Patrick entered the warehouse and nearly turned away in disgust. The scene before him turned his stomach. Mortals, adorned with black leather and makeup stood moving in unison to the grungy music pumping out of the speakers. Why mortals were aloud in this place. After all most of them here were unaware that vampires existed and only claimed they did in order to gain social status. As he expected many of the teenage Goths who lined the walls gave him funny looks. Presumably wandering why he was dressed as he was instead of wearing more gothic attire. He would have to resist the urge to break some heads together, he did not wish to purvey the image that he was a common thug. Any violence would come later. He leant against the bar but did not order anything. Patrick had found that there was a mundane element to ordering blood in a glass. It was much more pleasurable to drink it fresh from the veins. Instead of drinking he looked around, wandering if there was any fun or conversation that could be had.

Napha entered the warehouse following close behind a friend. She really hadn’t thought it a good idea to come here. She had seen the people that hang out here and she knew that she would stick out like a sore thumb. Napha tried not to stare at people to much, she was surprised at how much they resembled her friend. She shook her head taking in a few breathes. She looked forward expecting to see her company still in front of her. But to her surprise she was gone. Suddenly she felt herself over come with anxiety and the urge to leave. Napha shifted around to leave. “Oh great I have to tell Anna. That I am going to leave.” She turned back around deciding to make her way to the bar. She had no idea how she was talked into coming here, this wasn’t her.

Napha rested her arms on the bar ignoring the rude looks and people trying to start conversations. She had no interest in talking at the moment. She just wanted to find Anna and get out of here. She looked around the warehouse shaking her head. This was one of the reasons she didn’t want to come. “Well, you might as well get comfortable. When she is off and running you won’t find her until she finds you.” Napha turned to face the bar and began to tap her fingers on the bar contemplating on a drink or two.

Patrick's eyes followed the mortal as she entered and made her way over to the bar. In her eyes she recognised the same discomfort and to a lesser extent repulsion at the site of the mindless hordes of gothic fashion victims. He was quite sure she was here against her will. Despite her somewhat commendable attitude to the majority of the people in here, she was nevertheless, a mortal so Patrick felt no compassion for her.

The mortal seemed to hold his gaze though, as he was unaware of a drunken mortal boy with his dance partner stumbling towards him, cackling with obnoxious laughter. Within seconds the boy had collided with Patrick, doing him little harm but spilling blood down the front of his suite. The boy regained himself slowly, looking vacantly at Patrick. An expression of both disgust and rage had come over Patrick. Patrick delivered two blows to the boy's head, which knocked him to the floor. Following this, he stooped down, picked the boy up by his neck and hung him neatly on a butchers hook the was suspended from the ceiling. The music went on, but the room now seemed to divided. Half seemed indifferent to this massacre, the other half seemed to be gathering their possessions and looking for the exit. Patrick did not care what they did. Reaching up into the boy's pocket, he took a few notes and pocketed them. That'll pay for the fucking suite. With an element of calm about him after the previous outburst he leant back against the bar and continued to look around the warehouse.

Nyx had come to the conclusion, while lying upside down off her bed full of gin, that she could smell trouble. The rational part of her brain told her that it was probably the body she had stashed in the corner of her room. He’d been there so long that lividity had set in. It created this nice purplish bruise on his face, since he was face down. She thought it would be awesome to have a velvet duvet that colour. She’d always had a thing for corpses. No two were alike.

Still, the instinctive part of her brain told her that trouble and rotting man-food did not smell the same. Trouble was so much more… exciting, and part of her was excited right now. Excited because she didn’t know what trouble was brewing or where, but she knew she wanted to be a part of it, especially if there was blood involved. Her thoughts wandered. Maybe that sexy Ishak leader was killing people across town and needed a good fuck to get rid of all that pent up tension. God knows she did. Mortal just did not do it for her anymore. They were fun, yeah, but damn, they lacked stamina. After Beltane… they were just… ruined. Shit.

Of course, all these thoughts were before the bartender burst into her room unannounced.

Truthfully, her first reaction had been to curse the living shit out of him. She’d only stopped because of the look on his face. It wasn’t fear, or lust, or any other expression she saw on a nightly basis. Nope, this was something different, and it caused Nyx to worry and think that maybe trouble wasn’t such a good thing after all. What he saw on his face was apprehension.

“What’s going on?” she asked, her voice suddenly commanding as she sat up straight, slipped off the bed and walked together, her short vinyl skirt and black corset tight on her small body.

He seemed to debate whether or how to tell her. “There’s a member downstairs…”

Nyx stared at him in irritation. “And, sparky?”

“He killed someone.”

Still staring. “So…?”

“… In front of the club patrons.”

Nyx was silent, processing this. It seemed to unnerve the bartender more that it would have if she’d yelled and ripped his head of. Her lips got very tight and thin, until they didn’t seem to be there. Her eyes seemed to glow with some unnatural green light, and she gave off very, very hostile vibes. At once, she charged forward, slapping the bartender out of the way with the back of her hand. Her heels clicked angrily on the floor as she proceeded out of the back and into the main club area.

The scene that confronted her made her want to scream. There was a distinct corpse hanging from a hook that hung from the ceiling. It was one think if you killed them, embalmed them, and then hung them from a rack when the clients were gone. It was quite another if you hung them alive in front of a room full of humans. Part of her was tempted to call Marcus (if the bastard even had a phone) and call him over. How fun it would be to watch the one who was responsible have his brain boil from the outside. She had no doubts he could do it.

But no, she didn’t need mister I’ve Got a Stick Up My Ass the Size of Switzerland and I’m Neutral Too to handle her own problems. No, she could have just as much fun gutting him and hanging HIM from the ceiling from his intestines. That could be fun. She’d dance in his blood, point, and laugh. Maybe drink some more gin.

It was not easy to tell who’d done it. Putting on a smile, she walked over to him. Taking a seat, her smile didn’t falter for a second. Anyone looking on without knowing her feelings would think she was proud of the wee little Tarepha member. What they didn’t know was Nyx smiling was scarier than her frowning. Her next words proved this.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing you dumb fuck?” she asked, still smiling, but her eyes holding a distinctly homicidal gleam. “You think it’s fun to kill the customers of the club? Think nobody will notice? That we won’t have the cops in here when these fucked up wannabes go home? You think it’s okay ‘cause I’m smiling? Guess what fucker!” Her smile faded from her face, leaving only the homicidal look. “It’s not. You’re in deep shit. I think I’m going to have to mess up your pretty little face.”

With almost no warning, her fist connected with his jaw. Standing up, her look was cold. “You know, I’m half tempted to hang you on a hook and leave you there to rot, but seeing as we still have some paying customers here, I think we’ll have to save that for later.” Even angry, she could still mock.

“So,” she said hopping off her chair. “What are we going to do with you? You fucked up, buddy.” She crossed her arms. “Right now, we have two choices. I exert punishment on you myself – and believe me when I say it’ll hurt like hell – or I call the Amman, and have them crush your wee little skull with their minds. With me, you might live. With them, you might not. It’s your choice.”

The smile was back, and this time, it was sadistic.


((OOC: I apologize if this seems harsh to you. Nyx is a harsh person. You fuck up in her club, you're in her coven, and she has the right to punish you if she feels the need. She, apparently does, because as soon as I read the board, the little part of my brain that belongs to her wanted to kick your ass. Just be thankful you are in her coven. Otherwise, she probably just would have killed you.

If you'd really felt the need to kill someone, you could have just taken them into the back, and she wouldn't have minded a bit. She's all for blood and mayhem... just not in front of her source of income.))

((OOC: Hehe, no I don't consider it harsh. Patrick got the shit beaten out of him for a living whilst he was alive. He'd sooner take a severe pounding/ impaling/ whatever you have in mind for him straight away. Also it wouldn't really be in Patrick's nature to quietly take someone into the back and kill them. He'd rather impale them by their spinal chords whilst he's still angry. Oh, Napha please stay in the topic, but I strongly feel the need to post now.))

Patrick could tell from the look on her face that he was in the crap. Having been punched, which he was indifferent to, he straightened up. Neither offer sounded particularly appealing to him. Although he preferred his skull in an uncrushed state, so he decided it would be better for her to deal with him. Brining other covens into the matter would be most inappropriate.

Whatever you're going to do, could you make it quick? I'm not for spending 8 hours suspended by my calf muscles. His expression was more one of annoyance than anxiety, he knew whatever was going to happen would involve pain, that was irrelevant. His annoyance had arisen because the mortal had deserved what he had got. But the leader of the Tarepha could not afford to make exceptions. Fucking cunt messed up my suite. Patrick mumbled as he stepped away from the bar and walked away towards the back, he suspected his punishment would take place there. Not only was in secluded from the beloved patrons, but it was also full of various implements that would prove most useful in his punishment.

((OOC: Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Nyx can be downright sadistic… He’s going to wish he’d gone with head-smooshing.))

Nyx’s smile seemed to fade off her face as he walked away from her. Damn him. There was no grovelling, no fear on his part, no respect. Damn him. Damn him for walking away from her, she who was one of the oldest and most powerful vampires in this God forsaken city. Her hands clenched at her sides so hard that she drew some of her own blood with those oh so lovely long red nails she’d painted earlier in the evening. Damn him. She’d show him what kind of power she held over him.

She followed him, though as she saw it, she walked behind him to make sure he didn’t run away. She wasn’t expecting him too. The bastard was cocky for someone barely more than a fledgeling. She was over fifteen hundred years older than this cock sucker. As they walked down the darkened corridor, Nyx growled, “The one to your left, pipsqueak.” She gave him a sharp shove, though she didn’t expect it to do anything.

In the room, there were various pain inducing instruments. Taking his arm, she pulled him into the middle of the room and bent down to put some shackles around his ankles. She then took his arms, and did the same thing with shackles chained to the ceiling. “This’ll take as long as I want to fucking make it take, got it?” Her tone was cheerful, but it was obvious from the steel undertone that she meant business.

Walking over to the fire with an almost sway; she picked up one of the pokers that was orange from lying on the hot embers. Turning back to him, she smiled. “Tell me, have you ever been impaled with a hot poker?” She made a small sound in her throat. “Maybe you have.” Walking back, she picked a knife off the table, and brought it to the back of his clothing. There was the sound of shearing fabric as she cut the back of his shirts open, revealing his back. “But I can assure you, mister, that this will be a time to remember.” With a quick jerk, she shoved her poker into the man’s spinal cord. She made a soft hiss. “That’s got to hurt.”

Nyx was beaming as she sauntered around to the front of him. “Now, let’s list your misconducts. The first, and most obvious, is the fact that you killed in front of mortals. Tsk tsk. If I’d been the Amman, you’d be dead right now. The second is a distinct lack of respect. Now, that’s two of the nine rules. Not a good start, especially not for over confident newbie vampires.” Nyx raised her hand, to stop whatever comments he might have on this. “I don’t care what you say. You’re still a newbie to me.”

She took a few steps to the side. “Do you know what I do for fun, wee bastard? I torture and kill. I’m somewhat of a connoisseur at it. I’ve had lots of practice. There’s a reason people don’t often disobey me.”

She picked up another poker, walked around him again, but this time… she didn’t poke it through his bones. She shoved it diagonally down from beneath the shoulder blade. It poked out the man’s abdomen. “But this, I’ll admit, is a little uninspired. Just poking thinks through you – though a great stress reliever – isn’t very unique.” She walked over to a table, her back to him. “You know, sometimes the best weapon is the smallest one.” Turning around, she revealed a sewing needle and string. The needle was large by needle standards, but not the biggest weapon people had seen.

She walked over to him, and have his cheek a caress. Then, she took his lips in her fingers and proceeded to sew them shut, oblivious to the small rivets of blood running down her hands. Finishing with this, she proceeded to clamp one eye shut with her fingers, repeat the process, and then the other, only stopping at the end to cut the strings and tie them. They were sewn so tight that they couldn’t open.

“Isn’t this fun?!” Nyx asked in an overly cheerful voice. “You know, I’m thinking of sewing your hands together too… How’d you like that – No! Don’t try to speak. It would only be pathetic.” She walked around to his back. “Do you know what I love about vampires? How fast their skin tissue heals! Did you know your wounds have healed over?” She pulled the pokers one by one, laughing as the sound of flesh tearing filled the room.

“Now, for my final number,” she said, undoing his pants and pulling them down. Picking up her knife, she held it to his most private part. “You know… I could cut this off right now and you wouldn’t be able to do a single fucking thing to stop me.” She pulled the knife away, her voice suddenly cold. “Remember this next time you decide to fuck with me.” She undid his shackles and left the room.

The pain was unbearable. As the thread was cut across his first eye the words "mercy" had almost come to him. But in his head he thought "Keep going. You'll only get worse if he begged. Never let them know your feeling pain. Keep on going. One more round." Flashbacks came of him lying face down in the ring, the harsh Glasweigan tones of gym trainer shouting at him. "You're a useless sack of shite Kelly. Get the fuck up, your a disgrace to your gloves and this gym. ONE MORE FUCKING ROUND." He repeated the words to himself, "one more fucking round."[/B]

He felt the cold steel against his groin, although her words were just empty noises in his head, blocked out by the Glasweigan voice. But suddenly the noises ended and the feeling of steel withdrew.

Patrick fell to the floor, his eyes sewn shut. The only thing he could see was an image of red even though the wounds had healed around the thread so his eyes were literally clamped together. The pain was intense but throughout the whole process he had said nothing despite the desire to scream out, the desire to beg for mercy. He lay on his front his face was devoid of expression, and his face was turned upwards towards the ceiling.

Hauling himself to his feet, he dug his index finger into his eyes socket until he had a small loop of thread around his finger. He pulled at it and ripped the thread from his eyes. The light flooded back in burning his retina. He did the same with the other eye. Already his flesh had healed. Finally as he pulled the thread out of his mouth he shouted. He stood motionless for a moment and then shouted. [B]FUCKIN' BITCH. He drove his fist into the wall. As he did so several pieces of plaster fell down. Damnit I love her style. He pulled on his torn shirt and covered his back with his jacket. Then driving his fist into the door, knocking it off his hinges he left the room.