Bela Talbot (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
enjoythe_ride) wrote2008-10-26 12:54 am
enjoythe_ride) wrote2008-10-26 12:54 am
[OTC] Do not touch
[Set in ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
wayward_au. Stolas = ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
demonbureaucrat. Warning: Dark themes and mature content.]
“Hello, Abby.”
She didn’t remember letting go of the wineglass in her hand, but she heard it shatter on the ground. She was too busy staring to do anything about it, however, just staring there in stunned shock at the image in front of her.
She knew the face without even thinking. It was a had face to forget, especially when it was the demons favorite subject of torture when they’re tearing you to shreds. She couldn’t even begin to count how many hallucinations she had down there when she was trying to just hold herself together, how many she tried to escape, but she hadn’t had one since she had made it back to the surface again. Until now, anyway.
“Impossible,” the word was torn from her throat before she could even consciously suppress it. All she could do was stare and feel the familiar feeling of her being trapped where she was, unable to run or find some other way to escape. She watched as he tried to move into the room, but found himself stopped due to the preventive charms that Bela had placed near the door. It didn’t blow him back completely—but it did stop him. That seemed to knock her out of her stupor. Demon—therefore he shouldn’t look like himself.
At that, she started to get up, moving for the safe in other side of the room. She was about halfway here when his voice caught her, the power of his words caught her off guard.
“Stop, Abby,” he smirked, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “You don’t really want to shoot your darling father, do you?”
She was unable to resist the power of whoever this psychic was, and stopped dead in her tracks, completely unable to move, but she was able to speak. And then, it was almost instantaneous when who it was happened to click into place. “Stolas.”
“Bright girl. You were always one of my favorites.” He didn’t let the image waver, still holding up the façade of her father, and even following the mannerisms, sensing the fear building in the pit of her stomach. “Why don’t you do me a favor and let me in?”
“No,” she said, a slow savoring smile slinking across her lips. That was where she still had the power, until he took that away from her. She had to invite him in—make a conscious decision to say the word. And the word was no until he forced her to do otherwise. She knew that when it came to Stolas, she really had no power whatsoever, but until he took that away from her, she had all that power she needed.
“Now, now Abby dear,” he sighed, giving her a look. “Don’t make me force the issue. I don’t like doing it.”
“You’ll have to. As long as I’m present in this house, you will not step foot in it.”
Her father’s head tilted to the side slightly, a motion that was very much more the demon wearing her father’s likeness than her father himself. He was thinking, processing as to how exactly she was keeping him out, but not finding a suitable answer, so decided to do what he did best from the doorway of the house. “Come to me, Abby. And don’t make me tell you twice.”
Her legs were moving by their own accord at this point, taking her across the room to him and following him back into the hallway, where he could move somewhat freely. The close quarters were starting to make her head pound, the panic continuing to turn her stomach into knots and she kept moving, until he held up a hand for her to stop, and looked her over slowly. “Now stay, lovely, let me have a look at you.”
And she did as she was told. She stayed, watching him as circled her once, his hands remaining clasped behind his back. The second time, however, a hand slipped free and brushed against her hip lightly. She jerked away, her eyes narrowing into thin slits at the touch. It may not have been her father, but the touch was the same—just as sickening as it had been when she was fourteen. She wanted to be sick, feeling the bile rising in her throat, but she couldn’t. “Don’t touch me,” she hissed, glaring at him, and his eyes narrowed to the point where they were almost snake-like.
“I said STAY, Abby,” he growled, the power of that last command reverberating off the walls, and she heard the sound of glass shattering somewhere in her apartment under the pressure of the command. Bela froze, her hands coming to rest tightly at her sides and her eyes following his every move.
He smirked at her, looking her over once with his eyes, before reaching forward and grabbing her chin tightly, pulling her in and dragging his nose along the curve of the neck to the side of her face with a deep inhale. Her eyes closed tightly and the flashbacks made her want to vomit, the feel of her father’s breath against the side of her neck and his hands sliding their way across her stomach.
“You know why you’re one of my favorites, Abby?” he began. He was staying right where he was next to her, his chin level with hers. It was almost as though he was whispering in her ear, keeping things close—intimate. After all, they did know each other very intimately. Most of her childhood, he had been the whisper over her father’s shoulder, encouraging him, egging him on. It was his job after all, the children. They were his to corrupt and tarnish as he chose. “Because it’s so easy to smell what you’re afraid of. It just sits there on your skin, so close that I could probably just reach out and taste it—”
“Please.” The word came out in something that was akin to a sob but not quite. “Please don’t—”
“Don’t touch you?” he said, grinning at her as he moved around so that he was standing behind her, placing his hands on her hips, and pulling her back against him, making her feel every movement he made. “But I love touching you. It’s what you hate the most. It makes you sick, doesn’t it? His hands on you? I bet you wish you could just push me away and be done with it, but you can’t. I told you to stay, didn’t I, lovely? And you just hate it, don’t you?”
With those last words, she felt the faintest brush of lips against her skin, and that was the thing that triggered it all. She doubled over, everything she’d eaten that day flooding up through her esophagus and out onto the floor, bile mixed with wine flooding her sinuses, cutting off her ability to breathe through her nose. She couldn’t move, all she could do was just double over and pray that she missed herself, unable to move her feet.
“Always so easy, Abby. Such a sad little girl.”
“Why?” she rasped as she finally regained her voice. Her stomach was still rolling with dry heaves as she looked up at him. “Why me? What did I do?”
“You didn’t do anything, sweets,” he said with a slight smirk. “I was just looking for a little fun.” He clasped his hands behind his back again, watching her as she moved to wipe the vomit from the corner of her mouth. “I also know that you do a bit of work for the Winchester family.”
“Possibly,” she replied thinly. “What does it matter to you?”
“You’re not going to be doing that business anymore, lovely. You’re going to be a bit preoccupied.”
Her eyes widened into a fearful glare, before she stood up, placing her hands on her hips. “If you think for a second that I’m going to work for you—”
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, darling. No work,” he snorted before his hand waved and the room started to rattle around them. “Just a little—busy.” He gave her a wide, toothy smile, before she felt herself go flying through the air, first colliding with the corner at the end of the hallway, then back out into the living room. She crouched slightly, trying to shield herself from the flying glass and broken furniture, but it just battered her incessantly, before tossing her to the ground hard, her head cracking against the hardwood floor, and making the world start to spin.
She started to try and get up, pull herself to the phone, but she couldn’t eyes unable to focus on the remains of her apartment, things blurring in and out of focus. She didn’t understand. She was a demon. She shouldn’t be feeling like this. She should be able to just—
“Don’t bother to try and get up, darling,” he said as the world started to get hazy and fade to black around the edges. “Trust me—you’ll want to save you energy for the morning.” There was a slight kick to her stomach sending her rolling over onto her back so that she was staring up at the ceiling and him. He paused only for a moment, before twirling the blade in his hand, and her eyes widened only momentarily before she felt the slam of the sword being driven down through her chest and everything finally went black.
1580 words
wayward_au. Stolas = demonbureaucrat. Warning: Dark themes and mature content.]“Hello, Abby.”
She didn’t remember letting go of the wineglass in her hand, but she heard it shatter on the ground. She was too busy staring to do anything about it, however, just staring there in stunned shock at the image in front of her.
She knew the face without even thinking. It was a had face to forget, especially when it was the demons favorite subject of torture when they’re tearing you to shreds. She couldn’t even begin to count how many hallucinations she had down there when she was trying to just hold herself together, how many she tried to escape, but she hadn’t had one since she had made it back to the surface again. Until now, anyway.
“Impossible,” the word was torn from her throat before she could even consciously suppress it. All she could do was stare and feel the familiar feeling of her being trapped where she was, unable to run or find some other way to escape. She watched as he tried to move into the room, but found himself stopped due to the preventive charms that Bela had placed near the door. It didn’t blow him back completely—but it did stop him. That seemed to knock her out of her stupor. Demon—therefore he shouldn’t look like himself.
At that, she started to get up, moving for the safe in other side of the room. She was about halfway here when his voice caught her, the power of his words caught her off guard.
“Stop, Abby,” he smirked, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “You don’t really want to shoot your darling father, do you?”
She was unable to resist the power of whoever this psychic was, and stopped dead in her tracks, completely unable to move, but she was able to speak. And then, it was almost instantaneous when who it was happened to click into place. “Stolas.”
“Bright girl. You were always one of my favorites.” He didn’t let the image waver, still holding up the façade of her father, and even following the mannerisms, sensing the fear building in the pit of her stomach. “Why don’t you do me a favor and let me in?”
“No,” she said, a slow savoring smile slinking across her lips. That was where she still had the power, until he took that away from her. She had to invite him in—make a conscious decision to say the word. And the word was no until he forced her to do otherwise. She knew that when it came to Stolas, she really had no power whatsoever, but until he took that away from her, she had all that power she needed.
“Now, now Abby dear,” he sighed, giving her a look. “Don’t make me force the issue. I don’t like doing it.”
“You’ll have to. As long as I’m present in this house, you will not step foot in it.”
Her father’s head tilted to the side slightly, a motion that was very much more the demon wearing her father’s likeness than her father himself. He was thinking, processing as to how exactly she was keeping him out, but not finding a suitable answer, so decided to do what he did best from the doorway of the house. “Come to me, Abby. And don’t make me tell you twice.”
Her legs were moving by their own accord at this point, taking her across the room to him and following him back into the hallway, where he could move somewhat freely. The close quarters were starting to make her head pound, the panic continuing to turn her stomach into knots and she kept moving, until he held up a hand for her to stop, and looked her over slowly. “Now stay, lovely, let me have a look at you.”
And she did as she was told. She stayed, watching him as circled her once, his hands remaining clasped behind his back. The second time, however, a hand slipped free and brushed against her hip lightly. She jerked away, her eyes narrowing into thin slits at the touch. It may not have been her father, but the touch was the same—just as sickening as it had been when she was fourteen. She wanted to be sick, feeling the bile rising in her throat, but she couldn’t. “Don’t touch me,” she hissed, glaring at him, and his eyes narrowed to the point where they were almost snake-like.
“I said STAY, Abby,” he growled, the power of that last command reverberating off the walls, and she heard the sound of glass shattering somewhere in her apartment under the pressure of the command. Bela froze, her hands coming to rest tightly at her sides and her eyes following his every move.
He smirked at her, looking her over once with his eyes, before reaching forward and grabbing her chin tightly, pulling her in and dragging his nose along the curve of the neck to the side of her face with a deep inhale. Her eyes closed tightly and the flashbacks made her want to vomit, the feel of her father’s breath against the side of her neck and his hands sliding their way across her stomach.
“You know why you’re one of my favorites, Abby?” he began. He was staying right where he was next to her, his chin level with hers. It was almost as though he was whispering in her ear, keeping things close—intimate. After all, they did know each other very intimately. Most of her childhood, he had been the whisper over her father’s shoulder, encouraging him, egging him on. It was his job after all, the children. They were his to corrupt and tarnish as he chose. “Because it’s so easy to smell what you’re afraid of. It just sits there on your skin, so close that I could probably just reach out and taste it—”
“Please.” The word came out in something that was akin to a sob but not quite. “Please don’t—”
“Don’t touch you?” he said, grinning at her as he moved around so that he was standing behind her, placing his hands on her hips, and pulling her back against him, making her feel every movement he made. “But I love touching you. It’s what you hate the most. It makes you sick, doesn’t it? His hands on you? I bet you wish you could just push me away and be done with it, but you can’t. I told you to stay, didn’t I, lovely? And you just hate it, don’t you?”
With those last words, she felt the faintest brush of lips against her skin, and that was the thing that triggered it all. She doubled over, everything she’d eaten that day flooding up through her esophagus and out onto the floor, bile mixed with wine flooding her sinuses, cutting off her ability to breathe through her nose. She couldn’t move, all she could do was just double over and pray that she missed herself, unable to move her feet.
“Always so easy, Abby. Such a sad little girl.”
“Why?” she rasped as she finally regained her voice. Her stomach was still rolling with dry heaves as she looked up at him. “Why me? What did I do?”
“You didn’t do anything, sweets,” he said with a slight smirk. “I was just looking for a little fun.” He clasped his hands behind his back again, watching her as she moved to wipe the vomit from the corner of her mouth. “I also know that you do a bit of work for the Winchester family.”
“Possibly,” she replied thinly. “What does it matter to you?”
“You’re not going to be doing that business anymore, lovely. You’re going to be a bit preoccupied.”
Her eyes widened into a fearful glare, before she stood up, placing her hands on her hips. “If you think for a second that I’m going to work for you—”
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, darling. No work,” he snorted before his hand waved and the room started to rattle around them. “Just a little—busy.” He gave her a wide, toothy smile, before she felt herself go flying through the air, first colliding with the corner at the end of the hallway, then back out into the living room. She crouched slightly, trying to shield herself from the flying glass and broken furniture, but it just battered her incessantly, before tossing her to the ground hard, her head cracking against the hardwood floor, and making the world start to spin.
She started to try and get up, pull herself to the phone, but she couldn’t eyes unable to focus on the remains of her apartment, things blurring in and out of focus. She didn’t understand. She was a demon. She shouldn’t be feeling like this. She should be able to just—
“Don’t bother to try and get up, darling,” he said as the world started to get hazy and fade to black around the edges. “Trust me—you’ll want to save you energy for the morning.” There was a slight kick to her stomach sending her rolling over onto her back so that she was staring up at the ceiling and him. He paused only for a moment, before twirling the blade in his hand, and her eyes widened only momentarily before she felt the slam of the sword being driven down through her chest and everything finally went black.
1580 words