Who: Lazarus (and an NPC).
Where: An abandoned house on the outskirts of town.
When: Very early morning, around 1am.
Warnings: 100% NC-17. HEAVY depiction of graphic violence, assault/rape (trigger warnings), and bloodshed. Definitely NSFW, and if you’re really not okay with torture/sadistic narrative this is not the solo for you.
Who: Lazarus and Athena.
Where: Some shady bar in Ann Arbor.
When: Evening.
Warnings: Violence.
She had caught his eye a few weeks ago, this one, physically gorgeous and mentally sharp, enough of a challenge that he didn’t just want her, he needed her. Not in the conventional sense, of course. Not in the way any mortal man wanted or needed a woman. No. Lazarus wanted to break her down, take her apart, he needed it, more than the air in his lungs or the blood in his veins. She had captivated him in a bar just like this one without him expecting it and he had been working his way into her life ever since. Ingratiating himself. She was responding well, with just enough resistance to keep him interested, but with fascination all of her own. Lazarus had played up his native accent, the one that had been fascinating and winning women over for centuries and he had noticed the way her muscles tightened and she caught her bottom lip between her teeth whenever he opened his mouth and spoke to her, let that accent add an edge to his words that so many people in America labelled as exotic.
It wasn’t by chance that he made his way to one of his prey’s favourite bars that evening. Every few days he would catch up with her and they would flirt over drinks that he -- of course -- paid for and tonight, he suspected, he would get what it was he had been waiting for. The beginning of the end. Her life would change after tonight and not for the better, not if Lazarus had anything to do with it.
He was waiting for her at the bar when he heard the door open and he turned his eyes in the direction of the entrance to see her walk in. She saw him too and smiled, wasting no time in crossing the room to join him. Once she had settled herself in her seat and he had ordered her a drink Lazarus got to work, subtly working his powers on her, picking at the exposed threads, working his way past what little was left of her defences. She laughed in all the right places, tucking her hair behind her ears in a fashion that was supposed to be meek but was actually flirtatious and he recognised that immediately. At this point in his life, with so much experience under his belt, he knew just what to say and when, just as he knew the right moments to reach out and brush his fingertips against her arm or her hand. By the time she said she was headed to the ladies’ room to freshen up Lazarus knew he had her, that all his hard work and patience had paid off, and he smiled and told her he would wait for her, of course, and then they could go somewhere more private. More comfortable.
She smiled eagerly, filled with nervous excitement, and excused herself from her seat, walking past him and towards the facilities tucked further into the building down a narrow hallway out of sight. That didn’t stop Lazarus from twisting in his seat to watch her leave, though, smirking to himself, already feeling triumphant.
Who: Lazarus and Demi.
Where: A random bar.
When: Night.
Bars and clubs somehow managed to never get old. Not to Lazarus. There was always something new going on, something refreshingly debased and degrading for one party or another, something delightfully crude and primal. In the dark corners and secret spaces of these establishments Lazarus could find the most fascinating things taking place and if he was very lucky indeed he could join in, take part, even take control. More times than he could count he had come across one lonely soul or another and introduced them to all kinds of debauchery and sin. They were his favourite kinds of places, the perfect replacements for the inns and taverns and brothels of days gone by and they were darker and louder now, even more well-suited to his needs. In those corners and crevices he could perform all kinds of nasty deeds and the people around him would be none the wiser. Whatever prey he had pinned down for the night would find their way home and maybe, just maybe, discover something unexpected a few months down the line. Places like this were ripe with easy pickings, all kinds of victims and prey, and maybe tonight he would find something special, someone who could provide him with more than a could of hours worth of entertainment.
Prowling through the bodies that were milling through the bar, a moderately large place with booths and shadowed corners that would suit his needs wonderfully if he found something worth his time, he scanned the faces, searching for those small signs that he’d found what he was looking for. That desperate glimmer in their eyes, the quietly hungry look, the restless, almost nervous energy. Lazarus knew what he was looking for, he had spent centuries perfecting his hunting process. If the floor provided no luck then the bar was his best bet and that was exactly where he was headed when he caught sight of it. Of her.
The smoothness of her gracefully exotic features, youthful and so innocent to anyone not really paying attention, the way her hair fell, the way her eyes scanned her surroundings. Lazarus recognised her instantly. Even now decades after they had met he knew her immediately, at a single glance, and with an amused, intrigued smirk he made his way towards her, catching the bartender’s gaze as he went and signalling to the man to deliver another drink to the lady at the end. She didn’t look old enough to drink here. Fake ID, most likely.
As Lazarus came to a stop beside her at the bar the drink he’d ordered was being set down in front of her, one of his own coming to rest beside it. “It’s been a long time,” he said to her, reaching for that drink with that same smirk on his face.
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