||[Feb. 11th, 2008|08:36 am]
Dead Soldiers: A 1920s Roleplaying Game
Who: Natasha Koskorov and Josephine Hall|
Where: Frank and Josephine Hall's apartment.
When: Around seven years ago, in the aftermath of Natasha killing her father. Late at night, naturally.
What: Nat and Jo meet for the first time -- truly, a match made in home invasion.
Natasha had no doubt that she was going to walk out of that fight with anything less than three mortal wounds, and her assumptions had been about correct. She had certainly been bad off, but thanks to the lycanthropy bit she was healing much quicker than any normal human would. Even so she was still particularly bloodied and was finding it difficult to move as freely as she would have liked, especially as a wolf with an injured leg and a particularly large pelt, heavy with blood, draped over her back.
A few minutes of slinking through back alleys and narrowly avoiding the sight of passing humans had her concluding that it would be much more beneficial to handle this in her human form, though this presented the problem of clothes. Or lack thereof. When she felt she could carry on no longer, she stopped in a particularly narrow and dark alleyway to rest, shaking the heavy pelt from her back and looking up at a nearby fire escape. Pleased to find a window near the bottom of the old brick building not illuminated by a light within, she lumbered up the stairs to the best of her ability and pressed her bloodied snout to the glass, sniffing a few times. When she confirmed the lack of a fresh human scent, she shifted into her rather naked human form and slid the window open, slipping inside.
She glanced around for a moment before darting to a chest of drawers and removing a simple shirt out, followed by a pair of casual slacks. She tugged them onto herself and found them to be a decent fit, though perhaps a tad large.
Josephine Hall was a creature of habit. And habits, full stop. Typically bad ones. Tonight this manifested as the bottle by the endtable -- no label, half drunk -- and the fact that she was sleeping on the living room couch at an awkward angle, mouth half open as she drew regular breathes, with the sheer robe her husband had bought her two years ago undone and nearly falling from her shoulders. Happily her cigarette had burnt itself out without starting any fires.
It was the sound of the drawers shutting that finally made her wake, hazy as her vision might have been. Immediately her eyes snapped over the apartment door. The chain was still hooked up there. Frank hadn't been home yet. Her breathing cooled to something more even right away, and she wrapped her robe over her nightdress tightly as she eased herself from the couch.
She picked a lamp up off the endtable, and carefully crept to the darkened bedroom door.
After her – or whoever's – clothes had been settled at least somewhat on her blood and sweat matted form, Natasha endeavored to find a mirror and was relieved to find a full-body one as she turned back towards the way she came from. Looking sharp wasn't exactly top on her list of priorities at the moment, but she had to at least look presentable if she was going to be taking the sidewalk home. And in her current state, she was most certainly not presentable.
She limped over to the mirror and took a moment to assemble herself, straightening the overly-large shirt as well as tucking it in. After all that was sorted, she took to removing the bits of detached flesh and fur that were strewn throughout her hair.
And then she heard something. It was faint, but had the distinct sound of a footstep. Her form went rigid as she turned to scan the room for another person, but found nothing. Her yellow eyes then fell on the only door in the bedroom as she heard another footstep.
Inwardly Jo cursed the fact that door was half closed. It only allowed her the slimmest of views into the room beyond, which was further hampered by the fact that there were no lights on inside. She paused just inches from the threshold, wondering if maybe she shouldn't go down the hallway to use the building's telephone instead. Call the police or something. Call her husband.
But the bottle she'd been drinking had done its job. Instead of doing the safe thing, she did the impulsive thing, and moved forward with the lamp still gripped firmly in her hand to knock the door wide open.
As soon as even the glimmer of a silhouette was sighted, the woman did two things -- she screamed, and she hurled the lamp as hard as she could.
Natasha's eyes widened considerably as the door was pushed open by a woman. How had she not smelled her?! Maybe it had something to do with being so…ripped to pieces? Either way, there were more pressing matters at hand. Namely a screeching woman and a broken lamp at her feet.
The biting pain of her wounds vanishing for the briefest of moments, Natasha poured all her energy into stomping out the small fire at her feet. When she was certain the flame was put out for good, she leapt across the room- or rather stumbled clumsily over a chair- to the woman. A firm arm gripped her around the waist while the other raised upward to cover her gaping mouth with her hand.
"Be quiet!" She whispered harshly, as if it would do any good.
This was too much. It would've been too much even if she wasn't mildly drunk, it would've been too much if her husband had actually been home. But as it stood, especially with both those factors in place, Josephine felt herself start to become a little breathless, a little faint, and a whole lot terrified.
Which is likely why, in addition to beginning to kick and fight against the arm gripping her at her middle, she attempted to bite at the intruder's hand the instant he tried to cover her mouth.
Bitten, Natasha quickly retracted her hand and shook it out. Never mind that she had just endured an hour-long session of being ripped to shreds by razor sharp teeth and talons. She yelped sharply, a yelp that most definitely would not normally come from a human, and jumped back from the woman, shaking out her hand some more before directing a glare at her.
"Shut up!" She barked in response as quietly as she could manage. She looked around frantically before looking down at herself and tearing a piece off her new shirt, reaching forward and attempting to stuff if in the woman's mouth.
Almost immediately after being loosed by the arms around her -- in the few seconds that she was -- Jo lost her balance and fell to the floor with a decidedly inelegant thump. She was in the process of crawling forward, preparing to bolt ahead, and then suddenly the stranger was on her again. When it became apparent what he was trying to do she gave up on screaming (that only made her mouth more vulnerable to the gag he seemed intent on shoving there) and froze instead.
... except for one quick motion. She covered her mouth with her own hand before he could gag her, fixing her eyes directly on the man in the familiar clothing, and stopping herself, for the moment, from scrambling any further.
Natasha narrowed her eyes, but withdrew from the woman regardless, tossing the gag aside. She motioned for her to be quiet via a finger to her own lips and then slowly turned towards the window with the intent to leave. She came to a complete halt, however, when she tasted blood; fresh blood, not hour-old blood. She pulled the finger from her lips to look at the palm of her hand and there was indeed a very distinct bite mark there, and it was most definitely bleeding.
Wide-eyed, she slowly looked over her shoulder at the other woman. All fell silent before she spoke in a grim tone.
That first rush of panic was beginning to wear off, though the effects of it lingered. Her hair still felt like it was standing on end, her heart felt like it was going to beat out of her chest, her skin felt electrified. Jo swallowed roughly, the motion turning into a short cough when she realized that was blood was tasting on her tongue.
"My husband's going to be home soon," she said lowly, sharply, even though she knew it was a lie. Despite her tone, her voice still trembled. "He's a cop, too."
"Yeah that's great." Natasha said flatly as she turned to face the other woman, seemingly beyond caring about keeping her voice down at that point. She looked down at her slightly bloodied hand again before she wiped it on her pant leg and kneeled down next to her, taking her chin in her hand and looking her in the eye.
"Open your mouth."
Instinctively she swallowed again, though the motion was more controlled, slower this time. It was followed by a deep, even breath, and then Josephine parted her lips enough to show a glimpse of her teeth and tongue. Whatever this guy was after, the rest of her tensed for it. She told herself she could be on her feet and screaming again in no time, no matter what, it'd be better than just taking whatever he was seeking to give out.
Only her legs felt rather weak, and her breath felt short. Theoretically a good plan then, and besides, she didn't see that she had a lot of choice. For the moment though she watched him silently, mouth open.
The fact that she had a pretty girl at her whim didn't even occur to Natasha as the blond opened her mouth at her command. She narrowed her eyes again and brought her free hand up, sticking her finger past her teeth briefly to swab over her tongue once. When she withdrew it, there was a faint red sheen over the tip. She blanched and made eye contact briefly before releasing the other woman's chin, standing up stiffly and folding her arms.
She turned her back as she pondered desperately for a course of action.
This time Josephine brow furrowed not out of immediate concern, but out of sheer confusion. She touched her tongue quickly to the sides of her mouth before shutting it, almost self consciously. Pressing both lips together, as if the man was actually interested in taking another look, she put herself to work studying him, watching to see he was going to come back around to her.
... which is when she noticed something that made her stop.
"... those're my husband's clothes," she said flat, quiet tone.
The other woman's words were nothing but white noise amidst her own roaring thoughts. As if she didn't have enough on her plate this evening. Several moments after ignoring whatever was said to her, she turned around to face her and fell to her knees, firmly gripping her by the shoulders.
"You need to come with me." Her voice was strict and firm, but lacked any maliciousness. Her brow was furrowed, but obviously out of concern as opposed to anger or anything else.
Without even being aware that she was doing it, Josephine was shaking her head from side to side. The heels of her bare feet pushed against the carpet, seeking to edge her backwards.
"No goddamn way!" she whispered, in a tone that was slightly stronger than the one she'd used to deliver her last words. The touch of incredulity likely helped. And just hearing herself speak like that stiffened her resolve -- despite the fact that odds were still so heavily against her if things came to blows again. "I ain't leaving. ... no."
"You need to come with me." Natasha repeated in an almost hiss, reaching out in an effort to grab onto her wrist. She brought her other hand down on the floor to support her weight, narrowing her eyes at the other woman in a slightly more threatening manner.
"If you don't come with me then you and your husband could be in a lot of danger." Her tone was still firm, and as she spoke more, it became more apparent that each of her words was clipped in a harsh accent.
Now that she was talking in mildly complete sentences, her voice came to her quickly.
"What're you, from fucking Germany?" Josephine managed, her voice hitching on a word here and there. Her brow was still heavily knit, and as he grabbed hold of her wrist her face adopted a slightly pained expression -- if not from the grip itself, then from the fact that it existed at all. Maybe if she kept him here talking eventually someone'd come by, if not her husband then a neighbour. Somebody.
Natasha growled a low, guttural growl that should have come from a human at all. The corner of her lip drew up as she did so before she shook her head as if to shake off the gesture. Her brow remained furrowed as she glared at the woman, eyes widening briefly in a swelling rage.
"Where I am from is not important!" She glanced back at the window, then down at her injured hand, and then back to the other woman, "You need to come with me! I'm not joking!"
The growl silenced her like no other noise could have. Josephine's eyes grew wide, and whatever attempts she'd been making at backing up were halted. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips before she spoke, as her mouth suddenly felt very dry. She followed his gaze towards the window, then glanced back at him quickly.
"Look, I'll go, alright? Don't hurt me," the woman almost snapped, her intonation slightly less bold than previously. "Just... where're we going? Tell me where we're going."
"I won't hurt you." She reassured as best she could, though her wavering voice coupled with her current grim visage most likely didn't give the most convincing back up image. She looked back at the window again, then to the woman once more as she stood up and gently tugged at her wrist, as if to bring her to a standing position as well.
"I can't tell you where it is." She looked back at the window briefly, "But you will be safe there. And your husband will be safe with you there." She set off towards the window her eyes had been so fond of, making a pointed effort to bring the woman along with her.
She was suddenly very aware of the fact that she wasn't wearing shoes, but under the current circumstances it didn't seem wise to bring that up, or ask to go back into the house for a pair. What she had to do right now was nod along with the man's instructions, which she was doing, and think of when she would have a chance to escape once they touched the ground. Considering his grip on her wrist, and the fact that she didn't want to press her luck with this fella, her options looked as grim as his expression.
"What d'you mean with me there?" she managed, even as she followed him out the window. "You're gonna bring him there too? What the hell..." And the last bit was whispered, rather helplessly and frustratedly to herself, her voice weak.
Natasha shot her back a glare. These stupid fucking Americans. Just the thought of it made her all the more glad that she had just finished ripping her father to shreds.
"No, I am not taking him there too." She snarled in a less hospitable tone, glaring at the woman over her shoulder. Still holding firmly to her wrist, she knelt next to the window and used her spare hand to open it. While holding it open, she stepped aside and tugged at the wrist in her hand, ushering her toward the open window. In the awkward silence she cleared her throat.
"What's your name?"
"Josephine," she muttered in reply, ducking her head and making her way through the open window. The metal of the fire escape was cool on her feet, but not as cold as she'd been expecting. With her free hand she attempted to tug her robe closed.
She still couldn't place the man's accent, but then again she'd never really been one to pay attention to the sort of bullshit. Once you passed France or Italy, didn't it all kinda become the same thing? Pigs. "Why, what's yours," she asked thickly.
"Nat." She replied detachedly as she followed her out the window and shut it behind her. She quickly led her down the fire escape until they were on solid ground again, where she paused to glance around. She sniffed the air and made sure no one was around before turning to the pelt she had draped over a few trash cans. Grudgingly, she noted it was too large to lift with one hand. She turned to Josephine and narrowed her eyes.
"If you try to run, I will kill you." She growled that unnatural growl again and bared her teeth which seemed to fit the sound quite nicely. After she thought enough time had passed to be properly intimidating, she released her wrist and darted for the pelt.
Nate? As soon as her wrist was freed she crossed her arms, bundling her robes over herself. If she'd been entertaining any thoughts about fleeing, the look she'd just received had put them to rest. For a good long moment she wished for the bottle she'd left on her endtable, and for a moment longer wished this was a dream induced by the drink itself.
"What is that?" She asked hollowly, her voice lacking any sort of bite as her eyes fixed on the nearby pelt. It looked like a dead animal. It smelled like blood. Too much like blood. Josephine attempted to swallow away the impulse to gag, but it didn't do any good. Quickly she covered her mouth and nose with one hand.
"It's not important." Nat looked back to cast a glare at the blonde, then directed her attention forward to take the bloody pelt from its resting place. She draped it carefully over her shoulders, sinking under its immense weight and inwardly gagging at how the thickening blood dripped down her head and body, causing the fresh clothes to stick to her unpleasantly.
"Come on." It was more of a demand than a prompt, and she reached out for Josephine's arm