(10-06-2013, 02:54 PM)A Wrote: [This is an IC-writeup of how Ambrosia went about being acquired by the Blackwater Company. Oocly, Ambrosia is its own LS. Feel free to post with comments, suggestions, questions, etc.]
An errant signal;misfortune brought events to this turn, but I cannot deny that the outcome was predictable. These small slips of remorse in my psyche… I should cut them away before they become a liability.Â
Water drips along a slickened stone surface, periodicallycreating a maddening melody that echoes across the damp recesses of the forlorn cave. The stench of mildew and soot purvey a suffocating atmosphere, one that no mortal being would suffer within their own will. The soft, muffled cries of anguish break the looming silence, brought to a still as the binding of ropes cuts into tender flesh.
“You tried my hand, and I had no intention of taking thingsthis far…†His voice quavers, the guttural undertone broken by ragged breaths. The Miqo’te stands as a strong example of territorial dominance; his face is a blanket of disgust and undeniable exhilaration. “This is your fault!†He quickly turns on the bound figure, golden eyes flashing over the crumpled form of a bound man, shifting wildly over his uncharacteristically diminutive form as the brief sparks of fire from a lone lantern flash across wild, reflective orbs.
A muffled protest is given, and there is little else theHyur could do in his bound state. Arms tied behind his back and a bloodied cloth stuffed into his gaping mouth, the man is nothing, if not pliable. The warmth of light is brought upon his beaten features, drawing the Miqo’te’s livid face closer to his own.Â
“You’ve seen me, Maestro. A’bhen; I’ve been casing yourestablishment for some time.†Taking a step away from the bloodied Hyur, the male runs calloused fingers through braided locks; the tribal ties break under his nervous grasp, letting dark strands fall across his vision. “I offered you deal after deal for Ambrosia’s rights, and you regard my offers with a dagger in the back… you!â€Â
The bound male winces as a plated boots slams into his stomach,bringing a fit of gagged coughing from him as eyes squeeze shut, trying not to look upon the wild anger of the man before him. Battered and bloody, he knows well that he won’t leave this place alive.
“You have no right to deny me, filth!†The male rounds onhis prey, gripping the stone wall as he rams knees repeatedly into the captive’s jaw, cracking bone and sinew. Taking a step back, A’bhen glares at the battered man, breathing harshly as sweat and blood rolls from his wearing body. “…I can end this for you.†Turning from the crumpled form, he wipes a tired brow with the back of his arm and limps towards a satchel discarded near his flickering lantern.Â
Through swollen eyes, the Maestro watches his captor with alull of his head, vision blurring as he watches the beast’s movements with a sense of dread sinking through the pit of his shattered chest. Consciousness slips and his mind wanders; Ambrosia, the brothel he had taken by force, was becoming a dangerous asset. Fate has a sick sense of revenge.
His mind focuses through sharp pain as hair is balled into afist and yanked firmly. His bloodied face looks up to the distorted figure of A’bhen, waving a document wildly in his gaze. The world around him seems blurred, and the only relief in sight is his hand being squeezed around the thin quill within broken fingers.Â
He’s fading fast. TheMiqo’te sneers; his mind racing as he cuts loose the Maestro’s bindings, lifting his limp, shattered wrist to the writ of ownership. You will sign it. This is past business now,filth. Your women are mine. Your livelihood is mine. I will not be denied. Thesignature is helped along. The legality is of little consequence in these dark corridors of the Blackwater Mines. “Sign, Maestro. You denied my wealth, but your comfort is something I can bank upon.â€
Ripping the paper back, A’bhen flickers wild eyes over thefinal product. His heart races; pounding maniacally in his chest as the blood of conquest boils in his veins. This isthe hunt I thrive upon. Letting the paper fall at his side, the male turnshis attentions to the defeated man, wheezing out his life’s breaths. The call of the hunt courses throughout his body, bringing ears to pin back against his skull.Â
Tired eyes flicker up towards the maniac before him. The man’sstride brings despair to his battered heart. Like the visage of a lion finally ready to consume his prey, the exhausted predator crouches before the man. Sweat seems to flicker with light over the dark skin of the captor’s body. The room is becoming a show of brilliant light as eyes become difficult to hold open. A strong grip can barely be felt on his throat as the tribal male leans into him. A fountain of blood rolls down his chest as the man’s chin sinks to his collar. Bloodied hands smother his mouth, the sharp nails painted with the flesh of his neck as the world goes dark.
Under new management! Also thank you A'bhen for posting this in your thread.
![[Image: 10q9lys.jpg]](http://i44.tinypic.com/10q9lys.jpg)
