Making Do (Abel)

[matilda jane eve.]

"Welcome to Desolation Row. You are on your own, entirely. No adults will interfere in your lives further and you no longer have any laws other than those you make for yourself. We are tired of accepting responsibility for your crimes, you must learn to fend for yourselves. No food or medical supplies can or will get through to you; you must provide for yourselves. We have supplied you with weapons, if you want to kill, then kill. Your current food supply cannot realistically support the number of inhabitants you have for more than a year; either work together to solve this problem, or eliminate the competition.

You said you could do better than the adults in the real world. In any event
Prove it."

That was what the note on the table had said. So the adults had locked them in here, expecting them to die. But what did adults know? They loved to lie and manipulate those who smaller and weaker than themselves. Perhaps they were lying about the foodstores, simply wanting to see the kids try and kill each other off. She might as well go and see for herself; what could it heard. As Rikki Tiki Tavvi would have said, run and find out.

The mansion was huge, so finding the kitchen was no easy task. It was a good-sized one, though it was probably new in the fifties. All the appliances looked old; the tile surfaces were chipped and discolored, and Mattie wasn't rightly sure she even wanted to know what that was the floor was stained with. In any event, this was traditionally the room with the food in it. She couldn't help wondering what kind of things it was stocked with--did they fill the cabinets with kid-stuff like mac'n'cheese and pretzels, or did it have things like real fruits and whatnot? Good thing to know--assuming she wanted to have a healthy 'developmentally-normal' baby. Which she still wasn't entirely sure about, Mattie reflected, a hand going idly to her still-mostly-flat belly. She wouldn't start really showing for a few weeks yet. How would the others react to knowing she had a kid on the way? Could she use it to barter her own survival? No one would be so heartless as to murder a baby or a young mother, would they? All this she pondered as she dug through the ancient, hissing and leaking fridge. There was a huge chest-type freezer next to it--you could hide a body in there, Mattie found herself thinking.

She searched around and dug for a bit before coming up with a combination of things that seemed as though they might be interesting to try out. Soy sauce mixed into cottage cheese, scooped up with a pickle spear. Yup, the old yarn about pregnancy making a woman crave weird shit seemed thus far to be entirely born out. mattie had also found herself longing for a really good tomato, or a big crunchy piece of ice. Taking her little culinary experiment to the table she set up, scooping a little of the cheese into a small bowl and darkening it steadily with the soy sauce. Then stir-stir-stir with the pickle. Mmm, them shits was delishious!

[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

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__&& , Gripping at the gross draped around his neck, and down his thigh black shirt- he scowled at the people that got in his way. He was pissed off and not in the mood to look at the sin of these crack whores and prostitutes. It made him sick to be thought of in the same regard. His brow dug forward screwing with his facial structure which normally looked like graceful teen who played in a band- but now. It reflected the death he wished would havoc among the stupid assholes of this rat pit. The needles had no need to be hidden- and honestly Abel knew all the answers to the questions he had looked for about this place- he knew that they were all here to just kill each other off diligently like little lab rats. He spat on some random bitch who ran into himself. He uttered a strand of curse words and flared at the air in front of him as people parted for his being as he walked to wards the kitchen. His foot falls landing exactly as he knew they would- silent, deadly; and lethal. But Abel also knew tat he was going to have to kill some people to day to make up for the bitchy mood. He growled at some little kid who was probably framed and made the boy jump storming past him pushing a needle into his hand as he passed, the blood falling to the ground slowly- wishing he could watch the bodies fall instead.

__&& , he could feel his blood pouring through his veins; only a tiny amount tossed out into the open air, to allow him to make the yummy coppery scent that he adored oh so much. He smiled darkly- his face scrunching up darkly as he looked at the whores he wished to slaughter. He giggled darkly lapping up the small amount of blood on his hand, looking like the devil after the lonely sinner- banished to a life of eternal hell. He need a punching bag, and he would find one- just someone watch. he giggled again, his vocals rolling higher than they usually were; and he knew it was a good thing that Jay wasn't around right now- nor his Miss Celie. He giggled and tore into his palm, the teeth breaking skin, relishing in the taste and scent of his life's liquid rubies. He chuckled darkly as he cleaned the wound he had created himself, licking around the bite marks that seemed repetitive on his hand- his mind so occupied that he didn't even care about the amount of pleasure he was getting from his own ripped flesh. He felt his tongue trace the bite mark repetitively, his opposite hand still gripping his cross in attempt to not randomly bitch slap some hooker shooting up some heroin to let the next fuck be less painful than the last. He growled; the stupid whores of the world, reminded him so much of his petty mother. He smiled darkly dropping his ever-bleeding hand, his shoulders heaving as he laughed at how he remembered his wet mother going at it with some fag and sluggish old bastard. How loose he remembered the sound; something that made his want to gag himself with a rag and attempt suicide once more. He felt like waking the dead with a symphonies of screams, but he knew he couldn't let go of his control completely. Finding one little specified target would be perfect, and he lusted for it- so much so it ached.

__&&, he looked at the ground, appalled and disguised by the shit he saw- seeing the plausible color so seamen, blood- and the scent of sex wafted into his nostrils daily. He glared darkly his thoughts clouding over as he swiftly made it into the kitchen; to watch some girl shove a nasty concoction of food down her throat. Pregnant. He knew- because no sane woman nor man would eat shit like that, and he knew that she was younger than himself. he glared at the girl- rummaging throat the cabinets for something to drink, anything. But he smiled darkly when he saw a bottle of Jack, opened but still fresh. He giggled darkly, his blood-lust still growing as he felt the pristine burn of the alcohol down his throat. He smiled- the taste so clean and crisp; yet tolerable to the point where he was still able to function; unlike the drugs. Oh how he hated the drugs. He glared t the wall and then angrily tossed the now half full bottle at the female in the room, missing by a hare's breath. He glowered, his brow ceased ever more, his thoughts seated and watching respectfully. the air smelt dueled and disgusting- he glared at the female, she wasn't just pregnant. But then he knew, walking up to her slowly- his bright blue eyes narrowed, his graceful white hand grabbing her chin angrily; out of the blue. his vocals were deep and excited while angry and menacing all the same- with some many different fleeting emotions that one wouldn't be able to chose one to focus upon. vous la prostituée, hmmmmmm... I do believe this rat will do.. abel giggles not sure if he is actually talking to her, or himself. But he can still feel the blood running down his hand, as he looked into the girls eyes, her dull brown hair having in rivulets aside her face- not framing it well at all. But he knew she was pretty enough for his purpose. Oh yes..

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__&& tags; for Mattie! (:
__&& count; 1000-ish words
__&& music; otep.
__&& notes; can we say suckish, >>"

[matilda jane eve.]

The others were coming. She could hear them milling about in the main room, some assuredly reading the note taped there on the table for them, and slowly ading it up in their heads, coming to the same conclusions about this place and their purpose in being sent here. It was pretty much a prison camp, but without anyone watching to see that no one hurt each other. There was some book like that, wasn't there? Royal Battle or something? The book was about a bunch of teens shipped off to an island on what they assume is a special 'school trip' but it's really a test to see how many of them survive. Pausing in her snack, Matilda reached up to feel her neck--no sign of a collar, explosive or otherwise. so that was a relief.

What there was abundant evidence of, however, was the fact that someone was approaching--male, by the sound of his voice, and clearly displeased at their current situation. He could be heard to stomp around the halls cursing--no prizes for guessing what he did to get sent here! She idly wondered how many fights he'd got in, before the administration at whatever school he'd come from simply said that enough was enough; it was time to ship him off to kiddie-Auschwitz. He made an odd sound, then--a sort of sick strangled giggle that wanted desperately to become a scream. Mattie's stomach turned over--great, a genuinely crazy one. Che sera sera, she tried to tell herself, what would happen would happen, and there was no use in fighting it. Still and all, her insides were suddenly in squirming knots, and her cold salty treat no longer seemed nearly so appetizing. She managed a few more bites as he entered the kitchen--wow, with his harsh-black hair and opious piercings, he might have been the frontman for any indie gothrock band! She wondered if he knew his hand was bleeding, but said nothing as he scowled at her and started rummaging through the cabinets.

She pointedly didn't stare at him--you weren't supposed to make eye contact with the crazy ones; that only made them madder and more dangerous--and returned to her bowl as he continued to clink bottles around. Huh--that seemed to answer her question as to what manner of provision the place was stocked with; sounded like he'd found some booze. He gave that scary mad-sounding giggle again, and she heard him tilt the bottle and the swish of liquid, him swallowing--and then she happened to glance up in time to see him send the half-full bottle flying at her, ducking out of the way just in time and trying not to quake in fear as he came closer, those wild sapphire pinpoints trained on her and boring right into her soul. She blinked as he came close to her, and spoke--his voice proving unexpectedly deep, dark and angry and hungry like a wild animal with rabies. A prostitute? He thought she was a whore? Matilda barely choked back a bitter laugh of her own at that. Oh, how her father would have heartily slapped him on the back and agreed to that! But why had he called her a rat?

"Yes, I'm a whore. But I don't see any rats yet; the sun hasn't gone down. Did you know your hand is bleeding?"