Stitches — Roleplayer Guild

It'd be interesting to see a slave under a abolition minded master who still technically owns them, but only bought them so that they can remove their shackles as a slave.@Priscilla

You miiiight like my character. Possibly. She won't be that extreme, but I'd be horribly bored if she just went about kicking her slave and constantly abused them for no apparent reason. (On that note, if anyone IS interested in owning my slave, could we...not do that so much please? Pointless abuse just ends up being cringy and edgy.) I'd put the ideal as something a bit like colonialism to the natives; still 'slaves' under every sense of the word but nicely dressed, somewhat literate, capable of working around the house and doing a myriad of chores for their masters. Venedig just seems too fancy to have the stereotypical gaunt, rag-wearing punching bags you tend to see in typical fantasy. What kind of self-respecting aristocrat would want to be seen with a smelly, bony thing running after them carrying their bags?

I'm definitely down for a slave auction by the way, that seems like the perfect way to start off the RP.

Victor remained stood in the corner of the kitchen, sipping a cool glass of water as he slowly sobered himself up. There were people who seemed relatively calm present, people who were yelling at everyone to stay calm, and a rather timid fellow briefly recapping the events of the night before he’d already heard from Rusty and Abigail. Victor remained quiet and contemplative as everyone hurried their way, seemingly not having anything to add to their distorted, barely viable, conversations.
 
As Parael arrived into the kitchen, Victor decided it was time to put a move on as the situation seemed to become more and more real. He made his way past everyone without much word and went straight for the basement, voicing down to see if Abigail was still present.
 
Abigail came wandering out of the gloom. She was no longer a changeling, but her clothes were a bit stretched and her sneakers were royally fucked. She kept her voice low “Hey uh...we should probably get the fuck out of here. Parry gave me a bit of a background check on the mummy and I don’t think we want to be in town when he gets his bearings.”
 
“Yeah, it’s not better upstairs I feel like i’m in a badly written sitcom. Something's wrong with the phone though, I don’t know what.” Victor raised his brows, raising his chin towards the busted house door, indicating for Abigail to follow. Abigail was more than happy to, and whilst everyone congregated in the kitchen the pair of them slipped quietly out of the busted front door without so much as a goodbye.
 
They crossed the front garden into the driveway where Victor’s precious 1969 mk1 mustang sat, parked there from the night before. “Victor gimme the keys, I’m driving,” called Abigail over her shoulder, barely missing a beat.
 
“You sure as shit are -not-.” Victor scowled at her, unsure if her statement was even serious for a moment.
 
“What the fuck.” Abigail was at the driver’s door already with her hand on the handle. “You’re way too drunk to drive! And even if you could make it down the street, I’m not dodging an ancient egyptian overlord only to get stopped by a cunt cop for a DUI.”
 
“Now you listen here, Abigail. This damn car is practically your entire college fund, I would -literally- rather die in a car crash then have you lay a finger on the steering wheel. Now get in, we’ve already dicked about too much.” Victor shot her glare as he remained with the car-keys in his hand, glowering down at her.
 
Abigail leant against the car door to physically block the handle with her body and gave Victor the well-known, well-practiced stubborn bitch stare. She folded her arms like a petulant child and waited for around half a minute, then spoke quietly. “This is our getaway car Victor. At least I’m capable of driving slowly AND in a straight line. Let me drive till, what, lunchtime when we stop at a gas station then you can take the wheel and I’ll never touch it again, but DON’T fuck up the car we’re using to escape by doing something as stupid as this.”
 
Victor closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath as the realisation of wasted time dawned upon him. Opening his eyes, and a pursed lip glare on Abigail, he reluctantly handed her over the keys before moving to the other side in silence. He opened the shotgun seat car door and paused, looking at Abigail as he tilted his head sideways with a clenched jaw, and raised a stiff finger to shakily waggle at her. “One scratch” he warned before swinging his feet and body into the shotgun seat.
 
“Thank you daddy~” retorted Abigail in the sickliest, sweetest and most childish voice she could ever muster as she eagerly launched herself into the driver’s seat. As she started up the engine and reversed out, she couldn’t help but add “‘One scratch’ my ass - we’re literally trying to escape a powerful dark magician and you’re shitting yourself over a damn car.” Knowing not to push her luck, Abigail suddenly accelerated and started making her way through the streets of New Camden.
 
Victor muttered a lowly “Jesus” every thirty seconds and “Christ” at every turn. Abigail wasn’t known for her safe and secure driving abilities and she was certainly in a hurry. A smear of orange light peeked over the horizon and illuminated the empty roads, accompanied by the screech of tyres and the roar of a 1969 mk1 mustang engine tearing ass through New Camden like there was no tomorrow.
 
Abigail slammed on the brakes just outside their house. She made a point of turning off the engine then stuffing the keys into her pocket before getting out of the car, unlocking the front door and disappearing inside. Then she popped her head out of the front door and stared at Victor, arching a brow. “Come in?”
 
Victor remained planted firmly in his seat, hand clutching onto the handle above the car window. After taking in a deep breath he finally stepped out, and shot Abigail another unimpressed scowl as he approached their front door. “Never again.”
 
“We still have to make it out onto the motorway though,” responded Abigail as she shot down the corridor and into her room. “There’s no way you’d be sober enough to drive until at least noon!” she hollered whilst she indiscriminately flung clothes into a large duffle bag.
 
“Just pack your crap, pack the stuff in the bathroom too, sit your ass in the passenger seat, and stop bein’ a brat for a damn second!” Victor voiced out at her, in an equal amount of hurry to stuff his belongings in a medium sized brown leather-suitcase. He was finished before Abigail, waiting impatiently by the door to their house: “Hurry!” he voiced out in the direction of her room.
 
Abigail came out with her duffle bag and a carrier bag full of bottles and tubes from the bathroom. Her lips were pressed into a thin grimace of fear and Victor’s restlessness had worked her up again. She handed Victor the keys without question and threw her bags into the back before getting into the passenger seat and swearing as the seatbelt continually jammed from her tugging at it too hard.
 
Victor seated himself before the driving wheel, taking in a deep breath and shooting Abigail a look, “It’s ok. We’re fine.” he’d speak, adding in a reassuring nod before starting up the engine and pulling out of their driveway, directed towards the town exit. They approached the main road and the car began to slow down gradually and then stop in the middle of the road. Victor narrowed his eyes and pressed down on the accelerator as hard as he could, but the car seemed to be stuck.
 
“What the fuck.” Abigail rolled down the window and coughed as the friction on the tyres made a plume of smoke. “Victor why aren’t we fucking moving?”
 
Victor immediately stopped the car, hands clutched onto the steering wheel as a desperate sigh escaped his lips. “I don’t know. But something tells me my guess wouldn’t be too far off.” he spoke as he began setting the Mustang in reverse, trotting back towards New Camden.
 
Abigail drew her knees to her chest and rolled up the window again.
 
Victor and Abigail didn’t say a word as they returned to their house and slowly began to unpack their things. The grey light of dawn filtered quietly through the windows and onto the striped loveseat in the living room, which Abigail collapsed into belly-first, her face pressed into the corner between the seat cushion and the arm rest.
 
Victor remained stood up, pacing thoughtfully around the living room before Abigail. One hand pinching and scratching his chin, and the other wrapped around his chest, Victor stared intently at the floor as he walked back and forth in the living room. “What did Parry tell you?” he eventually spoke out, looking down at Abigail as he paused his pacing.
 
Abigail turned her head a little so she could speak. “He explained that mummies don’t think they’re dead and believe they’re god-kings, but eventually run out of power over a couple of years. Nemsemet is the mummy that presumably woke up in the museum. He magically fucked over Egypt for a century then went back into dormancy. We’ve apparently got some time because mummies need to get their bearings first. Nemsemet likes to show off and thinks he’s the shit. He doesn’t care about people’s lives or collateral damage. He’ll kill hundreds of people just to show that he’s capable of it.” She rattled off the facts, almost verbatim, in a monotonous voice. Then she paused. “...He said that Nemsemet will ask everyone for loyalty, and the safest option would be to just do what he says, but…” Abigail pushed herself up onto her elbows and looked at Victor, her face creased with worry. “I dunno what to do Victor. What are we going to do?”
 
“Ugh jeeez. The fact that we’re stuck here is for sure. So why don’t we just… take five, grab something to eat, and mull it over on the road?” Victor let out an exasperated sigh, nodding to himself.
 
Abigail gigglesnorted. “Y-you...We’re trapped here with some big fuckoff monster and you want breakfast.” She sighed. She sat up and rubbed her eyes, grinning. “Yeah alright then, let’s go get breakfast. Can we avoid the diner though? I’m not up for anything greasy…”
 
“I’m with you there. Let’s.” With the initial panic out of the way, they both got into the car (with little to no argument this time - the look of Victor’s face was enough to make Abigail sulkily get into the passenger seat) and went back through the streets of New Camden at a much safer, more legal speed. Once they parked outside of Corvid Cronuts Abigail tentatively pushed on the door and was surprised to see that the shop was open at this time in the morning. Wordlessly, the two of them sat down at one of the little tables and started browsing the menu.

Stitches Member

Status

Bio

Most Recent Posts