A Doll's House (PoW: Angelina Tarrant x Madeleine Citronelle)

[Malkavia]

We're kickin' you out!

Sure. Whatever gets you all tickled inside Ange. Shimmerlace lay back, obeying her thiefliness's mask-on decree for the time being. Who knew what someone as deranged, as positively limitless as Angelina had in store? It could be a staple gun! Or nipple-crisping electrodes. Or a jury-rigged electro-arc-beam staple gun.

"Maaaaan," Shimmerlace breathed. She was grinning, her face tight. She slid her tongue back and forth between her teeth while she tried very hard not to shift under Angelina's weight. No sudden moves, thank you very much, just hanging chill. Even the grin was a risk, but fuck. She couldn't help it.

"I'd give my right fuckin' arm to be a spider on the wall tonight. I mean, after what she did to you, I figure the revenge must have been...a goddam Epic. A saga. C'moooon Ange..." Her hands slid down Angelina's waist until she cupped her hips. "Tell me the details. How good did ya fuck her up, huh? Did she fight back, or was it—wham bam, suck my dick ma'am?"

[Monsy]

The insinuation made her scoff. Fuck Madeleine up? “Yah.” Which almost sounded nuts when she recalled it. The tingling in her fingers, feeling the vibrations inside her hands, having gold personified pad your ears with moans, screams, grab onto you, like really clutch, then rock like the ship conquering its sea lane against your hand. Gh-.

“She crawled for it, real bitch-like…” Her soft lips. The slightly citrus taste. Her breath. What did we think of all those promises? It’s something she can’t remember having for anyone else. If all it took to clutch was a few surprises in dirty collars and force-fed meat-shit. She can only smile. “Now she’s crawlin’ right back to me with rolled ankles. If you're quiet, maybe you'll hear her.” Then went smug. “Thanks to you, I broke her into a dog.”

[Malkavia]

"Welllll I don't wanna take too much credit." She was wise enough to know that "thanks to you" was no compliment, but fuck it. She smiled like she was getting her first invitation to prom. "You had her going yap yap yap in the ring, right? I imagine the transformation from cuntess to wee bitch was..." She stretched, clenching, then relaxed. "Inevitable."

"But hey. Now that you meeeeeention it~"

She twisted her feet—a few ticks clockwise, half a face counterclockwise. We're chilly billy, buddy, wrapped up in a big ol' pile of her majesty's best sheets and comforters. So what if the Rabbit Napper came in meaning to crack kneecaps?

"Look. Let's not sign lies, right? I want to see you twitching under my boot while I wrest Thistle..." She let a pause ellide over the unspoke down/bro. "From yer foul clutches. BUT—But but but, my dear Angie. What about a ceasefire, huh? A short one. Oh but why, my intrepid pirate asks? Well."

Shimmerlace offered her palms to the ceiling. All good will here, ma'am, said her blind-folded smirk. "Short story. Mads and I go back—and it's not all sunshine and fuckin' roses. Yeah? Let me show ya where crack the bitch so it'll really smart."

[Monsy]

She thought about Ducky from Land Before Time. That little saurolophus on her VCR screen. YEP-YEP-YEP. Except, this one had a fairy's head. YAP-YAP-YAP. And this Shimmerolophus was about to be eaten by the T-Rex guy.

Angelina slumped, felt her focus drip like the pool of water balancing in her hand. One tip and she falls. Even at the height of her grin, she was beginning to have a sway. "What are you... ON... About?" Angelina said, taking a breath between the words you and on to push her palm against her face. She felt like she was falling. Definitely not falling.

And what Shimmer said: ceasefire. Now that was a fuckin' joke, with all that spit and vile to threaten her again a second before. She knew she was slipping, but even the depths of inebriation knew better than to trust a broken clock. "Ya won't kurrrrr-rack shit while yer suckin' her teet. Ya even sent her to get youuuuur fake pet. Innncompetent fuck-waaaad." Then she sighed, "Nooooow. She's bored of you. You lost: again."

[Malkavia]

Well—she didn't have shit to say to that, and the longer she didn't have to shit to say, the more her cheeks prickled. She felt like a lagoon whose waters were draining after some cunt popped out the drain plug.

I wasn't sucking at her tit. I mean—yeah. She took the goodies Mads put on offer. Sure. Who the fuck wouldn't though? It's free shit. It didn't make her weak to accept free shit. And it wasn't like she expected Mads to actually get the rabbit for her! Of cooooourse Angie'd say no. But she couldn't just say — No no no, Angie, ya gotta understand, it's a strategy!

Three, then four beats ticked by, and by now Shimmerlace could feel her heart pounding in her bright-red temples. Fake pet. The word sliced through her mind. Fake pet. The fuck. She'd best be taking real good care of that fake pet, or so help her God—


"Bored—" She finally scoffed, spitting the word into the dark and the quiet. Bored, Angelina said. Gray. Tedious. A magician whose tricks run on strings all the kids in the front row can see.

"Awh...Ange. Our Madsy was bored of me...years before she met your sorry ass."

Maybe it wasn't wise showing our Marauder what stung and what stung. But fuck it. What was said was said, and it sure as fuck wasn't enough, so Shimmerlace ducked her head, heaved an arm up and around Angelina's neck, and aimed to choke the cunt in a guillotine until she stopped moving—and maybe for a good few minutes after.

[Monsy]

Our? OUR?!

Iwillfuckin'filletyouandburnallthedamnbonesinmadsysbackyardwherewe'dmarryyoushi--

Angelina shrieked before she could finish uploading the zipbomb in her subconscious. "Ahh?!" She didn't have the reaction time nor the consciousness to even tell she was being choked until the muscles on her nape started to scream. All that pressure was trying to escape through her eyes. Steam through a pipe, overflowing. I'mgonnabesick--. At any moment, even if she couldn't even get blood through the kink in her neck, let alone stomach treasure.

Through spittle being sprayed through clenched teeth and her hips sliding up to fix the angle, she took her knife-arm and raised it high, then did what she should've done at the start:

And stab Shimmer.

[Malkavia]

When Shimmerlace thought about stabbing, she imagined something like shoving a blade through jell-o. THUNK. In it goes, up to the hilt.

But a real human body has gristle, especially on the shoulder where Shimmerlace got hit. The blade had to punch through layers of skin, fat, and muscle, raking through nerves like a saw. She felt it enter her millimeter by millimeter, ripping her open and letting her insides seep sticky and warm down her chest.

"FUCK—!" Her head spun and stomach heaved. Of course this fucking demon would have a knife.

Two things hit Shimmerlace at once. The first was a torrent of adrenaline, and the second was a memory of Angelina wishing she could've dropped Shimmerlace off a building.

And then the horses were fucking off, her body chugging faster than her poor brain could think. The choke went loose because she needed her hands to grab Angie's shoulders. Then it was a whole-body struggle, a worming and bouncing until her legs were under Angelina so she could KICK KICK KICK. Shove her! Push her! Just get her OFF!

And lo—it worked. And then Shimmerlace herself was half rolling, half leaping out of bed—

And then it was fucking dark.

It was the kind of dark that felt solid, like a substance her body swam through, thicker than air. Shimmerlace swung out her arms, lurching. Nothing. Fuck. Her ears perked, and she stopped breathing so her breath didn't interfere with that listening, because God only knows what other toys Angelina brought. At least she had the knife—still lodged inside her. She clenched her teeth.

RIP!

Oooooh, that hurt worse than she'd expected. It was much worse coming out, as the bloody lips of the wound clung and caught on the knife. She couldn't help it. It was a whisper, but—"Fuckin'—Christ and Jesus—PIGSHIT—"

Why not just tell her where you are politely? Fuck it. Shimmerlace charged into the dark, waving her arms in front of her. She knew about where Angelina was—and she went tumbling that a way. Knife in hand.

[Monsy]

Angelina smacked the ground with her back, making a loud THUNK, a cough, a wheeze before slowly creeping into quiet. She stared into crude oil. Like seeing the world through a distance of a millimetre. She was only aware of herself. All the objects and props were mere spatial estimations. If she had to guess: she was on the ceiling. Perched up there, having fallen upwards with the constant feeling on her back she was fighting gravity. A throb, a buzz. She had no floor. Only a cackling voice that was battling exhaustion and her own pleasantry warmed face. She had a short belly laugh. Deep inside she knew the risk of that.

But whooooooooo cares, right? We're yoooung.

She turned over to her front, laid there, pushed up slowly and crawled with sliding knees and palms. The door was her aim. She went into the opposite direction of where her feet pointed, figuring that being the thought-less solution. Then something nudged her shin. She instinctively looked back. After a beat, she used her second leg to make a wide swipe and catch Shimmer behind her knees. She turned over, hoping to trip them with a second leg over the toes.

Then she crawled to try and mount. Go for the knife. Stab the bitch twice. Go for her. Get her. Go for her. Get her.

[Malkavia]

Drip drip, Shimbo.

The fairy had sprung a leak. As she tumbled across the room blindly, her blood seeped down her chest. A whole nest of squirming, pinching thoughts crawled at the back of her mind.

How much are we losing? There gonna be nerve damage? How fucked is the muscle?

And didn't your Ma ever tell you not to run with scissors?

BLAMMO!

The fall was a tumble that would've become a somersault–were it not for the Marauder tangled around her ankles, crawling up her knee. Like a fucking hook horror. In the dark, Shimmer's mind conjured up images half-human, half crazed monster with veinous eyes and long blades for nails. Off a fucking roof, Shimma.

Right on your head, so the neck snaps while your feet are still in the air, and there's Angelina kicking her heels out off the ledge, grinning down at your boring sorry ass.

Cold fury seized Charlotte. As Angelina grappled for her chest, Charlotte seized her by the shoulder, turned and slammed her on her back, and put her free hand on her throat so she was kneeling over the cunt, full weight bearing down. Angelina moved. A drunk kind of squirm, but it was enough to make Char jump, then grab her scalp in her free hand, then raise the blunt hilt of the dagger and slam it against Angelina's skull.

And slam it.
And slam it.
And SLAM IT.

Until the snake stopped fucking moving.

[Monsy]

Push, push, PUSH-- shit.

Right at the cusp of getting a grip on Shimmer’s hair, her torso reel and twisted, collapsing to the floor. She felt nauseous, her eyes growing as the world spun. She tried to find the fae-bitch again, only to find her hand’s wrath. — “Kh-!” Squeezing her windpipe shut, aching into a sear. Her legs thrashed and kicked. She turned towards a hip, “GAH!” Then screamed as something solid and quick smacked her near the temple. Her head cracking off the floor. “MGH! Ohhh…OW! OW!” She saw dust bunnies as her head snapped to the side. The ringing was sharp. Her stomach inside out.

The timelines in her eyes multiplied.

The whole orbital side of her face felt on fire. She squeezed the eye shut, looked up, snarling as she threw her hand up to try and gouge Shimmer’s eye in return by wild subconscious aim. Even as the latest smack made her head jerk yet again. Something felt dippy on her cheek.

But for now.
She couldn’t tell a thing..