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Pasion Pasiva

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Pasion Pasiva last won the day on August 25 2018

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About Pasion Pasiva

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    The Black Queen

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  1. What was it like to be so lost inside of one’s own head that one did not see the gleam of a dagger as it shone across their face? What was it like to be so lost that one somehow muted all of those special abilities that gave them an edge -- such as a heightened sense of smell, sound, taste? What was it like to be a useless apex predator? A vampyre without any fangs... The seat beside her was taken, and the man who occupied it put his hand upon the polished bar top and tapped his fingers. Gabriela didn’t lift her gaze, she didn’t so much as stirr from her reverie. She didn’t notice him come in, which could have been a forgivable offense considering he was nothing more than a foggy memory now, but as he sat there besides her for a heartbeat or two, taking his time to study her, it was a damnable offense that she did not even realize she was being watched. Her mind was elsewhere, drifting in an odd state of blankness. Where do I go? To Patia...Would he come... Raphael offered her a conditional freedom -- a slackened leash to go forth and explore the world, for he assumed that it was merely wanderlust that urged her from his side and not a deep and profound hatred for his person. He seemed utterly incapable of imagining why she would ever carry anything other than love and devotion for him in her heart. He was beyond despicable. Everything about this situation, about her current location, about her very existence was an affront to true freedom. Raphael was mocking her without even trying to do it. Teasing at her need for space by giving it to her, by being arrogant enough to believe she would come back. And why was he so certain of this? Because he had taken away everything else in the world she could want. She had given Philippe to the devil and walked away from him as he pleaded for her to stay. The Blood God questioned their devotion to one another, and the depth of love that the devil and vampyre shared, he laughed at it, he ridiculed it, he teased them both by dangling freedom within their grasp, or at least within hers -- but it was like he didn’t understand that he had broken it all. It was like he expected true love to endure all, and then he set himself as the man to prove it could not. Raphael had won. There was no more love. There was no more great romance. Her mind did not turn to Roen now that she was free to pursue him, nor did the devil seek her out once her presence went missing from the islands as he would have surely done once upon a time. Instead, she turned to blankness for she knew it was all a guise for true enslavement, and Roen continued forward with his pursuit of happiness. Raphael won in every sense of the word. And she had never belonged to him more than she did now, a hundred thousand miles away from his clutches. “A fascinating place to find you, your majesty. The venue seems rather beneath one of your class…” she finally heard the sound of his fingernails rapping across the tabletop, “But then, I suppose I would consider such a place a bit beneath me as well, yet here I am.” Was there anything more sobering than hate? It was pure and sheer hate that drew her forth from her misery. It woke her and made her glorious once more. From her slumped position, Gabriela was sitting up right, golden furious eyes set on the listless, dull eyes that stared back at her from underneath Rodan’s hooded face. In a gesture that could not have aptly be measured for time, she had her hand tangled in a fistful of his cloak’s material, right at the collar. She was drawing him up without a word. He wondered if she would kill him here -- out in the open. He didn’t know that she had nothing to lose, and that the most she had felt in weeks was this -- hatred for him, and a remembrance that she made a promise to kill him. But then something strange struck her, a familiar scent that was totally new. With her hand firmly set upon the man, she risked taking her eyes from his face and turned her head to sweep her gaze across the room. Vivian was back with Alazar, happily married and dealing with the fall out of having lost Antigua to the fall of Ilyria. As for Hunter, he was still in torpor, sleeping soundly while horror and misery covered the land. She could account for her two fledglings -- but not for this third. She had never made a third. “Perhaps her majesty would indulge my curiosity? Why is she here in a place such as this?” “Did you make one of your monstrosities using my blood?” She did not know how Rodan’s powers worked -- she did not know about the transfer of information. What would he learn should he set his hand upon her? Would he learn that she was nearly five months pregnant? That she was carrying Raphael’s son -- a pureblooded vampyre, the first to be carried since she was born more than three hundred years ago? How much could this demonic man learn from a graze, a caress, a bit of careless rough handling. Gabriela was trembling with anger.
  2. There was no grand announcement when the queen entered. Just the sound of the doors opening, and of a few polite and proper greetings by the staff. Then there was the sound of her heels clicking on the polished floors, the shuffle of her long and full skirt, and that of chairs being pushed back and people getting up on their feet. Gabriela walked past them all without any acknowledgment, at least not until she reached her seat, which was pulled back by a servant and neatly tucked in when she sat. It all seemed like a well choreographed performance. But this was not a dance she wanted to partake in. “Please, sit down,” she said, after a thoughtful pause and a glance around the table. She couldn’t help but stare at Rou, taking in the sight of her strange costume. It wasn’t that Gabriela was unaccustomed to exotic appear -- she was quite fond of it actually. But rather, it looked oddly misplaced upon the voluptuous woman who seemed just as intent on hiding her feminine curves as she did on hiding her sincere feelings. It all felt very much out of place. And that choker upon her neck -- it rang thick of Raphael’s stylistic choices and made her stomach churn with discomfort. Suddenly, dropping her gaze away from the woman and focusing for a fraction of a second upon the elegant design that was stamped on the fine china set before her, she found herself longing for the devil’s presence. He had insisted that she handle this situation, being that he was far too busy with their son and the management of a previously poorly managed country. Whether he simply did not want to deal with his old friend because of annoyance or heartache, Gabriela could not tell and she did not dare to pry any further. He was more monster than gentleman sage these days, and it seemed that any and all excuses to showcase his anger were not only acceptable but welcome. So she took this as a mission of sorts. Perhaps, if she was good to his friend, if she was good with this episode of diplomacy she could earn some of his tenderness back. Gabriela licked her lips, a surprisingly human gesture, before tucking her hands under the table and upon her crossed legs. She sat on a cloud of black silken material, and adjusted the cuffs on her sleeves nervously, but out of sight. Rou was expecting something out of this -- out of her -- she could tell by the heat and the anger in the woman’s eyes. But Gabriela had nothing to offer. She was struggling with her new life under Roen’s command, and as Philippe’s mother. There were greater challenges now than some imagined feud that she had never intended to participate in. Even so, the whole of it was important to Rou, and therefore, Gabriela would have to treat it with some level of importance for the sake of her friendship with Roen. “I hope you all rested -- you’re in for a treat,” she smiled, and nothing about it seemed forced. If anything, there was something timid about the expression as she sat there, perfectly straight with her thick, braided hair, pulled over one of her small shoulders and used almost like a shield against the world. “You’ll all be having a traditional Spanish dinner, starting with a garlic soup.” No sooner had she announced the first course than the doors opened and servants poured in, each carrying a tray that was delivered to each of the guests. Down before Rou and Zenahriel, deep, silver bowls were set with a steaming broth of garlic, ham, and vegetables, topped with a lovely poached egg and served with a thick slice of brown bread that had yet to be buttered. Of course the queen was served nothing, but she observed curiously to see if anyone would be brave enough to take the first taste -- her golden eyes were set expectantly upon Zenahriel.
  3. I know I have a fickle heart and a bitterness And a wandering eye, and a heaviness in my head But don't you remember, don't you remember? The reason you loved me before, baby please remember me once more
  4. She pushed aside the dark curtain and stepped into the smoke filled foyer. Laser lights, in radio-active green and sapphire blue, were blinking, bouncing, and vibrating through the plums of smoggy air, lighting up different sections of the fumes. The lights were dancing in time with the deafening music that was blaring through the speakers, while the polished floor under her booted feet, throbbed with the heaviness of the base that was shaking the entire building. Immediately, she felt the onset of a headache. A young woman behind a tall counter, dressed in a tight black vest, a collared white shirt, and sporting a sharp little white bow-tie, smiled at Gabriela and asked for her coat. Gabriela could hardly hear the woman's voice through the music and roaring crowd, but she managed to read her lips and her position at the entrance of the establishment clearly denoted her job. The Black Queen shrugged off her coat, realizing there was no reason to keep it on now that she wasn’t trying to hide her silver daggers. Off came the heavy wool garment, which she placed over the counter. The young woman smiled again, took the coat and went to hang it in a deceptively small wardrobe. When she returned, she set down a small plastic tab with a number on it -- 9. Pocketing her number in the back pocket of her breeches, Gabriela continued forward into the strange wilderness that awaited her. Much to her surprise, there weren’t many people dancing. Most of the heavily moving bodies consisted of those sculptured women and men who stood upon table tops, or hung from poles that were littered throughout the massive room. They were gyrating their hips, shaking their thighs -- dipping, snapping, rolling back up with all the finesse of a feline creature. Scantily clad, the smoke and the lights fell across their mostly exposed skin like garments of gosling. It was with a hint of a snarl that she realized some of these people’s flesh was wet -- self-inflicted wounds wept blood across a bicep or down a thigh. They were there to tantalize the patrons, but she felt far from tempted. Disgust was a more apt word for what she felt as her stomach twisted into knots. Regardless, she went forward toward the long bar -- the busiest area of the room. Come forward and get your teeth smoked, word Come forward and get your teeth smoked, word Come forward and get your teeth smoked, word Come forward and get your Come forward and get your Come forward and get your Come forward and get your Come forward and get your A tall stool became available as a man and his date slipped away after acquiring their drink order. Before anyone else could lay claim, she shimmied her way between the tightly packed bodies, and laid claim to the seat. Of course she was careful to keep a hand over the slight swell of her belly -- mostly out of reflex. It would take quite a bit of force to put her unborn child in any kind of damage. But this was a place for unnatural so who knew what kind of beasties were navigating the crowds along with her. Better safe than sorry, she thought as she remembered Raphael’s words. I’ll find you. I’ll kill you. Don’t be shocked by the tone of my voice Check out my new weapon, weapon of choice Don’t be shocked by the tone of my voice Check out my new weapon, weapon of choice The heel of her boot was hooked on the support beam running across the legs of the stool. The other foot was firmly planted on the floor, tapping in time with the music. She sat, perched on the very edge of her seat as she glanced up and down the bar. The staff looked overwhelmed, but they still managed to move in a way that was reminiscent of a beautiful but chaotic dance. Summerset eyes, glowing a warm gold, watched them intently before she pushed off with her planted foot and scooted herself fully onto her seat. It seemed like it would be a while before anyone could serve her -- best to get comfortable and enjoy the music. Listen to the sound of my voice Check out my new weapon, weapon of choice...
  5. “This child of ours, Gabriela, was made by no deal. He is not the result of scheming, or plotting, of rape or violence. This child exists only because we both wanted him to.” There was only one way to survive the proximity with which he assaulted her. She had to disengage emotionally and physically. She had to become the pretty, little play thing he wanted her to be -- so she sat there, her legs parted on either side of his thigh like a child who could not escape from a nightmare, while he forced her to stroke her pregnant belly. There was something undeniably predatory about Raphael, but it cut far below the surface of his thirst for blood. There was a thirst for power in the elder, for control beyond what could be gained upon the political field. It was a thirst for literal control over another beings life. And that thirst caused him to toe the icy shores of sadism with a gleeful sort of excitement she had never seen in anyone else. And the tragedy was that he was so good at it. He enjoyed the emotional torture he inflected, his love was not separated from the pain he felt, as a father might in regards to his child, that he had to inflict upon her. Where other lovers had been cruel to her, their heavy-handed tactics always seemed born from a place of turmoil and torment. They feared losing her and therefore felt compelled to do what they could to keep her. She was very much a possession, but a beloved possession -- a treasured thing, a chosen one. To Raphael, she was not some pretty jewel to hoard. She was a living, breathing thing that he could push and prod. Like a cruel child, he sought to learn her inner workings by cutting away pieces of her anatomy. And this particular experiment was no different. They both knew he wasn’t granting her freedom -- not really. They both knew that he expected her to return. This was a longer leash, and not the lack of a collar. But she wasn’t going to argue the point with him, not when he himself was delivering her into the closest position she could ever be in to actually attain what she wanted. She had to play nice. “You know where you belong, Gabriela. Enjoy the world and its wonders, for there are only so many to keep you entertained. Endure its cruelty, its indifference, its merciless prejudice and hatred. You will bore of it all eventually, when you realize what I have begun to realize, and you will come home. You will come home. And I will be here to greet you, my love, for that is the role I play. Because I choose to.” His nose was buried in her hair and his lips were grazing the side of her throat. He was breathing hotly against her collar while his one hand, upon her hip, squeezed and pinched at the flesh under her nightgown. And she struggled against her body’s reaction to grow tense, to wither away from the affections. She sat through it with mounting hatred and anger, but showed nothing of it physically. However, through their blood bond, she did not mute her disgust. He kissed her cheek and the corner of her mouth, and to this and this alone did she tilt her head away -- shying from what she imagined could become more. “Now, promise me you will keep our child safe, Gabriela. Promise me, or I fear I may not possess the strength to let you go.” “You’re not the sort to break a promise,” she said as she forced herself to settle back into him -- not to fight his advances. She relaxed, even as her body ached to stand and pull away. It wasn’t that she found him repugnant. No matter how much she wanted to hate him, their attraction was written in their very blood. However, it was the ache for her freedom that pulled at her now. It was the only thing she wanted more than anything -- a chance, a real chance, to get away. “Regardless, I don’t think you’re asking for much -- so, have your promise, Raphael. I will keep our child safe, until the day of its birth, and then we will decide together what becomes of this pitiful excuse of a family, because we are equals. And because we are equals, you will go now and let me rest. If I am to travel tomorrow, you know I will need to rest.”
  6. A description of the scene can be found here: “Do you have any weapons?” asked a gargantuan creature with an ugly, wrinkled face that made him appear more beast than human. The glamouring magic that he was using to keep up his humanoid facade was weak, or perhaps not wholeheartedly executed or applied. He was a gargoyle -- and being that Gabriela knew very little about the species, she decided it was best not to toe the line of annoyance. “Yes -- four daggers,” she made no move to strip herself of the blades. Instead, she stood there with her palms facing out and held at chest level, while the gargoyle-bouncer reached out and began patting her down. “Just the daggers, eh?” he asked, and then, with a lascivious grin, “--what about them fangs in your mouth, baby?” Her flesh nearly crawled off of her bones. “I don’t plan on using those,” she replied, swallowing her disgust and instead forcing a slow and easy smile across her face. “But the daggers -- I intend to defend myself if you can’t manage to do your job and make everyone inside play nice.” “Oh,” his grin grew into a toothy smile -- it was silly, almost, sort of boyish and even a little cute. “I can do my job just fine, sweetie. Don’t you worry ‘bout a thing. So why don’t you drop your pretty little butter knives here,” he pointed at the table besides him, “--and pick them up when you’re ready to leave. I can’t have you walking into my club with silver blades. Besides, I’ll keep you safe and sound, little girl. No one causes trouble in my joint.” That smile on her lips tightened but didn’t disappear. Her head tilted an inch or two, and her eyes narrowed upon the bull-dog like face she could see shimmering under the sheen of magic that attempted to hide his true appearance from the world. “Make sure that you do keep me safe and sound,” she said as she began to strip her weapons off. The blade behind her back, the one strapped to her thigh, and the two hidden in her boots. All the while, she could feel the creature’s eyes drinking in the sight of her slow and measured movements, the dipping forward, the way her booted feet came up so that her pale fingers could dip into soft leather against her calves. Finally, she set them on top of the short table by the doors. A breeze shifted the dense, black curtains that hid the going-ons of the interior from the misty night. For a moment she saw the dancing electric lights and caught the smell of blood and smoke, and then it was gone. Her view shifted back to the gargoyle who was intently watching all the places she pulled silver from her body, “--I’d hate to have to resort to biting.” He laughed low and smooth and made a sweeping gesture for her to enter.
  7. So come on Love, draw your swords Shoot me to the ground You are mine, I am yours Lets not fuck around Cause you are, the only one Cause you are, the only one
  8. Do I have to do anything special to get into the black tarantula?

    1. amenities


      Opening the doors can be a little tricky because there's no "push" or "pull" sign, but besides that nope

    2. Pasion Pasiva

      Pasion Pasiva

      Any reference pictures or description.

    3. amenities
  9. When you try your best but you don't succeed When you get what you want but not what you need When you feel so tired but you can't sleep Stuck in reverse When the tears come streaming down your face 'Cause you lose something you can't replace When you love someone but it goes to waste What could it be worse? Lights will guide you home And ignite your bones And I will try to fix you But high up above or down below When you are too in love to let it show Oh but if you never try you'll never know Just what you're worth (or aren't) Lights will guide you home And ignite your bones And I will try to fix you Tears come streaming down your face When you lose something you cannot replace oh and tears come streaming down your face And I Tears streaming down your face I promise you I will learn from all my mistakes oh and the tears streaming down your face And I Lights will guide you home And ignite your bones And I will try to fix you
  10. “This is The Squall Breaker,” said the man that Gabriela had followed down to the docks, there was a hint of pride in his voice. Their conversation regarding the price of the passage had been short and tense. He was overcharging her, but with no other options -- and without knowing if Raphael’s offer had a one-night expiration date, Gabriela decided to pay the price and take what was available. Now, they both stood before the thick wooden plank that connected the handsome and massive vessel to the unsturdy pier, and she couldn’t help but notice that there were no other passengers waiting to board. “It’s a cargo vessel -- where will I travel?” “I suppose, for the likes of you, the safest place to travel would be the lower hold. You’ll have the sweet smell of rotting food and spiced wine to keep you company until we arrive on Biazo.” She arched a brow at the man. “I fully expect to be allowed upon the main deck during the night.” “Look, I don’t normally offer my hospitality aboard the Breaker, but it just so happens we’re in a bit of a pinch for money. It was hard enough to decide to allow folks onto my ship, but now I have to settle for an animal like you? So the hold is where you’ll settle and the hold is where you’ll stay -- otherwise there’s no deal.” She lifted her head enough to catch a beam of oil-light across her face. Her features were lit up, and the gold in her eyes drank from the warm light and reflected it back across molten pools of gold. She heard the man suck in a breath through his teeth and felt the tension radiating from his form. Gabriela was beautiful -- devastatingly so, but her beauty ran the sharp edge of horror. She was too perfect, she was too sublime, she was uncanny in many ways when she wanted to be. “Your eyes,” whispered the man, his tense limbs finally allowing him to move back a step, and then two. “I’ve never seen eyes like yours.” “And if you don’t stop your needless cruelty and discourtesy, they’ll be the last thing you see before I usher you to your death. There’s no need to treat me like a monster unless you’d like for me to behave like one. The lower hold will do, but I will come out at night to stretch my legs and breathe some fresh air.” Her deep set frown and thoughtful look lingered on the man’s face for just a moment longer before she stepped around the man and onto the plank, fully intending to board the ship. A quick hand snaked out and caught her around the arm. He did not yank her back -- the touch seemed surprisingly reserved and, she could feel a tremble in his hand through his fingers and the thick layers of her coat. “Please, Empress -- your imperial highness, please forgive me. I beg that you not speak of my ill mannered treatment to your husband.” Gabriela’s eyes were a thing of legend in Valucre. Who had not heard stories of those summerset pools? Her identity was revealed the moment she decided to look upon him with true scrutiny. But now it was she who felt the swell of panic. “I won’t tell if you don’t -- promise that you will not breathe a word about who you’re carrying across the sea and I’ll promise to forget the unpleasantness you put me through. I want nothing more than to be left alone upon this voyage. Tell your crew, tell whatever other passengers you have -- tell them to leave me be, and not to approach. Make up whatever ugly reason you have to, but just make it so.” “Very well, vampyre -- telling them what you are should be more than enough to isolate you for the next four days. But, I would also like to offer you my private quarters. You’ll be more comfortable.” “The hold will do, and it will make people less curious.” He let go of her arm, and dropped his hand to his side. “Again,” he called after her, “I am sorry. Truly.” “You’re only sorry because you think I matter -- but I don't matter, I don't matter to anyone anymore,” she murmured to herself as she disappeared under the main deck, down into the maze like structure of the ship to find the safe and quiet place where she would sit for the next four days.
  11. Hullo! Does Patia still exist?
  12. After some deliberation, Gabriela decided that the best place to approach a scouter would be in the capital’s most popular watering hole -- The Broken Chant Tavern. It wasn’t a long walk from where she had stood upon a hilltop admiring the view of the docks below. But even so, she took her time walking the three or four, cobble-stone paved blocks. She couldn’t remember the last time she had come down into the heart of the city for a leisurely stroll. Recently, her travels into the city were only to visit Philippe, and he and his father lived nearly on the other side of the city, more on the outskirts, and in a far more affluent area. If this was to be her last night in Orisia, it seemed appropriate that she should take a moment or two and appreciate the architecture, the rich and curious night-time culture, and above all else, the people over whom she had tried to govern. The activity was teaming around the outside kiosks that were busy selling everything from freshly caught fish, to delicate pieces of fine jewelry -- mostly irsalis stone bound and wrapped in gold or silver frames and hanging from chains of the same material. There were fine fabrics on display, and cases upon cases of sweet-smelling fruits -- pineapples, pitays, bananas, carambola, guavas, and so much more. The colors of it all, even in the heavy shadow of night, were extraordinary. For so long she had felt the pull of that siren’s song -- wanderlust, with her hunger for adventure demanding nothing more or less than the exotic, and yet here it had been all along. There was a swirl of resentment in the pit of her stomach, which on top of all the other ugly and heavy emotions she was trying to deal with, left her feeling ill. Resentment shifted quickly into hate, which strengthened her resolve and kept her from sinking low into sorrow. She loathed them, she loathed them more than she could ever say, those wicked men who had kept her from being the person she had always wanted to be. They stole her away, they kept her from ruling, they forced her to abdicate. Not only had she lost her son, now she would lose her kingdom. But it was worth it… wasn’t it? For the sake of freedom? She considered this as she crossed the threshold of the tavern’s double doors. People were coming in and out, and at least half a dozen maintained their post just outside. They were calling out to each other, they were laughing, they were crying, they were yelling angrily -- life seemed incapable of stopping here, utterly incapable of caring for the heavy heart that she carried in her chest. Within the establishment she paused. Under the dense fog of smoke, the smell of human sweat, and the sprinkled bursts of flowers, of freshwater, of roasted meat and vegetables -- below, deep in the cracks of the wood, she caught the scent of those she had lost many years ago. There was smoke and fire that came from Lucis, and his sweet and spicy blood. There was also the faintest traces of those noble seven who had come and gone, back when she was full of hope and ideas for these islands. But their scent, like their presence, was so faint it was all but forgotten. Even she had forgotten them, until this very moment. Heavily she moved forward, lacking the grace or the ease that she normally carried herself with. She did not want to appear as a vampyre, she did not want to seem otherworldly. She moved quietly, and she kept her head down and one hand protectively cast over her belly. Into the thicket of the throne she moved, taking a seat when one became available. There was one area, a corner of the main space, where dozens of people stood or sat, listening to those who stepped up onto a small platform. “Voyage to the mainland, Port Caelum -- preference will be given to those traveling light!” From the shadows of her hood, she peered curiously as about half the people sitting around waiting all got up and followed the man out. It seemed they would discuss the price of their passage beyond the tavern, where such things could be negotiated without all the background noise. She sat through a few more of these episodes, watching as people called out different locations and different kinds of people got up to go on. Everything from single individuals, much like herself, to entire families with little ones in tow. She watched this all, wondering at the reasons why they were traveling -- with their hopeful or despondent expressions. At long last, a man who was clearly not Orisian, stepped up. He was tall, slender, and would have been handsome had his face not been knotted up in the tension of extreme displeasure. He looked positively unpleasant. “Voyage to Aspyn, Biazo. Four day travel time, rough waters as we’ll be taking a bit of a shortcut -- straight through rather than north or south. Not for the faint of heart.” Gabriela was the only person to get up, and the only person to walk up to the man. From under her hood, she peered up at him with her big, golden eyes. He looked at her -- well, he glared at her, and then looked back out into the crowd. Once he was satisfied that no one else was crazy enough to buy passage upon his ship, he sighed, dropped his shoulders, and stepped down from the platform. “Come on then,” he said to the Black Queen of Orisia, without knowing it. Out they went, beyond The Broken Tavern Chant, where Gabriela had not even taken the time to seek Frank out, the owner of the establishment. He was a dear friend, but it had been years since she had shared a cup of tea with the man. He was growing older now, and there was a sick and uncomfortable feeling to watching people she loved age -- and age not very well. Frank had not been kind to his body, what with the drinking and smoking, and all that rich tavern food. She didn’t want to see him. She didn’t want to carry her last image of him as some reminder of mortality. Better that she remembered him how he was -- a cheerful, gallant man who was always laughing, and always ready to pour a drink. “It’s going to be very rough,” said the man, over his shoulder at her. “I understand -- I need to get there quickly, so…” “So you’re a vampyre?” he cut her off, this time he didn’t even bother looking back. “Yes sir,” she replied, her voice growing quieter. After a moment, she added, “It won’t be a problem. I won’t be a problem.” The man stopped suddenly and swung around. Both his hands were tangled up in the collar of her coat. He bunched up the material and drew her up to the balls of her booted feet. They both looked at the fists under her chin, and they both saw how his hands were trembling with the urge to shake her. Slowly, her golden eyes shifted and settled on his brown ones. “Damn right there won’t be a fucking problem, you goddamn vampyre… You’ll keep your fangs in that pretty little mouth of yours. And if so much as a drop of my crew’s blood is spilled, I’ll cut your head off and throw you into the sea -- but not before I pull your fangs out with my bare hands.” A rough shove is what he used to release her, but she did not budge and certainly did not go tumbling backgrounds as he had desired. She stood there, slowly and quietly fixing her coat. “I understand.”
  13. I hear the clock, it's 6 a.m. I feel so far from where I've been I got my eggs, I got my pancakes too I got my maple syrup, everything but you I break the yolks and make a smiley face I kinda like it in my brand new place I wipe the spots off of the mirror Don't leave the keys in the door I never put wet towels on the floor anymore 'cause Dreams last so long, even after you're gone I know that you love me And soon you will see, you were meant for me And I was meant for you I called my momma, she was out for a walk Consoled a cup of coffee but it didn't want to talk So I picked up a paper, it was more bad news More hearts being broken or people being used Put on my coat in the pouring rain I saw a movie it just wasn't the same Cause it was happy and I was sad It made me miss you oh so bad 'cause Dreams last so long, even after you're gone I know that you love me And soon you will see, you were meant for me And I was meant for you I go about my business, I'm doing fine Besides, what would I say if I had you on the line Same old story, not much to say Hearts are broken every day
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