Separate the Skin From Bone [30% Complete]

[Daphne Holliday]

Prompt List

• Mirror
• Kingdom
• Glitter
• The Movies
• Party
• Roses
• Introduction
• Tears
• Wine
• Christmas

NOTICE: All of Daphne's prompts come with a warning of violence and/or otherwise explicit nature.

[Daphne Holliday]

Mirror

This thread takes place in the  future.

  There was a stirring. Daphne's emerald eyes opened slowly, and she contorted her long legs uncomfortably in the chair she'd fallen asleep in. For a moment, she didn't know what the noise was - the first thirty seconds of the human slumber were blissfully unaware of the world around them. She'd come to love those thirty seconds, but at times like the present, rustling noises didn't exactly make her feel the same joy that those precious moments had when she was struggling to survive break-ups and bad days.

Ah, she thought to herself. I remember now. The bird. He's awake. She stretched her arms slowly, rising as gracefully out of the chair as she could. She'd fallen asleep in the chair waiting for him to come to. She'd given him a good blow to the head, and as her eyes fluttered to the small silver and quite ornate wrist watch she wore, she realized that she'd been out for at least three hours. That had been more than enough time for her moods to shift again, and so she left the sitting room, decidedly out of the view of the raven for the time being.

She removed the brown wig, flipping her head over and allowing the blonde, straight strands beneath to spill out into her hands, a mane of goldspun treasure as she touseled it back to life. She flung her head back up and put her hands down on her dresser as she bent, pulling a plain white t-shirt out of the lower drawer. She turned, shedding her glittery and beaded top in favour of the plain cotton garment, and then slid a small coated elastic band around her wrist. This thing might get messy, she knew, and she didn't want to be caught off guard.

She walked back out into the main room, to the bars of iron in the large cage that God-only-knew how she'd gotten into the house itself rested, and put her hands against them. The smooth cold feel of them beneath her warm palms comforted her, but the abrupt banging of the pale man's form against them sent her reeling backwards in surprise.

  "You'd better let me out, you crazy bitch," the instruction came, baritone and ferocious. The voice had emitted from a lowered brow as a mop of black hair dampened with sweat hit the bars again for good measure, pallid fingertips wrapping around it. Supporting himself up, his entire body seemed to roll as he righted himself, each delicate muscle rippling beneath his skin. "Let me out, and I'll let you die quickly," he breathed.

It was everything in Daphne's power not to allow her mouth to fall open, not in fear, but in... pleasure. She resisted laughing though when her lips twitched, her petal-pink mouth curled into a smile every bit as sadistic as the tone from his voice. No, Daphne intended to match him pound for pound when it came to intimidation, and there wasn't a shred of doubt in her mortal mind that she could accomplish it. She realized, watching him, that she didn't want to precisely kill him at all. No, no. She wanted something so much more.

She watched, amused as the first wave of the syringe she'd pumped him full of hit him. She watched him try to shift, and fail miserably, collapsing off the bars as no doubt a burning sensation filled his muscles. Convulsions came first as his body naturally tried to do what it was being told to do, but when his form did not change, she could only imagine the anguish his cells would be in as they tried to split and morph and just collided with one another. She'd paid quite a bit for the that small vial, the 'miracle drug' she'd procured that promised her the ability to stop a shapeshifter from, well, shapeshifting - and it had done exactly that.

When she was confident he was in too much pain to move, the bars swung open and shut with a click behind her. Bare feet brought her to his side, where she knelt down, looking into his eye sockets, because his eyes were squeezed shut in agony as his body rejected itself for the time being. She shushed him gently, taking the opportunity to secure the rather menacing shackles that were anchored at the bottom of the cage. When he'd done with his writhing, she stood as far back as she could, so far that her blonde hair nestled against the frozen bars, the feeling against her spine rigid and unforgiving. She stood, and waited --

All at once, the man lunged for her. He came at her so hard that the air rushed off of him, flowing over her and sending the single delicate wisps of hair that framed her face back. There was a strange sort of cry as the man jerked backwards, momentum his enemy - he stumbled back at the sudden slack and fell against the opposite end of the cage, banging against the bars and sliding down in a heap. He'd gotten a good crack on his head for his efforts, but little else.

Confident now, Daphne walked closer to him, kneeling down at his side and resting the horrifyingly sharp point of a scalpel at the high side of his throat. She cradled his head in such a way that, if he moved too fast, she might jam it directly into him, and it didn't seem to be an injury that he would be able to heal from, given his current state of affairs.

  "Look at me," she whispered softly. She said it again, loudly, and then finally she screamed, forcing his face upward as she traced a thin line of red just oh-so-close to the vein that pumped blood from his quick-beating heart. Daphne smiled as she saw herself reflected in his black eyes, a mirror of fear and rage, and she leaned closely to his ear, whispering again so lightly and demurely, with a hint of pleading in her own feminine voice --

  "Scream for me?" she asked.

And he did as the blade thrust into not his neck, but his back, digging, digging, digging....

[Daphne Holliday]

Kingdom

  The dim hall was lit by archaic torches that did not agree with Daphne's eyes, and she constantly had to blink to maintain some semblance of sight. Behind her, she could hear the footsteps of her friends as they navigated the narrow path. The map she held in her hands was primitive at best, and it had gotten wet in the rain, causing the ink to run and most of the lines to blur together.

"How much further is it?" Shannon hissed, nearly colliding into the back of Daphne as she blindly shuffled ahead of Erik and Rafael. "I can't see dick in here." From the flickering light behind her, Shannon ignored the sound of Erik laughing at her descriptiveness.

"I can't tell," Daphne muttered, holding the map up to the dull light. "This piece of shit is completely soaked. I'd just as soon throw it out and just let us guess the rest of the way through this stupid place. Whose idea was this, anyways?" she added, irritated as she crumpled the soggy piece of parchment up.

Shannon moved to her side and shrugged a little, clearing her brown hair behind her ears. "Sitara's, actually. In fact, her exact words were, 'I will find the four of you something to do since you all seem so very bored.' That's what we get for sitting around the living room on a rainy day," she said, a knowing smile on her full lips.

"Whatever," Daphne sighed. "Oh, there's the door!" She turned and called to the men over her shoulder. "Hey, hurry up. I haven't got all day."

As they grouped up in front of the old, ornate looking wooden door, Daphne put her hand out to find the handle - or knob, or whatever. She frowned when she felt nothing. "Hey, bigfoot, can you scoot back a few feet so I can have a little light on the subject?" she said, taking her typical annoyed tone. Like the hall wasn't small enough as it was, it didn't help with Rafael, Shannon, and Erik the Tank right up her ass.

After a few seconds of fumbling around, she concluded there was no way to open the door.

"Fuck this," Rafael said. "This is a trap."

"No," Shannon insisted, pushing between them and elbowing Daphne out of her way. "This is the 'Kingdom of Illusion'. What you see isn't always what you get." She felt along the wall beside the door, and then a loud groaning sound echoed around them as the giant wooden structure slowly lurched open. "Damn, haven't any of you guys seen Labyrinth at least once in your lives?"

Erik snorted. "Too much David Bowie crotch for my taste," he informed her. "Here, let me go first."

Daphne had no objections, and so she followed behind him with Shannon's elbow crooked into her own. Rafael brought up the rear, having been the only one of the group smart enough to break one of the torches off and carry it with them. Of course, that also meant it doubled as a weapon, too - if the birdbrain could use it properly. Daphne was content with her knives, of which she had many, but she wouldn't deny that wielding a flaming stick wasn't without its benefits.

"I thought this was supposed to be the room with all of the loot in it!" Erik protested. He circled an absolutely cavernous room that was completely, totally and very obviously empty. "Where's the map? I think we went the wrong way." He held his hand out to Daphne, intending to get the map from her.

"Hey shortbus, did you miss the part where I said it got soaked and threw it down the hall?" Daphne reminded him, breaking away from Shannon to explore the room. If there was a hidden method of opening the door, maybe there was a switch or a button or something to find the item they were supposed to pick up...

"Daphne," Sitara said suddenly, setting down the book she had in her hand. "Roll a D20."

"What? Fine." She picked up her glittery blue D20 and rolled it across the little mat they had for the dice. "Seven," she said, bright aquamarine eyes narrowed at the petite Indian woman who sat at the head of the table.

Sitara smirked. "Suddenly, the four of you hear a noise. Shannon, Erik and Rafael stop moving, but Daphne isn't paying any attention and keeps walking around the room. The floor collapses beneath you and you fall into a storage room below."

"FUCK THIS!" Daphne yelled, slamming her hands down on the table. "That's like the eighth time this shit has happened today! Are you fucking with me on purpose? Because I - " A hand on her shoulder stopped her from ranting any further, and she glanced up to see Victor's daughter looking at her with raised brows.

"Dad's here. Are you ready to go?" she asked, re-adjusting the backpack she had slung over her shoulder.

"Thank god, YES," Daphne exclaimed, standing up and shoving her chair back in. She slid her character sheet across the table at Shannon. "Play my character, I'm going the hell home. God, Sitara, the next time you tell us that you've got something that will pass the time, can it be something normal like taking weapon inventory? If I didn't know any better, I'd say Victor put you up to this," she said as an afterthought as she tucked in her chair and took Nina's bag from her.

She turned and left her friends (well, Victor's coworkers, her sort-of friends), fishing a cigarette out of her purse as Nina followed alongside her. "Let's just not tell your dad about this, okay?"

"You're kidding, right?" Nina said. "He was standing in the doorway watching you get your ass handed to you by the archers like, twenty minutes ago. Why do you even bother playing if you suck so much? I mean, I did better than that, and I'm not even into gaming. Of course, you always play that crappy Cleric..." Nina trailed off.

"You're adopted," Daphne snapped.

[Daphne Holliday]

Glitter

This thread is pending.

[Daphne Holliday]

The Movies

[Daphne Holliday]

Party

This thread is pending.

[Daphne Holliday]

Roses

This thread is pending.

[Daphne Holliday]

Introduction

This thread is pending.

[Daphne Holliday]

Tears

This thread takes place in the  future.

  Voices phased in and out of her realm of comprehension. Words, phrases... she didn't recognize anything. There was a hushed whisper as she groaned, hand reaching up to the back of her head. She felt like she'd been hit by a truck. There was a strange sort of metallic noise and she felt her wrist snap back, falling short of her hair by mere inches. What... the... Hell...? Even her thoughts were slow and groggy, dragging themselves as she dragged herself around in her brain, trying to rally up enough energy to open her eyes.

When she did, she made two figures. Her nose wrinkled as an offensive odor took her senses for all they were worth, and she struggled not to wretch, body curling instinctively into a ball as she stifled gags. It smelled like blood and vomit and raw sewage, and it was hitting her in waves. Where was she, and why couldn't she move her Goddamn hands?!

  "Consider it a gift," a voice said. "Really. I couldn't think of anyone better to give her to than you."

Her eyes widened as she tried to suffocate herself into her clothing, and she took in a sharp breath, coiling back at the far end of... whatever sort of room she was in. She could make out hazy shapes, lines - black lines. Black, white - pale skin, dark hair -- oh shit, the BIRD! Daphne yanked on her hands now, and she winced as the noise that had been soft at first was suddenly loud and unmistakably coming from her end of the room.

The other, taller figure turned. She couldn't make out any features yet - he was shrouded, and she couldn't really figure out why, but she wanted to be as far away from him as possible. Her mind raced, trying to make sense of the situation, but she couldn't. She didn't REMEMBER ANYTHING. There had been her kitchen, and then the bird, and screaming and blood - GOD, so much blood - and now...

  "Nice of you to join us, sweetheart," said the dark figure. His voice was smooth, like whiskey, and like whiskey it burned her on the way down. It chilled her to the bone, and she shuddered involuntairily, making a strange sort of mewing noise in response.

  "I'll bet you any amount of money you can't make her cry," the bird said. He turned, too, though when he stepped closer to the dark figure, he seemed blotted out, almost invisible himself, as though the man with the whiskey voice had some sort of... aura around him that just sucked everything into it. He raised his hands, fingers curling around the black lines - black lines, black lines... rows and rows of...

  "Bars," she whispered softly to herself. She felt threads of her sanity fraying at the edges, a sweater being slowly unraveled.

  "Cage, actually," came the cheerful reply.

  "Word on the street is that you've got a nasty habit of taking bets you're going to lose," came the smooth/burning/cold voice as the shadowy figure turned to look at the bird-man. It turned back, hands raising, and with a loud click, the cage door (THE CAGE DOOR?!) swung open and then shut behind him.

  "I'm not going to be so upset if I lose this one, Raphael," came the almost-giddy response. His voice bordered on hysterical laughter, she could hear it, and she tried to hide herself and make herself smaller and smaller as the figure came closer to her.

  "Don't be like that, sweetheart," Raphael said. "Let's help him lose his money, shall we?"

[Daphne Holliday]

Wine

[Daphne Holliday]

Christmas