beloved_one (beloved_one) wrote in shreveportrpg, @ 2010-06-11 19:54:00 |
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Entry tags: | darla, matilda green |
WHO: Darla and OPEN
WHEN: This evening
WHERE: Outside of Fangtasia. Parking lot?
WHAT: Resurrected vampiress ... discovers she has a soul. Someone help her :-P
STATUS: Open/Incomplete
Ratings: TBD
It was the vibrations on the pavement that startled her awake. The hearing of a predator often came in handy over some off four hundred years. It wouldn't be the first time she had used it to keep from being run over by a car. The only difference between now and then, was she always ended up making a meal of the idiot who hadn't been watching where they had been going. Children and all. That and, when you considered the fact that, all those other times she hadn't been laying down on the ground. Startled into taking her first "breath" in years. A reflex from many years of blending in to seduce the prey from the herd. A predator in sheep's clothing. Oldest trick in the book.
Thought of food and tricks, however, was a bit far from Darla's mind as the rush of lights and scents and loud, loud, noises assaulted her senses. Too much. Too fast. Panic nearly surged through her when her mind actually processed what was going on. Not this. Not again. Couldn't they just leave her dead. For once? Couldn't they - and then she felt it. A burning. A buzz. Far be it for her to give it the satisfaction. A sickness. A sickness she was all familiar with since it had plagued her existance more than once. Three time in her own body. Once, and still, in the body of the man she had loved.
Only once had having one been worth it. Yet Darla doubted that this time would be any better than the first two times she had a soul.
A soul. Which fucking idiot had thought it would be a good plan to give her a soul.
She could have continued to stay where she was. On the ground. Cursing everything and everyone, and as appealing as that was, Darla had never been one to lay prostate and complain about the hand that life had dealt her. That had always been her boy's line. She could curse and walk.
Darla wanted answers. Standing onto shaking legs. She, for the first time, noticed her attire. All white. There was a hesitance as her mind flashed to her last memory. Her baby. Her grown son.
And that possessed bitch. White and black. The grand scheme of thing really lacked in subtly.
She tilted her head slightly. "Now that's what I call irony."