The Hunter's Intentions

Discussion in 'ROLEPLAY GRAVEYARD' started by Inspector Chloe Marlin, Dec 10, 2012.

  1. Shóen ran and gasped for breath. Her long trench coat flew behind her and the wind stung her eyes. She raised her nose in the ear and sniffed. They were close. Too close for comfort. She forced her legs to sprint faster. How did she wind up in this mess?! That one thought echoed throughout her mind and she gritted her teeth as that and the wind in her face whisteld loudly in her ears. It was too much...

    Shóen Von Heller was different. Nothing to be ashamed about. That's what she was told as a child. Not a lot of people follwed that same comforting principle. For a life time she was spat on, was the target of hurled rocks and hurled insults. As she sharply turned into an alley way, her feet stuck to the ground as her amber eyes widened in disbelief and terror. A wall... A wall?! This couldn't be happening... This couldn't be---

    "Thought you could get away, eh foxy?"

    Shóen didn't want to hear the sneer. She didn't want to turn around. Unfortunatley that was what life was like. Making you hear everything that was said to you and making you have to face the voice. About as fair as slamming a wall in your path. So with a breath, she turned around to face Brock Powell, the most selfish, corrupted and disgusting being she had ever met. Her eyes narrowed at him and his little gang and her fists clenched. It was all she could do to stop herself shaking.

    "You owe me you bitch. You haven't completed all your services yet, you little harlot. As long as my name is own that contract, you mine slut." Brock's thick Brookyln accent which spewed insluts and the harsh truth made her eye twitch. She took a little jolted step back and raised her head.
    "Not likely Powell. I burned that mouldy piece o' paper into ashes." Shóen's own Brooklyn corrupted German accent came out smoothly, hiding her fear.
    In responce he laughed and all his little brain dead minions did so as well. She hated them all. She hated them all so much. She gritted her teeth harder and could feel her fangs. She purses her lips quickly. Control, Shóen, control.

    Then she fell back, Brock's hand around her throat, raising her in air and smashing her against the cold, stone wall. God she hated that wall. All the pain came surging through her body and she gasped out. He leaned closer to her and ripped hear hood down to reveal her fox ears, which pricked in fright. He chuckled at this, leaned forward and hissed right into one, knowing full well that that sound would be mind crushingly loud in her head.
    "I'm going to enjoy ripping you apart little fox. You weren't worth the money I spent." Mind crushing? An understatement. The noise rushed through her head and exploded making her whimper and cry in discomfort and pain. All his lackey's loomed forward. She could see what they were holding in their hands, manic grins on their lips. Guns, daggers, knuckle dusters, crow bars.

    Shóen gave up everything in that moment as Powell let her go and she fell to the ground with a loud thump. She pulled her hood back up in order to cover up her ears... And the tears running down her eyes. Their shadows stretched closer and Shóen took a deep breath.

    A hyprid. A mix between a human and a rare black fox. She hated Powell. She hated the peope who had hunted her and then sold her one like she was just a collectable. She hated herself... She hated everyone on this God damn earth!
  2. Seto Crescedent hated his father. If you called the man a sociopath it would be a simple compliment. He beat his wife, 30 of age, every night, just to show his fists still had competence and control in his household. To add insult to injury, literally, he hunted the very foxes and other animals his conservationist mother sought to protect. That was when his father had gone one step too far. He had found a rare snow fox on a mountainous walk with Seto and his wife, and to prove his "masculinity" and "humanity", he shot the poor fox in the leg, walked over to it, and before it had a chance to squeal, the shotgun of Arran Crescedent had blown the poor fox to smithereens. From that day, Seto grew in hatred for his father.

    That was when it happened. Arran, Seto's malicious, feral, brutal father had gone too far that day. He had come back from school one day when he saw his mother's apparent corpse in the lobby. He looked at it, in sheer disbelief. How could his father do this? What had his mother done to deserve this? Then he heard the man's footsteps, squeaking in a descent of the main stairwell. "Welcome..." He wheezed, before speaking in his smokers tone. "... Home, my son, I should have cleaned up before you got home.." The man said as Seto backed toward the door as the edge of a sawn off shotgun came into view. "It's your party. Your mother was only your first present!" Seto whimpered, making his father laugh. The door was 3...4 foot away. If only..

    Then the shotgun made a noise. A dangerous noise. A noise Seto knew his father well for. He was reloading, and with the man's pudgy fingers it would take him five minutes to reload. Ten if he dropped a bullet casing. Seto looked at the man, and at the door. His choice was clear. Wait five minutes to be Kiddy Casoulet? Or run now, and hopefully escape before reloading was over. He took his chances, as time almost froze slowly.

    The man had put one bullet in. Seto raced for the door. Seto opened the door. The shotgun was cocked. And suddenly, time unfroze for Seto's mind. He had ran out the door, sprinted left up the street, heading into the city.

    -2 Hours Later-
    He could hear the police cars in the distance, searching for him with their criminalising red and blue lights. But he was safe in this backstreet. Until he saw the shadow move. "WHO'S HERE!?" He shouted worriedly as two men walked up to him, face to face, brandishing nailed baseball bats. "Fuck off kid. Private fucking business here. We have to deal with one of our more... resistant accomplices." That was when Seto was overcome with anger, as, when he looked round, a small, dying fire of a cigarette revealed a poor girl. "GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM HER, BASTARD!" Seto said, overcome with grief, rage and a vengeant feeling stirring in his breast. The men swung their bats, and he swung his fists.

    The result was clear. He was clobbered before the fists struck the 6 foot ogres of men. His world began to black out as they dragged him toward the girl, a new trophy in their collection.