Writers: Barb
Characters: Theresa, Michael, Enoch
Date: Day 3, early afternoon
Location: The Manor, Kitty's Den of Iniquity
Theresa was kneeling on the thick rug in front of the hearth, in the great
room of Michael's quarters at the Manor. The ceilings were vaulted, the
walls wood, rubbed smooth with years and gleaming mellowly in the firelight.
The floors were also wood where they weren't covered by the plush rugs in
geometric patterns. The furniture was heavy, thickly cushioned, and done in
muted colors. Snow was falling in the darkness outside the front windows,
and a bitter wind whistled against the house making the snow spin and dance.
She turned when Michael entered, carrying a bottle and two champagne flutes.
She was wearing only a thin blanket, draped around her and held loosely
closed by her hand between her breasts. Her hair fell in a wild tumble,
over her bare shoulders and framed as it flowed down her bare back by the
blanket. Her skin was flushed and glowed warmly, and her smile was calm and
loving as she looked at him.
He was wearing a worn pair of sweats and nothing else. He'd pulled them on
a few minutes ago to get the champagne, after he and Theresa had finished
making love for a third time that afternoon. He felt more relaxed than he
had in years.
He knelt beside her, handing her one of the flutes. "I've missed you," he
said.
She smiled at him, the look in her eyes incredibly intimate. "I could
tell."
He chuckled, then poured them both some champagne. Setting the bottle down,
he ran a finger along her bare shoulder. "You're so beautiful. When you're
gone I'm only half alive. I don't know how I survive without you." When
she took his hand he was filled with a love so overpowering it threatened to
steal his breath.
"You'll never have to survive without me," she whispered, setting down the
champagne. She brought his hand to her lips and kissed his palm. When her
tongue flicked across it, he groaned. She laughed throatily and gently set
her teeth to his palm, along with her tongue. "I've always been yours, and
I always will be," she said, circling him with her arms. The blanket fell
away and she nudged his sweatpants off then pulled him against her.
He lowered her to the rug, then pulled the thin blanket over them. Propping
himself on his elbows, his hands on either side of her face, he smoothed her
hair back with his fingertips. "Tell me," he said.
"I want you," she said, and moved her hips against his.
"That I know," he said hoarsely, and prepared to oblige her. "Tell me."
"I love you," she breathed in his ear, her voice catching as he slipped into
her. "I love you, Michael."
He buried his face in the side of her neck, breathing her in as they began
to move in unison. She was hot and liquid as molten lava, and her scent
surrounded him, overwhelmed him. There was nothing left between them; they
were as one. It was a feeling unmatched by anything he'd ever known.
"Well. Isn't this touching? I thought I'd better just go ahead and
interrupt before you got started on round four. Whoops, looks like I'm a
little late. My apologies; getting in here took longer than I'd imagined."
Michael jerked and Theresa went as still as a statue. He looked up and to
his left to see Enoch sitting beside them, cross-legged on the rug. There
was a frighteningly cordial half smile on his face. Michael's heart
stopped, then starting pounding furiously, and he fought for control.
Instinctively he shielded Theresa with his own body. "Wh-what do you want?"
"What do I want? I want something a little more entertaining than this. 'I
love you, Michael'," he mimicked. "I've never been so bored in my whole
existence as I have these past three hours, watching you live out this
little fantasy you've got going here. And since I'm older than you can
imagine, that's saying something."
Michael paled and sat up. "You've been watching us?"
"Oh, yes. And let me tell you, you're missing the best that our Theresa has
to offer. This is a waste of her talents. I've heard she's very
resilient," Enoch said, as if he didn't have this knowledge firsthand. "I
think she can take much more than you could ever give her."
"Shut up."
"More pleasure, more pain. The stories of her in the Pit are legendary,"
Enoch mused, his eyes thoughtful as he watched Michael, like a man caught in
a pleasant daydream; as if he was speaking of nothing more than some
entertaining gossip he'd heard. "They say there is nothing quite so
stimulating as the sight of Theresa covered in her own blood, shrieking with
terror."
"Shut up!" Michael yelled.
"Now, now. Calm down. You've paid for the rest of the afternoon and it
wouldn't do for you not to be able to perform, now would it?" Enoch asked
with a laugh. The sound of it raked along Michael's skin like a thousand
fire ants. " Even worse if you were to wake up and lose the rest of your
succubus time. Though this substitute really can't hold a candle to the
real thing," Enoch continued, lifting the corner of the blanket and peeking
under it.
Michael snatched the blanket out of the demon's hand. "What do you mean,
substitute?" He looked down at Theresa - she was completely still, frozen.
He was rewarded by more of that nerve wracking laughter.
"But I forget - you've never touched the real thing, have you? We've
business to discuss, you and I. And I'm afraid I need you a little more
awake for it," Enoch said, and he waved a hand in front of Michael's face.
"I have no business with you," Michael said automatically, then he looked
around at the cabin, back down at the motionless Theresa. He wasn't really
here, he realized, his consciousness returning just enough for him to grasp
what was happening.
He was asleep in one of Kitty's rooms at the Den. He'd come out of the
Portal this morning after the Predication meaning to catch up with Theresa,
and had been just in time to see her fall into another man's arms. The two
of them had disappeared into the crowds and he'd been left standing on the
sidewalk alone. The feelings that had flooded him were familiar -
overwhelming need and overpowering rage. He'd not felt that particular
combination since the last time Theresa had been in Purgatory.
He looked at Theresa under him; or rather, the replica of Theresa. He'd
wanted her ever since he'd known her. He'd spent the first couple centuries
of his afterlife waiting for her to realize what they could have together;
then the next twenty-two centuries knowing she never would. But he couldn't
help his feelings, and when they got too bad he'd give in and duck into
Kitty's. Here he could live out the fantasy he needed in order to function,
in order to work, in order to hide what he wanted and needed from everyone.
A succubus could take any form you desired. They could be anything you
wanted. They could make you forget that it wasn't real. They came to you
in dreams, dreams induced by a special drink only served at Kitty's. All
you had to do was drink the drink, lay on the bed, and you'd be transported
to another place. Whatever place you wanted. It was just a little karma,
wasn't it? Just a little karma. He could afford it.
In twenty-two centuries it had never occurred to him that opening up his
psyche for the succubus might also open him up to Enoch. The thought was
chilling, to say the least. "What did you do to her?"
"Nothing," Enoch said. "She'll be re-animated once I'm gone, don't worry.
As I was saying, we have business. A common interest."
"We have nothing in common."
Enoch picked up a lock of the succubus's hair and ran it through his
fingers. "We're both unhappy with Theresa's choice of men. Especially this
time around."
Michael said nothing.
"Now, I could help you get rid of this little irritation. I could arrange
it so you could have this succubus for your very own. I could negate the
karma cost."
"I suppose you just want to watch," Michael said sarcastically.
"I don't think so," Enoch said, wrinkling his nose in disgust, then
stretched his legs out in front of him and leaned back on his elbows. "It
was all I could do to make myself observe your afternoon today. No, all I
need is a little information."
"What kind of information?"
"The man Theresa is interested in. His name is Khayyin. I just need to
know about his last incarnation on the Mortal Plane."
Michael thought for a moment. He couldn't find that information in the
Archives. There were only two ways to get information about any soul's
mortal lives; one was by using the Looking Glass, but that only worked while
they were living the life. Besides, the karma cost was big enough that even
if he could have gotten the information that way, it wasn't even a
consideration. The other way was Purgatory Central. They had records of
that sort of thing, but security was tight enough to make the task
impossible. He said as much to Enoch.
"I'd think a smart little Hunter like yourself would be able to find a way."
"No way."
"There, now," Enoch said with a distinctly predatory smile, "you don't want
to rush to judgment about something like this. Consider all the
possibilities."
"There are no possibilities."
"There are always possibilities, my dear man. For instance, what about the
possibility that the real Theresa finds out about your little hobby here?"
The blood drained from Michael's face, pleasing Enoch enormously. "I see
you're beginning to grasp all the possibilities now. What do you think
Theresa's reaction would be if she found out that, for all intents and
purposes, she's been sleeping with you for over two thousand years?"
The mere thought of it was like being dropped into an ice cold lake naked.
Michael could feel his very essence recoil. "I... you..."
"Now see? We do have something in common. I want a little information, and
you'd like to keep a little information. Don't you think it'd be better all
around if we worked something out?"
Michael closed his eyes and tried to focus. Getting information out of
Purgatory Central may seem impossible, but Theresa finding out how he'd
spent the afternoon was simply and completely inconceivable. He said, "I'll
have to get back to you."
Enoch grinned and a shudder wracked Michael's body. "Make it soon," he
said, and disappeared.
Posted by Barb. Copyright © 2002.
Purgatory RPG - http://www.afterhourspub.com/purgatory.htm
Writer: Rob, Barb
Characters: Paul, Eric, Trey
When: Day 3, Evening
Location: The Strip
The pair of Hunters walked silently along the sidewalk of the Strip. Eric
had bundled his long pea coat around his sword, effectively hiding it from
the public, and Paul was relieved that he at least remembered that much.
Hunters were forbidden to carry their weapons around Purgatory unless
transporting them to the Portal - and carrying them in open display was a
good way to meet a Watcher.
If he'd known that Eric had done it without even thinking about it, that his
new partner wasn't even aware that he was hiding it, he'd have been more
troubled than he already was. Eric had been almost normal when Paul picked
him up from the Infirmary, but once he'd walked back into Dannon's and saw
his sword, he'd changed. Stiff and tense, obviously angry but in a coldly
unemotional way that gave Paul the creeps.
He eyed the doorway to Jack's Bar and Grill as they crossed 200 Strip.
Laughter, music and enthusiastic conversation floated out along the
sidewalk, and the place was rapidly filling. Stepping around a boisterous
group of technicians from the Archives, Paul looked inside as they opened
the doors and saw some rather luscious feminine types sitting alone at the
bar. After the day he'd had, a few pints and some mindless flirting ranked
right up there with Ascension as far as his heart's desires went. He elbowed
his new partner, jerking his head at the large window where Jack's "Open 24
Hours" sign hummed. "Hey - want to stop off and have a couple? You look like
you could use one or two."
"No."
Paul frowned and gave the bar one last longing look, then mentally shrugged
and turned back to continue on. Eric's steps hadn't even slowed and Paul had
to speed up a bit to catch up. Coming to the end of the 300 block they both
ignored the Corruption Intelligence Agency entrance on the left. It was a
well known fact that this was where Luci kept track of the possible damned.
It still amazed Paul that she didn't even try to hide it. But then again,
they'd drilled it into him at the Portal for hundreds of years: No one could
make you do anything. It was always a choice.
Besides, Hunters had never had any business there and avoided the place like
the plague. ~Some of us, anyway,~ Paul thought, glancing sideways at Eric.
"Shit!" The expletive flew from Eric's mouth with more honest emotion than
Paul had heard from him thus far. It might have been venom and disgust, but
it was honest emotion nonetheless. He'd been starting to think the guy was a
robot.
"What, man?" Paul looked around the sidewalk, and then up and across the
street.
Kitty's Den of Iniquity sat in the middle of the block. The front was done
in black brick, and there was a large overhang above. Across this overhang
neon lamps displayed women walking back and forth, wearing horns and forked
tails - very reminiscent of Playboy bunnies. They held trays of drinks and
winked at passersby. Under this elaborate sign the usual couple dozen
demons and wannabe-demons milled around the black glass doors like sheep.
The doors were chocked open, and a heavy bass beat pounded out along the
sidewalk along with catcalls and laughter. But the laughter here wasn't
like at Jack's; here it had a faintly desperate quality that Paul didn't
like. He'd never been inside, but he didn't have to go in to recognize that
sound. It was the sound of damnation.
He remembered Theresa saying that historically, Eric didn't have issues with
Kitty's. That's Eric's issues stemmed from a little further up the Strip at
Fire and Brimstone. "It's only Kitty's, Eric - what's the problem?"
Through gritted teeth Eric said, "Trey."
"Trey? What about him?" Paul had heard of the demon, of course, and knew he
was Enoch's right hand man. But as far as he knew Trey never went down to
the Mortal Plane. As a matter of fact, his information was that Trey rarely
ventured beyond Kitty's or the Casino. A nasty one and powerful with it, no
doubt about that, but he'd never heard of Trey having a run-in with any
Hunter. Then again, his short acquaintance with Eric was making him doubt
all his information.
Eric drew up short of crossing 400 Strip, nearly causing Paul to run into
him. "I just don't feel like putting up with his verbal diarrhea right now,
that's all."
Paul shrugged and sighed, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
Eric's weird tension was getting to him. "So ignore the little sod. An
insult is like poison; it only affects you if it is taken."
Eric peered at him, an expression of mild surprise on his face. "That was...
poignant. And unexpected."
Paul grinned. "Not what'cha expect from the 'Surfer Boy', eh?"
"Quite." Eric chuckled lightly then stepped off the curb, and for the first
time Paul caught a glimpse of something beyond the coldness and tension that
had enveloped Eric since he'd stepped into Dannon's. Something more personal
than the light banter they'd momentarily shared at the Infirmary - before
Eric seemingly remembered who he was. Maybe there was hope after all, Paul
thought.
When they drew abreast of Kitty's, a voice came out of the shadows in front
of the bar. "Well, if it isn't my favorite Hunter." Trey stepped out from
the crowd of demons milling around in front of Kitty's and onto the
sidewalk. Perfectly turned out in a grey silk suit, his wheat colored hair
held neatly back in a low ponytail with a strip of leather, Trey moved
directly into Eric's path. "Justice Blade. I didn't think they'd let you
back so soon."
The last was said with a biting sarcasm that made the hair on Paul's neck
stand up. ~Justice Blade?~ he thought. But he just elbowed his partner and
said, under his breath, "Ignore it, man. Keep walking." But Eric walked
right up to the demon then stopped just short of body-blocking Trey into the
ground. Paul watched as rather than speak, Eric simply stared at the demon.
Any emotion, and hint of personality that Paul might have seen only seconds
ago was completely gone. Mr. Robot was back.
"Tell me, what did you have to do to be allowed back into Purgatory? Did it
involve groveling? Self-flagellation? Did it hurt?"
"More than you'll ever know, spawn." Eric's mouth twitched up at one corner
as Paul watched, but his eyes were dead.
"We've taken a vote a decided that when we visit the Mortal Plane, from now
on we'll wear targets on our backs to make sure you get the right demon next
time. How big do you think it should be?" He clapped his hands together, and
when he held them out about 6 inches apart, there was a red bull's-eye
between them. The wider he moved his hands the bigger the bull's-eye got.
"Is this big enough? Can you see that? Need it a little bigger?" The group
gathered outside Kitty's burst into raucous laughter.
Paul twitched, growing irritated himself. The demon's voice was smooth and
melodious, but it grated on his Hunter senses like nails on a chalkboard. He
glanced at Eric; the man was perfectly still as if he didn't feel it. For a
moment he envied Eric the control.
"You want to wear a target, you go right ahead, Trey," Eric said in a
curiously pleasant voice, made even more incongruous by his blank face. At
the sound of it, Paul noticed the spectators starting to back away. "It's
not like Luci doesn't already have one on you."
"Maybe we could have Thanatos let us know when you'll be hunting, and we'll
wear a red carnation to help you out."
Trey was seriously getting on his nerves now. "Sod off!" Paul said, and
turned to Eric but Trey was there before he could speak again.
The demon leaned into Eric, and Paul was close enough to hear the whisper.
His skin crawled at the sound. "Of course, we could all just take Trinity
with us when we..."
What happened next was so quick Paul barely had time to jump back. Eric's
fist shot out, connecting just below Trey's ribcage. The air rushed out of
the demon's lungs with a whoosh and he staggered backward. Eric followed
him and plowed his fist into Trey's jaw with enough force for Paul to hear
the demon's teeth collide together with an audible snap.
Trey's head swiveled from the force of it, but at the same time he raised a
hand in a slashing motion. The arm of Eric's coat opened from the wrist to
the collar, the shirt with it. Angry red welts appeared on his chest. The
spectators were now a good fifteen feet back, forming a cautious circle
around the three of them. Their faces had the blank fascination of people
watching a car crash.
Eric gasped at the searing pain of the burns, looked down at them, then
jerked his head up. His eyes locked with the demon's. That was all Trey
needed.
"Like to use those hands, don't you?" Trey hissed, advancing on Eric. His
eyes narrowed and slits opened on Eric's hands and forearms like razor
slices, quickly and almost painlessly. Blood began running down Eric's
wrists and forearms in rivulets from ten cuts, then twenty, then thirty.
"For Grace's sake, don't look him in the eye! What're you thinking?" Paul
shouted, jumping forward and shoving Trey hard. The demon flew sideways into
the crowd. It was crude but effective - it broke Trey's eye contact with
Eric. The sliced skin on his hands and arms began to knit itself together.
But Eric moved sideways with demon as though he hadn't even heard Paul's
warning. He snapped out with a kick to Trey's shoulder, and tried to follow
it with a left hook; but unbelievably quick, Trey caught the hand in his
own. Eric screamed. The flesh on the hand Trey gripped started to bubble
and smoke, and Paul was shocked to see a brilliant red flower of blood bloom
across the back of what was left of Eric's shirt. The demon pulled him
close as if they were dancing. "A thousand years ago you'd never have let me
get this close. You're more fun now," he breathed into Eric's face.
Paul looked around wildly for something to break the contact. If he touched
Trey now, he'd be flash-burned. The energy the demon was putting out was
tremendous, energy that fed off the sensation of touching a Hunter. The
demon's eyes were almost blind with the ecstasy of it. But before Paul could
find anything to grab, the unthinkable happened.
He watched with horror as Eric shrugged out of what was left of his pea coat
and grabbed his sword with his free hand. His eyes were now so black with
uncontrollable hatred they were nearly as blind as Trey's. Ramming the
butt-end of the sword's hilt forward, Eric forced the demon back enough to
allow him to pull the sword loose of it's scabbard. Gripped underhanded,
Eric angled the blade upward, catching Trey at the hip.
The sword bit deeply; it went as smoothly as a hot knife through butter. But
almost at once it began to glow red and vibrate violently - enough so that
Eric had to muscle the keen edge upward one-handed to complete the cut to
the opposite shoulder. Trey screamed, releasing him, and Eric reversed the
sword in an overhand arc, cutting him again down his cheek, opening a deep
incision from under the eye to jaw line.
Paul gasped at the result in front of him. Only a few seconds had passed;
one moment, Eric was pinned screaming against Trey, and the next Trey had
fallen to his knees, chest and face opened wide. Beneath the human
appearance an oily black hide began to show through and the instant that
happened, Trey vanished in a cloud of black smoke. Paul had never seen
anything like it. He turned to look at his partner, trying to make sense of
the situation. Eric was standing quiet, a grim smile of satisfaction on his
face, weight slightly back on one foot, the sword gripped in both hands.
The moment the sword had come out, the demons around them had fled. The
crowd now consisted only of wannabe's.
The sword...
"Ah, dammit! What the *hell* do you think you're doing?" Paul raced forward,
snatching the remains of the pea coat from the ground and tossing it over
the weapon. As Paul shielded the sword from view, Eric casually re-sheathed
it, never taking his eyes from the spot where Trey had been. That
casualness, more than anything else, infuriated Paul.
Grabbing a double-handful of cloth, he snarled up into Eric's face. "You
can't do that cowboy shit out on the Strip, Eric! *Especially* not with a
Hunter weapon!" The crowd around them milled uncertainly, some leaving
after the vision of violence, others peering in to see what happened. Paul
scanned the area, trying to find a place for he and his partner to disappear
into.
What he saw was Kate.
Posted by Barb/Rob. Copyright © 2003.
Purgatory RPG - http://www.afterhourspub.com/purgatory.htm