Werewolves, Vampires and Crooks (F looking for takers)

Started by Maeve, July 01, 2015, 01:21:14 AM

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Maeve

I Drew The Curtains, I Close The Doors - CRAVING

 




It would just be one night. Her pride wasn't worth the destruction of their pretty port city. Her dignity could be sacrificed to the admiral and his many warships. She found it almost funny that her chastity could weighed in cannons and powder. That the beauty of her homeland could be compared to her own in the minds of military men.

She guessed however that on the morrow, he would be the only one considered a hero.

Maeve

 
Sometimes, Triumph Is Just The Beginning - CRAVING


He had rejected her once. She wasn’t sure she would survive it again. Over the past 9 years, she had survived everything that life had unkindly thrown at her and few dangers she had sought out herself. Sickness, hunger, assassination attempts and barbarian hordes barely stimulated worry in her anymore. Him though, despite everything, he still made her weak in the knees and sick to her stomach.

Last time had been in the throne room, where her humiliation was great entertainment for the assorted courtiers. She had been 19 and naïve and innocently in love with a beautiful cad. She had even confessed her undying devotion with a poem. An atrocious poem that she had tried to scrub from her mind along with the memory of him taking the arm of her cousin, the heir to the throne and patting her on the head as he left to be devoured by the malicious gossip of all of those who had witnessed her mortifying spectacle.

Now almost a decade later she waited in the rooms that had once belonged to that cousin, the banners torn down in favor of her own, just as anxious as she had been the first time she declared her love. This time she would do it in private, just in case he still said no or said only what he thought would please her. That was a concern now that she had an army at her back and the blessing of the Empire do with her homeland what she would.

She had the blood scrubbed from the floor, apparently her cousin had been found cowering by her peasant army who had dealt with their previous monarch as they saw fit, and she had filled the room to the brim with his favorite flowers, foods, and presents that she had gathered for him in the many years of their separation: trinkets from the Kingdoms she had conquered, lands from the Empire she now served and those little chocolates he had so liked when they were children. She was even going to gift him with the bird that she had bought in the market when she first left home, the one she couldn’t pass up because it’s plumage reminded her so of him. Provided he said yes of course, if he said no…well, she hadn’t planned on what to do if he said no.

Maeve

Smiling Masks



Yes, this would work out just fine.


When Miss Lulubelle had been told that the boss man was sending her a nanny she had been livid. So what? They were a bit short on what they normally sent his way. It was there fault for not keeping the Coppers off their backs. Maybe a rival boss’s son was found hiding in her cellar? Maybe his enemies shouldn’t be so good looking and turn her girl’s heads? Maybe one of his guys had gone missing while he was out collecting tax from her? Maybe he shouldn’t have been so easy to kill? That was no reason to send some thin haired, pot belied lackey that would ease greasy fingers into her tills and under the skirts of her girls. No way to show respect for someone who had been a good earner for so many years.


Miss Lulu was thumping mad and ready to lash out at the nearest gangster to vent her rage. Until she saw who he was. She knew him, everyone knew him, he was the handsome as sin wildcard that would just easily kiss you as kill you. The one whose loyalty had recently been called into question. The one who was being punished just as much as she was. The one who had just as much reason to be pissed as the boss as her.


She couldn’t have planned it better herself.



Maeve

36) Strictly Taboo -



She's not his wife. Everyone knows that. Some whisper that she is his sister. Others that she was once afflicted by witches and he now uses her to sniff out others corrupted. There are a few who dare to suggest that she is a witch herself. That during his green days as a young witch hunter he had failed and allowed her to distract him while trying to exact the truth. He now wears her like a yoke to remind himself never to be weak again.

Whatever she is, she's nervous when they enter Essex. A county so infested with witches that no other hunter would go there. The few that have, keen on the fortune and glory of such a conquest are lucky if they leave with their lives. Most do not, and if they do it is without their wits intact. She can barely hope the same for them.




The nature of this story changes dramically on whether you see the witch hunter as good/bad or neutral. I look forward to hearing your ideas.

Maeve


A Ridiculous Proposal




He felt that his laughter might have been bordering on rude, but he wanted to drive home the point of just how preposterous the idea was.

"But," he grinned, "We hate each other."

She nodded, doing everything she could not to stare at the seductive curve of his mouth, "That's why it'll work."

Maeve

37) More Precious than Rubies

Women are nearly extinct, the same methods that saved the planet have caused the females of the human species to dip to just one million souls. They are the worlds greatest resource. Too great to be allowed to care for themselves, no matter what the Feral Wimin may say. For those who have not escaped civilization it is a structured life from secluded schools to training facilities to position of wife or concubine.

Carlotta is one of the few women to be independently powerful in this new world. She is the widow of one of the creators of the female schools, where girls are kept chaste and educated until they come of age. At such point they gather the knowledge needed to serve their new husbands. Some of their methods are considered a touch extreme, especially if they happen to capture of those wild female creatures. This year she has three star pupils and one very rich buyer.

What, did you think they did this as a charity?

Lord Lycan is a billionaire, a senator and one of the most gallant men about town. Every three years he shows off another wife or harem girl, each prettier than the last. It's been a good year for him, he's just been re-elected on a platform dedicated to catching the last of the Feral Wimin and returning them to the loving arms of civilization and his investments have been more than profitable. Time to buy himself a treat. Three treats precisely. A new wife and a new consort. However the law that he upholds states that you can only have two within the space of three years. Carlotta, the understanding soul that she is allows him to take all three, to let him decide who fits best into his household and he may return the one that doesn't.

Fawn, Pansy and Chiclet know what that means. The one returned will no longer be considered pure and therefore sent to the block, to be auctioned to the highest bidder: no courtship, no say, no gentlemen to be found. They have a choice before them, fight among themselves for the highest position of wife or the conciliatory prize of concubine or stick together and find a way to escape their fate.

Carlotta -
Upon her husbands death, she let none of his power fall to another man. She runs the most prestigious of schools and produces the wives and harlots of the elite. In return she just has oodles of money, and that treasure provides her with the best of everything. That being said, she is not unsympathetic to her charges. If she is unkind it's for their own good. Better to belong to a rich man, than take your chances being offered up at the block.

Pansy -

The wild child of her class, Pansy knew more than she should from an early age. She never believed that story about the stork or Prince Charming, but she does believe in Carlotta's diamonds and furs. She wants the good life and she doesn't care who she has to hurt to get it.

Fawn -

The star pupil and the good girl. Fawn has never said an unkind word, nor been anything but proper.

Chiclet -

The others were born in captivity. She's the only one who lived for a time in the forest with her mother and her aunts. She still dreams of being free.

Lord Lycan -

This man has never been anything except rich and powerful. The women he collects are status symbols for his virility and success. In private they are his only comfort in an otherwise strained and demanding life. 

Maeve

Noble Profession






She was only 40% lying about why she was leaving. Wren did want adventure and she did want to make a difference in the universe. Educating children on some backwater planet would certainly accomplish both. The other reason though, the one that had worry crinkling around her mother’s eyes, had to do with her radical past.

She’s not sure a student reading group from her University days could be considered radical but it seemed like someone was filling their quota. Two of her former cohort had already been arrested, Lira had been sent to Selene.

Which is how she found herself on a Dandelion Ship. Officially the pod-like structure was designed with safety in mind. Should they find themselves lost in deep space all the little hulls surrounding the main bridge would detach, like the seeds off a Dandelion, had enough fuel to get them to safety and then radio help for the others. However, she wasn’t so naïve not to know that they were the prime choice for smugglers and that she was brought on board to give them a veneer of respectability. The maiden school teacher with her long skirts, braided hair and nose in a book with a cup of tea. It was beyond the realm of possibility that she would be up to no good.  It would take a month for them to reach her new permanent home. A month of them pushing her in front of any and all officials while they hid the loot. 

In the end, they saved her life. The ship had been lured into the planets orbit by space age wreckers. By the time the Captain gets wise the only thing he can do is release the pods. Wren had been reading in her room when suddenly she was trajected towards the surface, her throat in her stomach for only a moment before the ship righted itself, auto pilot came on and she landed with little fuss.

That was only the beginning of her problems. The pod landed far away from the danger of the wreckers, but it also landed far away from everything else and suddenly Wren wished that she had taken dinner in her room or that she had stored bottles of water rather than tea bags and Christmas wine that the outer provinces were unlikely to have.
She spent two days sweltering in the desert, her belly cramping for want of water and shivering as the night sank into freezing temperatures.

As the sun rose on the third day and she scrambled to bask in it's first milky rays, she thinks that death has come for her. He certainly doesn't look like an angel, but he doesn't attack. Instead, he offers her water, shaking the canteen at her so she can hear the liquid sloshing instead. When she takes a step, he takes one back. After a few of these, she curses him but still follows and she realizes that he's leading her away like she's a stray dog. About ten steps and he gives her the canteen, before rifling through her things. The water tastes too good for her to bring up much of an objection and instead sucked down every drop. By the time he's finished he had two bags slung over his shoulder and his pockets bursting with her goods. For a moment Wren thinks that he may kill her, that he no longer has any use for her, or worse that he still does.

Instead, like he did with the water, he offered up a bit of what Wren hoped was food. Again when she took a step forward, he took a step back. This time he gave it to her when they were out of sight of her craft. Away from her shelter and her last chance of getting outside help. Instead, she followed a stranger into a wasteland. Perhaps, Wren mused on the long walk, that she had bumped her head on her crash landing. That could be the only reason she would do something so foolish.

The sun was making the desert bake, but the heat did little to banish the cold fear that rolled over her like waves. He still hadn't spoken, to give her any indication of what awaited her, still he hadn't made any aggressive moves towards her either. When she lagged behind, he would offer her water or food or let her rest for a few minutes at a time before clicking his tongue for her to follow.

Forty-five minutes into their journey Wren stumbles onto the fact that though he doesn't speak, he understands everything she says. Silence, especially in times of trouble, is something that Wren could not stand and rather than contemplating the various nasty fates that might be awaiting her she filled the emptiness with prattle. She told him of her home, of the movie she saw last week, of her family and friends. It was when she told him that she was a teacher however, that's when his eyebrows lifted and he rubbed his chin thoughtfully. An act that made her ever more uncertain of her future.

Of all the images that she conjured in her head, none of them looked like what she was greeted with. A crowd of children, similar in appearance to him, swarmed them at the edge of a beautiful oasis. The little boys and girls grabbed at her hands, tugged at her dress and tried to crawl up her side. At her panicked look he laughed and finally spoke.

"Teacher, teach."

Maeve

38) Untitled Pirate Story -



Almost a year ago I was part of a group game about young noble women being kidnapped by pirates. It did not last long, which is a downright shame, and I would like to attempt to play her character again. Maybe add in a bit more plot. Should this shiver your timbers, pm me.

Maeve

For His Shadows

 


Maybe a Peter Pan where Peter left to grow up and Wendy stayed in Neverland?

Maeve

39) Ain't Misbehavin'



The unrepentant sinner. The fallen lady. The brains of the operation.

They found themselves fleeing for their past life, unsure of how to live in the future presented to them and lost in a blizzard. They were three girls from Chicago who had drunk a little too liberally from the fountain of good times and suddenly found themselves with a hell of a hangover. It had a name too and a posse of men looking to cash in on the bounty on their heads. Which is why they had jumped off the warm train to California, jumped on a milk truck and now found themselves stumbling around in heels as the snow crept past their knees.

Death was certain. Which is why when the young man showed up with a lantern, they thought he was an angel. He took them back to a run-down farmhouse. His little sister and mother marveled at their fine clothes. The old cook fed them till they pleaded for mercy. They handed them some crumpled bills and told them that they wouldn't bother them further. The mother insisted they stay till the storm passed, the sister begged that they tell her more big city stories and the young man looked at all of them with heated eyes.

Even when the blizzard subsides there's no way off the farm, not until spring melts back the roads. Instead, the girls figure this place is as good as any to hide and their hosts seem more than welcoming, despite how little they have. They spend their time reading by the fire, learning to knit and teaching the little sister how to sing. They learn of the plight of the farm and the dire future of those who live on it. By the time spring comes around, they have a plan. The young man has shown them where they are on a map and the girls have shown the routes for smuggling hooch and the names of who to contact.

By the time the buds shake on the trees, they've given him the blueprint to be a kingpin.

Maeve

Stealing Magic





The gods were dying. With every village that was eradicated, with every once faithful worshiper that lost their faith, a little more life seeped away from these ancient deities.

It was sad, and all too often by-product of conquest. It was profitable too if you knew how to capture those shards of faith, the last lingering tendrils of a gods power.

Priscilla does. She's not one of the conquers, in fact, her people were once conquered, but she does follow after them. Waiting for things to get bad enough that the local gods are weak and she can pounce. They usually expire once she was done, when she robbed them of the last bit of their believer's love, they have nothing left to tie them to this plane and dissolve into the ether.

He didn't. Priscilla had miscalculated and this latest god had more juice than her previous victims. She didn't know what to do with him now, in mortal form demanding back his divinity.

Maeve

40) On Hold



"I don't want to know how you smuggled a cell phone into federal corrections."

He was teasing because he was surprised by the call. The former secretary of truly bad man he had been investigating for months calling him from behind bars was not something he had been expecting. The same woman who whenever he called made increasingly ridiculous excuses as to why her boss couldn't come to the phone or would just leave him on hold for hours at a time. It seemed that her allegiances had shifted since her boss sent her down the river for his crimes.

"Get me out of here and I'll tell you everything you need to know."

"Give me a minute to think it over," he told her, smirking into the phone as he muted her.

Maeve

41. New in Town



"You make all this money writing books for kids?" The escort asked, gesturing to Lauras perfectly arranged parlor, complete with lilies from the garden and bone china statues on the mantle.

"No," Laura replied, taking a delicate statue of a dog from her guest's hand and putting it back on the shelf, "I'm a commercial artist." The girl that showed up to her house had the same pretty eyes as the one in the picture, but there was no way she was 24. She was however different from her ex, which is why she had procured her services in a moment of lonely self-loathing.

"This," the girl points one more in general to her house, "All this came from drawing pictures."

"Um, listen it's not that I don't trust you, well I have just met you, but I don't want to suggest that you're a liar but you wouldn't happen to have some form of ID on you?"

The girl snorted and thrust her chin at Laura, those same beautiful eyes glassed and guarded, "You just ordered me off the net like a pizza, what do you care? We gonna do this, or what?"

Laura paused and looked the girl and her supple form over, thinking that she was just as bad as those suburban dads who cheat on their families and then thinking what the rest of her evening would be if she sent the girl off. Or what indeed. 

Maeve


A Bride of Vengeance





"There is usually more discussion when it comes to peace negotiations," Magnus hissed at Dark Carol, shoving his bony fingers into his armpits to stave off the biting damp cold of McDaniels whiskey cellars.

"And bridesmaids and fluergirls aren't normally 'napped for the ceremony, but 'ere we are," she responded, only removing the damp end of her cigar once she had finished her statement. The bridesmaids in question were relatives of the groom, rather than the bride herself, and only now after a rare treat of champagne and fine nibbles did they realize something was amiss. It had been Susan's idea, in response to the Shrams heavy handed move into their territory.

"Don't they look a peach though," she grinned at Magnus, showing stained and juicy teeth, "Wouldn't know our families been havin' a...disagreement since Moses wore short pants, would ja?" Magnus merely held up his Roman nose and sniffed.

"When this over with Miss McDaniels, it is my fondest wish that we may never meet again. No offense meant."

Susan looked deep into the eyes of her intended, even though it appeared as though the lost secrets of the empire had written themselves on his shoes for as much as he studied them. Even though this was a marriage of business and convenience, she had every intention of being the best wife she could be. Afterall he had such pretty eyes. Her groom, on the other hand, couldn't figure out for the life of him what exactly she was smiling about

Maeve

42. Champion -


"What makes you think he'll come?" Her handmaiden asked her, "He hates you."

Princess Voladea, the last pagan princess, had been captured on a diplomatic mission. Her captor, in the most gentile of terms for a barbarian, had informed her that it was her hand or her head. She knew of his reputation and had no desire to wed him, to give him the use of her lands and men in his ceaseless wars. In a desperate act, older than any of their gods, she declared that she would only be won by combat and sent a message by raven to a man whom her kingdom had been in a standoff for decades. Her father and his, him and her, a deep-seated mistrust and hate that could not be overcome and went deeper than borders. 

"He'll come," she told her sorrowfully, as the girl wrapped her shivering shoulders in a shawl of fine linen, "He has to."

"What if he doesn't win?"

It was only then that the princess began to cry.




Maeve

43. It's Just Biology - CRAVING



On her optimistic days, Elita would say that her life is unusual. She's an unusual alpha (female when 95% are male) with an unusual omega (male and built like an alpha) and she's about to pull herself up the social ladder by unusual (humiliating, degenerate) means.

On her more realistic days, she just says that she's screwed and has been since birth. Born with the wrong secondary gender and worse yet, the wrong class. They say slavery has been outlawed for centuries but voluntary indenture was the way they ran it past the censors. It's not voluntary and though technically the carrot is if you save your pennies you can be free one rainy day, modern society is poor soil for vegetables. The stick is the reality.

Elita belongs to an old and powerful family. Which means she lives on one of their crappy estates and works as a barista in an upscale office, her paycheck going for her upkeep and to pay off her families debt at the company store. It's dull and repetitive and the only way she makes it through the day is by cracking wise about the purgatory that is her life.

Least it was until she met Kade. Her mate (accidental, a moment of passion that still causes strife) was well known as a scrapper. An omega that refused to bow. He was older than her and more emotionally flawed. When most people meet them, they think that he's an alpha that had to date a beta due to economic hardship. Despite his black moods and the way he curses life, he makes her heart flare and all her instincts roar. Protect, love, claim. It's why she even considers doing what she's about to do.

Ryen's mother knows there's something wrong with him as soon as he hits puberty. He's an alpha that rejects omegas. There's an incident with a professional for his first rut. He bloodies her and sends her screaming from the heat den. It simply won't do for a boy from high society who needs to marry an omega of means and stature. Hope surges in her when he develops a crush on a girl from their social circle, a sweet and prim darling of the right genders and class. All seems to go well until she goes into heat and she has such high hopes until the next morning she finds the girl crying in the hallway and her son folded in on himself sobbing in the corner of a dark room.

He spends his next heat alone and destroys the den in rut madness. He injures himself the next time.

Something must be done. Omegas smell wrong, he tells her, tight-lipped and adolescent sullen, but he likes girls. If this gets out the scandal will be horrific. A beta would be bad enough but it has to be an alpha, as any beta he tried to mount would switch to an omega at the scent of him. Luck finally swings in their favor. They own a female alpha, one who is eager for the opportunity to better her lot in life.

She wants to sneer at this guttersnipe who thinks she's good enough for her son when clearly she doesn't even have the pride of an ordinary alpha, but her sons rut is approaching and he can't survive another one alone.

Maeve

44. Strange Unearthly Creatures



This one kinda has a plot? Something close to a plot? Mostly it's just an idea wrapped up in diamonds and lace, best viewed through an absinthe haze. I really want to do a dark fairy tale set in Belle Epoque Paris. Think all the grit and dark magic of Victorian England with a continental flair. A time of anarchists and Apaches (I'm not being racist, this was the term for the gang kids of the day and good lord did they have flair), of advances in forensics and analysis of criminal behavior, but also of occult groups and science. Full of new ideas steeped in traditions of old. Crippling poverty wrapped up with gold leaf.

I'm thinking there will be something like the Moulin Rouge (maybe a competitor?) where many of the characters work. Stories could include a courtesan who keeps her youth and beauty by sending her lover M. Bluebeard to kill and then scalp young women. She then weaves the dead girls hair into her own and their life force then becomes hers. A young dancer that brings down the house every night but despite her suitors sees only one man when the curtain comes down. The man who lovingly created her from the finest clockwork and spends his evenings oiling her gears. The girl that death loved. The heiress who is tricked into marrying the dwarf son of M. Bluebeard, who thinks she gets her happily ever after when a prince rescues her, only to find out that the true monster has a beautiful face and now lurks the underworld by night trying to find her first husband. An honest civil servant who learns the fate of the incorruptible as he's forced to serve a secret night court, advising the Angel of Death (Parisian division) on who should go to heaven and who to hell.

Have an idea? Want to weave in a historical event? I would love to hear from you.

Maeve

45. Booked but Never Charged



"You know why we called you in?" The detective asked. Must have been from out of town. He was too dapper to be a Brighton detective. They call him the 'Count' one of the younger maids had told her with a wistful romantic sigh.

"I suspect because a nun was done in in one of our cheaper suites," she replied crisply. He continued to stare at her as he pushed towards her a file. Her file.

"Not many women are arrested for witchcraft these days," he told her, tapping on her mug shot. She stared down at her younger face, dressed to the nines in spiritualist fare. She could do readings just as well in her normal clothes, but the audience expected a show. The photo was before the bombing that ripped apart her neighborhood. After that night she had a shock of grey hair at her temple. Trauma from the destruction her doctor had told her and she had not corrected him.

"I was never charged with it. Only Duncan was. I stopped when I saw how you boys treated her."

"You found her," he said, in reference to the nun, "Would you mind telling me what you saw?"

She pursed her lips. No, she did not want to tell him. He would never believe her. In fact, all she wanted to do was pack and get on the next train before that thing found her again.

Maeve

46. I Choose You To Consume Me -














He never thought his life would go this way, but he always kinda hoped. He's a scientist and not just a scientist but a mad genius out of a bond film and the brilliant mind behind many of the biohacks used by the military and private corporations alike. That makes him hot property and now he has an island, like an entire island, for him to test his theories and develop new projects. Course he's kept there so he's not head hunted and to make sure his work isn't stolen, but they see to all his needs and make sure he's very very happy.

Like the one little, not really important, but kinda core to his being about having beautiful women dominate him. It's nice that the guys he's making all this stuff keep bringing him beautiful hookers to do just that, the only problem is they can't leave. Which is fine. He has three gorgeous doms who do his bidding whenever he feels the itch, but no one to talk to and no matter how many times he tries to explain to them there's more to a woman than just sex and all this stuff is great but really just going through the motions and rather unfulfilling....it falls on deaf ears. He finds there is nothing sadder than a big man with a gun who looks equally confused and embarrassed by a topic they're trying to wrap their heads around.

Finally, in a moment of frustration with a product when he could really use a sympathetic ear, who realized how funny he was, that was also good with a riding crop, shouted at them that he needed a woman who could make him laugh and fuck him with a strap-on.

'This will be the last woman," his handlers told him, "They only get replaced if they leave in a body bag." He had been appalled at the sentiment but agreed. The process had taken longer than expected. It wasn't like they could use tinder for this. Then he had a eureka moment. Sara, the sweet temp that worked at his lab in San Fran, she thought he was funny and not in an I'm trying to shag my way to the top kind of way. They had worked together for 6 months and if he hadn't been transferred to Berlin he was going to ask her out. Sara would be perfect. Except for one thing. She wasn't a dom, like at all. Eh, he figured he could train her.




This is essentially a non con romance about a guy teaching a girl how to be his dom. If this is of interest, hit me up.

Maeve

47. The Boy in the Backyard - TAKEN



Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide
Delia likes to think of herself as a Jane Austen character. The promise of a happy ending with a man above her station and a small church in the country is the only way she manages day to day.

It's only been 6 months since her parents died in a car crash and she's been forced to live with her mother's cousins. She's the poor relation. The upscale suburb nothing like the Pittsburgh apartment she grew up in. Every day they make it clear that she's only allowed to stay out of duty. They gave her one of the smaller guest rooms, clothes from the new school year came from the thrift shop and she has to babysit for pocket money. This is nothing out of the norm for her old life, except that her cousins have rooms onto themselves, their clothes are all brand name and they had black visa cards. She's not the only outcast in the house. Their firstborn lost his WASP way during his senior year of high school, starting smoking pot and reading alternatives to the Wall Street Journal. They couldn't kick their darling boy out, but they minimize the scandal and sequester him in the old pool house until he found his way back to Yale and the polo club.

She continues to make the most of it, taking it one day at a time. It's dull and full of sorrow but manageable. That is until one autumn afternoon during a thunderstorm when the family was away for the evening and locked her out of the house. They're going to be gone for the weekend and there was no way she could spend three nights exposed to the elements. With a ball of sticky dread in her stomach, she knocks on the door to the pool house, hoping that he'll have an extra key or at least will let her get out of the rain.

Maeve

48. Pain with Patience - CRAVING


It is easier to find men who will volunteer to die, than to find those who are willing to endure pain with patience.

Now she cried. The fate of her sister wrenching from her the last bits of emotion she had buried. By the time she was called up, dragged up to the block by someone she didn’t know, her eyes were ringed red and her cheeks stained. She didn’t notice them hang the sign around her neck proclaiming her attributes. The auctioneer repeated them, going on about her talents, but she didn’t hear that either. Otherwise, she might have corrected him and added one a few points. Not that she was proud, but perhaps one of her unspoken talents would keep her in the neighborhood she had lived in for the past year. Beyond hope was that she would be close to her sister, or to the same doctor that Elpides was sold to. It was a foolish, wishful thought and she kept her eyes straight ahead, not looking at the crowd. At this point it was fate. She had no control over who was willing to put down coin for her, no more than a jug of wine or piece of jewelry and therefore no point in trying to find a friendly face amongst them.

She had to be prodded to remove her dress. It took a moment but she slid out one arm and then the other and let drop into a pool of cloth at her feet. The only time she registered anything was when breeze stiffened her nipples and she shivered. Numbers were being thrown around 5, 10, 25...didn’t matter. With her rounded hips, curved rump, ample bosom, and freckles she knew that she was not the ideal of Roman beauty and figured that this would be over with soon. Even with all her talents, what did that matter if she didn’t have almond eyes, thick eyebrows, and a small frame? Maybe a few extra coins for her red hair, but other than that. 
Another prod and Ginette pulled back on her dress and dumbly followed behind the same man that had led her to the block, lead her to a holding pen.

She stood still as a statue, in the same place the slaver had left her until a deep baritone echoed around her.

“Pray over me Sister?”

That roused her. The same Gaul that had been tossing about the Roman was standing before her. His dialect from different from hers, but she understood him well enough and what he wanted. Death was coming, and luckily for him, she remembered the warriors blessing well.

“I interrupted before.”

Her smile seemed out of place, but it was enough to wake her out of her dower stupor. “It was worth it,” She told him, and in response, he sat at her feet and let her set his braids to right as she once again began her litany. Praying the gods would revel in his bravery and save a seat for him in the afterlife.

“Did you ever meet him?” he asked. There was only one him he could be referring to in such revered tones.

Vercingetorix

“Yes,” she responded, with equal respect.

“You’ll live longer than me little sister, make sure your children know his name.”

His owner came before hers and their exchange was brief, but it was enough to make her come to her senses. She was not dead yet and there were more challenges to face.
Then she caught sight of her new Master. No. No no no no no. She would gladly go with the lanista, looking after the Gladiators in any way he saw fit, or a lower end brothel, or ended up as a nursery maid, or a helper in some merchants shop, but to belong to legionnaire? Likely one who had been part of the conquest of her home and the destruction of her people and family, fate was indeed unkind.




This is a story about a Gaul who survived the siege of Cesar, through many unfortunate twists of fate she ends up in Rome, sold to Legionnaire who's fat from conquest looking to set up a happy home. It could go in many directions. I have a complete story for her, and her history could lend itself to any kind of tale we want to conjure. PM me if this is of interest.

I wouldn't mind doing a version of this story where her master is a Legionnaire or any of the following variations -

- A Patrician Woman
- A Gladiator School
- Set in Camp concerning Roman Generals - the plot would concentrate on her being a spy. She's been 'captured' by the Roman invaders and ends up in the bed of an influential general. He's a wealthy man and was once a great warrior but now is mostly here as a sign of respect for his dottering personage and overflowing gold and troops that keep the army moving. It seems that she's pulled the wool over his eyes with her sweet smile and gentle hands that soothe away his cares. She may have fooled him but not his heir, who is in charge in everything but name. She's a traitorous bitch, he just can't prove it, but he won't be distracted by that sweet smile, even if it's haunting his dreams. This basic plotline does not need to be set in this story - it could be Vikings and an Irish slave, could be fantasy, could be modern corporate espionage. CRAVING this one - PM if interested.


Maeve

49. Lightening on a Clear Day



He had no idea that he had a twin. Spent his entire life thinking that there was just one face like his in the world. It was an attractive one if he said so himself, his boyish grin and twinkling eyes were enough to get him out of scrapes with the law and into the beds of many pretty lasses, but not so uncommon and memorable that he can't ply his less than lawful trades. Until he comes to this rural pub in a strange new land and is greeted by scraping, bowing peasants who call him by a name not his own and treat him to the best they have to offer, all while scowling with fear whenever he approaches them.

His brother had unsavory habits, like impaling people and conquering every land he enters. Fate is strange, not only does he have a twin but he's a vicious warlord. Who is he to judge though? He's a hardly a saint himself. Which he proves by slitting his brother's throat in his sleep and taking over his empire. He's never been one to pass up an opportunity.

The princess had always been of the opinion that the greatest misfortune to a woman of wealth and property was relations. Her island kingdom is small but wealthy, all due to well maintained natural resources and well-run trade negotiations. Her greedy uncles and vicious aunts were now about to ruin the delicate ecosystem that made them all rich. She had been minding their pleasure for years, so they intended to marry her off that monster in order to plunder the treasury she held the keys to. She wondered if her betrothed, who had already gone through two wives, knew of their plan. He would no doubt do away with her as well, but the money would not go to him upon her death, but back to her closest living male relative. She hoped that when he received that nasty shock, he would impale all her relatives on one spike and have exercise the thrift they could not in life.




Arranged marriage and mistaken identities set in a violent fantasy world...who could ask for more?


Maeve

50. Reform School Girls



It was the worst of the worst under 21. If you were a bad girl, a dope slave, wore gang colors, or were just caught naughty this is where they sent you. There were stories of girls trying to swallow safety pins so they wouldn't have to see what lay beyond its doors. For those who did, they never came out the same.




I have a craving a cliche burdened 1950's nostalgic 1980's dystopian plot about, you guessed it, reform school girls. Don't really know where the story should go or if it would work better as a group game. But I know that I want girls with colorful spiked hair and razor chokers having to navigate separate gangs, sadistic wardens, and crazy nurses. PM your thoughts.

Maeve

Quote from: Maeve on October 29, 2017, 09:23:54 AM
44. Strange Unearthly Creatures



This one kinda has a plot? Something close to a plot? Mostly it's just an idea wrapped up in diamonds and lace, best viewed through an absinthe haze. I really want to do a dark fairy tale set in Belle Epoque Paris. Think all the grit and dark magic of Victorian England with a continental flair. A time of anarchists and Apaches (I'm not being racist, this was the term for the gang kids of the day and good lord did they have flair), of advances in forensics and analysis of criminal behavior, but also of occult groups and science. Full of new ideas steeped in traditions of old. Crippling poverty wrapped up with gold leaf.

I'm thinking there will be something like the Moulin Rouge (maybe a competitor?) where many of the characters work. Stories could include a courtesan who keeps her youth and beauty by sending her lover M. Bluebeard to kill and then scalp young women. She then weaves the dead girls hair into her own and their life force then becomes hers. A young dancer that brings down the house every night but despite her suitors sees only one man when the curtain comes down. The man who lovingly created her from the finest clockwork and spends his evenings oiling her gears. The girl that death loved. The heiress who is tricked into marrying the dwarf son of M. Bluebeard, who thinks she gets her happily ever after when a prince rescues her, only to find out that the true monster has a beautiful face and now lurks the underworld by night trying to find her first husband. An honest civil servant who learns the fate of the incorruptible as he's forced to serve a secret night court, advising the Angel of Death (Parisian division) on who should go to heaven and who to hell.

Have an idea? Want to weave in a historical event? I would love to hear from you.

A new plot to add to this one -



She was beautiful and very, very, very dead. The opera would be sold without its great star, to that ghastly American no doubt. Not because of her singing voice, or what she passed for talent but because of her benefactor. A benefactor that would want blood for whoever was responsible. Thankfully the girl had a doppelganger, one of the girls in the chorus, and she would buy them time to discover the cause of this murder most foul.

It's set in Paris, there has to be a plot at the Opera House.

Maeve

51. The Heart Consumed



There's a secret room in the Vatican...or is it Parliment...perhaps under Wall Street? The men who enter seem to be from all nations, all creeds, all colors, the only thing they have in common is power. They are powerful, wealthy men, with enough sway to bend creatures of the night to their will. They had discovered sometime in the middle ages that Vampire blood, when distilled, could extend their lives and rejuvenate their spirits. It's an exclusive secret, one shared with only a few deemed worthy.

The payment system is simple. Blood for blood. Pick a lady of the night, pun intended, and do with her as you wish. Her only payment comes in the form of food. Sate their unholy appetite and they shall do the same for their callers.

Course the system isn't perfect. As Helene finds out when her dinner wakes up with a brand new pair of fangs. It's been decades since they've had a new vampire in the brothel and something tells her sire, she'll be nothing but trouble.




Didn't want to flesh out too much of a plot. Wanted to give it space to breathe just in case this became a group game. I'm thinking a love triangle in there somewhere. Pm me if this inspires.