Post by brodie on Dec 4, 2018 12:49:05 GMT -5
Baby, I am beautiful and bad
And I'll destroy everything you have
I don't want to be your girl
I want to be your bike
Riding down the highway's
Endless spine
Hot wired with a knife
I don't give a fuck about love
Never did, never will
Wanna take you out
On a date with death
Kiss you with a power drill
It was late, the hospital itself mostly stood still; a whir of gentle beeps and assisted breathing sounds slunk through the shadows, the stench of bleach clung to the walls, that same clinical smell that funeral homes offer to cover up the smell of rotting bodies; which, mostly like she thought, some of these would be too. She did not slink through the shadows with those sounds, she did not enter the building as a whisper at all; instead she wore a mask in the name of a pretty white uniform, pressed and neat, clinging to her body as though it were a second skin.
It was better not to think about where she had obtained the garb, but instead to note her usually colorful hair was swept up under a nurses cap, blonde wisps of hair snaked down the back of her neck and an ID Badge, a smiling, red lipped portrait of the women she had selected to portray for this little jaunt. As she moved through the halls and rode the elevator in silence, she caught more than one wandering eye, a lingering glance, but nobody, not a soul, questioned the pretty little nurse with the dazzling smile as big as a crocodiles.
Grasping a chart that she snatched from the wall, the well dressed young practitioner made her way past the nurses station, a lazy wave to its occupant as she moved past; the ward sister engrossed in whatever trashy TV show she locked her eyes on tonight. Nobody saw her coming.
Not even him.
She could feel her heart quicken as she pressed her palm around the door handle, a swift turn and a gentle shove saw her spill into the room. It was empty and quiet, aside from those beeps as her eyes stretched to adjust to the darkness; there he lay, in the bed, prone and without witness. But she was not here for her pound of flesh, not tonight.
“Mi amore..”
The whisper slipped from her painted red lips, her breath tight, excited as she approached that bed; fingers dancing along the rough hospital blanket, she took a seat at his side, the old medical mattress giving a little under her weight to stir him, looming over like the angel of death herself, watching him rouse from his slumber.
One of his hands twitched at the sound of her voice. The movement was enough to draw her gaze down to restraints that bound him to the hospital bed. His wrist slight bruised bages that showed just how much he fought their hold till the medication kicked in.
Her fingers travelled down to the restraints, working away unto she had freed one wrist, and then the other, bringing her face back up close to his, her breath upon his cheek she smiled, gruesome and bloodied, he lay before her as a masterpiece. And you would have to forgive her, for as she inhaled the murky scent of his too clean body, the scent of a man destined to be a corpse who held on for dear life, she had to run her tongue up his cheek, had to taste the exquisite divinity of one so close to death, he did, after all, owe her.
“You are going to tell me a story, mi amore…”
Her lips pressed to his cheek as she hissed the words into his flesh, thick black painted nails found the softness under his wrists, raw from the restraints and she delved, digging and jabbing her nails into him, tearing him from the forceful slumber the medication provided.
The smell of the hospital hit his awareness right along side that first flash of pain. It was a smell that he could identify immediately even drugged, and the reaction it triggered was instantaneous.
Drugged, he was caught between the dreams of memories and the present. It was impossible in the heat of the moment to differentiate between the two. His body coiled in itself ready to fight it's way free of the nightmare...until his wild eyes met her's.
Despite the sting of her claws digging into his flesh the sight of her drained all the tension from his body. It was another time another place...another fucking hospital.
“Hello Little Red...come to finish someone else's lack luster work?” His throat was slightly raw, likely dry and strained from his ordeal. The effect being that his voice was far rougher than usual, a rough growl delivered with a whisper of an accent his speech was usually devoid of.
“Gotta say beautiful, I'd never want ta die in a place like this, but if it's you I can live with it...or rather die with it.” He paused to clear his throat. “This conversation would be easier if all of yous would stay still.” After a moment Krähe gave up on trying to keep his grey eyes focused and closed them instead.
At first, the only sound she made was a gentle growl; almost a purr in fact as she drew her fingers back from his wrists, dancing two on her left hand up the blanket that covered his chest, she cooed softly “A woman’s work is never done, mi amore… But it is simply not your time yet.” Her words weren’t meant to offer comfort, she would get her pound of flesh eventually; but she wanted the fight; not this wounded animal.
She instead drew up, pulling herself onto the bed she straddled him, dropping down hard still able to draw some enjoyment from his pain; had it been anyone else, perhaps the movement would have offered more than just the pressing pain and ache that added pressure brought to his injuries. But instead she leaned in close again, her hand wrapping gently around his jaw, her lips hovering over his face, she drew in a breath; knowing, of course that he need not see her to know she was there.
“Tell me a story mi amore…” cheek pressing to cheek now, she moved her lips closer to his ear, he had to know he was helpless in that moment, the pressed, neat uniform drawn up high above her thighs as she leaned into him. “Tell me about her… I am going to take her from you. And you from her. You know… Pretty little patterns etched into the flesh of everyone you have ever taken any care for… They will suffer, as you have made me suffer… But first.”
Drawing up she sat almost regally despite the compromising position, glaring down at the man who still caused every hair on her arms to raise, the man who had seeded himself so deeply into her subconscious it took all she had not tear away at him as she so craved, right there and then.
“Tell me her story.”
Rather than wince in pain at her added wait he adjusted his body ever so slightly. The extra pain threading through the drugs seeming to relax him far more than the numb haze. A slow smile curled the corner of his lips, but he didn't bother to reopen his eyes.
“Ah my tease, I suppose I have miles left and promises to keep before I sleep.” His tongue slid out just enough to brush his dry lip. There was nothing nervous about the action, for all the world he was like a cat laying in the sun, rather than a man partially restrained to a hospital bed. Then he began to speak and everything else melted away, as he began to tell her a “story”.
“Because I could not stop for Death, she kindly stopped for me. The Carriage held but just ourselves and Immortality.
We slowly drove, she knew no haste, and both my labor and leisure had been ripped away.
We passed the schools, where children strove
to prove themselves in the ring and cage.
We passed the fields of grain and those that toiled mindlessly from day to day.
We passed the setting sun, Or rather he passed us.
And with each night sensations grew quivering and chill from one ring to the next…one cage to another. Til the fires cooled, and the cold settled etched in bone beneath useless flesh.
We separated before a house that seemed a swelling of the ground. The roof was scarcely visible. The cornice in the ground.
How I wanted to stay there tired enough to rest my head, but never allowed and doomed to plow the road beyond crossroads instead.
Since then it seems like it's been centuries, and yet feels shorter than the day...I first surmised I was headed toward eternity, and I was neither alive or dead...but existing all the same. Now she is back and once again things will never be the same.”
As he butchered the famous poem by Emily Dickinson and shamelessly stitched it back together, one freed scarred hand gently caressed Brodie's thigh.
The touch was light, barely a whisper of flesh, and it never strayed higher in its hypnotic caress. His voice was the perfect mirror to his touch, as it wove around her in the dark room. The sound of his voice inexplicably able to caress her in a fashion far more intimate than the fingertips brushing against her thigh.
His words kept her still, so still in fact it would be almost impossible to tell if she were alive or dead, were it not for the soft, pattered breathing that came from her barely parted lips; each small change to the poem caused her hands to grip at the blanked slightly, it was something between excitement and irritation; the artist within her bawked at the botched recantation, but the voice in the back of her mind, the words of a man not unlike he who she had beneath her now, drew her ever closer to those words. Once he stopped speaking, she drew a single deep breath, her eyes travelling to his touch on her skin.
She paused, without a word or a sigh, her hand simply placed over his nose and mouth, bearing down as she locked eyes with the man who had tormented her quietest moments for weeks now, she pressed her fingers together, cutting off all oxygen supply, the sound of the monitors beside her whirring into life as she kept her hand locked tight to his face, her fingers clamping at her jaw, but her eyes, almost soft beneath the embers that burned within them…
She wondered, as she denied him breath after breath, if he had faith in her words that she would not kill him, or if he merely welcomed the sweet, deep slumber it would bring, should she go back on her word.
The grey eyes that opened held nothing more than a blank calm stare. Beneath her hand his lips never lost their slight curve, though they did caress against her palm. There was no resistance from him even when his body involuntarily began to twitch beneath her. His hand fell away, as his eyes closed once more.
When it came to death Krähe was fearless.
A smile, curved on her own lips to match his before she pulled her hand away. A shake of her head to follow, she had meant what she said, of course, there was no joy in this, but there was always a pleasure to be had, leaning in she gently brushed her lips over his, no sign of affection; no press of passion. A warning, instead, perhaps even a promise. She left him unrestrained at his wrists as her body slipped free from his and she stood beside the bed once more, tilting her head to the side with a curious sigh.
“You will never have the thing you want most, mi amore…” her hand brushed the hair back from his head, the side of her fingers brushing through the contusions and scraped littered about on his flesh. “So long as I breathe, as will you.” She cast a withering start to the machines as their beeps began to calm, smoothing out the simple, white uniform, she seemed in no rush despite the likelihood of the alarms drawing attention to his room.
“Until next time, mi amore.”
He simply closed his eyes once more caring little as to whether or not this was another drug induced dream or not. It was far better than reliving the same nightmare.
“Mmmm yes...next time.” His voice was even more raw than before. The last of the words nearly eligible as they were more of a sigh.
Darkness had reached up to drag him under once more.
Cause beauty don't mean shit to me
Only when it's a weapon and deadly
Think you're big and bad
You got nothing on me
And the next time you hit, I hit back
Do you hear me, motherfucker?
Can you dig that?
Baby, I am beautiful and bad
And I destroy everything you have
And I'll destroy everything you have
I don't want to be your girl
I want to be your bike
Riding down the highway's
Endless spine
Hot wired with a knife
I don't give a fuck about love
Never did, never will
Wanna take you out
On a date with death
Kiss you with a power drill
It was late, the hospital itself mostly stood still; a whir of gentle beeps and assisted breathing sounds slunk through the shadows, the stench of bleach clung to the walls, that same clinical smell that funeral homes offer to cover up the smell of rotting bodies; which, mostly like she thought, some of these would be too. She did not slink through the shadows with those sounds, she did not enter the building as a whisper at all; instead she wore a mask in the name of a pretty white uniform, pressed and neat, clinging to her body as though it were a second skin.
It was better not to think about where she had obtained the garb, but instead to note her usually colorful hair was swept up under a nurses cap, blonde wisps of hair snaked down the back of her neck and an ID Badge, a smiling, red lipped portrait of the women she had selected to portray for this little jaunt. As she moved through the halls and rode the elevator in silence, she caught more than one wandering eye, a lingering glance, but nobody, not a soul, questioned the pretty little nurse with the dazzling smile as big as a crocodiles.
Grasping a chart that she snatched from the wall, the well dressed young practitioner made her way past the nurses station, a lazy wave to its occupant as she moved past; the ward sister engrossed in whatever trashy TV show she locked her eyes on tonight. Nobody saw her coming.
Not even him.
She could feel her heart quicken as she pressed her palm around the door handle, a swift turn and a gentle shove saw her spill into the room. It was empty and quiet, aside from those beeps as her eyes stretched to adjust to the darkness; there he lay, in the bed, prone and without witness. But she was not here for her pound of flesh, not tonight.
“Mi amore..”
The whisper slipped from her painted red lips, her breath tight, excited as she approached that bed; fingers dancing along the rough hospital blanket, she took a seat at his side, the old medical mattress giving a little under her weight to stir him, looming over like the angel of death herself, watching him rouse from his slumber.
One of his hands twitched at the sound of her voice. The movement was enough to draw her gaze down to restraints that bound him to the hospital bed. His wrist slight bruised bages that showed just how much he fought their hold till the medication kicked in.
Her fingers travelled down to the restraints, working away unto she had freed one wrist, and then the other, bringing her face back up close to his, her breath upon his cheek she smiled, gruesome and bloodied, he lay before her as a masterpiece. And you would have to forgive her, for as she inhaled the murky scent of his too clean body, the scent of a man destined to be a corpse who held on for dear life, she had to run her tongue up his cheek, had to taste the exquisite divinity of one so close to death, he did, after all, owe her.
“You are going to tell me a story, mi amore…”
Her lips pressed to his cheek as she hissed the words into his flesh, thick black painted nails found the softness under his wrists, raw from the restraints and she delved, digging and jabbing her nails into him, tearing him from the forceful slumber the medication provided.
The smell of the hospital hit his awareness right along side that first flash of pain. It was a smell that he could identify immediately even drugged, and the reaction it triggered was instantaneous.
Drugged, he was caught between the dreams of memories and the present. It was impossible in the heat of the moment to differentiate between the two. His body coiled in itself ready to fight it's way free of the nightmare...until his wild eyes met her's.
Despite the sting of her claws digging into his flesh the sight of her drained all the tension from his body. It was another time another place...another fucking hospital.
“Hello Little Red...come to finish someone else's lack luster work?” His throat was slightly raw, likely dry and strained from his ordeal. The effect being that his voice was far rougher than usual, a rough growl delivered with a whisper of an accent his speech was usually devoid of.
“Gotta say beautiful, I'd never want ta die in a place like this, but if it's you I can live with it...or rather die with it.” He paused to clear his throat. “This conversation would be easier if all of yous would stay still.” After a moment Krähe gave up on trying to keep his grey eyes focused and closed them instead.
At first, the only sound she made was a gentle growl; almost a purr in fact as she drew her fingers back from his wrists, dancing two on her left hand up the blanket that covered his chest, she cooed softly “A woman’s work is never done, mi amore… But it is simply not your time yet.” Her words weren’t meant to offer comfort, she would get her pound of flesh eventually; but she wanted the fight; not this wounded animal.
She instead drew up, pulling herself onto the bed she straddled him, dropping down hard still able to draw some enjoyment from his pain; had it been anyone else, perhaps the movement would have offered more than just the pressing pain and ache that added pressure brought to his injuries. But instead she leaned in close again, her hand wrapping gently around his jaw, her lips hovering over his face, she drew in a breath; knowing, of course that he need not see her to know she was there.
“Tell me a story mi amore…” cheek pressing to cheek now, she moved her lips closer to his ear, he had to know he was helpless in that moment, the pressed, neat uniform drawn up high above her thighs as she leaned into him. “Tell me about her… I am going to take her from you. And you from her. You know… Pretty little patterns etched into the flesh of everyone you have ever taken any care for… They will suffer, as you have made me suffer… But first.”
Drawing up she sat almost regally despite the compromising position, glaring down at the man who still caused every hair on her arms to raise, the man who had seeded himself so deeply into her subconscious it took all she had not tear away at him as she so craved, right there and then.
“Tell me her story.”
Rather than wince in pain at her added wait he adjusted his body ever so slightly. The extra pain threading through the drugs seeming to relax him far more than the numb haze. A slow smile curled the corner of his lips, but he didn't bother to reopen his eyes.
“Ah my tease, I suppose I have miles left and promises to keep before I sleep.” His tongue slid out just enough to brush his dry lip. There was nothing nervous about the action, for all the world he was like a cat laying in the sun, rather than a man partially restrained to a hospital bed. Then he began to speak and everything else melted away, as he began to tell her a “story”.
“Because I could not stop for Death, she kindly stopped for me. The Carriage held but just ourselves and Immortality.
We slowly drove, she knew no haste, and both my labor and leisure had been ripped away.
We passed the schools, where children strove
to prove themselves in the ring and cage.
We passed the fields of grain and those that toiled mindlessly from day to day.
We passed the setting sun, Or rather he passed us.
And with each night sensations grew quivering and chill from one ring to the next…one cage to another. Til the fires cooled, and the cold settled etched in bone beneath useless flesh.
We separated before a house that seemed a swelling of the ground. The roof was scarcely visible. The cornice in the ground.
How I wanted to stay there tired enough to rest my head, but never allowed and doomed to plow the road beyond crossroads instead.
Since then it seems like it's been centuries, and yet feels shorter than the day...I first surmised I was headed toward eternity, and I was neither alive or dead...but existing all the same. Now she is back and once again things will never be the same.”
As he butchered the famous poem by Emily Dickinson and shamelessly stitched it back together, one freed scarred hand gently caressed Brodie's thigh.
The touch was light, barely a whisper of flesh, and it never strayed higher in its hypnotic caress. His voice was the perfect mirror to his touch, as it wove around her in the dark room. The sound of his voice inexplicably able to caress her in a fashion far more intimate than the fingertips brushing against her thigh.
His words kept her still, so still in fact it would be almost impossible to tell if she were alive or dead, were it not for the soft, pattered breathing that came from her barely parted lips; each small change to the poem caused her hands to grip at the blanked slightly, it was something between excitement and irritation; the artist within her bawked at the botched recantation, but the voice in the back of her mind, the words of a man not unlike he who she had beneath her now, drew her ever closer to those words. Once he stopped speaking, she drew a single deep breath, her eyes travelling to his touch on her skin.
She paused, without a word or a sigh, her hand simply placed over his nose and mouth, bearing down as she locked eyes with the man who had tormented her quietest moments for weeks now, she pressed her fingers together, cutting off all oxygen supply, the sound of the monitors beside her whirring into life as she kept her hand locked tight to his face, her fingers clamping at her jaw, but her eyes, almost soft beneath the embers that burned within them…
She wondered, as she denied him breath after breath, if he had faith in her words that she would not kill him, or if he merely welcomed the sweet, deep slumber it would bring, should she go back on her word.
The grey eyes that opened held nothing more than a blank calm stare. Beneath her hand his lips never lost their slight curve, though they did caress against her palm. There was no resistance from him even when his body involuntarily began to twitch beneath her. His hand fell away, as his eyes closed once more.
When it came to death Krähe was fearless.
A smile, curved on her own lips to match his before she pulled her hand away. A shake of her head to follow, she had meant what she said, of course, there was no joy in this, but there was always a pleasure to be had, leaning in she gently brushed her lips over his, no sign of affection; no press of passion. A warning, instead, perhaps even a promise. She left him unrestrained at his wrists as her body slipped free from his and she stood beside the bed once more, tilting her head to the side with a curious sigh.
“You will never have the thing you want most, mi amore…” her hand brushed the hair back from his head, the side of her fingers brushing through the contusions and scraped littered about on his flesh. “So long as I breathe, as will you.” She cast a withering start to the machines as their beeps began to calm, smoothing out the simple, white uniform, she seemed in no rush despite the likelihood of the alarms drawing attention to his room.
“Until next time, mi amore.”
He simply closed his eyes once more caring little as to whether or not this was another drug induced dream or not. It was far better than reliving the same nightmare.
“Mmmm yes...next time.” His voice was even more raw than before. The last of the words nearly eligible as they were more of a sigh.
Darkness had reached up to drag him under once more.
Cause beauty don't mean shit to me
Only when it's a weapon and deadly
Think you're big and bad
You got nothing on me
And the next time you hit, I hit back
Do you hear me, motherfucker?
Can you dig that?
Baby, I am beautiful and bad
And I destroy everything you have