((Authors' Notes: This scene happens after Howe's visit to the Inn sometime within the last few weeks, where he thought to re-kidnap Viki and gloated over Lucky's soul being for sale. Sorry for the untimeliness! WARNING, ADULT CONTENT, Rated MA!!!! Thanks to the player of Renna for all the FUN!!! The following is written by both Howe and Renna Players, thanks!))
After a night of disappointments, Howe returns to the warehouse buried in the depths of the Westend. The partners had chosen the local because of the weird manna field that enshrouds the area. It makes finding folks within difficult at best. DCH likes not being found easily when in their private quarters.
Howe's mood is foul, dark and heavy, thunderous upon his hefty brow. He ignores his servants, brusquely brushing past them on his way to his room. His thoughts are still on the inn and the events that had transpired. Batten's beauty irks him, and that the man seemed to key on the very taunts dropped by Renna only the night before rankles. Howe is certain there is a connection, and he hates the man more for it!
"Bet the Bitch wouldn't mind if he wanted to touch her!" He mutters darkly as he slams his bedroom door closed.
The interior of his private room reflects more than he would ever willingly offer up. There are no windows in his room, he has no need of them and thinks of them as little more than security risks anyway. The walls are paneled in rare woods and glisten in the low lamp light. The bed is canopied; the curtains heavy and velvety dark. The d"cor he's surrounded himself with harkens back to turn of the century England, the ending days of the Victorian era and the dawn of the Industrial Age. A time the lawyer is the most familiar and comfortable with. It was the last he'd known when he was still human and hadn't yet paid for his deal with the devil.
In the far corner of the room sits an elegant, antique sideboard. Atop the beautiful piece sits a decanter full of his favored scotch and three rock glasses. Howe pours himself a drink and slams it back, only to pour himself another.
His thoughts go over and over the scene in the inn while his anger continues to mount. He'd been so close, close enough to touch the Seer! If all those eyes hadn't been upon him he might have had the chance to steal her away. What he could do with all that power"! Another drink is slammed back. Of course, Icer and the Statue, (what Howe calls Rachael Wynter) seemed intent on keeping a watchful eye on him. He will find out who that Statue is and make sure the pair of them pay for their unwanted attention! He mutters a few curses before slamming down another glass of scotch.
And who was the classy lady with the mouth' He hadn't seen her before, well, that isn't quite the truth. He doesn't recall her ever getting under his skin before. Another to add to the growing list of Rhy"Din's most unwanted. Pests! All of them nothing more than Pests to be exterminated!
After a consuming a good portion of the decanter's contents, he stumbles about dropping his clothes on his way to bed. Not completely sotted, he is certainly enjoying the pleasant buzz. It chases him into his dreams where there he can have all that he wants! Of course, in his dreams, Renna wants him back.
Somehow dreams, often became reality. In Howe's absence, Renna had found herself the bathroom and " thank everything that is true, a bathtub! Not just one of those plastic ones either; a pure copper-made piece that could have fit more than three clones of Howe lying side to side. Despite its hedonistic size, the ivy and leaf motif embossed around the outside was indeed the top of the iceberg. Did he install this just for her" Or was this indeed the bath he himself used on a " she hoped, a daily basis. A long luxurious bath was had. She even went as far as raiding a bathroom cupboard of any and all bath salts she could throw into the steaming hot water, hoping that maybe it would irk Howe off.
Assuming he did indeed bathe at all. Something told her he did not. Maybe he had an entourage of slaves wipe him down with exfoliating sponges at the end of every evening" That old hand bag he called a body was indeed starting to get a little rough around the edges. She laughed aloud, her voice echoing harshly against the bathroom walls, as she rubbed in some quite expensive shampoo into her long, golden blonde strands. Unfortunately, however, her little party would soon be disrupted by one grumpy man slamming and cursing in the not too far off distance...
Howe was home. What kind of mock-wife would she be if she did not at least welcome her fat little loveable bastard home" Finishing up her bath, she dried off and next raided the oaken draws in the room specified to be her own. And, despite how much she teased the man, he had at least some kind of a taste when it came to d"cor....Victorian. A little too bright for her liking, but that was nothing a few blood splashes wound not fix.
Pulling out a transparent black nightgown, she slipped it on, and regarded herself in the full-bodied mirror located just to the side of her large king-sized bed. She roughed her hair up a bit, blinked so that her blood red eyes had suddenly became an innocent baby blue, and turned, heading straight for her door with quite a determined look upon her features. Howe, was sleeping like a baby, it seems. One big, big baby... Somehow, she had managed to sneak into his room without even making the faintest of sounds, and, as she slowly stood up upon his bed, she padded her way to stand over him. Then, she slowly crouched to straddle his chest. "....Wake up, sleepyhead," she whispered gently, as to calmly wake him from his slumber, unfortunately when she got no response, she simply slapped him in the face. "Wake up!" Howe must have drunk way too much. He had to have because as he peels open sleepy skinbag eyes he can't believe the vision standing over him. Beady eyes blink as he scowls up at the crouching beauty above him.
"What the fu" who the hell let you in here"!" He demands as he moves to toss her off of him. No way in hell is he gonna risk Renna finding him in this kind of compromising situation. Howe's heft works against him, he can't move quick enough to force her off of him, nor can he squirm out from under her. He reaches up to push her aside. "Get the f*ck off of a"me bitch!" Then he picks up the scent of her.
Fresh washed skin, as if she'd just bathed. "Gods, what a hot body she has!" He can't help but think. But there is more to that scent'
"No f*cking way! She aint settin" me up like this!" Howe curses loudly as beady eyes dart towards the door expecting to see his Dark Goddess standing there smirking at him. He thinks, erroneously, that the figure above him must have been created by the Dark Beauty, rather than she is Renna. And he's certain this is some kind of trick, a setup to prove him unworthy or something! He would buck her off of him, but that would look worse if Renna were to waltz in at that precise moment.
Meaty hands fall on the woman's fragile, pale shoulders and he gives her a rough shove away. "You just go back to your Mistress and tell her I don't want no part of this game, hear!? He commands.
After a night of disappointments, Howe returns to the warehouse buried in the depths of the Westend. The partners had chosen the local because of the weird manna field that enshrouds the area. It makes finding folks within difficult at best. DCH likes not being found easily when in their private quarters.
Howe's mood is foul, dark and heavy, thunderous upon his hefty brow. He ignores his servants, brusquely brushing past them on his way to his room. His thoughts are still on the inn and the events that had transpired. Batten's beauty irks him, and that the man seemed to key on the very taunts dropped by Renna only the night before rankles. Howe is certain there is a connection, and he hates the man more for it!
"Bet the Bitch wouldn't mind if he wanted to touch her!" He mutters darkly as he slams his bedroom door closed.
The interior of his private room reflects more than he would ever willingly offer up. There are no windows in his room, he has no need of them and thinks of them as little more than security risks anyway. The walls are paneled in rare woods and glisten in the low lamp light. The bed is canopied; the curtains heavy and velvety dark. The d"cor he's surrounded himself with harkens back to turn of the century England, the ending days of the Victorian era and the dawn of the Industrial Age. A time the lawyer is the most familiar and comfortable with. It was the last he'd known when he was still human and hadn't yet paid for his deal with the devil.
In the far corner of the room sits an elegant, antique sideboard. Atop the beautiful piece sits a decanter full of his favored scotch and three rock glasses. Howe pours himself a drink and slams it back, only to pour himself another.
His thoughts go over and over the scene in the inn while his anger continues to mount. He'd been so close, close enough to touch the Seer! If all those eyes hadn't been upon him he might have had the chance to steal her away. What he could do with all that power"! Another drink is slammed back. Of course, Icer and the Statue, (what Howe calls Rachael Wynter) seemed intent on keeping a watchful eye on him. He will find out who that Statue is and make sure the pair of them pay for their unwanted attention! He mutters a few curses before slamming down another glass of scotch.
And who was the classy lady with the mouth' He hadn't seen her before, well, that isn't quite the truth. He doesn't recall her ever getting under his skin before. Another to add to the growing list of Rhy"Din's most unwanted. Pests! All of them nothing more than Pests to be exterminated!
After a consuming a good portion of the decanter's contents, he stumbles about dropping his clothes on his way to bed. Not completely sotted, he is certainly enjoying the pleasant buzz. It chases him into his dreams where there he can have all that he wants! Of course, in his dreams, Renna wants him back.
Somehow dreams, often became reality. In Howe's absence, Renna had found herself the bathroom and " thank everything that is true, a bathtub! Not just one of those plastic ones either; a pure copper-made piece that could have fit more than three clones of Howe lying side to side. Despite its hedonistic size, the ivy and leaf motif embossed around the outside was indeed the top of the iceberg. Did he install this just for her" Or was this indeed the bath he himself used on a " she hoped, a daily basis. A long luxurious bath was had. She even went as far as raiding a bathroom cupboard of any and all bath salts she could throw into the steaming hot water, hoping that maybe it would irk Howe off.
Assuming he did indeed bathe at all. Something told her he did not. Maybe he had an entourage of slaves wipe him down with exfoliating sponges at the end of every evening" That old hand bag he called a body was indeed starting to get a little rough around the edges. She laughed aloud, her voice echoing harshly against the bathroom walls, as she rubbed in some quite expensive shampoo into her long, golden blonde strands. Unfortunately, however, her little party would soon be disrupted by one grumpy man slamming and cursing in the not too far off distance...
Howe was home. What kind of mock-wife would she be if she did not at least welcome her fat little loveable bastard home" Finishing up her bath, she dried off and next raided the oaken draws in the room specified to be her own. And, despite how much she teased the man, he had at least some kind of a taste when it came to d"cor....Victorian. A little too bright for her liking, but that was nothing a few blood splashes wound not fix.
Pulling out a transparent black nightgown, she slipped it on, and regarded herself in the full-bodied mirror located just to the side of her large king-sized bed. She roughed her hair up a bit, blinked so that her blood red eyes had suddenly became an innocent baby blue, and turned, heading straight for her door with quite a determined look upon her features. Howe, was sleeping like a baby, it seems. One big, big baby... Somehow, she had managed to sneak into his room without even making the faintest of sounds, and, as she slowly stood up upon his bed, she padded her way to stand over him. Then, she slowly crouched to straddle his chest. "....Wake up, sleepyhead," she whispered gently, as to calmly wake him from his slumber, unfortunately when she got no response, she simply slapped him in the face. "Wake up!" Howe must have drunk way too much. He had to have because as he peels open sleepy skinbag eyes he can't believe the vision standing over him. Beady eyes blink as he scowls up at the crouching beauty above him.
"What the fu" who the hell let you in here"!" He demands as he moves to toss her off of him. No way in hell is he gonna risk Renna finding him in this kind of compromising situation. Howe's heft works against him, he can't move quick enough to force her off of him, nor can he squirm out from under her. He reaches up to push her aside. "Get the f*ck off of a"me bitch!" Then he picks up the scent of her.
Fresh washed skin, as if she'd just bathed. "Gods, what a hot body she has!" He can't help but think. But there is more to that scent'
"No f*cking way! She aint settin" me up like this!" Howe curses loudly as beady eyes dart towards the door expecting to see his Dark Goddess standing there smirking at him. He thinks, erroneously, that the figure above him must have been created by the Dark Beauty, rather than she is Renna. And he's certain this is some kind of trick, a setup to prove him unworthy or something! He would buck her off of him, but that would look worse if Renna were to waltz in at that precise moment.
Meaty hands fall on the woman's fragile, pale shoulders and he gives her a rough shove away. "You just go back to your Mistress and tell her I don't want no part of this game, hear!? He commands.