Waking Up Dead
Ketti:Look, look! I actually updated. Aren't you proud of me? I'm sorry I took so long, JuJu, but it's heeere. And I know how I want to start chapter three. :D Lithi helped me get past my mini block of 'how do I get from Point A to Point C?' Good Lithi. *pets*
Seras fought through the cloud of fog in her brain, knowing that something important had happened – or was it happening right now? – and she needed to be awake. Now, Seras. Wake up. Do it now!
"…idding starts at a thousand quid. Do we have any takers?"
"Is she a natural blonde?" "What color are her eyes?" "Are those tits real?" A chorus of derisive laughter filled her ears as clammy hands descended upon her body and began squeezing at her sides and breasts. She snarled and thrashed, but found that her wrists and ankles were bound. They laughed louder and began to pinch, and the police girl realized after a moment that the reason she couldn't open her eyes was the blindfold wrapped tightly around her face, still, she bared her teeth and tensed her muscles, trying to force her bonds open.
"She's feisty." "Meow, kitten has claws!" The laughter sickened her as it poured into her ears like poisoned honey. She was perversely glad for the blindfold as she felt a stinging in her eyes that threatened tears. No! She refused to cry, damnit. A hand went between her legs and she shrieked in outrage as she bucked away from the touch, sweat beading on her forehead from the strain of trying to break the ties around her wrists.
"Now now, ladies, gentleman, you know the rules. No one gets to touch the merchandise intimately unless they're the new owner. So, as I was saying… bids?"
Seras tried not to show her relief as the hands left her body, grumbling amongst themselves along the lines of 'ruin our fun'. Sick bastards. What the hell was this, some underground slave trade? She wanted to smack herself for even questioning it; wasn't it obvious enough by her … starting price? She blamed the possible concussion.
"One fifty," someone called out, and the others voiced false gasps of shock, "Two thousand!" "Hey, no, you got the last one, you greedy bastard, learn to share." "Shove a crucifix up it, Relans. Three thousand."
They squabbled like children over a new toy, and Seras felt acid churning in her stomach, threatening to rise as bile up her throat.
"Five!"
There was a brief pause, and then a new voice spoke, soft and feminine, but cold as ice. "Ten thousand and not a quid higher. She'd make a nice new lap dog." The choire of false amusement grated on her ears; titters, chuckles, high pitched shrieks that dissolved into hyena like cackles… Seras cringed, and wished she could cover her ears.
"Sold to the Lady Amalthea! Careful getting her home, she's got spunk."
Seras wondered if they would be stupid enough to release her bonds. Unfortunately, that was not the case, as two pairs of hands lifted her by her bound limbs, making her feel like one of those cartoons where the side kick was tied to the pole, and carted off to the cannibal's village for supper. After a moment she began to shiver, and her breathing grew shallow and harsh at the abrupt drop in temperature. Her teeth chattered, threatening to bite off the tip of her tongue as her already blacked out vision became dotted with swirling red splotches. She felt light headed, and her neck seemed as limp as cooked spaghetti as her head lolled back listlessly. What… was wrong..?
The last thing she heard before losing consciousness was an ominous clang-boom as a large door slammed shut behind her.
"Oh god, Simon… there's blood everywhere." Edward "Eddie" Kalvosh covered his mouth with a trembling hand, looking as though he were about to add vomit to the mess atop the roof. After a nearly hysterical call from the apartment complex from a Mrs. Jones telling of how her son Stevie was kidnapped from the window before her very eyes, and a report of a blonde officer chasing after the culprit up towards the roof – the story was confirmed by other resident reports – the trail had gone temporarily cold. That is, until, some noise complaints ensued from the next building over about what sounded like gunfire on the roof. The same sound that had been received by Officer Victoria's radio before it went quiet.
Simon Davies looked pale as well, Seras' walkie talkie lay abandoned in a dried pool of blood – they'd have to run tests to determine whose it was – along with her cap. There was no sign of the body, or the child. "Start tapping our contacts and lean hard, I want to know what sick fuck took our Kitten, and I want to know yesterday!" Simon barked, face tight with anguish and rage. They'd find her or the Devil would know the reason why.
The first thing Seras noticed was the cold.
The second thing Seras noticed was the pair of lips attached to her throat. Sucking. Her. Blood.
Her eyes flew open as she jerked back, only to find there was no where to go, and her hands were tied to her waist. Smart for them, bad for her. She saw a bloody knife placed recklessly on the table in front of her, and she realized that she was bound to a chair. "Get the fuck off me you freak!" Her ankles were only bound to each other, not the chair legs, and she bucked her legs up to dislodge the woman. (She could tell by the breasts pressed against her own.) It worked, but she felt a sharp pain graze her throat, and she cried out even as the female snarled in surprise and outrage as she fell to the floor. Blood oozed, hot and fresh down her throat before it cooled, and she trembled as her weak limbs protested the action. She felt sick, and her vision wavered for a moment as she stared with horrified fascination at the blood covered face of her attacker; pale and perfectly sculpted, her lips were pulled back from an impressive set of canines and Seras dimly wondered if they were implants to help the psychotic woman feed her delusion of being a vampire.
"You made me spill…" Her voice was flute like, delicate, but a shrill edge was creeping into the words and Seras winced as it dug into her brain. "Never. Make. Me. Waste. Blood." Each word was punctuated by the female's high heels clicking on the floor, the sharp sound sending sparks of agony up her spine. God, her head was killing her!
"It's my blood, I can waste it if I want to." Seras retorted between increasingly shallow breaths, she felt really, really sick now. Blood loss did not agree with her.
The sound of the slap reached her ears before she registered the sudden pain in her cheek, and even longer before she realized that the chair had tipped backwards and she had narrowly avoided cracking her skull. Blood filled her mouth, and she choked on the copper tang.
"Never." Those high heeled shoes had sharp tips, Seras found, as she was kicked in the ribs and sent flying into the wall. How in the hell is she that strong?
"Make." A hand fisted in her hair and Seras choked as the blood gathered in her throat. That was the final straw, and she couldn't control the flow of bloody vomit escaping her lips.
"M-augh! Vile creature! Disgusting beast!" Despite the pain, Seras felt some sick sense of satisfaction knowing she had ruined those pretty, painful, shoes. Her woozy smugness didn't last however – she wondered how she had any blood left at this rate, the stain spreading over her undershirt had already reached her breasts – when the door slammed open and loud footsteps thundered in her ears like gunfire. "Get her out of my sight!" The woman screamed and it was like nails on a chalkboard.
"And put a damned wrap on her neck, I'm going to enjoy stringing her up and draining her of every last drop. Slowly."
Rough hands grabbed her – my, they felt familiar – and Seras moaned weakly as her world spun. If she survived this, she vowed to find something sharp to shove down that banshee's throat to shut her up.
I'm glad I got my rabies shot.
Her head connected with the door frame on her way out, and her choked gasp of pain was silenced as she lost consciousness.