hotlink (
hotlink) wrote in
bakerstreet2018-05-16 08:42 pm
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
Entry tags:
Monster and the Maiden Fair
![]() There's a long precedent in folklore and myth of beautiful young people - both men and women - being kidnapped by monsters: dragons, beasts, goblins, demons, elves, vampires, wolves, or even evil humans. In the end, however, these prisoners are almost always rescued and brought back to civilization to live a normal and happy life. But what if they didn't want to leave their jailor? They've seen behind the surface and have begun to sympathize with this "monster;" no, more than that, they've fallen for them. Will this story have a happy ending? Will the monster believe that anyone could love them? Most importantly, though, can the two of them be left alone without any attempts at a "rescue?" how to play
|
no subject
This was Leon's way. A new family hailed from over the snow-capped Alps, unknown and easily missed once they'd been slaughtered. Their house was beautiful and grand. It turned Ambrose's stomach to see its lovely design become a richly-decorated façade, a golden veil over a bloodied maw of deadly sharp teeth.
He's too young, and too distracted. He still can't bear to press himself into these mortals' thoughts -- knowing what will reflect back unto him. The horror, the pain, the fear, the pleas. Monster. Yes, he knows. He watches them wither and rot and sees his fellow fledglings, radiant and decadent, and knows that the worst monsters do not appear as ugly and vile on the skin.
It's his pitfall, as he comes down to feed tonight. Leon says seeing their deception is easy, but Ambrose isn't strong enough to look for it. He comes to the young woman, richly-hued skin and long black, silken hair. Her resolve is somewhat of a comfort, her strength something of an assurance that she will not buckle under Ambrose. She's a survivor, he thinks -- does he simply infer it, or has he slipped into her mind, by accident? He doesn't know, and while he would rather leave her be then, he thinks he would rather not any of these indulgingly cruel 'brothers' have her.
He hears the knife rip his shirt and dig into his abdomen before he feels the pain. It's when he contracts the muscles around the foreign objects to move that he feels it, mouth gaping, eyes wide. It's alarming -- more than just unexpected from a captive. Ambrose has never been stabbed before.
What an uncomfortable sensation... He's dazed by it, a wet choking sound skipping out of his throat as one hand closes around the metal handle -- it's still warm from her holding it -- while the other drops and grabs her leg, just above the ankle, as he doubles over. Trembling, he jerks the knife out, gasping a sigh. He tenses around the wound as it knits itself back together, finding that he has to will it to happen.
His grip on the woman is iron-firm, but not bruising. Ambrose pants as he stares down at the dull knife, as if attempting to divine something from the gleam of the bright red blood. He can't help himself, and licks it clean in his stunned silence.
They've both managed to remain compliantly quiet here, whether if for the woman it's been for fear, or something else. Ambrose finally looks at her, but he does't look betrayed -- rather, as if he's just awoken, as if seeing her more clearly now than he has up until this very night. He sees her with understanding.
"...Are you going to attempt an escape," Ambrose whispers, voice quivering as he keeps his tone soft. He doesn't let go of the young woman, his grip almost more pleading than it is commanding.
no subject
She can't help it. She looks at his stomach, where all his stolen blood washes out. It weights his shirt down and makes it stick to his skin and the knife, means Lee can't see the cut itself as he pulls out the blade. He doesn't move like someone dying. Will he survive a knife to the stomach? Lee wouldn't, but then, Lee wouldn't survive on blood alone, either.
Lee kicks viciously at the hand on her ankle, the sole of her free foot colliding with a hand that feels like it was carved from wood. She makes a sound then, when it doesn't budge, a low helpless roar that only comes through gritted teeth. "Of course!" She stares at him, blunt fingernails grabbing at the stone floor, trying to find anything to grab onto, to pull herself back and away from him. His eyes look so sad and liquid, like they always do. "How can you even ask me that? Doesn't everyone here try to escape?"