Past The Point Of No Return [OperaGhost & Marguerite]
<h1 id="title">Elliquiy Role Playing Forums</h1>
		<h2 id="linktree">Play-By-Post: Bondage, D/s, S&amp;M =&gt; Bondage: Human Solos =&gt; Topic started by: Marguerite on 29-09-2009, 16:00:48</h2>
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				Title: <strong>Past The Point Of No Return [OperaGhost &amp; Marguerite]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Marguerite</strong> on <strong>29-09-2009, 16:00:48</strong>
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				Delilah's hands shook as she tried to get a grip on herself, hoping the shakes would not overcome her again. The dealer had told her the after effects would not take for a few more hours and she needed those hours to concentrate on her music. She was doing so well and yet the taste to be able to have the luscious poison in her veins was too powerful. Just even thinking about it brought an undulating shiver to the most secretive part of a female and she opened her eyes to ponder over what the next few notes should be. If she could just get out these next few lines than she could send it off to Mrs. Guerre and then go see her dealer for her fix. That is what made her get through the half hour she put on herself to use for the piano and writing.<br><br>"How can I be sure of your love? Will it solve my problems at all?," she sung aloud as she played several keys to get the pitch to her liking. Those words sounded too cheesy to her ears. All of her music had to be coherent but this particular pieces frustrated her. This one was supposed to hold the rest of the music pieces together but every time she tried to think of how to get across the message of love it came up blank in her mind. How could she write about love when she never let herself fall into it? Sure, she had a few people she dated but Mrs. Guerre reminded her again and again that love and her work did not mix well. Most of her ex-boyfriends found out soon enough how much she wanted to make it in the music world as our songwriter and promptly left her before getting in too deep.<br><br>What was she going to do? Mrs. Guerre needed this next written song to put together the up and coming artist, Shanya, who would sing the piece. Delilah was too scared to sing her own pieces and who would want to hear a drug addict sing with all of her track marks. Mrs. Guerre knew what was going on but either she ignored it or knew better but Delilah felt as if her world halted until she grabbed her next fix. Rubbing between her fingers, she checked to see for a viable source to inject the needle. She had to stop injecting into her arms after the weather started to become more warmer. No use in her wearing long sleeves while it was stifling hot which meant she had to find new sources to put her sweet poison through. <br><br>The sweating was starting and she groaned. God, she hated when she got to this point. The shaking she could handle by grabbing a hold of one wrist until it stopped. When the sweating came than she knew the hallucinations came soon after. The hallucinations scared her down to the very depths of her abused soul. Images of crows eating at her flesh, of men with several eyes laughing at her and even more horrific images. Nevertheless, when the drug coursed itself through her veins, she sat back and sighed in pleasure. Only thinking about it made her rush over to her cell phone to call her dealer and makes plans to meet up with him in thirty minutes. Always met him somewhere private and nowhere near her apartment. As she punched in the numbers, she forgot all about her assignment to finish the musical piece. That could wait a few more days or so. Not as if someone was waiting on her to finish these things. With no producer or anyone lining up to buy her songs, she had all the time in the world.
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				Title: <strong>Re: Past The Point Of No Return [OperaGhost &amp; Marguerite]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>OperaGhost</strong> on <strong>29-09-2009, 21:15:24</strong>
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				<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; He hated the squalor of the slums of the city, the noise, the mess and the stench of the garbage rotting off of the fire escape he called his back porch. But there was no place for him in the higher ends of society, so he did his best to try and fit in, looking the part of a scruffy and reclusive thirty-something year old man. Well, honestly, he'd had the faded and torn jeans, as well as the Grateful Dead t-shirt, since they were brand new. Clear back in 1969 at that outdoor concert on that small farm. Man, that was the three greatest days of his life, despite the fact that it rained on the second. The wool socks he wore he remembered getting from an army surplus store back in 1942....<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; Erik let out a disgruntled sigh as he tried not to think about it any more, slumping down in his chair. He was old and tired.... And no thanks to an incident that was far from his fault, he was now stuck watching the rest of the world. Hell, he'd tried countless times to end the century passing him by as if he were no more than da Vinci's Venus De Milo.... Except male and he still unfortunately had his head. Sure, there were ways to cover up his face with make up, but it was uncomfortable and.... After spending all his time wearing his full face mask? It wasn't going to change any time soon. At least the cotton one he wore breathed better than his suede one. But thanks to modern convenience, he didn't have to leave the house to get anything he might need.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;He lit up a cigarette as he stood out on the fire escape, taking a long drag from the thing as he stuffed his lither back into his pocket. sounded like the "musician" next door was at it again. She was quite a good singer, but it sounded like she was just desperate for cash. Why else try and push off as many songs as she could on that drivel of a singer. What was her name? Shanya or Shakira or something. Meh. He could never remember such noisy squalling, except Carlotta had clearly managed to make herself 'unforgettable.' He shuddered at the memory, but unable to help himself from wondering where Christine's family might have ended up. They'd branched off so much, he'd lost track of them somewhere clear back in the 1940's.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; But what was bothering him the most right now was that nightmare next door. He'd lived next to it long enough that he was really starting to get annoyed. She wrote a few very good songs, but the rest had sporadically been crap. Considering the dealer she met in the alley below, he figured she was just using it as an excuse to pay for her next fix. If she wasn't going to put her heart into it, she should just give up. Taking the cigarette out of his mouth before he ground it into pulp, he leaned over as far as he could and pounded on her window. He was going to put an end to this and he wouldn't be able to sleep unless-- Okay, he didn't sleep, but he wouldn't be able to rest or have any peace of mind. Her lyrics were truly awful tonight and this would be the end of it, or she was going to get a few lessons. Angel of Music style and this time, he was <em>not</em> intending on being nice.
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				Title: <strong>Re: Past The Point Of No Return [OperaGhost &amp; Marguerite]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Marguerite</strong> on <strong>29-09-2009, 22:54:30</strong>
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				Delilah glanced up, scared to know it might be Mrs. Guerre knocking and waiting to catch her at her most vulnerable. She should be working on her music but right now the need for a hit was too much to resist. Oh lord how she needed that beautiful poison coursing through her veins and taking away all of her troubles. Lucy in the sky with diamonds was exactly how it felt when she was on her choice of drug. High up into the sky with Lucy and right now, Delilah desperately wanted to fly. "Who is there?," she called out, waiting to hear Mrs. Guerre berate her for not being at the piano working on her piece of even starting a new one. However when she heard the knocking coming not from the door but from the window next door, she sighed in relief and frowned just as quickly. Forgetting about her next fix, she headed over to the window to verify who was knocking at her window. The only other person who would bother her was the next door neighbor, whatever his name was; rarely did she remember names unless it was Mrs. Guerre, Shanya or Fred the Dealer. <br><br>"Better not irritate me again," she replied, putting on a smile as she tried to get her shaking under control. While she might be desperate to shoot up her veins with the delicious liquid, Delilah was still embarrassed to showcase her dependency on the heroin. Made her feel as if she were a slave to the drug. When money was really tight, Delilah occasionally whored herself out to Fred the Dealer in exchange for her heroin. Most of the time he accepted her trader and almost always Delilah felt disgusted and ashamed at herself for veering that far off her life for her next fix. Still, when she got that load of heroin into her veins, she could really care less about anything and everything. The bright side in things was her good friend, Megan who at times got on her nerve for preaching the fact the drugs were harming her music ability. What she was doing now was merely a tool in getting to where she wanted to go. She wanted to sing and play her own songs but considering the track marks and the jaundice look to her figure, it was slim to none of ever making it on the Billboard Charts.&nbsp; <br><br>"Yes can, I help you?," she asked her next door neighbor as soon as she opened her window. Even with her head out the window, she busied herself by rubbing her arms several times to keep her hands from shaking. It was only a matter of time before the tremors started to affect her piano playing skills and ruined the chances of earning enough cash to cover her rent and her habit. While she was opened to sleeping with Fred the Dealer, Delilah was afraid to head down the road of turning tricks with complete strangers for her addiction. Right now, she was eyeing the neighbor to see if he was a potential client in case Fred was unable to bring the heroin today. Once in a while Fred ran out of drugs and needed to wait a couple of weeks before his next 'shipment' of drugs came in. Last time it happened, Delilah went through detox and knew it was not what she wanted to go through again anytime soon. Yes, she was clean for a few weeks and more songs came forth from her but as soon as she had her heroin, off went her muse and on went her high. 
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				Title: <strong>Re: Past The Point Of No Return [OperaGhost &amp; Marguerite]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>OperaGhost</strong> on <strong>30-09-2009, 00:27:24</strong>
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				<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; Erik was half seething by this time, especially since she was being so short with him. The only one who had to be mad here was him. Her attempt at a song was worse than that horrid drivel written about a widower and his two kids loving their "magical flying" car. Toot Sweets, indeed. He tried to keep a blank face, but the corner of his eyes and lips were clearly having some sort of tic problem at the moment. Unfortunately, he was already mad enough that what he really wanted to say ended up pouring out in French....<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; "J'insiste absolument, mademoiselle, que vous arrêtez immédiatement d'assaillir le voisinage avec ces bêtises horribles que vous essayez désespérément d'écrire. J'ai essuyé mon âne avec la meilleure musique de drap que que vous essayez de passer comme une chanson. Maintenant vous avez seulement un choix en ce moment ou vous allez déprimer le voisinage entier directement dans le suicide. Arriver.... Ici.... Maintenant."<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; Unable to take it back, he tossed his half finished cigarette off of the balcony into a puddle in the alley below with a low growl. "forget that. Just.... Come over immediately, would you? And I'm not going to tell you more than once. My front door is unlocked, so bring over some <em>fresh, blank</em> sheet music, if you have it. leave that childish toy you call a piano over there. We'll use grown up instruments instead of electric kazoos. The second time I have to ask, I will be dragging you out of that apartment by force."<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; Molten amber eyes watched the woman curiously for a moment. He was half expecting her to just turn to dust or blow away in the wind, being so thin and frail. Studying her face for a moment, he could half swear she looked familiar, but he brushed it off. The last time he saw anyone that withered, starved and corpse-like, he was looking into a mirror back in 1938. "See you in just a few." Turning about, he stalked back into his apartment and took a look around. His tastes hadn't changed much over the last century and the apartment was still lavishly decorated, much like his underground lair in Paris.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; He scooped the Sinatra vinyl off of the purple velvet chaise in his living room, putting it on as he let out a heavy sigh. Frank always put him in a good mood, but he was trying to figure out what to hide and what to leave out. But the first thing he did was grab the one thing that meant the most to him off of the mantle on the faux fireplace. Ingenious craftsman, the Amish. Taking the old black and white face he'd long adored, he cradled Christine and set her next to his nightstand. He half considered feeding the starved scarecrow, but he didn't often have food in his fridge. Come to think of it.... he'd been out of food for a few days now. His head was still a little fuzzy from the last few days. After the chest pains had hit him again, he'd taken enough morphine to overdose.... With yet again disappointing results. Heading back into the living room, he stood near the chaise, waiting for his guest to arrive while Sinatra crooned about spring on Jupiter and Mars.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; Damn, he needed a cigarette.
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				Title: <strong>Re: Past The Point Of No Return [OperaGhost &amp; Marguerite]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Marguerite</strong> on <strong>30-09-2009, 05:35:18</strong>
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				Once in a while her neighbor intrigued her. Not to say she was interested him or wanted to sleep with him. She knew with the way she looked, no decent man would want to fuck her but Fred the Dealer. Even Fred the Dealer was a bit sketchy which was why Mrs. Guerre gave her condoms and even birth control to make sure she never was knocked up. She was not that stupid but every time she orgasmed or faked an orgasm she felt as if she were cheating on a loved one. No idea why she felt that way and even at times she even thought someone watched her while she fucked Fred the Dealer who came through her bed&nbsp; or alley way anytime her cash was not good enough to cover her heroin habit. At times when she was high and did sleep with Fred, she assumed the 'stranger' she fabricated was merely a figment of her imagination. Still even with the possibility of a mental defect, she pondered if the stranger would be here tonight when Fred was called to come over to her apartment.<br><br>If it were not for her thinking on the stranger she may not have reacted at all to Erik's words. Now as she heard her neighbor and even hear him speak to her foully in French, Delilah gasped and sputtered. The man just informed her in another language her musical skills were shit or as far as she understood with basic French. Her grandmother taught her some French before passing away. Before, she became this skeletal crack whore. Still, having come from some money it was still a shock to hear a man tell her she needed to find talent. Who the hell did he think he was ordering her about? She was not his little dog he could order to heel and make funny tricks. Delilah was angry enough, her hands stopped shaking and red fury lined her needle-stabbed veins. <br><br>"Vous fils - de - a - chienne. Comment le défi vous me parlent dans cette langue et avec une telle arrogance ! D'où descendez-vous ?," she shouted right back in French. The three years of a private French tutor was rusty on her tongue but she managed to find the words to condemn her neighbor for his arrogance. Delilah wanted to know where he had the nerve to tell her to come over to his place and learn real music? Her music put food on the table and a roof over her head. Hell, her last song she wrote and sold to a label company bought the newly customed piano situated in the middle of her living room. To tell her she needed to leave the childish toy behind and play with grown up instruments was a slap in her face. Hell, he might as well have smacked her cheek with a white glove and asked her to a duel. Right now, she was ready to bring out the big guns and show him she knew how to sell music and produce it well. <br><br>Crossing her arms, she headed back into her apartment to search for the old music sheets she used to produce the number one hit for another artist a year ago. It still played on the radio and brought in royalty money. If it were not for Mrs. Guerre, her music would have been played all over the place and never get a cent in recognition for it. Nonetheless, as she went to find her music sheets she was overcome with the voice of her addiction singing to her to call Fred the Dealer. Only took her 'heroine heroin' to sing in her head and make silly songs about how heroin would give her a boost in confidence and make the neighbor's comments fade away. Just hearing her inner junkie voice stopped her motions to search for the music sheets and instead head over to her cell phone to punch one of her speed dial numbers for Fred. The neighbor could go screw himself for all she scared. She had talent while the man had his cigarettes and smart ass comments. What did Delilah have? Her heroin.<br><br>Yes, her heroin. Punching in the number and forgetting the neighbor's thread to try and come into her place to drag her out, she called Fred. Two rings before Fred picked up, his deep voice filling the static over her side of the line. "Baby girl, you need another hit that quick?," he asked her over the phone. Chewing on her lower lip, she glanced over to the calendar thrown on her coffee table. A bit early for her to ask for her next hit since her highs and immunity to the shakes were a few days apart. Now, as soon as she took a hit, she needed two more hits soon after to keep her from feeling the tendrils of detox and the shakes kick in. Maybe it was her body trying to tell her she was close to overdosing on heroin but she really could give a rat's ass once the poison slithered through her veins. Licking her lips, she answered Fred's response and put in an order for a bag of heroin totaling five hundred dollars. It was used to be twenty dollars a hit but now she needed more of the heroin to keep her high in the sky. Forget the neighbor but wait out Fred to meet her in the alleyway. 
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				Title: <strong>Re: Past The Point Of No Return [OperaGhost &amp; Marguerite]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>OperaGhost</strong> on <strong>01-10-2009, 03:32:53</strong>
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				<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; He wasn't totally oblivious to her rant in French. Hell, Erik was partially bemused by it, trying his best not to laugh. But after just a couple minutes of waiting, he left his apartment to head next door. Well, if she was going to say he had no right, then he was going to prove she had no right to open her mouth either, then.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; Just a few seconds shy from her hanging up on someone, it took him little effort to slip the lock and enter. Stalking in after her, Erik was unaware he'd drawn himself up to his full 6' 4'' height.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; "Je l'ai eu jusqu'ici avec vous. Aucune plus de plainte. Vous pouvez appeler votre petit petit ami pour le fait de baiser ou un coup plus tard. En ce moment, je suis fatigué de l'écoutant de vous essaient pitoyablement et trouvent juste ce qui vous fait payer. Et puisque vous êtes clairement quelqu'un qui fait tout le possible pour parler MA langue natale, je continuerai à l'utiliser jusqu'à ce que vous renonciez. Je l'ai parlé depuis que avant votre grand-père était inkling tintant dans le loins de son père."<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; Striding across the room, he seized her by a skeletal arm, his vice grip clamping down on her. "J'ai oublié moins que vous appreniez jamais, qui dit des volumes de moi, mais parle pauvrement de vous. Vous venez sans un remue-ménage, ou nous pouvons le faire la voie dure et je peux vous traîner d'ici .... qui semblerait très étrange. Je doute que peu de personnes aient vu une lutte de <em>corps</em> si durement."<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; But his anger was starting to get the better of him as he tugged on her arm, trying to force her close as molten amber eyes stared her down. "Et vous pouvez être assurés cela si vous continuez à me mettre en colère ainsi.... Vous apprendrez <em>exactement</em> qu'à Jimi Hendrix." There was no joke or quip in him at all. Erik's eyes alone could kill her if they seemingly simply wished to. "Me comprenez-vous? La dernière femme qui m'a mis en colère a été nourrie aux <em>rats d'égout</em>."
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				Title: <strong>Re: Past The Point Of No Return [OperaGhost &amp; Marguerite]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Marguerite</strong> on <strong>01-10-2009, 16:42:17</strong>
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				Delilah waited out the twenty-five minutes for her dealer. Waiting was always the hardest part when it came to her drugs. She hated to wait for something. Always, Delilah enjoyed being given her items right away. Maybe that was why she hated to work hard for anything. Last time she truly worked to the bone was to win the affection of her mother a few years back. After realizing her own mother was crazy, no, literally, she was confined to a mental institution, Delilah gave up on wanting to work hard. There were no worth in working for anything if she could have had it handed to her on a plate. Mrs. Guerre made sure no one messed with her when she needed the time to write and compose her music. However, her neighbor was one she needed to watch out for with his rude comments. Still, as she was just about to hang up on Fred the Dealer, she felt the presence of someone else in the room. Someone who was not her shadow or the hallucinations.<br><br>A scream tore from Delilah's mangled throat as she tried to fight off her next door neighbor. He thought he was going to rattle her with French? Not so. If he wanted to hear someone shout and threaten him in French, she was all for it. "J'ai dit que laissez vont de moi. Vous n'avez aucun droit d'étendre vos mains sur moi. Vous n'êtes pas mon père, ma mère ou mon amoureux. Je crierai sûrement pour les autorités et un ami vient en vingt minutes!" She raised a closed fist to try and punch him in the face while her knee came up to hit him right where it hurt. Delilah may have been on the skinny side but it did not mean she could not pack a punch. If only she kept her tazer by her side when the neighbor threatened to come over to her place. How did he even get into her place?<br><br>"Comment êtes-vous même entré dans mon endroit ? Êtes-vous un violeur ? Appréciez-vous les femmes effrayants en les manutentionnant?," she screamed. She felt the pull of his vice grip on her arm, trying to tug her towards him. The neighborhood was somewhat safe and as long as she did not stick her nose in other people's business, Delilah was left to her own devices. Now she wished she had left the building as soon as the neighbor promised to drag her out of the apartment. Was he going to rape her or even try to get a lay out of her if she was that desperate for her fix? Delilah had to come up with a plan.<br><br>Licking her chapped lips, she gave the neighbor a coy smile. Well, the best coy smile she had on her person. If she distracted him by offering to suck him off, maybe he would accept and she could take the opportunity to run away. He was a tall male, her head having to tilt up to get a full look at his face. She wanted to remember his facial features when she reported it to the police and Mrs. Guerre. This male was not about to scare her or stop her from getting her fix in the alleyway. There was an appointment which needed to be kept and she was going to do whatever necessary to remove this stranger from her apartment. <br><br>As best as she could, she moved in close changing from the fierce fighter to hopefully the coy seductress. "Je peux rendre te le sentir bon, bébé. Laissez-juste moi vous satisfont et je promets de ne pas dire n'importe qui. Aucune police ne doit être impliquée. Laissez-juste moi vont et j'obtiendrai heureusement sur mes genoux avant vous le bébé. J'ai parié que vous voulez mes lèvres enroulées autour de votre grand, juteux robinet." Hopefully, the neighbor would take her offer for a blow job and let her go. Besides, he looked like he needed a good blow job anyways. Not like he was going to decline her offer. 
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				Title: <strong>Re: Past The Point Of No Return [OperaGhost &amp; Marguerite]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>OperaGhost</strong> on <strong>05-10-2009, 16:32:30</strong>
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				<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; He held tight to her as he listened to her scream and fight, chucking in amusement at her thoughts and allegations. But when she started to accost him, he was really getting sick and tired of this. As tempting as it was, he'd had centuries alone to realize that sex was the least of his troubles or worries -- no matter how he had craved it sometimes.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; He turned a truly murderous look on her, burning amber eyes leveling her with contempt. She had brought this on herself now and Erik was just going to give it to her straight. <em>Then</em> drag her out of there. "Mon cher, la seule chose vos soins d'ami d'est votre argent. Il n'est pas votre ami et si les médicaments vous tuent, il ne se manifesterait pas à vos funérailles baisantes."<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; "Et après votre mort et enterré, votre <em>une chanson</em> qui a signifié n'importe quoi se noiera vite dans <em>les échecs</em> que vous avez écrits pour un rapide fixent. Vous passerez le reste de votre éternité, en pourrissant et oublié, <em>comme si vous n'avez jamais existé</em>."<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; Reaching up, he took off the mask and wig in one quick swipe, but it was far from anything someone wanted to see. His thin and half translucent skin looked stretched far too tight over his skull, every deep blue vein pronounced. His teeth were almost visible through his top lip, but his chin and lower lip showed some semblance of almost passing for normal, except for the sickening, yellowed parchment color. But what was probably the worst of it was his complete lack of a nose.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; He started to laugh, deep foreboding with perfect pitch and melody.... Not that he intended, but his voice never failed to use anything it could to display its abilities. "Mais une chose que je peux promettre est que vous allez sembler bien plus mauvais que je fais dans une autre décade."
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				Title: <strong>Re: Past The Point Of No Return [OperaGhost &amp; Marguerite]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Marguerite</strong> on <strong>07-10-2009, 23:52:34</strong>
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				He declined her offer? How could he tell her that he was not interested in a blow job? Why was he trying to hurt her feelings? He should go away and leave her in peace. What she wanted was her drugs and he was in the way of what she truly wanted. Even now, the tremors were starting up in her hands again. Delay her need for the drugs in her veins any longer and the rest of her limbs would start to tremble as well. She wanted her heroin. He needed to get out of her way. Delilah dropped the coy and seductive act and reverted back to the female who was angry to have a stranger breaking into her home with permission. "Sortez ! Vous n'avez aucun droit d'être ici ! Vous avez pénétré par effraction dans mon appartement ! Je vais appeler la police ! Aller-en !"<br><br>She started to pound her fists on his chest, finding she wanted to hurt him. Wanted to hurt someone who was treating her like the trash that she knew she was; she knew what she looked like and what she did was wrong. To others she could have stepped off the movie screen of some crack house just by the way her body looked up close and on her own skin. Delilah knew her drug habit was going to kill her. Even now as she pounded her fists, she was becoming increasingly tired. Hell, she felt like a fifty year old instead of the twenty-four year old she truly was; she was dying. The way she was living her life, only a matter of time before the drugs came back to bite her in the ass. With every new injection and new dose to keep her at the same high, the next time she shot up, it might very well be her last. This man if she went with him could kill her and no one would care. Everyone she knew was distant from the family members because of her lifestyle or because they chose not to be around her.<br><br>When Delilah asked him to take his hands off of her again, the blood from her face leached to see him remove the mask and wig. A blood curdling scream ripped from her throat. Good God, he was a monster. She screamed and screamed as she tried to fight his hold off of her. He was a monster from hell and she was going to die if she went anywhere with him. He was going to kill her and maybe wear her skin like in the horror movie Silence of the Lambs. "Pas, vous m'avez laissé partir ! Vous êtes un monstre ! Aide ! Quelqu'un m'aident !," she screeched at him, hoping he would leave her alone lest he wanted to face the police. Whatever he was, he was not human. The man was a child of Satan and either she was starting to go into her detox or this was real. She prayed this was a hallucination and she would wake up from this horrible nightmare.<br><br>====<br><br><span class="bbc_u">Translation: </span><br>---Get out! You have no right to be here! You broke into my apartment! I am going to call the police! Go away!<br>---"No, you let me go! You are a monster! Help! Someone help me!
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				Title: <strong>Re: Past The Point Of No Return [OperaGhost &amp; Marguerite]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>OperaGhost</strong> on <strong>10-10-2009, 19:33:52</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; Fine. So it was to be the hard way, then. Then he was dragging her out of here by force, especially after she called him a monster. But he knew the reason that he lived in this neighborhood is that all the tenants who could her her hollering would only call the cops if they saw a body. No one cared and no one was peeking out into the hall.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; He almost broke his door jamb when he kicked his apartment door open, dragging her in from the stale and smoky smell to the much cleaner smell of his apartment. Sure, he had left some light incense burning to cover up the few cigarettes he had smoked in his place, but he was keen on fresher air. Dragging her into the kitchen, he took one of his punjab lassos off of the top of the fridge. Unaware that he'd tied the end into a noose, nor that it was dangling ominously from his fingers, he shoved her into a kitchen chair. It was effortless to operate the lasso with just one hand, quickly and tightly strapping her to the chair. "Qui sont les monstres réels, mademoiselle? Des centaines de femmes qui ont crié et ont essayé de me faire assassiner quand ils ont vu mon visage ? Ou des milliers des gens qui ont essayé de m'assassiner parce que j'ai supplié un ange de se marier avec moi?"<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; He kicked the table away from her so she couldn't get free, eying the kitchen for possibilities of escape for her. Looked clear. "Ou est cela la faute de ma mère pour vouloir pour l'enfant parfait et donner naissance à une créature déformée comme moi? Dites-moi! Parce que je voudrais vraiment savoir! Et quand vous êtes faits en criant que peu de cerveau vous avez omis, je serai dans le salon! Hésitez à vous appeler!" On his way back, he clobbered the gramophone, letting out a loud scratch across his Sinatra vinyl before it went silent.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; His anger nearly spent, the Stradivarius he picked up in his fingers quelled his violent rage. He wouldn't dare hurt such a precious thing he worked so very hard to get hold of. He'd even given her the perfect name as well, letting out a heavy sigh as he tucked Sakina under his chin and started to play. He didn't know or care what he was playing, which would eventually be his downfall. But the tune was sad, beautiful, with the feeling of an exhausted soul, tired and unable to just rest. Erik let out a soft sigh, closing his eyes to get lost into the music for a little while, though he kept an ear out for the kitchen. <em>"Women...."</em><br><br><br><br><br><div align="center">------------------------------------------------------------------------------</div><br>--"Whom are the real monsters, mademoiselle? The hundreds of women who have screamed and tried to have me murdered when they saw my face? Or the thousands of people who have tried to murder me because I begged one angel to marry me?"<br><br>--"Or is it my mother's fault for wishing for the perfect child and giving birth to a deformed creature like me? Tell me! Because I'd really like to know! And when you're done screaming what little brains you have left out, I shall be in the living room! Hesitate to call!"
			</dd>
		</dl>
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