08-24-2016, 08:44 AM
Under the cover of darkness, Damien waded through the crowds of Moscow in silent anonymity. His business done with the Ascendnacy, Damien sought the pleasures of the night. For so long he had been fighting, he almost forgot how to enjoy himself.
The streets were full of men and women who slunk through the shadows like fugitives. Not so with Damien, he strode without concern or regard for the souls that passed by. What business was it of theirs, to judge a man or woman for their choice in pleasures? The lamb did not scorn the lion for hunting its prey.
The line of thinking was swept aside for more pleasant thoughts. He had begun to accept the innate foolishness of humanity. Perhaps in time they would learn. For the time being, Damien was content to do as he pleased.
"My, my, you are handsome, aren't you?"
a young woman's voice curled up in his ear. Husky and suggestive, the woman reinforced her statement with her hands boldly groping at his belt while her necklace dug into the skin of his neck.
Damien smiled, but inside his mood soured. The whore stunk of alcohol and stale perfume, her pock-marked face covered with a lather of ill-suited cosmetics that made her look more like a clown than temptress. He did not begrudge her because of her trade, but he did disdain those who performed it so poorly.
"Not now, sweet. Perhaps another time,"
he replied laconically, idly removing her hands from his pants with gentle care. She pouted at him, but the look in his eye told her not to press the matter further.
"Fine, be that way."
She pushed herself away with sharp nails digging into his chest. Damien grunted as she smiled at him with vicious pleasure. He frowned as he pressed a hand to his breast.
Blood.
"Wha..."
The world around him began to fade at an alarmingly rapid pace. Damien had no time to even call out to those around him before his legs grew weak and he stumbled.
Vaguely, he heard the woman's voice somewhere in the distance. It echoed in his head. "Now, now. Don't worry."
The seductive charm had been replaced with cool confidence. More, he recognised the familiar Maine accent. "Everything will be fine, Mr. Oakland. You are in good hands."
As his legs struggled to remain upright, he felt arms grasp under his armpits to shoulder the weight. The woman - whoever the hell she was - was carrying him!
Rage boiled like a distant thundercloud, but it slipped away like rain off a window pane. The lure of sweet oblivion was far too strong. Soon it overwhelmed him, dragging him into the depths of unconsciousness.
Edited by Damien, Aug 24 2016, 08:44 AM.
The streets were full of men and women who slunk through the shadows like fugitives. Not so with Damien, he strode without concern or regard for the souls that passed by. What business was it of theirs, to judge a man or woman for their choice in pleasures? The lamb did not scorn the lion for hunting its prey.
The line of thinking was swept aside for more pleasant thoughts. He had begun to accept the innate foolishness of humanity. Perhaps in time they would learn. For the time being, Damien was content to do as he pleased.
"My, my, you are handsome, aren't you?"
a young woman's voice curled up in his ear. Husky and suggestive, the woman reinforced her statement with her hands boldly groping at his belt while her necklace dug into the skin of his neck.
Damien smiled, but inside his mood soured. The whore stunk of alcohol and stale perfume, her pock-marked face covered with a lather of ill-suited cosmetics that made her look more like a clown than temptress. He did not begrudge her because of her trade, but he did disdain those who performed it so poorly.
"Not now, sweet. Perhaps another time,"
he replied laconically, idly removing her hands from his pants with gentle care. She pouted at him, but the look in his eye told her not to press the matter further.
"Fine, be that way."
She pushed herself away with sharp nails digging into his chest. Damien grunted as she smiled at him with vicious pleasure. He frowned as he pressed a hand to his breast.
Blood.
"Wha..."
The world around him began to fade at an alarmingly rapid pace. Damien had no time to even call out to those around him before his legs grew weak and he stumbled.
Vaguely, he heard the woman's voice somewhere in the distance. It echoed in his head. "Now, now. Don't worry."
The seductive charm had been replaced with cool confidence. More, he recognised the familiar Maine accent. "Everything will be fine, Mr. Oakland. You are in good hands."
As his legs struggled to remain upright, he felt arms grasp under his armpits to shoulder the weight. The woman - whoever the hell she was - was carrying him!
Rage boiled like a distant thundercloud, but it slipped away like rain off a window pane. The lure of sweet oblivion was far too strong. Soon it overwhelmed him, dragging him into the depths of unconsciousness.
Edited by Damien, Aug 24 2016, 08:44 AM.