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| Cibum Puer: Meat of Youth [IC]; The fountain of youth is in the flesh. | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: December 9, 2011, 3:39 am (634 Views) | |
| Wicked | December 9, 2011, 3:39 am Post #1 |
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The Derp Queen
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Impenetrable steel towered menacingly over the street, casting shadows for a good length though not many were under its cover as people barely ever traveled near the UN Flesh labs. They stayed within the city center, a few miles away from this breeding ground, where glass-paneled buildings rose into the sun-filled sky and reflected back the star’s rays in a dazzling display of colors. There, in the city, live buzzed about on the streets as cannibals walked about the sidewalks or flashed past in their hybrids on trash-free streets. Stores, bars, and other various entertainment sources for the better off, stayed open twenty-four seven since eyes never shut in the city center. Every city was the city that never slept and even in the shantytowns, the poor could hear the sounds of festivities continued on past the midnight hour and onward as dawn approached. The skyscrapers, as most buildings in the cities were, lit up the night with color and activity. The cities were breathing organisms, just like the ones contained in the building that loomed on the edge of Washington D.C, only a river away from the D.C. center of life. It was a five-sided building of pure steel, a modified Pentagon that was populated with the humans that were not classified as Homo sapiens in the eyes of the cannibals. Just past the thick wall of the impenetrable steel, reflecting back a blank-faced redhead standing alone in a black hooded jacket she’d stolen, were a loot of UN scientists, Flesh Gods, and their experimental guinea pigs. Just on the other side of the wall was the source of immortality that threatened the fabric of human life, that sustained the wealthy and left the poor to eat one another alive. This five-sided building, surrounding a hollowed out center of agriculture as Scraps had heard from one of the other Rebellion members, housed the clones that fed the cannibals. From outside, it looked menacing but maybe that was just her projecting her own feelings onto the metal surface. Most of the rich just found the place dull, with no architectural significance other than its shape. It was plain but Scraps saw, instead, the sharp edges of the building as blades. If she could get past the electric barbed wire fence that surrounded the entire perimeter, would she be able to cut herself on the corners of the Pentagon? She steeled herself, boring her dark green eyes into the building as she balled her hands into fists within the pockets of her jacket. The wind blew harshly, hitting her face and shifting the thick tendrils of dark red hair around her temples and cheekbones. She barely paid it any mind as she observed the insignificant building that held much significance inside. Scraps stood alone. There wasn’t another soul on this side of town; the city was a few miles northeast on the other side of the river and the ghetto five miles to the northwest, divided from the cannibals once more by the Potomac river. This was considered Flesh limbo. The poor didn’t come here because they despised everything it stood for. They fought with the UN for everything: money, food, survival. They ended up defiling the human race by selling their own to the cannibals that benefited from the UN anyways, thinking it was one way to stand against the government that disregarded them. They were stealing money away from the UN, but they were handing its main fuel right back into the hands of the rich. In the end, it was about survival. For Scraps, it was about survival. But, it was also about revenge. She was risking it by being here, she knew that much, because just on the other side of this five-sided hell were guards who stood monitoring the surrounding lamely, since they simply knew no one would have the balls to attack. The guards were simply a precaution to a fight the UN didn’t even think was in the people anymore. Scraps smirked to herself. How wrong the UN was. While the Rebellion was relatively small, since the United Nations didn’t even think they existed, the rebels had one up on them- if only a bit. It was enough to fill Scraps with a smugness that meant ill for anyone who crossed her. She was sure she was in this for the wrong reasons, simply seeking out to hurt the government that hurt her in so many ways, but as long as she was helping the cause no one really questioned her motives. Scraps didn’t eat human flesh and she wanted to see the downfall of the UN. That was all that mattered. Of course, she didn’t mention that when she’d been an orphan in the ghetto Scraps had sold corpses to the cannibals that fueled this fucked up system. The Rebellion may be able to overlook it and let her join, but she wasn’t up to dealing with the bitching of those who disagreed with her being there, and what she’d done in the past. Most of them were from Alaska and Switzerland- they didn’t understand that need to survive that Scraps had clung to throughout her entire life up until this point. Even now, that was a primary thing she felt. She needed to survive past the frame put on her by the ghetto pricks from her home shantytown; she needed to survive the UN’s hunt. She just needed to survive. Her hand withdrew from her pocket and plucked the cigarette she’d been smoking out of her mouth. Tossing it on the rocky ground, mixed with weeds and discarded trash, Scraps stomped on it with her combat boot; she grinned to herself as she imagined it was the government she was stepping on. If only. The gal turned her heels away from the hellhole she had no desire to ever step into and headed west, already picking up on the familiar scent of decay that wafted from the ghetto. Five miles and six cigarettes later, Scraps was stepping over the scrawny legs of people who’d simply lost their will to live. Deprived faces with hollowed out cheeks and eye sockets faced straight forward, paying the redhead no mind as she moved about the grungy streets of the shantytown. There were the distinct sounds of fights breaking out on either side, the actual visual kicked out of focus by various make-shift shacks composed of discarded tin and wood. There were the cries of children, probably over the passing of one of their parents or siblings, and the pleads of a few scavenging folk who were tailing unfortunate cannibals as they tried to make their way to the local Flesh Market. Scraps intentionally ignored this, not wanting to steer attention to herself if she were to lose it and attack those sick bastards who ate upon their own kind. Instead, she turned down one of the alleys and entered one of the few actual buildings, dingy and decaying, in the ghetto. It was gray outside, though Scraps was certain it had been a shade of blue when it was still taken care of, before the cannibal shift to the city center, and the paint was continuously flaking off in chunks. The doorway held no door. Instead, a sheet of abused tin covered it. It groaned and screeched as Scraps moved it out of her way enough for her to slip inside the dark entryway. In a far off corner, a candle gave off dim lighting and she moved towards it. As she approached, the sound of talking reached her keen ears and she knew she was stepping into the meeting a bit late. Oh well. “Been to the Pentagon again, Scraps?” A gritty man grunted, noting the red flair of hair as the candlelight illuminated the latecomer. She gave him a sneer before plopping down on a crate that served as a makeshift seat. Surrounding the distressed wood table, where the candle sat, were representatives of the Rebellion. “What can I say? The place is just so charming,” she retorted. --- A blinding light suddenly enveloped the steel cube of a room, the light bouncing off the metallic surfaces and making the reflections excruciating. A few bodies shifted on the floor where they were curled up, some huddled against one another, while others were solitary and slept alone. Whatever the state of the Flesh, members of the cell began to stir out of their slumber by the light’s disturbance that signaled a new day of getting up and, for some, doing nothing. However, a few of the Flesh that opened their eyes, wincing and squinting against the lab’s way of greeting the morning, were to work in the fields located at the core of the Pentagon. One of these select few, 8310, slowly opened his eyes to the scene about him, trying again and failing to figure out “why”; that was a new word he’d learned, just the other day after an encounter with a white coat who’d he’d accidentally dropped a bundle of potatoes on. “Why the fuck are these things so damn stupid? Even my dog knows not to do shit like this,” the being growled as he rubbed his stubbed appendage. 8310 blinked, his eyebrows furrowing together as he tried to decipher the sounds coming from the white coat’s mouth. He had a stumble on his chin, dark blonde hairs growing in after he apparently brushed aside the shaving process the white coat did most of the times because he was too busy trying to decode protein sequences for study. 8310 focused in on the shadows of hair on the man’s chin, confused as to why the coloring was off. He didn’t even notice that the man was yelling at him, pointlessly, to pick up the potatoes 8310 had dropped. As the Flesh stared at the man’s moving chin, watching the light catch the blonde stubs and changed the appearance of its coloring, he tried to repeat the sounds in his head: “why”. It was directed towards 8310, more than once, as the man continued to curse as he shifted down and grabbed the potatoes, shoving them into 8310’s still outstretched hands. Was it related to what he’d done? Was it something to do with the potatoes that were now being put back in his hands? “Drop” was another word he caught onto, but he knew that one already. He knew not to do it, and that was why the white coat was yelling at him. He’d “dropped” the potatoes. So “why” had to do with that, his action. Action… His blue eyes trailed over the others in the cell, drinking in the vacant expressions that were bred into every Flesh here. Sometimes, they would furrow an eyebrow, or wince when something pained them, but otherwise they looked blank like the walls. 8310 was starting to change his face, shifting it into the look the white coat had given him the other day. He furrowed his eyebrows severely, pressed his lips together, and squinted his eyes before stretching them as wide open as he could. The cameras installed in each corner of the cell turned to focus on the specimen with peculiar facial expressions. He didn’t notice. He changed his face again, though, back into the impassive vacancy that soothed the unsettled nerves of white coats whenever they collected the Flesh from the cells, as they were about to do now. There was a click and the previously solid steel wall parted, revealing the sterile lab that cloned humans, only to place them in cells and later butcher them for sale. A white coat stood on the threshold of the now receding doorway, pressing something on his wrist: a watch until a small screen projected itself in the air before him. He pressed at it, and a list of numbers appeared that 8310 knew automatically would contain his sequence. Like clockwork, the voice boomed out of the white coat: “8310, 8305, 8315…” As he called out the various numbers, another white coat approached the cell and searched for the Flesh related to these numbers. She was a new recruit and did not know them specifically, since they all looked the same to her. She grabbed at wrists and looked at the track number on them, dragging up the ones the other scientist had called out. Despite the urge to stand up at the sound of his number, 8310 remained seated. The last time he’d jumped up at the sound of the familiar sequence of 8-3-1-0, the white coats looked at him strangely. He’d noted never to do it again. Flesh. Quiet. He reminded himself. The Flesh was to be pulled about, not making it’s own decisions. If he were revealed once more, would the odd looks turn to screaming? Or would he disappear like the others? Finally, the woman came to him and, unnerved by something in his blue eyes, quickly pulled him up and ushered him along with the others. It was time to go “outside”. He kept his eyes ahead, though curiosity begged him to look around the clean steel laboratory to observe the others who looked like him, but in different clothing. But, that would mean strange looks again. Soon, he was outside with the others and the bitter air hit his face. It was “cold”. Winter, He concluded. He’d yet to learn “autumn” since no one cared to mention it. Either way, the cattle was ushered out into the cold and they went to work on the different rows of vegetables, while some went to lug pots and manure. Some worked on the fruits at the farther corner, but produce would be slim. 8310 knew that when it was cold, there was hardly anything to collect anymore. Today would be a short workday. It made him sad. He hated being inside, with only flat faces and flat surfaces to look at. He enjoyed the feel of dirt on his hands, and moving, despite the tingle of the autumn air on his flesh. It made him feel different. Edited by Wicked, December 9, 2011, 11:54 pm.
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| Anamnesis | December 9, 2011, 5:46 pm Post #2 |
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Member
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Light filtered brightly through four large panels of glass, taking up the entirety of a wall to create a huge window that allowed whoever that was inside the spacious room to oversee a portion of the Pentagon that was quite crucial to the Cibum flesh industry. The room towered from above, giving a bird's eye view of what looked like a farmer's paradise hosting what seemed to be humans working and harvesting whatever crops that managed to survive the cold climate of winter. If one was to look further past that, they would be able to see the far enough outline of Washington D.C's cityscape straight on and the beginning of barren patches of land that led to the poor districts of town on the furthest right of the giant glass wall. But only if one ignored the case of unyielding steel that protected the perimeter of the Pentagon. Within the room, eyes that showed a vested interest in what was happening down below observed the humans in brown uniforms go about their duties like a god would his or her creations. A glint of light caught from the sun glimmered towards those eyes, causing its naturally light grey colour to turn a cold silver as though it were made of the same harsh steel that fortified the building. The people below (other than the ones in lab coats or Pentagon uniform) were not humans. They were flesh; Cattle, clones created for food; and god would ensure that they were used only for its purpose, and that was to feed the real humans that could afford it. Natalia Fedora Zhukov held this mentality with the slightest bit of arrogance. To her, the Cattle meant resources, a testament to the research and methods that brought her bloodline to its earth-shattering position within the world. They were living proof (for now) of her father's legacy and while she retained possibly one of the most important positions within Cibum, which much to her satisfaction brought her one step closer to her father, her arrogance weighed very little when compared to the sheer arrogance that overclouded her father like a brewing volcano ready to erupt at the most unpredictable of times. The thought of her recent acquisition of the position of flesh god caused Natalia's lips to purse in delight momentarily before she cast her eyes away from the glass and walked towards her desk. As she walked away from the glass, her attire caught reflection like a mirror. Today Natalia wore a sleeveless shirt that showed off her well-toned arms with a hint of her cleavage nestled mostly within a slim black pencil skirt and matching four-inch pumps on her feet. Her hair cascaded down her back and her makeup held a professional hint to them. Natalia looked more like a secretary of a large corporation than a scientiest but her stature allowed her such benefits to dress the way she wanted. Natalia walked past her desk and her long, sleek fingers flew towards an array of buttons on a panel that sat at the corner of the desk. She pressed a button and a glass sheet flew down from the ceiling to make some sort of board. On it lay several digital interfaces, her Big Brother. Natalia stared at the 'screen', awaiting the newest input of data from the cells. Among the priorities she had chosen in her newfound role as a Flesh God, Natalia had decided to keep track on the ongoings of the scientists who oversaw the entire sifting process of the Cattle. It had been an area of which the flesh god found the most interesting when she had to crawl her way to the top. She had felt the urge to oversee the finer details of the selection process but it has been a small fantasy of her's when she was younger to one day see a flesh act human that pushed her to her decision. Nobody knew this of course, because Natalia knew from a very young age that desires were better kept secret. Despite that, the one desire that had somehow been made public was her affinity for many lovers. Natalia Zhukov was a hard woman to please but there were always men who would try to tame this god. So far there had been two but it came from a time Natalia would rather not think about. And for the past 25 years, it was truth. Natalia broke out of her revelry as the new influx of data streamed onto her interface. Her hands and eyes glided across the information until it rested on one particular specimen. 8310. She blinked and had only begun calculating the possibilities in her head when the intercom system that sat on her desk glowed and vibrated to life. Natalia stared at it for a few seconds. It could only be one of two people and Natalia expected it not to be Alois Dietrich. She walked over to her desk and pressed the receiver. "Dr. Fedora Zhukov." "Send me the daily reports on recent activity from Flesh #390-01-8310." The message was curt and Natalia simply blinked at the intercom before returning her focus onto what was displayed on her screen. She thought for a moment before she brought out her right wrist where her intrinsic watch rested and scanned it through the scanner of her interface to download the data. Natalia ensured her Big Brother was locked and put away before grabbing her coat and walking out the door. She pushed the door open and strut out of her office as though she was walking down the runway. She put on her jacket with ease as her two assistants struggled to keep up. Natalia had been through these corridors for almost 50 years so she knew where to go. As she walked, she sent 8310's reports to her father. Natalia Zhukov was interested in observing 8310 herself and she would benefit from getting there before that 'arrogant brat', as her father called him, did. Edited by Anamnesis, December 24, 2011, 3:34 am.
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Like a mistress of memory, I bask in knowledge of the past, hidden behind killer curves and a demure smile.
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| Dancer | December 14, 2011, 5:24 am Post #3 |
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Member
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Sasha stepped out of the train station with a grim expression on her face. Immediately, she was hit by a gust of wind, and an overpowering stench came over her. It smelled vaguely of rotten fish, ammonia, and decaying flesh. If hopelessness had an odor, this would be it. Sasha looked around, and saw that nobody else had gotten off the train at this stop. Big surprise, she thought. Look at the place. At first glance it didn't seem so bad. Just a small town, with a few people loitering around. Once she got a closer look, however, she saw the truth of the situation. The buildings that had just looked like small houses were, on second glance, tiny huts of tin and plywood. They looked like they had been smacked together in a hurry, made out of the scraps from another civilization. All around them, Sasha saw people that weren't noticeable before. There were decaying corpses lying in the ditches. She couldn't tell if they were dead or alive. They had sunken eyes and bones jutting out from under their thin, grey skin. Sasha shuddered as she walked past them, but their empty eyes paid her no attention. All around her, there was the sound of fighting, which she decided to ignore. After all, she had somewhere to be. Sasha walked through the ghetto with as much haste as she could muster without raising suspicions. To take away from the atmosphere of suffering, she thought back to the reason why she was here. Sasha never thought she'd end up in the ghetto. Her hands clenched as she thought over the series of events that led her to this festering hellhole. First, she had been a brainless idiot, and had run away from civilization when she could've stayed behind, and been a scout behind enemy lines (so to speak) for the rebellion. How stupid of her to leave her life out of a sudden panic! Well, that was in the past. After she retreated to Alaska, it was the start of a new life for her. She joined the rebellion, and had come so far as to be sent to D.C as a representative. And good riddance to them! Sasha still blamed her parents for never telling her that the flesh she was addicted to was cloned meat. She hated them for that, and for being so clingy and never letting her out. If she had gone outside more as a child, then maybe she wouldn't me as messed up as she was today. Well, serves them right for losing her. This whole business was as messed up as it can get! Suddenly, Sasha heard something strange. The fighting had stopped, and, other than a few scuffles here and there, noise had diminished drastically. She kept walking forward, keeping her eyes down, but she used her peripherals to look around. There was a man following her. This didn't surprise the young woman in the least. She had heard stories of men who murdered their kin to sell on the Black Market, and just supposed it was one of those instances. She knew that these people never attacked the upper class, but right now, she looked more like she lived in a place similar to this. Clothed in worn-out boots, brown pants, and an old black sweater, she looked nothing like a respectable citizen. That was probably why they targeted her. That, and the fact that she looked healthy enough to be good food. Sasha looked briefly down at the scrap of paper on which a faint street address was written. If her internal compass was right, the building was only a few blocks away. As much as she would love a good workout, fighting these men would be dangerous and stupid, and she had somewhere to be. Then, someone jumped out from behind a dilapidated building at her. Instinctively, Sasha swung out her arm and whacked him square in the jaw, her plans for not fighting forgotten instantly. It was only after they had exchanged a few blows that he really knew who he was dealing with. This was not some innocent little upper-class girl who had mistakenly wandered into a nearby ghetto, this was a woman on a mission. And right now, that mission didn't involve any street fights. This was obviously a poorly-equipped, uneducated man who was just trying to make a few bucks. Sasha could easily unarm him; and so she did, knocking the knife out of his hand onto the weather-beaten pavement. He had underestimated her, and while he was scrambling for his knife, she made a run for it. Down the street, turn right, and down the alleyway was a building with a door missing. Sasha let the momentum from her sprint pull the tin sheet off of the door. She hurried inside, and replaced the makeshift covering carefully. Then, she headed toward the faint, flickering light that was located towards the back on the room. She heard talking, but didn't pay attention to the words. The blonde walked into the dreary, foul-smelling room and sat down on a small crate that was sitting in front of a worn-out table. She regarded all that looked at her with a cold stare and an indifferent expression. Business as usual. Sasha regarded everyone else in the room with a cold stare and a hard expression. There was no time for pleasantries. Business as usual. Edited by Dancer, December 14, 2011, 5:26 am.
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Some of the greater things in life are unseen, thats why we close our eyes when we kiss, cry or dream | |
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| Dream | December 15, 2011, 8:02 pm Post #4 |
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Mew?
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Pale green eyes stared blankly at the ceiling. The time had long since past for awakening to the day, but that was of no consequence. There was nowhere to go that required getting up, in fact, there was not much to do at all. That didn't stop the pounding. Over and over again, there was a loud rap at the door, impossible to ignore, even in the deepest sleep. Elizabeta Dietrich opened her eyes, though she hadn't been sleeping. She sat up, her long black hair falling over her shoulders in it's usual controlled mess. She threw the covers off of her, and slid her thin legs off the warm mattress. She pushed herself off the bed, coming to a standing position. A few minutes later, the young woman realized that she should probably do something with her time, before everybody completely forgot her. There were people, few though they may be, that she was friends with, that she valued as a person. Beyond those, there were a few who knew her enough to give a small greeting is passing, but not much more than that. She was never really one to get attached to people. It never seemed to work out when she did. It seemed impossible for anyone to look past the name, to look past everything her parents did, all that her brother wanted to do, and notice the woman living in the shadows. Not that she much minded. There were times when Elizabeta craved to be unnoticed, specifically, when she was dragged off to yet another "family function". Dressed and ready for what was left of the day, Elizabeta made her way out of the large mansion. She was dressed in her normal outfit; a pair of comfortable, faded skinny jeans, a half length sleeved shirt that didn't quite meet her jeans at her hips, revealing her heart tattoo on her hip, and a black vest that completed the look. Walking down the street, Elizabeta soon made her way to the "middle class" areas of town, the area where she not only felt most comfortable, but seemed to actually belong. She walked around, not really having anywhere in particular she wanted to go. "Hey, Liza!" she heard a voice call from the shadows. She turned her head, recognizing the voice as one of her friends. She gave her a small wave, but upon noticing that she was not alone, decided to continue on her way instead of stopping to talk. Elizabeta was alone. And she was bored. --- Work. Such an uneventful place, right? At least, that was how some people saw it. Just something you had to do to get by in a world where money, and position, was everything. Where it was either eat, or be eaten. And if there was one thing that was universally known, it was that no Dietrich was ever going to let themselves be eaten. Of course, that was the thought that fed Alois' passion. Well, one of many. If he were to be completely honest, there was also a bit of fear involved. Fear for what would come of his sister, who seemed to be going nowhere in life. Fear for his family, who seems to be losing power as the Zhukov family grew. He may be young, but that didn't mean he wasn't smart. And smart he was. Alois Dietrich knew his place, knew of the hatred that seemed to only grow between his and the Zhukov family, even as his status grew. His promotion to Flesh God was just the tip of the issue. While yes, he was an arrogant bastard, he was smart about it. He wasn't going to openly fight the most powerful family in the cloning industry. No, he would go along, play the good boy, not cause trouble. That way, nobody would suspect a thing. He would be trusted, at least enough. Alois sat at his desk in the office room, sorting through tabs on his screen. There were quite a few unnecessary tabs open, which was what he was trying to resolve. He looked around for a few moments, before returning to his work. He was looking into one of the Cattle in particular, referred to as simply "8300". Why he was looking into that particular one was nothing more than a hunch, which is why he didn't really want his actions to be widely known. Of course, it was highly unlikely that he could keep them from everyone, but the less notice he recieved, the better. After a few minutes, he sighed, pushing himself away from the desk. ooc
Edited by Dream, December 19, 2011, 7:50 pm.
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I'll whisper in your ear, You are mine, and you will never have to be alone. And when I pull you near, You'll know I love you like I never loved anyone. So let me be the one to lift you up, I'll carry you home. 'Cause now I'm here to keep you safe, And to catch you when you fall. | |
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| Wicked | December 19, 2011, 8:46 pm Post #5 |
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The Derp Queen
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A few more people managed to shuffle into the dingy building, crowding around the one candle that would keep them all from basically talking in the dark. Still, it was a pitiful meeting and the fire, or speck of one, that the candle supplied was not ample enough to heat the many bodies that were stuffed into the one room. The amount of bodies, though, helped keep the autumn chills at bay while they conversed about the decaying matters about them. Scraps sat idly by as they talked about the Flesh Market’s increase in profit lately, as more and more cannibals turned from the cloned good and onto what the bureaucrats liked to call “the organic stuff”. She didn’t risk speaking up during these topics of discussion, since she knew a little too much from experience about just how much one was supposed to get from a body in cash, what limbs were sold, and the pieces that were discarded. Nowadays, they didn’t nitpick as much. People were buying full bodies, disregarding their past distaste for the fatty pieces as their greed for youth spiked. Apparently, word around the block was that the UN stamped cloned flesh just wasn’t working the way it used to and people were getting desperate. This meant that the Rebellion needed to act, and soon to prevent too much chaos. Murder, ever since the abolishment of that last seed of a law, was on fire. People were cornered daily in the ghettos, and even reportings of middle class deaths were rising to the surface. The ghettos used to only go after the dead but now they were more than willing to grab whatever healthy looking piece of meat they could get, though still avoiding the hands that fed them with money. The rich were safe while everyone else was fair game. Scraps was one of the lucky few who knew how to fight her way out of encounters with Flesh Hunters but she’d seen her share of lost battles in the wide open sections of shantytowns, the loser being dragged, still breathing and screaming, towards the makeshift butcher shop. It would be off to the Market with them. A sharp cry from outside the Rebellion’s meeting place pierced through Scraps’ thoughts and made her grimace; this was the new age. It was funny how, only an hour or so ago, Scraps’ had been surrounded by the sounds of children laughing and playing along the streets in the middle class section of Washington D.C. They were oblivious to what the kids in these streets struggled through daily. They, unlike the orphans Scraps had to leave behind, had parents who kept a roof over their heads and made money by being bankers or something of the sort. Soon, though, their world was going to be encroached upon by the ghettos. The UN didn’t care now, yet, about the well-being of the middle class, still catering to the rich that fueled its governments. That, Scraps thought with a sneer, would be their downfall. The poor, the middle class, they were the ones that kept things running. They were the foundation that the rich stepped on. And, soon, very soon, it would crumble and they would all fall through. “Scraps, what’s the news on the Pentagon?” The gruff man from before asked, staring at the young woman from across the table. She blinked, turning her attention away from the window and back at the group around her. With a shrug, she mused over the question Ahiga had shot her. “Security is the same as last time. Most of the perimeter is unmanned with only that fence to keep out intruders. There are cameras positioned at each corner of the Pentagon and their angled to get a wide view of the surrounding area, but I found a blind spot to observe in. The thing is,” Scraps paused here, fiddling with an unlit cigarette as it twirled between her fingers, “that building is made out of pure steel and there’s a reason why the security isn’t tight on the outside. I’m thinking it’s hard to get out, real hard, and that’s if we can get in. Every time I go, it’s the same deal: There are no doors. It’s a flat surface. Yet, when a guard switches patrol, the wall parts. It’s sealed shut with no seams that I can find.” Scraps flicked the cigarette onto the table and watched as it rolled towards the candlestick and came to a stop at its base. She looked back up at Ahiga, who was rubbing his ashen beard as he always did when he was trying to figure something out. She looked at the others, noticing a new female face that was young; it stood out against the other, older people and Scraps, a thug. She didn’t exactly fit the Rebellion prototype with smooth skin and pretty features. She looked delicate. Scraps put a mental bet on how long that gal would last here. She’d probably been scared out of her wits just getting here. How the hell had she even heard of the Rebellion? Scraps huffed, turning back to Ahiga, one of many Native Americans who continued the Rebellion after their grandparents, and great-grandparents had passed. He, like others in this group, came from Alaska. There were a handful of Switzerland folk, since most chose to follow the UN’s main base in the Vatican City. And then, there were the few like Scraps who came from rough backgrounds with rough skin and even tougher personalities. They, though, got it from fighting against the Flesh Hunters and the UN. Scraps got it all from being an orphan, forced to work for the Market in order to survive. Though, hell would freeze over before they heard her sob story. “We need someone to be inside the Pentagon,” the loony replied. Scraps looked at Ahiga, gaping at the three heads he might as well have grown. A few others around the table began making a fuss, some agreeing with the native while others thought the same damn thing as Scraps: Ahiga had finally lost it, the poor old man. “I hate to bust your bubble, but none of us look ‘bout ready to work inside the Pentagon. I’m sure there’re tests ya’ gotta take and all kinds of shit,” Scraps argued, her slang slipping in as her frustration boiled. “I didn’t say it was going to happen instantly,” he rebutted. “It ain’t happenin’!” Scraps exclaimed, her short fuse burning off bit by bit. She hadn’t even realized she’d leapt from her makeshift chair until the sound of the crate clacking against the floor snapped her out of it. She roughly grabbed the seat to settle down the racket and plopped back down, shaking her head as she grabbed up her cigarette and lit it by use of the candle. Putting it to her mouth, she shook her head again at Ahiga. “You’re on your own,” was the withdrawal she settled for, one choice out of the many more colorful sentences. _______ 8310 could have reached down. He could have helped her up. But, instead, 8310 watched as the young female was hauled away by one of the black suits that kept watch over the working cattle. She was pale, almost as white as the white coats, and her eyelids were shut permanently. They hid beneath the skin hollow brown eyes that 8310 had always thought matched the soil in his hands almost perfectly. That was, until today. She’d looked so unwell as she’d pulled up roots and potatoes from the ground beside him. Her usually pink-painted cheeks had turned a ghastly gray as she tried to focus on her job, skinny fingers grasping at the vegetation and pulling, only to come up empty-handed. But, 8305 hadn’t always been like that. She was a strong woman, who’d worked beside 8310 ever since he’d been put out to collect food. But, today, she was tired and the cold had been biting at her. She was becoming sick. As 8310 placed another potato into the sack he was filling up, a thump came from his right side. He peered over, curious and alarmed by the limp figure that had collapsed onto the ground next to him. 8305 had lost her balance when trying to get up with her sack, falling over in the moment of weakness. Instinct told him to reach out and pull her up, and he almost did until he felt the penetrating stares of multiple black suits around him, their stunning guns taut in their hands. The Flesh wasn’t supposed to react. 8310 had to keep reminding himself of that as she struggled to get up on her own. He pretended to tie a knot in the sake, having finished the collection of potatoes from this specific row, all the while watching 8305 push herself up on shaking arms. There was a flash of confusion on her face, bewilderment at her body for giving up on her. Then, one of the black suits moved forward to collect her. “Waste of money,” the black suit grumbled as he yanked her up. The black suit beckoned another one to come up and this one had a needle. 8310 stared, no longer caring if anyone saw, as 8305 was held by one black suit while the other injected a liquid into her bloodstream. Her eyes went wide for a moment, scared witless and finally expression changed her face after years of being a blank slate only to die out quickly as the drug took her body and shut down her organs. “Third one this month,” the one who’d first collected her said, his face scrunched up as if he’d smelled something foul. The other one shrugged, shoving the used needle into a bag he had at his waste before taking the limp 8305 from the disgruntled guard. “Look around you. There’s more to go around. Ain’t a big deal,” the man replied as he pulled the corpse out from the yard. 8310 blinked, his hands frozen on the sack of potatoes he was supposed to carry inside for processing. The guard who’d been left behind eyed him wearily before going back to his station on the wall as 8310 finally lifted up the sack and transported it. All the while, he formed new words from that encounter, feeling a sickness stirring in his stomach the entire way. Waste. Money. Waste. Money. How were these things connected to 8305? Instinct told him he didn’t want to know but needed to and, from now on, he was going to follow his instincts. Edited by Wicked, December 19, 2011, 9:22 pm.
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| Anamnesis | December 24, 2011, 12:53 pm Post #6 |
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As Natalia made her way to the laboratory, there were stares. Whether it was because of her beauty or because some had yet to see the newly appointed Flesh God in the well, flesh, Natalia paid little attention. Her work took priority here and she had quickly realised that finding lovers at the Pentagon was a stupid mistake. People just loved to brag about bedding a god. Because Natalia was female it seemed to be the case. Not that it bothered her because those men soon found out what it meant to suffer the wrath of god. However Natalia took a slightly different approach to friendship amongst staff in the Pentagon. When she had first joined all those years ago, she was met with varying reactions. Some feared (or hated) her because of who she was related to. Some adored her like she was some sort of celebrity. Some treated her like she was nothing special. Natalia had always been confident in herself so the latter always provided her a challenge but through the mix of all those people, Natalia had managed to find friends within the Pentagon. And not simply 'friends', those who fake niceties because of her stature. No, those 'friends', Natalia played the game with but despite her position, she had made actual friends, people she considered capable of handling their relationship with her with care. Some of those friends were influential while others were not but that seemed to work for her just fine. That was how Natalia had selected her two assistants: Amelia and Logan. Both were ambitious interns who wanted to contribute more towards the Flesh industry but because of their young age (both look around the same age as Natalia but are within the actual age range of 45-63), not many people gave them the opportunity. While Natalia's progress had been far quicker, the three of them remained in contact and the two came up with various ideas and solutions that Natalia would later implement, streamlining a particular element of the flesh selection process and saving Cibum a considerable amount of money. While she could have chosen other people as her assistants, Natalia had preferred that it would be people that she relatively trusted. That said, she retained a professional demeanour when they were at work. Natalia approached the laboratory and looked at the small interface that protected it from the rest of the building. She let the screen conduct facial and eye recognition. Once she was in the green, she entered the laboratory and walked straight to the observation room specially reserved for high-clearance personnel as it was well protected and secluded. The room resembled a lounge more so than the clean white laboratory that surrounded it. Natalia walked in and observed the farming area behind the glass while her assistants trailed in behind her. After a few moments she summoned Big Brother. The glass faded slightly and the interface showed up. A female AI voice surrounded the room. "This is an authorised interface. Prepare for identity recognition." Natalia looked ahead as the Big Brother scanned her. "Identity authorised. Welcome Dr. Fedora Zhukov." Natalia turned her attention to the farming area again but directed conversation towards the AI responsible for this section of Cibum. "Carina, show me specimen identifiers onscreen". Almost like a 3D Map, the interface covered the entire glass with tags of the Cattle who were out farming. Natalia scanned the screen until she found 8310. She watched him collect potatoes until her eyes caught sight of the specimen next to him fall down. Natalia checked the tag above her. 8305. She watched as two personnel, guards, followed procedure for terminating failing specimens. This would have been nothing out of the ordinary had it not been for Natalia noticing 8310 staring as the two personnel did their job. Interesting. "Specimen 8305 has been terminated." Natalia broke out of her thoughts when Carina spoke up, bringing up 8305's file on the side of the screen. Natalia observed the farming area once again as a guard dragged 8503's corpse away. "Amelia." Natalia continued observing as one of her assistants approached her. Amelia was a petite woman who looked 22 but was 48. She had a small frame who stood at 5'3", wore glasses over her green eyes, dressed in a gothic type of fashion and had red chin-length hair and porcelain skin. "Get me a full report on 8305's termination now". Amelia nodded, knowing that Natalia wanted a complete necropsy report from a pathologist as soon as it was ready. "Very well, Natalia." Amelia excused herself and went off to do her task. "Logan." The tall, brown eyed, blonde with cropped hair stepped forward. He was dressed in similar fashion as Natalia in a dress shirt, pants and shoes; seemingly his style permanently. He was a good looking man who looked 25 but was 63. "You'll be in charge of routine today". Logan nodded and walked out of the observation room. He was headed back to Natalia's office. He would keep his goddess' daily schedule in perfectly good order. In the mean while, Natalia continued observing 8310 with increased interest. Edited by Anamnesis, December 26, 2011, 4:01 pm.
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Like a mistress of memory, I bask in knowledge of the past, hidden behind killer curves and a demure smile.
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| Dancer | December 31, 2011, 3:35 am Post #7 |
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[tab]Sasha looked at Scraps. What the girl was saying made sense, but her attitude was really irking Sasha. Her stubborn demeanor wasn't going to get them anywhere. Sasha knew that she and this 'Scraps' were going to butt heads a few times. What kind of a name was 'Scraps', anyways? It sounded like something formulated to seem tough, when your given name was too girly for your attitude. Sasha wasn't buying it. There's got to be some personality under that stone-hard exterior; after all, she's human. [tab]"I'll do it" Sasha spoke up rashly. She felt all eyes turn on her, so she stood up from her seat at the table. "Well, I can look the part, anyhow. And I know how to act like one of them. I mean, what other choice do we have? I'm willing to take the chance, even if some think it's impossible" Sasha looked pointedly at Scraps. They couldn't afford to have an attitude like that on the table. Not with the stakes as high as they were. [tab]Wait, what did I just do? Sasha asked herself. They probably still have a file on me. If I try and get a job in the Pentagon, they'll recognize me and God only knows what shit will go down. She was beginning to have major doubts in her own plan. "We need to act soon, otherwise chaos will ensue. You all know that the Flesh Market is taking more risks, and they're getting away with murder. They've started going after the middle class now, and the UN is going to keep ignoring it until society collapses for the upper-class citizens. We can't wait much longer. Another thing, we're not going to get into the Pentagon by force. Even if we could, as Scraps pointed out, we'd never be able to get back out. We need an inside man." |
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Some of the greater things in life are unseen, thats why we close our eyes when we kiss, cry or dream | |
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| Vanity&Ecstasy | January 4, 2012, 6:52 am Post #8 |
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Thief of Hearts
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Pressing his foot to the pedal the small and environmentally friendly car sped along the open road passing various scenes quickly. On the left a wall of skyscrapers for several businesses much like the one the driver owned. On the right, a row of various eateries that sold anything from normal food to even the rare morsel of human flesh. Usually these were much lower quality pieces of flesh but still for the common folk it was a godsend. 'Wonderful. Simply wonderful,' the young looking man thought as he quickly approached a stop sign that plagued his everyday life like some form of misfortune. As if he were cursed, it seemed almost like any time the young man came to the stop sign something bad happened. Either being delayed by traffic, an accident, a bum begging to wash his window for some change. Today was a good day though, today the man managed to avoid all those pitfalls that plagued him. Every week or so the man would make a trip out to the Pentagon to see how progress was coming on the latest herd and see if there had been any advancements on the perfection of the taste of flesh. His thoughts drifted to the last piece he had eaten and unconsciously he began to salivate his mouth quickly filling with the warm saliva that begged for the tasted of fresh flesh. Flicking his eyes quickly ahead the large building grew larger and larger as he quickly approached the structure. Pulling up slowly the man retrieved a simple ID from the pocket of his coat that lay in the passenger seat. Approaching a small guardhouse the man handed over the ID with a brief smile while patiently waiting for the guard to open the way for him. After a short few seconds the guard returned the ID and with a small smile opened the gate welcoming the young man inside. Pulling away quickly the man found a nearby parking space to leave his car. Retrieving the jacket from the passenger seat, the man placed the car in park and turned it off. Unfastening his seat belt and opening the door the man stepped out and put the finely made jacket on. Closing the car door and a single push of a button locked the car while the man walked toward the main entrance. Pulling open the door the cool breeze of an industrial air conditioner greeted him along with a polite, 'Welcome,' from the nearby receptionist. "I'm here to check how things are progressing," he said to the receptionist sure that they would know who he was and what his purpose was. Taking a seat in a nearby chair the man would wait until either they let him through or someone came to pick him up. The firm leather of the chair greeted his body as the man sat down with a slight plop. Leaning back the man let out a soft sigh as he retrieved his ID and placed it visibly on his jacket breast pocket. 'Sarif Engel - President of ***** INC.' could be read on the smooth surface and a picture of the young man sat on the upper left corner of the card. His face was a lit and a faint smile played on his lips, the standard for pictures he took for IDs. His hair was shorter in the picture but the same bright blond color was there. This was a photo of him when he looked his youngest, in truth it had been quite some time since he had seen his true age, maybe since the time he first tasted flesh after leaving the mental institution. Dwelling on thoughts of the past, Sarif continued to wait for someone to come and retrieve him from the lonely lobby. |
| Dragon Force: Quest for the Clutch: OOC, Character | |
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| Wicked | January 4, 2012, 7:20 pm Post #9 |
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The Derp Queen
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“Get your hands off me!” Scraps finally exclaimed, yanking her own hand away from the tailor who was trying in vain to improve upon the grungy girl’s appearance. Scraps had stood, itching for a cigarette and a punch bag, for what seemed to her like hours on end as a woman with finely made nails, a wrinkle-free face smooth as a babe’s, and an outfit made of some material Scraps had never seen in her life, picked and prodded at her. She’d shoved her into some weird, lightweight blouse that seemed to flutter whenever Scraps moved, and a pair of slacks that weren’t in the least comfortable. Her eyes ran over to the abandoned t-shirt and jeans that had been her outfit since before she could remember. And where had this cannibal placed Scraps’ prized leather hoodie? She’d won that thing years ago after a street fight. Hell would burst open beneath them if that prissy woman had tossed it somewhere. It was all that rebel’s fault, that one who didn’t make any sense with the rest of them. Her skin was just as baby smooth as the woman working on Scraps, a red flag raised only in her mind. Everyone else here acted casual, comfortable even with this Sasha girl while turning edgy around Scraps. And why not? It was just as Ahiga had confirmed after that annoying brat’s outburst at the meeting, the old goat: she was the ticket into the Pentagon thanks to her looks. Sasha was fresh blood, didn’t have the rough exterior the rest of them had, and for all they knew Sasha had been a cannibal at some point. She sure knew how to play the shitty part, unlike Scraps who was far too grimy in behavior to really fit in with these people. She never really dug downtown D.C anyways, but now she was forced to work as a sort of bodyguard for Sasha, to infiltrate the Pentagon with her. God fucking damn it. “Scraps, you’re going with her,” Ahiga had stated as the fires died out from the last statement. Scraps had started her leave, mumbling about stupid people and the like, when the raisin spoke up. She froze in place, slowly turning to look at the native as if he’d spoken of world peace. He might as well have. “What? Why? I don’t act any more like one of those sickos than you do. I don’t even look the part. Plus, all you need is one person inside and you’re golden,” Scraps rambled, her eyes bugging out of their sockets. The old man didn’t look about ready to budge. Instead he shooed the others out, leaving her and that Sasha chick in the room with him. The wax of the candle was dripping and the light was beginning to flicker in and out. She hoped against hopes that the candle’s end would signal the end of this ridiculous conversation. The old man looked at the two girls, noting their stark differences, and then down at the table before finally addressing the hysterical Scraps. “You know that isn’t the case. We need someone with experience in there as well, and backup. Many things can go wrong, so it would be better with two. I have connections inside D.C. who will forge enough background on the two of you, and birth certificates, to get you entry-level jobs inside the Pentagon,” he explained but Scraps wasn’t having any of it. She shook her head slowly, gapping at the man who she thought might have had a slight inkling of knowledge into how she worked. “Then send someone else in, who can at least act decent- like the guys from Switzerland. They’re nice,” she stated weakly. Scraps was grabbing at straws now and she could even see the dawn of a laugh on Ahiga’s face. “They’re also aging. It’ll be suspicious. Both of you are young, so it’ll be easier to convince the officials. You’ll still have to work on your manners, Scraps. Street smarts, and street talk, aren’t common for the cannibals.” Mainly, this was her problem. How the heck was she supposed to collect manners? So far, her version of manners was being still and quiet throughout the prodding and examining the people around her were doing. Ahiga had sent them here after making sure Scraps had a decent bath and a major brushing of her hair. Aside from the choppy nails the tailor had been glancing at in horror, and her overall demeanor, Scraps looked somewhat decent. To her, though, this all was a nightmare. What were these things she was wearing on her feet? There were sticks coming out of them and she could barely hold herself up. Her eyes met Sasha’s as the other woman bent down to see what Scraps could possibly be stepping on to make her waver so much, and she barely suppressed a glare. “I suppose you won’t be needing a make over before the interview, will you sister,” Scraps bit through her teeth. Ahiga was purposefully messing with her, she would swear this up and down until her premature death. As a cover for Scraps, or should she say “Alexis”, they’d been given birth certificates that marked them as sisters. Scraps had been easy to forge, since she technically never existed within the records, but Sasha’s had been a bit rough to make. Still, they’d managed with a bit of tweaking, keeping her first name and birthday. Sasha was to adopt a wig, which they’d bought earlier on that day, to match Scraps-Alexis’ red hair. Thankfully, Scraps’ wanted ad had yet to reach D.C, or the UN just didn’t care enough about the murder now that the laws were a bit hazy, and didn’t even have a real picture of her anyways. She was, god damn it, clear for take off. “Maybe we should go with lower heels,” the tailor murmured as she wandered off from the two women and foraged through the rows of shoes. Scraps hastily tossed off the ‘heels’ from her feet and sighed in relief as her toes made contact with the plush rug beneath her; this was probably the one thing she liked about cannibal territory. --- Every once in a while, when the white coats came and called out names, a different group would rise as well and they’d be taken from the cell and down a hallway 8310 had never seen the end of. When they went down that hallway, he never saw them return to the cell. As soon as they were gone, though, he’d come back from a day’s work outside to find new people in their place. They all looked the same, some even looked identical to him, but they were smaller, younger. Their hands were still smooth while his were rough, calloused from working in the dirt. They were pale while he was tanned from the sun. But, despite all this, they all looked the same in the eyes. He would stare at them, sometimes, when the dull walls of the cell became too boring to look at. Every pair of eyes, no matter the color, looked glassy. Did he look the same? He could never tell, his reflection in the steel walls always adding brightness when there was none. 8310 couldn’t understand it and it frustrated him. After the white coats had taken 8305, he had grown edgy and secluded himself even more from his group. When he’d finished his work that day, he was quick to return to the cell, where the white coats and their needles weren’t. He felt that if he tripped or stumbled, they might take him away too. But, that didn’t explain the others who were called out every once in a while. They didn’t do much wrong that he could see. So why were they disappearing? The next day was one of those days. The same white coat from yesterday stood at the opened doors, calling out numbers that he knew belonged to those who worked alongside him. They were herded out, turned to the right, and went down the hallway 8310 saw sometimes when he fell asleep against the steel flooring. “8-3-1-“ He froze, still seated on the ground, in a corner, as the sequence was read out. Something in his chest, something he’d grown so accustomed to that he almost forgot it was there, sped up in his chest. The thud that calmed him most days now unnerved him. Would he be going down the hall too? For once, he did not feel eager to stand up and leave the cell. “-5,” the person outside the door finished. A woman who’d worked on the other side of 8310 in the potato rows stood up and walked to the front, where she was lead away without question, without a struggle. A heavy feeling washed over 8310 that he couldn’t place. All he knew was that he was not going down that hall. He was going to work in the fields, but 8315 was not. It left him feeling empty as they called the next group, his group, and walked out into the fields. When he got there, there was a new woman in the potato rows where 8305 had once been. Out of habit, he took to looking at her eyes, which were the same color as grass towards the end of that time they called spring. They weren’t glassy, and it gave him pause before he turned back to his designated area and began to pull at potatoes. His mind kept working, though, as he tossed the vegetables into his labeled sack. Unlike 8315, she had eyes that didn’t reflect back everything like the steel walls. Unlike 8305, she did not look about to fall over. She looked strong, maybe as strong as he was, with firm hands that knew what to do with the soil. She would live, at least for today. That curiosity that always sent him into a new discovery was bubbling up inside him and, he began to formulate a tiny plan to make contact. His blue eyes glanced up discreetly at the figures with guns in their hands. Their attention was not on them at the moment, but 8310 was still cautious. As planned, 8310 dropped a potato that rolled over into the new female’s section, warranting him reason to move over there without suspicion if someone was watching. The others around continued working as he quietly walked over and bent down to retrieve his escaped vegetable. While lowered, he glanced at the female’s wrist, spotting the numbers “8-3-0-0”. He looked back up at her, trying to figure out if this was worth the risk. What if he was wrong? But, his instincts were saying otherwise. “8-3-1-0,” he slowly said, his deep voice quiet enough to escape the ears of the guard and rough after a while of not using it. He pointed down to his own wrist with his thumb, the rest of his fingers pretending to check the potato for scratches. His eyes went from the potato, his wrist, to the other specimen, hoping that maybe she would show a glimpse of understanding. Edited by Wicked, January 4, 2012, 7:51 pm.
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| Anamnesis | January 6, 2012, 11:53 am Post #10 |
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Member
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Natalia watched 8310 with mild fascination through her Big Brother screen. She sat perched on a plush, comfy white leather seat sipping a cup of tea as she watched the specimen do about his daily activity. From the day before, she had ordered the Laboratory's AI Carina to patch through live updates of 8310's status to Natalia's own AI Lyra, which gave Natalia access to live feeds of the farming area and cells, basically wherever 8310 was. At the moment, Natalia was watching the specimen farm as per usual. To others it seemed as though nothing out of the ordinary was occuring but to Natalia, endless possibilities debated themselves in her mind. Just what would happen if the Cattle began to gain more human-like attributes? A sound beaped and Natalia turned her attention away from the screen and towards her communication device. "Dr. Fedora Zhukov." A slight smirk graced Natalia's features. She knew her father at times did not like the fact he had to use her middle name with her surname to distinguish his authority and her's. At first she had thought he was egotistical and loved ridiculing her with the name because her middle name Fedora meant 'gift of god' in Russian, giving her title the meaning 'gift of god Zhukov'. It was later on she realised that the reason he used the name was that he didn't want anyone else to be called by Dr. Zhukov. Natalia could've easily changed her surname to her mother's but Natalia decided it was a little amusing to spite him until he recognised her ability to live up to his expectations. "Dietrich will forward Class D Cattle reports to your office. I am transferring research concerning Flesh #390-01-8310 to your team's authority". Natalia stared at the device as the comm was silenced. She was glad that 8310 was solely under her jurisdiction now, which meant nobody but her could touch him but there were tiny warning bells ringing in her head. Dietrich would not be pleased with her father's decision. The younger Flesh God was annoying with his calm demeanour but she was sure that behind that smooth face, he wouldn't concede this without a fight. However, Natalia remained neutral on the matter. She would let the other two gods battle it out while she silently gathered her resources for whatever the outcome. "Lyra." "Yes, Natalia." "Change to standby mode. Record 8310's status." "Understood." The inside of Natalia's office began to move about as her huge interface disappeared from view and the blinds that blocked out the sun from her office opened to reveal the morning sun. Natalia looked out at the blue sky for a moment before she stepped out of her office. Both Amelia and Logan looked up from their designated areas as Natalia addressed them. "Amelia, routine will be yours today. Logan, please check with reception if Mr. Engel is here." Both assistants nodded and did their tasks while Natalia checked some of her notes on her personal Little Brother interface. Logan soon got off the line with reception. "He's here, Natalia." Natalia nodded, switching her interface off and walking towards the elevators, Logan swiftly behind her. Natalia had mixed feelings when it came to showing rich, influential businessmen the progressive innovations of Cibum. Out of the three Flesh Gods that exist, she seemed to be the most approachable, making her the ideal candidate to show them around (and being the only god other than himself that Zhukov permitted played a huge part in the decision) which suited her just fine but the fact that she was also a woman meant that there would be some who looked at her like she was a piece of meat. Natalia did not enjoy the company of those men one bit but she knew she could not placate her father if she suggested Dietrich took on the role. That's why it helped her feel at ease if Logan was around assisting her during these appointments. That said, there were some businessmen Natalia got along with; men that she respected or was curious by. Sarif Engel was one such man. He intrigued her on many different levels and his contributions alongside his genuine interest in the labs at Cibum made him a respected man in Natalia's eyes. In some corner of her mind, Natalia thought that it didn't help that he was good looking but she dismissed the thought as quickly as it came. The elevator door leading to the reception opened and Natalia stepped out, looking quite stunning in a sleek, black satin dress and high heels with light makeup and flowing hair. She threaded gracefully across the foyer until she approached Sarif. She smiled softly and stuck her hand out. "Mr. Engel, it's a pleasure to finally meet you. I'm Dr. Fedora Zhukov. I'll personally be showing you around Cibum today." |
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Like a mistress of memory, I bask in knowledge of the past, hidden behind killer curves and a demure smile.
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| Vanity&Ecstasy | January 6, 2012, 6:35 pm Post #11 |
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Thief of Hearts
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Time seemed to pass slowly as Sarif's form slowly began to sink into the chair and leave a slight depression of his body. Feeling bored Sarif stood from his place on the just suitably comfortable chair and began to pace around the large lobby. His footsteps echoed loudly alongside the quick tapping of keys on a keyboard. Silence greatly annoyed Sarif as it gave him time to think and the only thing that ever came to mind was the past and Flesh Gods knew that he had been trying to escape his past for as long as physically possible. He had come to terms with his past since his release from the institution, but there were still lingering feelings of guilt that one day something would happen that would be divine karma taking its revenge. With a slight shake of his head to return to reality Sarif walked over to the seemingly busy receptionist. Tilting his head to the side Sarif gave a quizical look to the worker and asked, "Is it all right if I smoke here or should I do so outside?" It was a terrible habit given that if he ate human flesh he could have almost an eternal life, but one drag too many of tobacco would be the death of him. Waiting for a reply Sarif removed the pack of cigarettes from his interior jacket pocket, along with a small lighter with his family crest emblazoned on the side. 'Please either enter the designated smoking area to the side there or go outside,' the receptionist responded quickly. With a slight nod of understanding Sarif made his way to the smoking area inside so he might still be able to see when the escort would arrive. Lighting the small stick of death Sarif eagerly partook of the unnecessary habit. The thick smoke filling his mouth, throat, and lungs equally before finding exit through his nostrils and parted lips. 'Worst thing ever invented, such a nasty habit. It took years before I didn't feel the need to eat flesh all the time and now this? Humans are so ridiculous, forming habits so quickly,' he thought looking down at the burning cigarette before taking another long drag. Even though there was still a little under half of the cigarette left Sarif quickly stamped out the life still burning within so that he might return to the lobby before his escort arrived. Returning to his seat Sarif did a short breath check before deciding he might want to chew a bit of gum. Removing a single stick from within yet another pocket of his jacket Sarif chewed away at the strong peppermint flavored gum. Luck was on his side as within a minute a very beautiful woman and what seemed to be her assistant walked into the lobby and approached on a straight course for Sarif. Standing at attention Sarif gave a kind smile to the woman and when offered her hand gave what his father had called the 'Gentleman's Kiss.' It was similar to how servants of old kings would swear fealty by kissing the ring of their ruler, though in this sense it was more for formality. "It's a pleasure. It seems that not all doctors fit the stereotypical style that comes with the profession. Not that I mind," he said with a faint smile. It was true, Dr. Fedora Zhukov was extremely beautiful, it made you wonder why she may have chosen such a profession in the first place, but even Sarif knew that everyone feels the call to be intellectually challenged and not just to have such an easy life. It became apparent that Sarif was still clasping the woman's hand and giving a slight bow he said, "Ah forgive me, I become easily distracted. Now then... Dr. Fedora? Or should I call you Dr. Zhukov? You may call me Sarif, I don't mind it. Ah... There I go again, going off on a tangent." Keeping up with his conversational pace was some times difficult because Sarif had become use to speaking his thoughts aloud while in the institution. "Back on track, I'm certain you understand why I'm here. I would like to see how things are progressing now and maybe get a sense of what kind of projects are expected for the future," he stated firmly looking into the cool silver eyes of the woman. Tilting his head slightly to the side and with a small smile he added, "So, I will be in your care for now." |
| Dragon Force: Quest for the Clutch: OOC, Character | |
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| Dancer | January 17, 2012, 4:42 am Post #12 |
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Member
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[tab]This was quite a show. Watching the street fighter refuse to take her jacket off, and having it wrestled off of her body. Clothes were forced on her in an attempt to make her look more civilized. Sasha could not remember another person that was so attached to her clothing as Scraps was. I mean, really! It was just a jacket. Sasha didn't understand why Scraps was so opposed to it. It was necessary for the operation [tab]Sasha smirked at the girl on the pedestal as she was glared at. As an aside to the tailor, a pleasant girl names Martha, Sasha said "yes, maybe try a pair of navy flats. That might be more suited to Alexis' taste". As she spoke those words, Sasha looked directly at Scraps, whose icy stare seemed to intensify. She knew that she shouldn't taunt the girl, but she couldn't help herself. Scraps was just completely out of her element. She did look rather nice -- presentable, at the very least. Clad in a ruffled, chiffon blouse and practical slacks, topped with a few layers of make-up to take the rough edge off of her, she certainly wasn't far away from looking the part. Now, if only they could make her act the part. The girl had no manners whatsoever. She had no idea how to act like a civilized person, and if she didn't suck it up and learn a thing or two about fitting in, they would surely be found out. [tab]Hopefully, they wouldn't put her in charge of teaching the bull-headed girl manners. That would really be a picnic. They would probably end up trying to tear the others' had off. Well, the bridge will need to be crossed when we come to it, but not before. [tab]Sasha glanced sideways in the mirror, admiring her reflection. She hadn't looked this nice since she had run away. The wig she as wearing didn't quite change her face enough as to not be recognized. If she came upon someone she had previously known... well, that's why Scraps was coming along with her. Deep down, Sasha was glad that she had a companion, even someone as ornery as her. They were going to make quite a team. Hell, what was she kidding? They couldn't go a few minutes without arguing about something. In the car on the way there, it was about cigarette smoke and perfume. [tab]Sasha hoped that things would turn out alright. It usually did for her. |
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Some of the greater things in life are unseen, thats why we close our eyes when we kiss, cry or dream | |
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| Dream | January 19, 2012, 10:48 pm Post #13 |
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Mew?
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Fashion. If there was one thing that Elizabeta really didn't share with the rest of her gender, it was a love of clothing. In reality, the only reason the Deitrich girl was going to the tailors was that she needed a new dress for some family party that she was required to go to. Spending half of her life masquerading as a less-common boy, she failed to gain that part of the typical female genetics. She didn't even know why she had to go to yet another stupid party. She had no idea why her parents even tried. She wasn't the type to go to fancy parties, get all dressed up in fancy clothes. No, she was the type who would be much more happy just running around the city, doing her own thing. That was what she did. She and her few friends went around the city, doing virtually nothing. It wasn't as if she had to work; that was the only good part of being the daughter of a rich man. She hated everything else about the lifestyle, going to the tailor's included. The only enjoyment she could find from it was if there were other people there - especially if she didn't know them. A smile spread across Liza's face when she walked into the tailors, and spotted not one, but two people she didn't know there. She gave a small wave to the tailor, who was busy searching through boxes of shoes, and walked over to the women. She walked right up to the bare-footed one (Scraps), and smiled mysteriously. Without saying a word, she looked right at the woman, and...licked her. If she had been someone who knew Liza well, there would be no surprise to her actions. It was just something the cannibal did. She enjoyed creeping out people. "Hmm..." she mused after a second of silence. "Quite a pleasant taste." she gave the woman a huge grin. "You wouldn't consider donating a body part to science, would you? A toe or finger, perhaps? Maybe even a hand?" she laughed before spinning away, turning towards the other woman. (Sasha) "Wonder if you taste as good as she does." |
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I'll whisper in your ear, You are mine, and you will never have to be alone. And when I pull you near, You'll know I love you like I never loved anyone. So let me be the one to lift you up, I'll carry you home. 'Cause now I'm here to keep you safe, And to catch you when you fall. | |
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| Anamnesis | January 20, 2012, 10:34 am Post #14 |
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Member
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A faint smile graced Natalia's features when Sarif kissed her hand. It reminded her of the varying businessmen that came before him and how they greeted her. Some maintained the traditional business route of shaking hands; though that in itself varied in tone, whether it meant shaking firmly to show whose boss, nervously because of Natalia's stature or weakly because she was a woman. The extreme opposite of shaking hands meant Sarif was not the first man to do the Gentleman's Kiss. However, Natalia remained at ease for the fact that Sarif was doing it with no overbearing sexual intent, unlike most of the businessmen that utilised this approach. Sarif's classy approach was like a breath of fresh air and Natalia's smile lasted much longer than intended when he paid her a genuine compliment. She almost forgot that he was still grasping her hand until he spoke up and let her go. "Ah forgive me, I become easily distracted. Now then... Dr. Fedora? Or should I call you Dr. Zhukov? You may call me Sarif, I don't mind it. Ah... There I go again, going off on a tangent." Natalia laughed faintly. "Tangents are more than welcome here in Cibum, Mr. Engel." Natalia paused. "Sarif. If we were left to follow directions in a straight-arrow way, this industry would've never existed and I doubt I would be in the capacity to show you around as I will be today." Natalia eyes sparked with amusement, signifying that she was not in the very least aggressive in the matter. "Back on track, I'm certain you understand why I'm here. I would like to see how things are progressing now and maybe get a sense of what kind of projects are expected for the future." Sarif's head tilted and a small smile graced his handsome features, something that Natalia in the back of her mind thought was appealing. "So, I will be in your care for now." Natalia smiled softly and nodded her head. "You've most definitely come at the right time then." Natalia directed her hand towards the elevators. "Shall we? And please, call me Natalia. Dr. Zhukov is my father. To separate ourselves, I use my middle name as well but I much prefer my first name." Natalia nodded towards Logan. "This is one of my assistants, Logan." Logan nodded at Sarif in a very professional curt manner and lead the way towards the elevators. Once in the elevator, Logan swiped his access card on the scanner and pressed a button leading to a higher floor. Natalia turned her attention towards Sarif. "We've just recently introduced a new formula to the purification process that allows for much faster and safer manufacturing. I'll bring you to the proliferation chamber where you'll see first hand how this formula differs immensely from our previous formula." Natalia smiled demurely, keeping her eyes from wandering too far from the planes of Sarif's face. The elevator doors opened and Logan lead the way, Natalia swiftly following suit. They walked down a long pristine corridor of pure white until they reached a glass panel leading to a reception of sorts. Logan scanned his card on the card reader near the panel and walked in. The guards within the reception area saluted Natalia when she walked in and swiftly went about their duties. Natalia then continued through another corridor which eventually opened up to a tunnel completely surrounded by glass and metal frames. It was like a whole new world opened up. The party were walking through a suspended tunnel that gave a panoramic view of the entire manufacturing floor where countless areas of flesh processing were busy going about their functions. They were walking to the 'core' of the manufacturing floor, an ominous looking structure where central operations for manufacturing took place. After the necessary security procedures, Natalia entered the Beacon as Cibum staff called it. There were countless Big Brother panels, buttons, switches, knobs and gauges that might've overwhelmed anyone who was seeing it for the first time but the staff that managed the Beacon were controlling it with such ease that one might've mistaken them for a harmonious orchestra. Natalia turned towards Sarif from the observation deck she was standing on. "As you see through those panels there," Natalia raising a perfectly manicured hand towards a particular area of glass, "that we are removing toxins from the proliferation process a lot faster that previously..." Natalia then went further into describing several functions and observations that had improved since Cibum's last production quarter. Natalia was slightly more animated that she would be usually, quite possibly due to the fact that she was talking to someone who genuinely cared about her line of work. "...which then progresses towards the cultivation process, which has seen minor developments, ones which we are still monitoring at the moment," Natalia answered with a cool expression. She would keep mum about 8310. "And that concludes the profileration process." Natalia paused, open to any questions that Sarif might've had for her. On the journey back towards the elevators, Natalia spoke up. "I will run through projects that are forecasted to begin by the next quarter. We have a conference room set up to brief you," Natalia paused, briefly weighing her options. "Or if you prefer, we can forget formalities and we can discuss this over lunch." Natalia kept her expression neutral but her eyes blazed with challenge. Gods did not fear challenges nor did they fear rejection. Gods tended to do whatever they wanted, and this God was no exception. There was a professional air about Natalia but she wouldn't be a Flesh God if she was predictable, even if her current predicament could lead to sexist implications if she was found out. Rumours hardly concerned Natalia and she had her methods to silence those who foolishly thought they could outsmart her. |
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Like a mistress of memory, I bask in knowledge of the past, hidden behind killer curves and a demure smile.
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| Vanity&Ecstasy | January 22, 2012, 5:15 am Post #15 |
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Thief of Hearts
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The woman's smile was like a small sun bright and blinding to look at for too long. Even her laugh was something a common man might die to hear just once. In all honesty Sarif felt quite lucky to be led around by such a beautiful woman though, he would never forget his true intention of coming here. Business and personal matters were separate things to Sarif and even though he held some childish crush for the beautiful scientist he had to maintain the welfare of his company as well. "True. So very true. Makes me wonder if I might have even been born given my father's real age. Ah, such thoughts are best left for my own time," he said muttering the last sentence more to himself than anyone. Watching the hand glide through the air and toward the elevator's direction Sarif gladly followed Natalia's figure making sure to keep at least apace with her. Her introduction was something interesting to hear, it wasn't uncommon for child and parent in the same field to use different names. Sarif's own brother had been the same, while named after their father he had chosen to use their mother's maiden name for the future. "What a lovely name. Natalia it is a pleasure to informally make your acquaintance," he said giving her another smile before glancing to her assistant and adding, "It's also a pleasure to meet you Logan." Following the duo into the elevator Sarif stood to the side of the small box of death and calmly grasped the railing. In truth, Sarif was quite afraid of elevators despite all the safety features that have been added to prevent any sort of accident. His fear was also the reason his real office was at home rather than in the actual business building. Usually if he was going to his own business it was for a special meeting or introducing a new high ranking employee. His fear would never show on his face though, only the ever whitening knuckles of his hands would. In the blink of an eye they were at their location, safely, and Natalia was beginning her explanation. Looking through the glass it was indeed a magnificent and interesting process that went into making pseudo-flesh that was almost the same as real flesh. Through her explanation Sarif raised a few questions for a better understanding of what was truly happening in the process and also slightly to learn that much more about Natalia's work. "Wonderful. It sounds like I was right investing in Cibum," he said truly impressed at how much they had accomplished in the time since he had first been told exclusive details of the program. A snag in one part of the process was common though, it happened in business all the time you lost a contact or made a bad investment and your plan had to start anew. "Don't worry, I'm sure once you sort things through the cultivation will develop exponentially," he said not entirely sure if that could really be seen as a compliment. As of that point there was nothing else he really had to ask, Natalia's explanation was very thorough and the amount of pride and interest she took into her work had definitely showed itself when she spoke. At the sight of the elevator and the word conference room Sarif shuddered slightly, he could handle being in an elevator but he could never really get into what was being discussed if he was stuck in such a plain room being shown slide after slide. Natalia's offer of lunch however, perked Sarif right up. "That sounds nice, much better than being cramped inside an ele-" he cut himself off realizing he was about to say elevator. "Excuse me, conference room. You sure you're just a simple scientist because it seems more like you could be psychic," he joked laughing lightly. "The question is, where and what would you like to eat," he asked simply. |
| Dragon Force: Quest for the Clutch: OOC, Character | |
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| Wicked | January 28, 2012, 10:27 pm Post #16 |
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The Derp Queen
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For a moment, he thought his instincts had failed them when he’d finally thought to trust them. 8300 had kept silent, frozen in what he hoped to be contemplation but he could never be sure. He’d made the mistake before of communicating with another member of the Cattle, only to have this similar reaction before it walked away to its corner in their cell. If such would be the case now, 8310 would be crushed. But, alas, that wasn’t the case. He wouldn’t have to fear solitude much longer, for a hoarse voice replied with the digits on her wrist. There was a strange tug at his lips he’d never felt before, so peculiar that he decided to let it express itself: a smile. There were feelings bubbling up in him, different from the curiosity that plagued him day in and day out, that he couldn’t label: relief, joy, satisfaction. He’d been able to make contact, no matter how meager, and he was sure if she was able to reiterate her label that she would be able to learn more just as he had. He wanted so much to ask the other cattle member of her experiences, of the different words she may know that he did not, but he knew better than to ask now. 8310 was growing somewhat paranoid as he stilled, remaining bent down before shoving the potato into the sack he’d been holding to escape any scrutiny he’d pick up for being near another specimen for so long. He knew it was a bad idea to stay there any longer, but he couldn’t help himself. He’d yet to make contact with someone who could speak besides the white coats and they, for one, refused to talk back to him. They refused to acknowledge him, and when they did it was with fear. He’d been rendered mute until now, and he relished in the fact that he now had a companion; he had someone whose eyes, no matter the color, looked very much like his own. They were alive, knowing, hungry. Just as he was. Begrudgingly, though, he hid his smile and reframed from showing too much emotion; he could almost sense the incoming eyes if he stood out too much- if they stood out too much. “You,” he started but stalled, unsure what she would know or even he knew. He struggled for words and the slight frustration showed on his face despite a concentrated effort to stay plain. “You. Speak? More?” He asked, his words pronounced strangely, as if he hadn’t had enough time to digest them fully when he learned them. Of course, he’d had so little to go off of and a few of the scientists had heavy accents he had to work with. The result was a peculiar grouping of words and sounds. He hoped even more, it was becoming a bad habit, that she would know more than just her designation. His mind was already racing with the possibilities. If she was aware, as he was, were there possible others? Or could he help them become others? Obviously, he wasn’t just a singular glitch. Maybe, just maybe, everyone here had the ability to be as he or she was despite the glaze in their eyes. It was a dangerous thought to have, especially with eyes already on them without him knowing. --- In that ballerina’s sleep, Scraps was going to kill her. Her sharp eyes glossed over slightly as she imagined the wonderful scenario: she would wrap her hands around that slender little prima donna throat and choke the living daylights out of Sasha, if she had her way, what with that cocky smile the girl was giving her. But, more and more, Scraps had to remind herself that killing her partner on this mission would be counterproductive, no matter how tempting it all was. She was just so, Scraps didn’t have a word for it just yet. All she knew was that she could not stand the girl she’d been stuck with, to infiltrate a place Scraps had no business going into. It, as far as Scraps was concerned, was all Sasha’s fault. She would stick by the blame game for as long as her body could stand. If she had heels, though, she wouldn’t be standing for long. Thankfully, that wouldn’t be the case. Scraps watched as the innocent (but hated already) tailor made her way cautiously back to the feral female. She placed a pair of flats that looked just as threatening as the heels before them in front of Scraps, intending for her to put them on of her own free will. Hah! Over her dead body, Scraps wanted to growl but, instead, she bit her lip as she slipped her abused feet into the death traps. Over and over, she reminded herself she was on a mission. This was for the sake of the mission- one she didn’t even want- for the mission. She was serving a purpose- one she didn’t even want- and she was going to see it through. Scraps was a stubborn person at heart, but she was also very persistent. She wanted to show that she wasn’t just smooching off of the rebellion, though there wasn’t much to smooch off of to begin with. She wasn’t just a runaway, and Scraps needed to fight back against the bastards who’d messed with her home. Even if it meant gritting her teeth and dealing with stupid people. Still, the fates were testing her. “Okay, am I done yet?” She grumbled as the tailor made the last adjustments on her slacks and just barely avoiding poking a shifting Scraps in the ankle. She was fiddling with the ruffles on her shirt, the lines of her slacks, her hair, everything. It felt so alien to her, Scraps wanted to scream. The poor tailor gave a sigh and forced a smile before standing back up, brushing off her skirt. “Yes, you are,” she replied before moving to greet the other incoming customers. Scraps couldn’t help but let out a breath of sheer relief. But, the war was nowhere near over. Her senses picked up on an incoming woman, just barely registering the stench of cannibalism before the creepster was licking her face. Saliva lingered on her tanned, slightly freckled skin and Scraps was frozen in horror for a moment as she tried to digest what had just happened. Did that bitch just lick her? Did. That. Cannibal. Bitch. Just. Lick her? All at once, embarrassment and overall outrage flooded through her. She was ready to kill, barely taking in whatever the crazy woman was saying as Scraps tried very much so not to strangle the woman-with-no-sense-of-personal-space once she’d turned away from her. These cannibals were fucking nuts! Her mouth just lay limp and open as she tried to un-fluster herself. “Ex-excuse me? Who the hell do you think you are?” Scraps growled, advancing on the nutcase just as the tailor backed up to restrain her. Her face was flushing violent red and her teeth and jaw were clenched tight against more vulgar attacks. Scraps was going to tear all of their heads off. To hell with the mission! There were many reasons she despised cannibals and this was just adding tons to the list. Edited by Wicked, January 28, 2012, 11:44 pm.
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| Dream | February 16, 2012, 7:31 pm Post #17 |
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Mew?
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Elizabet laughed openly at the woman's reaction. She always loved watching the different reactions people had to her actions. She didn't bother to wait for the other woman's reaction before turning to the one she had licked. "No need to get all angry." she smiled. "I won't actually eat you. Not without your permission, at least." she then took a small step back. "It matters not who I think I am." she answered the woman's question, her voice having a musical quality to it. "But, how is it that you do not know?" she inquired. While the Dietrich girl didn't usually dress in such a way that her background was overly obvious, she did look so on that day. Her appearance was extremely well-known to any and all Cannibals. Liza then gave the tailor a signature smile, and gave a wave of the hand. At her gesture, the tailor released the woman. "Need a formal gown, Liza dear?" the tailor asked, very easily recognizing the woman. She nodded, and the tailor set off to do her thing, leaving Liza with the strangers. |
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I'll whisper in your ear, You are mine, and you will never have to be alone. And when I pull you near, You'll know I love you like I never loved anyone. So let me be the one to lift you up, I'll carry you home. 'Cause now I'm here to keep you safe, And to catch you when you fall. | |
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| Anamnesis | February 24, 2012, 9:56 am Post #18 |
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Member
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"That sounds nice, much better than being cramped inside an ele-" Natalia raised her eyebrow ever so slightly. "Excuse me, conference room. You sure you're just a simple scientist because it seems more like you could be psychic." Natalia smiled genuinely, almost in a shy way. Gods knew their way around people and their place in the world but it was refreshing to be called a simple scientist, even when it was far from the truth. Natalia enjoyed this. "The question is, where and what would you like to eat?" Natalia looked up at Sarif's eyes. "There's a great italian restaurant nearby. We'll still be able to discuss our meeting's agenda with comfort and privacy and it has a much better view than our conference room. Would this work for you?" Natalia waited patiently for Sarif's response before smiling and turning her attention towards Logan. "Logan, please call the driver and tell Azure that Mr. Engel and myself will be dining there." Logan bowed and took an elevator up towards Natalia's office. He was already on call to the prestigious 5-star restaurant, who were more than ready to handle a VVIP such as Natalia Fedora Zhukov. It was after all Natalia's favourite place and Azure had one room exclusively for her own use. Natalia entered a separate elevator with Sarif and headed downstairs towards the lobby. "I hope you don't mind us going there together. Your vehicle will be safe here." Natalia smiled and lead the way towards the limosine that awaited her at the front of the Cibum building. She entered the car with the ease of royalty and sat gracefully down. ---------- [Twenty minutes later...] Natalia stepped out of the vehicle and waited patiently for Sarif to follow suit. She then walked towards a tall building that blended well with the other tall buildings that surrounded it. However, it also overlooked somewhat of a valley of houses and shorter buildings that highlighted the most prestigious housing area in Washington D.C. They entered yet another elevator. Natalia smiled demurely. "I'm truly sorry for making you enter yet another elevator," hinting that she most definitely heard his blurted out sentence back at Cibum, "but I assure you it'll be worth it." The elevator doors opened and a breathtaking view of D.C greeted them. Natalia walked nonchalantly towards the restaurant and was immediately greeted by the manager and several of its staff. They showed her straight to her room. On the way, Natalia ignored some of the passing comments she heard or the sound of cameras clicking as she walked on. She entered a stunning room filled with skylight, azure blue glass and water. There was a table set for two near the windows and a Big Brother screen on a nearby wall. "Shall we?" Natalia smiled again. |
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Like a mistress of memory, I bask in knowledge of the past, hidden behind killer curves and a demure smile.
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| Dancer | February 25, 2012, 2:30 am Post #19 |
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Member
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As soon as the cannibal girl walked into the shop, a red flag went up in Sasha's mind, and her face paled. This was the Dietrich girl. Once upon a time, Elizabeta and Sasha had been acquaintances, and their relationship might have even gone so far as to call each other 'friends'. What if Liza should recognize her? The following actions of the cannibal did not surprise Sasha, although Scraps seemed a bit stunned. The urge to slap Scraps across the face as Sasha realized what Scraps was saying to the Dietrich girl was almost overwhelming, but instead of strangling the girl on the spot, she just groaned inwardly. She'll give herself away! Imagine, a cannibal not recognizing Liza Dietrich! However, there was no time to fix Scraps' blunder. Mumbling something about a bathroom, Sasha scooted out of sight before Liza turned and recognized her face. Sasha felt rather bad for abandoning Scraps with the Dietrich girl, but it was better than getting recognized. This was going to be a problem. When she was a cannibal, Sasha was not a very social person, but she was known by many. What if this prevented her from completing her mission? Or what if, even worse, Scraps said or did something that prevented her from completing the mission? That girl doesnt know what she's talking about! She's going to get us in serious trouble if she can't learn to hold her tongue. |
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Some of the greater things in life are unseen, thats why we close our eyes when we kiss, cry or dream | |
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| That Butler | August 6, 2012, 6:17 pm Post #20 |
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Bad Jew
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This roleplay is closed due to inactivity or by request of the Game Master. Please contact one of the Roleplaying Moderators to have it reinstated.
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5:56 PM Jul 13