Blood Grim Forums

[Scotch Love]

((This is Scotch's 'happy time'. He wants to be alone! Don't post here, but if you would like to visit him in his humble abode, just make a new thread and I shall most definitely respond. Please don't make more than one rp in here at a time with only one character or else it will confuse me! Thanks. ))

Scotch sat on one of his two barstools in the downstairs kitchen. His chin rested on the marble counter, and his eyes stared sleepily out the window. People walked by at regular intervals, happy to be out in the sun shine. He was having his one'o'clock drink. A new combination of every possible wine he could come up with.

As he stared out the window with a smug expression and a bitter sweet taste on his tongue, he couldn't help letting his mind wander from a recent study he had conducted. He opened his mouth, and then let his teeth chop together, feeling a dizziness that had derived from this sitting position. He opened his mouth again, and in the wavering heat of the afternoon, he voiced his thoughts...as if he were talking to some other stranger in front of him. He began his conversation:

"I...heard some where that you're a drunk if you drink before four. Am..I a drunk?"

He closed his eyes and laughed at whatever strange joke he always made up for his own pleasure. And then the next words to come were in a sort of sing-song voice.

"Midnight is day for me. And the hours of sun are sleep....."

Was he bored? Oh, no, of coarse not. He could never bored. Not with liquor, and the strange mind he had come to love so much. Thoughts began to come at a slow pace, as if someone continually pressed the pause button in his head.

Finally, after mumbling to himself for half an hour about midnight margaritas, his sat up in his chair and downed the last of his tall glass. He pushed it away, not wanting any more, and pulled out a book. He stared at the cover of 'A History of Chinese Torture', studying the grotesque picture. He flipped to the first chapter. The first sentence was a definition, which he mumbled out loud with a smile.

"The act of inflicting excruciating pain, as punishment or revenge, as a means of getting a confession or information, or for sheer cruelty."

Well, perhaps this afternoon would be of some interest. He read on with delight written across his features.

[Scotch Love]

Scotch had reached the twentieth chapter, which was on 'Chinese Water Torture', and slowly closed the book. He placed his palms on each dark eye and rubbed them for a second, weird colors and shapes popping up under his eye lids. When he finally stopped, and blinked his eyes open, he realized the afternoon had turned to an early dusk. He stared out the big window next to his front door and saw the pink clouds of sunset appear, one little bit at a time.

The lycan slid off his chair, wondering where a cigarette was. He searched through his black cabinets, pulling out every single object and not bothering to put them back. Nothing. He stood in the middle of his kitchen, thinking about where he had stored them in the past. But he had already used them all up. In a sad effort, he took a big whiff of air, filling his nostrils and expanding his lungs to the fullest. A thousand familiar scents went through his mind. He shifted through them with little hope...but then. YES! He found it. A very old, though delicious smell. He quickly dived to the floor and went crawling about; following his scent like a hound on the trail. With self pride, he reached the closet and threw everything out until he came to a backpack buried beneath a pile of newspaper clippings. And in a small pocket inside the pack, a fat, delicious bag of weed. He quickly jumped up and searched through a drawer until he found special papers he had stolen off of a crazy old man; used for rolling cigarettes. With happiness in hand, he walked to his front porch, and out to the front steps with the door slamming behind him.

He sat down in comfort on a small chair on his porch and put his feet up in front of him. He placed his two items on his lap, and expertly rolled up a cigarette for himself. He would have been happier with a few to stick in his mouth at once, but it wasn't fun with hand rolled. With a few clicks and a flickering flame of his silver lighter, Scotch Love was in heaven.

[Scotch Love]

Smoke drifted all around the front of his porch. Scotch inhaled the sweet fumes drifting up from his tenth drag. He put it back in his mouth and took in a final lung of smoke, then bit down on the paper so a small amount came into his mouth. He rolled the flavor around on his tongue in bliss. His head became light on his shoulders. When he stood, he fell fore ward slightly like a child might after spinning and spinning. He tossed his cigarette into the bush in front of his house, then collapsed onto his door. He struggled with the handle for a second, and was finally indoors. The cool air conditioning was the first thing to hit him. The second, a long wave of dizziness. Perhaps a large consumption of drugs and alcohol was not the best combination. But to Scotch it was the most awesome feeling. It was almost as wonderful as a full moon. Almost.

He collapsed on the hard tile floor below him. Even though he was grounded, the lycan might as well grow wings and dance on the clouds. He stared up, dazed, at the ceiling fan. Mesmerized, his mind in another world.

Any person to walk in the door would think, with out a doubt, that Scotch Love was stone dead.

[Scotch Love]

When Scotch awoke there was a bit of pink light entering his windows, and splashing his face in a strange shadow. He stayed where he lay, staring up at the blank ceiling of his. There was a small song outside his window, the sweetest notes of a bird. He listened for a little until his head began to ache from the tile underneath. With groans, he rolled over onto his stomach and stretched out as long as he could. Every single little bone seemed to pop in relief. He did a sort of push up, and, using the counter for support, managed to stand. His head was absolutely throbbing, but it went away after minutes of standing absolutely still with his eyes closed shut.

He blinked slowly, returning to the world of light. Love stumbled to the door with his feet uneven. He caught himself from almost falling on the wall. He slowly opened the door, and pushed open the screen door which squeeked irritably in protest. The morning light, though faint, blinded his for a few minutes. In which time he simply stood and stared at pink and purple bubbles bouncing across his vision. At last, the world became fuzzy, and then gradually cleared.

Scotch took two more steps, and collapsed on the steps of his front porch. He stared at the empty street in front of him in a bit of a dreamy manner. The lycan had no memory at all of the night before. It was simply darkness- nothing at all. He might as well have slept the whole day. Better yet, it never exsisted. This didn't seem to bother Scotch one bit. It had happened often, and contributed slightly to his confusing nature.

His head slowly moved up, until black orbs pointed to the cherry sky. It was just the time in morning when the blackest of night faded, and the sun trickled so softly against the clouds to give them the slightest shade of pink. And yet the sky still a dark blue, and the stars still beautiful.

"What shall I..." Scotch mumbled, talking to his self as he often did when he had no idea at all what was happening.

He stood slowly, slid down the steps to his small garden. He studied the little display of dazzling flowers. His own personal flower garden. He smiled slightly as he found a small, dark red rose in its perfectly shaped condition. He gently slid two fingers under the petal, and quickly plucked it up. He opened up the front pocket of his gray button up shirt and dropped the flower inside, so that the stem was hidden.

He went and sat back down on his steps. He felt a small prickling in his fingers, and when he looked droplets of blood appeared where the thorns had pricked him. He stared at the scarlet liquid, comparing it to the deep color of the rose. With satisfaction in his features, he quickly licked away the small amount of blood.

[Scotch Love]

Twenty minutes had passed by. The earliest of morning seemed to go on and on as he sat there staring at the sky. That who time, he had only one thought. And that thought rolled over and over in his head. It was of his own blood. Its taste had never left his mouth, and a small sour patch remained on his tongue. He couldn't help thinking of blood. The look of it, the taste, the smell, the thick feeling. All making a hole in his brain. And at that moment he wanted to be in his other form more than ever before. He could almost feel the prickle of red hair underneath his skin. His jaws ached, his teeth turning his gums numb. But the only difference in his visible figure; the black in his eyes turned blacker, and the white bled red...ever so slightly. He began to jump at every noise the earth made. The steps groaned under his feet. energy ran throughout every vein of his body until his legs were shaking, and his fingers were tapping as if to some tune playing over and over in his head. The tune of screams of pain and the sick enjoyment he loved to live time and time again.

Without another moment's thought, he fell from the steps, and around the side of his house to a very subtle hole in the ground. The entrance to his basement, a small, square, wooden trap door which had not been there when he first purchased the house. He pulled a small key from his pocket and pushed and turned in the lock connected to the door until he heard a small clink. He tossed the open lock on the grass beside the door. With both hands, he pulled. The door swung open to the side, to reveal a concrete block attached to the wood, to ensure a simple attempt could not enter.

There were no steps, nor lights to show the way down. Just a faithful drop into darkness around eleven feet deep. Scotch landed on the hard ground, his foot falls muffled by the packed dirt below hit feet.. Immediatly infront of him was a concrete wall. His wolf eyes adjusted quickly to the darkness, and he went to the left where a door stood. He dug for a key in his other pocket, and quickly opened the door, then far more quickly, closed it behind him. The lycan was immediatly plunged into pitch blackness. But again, his eyes adjusted slightly. Enough for him to search along the concrete walls, which had another matted material inside them to trap sound from leaving the room, to a light switch. When he flicked it, there was a sudden burst of blinding white light from above. It quickly dimmed, and the sound that followed was a small, human whimper.

[Scotch Love]

"Why, Johhny! You learn quickly!"

"My name's-" Scotch's hand touched a black switch next to the light one. The man gave a quick scream. But he didn't say anything else.

"So, how long has it been? Three weeks? Your family should be missing you right now. Wait, no. That's wrong. You don't have family. You don't know anyone."

The man nodded. He was sitting in the middle of the room. The chair was a dark wood, old, hard, extremely uncomfortable. His hands were tied to the chair with fishing rope, as well as his legs. The skin beneath was long past red; a dark, almost rotted-looking color. His skin was pale. his hair had turned gray. His clothing was stiff and stinky. His eyes were a nasty yellow. And his face fourty-year old face was covered in a sticky, nasty substance. And the man did not need this described to him, just for his pleasure a mirror hung across the room for him to see all.

Scotch stood still for a second, staring at his victim. In that silence there was a small 'drip' noise from the far corner of the room, about ten feet away. The man jerked violently in his chair, and caused blood to seep from his wrists and ankles where the fishing line was tied.

"What was that?"

"You know! You told me last time! Remember!" The man shrieked and jerked violently, whacking his head into the back of the chair.

(continued later)