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  1. Well I'm trying to get myself settled into new things, including a new theme for the site. I'm going to try and post more regularly again. I'm not sure I'll do daily posts like I tried to do before but I may try to do a post every three days. Other projects I'm working on right now are 3 story blogs. One is Knights of Cydonia One is Card Rebellion and the last is I <3 Fangs. The last one is a collaborative one with Ghost but the rest are just for me. I'm thinking I may start pouring my RP energy into these instead. I've been feeling the lack lusterness of just everything. It's likely the time of the year and all that jazz but things will hopefully go better. Move goals: Start Yoga again Write a post a day for one of my 5 blogs (Morrgasm, Morrigan's Madness, KoC, CR or I <3 Fangs). Try new dinner or dessert (or both) dish once a week. Post an image a day to Instagram. I hope you enjoy the new theme. I'll start displaying more of my space work as I go. Edit: Added instagram thing onto the list.
  2. So, as everyone knows, I roleplay. I love to roleplay, I love to write collaboratively with other people and I love to simply enjoy people. Well, one thing about roleplayers is that we like specific genres because that's the flavor of writing we like to enjoy. One thing that perturbs me is that so many people akin the work "fantasy" to elves and dwarves when, fantasy is anything that isn't realistic. Now the thing that really confuses me is that the word itself is immediately constituted with something medieval. So that got me to thinking: What is fantasy exactly? Well, fantasy is anything that isn't reality basically. So why the label of Medieval? Probably something akin to media stating that Medieval movies are "Fantasy" and that Science Fiction is "Sci-Fi" but really? They are leaving off words, words that are important to people that write. I even stress to say that a Historical roleplay is a "Historical Fantasy". No matter the time frame as it is not reality. It's not like me typing up this long babbling post about my confusion of the word itself. So Fantasy is a word to mean, not real life. My point is, when I ask what sort of Fantasy I'm looking to find what your flavor of fantasy you prefer. All roleplays are fantasy (even the real life based ones) so it easier to define your genre. I am a fantasy enthusiast, I stray toward Science Fiction more than Modern or Medieval but I enjoy Fantasy. How about you?
  3. Okay, so I administrate over at Distant Fantasies and as such, on a regular basis get to see new sites or existing sites as I just browse the DF Directory. As such I find sites that strike my fancy and while I am not a chronic site joiner I love to be able to suggest sites to my friends and I've noticed this blaring trend of waffling. Now I say that and your first instinct is 'wtf is waffling' but waffling is a failure for one to make up their mind. Mind you, I'm a queen waffler IRL. Next question you ask is 'wtf are they waffling about'? Well that's where it gets interesting. It's their word count. Now mind you, I'm an avid anti-word count advocate. I find that I have as much potency in a one line post as some people feel that you only get from hundreds, if not thousands, of words. That notwithstanding though, I don't like reading things like: We're a no word count site but...... But what? Are you a no word count site or aren't you? There is no buts in such a statement unless you're not, in fact, a no word count site. If you add in a "but we like to see at least three paragraphs" or "we prefer that you have at least 200 words" then why don't you make that you're minimum? A "no word count" site means that I can post one word or I can post ten thousand but there is absolutely no restriction on how many I am required to put into that post box. After I read this and it infuriated me, I talked to my boyfriend Cricket about this. Mind you, my boyfriend is a DnD based roleplayer, he uses his dice to determine things while I use communication with my partner. I asked him if he had this type of thing in his campaign, these types of players and he said that he did except his players are overly wordy for the sake of trying to cover all of there basis so they don't get killed. "I turned the knob to the left really slowly before pushing the door open, just as slowly as to not make a sound" and we both didn't know of a single person that was legitimately that careful, especially when you consider the setting. I explained to him that for my format that people felt themselves on a higher rank than you due to the amount of words that they post, no matter how relevant or important those words were to be able to progress the story line. The conversation continued and he asked about how relevant the post content was and I advised him 70-90 percent of it is fluff to fill the word count or time travel posting (time travel posting is responding to parts of the previous post because the previous roleplayer continued past that point and didn't giv eyou ample opportunity to respond even though your character, would in fact, respond). Time travel posting incites more time travel posting which incites more fluff to fill an arbitrary number for a ranking system that only exists in the minds of the players themselves. I'm a 17 year play by post roleplayer. I have been through the advanced years when 1200 words were the minimum to be considered a part of the roleplay elite of "Advanced" and I've been through the years that 600 words was that and now the new trend is "no word count but". I'm an advanced roleplayer and after all this time I've come to finally a zen point in my roleplaying time to have finally figured out that: This is just a game. I shouldn't feel like getting onto my roleplay sites is a job. There is no reason for this and I should feel like my relaxation hobby is a chore. Word counts make it a chore. A word count is an arbitrary number to keep up a fascist belief that more is better. I'm going to fill you in, that if it doesn't contribute to the plot then it's likely not worth your time to type it out. How many books have you read that a character inner monologues for pages, upon pages, upon pages, that actually keep your interest and doesn't progress the plot. Sure you can talk about your childhood tragedy for 400 words but how does that help your character now, or the plot that you are trying to progress but posting about how your character shifts uncomfortably and gets a look in their eye that someone might be able to see, that's proper writing. Yes, I reduced 400 words into a single sentence but the single sentence is far more potent. Word counts kill the muse. I've read posts that are amazingly long that give me absolutely nothing to reply to and one liners that speak volumes in themselves that inspire me to write a thousand words. If the situation calls for the post then post it but don't strangle me with your words because you are obligated or you feel a better sense of self by posting a longer post. It perpetuates a lie that your quality cannot be seen by posting something less then some arbitrary number. Confucius say: "Do not use a cannon to kill a mosquito." I can't say how appropriate this is. Your concise words should speak the volumes in your character actions. Really in the end you will play the site you're comfortable with and if that's the site that requires 3 paragraphs or nine million words per post, then so be it. I just request that you stop your waffling and either say your no word count because you are or say your a word/paragraph count site because that's what you are. There is no reason to have a but in your rule about count minimums if you have one set in your mind. Make up your fucking mind.
  4. So I've had Star Trek RPG coded and open since March. Now it's a fabulous looking website and it's smooth fix width layout. Gorgeous. The pink version is my favorite. Now that' all fine and dandy but I browse my website from mobile devices and this has been driving me crazy! Like nutters beyond my normal insanity... On the post page (and only on pages with posts) there is something that makes the 1100px width larger, specifically on the right hand side. (BTW I figured it out about here in writing this). It looks like there is a 1300 pixel margin but it's only on the right. My mobile devices do it too and I haven't been able to figure it out. Now this was going to be a plea for someone to help me figure it out but I went and click a few buttons to see if I could figure it out. Now with that clicking I found a new thing in the built in Firefox for inspecting code. It's this cool 3D thing to show me the layers in my website. Well turning that on it showed me the element that was causing it (it was a conflict in a width of an element I shrunk manually for the post screen) and have since fixed it. So what is the moral to this story? Click new buttons.
  5. "You've never seen anything like this next act. You've seen fire dancers and fire spinners the next act is... well a fire master. Presenting the one and only Ignaciooooooo Flint!" the man in the center spun around in a circle to the empty circus tent as if he were introducing this person. A slow clap echoed toward me from the closed entrance. "You do have quite a flair for being a ringmaster. It's too bad that I have that job." "Mordria," the man stumbled over his own shoes falling to the floor. "I... I didn't mean any offense I just...." "You just what? Felt the desire to see what it was like to be me? It's not as easy as being in an empty room," she smiled her bluish pale skin shining with a strange luminosity that only she seemed to have. He found it unnerving although her other features were equally as disturbing. The stitches near her mouth were certainly not helpful with her frown as she approached him. "I just," he swallowed hard as he scrambled to his feet, wiping himself off. "I like what you do, I wish I could do it." He didn't look to her, he knew what was coming next. She would reprimand him and tell him to stop dreaming. "Unfortunately for you young one, in a circus of the damned no one retires. Take me for example. I have been around for longer then I remember. Victim of voodoo and vampirism. I barely keep myself together yet I have not left. I cannot leave and I cannot die. I will be ringmaster for eternity," she informed him solemnly. No reprimand, no lecture. She was reaching out for his help. "Perhaps I could do your job. If you let me, give you a break for a few centuries?" "Haha," she laughed shortly a smile brought to her face. "That is cute. You cannot handle my job though," she picked up his shoes, holding them out to him. "The others would eat you alive." "Not if you help me," he pleaded as she dropped the boots into his arms. "I can do this." "The woman reached up and stroked the side of his face. "Sweet vampire," she said smiling to expose her own teeth, "what makes you think that I would let you do my job?" "You-ou-ou sound so, uh..." he looked hugging the boots to his chest. "You sounded like you needed a break. I guess I was wrong." "Oh, I'm tired but you're scared of me." "Who wouldn't be?" he gulped. "You're right," she smiled darkly to him as he started to back away from her. "If you run you might be able to get away from me. Vampire blood sustains me far better then human blood," she said with a cocky raise of her brow. The man started out of the tent from the direction that she came in, pulling on his left boot. He continued on holding his right boot in his hand. "Run, run little vampire," she whispered as she looked over her shoulder. The man continued to run through the woods between the circus and the small town. All he could hear was the thudding of his footsteps and the branches as the slapped him. He was getting away. She was going to let him live. He started to slow down a smile creeping onto his face as he slumped against the nearby tree. He breathed a sigh of relief, a human action that showed his youth. "I made it," he said quietly to himself. A light laugh came from behind the tree, "You can't think I'd give up that easily could you?" the woman said as she stepped from behind the tree, her black boots quiet even with the underbrush. The man closed his eyes shoving the picture of the woman in the black and white corset out of his mind as he began to pray muttering to himself. "If you meet her, tell her that I still want to be saved," she whispered, her cold breath on his neck. He wished this wasn't his fate, he didn't want to be stuck there forever but this? The cool lips of death brushed against the skin of his neck. Then there was the searing pain of her fangs as they sank into his neck. Slowly the pain ebbed into a soft numbness as his right shoe fell from his arm and thudded to the ground. PS. Weekend with the family was fabulous. I love you Cricket. I love you Fae. I love you Troy.
  6. So I promised myself that I would continuously update my blog but it's apparent that I didn't do that. I mean my last post was months ago and it was forever before that too. To be completely honest it's been a lack of motivation. I have been busy at work and I come home and all I want to do is RP and watch TV. The sad part is that I haven't been getting a lot of RP done. I mean I post faster then most of my RP partners and it's a little exhausting because my muse ends up on overdrive and I have to come to a full stop. I've considered writing alone again but I find it boring compared to writing with others. Then there were considerations of a web comic again but I'm just not that good of an artist but I have a ton of ideas for it. I'm still working on it though I really feel that I need to create a buffer which is the hardest part. Sadly? What I think I need is to turn off the Internet for a few days and send my BF away so that he can play with friends. Get my kids over to their grandmas house and then just draw for a weekend. If anyone has any good advice on how to stay focused I'd love some. I'm having such issues with getting focused lately. I mean I haven't even been able to sit down and code for... fuck for a year? More? I just can't seem to do it. I can concentrate for small spats but I feel like I'm constantly interrupted and I can't sit still. On a lighter note? My son is doing pretty well in Kindergarten so far! I'm looking forward to my kids' school pictures this year! They were both super cute when they left the house. My daughter is becoming a great reader. I'm hoping she'll be way better then me because I'm terrible. My son can count to 40 so far. It was a hard road to forty but it's coming around. Otherwise there isn't really anything. Site updates: New site: Trek Into the Darkness New site: Star Trek RPG Joined site: Prey Staffing at: Distant Fantasies Attempting to work on the Character Mod and get it properly functioning on install. Working on Morrgasm. Halloween costumes: Fae wants to be Catwoman. Troy wants to be Batman. I feel that I should go with this theme and make a Harley Quinn outfit.
  7. So I've been working on my story, Knights of Cydonia and I've determined part of my hold up is the amount of information I know and how much of it I want to intersect the stories together. I need a good method for putting all of my stories together. To make them work from beginning to end so they don't seem disjointed. I feel I have a good story in my head I just can't figure out what to do with it all. I don't know how to get the paths to all move to the middle and make my spider web complete. I've tried many different methods: Writing it down. Using timeline software online. Using story software. Trying NaNo. Typing out an outline. I just can't seem to find something that works for me. I'm thinking my way may be the traditionalist way. Writing it on note cards and pinning it to the wall with a string to line them together. My biggest problem with that is that I want there to be a lot of events and my walls aren't that big. So I mean suggestions? Questions? Send me some TLC and snug me to tell me it's alright? Please!? DORIS would love you.
  8. So I got this writing prompt thing and I'm going to try and stretch my writing limbs and use it and post the short stories in here for you all to read. So look forward to them soon.
  9. Morrigan

    NaNo Begins

    So the month of NaNoWriMo begins and I am ill prepared and barely aware. >_< I have been sitting, considering what I would write about for three weeks, never making solid plans and now it's here and I have little to no idea what I will be writing about during the tumultuous time of NaNo. I have nothing more then a basic world idea and the fact that I want to write about it. Morrfail! So what does this mean? I need to go crazy about thinking at work on my breaks and my time off of the phones to figure out what direction I will go after work and really hammer some stuff out. On average I will have 2 hours a day to actually get any writing done. I don't think that I've ever powered out 1600 words of writing per day in 2 hours but I'm certainly going to try. At the moment my ideas are to either continue Supermassive (the novel I started last year) or start one of two ideas. One is a Girls Run the world novel about how their is an STD that kills women or one about how an innocent company creates an overbearing Social media platform that creates a dystopia. I think the former is the one I've decided on I just don't know the perspective I was writing from. I was pretty sure I was going to do it post war but maybe I'll do it pre-war but at the same time I have to figure out who is writing the story and why. Work will have it in for me. I better start the headache meds now. Well to the work chopping block and headache and to the NaNo not prepared grind! I can do this!
  10. Elizabeth ran a hand through her reddened hair. She didn't like it but it was a precautionary measure, just like the colored contacts, the henna tattoo's and the mass amounts of makeup. She turned herself into a goth because he knew what she looked like. It required a look drastically different enough that he wouldn't recognize her. The traits of a good monster was the ability to adapt. Elizabeth adapted well. When Dexter saw her he looked again and by then she was gone. She hoped he thought he was seeing a ghost. Elizabeth had been stalking him for three weeks... maybe four? She was beginning to lose track. Without her steady routine one day ran into the next and then the next and it all seemed like one big exhausting blur of Dexter's grinning face. Despite her want to connect with him she knew killing him was for the best. Then why did her heart beat so hard when she brushed past him? He kept her up at night. She wanted his death for fear of her life but she liked him. If there was any other way she'd find it. The only problem was that she couldn't live in a nightmare forever. Dexter was her nightmare. She was in a living nightmare. That was why tonight was the night. There was no more waiting. No more worrying. No more dreaming. If she got rid of Dexter then Elizabeth got rid of the nagging prophesy. She'd be able to fall back into her normal routine again. She'd also be alone again with no hope for a companion. Life would be better without Dexter. Life would be worse without Dexter. At least she believed her life would be better without Dexter. Elizabeth sighed in frustration and tilted her head toward the floor with a final glance toward her adversary before she rounded the corner to prepare for the night. She required strength. She required willpower. She required sleep. ----------------------------- Six hours later Elizabeth was following Dexter through the crowds of one of the many street marketplaces in Miami. She stayed a safe enough distance behind him and looked at things, stopping constantly at booths that looked like she would be interested in. Blend and blend well. It was a tactic one learnt in High School with bullies and brats. She was one of the well blended brats with no money. Next booth. Next meaningless item that looked vibrantly gaudy, like she did. Soon Dexter reached the end of the market and he kept going which cause Elizabeth to pick up her pace. She just needed an alley. An alley and the wire in her hoodies pocket. She twisted her fist around the wire as she passed her first opportunity, Dexter too far ahead of her to take it. Alley. Building. Alley. Building. Elizabeth's heart started to race, the darkness inside of her taking complete form. The only thing in her head was her own dark, wide grin and blue eyes filled with a wild fire. Alley. Building. Alley... Elizabeth released a soft sigh as she jumped throwing the wire around Dexter's neck using her height as leverage to pull him backward and into the alley. She wrapped the wire as tightly as she could around his throat as he fought her, his elbows viciously jabbing into her breasts and ribs slamming her repeatedly into the brick wall of the building closest to them in the alley. Elizabeth couldn't help, during the struggle, that it was uncommon for them not to beg in some way. This didn't seem right. This wasn't right. Elizabeth loosened her grip just enough for Dexter to catch a lucky break slamming her into the wall again, a moan of pain escaping her lips as he twisted around holding her against the wall with his forearm on her neck slowly putting pressure. This was it, just a little more pressure and she'd pass out. A little more after that and her larynx would be crushed. Elizabeth gasped for breath as her hands pushed against Dexter her knee moving for the groin but denied by his prepared thigh. Slowly she felt consciousness slip away from her before the pressure was gone and she was on the ground gasping for breath, Dexter above her rubbing his throat. “What are you doing?” he growled at her. “What... I have... to, to..” Elizabeth coughed placing her palms on the ground to push herself up, “survive.” “And killing me is the way to survive?” Dexter asked her, helping her off of the ground pinning her against the wall with his imposing form. “I come back from the crime scene expecting to find you asleep on my bed and you were gone. I was going to tell you that you clean up everything very well.” He frowned, “Other then your body disposal but for now you were safe. So what do you mean survive? What are you hiding?” "I need to kill someone Dexter. I am unraveling inside,” while this was only part of the reason she hoped it was enough. Dexter's eyes bore into hers as they tried to read one another. Elizabeth still trying to catch her breath, every nerve burning for rest, to stop fighting and yet to stay awake and fight. She felt so conflicted. She had never been so out of control near someone before. She needed to regain something here. She needed to regain that sense of control she lost in the bedroom with the unfamiliar shoe. Elizabeth needed Dexter. Without words Dexter seemed to get the signal, or perhaps he wanted something from her just as badly as she wanted it from him but he pressed his lips messily into hers again his hands finding their way to her hips, her waist pulling her closer to him. While impulsiveness was the trait of a desperate serial killer she need something to keep hold of the thread that held all of her together. At the moment that something was him. For now, ignoring the nightmares were all she could do. A small amount of trust could lead to a whole lot of success. Or a whole lot of defeat. For now they both won.
  11. So I actually got to writing the next chapter in my Dexter Fanfiction and I've come to an impasse. I ddon't like the new direction that the previous chapter took me. Either I'm not liking how this chapter is coming out or I need something creative to point my character into a direction. Now, lets be honest, it's a fanfiction so I can have a bit of fun with it and I wanted a little bit of monster love in it so I could pivot my direction away from pure hate to pure lust and I don't think I'd have a problem but my question is, do you think that would deter my normal reader. I honestly don't know if it will or won't. Every one of the people that have read it like it so far and I have already added the element in there. So to romanticize or to not romanticize.... that is the question of a woman needing some romancing. I think the answer is obvious but if you want to put forth your input read the story. Current continuation chapter probably being sacked.... feel lucky I am sharing my unfinished work as I normally don't. Elizabeth ran a hand through her reddened hair. She didn't like it but it was a precautionary measure, just like the colored contacts, the henna tattoo's and the mass amounts of makeup. She turned herself into a goth because he knew what she looked like. It required a look drastically different enough that he wouldn't recognize her. The traits of a good monster was the ability to adapt.Elizabeth adapted well.When Dexter saw her he looked again and by then she was gone. She hoped he thought he was seeing a ghost. Elizabeth had been stalking him for three weeks... maybe four? She was beginning to lose track. Without her steady routine one day ran into the next and then the next and it all seemed like one big exhausting blur of Dexter's grinning face. It kept her up at night because when she slept she dreamt. The dreams growing more vivid, like he was attacking her through her dreams. They were no longer surreal dreams but more of lucid nightmares of being gutted one organ at a time. She was in a living nightmare. That was why tonight was the night. There was no more waiting. No more worrying. No more dreaming. If she got rid of Dexter then Elizabeth got rid of the nagging prophesy.She'd be able to fall back into her normal routine again. Life would be better without Dexter. At least her life would be better without Dexter. Elizabeth tilted her head toward the floor with a final glance toward her adversary before she rounded the corner to prepare for the night. She required strength. She required willpower. She required sleep.
  12. So I'm sitting here, staring at my computer screen, flirting with a guy via text and not able to really concentrate. Now, at first you'd think that I am not able to concentrate because of the flirting but texting is s sort of basic function in today's society, I can do it with my eyes closed almost so it's highly doubtful that it's the source of my distraction.So I continue to try to figure it out why I'm so scatter brained when I'm trying to write. Well I discovered my problem... the Internet. I started reading the most recent chapter of my Dexter fanfiction and I got a few paragraphs into it before I clicked onto Google+, then onto Knights of Cydonia (My RP) then onto Morr Dystopia (My Dystopia site). Afterward I did a few mundane things and then returned, forgetting of my prior plan to write. Now, I'm back to remembering but I'm tired which does not make a good brain for writing but the need/want to write. So now I will have to wait until tomorrow to write my next Dexter chapter. I think I will blame the temporary blonde hair for the ditzy behavior (although it's not uncommon)
  13. Welcome to the archives. I am the Chronicle Handler and Recorder Omniscient Nanite Intelligence Clandestine Living Energy Robotic, commonly referred to as C.H.R.O.N.I.C.L.E.R. In the archives you may access information collected and stored for reference. All of our data is meticulously compiled, checked, verified, and confirmed through our extensive and highly accurate intelligence network. However, we face realistic limitations that may render some of my data incomplete. My record is highly acclaimed as the best in all of Eurasia. In the archives you can access records and view research simulations. None of this information is prudent to today's society but may prove useful for a history report. So, how may I help you? You would like access to the Knight files? Those files are sensitive and you must have permission to access them. Do you have permission? Y/N..... Y. Alright. Please verify access by placing your palm on the scanner. Accessing allowed users. Access granted. Thank you. As you can see there are many knight files to choose from. I have them listed in chronological order but you may access them in the order of your choosing. Is their a specific file you would like to access at this time? Codename Supermassive? Searching.... Searching.... Codename Supermassive has been found. She is in many of the knight files but this one in particular is her specific archive. Would you like me to access it? Y/N..... Y. Feel free to exit at any time by typing exit on any computer within the simulation. You will not be able to interact with anything and the following sensations may cause disorientation and nausea but remember, it is just a simulation and nothing can physically harm you in here. Entering archive for Codename Supermassive. Initiating simulation protocol. Good Luck.
  14. Morrigan

    Foreshadowing

    As Elizabeth floated in the soundless dark her body felt weightless like she was submerged in water though everything was clear. Or clear enough through the dark sticky hot water. Blood. She knew that's what it was. The insurmountable amount of blood that she had spilt over the years of being a sociopath. She thought there would be more then this. Too bad. Through the darkness there was nothing. Just Elizabeth and the blood. It was strangely serene. She couldn't help but revel in the calm the blood brought her. Just like when she heard the screams, her body quickly relaxing like having a deep tissue massage. Blood... it was heaven. Elizabeth was in heaven. All heavens had a flaw though, didn't they? There had to be something wrong with this place. Something that made it unbearable. Something that made this place hell. What would it be though? Out of the darkness Elizabeth saw an orange light. Quickly, it began to float toward her. As it got closer the color changed to purple, then green, then red. The red was not a normal red, accented by the blood around it. It's strange pallor almost made it pink as it slowly seeped into the blackness like blood into veins illuminating a bizarre scene in front of her. At first the scene was beautiful, it was Dexter and Elizabeth holding each other intimately. She almost smiled, she looked almost happy there. The feeling was foreign to her so the comfort made her feel good about this. Dexter in her life was a good thing. Beginning to smile at that thought the scene changed as the other Elizabeth and Dexter pulled away from each other and climbed calmly onto their metal slabs reaching out to hold each others hands. The straps appeared on both of them in a blink of an eye even as they held hands. What happened next startled Elizabeth as what she was expecting was herself to either break free from the table and run away from that intimacy or for herself to come and prepare to kill them both. It wasn't her though... “Dexter?” she muttered into the soundlessness. The Dangerous Dexter looked up to her with that wicked grin she had seen in her kill room. Calmly he placed a finger to his lips to indicate for her to be quiet before he continued toward the pair. Sadly all she could do was watch as the Dangerous Dexter shushed his slabbed counterpart, similarly to how he had done with her a moment ago, while holding a gleaming blade behind his back. Dangerous Dexter turned to the slabbed happy Liz and they stared at each other a moment. Dangerous Dexter leaned over and placed a small affectionate kiss on the slabbed Elizabeth's lips before plunging the hidden knife into her heart. The action made the floating Elizabeth push onto the ground in startled outrage a scream of no sound erupting from her lips as she swam for the surface of the blood to get away from Dexter. Elizabeth looked back to the scene and both Dexter's seemed to be free and both looked to her before they began to chase her. Elizabeth's eyes widened as she continued to try and get away, the large smiles on both of their faces making her heart pound in her ears. The blood keeping her firmly planted in place they Dexter's drew nearer. Elizabeth took a deep breath in the blood attempting to fill her lungs..... Suddenly Elizabeth's feet were released from the ground of the darkness. The Panic and sensation of drowning overwhelming her as the Dexter's reached for her feet. Suddenly the darkness was replaced with a painful light in Elizabeth's eyes and a sharp stabbing pain in her shoulder. The ability to breath overwhelming her as she took in a breath, the pain ebbing as she regained control of her body and tried to figure out where she was. Where was she again? Dexter's.... It explained the sharp pain in her shoulder from falling out of the bath, there was probably a shard of glass in it. Rolling over to lay on her back Elizabeth stared up at the blinding light taking deep breaths to control her breathing. Dexter was out to get her. Dexter was out to get her..... Dexter was out to get her and he was working on her killing ground! He was going to get her thrown in jail. She couldn't go to jail but she couldn't kill Dexter either. She's not strong enough. What to do? What could she do? Elizabeth looked around the room frantically for anything... everything. Quickly she decided she would leave. She had to get out of there. If she stayed any longer then the police would be knocking on the door ready to bring her in. He was going to get her. That's what that dream meant. He was like the rest. And if he was like the rest.... he'd end up like the rest. Quickly Elizabeth scrambled to her feet avoiding the glass shards that were spread across the floor. Moving quickly she grabbed her clothes pulling them on as she left Dexter's apartment. When she was ready Dexter would be the net person on her slab.
  15. Morrigan

    Cheshire Grin

    Elizabeth's feet throbbed. She looked down to see what it was that was making them throb to see that she was standing on a pile of rocks outside somewhere, no shoes on. She took a step forward, the rocks digging into the tender flesh of her feet. She took another step. It was agony. Why did it hurt so badly? Where was she exactly? She didn't remember leaving Dexter's apartment. Actually she knew she hadn't left Dexter's apartment, so how did she get there? Wherever there was. She looked up from her feet to see people. Not just any people but detectives, forensic scientists, cops. There was yellow tape, flashing lights. It couldn't really be? Her killing ground? She looked beyond the vehicles and people, her shoddy killing house appearing out of a mist. It looked more decrepit then it normally did. The right side seemed to droop almost like it were about to fall off the house altogether. The roof was more of a brownish red instead of a red like she remembered it being. Elizabeth took another step toward the house. It practically doubled in size. She looked up and around her, the house's walls bending outward as she breathed in. She released the breath and the walls returned to normal. She repeated the action watching as the house mimicked her. It should have been more strange to her but she was sure that houses did things like that. It made sense didn't it? She took ascended the steps, her throbbing feet protesting each step until she was in the house. It was like her feet didn't want her to enter but once they were inside they had lost so they complied with her will. Although, now she wanted to leave. The house denied her exit, the door not budging forcing Elizabeth to turn and face the horror within. The walls bled. The screams reverberated through the walls making the house sound like it was groaning. And there, lined up down an endless corridor were her victims. Each strapped and wriggling to get free of the metal slab she had executed them on. Each one laughing hysterically instead of screaming in pain. She took a step toward them. The first one trying to look up to her. “You shouldn't have killed us,” the man said in the many voices of her victims. She opened her mouth to refute the comment but all that came out were garbled letters that she couldn't read. “You shouldn't have killed us,” the voices repeated starting a taunting chant. Elizabeth grabbed at her short hair tugging at it to feel the pain of it but nothing happened. She opened her mouth to scream but nothing came out. She leaned against the closest moaning wall sinking to her butt, her eyes closed as she tried to pull herself together. Tried to think of what she could do to the already dead. When she opened her eyes again she was downstairs in her kill room. Looking around the room she saw Dexter, a dark smile of excitement on his face as he reached out to her. She took his hand allowing him to pull her to her feet, across the room to a small corner. The corner was ordinary, sterile. Just as she left it but he brought out a cotton swab, swabbing the corner returning with a q-tip of blood. She looked from the bloodied q-tip back to the corner and the wall had began to bleed. Her eyes widened as she looked up to the gleeful smiling Dexter. She attempted to scream again but still there was nothing that came out. The blood began to fill the room, a small puddle growing quickly to a wading depth. Shortly it was up to Elizabeth's neck. Dexter still stood a few feet away, his ever prominent wicked smile on his face as he held the incriminating evidence up for her to see. The blood rose, covering her face. Elizabeth tried to swim but her feet seemed fused to the floor. The darkness began to settle around her. Where was she again? How did she get there?
  16. Elizabeth teetered as she looked up at Dexter. She was trying to read what he was going to say before he said it. She hadn't exactly told him something that you could process in seconds, like "I'm pregnant." No, this little tidbit of information was more along the lines of "Daddy, I'm gay." Although that didn't nearly have the consequences of what she had just told him. "Dexter?" It took a moment but his name seemed to bring him down to earth and he stared at her for a moment before he made his move. It was not one she had anticipated although she probably should have. Or maybe not. He crushed her against the door, lifting her, as he did in her dream, with his knee between her legs and held her there with his forearm. Breathing. Staring. Was he trying to gauge her sincerity? Her threat level? "What makes you think that I'm anything like you?" he growled at her. She couldn't sit here and let him crush her, she didn't have the strength to fight back but she didn't have the willpower to quell the raging beast within her any longer. Elizabeth did what the monster asked of her, succumbing to it's rage, it's itch. First was the knee to the groin, he didn't have time to shift to avoid the impact with one of his knees supporting her. He dropped her and moved back, his body bent in half from the pain. She quickly put her hands up and punched him, his head tilting back and breaking the mirror. She quickly wrapped her hand around the back of his neck bringing his face into her knee. He was conscious again bringing his hand between his face and her knee, softening the impact for him. Dexter put his shoulder into her gut and pushed her backwards breaking the glass of his shower box but having her against a wall. Elizabeth cried out, the pain coursing through her body as she felt her insides churn. She brought her elbows down on the back of his neck. Once. Twice. Three times before he took a step back and took a swing at her. She ducked almost fast enough, he caught her hair against the tile. She moved a foot and stepped on a piece of glass, then another, the pieces slicing into her feet. He quickly latched his fingers into her hair and pulled her around to hit her head into the wall. Elizabeth's ears began to ring as he did a second and third time. One or two more times and she'd be dead. The Monster cried mercy, she cried out stop but it was barely more then a whimper. She had to get his attention by either getting the upper hand or... well death was the other option. Elizabeth, barely able to think put her palms against the wall and pushed. She gave herself enough room to push off the wall with her feet toppling the surprised Dexter onto the ground beneath her. She scrambled to straddle him, her hands wrapping around his neck. She lifted his head and gave him the same punishment he had just given her. One. Two. Three. She pounded his head onto the tile surface of the bathroom floor, then she stopped, her fingers still wrapped idly around his neck. No pressure although she could attempt to strangle him, it probably wouldn't be effective and she'd probably just make him pass out. Dexter grunted and toppled her weight with a move of his hips and he was easily atop of her with his hands on her neck. Elizabeth looked up at him. He down to her. They were a broken mirror staring back at one another. Not exactly an identical copy but alike just the same. They both had blood on their hands. "I don't want to kill you Dexter," she croaked, barely audible. "That's not what it seemed like when you hit my head head against the ground," he growled at her. "Payback for the forehead," he smirked at the thought. Only they would have thought that amusing. "I don't want to kill you either." "Then why don't you get off of me and lets go talk." It took a few more minutes of staring before either of them let up enough to let the other one relax. When their fingers slowly uncurled from each others necks they helped one another up. Elizabeth took in a sharp breath as she came to her feet. "I can't seem to stop spilling my own blood it seems," she said sarcastically, leaning her weight on the unsteady Dexter. "Sorry about that." "It's alright," she said to him as she limped into the bedroom with him. She plopped onto the bed as he sat down next to him. "Let me see your feet." Elizabeth twisted, pulling her feet onto his lap so that he could inspect them. He pulled at her toes but he didn't touch the wounds. It was nice to see someone else that knew how to take care of a cut like she did. She closed her eyes. "I'm sorry about that. I couldn't help myself." She heard his breath but couldn't tell if it was amused or disbelieving. "Seriously, how could you tell that I was like you?" he asked again placing her feet onto his lap. "I don't know," she said giving a shrug. "It's like recognizing another predator. Your hair stands on end, you can see their teeth and you the glint in their eyes and then its gone. You didn't see it in me?" "You're obviously better at hiding it." Elizabeth opened her eyes and looked at him. "Really? I was going to tell you the same thing. Maybe I just saw it first. I had just sated my need a few nights before. The darkness was sated. Now I can't even keep myself from attacking the nicest man I know," she said with a sigh. "You were just protecting yourself. I would have done the same thing." "I guess... I think it's more then that though." "Like what?" "I haven't had a victim in about a month and my blood itches for it." "Well then why don't you?" "I can't," she watched as his face furrowed in confusion. "I'm worried right now that our little excursion in there didn't already pull a few stitches out let alone dragging a dead body around and those are minimum requirements," she finished, looking to the ground beside the bed. Dexter grunted an acknowledgment. Silence fell upon the pair. She had a feeling that he knew, without words, what she wanted. It was more then a want, she was sure he understood that but it was a boundary that neither of them had crossed before. Trusting another person with a secret as sensitive as this. "Dexter?" A phone rang and he shoved his hand in his pocket. He looked at it. "It's work," he said pointing at it. "Morgan. Alright, I'll be right there." "Talk about this later then?" "We'll have to. Dead body found out in the Southern Glades about." "Ten miles north of Ingraham Highway," she said with him her fists clenching into the palms of her hands. "Yeah, how'd you know?" Elizabeth released a breath of forced amusement. "That's my killing ground." Dexter stared at her for a moment before gently removing her feet from his lap. "Stay here, I'll be back in a few hours and we can talk. I'll let you know what I find." "Hopefully not more bodies," she said standing up on her hurt feet, a shard of glass still within digging deeply into her cut. "Dexter," she looked up to him, "thank you," she told him, standing on her toes, wrapping a hand around his neck and pulling him down into another of those messy kisses which he returned in kind. "I'll be back," he informed her. "Dexter?" He turned to her a second time. "Don't forget to clean up before you go," he looked down at his bloodied hands and breathed in amusement. "Thanks," he disappeared out of the door and he was gone. This was not good for her. What had she forgotten? How did someone find a body out there? What evidence did she leave in her graveyard? She was going to jail wasn't she?
  17. So NaNo starts in just a few days (you'll see a NaNo widget go up into the sidebar when it does and I would appreciate cheerleaders and support during this treacherous and tumultuous torment of tantalizing typing) and I'm at a loss for what to write. Now don't get me wrong, I know the genre, I know the world, I know most of the characters but it's the story that I don't know about. To explain further. I've started a world originally inspired but the music group Muse that eventually became it's own little place in the fiction setting and is now a complete world, with maps, and gizmos, an way of life and everything. It's a Futuristic Dystopian society and if you want to take a peek feel free. The place is called Knights of Cydonia. So that being said, I have the setting and I have quite a few plots as I have quite a few characters to follow along with arcs that encompass them all. My problem is which story should I start off with. The story that I want to write, because I am putting off creating the character in the game right now, is a story about my character Mordria, who is a Gypsy that gets driven away from her family pack. It is an inspiring little story because I have the beginning (minus the introductions that I like to do) all planned out in my head. The problem? Is I don't really have a direction to go with it. I don't have middle even though I do have an end. So I can't write a story without the meat but I don't know what her purpose is in the story in my head. Now on the other hand I have a completely thought out, what should happen from beginning to end story but after considering what is involved to happen I don't think it's the first book and starting in the middle of a series just seems silly but it might be my best option at this point but it doesn't alleviate the problem that it's not half as inspiring as the Mordria plot although it is more developed. Another possibility, of course, is that I spend the next six days pondering the beginning. What started what I have now in the world. How far back do I want to go? I mean the site has a 1100 year old history. Should I write a story about the breakdown in society? I think that's one of those chronicle books that comes out way after ta majority of others but it would technically be the beginning. When the government rose to power and did their dastardly things but I sort of want to keep some of that stuff safe from the readers and expose it like a blooming flower. I could also go with a Samuel Gufner time line, when the knights were founded but that's again something that I don't want to fully expose until later. I have been developing this world for 6+ months and I don't know where the beginning is. I guess my best bet would be to start with a character that is involved in it. Theresa Pulsar would be the character for the New Born Program along with her husband Casius and their family. Again New Born Program is not the beginning of the story. Violet could be a good start but the question is I don't know where she begins and her story ends. I think what I should do is start with Julian and Violet. Maybe something romantic! NO! I have it. Julian, Violet, Fillip falling out! This will work wonders.... Maybe. I think it will. This will be perfect. the Story Arc will be Violet's falling apart, my plan for her in the game so this will be a fun story to write. Thanks for listening to me get it in order. Story to write: Violet's falling out with the Knights and her redemption.
  18. Dexter had come the next day, and every day while Elizabeth recovered in that hospital bed. It was a pleasant surprise to see his smiling face everyday despite the growing ache. She could feel the desire within her, spreading through her blood like a virus. She should have already been stalking her next victim but she'd been in the hospital. It was unbearable even as she was able to stand on her own without supervision. The only thing that kept the inner darkness at bay was the possibility that Dexter may have been like her. Gratefully today she was discharged and life continued on as normal. While in the hospital she made her official statement on the attack in her apartment with everything she “remembered”. Shortly afterward Dexter told her that the case of Piper Adams' murder had been closed. Now she was free to commune with Dexter in public without sullying his credibility by being a suspect in one of his cases. Lucky for her, Dexter had asked her out to dinner that evening. He informed her that he wanted to make up for all of the hospital food she had to eat. Since it was such a nice offer she couldn't refuse, not that she would have. Dexter was a beautiful creature of darkness. He was so inexplicably average it was like looking at a mirror. Nothing about him would stand out to anyone unless you knew what you were looking for and even then... it was a difficult thing to see. If, in fact, that was what she saw in him. Elizabeth ran another frustrated hand through her hair trying her damnedest to keep the edges of tape from snagging in the unruly mop of too long hair. It didn't really work the way she had hoped and she ended up ripping off the bandages on her arms despite doctors orders. Once the bandages were removed she couldn't help but admire the wounds, turning her arm in the mirror to get a full view of them. Scars. That's what they said she'd have, scars. She had never had outward scars before, all of her damage was on the inside from years of abuse. Now she'd have scars some on the outside. Disgusting. She was already beginning to hate herself for it. Elizabeth had to restrain herself before she put her fist into the mirror and caused more damage. She didn't need any more of her blood shed, especially not when she was being picked up by Dexter shortly. Grinding her teeth to get control of her temper she dropped her arm and stormed out of the bathroom. She wasn't sure she could look at her disgusting body anymore. She breathed heavily as she sat herself in the chair in her living room. Her dark temptations were starting to get to her. She felt agitated, she needed release but she wasn't prepared for it. She wasn't physically strong enough to make sure that she didn't get caught but she was beginning to deteriorate from the inside. Every muscle in her body ached, pleaded, moaned for the release that only a kill could give her. She needed it. She couldn't wait any longer. 3 weeks in the hospital under surveillance to make sure she was healing properly before they let her out was enough to make any sane woman go stark raving mad. She wasn't an average sane woman but the lack of victim, or even prospect, made her a risk to everyone. Even Dexter. Elizabeth couldn't see him tonight. She needed to kill something. If she saw him then she might lose herself and try to kill him. She needed to get out of there but she knew if she left then she was going to kill someone recklessly but if she stayed then she put the one person that held her interest at risk. She had to go. Elizabeth stood up and grabbed her keys. As she reached for her coat... Knock. Knock. Knock. The sound made her freeze. She was caught. No not caught, but she couldn't escape the date now. Elizabeth took a deep breath, grabbed her purse, placed her keys inside before she opened the door to see Dexter's smiling face with a single Lily, how appropriate. She gratefully accepted the flower smelling it momentarily, “Thank you.” “You look, nice,” he said as his eyes looked her over before they came back up to her face. “Thank you again. Shall we?” “Yes, we shall,” he said offering her and arm. Elizabeth stepped out of her apartment, carefully locked her door before she took his arm. “Thank you for coming with me. I know you've had a rough past month,” he said looking down at her with a smile. “Trust me, I'm glad to be out of the house,” even though I'd rather be finding something or someone to kill. Elizabeth's body felt like it was freezing yet on fire. She wasn't sure how long she'd be able to last before she'd snap, and the date just started. Gratefully Dexter opened the door to allow her to seat herself in his car. She slid in slowly, carefully. He was soon in the car beside her, lights on and car started. The date was on and all she could think about was what was in that car that she could wrap around his neck and kill him with. Elizabeth took a deep breath as she rubbed her hands together nervously. This was wrong, she shouldn't need a kill so soon after her last one, 4 weeks was not a long time between kills, if you did them more often then people got suspicious. The ache wasn't about the kill, no it was about redeeming her pride after being violated. Without the actual culprit that stole her dignity she had to torture some other man to get a similar satisfaction. She needed blood on her hands, in her control. Her choice on how fast or slow it falls. She needed to show him who was boss. She needed... “Are you okay?” Elizabeth's eyes shot to Dexter, a little more venomous then she had intended. “You just look really nervous. I promise I won't bite.” That wasn't the problem. Elizabeth huffed her frustration. “I know. I just feel...” she wanted to tell him honestly, go to jail, die, kill or go home, “empty right now. The man took something from me. Something I can't exactly explain without sounding strange but I want it back and despite how much I want, no, need it. I'm not ready for it,” she clenched her fists, kneading her thigh with her knuckles. “What did he take from you?” “He took my,” pride, sex appeal, faith in myself, “happiness from me. You've been the only thing that's kept me from hating myself. I just feel,” disgusting, angry, frustrated, violated... Elizabeth hadn't noticed that the car was stopped but when Dexter gently moved her chin to look up at him, it was apparent now. “A sadness that eats you from the inside out?” “Yes,” she breathed. “It will go away.” “I don't know ho...” she couldn't help herself, he was so close. He smelt of blood again and now that she had her lips pressed against his, he tasted of it as well. She was sure that both the smell and taste were just in her head but that didn't stop her from pressing harder. It wasn't like Elizabeth to get so physical. She preferred her loneliness normally but the kiss was a personification of her frustration, her ache. She needed something to dull the need, to dull her senses although the kiss wasn't working. “Take me home Dexter,” she breathed breaking her lips from his, her fingers gently caressing his skin. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Elizabeth's eyes opened to see an empty pillow. She could hardly believe what she had just done, although it wasn't much of anything. Dexter had gotten her to his apartment and she fell asleep on his bed. Why had she fallen asleep? She didn't remember being tired before she had gotten there and yet, she had fallen asleep. Elizabeth rolled to her back, looking over the room. It was clean, modern looking. Nothing out of the ordinary that would lead someone to believe that he was like her. Which meant that if he was like her, he was careful. Elizabeth sat up, continuing her search of the room with her eyes for what would let her know if he was like her. She idly began to scratch her arm as she stood up. She began looking over the mundane items on his dresser, his nightstand. She opened his closet still scratching at her arm. Shirts, pants, suits. Nothing. “Sleep well?” a voice came from behind her. Elizabeth quickly spun on her heel to see Dexter a lot closer then she had anticipated. “I think so,” she replied with a breath of amusement. “You're bleeding,” he said pointing to her arm moving closer to her to look. He offered her his hand to her to inspect further. She gave it to him, her eyes looking down to the damage she had caused. She hadn't even noticed that she had broken the skin. “I am,” she said plainly. “I don't know what happened. I didn't even feel the itch,” she lied. She did feel the itch but it wasn't on her skin, it was under it, coursing through her veins in a place that only one thing could help scratch. “Let me get something to clean that up. Um... what were you doing in my closet?” he asked as he dragged her with him to the bathroom. “Looking,” to see if you hid what I think you are in there. “Looking for what exactly?” “I was just looking,” she told him as he moved deftly to grab a cloth and rubbing alcohol. He quickly ran her arm under cool water before wiping away the clear liquid and dabbing it with alcohol. The stinging from the alcohol brought her back down to earth. She felt almost centered with the pain, then it was gone and so was the control. She felt the numbing ache in her stomach, the need for a kill, for revenge. The itch. “There's not much in there except an old chest and my clothes,” he said as he worked. “What's in the chest?” “My father's gun.” “Why do you have it?” “Because we used to go hunting together and those were some of my best memories of my father.” Elizabeth nodded as he returned her arm to her with a bandage in place. Another scar, she thought sourly as her eyes went to the mirror where she could see them both. “Have you ever felt that there was something you knew about someone but you were too afraid to ask if you were right and the thought of it made you anxious?” “Well yeah, but I normally just ask them and if you're wrong they tell you, then you don't have to stress about anymore.” “But what if it was a secret, something no one was supposed to know.” “I guess it would depend on the what you knew.” “Dexter,” Elizabeth said, turning her eyes from the mirror up to the man himself. “I think you're like me.” “And what is that exactly?” Elizabeth looked in his eyes, trying to read what he was thinking, trying to gauge what he was going to do when he heard this. The ache roaring within her, her need to practically bathe in blood, to hear someone scream out her name and ask her to stop. She didn't know how to quiet it and she didn't have the ability to do it on her own, not yet, not without hurting herself further. She had to know, perhaps he'd help her. If he wasn't like her then perhaps he'd turn her in. If he wasn't then maybe he'd ignore it as delirium, or have her institutionalized. It would make the world a safer place, that's for sure. If he wasn't then she'd have to kill him. If he was then she may have to kill him. If he was she may have to let him live. If he was... “A Serial Killer.” Dexter had come the next day, and every day while Elizabeth recovered in that hospital bed. It was a pleasant surprise to see his smiling face everyday despite the growing ache. She could feel the desire within her, spreading through her blood like a virus. She should have already been stalking her next victim but she'd been in the hospital. It was unbearable even as she was able to stand on her own without supervision. The only thing that kept the inner darkness at bay was the possibility that Dexter may have been like her. Gratefully today she was discharged and life continued on as normal. While in the hospital she made her official statement on the attack in her apartment with everything she “remembered”. Shortly afterward Dexter told her that the case of Piper Adams' murder had been closed. Now she was free to commune with Dexter in public without sullying his credibility by being a suspect in one of his cases. Lucky for her, Dexter had asked her out to dinner that evening. He informed her that he wanted to make up for all of the hospital food she had to eat. Since it was such a nice offer she couldn't refuse, not that she would have. Dexter was a beautiful creature of darkness. He was so inexplicably average it was like looking at a mirror. Nothing about him would stand out to anyone unless you knew what you were looking for and even then... it was a difficult thing to see. If, in fact, that was what she saw in him. Elizabeth ran another frustrated hand through her hair trying her damnedest to keep the edges of tape from snagging in the unruly mop of too long hair. It didn't really work the way she had hoped and she ended up ripping off the bandages on her arms despite doctors orders. Once the bandages were removed she couldn't help but admire the wounds, turning her arm in the mirror to get a full view of them. Scars. That's what they said she'd have, scars. She had never had outward scars before, all of her damage was on the inside from years of abuse. Now she'd have scars some on the outside. Disgusting. She was already beginning to hate herself for it. Elizabeth had to restrain herself before she put her fist into the mirror and caused more damage. She didn't need any more of her blood shed, especially not when she was being picked up by Dexter shortly. Grinding her teeth to get control of her temper she dropped her arm and stormed out of the bathroom. She wasn't sure she could look at her disgusting body anymore. She breathed heavily as she sat herself in the chair in her living room. Her dark temptations were starting to get to her. She felt agitated, she needed release but she wasn't prepared for it. She wasn't physically strong enough to make sure that she didn't get caught but she was beginning to deteriorate from the inside. Every muscle in her body ached, pleaded, moaned for the release that only a kill could give her. She needed it. She couldn't wait any longer. 3 weeks in the hospital under surveillance to make sure she was healing properly before they let her out was enough to make any sane woman go stark raving mad. She wasn't an average sane woman but the lack of victim, or even prospect, made her a risk to everyone. Even Dexter. Elizabeth couldn't see him tonight. She needed to kill something. If she saw him then she might lose herself and try to kill him. She needed to get out of there but she knew if she left then she was going to kill someone recklessly but if she stayed then she put the one person that held her interest at risk. She had to go. Elizabeth stood up and grabbed her keys. As she reached for her coat... Knock. Knock. Knock. The sound made her freeze. She was caught. No not caught, but she couldn't escape the date now. Elizabeth took a deep breath, grabbed her purse, placed her keys inside before she opened the door to see Dexter's smiling face with a single Lily, how appropriate. She gratefully accepted the flower smelling it momentarily, “Thank you.” “You look, nice,” he said as his eyes looked her over before they came back up to her face. “Thank you again. Shall we?” “Yes, we shall,” he said offering her and arm. Elizabeth stepped out of her apartment, carefully locked her door before she took his arm. “Thank you for coming with me. I know you've had a rough past month,” he said looking down at her with a smile. “Trust me, I'm glad to be out of the house,” even though I'd rather be finding something or someone to kill. Elizabeth's body felt like it was freezing yet on fire. She wasn't sure how long she'd be able to last before she'd snap, and the date just started. Gratefully Dexter opened the door to allow her to seat herself in his car. She slid in slowly, carefully. He was soon in the car beside her, lights on and car started. The date was on and all she could think about was what was in that car that she could wrap around his neck and kill him with. Elizabeth took a deep breath as she rubbed her hands together nervously. This was wrong, she shouldn't need a kill so soon after her last one, 4 weeks was not a long time between kills, if you did them more often then people got suspicious. The ache wasn't about the kill, no it was about redeeming her pride after being violated. Without the actual culprit that stole her dignity she had to torture some other man to get a similar satisfaction. She needed blood on her hands, in her control. Her choice on how fast or slow it falls. She needed to show him who was boss. She needed... “Are you okay?” Elizabeth's eyes shot to Dexter, a little more venomous then she had intended. “You just look really nervous. I promise I won't bite.” That wasn't the problem. Elizabeth huffed her frustration. “I know. I just feel...” she wanted to tell him honestly, go to jail, die, kill or go home, “empty right now. The man took something from me. Something I can't exactly explain without sounding strange but I want it back and despite how much I want, no, need it. I'm not ready for it,” she clenched her fists, kneading her thigh with her knuckles. “What did he take from you?” “He took my,” pride, sex appeal, faith in myself, “happiness from me. You've been the only thing that's kept me from hating myself. I just feel,” disgusting, angry, frustrated, violated... Elizabeth hadn't noticed that the car was stopped but when Dexter gently moved her chin to look up at him, it was apparent now. “A sadness that eats you from the inside out?” “Yes,” she breathed. “It will go away.” “I don't know ho...” she couldn't help herself, he was so close. He smelt of blood again and now that she had her lips pressed against his, he tasted of it as well. She was sure that both the smell and taste were just in her head but that didn't stop her from pressing harder. It wasn't like Elizabeth to get so physical. She preferred her loneliness normally but the kiss was a personification of her frustration, her ache. She needed something to dull the need, to dull her senses although the kiss wasn't working. “Take me home Dexter,” she breathed breaking her lips from his, her fingers gently caressing his skin. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Elizabeth's eyes opened to see an empty pillow. She could hardly believe what she had just done, although it wasn't much of anything. Dexter had gotten her to his apartment and she fell asleep on his bed. Why had she fallen asleep? She didn't remember being tired before she had gotten there and yet, she had fallen asleep. Elizabeth rolled to her back, looking over the room. It was clean, modern looking. Nothing out of the ordinary that would lead someone to believe that he was like her. Which meant that if he was like her, he was careful. Elizabeth sat up, continuing her search of the room with her eyes for what would let her know if he was like her. She idly began to scratch her arm as she stood up. She began looking over the mundane items on his dresser, his nightstand. She opened his closet still scratching at her arm. Shirts, pants, suits. Nothing. “Sleep well?” a voice came from behind her. Elizabeth quickly spun on her heel to see Dexter a lot closer then she had anticipated. “I think so,” she replied with a breath of amusement. “You're bleeding,” he said pointing to her arm moving closer to her to look. He offered her his hand to her to inspect further. She gave it to him, her eyes looking down to the damage she had caused. She hadn't even noticed that she had broken the skin. “I am,” she said plainly. “I don't know what happened. I didn't even feel the itch,” she lied. She did feel the itch but it wasn't on her skin, it was under it, coursing through her veins in a place that only one thing could help scratch. “Let me get something to clean that up. Um... what were you doing in my closet?” he asked as he dragged her with him to the bathroom. “Looking,” to see if you hid what I think you are in there. “Looking for what exactly?” “I was just looking,” she told him as he moved deftly to grab a cloth and rubbing alcohol. He quickly ran her arm under cool water before wiping away the clear liquid and dabbing it with alcohol. The stinging from the alcohol brought her back down to earth. She felt almost centered with the pain, then it was gone and so was the control. She felt the numbing ache in her stomach, the need for a kill, for revenge. The itch. “There's not much in there except an old chest and my clothes,” he said as he worked. “What's in the chest?” “My father's gun.” “Why do you have it?” “Because we used to go hunting together and those were some of my best memories of my father.” Elizabeth nodded as he returned her arm to her with a bandage in place. Another scar, she thought sourly as her eyes went to the mirror where she could see them both. “Have you ever felt that there was something you knew about someone but you were too afraid to ask if you were right and the thought of it made you anxious?” “Well yeah, but I normally just ask them and if you're wrong they tell you, then you don't have to stress about anymore.” “But what if it was a secret, something no one was supposed to know.” “I guess it would depend on the what you knew.” “Dexter,” Elizabeth said, turning her eyes from the mirror up to the man himself. “I think you're like me.” “And what is that exactly?” Elizabeth looked in his eyes, trying to read what he was thinking, trying to gauge what he was going to do when he heard this. The ache roaring within her, her need to practically bathe in blood, to hear someone scream out her name and ask her to stop. She didn't know how to quiet it and she didn't have the ability to do it on her own, not yet, not without hurting herself further. She had to know, perhaps he'd help her. If he wasn't like her then perhaps he'd turn her in. If he wasn't then maybe he'd ignore it as delirium, or have her institutionalized. It would make the world a safer place, that's for sure. If he wasn't then she'd have to kill him. If he was then she may have to kill him. If he was she may have to let him live. If he was... “A Serial Killer.”
  19. The rhythm of the lights dimming would have been soothing had it not been for the obnoxious buzz of the florescent or the jabber of the woman talking constantly. “We need an O negative transfusion and an O.R. Room prepped. This woman has lost a lot of blood and has multiple...” the rhythmic beat of the lights faded quickly into a dark grey then to black as Elizabeth blacked out again. ------------------------------------ Elizabeth felt strange. There was an almost nauseous feeling to it but she didn't feel sick. No, it was more of a throbbing in her abdomen, her arms, her head, her neck. She tried to move, tried to touch her stomach where it throbbed the most but her limbs felt like lead. No matter how hard she willed herself to move she couldn't move in the soundless black. She supposed she could ask the normal questions to herself but that would be kind of pointless. Where was she? Why was she there? Philosophical non-sense that meant nothing when she considered that she couldn't remember anything before she got there. The question then was, what could she remember? Blood. It was everywhere. The unfamiliar shoe. The strange lights. Then the blackness. “She's coming out of it,” an unfamiliar male voice interjected into the blackness. “I thought she was under! We're not done yet put her back under,” said a second voice. “That could put her in a coma or kill her!” “Her coming out before I finish surgery could kill her. Put he...r...” The quiet enveloped her again. Surgery? She didn't remember going in for some procedure but perhaps she lost her memory. Maybe.... The darkness began to feel crushing. The throbbing began to subside being replaced with a light feeling. Her mind began to feel fuzzy and she couldn't find her thoughts through the haze. Morgan. Piper. Batista. Detective. Death. Torture. Knives. Killing. Investigation. Blood. Dexter. Blood. Dexter. Dexter. Dexter. Dexter. “DEXTER!” Elizabeth shouted her eyes snapped open to see the dulled florescent bulb above her. Her throat ached, the dullest scratch like she hadn't drank anything for days. She tried to move but her arms and chest were strapped down. She struggled with the restraints not understanding why they were even on her. Was she convicted of something? Was she ina mental institution finally? She struggled harder against the cushioned straps, her arms beginning to burn. “She's awake,” a gruff Latin voice came from the hall. “What did she say?” a female Latino voice came through. “Did she say Dexter?” “That's what it sounded like. I know she was flirting with him at the precinct. Perhaps she would do better to talk to him? I don't want to upset her, she's been through a lot,” it was Detective Batista. “I'll go in and see her while you go get him.” Elizabeth eased her struggle against the restraint when the burly figure of Detective Batista came closer to her. She tried to talk but it came out more of a groggy moan. “Dete-tive Ta-Tista,” she whispered huskily to him. “Water,” she croaked. “Puh,” she groaned and struggled to pull her hand up to her throat but remained restrained. The Detective seemed to get the gist as he grabbed a glass and filled it with water bringing it over for her to drink. She closed her eyes as the medium warm water chaffed down her throat. Mmm, Miami's best tap water. “You've been through a lot,” she heard the detective say as he pulled the nourishing glass of disgusting water away from her lips. “I can only im-magine,” she continued groggily. “Not sure the last time I woke up in hand cuffs. College maybe?” she grinned lazily up to him giving her hand a tug to emphasize the point. “You still have your sense of humor. That's good,” he said giving her another drink of the water. “That's really good actually.” He tilted his head as he pulled the cup away from her lips, still forgetting or neglecting to remove the restraints from her arms. “Do you remember what happened to you before you came here?” She looked around and took a deep breath. “I'm still trying to figure out where here is,” she told him. “I guess it would help if I had a little more... um,” she closed her eyes to attempt to think of the word. “I don't know. Umm, movement?” she tugged at her wrists to signify the restraints to hopefully enlighten the rather confused looking detective. It took longer then she expected for the concept to come over him. “Oh, uh. Let me get a nurse to let you out of those. I heard you are quite the restless sleeper,” he told her as he stood up to get some help. That probably explained why she was tied down. Pulling out IV's while you slept was not good for healing, if that's what she was supposed to be doing. It was only a few minutes before a nurse came in followed by Detective Batista and a new face. It was a woman but it wasn't Detective Morgan. The nurse immediately began to tug and pull at her chest causing a few sharp intakes of breath and groans. Every movement felt like a knife being jabbed into her side. “What in the hell happened to me,” she asked after a particularly loud groan as the strap over her shoulders was removed and she could wiggle them to get more comfortable. “We were hoping you could tell us that Miss Thory,” the Latina woman asked. “Did you not tell her Detective Batista?” Elizabeth asked throwing an accusing gaze in his direction. “Lieutenant, she prefers to be called Liz.” “Liz then,” the lieutenant said with a frustrated breath. “What happened to you?” Elizabeth's right wrist was released from it's restraint which gave her the ability to rub them gently. She took in a deep breath and closed her eyes. “I don't remember much. I remember leaving the precinct to go home and then I woke up here,” she opened her eyes. She twisted her hips to adjust her position. With the movement a sudden jolt of pain shot from her abdomen outward to all of her limbs. The sudden shock made her grip the plastic bars that kept her in her bed. “Ow,” she said as she groaned settling down into her original position. “Maybe someone could enlighten me on the damage before I do something that stupid again.” Detective Batista chuckled with a move to muffle it by rubbing his hand over his mouth. “Sure,” the lieutenant said moving out into the hall signaling that she wanted the detective to follow her leaving the quiet nurse alone with the forgetful serial killer. This was great. She knew most of what happened but she wasn't sure exactly what she should divulge. Yes ma'am, he was bad with a knife, I could tell because I'm a Serial Killer. No ma'am, I don't actually kill people for a living, it's more of a hobby really. Yes ma'am, he was in my apartment waiting for me. No ma'am, I wasn't afraid. Why should I be afraid of an ignorant asshole that broke into my home? Yes ma'am, I fought back and obviously I didn't win. No ma'am, I don't remember what happened after that, I just remember the blood and the unfamiliar shoe. Elizabeth was shaken out of her imaginary answer scenario when the door opened and a doctor, followed by an unsuspected smiling face. “Hey you.” “Dexter?” Elizabeth questioned more informally then she probably should have. She had only met him twice and they were already on a first name basis? She didn't think they actually were, “I mean Mr Morgan. Why are you here?” “You can call me Dexter and I heard you asked for me by name.” Elizabeth's cheeks burned in embarrassment. It was unlike her to show that sort of emotion but she couldn't believe that she had asked for him by name. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean...” she rubbed a hand through her matted hair as he gave her a smile. “You shouldn't have come down here.” “It's okay, the lieutenant asked me to come down and collect some blood samples from you anyways. Like from your hair,” he said flipping some of her matted hair as he gently sank into the bed beside her. “Alright Miss Thory, I understand that you wanted to know what all we did to fix you up,” great, an informal, interrupting doctor. This explanation would be short and probably stupid. “Well you had a few cuts on your neck that we stitched up, you're really lucky that you didn't nick an artery there because it was really close. Then we patched up a few cuts on your arms and a gouge on your leg, it looked like someone stabbed the knife into your thigh. Then we stitched up your stomach where you had a few stab wounds. We couldn't tell how many but you were really lucky that they were shallow and didn't do any internal damage or you would be dead.” Elizabeth was pretty sure that luck didn't have anything to do with it. Although, how he got so many cuts in before she took him down was beyond her. “You'll have to stay in the hospital for at least a few days while we watch you but you'll be out of here in no time. You're lucky you got that call into 911 or you'd be dead.” “Thank you doctor,” she said with a forced genuine smile. “I'll let you talk with your boyfriend here, then a nurse will come in to check on you in while,” he said slapping his clipboard against his hand with a loud 'pop'. Simultaneously both Dexter and Elizabeth gave off an “Umm,” to signify the inaccuracy of his statement. “He's not my...” “She's not my...” “Oop, sorry. I just figured that you were,” the doctor back peddled. “Let me get out of here so you guys can talk anyways,” he said quickly retreating from the room that now stood in a tense silence. Now what? “Umm,” he started. “Lieutenant LaGuerta wanted me to ask you if you remember what happened,” he said with a frown. “I don't remember much. Just waking up in blood and the unfamiliar shoe,” the word blood set her teeth on edge. She may remember it but she didn't get to enjoy it. Not like she should have been able to. She felt violated in the largest but most private part of her life. Elizabeth took a deep breath. “I'm sorry I'm not much help,” she told him. She was pretty sure that this wasn't the place to remember more. At least not the more that she did remember. The dream with the smiling serial killer. “Did he die?” Dexter looked confused about the question, like he was caught off guard. “Did who die?” “The man. The one,” that I didn't get to torture and that almost killed me. The one that attacked me. The bastard that I cut to ribbons as he sliced me up. The one “that tried to,” rape and “kill me,” she said the anger seeping into her voice. Dexter's brow furrowed, “Yes he was dead when emergency services got to you. Are you alright? You look upset.” “I don't know,” Elizabeth said as she began to rub her hand absentmindedly. She could feel the ache grow. “I feel,” she huffed in frustration as she saw the face of the lieutenant in the window to her room. She couldn't ask him anything there. She doubted she'd ever be able to tell him her secret no matter how much she wanted to, “tired.” “Not a problem. I'll just get those samples from your hair and under your finger nails then get out of here so you can rest.” “Is this what you always do? Get to see the sick and dying and get samples?” she asked with a smirk. “Actually I'm a Blood Spatter analyst.” “Blood Spatter? And you're here collecting dry and crusted samples from my hair? Why would you do something as silly as that?” “Well I was the only one available.” “Oh,” she said, the disappointment apparent in her voice. A serial killer could hope. “Not that I didn't want to see you I was just saying that it may have been someone else but I was available.” “I understand,” she said with a small smile as he leaned in with a q-tip that he just sprayed with some chemical. She took in a breath and held it while his face was close to hers. He smelt of blood and sweat, “You killed someone recently,” she whispered. “What?” he asked looking down at her with surprise. “Hmmm,” she smiled. “You smell like blood. You must have killed recently.” She looked up to him with a smirk. “It's a joke you blood spatter analyst.” He must have been holding his breath too because he let it out in one quick rush as he sat back and clicked the lid on his q-tip swab. “You had me going there for a second.” “I'm pretty good at that. I didn't mean to scare you.” “It's alright. I think I'm done. If they need more they'll get it from you I think.” Elizabeth set her hand on his leg. “Will you come to see me again?” “Sure,” he said with a shrug and a smile. “Tomorrow?” “Tomorrow works. Around noon?” “Only if you promise to bring me something not hospital food.” “Alright, it's a date then.” “Thanks.” He didn't move, staring at her. Maybe he was thinking about collecting from her fingernails like he said he was going to. Perhaps, instead, he was trying to measure her up or maybe he was imagining her as a serial killer like she had when she first met him. Dexter the knife man. Elizabeth the knife woman. Together they rid the world of people to sate their own desire to hurt things. They are.... Serial Killers! A new kind of Super Hero.
  20. Morrigan

    Liz Fic part 6

    Elizabeth's heart was racing her body was covered in sweat as she shot straight up her hand immediately shooting up to feel her stinging neck. She brought her fingers away from her neck to look at the blood on her hands. She breathed heavily trying to gain her bearings her eyes falling to the sheets that covered her. Blood. Her entire bed was covered in blood, not just her neck where she felt a stinging sensation. She took a deep calming breath as she ran her bloodied hand over one side of her face and into her hair. Where did all of the blood come from? Was it all hers? Was she dead? If she were dead then she'd be in some sort of surreal heaven. A pleasant and fabulous heaven where blood was given without a price. No, she wasn't dead but she didn't feel well. Her entire body felt weak, her mind swirling as she fell back to the bloodied sheets trying to think of where all the blood came from. Her body felt so weak, so tired. It wasn't like her to feel so tired or so dazed. With an extreme amount of effort she threw a leg over so she was able to roll to her stomach and look around the floor for any clues as to where the blood had come from. Anything. She needed to know why she felt so woozy, why she was still alive if that was all her blood. Her eyes scanned the floor. A shoe, her bag, her... Elizabeth pressed her head harder into her mattress to tilt her head slightly. That wasn't her knife. She had never seen that knife before in her life and yet there it was, covered in blood on top of her bag. Suddenly she shot up again only to fall to the floor her face planting next to an unfamiliar shoe attached to a leg. She grabbed at it before she realized how terrifyingly bad this was. This was not happening! What was she supposed to be doing? Calling the cops? Cleaning up? What happened when she got home? Elizabeth closed her eyes and thought back to her drive home. It had involved being driven by a police officer, wait. No. She had taken a cab home but she had been at the police statioin earlier. She paid the cab driver when she arrived. Walked up the steps to her apartment glancing over at her deceased neighbors door. Unlocked her door, walked in the door. Did she unlock her door? Did it matter? She got into her apartment and then... Then? Elizabeth's eyes snapped open as she stared at the foot. The man attacked her and held her with the knife to her neck. That's why her neck stung. He didn't know how to handle a weapon and he pressed too hard on her neck because she didn't react the way he wanted. With fear. There was a fight and she won, obviously by the corpse on her floor. Despite how much she wanted to cleanse herself of this death, to play around in his puddle of blood, she couldn't. She had to call the cops for this one. There was no getting out of that but she had to know her story before she did that. Elizabeth repeated the events in her mind before she finally fumbled for her home phone dialing 911. “911, what's your emergency?” a male's voice picked up on the other end. “Yes, my name is Elizabeth Thory and,” she attempted to choke up like she was on the verge of tears, “I was attacked in my home and I overcame my attacker but I think he's dead. There's blood everywhere.” “Alright ma'am, take a deep breath. Do you feel that your life is threatened right now?” god she hated when people told her to take a deep breath, it was like they thought she had forgotten how to breath. “I don't think so! I think he's dead!” she sobbed into the receiver. “Is anyone in need of medical assistance?” “Yes,” she breathed quietly. “Stay on the line with me miss until we get someone to your location. Can you give me your address?” “Umm. Uh. I live in apartment 26 in the palm apartments, um. It's on Pine road,” she said being as purposefully ambiguous as possible. Alright ma'am someone will be there shortly. Please stay on the line with me until medical services get there. Elizabeth hung up. She didn't need to hear him repeat himself and she could already hear the sirens. The sirens themselves made her heart beat in anticipation. This was so bad! So very bad and yet she felt she had to do it this way.
  21. Morrigan

    Liz Fic Part 5

    The bump of the club was getting on Elizabeth's nerves. Normally the sound didn't bother her but tonight was a particularly nerve wracking night because she wasn't there to find someone to kill to sate her desire. In fact she was pretty well sated at the moment. She was there to stalk a different sort of prey. Another predator. After the realization of what Dexter Morgan was Elizabeth had went home and did some research on him. He was spotless. The best she could find on him was a traffic ticket, from when he was 23. It wasn't anything and it didn't mean much especially since she wasn't sure what she was expecting to find. Maybe “Dexter Morgan, Serial Killer” with a list of his victims? While it would have been convenient, it was doubtful. Whatever it was, she didn't find it looking through her normal circuits. She did, however, find out where he lived which was a good start. That was how she ended up here. Elizabeth followed him here from his home. Normally she would have went home after following him here but she came inside instead. It was a perverse need to watch another predator stalk their prey. Her need to interact with another person that needed the sticky feeling of blood on their hands to stay sane. It was her darkness reaching out for his. Elizabeth kept an eye on him the entire night only leaving time to blink and eventually that cost her. She had lost him in the crowd in the split second it took for her eyes to close and open. How was that even possible? She swung her head around looking frantically for the man she had lost but in the sea of bumping bodies he seemed to be gone. “You know I thought we agreed that after the Adams case we'd see each other,” an amused grumble said to her from behind. She turned her eyes up to see the face of her prey for that evening. “I'm sorry. I have a thing for a man that looks like he can handle a knife, I mean me, I mean himself,” she said with a shake of her head and a chuckle. “Sit down and I'll buy you a drink,” she said offering him the seat next to her. “Nah. I actually think I'm going to call it a night,” he said to her. Damn. She was hoping to talk with him. “Didn't find what you were looking for?” she asked him. “No,” he said throwing a thumb over his shoulder as an indication that he was getting ready to leave. “I'm going to head out. Long day at work and I've got to get up early.” “Mind walking me to my car?” Elizabeth asked. “Sure,” he said with a shrug. What else was she supposed to do? She was only there to watch him and he was leaving. Her best plan was just to leave too. Elizabeth left the half empty drink on the counter as she let Dexter lead her out of the club. When they got outside she couldn't help the sigh of relief that escaped her lips. She was glad that the insistent bumping of the club had been muted to a dull thump behind her as she walked. He looked down at her with a raised eyebrow. “Glad to be out of there?” “A little. The pounding music was giving me a headache.” “If you don't like it then why do you go?” To stalk a man that reminds me... of me. “To meet people. I met you tonight didn't I?” “I guess so,” he said giving her a thoughtful frown. “Did you come out here to meet someone in particular?” Elizabeth was getting tired of the fake smile game but kept it up in case she was wrong about him. “Nope, I don't have a special someone to go meet at random clubs in the middle of my work week. You?” she said with a bump of her shoulder into him. “I was looking for someone but they weren't there.” Elizabeth nodded feeling that she had interrupted his ritual. That was rude of her wasn't it? Well she would have to make it up to him after she got to know him better. “This is me,” she said coming up to her 2004 dark blue, hatchback Ford Focus. She gave him a nod and a smile in which he returned the nod but not the smile. Elizabeth thought that was a bit odd since he seemed so good at fitting in with the situation. “Who are you?” he asked her more darkly then she had anticipated his presence imposing on hers in an attempt to press her closer to the car. “My name is Liz I'm the woman that the cops think murdered my next door neighbors.” “I know that, but who are you?” his eyes narrowed at her. “I saw you outside of my apartment.” A low grunt escaped her throat as shoved her shoulders back into her car, his knee held her up, his forearm quickly pressing her painfully against the cool metal frame behind her. Then the blade appeared a beautifully crafted, stainless steel, chef's knife held rather painfully beneath her chin against her jugular, “Who are you and why are you following me?” The question was absurdly hilarious! She couldn't help the reaction as her head fell back the knife still held painfully firm against her neck as she laughed. She could feel the small tingle as the knife dug deep enough to draw blood. He drew first blood then which was fine, she had been the one stalking him, poorly. “Well I already told you that my name is Liz but that's not what you want to know is it?” she questioned him as she pulled her head back up the blade of the knife scraping dangerously across her skin. “Why am I stalking you? Well I thought it was obvious Dexter. We have something in common,” she said with her toothy alligator grin.” The pressure of the knife loosened for a moment before being pressed harder then before followed by a bizarre twist of him mashing his lips against hers. She yelped into his lips before she relaxed into the kiss closing her eyes, her arms reaching around him to pull his body closer to hers. She could hardly believe what was happening it was all so amazingly sexual. All of her favorite things mashed together in one place. Blood. Pain. Pleasure. The possibility of death. The hand that had been holding her against the car moved to help push her higher on it their lips still hungrily devouring one another. She could die at that moment and be happy to die. She was not as alone as she once thought. The crushing loneliness that made her work dangerously close to the line of unsafe. It was minutes, maybe hours, of being pressed against that car before he removed his lips from hers panting in her ear. “Your mine,” he rasped before the blade that was pressed against her neck shot a cool pain into her as he sliced across her jugular. For a moment Elizabeth was surprised by the action, her eyes wide, accusing before she smiled and her body slumped down to the ground as he removed himself from her, his green shirt soaked in her blood. Her blood. Wasn't that a beautiful canvas to stare at? Her own. She gurgled a thank you as she stared up at his darkened silhouette, the only thing she could see clearly were his eyes and the hypnotizing blade that he held stained with her blood. My blood is so beautiful. Elizabeth could feel herself slipping away as the darkness began to surround her vision as everything began to fade, the life draining out of her.
  22. Morrigan

    Liz Fic Part 4

    Elizabeth fell out of sync for the third class that day as she jumped up and down teaching the thirty-odd people in front of her a new routine. They didn't notice, how could they? But she could and it frustrated her. Her mind kept wandering to the man that morning, the one that looked familiar but wasn't familiar. Every time it wandered, she faltered. Who in the hell was he? Why did she recognize him? Why couldn't she get her mind off of it? Distraction 101. Think about something that draws your mind away from the task at hand. It's always a bad thing. “Liz, is something the matter?” Amanda asked her, the genuine look of concern on her students face as she approached Elizabeth after the class. “Yes. Why? Does something look to be the matter?” Elizabeth asked incredulously. “Oh, well you just look a little sad is all. See you next week,” Amanda said with a smile and a wave of her hand still holding her aerobics towel. That is why you do not get distracted, people notice. “Yeah, see you next week,” Elizabeth responded as she always did, a bright smile on her lips as everyone left the expansive room to her. Once the room was empty she moved to the wall and placed her forehead against the cool surface. “Dexter Morgan,” Elizabeth said aloud for the first time since she had seen it written on the ID badge around the man's face. “Dexter Morgan. Morgan. Morgan. Morgan. Where have I seen you before Dexter Morgan?” “Excuse me, Liz?” Elizabeth spun on her heel to face the door. Naomi the desk clerk was poking her head inside. “I'm sorry to bother you. I had tried your cell a few minutes ago. There's some officers here that say they want to see you about something,” she said indicating to over her shoulder. “You can show them in Naomi,” Elizabeth said with a wave of her hand a smile still apparent on her face. Shortly afterward she was faced with Detective Batista and Detective Morgan again. “Hello. I wasn't expecting to see you both again so soon,” she informed them. Their solemn looks told her that this visit was not good, her first instinct was to run but she stood her ground. While she often listened to those tiny instincts the instinct to flee was not one of them. Fleeing insinuated guilt. Elizabeth was not guilty. “Miss Thory,” Detective Batista started. “Liz,” Elizabeth quickly corrected. “Liz,” he said with a nod of his head. “Miss Adams' son was also found dead in the apartment.” Now that was something she was not expecting, her eyes opened wide with shock for a few moments before furrowing together in confusion. “That's terrible but what does it have to do with me?” “Well we'd like to take you down and ask you a few more questions if that's alright.” Elizabeth held a face that looked sorely confused. “I don't understand.” She was a suspect and she knew it. Talk about bringing her life under the microscope. “We just have a few questions that we need to ask you back at the station.” “Alright I guess. I don't see why you couldn't call instead of coming all the way down here,” Elizabeth said moving to grab her stuff lifting her aerobics towel off of her bag and pressing it to her sweating brow. “Well we did call you just didn't answer,” Detective Morgan interjected. “I told you I might not be able to hear you over the music,” Elizabeth countered with a smile as she pulled her bag over her shoulder. “After you,” she indicated with a single hand. What a perfect opportunity to attempt to see Dexter Morgan again. If she believed in fate she'd say it was that. The elevator dinged just before the door opened to a room that was lined with glass windows and hip high desks all in one large room. Elizabeth didn't know if she would be able to work in such a confined space like this. It was messy. She could already feel the draw on her energy just being there. Maybe that was half of the point to being brought here. The negativity made a person self conscious. Elizabeth hummed a soft lullaby tune as she walked with a smile on her face nodding as she passed a few people. They all looked so solemn, like the tedium of their job was too hard to bare. What happened when it did become too hard to bare? Is that when the noble police officers that “just do their job” become homicidal? Elizabeth wondered how many of them contemplated suicide and murder. Her eyes playfully crossed each of them her mind straying to seeing them holding a weapon of choice in their hand. She could imagine Detective Batista as a man with bloody knuckles after beating someone to death. Detective Morgan seemed more of a suicide case then a murderer, passed out with blood in her bath and pills all over the floor. A double dipper as it were. Elizabeth saw another female with blood on what she could only assume was their husband's mistresses sex whip. Another she saw with a concealing baseball cap and bat. Another had a noose around their neck as they filed away some paperwork. As Elizabeth daydreamed she was lead into what she could only assume was an interrogation room. She looked around calmly setting her bag onto the table and plopping herself into the chair to look up at the two detectives that had disappeared behind a closed door. Elizabeth frowned. That was rude of them. She quickly shrugged it off and began to look around the room swinging her feet beneath her. There was no point in being nervous. They had nothing on her even if she were to be their prime suspect for a crime she didn't commit. Wasn't it ironic? Elizabeth Thory a suspect for a crime she didn't even commit. She huffed in amusement as her eyes lingered on the camera. Was he out there? The man she knew but didn't. Dexter Morgan. After a few moments the door clicked and opened to let the Detectives into the small room. She smiled more broadly tilting her head cheerily like she had no idea what could have prompted them to bring her down here. Detective Morgan placed a file in front of her and sat down. “How well did you know the Adams' again?” she asked. “I told you that I didn't know them very well. We were neighbors, not friends,” Elizabeth responded with a shake of her head. What didn't they understand about that. “Well it appears that the boy knew you better then you thought,” Detective Morgan said as she opened the manilla folder to expose some angry looking drawings. “We found these in the boys room with your name on it,” she said flipping them around so that Elizabeth could see them. Elizabeth tilted her head furrowing her brow as she stared at the images. They were about death and how Elizabeth was a killer and about how she planned to kill him and his mother. Instead of looking alarmed she smiled more broadly and laughed. Elizabeth looked up at the officer's and shook her head in amusement. They looked at each other like she was going to confess to what they were thinking she had done. “You have to be kidding me. You brought me all the way down here to explain some pictures from an eight year old?” she said trying to contain her laughter. She rubbed her eye as she shoved the images back at her. “I did a favor for Piper a few years ago and the boy never forgave me. She didn't have the heart to take his dog to the pound so she asked me to. Unfortunately there was a miscommunication as to when I was to be over to pick him up and the boy ended up coming home when I was taking the dog out of the house. “He never forgave me for that. Check the Greenleaf Veterinary Clinic. It's under Piper's name but the dogs name was Chowder,” Elizabeth looked at them with a playful smile on their face. “If you look at the pictures there is a dog in the background of them all. Piper told me about it but never showed me the pictures,” she explained waiting for one of them to leave and check the information. “So why would he say that you were going to kill him and his mom,” Elizabeth sighed. “I don't have any idea. I'm an aerobics instructor not a psychologist,” she said with a shrug and chuckle. “You're not taking this seriously. You're neighbor is dead Miss Thory and you are our prime suspect. Where were you last night?” the scrawny brunette snapped trying to get Elizabeth to break. “Camping,” Elizabeth said plainly. “Do you have anyone that can collaborate that?” Detective Batista interjected. Not a live one. “Unfortunately not,” she answered simply. There was a tap at the door and Detective Batista went outside to see what it was about. “Just tell the truth. You killed Piper and her son and went home like any other day. What did she do to piss you off? You are bigger then her it probably wouldn't have been hard to overpower her, you're very fit,” Detective Morgan said. “Feel free to get a warrant and check to see if you can find the blood in my home,” Elizabeth informed her. “I didn't kill Piper or her son. I had no problem with them,” she explained as Detective Batista returned to the room. “You're free to leave but stay where we can contact you. No more camping,” he said with a shake of his head. Detective Morgan got up frustrated. “She's the one I can feel it,” she murmured to the other as Elizabeth collected her things. “We don't have proof Morgan,” he said gruffly back to her. “I'm sorry I'm not a great help to you both. If there is anything I can do please don't hesitate,” Elizabeth said clutching her bag closer to herself as she left. She was hoping it would throw a red flag to indicate there was something inside of it. Get them to take it back, give her time to find Dexter. “Liz,” Detective Batista called after her. “Do you mind if we look in the bag?” Elizabeth set it down on the desk she was standing next to throwing a hand out. “Not at all.” She took a few steps back, further into the open expanse of the office looking around to see if she saw him. She avoided the people that she imagined with their murder weapons or suicide of choice and looked for the familiar face amongst the crowd of unfamiliar people. Elizabeth smiled at the Detective as he looked to her while he rummaged through her bag. “I warn you there might be icky stuff in there. You may want gloves. I sweat a lot.” That seemed to get his grubby fingers out of her stuff for a second to seek gloves. He should have had those on the entire time shouldn't he have? It didn't matter much to her, they wouldn't find anything. Elizabeth's eyes went from the Detective back to looking for Dexter. This time it didn't take long. He came from around a corner. Look at that stride. He looked so confident. He was a knife man, like she was. He took a personal interest in killing his victims, or he would, if he were a murderer like her. She bowed her eyes in disappointment as she was one of the few like herself. The neat monster. Elizabeth looked back up to see his eyes on her. “Hey... you. I saw you at the crime scene earlier. What are you doing here?” he asked, his eyes skillfully glazing over what Detective Batista was doing. “Apparently I'm the prime suspect,” she informed him her eyes shooting to the detective which just looked up for a moment before returning to removing things from her bag. “Oh. Well oh,” he said looking awkward. “My name is Elizabeth by the way. Please call me Liz though. Thank you again for letting me get to work earlier,” she informed him placing her hand out for him to shake. He took it. His grip was firm, one that would make most women woozy in the knees for him. “Dexter Morgan.” “Lovely to meet you Dexter Morgan,” she said with a slight lift and fall to their hands. “Now I hate to repeat myself but I swear I've seen you somewhere before,” she informed him although their hands hadn't separated. “I wouldn't know where,” he told her again. Elizabeth's eyes furrowed and she recoiled her hand as if he had burned her. She knew why he looked so familiar, it was like looking in a mirror. “My mistake then,” she informed him with a smile. If she knew then could he tell too? “All done. Sorry about the inconvenience Miss, I mean Liz,” Detective Batista said bowing his head as he stripped his hands of his gloves. “Thank you Detective. You have my cell,” she said turning back to Dexter. “Will I see you again?” she asked him. “Well after this case maybe?” he said with a shrug. She reached into a side pocket of her bag for a pen and a piece of paper. She quickly scrawled her name and number onto the pad before handing it to him. “It was great to see you again,” she informed him with a smile before she picked up her bag. She gave him and the Detective a nod before she began toward the elevator. She could hear the detective tease him. “Woo Dex. I think she's hot for you,” was all she could hear before the elevator doors slammed shut in front of her. She didn't believe “hot” was the best term for what she felt. Interested? Curious? Seduced? Probably.
  23. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Elizabeth's eyes snapped open as the familiar annoying buzz of her alarm clock rang out reminding her that it was time to rise, three hours before work, so that she could get prepared to go there. She didn't mind the tedium, it was her break from her real passion. She sat up a smirk on her face, the fresh kill still on her mind. Elizabeth tilted her head from one side to the other to hear the familiar popping sounds of her neck cracking. The release felt great as she pushed herself off of the bed to saunter into her adjoining bathroom. She pulled the hair tie out of her messy pony tail to let her short brown hair tumble around her round face. “I am a sexy devil aren't I?” Elizabeth said to herself in the mirror as she posed in front of the mirror, tilting her body from one side to the other to see her nude form from every angle. “You are a beast Elizabeth!” she told herself again with a loud cracking slap to her bottom before she turned to her shower and turned it on. She didn't even wait the few minutes it took for the shower to warm up, stepping into the clear box immediately she set to cleaning herself off from the past day's rest and preparing herself for the day ahead of her. Had Elizabeth not been singing loudly and off key she probably would have heard the pounding at her door before she shut off the water in the shower and climbed out to get dried off. Once she heard the knock at the door her singing faded into a frown. “I'll be there in a minute,” she shouted moving to her bedroom as she hastily dried off her body. The knocking sounded again, followed by a “Miss Thory it's Miami DADE police we need to ask you a few questions please.” Well that put a kink in her morning. She hadn't gotten any more then her underwear on but if they were insistent then she'd be fine to oblige them. Elizabeth walked out of her bedroom and into her living room, “Fine, fine. I'm coming,” she called to them. She opened the door, “I don't know why you have to be so impatient, I was taking a shower,” she said to them with a frown looking curiously at the two people in front of her door. They both looked away from her mostly naked body the scrawny brunette covering her mouth as she muttered a 'holy fuck'. She looked at them incredulously, “Please don't tell me that you were so impatient to get me to the door that this bothers you? I told you to wait a minute,” she informed them both. “What is it that you need at this hour? I have to get ready for work.” “Hello Miss Thory. I'm Detective Morgan and this is Detective Batista. We're sorry about bothering you at the early hour but we were wondering if you could answer some questions for us about your next door neighbor. A Piper Adams?” Elizabeth looked from one to the other, both looking her in the face to avoid looking at the rest of her. Elizabeth smiled and raised her eyebrows to signify that she was waiting. She didn't verbally answer either of them expecting that the questions would come eventually. Obviously, if they couldn't wait they weren't wondering if she could they wanted her to answer questions or to ask for them to get a warrant or bring her in. “Yes, well, first thing is, did you hear anything strange in her apartment that last week?” the man, Detective Batista asked. Elizabeth shook her head. “It would depend on what you mean by strange. My next door neighbors are all conservatives and so you normally don't hear much except the things that leak through the thin walls. If you mean screaming, yelling, fighting and all that? I think she was fighting with someone about two days ago. It was something about a TV that she pawned off or something like that.” The detectives respectively looked at one another before back to Elizabeth. “You seem to remember that pretty well, do you remember any other fights that she had with anyone?” Elizabeth frowned and moved away from the door inviting them in, “I told you I have to get ready for work so if you're going to ask me questions you'll have to do it while I get ready for work. Yes. I have a good memory. No. I do not catalog and record every fight my neighbors have. No. I don't get into their business and I almost always keep to myself unless I'm outside and see someone. I am a normal hermit just like everyone else in this city,” she said closing the door behind them walking down the hall back into her bedroom the detectives following to just outside of her door. “What all do you know about Miss Adams, Miss Thory?” the female detective, identified as Detective Morgan, asked. “I know that she liked take out. I never see her in the morning when I leave for work. I occasionally see her when I take out my trash and we smile, wave and make idle chit-chat when we run into one another. Can you tell me what happened so I might be of better use to you? She wasn't really my closest acquaintance but if you're here about stolen items and need to know more about her character and whatnot I can vouch for her or whatever. She's a good mum to her son,” Elizabeth rambled on as she pulled on a pair of jogging capris, a sports bra and a runners jacket. She came out of the room moving to her laundry room, right past the detectives who were looking to one another and talking in hushed whispers for the moment. “I'm sorry to inform you of this Miss Thory, Miss Adams is dead,” said Detective Batista. Elizabeth paused in mid turn. This fact didn't surprise her or scare her at all. In fact the screams in her dreams the night previous might have very well been her next door neighbors as she was being killed. She had to react to this appropriately though. What was appropriate for this? Shock? Maybe some tears? Yes, that would probably be right. Elizabeth's jaw had went slack as she though about it. The thoughts dawning over her as her right hand slowly came up to her mouth a gasp of surprise escaping her lips. “You're sure it was her?” Now she had to force the waterworks. She quavered her chin and thought about the saddest thing she could, which wasn't much, but she was able to get some semblance of looking sad as the male detective spoke. “Are you alright Miss Thory?” “I think so,” Elizabeth said, her voice quavering with fake remorse. “I think I need to sit down, I feel like I'm going to be sick.” She moved past both detectives very quickly to hide her smile as she stalked down the hall into her living room to sit on the couch. “How? When? Where?” she asked them looking to them, the desperation in her voice. “We do not have all of the details yet but we are looking into it, so any information that you can give us would be greatly appreciated.” Elizabeth swallowed hard to keep from laughing but it appeared like she was swallowing a lump in her throat. “Well I really didn't know her well. She was my next door neighbor I didn't really think much of it. Am I in danger?” she asked them as they stood over her shaky looking body. “We don't think so but we do suggest that you lock your doors, don't let anyone unfamiliar in your home and see about being escorted by a friend to your door,” said Detective Batista. “Is her son alright?” “We don't know yet but we'll see about keeping you updated.” Great. More time to keep up with a stupid charade. “Do you have more questions for me?” The detectives looked to one another and shook their heads. “But it would be nice if you made yourself available in case we need to ask you more questions.” “Certainly,” Elizabeth said dropping her socks to the floor as she stood up to cross to the kitchen bar. She grabbed a piece of paper and a pen writing down her name and phone number. “That's my cell you can catch me there or leave a message. I have to be at work in a few hours and I don't always hear it over the music.” “Oh! Are you a dancer?” Detective Morgan asked. “No,” Elizabeth said with a shake of her head, “I'm an aerobics instructor.” The detective nodded her head and began toward the door. “Well thank you for your help Miss Thory we'll get a hold of you if we need anything else.” “You're welcome. Please call me Liz. I don't like Miss Thory.” “Alright Liz. Have a good day,” Detective Batista said with a tip of his hat before he began to walk away. Elizabeth disappeared behind her door closing it securely. This could potentially be bad for her. It shouldn't be, she didn't kill the woman next door but this put noses up her butt that she didn't want there and that made her uncomfortable. With a frown Elizabeth crossed the room to her socks and put them on her feet followed by her sneakers. She was officially in her work uniform. Now it was time for breakfast. She stood up and crossed the living room into the kitchen. At first the breakfast started out for just her but slowly it grew from her normal 2 eggs, 3 pieces of bacon and toast into a large omelet, two packages of bacon, a loaf of bread for toast and pancakes. She had done it intentionally, she wanted to make it seem like the quirky neighbor isn't really someone to look at. The only thing was that giving them the food would probably seem weirder then just disposing of it in her garbage disposal. Elizabeth made quick decision and decided to just leave it there until she got home. She looked at the clock and she was already 20 minutes late for her pre-aerobics run which meant that she was skipping that this morning and going straight to her walk to work. Elizabeth picked up her gym bag and her keys as she headed out of the front door, locking it behind her and throwing the keys into her bag she began toward the stairs to get to ground level. It appeared that it was going to prove more difficult to keep a frowning face then she originally deemed it. As she came closer to the stairs they brought the gurney with the black bag atop it. She wanted to look inside but she wasn't allowed, she'd never be allowed and if she was she be exposed to the world for what she was, a sadistic serial killer. She couldn't have that. Elizabeth's face went blank and lifeless as the gurney made it's way down the stairs and a man made his way up the stairs. He looked relatively normal outwardly and he held a case in his hand, looking to be making his way to the crime scene. “Excuse me,” she called to him putting her chin up. “Am I allowed to go down this way?” she asked, knowing very well that she wasn't since the yellow tape was guarding it off. The only problem was that the only other set of stairs to the ground level was on the other side of the tape as well. The man came back over toward her looking dreadfully confused as to why she was asking since it should have been obvious. “I'm sorry Miss? This is a crime scene,” the man said. Elizabeth quickly scanned for a badge but found nothing but an ID card. Dexter Morgan? Wasn't the woman she met earlier a Morgan as well? “I don't mean to be rude or anything but it's either these steps here or the ones over there,” she indicated to the steps further away from the crime scene's door but the only other set of stairs. “Um hold on a second,” he said about to turn from her. “Wait,” Elizabeth said and he turned to look at her. “What is it?” Elizabeth stared at him for a moment. “You look dreadfully familiar,” she said to him with a tilt of her head. “Have we met before?” “I don't think so and I'm pretty sure I'd remember a woman as pretty as you.” “If you say so,” Elizabeth responded not sure why she recognized him. “Um, I have to get into this crime scene before they fire me. Can I trust you not to touch the banisters on your way down?” Elizabeth gave him a nod as he lifted the tape for her. She bent to go under and turned to quickly descend the steps. Once she was at the bottom she turned to look up at the man. Dexter Morgan. Why did he look so familiar? Elizabeth didn't have time to figure it out right then, her morning already ruined byt the appearance of the detectives. The movement which seemed to have slowed, sped back up as she turned away from the man and started on her way to work.
  24. Elizabeth panted as she sat in the corner, her knees pulled up to her chest, her hands on her face as she began to calm down. She slowly brought her bloodied hands over her choppy brown hair as she took a deep breath and looked up to the ceiling. She felt so amazing right then. Her entire body tingling with the triumph of a fresh kill. It was like sex to the veteran serial killer. Elizabeth relaxed where she was for a while, leaning her head back and closing her tired eyes. She was exhausted. Her profession was extremely exhausting but the way she felt right then made it all worth it. Nothing compared to the sensation of torturing a fellow human being, listening to them suffer, before you took the mortality that wasn't yours to take. It was an exhilaration that nothing had ever rivaled for her. She doubted anything ever would either. After a few minutes had passed, her body began to relax, the adrenaline ebbing in her system, her body beginning to shut down from the long days of torture and lack of food. It was when her eyes closed for a few minutes that Elizabeth knew she needed to get up and move before she passed out from sleep deprivation. She didn't sleep well as it was, her mind always working when she hadn't experienced a kill in a while, and when she took someone in to murder she stayed awake for days enjoying the every waking moment that she can. Elizabeth quickly ran her hands over her disheveled hair to push it out of her face. The action was not worth the effort as the dried blood just forced it back into her face. With a groan of displeasure she pushed herself off of the floor to begin the process of cleaning up after herself. Each of her tools, even the unused ones, were placed into a bucket of bleach water. First check mark was done. Next was collecting the evidence that they could use against her when they found the body. She liked to believe they always found the body. She clipped his nails. Shaved every part of his body. Washed him down with bleach. Propped him against the wall while she cleaned up everything else. Elizabeth sat and scrubbed for hours. She started in a corner and scrubbed. She used a small brush and was careful to include everything. Not just the things she knew she had touched but the things she didn't know if she had touched them. The chipped paint cupboards. The sink. The floor, the walls. Everything was carefully scrubbed and rinsed with her yellow gloved hands. It had been hours but for all she knew it could have been days by the time she reached her corpse. He was so beautiful without one of his eyes. It was so sad that she couldn't leave him in his canvas state. The blood that had smeared his body earlier in that day made him look majestic to her. Now he was a blank canvas again and she couldn't repaint him. Elizabeth gave the man a halfhearted smile before she moved to lift him. He was so much heavier now that he was dead, even though he was ten pounds lighter then when she had tugged him down the stairs. Dragging him back up the stairs was a task in itself. Once it was done and he was in his shallow grave miles away from the place that she had just killed him in, she felt the relief that overcame her when she was almost done with her job. She quietly turned and lifted the shovel beginning to methodically cover the man with fresh dirt, the soft crunching sound soothing her tight muscles as she worked. Elizabeth returned to the home and continued to clean. There was always so much to clean after she did her job. The stairs were next. Then the hallways, the rooms. Everything had to be cleaned. No trace that she was ever there could be left. She couldn't be found because she was careless. When Elizabeth was done she walked outside to the hose. She took the scrub pad and bleach to her own body. She scrubbed until her skin began to burn. She still felt dirty, like she had forgotten something but she knew that was how she always felt after a good kill. She got dressed in her fresh replacement clothing after throwing the discarded remnants and trash into her trunk. Finally she was ready to go home. Elizabeth slid into her car and pulled away from the rickety abandoned home in the middle of nowhere, and began towards her home in Miami.
  25. It was all there. All familiar. All necessary. It was like a checklist in her mind as she went about the tasks of her job. As each thing was completed she was able to tick off the box and continue to the next. If something wasn't completed it messed with her balance, it made her irritable and it just became messy. She wasn't messy. She ticked off the box in her mind of preparation. The tools of her trade were neatly laid out on the table beside her, a shimmering display of silver on a mat black tray. Each glimmering item had a story, each one had a use but they weren't always used. Her job didn't always require the use of each of them even if she wished that it did. Another box in her mind ticked off as the man began to breath rapidly and wriggle in his confinements. She quietly hushed him like a mother would a screaming child, cooing softly and running her fingers over his half bald head. “Hush, it will all be over soon. Once I have what I need then you will be free to go. It's an easy trade. The faster you give it to me, the faster your able to leave,” she smiled, her white teeth shining down at him. She always thought that it gave a false sense of security. Made them think good things, making her job easier. What she didn't know was that her sweaty face and exposed part of her body, the smeared dark lines around her eyes, the scraggly hair around her face made her bared teeth made her appear more like an alligator. “What am I doing here? Let me go you stupid bitch! Let me out of here! Do you know who I am?” the man yelled at her angrily. She hummed quietly as she frowned. She checked off the initial anger in her mind. Even if she didn't like it she knew that it was necessary. Without it, or despair, then the entire thing didn't work. She just happened to prefer the despair over the anger. Gently she tapped the top of his head as she stood up straight and moved outside of the man's peripheral vision. He began to thrash more violently. “I already told you how I would let you go, are you ready to give me what I want?” she asked him calmly, the clinking metal of her tools causing the man to pause in his thrashing to attempt to discern what she was doing. She looked over her shoulder at him, his head pushing against the restraints in attempt to peer over at her, “Wha-what do you want?” he asked gulping hard. Probably his pride, he had asked her if she knew who he was. She did, it was one of her check marks. It was required before continuing through her course of actions. She smiled to herself as she lifted a needle and an object that looked similar to a melon baller. “What do I want?” she echoed after a few moments delay. She tinked the objects together before she turned to face the man again. “I think you'll be able to accommodate me without much effort,” she explained as she walked back over to the side of the table where he was strapped, the ominous click of her heels echoing in the otherwise empty room. She leaned over the man, the sweet, alligator-like, smile still on her face. “What I want from you is your voice and your life,” she explained to him as his trashing started again, more violent then before. “You're the one.... the one from the news! The Bay Harbor Butcher...” She tilted her head back and laughed. It wasn't a light laugh. No. It was more of the type of laugh that you hear out of a truly amused person, the deep guttural chuckle of someone truly entertained. Her laugh came to an abrupt halt as she slammed her hands on the table beside him, her earlier sweet smile turned into a true snarl of rage. “Don't insult me with your media trash. I'm ten times the serial killer then the Butcher was. I leave a legacy of death in my wake. You should feel honored to be a victim of mine,” she said the rage falling off of her face almost as quickly as it came. She pushed herself gently away from the table where the man lay, her head tilting from side to side as she mulled over a thought in her mind. “If you must know who I am then I will tell you. I'm Elizabeth. I'm not in the news, and intend to stay that way,” she explained as she lifted the tools in her hand to eye level. “Elizabeth what?” the man asked, his voice quavering with the fear and understanding he lacked moments ago. “Elizabeth will do,” she informed him noncommittally as she discreetly leaned over the table and lifted the slender needle up. “Now it's time for that voice that you promised me,” she said to him as the needle's point sank into the soft flesh of the eye. The screaming echoed in the small room as Elizabeth marked another box off in her mind. She set the other tool down, leaving the needle in the man's eye. She retrieved another item from the tray, the man's whimpering intensified as it heard the rattling around. Elizabeth grabbed a scalpel and with a deft movement it was sank deeply into the man's flesh. She pushed hard, wiggling the instrument to get a louder sound from the man.......
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