| Bring Out Your Dead |
[Dec. 2nd, 2007|06:12 pm] |
Four motorcycles raced down the Strip. Four burly, not-to-be-fucked-with, leather-clad (former) gang members, hell-bent and loaded with fangs.
The lead chopper sported a second passenger. Clad in full leather, with a red scarf to match fiery hair.
"On the day I was born, the nurses all gathered 'round
And they gazed in wide wonder, at the joy they had found
The head nurse spoke up, and she said leave this one alone
She could tell right away, that I was bad to the bone
Bad to the bone
Bad to the bone
B-B-B-B-Bad to the bone..."
"Oh, DO shut up, Zipperneck," Deanna yelled over the roar of the engine.
( I broke a thousand hearts, before I met you, I'll break a thousand more baby, before I am through )
[Thread open to Natasha, Star, and others who wish to participate] |
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| Let the Games Begin |
[Nov. 29th, 2007|09:49 pm] |
"What can you do with four vamped-out bikers?
What can you do with four vamped-out bikers?
What can you dooooo with four vamped-out bikers?"
Deanna paced outside the morgue. She played the grieving girlfriend to perfection. Full leather, heavy make-up. Firey hair. She was the epitome of a hot biker mama.
"Wait for 'em to wake up and terrorize Las Vegassssssssss..." |
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| Ashes to Ashes |
[Nov. 21st, 2007|12:56 am] |
Don't try and explain. I don't need your excuses. They're pap, words smeared on a mirror with lipstick.
She was your sister. We three were connected by blood.
The instant the tether was severed. My insides ripped from my body. My Celine, dust sifting between fingers. All that's left. So little time at the beginning, a chance to be whole again, gone forever.
Because of you.
You revealed secrets to the enemy. Set her free so she could take revenge against my first born.
You betrayed us both.
What I do next, is in your name. I'll burn it into the sky. Scorch the earth with each vowel and consonant.
Cry, little one.
The blood on my hands, is yours. |
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| Bleed |
[Nov. 10th, 2007|09:57 pm] |
Las Vegas was a hotbed of activity, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Name your poison and you could find it within spitting distance of the strip. All seven deadly sins could be accomplished between sun-up and sunset, and there was always someone at the ready to lend a helping hand. Sometimes even for free.
The abandoned warehouse wasn't. It cost a small fortune to acquire the dank, secluded building off the Boulder Highway, north of Henderson. She needed a place where revved engines drowned out screams. A perpetual twilight facility, one where vampiric eyes could see, and blind their prey with the absence of natural light. Floorboards so rotten that the wrong step could trip up a hapless, currently chained-up Slayer into the basement. The threat of a broken neck just amped up the overall terror.
Terror. Deanna was all about terror. For so long they'd been adversaries, the brunette and redhead. Slayer versus vampire. Locked in combat outside of soup kitchens, dark alleys. Only when their mutual survival was threatened had they established a temporary truce, a necessary evil.
She sized up Rhiannon. Licked her lips. Game and set to the vampire.
The floor was hard and it scratched. That much Rhiannon could tell just by sliding her cheek. The movement was hidden under her hair. She had a lot of it, dark and thick and sheltering. Beneath its cover she stayed long after she awoke. There wasn't much past the pain of electrocution she remembered. But she knew the instant consciousness returned that her wrists and ankles were heavy, and that meant she was shackled, in somebody's keep. Her eyes opened a sliver and showed her it was dark. Her fingers moved and told her the floor was wood and it smelled earthen. Her mouth was dry.
She waited another hour, because the minute a captive came around, torture started. That's how she'd done it with Collins. Rhiannon wanted to pick when it started. She wanted to be well and truly awake when it did.
She didn't bother wondering who was behind this. It was obvious, or so she thought. Deanna, by way of Victoria.
Rhiannon was as quiet as a mouse, even when company came. She let herself get good and angry. She stroked the rotten floor with a fingertip, thinking about how to get a good chunk out of it later, how to hide it between her palms. Let that redheaded bitch get close enough to bite her, and then poof. Dust. She'd probably starve to death afterwards, but it'd be worth it.
"Coward," she growled.
( Make it scream for me ) |
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| Wrapped in a bow, with a cherry on top |
[Nov. 9th, 2007|12:34 am] |
Even in France, it was not a common tune. More than a century ago, of course, it would be a very different story. A happy little melody hummed to herself, as Celine wandered her way down the corridor, for vampires might be deadly, but joy was no stranger.
In fact, Celine was fairly certain she had eaten a Joy, only last night. Or was it a Julianne? Not to matter... She had reached the hotel room door and knocked upon it.
"Deanna...! Deanna...! Ou est Maria...?"
( Companion to our demons; they will dance, and we will play ) |
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[Oct. 6th, 2007|11:04 pm] |
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| When the Camera Stops Rolling |
[Oct. 6th, 2007|01:18 am] |
"Wait, wait." Slender fingers ran up and through red hair, careful to avoid the ridged prosthetic that extended from her the actress' scalp to the bridge of her nose. God, but the glue smelled. Every touch-up provided a not-so subtle waft into her nostrils. "It's 'throw left six inches past the shoulder, she places her hands just below the elbow, then I pivot to the right so she can throw me?"
Diana Castleman wasn't a novice when it came to fright scenes. She'd made her mark from the tender age of seventeen starting in schlock horror films and was, for several years, the reigning Scream Queen of 'B-grade' cinema. But that entailed lots of running and howling at the top of her lungs, and more often than not, becoming the second-last victim to fall to a third-rate Freddy Kruger.
Since being cast on Birthright - The Series (stunt-casting if you believed the trades -- and who would, the best the producers could hope for was a certain nostalgia factor) she'd exercised a different set of muscles. No screaming for this fortiesh actress of yesterday. Now it was blood, sex and -- as she rehearsed the fight sequence with her fellow castmate and stunt coordinator -- extremely demanding physical work.
Otto shook his head furiously. "Nein, liepshen! You must pivot LEFT, othervise you vill trip her and possibly bruise more zan her tailbone. Insurance vill go up again and Otto may be out of job."
Rhiana exhaled a lungful of air and reset her feet into a proper stance. The corner of her mouth stung; that was a present from Di’s last poorly calculated maneuver. The punch went wild and mashed the sensitive flesh against her teeth. Thank God the brunette’s make-up didn’t require fangs, or they might‘ve opened a wound. In fact, the costuming it took to become Rhiannon Lee, Vampire Slayer, was pretty much just a white trash make-over as far as she was concerned. Still, after three years’ experience with the stains that burgundy lipstick could make, and she was tiring of retouches.
“Let’s try it one more time,” she said, pulling on an inner reserve of patience, and lifted her fists in the air for the choreography.
Once upon a time, the choreography of Rhiana’s career had been day to Birthright‘s night. She got her start in show business onstage as a dancer in Las Vegas. Because of that, she had come to be considered somewhat of a local by the cast. A snapped Achilles’ tendon put an end to dancing, however, so she struck out for California to try acting instead. It took a few months, but she landed a role as a maid on The Young and the Restless. French maid outfits... now that was a wardrobe even the Slayer’s wifebeaters outclassed. After two years reading scripts about power, sex, and corruption in the Abbott family, Rhiana was tired of it.
Demon fighter sounded good. It gave her a chance to try something other than feathering furniture on the edge of a living room. What she hadn’t accounted for was the magnitude of the fandom, or how demeaning a high-profile divorce could be. But midway into the fourth season, she was still in love with this whole concept of warrior women beating back the forces of darkness, and had no plans to leave anytime soon.
Well... as long as they didn’t turn Rhiannon Lee into a vampire.
And as long as Di could remember L from R.
Rhiana put her fingers up. “See, left hand makes an L,” she chided her elder co-star. “You’re not getting Alzheimer’s, are you?”
"Har-dee( On the Set Tension )
( Which Way? ) |
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| -whew- |
[Sep. 30th, 2007|08:48 pm] |
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The Deanna/Victoria/-special guest- scene is complete! |
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[Aug. 11th, 2007|02:05 am] |
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test |
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| Wall of Fame |
[Jul. 29th, 2007|12:00 am] |
Deanna rummaged through her 'tickle trunk', stored neatly in the corner in the dungeon that was Hell's Bouquet.
Various items were tossed aside without care until she found them.
She crossed back to her office, picked up the hammer and jammed the naisl on her wall.
( Remembering a domin-angel -- April 2010 )
The leather bands were hung up with care.
The vampire grabbed her copy of the CC Beacon, bounded up the stairs and outside of Fang Noir.
A drive to Searchlight was in order. Though she wouldn't necessarily enjoy its taste, Deanna was in the mood for pie. |
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| The Price Is Right |
[Jul. 18th, 2007|10:28 pm] |
One drawback of waiting to get paid, Grace had discovered, was that every minute seemed to stretch out to a ridiculous degree. She'd tarped Gerald's dead body and put it in what amounted to cool storage, her insurance policy against being fucked over, then gave the Plymouth's trunk a good once over. Fresh corpses in the middle of July? Yeah, that would be a little...aromatic after a while.
She felt a little wired when she returned to her hotel room, so she only did a quick dash inside to grab some cash. It was summer in Vegas and it seemed to be even hotter outside than it was this time last year. Almost August. She was going to have to watch herself. She always got a little crazy in August.
Outside, there was a breeze that smelled like road tar and the desperation of a thousand losing gamblers, and the vampire turned her face up into it before starting off at a leisurely pace. There had to be something that could catch her interest tonight. It just took some looking. It was better than counting the hours until she had her money.
It was an all-ages show, but you had to be over twenty-one to play. The staff checked identification while you stood in line.
It was a precarious thing, a vampire obtaining a valid license from the Department of Motor Vehicles. For one, office hours usually ended long before the sun set. And the driver's test was a bitch. At least the DMV in Los Angeles let Deanna use her Corvette and its necro-tinted windows. Cost her a fortune, but worth every penny.
Sure she could've just paid someone off to issue one. But it was the challenge. Doing things by the rules. Flirting with disaster, passing for human. And so she presented a perfectly valid card, complete with the most flattering picture (she'd demanded five re-shoots, and damn if she wasn't going to get it) and, with a smirk from the pimply-faced girl who perused the information, not looking a day over thirty-eight.
The redhead hoped she got to play Plinko.
Too bad they didn't coerce Bob Barker out of retirement to host the Bally's stage show of The Price Is Right. She'd have loved to have him spayed or neutered. Given he was a demon, she wasn't sure which would've been more effective.
( Papers? )
( They grow up so fast )
( You want to know what it takes to sell real estate? It takes BRASS BALLS to sell real estate. )
( Time for something new ) |
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| Downtime |
[Jul. 10th, 2007|10:54 pm] |
The one thing about the day after a fight with Rhiannon.
It gave Deanna a chance to think. Mostly because she had to heal.
And because she hated getting her ass tagged like that.
The redhead eased herself gently into the soft-back chair. The neon lights of Las Vegas shimmered beyond her hotel window. 'Not tonight', she whimpered internally. Dinner would be delivered, instead of take-out.
She pulled out the mass of notes left by the staff at Fang Noir. Cancelled checks, the books. She opened the ledger, saw the quite large numerical donation with a sticky note beside it.
"Shit." If possible, Deanna turned a shade paler.
The vampire picked up the phone, dialed for an outside line and then pressed four-one-one.
"Searchlight. Residence. Residence. Sonya Ramius." |
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| Religion for Dummies |
[Jul. 6th, 2007|06:32 pm] |
The Bible was for sissies.
Religion had been drummed between sensitive ears since her earliest memory. 'Never you mind the conflict between the Old and New Testaments, Marie.' The priest smelled of incense and lavender. 'It's God's will that you obey man. A woman's place is to follow two steps behind and never question.'
Baptism. Communion. Catechism. Promised to God before being turned over to a fishmonger, a paid-for union sanctioned by His Church.
It was safe to say, two hundred plus years after her rebirth into an underworld no sane person could witness (and honestly, when you think about it, why didn't the preachers make hay with the existence of demons? It would've really brought in the new blood), Deanna had issues.
Most people would take the psychiatrist couch and tear apart tissues while complaining that their father never showed them love. The redhead liked to take a more direct approach. She'd already explored ad nauseum the Seven Deadly Sins. That was fun for the first thirty years, but not necessarily a challenge. How much more delightful was it for an abomination of His name to pervert the Corporal Works of Mercy? And while a vampire couldn't -- without a helluva lot of effort and a death wish -- walk into a building on consecrated ground, they could visit public places where good things were done. Like soup kitchens, and missions.
Deanna put her car in park in the lot just off Interstate 95 below Reno, Nevada. The sign above St. Harold's spoke plainly: feed the hungry, give drink to the thirsty, give shelter to strangers, clothe the naked, visit the sick, minister to prisoners, and bury the dead.
Sure. Why not? And before the night was over, she could abuse most of those Works for herself as well.
[Thread open to Rhiannon and Deanna.] |
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| Treasure Island |
[Jun. 19th, 2007|04:32 pm] |
Come fly with me, lets fly lets fly away
If you can use, some exotic booze
Theres a bar in far bombay
Come fly with me, well fly well fly away
She wasn't in Kansas anymore. Thank fuck.
That was such a mistake. As she was wont to do, Deanna tended to follow (a) her unbeating heart, (b) her momentary obsessions, and (c) the wind. She'd heard rumor of a newly called slayer kicking serious ass in America's heartland and decided to visit. What she discovered was a lot of corn, some wheat, and a shitload of people mired in the nineteen sixties, both in terms of fashion sense and moral sensibility.
It was almost as bad as Mormon country. Not that'd she know about that. Oh hell no. The redhead would never step foot in Utah.
Not again, at any rate.
Come fly with me, lets float down to peru
In lama land, theres a one man band
And hell toot his flute for you
Come fly with me, well float down in the blue
Her first night back in the city of sin, the vampire decided to re-immerse herself in proper culture. And skimpy outfits. She poached the tickets for Mystère from her early evening snack (and then upgraded the balcony seats for orchestra via a quick bathroom encounter, poor girl suffering with that sudden bout of anemia) and lost herself in the spectacle. Aerial high bars, chinese poles, bungee.
And Clowns. Shudder. There had to be clowns.
Once I get you up there, where the air is rarefied
Well just glide, starry eyed
Once I get you up there, Ill be holding you so near
You may here, angels cheer - because were together
As the curtain fell on the last moments at Treasure Island, Deanna made her way through the throng and out the doors, around back to the stage door. To pay her respects and thanks.
And to give a little payback to a fear she'd yet to master.
One less clown in the world was a good thing, yes?
Weather wise its such a lovely day
You just say the words, and well beat the birds
Down to acapulco bay
Its perfect, for a flying honeymoon - they say
Come fly with me, well fly well fly away
Out back dancers puffed at shared cigarettes, still in outlandish costume and with the flush of performance on their pink splotched skin. They smelled of sweat-drenched nylons and hairspray and cake makeup. What looked otherworldly onstage loomed garish under orange streetlamp and by the banality of city dumpsters and employee parking.
Dancers with their camaraderie of full-mouthed kisses and backstage, nude impropriety noticed the intrusion of others but were unlikely to comment upon it, other than by eye. Under a halo of rising smoke and a din of post-production chatter, they glanced openly at the performer who had gone to speak with a man in a suit. An audience member wanting an encore, maybe, or the mysterious boyfriend behind Gabrietta’s slick, black Benz.
Whatever the case, the encounter went amiably.
The door banged open and shut. Three went in. One came out in red nose and ruffled collar. Lit up a smoke.
( Send in the Clowns )
( ... And the transxexuals? ) |
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[May. 29th, 2007|11:44 pm] |
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test |
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| 57 Channels and Nothing On |
[Feb. 14th, 2007|11:31 pm] |
Just a small scar remained as temporary reminder. A bullet ripped through flesh, fired from a very pissed off police officer.
And yet, a week in, the bigger news story was the upswing in shotgun marriages on Valentine's Day than the late night Assault on Precinct 13.
Deanna'd just have to up the ante. |
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| 57 Channels and Nothing On |
[Feb. 14th, 2007|11:29 pm] |
Just a small scar remained as temporary reminder. A bullet ripped through flesh, fired from a very pissed off police officer.
And yet, a week in, the bigger news story was the upswing in shotgun marriages on Valentine's Day than the late night Assault on Precinct 13.
Deanna's just have to up the ante. |
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