(M) Coyote Ugly

p. Johnathan

POSTED: Tue Nov 27, 2018 7:48 am

WARNING: This thread contains material exceeding the general board rating of PG-13. It may contain very strong language, drug usage, graphic violence, or graphic sexual content. Reader discretion is advised.


(+300)

I hope this is ok ;o;

It was called the Twisted Root. A leftover of the humans’ reign, its walls illuminated strange shadows from trembling candlelight. A drumbeat pounded to the same rhythm as her heart. Larka gestured for water in mid-step, as she moved to and fro on the makeshift stage.

The air was rife with something the older slaves described as ‘desperation’. She hadn’t understood what this meant at the time and her reaction had prompted laughter and knowing smiles. If the female slaves were to be believed, it was the way the crowd's eyes lingered hungrily over her exposed flesh. Mouths quirked upward as they jostled between their companions, tongues slicked against teeth. The prey they sought was just out of reach, but sometimes sidled their way.

To those closest, the girl’s panting breaths could be heard. The light captured the beautiful trinkets that hung suspended from an exposed neck. Coin, bead and bone jangled together as Larka moved, creating their own sound as she danced.

Music faded, and Larka rubbed at her taut calves. One of the men beckoned her to him with a cup, so she made her way towards him. “May I, sir?” The coydog waited patiently for the patron to let her have her drink; he stretched his legs apart and placed it in-between. She didn’t need to guess what he wanted, as she knelt before him and drank from the container. Callused palms stroked along her neck and twined fingers into her mane. A thumb caressed her scalp for a heartbeat, before her head was yanked forwards into the water.

Larka coughed amid the roar of laughter and applause. Her eyes and ears lowered as she waited for the man to finish with her. The girl wet her lips, tasting something bitter there. Her drink had been spiked - she knew what that meant. The wolfish male was to be her client for the night. Those large hands grabbed at the waif, promises whispered into ears. It didn’t matter what he said or did. Larka just wanted it all to be over, or at the least for them to be gentle.

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POSTED: Tue Nov 27, 2018 2:12 pm

(000)

ooc

He dreamed and dreamed, her cascading waterfall of curling hair danced before him. If he reached out, their deep burnished copper locks flowed through his fingers. The early morning's sunlight bounced back at him, reflected from her wide, pretty eyes. She had that angelic look, sweet as syrup but with the devil behind her gaze. Ginger smiled and shushed him with a finger to her lips, the shadow cast by his Mama's barn shrouded them from the prying eyes.

He woke abruptly, already gagging and retching. Her scent curled in his nose and the taste he could still imagine it. Violent heaves wracked his body until he had rid himself of the last vestiges of his drinking the night before. Bile and long, ropy strands of thick saliva.

The indignity, the whole fucking fucked up audacity of it. He slapped himself in the face, hard enough to split his lip and draw blood. The copper-ness drowned out her taste. He stood up and raided his own 'shine stores, ignoring its acrid sting as he swallowed down enough to make the voices in his head stop screaming at him. He briefly contemplated throwing himself into the Loch and ending it all. No.. no. That'd give her too much power.

He staggered away from their camp, towards the bar they'd stumbled upon. They were only going to be here a day or so more, he might as well slake his thirsts when his drugs of choice were available. He wanted something to take away the humming in his blood, he'd be damned if he'd jerk off while thinking of her. He spat, watery streaks of blood.

He shoved himself in past the crowd, over to the bar and ordered a drink despite having his own stuff. It was a crisp type of cider he was given, fizzing and strong. An older female sidled up next to him, his green eyes flicked over her and he physically had to stop himself recoiling in disgust. Red hair and a pale face, nothing faster to make his cock shrivel up. He waved her away, shuddering. As if he needed more nightmares fuel for his dreams.

His gaze drifted and cold trickled down his spine as he caught sight of the young girl. The drink fell from his hand and shattered against the floor, spilling cider everywhere.

How....

The glass dug into his paws and he barely felt it. Shoving his way through the crowd again, closer to the stage. It wasn't... it couldn't be...

It wasn't. She had orange-gold eyes, not green. That little girl was all the way back in his hometown, no doubt hating his existence. It wasn't his daughter but... she could be Walmart's double. He watched her dance, the dead look in her eyes tore at him. Her empty smile, oh it was very pretty and certainly stirred up the other men around him. They hooted and hollered and John was an island of silence amidst the seething mass.

How could none of them see, she was only a child? Her little trinkets jingled and bounced as she moved. His throat closed up, John was one fucked up piece of shit but he wasn't no monster, not like all of these fuckers. Her voice was pale against the jeers and leering taunts, May I, sir?.

Jesus fucking Christ. He could hear Walmart screaming again, across the years. The scars across his spine throbbed with their old pains. He could hear his own hoarse voice, roaring as the whip had fallen again and again across his back.

He saw this place on fire, saw it burning right to the fucking ground. His hands clenched into fists. It couldn't be like that though, it couldn't be like Rocky and Jaime and the woman he'd strangled to death and thrown into the river.

Johnathan Winthrop
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Jace
Luperci Maestro Cervecero You have to love yourself a fire

POSTED: Wed Nov 28, 2018 12:27 pm

(+300)

ooc

Larka ignored her client momentarily - she was being watched. It was no surprise her youth and nakedness drew many eyes toward her, but this felt different. She’d always been aware of the emotions of others. There was a shift in the mood, although small, it was enough to disturb her. There; her gaze lingered on a particular face amongst the crowd. The copper male hummed with a vibe that was at odds with the eager masses. He looked as though he’d been in a fight if the bloodied lips and hands were any indication.

Frayed tempers came with the territory, Larka knew. The owner wouldn’t allow his property to be damaged, but the mix of testosterone, sex and alcohol presented a dangerous thrill for those who consumed. The girl couldn’t study the coyote any longer, as her male cupped her chin in his hands. The expression she wore, feigned delight, was like a second skin she could slip over her true shape. His eyes never left Larka’s, as he drained his cup. She was about to offer him another drink, but he pressed a finger to her lips and chuckled.

“Wanna go outside? I can't wait anymore.” The coydog nodded, and caught the master’s eye from behind the bar. The wolfdog tried to get to his feet, but slumped into the tiny girl with a grunt. Larka helped him up, all the while he pressed himself closer to her and mumbled his plans as they approached the bar doors.

Despite her thick double-coat, Larka bristled at the chill that greeted them outside. Her client stumbled over the frost that had settled in during the day. He seemed to be in a hurry to begin the night’s proceedings, whereas the girl saw it as her duty to support his footing. The outbuildings weren’t far, yet they made slow progress with the wolfdog tripping and hobbling.

“Yer a good girl.” The male panted as he propped himself against the side of the building. Larka’s ghostly smile returned at the compliment. “Go on in. I gotta catch my breath."

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Luperci You have to love yourself a fire

POSTED: Wed Nov 28, 2018 1:54 pm

(000)

ooc

He tried to turn away. It weren't... it weren't none of his business. It was a lie spoken on bloodied lips. The mass moved and John was jostled in his place. The girl looked at him suddenly, and the rest of the world faded away for a precious moment. If there was a soul there within her it was hidden down so deeply he couldn't find it. She turned away, back to the other man and a vapid little smile slipped into place, it made John cringe to see.

The crowd moved again and John whirled with teeth bared, slamming the butt of his elbow into the ribs of the one who'd shoved him. The dull drunk brown man choked and gagged, and scuttled backwards, away from the seething coywolf. One of the staff members barked something, John wasn't paying attention. He was looking for the girl. She'd left the stage. Panic settled in around his heart.

The wolfdog was talking directly into his face now and John finally focused in on him, "What? Ye, shit. Sorry man, I slipped." He was sliding away then, with his palms up, feigning innocence, his eyes darting to here and there. He caught the orange flash of her hair as she and the drunk disappeared out the doorway.

He followed.

It was damn cold outside, even with his fur parka and leggings. His whiskers quivered and he watched the pair lurch and lumber towards a building who's purpose he could guess. The girl was ushered inside but the male lingered. He was probably too drunk to even get it up but John wasn't going to wait and find out.

He strode across the frosty distance, and was almost upon the wolfdog before he realised John was there. John's green eyes gleamed malevolently in the dimness. The inebriated man smiled and John returned it, a sharp thing full of teeth and no humor,

"Heyyy, man, m'Baxter. I got a good'un waitin'. Yer gonna 'aveta wait yer turn, but yer can 'ave her after I'm done." His words were slurred and dripped with booze, John's smile became a sneer, a winkled muzzle,

"Y'all need to leave. Now." The angry voice buzzed, and circled, Baxter's eyes blinked and his brows drew together,

"I paid fer her. I paid fer my time." He complained in a whiny voice. John drew out his knife, a snarl bubbling up his throat,

"I said y'all need to fuckin' leave. Right now! Get on your fuckin' horse and ride away." The drunk male stumbled backwards a step with wide eyes. He was just a drunken lech, but he wasn't stupid and he wasn't about to be shanked over no whore, no matter how pretty she was.

"Alright.. alright shit, I'm leavin." He stepped around John as though the red coywolf would suddenly lunge and stab him. John seriously considered it.

Adrenalin thrummed in his veins as he watched the other leave into the gloom and he stowed away his knife. He slipped inside the building, with his hands raised and in sight. No doubt she'd heard the entire exchange and was probably terrified he was going to hurt her,

"I.. I ain't here to hurt ya, I promise." What was the promise of a wretch worth? Absolutely fuck all. He stumbled over something in the dim light, "Fuck."

Johnathan Winthrop
I'm a dead man walkin'
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Jace
Luperci Maestro Cervecero You have to love yourself a fire

POSTED: Wed Nov 28, 2018 3:46 pm

(+400)

ooc

Her palms brushed against the wall as she shuffled inside. Larka focused on the scent of the hay-covered floor so that she didn’t have to think about the origin of the other odours. Whilst she waited for her vision to adapt to the dim space, she combed her fingers through her hair. The habit was soothing, and took her mind far away from the inevitable.

The wolfdog’s voice filtered through from the doorway. It turned out his name was Baxter. The girl’s ears perked forward as she listened to his words, thick and clumsy on his tongue. He was offering her to another; a man’s angry voice answered. Larka froze and willed her heart to beat quietly, lest everyone hear it. It wasn’t unusual for her to be shared amongst clients, but she wasn’t a fool either. Raised voices usually belonged to impatient, violent masters.

Baxter contended that the girl was his, followed by the stranger’s snarl. Her throat sealed up at that sound, and the girl fought back the urge to cough. Don’t draw attention to yourself. Males often fought over the women at the Root; it was an echo to their instincts. It sounded as though one such battle was being waged beyond her reach. With Baxter hovering at the only point of escape it would be difficult to get away.

The voice became hot and knife-like, as it sliced through the winter night. This unknown male seemed to be winning as her client whined. The sound of retreating footsteps, and briefly, the wind. Was he gone? No, someone else was coming inside! Larka backed away from the male who approached, palms exposed outwards.

He promised not to hurt her. An empty sentiment; others had said this before. Larka blinked, then gasped as she recognised the green eyed coywolf from before. He still looked worse for wear up close, but his clothing spoke of wealth and security. A curse slipped from his lips as the girl stood silently. Amber eyes searched for something, anything that could help her in this situation. “I saw you, before. At the bar.”

A smile that didn’t touch her eyes swept across the girl’s face as she moved closer. This was her new client, then? “Are you here for me, sir? Allow me to show you the Root's hospitality.” The words flowed so easily, as they had many times before. The client came first, and hers had changed to this coppery coywolf. Perhaps she could placate this one’s temper and calm her own racing heart in the same instance.

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Luperci You have to love yourself a fire

POSTED: Wed Nov 28, 2018 4:32 pm

(000)

ooc

His words meant nothing, he knew that, he could see it. The dead stare, it showed him others had used those words too and lied. Wasn't he a liar too, in the words he used. She backed away from him, no doubt expecting the worst of him. He didn't blame her. Fuck, this was some skeezy shit.

John struggled to not just grab her and run. His fingers twitched. She spoke, quiet words, their momentary connection flourished. He had looked at her not with lust or covetous desire but with a mingled angry horror.

"Yeah, I saw you too." His mouth twisted with something. Her eyes darted about, looking for escape, looking for protection. His did too, how else could he make her understand he wasn't going to harm her.

She turned the dead, soulless smile onto him with her speech and he repressed a physical shudder.

"No.. no. I ain't here for that." She looked so much like his daughter, it was like swallowing glass. How could someone look so similar to another without being related. John swallowed heavily, his adam's apple bobbing frantically. He pushed a hand through messy hair, shoving it back. The ease of her offer sickened him, tailored to perfect through repetition, there was no other explanation.

A light-bulb went -btzz- in his frazzled, shine soaked brain. John lowered himself to his knees slowly, trying not to make sudden movements and not thinking about what he might be kneeling in. He fished the knife out of its sheath and tossed it gently to the floor at her feet, it skittered.

"I ain't here to hurt you. I ain't here for a fuck." He repeated again, the whiskers framing his nose wavered, quivering in place. He couldn't just leave her here to this, the Cartel wasn't exactly the best place but at least she wouldn't have to sell herself. She'd have food and security. What was it that kept her tied here?

"Y'all ever though 'bout leavin' this place? 'Bout striking out somewhere new and tryin' yer luck elsewhere." His tongue flicked out to wet his nose.

Big, green eyes looked up at her; John wasn't often earnest about much but about this he was. It showed.

Johnathan Winthrop
I'm a dead man walkin'
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Jace
Luperci Maestro Cervecero You have to love yourself a fire

POSTED: Sun Dec 02, 2018 11:14 am

(+300)

Sorry for the wait hon <3

Her eyes studied his face, and noted the subtle shift in his body language. His lips quirked at the edges, but it was neither a smile or a frown. Something was bothering him, an emotion she couldn’t pluck from him and examine in her hands. The male acknowledged he’d seen her, and his eyes swept through the room as hers had.

The coywolf didn’t want her services. Why had he scared Baxter away, then? Larka tipped her head to one side, a long tendril shifted across her shoulder. “I don’t understand, sir.” He was looking at her strangely too. He raked a hand through his mane, leaving it a dishevelled mess. The coywolf breathed loudly, an uneven rattle amidst the sighing of the wind beyond their shelter.

Larka’s brows rose as he knelt suddenly, fumbling with something. An object thudded nearby, causing the woman to cower instinctively. Larka looked down at the knife he had given her, and back towards his face. The coppery male repeated himself, confirming his intentions were not indecent. What did he want, then? The nervous energy that he radiated was beginning to affect the girl.

Ahh, that was his plan. Pity for a slave. The girl smiled bitterly, the sweetness never leaving her voice. “What can another place offer me that I do not have here? I have food, shelter and a purpose.” It stung her ears to hear herself rehash these words again. The coywolf’s eyes were rounded and focused on Larka, though. He was one of very few who had looked at her differently; not simply as property. “You are not the first to suggest such an idea, dear. I live to serve and without a master what am I to do?"

She wasn’t usually this honest with a client, but then he was not paying for her services. This male fell into an entirely different camp altogether. It was time to cut this incident short. “If you have no further business with me, sir, then I shall take my leave of you.” Larka would wait for the man to finish speaking with her before she acted.

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Luperci You have to love yourself a fire

POSTED: Sun Dec 02, 2018 2:37 pm

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"Now you got something to protect yourself." He spoke through a thick throat.

Bitterness and strife stared back at him. He sensed the self same distaste. Lies had been told before, they made his intended task all the more difficult. Shit. She spoke with the chains of the enslaved.

His hands moved, waving as though to push away her words. He was momentarily at a loss, he hadn't really thought she'd want to stay. He really hadn't thought this through. He was asking her to leave everything she knew, fear of the unknown was strong in some.

"Freedom... freedom to not 'ave to fuck strangers for food and shelter. To do what you want to do." He watched her closely, for any sign of a spark of life, anything that might suggest an actual soul beneath all her defensive walls.

She had stayed for some reason, and given her youth he might be able to guess what that was. She was so young, he thought maybe she'd been born into this life, had never been taught anything else. Never taught to hunt or to fend for herself. This was the only choice she had. His mouth thinned to a sharp line,

"I ain't the best man, but I don't molest little girls." Drunk as he was, eloquence or even proper coherence was not really a handle he had to grasp right now. He fumbled for the words, stumbling over them "I'm thinkin' you were born to this life, aye? Or.. or someone took you when you was a baby. You stay 'cause you don't got a choice. They never showed you how to hunt or.. find food, or how to defend yourself. They told you that.. that the world would tear you apart before you got more'n a mile."

He choked on them, those awful words that he could easily apply to his daughter, the awful twisting in his stomach tightened all the more, "I ain't the best man.." He repeated again, looking down and away for a moment and then back at her, the flickering candle giving writhing shadows to dance across his face, to gleam bright in his eyes,

"...But I can show you. You won't ever have to sleep with a man fer food or a home again. And if'n after you want to leave and go on yer way, then.. then that's okay." His fingers danced across the buttons of his parka and it slipped from his shoulders, and he held it out towards her along with a fragile strand of hope.

Johnathan Winthrop
I'm a dead man walkin'
Del Cenere Gang
El Probado
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Jace
Luperci Maestro Cervecero You have to love yourself a fire

POSTED: Mon Dec 03, 2018 12:18 pm

(+000)

He had offered her the knife to protect herself with. Larka knew that gifts often came attached with demands. Sometimes acknowledged, oftentimes not. Yet, there was something about the catch in his throat and his careful gestures that made her pause. The slave still couldn’t comprehend the man’s actions.

And then like gold being sifted amongst dirt, his objectives were revealed. Freedom, to do what you wanted to do. The other cage whose bars were clear, but chains all the same. These words echoed within Larka’s mind from the time when her entire world had been the slave dens of Rabenuhr. Once she had met a canine who had known a life without servitude - how they had mocked the enslaved. The girl had observed how swiftly that one had changed their mind, however. The weight of his green stare pulled her from her thoughts. He seemed to be watching her and waiting for an answer.

“I live well thanks to my masters. They make sure that I am not wanting for food or shelter.” Larka’s voice had lost some of its sweetness, to be replaced by a flatness of tone. If the coywolf looked the waifish girl over he would notice that the hard curvature of her hip bones jutted out. There were small hints here and there along her body that suggested the girl was not eating enough to nurture herself properly.

The girl’s ears tipped downward at his next words. Molested? Larka wasn’t entirely certain what that word meant. From the coppery male’s tone it sounded ugly. His stumbling words flowed like cold water down her spine. Eyes that were typically blank widened and gazed into his. He had looked through her eyes and had seen her soul. Larka shivered as he described it, small flashes of recognition firing through her mind.

Larka wrenched her gaze away to the candle. It was painful to see something so good and pure staring back at her. She hadn’t realised that her own breath had quickened, or that her hands had folded themselves about her chest. All the ugliness and pain reflected in his emerald depths. He claimed he wasn’t the best man. Larka shook her head fiercely, “Do not say such things, sir!”

He described a new way of living. Intoxicating like a drug or alcohol. Caution whispered not to let herself get wrapped up in this man's words. “How does one live like that?” The question left Larka’s lips before she could stop it. The girl couldn’t begin to imagine how a world without masters and servants existed. Yet, he invited her to join him. The coydog blinked as the male removed the coat he was wearing, a fine item of fur and bone buttons, and offered it to her.

It was rather overwhelming; having your soul unveiled by a stranger and the proposal of a new life. Larka took the clothing slowly, her fingers smoothing it out the wrinkles as she admired it. Once she was finished, the girl slipped it over her head and exhaled loudly. “Thank you, sir, it is wonderful.” Her hands played with the buttons as she collected her thoughts. “I do not know what to say. I have not meet another who recognised or shared pain as freely as you do. Thank you.”

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Luperci You have to love yourself a fire

POSTED: Tue Jan 01, 2019 2:21 pm

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He tried in vain to swallow past the bulge in his throat. He was vindicated in the way he least wanted, it was not justice that the world was this way but this was the world he lived in. Nastiness and wicked things. Something was changing, in her dead, stolen posture. She looked away to the flicking candle. John exhaled a slow breath.

He shook his head, to deny her words, but didn't answer regardless. He wasn't a good man, not by a long shot.

Why should he care? It was not his job in life to protect those who couldn't protect themselves. Still, he found himself unbuttoning his parka anyway, and holding it out, and breathing in relief when she took it from his fingers and slipped it over her too thin frame. At least the dregs of Inferni had come by their starvation honestly, this was a torture all of its own,

"It suits ya." His voice was too strained, far too twisted. John lurched to his feet and he was fumbling with the ties on his leggings now, slipping them down to expose the rest of himself to the biting cold. He would survive getting to the camp and filching new clothing from someone. These he held out too to her, his ears twisting back to listen for the sounds of anyone approaching.

He could hear his Mama's voice, from somewhere far away in his shine-soaked brain. Proselytizing the virtues of being a good southern gentleman. Those lessons, hardly remembered, often deliberately forgotten, grew louder as each second ticked by. He hoped the ghost of her couldn't see what had become of her bright-spark son.

John turned to the door and peered outside, into the stillness that was broken only by the raucous laughter from the bar.

"If'n yer comin', we gotta leave now, while it's dark. While they're all drunk." He looked back at her, swallowed up by his winter clothing. It was now or never.

Johnathan Winthrop
I'm a dead man walkin'
Del Cenere Gang
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Jace
Luperci Maestro Cervecero You have to love yourself a fire

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