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Thread: Horse Guards Parade (Let the Games Begin)

  1. #41
    Rod Stafford
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    Rod expected such a reaction. He held up a hand and gave the slightest shake of the head. It was late, and there were but a handful of weary patrons left nursing their drinks, but that was no excuse for them to abandon all discretion. Sansa was vulnerable, and was in need of basic human contact, amongst other things. So, when he arrived at the table, Rod leaned in close, and slowly put his arm around her - if she resisted, it would look nothing more than a lover's tiff to the spectators; either way, they were saved.

    "Come on. We need to get you out of here."

  2. #42
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    She was stiff under his arm, but she managed to nod and let him slowly draw her out of the coffee shop. The cool evening air washed over her skin, but she felt trapped, caged within her own body.

    "I shouldn't be around you now, Rod. I can't... I just can't."

  3. #43
    Rod Stafford
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    The unfinished statement hung in the air between them, punctuated with silence; an ugly little confession in itself. It was everything in Rod not to react, not to recoil from the craven wretch clutching to his arm and cast her to the ground with the rest of the filth. The charade had to stand and so he held her close.

    "I'm taking you back to my place. We're not far from it now. Hold on."

    Mercifully, they escaped the damning glare of the busy street and found themselves on an unremarkable sliver of residential gloom, where the pavement was empty and the roadside packed with family cars. There was an urgency in Sansa's steps which he appreciated, being minutes away from home, although he feared what instincts motivated such a pace: was it fear, or something else? The silence started to make him anxious.

    "It's not bad for student accomodation, really. Besides, the location is what's important. Although it does get a little cramped - not tonight though! It's two-for-one night at Tootsies so we'll have the place to ourselves. I'm missing out on tequila for you. I hope you appreciate that. Hey. Still with us?"

  4. #44
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    Rod's words filtered in through the haze of her mind, a whisper louder than the rest. Sansa nodded, still tense. "I appreciate this, but maybe I should just call Liam..." Or find an alley full of homeless bums, like I'm used to. Talking about her feeding habits would be mortifying, so she kept quiet.

    There was nothing magical or thrilling about taking advantage of those with nowhere to go. Gabe insisted it was a necessary result of his exile from the Camarilla, but Sansa had felt filthy after every meal. Looking down on eyes that reflected pleasure after she fed from them. Forcing herself upon them... having to swab the neck with disinfectant before partaking... It had been at least a year before she'd become accustomed to the routine, but she never enjoyed it.

    She started as Rod walked them up to his building, blinking sharply to bring herself out of her reverie. She didn't even know what he'd said in reply to her comment about Liam, but they were still heading up to his flat.

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  5. #45
    Rod Stafford
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    "Oh, no."

    Rod froze at the foot of the stairs. He glanced up at the front door, and then at the windows, they were aglow, framing shadows, and oozing the low throb of bass. There were voices, lots of them, and laughter. He retreated a step, and-

    "Woah! Steady, bud!"

    Rod narrowly avoided toppling a tall lanky fellow armed with crates of beer. It was Sully, his housemate. Weaving hastily past the couple, he bounced up the stone steps and deposited his heavy burden on the floor. Sully was, despite appearances, a fitness fanatic who just happened to be cursed with a twiglet for a body, as well as a comedy nose, and a disgusting overabundance of personality. He was the sort who thrived on laughter, which was fortunate because he'd just bleached his faux hawk, and now he was shining a wide glossy grin his way. The grin was not returned.

    "What the hell's going on here?"

    "They're renovating Tootsies, mate," explained Sully, who, upon detecting Rod's hostility, switched to his business voice, "Abbie and Sarah invited their lot over. Alan's here... Mark... Rich, Vinnie, and Sconehead."

    "I don't believe this..." Rod took Sansa by the hand and led her inside.

    "Mate, if I'd have known - Sully, by the way - mate, you don't normally... you should've said something, I mean. Mate?"

    The music was so loud he felt it in his chest. His grip on Sansa tightened. It was a clear run to the staircase, but they were ambushed by Abbie, who appeared from the living room with her best friend, Jacob's Creek. She leaned against the doorframe with a clumsy thud, the blow cushioned by a mountain of crimson curls, and looking very much like the cat that got the cream, she said:

    "Rod, who's your friend?"
    Last edited by Rod Stafford; Feb 25th, 2013 at 02:53:55 PM.

  6. #46
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    "Sansa," she offered, giving the redhead a friendly wave. She bobbed her head a little to the beat of the music and grinned up at Rod. "Looks like you're not missing out in tequila after all."

    The warmth and laughter around her seemed to loosen the tension in her muscles, and she perked up, looking past the curious woman into the living room where other people were talking and carrying on. "Doesn't Rod bring many girls over?"

  7. #47
    Rod Stafford
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    "Yes, I am, and no, I don't. Now, come on!" Rod said, irritably. He started up the stairs but was stopped dead in his tracks. Sansa held fast, anchoring him to the spot. She gave him a sweet smile.

    "Who are you talking to?"

    A new face appeared. Sarah. She was a squat and formidable young lady with bare feet and a mighty cleavage. One curious glance at Rod and his companion from over her thick-rimmed glasses prompted a casual "Oh. Well, that answers that question."

    "Sansa, we- what?"

    "Yes, and I believe you both owe me a tenner," chirped Abbie.

    "Wait, what question?"

    "I'm skint 'til next Friday. You know that."

    "Mate, it's one thing you don't bring anyone home, but you don't even look-"

    "Sully!?"

    "Don't worry, Rod. I knew," said Abbie, sagely, "Not with that walk."

    "Oh, we can tell by someone's walk now, can we?"

    "But the jury's still out on you and your trotters, Sarah."

    Sully wisely escaped. And under the cover of Abbie's machine gun laughter, Rod gave Sansa's hand a squeeze, she looked up.

    "Sansa... please."

  8. #48
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    She smiled up at Rod, and nodded. "It was lovely to meet you all." Sansa waved again, and then latched onto his arm as he quickly pulled her up the stairs. Someone behind them made a quip about him acting a bit too eager, and then he was shutting the door to his bedroom behind them.

    She let go of his arm and wrapped hers around her body, hugging herself as he took a few steps away from her. "Don't tell me I'm the only girl you've ever had spend the night." She was thinking back to the day they'd met, though the sleepover had been quite innocent as far as she could remember.

  9. #49
    Rod Stafford
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    Rod paused, took a deep breath to steady his nerves, and then went about making all the neccessary preparations. Soft lighting. Curtains drawn. He draped his jacket over a chair and brushed out the creases. His tie was snapped off. His breathing was shallow. He was sweating. Besides his writing desk there was a stack of folded newspapers, ready for recycling. He took one and unfurled some of its pages across the bed and floor. After taking a moment to scrutinise the scene at range, he fumbled loose his shirt and discarded it. Only then did Sansa recieve his attention.

    "Take a seat on the bed, please."

    Hands clasped in thought, he zeroed in on a rucksack at the foot of his bed and rummaged noisily through its contents.

  10. #50
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    His actions only served to increase her anxiety, until, that is, he took off his shirt. Sansa sat gingerly on the bed, newsprint crackling beneath her rear, and regarded him dubiously as he dug about for God knows what.

    "Rod. What the hell are you doing?"

  11. #51
    Rod Stafford
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    "Plating up."

    When he rose, he had something in his hand; a shaft of wood twelve inches in length, sharpened into a fine point. It was a stake. When he took a seat next to her, he noticed Sansa had turned rigid, and what remaining colour had drained from her face. Maybe a more compassionate man would've acknowledged her fear and sought some way to put her mind at ease. Rod afforded her no such luxury. Instead, he coiled his free arm slowly around her back and clamped his hand upon her shoulder, tight to control the tremble in his fingers. Their eyes met and he spoke softly.

    "I will give you fifteen seconds. Just... one second more," the tip of the stake was pressed firmly against her chest, "Sansa, I want you to know... this isn't for you. You're a loaded gun. The safety is off. Just... do it."

    Counting his breaths, Rod found a spot on the opposite wall and focused all of his attention upon it, like it was the most important thing in the world.

  12. #52
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    She wasn't sure why she hadn't leapt through the window or broken his arm at the first sight of the stake, but perhaps the old trust she'd built with him made her hesitate. Once she understood what he was saying, Sansa relaxed a tiny fraction.

    The stake and the newspaper was just insulting. What did he think she was, a crazed animal? And as she looked into his eyes she saw that yes, that was exactly what he thought, and another tiny sliver of her heart died. She licked her suddenly dry lips, and her fangs extended as the pulse of his blood beckoned to her Beast.

    If she had any choice she would have refused in disgust, but he was there and she was in no condition to go stumbling out into the night, and her hand tentatively touched his chest (he flinched) and traveled up to his collarbone and then shoulder and she leaned forward until her nose touched his neck and she exhaled against his skin -

    There was a knock at the door and then it opened, Abbie poking her head in. "Someone's at the door for you, Rod - oh! ...Sorry?" Rod and Sansa separated as though they had been yanked apart, and Sansa turned her head so her long hair mostly hid her face. Abbie took in the newspaper scattered underneath them with a look that spoke volumes.
    Last edited by Sansa; Feb 25th, 2013 at 06:31:51 PM.

  13. #53
    Rod Stafford
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    "Abbie!"

    Rod was up like a shot, rigidly pacing the room as if that's what he'd been doing all along, half-naked. In his panic, he'd dropped the stake, but one carefully placed footstep sent it rolling under the bed and out of sight. What a sight they made. Sansa looked coy for all the wrong reasons; Rod looked undressed, also, for all the wrong reasons; and Abbie didn't know where to look for all the right reasons. Then, finally recalling her words, Rod retrieved his shirt from the floor and quickly made for the nearest exit.

    "For me? Someone, you say. The door... at this time of night. Good gracious. Well, I... I... I'll go see them... at the door then, shall I?"

    Fighting a losing battle with his buttons, he stepped out into the corridor and was able to shake off his bewilderment long enough for him to remind Sansa to stay put. And then he was gone.

  14. #54
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    She sat awkwardly there on the bed, newspaper underneath, as Rod zipped out the door and thundered down the stairs. Looking up she found Abbie still gawking, and offered her an embarrassed smile. "He's got a bit of a kink."

    "I guess so," the redhead said, having the decency to also look a bit uncomfortable. "Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt."

    "No, no, it's ok. Don't worry about it. Actually, if you don't mind closing the door and coming over here?" Sansa scattered Rod's carefully laid papers off to the ground, leaving a spot for the other woman, who obediently did as directed, Sansa's Presence leaving her little choice in the matter.

  15. #55
    Rod Stafford
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    When Rod descended the stairs he noticed the house was much quieter than before, gone was both the music and laughter. He paused at the living room, where a quivering cluster of bodies was packed up against the window, whispering with excitement. Sully was at the front door, talking to somone, hugging himself against the evening chill. The low tone in his voice and the frequent shifting of weight from foot to foot betrayed his anxiety. And when he noticed his fellow housemate, he looked relieved and promptly fell back from the front line. Rod was greeted by a tall imposing man in uniform.

    "Mister Stafford, I am Constable Redmayne. I apologise for the disturbance but this is a matter of some urgency."

    The name was highly appropriate, given the police officer's appearance; he was a large bearded Scotsman with bright ginger hair. Rod was quick to spot that his gaze was not so much on him as it was the scenery behind him. He was feeling frustrated and impatient, and wanted to be rid of the latest nuisance as quickly as possibly, but being no stranger to deception, he played his part with aplomb.

    "Oh?" he said, with a note of concern, "Whatever may be the problem, officer?"

    "You were present at the Horse Guards stadium this evening, were you not, sir?"

    "Indeed I was."

    "And at ten fifteen you left in the company of a young woman."

    "Well, I-"

    "You were spotted, with the same woman, coming out of St. James's Park, where you both got in the same taxi."

    "Wait, you followed me?"

    Rod glanced outside, searching up and down the street. Constable Redmayne climbed a step closer, forcing him to retreat inside, and continued:

    "We have been informed you arrived here with a woman matching our description: brown hair, blue eyes, slim, about five foot seven..."

    "What's this about?" Rod asked, spearing Sully with a glare, and then, irritably, back to the policeman, "What is it you want?"

    "Sir, we have reason to believe the woman you brought here tonight is a wanted criminal, believed to be extremely dangerous. And under the Public Order Act of 1986 we wish to search these premises, and can do that with or without your consent, sir."

    "No, you can't do this," Rod said, unfolding his arms, ready.

    "Rod, come on, mate, just do-"

    "And who is this 'We' you're talking about?" snapped Rod, shrugging off Sully's hand, "Are we in the presence of royalty?"

    "Sir, please stand aside."

    "Rod, please!"

    "Sully, phone the local station - check with the police! Do it!"

    There was an urgency in Rod's voice, and a desperation in his eyes, as he pleaded with his friend. A second man appeared, also in police uniform, he climbed the stairs to assist, but Rod side-stepped to block his entry and clamped his hands on the flanking walls. In an instant, he was wrestling with both of them, hands flailing to find purchase on their uniforms and bring them down. His efforts were in vain, and from under the scuffle, his voice rang out in fear.

    "Sully! There are no police cars outside!"
    Last edited by Rod Stafford; Feb 26th, 2013 at 03:48:50 PM.

  16. #56
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    Abbie was soft and compliant as Sansa brushed her coppery curls away from her neck, gasping as fangs pierced skin, but her moan turned to one of pleasure as the Kiss was given. Sansa felt instantly rejuvenated as the warm iron taste of blood filled her mouth, pulling Abbie closer and drinking deeply.

    Not too much, a faint thought suggested, but the Beast was starving after nights of being barely fed. Sansa pulled back slightly, then slammed back into the other woman, knocking her back on the comforter and straddling her as she sucked from her neck.

    A single drop of blood fell on the bed.

  17. #57
    Rod Stafford
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    There was a scream from upstairs, a long piercing cry of fear. It was Sarah. Then an almighty crash, followed by the sound of harsh voices and heavy boots coming through the kitchen. Redmayne was on the move, bounding up the stairs with his accomplice in tow. Rod scrambled to his feet. In the living room, people shrieked at the sight of the intruders, blinded by their lights. Sully had followed the others upstairs, calling out to Sarah, and Abbie. The ceiling quaked from the footsteps thundering above.

    Dazed, Rod pursued the trail of chaos, "Sansa?"

    "Here! Here!" came Redmayne's voice, "This one's a witness."

    When Rod arrived at his bedroom, he caught one last glimpse of Sarah before she was killed; she was huddled in the corner, a flicker of confusion on her puffy wet face. Then, with the cough of a supressor, the ancient wallpaper was dashed with blood. Sully cried out, and Rod had just enough time to react, barrelling headlong into his friend as two more shots pierced the wall where he once stood. They fell in a heap in the narrow hallway outside. Again, Redmayne called for reinforcements. Sansa was alone.

  18. #58
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    Sansa had barely noticed when the door had opened again, but Sarah's scream snapped her out of her reverie quickly enough. She hurriedly licked at the wound she'd created on Abbie's neck to close it, and rolled off of the dazed woman as Sarah gathered her breath for some more shouting.

    Abbie was slowly trying to sit up, a goofy smile on her face when the bedroom door banged open once more, knocking into Sarah and sending her against the wall. Sansa was suddenly aware of everything - screams downstairs, Rod calling her name as he came up the stairs behind the two policemen who were directly outside the room.

    "This one's a witness," barked one of the policemen in a Scottish accent, and Sarah's brains were splattered across the wall with no fanfare. Sansa threw herself at the man, her hand on the gun before he could compensate and wresting it from his grasp as he had already started aiming at the bed and Abbie.

    He was inexplicably grinning, and Auspex barely warned her in time as his other hand tried to shove a wooden stake into her. Sansa vaulted backward, gun still in her hand. "Hide!" she barked at Abbie, who managed to roll off the bed and just out of sight as the second man peppered the room with gunfire. Sansa grunted as several hit her, but the damage was minimal. She drew on the strength that her recent feed had lent her and used Celerity to dart away from Abbie's minimal shelter to try drawing fire away from her.

    The second man was occupied with a scuffle in the hallway, but the ginger had anticipated Sansa's move and met her by the dresser, stake in one hand and a machete in the other. The stake jammed into her ribs, piercing her lung, and she twisted away, the machete buried into her shoulder rather than cutting through her neck.

  19. #59
    Rod Stafford
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    On the floor, Rod tore himself free of Sully's writhing limbs before he succumbed to the same fever of panic. Fear was a contagious malady, and even as he struggled to his feet, it felt like falling. Every sense flared at once, transforming the fully orchestrated horror into a thick soup, in which myriad voices swam and drowned. And as Rod watched the armed assassin step into the corridor and raise his weapon, only one instinct made it to the surface, stronger and more vivid than any other: he did not want to die.

    "Berstan aeledfyr!"

    The pistol backfired, mutilating the assassin's thumb. He dropped the smoking husk of his weapon, and backtracked, nursing a bloody stump. Rod charged his would-be murderer and sent him careening over the banister and onto the staircase below. Fortunately, for both him and Rod, his landing was softened by the body his colleague, and both tumbled down the rest of the stairs in a chaotic heap. The fourth of the intruders, who had narrowly avoided being pancaked by the pair, lifted a submachine gun to the ceiling. In full retreat, Rod protected his face from the geysers of plaster and wood errupting about his feet, and ran into the bathroom, where he joined Sully in a chorus of "Oh, shit! Oh, shit! Oh, shit!"
    Last edited by Rod Stafford; Feb 27th, 2013 at 11:10:29 PM.

  20. #60
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    She tore at her attacker's throat with her hands as he yanked on the machete which was stuck in her humerus. He had a kevlar wrap around his neck, frustrating her efforts so she settled for punching him as hard as she could in his chest.

    He staggered back, the machete in his hand dripping with her vitae. Sansa screamed as she pulled the stake out of her side, doubling over a bit, and then she whipped it toward him, throwing it like a knife. The blunt end hit him in the shoulder with a loud thud. He was going to draw his back up pistol out of his ankle holster.

    Sansa darted around him, still strong enough to be faster than the human eye could track, and slammed into his back, sending him crashing onto the bed. He was quick to react, already rolling to a position where he could attack once more, but the curtains of the nearby window snagged his right arm and for a moment he was pulling on it, knees on the bed, outlined by the ambient night light from the street.

    She hurled herself at him, knocking him backwards out the window in a crash of broken glass.

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