THIS WORLD HAS LOTS TO OFFER .)

[misery anett alaguera.]

MY GIRL , MY GIRL - -

DON'T LIE TO ME
* tell me where did you sleep last night - - - - - - - - -[/center]

she was dressed in a black catsuit, covering all of her skin save for her feet and hands and face, but those all had their own things; her feet were covered by black leather boots, her hands by black gloves, and even her eyes were covered by black sunglasses, much like the ones you would expect paris hilton to wear, except that were a bit larger. misery knew her style made people turn and watch her and wonder what the fuck she was wearing. she also knew that the likelihood of people stealing her clothes was also very low, which was always quite good for a person like her. and besides – you could always store weapons in this type of outfit much more easily than you could in blue jeans. for example, she had two knives hidden in her boots, and in between her breasts was an unloaded pistol – the ammo was with the knives in the boots, but all were easily reachable should misery decide they were necessary to use. she had found the pistol her first day here, after she had killed somebody who had attempted to kill her – apparently, there was no rule about not killing the newbies. but, misery had managed to get over that fact quickly, and had stabbed the man in his jugular while he was reloading – she had managed to draw his fire and then run up to him and take her chance. and now he was buried somewhere on the grounds of this rather expansive fortress that these delinquents – including misery – lived in.

as she walked, she hummed, smiling pleasantly at people who gave her odd looks. it was all part of her grand plan – despite being an evil, conniving, masochistic black widow beneath the surface, misery wanted to come off as somebody kind. well, kind and eccentric, but kind as well. she wanted people to trust her. to like her. that way, they would fuck her, and then she could slit their throat and cry over the fact that she had just killed one of her friends. and then steal their drugs. she was named misery for a reason, people. and yes, her parents really had given her that name. what idiots they had been, looking for an odd name for her. but, she loved her name, despite the odd looks people had given her. she had gone by missy in elementary school to avoid people looking at her weirdly, but she had gone back to misery in middle school and high school when she realized her wants to be beaten, hurt, bled, cut, whatever else you could do to possibly damage a person. she wanted to be miserable, so why not have that in her name? besides – missy sounded like the kind of name a spoiled little rich brat would have, and believe me, misery was not a spoiled little rich brat. she was middle class, and as far from a brat as she could possibly be – she just had a bit of a temper issue that she hid rather well. and her parents hadn’t given her all that much attention anyways, until she started being rebellious, and then they had decided that, no, they should have been parents to her. and then she killed them and got arrested. that was always rather fun. you see, misery enjoyed getting what she wanted, and then getting people in trouble. so, she got her parents’ attention, and then killed them. she would allow somebody to rape her, and then call the cops on him, if he were a greasy old man the world would be better of without. misery was really quite an excellent liar, but she had gotten caught red handed – the fingerprints were on the knife they had found at the crime scene, and therefore, misery was screwed.

so, now she was here, doing what she loved to do – fucking up people’s lives. and getting fucked. and hurt. and beaten. and raped. and she was loving it. desolation row was so much more…interesting than the rest of the world. there were much more lovely personalities here than outside the walls of the fence. no, they weren’t nicer, but they were much more entertaining, and that was what misery wanted. she strutted through the halls – yes, strutted; walking was for people nowhere near as amazing as her (i said she wasn’t a brat; didn’t say anything about being conceited) – turning her sunglass hidden eyes on every person she passed by and gave them a smile, while at the same time wondering which one she should approach. too skinny. too tall. too short. too ginger. too brunette. too normal. too weird. too ugly. too pretty. yes, she was rather picky when it came to the person she wanted to approach. but weren’t we all? everyone judged other people, and there were some people you wouldn’t approach on first glance based on looks alone. but then you got talking to them. unfortunately, misery never allowed them to talk to her, because she usually slit their throat before they even knew her name, but you know, that’s just the way the world turns. she kept humming quietly, turning a corner and feasting her eyes on the people gathered there, then sighed. nobody interesting. she walked through the hall, and looked around, recognizing it as the hall leading to the armory. well, if she couldn’t find somebody to do it for her, might as well do it herself, yes? thought so. she walked along, smiling at people – after all, you never knew when you might need a friend – and found the door to the armory, slipping inside. she shut it behind her and looked up, seeing that she was not alone, and then smiled brilliantly at the person. “bonjour, mon cherie,

[/color]” she said in a fake french accent. [/blockquote][/blockquote][/font]

open. finished. 973. black catsuit and boots. don’t ask. defying gravity – wicked. <333
template credit to KLEPOMANIA FTW? at CAUTION 2.0.

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[abel von zimmerman.]

abel von zimmerman
you'll be the corpse and i'll be the killer
'll be the devil, and you'll be the sinner
you'll be the drugs, and i'll be the dealer

* * * * * *

[/color]

__&& , The warmth of the armory was odd, for Abel usually felt oddly cold within the locked walls of armories. He smiled playing with the tip of a shining dagger. But he did have to wonder; what was the purpose of placing all these different kinds of junkies in the same mansion? Did the government want them to all catch some kind of sexually transmitted disease and die, or to all over-dose on something; maybe even have one of the bullets- as their called- to kill everyone off- and make it seem like some junkie genocide? He laughed to himself- watching the flock of horny and drugged up junkies outside of the door, not caring enough to lock himself within the depths of the armored walls. His smile widened as he sang a song to himself- still feeling the after affects of the heroin he had, had last night- nasty shit right there; not something he often liked to participate in. He felt the words of a familiar song claw at his vocals, begging to be released- and realized how much he missed the club-scene, the drugged up rock-stars blaring their screaming vocals. Abel's eyes flashed serenely and he pulled the dagger across his hand as his mind sped through the lyrics of the song- his favorite one from the band actually. Setting yourself up for sarcasm by get scared; he smiled humming the tune and eventually finding himself singing the lyrics to himself as the familiar sound of a crack pipe wafted to his audits.

__&& , Don't mind us we're just spilling our guts
If this is love i don't wanna be hanging by the neck
Before a knotty kiss of death
You'd be the corpse and i would be the killer
I'd be the devil and you would be the sinner
You'd be the drugs and i would be the dealer
Everything you say is like music to my ears

__&& , Abel smiled at the blonde hair woman he recognized as the Miss Misery from the rumors that float around the Mansion. He chuckled at her costume- already knowing that she was diligently hiding weapons on her person. Oddly, Abel found that thought rather comforting. Though he knew she was headed his way, he thoughtfully stopped singing and went back to playing with the dagger at hand, allowing it to wallow in the pool of blood forming from the slash wound on his palm. He heard her thoughts moving even if only mentally he could hear a soft buzz around the female, and he knew that she was thinking rather diligently. He chuckled to himself as he watched the door close out of the corner of his eyes... Though Abel had to admit she had a nice body- she was probably the type to whore herself on one man and then gut him like a fish- another thing he praised her on. Killing someone after a sexual attachment wasn't easy- but it was fun as hell. He chuckled darkly to himself as he hear the flow of her obviously fake french accent. 'bonjour, mon cherie,' he chuckled as his bright blue eyes flashed upward, taking her features in- the hello an obvious way to allow him to let his optics to feast. His smile was dark and graceful, his skin pale in the armories light- but his vocals were a deep verbrato- with an amazing accent; Bonsoir, manquer la misère, he said taking a bow, allowing his black hair to fall around his face in random places- thus also proving newtons law of gravity all the same.

__&& , Abel chuckled once more, pulling himself out of the bowing position and back to the matter atop his hand. Gracefully pulling his palm up to his lips he allowed his tongue to hungrily lash out of his lips, finding the bloodied wound- basking in the small sting that if large enough could some how get him going. He trembled under the delicious taste of his blood. He smiled darkly, pulling his hand away, watching as several ruby drops of liquid life fell to the white tiled floors- which were oddly clean. He didn't bother watching the other drops fall as he picked the dagger back up and watched it gleam in the light- not clear on what to say next; but wondering how he had advanced to be such a smart boy- when he had gleefully given up life at the mere age of 13. He looked up, noticing her just standing there- or so he though; and decided to say something random. What brings you to the armory today, manquer la misère? he chuckled at his jumble of english and the small mix of french. He always was a sucker for the pretty languages- such as Japanese and French, though- speaking in french often reminded of someone trying to talk with multiple marshmallows in their mouths. He looked at the array of weapons atop the table in front of himself- smiling at the delicacies. There he spotted piano wire, needles, some small daggers, throwing needles, a couple guns, and an AK-47. He smiled darkly; guns were not something he prided on- they were boring and told the person that you didn't care how they died- and that made Abel feel very insecure. He was someone who liked giving someone a show- and enjoying the pain that the others put themselves through- while raping someone; they would always scream, and claw at the dominant person- just they way Abel liked it; a fight- if you would... He smiled darkly, running his right hand over the weapons, almost as if he were lost in another world...

* * *

__&& tags; for mistery (:
__&& count; 940-ish words
__&& music; nine inch nails !
__&& notes; can we say suckish? (;

[misery anett alaguera.]

MY GIRL , MY GIRL - -

DON'T LIE TO ME
* tell me where did you sleep last night - - - - - - - - -[/center]

misery was a…one in a million type of girl. hell, it was more like one in a billion, but that meant there were only six like here on earth, and that was just far too few miseries in the world. but yes – she was definitely not your average, every day kind of girl. her outfit suggested that immediately. she did not like normal fashions. at all. the only time she wore anything normal was when she was seducing somebody, and even then, it was lacy underwear that you probably saw at a french clothing store. misery had made damn sure she had as many odd outfits smuggled in here as possible – through her sister, of course; the poor girl had been sent here shortly after misery, but at least misery had somebody to rely on for help. possibly. depended on how the other girl was feeling. anyways. misery did not want to be without her clothing, and since she dressed so eccentrically, it was unlikely that anyone was going to attempt to steal it. as the years passed, she would have to make more, but that was something she could easily manage – so long as there were actually materials to make them with and a misery still left alive. she had a bit of doubt that she wouldn’t be alive still in five years, but that was to be expected when you lived in desolation row. you couldn’t be sure you would see tomorrow. misery would start worrying about food and supplies later…but, until then, she could find her way around. once she started feeling even a teensy bit hungry and had to look through loads of rooms to find even a crumb was when she would go, “okay, we’ve fucked up” and start trying to fix things. hopefully there still sheep left to make clothes from. if not? well, like i said: they were fucked. royally.

anyways, back to the point. misery was as far from normal as they got. in truth, she probably belonged more in an insane asylum than here, but having a straightjacket wrapped around her didn’t sound very appealing at the moment, all things said honestly. although it probably wasn’t as tight as her catsuit, but quite frankly, the catsuit was for purposes of seduction and nothing else. it showed off her ass well and got people’s attention, which was what she wanted. and it was rather hard to lay somebody in a straightjacket, right? just think about how much time you’d have to spend trying to get out of it. ugh. not that you would really get to lay people in an insane asylum…but, anyways, it wasn’t just misery’s fashion that was odd. it was her personality too. let’s face it – wanting to be raped (which in itself was rather stupid, considering that if you wanted it, it wasn’t rape, just rough sex), wanting to be beaten, cutting herself for the pain and not because she was some suicidal emo chick with tight pants, more black hair dye than she really needed, and an ipod filled with marilyn manson, wasn’t exactly the most normal thing you came across in a girl. nor was the lying – nobody knew who misery was like, until it was too late. she came across as this rather eccentric, yet kind girl…a masochistic woman who just wanted entertainment…but deep down inside? you didn’t want to know. it was like a mirage, to be honest. you thought you were getting something good, but it was just more of the bad. she was like a siren from greek mythology – she came across as beautiful, but in truth, all she wanted to do was kill you. and that was precisely what misery wanted to do. to most people. there were a few exceptions, of course, but they were few and far between.

anyways. present time now. she smirked at the man standing in front of her, closing the door of the armory behind her and walking out of the shadows cast by the walls so that abel could fully see her. abel and misery knew each other. it was rather difficult not to – they were both bullets. and, furthermore, misery was somewhat well known around the mansion...after all, she was a freak of nature, and people always loved to gossip about them. hey – they were all teenagers. they may be badass, but they still gossiped. her eyes scanned over his appearance, and they immediately fell on the blood on his hand. she licked her lips appreciatively, smirking. “monsieur abel,

[/color]” she acknowledged, scanning along the weapons available. how stupid it was to give criminals weapons…misery was surprised that they hadn’t already killed one another off yet. but apparently the bullets weren’t as stupid as the cheats made them out to be…or the cheats had simply hidden the weapons themselves. whatever the cause was, people were still alive, and while they were still alive, she didn’t trust them. at fucking all. she ran her hand over a knife, smirking, picking it up and throwing it dead on at the wall, hitting right where she wanted to hit. she smirked. misery was a lot stronger than she looked, believe me – she didn’t need the weapons. she just didn’t like getting her hands dirty. she turned to abel again, leaning against the table, running her hand over the ak-47, dearly hoping it was unloaded. she pulled the sunglasses off her face, having deemed abel worthy enough to actually see her eyes. “well, monsieur, as i’m sure you can guess, i happen to be bored. and when i’m bored, i start wandering, and when i wander, i go wherever my feet take me, which just so happens to be the armory. and look! i’ve found somebody cutting themselves…[/color]” she smirked softly, pulling a knife out of the front of her catsuit and pulling off one of the gloves on her hand. she pressed the knife softly to her palm, and then slowly sliced open the skin. “and now we match. in summary, neither of us have any fucking clue what point there was to any of that, and therefore, we need to find a way to entertain the other before we begin to use the weapons in this room in less…pleasant, ways.[/color]”
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abel. finished 1044. black catsuit and boots. don’t ask. who knew - pink. kayrightthispostsucks D:
template credit to KLEPOMANIA FTW? at CAUTION 2.0.

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