Topic: Built to be Bad

Morana · Date: 2012-08-04 22:59 EST

Blood dripped down onto a black-and-white marble floor, one slow drop at a time, plink-beat-plink-beat-plink. Morana sat three steps up from the base of the grand curving staircase, red-headed and green-eyed and wearing not much more than a cotton shift that had started out white and great splashes of crimson-brown drying blood. There was a knife dangling loosely from one hand; the other held her chin cupped in the palm while she looked at the slaughtered bodies scattered over the hallway like a child?s discarded dolls.

There was one of those, too, a little thing with a porcelain head and rag body and fake blond curls soaking up blood from the puddle it was resting in. A child?s chubby hand still held one leg; the rest of the child lay several feet away, wide-eyed and staring in forever fear. Green eyes skittered over the child, back to the man who?d been head of the family. His body was ruins, and it was his blood that splashed her. She stood, let the knife fall away ? didn?t even notice when she stepped on the blade and sliced open the ball of her foot.

She didn?t limp as she walked over to the little bloody doll, though she would later. No, her eyes were empty, barren as she looked down at the fallen toy. She bent, pried away the small hand, and let the flesh fall back to marble floor with a slap. Her bloody fingers combed through the matted doll-hair slowly. ?I didn?t know you were here. I?d something more subtle ? and more fitting ? in mind.?

?Of course I?m here.? The man coming up the hallway sounded almost annoyed. ?You were taking too long, I got sent to take care of things. My way. His way. Or have you forgotten again?? Fastidious, polished leather oxfords stepped around a puddle of the blood and? other remnants? on the floor. His clothes, his skin, his hair were nearly as thick with blood as hers, but his shoes were spotlessly clean.

?No. I haven?t forgotten. But the man was the only target, darling. The rest wasn?t necessary, and it will be harder to re-establish some semblance of control here.? She caught her fingernails in a snarl of fiber, worked idly at the knot while her eyes skittered past the child?s body, over the woman, the teen, the maidservant and the butler, settled again on the master of the house.

?You have forgotten again.? Annoyance rode even stronger in the man?s voice. ?That?s all right; He?ll be along in a moment.? He pulled a clean handkerchief from his pocket, started to wipe the drying blood from his face and hands.

Her head jerked up with surprise. ?He ? I didn?t know that.?

?You weren?t meant to know.? A third voice, masculine, cultured, deeper than the first man?s. Marius walked down the marble stairs, impeccably dressed in a charcoal-gray business suit and polished black business shoes. ?I didn?t tell you that I wanted control here, did I? I wanted the matter taken care of, promptly. Your performance was? disappointing.?

The mild disapproval in Marius? voice struck her ? physically; she dropped to her knees, curled over until her palms, then her elbows, met the bloodstained marble floor. The doll had fallen again, tumbled to land face down next to her left knee. She stared at it, while wracking guilt and pain tore through the body Marius had created. She heard the click of footsteps on marble coming closer, closed her eyes when she felt his probes sliding through her mind, more intimate than any lover, more painful than the slices she?d made with her knife.

Marius crouched down, spoke into the shell of her ear, almost lovingly. ?You keep trying to think for yourself, love. That?s not what I built you for. I think it?s time I reminded you of exactly what you are.?

Morana · Date: 2012-08-04 23:28 EST

?What is love?? Sprawled horizontally across a tumbled bed, Morana?s skin was slicked with sweat, strands of hair clinging to her cheeks and spread across the sheets. Her voice was remote, coolly detached and thick with the efforts of moments before. ?They say it to me, sometimes ? ?I love you? ? and they lie. But I don?t know what the truth would be.?

Marius looked over at the bed where he?d spent himself and went on buttoning up his shirt. ?That?s because there is no truth. ?Love? is what people use to control each other when they don?t want to use fear or anger. It?s more subtle ? you should like it.?

?Sometimes they?re lying to themselves when they say it. I can feel that, too. They want to believe that they ?love? me. But what do they mean when they say it?? After a moment she twisted, curled up to lounging on the mattress. She was sex and sin and desire, shamelessly naked and inviting. Her voice was still that neutral, observational emptiness.

?They don?t even know. But it?s a lie you should understand ? I?ll leave you a list of films to watch, books to read. And that reminds me, I?ve another assignment for you.? After another glance at the bed, Marius paused in his buttoning, started to undo the work he had just done. ?You should enjoy this one.?

Her expression didn?t falter or change when Marius went from dressing to undressing. ?Really, darling? What do you have for me??

Marius folded the shirt neatly back over the chair beside the bed and reached down to unbutton his pants. ?You?re to go to Boston, Massachusetts, on Earth. Establish a presence there ? a journalist, I think. Articles, investigations, so forth. Be creative, and get acquainted with a man named Jordan Whitforth III.?

?What do you want me to do with him?? Marius would use her. He had created her, after all ? sex was just one of the things he used her for, and the least of those things. Her mouth curved up in a smile as she lied to the Architect with a subtle shift of her hips.

?Make him want you. Make him think that he loves you ? you?ll have to read those books and watch those films, first ? and that he can save you from the error of your ways.? The pants joined the shirt in orderly folds over the chair. ?Mr. Whitforth is not unaware of our presence, nor is he fully human. He had some priestly training, so he will know what you are.?

Marius paused where he stood by the bed and his mouth pulled up in a thin smile. ?I?d rather not have to make another, so preserve yourself, but make sure you destroy Mr. Whitforth. Don?t kill him. Destroy him. He?s been troublesome to me ? I want him to suffer.?

?Of course.? She spread her arms and shifted again, wanton invitation. The mattress shifted with the extra weight as Marius kneeled, and bent, and took. Morana?s eyes remained open, remained empty and staring over his shoulder, consumed by Void, while her body moved at his desire and command.

Morana · Date: 2012-08-05 00:50 EST

Philanthropist Cuts Ribbon at Renovated Church

Jordan Whitforth III cut the ceremonial ribbon yesterday at St. Anne?s Catholic Church in Watertown. The church, which had been closed for several years due to lack of funding for repairs, has been fully restored thanks in large part to the generous donations and fund-raising efforts of Mr. Whitforth. The ceremony was also attended by?

?Mr. Whitforth. Mr. Whitforth! Melissa Groves, Boston World. May I have just a few minutes of your time, please? It would mean a great deal to me.? Morana?s hair was a ray of golden sunshine in the gray and sober church, and her smile was almost as bright. She was dressed professionally, no question of that, but somehow managed to radiate cheerful sex appeal at the same time.

Jordan Whitforth turned away from his sober contemplation of the appetizers and gave her a reflexive smile. He was a good-looking man in his late forties, with streaks of silver threading through his dark hair, and a wedding ring was firmly in place on his left hand. ?Of course, my dear. What can ? I ? do for you?? The falter wasn?t terribly obvious, and her smile kicked up another notch. Melissa Groves had beautiful large blue eyes to go with the sunshine-blonde hair, and she used them to good effect.

Whitforth Enterprises Beats Kane Inc. To the Punch

The CEO of Whitforth Enterprises announced today that they have finalized a contract with the Massachusetts Institute of Technology to?.

?Oh, but darling, what did he say when he saw the dog?? Melissa was laughing over a glass of wine and the remains of chocolate mousse. The room service tray rested on the coffee table, and she sat across from Jordan Whitforth on the hotel sofa. Her hair was down and she was wearing a summer dress the color of her eyes. He was laughing too, and shaking his head as he reached to refill the wine glasses.

?Nothing ? he was sputtering too hard. When he could talk again all he could get out was, ?Pink?!? Jordan relaxed back into his chair and reached up to loosen the tie at his throat. Sunlight gleamed through the window and reflected off his wedding ring where it sat next to the room service tray.

Jordan Whitforth Announces Candidacy for Senate Seat

In a three o?clock press conference, Jordan Whitforth III, CEO of Whitforth Enterprises and noted philanthropist, announced his bid for the recently opened out-of-cycle Massachusetts Senate seat. His wife, Gillian Whitforth, was noticeably absent from his side during?

Music threaded through another hotel suite, slow jazz, and Melissa swayed in a circle with Jordan, her hands resting lightly against his back. ?How long have you known what I am, darling??

?That you were a demon? Since the first interview. But there?s something different about you, I can feel that, too. I should have called Father Patrick for an exorcism, you know.? Jordan slid his hands down to cup her ass while they swayed through another circle.

?Mmm. I?m glad you didn?t. That wouldn?t have been pleasant for anyone ? and it wouldn?t have worked, in any case. The conference went off brilliantly today, darling. I?m very proud of you.?

Senator Whitforth Introduces Research Reform Bill

Too often, critical medical research is hampered by overly restrictive bureaucracy and layer upon layer of regulation?

Sky-high heels tick-tapped over a tiled floor. ?You give me the best presents, darling ? I love these.? One red fingernail tapped the halo?d wing of her right earring and set it swaying.

?Just the earrings? What about the medical bill?? Bitterness threaded through Jordan?s voice as he sloshed bourbon into a glass, took a long swallow. ?That was for you, too.?

?Oh, Jordan. That was political.? Melissa tapped over to his chair and slid into his lap. Her hands ran up his chest to frame his face, and her wide blue eyes looked squarely into his. ?These are personal. They mean something.?

?They mean I love you.?

Scandal Rocks Massachusetts Senate

Senator Jordan Whitforth announced today that he is divorcing his wife of twenty-two years. In his statement?

?You?re such a liar, darling.?

?I love you. Doesn?t that mean anything to you??

?Let me show you ? ?

Whitforth Enterprises Under Scrutiny

The federal government announced today that it has opened parallel investigations into the accounting and operations of Whitforth Enterprises?

?You did this. Corrupted my CFO, urged my R&D development to rush the results. Four hundred patients died ? died! Because of you.? Jordan sat with his hands raking through his hair, tie half-unknotted and the jacket tossed over the back of his chair.

?Yes, darling, I did.? Melissa?s voice was calm and fond. ?What will you do now??

Jordan went on as if he hadn?t heard her. His face was twisted into agony when he looked up. ?You know what the hell of it is? I still love you. It doesn?t matter, none of it matters, if you aren?t here with me.?

?But I won?t be here with you, Jordan. I told you, I?ll be leaving in the morning.? She watched him with that faint curve of her lush mouth, and some amusement in her baby-blue eyes. The smile turned up a little further when he sobbed, a wrenching sound that seemed torn from deep in his chest.

?I could feel it, I can feel it in you. You could have loved me. Don?t ? Don?t go, please, Melissa. Don?t leave me. I love you.? It was his only weapon, and he used it while he begged.

?Good-bye, Jordan.?

Ex-Senator Whitforth Found Dead

Former Senator Jordan Whitforth was found dead in his Lexington home early this morning. Police responded to an anonymous call-in report of gunfire at the residence at 5:32 AM and found Mr. Whitforth dead, apparently of a self-inflicted gunshot wound. While the autopsy results are still pending, at this time it appears that Jordan Whitforth III committed suicide?

Morana · Date: 2012-08-05 00:55 EST

Sirens. There were always sirens when I saw her. Loud ones, obnoxious, screaming the way they do, you know? And the lights, flashing red and blue. Every god-damned time I saw her, there were those lights. Rank and file never can just turn off the lights on their cars, have to let everybody know how big and bad they are. Look at us, we?re here to protect you. Forget that you can?t see sh*t with that light everywhere, pick up any evidence. End up having to bring in the floodlights half the time, if it happens at night, and that just makes things worse. Then there?s red and blue strobes through this bright white light that makes it impossible to see into the shadows.

So that?s how I always saw her. Through these sirens blaring loud enough to give a zombie a headache, and colored in by these red and blue flashes underneath the bright white and the shadows that made it so I couldn?t even see the other half of her face, half the time. Press badge photo didn?t do her justice, though. Because Jesus, she had those eyes, this uncanny amber-gold the same color as this lion?s I saw in a zoo, once. The photo just made them look kind of light brownish. And she wasn?t smiling in her photo. You ever saw her smile, you?d never forget it. I didn?t even know what breath-taking meant until the first time she really smiled at me and I no-sh*t forgot to breathe for a second.

But it was all part of the game, you know? Because she?d turn that smile on me and ask me a question, and damn if I didn?t want to answer just to see her smile again. Sometimes I did, and then kicked myself for it. Never did find out how she always made it past the barriers we had set up against the press, either ? but I could make a few guesses and most of them come back to the same thing. Sex sells, you know? And it?s not like she actually gave it out for a story ? that she ever told me about, anyway ? but she had this way of looking at a guy and making him think that if he just did enough, she would.

She did, for me, once. Luckiest guy in the goddamned world, right here. There were the lights and the sirens, of course. There were always the lights and sirens; I never saw her except on a crime scene when she was out there to get the story. This was a hell of a case ? literally, the murderer was some kind of demonologist or something. His apartment looked like something had come in and just shredded the whole damned place. There was blood everywhere and it stank like something had been dead a week before that.

Wasn?t a robbery, that was for damn sure. Even if someone stole something from the mess, we?d never be able to figure out what. So I?d just come downstairs from talking to the next-door neighbor ? who claimed he didn?t hear anything, what a crock of sh*t. No way that he couldn?t hear whatever that was. Went downstairs, was thinking really hard about bumming a smoke off Janssen, and there she was. Behind the damn barriers again, with the lights and shadows cutting her into pieces, the red and blue painting up her skin like some bizarre Andy Warhol picture, and damn did I want her.

Not just because she looked like someone made her for f*cking (the breasts, the hips, her legs ? her mouth!) but because upstairs someone was dead in one of the most terrible ways I?ve seen in a long, long time and I really wanted to remember how it felt to be alive. Last time I felt this way was in the war after ? well, hell, there were a lot of times I felt that way then. Just want to f*ck something and prove that you?re still alive to do it.

So she started with her questions, and I was just watching her mouth move. Answered all of her questions without even thinking about it, because I was aching and she was right there. The way she smiled at me, that was almost enough to do it. Then ? I must have been out of my damn head, is all. She wanted to go up and see the scene. Hadn?t even had Forensics in there yet, no photos, nothing. And I took her up, not a word against it. Walked behind her up the stairs and watched her a** in that little skirt ? that was almost enough, again.

That?s when I got the shock of my life. Because it turns out that murder got her hot. Excited. The same way it did me, I guess ? human nature, right? Get around too much death and you have to prove you?re alive. Next thing I know, the apartment door is locked and we?re in this little stand-up bathroom, locked in there, too, and she?s wrapped around me with her skirt over her hips and her legs around my waist.

Goddamn did she taste good, too. For a few minutes that?s all it was, just this hot, urgent mess, I was thrusting, she was moaning ? clawed up my back but good when she came and I blew my load. Like I said, I must have been out of my damn head. So after it?s over, I tuck it away and duck out, back downstairs. She takes a minute to get cleaned up and comes out of the bathroom, down those stairs looking like a million bucks, like none of it happened at all.

And let me tell you, I know she didn?t plant any of that evidence they found against me in the apartment ? well, some of the ?fluids? might have been from that, but can?t really blame her for that, either, you know? I shoulda wrapped up or something before we went at it like a couple of f*cking teenagers in a dead man?s bathroom. But she wasn?t carrying a goddamned thing on her but that little notebook and pen, and believe me, there wasn?t anything hiding under her clothes but her. So it must?a been someone else that had it in for me. Made it look like I tore the guy and his place up, with that fake diary that made it look like we were gay lovers (believe me, I ain?t gay!) and that I was getting revenge for some cheating or something.

It wasn?t her fault. I was just the luckiest goddamned guy in the world, to get a chance with her before they locked me up.