CoR Ancient Evil Amidst Old Curtains

[Dashmiel]

Location

Aimeé's Apartment, Lusksonios

"What the fuck does it even mean that we can’t do anything we want," Lucas groused for the fourteenth time that morning, as he set the butane torch to the glass once again. You’d think enough pure hash to calm an elephant might have done it, but the creature pretending to be his partner had a good idea as to what sort of drugs Lucas had taken.

It wasn’t that It had any qualms as to what It knew Lucas wanted to get up to. Indeed, few creatures were better versed with mankind’s base desires than It. But there was a time and place for ultimate depravity, and this wasn’t it. It seldom was. That was the problem with mankind and what kept him in business; the knowledge of evil and when to be evil-er with inhuman indifference.

"There have to be specific limits because, I want them riled up, not blind with hatred," replied the suddenly far more intelligent sounding hoodlum. It tried. It really did. Patience was amongst Its virtues, given Its long age, but fourteen times was annoying, even for It.

"Mitch?" Lucas queried in a decidedly un-tough falsetto voice as the reality of the situation began to sink through his thick skull. It wasn't easy for Lucas to have complex thoughts as a rule; and the alcohol mixed with the party drug cocktail he'd taken wasn’t helping.

All he could do was impotently run the unfairness of the situation through his head. Over and over like a mantra, Lucas tried to make a shield out of it. It was supposed to be an easy assignment; mack the bitch's friends enough that they felt comfortable recommending him and his buddy bitch to be roommates with the Bloodstone bitch. Watch her and make sure she didn't let off the gas with her drinking habits. Instead, it was a boring and soul-crushing gig, especially the not being driven crazy by all the fucking whining. He was thankful the gig kept him from that warehouse party of Rowan’s though; he heard they were still cross-referencing all the blood splatters for DNA evidence to determine which Scion was which.

So it was that when he'd gotten word directly from their Pangolin connect about an extension and change to the gig, he'd been happy and ready to teach that bitch all the lessons her smart-mouth needed to learn. He was slowly learning, though, that he should have just said 'yes' to the terms and not thought to question the rationale of the situation. Or at least, certainly not fourteen times.

"Yes, you are finally getting it, if a tad late, Lucas," replied the thing wearing Mitch's skin, as if it could read his mind. The thing's faux skin was sloughing off within his very eyes, but his limited imagination simply couldn't parse it. He was maxed out on the horror of the situation.

"This is why," the ghoulish form sighed as its dried skin-covered skeletal right hand stretched to encompass Lucas's whole head. The arm followed suit with a squelching sound, elongating like an uncoiling snake. "If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself."

Lucas's screams were short-lived. "I guess that includes making the help," Ayman Al-Nadir added amidst the sounds of rending and rearranging flesh.

"Plenty of hematomas and visible bruising, a frightening message, from those dear exes, the stoutly and conveniently placed Iron Jackals," sang the creature inhabiting the body formerly known as Lucas. Ayman had long since preferred Its newer methods for making ghouls—they left more of the turned personality behind nowadays—but sometimes you just couldn’t beat the subservience of shaping their little brains yourself.

"It doesn’t much matter, what sense does it make, if the poor poor patsies couldn’t possibly come up with the take. As long as the mutts are well and riled, when you have to save face, you never take the time to see who you face!"

“Your rhyming scheme is off, but you’ll do,” Ayman said with a smile as he beheld his grotesque creation finish forming its head back into a near-perfect simulation of Lucas. By the time the werewolf girl could possibly get to see the place where the seams were, it would be too late.

The ancient evil sat placidly amidst its singing progeny, admiring the curtains some long-forgotten and underpaid corporate interior designer who never got to see the place selected from a panel of cheap apartment curtain choices. Waiting patiently for the mistress of the house to return from what he hoped was quite the strong bonding opportunity for James Guiscard, the reasonable one of the infuriatingly hard-to-get-to-budge pair of plucky miscreants with delusions of worth he needed out of his way. All the better to ensure the state he would return their little pound princess met his goals.

 

[Faithy]

Aimée was so incredibly happy to be home. While the trip had been needed in more ways than one, she was not a huge fan of camping out. Sure, it was mostly her fault that the truck broke down, but it wasn't like she was trying to bust it. Running her fingers through her dirty dark hair, she let the locks flop over her scars. She was back in public now and had appearances to keep up after all. After climbing out of the rescue vehicle, glad they hadn't had to walk the entire way with Baron, she yawned widely. The hangover was gone and for the very first time in a long time, she was sober. Bringing her arms above her head as she walked into the building to get to her apartment, she popped her shoulders and neck.

"I want a shower... and a nap." Murming to herself, she knew she should also eat, but the other things were more important in her mind.

Speaking of her mind, Aimée couldn't stop thinking about what truths had been revealed and while a very good majority was positive, the negative part was making her head spin. Hopefully, she would be able to nap since she barely slept the night prior. It bothered her just how far from her roots she had gotten. Maybe what Baron said was a good idea. Maybe. Stopping in front of her door, she grinned at its very fixed nature. Well, at least her contact did his job. She could have asked one of the Pack, but... didn't want anyone to see her secrets. Speaking of that, she needed to clean up her bottles and get rid of the booze.

"Okay... new game plan. Shower, clean up, get rid of the booze, and then nap. Yeah, that's a fabulous plan." Aimée didn't even care that she was talking to herself. No one was out in the hallway. She dug out the single key from her pocket and unlocked the door before stepping inside. She nodded hello at her roommates, surprised they were actually home. Slinking inside, the Pup made her way to the bathroom, stripping almost immediately, the door kicked shut behind her.

 

[Dashmiel]

As written by @Faithy and @Dashmiel

Ayman had still been placidly waiting for Aimeé’s return on the couch, sixteen hours later. Well, Its body was, but Its perception was busy elsewhere, managing Its empire through the eyes of Its ghoulish avatars. It had considered making a new one since Its coming to Lutetia, but the risk that the magic needed to bind a spirit of Its capacity to a simulacrum would be noticed was too high.

Ayman knew there were other players in this accursed city that could disrupt Its plans. It was infuriating really; this place was a shithole. What culture it had once provided to the world had long since stagnated, and its only import was hate.

Ayman didn’t like the competition. Plus, there was the fact that Lutetia’s ideal centralized location was great for ley lines and illicit supply lines both. It just needed to get the fucking green man’s guard dogs out of the way first. It was certain Its deal with Rowan was finally going to get It what It desired for so long; a market in Lutetia for Its wares.

Ayman’s cartel had a nigh monopoly on the trade of manufactured synthetic drugs popular with today’s youth across several of the world’s continents, but one of them in particular would allow It unfettered access to all of the rest: Issunar.

The one place where both Its wares and Its “pills” didn’t reach. The only place where Its presence could be said to wane, and Its power wasn’t absolute. It infuriated Ayman so much that for a moment It nearly missed Its wards being tripped. Finally.

“Oh hey Aimzter,” Mitch said in a cheery drunken voice as Aimeé walked in. “Wassup,” replied Lucas automatically alongside.

She barely acknowledged them beyond the basics, as It hoped she would. It had been careful to demand of Rowan that he send some boys that could keep their eyes on the mission, and was relieved that—Lucas’ inner world aside—that had been the case.

It meant the Bloodstones had absolutely no reason to have looked into “Mitch” and “Lucas”, and even if Daddy had, he was dead. No one to tie Aimeé’s roommates to any Scion-Bloodstone scuffles of streets past—itself a minimal concern given that It had also requested relatively new members to the Scion—leaving it easy for Its plan.

Ayman heard the shower start and smiled. It did worry about allowing the timing for Its personal joke, but if Ayman was said to have a weakness, it was a penchant for patterns and rituals. At least Goodie Guiscard didn’t murder her—It didn’t give it long odds but these people were fucked in the head in Its estimation—though It’d rather she’d come home sopping drunk.

Oh well.

Wordlessly, Ayman got up and made Its way down the hallway, past the bathroom and Aimeé’s bedroom door further on, to where the hallway bent towards what was Lucas’ room. “Lucas” himself stood at the foot of the hallway, cutting off Aimeé’s potential exit.

As Aimeé stood there waiting for the water to get to a proper temperature, she found herself musing not on the trip, but on her roommates. They were drunk or high, which meant they had gotten into her alcohol. She had told them so many times not to touch her stuff, but like always, they didn’t listen. Assholes. She supposed it was less booze to dump out and that was ultimately a good thing. Sighing, she threw her clothing into her hamper before clambering into the shower. It was the best feeling ever! She soon ensured that every inch of her 5’6" frame was washed, including her poor hair. Sleeping outside was so gross and the paranoid female might’ve washed everything twice. She shut off the water only after the stench and dirt were washed and rinsed off. Grabbing two towels, Aimeé wrapped one around her hair and the other around her body.

“Much better. I am never camping again… ugh.” Shaking her head, she headed out of the bathroom and blinked at where her roommates were now located.

“Mm, what’re you two doing? You’re being weirder than normal. Also, I told you both to stop drinking my alcohol. Dumbasses…” Aimeé huffed and rolled her eyes before heading for her bedroom to change. She was not keen on standing around in just the towel after all. She didn’t seem to mind when drunk, but now that she was sober, it just felt uncomfortable.

“Guess it doesn’t matter since I’m getting rid of my stash.” She spoke even as she neared her bedroom, not caring if they got upset by it or not. They could spend their own money.

Lucas moved far more sinuously than he ever had in life. Far faster and smoother than the human Aimeé would have expected him to be. He placed himself between her and the doorway.

“Awwww, c’mon Aimz, how come you came back so lame?” the thing that had been Lucas asked. His voice was somehow both monotonous and mean-spirited at the same time.

“Yeah Aimster,” ‘Mitch’ added as he drew closer too. “What’s this about getting rid of your stash? Don’t tell me you’re done being a party girl, Lucas and I got a hold of some fire vodka, why don’t we go have some?”

Aimeé couldn't bite back the yelp at how Lucas suddenly appeared at her doorway. He had never moved that fast before, especially not while on drugs or drunk. Was it because she was finally not addled by alcohol? Yeah, that had to be it. As far as she knew, both her roommates were human. Of course, they no doubt thought the same of her. Hopefully…

“Dude, get the fuck out of my way. I'm not keen on standing around in just this towel.” She pulled the one off her hair, drying her strands a bit more before letting them fall where they normally did. Feeling a bit better once her scars were covered, she looked over at Mitch briefly before looking back to Lucas. He was being such an asshole.

“I'm not being lame, but I'm done being such an alcoholic. I've got my reasons and it's noneya. Just, move and let me in my room, Lucas.” Her gaze shifted back to Mitch again.

“While that is by far one of my favorite drinks, I’m going to pass.”

“Awwww, c’mon Aimz, how come you came back so lame?” the thing that had been Lucas asked. Again. Its voice and intonation were impossibly identical, as if Lucas was just a speaker repeating a recorded message. Rather than moving, Lucas forcefully took a hold of Aimeé’s forearm.

The thing's grip was tight as a vice and as immovable as the nearly inanimate object Lucas had technically become. More a golem than a Ghul, but even Ayman understood the need to be thrifty. The slip of a girl didn’t merit more.

“Sorry Aimeé,” Mitch said. “We got these bomb ass drugs from the IJ’s…in exchange for passing a message along. Through you.” The thing pretending to be Mitch smiled.

Growing more annoyed when Lucas just repeated himself instead of moving, Aimeé started to move forward to shove him out of the way. Instead, the fuckwit grabbed hold of her forearm. She blinked once or twice in shock before snarling out in warning. That snarl was quickly quieted at the sudden change happening in front of her. Had she stepped into the twilight zone?!

“What in the fuck is going on?!” Despite how tight the grip was, Aimeé still fought to get free as panic surged up. Her gun was in the bathroom along with her phone. Why the fuck had she left them both there?! Oh right, she trusted her roommates. Huge mistake.

“Mitch… you don’t want to do this. Tell the Jackals that the deal is off. Right fucking now!” Aimeé growled loudly, trying to figure out how to get out of this mess. She felt her wolf surging up from wherever it had been chilling the entire time she remained plastered. Could she get shifted in time? She certainly hoped so.

“Last chance.” God, her mouth and threats were always so much bigger than her actions and abilities. Maybe it would be a good idea to take Baron up on moving back with the pack and becoming better at being a threat.

A sudden cold rush flowed through Aimeé’s veins and the taste of metallic almonds suffused her palate as “Mitch” suddenly jabbed and plunged a needle into her neck. Aimeé may not have cause to recognize the hallmarks of Lycanthropis Inhibitorum, better known by its street names of ‘Nyx’, ‘Flea-gone’, ‘Good Doggy’ amongst others, but she would quickly come to learn its effects as the muddling sensation settled between her and the part of her body she normally associated with her “wolf.”

“Awwww, c’mon Aimz, how come you came back so lame?” the thing that had been Lucas repeated with a stupid grin as he twisted Aimeé’s arm and turned her to face “Mitch.”

“None of that disgusting dog shit, bitch,” Ayman-Mitch snarled before violently backslapping Aimeé. The blow was several times stronger than a human’s, crunching her nose, and “Mitch” laughed and added for effect: “Goddamn, this IJ magic ‘roid shit really packs a punch.”

He grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked back forcefully with one hand while he used another to roughly grip her by the chin. “You can go ahead and talk big, it won’t change how many chances we’re going to be taking, dog.”

Her wolf whined out at the same time she tasted something revolting. Something that had never run across her tastebuds before. Spitting almost immediately, she brought up her free hand and pawed at her tongue. The jab in her neck was barely noted, though she did hiss out in displeasure. Though, compared with how tightly Lucas was holding onto her arm, it was nothing more than a prick. Speaking of pricks…

“You mother fucker! What did you just do?!” Aimée growled out just as she realized she could no longer sense her wolf as clearly as before. That worried her and she racked her brain in an attempt to figure out what she had been injected with. Still pawing at her tongue, disgust evident on her face, the Pup glared as Lucas repeated himself for the third time.

“Fucking twilight zone shit happening…” Murmuring, even as she found herself being spun around, her arm feeling like it was seconds from breaking, the Bloodstone was shocked not just because Mitch called her out on her wolf, which she didn’t think they knew about, but also because he backhanded her across the face. Her world went white for a moment as she fought to breathe through the pain. She could feel blood pouring from her now broken nose and yanked harder on her arm to get free.

“Fucking… pieces of shit! I’ll kill you!” Spitting blood at Mitch’s face, Aimée yelped out at the sensation of her head being jerked back by a hand in her hair. She clenched her jaw, ignoring him gripping her chin, and brought up her free hand to try and slam her fist into his face. She wasn’t about to go down without a fight! Maybe she could get free enough to get her gun.

Ayman-Mitch delivered a punch right to Aimeé’s solar plexus. He followed it with two more in rapid succession, sinking them deep into Aimeé’s gut. “None of that now,” he said cruelly. “You’re here to suffer to make a point, not ask questions.”

The second the first punch exploded into her solar plexus, she nearly threw up what little had been in her stomach. Gasping for air, she bent over as much as she could only to have two more punches slam into the same spot. Her body wasn’t built for this and she coughed hard, blood spattering out from what had dripped down from her nose.

“F—uck… you..!” She felt her knees giving out as she slumped forward, wishing she could get to her wolf. Damn it, she needed to shift! It was too bad she still couldn’t breathe properly.

“Let me go..!”

Ayman-Mitch laughed cruelly, Aimeé’s blood splattered across his face adding to his demented air. “No thanks for the offer, babe, I’m not into bestiality,” he mocked as he let go of Aimeé and walked past her and into her bedroom. The Lucas-thing dragged her alongside by the arm roughly. The disguised Ghul looked around and located a sturdy wooden baseball bat and grinned as he grabbed it. It hefted and did a few experimental swings before pointing at the bed with it.

The Lucas-thing threw Aimeé towards the bed, and pulled a handkerchief and roll of tape from the baggy pants pocket Lucas was so fond of, like a narcotic hoarding squirrel.

“Any last words before we find out how pretty we can color you up, bitch?” Mitch-Ayman mocked. He was growing bored and could feel his presence being missed at the center of the Corpse Cotillion, the never-ending series of parties and raves across the world where his avatars functioned at spreading his influence. It wouldn’t take long to beat his message into Aimeé’s skin. He had thousands of years at the practice of inflicting misery on humans and their derivatives.

Hissing at the response, Aimée found herself wishing that Xandre would do one of his untimely visits, though he probably didn’t know she and Baron had returned. Her body sagged just a little once Mitch let go of her and it took a lot to keep from falling over her feet when Lucas pulled her into her bedroom. She didn’t have anything useful in here except… Her face dropped when her bat had been found. Damn it, she was planning on grabbing that.

“You’re going to die the most painful death ever, you dipshits! What the fuck happened to you two…?” She stumbled forward as she was shoved towards her bed and caught herself before falling. This wasn’t happening! Not today! Ignoring Mitch though a shiver most definitely ran up her back at his words, Aimée beelined it for the doorway. She was going to get to her bathroom and get her gun and shoot these fucks in the face!

“Not happening today!” She wanted to make her mother proud, wanted to be the badass person that her mom had been while alive, and planned on doing that very thing!

“Awwww, c’mon Aimz, how come you came back so lame?” the Lucas-thing queried once more as Aimeé bounced off its chest. It shouldn’t have been possible, for even a werewolf as close to human baseline as Aimeé should have been able to easily outrun a couple of stoned college undergrad-aged dropouts. She had gotten her balance righted, had dashed towards the door, seen it clear and felt herself moving.

But then the Lucas-thing was just there ahead of her.

“Goddamn Luccie, you flew,” Mitch-Ayman cackled. “This enhancing shit really works. C’mon, let's finish the job so we can get back to the party.”

They tossed Aimeé back onto the bed, and the Lucas-thing wrapped her forcefully in her own blanket while Ayman gagged and duct-taped her mouth shut.

“Don’t worry, babe, you’ll live…barely,” Ayman-Mitch whispered into her ear as he finished wrapping the last of the roll of tape around her head.

The blanket softened the thuds the baseball bat made enough to ensure they wouldn’t be heard, but the ghoulish strength made sure the bruising would be deep. The paranormal stamina of all involved meant it would be a long three hours for Aimeé before she learned you could be more exhausted after something than camping.