Vixere — Roleplayer Guild

Modern day New York City at its finest!  Well, if you consider the idea of the paranormal beginning to show their fangs as normal, anyway.

For most of the world, time has been moving as usual - there is nothing out of place.  For some tortured souls, like Lylith Vasser, not everything is as it seems.  The paranormal and supernatural exist alongside humanity, in darkness and unseen, but those that try to make those claims are often outcasts or worse.

This time, however, with a girl being thrown through a windshield of a police cruiser by something that was not human in broad daylight, many are beginning to wonder if it's just the beginning.

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Both genders are welcome to hop in with a character they deem suitable for this story!  Please make sure there is grammar and spelling (though mistakes do happen) and your schedule is flexible, as mine is often full of work.  If you are more comfortable, send your post as a PM and we can work from there.

If you have any questions, please ask!

The cell that she had woken up in was more than uncomfortable. Hard steel and cold brick, she was more than surprised to wake up and not find herself in a psych ward.  No, instead, it was a jail cell - another one, at that.  The last thing she had remembered was landing in the officer's lap after flying through his windshield, and then there were trace memories of people screaming and then a hospital.  Now, she was here.  The air was chillier than she remembered it being, not quite to the point where someone could see their breath, but it was cold enough to pucker skin.

Wrapped up beneath a shirt that was not her own, Lylith Vasser groaned as she sat up on the cot that she had been placed onto.  The scrubs the medical staff had put her in were cheery purple, likely meant for a child, but all they did was piss her off.  She didn't need the goddamn cheer.  She needed morphine, and she needed it hours ago... years ago.  Something to dull the pain receptors that were going absolutely insane and made her feel cold and sick all over like she had been injected with too much heroin.

The solid door meant solitary confinement; not that it surprised her anymore.  A hiss of pain escaped her.  Apparently, her morphine had already worn off and the fresh hell of her injuries was already grating on her.  Broken ribs, far too many stitches, fractured jaw and battered features... she had been fortunate.  It was not to say that she shouldn't have been in an ICU, but the situation was too strange to leave her in a place of care such as a medical facility.  It was too dangerous for the people there - the sacrifice of one for the good of many, right?

A sigh left the slender figure.  At seventeen, most girls would have focusing on their romantic interests and exploring themselves, beginning to find their niche in life.  Yet, Lyli had already found her haven in the fact that the supernatural accepted her; some loved her and wanted help to pass on, others simply wanted to feed.  It gave an odd, sometimes symbiotic purpose to an otherwise unstable existence.

Practically nothing but bone and hair, it would be hard to think that a waif like her could have been anything but pathetic.  Both arms were bound up, most of her torso.  The white layers extended up her neck, and they had had the mind to pull her hair - nearly white with a tinge of blonde - away from her face.  More than likely, a kind nurse had braided it.  Gray eyes moved around the room - a sink, a toilet, her cot.  No food, but there was a bottle of water that rested next to the bed.

Lifting it to her view, the cap was twisted off and it was brought up.  Before Lyli knew it, she had gulped down the entire thing and felt her stomach try to turn for it.  The cold liquid was like a punch to the gut, something unexpected.  A groan escaped pale lips as the girl stood, unstable on her feet and shaking like a leaf in the wind.  Barely five feet tall, she wasn't exactly built to take the damage she did.  Once step was taken, but it was all that she took; a bandaged hand moved to her face and gripped it, splaying fingers over the surface as dizziness and nausea tried to take over.

Crashing down to her knees, the bottle was dropped and it rolled across the floor.  The bruises and cuts beneath absorbed the impact even as her temples began to throb.  Something was trying to communicate, but the agony didn't blossom fully into the same ice pick jabbing sensation until the smoky, deep voice that had haunted her dreams for the last week made itself known.

You didn't kill the cop, whispered the demon in her head. You can't do anything right. Look at you now! You're in a cell!

"Shut up," was murmured in response.  London accent, soft voice; it seemed so off in this town.  There was no response, something she was more than grateful for, and it left silence.  Maddening silence.

In the end, it didn't matter – she wasn't likely to remain among the prisoners long, especially when she had woken up dealing with the police.  Police that had caught the vision of something horrible on camera before she had gone flying through their windshield after being picked up by her neck.  Soon enough, she'd be in a straight jacket and thrown somewhere to live in a world of melting colours and muted sounds.  It was a process that had repeated so many times that she didn't even remember what was reality and what was altered sometimes.

It would be hard to listen to that voice and believe that the girl had been tossed through a windshield of a cruiser as if it were little more than air.  The poor guy behind the wheel had been bruised, but hadn't been left in a condition like her.  No, he didn't have over seventy stitches and more bandages showing than skin.  No black eye or split lip.  He had been the lucky one.  His partner had only gotten scratches, but it hadn't stopped their camera from picking up the eleven foot tall, hulking figure of a demon that had caused the mayhem before it put a fist through the steel hood of their car and through the goddamn engine block.

It was needless to say that they would have questions about what had happened, because the thing had vanished into thin air almost immediately after.  Without knowing what to do, there had been a trip to the hospital before she had been brought here in bandages and scrubs.

Personal effects gone - a total of a silver pentagram and a golden cross - and then tossed into a cell like a rabid dog to wait out just what her fate would bring.  Without her protection, the girl knew she was a sitting duck – it would only be a matter of time before something else happened and she would be gulping down pills and being jabbed with needles to “quiet the voices” and “make her agreeable.”

“Bloody hell, this will be interesting to try and explain.”

Vixere Member

Littera scripta manet.

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