as_damaged: (//& bruises blue)
Allison Cameron ([personal profile] as_damaged) wrote2009-10-15 08:10 pm

☤ twenty-three

[voice;]

[For a moment there is nothing but quiet panting, someone trying to catch their breath. When she speaks it's in a low tone, stumbling over words. She's clearly just this side of a full panic.]

I figured I'd be fine as long as I just stayed in today, but I guess someone figured out I was at home. Every now and then I can-- [She pauses, and if you listen closely you can hear a heavy pounding in the background.] Can hear them trying to get in. I keep hoping they'll get bored and give up on me but so far...

[Cameron laughs quietly, obviously on edge.]

Midnight can't come quick enough... and it's not even Halloween yet. Can't wait to see what that brings....





[ooc; IT'S A TRAP. come and save her, she will try to eat you, and given that she's been taking self-defense lessons she might have more of a shot than otherwise expected >D If you are okay with being bitten/eaten/killed and tossed in the fridge for later munching, please to let me know ♥ ALSO PLEASE FORGIVE LATE POSTING I HAD A TEST. SOB.]

[come in to my parlor]

[identity profile] worksmart.livejournal.com 2009-10-16 05:11 am (UTC)(link)
He's really not as stupid as he looks.

...Except when it comes to her. There's a moment of surprise at how casual the offer is, not that there's anything more to read into it, but he's been lucky to get more than a monosyllable thrown his way recently. If he'd known it would take cannibals to set them back on an even keel he might even have welcomed the curse this morning.

He's optimistic. He's tried to quit, but just keeps failing. "Thanks."

So he follows her into the relatively narrow confines of the apartment kitchen without a second thought, bag left carelessly behind at the door.

[come in to my parlor]

[identity profile] worksmart.livejournal.com 2009-10-18 09:43 pm (UTC)(link)
Coy isn't really her style, not without some ulterior motive. The kind he learned to enjoy during that brief spell when an innocent look from under her lashes lead to encounters in elevators and carousel carts that he wouldn't have even considered without those feminine wiles. So he knows enough to be aware that he should be suspicious now, except that she knocked him back so recently and so hard that it feels like asking to be kicked while he's down.

She's grateful. It's nicer than a lot of the other emotions she's directed his way lately. He takes the glass and smiles around a sip.

"They didn't need me at the hospital," he explains, making his rush over here sound like a casual stroll to save her feeling like the damsel, "we can turn the TV on until it's over."

A glance at the wine as the flavour has a moment to sit on his palate, then he raises his eyebrows, "Is this Chianti?"
Edited 2009-10-18 21:44 (UTC)

[come in to my parlor]

[identity profile] worksmart.livejournal.com 2009-10-19 12:56 am (UTC)(link)
"It's," he's going to say ironic, but all that comes out is a gently affirmative, "Mm." Another drink disguises the need to swallow around that lump of uncertainty in his throat. Whatever make the wine is, it's warming, at least enough to be blamed for that very faint flush across his cheeks. He shouldn't be this easily lost, no matter how mixed the signals might be.

Running his tongue across wine-stained lips, he looks back down at her from under his lashes, curious and unsure.

"Hi," he murmurs, soft, and lets the question of what she's doing sit obvious but unsaid. The explanation of what she wants is going to have to come from her side. Understanding her isn't always his strong point. Giving in, he's far better at.

[come in to my parlor]

[identity profile] worksmart.livejournal.com 2009-10-19 01:18 am (UTC)(link)
Accustomed affection? He's never had enough of it to get used to, let alone to pick apart its intricacies now. Not when she's pressing in against him in what a vestal virgin could tell isn't simple gratitude.

He should stop her.

His hand goes to her shoulder, and then the other ruins all good intentions by moving to her waist. Still, he tips his head back. Out of reach, just.

"Maybe we should talk about this?"

[come in to my parlor]

[identity profile] worksmart.livejournal.com 2009-10-19 01:50 am (UTC)(link)
The silent prayers Chase utters in times like these are not intended for the ears of any higher power. He'd more likely be struck down for the contents of his racing mind, and if instinct would just take control from rational thought then maybe he'd have a hope of getting his arms untangled from the sleeves they're trapped in.

"There are," he makes nervous excuses, giving her something she can latch onto so he doesn't have to ask are you sure? this time, "Cameron, there are cannibals outside."

The things she finds erotic are frankly terrifying, but not nearly so much as how easily he goes along.

[come in to my parlor]

[identity profile] worksmart.livejournal.com 2009-10-19 04:52 am (UTC)(link)
He's working on freeing at least one arm from linen entanglement as her lips press down against her shoulder. One arm to hold her back not from devouring him in the way she intends, but the way he suspects she'll regret in the morning. He can't deny wanting her, but he wants the aftermath he can already envisage much less. They can't keep up this cycle. If it was meaningless she wouldn't be so angry with him afterwards.

Hand finally tugged from his cuff, he gently begins the process of nudging her back. "We should stop, you--"

Though not nudging her back enough that he avoids the clamp down of teeth into his flesh, much too hard to be pleasant. "Ow, bloody hell. That's not funny."

[come in to my parlor]

[identity profile] worksmart.livejournal.com 2009-10-19 03:34 pm (UTC)(link)
He thought he'd seen her snarl before, but it was nothing like this. This puts him in mind of the hyenas at Melbourne zoo, slathering and wild. For a moment he can just look, bewildered, at that pretty mouth turned gaping maw.

Luckily for him, reality isn't too tardy about sinking in. "Oh hell," he growls, with the realisation that he's just been played two ways. Her grip on him is far tighter than it should be, but he manages to twist enough within it to present her with some solid arm muscle, rather than a spot near pressure points and arteries he'd sooner keep untouched.

"Cameron, you don't want to do this," he tries, grasping for something as he stumbles back against the cabinets.

[come in to my parlor]

[identity profile] worksmart.livejournal.com 2009-10-19 04:28 pm (UTC)(link)
For all he's aware that she's cursed, there's still a small part of him that finds itself offended as she sinks her teeth back into him. A small part being vastly overridden by the part that's in pain.

"Fuck--" and although he's squirming under her, there's a concerted effort (through gritted teeth) not to pull away. While she's occupied, maybe he can just reach...

There. The syringe pen he'd tucked into the back pocket of his jeans, just to be on the safe side. Forcing his jaw to unclench enough to pull the cap off between his teeth, he looks down almost apologetically at her bent head.

"Sorry," he says, aiming for the most obvious patch of muscle to inject. It's lucky she wears thin pants. "You're going to be sore in the morning."

[come in to my parlor]

[identity profile] worksmart.livejournal.com 2009-10-19 06:11 pm (UTC)(link)
It has to be to his credit that he's not so busy checking for blood to step forward and catch her before she hits the floor, still wary of getting exposed flesh too close.

"On the other hand," he comments, kneeling to lay her down before rubbing at the marks on his arm and shoulder. Think what she could do with sharpened canines. "Not as sore as I am."

[come in to my parlor]

[identity profile] worksmart.livejournal.com 2009-10-19 11:04 pm (UTC)(link)
Chase is settled in the armchair across the way, looking a lot more comfortable than she does, despite the second hypodermic he's expertly flipping between the fingers of one hand. There's always a chance a curse won't settle for a 24 hour stint. He watches her as she adjusts to the waking world, because he did essentially just roofie her, and there's no guarantee she won't be mad about it, even if he's the one bearing the worst of the injury under his now safely buttoned shirt.

Two wine glasses and a glass of water sit on the table between them. Chase leans forward to nudge the water closer her way, asking the obvious question, "How are you feeling?"

[come in to my parlor]

[identity profile] worksmart.livejournal.com 2009-10-20 04:05 am (UTC)(link)
There's no visible damage, only the faintest hint of Chase trying not to smile at her attempts to banish sleepiness. "You should get to bed. I only stayed to make sure you weren't in the mood for a midnight snack."

He should be allowed one little joke, right? It's not particularly dangerous territory, particularly as Cameron looks more in need of some hot cocoa and fluffy pillows than a mask and straitjacket right now. "Sedative will give you a bitch of a headache if you don't let your body sleep it off."

[come in to my parlor]

[identity profile] worksmart.livejournal.com 2009-10-20 06:36 am (UTC)(link)
"Ten miligrams." He does grin at that, because he could have taken out Cameron and a horse that just ate her with the dose. "Better safe than sorry. You might want to sit leaning a little to your left for a while."

He pushes up from the chair, working out a crick in his neck and testing how much he can move his shoulder without feeling the bruise. Then he offers an arm to her. "Need a hand?"

[come in to my parlor]

[identity profile] worksmart.livejournal.com 2009-10-21 02:23 am (UTC)(link)
Of course she can't stand to hold onto him. Catching back a sigh, he edges round the table to put his hand just under her elbow. Not quite supporting, just there.

"Why don't I see you to yours?", he indicates the bedroom, because he'd be happier knowing she hadn't cracked her skull on the furniture before he leaves her. "I wanted to ask you something, anyway."