Breaker
12-15-10, 01:28 AM
Closed to those recruited in this thread (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?t=22103). Contains mature content, or else we 'aint doin' it right.
Dianna Fox grimaced as she pushed the whiskered mask up onto her forehead. It acted like a loose elastic, failing to tame her flaming locks of crimson hair. The barmaid dropped her well-worn polishing cloth next to a stack of glasses on the counter and pressed her forehead against the cool front window of the Flesh Failures, premium entertainment nightclub in Radasanth. The last hour of daylight still glistened off freshly fallen snow outside, and through the spider-webs of frost she saw a small carriage pull up at the fancy restaurant across the road. Steam spouted from the horse's nostrils as a family of three got out, father, mother and daughter dressed in downy furs. The child still clung to her parents, barely five years old.
Sniffling in the smell of winter, Dianna watched until the heavy door of the eatery swallowed the family whole. She turned away and uncorked a bottle of gin, sipping from it and wondering when she might meet a man who would give her a child and raise it with her. A second and third sip and she sealed the bottle and resumed preparing her workspace.
The Flesh Failures had undergone recent renovations, as business had never been better. Angeline, the manager of the establishment and the owner's daughter (Not that the two had anything to do with one another, of course. That one earned her another sip of gin.) had hired a chic young Akashiman architect who blended eastern relaxation with the club's energetic image. The long polished oak bar still ran down the main room's west wall, protecting the door to the kitchen and storage areas. But the shoe-sanded dance floor now bore several upholstered monstrosities designed to look like technicolor boulders. The east wall of the club was line not with tables and chairs but piles of thick ornamental rugs and cushions, as well as low tables where patrons could rest their drinks while lounging.
The young barmaid had to admit, it was bringing in large crowds, but she just couldn't get behind some of their customs.
"Furry Night in particular," she thought toxically as she pushed the mask back over her face scampered to choreography rehearsal, the red fur on her fox suit shining.
*
Three hours later.
The childlike innocence which winter lent Radasanth vanished as soon as night's darkness choked out the sun's last rays. By that time the dust of the cobblestone streets and the trudging of thousands of feet had beat the snow into frigid muck. The cold season was good to businesses like the Flesh Failures, but little ever really changed in Radasanth. The whores still came out, even if they did retreat earlier for fear of frostbite. And trash still filled the back alleys, despite the best efforts of the slush to drag it down into the sewers.
In one such alley, not far from the theme-night club with its wild music and flashing lights, something different appeared.
The man, reborn naked as any infant, sprang out of the frigid slush puddle like a fatigued penguin and braced his bare back against the apartment's brick wall. His hazel eyes darted, wild as quicksilver, searching for threats and finding none. His brain blared urgent signals of onsetting hypothermia and shock. Problems with solutions. Put them aside.. He compartmentalized them like putting files in a drawer, and then realized the drawer was empty aside from his instincts, his senses, and a mess of inhuman memories.
For an instant, he crouched in the shadows, shivering and scared.
"Where am I?" he could not answer the strangely calm voice in his head. He began to run when it asked, "What's my name?"
He turned left at the end of the brick wall, sprinted automatically towards the first door with light coming through it, turned the knob and ducked inside.
"Lobby."
The word came to him as he perceived three men in identical uniforms coming towards him. One stepped out from behind a well polished counter, the second from the foot of an ornately carved staircase, the third skipping around a rolling bin full of soiled sheets.
Bad. He couldn't retreat to the cold, especially not naked. Nowhere to go. As the liveried men closed in on him he placed one wide palm on the edge of the laundry cart and vaulted over it like a chimp. The apartment staff were caught off guard, and came at him again, the shortest circling wide around the cart, cutting off the exit. The taller two blocking access to the stairs and hallway beyond them.
Trapped by the men, the cart, and the mutely painted wall. Trapped.
A tiger in a pit.
He waited until the stocky fellow lunged and sidestepped against the cart. The demi do si do put his assailants in an awkward position, with the thick fellow half way between his taller friends and the naked intruder. The tall men hesitated as the short one turned, and the man with no memories used that instant to grip the short man's double-stitched collar with one hand and a sheet from the laundry with his other.
The heavy cart, fully loaded as it was, rocked on its wheels with the violence of his motion. The naked man torqued from the shoulders, rammed his hips into his stocky adversary's, and threw him bodily into the cart just as the sheet came out of it. Like a ghost it rose up and, as it was suspended between them, the intruder struck.
He delivered a fearsome barrage of mechanical blows through and around the sheet so that by the time it hit the ground, the tall men were on their way to doing the same. He managed to get between them and flip them one by one into the cart on top of their stocky pal, using the same manoeuvre that had swept him off balance and knocked him out. Tossing the sheet over all three of them, he set the cart rolling down the hall and raced up the stairs, a relatively clean blanket wrapped around his waist.
Dianna Fox grimaced as she pushed the whiskered mask up onto her forehead. It acted like a loose elastic, failing to tame her flaming locks of crimson hair. The barmaid dropped her well-worn polishing cloth next to a stack of glasses on the counter and pressed her forehead against the cool front window of the Flesh Failures, premium entertainment nightclub in Radasanth. The last hour of daylight still glistened off freshly fallen snow outside, and through the spider-webs of frost she saw a small carriage pull up at the fancy restaurant across the road. Steam spouted from the horse's nostrils as a family of three got out, father, mother and daughter dressed in downy furs. The child still clung to her parents, barely five years old.
Sniffling in the smell of winter, Dianna watched until the heavy door of the eatery swallowed the family whole. She turned away and uncorked a bottle of gin, sipping from it and wondering when she might meet a man who would give her a child and raise it with her. A second and third sip and she sealed the bottle and resumed preparing her workspace.
The Flesh Failures had undergone recent renovations, as business had never been better. Angeline, the manager of the establishment and the owner's daughter (Not that the two had anything to do with one another, of course. That one earned her another sip of gin.) had hired a chic young Akashiman architect who blended eastern relaxation with the club's energetic image. The long polished oak bar still ran down the main room's west wall, protecting the door to the kitchen and storage areas. But the shoe-sanded dance floor now bore several upholstered monstrosities designed to look like technicolor boulders. The east wall of the club was line not with tables and chairs but piles of thick ornamental rugs and cushions, as well as low tables where patrons could rest their drinks while lounging.
The young barmaid had to admit, it was bringing in large crowds, but she just couldn't get behind some of their customs.
"Furry Night in particular," she thought toxically as she pushed the mask back over her face scampered to choreography rehearsal, the red fur on her fox suit shining.
*
Three hours later.
The childlike innocence which winter lent Radasanth vanished as soon as night's darkness choked out the sun's last rays. By that time the dust of the cobblestone streets and the trudging of thousands of feet had beat the snow into frigid muck. The cold season was good to businesses like the Flesh Failures, but little ever really changed in Radasanth. The whores still came out, even if they did retreat earlier for fear of frostbite. And trash still filled the back alleys, despite the best efforts of the slush to drag it down into the sewers.
In one such alley, not far from the theme-night club with its wild music and flashing lights, something different appeared.
The man, reborn naked as any infant, sprang out of the frigid slush puddle like a fatigued penguin and braced his bare back against the apartment's brick wall. His hazel eyes darted, wild as quicksilver, searching for threats and finding none. His brain blared urgent signals of onsetting hypothermia and shock. Problems with solutions. Put them aside.. He compartmentalized them like putting files in a drawer, and then realized the drawer was empty aside from his instincts, his senses, and a mess of inhuman memories.
For an instant, he crouched in the shadows, shivering and scared.
"Where am I?" he could not answer the strangely calm voice in his head. He began to run when it asked, "What's my name?"
He turned left at the end of the brick wall, sprinted automatically towards the first door with light coming through it, turned the knob and ducked inside.
"Lobby."
The word came to him as he perceived three men in identical uniforms coming towards him. One stepped out from behind a well polished counter, the second from the foot of an ornately carved staircase, the third skipping around a rolling bin full of soiled sheets.
Bad. He couldn't retreat to the cold, especially not naked. Nowhere to go. As the liveried men closed in on him he placed one wide palm on the edge of the laundry cart and vaulted over it like a chimp. The apartment staff were caught off guard, and came at him again, the shortest circling wide around the cart, cutting off the exit. The taller two blocking access to the stairs and hallway beyond them.
Trapped by the men, the cart, and the mutely painted wall. Trapped.
A tiger in a pit.
He waited until the stocky fellow lunged and sidestepped against the cart. The demi do si do put his assailants in an awkward position, with the thick fellow half way between his taller friends and the naked intruder. The tall men hesitated as the short one turned, and the man with no memories used that instant to grip the short man's double-stitched collar with one hand and a sheet from the laundry with his other.
The heavy cart, fully loaded as it was, rocked on its wheels with the violence of his motion. The naked man torqued from the shoulders, rammed his hips into his stocky adversary's, and threw him bodily into the cart just as the sheet came out of it. Like a ghost it rose up and, as it was suspended between them, the intruder struck.
He delivered a fearsome barrage of mechanical blows through and around the sheet so that by the time it hit the ground, the tall men were on their way to doing the same. He managed to get between them and flip them one by one into the cart on top of their stocky pal, using the same manoeuvre that had swept him off balance and knocked him out. Tossing the sheet over all three of them, he set the cart rolling down the hall and raced up the stairs, a relatively clean blanket wrapped around his waist.