The Plotmaster (plotmaster) wrote in horror_story, @ 2012-11-30 11:39:00 |
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Rob and Cassandra by TSWhat had he been thinking, bringing her here? A momentary lapse of judgment born of an innate desire to just once not have to be the one who didn't have a date. Every year, Stephen attended with some new conquest. This Thanksgiving was no different; a dark-skinned beauty with impeccable style and a sharp wit. Christine had tacitly approved of the woman, taking the measure of her in a single, steady glance and then pointedly ignoring her throughout the meal. A good sign. Rob's date hadn't been so fortunate. He could find no fault in her dress or demeanor. She was from a good family, smart, well-mannered, keenly aware of her surroundings.
If only he could’ve masked her deafness, but Cassandra wouldn’t let him speak on her behalf, and had disregarded his advice about the subject of her calling. She felt no reason to be ashamed of who she was... and because that was one of the many reasons he'd found himself attracted to her, he hadn't put enough effort in convincing her how vital it was.
Christine had said nothing when Cassandra's voice app had explained the word medium. In fact, she'd given the redhead a smile to show that she'd understood. But Rob had spent every second of his thirty-three years fine-tuning his ability to read his mother. The tightness of her smile, the way her gaze sharpened to a point. Beautifully perceptive, Cassandra hadn't missed these things. She'd taken it with grace, the same way she'd accepted his initial disapproval of her claims. He, on the other hand, suddenly found it very difficult to breathe. All the air in his lungs had somehow turned to cement, and his hand trembled – once - when he reached for his water glass. Just once.
She noticed. Of course she did. The gaze flicked over to him, freezing him in place, boring holes into his already riddled soul. Her voice was honeyed arsenic. “Theodore, are you well?”
Meaning what on earth did you expect, bringing a charlatan into my home? Did you want me to see past her handicap – her lies -- and look at this woman as a sign that you were normal? That you had prospects? Stephen can let his cock cloud his judgment, he always has, but you know better and this is unacceptable.
His mouth was too dry to even attempt swallowing. He nodded. “Yes. Of course.”
Meaning I'm sorry, mother, I know. I'll never attempt this again, I swear, just please... please let her walk out of here alive. She's lovely and she's kind and I can't have that loss on my conscience...
A razor smile, a gesture for the server to bring out dessert. He wanted to warn Cassandra not to eat it. Grab her hand and flee from the table. Because he knew what the consequences of that would be, he stayed painfully silent. Ever his mother's son, the accomplice.
Teagan, Casper, Tatum, and CJ (with allusions to Emma and Bryant) by TSTeagan frowned down at the pan in front of her. She didn’t think the sweet potatoes were supposed to be bright cherry red. Consulting the cookbook only confirmed her fears. Somehow, she’d fucked up.
“You fucked up,” Casper informed her in a deadpan voice from behind the ever-present camera. She’d been in and out of the kitchen all morning, recording. “What’s that supposed to be?”
“Sweet potatoes.”
“Why does it smell like candied McDonald’s?”
That was a decent question. It sounded like the set-up to a joke. Why did the sweet potatoes smell like McDonald’s? Teagan cocked her head to one side, looking at the dish as though it might miraculously explain itself. “Might be the ketchup?”
The sound of the zoom on the camera was unmistakable. Teagan didn’t know if Casper was zooming in on her, or the ruined dish. Teagan sighed, slumping in defeat just in case she was in the frame. “Maybe it’s still edible...”
“Ha. Yeah, I’m not eating that shit.”
The bell rang, and Teagan’s attention shifted. “Tater tots!”
“Sure, I guess. Have to do something,” Casper mused, still looking down at the unnaturally colored sweet potatoes. The hue was interesting, if nothing else. Maybe they could be salvaged as a crafting material.
“No, at the door! She’s here!”
Teagan flew off, leaving Casper in her wake. The goth just shook her head and followed, leisurely. “She lets you call her that, huh? And everyone else just ignores it?”
The hostess was too focused on throwing the door open to welcome her redheaded friend to give an answer. “Taters! Oh... and... other people I don’t know...”
“Um. H-hi... I, um... I-I brought some g-guests,” Tatum managed, having the grace to look shamefaced. Like she’d already been chastised, which, as it turned out, made it extremely difficult to actually chastise her.
Resigned, Teagan stepped aside to let everyone in. The other girl didn’t bother her, or surprise her, really, knowing Tatum’s preferences. Hell, the reason Tatum and Casper were over had been because of Teagan’s own soft spot for the fairer sex, so she could forgive the presence of the skinny brunette, even if the girl did look like damaged goods. The blue-haired guy, on the other hand, was a harder sell. She hadn’t specifically told Tatum there’d be no boys allowed, but she honestly hadn’t thought it’d be an issue. Tatum must have seen the expression on her face, because he was the first one introduced. “Th-this is CJ. He’s n-nice.”
Nice. Yeah, right. Having never actually dated Tatum, Teagan didn’t have any claim over her. Still, she felt an odd blend of protectiveness and jealousy well up inside of her gut. An urge to hiss at the guy, warn him off of her territory. At least demand to know what his intentions were in regards to her friend, who - at last check - resolutely did not like boys. His easy smile in the face of her glare was disarming, however, and he immediately vouched for himself by holding up a small baggie. “Heya, Doll. Nice of ya to have us over. I come bearing gifts.”
Well, then. At least it was better than the giant, stammering mortician who’d shown up the year before...
The Most Dangerous Main CourseHunter and Marcus by Amie"Quit your hollerin' already!" Hunter roared, her fist closing around a handful of the screaming woman's shirt. She lifted the smaller blonde up from her huddled place on the ground with ease, her screams dissipating to whimpers as Hunter hauled her up and stared at her, the tall woman's blue eyes unreadable as she examined the panicky woman in front of her. "Ain't nobody gonna help you now," she cooed, as the woman trembled before her, eyes darting to the door. She could be fighting, make a run for the door of the cabin, but she didn't move, even as Hunter held her only by the front of her shirt. Just the Hunter's gaze kept her victim in place.
"Hey, don't be greedy," came Marcus and his low grumble from behind her, standing in the doorway, taking up most of the thing as he watched the two blondes in the middle of the room. He was finished with his work in the kitchen, and the front of his salopettes spattered with bright blood, splashed up to his elbows. There was nothing about two blondes that Marcus didn't like. It made his mouth water for a multitude of reasons, none of which were wholesome. Thoughts about the smaller trembling blonde, especially. She was a fighter, more than her boyfriend had been. Her body was a map of cuts and black bruises, her clothes a tattered and muddy mess. She had tried to run earlier already, once, but Marcus wasn't ready to let her go yet. Hunter could tell his plans. He did like to play with his food; if had been five years now since he had taken her and she had learned that much in their work together. She had been feisty at first, given him a run for his money and needed to be chained up initially, but she had also been a quick learner. She was a natural now. "Don't you look at him," Hunter commanded, grabbing the woman's face roughly, eliciting another pathetic whimper from her.
She was worthless, a stupid shallow Hollywood type, her and her dead boyfriend both. Perfect, manicured celebrity types. They had thought they were the luckiest pair in the world when their car had broken down in the wilderness and Marcus came trundling by in his truck. Come back to our place, have a hot Thanksgiving dinner, a genuine grin that surely would have comforted them but might have left them feeling uneasy. Most people just ignored the uneasy feeling. That worked for them. "You're dealin' with me, bitch. You're gonna come in my house and fuck him?" She knew exactly what Marcus was thinking, even as he just watched from the doorway. "That ain't why you're here, bitch."
One motion, Hunter's knife came free from her belt, burying to the hilt between the woman's ribs. She screamed again and Hunter grinned, hot blood pouring over the handle and her clenched fist. "C'mon, let's cut this whore up," she laughed.
Marcus and Charlie by TSPity. He’d liked the blonde. She’d lasted a lot longer than he’d expected her to. Once properly trained, she'd taken to the work with enthusiasm. There was also the not inconsequential perk of her being a fucking firecracker in the sack. Now, thanks to an underestimated victim, he was sans partner again. Alone.
Marcus hated being alone.
The killing was irritating enough to do on his own, but butchering, cooking and storing all the meat was going to be a bitch without help. The cabin just wasn't going to be the same without Hunter. It already felt too quiet. He sighed as he put the last of her in the freezer, wrapped carefully in plastic. “Sorry, chica. Tough break.”
Her killer was still chained in the basement, and Marcus figured he'd better see to that sooner rather than later. It was still difficult to believe that this kid had taken down Hunter, but the cringing way it had happened suggested accident. A dropped knife, a bad call. It happened. Even he had off days, and a fuck-ton of scars to show for it. Sometimes it was just luck that kept him out of the freezer, himself.
Skinny, small, and kind of ferret-faced, Marcus wasn't sure what to make of this guy. She'd been all defiance and anger when he'd first caught her, but this kid was just exhibiting wide-eyed fear. Beautiful in its own right, but not the face of someone who'd make for a worthy cohort. Still, there was this saying about beggars choosing that Marcus sometimes had to subscribe to, for lack of better options. The majority of his other options were currently in deep-freeze, minus the slice of haunch he was roasting in the oven.
“Marcus Caravahlo,” he informed the boy, crouching down to make eye contact. Watery blue eyes kept darting down to his mouth, focusing on his lips. That surprised Marcus, who read it as incredibly flirtatious. Maybe the kid had a use after all. He grinned. “You killed my partner, mijo.”
The kid shook his head. It was all he could do, with the gag.
“Don't give me that shit,” Marcus growled, reaching out to grab the kid's hair in a tight fist. That earned him some eye contact. He loosened his hold on the hair, pushing his fingers through it in a distinctly affectionate way. “I saw it. Fuck, I would've done the same fucking thing. It came down to you or her. You picked yourself. Can't fucking blame you for that. Puts you in a fucking bind, though, don't it? Tell you what, cabrón, you get the same deal I gave her. You be good, I'll take care of you. Fuck up, you end up in cold storage with my fucking ex and your dead fucking friends. Got it?”
A long pause, followed by a shaky nod. Marcus removed the gag, wondering if the kid would scream. Hoping he would at least whimper. Cry. They all needed training at first.
A Scary New WorldRob and His Brother by TS“Don't pout, Rob.” Stephen grinned, perfect teeth flashing in the sunlight. “Plenty of fish, right?”
“She was hardly a fish.” Rob refused to look at his brother. The tan, the muscle tone, the teeth... better to focus on the water. Shades of blues and greens and whites that very rarely mocked him. “I could have loved her.”
“You didn't.”
“I could have.” Had she survived dinner, perhaps.
“Uh-huh. You weren't even sleeping with her.”
“You don't know that.”
“I know you. Look, Rob, she was beautiful. I'm sure she was great. But mother knew what that was. Hell, I think Eden knew. You brought a deaf psychic home for Thanksgiving. She doesn't suffer rebellion. You know that.”
“It wasn't --”
“Sure it was.”
“Joseph --”
“She holds you to higher standards. If Joseph brought someone home, she'd have poisoned them both.”
It was the truth. Joseph knew better than to come home at all. Not since he'd confessed his interest in men. In an act of petty rebellion, Rob had enabled the death of a lovely woman. That was who he was, now. He wanted to scream. Instead, he fixated on the water. It wasn't fair, but nothing she did was fair. Stephen could have lovers because Stephen was breeding stock. Rob was upper management, betrothed to the corporation; a bloated, demanding, jealous bride. At least he wasn't Joseph. Joseph had been a back up, a spare son in case the first two didn't perform. Ultimately a failed project. Stephen was correct: Christine did not suffer rebellion.
The Mare Crisium cut smoothly through the waves. Rob hadn't asked their destination. He didn't care, so long as it was away. Stephen set course, and when land came into view, it was Stephen who set anchor. Once ashore, Rob did little more than adjust his glasses. Stephen was the explorer, the leader, and Rob let him be in charge.
The island was perfectly calm, save for the rustling of undergrowth among the trees. Rustling that Stephen seemed keenly interested in. It caught Rob's attention, as well. “Where are we?”
“Isla de Mamboretá. No better distraction spot in the world, little brother.”
Trees parted, and visible figures were moving towards them. People. Naked, muddy people. No. Wait. As they closed in, Rob saw that they were largely naked, muddy women. Stephen was still talking, seemingly unbothered by this affront. “...fifteen to every man here, Rob. Fifteen. You can have your pick. You just have to be nice to them... and careful. They do bite.”
The women surrounded him. Oh, God, they were filthy. Pawing at him with infested hands, ruining his clothes. They smiled, mockingly, and he saw that their teeth were not perfect. Filed to sharp, bloody points, their teeth were horrifying. Rob couldn't keep from cringing when they found his skin. In that moment, he understood that Stephen was also their mother's son.