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Vice and virtue
Topic Started: Feb 6 2010, 03:28 PM (116 Views)
Omega
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=/= We are in an alleyway. It is night, the moon casting a soft glow over the pavements, the occasional faulty street light bursting into life. The walls of the alleyway are covered in graffiti, the all-seeing eye, extra-terrestrials, names and threats from all walks of life.

We move down the alleyway, slowly, smoothly, the light illuminating different areas in turn. Here, scrawled, a pledge of eternal love from some young couple, there, discarded bottles of vodka and whisky, mingling with cigarette butts and the refuse of the city.

Without warning we approach a set of stairs, strong metal, disappearing down into the darkness, as if into the centre of the earth itself. As we we move down the stairs, the moonlight fades, yet the world remains visible if only just. We reach the bottom of the stairs and turn, taking in the sight before us.

An enormous door, painted solid black, red roses scatted across it. Above the door, in plain, white letters, are the words "THE GROTTO." As we enter, we are blasted with music, loud, deafening, infectious. =/=

All simple monkeys, with alien babies
Amphetamines for boys and crucifixes for ladies


=/= To the left, the path of lust, to the right, the path of rage. We continue onwards, entering the heart of the Grotto, a huge room, in the centre of which is a bar stacked with spirits beyond number and narcotics beyond name. The walls of the room are glass, gazing into separate rooms to the left and to the right. Those in the Grotto's centre can see into the outer rooms but those within cannot see out.

On the left, there is sex, raw, angry, violent, stripped of all passion and desire except the desire to conquer, to punish, to dominate. The rule of the jungle, the conquest of penetration. Fucking as a form of war.

On the right, the rooms are the home of violence, fury, rage unhindered by the need for a motive or rationale. In their place lies the pure nature of destruction, the desire to cause pain. =/=

Sampled and soulless, worldwide and real-webbed
You sell all the living for more safer dead


=/= We pass through the Grotto, passing by the viewing area, never pausing for more than a moment. Here, one man strangles another, one hand around his throat, the other smashing him in the face, once, twice, three times, his knuckles coming back bloody. The punched man merely snarls, lifting a knee and smacking his attacker in the stomach, and the two of them fall apart, laying moaning amid blood stains of months and years gone by, each of them wounded, their faces masks of crimson.

In another window, a man kneels, nude, his hands cuffed behind his back. A woman, clad in nothing but a black spiked collar and stiletto heels, whips the kneeling man, the trails of the whip smashing down on his back, leaving huge red welts, the man screaming out in something composed of agony and ecstacy yet identical to neither. =/=

Anything to belong
Anything to be belong...


=/= We pass by the windows, take in the viewers, their expressions ranging from arousal to disgust to a deep, unsettling sense of pleasure at the agonies and debaucheries being played out before them. A woman, her eyes bloodshot, whisps of white powder on the table before her, watches with earnest concentration at the violent sex and sexual violence being played out before her. Beside her, a man watches it all unfold, giggling insanely and inanely to himself, a large joint clutched between his fingers, the remains of a packet of unnamed pills in front of him.

We pass by the viewers and come closer to the bar, tables surrounding it, facing away from the degredation behind them. Here we see groups in earnest conversation, group meditation, argument and romance and everything in between. Glasses and bottles line the tables, pills and powders, flowers and seeds. Young, stern men and women in black PVC make their way through the Grotto, refreshing drinks, checking on patrons who may be too far gone. As we pass by the tables we come closer to a familiar couple. =/=

Rock! is deader than dead
The shock is all in your head
Your sex and your dope is all that we're fed
So fuck all your protests and put 'em to bed...


=/= Omega and Elijah sit together, her head resting on his chest, his arm around her. Before them are two glasses, each half-filled with red wine, and a small pipe. Omega traces her fingertips across Elijah's chest, making invisible patterns on his skin. He kisses her on the forehead and smiles. =/=

Omega: I likes this place. It makes me do the happy dance. Dancey dancey happy dance.

Elijah: It does have a certain charm.

=/= Elijah reaches forward and takes up his wine, drinking deeply from it before passing it to Omega, who pulls herself upright and does likewise. They kiss softly. =/=

Omega: Did Caino like this place when you and him came here a long long long time ago?

Elijah: I believe so. It was an enjoyable evening; yet I fear a similar evening may be a long time coming, given recent events.

Omega: Silly silly Caino.

Elijah: Very much so. One would think Cain, of all people, would have learned that Rish cannot be trusted, in whatever capacity; any alliance with him, no matter how seemingly safe, is simply a prelude to betrayal. Cain learned this first hand when Rish set his then-lackey Quinn on him, as soon as Cain ceased to be useful to Rish's plans for the federation. How quickly they forget.

Omega: Rish is made of fail and ick. I know Caino means well but he's being all silly and stuff. He's like the kid in class who gets bullied then goes along with it when the bully pretends to be friends with them. But the bully always goes against them in the end. Soon Caino's going to get the wedgie of a lifetime if he's not careful.

Elijah: I imagine so. It seems Rish is already assembling his new army, having brought new blood into the federation to fight on his side. They are his useful idiots, men and women of the highest principle who are capable of being led astray by a fool with a forked tongue who can speak in the language of morality. Yet Rish has no morals, he is motivated by power alone; those who ally with him dig their own graves, be they the Bishop, Xtingwish and their friends on the one hand, or Cain on the other.
They, at least, have the excuse of ignorance.

Omega: Caino will come to his senses. I knows it, daddio. I just do.

Elijah: He will. Cain is not naive, nor easily led; we are allies, insurgents and friends. We have stood together many times before and will do so again. Our bonds may bend but they will never break. Rish's nefarious machinations will do little harm in the long run; the tension, however, is very real.

Omega: Totally.

=/= Omega sighs and takes her glass, sipping from it, swirling the wine around her mouth before swallowing it. Her eyes close for a moment and she breaks into a wide, pleased smile. =/=

Omega: You can't spell wine without WIN!

Elijah: Truer words never spoken.

=/= Omega kisses Elijah on the cheek softly and cuddles up. Behind them, men and women tear one another apart in lust and rage, blood flying, sweat pouring, fluids spurting forth in the throes of violent ecstacy and orgasmic brutality. The audience watches on, filling themselves with substances to numb the spirit and soothe the mind. =/=

Omega: Bishop and Xtingwish and the Sisters seem all nice and awesome and stuffs. And they do want to fight against the Sahndicunts. We might end up fighting each other and fighting the Cyndies at the same time like in Stargate Atlantis where Atlantis and the Wraith had to work together to stop the Replicators even though they hated each other and they went out into space and were all like "POW POW POW!" and the Replicators were all "OH NOES! WE HAS A DEAD!!". But then after that was done Atlantis and the Wraith were all angry and powwey and at war with each other. This is totally like that. Except not in space. Yet.

Elijah: Indeed. At present we have little quarrel. I can only hope things remain that way.

=/= Omega buries her head in Elijah's chest and lets out a contented sigh. =/=

Omega: This week should be awesomeful and stuff. We get to make a brand new friend and have fun and excitementness! Yey!

Elijah: We do indeed. McKnight. It seems he is a talented athlete.

Omega: Soon he'll be established in the world of PAIN, right daddio?

Elijah: I have no doubt. Yet he should not be taken lightly; he is new to the federation and has been entered into this tournament from the off. He has much to prove; this may make him dangerous. Yet I suspect you are more dangerous still.

Omega: Danger like the Mouse!

Elijah: Quite.

Omega: He calls himself the Atom Bomb. Wikipedia telled me the only time an atom bomb was used in real life was in August 1945 when they bombed Hiroshima and Nagasaki to test the durability of the Microsoft XBox 360 which was released later that year to great acclaim. But 1945 was a long long long time ago, so long ago Caino was still on his second retirement. I've been in the ring since then! So that gives me a special advantage, right daddio?

Elijah: I am sure, my love.

Omega: w00ticles! He's a silly boy really. He thinks him being a big mean scary boy and me being a ladygirl magically means he's going to win and stuff. But unless he's going to be wrestling with his willy I don't think it matters. And if he is wrestling with his willy I can just bring along my littlest chopping knife and -

Elijah: Indeed.

Omega: Silly McKnight. I bet he's not even a real Knight.

=/= Elijah nods, smiling gently. He runs his fingers through her hair, pulling her a little closer. =/=

Elijah: The tournament is an interesting one. The gold at the end of the path is simply a symbol, nothing more, nothing less. Yet the tournament holds intrigue, those of us who have brought the federation to this point put against those who are newly arrived and eager to prove themselves. The Cyndicate and the Insurgency each offering our members to the fight, veterans and newcomers alike seeking to battle one another out. The journey is the reward, as they say.

Omega: All this kerfuffle over a silly little belt. I've got lots of belts already, I've got big belts and little belts and red belts and black belts and a Finding Nemo belt made of fishy awesome and win and such. Another one would just clutter up the place. But now we get to have fun with lots and lots of new people and be all "pow pow pow new person 'ave it in the face!" and stuff.

Elijah: Many seek gold, few attain it. Our goals are of a different nature.

Omega: Totally.

=/= Elijah smiles, softly, reaches forward, picking up the pipe. He reaches into his pocket and withdraws a small bag and a book of matches. Elijah reaches into the back and withdraws a nugget of hash, placing it on the end of the pipe and pressing its mouthpiece to his lips.

Elijah lights a match and touches it to the hash, bringing it to life, and inhales deeply, taking the acrid smoke into his lungs. Omega hops onto his lap and slips an arm around his neck, leans forward, staring eye to eye unblinking. Omega leans down as if to kiss him and Elijah exhales, sending plumes of smoke towards Omega. She inhales, pulling into her body, letting the smoke flow through her. She takes the pipe and lights it herself, and they repeat the process, Omega breathing out smoke into Elijah, filling him.

Omega rests her head on Elijah's chest and giggles to herself, Elijah's eyes half-closed as the smoke works its way through their bodies, his arm around her, holding her tightly. =/=

Omega: I loves you.

Elijah: I loves you too.

=/= She rests her head on his shoulder and closes her eyes, smiling contentedly. We leave the happy couple together, holding one another, at peace amid the depravity around them. We pass by the rooms, men and women engaging in acts of lust and violence with an aggression matched only by the voyuerism of those who watch. =/=

(OOC Notes: lyrics early in this post from Rock is Dead by Marilyn Manson. The Grotto previously appeared in the RP Boys Night Out.)
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I am not so serious, this passion is a plagiarism
I might join your century, but only on a rare occasion
I was taken out before the labour pains set in
Now behold the world's worst accident:
I AM THE GIRL ANACHRONISM!


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