forum A Game of Cards.... ((One on One// PRIVATE//CLOSED))

Started October 28, 2018 by Deleted user

tune

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She fished for her key. Once it was in her hands, she shrugged. "Very well." Turning from the man, she made her way to the door. "If you should need me… You know where I am. Good night." Winifred closed the door behind her and made her way to her own room. She unlocked the door and stepped in. When the doorman had deposited her things, she hadn't really look around. The room was polished and mystical. Almost celestial in its white coloring while bathing in the glow of the moon. It had that regal echo to it with a shimmering silk duvet on the large bed, peeking through light ivory curtains. Everything was in some shade of white, whether it was stark or creamy. Winifred couldn't deny its beauty.
She took her time unpacking, hanging her clothes in the large closet and putting a night gown to the side. Soo after she was bathed, dress, and yearning for sleep. But before she laid down. She sat at her vanity and removed her jewlery and hair pins. All the while, her interaction with Marcus played in her mind. As she brushed her long black hair, the ends tickling the bare skin of her thighs, she wondered what tomorrow could be like.

(you're such a good writer oh my god)

As soon as she was gone, Marcus sighed and pushed himself off the bed, shaking out his sopping hair again. His whole smooth, calculating demeanour dropped off him like a heavy cloak, easily shed, easily put back on, and he allowed his shoulders to relax as he made his way to the bathroom connected to his suite. Once in front of the polished mirror, he placed both hands on the sink and leaned his full weight onto it, impeccable back posture giving way to an exhausted slouch. He studied his face in the mirror, mind playing over the events of the day.

Moisture and water droplets still clung to his skin from the infuriating but hilarious attack on him, and water was currently dripping off of his chin and making a small puddle on the pristine white surface of the sink. There were dark bags under his eyes from nights of neglected sleep, and although he did not have a particularly pale complexion, he gave of the impression that he had been starved of sunlight and kept inside for days, which was not entirely true. He'd left the manor to visit a drug dealer and survey the knew weapons store a short walk from his house, but other than that he'd been indoors for the past week. His hair had been well-groomed before Winnifred had sloshed the bucket of water all over him, but now it was messy and weighed down by the moisture.

Marcus sighed and fished around for a fluffy white towel to dry himself with, and a half hour later he was dry, warm, in more casual clothing better suited for a nocturnal insomniac like him, and was sitting on his bed, trying to plot his uncle's murder.

((Pssssh You are too!!))

Winnie knew she was lingering too long. She looked into the mirror. She looked at herself. Running a hand down her cheek, she took in her tan complexion, long lashes, and tired brown eyes. He mother would condemn her for such a look.

What do you think your doing little girl? What are you trying to prove? Do you think your more beautiful than me? Do you think your more intelligent than me? Well know this, you're not! I promise you that when you grow up, you'll be warming beds just the same. I told you time and time again that you are not special, you are no different from the rest of us! Get those dreams out of your head! Here in the Lotus Blossom, we dream of men… and nothing more

Winifred wiped the tear before it could hit the shining mahogany of the vanity. She stood as dread curled in her stomach and moved to her bed. She was lucky, she told herself, that she got out of there in time. If she had stayed for even a month longer, her dreams for more in life would've been drowned. She would've been vain and bitter just like her mother.

"I made it out…" she told herself, slipping under the plush comforter. "I made it out…"

((A little backstory…))

(omg the feeeels its so good!)

Marcus sighed for the billionth time, rubbing his eyes and crossing out another well-organized plan. His pen made and aggravating scratching sound on the paper and he growled and crushed the piece of paper in his fist, tossing it off his bed and onto the floor to join the others. He ran both hands through his hair, gathering up fistfuls of black locks and keeping his hands rested on top of his head, his frustration welling up. In the back of his mind, the screams of his dying parents were stuck on replay, over and over and over again.

"Marcus, run!" The shriek of his mother split the air as the arm of his treacherous uncle roped its way around her waist and pulled her to him, pressing a knife to Lady Crenshaw's throat. "Mother!" Marcus leapt forward, fists clenched, desperation surging through him, but his father's sure hands pushed him back before he could reach either of them. "Run!" Fear and panic rising, Marcus grabbed hold of the nearest object, a porcelain vase, and made to throw it at his uncle, but Luc Crenshaw only sneered. (is his uncle's name okay?) "Throw that and I slit her throat." Marcus froze, eyes meeting the terrified ones of his mother. "Now back down, so I can claim your father's head."

Marcus shuddered, the awful memory filling him with loss, guilt, and revulsion for his last living relative. I am going to murder him. And if anyone tries to stop me I will put a f*cking bullet through their heart, even the stupid babysitter. That's when he heard it. A steady dripping of thick liquid, coming from right behind him. He swallowed turned, and blanched at the sight of blood dripping from the top of his canopy bed.

It's just a hallucination, only a hallucination., he told himself again and again, cold heart tremoring at the sight of it. Not again, not again, please not again. He squeezed his eyes shut.

(is my backstory okay?)

tank youuu

(( WARNING: This one is a little on the mature side…))

Winnie tried desperately to calm her thoughts, to get the past to ebb away, but it refused, it dragged her under once more. The air was stuffy and warm, the feeling of bodies writhing against her made her recoil.

Grunts and moans, screams and naughty giggles echoed from every corner. She was covered in finger-prints, touched by faces she'd never know. She was dirty, filthy… Worthless. She squeezed her eyes shut until it was over, it always came to an end. And it did soon. Another Unnamed sauntered out of the room, handing her mother a satchel of golden coins. And Winifred just laid there, cowering and covered in sweat and tears.

Winifred fought her sobs as she laid there, images flashing in her mind of what use to be home. What use to be her future. "I got out…" she cried hoarsely. Burying her face into the pillow, she allowed to tears to win. Sobs wracked through her. When was the last time she cried? Maybe it was the day she'd drugged that man, stolen his money, and left time. Left her cheating father, angry brother, and violent mother behind.

(oh my god I think I'm going to cry as well)

The sound of sobbing echoed softly from Winnifred's room and seemed to mingle with his own silent tears as he kept his eyes squeezed shut. Blood dripped onto his shoulders, making his shoulders tremble and his hands shake. It ra down the sides of his head and over his closed eyelids, pooling on the cusp of his lip. Marcus opened his mouth to let out a tiny whimper, but as soon as his lips had parted the blood poured in. It was warm. It was sickly sweet. And a corner of his brain relished the taste of it. More, more, more! his mind screamed at him. NO!, he screamed back, doubling over and trying to wipe the blood away, afraid to open his eyes lest it blinded him.

But there was too much. It just kept coming, pouring into his mouth and down his throat, choking him until he leaned over the side of the bed and retched. A small part of him knew that it wasn't real, knew that he was just dry-heaving and nothing was coming out, knew that he was going insane, but he was too torn between gulping down the blood and spitting it back out. No, no, no–

Just as she began to hiccup, her chest knotting, she heard it. It was Marcus. Slowly, she sat up and listened, something clicking in her mind. That one part of her that made her good at what she did, that made her a doctor. She threw the covers from her and raced across the room. She couldn't hear perfectly but what she did hear was a little too familiar to the sound of choking. Maybe retching. Could he have overdosed? Had he eaten today? Was his body rejecting something he had taken? She scolded herself for not running a thorough check on her patient, just dismissing him with a smile and 'good night.' She wretched the door of his suite open and crossed the room in mere seconds. She was on her knees before him, checking his face. "Lord Marcus, can you speak to me?" She grabbed his chin and forced him to eye level with her. There was no throw-up, and his face wasn't changing color, so he wasn't choking. "Lord Marcus!" she yelled once more. She needed him to response.

(thanks)

Marcus couldn't see through the blood, couldn't breathe, couldn't think. Through the murk and sickly stench he heard Winnifred's voice, felt her hands touch her face, and jerked back violently. Sh*t. Oh god no– He raised both hands to his eyes and wiped all the blood off, vision still slightly smudged with red. HIs dark eyes were wild, panicked, like a fierce lion when it has finally been cornered by the hunters. "Get away from me!, he yelled harshly, stumbling backwards. "Don't ever touch me like that without my permission or I swear I will kill you." Marcus turned and fled into the bathroom, slamming and locking the door shut behind him and pressing himself against it, shaking.

Winifred flinched away his outburst. It was what she had expected to happen, and here it was. She heard him run and lock himself in the bathroom. Don't ever touch me like that without my permission or I swear I will kill you. His words echoed in her mind, and she believed them. She wasn't sure how well she would follow that demand, but she believed his every word.
She rose slowly. "Master Marcus?" She said tentatively, she didn't to rile him anymore. "May…may you tell me what happened?" she asked. He seemed to have been hallucinating, acting upon things that were not there.

((SELF HARM TRIGGER WARNING))

Slumped against the bathroom door, Marcus brought his shaking hands up to his face and covered it with them, shoulders drawn up tight. He did not reply to her question, only sank down to the floor as blood continued to pool around him. I am going to murder my uncle., he promised himself again and again, his fingers relishing the touch of a leather-bound hilt, craving the cool touch of metal and the sweet kiss of the blade, the ruby-red blood that would slowly well up and drip to the floor, mingling with his hallucination. Blood. He needed real blood, trembled with longing to watch it gurgle out of his uncle's throat, hungered the carefully slice his own skin open and watch the crimson droplets form. Marcus rolled up his sleeves and ran his fingers lightly over the countless scars weaving their way up his forearms, wanting more, always wanting more. It was never enough.

Winifred sighed and moved closer to the door. "Lord Marcus…" she whispered. Oh, she was tired. She wanted nothing more than to turn around, and go back to her room. Instead, she gave the bathroom door a soft knock. "I am not leaving until you say something, anything remotely helpful. Just say your okay… and i'll- I'll go, I'll leave you be until morning." She pressed her back against the bathroom door. She had a feeling he wasn't going to answer. So, she got comfortable.

(OTHER TRIGGER WARNING)
Marcus growled under his breath, barely loud enough for her to hear. His right hand closed tightly over his left forearm, squeezing so tight that his nails split the skin and drew blood. Blood. At long last. He let his shoulders slump and relaxed against the door, relishing the pain, even though it wasn't enough. It would never be enough. "I am fine, thank you.", Marcus hissed at her through the door, feeling a twinge of guilt for being so sharp. She was only doing her job after all. The remorse evaporated like water under the sweltering July sun, quickly and finally, before long, leaving him with nothing but seething anger and determination. "Just leave me alone. That's an order."

She scoffed. "I told you, you're not my employer. He's the only one I take orders from." She replied. "I think I'll just wait her." She sighed, making no attempt to leave whatsoever. He wasn't going to chase her away, as was a common defense for those who were struggling. His denial sounded like a cry for help. Something she was all too familiar with.

(awwwww)

Stop bothering with me!, he wanted to scream at her. Marcus just wanted to be alone, to be with himself and himself only. He was wasting precious time, every second that slipped by with his uncle still alive and flourishing was a disgrace to his family name, an irreplaceable crime against his parents. They are gone because of him. And now she's here, stopping me from working, because of him. This is all part of his goddamn game and I want no f*cking part in it! Swallowing his emotions and almost choking on the taste of regret, bitter regret, he took a deep breath in. "You're wasting your time, looking after me. And you're wasting you life following my uncle's orders. Just– get out of this hellhole while you can." He didn't know why he was warning her, was to tired to care anymore. Just too fucking tired.

"I don't feel like I am wasting my time…" she told him, standing slowly. "Not anymore." She looked at the door, as if she could see him. "I will leave you alone. You have given me a good enough reply. I know your not dead, and everything else can wait until you exit the bathroom. I shall want to look you over when morning comes." And with silence steps, she retreated to her room. She didn't want to, but a rabbit wouldn't come from its burrow with shadows at the entrances.

Oh thank god. Marcus relaxed completely after she left, already planning on evading her for as long as possible the next day. He didn't know how long he sat there, completely still, trapped in a fractured memory, but after an indiscernible amount of time, the blood pooled around him faded away, leaving behind nothing but a few droplets that had splattered down from his arm, very real, blessedly real.
He stayed there for the rest of the night. He did not sleep.

(Oof, imma cry))

Winnie's sleep was fitful and came in hourly windows. She awoke constantly from nightmares, covered in sweat. Soon the sun rose, and she felt she accomplished nothing. She was stirred by a knock on the door. "Breakfast, mi'lady!" A chipper voice squeaked from the other side. Winnie fought a groan, slid out of bed and did her to smile as she replied. "Come in!"
The maid came in with a beautiful cart of food, scents enticing Winnie as she rolled it in. Winnie sat at her vanity, brushing her hair as she waited for the maid to set the food on her dining table, stationed near a tall window, viewing the prairie side of the manor. Yet, something was wrong. "Wait." Winnie raised a hand and the maid halted in her work. "Can you move that to Lord Marcus's room?" she asked. It wasn't really a question, she got up and unlocked the door that separated their suites. She pointed to his dining table, "Over there. "
Reluctantly, the maid nodded and made fast work to transfer the food. Not for Winnie's satisfaction but more so to escape the Lord's room as fast as possible. Once she was done, she gave curtsy and scurried out of the room. Winnie shrugged it off and walked into the Lord's room.
He wasn't in bed, which led her to believe he still hadn't left the bathroom. She wouldn't force him out now. No, she would wait. Humming softly to herself, she opened the curtains to the window nearest to the table, and poured herself a cup of tea.

(our characters are both so broken oof)

Voices. There were voices coming from his room. From the other side of the bathroom door. The one he most definitely was not going to open. For a moment, Marcus toyed with the idea of just staying here forever, wasting away, not eating or drinking, just….. fading. What a relief it would be, to go.
No. That's not going to happen., Marcus told himself sharply, straightening his back. He would be strong. He would murder his bastard of an uncle and reclaim his seat of power. He was going to win this.

He was almost…. beyond tired. So exhausted that there was no room left for his exhaustion, every single corner of his brain taken over by numbness. He was not an inch of the man he had been yesterday, when he'd met Winnifred. He was just… hollow. Broken. Devoid of emotion. And he would've stayed like that forever, or at least as long as possible, if the hunger for blood had not flourished within him once more. He groaned, getting unsteadily to his feet, and lay his hand on the doorknob, unsure whether or not to turn it.