Logs:PrP:Quid Pro Quo

From Fallcoast
Jump to: navigation, search
PrP:Quid Pro Quo

Something for Nothing

Dramatis Personae

Bella, Constancia (as ST)

29th of August


Constancia performs a satanic ritual to help Bella awaken her inner goddess

Location

The Crow Hollow Parks (Temproom 8)


Some time passes - it always does. Life will catch up with you, there are things to be done, and before you know it, that call you meant to make is a week overdue. To her credit, though, Connie does make the call. "I think," She purrs into the phone. "That the time is right. Meet me at the entrance to the park trails in Crow Hollow, at sundown tonight."


Time passes. Events drift by one after the other in steady succession. You manage to settle into your life once more. Find a routine. Start to make a plan to be what you always knew you ought to be. Settle into the rhythm. And then, as steady certainty starts to settle in... a phone call. The call, and the voice, take Bella by surprise when she hears both. But she hadn't forgotten -- far from it. And when she hears that voice, hears those instructions, what more is there to do? "I'll see you there." Simple. But weighed down with a tone of anticipation.

And just as promised, the young woman is there at Crow Hollow as the sun disappears over the horizon, dressed in a short, red pleated skirt, black corset, and a red, fur-lined bolero jacket, heavy boots tapping comfortably into the earth beneath her as she pulls out a cigarette, lights it, and waits. Patiently... but filled to the brim with anticipation.


It may come as a shock, but once in a blue moon, Connie dresses in a semi-sensible manner. Sure, the neckline on her pale purple tee is still plunging low and exposing a salacious amount of cleavage. Sure, those denim shorts were probably pried on with a crowbar, or otherwise made to follow the swell of her bottom and thighs in that manner. But the hiking boots do not have heels, and she's got a small backpack that... Probably has necessities of some kind? Hopefully? There's a straw beach hat pushed back on her head, and the sunglasses have been delegated to tugging down the neckline of her dress a little further, as she gives Bella a small wave of greeting. "Hello, sweetheart. I made some preparations off the beaten path. We can pretend to be in a Robert Frost poem, or something."


Practical and yet prurient. Somehow, it fits Connie perfectly. The thought is writ large in the grin on Bella's lips as she turns to face the redhead, her short skirts fluttering 'round her thighs with the motion. Her boots are well-worn, made more for practical, manual labor than fashion -- and used often, if their aged states are any indication. Her right hand lifts, firing off a jaunty little salute Connie's way. "Ready for anything, huh?" she asks with distant amusement as she sizes the other woman up. Her smile becomes smaller and more thoughtful as she casts her gaze out towards the wilderness beyond, off that beaten path. "I hope I'll be telling of this with a sigh somewhere ages hence, in that case," she remarks as she takes a single step forward, looking back to Connie. "Or at least survive long enough to think back on it fondly, once." Her smile quirks, faintly. "Lead the way."


Connie offers a hand for Bella to take, and lets out a little chuckle as she moves off the trail and along the animal tracks instead. "I'm sure you will," She teases. "You remember the deal, right?" And, indeed, as they move along - five minutes, ten minutes into the darkened area - they approach a small glade where, indeed, Connie -has- been busy. Candles, a few of them blown out with a stray wind, have been arranged at various points, affixed with melted wax against rocks and trees, giving a dim light of what appears to be a pentagram drawn across the dirt in scattered chalk, with a large, foot-long black candle a fist or so in width at each pentacle-point.


Bella's hand slips into Connie's, long but rough fingers encircling and squeezing her own. "Well, time might've dulled the edge on those memories, but I seem to recall it," remarks Bella; despite her words, those memories are fresh on her mind -- and have been for some time. "You're on top tonight, Connie," she assures as they step into the modest glade. "I'm at your mercy for the rest of the evenin...oh." And her eyes take in the sight before her, wide with surprise, "Oh, wow." ... and then wide with interest. She moves forward as far as she can with her hand still in the redhead's as if their arms were a little, makeshift leash for her, bending forward at the waist with the slight hitch of skirts to peer at those candles, that symbol -- everything. She breathes out, fascinated. "... Someone's done their homework," she observes, looking back at Connie. "Or maybe you've just known all along? Connie, the devour Satanist?" She considers the possibility, and grins. "You know, you just get more and more interesting, lovely."


"I told you," Connie asserts, using her free hand to give Bella's rump a slight smack. "I'm a good catholic. I confess every week." There's a cheeky grin. "But I may've read a copy of the satanic bible on my kindle." She waggles her brows. "So, are you ready to become a sacrifice to my ego?"


A little yelp of surprise is given at that unexpected smack; Bella practically jumps, bottom wagging slightly before she pivots about on her heel and wags a finger at Connie as if to say 'tsk, tsk, tsk.' "Can't even begin to imagine the penance they'd have you do for your sins," she quips, rubbing her bottom with her free hand. "Or how many priests you might've given strokes." Grinning at this -- and then laughing at Connie's little confession -- Bella looks back at that pentagram curiously, chewing her lower lip. "Oh," she breathes out, "you better god damn believe it." Her hand slips from Connie's, head bowing almost meekly and arms lifted to her sides like in offering. "I'm all yours. Sacrifice me as you see fit."


"Then, tonight," Connie begins. "We will serve ambition. We will serve lust. We will serve the hunger for ever more. We will know," And there's an almost sepulchral seriousness to her tone, as she spreads her hand across Bella's scalp, resting her palm against her forehead and covering her eyes. "That it is not enough. That we deserve more. And that we can -take- more." A small, almost whispered groan. "Tonight, I will consecrate you, and descecrate you. You will be my altar, and my sacrifice. And when you rise, at the end of it, you will be a goddess," The redhead promises, before her nails dig in against skin, painfully, and she pushes the girl backwards. "Now strip. I want you naked and spread along the five points."


To her credit, Bella falls into her role with a chameleon's ease, any teasing playfulness that may have been lingering bleeding away the second that Connie's grave preaching begins. She inhales sharply as she feels that hand envelope her head, her scalp, enshrouding her in darkness that tolerates only the sound of Connie's voice, only the chill night wind nipping at her pale skin. She hears the words, and each one feels like it resonates with a deep, dark, empty part of her heart, echoes sentiments whispering and driving her without her ever truly knowing. A soft, heady groan rumbles its way past her parted lips. "I will be a goddess..." she echoes back at Connie, her tone underscored with a subtle pang of yearning. Feeling nails bite into her skin and dig into flesh and bone, Bella sucks in a gasp, her muscles tensing and coiling at the pain as she staggers backwards with the shove of Connie's hand. "Yes, madam," she utters devotedly as she recovers herself, her breath shallowing out over her lips as she quickly sheds her jacket, her skirt, and unlaces her corset and kicks off her boots, letting it all fall into an errant pile of clothes and leather outside the pentagram, no underwear to impede the cool air for kissing her bare flesh. Heavy chest heaving faintly with her breath, Bella obediently gets down onto the dirt without so much as a second though, on her back. Her arms spread, and then her legs, until each limb and her head rest at one corner of the pentagram each, her eyes tilting faintly as if to silently ask if this was right for Connie's needs.


Connie, meanwhile, has gotten back into her backpack, finding another candle - this one blood-red, so dark it's almost black, and it fizzes as though there's some sort of fuel to the wick - a stray gust of wind briefly bringing the scent of cooked pork back towards Bella. "Tonight, we will call upon the Conupiscience," She mumurs, as she angles the candle, just so; the flame flaring, and droplets of red-hot wax spilling downwards, the first one hitting above her mound, the second just next to her navel, as Connie begins drawing a complex sigil in pain and molten crimson stains across her flesh. "To fill you. To show you the way. Tonight, we celebrate the human ego, and the drive in us for more. Tonight, you will learn that you are not alone in your greed."


Curious, questioning eyes tilt in Connie's direction as the redhead speaks, brows furrowing inward as she watches the other woman approach with that lit candle, flame dancing wildly in the sputtering wind. Her nostrils flare, taking in the unusual scent, her brows furrowing inward. "The Concupi--aahhh--?" she begins to ask, only for that first splash of wax to burn its way across her mound, molten hot and melting thick across her skin. The rapid cooling against the open air causes a strange contrast, making a shiver of pain and pleasure run down her spine as that gasp of pain becomes a moan of pleasure, a cycle which continues to flow back and forth with each searing drop of wax marking hardening paths of dark contrasts against her pale skin. "A-aahh... Not alone...?" she manages softly, doing her best to stay still, her body squirming only slightly with the contradicting sensations rolling through her body and sending her nerves into a frenzy.

Did Connie always have that knife? It's an impressive blade, closer to a bowie knife than carving blade, but with a wave-shaped form and a gleaming green-ness in the steel, even in the light. "I anoint you to the Hunger. I anoint you in Need. I Dub thee the gaping maw. I name thee Conupscience, Az, and in blood and fire I bring you to us." A cut - across the back of Connie's hand, and warm blood mingles with the cool air and the icy hot wax that's spraying across Bella's breasts. "Accept this sacrifice. Enter this woman. Let the joining begin." She echoes, and even though she's talking English, there's some sort of guttural, almost inhuman tone behind the words, twisting them and making them almost indecipherable. There's a thud - the flash of the blade as it comes down - what was the safeword - and it digs deep into the ground next to Bella's neck. Only after a moment or two will she realise it nicked her ear.


That knife. Through her haze of base sensation, Bella is suddenly and accutely aware of that intimidatingly sharp knife, and she's suddenly cognizant of the fact that she doesn't know when Connie grabbed it -- or maybe she had it all along? Memories swim together groggily and all Bella can do is stare transfixed at the sickly green way the blade seems to shimmer. The words fade and blur and smudge together, growing ever-more transparent in clarity but no moreso in comprehensibility as her painted lips purse. "Connie--" she begins, before there is a cut, and a drooling drizzle of blood splashes across her pale breasts, stains them crimson as those rivulets drool bright crimson down their slopes to pool at and intermingle with the slightly darker hue of the hardened candle wax. She hears words -- words she must not be hearing. Gutteral in their flanged echo, bending and subverting each syllable into separate and incomprehensible sins all their own. Her eyes flicker, her lashes flutter, and her fingers dig into the dirt tensely as the blade comes down -- but she scarcely so much as winces more than that before it plunges into the dirt beside her. A moment passes in silence before the sting of pain surges across her nerves, and bright crimson drips down into the earth beneath her. Her lips part in a strangled sound, as something unseen to her eyes, something from beyond, starts to make its way into this world that registers to Bella only as the feeling of something wholly alien and yet intimately familiar seeping and slithering and worming its way into her soul, strangling out her sounds of confusion. Let the joining begin.


It is possible that Connie consummated the ritual through feeding on Bella's desires - through stuffing her gaping maw, through insatiable desires from a Lust demon in bombshell form and a quiescent Greed demon hungrily seeking sustenance inside the blonde. It is possible Connie egged her on, to feed her hunger. To feed that endless need inside of her, by eating the rest of the candle, which still had that sickly smell of overcooked pork to it, and the hint of a half-remembred factoid; human flesh smells like pork when cooked.

It is possible. It's also possible that Connie fed her a couple of tabs of acid, laughed along as Bella went for a very wild ride, and woke up next to her as the sun is rising across the horizon. The bare skin is cool; they're both naked now. The candles have burned down. The pentagram is broken, stained, half-scratched out. There's dirt on Bella's hands and knees and arms and body. There's crusted blood around her mouth. And there's... A presence.

Inside her skull.

She is no longer alone.


It awakens. Roused from a slumber, small and meaningless, it awakens. She can see it, but yet cannot see it; hear it, but doesn't hear it. It all fades in and out in an ever-shifting kaleidoscope of reality until she's not even sure -any- of this is real. Glimpses of a woman carved of onyx, small and unnoticed. Visions of that woman growing within her, stronger, more influential, more powerful and vibrant -- and yet still yearning more, needing more, unable to be satisfied until all the world is marked indellibly by her, for her. The taste of pork. The taste of human? The taste of... of... she isn't sure anymore, but it isn't enough. Her arms find Connie, claim Connie, as that onyx woman urges her on to take. To claim. To sate. But it isn't enough.

She wants so. Much. More.

Bella wakes with a jolt and a dry gasp that devolves into spirit coughing as she sucks in more air than her weak and tired lungs are capable of processing. Her eyes feel dry; her skin feels dry; her fingertips feel rough and tender as they drag across earth and Connie's bare, warm skin in turn. She can taste the lingering, coppery tang of blood on her tongue, of pork staining her mouth. She looks blearily at the broken pentagram as her arms wrap around Connie's bare form almost possessively -- and it takes her five seconds to even realize she's doing it. Urged by something inside of her. Something hungry, and small. "Wha... happened...?" she utters dryly. All she knows for sure is that she isn't alone anymore. Something makes itself comfortable in her mind. In her soul.

Making its presence known in a distinct but distant itching sensation that begs itself to be scratched. From now and forever more.


"Well." Connie murmurs, rubbing sleep out of her eyes. "I'd say we had a night worth remembering." There's a bit of a coy grin on her face, and she dives in for a quick peck against those blood-encrusted lips. "What do you think, happened? It's easier to start from there. To work out from your assumption, correct your hypothesis... Mm?"


Bella can't help but reciprocate that brief kiss, blood-caked lips brushing over Connie's in a way that makes some of that dried, dark bodily fluid crumble and fleck away. Her hands remain around Connie tightly as if unwilling to let her go, and she finds herself distantly unsure as to why. Nevertheless, her nails dig slightly into the skin of the woman's back. "I wish I could remember it, then," she remarks, voice hoarse as if from overuse. Her left leg lifts, resting comfortably on Connie's as she thinks -- little winces knitting across her brow as she bumps into fuzzy parts of her memory. Of which there are many. "... what do I think... happened. I think you snuck me acid somehow, and then the rest... I remember all these little, weird things. Pork, and blood, and... something... looming over me..." She shakes her head. "... it must have been a trip." But the explanation doesn't satisfy her. And it doesn't satisfy the presence now making itself more painfully obvious in her mind, making her wince, just faintly, at the burgeoning itch in her brain.

"Well," Connie muses. "If that's what happened, then probably, we fucked. And we had pork-chops, grilled - and you ate yours pretty under-cooked. You must've been famished. And you've been hallucinating, though the sex was great." A small grin at that. "But for some reason, you don't look satisfied?"


"If that's what happened," Bella echoes back in a half-aware manner as she - reluctantly - pulls her right hand away to ply her fingers at her lower lip, one after the other snagging on that thick stretch of flesh and scraping across the rough, dry patches of blood in a way that looses little flakes and scales of crimson from her mouth. "... Now I'm disappointed I don't remember a damn thing," she manages to utter after Connie's grin, her own lips tugging into a frown. That question of the redhead's lingers unanswered for a while before Bella suddenly rolls into the woman, to push her onto her back and leave Bella on top, comfortably straddling the woman. "You said I'd be a goddess after," she breathes out, voice distant and thoughtful. "That I wouldn't be alone." Her brows scrunch inward, as if that particular part truly stuck with her. "What did you mean...?"


Connie lets the girl take charge again, lies beneath her all curves and soft flesh and skin smelling of sex and fresh sweat and flowery perfume. She writhes, even - a clearly sexual movement that makes her jiggle in obscene ways. "Are you alone, Bella?"

Blue-green eyes roam those bountiful curves and yielding flesh with an insatiable sort of hunger; nostrils flare to take in that pungent cocktail of aromas. And as Connie writhes -- Bella does not even bother to resist her baser urges, her hands finding Connie's to pin them into the dirt as she starts to roam the redhead's jiggling flesh solely with her mouth, biting soft skin and padding flesh with her tongue and massaging curves with the press of her soft lips as she works her way down the middle of her chest -- only to pause at that pointed question. Silence and stillness reign in its aftermath, as Bella's fingers clench more tightly into Connie's. "... No," she admits after a long moment. "I'm not. It's very quiet and small... but I can feel something... something making a nest out of my mind." She can feel it in that itch. Her body tenses slightly. "... is it just the drugs...?" but she knows that's not the answer.


"That is Az," Connie explains. "The Conupscience. She - it - is a spirit of sorts. A spirit that had the same kind of hunger you do. That knows what you deserve." She flares her nostrils, closes her eyeas. writhes again. "I saw it in you when we meet. Your need. And she - it - will help you sate it. She will make you a goddess." Of course... This particular hunger may never be truly sated. But can Connie be blamed for that?

If it all sounds too good to be true, it probably is. Wise words Bella's father told her once, that are fleetingly entertained before being callously shoved down in a mixture of confusion and wonder. "A spirit? You're joking, right?" she asks -- but she knows it's not a joke. On some intrinsic level, she can sense it -- she can feel it uncoiling and entwining around her in hungry wakefulness the moment the name Az is mentioned. Those words, those promises, are like a siren song for Bella. As Connie writhes, Bella releases one of her hands to slip her own underneath the redhead, pressing into her back to push her -up- until their bodies are pinned together, ever-so-slightly above the dirt and earth beneath them. "What I deserve..." she murmurs. She deserves so much, the voice tells her, and the voice becomes her voice. She deserves so much. And she'll take it. "I have so many questions." She does. But the important thing for her right now is... "Is one of these spirits in you, too?" ... is Connie a kindred spirit?

"You can tell. Listen to what she's saying. They can feel each other," Connie murmurs. "You can probably see it, if you look just right."

Flashes. The voluptous form of the redhead briefly replaced with the voloptous shape of a woman carved out of night. Out of blackness. Out of void. Like an exposed negative, except even the lines of her face are in dark on dark. "Marishta," Connie murmurs, in adoration. "The Unholy Consummation. The Black Mary. The Nuclear Mistress. Do you see her, my darling? She sees you. She sees how beautiful you are... How eager you are to feed yourself, and to sate our needs, too."


Slowly, Bella tilts her head. She rests it on Connie's chest. And through the steady beat of the woman's heart beneath her... she listens. Every heartbeat, a flash. A snapshot of a visage replacing Connie's. Red with black. Fair with void. Striking beauty becomes terrifying beauty, evoking a lust so much more primal. "Marishta," Bella says the name against her companion's skin, her lips dragging up and down with each reverent consonant and syllable. "I-I see her," she stammers in awe. "She's so... terrifying and wonderful. I want her." Her fingernails dig into Connie, to draw her closer. "I'm so hungry. There's so much I want... that I need to do." Ambitions well up inside of her, gilded in avarice. "I want this city. I want it to be mine." Those sea green eyes lower, vacant, onyx-carved eyes weaving in and out of reality, empty and unable to ever be sated. "... And I want you... your body, your needs... I want you at my side. To give you what you want..." Her lips lift. Press against Connie's. "... so you can give me what I want..."


"Quid pro quo," Connie whispers, against that kiss, lips pressing into Bella's mouth, raising her arms to embrace the newly-Possessed, a smile slowly forming on her face. "I think I can live with that..."