Heartthrob

Kell's voice was brusque now, turned husky with the seriousness of their situation. "Sorry, you two... Fuck. I'm, uh, God, how do I even explain? My friends and I, we hate Tsang. 'Freedom fighters' sounds fucking stupid. We're, ah... I guess extremists is more accurate. That sounds scary, though, right? But everyone in this city is getting fucked over by Tsang. Forced to live in a new-world Hell. Work 'til you die, then once you're dead, go to work forever until you're cremated in a factory fire." She cleared her throat as silence fell once more.

The other two women sat in shocked silence. In Esper James's strained mind, snippets of news articles popped up, mostly internal memos from Tsang itself instead of the more broadly-oriented Vitus Gazette. Suspicions of terrorist interference at various IRE sites across the city, unexplained explosions at some of the smaller pharmaceutical plants that produced FixAte supplements, assassination of various minor executives outside their homes... All across decades, decades of Esper James's second-life, never two incidents too close together. Last year there had even been a car bombing right outside of Tsang HQ - giving a notable diplomat and his entourage of security goons, as well as a few bystanders, their true-death. They had put a plaque in the asphalt where it happened, in memoriam.

Purity spoke up first, her tone cheerful - optimistic, even. Excited. "Oh my god, you're one of those people? Oh, fuck, I wish I could've met you sooner! God, I wish I could be like you... Strong enough to act out, you know? Buy a gun, get some silver bullets, ventilate all the motherfuckers who put me here..." She trailed off and away as she fantasized within her box, word muffled through linens and plastic. If her obvious elation was a façade, it was damn believable, at least to Esper James - the little blonde's feelings on the topic mixed. She ricocheted between relief that Kell apparently wasn't some kind of double-agent, and apprehension. She was living next to a literal terrorist? The same floor, anyways. If Kell had ever found out that she worked for Tsang, would she have been the next to die?

Esper James thought back to Kell's shotgun - likely loaded with silver buckshot.

The drive continued unabated, only the occasional speed bump or bit of uneven, element-warped roadway managing to break up the monotony of traveling in such utter silence. Each in their own boxes, EJ couldn't even reach out for one of her friends to help comfort her or calm her down, and breaking the silence with speech came with an ominous sense of foreboding that intimidated her from even trying. She was left isolated despite the people around her, despite the fact that they must have been in the heart of the city, and with isolation came the calming lull of sleep. Nestled within a warren of linen and plastic, brain and body pushed to the point of exhaustion more from her psychosomatic reactions than literal exertion, she began to drift off. And, as had become the norm for her in recent days, she awoke into a dream.

-

In her dream she was back at the Jezzebelle again, but the way she wandered in from the streets was all too reminiscent of the first time she had been there. This time it was much colder - she could feel the breeze on her midsection and legs and back, but paid it no mind. Winter was cold, after all. Stepping in past the bouncer, her eyes flitted to the main bar counter to seek out Roth - and she was rewarded with a facsimile of him, yet not quite the same. His flesh was warmer, a darker and more vibrant color; his eyes were less gemlike and were in fact brown now, holding all the light and life of a true-living. When he smiled, his fangs were absent, though his teeth were still just as alabaster as they had always been. He was serving normal drinks, dark brown or fully clear or even the occasional juice-splashed cocktail. It was comforting to see him this way - how he had lived, how he had made his way without the touch of the cold, hateful morgue-wombs.

EJ opted not to head over for a drink. Even catching sight of someone ordering a bloody Mary, the reddish liquid garnished with a stick of celery, made her queasy. Instead, soft-soled feet stepped in time with the thrumming, bass-heavy industrial towards the bathroom, taking note of an inky sheen to her hand and arm as it entered her vision. Taking hold of the steel bar that acted as a door handle, she threw it aside with a little flourish, the worries of the waking world having long since drained away - if she was here to party, then fuck it, she'd act like it. As the latest anthem from the dancefloor's howling speakers ran to a close, the ghoulette ducked into the WC.

Same as before. The whole club was, as far as she could tell so far, and the nagging feeling that something was off was little more than a niggling little thorn in the rearmost reaches of her grey matter. It was only catching her reflection in the bathroom mirror, the dreamlike recreation of how she imagined herself in this moment-out-of-time, that gave her pause. She was still herself - quite diminutive, petite even, but with skin of the softest porcelain white and hair of golden corn silk tone, the tips dyed eternally ebon as the starless sky. Her teeth were sharp as usual, though now, her canines had elongated even further, thickened now. Prominent. Her ego purred within her heart as she saw they were plated with gold.

Her eyes, too, were that shifting, radiant sheen of the upper class, of her right. She was beautiful now, more beautiful than she had ever felt, more desirable, more powerful. An inner need for dominance flowed through her like magma through the furthest reaches of the Earth's core, warming her flesh, setting her muscles a-tingle with delight. It was ecstasy: hot and smooth, sluggishly drizzling and congealing across her form like dripped wax, hardening into a solipsistic armor that gave rise to a sense of impenetrable ardor. Hers was the body, the face, the very soul of a goddess made flesh. Her pointed tongue rolled across the inner wall of her teeth as she smiled, the singular piercing within making soft clicks as it impacted enamel.

More than these changes, these alterations existing mostly in her perception if not her truth, she was clad in an outfit she had never known herself to own. Or rather, a lack thereof. Her arms were clad up to mid-bicep in gloves of a featureless, glossy black material, hugging her like a perfectly-tailored second skin even down to the individual fingers. Her legs were similarly adorned, ebony leggings of that same lustrous material clinging to her flesh up to the upper thigh, toes wrapped but also left free enough to wiggle atop the tiled floor of the washroom. But it was what she wore on her torso that truly shocked and enticed, her wide grin growing even more manic as her eyes rested upon the scant material to be found.

Bareness as a sacrificial lamb was rampant, hairless and smooth, soft and alluring, free of blemish and void of imperfection. Her modest chest was kept in some distant realm of concealment by two heart-shaped pasties, thin and immodest. They did little to cover the rest of her chest. Her loins, too, were all but bare: thin golden chain sat strung over either hip, meeting in the middle to keep a similarly-glossy loincloth draped over her humility. No one had paid her any mind when she was walking in, at least not any that EJ had noticed; how had she managed to make it all the way to the bathroom in this sort of attire?

They knew not to fuck with her. That's what she decided to believe, at least, and with her ego stroked even further by the idea that she was so untouchable that the mere rabble of Vitus wouldn't gaze upon her form out of fear, fear of retribution, the idea sat well within her ribcage. She spun about on a single slippery heel, turning back to head out of the bathroom, out into the fray once again. Once more into the breach.

The flashing lights of the Jezzebelle's dancefloor struck her immediately, the reds and the blues like shafts of light from God's own kaleidoscope, but her jewellike eyes were little more than merely dazzled by the radiance from above. On the false wind of stale air stirred by tossing, writhing bodies, the scent of alcohol, sweat, and varied enough perfume to choke a person enveloped her. The scent of lust, or so she imagined - the erotic aura for her new temple, the modern incense for an amorous, indiscriminate ritual with a desperate, ravenous congregation. And just as the incense was heady in the air, the sacrament of blessed consumption was being prepared before her.

Her lustrous eyes roamed to the dancefloor, where clouds of water vapor from fog machines and personal nicotine delivery devices, their own more minor aromas mingling together with the aroma which they were mired in. On the dance floor, throngs of clubgoers gyrated what they could find space to move, the bodies packed so tightly that intimate closeness was all but inevitable. The closeness itself led to further encounters: fangs dragged upon flesh; tongues pressed to mouths, tattoos, piercings; hands slipping up or beneath clothing, fingers into hair, nails digging into thighs or midriffs or necks. It was a quagmire of the pleasures of the flesh, bodies held loosely in sway by the grinding industrial beat of the music, but the main attraction was the touch to be found among the arms of strangers.

It was just like she remembered it. Her smile was undaunted as she padded forth, soft soles stepping over spilt drinks and discarded trash, proceeding forth onto the dancefloor proper. As she went, slowly but surely, every eye in the building began to peel away from what it had previously been doing and lock upon her fetishized form. Again, that burst of ego all but erupted from her chest in a literal sense: she felt the physical heat and emotional warmth pounding against her heart in double-time, nearly emulating the percussive backing of the song which heralded her arrival. Hand after hand reached out to touch her, to trace her flesh with their own, to feel her softness, her suppleness, her modest curvature - a few more adventurous partiers even gave her a more intimate caress, drawing her blood, fresh and hot, through her veins and down to help lift her loincloth.

At the center of the congregation, three figures stood in a small clearing, the sight of each of them eliciting such tremors within her scantily clad form that they nearly seemed to be heart palpitations. The attention felt good, for the first time in her life, that simplest of admiration of receiving the affection of strangers was like drinking a thick, rich drug, lacing a further need for the rush of sin and skin-to-skin within her very DNA. But those three? Those sirens who stood watching her, beckoning sweetly, each of them radiating that same warmth EJ's own body seemed to produce? They were captivating in the utmost, holding the ghoul-born-anew in their rapturous sway, all else dimming and fading into white noise as she eagerly stepped closer.

Purity Francharde was first: neon bubblegum-pink hair in a classic hime haircut, now nearly liquid in its smooth and unbroken flow, catching the light within the flashing bulbs above to display a rare sheen. Her outfit was bridal, in a sense: a pair of ivory lace gloves dotted with embroidered cherry blossoms, her torso concealed beneath a lavishly detailed leotard of that same material and colour, a keyhole carved into the chest of it in the shape of a large heart. Her legs were clad in black hosen, all the way up to hide their origin beneath the snowy lands of the leotard's depths, and her feet were tucked away neatly into similarly alabaster boots of a particularly neo-Gothic style: full of straps and buckles and shine, made almost wholly from PVC, dazzlingly clean within the dancefloor's miasma.

Her whole body was dazzling to the ghoulette as well: buxom, flawless flesh for the eye to devour as an appetizer, the sensation of the main course hinted at by the immaculate bareness which she presented. Her eyes were still those LED hearts, bright and pink, and her lips were plump and painted the shade of a flamingo in heat. Where the touch of the crowd had put the key in EJ's ignition, seeing Purity there - dressed for a wedding, rife with bridal lace and embroidery, eyes locked upon her and filled with such affection, such amorousness... Her loincloth ruffled below the dancefloor din as she twitched, not even noticing the new fangs that Purity bore, the thickened canines of that perfect white.

Next was Judas, or the woman she assumed was Judas. Her skin was healthier, more vibrant, fuller and more luscious - and that skin which lay bare was more present than ever before. Judas stood in military dress, ebony and with a waterproof coating, red ribbons and golden tassles completing the mark of Tsang upon her figure. Her very presence let off a menacing aura, a background swell of psionic influence radiating from her like fallout from a nuclear detonation. Her gloved hands held a single riding crop in their grasp, the lone weapon for a desperate soldier's last stand, and as EJ approached her Judas used it to point at EJ and then at the center of the clearing, where all three women would be able to surround her.

Judas was always stunning, but now? As a true-living, the vibrance of her flesh and form were powerful, driving Esper James's heart into the dust like a mining drill gone rogue. She felt her very cells crying out to be Judas's toy, to throw herself between the two women, to be loved sweetly and purely by Purity, to be treated so poorly and cruelly by Judas. She would have reveled in either decision. EJ felt her smile wavering as new emotions welled in the thermostat of her desire, bubbling up from stomach to sternum and tickling at her lower jaw, her eyes drifting between focused and blissful blur as she considered what a perfect life that would be. Having nearly reached the trio of women, she was snapped from her daydream by the sound of a cleared throat - and the sensation of a hand on her shoulder.

Esthrielle was here, too. Her appearance was, for lack of a better word, fuzzier than the others: her face and body were smooth and appealing, her synthetic muscles exciting, her cool shock of stark white hair too exotic to deny. When she smiled, her mouth was filled with those same steel fangs as before, but now more akin to a ghoul's - more akin to a Vitus native in general, that is. As her smile turned to laugher, Esper James could see that her tongue was thicker but pointed as well - like that of a ghoul's. Maybe Est had decided to go native, seeing the mercy that Esper James had shown her, and accepted her new second-life?

The thought of that possibility filled EJ's heart with a newfound, unexplainable, frankly worrying sense of joy.

Est was dressed as those in the East were said to dress in their free time: long black robes with white adornment, long gloves, a smattering of beads in a pocket, and a cross necklace of real silver hung from her neck, identical to the one Judas usually wore. The entire outfit from the stockings to the habit was of that similar clingy material as EJ's own outfit, her mind having run out of ideas to entice her further - but none such effort was needed. EJ's confident, dominant stride had been lovingly broken by the mere gesture which now linked both women, Esthrielle going to hold EJ up, tucking her arms between EJ's underarms and keeping her aloft.

The three women stared down at Esper James, making no qualms about how openly they were undressing her with their eyes, making passionate, selfish love to her in their minds’ eye. EJ twitched again, her eyes wide and doelike, so very eager to please. Eager to be pleased, sure, but now with these three women whom she knew and actually felt some kind of connection to... She would do anything for their approval. Kill a thousand, break a million, raze down Vitus if she had to. So desperately did she feel this throughput of emotional trauma and its natural progression, she didn't even stop to think why she wanted their love so badly.

Words were unimportant. As if on some unseen, unheard cue, Judas stepped to one side and then leaned in - her free hand took EJ by the throat, applying pressure to either side, not enough to fully constrict her airflow but more than enough to lighten her pretty little head. The executive-turned-officer's thin lips were bestowed as well, greeting the blonde with the sweet tingle of some sort of lip-gloss that EJ's brain was too tired to put more detail into. The officer's cap on Judas's head touched down gently upon EJ's forehead as the two locked lips, shading the pair from the lights overhead, immersing the secretary in the physical ecstasy of the moment.

Her eyes shut after a mere moment of tongue-to-tongue, her own quickly becoming entangled with that of her boss. The taste of rum was distant but present, mingling with the sugary tingle of the lip-gloss, giving their oral caress an alcoholic aftertaste. Judas's other hand came up to the back of EJ's head, holding her there, reinforcing that she was in control - no matter how far Esper James had come, no matter what she did, Judas was there to keep her in line. There was a sickening sort of comfort in that, just knowing that escape was futile, and obedience was rewarded.

The dazed, love-hazed blonde became vaguely aware of a pair of lips at her chest, followed quickly by the steely sharps that lay below. Esthrielle was nibbling at her, dragging new fangs across that soft, vulnerable skin, making Esper James's body shiver with delight and anticipation. One of the pasties was peeled back and contemplated for a moment before being spat onto the floor below, unnecessary for what was to come. The flesh beneath was immediately set upon - lips and teeth, tongue and spit, the hot breath of the foreigner landing like gentle love-letters as she began to pant against EJ's torso.

Est's hands went up to her prey's back, helping Judas to hold her still - to immobilize her, in a way, keeping her from getting away. Escape was not an option, and while both of these women held EJ in their sway, there was no chance at slipping free. Not that the ghoulette wanted to, of course - getting this attention, this love in her mind, was exactly what she wanted and needed. The other patrons of the club had long since faded to background noise as she was set upon by the trio, Purity the last to join the performance, but not for lack of enthusiasm.

EJ felt the loincloth slip aside, the golden chain slung around her hips adjusted by a lace-clad hand, the womanhood beneath the glossy drape now graced with Purity's touch. Lipstick began to smear along bared flesh almost immediately, leaving clear but messy rings of bubblegum-pink - not that anyone could see them, of course, aside from Purity herself. The trio's embrace of their little lamb was far too claustrophobic in its intimacy to be penetrated by the eyes of onlookers, at least not in a meaningful way. The best they would be able to get was just how aggressive the trio were in their possessive command of their petite plaything.

EJ whimpered delightedly into the hungry crevasse of Judas's mouth, body alight with pleasure, the music and sound of the now unseen crowd keeping her mind in a state of numb acceptance - of joy, of submission, of release. She was loved. She felt it in every little touch, every last caress, every tender kiss both above and below. She nearly cried out as those sharpened metal fangs left bite marks upon her bare chest, drawing her subconscious even deeper into their union, all the way until they bit slightly... too hard.

EJ's eyes snapped open, mind still dreaming but body more than receptive to imagined stimulus, just as something hard and stiff and icy-cold entered her ribcage, sending a cascade of adrenaline through her all-too-accepting system. A long knife protruded now from the secretary's torso, slipped between her upper ribs, the hilt of it held firm within Est's grasp. As for the recipient of the blade, her mind was a whirl: wondering why she had been stabbed, wondering why Est had betrayed her trust, wondering what was going on. The pain of it was mingled with raw, electric, burning pleasure, Purity's work leaving a pink ring as a souvenir upon the hilt of the ghoul's own weapon. This, too, was followed with a breaking of the skin: Purity drove her own knife up into EJ's stomach with a free hand, giggling through a full mouth, winking up at her conspirators and their target.

Esper James struggled to draw breath, no longer participating in her kiss with Judas, her tongue stationary even as her boss's own took conquest of the blonde's mouth. However, she instinctively attempted to draw herself away as ivory touched down upon defenseless pink flesh - Judas drew blood as she bit down on EJ's tongue, splitting it in twain, quick to swallow the freshly butchered meat. Spraying blood filled their shared mouths as Judas kept herself close to her toy, still holding her head in that iron grip, still invading EJ orally if only to lap at and drink down her gushing red.

There was a repulsive sound of breaking skin and shifting meat as Judas's riding crop, now a blade, slipped in near EJ's collarbones. The pain of it all was deafening, the adrenaline in EJ's ear muffling all music, and her newly-opened eyes could see that there was no one else in the nightclub anymore. The four of them were alone, a pack of wolves and the doe they had taken, hands still roving greedily even as the knives stuck from a previously perfect torso. Blood had begun to pool on the floor below them, streaming down in crimson tears from the wounds on EJ's torso, marring her legs, loins, and chest with the scarlet tinge of cannibalism.

Esthrielle was the first to take a bite, her steely maw rending tender flesh from bone, flensing skin from muscle, taking a mouthful of the helpless girl which she held in hand. Purity came soon after, taking sustenance from unprotected thigh meat, gulping it down greedily before giggling up at her dinner. Judas kept gulping down blood for now, keeping EJ pressed to her lips, too powerful for the blonde's scrabbling hands to push away. The strength which had so saturated EJ's form only moments ago was already draining away, leaving in its wake only powerlessness. Only a weak sense of distress, the adrenaline in her veins keeping her aware, but the sudden and extreme blood loss numbing her mind.

More and more was taken from her, bite after bite, slices of a beautiful cake baked for three. Judas had finally joined the fray: her alabaster fangs shearing free the filling of EJ's right cheek first, then drawing off sections of her neck and shoulders, consuming her just as wholly - just as heartily - as her companions. In seconds that felt like years, EJ was being reduced from flesh to bone.

Tears welled hotly and with a dreadful sense of familiarity within her eyes. She was out of strength to fight back, her lungs had been pierced and so she lacked the air to scream, and even with the light of recognition in their eyes, the women who preyed upon her continued to eat and take as they pleased. She was doomed to this; she had no way out, no way to even scream or plead, and without her tongue, no way to beg for mercy. This would be the end of things.

Eventually, she was left to drop to the floor - her legs no longer strong enough to remain standing, and Est's grip had been foregone in preference of pinching and ripping free choice cuts of meat. As EJ's head landed with a hard crack against the now-wet dancefloor, bleary eyes drifting their focus to try and find some sort of salvation, Purity went to straddle her. A lace-clad finger was pressed to EJ's lips to keep her silent, even though there was no way she could protest in the first place.

"Good girl. You're such a good little girl, EJ. You tasted so good... and I bet you'll taste even better the next time, heheh~"

Purity drew her knife free of Esper James's body, putting it up to the ghoulette's left eye along the bottom eyelid. She wound her hand back to strike the pommel, to drive it in, and EJ couldn't help but let tears fall as the blow came...

-

But then it didn't. She awoke with a start and a scream, face dripping with sleep-spent tears, the linens above her soaked with sobbing and drool. Her whole body was atremble, the security that the box she was crammed in had once held now completely ripped away by the machinations of her dreams. She felt like shit, every muscle aching, every bone crying out in muted agony - a brief inspection by cellular flashlight revealed she hadn't sustained any of the injuries from her dream, but she felt them still. Even in the waking world, she couldn't escape.

She began to cry aloud, sobbing as openly as one could when hidden within a crate, letting her emotions pour free until the lid of the box was removed. She became aware then that they weren't actually moving; wherever they were, they were stationary. Her tears, however, were ceaseless - only broken for a moment when a pair of hands reached down and drew her up and out. It made her think briefly back to the duffel bag, to the touch of the ice, to the pain of that wakefulness.

It was Purity then, and it was Purity now. They seemed to be in a break room of some kind, but long-since abandoned. A few sleeping bags lay rolled-out on the floor, and from the shade of the room, it was nighttime. Or maybe the lights just didn't work. Purity pulled the ghoulette close, even against her dream-spawned struggling and protests, the pair of them sharing a one-sided embrace. Purity sighed compassionately as EJ began to rant and rave, crying out for help or for mercy from Purity. Purity simply shook her head, brushing EJ's face with some of that bubblegum hair.

"You sounded like you were having a really bad dream, boo... I'm here for you now. I'll keep you safe and comfy, ok? We can go back to sleep, get cozy, and Kell will explain some more stuff tomorrow. This is a safe place, though. Tsang would never check here. Deep breaths - now, c'mere. Let me hold you."