@Atrophy Doug dimidome of the dimsdale dimidom!
Irisity
Member
- Last Seen: 5 yrs ago
- Joined: 11 yrs ago
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Username history
- Irisity 11 yrs ago
Status
Recent Statuses
8 yrs ago
Doing stuff today, sorry if i dont post a lot!
Bio
Hi, I'm Mattie, but I go by Iris or Irisity on here.
I'm back from a break. Couldn't stay away for too long
I'm back from a break. Couldn't stay away for too long
Most Recent Posts
I'm really liking the posts so far guys. You all are talented writers
Is there anyone else who needs to post before I or Athinar interact with the dead for the first time? (I assume our characters will survive uninfected? Maybe wounded but not dead?)
Not me
Finally posted, unfortunately Fallout 4 was eating all my free time, fortunately a certain P.I character re-inflamed my enthusiasm for Peter Reed. Also, @Irisity my character made some cursory observations about your own (more as a testament to his character traits than anything else) but I was wondering how evident it was your character has Native American roots, as my character made mention of it but now I'm unsure how possible it would have been to discern.
It's more shadowed by her Nigerian and French descent, though if you look hard enough. Like I don't know if you live in the US or have ever lived here but if you're raised in an area that use to be heavily populated with natives (that aren't all dead now) then it's pretty easy to distinguish the people who are descents of the tribes and who are not, mostly because of skin color (though that can't apply with Carrie), cheekbones, hair, and nose. Sometimes height. The most obviously native trait about Carrie is her cheekbones.
September 9th, 2016. Friday evening
Carrie gorged on the target’s flesh as he stared at her with wide eyes, his mouth open in an eternal, silent scream. She could feel Malik in the back of her mind, peering onto them with his ever-present glare. She paid him no mind as the target writhed and wriggled under her grasps as she sunk her bloody hand into his chest and squeezed his fragile organs and bones. This fucker would’ve had to have done something really bad to piss Malik enough to watch. The scent of blood flooded the air and permeated onto the target, staining every fiber of his being. The concrete wall dug into his back and pierced his spine as Carrie crawled onto his open stomach and smeared his blood onto his lips, forcing him to taste his own disgusting fluids.
These were the worst kind of nightmares. The ones she made so real she could barely tell if she was dreaming or not. She hated the taste of organs, but in order to induce an even more real scenario, she had to add taste and scent into the dream, things she normally left out for sake of energy conservation. Fuck, she did not want to feed tonight when she would wake. She would feel more drained than usual, and with Malik watching this one, lord knows he would be spitting critics in her face all damn night. Carrie drug her dirty, crusted nails down the target’s cheek and smiled widely, her red teeth becoming sharp like a tiger’s grin. She pressed her lips to the target’s cheek before murmuring, “Malik says hello,” and then swiftly and harshly sunk her teeth into the poor man’s neck, putting the dream to an abrupt halt. She blinked at her ceiling as she taste of blood receded from her mouth. Her brain buzzed as she cut the connection between her and her target; she still gripped the man’s locket in her hand. Before she had fallen asleep, she had inspected the photos in the locket to find his daughter’s young face inside. She had pondered on whether or not to use his little girl, but she decided she would save that for later. She spared him a more torturous night. Carrie hoped he would set right whatever he did wrong to Malik. She didn’t want to wear his daughter’s face, with pale skin and doe eyes.
Anxiety and guilt sat low on her gut as she slowly crawled from bed. This always happened every time she was the nightmare. She would wonder if she really was a monster. She would ask herself if she really did enjoy the awful things she committed in those dreams. Carrie thought it would stop after the first few nightmares, but it never did. She was beginning to fear herself more than anything; more than her own nightmares, more than Malik.
Carrie trudged into her bathroom, not bothering to turn the light on. She could see the dark rings around her eyes easily enough, even against her brown skin. She splashed water on her face and tangled her fingers through her hair as the last rays of sunlight faded under the Charleston waters. Her limbs felt sluggish and heavy as she stepped out onto the streets, a cold chill settling over her spine as warm bodies emerged from their apartments to mingle among one another in bars and clubs. She took her normal route to Malik’s office; Friday nights were always training sessions. The scent of young blood tempted her from the alleys and corners of Charleston, their sweet aroma lingering in her nose even after she left their vicinity, but she resisted her hunger. Malik liked it better when she was hungry and desperate for her Puppet Master training, and who was she to displease him?
Carrie entered the white building, Malik’s name scowling down on her and all of the other pedestrians. Malik had the business set up sometime in the early 2000s, seeing as his precious little asylums were shut down many years before. He screeched and beat Carrie that night when the mayor declared that all asylums within Charleston be deconstructed immediately. They survived off the many favors and fears owed to Malik in those dark years when they had no business. Carrie was like a dog, and if the dues weren’t paid to the boss, Carrie would tear through their minds and turn their enemies insane.
She tried to smile at the receptionist, another one of Malik’s thralls, but the receptionist only glowered back as Carrie pressed the elevator button to go up. All of Malik’s other thralls always seemed jealous of Carrie; she appeared like the favored child, with almost all of Malik’s attention focused on her training. There were two other Nightmares under her sire’s belt, and she thought she might find brotherhood and comfort in them, but they only cowered and hissed at her like feral alley cats. Even with Malik’s constant looming presence, she was always alone. When the elevator dinged open, Carrie stepped inside and checked her watch.
6:45
Lakin’s appointment would be over soon, Carrie had better get up there soon before it finished and Malik wailed on her like last time she was late. She raced down the hallway the moment the doors slid open and fervently knocked onto Malik’s door, hoping she didn’t interrupt their speaking.
“Come in,” Malik’s stern voice called from inside. Carrie peaked inside, dread lifting from her heart as her eyes landed on little Lakin. She smiled brightly at the sight of the girl and the girl grinned widely back.
“Carrie!” she yelled in excitement, getting ready to jump off the couch before Malik softly commanded her not to. The little patient frowned before leaning back into the couch again.
Carrie’s smiled faded when she turned to Malik after closing the door behind her. She averted his eyes and sat at her small desk behind Malik’s, his paperwork piling high on the floor. “Continue,” Carrie told them as she began organizing his paperwork.
Malik’s tense and aggressive posture relaxed. She couldn’t see his face from here, but Carrie could bet that he was flashing his classic warm smile, with the corners of his eyes crinkling and the light seemingly to shine brighter in his eyes. It was the smile that made her fall for his tricks.
“So, Lakin, tell me more about this nightmare of yours?” Malik pressed softly. Lakin’s tiny fists clenched into the leather couch. Her skin seemed translucent under the soft light; if this kid was a Dream Catcher, then she had to have had an ancestor over hundreds of years ago. Yet Carrie could still point out a little bit of Native in her, with her sharp, hooked nose. Lakin’s family had moved from New Mexico, causing Carrie to think she may be a descendant from a tribe out west.
“Well…” the little girl’s voice trailed off into memories. Carrie waited, ready to cling to every detail. “Mommy left home with Payton, and then Dad brought Mammal over to look after me while he went to work.” Carrie pictured Lakin’s mother and her older brother behind her eyelids before channeling their image into Lakin’s site. She stared at their looming presence in the corner next to Carrie, her heart filling with dread as her mother softly wept and her older brother clung onto her hand. Their image shuttered and faded to reveal a hunkered and shriveled old woman with tight lips and a tall glare. Her shadow snaked across the room and landed onto Lakin, causing the girl’s heart to race. “T-then,” she could barely squeak out a word. “Then Mammal hit me.” Her grandmother stalked closer towards Lakin, the apparition slowly beginning to fizzle out as Carrie tried to ignore the visceral fear welling in her eyes. “Mammal hit me hard,” she whispered. Malik was scribbling furiously onto his paper as his patient stared at the phantom as it slowly lifted its hand to smack the girl. Carrie’s eyes flickered between Malik and Lakin, guilt shifting through her gut again. Just before the old woman slapped Lakin, Carrie yanked the image back into her mind and subdued it. Malik’s hand froze on the paper, his shoulders rigid. Lakin breathed a sigh of relief.
---
After Lakin left, Malik nearly launched Carrie across the room. “You almost had it!” he screamed while shaking her shoulders, his grip crushing her small form. “You almost fucking had it, then you fucking blew it, you piece of shit.” The insults don't bite like they use to. In the beginning, they sunk into Carrie’s mind and burned through her skull, but now, they feel like soft pricks on the skin. Malik breathed a sigh of exasperation and scuffed at his oldest thrall. “Get the fuck out of my sight for a few days,” he murmured menacingly while collecting his things. He looked hungry, Carrie noted to himself. He gets rather pissy when he’s hungry.
Carrie averted his eyes and nodded in acceptance and exited the room quietly. She exhaled loudly to herself as she wandered around the halls. She thought about stopping by a club or a bar and picking up easy blood, but she accidentally stumbled into someone walking in the hallways. “Sorry,” she mumbled as she backed away from the girl. Carrie’s posture immediately changed when she saw the girl was a thrall. She didn’t seem very threatening, with her bored body language and dull eyes. She held out a letter to Carrie. The other vampire hesitantly accepted it, glancing down at the seal. It read something about blood pacts, causing her heart to spike. She looked back up, a question on her lips, but the thrall was already gone. Carrie turned to see if Malik was nearby, and she ducked into a women’s bathroom before inspecting the letter. Malik had always warned her against blood pacts, told her not to engage in one even with someone she greatly trusts. Maybe this was a test? Malik sent the letter to see if she’d take it or not, and if she did, he would punish her. Carrie trembled at the thought of punishment, but curiosity peaked her initial fear. She bit into her thumb and smeared her blood across the letter and began to greedily take in its contents.
September 10th, 2016. Saturday Night
Carrie reluctantly stepped into the crate, scanning the room. Three others sat there already; two men and a young woman. She sat as far from the young woman’s glare as possible. This place set her on edge, but her interest overruled her anxiety. One man was hooded, with claws extending from his pale, gnarled fingers. They vaguely reminded Carrie of a nightmare she once projected in her early days. The other one looked rather normal, but he was dusted with that ‘Old War persona.’ Not Vietnam, not Korea. No, he was from one of the Great Wars. Carrie starred at her fingers as she tried not to remember her father.
Carrie gorged on the target’s flesh as he stared at her with wide eyes, his mouth open in an eternal, silent scream. She could feel Malik in the back of her mind, peering onto them with his ever-present glare. She paid him no mind as the target writhed and wriggled under her grasps as she sunk her bloody hand into his chest and squeezed his fragile organs and bones. This fucker would’ve had to have done something really bad to piss Malik enough to watch. The scent of blood flooded the air and permeated onto the target, staining every fiber of his being. The concrete wall dug into his back and pierced his spine as Carrie crawled onto his open stomach and smeared his blood onto his lips, forcing him to taste his own disgusting fluids.
These were the worst kind of nightmares. The ones she made so real she could barely tell if she was dreaming or not. She hated the taste of organs, but in order to induce an even more real scenario, she had to add taste and scent into the dream, things she normally left out for sake of energy conservation. Fuck, she did not want to feed tonight when she would wake. She would feel more drained than usual, and with Malik watching this one, lord knows he would be spitting critics in her face all damn night. Carrie drug her dirty, crusted nails down the target’s cheek and smiled widely, her red teeth becoming sharp like a tiger’s grin. She pressed her lips to the target’s cheek before murmuring, “Malik says hello,” and then swiftly and harshly sunk her teeth into the poor man’s neck, putting the dream to an abrupt halt. She blinked at her ceiling as she taste of blood receded from her mouth. Her brain buzzed as she cut the connection between her and her target; she still gripped the man’s locket in her hand. Before she had fallen asleep, she had inspected the photos in the locket to find his daughter’s young face inside. She had pondered on whether or not to use his little girl, but she decided she would save that for later. She spared him a more torturous night. Carrie hoped he would set right whatever he did wrong to Malik. She didn’t want to wear his daughter’s face, with pale skin and doe eyes.
Anxiety and guilt sat low on her gut as she slowly crawled from bed. This always happened every time she was the nightmare. She would wonder if she really was a monster. She would ask herself if she really did enjoy the awful things she committed in those dreams. Carrie thought it would stop after the first few nightmares, but it never did. She was beginning to fear herself more than anything; more than her own nightmares, more than Malik.
Carrie trudged into her bathroom, not bothering to turn the light on. She could see the dark rings around her eyes easily enough, even against her brown skin. She splashed water on her face and tangled her fingers through her hair as the last rays of sunlight faded under the Charleston waters. Her limbs felt sluggish and heavy as she stepped out onto the streets, a cold chill settling over her spine as warm bodies emerged from their apartments to mingle among one another in bars and clubs. She took her normal route to Malik’s office; Friday nights were always training sessions. The scent of young blood tempted her from the alleys and corners of Charleston, their sweet aroma lingering in her nose even after she left their vicinity, but she resisted her hunger. Malik liked it better when she was hungry and desperate for her Puppet Master training, and who was she to displease him?
Carrie entered the white building, Malik’s name scowling down on her and all of the other pedestrians. Malik had the business set up sometime in the early 2000s, seeing as his precious little asylums were shut down many years before. He screeched and beat Carrie that night when the mayor declared that all asylums within Charleston be deconstructed immediately. They survived off the many favors and fears owed to Malik in those dark years when they had no business. Carrie was like a dog, and if the dues weren’t paid to the boss, Carrie would tear through their minds and turn their enemies insane.
She tried to smile at the receptionist, another one of Malik’s thralls, but the receptionist only glowered back as Carrie pressed the elevator button to go up. All of Malik’s other thralls always seemed jealous of Carrie; she appeared like the favored child, with almost all of Malik’s attention focused on her training. There were two other Nightmares under her sire’s belt, and she thought she might find brotherhood and comfort in them, but they only cowered and hissed at her like feral alley cats. Even with Malik’s constant looming presence, she was always alone. When the elevator dinged open, Carrie stepped inside and checked her watch.
6:45
Lakin’s appointment would be over soon, Carrie had better get up there soon before it finished and Malik wailed on her like last time she was late. She raced down the hallway the moment the doors slid open and fervently knocked onto Malik’s door, hoping she didn’t interrupt their speaking.
“Come in,” Malik’s stern voice called from inside. Carrie peaked inside, dread lifting from her heart as her eyes landed on little Lakin. She smiled brightly at the sight of the girl and the girl grinned widely back.
“Carrie!” she yelled in excitement, getting ready to jump off the couch before Malik softly commanded her not to. The little patient frowned before leaning back into the couch again.
Carrie’s smiled faded when she turned to Malik after closing the door behind her. She averted his eyes and sat at her small desk behind Malik’s, his paperwork piling high on the floor. “Continue,” Carrie told them as she began organizing his paperwork.
Malik’s tense and aggressive posture relaxed. She couldn’t see his face from here, but Carrie could bet that he was flashing his classic warm smile, with the corners of his eyes crinkling and the light seemingly to shine brighter in his eyes. It was the smile that made her fall for his tricks.
“So, Lakin, tell me more about this nightmare of yours?” Malik pressed softly. Lakin’s tiny fists clenched into the leather couch. Her skin seemed translucent under the soft light; if this kid was a Dream Catcher, then she had to have had an ancestor over hundreds of years ago. Yet Carrie could still point out a little bit of Native in her, with her sharp, hooked nose. Lakin’s family had moved from New Mexico, causing Carrie to think she may be a descendant from a tribe out west.
“Well…” the little girl’s voice trailed off into memories. Carrie waited, ready to cling to every detail. “Mommy left home with Payton, and then Dad brought Mammal over to look after me while he went to work.” Carrie pictured Lakin’s mother and her older brother behind her eyelids before channeling their image into Lakin’s site. She stared at their looming presence in the corner next to Carrie, her heart filling with dread as her mother softly wept and her older brother clung onto her hand. Their image shuttered and faded to reveal a hunkered and shriveled old woman with tight lips and a tall glare. Her shadow snaked across the room and landed onto Lakin, causing the girl’s heart to race. “T-then,” she could barely squeak out a word. “Then Mammal hit me.” Her grandmother stalked closer towards Lakin, the apparition slowly beginning to fizzle out as Carrie tried to ignore the visceral fear welling in her eyes. “Mammal hit me hard,” she whispered. Malik was scribbling furiously onto his paper as his patient stared at the phantom as it slowly lifted its hand to smack the girl. Carrie’s eyes flickered between Malik and Lakin, guilt shifting through her gut again. Just before the old woman slapped Lakin, Carrie yanked the image back into her mind and subdued it. Malik’s hand froze on the paper, his shoulders rigid. Lakin breathed a sigh of relief.
---
After Lakin left, Malik nearly launched Carrie across the room. “You almost had it!” he screamed while shaking her shoulders, his grip crushing her small form. “You almost fucking had it, then you fucking blew it, you piece of shit.” The insults don't bite like they use to. In the beginning, they sunk into Carrie’s mind and burned through her skull, but now, they feel like soft pricks on the skin. Malik breathed a sigh of exasperation and scuffed at his oldest thrall. “Get the fuck out of my sight for a few days,” he murmured menacingly while collecting his things. He looked hungry, Carrie noted to himself. He gets rather pissy when he’s hungry.
Carrie averted his eyes and nodded in acceptance and exited the room quietly. She exhaled loudly to herself as she wandered around the halls. She thought about stopping by a club or a bar and picking up easy blood, but she accidentally stumbled into someone walking in the hallways. “Sorry,” she mumbled as she backed away from the girl. Carrie’s posture immediately changed when she saw the girl was a thrall. She didn’t seem very threatening, with her bored body language and dull eyes. She held out a letter to Carrie. The other vampire hesitantly accepted it, glancing down at the seal. It read something about blood pacts, causing her heart to spike. She looked back up, a question on her lips, but the thrall was already gone. Carrie turned to see if Malik was nearby, and she ducked into a women’s bathroom before inspecting the letter. Malik had always warned her against blood pacts, told her not to engage in one even with someone she greatly trusts. Maybe this was a test? Malik sent the letter to see if she’d take it or not, and if she did, he would punish her. Carrie trembled at the thought of punishment, but curiosity peaked her initial fear. She bit into her thumb and smeared her blood across the letter and began to greedily take in its contents.
September 10th, 2016. Saturday Night
Carrie reluctantly stepped into the crate, scanning the room. Three others sat there already; two men and a young woman. She sat as far from the young woman’s glare as possible. This place set her on edge, but her interest overruled her anxiety. One man was hooded, with claws extending from his pale, gnarled fingers. They vaguely reminded Carrie of a nightmare she once projected in her early days. The other one looked rather normal, but he was dusted with that ‘Old War persona.’ Not Vietnam, not Korea. No, he was from one of the Great Wars. Carrie starred at her fingers as she tried not to remember her father.
@idlehands No it's just that I'm slightly worried about the fact that your post isn't there any more even though it says 3 IC. I'm okay with waiting
@Noxious should I just wait to post then?
@rawr666 tis me, fuckboy
!!!! So excited! Will have one up by the end of the day
I'll have a post up within the next two days
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