Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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Knight Takes Queen

Lord Ghoul

Guest
L
The lush foliage of the Palace courtyard was a stark contrast to the barren terrain surrounding the residence of the Queens of Rattatak. In a place full of cragged peaks and deep canyons, all of a ribald red rock, colors of life were a strange sight. Scarce anything could grow in the arid climate, with its harsh, unyielding soil. Yet, the Queens took great care to cultivate their private grounds wherein they could find some semblance of otherworldly beauty, foreign to the grand, yet mostly bland planet.

Amidst flowers, hedges, and grass, a figure watched from the shadows as evening drew upon Rattatak. Shadows loomed long beneath moon's wan light, filling the place with a kind of haunting mystique that left the very air breathless. Mikhail closed his eyes and drank in the invigorating beams of the night's celestial bodies. Power flooded his veins, not born of the Force but of the alien blood which flowed through him. With eyes closed, standing amidst the deepening shadows of a hedge, Mikhail listened to the soft beat of nearby heart. The steady rhythm sung a symphony to his desires and he let loose a shuddering breath.

He opened his eyes. They glowed with a soft, pale blue light, as of moon and stars upon a glacier of ice. He blinked slowly, drawing in another breath. He could smell her scent, her blood. The hunger burned within him.
Mikhail Shorn came to Rattatak because it proved a safe haven from the long arms of those who sought to end him. Even in the Federation of the Fringe there were many who would rather see him dead. But there was a duel purpose for his presence here.

The starlight walker waited until his prey passed before him, then came his voice, loud in the quiet of the night.

"Boo."

[member="Evelynn Zambrano"]
 

Louise

here for your dad
Evelynn Zambrano flew.

Not of course in her own body, human beings weren't made to fly. No, the woman's form was sat in the courtyard, cross-legged and completely still, a small bead of swear forming upon an ashen forehead. Those usually granite eyes found themselves rolling, revealing that milky white hidden beneath. A disconcerting sight if there ever was one.

There was a piercing screech.

A valrain came bombing down from the skies above, talons bared and glaring in the moonlight. The human eye couldn't see what the predatory bird was aiming for, but that didn't matter, it wasn't human eyes that had gone hunting. Like every nature documentary ever aired in the history of existence the mouse didn't stand a chance. The hunt. The strike. The kill.

This was her hobby, going back to nature.

She would leave her pet to devour the spoils, having been satisfied enough by slaughter of the mouse. Grey orbs rolled back into place and the mute shuddered back into her own mind with a wavering breath. Her legs were stiff, mind you her legs were always stiff since her fall and she grasped the staff that sat aside her, leaning upon it to aid her in the quest of getting back to her feet.

Moving at a leisurely pace the mute made her way through the courtyard, the pace however was ruined by a certain skulking somebody. A small gasp escaped her lips as she was startled by the boo. Shoulders hunched, ready to fend off any assassins of the night. Oh, it was Mr. Dark and Brooding. Those bloody eyebrows.

Damn it, Shorn! The woman exclaimed telepathically, shooting him venomous daggers with her stare before managing to relax somewhat. Can you not call in advance?

What exactly are you doing here?

[member="Mikhail Shorn"]
 

Lord Ghoul

Guest
L
The beat of her heart fluttered. Surprise, alarm. Fear. He blinked slowly, lazily, the wink of a wolf, and stepped out from the shadows. Cold beams of starlight danced across his body, revealing the black dress shirt, unbuttoned just enough to suggest the ripple of pale, whipcord muscles beneath. A cool smirk played across his face, mirroring the icy stare of his depthless blue eyes, but gone almost before it had come. His eyes roved over her, openly. Mikhail breathed deeply.

He could smell the metallic odor of blood on her. That sanguine, coppery tang drifted intoxicatingly into his system. Yes, she smelled of blood, and sweat, and life. He longed to stretch out and touch that vitality. His eyes tracked down from her wide, grey eyes down to her slender neck, slick with a sheen of perspiration that reflected in the pale light of the moon so that her ivory skin seemed to glow softly. He watched the motions of her heaving chest, breath hard from the startling he'd given her. From the startling he was still giving her.

Two steps closed the distance between them. Mikhail was not a tall man by the galaxy's standards, but he stared down at Evelynn's slender frame. Wisps of hair so blonde it was almost white floated about in a light breeze that brought a chill to the skin beneath the cloudless night. Mikhail's stare was intense, haunting. The kind that made you feel as if he was giving you his whole attention. Every ounce of it. For a moment, all his pain and grief and anger disappeared beneath a single, primal feeling.

Desire.

For blood. For her.

Dark eyebrows rose, mocking. "What do you want me to be doing here?" A voice filled with a faux curiousness.

@Evelynn
 

Louise

here for your dad
What do I want?

Her response was sharp and biting as the mute leant forward, putting all of her meagre weight upon the head of her staff. Even though the tides had turned upon Rattatak between the Queens, her new-found status as the dominant sister did not prevent her from being flustered by one Mikhail Shorn. Of course she would attempt to mask that heated discomfort with bitter rage.

I wouldn't be opposed to hanging you in the chamber.

Her granite eyes narrowed, staring furiously into those alluring irritating blues. The mute would likely never be able to just quite put her finger on just what it was about this man that frustrated her so. I'm thinking it's the eyebrows.

Perhaps I'd have you flayed, just a bit of fun mind you, or is that foreplay...I forget...

Finally a smirk played upon her features, it didn't mask the fury that she was exuding, the heart thumping within her chest but still, it always did well to smile after mentioning the prospect of flaying. Try to give him a taste of his own unnerving medicine.

However I asked to know why you were here, and now I find myself demanding. What do you want, Mikhail?

[member="Mikhail Shorn"]
 

Lord Ghoul

Guest
L
Something was off. The frightened mute, scared yet determined, who Mikhail had met not long ago was gone. In her place stood a woman who gave commands and expected them to be obeyed. This was not the girl who he'd come to manipulate, who he intended to turn on Nemene. Perhaps he should leave. Yet, he still knew so little about either of them. And he could still hear the blood pumping through her body. Oh, how he craved to gulp that dark nectar in founts of crimson

The threats didn't elicit the intended response from Mikhail. No, in order to flay him she would have to catch him. Or beat him. Both easier said than done. Flaying? The threats reminded him of someone. He couldn't quite place his finger on who. Mikhail exhaled out a slow, shuddering breath of desire. His eyes glowed with that glacial cold.

He stepped forward, their bodies almost touching, and leaned forward, mouth next to her ear.

"You," he whispered.

No longer able to deny his urges, the Garhoon put his lips to the pale skin of her neck. He tasted the salt of her sweat and the sweetness of her flesh. Neither of these as appetizing to him as what the warmth he felt throbbing just beneath the surface of her skin. His fangs bit down.

[member="Evelynn Zambrano"]
 

Louise

here for your dad
Well that wasn't expected

Thud.

When it came to beauty Nemene was the sister that excelled. The fates (or more likely genetics) had smiled down upon the brunette and had given her the perfect visage. Evelynn on the other hand had been given the face of a Dorn. For the uninitiated the face of a Dorn found itself to be sharp and angular. An unnecessarily cruel face. In her youth when she was full of compassion and innocence it did not suit her, but of course, as well all know, Little Miss Zambrano had grown into her pointed spiteful face quite well.

Thud.

Still, she was almost taken aback by his advance. Not many people these days engage in the courting technique of creeping in the courtyard waiting for prey.

Thud. Thud.

Me
, she repeated, as if trying to sound assured and confident but not quite clinching it. His head moved down. For a moment she was perplexed. Was this seduction? The art of romance? This was unfamiliar flustery territory and Evelynn Zambrano did not like it.

Thud. Thud.

Then came the bite. The prick of fangs upon flesh and then the woman understood just that inch more. An inch enough. A gasp. A single skeletal hand came sliding up the back of his neck, nails along with it, hands spidering through that fine head of hair. Me. Her own reckless desire for pain made the mute push his head down upon her neck with vigour. A Cheshire grin creeping upon her features as he drained her.

Thud.

[member="Mikhail Shorn"]
 

Lord Ghoul

Guest
L
Hot blood gushed into his mouth, a stream of dark nectar that Mikhail greedily gulped down. He could feel the tips of her fingers digging into his scalp, tugging on his hair as she pushed him further onto her neck. The realization that Evelynn wanted this did not hit Mikhail until he had sated his thirst with several mouthfuls of her blood. The eternal hunger pushed him to have more, but Mikhail was not Voracitos. He knew how to control his hunger, because he knew how to make it all... fun.

The beating of her tremulous heart thumped against his chest. The daughter of Dorn did not have the curves of a woman from Zeltros, but Mikhail could feel the lithe musculature of her slender body pressed against him. Right now, curves didn't matter to him, because right now he could imagine nothing better than the lean tones of Evelynn's pale skin slick with sweat wrapped up around him.

The aroma of dried blood that hung about Evelynn would have repulsed most, but to a Garhoon there could be no better smell. Save, perhaps, blood undried. Shorn drew back from her neck, chin and lips smeared with blood, and stared at her for a brief second, blue eyes intense and searching, then his scarlet-drenched lips met Evelynn's a hungry kiss to make poets cringe in fear, ideals of romanticism shattered beneath primal urges of pure lust and gluttony.

Mikhail's hands moved across her body, tugging insistently at the clothes she wore as he attempted to rid her of them.

The moon shone down soft rays of illumination upon the repulsive sight. So many horrors occurred in the dead of night, but the moon did not keep track. It was forced to watch, to endure these crimes of the dark when evil came out to play. In silence, the moon watched. Never a word, never a whisper. Yet it did all it could, seeking to cast its beams upon the wicked pair and bring light to their sins. Such an act always seemed so futile, but the moon still tried.

[member="Evelynn Zambrano"]
 

Louise

here for your dad
So this was what the big fuss was all about in those dime a dozen holonovels.

Who would have thought that Stephenie Meyer was right? Oh god! That felt dirty. I feel unclean, I have become unclean. I need to wash. Get the acid, and the wire brush. Maybe a band-aid for afterwards, I think there's going to be quite a touch of blood. Unclean thing.

The masochistic mute with his hair intertwined between her finger, let out a shuddering gasp as he drained her and with a surprising amount of vigour for a creature so fragile she pressed herself into him. Pain. Pleasure. Pain is pleasure. The very mantra of the Gods.


YES.

M O R E.


He drew back, likely for the best given that the human body only contains so much blood. Not to mention it was likely not to be the only bloody spilled on this eve.

I WANT YOU.

Like the beasts that lurked in the menagerie below they went back to their primitive roots. Clothes had no place within the primeval. It was graphic. Violent. If it were a scene in a holovid it would have bumped up the age certification a notch.

Pushing, pulling, scratching, biting, grabbing, thrusting.

I N E E D Y O U

They found themselves upon the polished limestone and despite the absence of the sun the heat was still stifling. The kind of heat that sat upon your chest and threatened to suffocate you. The sound of trickling water from the various marble pools and fountains soothed her soul in that moment.

Evelynn stood, leaving Mikhail to bond still with the unforgiving ground, her body stained with blood now drying upon her pallid flesh, bruised skin left behind by finger that grasped far too greedily. Shorn on the other hand, likely looked as if he had lost a battle with an angry rake.

My. Feet padded quietly across the courtyard. You are something else, aren't you, Shorn?

[member="Mikhail Shorn"]
 

Lord Ghoul

Guest
L
"Mmm," replied the exhausted Shorn. He lay on his back, arms outstretched on the unyielding stone. He had a couple bruises, but he didn't care. The oppressive heat cast a lethargic spell across the garden. Mikhail wished to lay in torpid bliss forever, but at great length he got up and wandered over to Evelynn. The gurgling fountains promised relief from the stifling heat.

Shorn cast himself into the waters, bare of all but what nature had given him. The chilly depths sent a rush of relaxation through his body and he lay with eyes closed in the calm pool, listening to the sound of Evelynn moving and the rushing of the fountains around.

Suddenly, he sent a splash in her direction, more like a tidal wave really. His eyes flared open, cool and blue, a smirk upon his lips.

"Gotcha."

@Evelynn
 

Louise

here for your dad
Observing him she remarked that there was something incredibly feline about the man. Something a bit smug, a lonely girl's best friend, purring when you want to hear it, leaving scratches when you don't. Even the way he moved, slowly, leisurely, dictating the pace of the scene to match his own needs. Of course, she wouldn't tell him he was a cat. Cats were too feminine, it would be an affront to male sensibilities. A verinth, yes.

Caught deep in the realms of thoughts regarding beasts and men she had no chance. Of course, no chance was a mite dramatic given that she was being splashed by water, not acid.

The masochistic mute flailed somewhat as she was hit by the refreshing wave of pool water. Her head snapped to look at him, granite eyes narrowing as if it had been the greatest offence in the world. Yes. Yes you did. The Silent Sister let the moment keep tension for a moment before those sharp features broke into a smile.

Is this what they call frolic? The woman questioned as she moved to the edge of the pool and took a seat, frail legs dipping into the crystal waters. I wouldn't know. I have a tendency to remove the heads of my sexual partners.

Who would have guessed it? Evelynn was terrible at humour.

[member="Mikhail Shorn"]
 

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