The Match [Ramael & MusicNeverDies]
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		<h2 id="linktree">Play-By-Post: Bondage, D/s, S&amp;M =&gt; Bondage: Human Solos =&gt; Topic started by: MusicNeverDies on 15-02-2010, 06:50:29</h2>
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				Title: <strong>The Match [Ramael &amp; MusicNeverDies]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>MusicNeverDies</strong> on <strong>15-02-2010, 06:50:29</strong>
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				<div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/8/8b/MidnightMusicNever.jpg)</div> <div align="center"><span style="font-size: 1.45em;" class="bbc_size">« ©å§§ĩ&nbsp; ßǐÐë† »</span></div><br><span style="font-size: 0.7em;" class="bbc_size">-At five minutes to midnight<br>You see my name in city lights- </span><br><div align="center">-</div><br>A rhythmic beeping echoed, reverberating in the small room, bouncing off the white walls and countless posters, each sound wave seemingly aiming itself directly at the head of the ball on the centre of the bed. The ball was a clump of a pale silver comforter, shifting erratically. After a few seconds of beeping, a strong but clearly female arm shot out from under the covers. The skin was pale, not deathly so, but certainly not someone who spent their time on the beach. At the tip of the arm was a well groomed hand, nails clipped relatively short for such a clearly feminine hand. With a forceful slam, the hand came down upon the alarm, which let out a slow whine and stopped abruptly. The machine was marred with scratches from being knocked off the table, or simply hit too forcefully. So far, this alarm clock hadn't met the fate of her previous one- the sidewalk outside of her window, but truthfully, if it kept up like it was going, she foresaw a reunion of clock and sidewalk in the near future. <br><br>Silence overtook the room. <br><br>Nine minutes later, the beeping resumed. And the pattern repeated, the lump in the covers swatting violently at the alarm, which was abruptly quieted. This happened once more, until finally the covers were kicked off. Strong legs thrust the thick blanket right off the bed, and it crumpled into a heap on the floor. Rolling onto her back, the now exposed figure flopped half-consciously from side to side. Her body was trim and tone, 5'7 when standing. The pale skin was a stark contrast to the black sheets, and as she was dressed in a loose fitting top which hung off her shoulder, and a pair of black booty shorts, it was not exactly hidden. If she had leg warmers, she'd look like someone right out of Flashdance, save for the long wavy hair. Hers was instead a short black cut, messily scattered in all directions. <br><br>Casting her gaze on the clock, Cassi let out a sigh. She should have stopped after two snooze reprises. Flopping out of bed she placed her bare feet on the cold floor, and felt the chill run up her body. She waited until she caught full control of her balance, and then rose and made her way to the adjoining bathroom. The apartment was small, comprised of her bedroom, the bathroom, and a conjoined kitchen/living room. It was certainly better than most apartments, but still nowhere near the Ritz. <br><br>Once she was in the bathroom she stripped down without fuss or pretext, turning on the shower and climbing in while it was still chilly, solidifying the waking up process. As the shower went on the water warmed nicely, and soothed her muscles. Had it been 5 or 6 muggings she'd intercepted the previous night? She wasn't even sure, all she was sure of was that she hated Saturday nights in the city. Sundays were generally good though. That was why she normally planned training sessions for Sundays, she figured the criminals were either praying to repent, or had been up too late raping and were sleeping in. <br><br>With a dollop of hair gel, Cassi fixed her bangs into place and set her bob neatly. One thing she was a stickler for was her hair. Everyone thought she was a sheep, following Midnight's hairstyles and idolizing her. That worked fine and dandy for her. The issue was when she wanted a new style, as she'd have to draw a picture of herself in costume (always changing the bone structure just enough), with a new hair style, and claim she'd seen her the night before. Her hairdresser thought she was a stalker, but that suited her just fine too. <br><br>Not bothering with make up, and, quiet honestly, not needing any, she grabbed the black duffel bag at the door and headed out. Her apartment was on the third floor of an ancient building. The stairs between the first and second level screamed like a banshee when anyone stepped on them. Waving to Mr. Garvis, the landlord, she made her way out the front door. <br><br>Then, once out of sight of the front window, she ducked behind the building. Behind some bushes, to the Northern corner of the building was a set of stairs. Taking them down she reached an old cast iron door. Removing the key from her pocket, she slipped it into the slot and moved inside quickly. <br><br>The tunnels had been used in the 20's for rumrunning, so they were by no means in the best condition. Dank and humid, they provided little comfort besides the echoing silence. Any sound in the cement tunnel was reverberated tenfold, making sneaking in impossible, even for herself. The key had been easy to acquire, she'd picked it up one day when inside the landlords office to pay her monthly fee. She doubted he even noticed its disappearance, as when she first came down here it was clear the place had gone untouched in years. She had been afraid that it was used as a storage facility. <br><br>After about ten feet of tunnel, the place opened up into a small cargo hold. The lighting was new, installed by her. Cassie turned on one light only, creating a small spotlight in the centre of the cargo hold. The floor was padded with workout mats, and a few punching bags were suspended from the ceiling. Truth was, she could still go to a regular gym and work out, but she liked to practice in her costume as much as possible. <br><br>Speaking of which, she dropped her duffel bag and unzipped it. By her count, she still had about ten minutes before her partner showed up, but she'd rather he not walk in on her changing. <br><br>Pulling her costume on was something she'd learned to do quickly. First, she let her pants drop, and the shirt followed, then the bra. The top for her costume had actually been built on a corset, so it served as all the support she needed. It had been altered, so that straps helped hold it up, coming in close to her neck and crossing over each other in the back. The spot where they crossed, just between her shoulder blades, she had sown them together, and on top of that she'd sown two pockets. Normally, her next step was to slip her two signature weapons- whips- into their place, but this was a physical spar,&nbsp; no need to go all out. <br><br>Her black booty shorts from sleep had simply remained on, as they were her pants for her costume. Most of her leg was covered by the boots she pulled on next. They came to just above her knees, where she fastened the garter straps from the corset to them. Along them were a few pockets, most concealing small knives, and a walkie with a direct line to the police. Depending on the mission, she could change out what she slid into her boots, but for general work she didn't need much. <br><br>Next was her gloves, which were black leather like the boots, and came to just below her elbows. The gloves were fingerless, and padded in the palm slightly. No weapon was concealed here, as she needed full mobility in her arms. Normally, the next step (or first, in a public place) was the simple black mask which clung to her face, blocking the area around her eyes and stopping just above her nostrils. This was, of course, irrelevant for today. <br><br>Finished, she gave herself a glance over to ensure everything was in place, and then moved to the far corner, where a police radio was set up at a shady excuse for a work desk. She'd normally start by beating up the punching bag, but she didn't feel like being warmed up when her sparring partner would not be. So, she listened to the tedium of drunken domestic abuse calls and cats in trees, waiting for him to show up. <br><br><div align="center">-</div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size: 0.7em;" class="bbc_size">- At five minutes past midnight<br>You see me walk away from the fight-</span></div>
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				Title: <strong>Re: The Match [Ramael &amp; MusicNeverDies]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ramael</strong> on <strong>15-02-2010, 17:50:50</strong>
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				<em>"All I want, Helicon, is—the moon. For the rest, I've always known what will kill me. I haven't yet exhausted all that is to keep me living. That's why I want the moon. "</em><br><br><br>(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/7/76/Devon.jpg)<br><br>In Devon's dream, he was walking across a canyon. <br><br>Everyone he had been to school with was at the bottom, in a ravine, shouting up at him as he walked across a swaying bridge. Two collossal seagulls were suspended&nbsp; on either side of the bridge Devon walked on, taking huge deep breaths and blowing from each side. Swaying, and realising that the seagulls' breath smelled like Chinese food, he clutched his coat about him (that was made from newspaper cuttings) and pressed on, head down.<br>He <em>must</em> reach the other side. <br><br>Shelly Marjoram, a girl he had fooled about with in fifth grade, threw some of her hair up to the bridge from where she was in the ravine. Bending down to pick it up, Devon watched the strands slip through his fingers as they now turned to spaghetti. Shrugging his shoulders and saying out loud that "No one really had the patience for James Joyce anyway," he made a last effort to reach the other side of the bridge. As he did so, the two seagulls exclaimed in unison and flapped over to nuzzle each other, excreting a shower of white droppings onto his schoolmates below, who shouted in glee and started carving TVs out of the gooey pastey substance. Wrenching his eyes from the scene, Devon now scanned about where he now was. <br><br>Then he saw Cassi.<br><br>She was sitting on the back of a bear, kicking her legs to and fro. The bear was nurturing an abnormal size erection, the tip of which was dripping with red wine (Merlot) and growled as Devon approached.<br><br>Devon said "How did you get your legs like that?"<br><br>To which Cassi replied "I don't know but you could clean fish with them."<br><br>She giggled and produced a bottle of olive oil from the bear's behind and proceeded to douse herself in it. She tossed the empty bottle to Devon, who caught it, looked down and saw that it was now a zippo lighter. Looking back up to Cassi, he saw that the bear was now a frying pan, and Cassie had her bottom parked squarely in the middle of it.<br><br>Crying, Devon lit the zippo and hurled it at Cassi, sure she was about to burst into flame.<br><br>Then he woke up.<br><br>Blinking furiously, it took Devon a few seconds to assure himself that his ceiling was, in fact, his own. Squishing the heel of his hand into each eye in turn, he groaned and tossed back the covers, acidic daylight slicing through his blinds and into his bleary eyes. Snarling at the intrusive light, Devon turned away and forced his legs to make negotiations for his feet making contact with the floor. Begrudgingly obeying his imperative, his feet insigated cautious diplomacy with the cool wooden-laminate flooring of Devon's bedroom, writing up a contract and reminding Devon what it would cost him this time tomorrow morning.<br><br>Padding across the hall and into the bathroom in only the snug boxer shorts he had slept in, Devon quite pointedly ignored the mirror whilst he performed his morning ablutions. He cheered himself up somewhat by whistling the start of a Gnarles Barkley tune, the name of which he had forgotten. Now feeling far more agreeable for the mirror, Devon turned and looked it squarely in his face.<br><br><em>Hmmm.</em><br><br>Devon rubbed his mouth thoughtfully. A generous coating of stubble had formed aroud his square jawline, and the young man scrabbled around the bathroom for his razor. Catching himself, he stopped. <br><em>Don't want her to think I'm trying too hard...we're only training today.</em><br>Turning to go, he paused again and looked over his shoulder into the bathroom. <br><em>Then again, she might think I'm being sloppy on purpose...she is pretty perceptive.</em> <br>He approached the sink once more, looking into his own dark chestnut eyes in the mirror.<br><em>No, for gods sake, just leave it, Devon!</em><br><br>Stalking irately from the bathroom, the stairs creaked faintly with his weight as he made his way down them. Padding onto the carpeted hallway, he could hear the hum of the house computer.<br><br>"For crying out loud, Dev, do you always have to greet me in the nude on weekends?!"<br><br>Paul, Devon's Chinese housemate, made a face at him as he looked up from the screen in the houses living room. They had bumped into each other on a night out, back when Devon used to be up till five a.m drinking, not up till five a.m wearing a black costume and beating up on would-be rapists. Devon had enquired as to Paul's Chinese name, to which the latter replied he preferred simply Paul, as his birth name was too difficult for Westerners to pronounce. Taking this as a challenge, Devon spent the rest of the night drunkenly slurring it out loud, woke up the next day and continued to practice it hungover. The day after that he rang Paul with not only the perfect pronounciation, but the etymology, the origins of the name in Chinese mythology and Paul's Chinese zodiac sign (Horse; Devon was pleased to find out he was a Tiger).<br><br>Paul was impressed. They became good friends.<br><br>Currently, Devon grabbed the front of his boxers (noting he still had a lazy erection leftover from his dream), grunted happily and grinned at Paul, who rolled his eyes in disgust.<br><br>Making his way into the kitchen, the semi naked Devon began raiding cupboards and the fridge. Finding a tub of yoghurt, Devon found a spoon and began scooping it greedily into his mouth, followed by a banana, similarly scoffed. Licking his lips, Devon clenched his teeth suddenly as one of his many old vices came to visit him, as confusing and infuriating as an ex girlfriend in a negligee.<br><br><em>No. Come on. What's the point of all the training you do, all the self-empowerment philosophy you read, if you're only gonna turn up to a training session with the woman you're obsessed with wheezing like an old fart?</em><br><br>Necking a glass of water instead, Devon ignored the pack of cigarettes he kept at the end of the breakfast bar and growled in the back of his throat.<br><br><em>Human beings cannot beat me,so I won't let the second most addictive substance in the world do so, either.</em><br><br>Pausing in his exit from the kitchen, Devon twisted his lean, muscled torso round, narrowing his eyes at the white-and-gold pack that previously meant so much to him. He looked at it, hard. He imagined caressing the crisp white tube with his fingers, and flicking his tongue over the cotton filter tip. He imagined securing its bottom between his teeth and lighting it, filling his lungs with misty pleasure.<br><br>Having come to the peak of his craving, feeling the saliva run in his mouth and his brain beg him to pick the packet up, he turned away and stormed back up the stairs. Twisted, we know.<br>The sweetest victories came from the jaws of defeat, Devon always thought. <br><br>Back in his bedroom, he slipped into his relaxed black training pants, he located the rest of his costume in the back of his wardrobe, hidden by a false panel. Lifting it out with a sinewy arm, Devon gazed upon his alter ego.<br><br>A black, soft leather sleeved top with a single silver orb on the left breast hung on a peg. The top was padded gently at the shoulders, and only Devon could see the tiny lines across the stomach area that he had reinforced on the inside with tiny strips of plastic.<br><br><em>Cassi said in-costume training today, so Mooncrawler it is. </em> <br><br>Devon had been dubbed with the name after one of his first meetings with the lovely Midnight after her agreeing to take him on as her sidekick. They sat and talked, about their ideas, their plans, strategies for combating crime in the city. Devon had begun to procrastinate, as he was wont to do, plus he was nervous simply being in the presence of Cassi anyway. He had begun to ramble about how philosophy could be distributed in ways that everyone could understand, that great things could be done by any person, and compared that thinking to an existentialist play he had seen, where the mad Roman emperor protagonist, Caligula, had bragged about wanting to seize the moon itself. Cassi had giggled at Devons enthusiastic pseudo-intellectual gabble, and had commented that, in light of Devon's previous life of habits and excess, she expected to see him crawling across the face of the moon, bottle in hand and trying to claim the satellite as his own.<br><br>Devon, stung by the initial rebuke, had grown to like the term, and took it as his alias.<br><br>Slipping the leather top and his padded gloves into a sportsbag, Devon left his small black domino mask hanging where it was, just to the side of three newspaper clippings, all featuring a healthy-size photograph of Midnight, in full black costume. One was taken after the luscious female's capture of a burglar and the others were from the incredibly rare occasions the crimefighter agreed an interview with a fitting publication. All the pictures were over three years old, long before Mooncrawler had joined her, yet Devon couldn't bear to take them down.<br><br>Before he slipped on a basic grey tshirt, he considered jumping in the shower, then dismissed the idea, figuring he would only be sweaty and dirty after his training with Cassi anyway. Devon paused, and stared off into space, finding that the terms "dirty" and "sweaty" used in the same sentence with Cassi's name had a profound effect on him...<br><br>Shaking his head and dragging a hand through his thick, dark, messy hair, he hurtled down the stairs and looked for his keys. Paul looked up from his computer again.<br><br>"Going to the gym again huh? You're a real fitness freak...guess that endorphine rush is a better replacement for other substances, right?"<br><br>Standing at the door, Devon looked back at his housemate and grinned. <br><br>"The best."<br><br>Powerwalking through the streets now, Devon found he knew his way well enough that his homing instinct could take over, leaving his mind to wander about other things...dazedly, he found himself unlocking a cast iron door at the foot of some old steps. Blinking into the murk, Devon took a few steps before being greeted by a spot of artificial light, and the crackling of an old radio. He was the second to arrive. He hoped he wasn't late, but didn't ask.<br><br>Making his way towards the training mat, he stopped just before he entered the halo of light, keeping his body half in shadow as he slipped out of his teeshirt. Bending down to unzip his sportsbag, he exchanged teeshirt for black costume top and squeezed the latter onto his torso before he said; "Midnight. I believe we have an appointment?" In a mock-serious tone.<br><br>Squinting, he tried to make out her figure in the gloom. <br><br><br><br><br>
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