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Private  make a devil out of me; HoM
Rogue

Aggressor
 Adult, 9 yrs  Mare
 15.3 hh  1000 lbs
4 Posts 95 points
 Kamikaze Offline
Posted on Jan 07 2018, 3:07 AM.
Reply  
#1


don't turn your back on me, baby



La Flaca is bored. In the months since she established herself here, she decorated her rooms (not because she wanted to – La Flaca is a fairly utilitarian minimalist, but she finds that a certain level of gaudy trash sets her clients at ease) and entertained a number of boring johns, most of whom left with scars and stories to tell but were not even interesting enough for her to bother tracking down and killing later for their efforts.

 

She’s not much of a drinker, but she finds herself frequenting the bar in the Depths anyway for lack of better things to do. She and the barkeep Anne Bonny have a certain mutual mistrust of one another that guarantees she gets prompt service without many questions asked. A couple times she’s been leery of the shrewd old broad’s silver eyes on her; that’s usually La Flaca’s cue to turn the “sultry nympho” act up a notch, because, damnit, if anyone in this hellhole is going to see through her to what she actually is it’s that rickety crone. Presently, she leans against the bar, moodily sipping a gin and tonic. Anne Bonny is preoccupied with a sulky-looking stallion in the back. La Flaca flicks an ear, but is unable to catch any snippets of the (almost certainly inane) conversation. Not for the first time, she weighs the costs and benefits of murdering Annie one of these nights. She knows the crone doesn’t sleep here; although La Flaca’s never actually seen her leave, she always comes in in the mornings smelling of the sea. But La Flaca has the strangest suspicion that the wily creature would survive, and she’d be the worse off for it.

 

So, it seems like the barkeep’s presence is simply La Flaca’s cross to bear until things pick up.

 

Most of the other entertainers here have backup plans. They’ve joined herds. They spend most of their time schmoozing up the ranks of other social ladders. La Flaca thought about that, too,  but it seemed like too much effort. She’d sleep with the kings and queens (power is a turn on) but she has no interest in actually aligning herself with them.

 

The monotony in the evening is relieved at last by the presence of another entertainer. La Flaca knows the magnificent Pegasus’ name is Ylva (word gets around down here, and La Flaca’s mind is a trap for anything she can store away as potentially useful), but she’s never spoken with her. She finishes off her gin and tonic and wanders up to her colleague. “Why are the men here so dull?” she asks, her heavily accented voice lacing the words in lovely vitriol and throwing them to the stone floor, “In any other nation where I have lived, a place like this would be crawling with needy patrons by this hour.” her tongue delicately rolls her r’s like a leaf caught in the curl of a wave. Ylva seems smarter than the rest, more cunning – there are plenty of wide-eyed waifs here, and idiots who literally have no other assets with which to help them succeed in life. But Ylva has never given any indication of being anything but intelligent, and so perhaps she will help assuage the boredom of this endless evening.

 
OOC: Ylva Prince



got me so blind I can't see
that she's a black magic woman
she's trying to make a devil out of me


Inactive Character

Aggressor
 Adult, 5 yrs  Mare
 17.2 hh  1500 lbs
30 Posts 20 points
 boaz Offline
Posted on Jan 07 2018, 4:08 AM.
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#2




Ylva;
a fatal dance, a primal rage.



It had been quite sometime since the vixen had been in the Depths. While she hadn't forgotten her duty as an entertainer, she found that her outside of work life had gotten her wrapped up. She hadn't thought much of the House of Mischief, but alas she figured it was time to go there and see how things were going. If they were going at all, actually. Considering the last that she had heard there hadn't been much activity, but she could be wrong of course.

Massive wings outstretched across the sky as she soared through the wind; leaning to and fro along with the weather. Limbs tucked close to her underside, she gave a few beats of her wings here and there just enough to keep her altitude. It wasn't a long journey, as she had arrived before she knew it. Descending for a smooth landing, she straightened her limbs out and lowered herself to the snow covered ground, giving her wings a good flap before tucking them close to her hide as best as she could, save for the good foot that hung over and dragged along behind her.

Dipping into the entrance, the vixen made her way down through the passage ways and into the vast room that held a bar, which also led to multiple personal rooms for each entertainer to take back a client if they so wished. Deep amethyst orbs laid upon the bar keep, Anne Bonny. A rather strange one, but Ylva found herself not to judge; she came across many odd folk, herself included. Nodding to the pirate woman, "Whiskey, Anne. Make it a double." She cooed as she made her way toward the bar, making note of another entertainer; La Flaca.

Giving enough space between her and her colleague, she took a spot at the bar just in time for Anne Bonny to shoot two whiskey shots in her direction. Left ear swiveled as she heard the other female move, but Ylva kept her gaze on the booze. She downed one as she heard La Flaca speak. A wicked grin splayed out over her lips as she downed the second shot. She licked her lips as she turned to the uniquely colored female. "Darlin', most men are dull, regardless of where you go." She shot a glance at the empty tavern, with a roll of her eyes she looked back to Flaca. "I hear there's been more house calls, the lazy bastards." Ylva snorted as she motioned toward Anne to give her another round.


OOC | La Flaca & Prince |



Commoner

Neutral
 Adult, 4 yrs  Stallion
 17.3 hh  1300 lbs
45 Posts 0 points
 Moseley Offline
Posted on Jan 10 2018, 8:37 PM.
Reply  
#3


i'll never wear your broken crown
The Depths was no longer a favourable place for him. Simply being here put the boy's nerves on their very edges, but he had nowhere else to go to where he could be free of the Iron Valley for a few moments respite. Renegade had proven he knew the boy's habits and had caught him at the Creation Pool one too many times - once, but that was enough. And the second time he had been there was to birth - something he did not wish to remember.

But he did not remember the Depths housing a place like this. The last time he had been here was when the entrance caved in, trapping the boy with a group of other equines. After that, a whole other Incident occurred - a mistake he would make again if given the opportunity, but never would the admit to that.

There was a smell in the air that reminded Prince of Kith'ae and their moments together. As much as he wanted to turn away and simply leave, he didn't. The boy continued forward towards the smell of the alcohol and the noise of people. He shuffled slowly, edging cautiously closer, step by tiny step, the skin along his spine prickling with tension and oversized wings pressed tight into his sides.

The first thing he noticed were the entertainers. One of them, too, noticed him. She smiled and winked at him, but the boy simply cast a confused and practically terrified glance at her. He was lost, and she intended to take advantage of that - drawing up close to him, until at last the boy caught on and twisted his lips in disgust.

Mares were vile creatures. He hated them with almost every ounce of his being. They caused this twisting of nausea in his gut. He couldn't help but wonder how his Father and half-brothers could gather them together and keep them to tend to their every beck and call. Prince could barely stand to be near them for too long. He much preferred the company of a fellow male - although to what extent he refused to admit.

"Leave me alone," he hissed to the mare, close to spitting on her, "You disgusting slut."

Ignoring the shocked and disgusted look that swept over the woman's face, he continued forwards towards whatever space h could find where he could have some semblance of personal space and privacy. That just happened to be near the bar, where two other women were standing. Oh, and the bar was manned by a mare too. Just great.

OOC| Ylva La Flaca He's pulling his emotional and hormonal teenager stunt apparently

the monster is running wild inside of me


Rogue

Aggressor
 Adult, 9 yrs  Mare
 15.3 hh  1000 lbs
4 Posts 95 points
 Kamikaze Offline
Posted on Jan 13 2018, 12:54 AM.
Reply  
#4


don't turn your back on me, baby



She smiles, tilts a hip against the rough-hewn stone that approximates a bar. Most men are dull. Ylva is right. Most people are dull, although the underworld tends to attract a higher concentration of interesting folks – but only those like the entertainers, like the owners, like the ones who create and fetch their various poisons. The patrons are no less dull than the rest of the world. Caught up in cute little games of morality. Ylva mentions ‘house calls’ and La Flaca’s ears flick back toward her skull (even that action is somehow deliberate, delicately sensuous). “Any man whom I visit for a house call will have a difficult time calling me for a repeat experience,” she murmurs, and for a moment visions dance through her mind – windpipes torn from broken necks, the look of fear in eyes that thought they held the power – and a rush of excitement alights her veins. 

This approximates happiness, or at least how she imagines it to be. She likes this Ylva. They have similarities.

She perhaps would not have paid any heed to the wayward adolescent who makes his way down the tunnel were it not for an ill-timed lapse in conversation – this lapse allows her to hear the cruel remark he makes toward their colleague. La Flaca’s head lifts, and she meets Ylva’s gaze with a look designed to convey, hunt with me.

This is not the job that they are paid for. But it is the job that La Flaca was born for.

Her languid strides cover the ground between them with surprising alacrity – a feline saunter that belies no exertion, a gait as casual and sumptuous as the curve to her neck or the gentle tousled waves of her obsidian mane. She is Spanish elegance, positively exuding warmth and sex. But her eyes – her core – are reptilian. “Niño”, she murmurs. He is tall, yes, taller even than her dragon-winged associate, but there are everywhere in him the telltale angles of youth. Already, so bitter. “Someone should have taught you the correct way to address your betters.” she says it because she can sense the superiority in him – the way he looks at them all as lesser, and it is a look that La Flaca knows well. For being a woman. For being promiscuous.

It’s a look that’s gotten men killed.

This is not the schoolyard, Niño. You tease the pretty girls here,” she pauses, hooded eyes half-closed, a corner of her mouth curling up over a single glinting feline fang. “They might rip your useless dick off.” 

Too easy. It would be too easy to gut this child where he stands. But they are at her place of employment. She is an entertainer, nothing more – an escort. But now, for once, there are cracks in that veneer. Something truly nightmarish snarls behind the tattered gossamer curtain of feminine loveliness. 

He should see the look in her eyes and flee – flee with his balls sucked up into the vicinity of his navel, back to whatever den of miscreants produced him.

But she hopes he’ll stay. 

OOC: Ylva Prince OK yeah so she's batshit. 



got me so blind I can't see
that she's a black magic woman
she's trying to make a devil out of me


Commoner

Neutral
 Adult, 4 yrs  Stallion
 17.3 hh  1300 lbs
45 Posts 0 points
 Moseley Offline
Posted on Jan 13 2018, 6:06 PM.
Reply  
#5


i'll never wear your broken crown
She was shorter than him by an entire eight inches. She was a mare. She shouldn't be able to intimidate him like this. To press him beneath her metaphorical thumb and screw it down onto the pavement. But she did and she could. And he hated it so much.

Prince was better than her. That had been installed into him from the moment he'd been dumped on his Father's doorstep. He was better than he, simply because she was a mare. Hell, he was better than all of them.

The way her eyes stared at him, taking in the feminine angles of his own body and the delicacy of it, made him suppress a shudder. There was a violence locked away inside of her, but she was challenging his superiority. As his father's son, he could not let that slide. He was too tightly wound to think straight. to know he ought to run away and hope he never met her again.

"Pretty?" he spat with a guffaw, pulling up the fragile mask his father adored so much. The one that earned him affection, the one that earned him praise. The praise he so desperately craved.

"I see no pretty girls here, only a gathering of incubators readying themselves to bear sons for their superiors."

His pure white eye glanced over the crowd again, suppressing another shudder at his own actions and words and the closeness of the Spanish mare.

"Disgusting," he hissed, "You're all nothing but filthy whores."

Yes, Renegade would be proud if he was there to see the way his weakest son stood up to the mare. Telling her where she belonged, despite the obvious threat she offered to him. But he could only hope she didn't bite worse than she barked - he'd be royally fucked if she did.
OOC| La Flaca Looks like it's just us now ;3; Also Prince. Learn to run away you weakling! Sheesh!

the monster is running wild inside of me




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