(Being parts of an SL played in room and AIM with the incomparable woman behind Audrey Horne et al)
Magenta is home alone with Susie, an event unusual enough in its own right. Audrey lingers over paperwork at a separate location, and Tina is roaming the streets of WestEnd attempting to deal with the guilt that she wears like a second skin. In contrast to her usual dramatic wardrobe, the blonde is in simple black sweats and a matching tee, the latter inscribed in blue, "We're all pawns on Benjamin Linus' chess board," to the eternal confusion of her spouse. The babe is asleep, clutching tightly to Arts' old tee shirt, her constant companion, and Magenta is worrying her way through The Hobbit, an unexpectedly unprurient tome, when the doorbell rings.
The little white rabbit Chester knows to give the blonde a wide berth lest he end up boiling away in a pot. He stays in his small bedroom, curled into an overblown cotton ball on his race car bed, a Victoria's Secret Catalog opened in front of him. He scans each page with his beady blue eyes, his little V-slit nose twitching with every breath.
She calls out, "I got this bunnyboy, you can put your paws back under the blankets." Barefoot, the blonde pads to the door, despite her height and the unlikely thrust of her bosom, she could be any young housewife dragged from a literary reverie by the intrusion of the real world. Still, she is cautious enough to touch the sandlewood-scaled stepping razor tucked in her panties, and hesitates by the door, considering, before she slips on a pair of oversized Audrey Hepburn sunglasses left on a table there for just this purpose.
Chester wasn't going to move anyway, not when Magenta could be standing outside of the door with a knife. But he is Audrey's little shadow, and he slowly pours himself from the side of the bed and crawls to the door to eavesdrop, his hind legs little more like little flippers to cover the clackity clack of his claws against the hardwood.
Somehow she knows who is there before she swings the door, barring it with a bare foot as she lets it crack open. The orange haired apparition stands there, grinning, black-painted lips spread wide. "You know the drill, blondie," she says, "you don't really have to invite me in, but it would be polite, after all." Magenta pauses, and then removes her foot and lets the door gape wide, taking a step back to position herself between her visitor and the crib.
The rabbit pokes his head through the wide cotton flaps of his doggy door and watches the exchange, the sudden spike of anxiety to wash over him all his own. The orange haired girl, the one causing all of the trouble - because he hears—of course he does— is standing right there in the living room. Their living room. He should dart out and find Audrey, but he finds he can barely even move.
"Chez Horne at last," Velvet breathes, lazy and soft, "It's so nice to finally see where Rhy'din's celebrated couple lives." She gives Magenta a sly grin, stepping across the threshhold. "And 'lives' is the operative word, isn't it, poor darling" You do know that whatever clever weapon you have tucked against your private parts isn't gonna cut it, right?"
There is no reason to hide the razor any longer, so Magenta slips it free, flicks it open with a practiced gesture, quick as the flush of a grouse. "What do you want, Velvet. There's nothing for you here."
If he could move one paw then he could do it, but Chester is a rabbit and they are not built to deal well with calamity. His breathing increases and eyes the same shade of blue as Audrey's nearly pop out of his skull from fear.
Velvet scans the blonde's tee, and looks back up at her, a smile of delight bowing her black mouth. "Oh but there is, pretty thing. Perhaps you're just a pawn of Velvet Lovetunnel's chessboard, hmmm?" She swings the door shut behind her.
The rabbit flinches, one length of cotton curtain laying between his ears and turning the world green. He shakes his head and frees himself of the strange, impromptu headdress and moves one paw forward.
The orange-haired girl fixes Magenta with her child-blue eyes, it is a gaze calculated to steal the heart and the will, to destroy all loyalty to Audrey and enchain the blonde in passion for her guest. But Magenta learned, during her time in Alma Stuart's seraglio, of the unlikely efficacy of tinted glass in diluting such vampiric seductions. She produces a low groan (and the blonde knows well enough how to simulate passion) and steps forward as if enthralled.
The rabbit's ears prick up at the sounds of the blonde's deception and he pauses, only to start belly crawling a moment later. Quiet, quiet. Just a dust ball rolling out from beneath the couch and nothing more than that.
Velvet opens her arms to receive her victim, oversized ball gown loose on her body, teetering on misfit heels, and the blonde drifts toward her as if reeled in on a string of lust. The other's baby blue eyes sparkle with greed, and just as she is about to close her arms around her apparently willing victim, the blonde sweeps her razor in a quick arc, thumb steadying the silver anodized blade, tempered in mother's blood, hard and deep across the other's gowned bosom.
A squeak. The rabbit brain fights past all of that learned pseudo-humanity and Chester's heart starts beating so fast that he thinks he's having a heart attack. But the blood isn't Magenta's and he settles down just enough to force himself to a new hiding spot behind the couch, his unspoken cheers directed towards the blonde.
Velvet's eyes go wide in surprise, at first only at the subterfuge, and then wider still as her body learns the nature of the cut and sends a panicked message to her brain. Magenta swings again, aiming for the hateful face, desperate to leave a mark that can't be hid. She is fast, for what she is, but she might as well have been swinging through water for all it avails her against the orange-haired girl's speed. "You bitch!", Velvet hisses, and smashes her delicate looking fist into Magenta's face, a blow fit to break a neck.
Chester squeals and it's the sound of a rabbit caught in the clutches of an enemy and he tries to push himself beneath the couch, his large hind legs pushing and kicking and at the expense of the fur and some skin on the top of his skull he finally manages to squeeze by.
The blonde staggers, blood blooming from her mouth, a tooth spit away. Her sight narrows and flickers, sparks and lights dance, and she flirts with unconsciousness. But she cannot, will not, allow herself to do so. Wobbly, she finds her feet and, holding the razor in front of her like a cross, spits out the words, slurred by blood and the ruin of her pretty mouth. "Surprised, huh' I got a million of 'em."
The furry lump beneath the couch arches his back as much as the piece of furniture will allow and he digs his little paws into the thin sheets of cotton protecting the more important foam until a hole is made. His head slip through the perfect sphere of a spring and soon he's burrowing for all that he has.
Magenta does not have a million surprises, of course, the only one worth mentioning already used. She back away from the silent crib, begging her assailant to follow. Velvet matches her step for step, silently willing her damaged body to heal, damn it. "I should have known you'd be tricky," she hisses, the weak always are."
A cushion moves as Chester surfaces, hidden away with all of the lost change and pocket shrapnel that the couch attracts. He watches the two fighters with what may very well be a hopeless look on his otherwise emotionless mug, his eyes as wide as sockets will allow.
The blonde answers, with a strangely emotionless logic despite the damage to her mouth, "weak, huh' How come I'm not the one trying to hold my tits together?"
And it's true, Velvet's , gown is black with spilt blood, and her every step pains her as the wounds open and close their gory mouths.
''C'mon, Blondzilla..." That one chant slips free but Chester is so far gone that he doesn't care. He closes his eyes tight, his ears flopped back on his head like a ponytail on a bobby soxer and he continues with his hopeless, all-too-Audrey hope. "Kick her ***, woman. Knock that orange mop off of her damned head."
If the girl hears the rabbit's belated cheerleading she gives no sign. Infuriated, Velvet is upon the blonde in a rush, too fast for Magenta to respond, One delicate hand grabs the razor-holding wrist and the other closes on the elegant column of the blonde's neck, lifting her of the ground as if she were a doll, and squeezing.
He's useless and he knows it and he stares helplessly from his hiding place, frozen in place and suddenly silent.
There is nothing Magenta can do, the light goes from her eyes, and she recognizes that she is going to die here, She has one last ploy and, while strength remains, lets herself go prematurely limp, lets her assailant taste a victory not yet earned, and Velvet, eager for this death, takes the bait, releases the captured wrist. And using all her love and all her hate to drive her arm, the blonde whips the razor up and cuts across the other's cheek, gaping it, opening tongue and teeth to the air.
The rabbit pisses himself and for once he's not worried about the damned couch, Chester. He tries to scream or shout but nothing comes out but strained squeals and strange, strangled little yips.
Velvet screams with rage, grabbing the blonde's chin with her free hand she forces it up and back, twists until she feels the wet, vegetable pop of the spine's surrender, throws the almost corpse to the floor. "I was just going to kill you, bitch," she whispers, cheek flapping obscenely. "But you have breath in you yet so I'll repay you especially nicely. I'm going to make you over in my image, I'm going to give you eternity to remember that you couldn't really do anything at all." She slips her teeth free, and kneels next to the unconscious woman.
And then the screaming starts. From the crib it comes, not a wail of hunger or loneliness, but a pure and unappeasable anger, rising until it fills the room and the very glass seems to flow within its frames. Velvet covers her ears, stumbles, barely manages to drop the antique pocket watch she's pilfered from her mistress, and stumbles into the night. On the floor, as life leaves it softly, Magenta's body summons up a final smile.
Chester crawls out from his hiding place finally and just drops onto the floor. A wild, frantic scutter places him away from Magenta's corpse and muscles begin to pull, skin absorbs the fur, bones crack and lengthen until a dark haired, blue eyed young man stands by the door with tears running down his boyish cheeks and a quick grab for a coat by the door, a sudden slip into it will have to do and then he's off to find the widow.
Magenta is home alone with Susie, an event unusual enough in its own right. Audrey lingers over paperwork at a separate location, and Tina is roaming the streets of WestEnd attempting to deal with the guilt that she wears like a second skin. In contrast to her usual dramatic wardrobe, the blonde is in simple black sweats and a matching tee, the latter inscribed in blue, "We're all pawns on Benjamin Linus' chess board," to the eternal confusion of her spouse. The babe is asleep, clutching tightly to Arts' old tee shirt, her constant companion, and Magenta is worrying her way through The Hobbit, an unexpectedly unprurient tome, when the doorbell rings.
The little white rabbit Chester knows to give the blonde a wide berth lest he end up boiling away in a pot. He stays in his small bedroom, curled into an overblown cotton ball on his race car bed, a Victoria's Secret Catalog opened in front of him. He scans each page with his beady blue eyes, his little V-slit nose twitching with every breath.
She calls out, "I got this bunnyboy, you can put your paws back under the blankets." Barefoot, the blonde pads to the door, despite her height and the unlikely thrust of her bosom, she could be any young housewife dragged from a literary reverie by the intrusion of the real world. Still, she is cautious enough to touch the sandlewood-scaled stepping razor tucked in her panties, and hesitates by the door, considering, before she slips on a pair of oversized Audrey Hepburn sunglasses left on a table there for just this purpose.
Chester wasn't going to move anyway, not when Magenta could be standing outside of the door with a knife. But he is Audrey's little shadow, and he slowly pours himself from the side of the bed and crawls to the door to eavesdrop, his hind legs little more like little flippers to cover the clackity clack of his claws against the hardwood.
Somehow she knows who is there before she swings the door, barring it with a bare foot as she lets it crack open. The orange haired apparition stands there, grinning, black-painted lips spread wide. "You know the drill, blondie," she says, "you don't really have to invite me in, but it would be polite, after all." Magenta pauses, and then removes her foot and lets the door gape wide, taking a step back to position herself between her visitor and the crib.
The rabbit pokes his head through the wide cotton flaps of his doggy door and watches the exchange, the sudden spike of anxiety to wash over him all his own. The orange haired girl, the one causing all of the trouble - because he hears—of course he does— is standing right there in the living room. Their living room. He should dart out and find Audrey, but he finds he can barely even move.
"Chez Horne at last," Velvet breathes, lazy and soft, "It's so nice to finally see where Rhy'din's celebrated couple lives." She gives Magenta a sly grin, stepping across the threshhold. "And 'lives' is the operative word, isn't it, poor darling" You do know that whatever clever weapon you have tucked against your private parts isn't gonna cut it, right?"
There is no reason to hide the razor any longer, so Magenta slips it free, flicks it open with a practiced gesture, quick as the flush of a grouse. "What do you want, Velvet. There's nothing for you here."
If he could move one paw then he could do it, but Chester is a rabbit and they are not built to deal well with calamity. His breathing increases and eyes the same shade of blue as Audrey's nearly pop out of his skull from fear.
Velvet scans the blonde's tee, and looks back up at her, a smile of delight bowing her black mouth. "Oh but there is, pretty thing. Perhaps you're just a pawn of Velvet Lovetunnel's chessboard, hmmm?" She swings the door shut behind her.
The rabbit flinches, one length of cotton curtain laying between his ears and turning the world green. He shakes his head and frees himself of the strange, impromptu headdress and moves one paw forward.
The orange-haired girl fixes Magenta with her child-blue eyes, it is a gaze calculated to steal the heart and the will, to destroy all loyalty to Audrey and enchain the blonde in passion for her guest. But Magenta learned, during her time in Alma Stuart's seraglio, of the unlikely efficacy of tinted glass in diluting such vampiric seductions. She produces a low groan (and the blonde knows well enough how to simulate passion) and steps forward as if enthralled.
The rabbit's ears prick up at the sounds of the blonde's deception and he pauses, only to start belly crawling a moment later. Quiet, quiet. Just a dust ball rolling out from beneath the couch and nothing more than that.
Velvet opens her arms to receive her victim, oversized ball gown loose on her body, teetering on misfit heels, and the blonde drifts toward her as if reeled in on a string of lust. The other's baby blue eyes sparkle with greed, and just as she is about to close her arms around her apparently willing victim, the blonde sweeps her razor in a quick arc, thumb steadying the silver anodized blade, tempered in mother's blood, hard and deep across the other's gowned bosom.
A squeak. The rabbit brain fights past all of that learned pseudo-humanity and Chester's heart starts beating so fast that he thinks he's having a heart attack. But the blood isn't Magenta's and he settles down just enough to force himself to a new hiding spot behind the couch, his unspoken cheers directed towards the blonde.
Velvet's eyes go wide in surprise, at first only at the subterfuge, and then wider still as her body learns the nature of the cut and sends a panicked message to her brain. Magenta swings again, aiming for the hateful face, desperate to leave a mark that can't be hid. She is fast, for what she is, but she might as well have been swinging through water for all it avails her against the orange-haired girl's speed. "You bitch!", Velvet hisses, and smashes her delicate looking fist into Magenta's face, a blow fit to break a neck.
Chester squeals and it's the sound of a rabbit caught in the clutches of an enemy and he tries to push himself beneath the couch, his large hind legs pushing and kicking and at the expense of the fur and some skin on the top of his skull he finally manages to squeeze by.
The blonde staggers, blood blooming from her mouth, a tooth spit away. Her sight narrows and flickers, sparks and lights dance, and she flirts with unconsciousness. But she cannot, will not, allow herself to do so. Wobbly, she finds her feet and, holding the razor in front of her like a cross, spits out the words, slurred by blood and the ruin of her pretty mouth. "Surprised, huh' I got a million of 'em."
The furry lump beneath the couch arches his back as much as the piece of furniture will allow and he digs his little paws into the thin sheets of cotton protecting the more important foam until a hole is made. His head slip through the perfect sphere of a spring and soon he's burrowing for all that he has.
Magenta does not have a million surprises, of course, the only one worth mentioning already used. She back away from the silent crib, begging her assailant to follow. Velvet matches her step for step, silently willing her damaged body to heal, damn it. "I should have known you'd be tricky," she hisses, the weak always are."
A cushion moves as Chester surfaces, hidden away with all of the lost change and pocket shrapnel that the couch attracts. He watches the two fighters with what may very well be a hopeless look on his otherwise emotionless mug, his eyes as wide as sockets will allow.
The blonde answers, with a strangely emotionless logic despite the damage to her mouth, "weak, huh' How come I'm not the one trying to hold my tits together?"
And it's true, Velvet's , gown is black with spilt blood, and her every step pains her as the wounds open and close their gory mouths.
''C'mon, Blondzilla..." That one chant slips free but Chester is so far gone that he doesn't care. He closes his eyes tight, his ears flopped back on his head like a ponytail on a bobby soxer and he continues with his hopeless, all-too-Audrey hope. "Kick her ***, woman. Knock that orange mop off of her damned head."
If the girl hears the rabbit's belated cheerleading she gives no sign. Infuriated, Velvet is upon the blonde in a rush, too fast for Magenta to respond, One delicate hand grabs the razor-holding wrist and the other closes on the elegant column of the blonde's neck, lifting her of the ground as if she were a doll, and squeezing.
He's useless and he knows it and he stares helplessly from his hiding place, frozen in place and suddenly silent.
There is nothing Magenta can do, the light goes from her eyes, and she recognizes that she is going to die here, She has one last ploy and, while strength remains, lets herself go prematurely limp, lets her assailant taste a victory not yet earned, and Velvet, eager for this death, takes the bait, releases the captured wrist. And using all her love and all her hate to drive her arm, the blonde whips the razor up and cuts across the other's cheek, gaping it, opening tongue and teeth to the air.
The rabbit pisses himself and for once he's not worried about the damned couch, Chester. He tries to scream or shout but nothing comes out but strained squeals and strange, strangled little yips.
Velvet screams with rage, grabbing the blonde's chin with her free hand she forces it up and back, twists until she feels the wet, vegetable pop of the spine's surrender, throws the almost corpse to the floor. "I was just going to kill you, bitch," she whispers, cheek flapping obscenely. "But you have breath in you yet so I'll repay you especially nicely. I'm going to make you over in my image, I'm going to give you eternity to remember that you couldn't really do anything at all." She slips her teeth free, and kneels next to the unconscious woman.
And then the screaming starts. From the crib it comes, not a wail of hunger or loneliness, but a pure and unappeasable anger, rising until it fills the room and the very glass seems to flow within its frames. Velvet covers her ears, stumbles, barely manages to drop the antique pocket watch she's pilfered from her mistress, and stumbles into the night. On the floor, as life leaves it softly, Magenta's body summons up a final smile.
Chester crawls out from his hiding place finally and just drops onto the floor. A wild, frantic scutter places him away from Magenta's corpse and muscles begin to pull, skin absorbs the fur, bones crack and lengthen until a dark haired, blue eyed young man stands by the door with tears running down his boyish cheeks and a quick grab for a coat by the door, a sudden slip into it will have to do and then he's off to find the widow.