely unnoticed by the boy who had preoccupied himself with a leg of some animal. But to be fair, she hadn’t really noticed him either as she napped the hours away, unseen and undisturbed in the thick canopy of trees overhead. It wasn’t until the aroma of roasted meat wafted up to her olfactory senses that she stirred from slumber and sought to placate the angry gurgling of her own stomach.

                                                    Pity that the meat belonged to someone who looked well-versed in swordsmanship.

                                                    Nami was hungry, but not hungry enough to risk injury over a half-eaten leg of something-or-other.

                                                    Still very much dangling upside down, the woman playfully cocked her head to one side when her question was greeted with nothing but silence.

                                                    “What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?”

                                                    Warm chestnut pupils made a show of deliberately eyeballing the leg of meat.

                                                    “Or perhaps that meat there has you all filled up and unable to make conversation! That simply won’t do, now will it.”

                                                    She made a “tsking” sound before waggling a finger at the boy.

                                                    “Looks like you have no choice but to share if we’re going to make any progress!”


                                                    Zairea
                                                    Roleplay: [Walk-In]
                                                    Date: Sept 8th, 2012
                                                    Theme: Medieval fantasy
                                                    Gender: Female
                                                    Sexual Preference: Bi
                                                    Word Count: 270

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Jojen _____⊲ Weapons Master



… Nnnope. Not helping.

If anything else, the Nymerian fire wine was only feeding the flames of her rising terror as the galley cook loomed ominously over her. The woman truly looked as if she was in the mood to chew glass. Instinctively, Jojen scooted as far back as her environment would allow before bumping into the oak panelling of a wooden island. Cornered. She knew at once that her fate was sealed. The slender points of her Elven ears wilted under the weight of the realization. Corny snippets of her life began flashing before her eyes, replete with stereotypical “bokeh” and all. Would she be doomed to a life of hard biscuits and gruel for the remainder of their trek across the ocean? Worse yet – would Shayla force her to swim to the nearest port (a good hundred leagues from where they were) to replenish all of the wares that had been carelessly strewn and left to go rancid on the kitchen floors? Jojen was all too aware that these waters were notorious for being infested with sharks. And what about the sirens? Well ….. actually, she didn’t necessarily mind taking a dip with a breathtakingly-beautiful woman. But the drowning bit she could do without.

A sudden voice sliced through the tension like a hot knife through butter.

Jojen noticeably perked up at the welcomed intrusion.

“Noelle!”

Jojen’s features lit up with all the child-like glee of a mid-Autumn festival in full swing. She reverently drank in the sight of the comparably slight-framed translator as if she were the Messiah himself. That was until a snort of a laugh bubbled from the woman. It wasn’t long before the floodgates opened and a torrent of melodious laughter followed. “Noelle …” she repeated, albeit with a crestfallen tone this time. The elf allowed the soup pot to slowly sink back onto her head and over her eyes, obscuring her rapidly heating features as embarrassment had her blood thundering in her ears.

Someone’s name echoed distantly in the cavernous chamber of the metal cooking implement.

Wait … wasn’t that her own name?

Weary of her improvised helmet, she cautiously lifted the pot clear from the crown of her head as a familiar shape burst into the room. Unable to resist, Jojen’s features were once again illuminated with the residual traces of hope.

“Wendy!”

The even slighter engineer was a sight for sore eyes. She hadn’t the pleasure of wining and dining with the girl since she was tasked with the ambitious assignment of forging the captain’s new dagger. She did however wrinkle her nose at the casual use of her childhood nickname. How the woman ever got wind of it, she would never know.

“Ahhhh, I see.” She drawled the phrase out with comedic exaggeration, ever mindful of the suspicious looks the cook gave them in alternating doses. Collecting herself from the floor, the towering elf began gradually retreating towards the double doors, one hand stubbornly clutching her culinary finds while the other discreetly shooed at her companions from the cover of the small of her back. “Sounds serious. Guess I should have a look-see. You know how it is, Shayla – this whole damned ship is a fire hazard jonesing for a fight. Am I right?”

But the hawk-eyed cook wasn’t having any of it. For every stride Jojen took – however large, given her gangly legs – the woman took two with a vengeance. Luminous jade eyes glided over from a nearby satchel of flour to the exit that Wendy had disappeared from moments earlier. At this rate the lot of them would be within striking distance of the ladle that had mysteriously materialized in her waiting fist. So the elf did what she did best – act recklessly. It took no more than the span of a heartbeat for her to toss the bag of purloined goods into Noelle’s unsuspecting arms. In the instant that followed, the weapon’s master lashed out with all the force of a tightly-coiled spring, spinning around and catching the bag of flour with a vicious roundhouse kick. The satchel instantly erupted into a powdery cloud that billowed into all corners of the room. Jojen burst from the makeshift smoke bomb with a heavy dusting of white, looking half a ghost and half mad, grinning from ear to ear as she bounded for the door with an ecstatic holler.

“GO GO GO!!”

A flour-dusted hand clamped around that of the gobsmacked lycan as they burst free from the heavy double doors and plunged down the corridor in pursuit of their engineer. Against her better judgement (or perhaps thereby hindered by the affects of the wine), Jojen’s hysterical laughter would reverberate from one wing of the ship to the other, likely giving several crewmates a rude awakening from their slumber.


Zairea
Roleplay: Aire al Agua [Journey Book Roleplay Guild]
Date: September 15th, 2012
Theme: Pirate, Yuri, Steampunk
Gender: Female
Sexual Preference: Yuri
Word Count: 806

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                                                    The “meaty” insinuation was not lost on her features; they responded by lighting up in mischief. She freed a hand to tuck a wayward lock of hair behind an ear as she rocked faintly with a passing breeze, feigning disinterest.

                                                    “Oh hun. Rest assured, your …. meat, is safe with me. I’m only interested in the roasted bit of leg you have there. I’m no ‘maneater,” if you catch my drift.”

                                                    But her nonchalant ruse had secured what she had originally targeted – a solid meal. She broke out into a sunny grin at his offer. Without a moment to lose, she curled back up into the upper branches before somersaulting onto the ground below, landing in a half-crouch. The snow crunched sharply underfoot, indignant at the sudden weight pressing down on what would otherwise have been a serene landscape. Humming blithely, she unabashedly sat herself down next to the boy and after the gracious exchange of goods, began sinking her teeth into the tender flesh. She made a sound that suggested it was surprisingly delicious.

                                                    “It’s Nami,” she managed in between bites.

                                                    Taking a moment to chew, she gave his weapon a visual once-over before nodding her agreement.

                                                    “You would be correcting in assuming that. I’ve crossed so many borders that I doubt I’d be able to backpedal home from here.”

                                                    Another bite, another thoughtful pause.

                                                    “Mmm, maybe I’ll take in the sights while I’m here. It always snows where I come from; watching the seasons change here should be a treat.”

                                                    When she began to feel his gaze probing areas that had no desire to be probed, she studied him wearily from the corner of her eyes, scooching an inch in the opposite direction.

                                                    “Why can’t I be in a tree? They’re relaxing, peaceful giants to sleep in. They’re unassuming, omnipresent and respect you so long as you return the courtesy. Much more than you’ll get from most people, don’t you agree?”

                                                    Catching a related snippet of “tree hippie” from an ominous-looking passerby, she gestured in his direction with the half-eaten leg of meat, waggling it like a ruler in the hand of a disciplinary school matron.

                                                    “Take that shady guy, for example. Would he let you have a relaxing sleep astride him? Nope, I think not.”

                                                    Whimsical and a tad nonsensical, Nami nodded to herself in seeming satisfaction before worrying away at the last of the leg.


                                                    Zairea
                                                    Roleplay: [Walk-In]
                                                    Date: Sept 8th, 2012
                                                    Theme: Medieval fantasy
                                                    Gender: Female
                                                    Sexual Preference: Bi
                                                    Word Count: 400

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                                            It was blistering summer day; there wasn’t a cloud in sight. Doubtlessly a beautiful afternoon, it was this same endless expanse of baby blue overhead that afforded no protection for the greenery below from the sun’s merciless rays. It was coming to a point where the heat radiating from the streets caused the air directly above them to warp with the evaporating moisture, creating an undulating illusion.

                                            But despite the overwhelming humidity, the town square was still bustling with activity. It was as if all the merchants had synced their internal clocks to the appearance of high noon. As if on cue, they simultaneously assembled their wares and began hollering their distinctive market calls when the sun finally peaked at the zenith of the sky. It wasn’t long before the cobblestoned expanse flooded with the churning river of humans and hybrids alike as they perused and bargained over a myriad of mundane and exotic wares. Just another day, another shopping errand. Excruciatingly ordinary, really.

                                            Ordinary for all but a certain hooded figure hidden in the shadowed depths of one of the many alleyways.

                                            The shadowed silhouette was mostly silent as the daily hustle and bustle came and went. From the mouth of the alleyway, people scarcely paid her any heed with the exception of the occasional cautious mother drawing her brood closer to her in suspicion. Talia scoffed inwardly at the sight. As if she had better things to do than kidnap children.

                                            Actually no, check that.

                                            If Her Majesty desired it, she would do it in a heartbeat. So long as the gold was plentiful.

                                            And if the queen was desirous of more … mature, company. Well …

                                            The vampire snaked a gauntleted hand beneath the hood so as to give her unruly mane a tousle. There were more important matters to attend to than the mental undressing of the most powerful figure in the entire land and then some. Still, she made a mental note to do it again anyways when she could find a spare moment to go “gutter-diving.” Scornfully, she braved a tentative peek at the blazing sun overhead. It was only a half second, but it was enough to both reaffirm her fears and send a shard of pain lancing through her eyes. She shifted further into the shadows while gingerly nursing them with the heel of her palms.

                                            “Blasted sunlight. If everyone was a little more nocturnal, we wouldn’t have this problem, now would we.”

                                            Still. Talia was responsible for the queen’s newest plaything this month. Her last conquest had been satisfactory, but short-lived. Rumour had it that the water nymph she had captured and trained for the regent had perished in an accident. The vampire wryly ran a finger across her lower lip in thought. Chances are, the nymph had likely displeased Her Majesty and met an untimely fate – her suspicion? Death-by-evaporation.

                                            In fact, Talia was feeling unusually sympathetic for that particular mode of execution, especially given the mind-numbing heat today.

                                            To refocus her efforts, the vampire uncorked a water skin that hung from the belt around her lithe waist and took a long swallow.

                                            She swore to herself that she would not leave the town until she had collared an unsuspecting woman into submission.


                                            Zairea
                                            Roleplay: [Private]
                                            Date: Sept 9th, 2012
                                            Theme: Medieval fantasy, Master/Slave, Vampire, Harpy
                                            Gender: Female
                                            Sexual Preference: Yuri
                                            Word Count: 543

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                                            Talia was within a hair’s breadth of throwing her arms up in defeat at the agonizingly stifling waiting game she was playing. She had half a mind to leave the relative anonymity of the shadows and physically wrestle a woman into submission in broad daylight. An irritated twitch furrowed the center of her brows. Of course, she wasn’t nearly impatient enough to blow her cover just yet. She would never hear the end of it if she took such a brazen approach; the rumour mill would likely erupt at the news of a vampiric Reaper prowling these parts.

                                            “Reapers.”

                                            That was the designation Her Majesty had given to Talia and her squad of highly-specialized agents. It smacked of death and destruction, when really; it was nothing more than a game of cat and mouse. Every now and then, Talia would swoop down on some unsuspecting damsel and recondition her body, mind and spirit to obey her every whim. Sometimes they would break under the conditions and become listless vessels. Others would work themselves up into such frenzy beneath the strain of her rigorous training that they would lose all sense of civility and retain nothing but their animalistic scorn for everything and anything that moved. But then there was always the exception – the one creature with enough mental fortitude to accept the reality of her situation, bend her knees to the harsh conditions of her new life, and accept that anything less than total and complete obedience would jeopardize her wellbeing, if not her life.

                                            Ah, those were special creatures. Talia took a moment to ruefully reminiscing of the water nymph she had captured so long ago for the Queen’s personal amusements.

                                            It made the once playful mirth instantly evaporate from her lips.

                                            Her Majesty liked to play rough.

                                            A pity; Talia had quite enjoyed the nymph, even before the Queen could try her on for size.

                                            Pulverized gravel crunched noisily underfoot as she sauntered towards the mouth of the alleyway. The marketplace was still in full swing, showing no signs of slowing even as the sun began its gradual crawl towards the horizon. Blood-red pupils swept about in a final cursory glance. She decided in the spirit of exasperated patience that the next creature to catch her fancy would have the misfortune of gracing her cell tonight.

                                            Much to her delight, her fiery gaze snagged on a magnificent feathered creature flowing downstream with the crowd, armed with an assortment of exotic furs.

                                            Perfect.

                                            Tugging her hood down so the resultant shadow bled across the entirety of her facial features – sparing her from brutal sunlit burns – she slipped soundlessly from the shadows and began trailing a short distance behind the woman.

                                            It took a certain touch to effectively navigate the crowd without losing sight of her prey. Weaving in and out, to and fro, she swatted at the prying hands of mead-smelling beggars and breezed past prospective merchants as they plied their trade. No – today, she was focused on the methods needed to take down a creature of flight. It would be first for Talia, but perhaps not the last. She always enjoyed a challenge. Gauntleted fingers snaked into one of her many waist pouches and fished about before coming away with a good two meters of hempen twine. Winding it about her left forearm until she reached the ends, she wriggled into another pouch and withdrew with two sizeable pieces of flint. Normally, she used them to start fires – whether they were for making supper or flushing quarry out of a burning house, she would never say. But today, they would serve to complete a set of improvised Bolas. Nothing seemed more practical to render a Harpy flightless than by pinning her wings flat against her sides. She encircled the twine twice around each weight before giving them a reassuring tug. Once done, the improvised weapon quickly disappeared amidst the folds of her cloak. It wouldn’t do to raise undue suspicion at this stage of the game.

                                            There would be plenty of time for terror later.

                                            “Pardons, good woman!”

                                            Her voice rang out with crystalline confidence even among the clamour. It was smooth, assertive, feminine. To be sure that she had been heard, Talia raised a hand as she came within arm’s reach of the Harpy, an easy swagger evident with every step. “Those are some fine furs you carry, there. Especially that snow leopard pelt – must’ve been a great deal of trouble acquiring it.”

                                            She made a show of admiring the health of the pelt and the way in which it had been skinned and treated for longevity. Finally, she gestured to the fuzzy bulk with a flourish of her hand.

                                            “I’ll take all of them. I know my master would be exceedingly pleased with the quality of your wares. You know the way armourers are – always on the lookout for the next best pelt to complement a new set of chain-mail.”

                                            She paused suddenly in a jolt of feigned realization.

                                            “Ah, but unfortunately, my master lives a small ways from the market. I’m simply running errands on his behalf, but the furs will need to be delivered to his workshop. Would you do me the honor of accompanying me? We can settle our accounts there and have him personally thank you for your contribution.”

                                            A dangerous gleam crept into her crimson optics, but even that was mostly hidden beneath her hood.

                                            “What say you?”


                                            Zairea
                                            Roleplay: [Private]
                                            Date: Sept 9th, 2012
                                            Theme: Medieval fantasy, Master/Slave, Vampire, Harpy
                                            Gender: Female
                                            Sexual Preference: Yuri
                                            Word Count: 908

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                                            A wry smile creased the corners of her lips at the rhetorical mention of how kindness rarely hurt.

                                            Oh, my little dove. You have no idea …

                                            “Wonderful then!”

                                            Talia was careful to keep the scheming darkness out of the bright timbre of her sultry voice.

                                            “It’s not too far – just a stone’s throw outside the bulk of the residential square. Although with your gift of flight, I’m sure you’ll have an easier time of it than I will.”

                                            As if to demonstrate the difference, she flexed a heel of her supple leather boots before kicking off in the indicated direction, Harpy in tow.

                                            The suffocating crowds began thinning out. Soon it trickled down to the occasional couple, then the infrequent old man. It wasn’t long before they had cleared the cluster of brick homes shouldering in on one another to step out into an open meadow that lay well beyond the town borders. Talia inwardly wished that she could have been the one trailing the Harpy – it would have been easier capturing her back than facing the very real danger of having her face raked open by razor-sharp talons. But she had a part to play, and play it she would. After all, a dutiful apprentice couldn’t keep her imaginary armourer waiting, now could she? Surreptitiously, she swept a luminous gaze over her shoulder for a lay of the land.

                                            No townsfolk, no farmers. Not even a rabbit in sight.

                                            A thick tangle of undergrowth loomed before them – the resident forest of towering oaks and a near impenetrable canopy of branches hundreds of feet overhead. Perfect natural barriers for anything with half a mind to fly out of reach. Anything that tried would likely break a bone attempting to navigate the verdant tangle.

                                            Just a little further …

                                            But she could tell that the Harpy’s patience was beginning to fray, giving way to concern. Talia acted quickly. To cover for the backwards glance and any remaining suspicion, Talia flashed a very deliberate, very lascivious smile at the Harpy. It wasn’t hard considering the gesture wasn’t entirely falsified to maintain her façade. She really did find the winged-woman breathtaking.

                                            In an odd, feathery way.

                                            Against her better judgement, her mind began wandering; mentally caressing the endless possibilities and tools she would be using to tame the bird of flight. It set her hypothetical heart thundering in her ears. If she hadn’t been a vampire for as long as she had been, then there was a possibility of recalling what her once human heart felt like, beating and straining inside her chest.

                                            Now? It was a memory so faded with age that it was immaterial dust in her psyche.

                                            Another pity. She missed the exhilarating sensation of being genuinely terrified, as humans in all their frailty often were. Nonetheless, she was going to enjoy being a “mistress” again after such a long, but necessary hiatus.

                                            Talia began nonchalantly gesturing towards the heavily wooded area before them.

                                            “Again, I can’t thank you enough for your patience, love. My Mistress isn’t fond of tight and crowded quarters, so the town square isn’t the healthiest of places fo—”

                                            She froze in midstride.

                                            Wait. Did she just say “mistress?” Wasn’t her rouse strawman just that – a man?

                                            [******** me.

                                            “… Oh, bugger it all. This is far enough,” she hissed between gritted teeth, her elongated and pointed fangs now prominent and glinting in the afternoon sunlight.

                                            It all happened in less than a heartbeat.

                                            Coiled like a tightly-wound spring, the vampire spun around on a heel with such ferocity that the folds of her cloak snapped outwards like the jaws of a rabid canine. The crook of her arm followed suit with her makeshift Bolas in tow. Whipping it about in two sharp, concentric whirls, she released it with a violent flick on the third, timing it with the downwards flap of the Harpy’s impressive wingspan. The twine and flint struck flesh, and struck it hard. Upon impact, the weights whipped around the unsuspecting victim in dizzying circles before clacking noisily together in a near inescapable tangle. No longer able to maintain her flight, the Harpy crashed heavily back to earth.

                                            Talia was on her in an instant. She had pounced to close the distance in a dark blur of inhuman speed.

                                            Their struggle was violent, but brief.

                                            The downy wings were pinned tightly against the woman’s sides, so the vampire wasn’t concerned about being buffeted by them. She did however steer clear of the thrashing talons as the creature shrieked in the characteristic behaviour of shock and abject horror. Calmly gliding up the length of the distressed Harpy, she snaked her own legs around that of her prey, squeezing with all the prowess of a python to keep her from kicking out and inflicting injury. With one hand, she gripped the Harpy firmly by the chin and yanked it upwards to expose the delicate flesh of her throat. Slipping into her waist pouches, the other withdrew a pewter and wickedly-sharp looking syringe. One quick jab into the carotid artery and a thumb on the plunger soon sent her feathered prey on a dreamless trip that would last long enough to transport her to the awaiting cell. She watched with growing excitement as the thrashing gradually gave way to lethargic tossing. Finally, even that ebbed into stillness. Only then did the vampire rise to her feet. She dusted her hands together in a congratulatory gesture to herself. The wry smile was back.

                                            “Sorry love,” she breathed in a throaty whisper.

                                            “I’m fresh out of kindness today.”


                                            Zairea
                                            Roleplay: [Private]
                                            Date: Sept 9th, 2012
                                            Theme: Medieval fantasy, Master/Slave, Vampire, Harpy
                                            Gender: Female
                                            Sexual Preference: Yuri
                                            Word Count: 933

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                                            Darkness enshrouded the cell like the presence of an old friend. Always waiting, never far; forever trailing you by the ankles as your shadowy silhouette until the sun retreated beyond the horizon. After that, darkness was all you had. To some it was an evil that hid dangers from plain sight.

                                            For Talia?

                                            It was delicious – a lover’s tender embrace after a long day’s toil.

                                            She welcomed its inky touch, savouring the cool caress on her skin like a balm for the rigors of braving sunlight. Day-walking was not a feat for the faint-hearted. Lesser vampires had perished attempting the same. More wizened nightwalkers had still sustained irreparable injuries by eschewing caution for that of larger prey.

                                            But Talia was neither foolhardy nor self-destructively arrogant. She knew her limits and played within them.

                                            And tonight, play she would.

                                            The Harpy in question had since come to and was beginning to acclimatize to her new surrounds. Her new home. She could see that the woman’s efforts were noticeably hindered by the lack of lighting in the dingy cell; the only notable light source was a single torch ensconced in a rusty iron bracket embedded in the far wall. Beyond that, there were numerous pockets of impenetrable darkness within the confines of the barred cell, to say nothing of the winding corridors that lay beyond. Talia had taken much care in securing her holding cell away from prying eyes. She had taken the liberty of repurposing a deserted underground crypt a good league away from the town for her own needs. Combined with the tangled undergrowth of a forest that hid the crypt entrance from view, Talia remained virtually undisturbed and could even leave her pets unattended for days at a time.

                                            Not that she had any intention of leaving this feisty specimen to her own devices. At least, not yet.

                                            She still hadn’t been spotted by the Harpy; Talia was one with the shadows to a fault. As such, she took the opportunity to admire her work. Blood-red orbs glided over the musculature of the creature of flight, playing across the downy, feathered wingspan, over the swell of her ample breasts, finally trickling down the length of her lithe legs that terminated in wickedly-curved talons. Sinewy twine secured the creature’s wings, but Talia had chosen iron manacles to hobble the Harpy’s ankles within a foot of each other. She recalled that birds of flight had mostly hollow bones to allow for greater lift; iron shackles for her wings would likely break a bone or two if she struggled as mightily as she did. Nonetheless, the only method of movement the Harpy had left at her disposal was tentative half steps. Any more and she would risk tripping and breaking her fall with her face.

                                            The limbs of her teak chair creaked as she leaned her weight forwards towards the shackled creature. It was sufficient enough of a sound to draw its attention towards her. Fluidly crossing a leg over the other, the vampire appraised the Harpy a moment longer from behind steepled fingertips. Now that she had edged into the torchlight, it became apparent that she was reclining on a chair that was rife with the previously plundered animal pelts. Spotted, striped, blotched and uniform colors lay draped over and across the chair like some primitive throne. She untangled her fingers briefly to retrieve a thin-stemmed wineglass from a side table adjacent to her. A viscous crimson liquid sloshed lazily within it.

                                            It could have been wine. More likely, it could have been blood.

                                            Talia didn’t so much as bat an eyelash to the indignant cries and insults being hurled her way. Instead, she continued to take periodic sips from the glass for a time as she watched the Harpy. At last she set it down on the table and pointed to a spot on the floor in front of her. Her voice was calm, almost gentle.

                                            “Come stand here.”


                                            Zairea
                                            Roleplay: [Private]
                                            Date: Sept 10th, 2012
                                            Theme: Medieval fantasy, Master/Slave, Vampire, Harpy
                                            Gender: Female
                                            Sexual Preference: Yuri
                                            Word Count: 660

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                                            The questions came and went in a verbal torrent. Through it all, Talia never uttered so much as a word. All the while the vampire’s scarlet eyes remained impassive, unreadable. She could very well have been staring out into a serene blue sky for all that it mattered. The only movement came from the slow, circular twisting of her wrist, swirling the viscous red liquid around and around as the Harpy exhausted her indignant pleas.

                                            Finally, the Harpy’s harping ebbed to a halt. That was her cue.

                                            Tilting her head back to knock the remainder of the liquid past her lips, she made a show of relishing the flavour before gently setting it aside. Slender digits deftly exchanged the glass for a pair of fingerless gauntlets, the intricate maroon symbols flashing deadly in the torchlight. She turned her back to the woman as she picked up the gloves in succession and worked them onto her hands, pushing the fingers down tight. The damp cobblestoned flooring reverberated with her boot strikes as she turned about and approached the bound woman. Wordlessly, she glided down onto a knee before her; a beguiling smile perched on full lips.

                                            In the blink of an eye, the air whistled as her arm sliced through it.

                                            A sharp crack – its echo playing several times over in the aftermath until the cavernous room consumed it all.

                                            Talia ruthlessly backhanded the Harpy across the mouth. Hard. The armored back of the gauntlet split the woman’s lip open on her teeth. A string of blood followed the Harpy’s descent back onto the stone floor.

                                            But Talia wasn’t finished.

                                            Quick as a cat, she lunged forward and hammered a knee deep into her abdomen, just below the sternum. She felt a satisfying crunch as a lower rib shattered under the force, knocking the wind right from her diaphragm. Before the Harpy could utter so much as an agonized scream, the vampire seized her jaw, yanked it about until she faced her, then bent over her prostrate form to press a full-bodied kiss to her lips. She savoured the way in which the creature’s body went rigid at her cool touch. She sucked the Harpy’s lip into her mouth and bit it, hard, on the cut. A spring of renewed blood welled up and trickled over her tongue. The darkness of her pupils dilated in ecstasy at the taste. Then, quick as it came, it was all over. The red-eyed woman flicked the edge of her tongue across the Harpy’s chin, catching a rivulet of blood that had strayed, before sitting up with an easy smile. The powerful muscles of her thighs flexed as she continued to straddle her prey. A flick of her wrist produced a wicked-looking dagger that she wove expertly between her fingers as she “tsked.”

                                            “You forgot the appellation, my pet. Perhaps you have never been a slave in your lifetime before, but know now that you are less than that.”

                                            Her voice hardened dangerously. The point of the menacing blade moved in a blur to hover just above the Harpy’s left eye. One wrong move, a twitch in the undesired direction, and it would be impaled on the tip, no questions asked.

                                            “You are to address me as Mistress, or Mistress Talia. You are lucky to have me as your trainer; most Reapers are not as lenient as I. They would have used the Rada’Han at the first offense. But I have a soft spot in my heart for beautiful women, and besides – even though the glove isn’t a very effective punishment, I must admit I rather favor using it. I like to feel the contact. The Rada’Han is exhilarating, but there is no substitute for using your own hands to feel what you’re doing.”

                                            The impassivity of her eyes were long-gone. In its place was a certain kind of determination, ferocity.

                                            Mercilessness.

                                            “This was just a gentle warning, as you will soon learn. One more insolent remark from you and you will have one less eye to worry about.

                                            Now, my pet. Repeat your questions properly.”


                                            Zairea
                                            Roleplay: [Private]
                                            Date: Sept 10th, 2012
                                            Theme: Medieval fantasy, Master/Slave, Vampire, Harpy
                                            Gender: Female
                                            Sexual Preference: Yuri
                                            Word Count: 682

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                                            Talia had never been more cautious of flattery than she was at that precise moment. Although her features were mostly unreadable, she was still unable to keep her brow from creasing as her suspicion grew. This woman was a fighter; she already gathered that much. By right, the knowledge should have been enough to prevent her from lending any weight to those honeyed words. And yet, Talia decided to play along. She fancied that there should be a first time for everything – that had always been her motto for life.

                                            Little did she know that this would be the last time she would utter this little personal mantra.

                                            “Much better,” she cooed.

                                            “Most Reapers don’t allow those in training to walk, or ask questions, but I think that becomes boring. I rather like to talk to my pets. As I said, you are lucky to have me.”

                                            A momentary pause, then a verbal afterthought.

                                            “You may. Your obedience has earned that much. For now.”

                                            The vampire shifted her hips ever so slightly to allow the Harpy to struggle into an upright position, seated with Talia astride her lap. Given the nature of their lineages, the creature was already a great deal taller than she was. The gift of flight and genetic bone structure rendered the Harpy a good foot taller than the vampire could ever hope to reach. However, now that she had topped the bird, they were finally at eye level with one another. Her inner ruminations were interrupted when the next tentative question reached her ears. It made her purse her lips in thought while she tapped the flat of the blade against her lower lip.

                                            “The Rada’Han is a collar imbued with magical properties. They are effective on all races but humans, as it requires the wearer to have magic running through their veins. Fortunately for us, you are not said exception.”

                                            She temporarily sheathed the dagger and unclasped a metallic device from her belt loop. She dangled it by the crook of a forefinger before the bird, the two silver semicircles connected by a seamless hinge swaying gently as she spoke.

                                            “This is a Rada’Han. You will be wearing it for the duration of our time together. It was made with runes and magic so old that the art itself has been lost to us for centuries. But make no mistake – it is still very much operational.”

                                            She rotated the device deftly between three fingers. The glossy silver surface reflected the torchlight in brilliant points of light.

                                            “When I activate it, it will connect our thoughts and emotions, giving me absolute control over your mind, body and soon – your spirit. If you displease me, I can and will inflict pain upon you in such ways you have never imagined you could hurt. If you think unpleasant thoughts of me or even consider harming me, it will hurt you. If you attempt to go counter against my direct orders, it will hurt you. See to it that you never give me reason to and we will get along splendidly.”

                                            With all the grace of flowing water, the vampire pressed the length of her upper body against the woman as she reached around to the nape of the Harpy’s neck. An ebony waterfall cascaded over her shoulders and sent a light scent wafting in her direction. How would one accurately describe the scent of a being older than most had right to be? You would think musty, stale. But not Talia – hers was the faint tinge of lilacs. She suspected that it had something to do with the moment of her turning, but that was a mystery forever lost to the annals of time. She joined the two silver ends of the collar together. They immediately melted into one another until the point of contact had all but disappeared. The Harpy now toted a seamless silver ring that afforded little wriggle room around the base of her neck. Talia drew back slightly, a satisfied smirk illuminating her features.

                                            “It suits you.”

                                            Her gaze caught on a maroon blotch on the woman’s downy breast feathers. She must have reflexively coughed up blood from the shattered rib. Broken ribs were nasty things. If left untreated they could leave a perpetual, painful stitch in the victim’s side. Only re-breaking and setting the rib straight would save her from the condition. Not that Talia minded having a pet in constant pain – it helped maintain order. Still – a certain unease had descended on her gut. She was in control of the situation and would soon have even more. So why was she feeling so weary all of a sudden? Her eyes snapped up.

                                            The wall.

                                            In the midst of playful banter and instructional debriefing, the Harpy had somehow managed to scoot and prop herself up against the wall.

                                            Talia reached back and fingered the hilt of her dagger in preparation to discipline the woman for moving without her consent. Instead, she found herself on the receiving end of a pleasurable n** to the neck. It was unexpected; it caught her off guard. Lips parting faintly in a pleasured exhale, she had half a mind to follow through with the discipline anyways, until the world abruptly shattered around her.

                                            Dark pupils contracted to pinpoints in a sea of red. Her jaw snapped open to reveal pointed fangs as she let out a blood-curdling scream. The vampire immediately rolled off the Harpy in a convulsion of tangled limbs. Although her hands were clamped firmly against her ears and temples, a trickle of blood could still be seen leaking past her palms and down the insides of her wrists. The effect had been akin to rupturing a person’s middle ear – her sense of balance had been rocked down to the core. An agonizing minute passed before her ragged breaths evened out into an eerie calm. No sooner said than done, she rose fluidly to her feet as if nothing had happened in the first place, the only evidence being a crimson wetness down her earlobes and the sides of her neck. Then, the repose was broken as her features twisted into one of abject fury.

                                            “You ungrateful b***h.”

                                            Out came the dagger and its fraternal twin. The vampire flew at the Harpy like a gust of wind. Two quick slashes of metallic white – the twine bindings restraining her wings fell away, but left the iron manacles untouched. Reflexively, the Harpy’s wings stretched out to embrace their newfound freedom – exactly what Talia wanted. Whirling the daggers until they were gripped point-down in white-knuckled fists, she screamed and drove the blades savagely into the largest bone of either wing, just above the elbows. The vicious blows had driven the blades right down until the hilt hit bone, pinning the wings to the wall. Talia then reached up and bit into her own left thumb with a fang. A ruby drop welled up to the surface. Struggling to maintain her composure, the vampire smeared the drop across the metal collar. It responded by glowing an eerie white before dimming back down into normalcy. Only then did Talia retrieve her daggers. She did do with the least amount of decorum possible – by digging in a boot into the previously broken rib as using that as leverage to yank her blades free. She watched without emotion as the Harpy collapsed into a heap at her feet.

                                            She had absolute control now. There would be no more insolence.

                                            Unbelievably, Talia turned her back to the woman and slowly strode back to the fur-laden chair. The blood trickling from her ears had finally ebbed but the crimson sheen against her pale flesh was a reminder of the violence that had occurred moments earlier. Once seated, she resumed her previous position of draping one leg over the other as she gestured towards the opening of the cell with an overturned palm. Remarkably, the barred door had been left ajar the entire time.

                                            “There is the exit – your only avenue for freedom. If you manage to cross that threshold, I will set you free. No questions asked, no trickery.”

                                            Her features darkened ominously.

                                            “But if you fail, I will take your gift of flight from you. No questions asked.

                                            Now. Walk.”


                                            Zairea
                                            Roleplay: [Private]
                                            Date: Sept 10th, 2012
                                            Theme: Medieval fantasy, Master/Slave, Vampire, Harpy
                                            Gender: Female
                                            Sexual Preference: Yuri
                                            Word Count: 1,377

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Dearest literary trailblazer from 6833 Kenmore St.,


How you wound me with your painfully accurate, Australian clichés. I imagine you sent this letter off on a whimsical fancy, never quite expecting a reply from an address as outrageous as the first four successive digits in the numeral system followed by our mascot of an animal. But lo and behold – here I am, indeed as dashing as you had hoped (not at all self-praise, surely), indulging in a reply that is equal parts absurdity and curiosity. Was that my cue to insert a smiley face of my own, considering the lack thereof? Here – this one’s my favourite: emotion_awesome

Just before dawn, was it? That would make it around noon here in Sydney. Despite my street name, kangaroos are in fact slim pickings in the hustle and bustle of the city. So alas, I know not of the rural limitations that an English village would impose. … Speaking of which, how do you manage without an internet connection as it is? I would be within inches of insanity without it. Hell, I equivocate being tethered to wifi hotspots as less of a modern commodity and more of an electronic IV bag. Gotta have your social media fix in this day and age. Or am I just a technological junkie that way?

Now. Try your utmost not to judge me, but … I was raised in an unusually sheltered home and lived through the bulk of my childhood without ever knowing the joys which were J. K. Rowling’s novels. –Insert cringe as I anticipate the rightfully-earned bricking.– On that same note, I do not have anything in the ways of parchment paper or magical writing implements that move themselves. Hence, the run-of-the-mill stationary I purloined from my roommate. Let’s see how long it takes before she catches on – hopefully, before she sits herself down for an exam. Would I be able to redeem myself somewhat if I sent this off with a messenger owl? Although I imagine the flight across the ocean wouldn’t bode well ..

I do enjoy cake. Think customs would have a fit if you tried to ship a piece over to me? And yes, self-imposed house arrest is generally unhealthy. I would prescribe a sunny afternoon of kicking it around the town with friends. You do get sun over there in England, do you not?

Ah, right. A little bit about myself to lessen the guise of anonymity. Hm. Well, let’s start with the reassurance that I am very much in full possession of my mental faculties, so I’m well aware of my own person! Legally, I’m Jei-Lynne. Or “Jei” for short and “Lynne” at your own peril. I’m tucked away in my own little niche of Sydney with a brand-spanking new studio apartment, courtesy of parents with too much money and too little time to invest in their offspring. I enjoy surfing, windsurfing, paddleboarding and generally all sports of an aquatic nature. Contrary to recent statistics, I have yet to lose a limb to a ravenous shark. First time for everything though.

I’m very sorry to hear about your oldest brother. But since you aren’t inclined to talking/writing about it, this will be the last I will ever mention of it!

What a coinky-dink! I happen to find the ladies quite appealing myself. Shame my mother’s too wrapped up in the corporate world to spare a disapproving glance my way.

Please, no need for apologies. Especially since this one is slapping a stamp on a letter that reads like a bout of verbal diarrhea. You’ll soon learn that I am the Queen of all things that ramble.


Kind regards,

Queen Jei



Sorry if this bit turns out to be illegible. Just felt the need to quickly scrawl this in and let you know that before sealing this up and sending it on its way, the man at the post office gave me the queerest of looks. Maybe it’s because my face reads like an open book and this is the first time I’ve ever sent a letter to anyone, and this is by far the queerest message I’ve ever written. I hope you’re happy, woman.


Zairea
Roleplay: Letters
Date: Sept 16th, 2012
Theme: Spontaneous penpals, Slice-of-life
Gender: Female
Sexual Preference: Yuri
Word Count: 679
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