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Lord Vaako ([info]lord_vaako) wrote in [info]mirage_rpg,
@ 2008-09-28 15:55:00

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Entry tags:complete, day 17, lestat de lioncourt, lord vaako, richard riddick, yvaine

Who: Vaako, Yvaine, Lestat, Edward, Riddick (Posting order?)
Where: Art Gallery
When: Afternoon
What: Come on and rescue me! /Aretha Franklin
Rating: R to NC-17 for sexuality and violence
Status: Complete


The man who had once been the First Commander of the most powerful and devastating army in the history of his universe, Lord Cylus Vaako, was barely holding onto consciousness. He could barely hold his own body up, even propped up as he was against the wall. He had a very dim view of his surroundings, but found that he was barely able to keep his eyelids open. His head hurt. That was odd enough in and of itself, given what he was. Necromongers barely feel pain.

He'd never felt anything like this, actually. Or not in so many years that he could barely remember what pain felt like. But then, in all the years that he'd been a Necromonger, he'd never allowed himself to go this long without the Purification. It was wearing off, that must be why he was feeling this. Damn it. It really wasn't all that convienant. Why now? He could have done without the splitting headache.

Of course, blood loss could have been a major part of it, too. The vampire Lestat had most definately not been keeping his hands to himself, nor his teeth. That was a good part of the weakness that the Necromonger felt, he was certain. Each and every time Lestat came to him, Vaako was convinced that somehow, this time, he was going to fend him off. And, predictibly, each and every time he failed, the vampire took what he wanted, and left him weaker than before.

Even worse, really, than the horribly intimacy of the vampire's touch, was the fact that he couldn't stop him from doing that, or taking any number of liberties with his body. There was a girl here, too, somewhere. He hadn't been able to talk to her. He didn't know what condition she was in. He couldn't, in fact, concentrate on very much at all. Really, it was all he could do to hold on to the semi-consciousness state he was in.



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[info]fallen_star
2008-10-16 04:24 pm UTC (link)
Yvaine couldn’t believe this. Well, of course she could believe it, but she wished with all of her might that none of this was happening. She had never wanted this kind of adventure. This wasn’t an adventure at all, really. It was nothing more than a vivid nightmare she couldn’t escape.

The instant she felt that damnable leech’s touch ((It felt warmer than it had earlier.)), she first cringe away from it, but Yvaine then proceeded to lash out at him with her booted feet, kicking him as hard as she could. She growled with each kick, not caring that it didn’t seem to be effective. She was furious, and she would do anything she could to show him how much she hated him.

It did bother her that nothing seemed to deter him. He didn’t even hesitate as he fondled her, kissed her with his disgusting lips. When he yelled the simple exclamation, she did jerk away, but not because his yelling had frightened her. Yvaine had thought he was going to pounce on her, devour her with those sharp, ugly fangs of his. That idea was infinitely unpleasant. She liked her blood where it belonged inside her body, not his belly.

When he kissed her nose, she spat a wad of saliva in his face. “Go stand in the sun, you despicable leech!” Every ounce of contempt she felt reverberated in her voice and shone in her eyes. If looks could kill, Lestat would have been reduced to a pile of ashes. The evening star didn’t ask what the femoral artery was. She didn’t know, of course, but she had to much pride to ask him for anything, even knowledge. Besides, she had the feeling she was soon to discover what it was.

She fought as hard as her already tired and weak form could when her dress was lifted. It wasn’t that the evening star was rude. She simply recognized the fact that he had not obtained her permission to venture beneath her skirt and thus had no right to roam around there. Even with all of her struggling, squirming, and kicking, her panties still managed to disappear from her lower body, leaving her exposed. She squirmed about until her dress hid her most private body parts from view.

Yvaine kicked at him again, spewing forth a massive amount of obscenities that were sure to make even the surliest of sailors blush, but his warning about bleeding to death didn’t fall on deaf ears. Despite all of this, despite her despair, despite the joy she lacked at being in this place, the evening star still didn’t crave death. Just because she was immune to disease and aging didn’t mean she couldn’t be killed. What had happened to her sister four hundred years ago? No one knew, but it surely could not have been good. If she had been alive, they certainly would have spotted her beautiful glow at some point.

When his teeth sank into her thigh, her jaw clenched and every muscle in her body froze with tension. She didn’t want to die. What if he killed her with the blood he took? She was already weak, and the room felt chillier than before, especially now that she was so crudely exposed to the air. Yvaine turned her head to one side. She couldn’t watch him do this, not that she could easily view the imagery with tears blurring her eyes anyway. She was too frightened, too furious, too agonized to allow herself to make anything of the sensations going through her body. She only knew she felt as if her body was weakening, and she was tired. That renewed strength she’d had as her body worked to quickly attempt to replenish the blood and energy she had was escaping her again. Her glow was dimming again. The star felt queasy from it all.

Then she felt his fingers caressing her in a way she’d never felt, and though he’d warned her, she squirmed. Never before had any such sensation plagued her, and, because it was him who caused it, it was nothing more than a plague. She wanted away from him. He had no rights to this part of her. Her pride wouldn’t allow her to give in to it. She fought the feelings arising from her sensitivity. Of all things he took, he wouldn’t take this. This was hers.

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