Naked without my gun [OPEN]

[Isi Runasimi]

This blood lust in me

eternal pleas

[atrb=border,0,true]

ONE WEEK AFTER BEING TURNED Isi found herself in Russia. To be specific, the capital, Moscow. She needed to get away from New York for a while so she had packed up all her valuables and stored them in the large safe she had in the basement of her house. Everything from guns to anything incriminating was in the safe. Papers were burned and Isi took her laptop with her. On the internet she had rented a nice penthouse for six months. If she wanted to stay later she would renew the contract. It had been hellish turning all alone. But Isi was a big girl. She had been able to take it and she was still quite sane – if she had ever been sane in the first place. She was not at least stark raving mad like her sire, Lyn. Oh how Isi cursed that despicable name. Isi had been bitten one week before being turned. In that she had an epic battle with the vampire on the street. The vampire had an umbrella, Isi had two guns. Needless to say a lot of innocent bystanders had gotten shot. Okay, two, but that was a lot for being in the Upper East Side. That area was no ghetto and those people were middle-upper class. So a red head and a pink headed girl were wanted by the police for questioning. That meant that they were wanted. Period. For arrest. Sure they would be questioned, after they were arrested. It was a good thing that Isi had a lot of hair dye colors in her estate. She was easily able to dye her hair black with blue strands without setting foot in a Walgreens where some damn employee would remember the red head buying hair dye. Russia was a nice place but it was hard as hell to get to. Isi had to avoid the sun and it made it quite hard to travel. Isi had to give travel some serious thought since landing in daylight would kill her! Isi had to arrive at the air port the night before, stay in the airport motel which was connected and then next day set out at 4 PM, 9 hours later she was in cool, dark Moscow. After unpacking her luggage and opening her parcels she had sent ahead of time she put her guns in new spots, not that she really needed a gun anymore. Her stomach rumbled four hours before sunrise. Isi was starving as she had only had a quick bite of a mortal. It was hard to catch pray, hard to drink, hard to leave them alive, hard to live with herself. Walking outside she did not know the streets half as well as she knew the ones of New York, though she had been to Moscow several times before. “FUCK!” Isi screamed as she punched her fist in the nearest alleyway. There was a large dent. She was just so angry that she threw a trash can on the floor. An alley cat came out and hissed at her before realizing that something was wrong with Isi before hissing an even angrier hiss and then it scampered away. “Fuck you damn cat!” Isi replied. Isi felt damned. She felt naked without her guns. She felt weak without her knifes. She felt hungry without a full belly. Isi was used to hunger actually. When she was hunting or robbing you really couldn’t do it on a full stomach. What happened if she had to barf while during a flip or a kill or an acrobatic move? That would be really bad. You never wanted to be too full to move. Damn, Isi really missed food. She missed the taste of her root beer. But at least she looked better in clothes. && words . 634 && tagged . n/a && outfit . here && notes . n/a

immortal pain

it thrusts in your veins

[Vladimir Lichstein]

Come On, Little Temptress...

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The soft, clipped sound of footsteps echoed through the alley. Two immaculate shoes stepped easily over a pile of trash, golden eyes glancing at it dispassionately before it was left behind. A long suit jacket, in a dark deep read, flared out behind a crisp white dress shirt, hands nonchalantly tucked into his pockets. Golden irises under dark, messy, locks took in the surroundings without a single sign of emotion as they passed by. He had, after all, seen it all before, in this home town of his. That homeless man, that lounged under a blanket of discarded newspaper and cardboard, he would die within the week of a disease that he knew nothing about. The sleeping, shivering form barely shifted as the were-crow slid past. He wasn't out for hunting tonight, not yet. He hadn't really had enough free time to find a new target. That took concentration and preparation, and he was still reacquainting himself with the changes in the city since his last visit ten years previously. Again, he stepped over a knocked over trash can, crossing through a crowded street before disappearing into another alley across the way. None of the humans, hurrying past in the night, bothered to look at him. They didn't know any better.

He stopped slightly, held in place by a deviation from the norm, an angry, vulgar scream from ahead. Frowning slightly, he took a few steps corner until he could see the cause of the disturbance. A woman, not human, if the dent in the nearby wall was any indication. Not in the best mood, either, from the way she swore at the cat that popped out. Vlad's frown grew. He didn't really like surprises, but he supposed that they could have their own interest, in some ways. With a slight cough, he stepped forward out of the shadows. Golden orbs narrowing, he regarded her anew, glancing up and down her frame. Attractive, in a way that seemed to scream 'dangerous'. If his instincts were to be any judge at all, and he had long ago learned to trust them, she hadn't been...whatever she was... for very long.

Just in case the cough hadn't attracted her attention, he whistled softly, leaning against the alley wall. "That's a little bit uncalled for." He said in easy Russian, his natural tongue. "I somehow doubt that either the cat or the wall did something bad enough to you to deserve such a response." Pushing off, he stepped forward, eyes coldly regarding her. "So what is it, exactly, that brings you to this city, pride of Russia? You seem a bit out of place here..."
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Show Me That Crimson Color...

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[Isi Runasimi]

This blood lust in me

eternal pleas

[atrb=border,0,true]

Isi was about as American as Swiss cheese. Sure, she was born in America and lived in America but she was as un-American in a way that she did not follow America’s rules and laws. She stole from American museums. She did not pay her taxes. She did not follow the speed limit. And she laughed and mocked police officers and other members of ‘law’ enforcement. But still, she did not technically belong in Russia. She was not Russian. She spoke it, a bit. But she did not belong, not even as a tourist. "Кто заботится о кошке? Я думал, в Россию любил топить их.“(Who cares about a cat? I thought Russian’s loved to drown them.) she said with a slight hint of sarcasm. She understood the jist of what the man had been saying, an obvious native Russki. Isi would not have travelled to Russia if she did not know at least some of the language. Though most of the time she had heard people speaking English. Russians just loved to practice their English, especially when someone looked like an American! “Не ваше дело, русский. Я знаю, что в России люди умирают, если они вмешиваться в бизнес, который не принадлежит к ним.” (Mind your own business, Russian. I know that in Russia people die if they meddle in business that does not belong to them.) Isi lifted up her trench coat and felt it settle back into place. She was neither cold nor hot. She moved without fear out of the alleyway, head held high, and dignity still intact – well, with as much dignity a vampire hunter now stereotypically turned vampire could muster. Isi was rather fond of cats. She had always been thinking of getting one for a companion. Perhaps a black one with white paws, something adorable. But then she thought of all the priceless things she owned and did not want fur balls or hairballs on her furniture, also of which, she did not want scratched. Priceless furniture that had survived for three hundred years only to be destroyed by some mutt cat that’s mother wasn’t fast enough to run away from male’s in heat. It had hurt when the cat had hissed at Isi so. && words . 371 && tagged . n/a && outfit . here && notes . n/a

immortal pain

it thrusts in your veins

[Vladimir Lichstein]

Come On, Little Temptress...

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Vlad's golden eyes narrowed. She was not human, yet she was unable to recognize his inhuman nature. A curious phenomenon, unless... His eyes studied her again. Was she freshly turned? Unused to her new body? Most interesting. It was rare he had the opportunity to practice on an immortal, especially one so freshly turned. American, too. Not a tourist, if her words were any indication. Tourists were rarely so rude... Running from something, then, perhaps the change itself. His hands ached to experiment, to push the threshold of her pain to new and exciting levels. It was always fun to see the expression on their face when they survived something so excruciating that the pain itself threatened to overwhelm them. Then there were the people that learned, after a time, to think as he did, to love and embrace the pain he pain he brought them. Those were the ones he eventually let go, that they might bring their new understanding to others. Usually, they failed miserably, getting caught and sentenced. But none of it could be traced back to him, because, of course, he simply didn't exist. No records carried his name, no portrait or picture had ever held his face. So he couldn't be caught. It was impossible. Impossible to find something that didn't exist. Even his parents had refused to acknowledge his existence. Vlad was quite comfortable with having no place in the world.

His voice changed, shifting into a soft english, with a tiny trace of a british accent. "Perhaps, young woman, you're mistaken. Other Russians may drown cats, certainly, but I don't mind them. They never mind telling you how they feel... That, however, is besides the point..." He stopped, glancing back at her. She needed to learn, learn of pain. He had to be the teacher. No one else would do, not for someone in her situation. Pain was a lession, agony was a lecture. Oh, to work his teachings into her flesh, a cut here, a slice there, while she struggled helplessly in his web of wires. He wanted to see her blood, needed to taste it as it ran in tiny crimson rivers from cuts in her smooth skin. Would she cry out? Probably not at first. The angry, brave ones never did. It was fun to break them, to watch them cry out for the first time, then continue screaming until they had nothing left.

His face contorted in fury as she turned to move out of the alley. The expression of rage passed across his face like a cloud before resolving once again into its neutral, emotionless state. "Perhaps you should be mindful yourself, vampire" He said, voice icy cold and sharp. "Not many of my kind would be quite so passive in their approach to one of your kind, unarmed as they are." His eyes had shifted to their black-within-black of his alternate form. With two easy strides, he had moved next to her, regarding her coldly. "Besides, little fly... You've already come into my web... I'm not going to let you go that easily now..."
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Show Me That Crimson Color...

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[Isi Runasimi]

“You are a fool if you think I’m unarmed. But I welcome your web. Either kill me now or let me be on my way!” Isi knew of vampires long before she was turned. She also knew of werewolves and more recently, an entire multitude of species she referred to as were-others. She used to kill these species as a human. And she derived too much pleasure from their painful deaths.

While she was a human, a vampire hunter (if you will) she had a pet (again-if you will) that was a vampire. It was an odd combination seeing how ruthless Isi had been, was, whatever you will - as a human. But she had taken an English vampire in known as Seras whom she beat on a regular basis. One day though, Seras had fled in the night and Isi had tortured twenty-two vampires trying to find out Seras’ location. She had not succeeded in part because Seras had such a country talk about her and that she was a loner.

Isi yawned to show the were-creature how bored she was of it. She was not impressed by his speed nor his strength. She had fought vampires that could bend fire – two twice, a vampire that could bend water, an old as dirt Aztec warrior who called herself a Goddess and had grand delusions that she was a God. She had also fought many werewolves, were-hyenas, a were-jaguar and a were-seal- the last was really too easy to kill and should not even be counted

“Well, hurry up. I haven’t all night. And try not to get fleas on me, m’kay?” she said sounding so snooty. Isi did not know what she felt aside from the feeling that she was a walking, non-living irony. The vampire hunter becoming a vampire was so stereotypical that Isi would cry if she could. She had a huge sense of self-preservation thus allowing her to let innocent humans die in the name of vampire killing and could not kill herself. Isi could have saved some humans in a few situations but that would leave her to being exposed and put in jail. So she let the humans die and remained jail-free.

Isi sniffed the air knowing full well that she needn’t breathe. The man was not a vampire – of course. His words had led her to believe without a single hint of doubt that he was a type of were. He did not smell like a werewolf. Even as a hunter Isi could smell werewolves. Not passing her down on the street, but when she was fighting them transformation and all. Werewolves smelled like dirty, wet, nasty, dogs. As a vampire she could smell better. Cigarette smoke, alcohol, blood, sex - She had smelt it all in the past few days of being a vampire. This man, no this Creature smelt like … flying? Sky? Moon? Air? Febreeze?