City of Lost Angels/CCS - Second Life's Premier Dark Role Play Community

Topic Inspiration- music and roleplay

Poster	Message	Date
Ziau	Song titles of songs I was listening to are marked with "=" around them- this is a piece of a story written while listening to music- loudly- and consuming my thoughts. Here and there, there are lyrics- but it is written by me- please enjoy, see if you can guess the bands :O +++++++++++++++++++++ Ziau stood there, the porcelain mask that was clung to his face by one cotton tie that was strung on each end of the shapely cover. He was watching it all burn- the =City= that he had set ablaze. The pavement was hot under his foot pads, his shirt torn away and charred, his lungs filled with amphetomines, his hair clung to the mask and his skull from the oily sweat that emitted from the heat around himself. He stood there, a gas can in one hand- his sword in the other, looking on- watching the buildings burn and creak with the fire he had started. Even the palm trees in front of the block were torched- even the street was strewn with corpses. He chuckled- it was so pretty, he wanted it all to burn- it was his desire, watch it all burn. He turns on his heel and walks back along the street- there were no police here, the closest thing was the Syndacite, and even they weren't fire fighters. He keeps padding and levels his eyes on the street signs ahead, tagged and dirty- unkempt since the apocolypse. This was a trying year, now 2039, the new year falling recently to tick the number, but even Ziau knew not his age or when it was- he knew there were bombs and there was his life spilling to the cracks of the blacktop as he treaded- padded quickly home. He walked for some time, it was a long walk- and he had time to reflect on the day- well,.. the constant night- the sun never was above in the town where even Angels could be lost. He chuckles and it all rushed past him- a quick blur- a quick falling out of his entire being as he just padded that familiar route on back to his home. It was just hitting when dawn would break, an early morning- yet no birds, no sound other than silence and growling- the longing to be nothing less than dead. It was a normal day though- a normal morning and with these desires Ziau rose, his mind reeling as he popped the pills of happiness he was so addicted to- the same pills that would send his body in tremors- would send his body in a heap of rubble like New York in an earthquake. No- this was his (Angela Baker and my:) =Obsession with Fire=. He wanted it more than anything, he wanted to let it all out, to cry and scream, but in the end he wanted flames. The pills slipped down and began to melt away in his stomache, his eyes heavy, and his fingers curling and uncurling to see if he was alive- yep,.. to his dismay. He thought the truth was he was scared,.. scared beyond anything to live- with that he walked out of the little living room of the Den. It was a warm place- it was simply cozy, yet he felt like it was not good enough- Ziau always wanted more, always wanted what didn't exist after the bombs had fallen, he had gone for far too long. He was no =Gunslinger= but he picked up the SMG that lay on the floor, belting it to his leg- the tight skinnys that he wore religiously keeping the rough strap from digging too deep, drowning it out like the soft reminders of his pathetic lifestyle. He was loathing to everything- himself- everyone- and in the end, is only companion was his blade. The commercialized blade, weighted- too long for his arm- but necessary. The shopkeep called it Soul Harvester- but Ziau saw so many like it- it was just another way to bring himself closer to all the other worthless sacks of shit. No- Ziau just wanted to be closer to heaven, or perhaps farther in his pit, the one that grew deeper, headed straight down. He was (Apollo I:) =The Writing Writer= he was the bleeding bleeder, and the sorrow filled dreamer. Ziau didn't stop with his thoughts- they raced in fear, they raced as he knew by fire he would come. Ziau saw it- the red gasoline can that sat in the corner of the den- the scent horrific- yet so easily set into his senses, it was the scent of strife- the scent that would literally be charred into the walls and brickwork. He bent lightly and wrapped his paw around the handle and set off for the door. His presence on the street was lonely- though there were vampires, nekos, demons, and humans out alike- this city was a playground for rapists and rapees- if you weren't either, conversations were brief and far in between. Ziau kept padding, letting his checkered slip-on shoes squeak the blacktop as he kept pushing himself closer and closer to the beach. He was heading home- he lived off the docks, in a shitty run down shack where his friends and he sold drugs- but this early, it would be a lonely visit- one to pick up a few necessaries, a few things he wished not to think of until tonight- it would cause him far too much excitement. Ziau met the glass and rock strewn black sand with his stride- it was almost disgusting to think that people had lain here once- basked in the L.A sun- and swam where the water wasn't drinkable, and it wasn't because the salt. Ziau felt the summer air burning in his lungs- though it was mid January- Ziau felt the rays of sun through the black clouds of the Forever Night- ah how he wished he was in this place only thirty years ago. He met his shack and kicked the door in- it had no lock or handle, it was just wood on hinges to keep eyes and -some- of the air out. The man looked to his counter, he saw the signature of his =Partners in Crime= Sinthorn and Pusher carved,.. and faded,.. oh how they were his world. He set the gas down and began to rummage for the things necessary for his anticipated evening- the evening when he would set the world ablaze. He tugged the drawer open- there it was- he saw it =Shine= his stainless steel scalpel, it was his best friend as much as his sword at times, it was the perfect tool for easily ending someone. He tucked it away- what a glorious summer day it should have been, this mid January CoLA morning- but he gently pushed things around and snorted as he couldn't find that book of matches. It was simple really- he had set them aside, and in all the places he could remember,.. ah yes,.. his back pocket- perhaps he was losing it,.. perhaps he was mad. Ziau reached for them and gently reassured himself, closing the drawer- tucking the scalpel blade down into the tight side pocket of his girl jeans. There was no light in this shack- the forever (Neighborhood #3:) =Power Out= of the coastline, but in the forever shadowy corners of his one room shack, he saw his outfit waiting. It was a tight black hooded track jacket- and it hung on a chair, oh how he wanted to be there spreading the flame- watching the children, men, women- all of them die out in the snow- the L.A snow- the warm ash that was fallen snow. Look at them go, look at them go- he would think to himself, oh,.. he was mad,.. anyone could be sure of it except him- except his blade and his pills. He began to feel the numb wash over him, to feel his buzz clicking to the back of his skull. The last bit of his outfit he retrieved was the porcelain Guy Fawkes mask- a pre-apoc internet symbol and revolutionary in his own time, it simply meant,.. anonymous. With the jacket zipped and on his frame, the mask tied to his face- one cotton back to the back of is brains- Ziau picked up his gas can and out the door. It was like picking up his heart and putting it in his hands- that red can, it was his harbinger of death- the bringer of his message, the follower of his ways and thoughts. He would never cast away this can- it was his friend like his scalpel and his sword- it was there for him when he needed it. He kept strolling off of the beach and twoards the city- noon was coming on, no one would see it- not here,... but noon was coming. Over the fear over it all and through the flames he was setting up around his mind he stepped into the threshold of the city and there he saw it- the building he had loathed- had wanted burnt down and everyone in it frozen in the lights of a locomotive- wanted them tied to the tracks, he wanted it all to go down, it was the Blood Bank. He (I)=Found Away=, over it all, to work up his courage, to walk up to the looming building and stop, look over and snort- her again. She Juniper- resident hole, whore, and everything sleazy. She was never shy- no why would she be, it was bad for business and she was standing there smoking that cigarette that seemed to be there in endless supply- sometimes he wondered if she just fucked for cartons of them- but it was past him, but she turned and spoke. "Fuck stick- " Oh great- what he needed, "What?" He replied. "You heard me- I said,.. fuck stick- I know you are a dog, but I didn't know you were retarded to boot." Snarky, SheJ was always snarky and knew just how to get under Ziau's skin. "How did you know it was me- I have a mask on." He was really not retarded- not really shallow, but it was an ongoing joke in the city, folks would just put a mask on and yell when people would call them by their name like they were amazing at hiding- nothing would change, he would fall in line. "Well- you aren't exactly hard to miss, you always wear that goofy belt- and you are the only guy that walks around with his tail touching the street- I feel sorry for the front end, probably a jungle if you don't trim the back." She took another drag on the lit death stick, exhaling it with a chuckle. "Shut up- you might wanna get outta here,.. something fucked is about to happen." He said, still looking dead ahead- still staring at the Blood Bank in awe. "Well, you wanna come with me? I know this great trick-" Ziau then cuts her off, "No- I am gunna do it." He was almost growling with that Russian tinged accent, cocky, nasally, forcing down on his Rs and Ls. This was going to be Ziau's =Untitled Finale=, Ziau's whole madman's masterpiece, everything he worked for and a simple slut was throwing him out of his mood. "Well- have fun,.. I guess,.. you know- you should take a bath you fucking mutt-" She flicked the cigarette at the ground and didn't bother stomping it out or smoking it to the filter- yeah she MUST have fucked for them. She stepped off the curb and twoards the Liquor Mart- and out of sight. Ziau snorted and looked up at the place,.. the place where he would make his mark- and with that he just let the can rest, let his hand com back- cocked and then fly, shattering a window. He could smell them- the vampires in the joint- the weight of Ziau's world was about to come crashing down on him- and really,.. he didn't mind it one bit. They had no names to him- just pale lesbians that all acted like their shit didn't stink, he didn't care for them- not one bit,.. this was only going to all end in tragedy. The first stepped out- pretty and dressed in a silky dress, she didn't expect it- no- she was an undead,.. but a sock to the jaw would put anyone on their ass. She fell hard- the other two stragglers paused and reached for armaments,.. heh,.. cute. Ziau just stepped back and along the wall- they would have to come out for him- and out they came. He felt it rise, his chest thumping like quick drum and bass- his calling like sweet intoxicating =Blood Sugar= levels that would spill over and make him dizzy. He wanted them to come out, as they did- he dispatched them evenly. A slice of his sword- it was quick, trained, ruthless- and the only male out of the trio felt his neck pinch in pain and that would be all he felt for the rest of his life. It rolled, his body falling limp- his cranium just plopping against the sidewalk,.. kinda comedic to him- how they spent all that time feeding and collecting, and never enough time fighting. The man's skin was so cold, it made his blood almost gloppy and sticky, it splattered on his friend's flat like a deer that jumped too fast in front of a sedan- too soon,.. too soon. The woman with him- well, her fate was better but not anywhere simpler. Ah, what a wonderful country to a madman, =Amerika=. A place that even in ruins was a place that you could take a life and think nothing of it other than they had it coming. She- the second- had squeezed the trigger in a small .22, amusing- but all they did was bury into his flesh and if at all, barely hindered Ziau sending a fist to her gut. She dropped her gun- but Ziau kept going, sending his elbow for her brow- watching her topple and crash to the ground in front of himself. Ruthless, the wolf, he reached with his left for his MP-7, it was still strapped to his leg obediantly, the velcro tearing, and his thumb tripping the safety. He almost expected it to be this easy- but a two by four cracked him in the back of the skull, and he stumbled forward, spinning to meet who would dare bear arms on a wolf. Vampires in general were elegant, faster, stronger, and more wise than a human- but a young vampire was untrained, useless in a fight against a fully grown male lycan- and this Blood Bank had the young,.. newer leeches work the counters and collection rooms. He felt it throb- it rose up and made a burning sensation, yet she should have known better. Her face was bruised- a purple mark on the pure white- and the gunshots that he let out into her would have been enough for =Waking the Fallen=. A whole clip, no thought about it- a burst or even a single bullet would have been enough to put her out, at least on her ass, but twenty SMG rounds tore into her chest, her neck, her shoulder, and most painfully her head. She fell in a heap- a crumpled mass of worthless porcelain, and it was all a game to this mad man. The last remaining vampire was dazed, injured, and weak. She would have pleaded, he was sure of it, but he just had to end her slowly. Ziau sheathed the sword- a little rush of steel on cloth covered wood and a click where it set in. He holstered his gun and with both hands free bent down- picking the girl up to her feet by her hair, snarling. With no further thought he slammed her head into the brickwork, drawing it back, slamming it forward again. The crunch of her facial features and her skull cracking wasn't enough- no he lugged her bleeding topped body to the other- larger window and slammed her face through the glass. She was passed out- pain,.. blunt force,.. blood loss- he didn't know- hell,.. he didn't care. Ziau just happily left her strung, brushing his hands together, and striding happily to his gas can. "Heh-" He muttered to himself, "Well,..Marquise- =I Won't See You Tonight=(Part2), no not at all- you will be sleeping happily while your building burns to the ground- and this whole damn city gets lit ablaze." He had an eerie way of talking to himself, if not talking to Shyann aloud where she could not hear him- but he had nothing but ongoing hatred for the witch. If not at one point they had been close- it was far behind, and as he uncapped the red can- as he poured the refined oil product all down the wall- all along the doorway, a line that kissed the sidewalk- most of all, spilling a large splash on the barely alive woman in the broken window. Ziau snickered and went to the door- kicking the glass, letting it shatter to his thin canvas shoe- and swing open, hell, it wasn't locked. He began to splash gasoline all over the place- and even as he was careless- barely any was wasted, barely any landed on him or his clothing. Voices- people were approaching outside,.. hell it was midday and the vampires had friends- this was something that would hit home. He tossed the whole can through the glass table int he lobby and spit- spit for everything he wanted and willed to do. With a turn of his heel he walked outside- no one was close yet- not on this side of the building, just gasoline- a pass out and nearly dead vampiress, and a burning cigarette butt, just idly waiting to fizzle out. It was his =Right Side of the Bed= his own comfort, his own place to be here- ready to burn it all,.. the building would surely catch fire to the ones around it- he would surely get his blaze- he would surely get what he wanted. He padded to the cigarette butt, left there by the harlot- and he bent to pick it up- the smoke burning in his nose painfully- almost too much for such a sensitive pair of nostrils. It was =Surfacing= his madness, it was all a blur as he turned, the feeling of gravel under his feet- the feeling of the oncoming yet non existant flames, Ziau tossed the butt at the foot of the door- it was a short distance. At first, it seemed nothing would happen to his monument- the beautiful structure- broken- covered in gasoline, but the blaze picked up- it started- erupting quickly along his trail. He stepped back, far back, four steps- eight- sixteen, and he felt his back on the building across from the Blood Bank. "Burn,.. burn and don't you fucking touch me." Fuck it all- fuck this world- fuck everything it stood for, he wanted it all to catch in his fire, to become ash and refuse- nothing but. This was the push that made him move- this was what made his madness spill over and the voices,.. the voices- all of them were just onlooking citizens- some slut in a short skirt- some neko with a pair of goggles, some faggot with a helmet on,.. Ziau was spilling over and into his being. He snarled and hopped the fence, his sword being drawn- he hacked them all down- if seen from a distance it was quick, they were helpless- and they bled. Their screams were stifled by the box of a building erupting- roaring in flames, the smoke made a pillar in the sky. People would come to see- everyone would come to see his work- and yet he was letting a friend die inside. He forgot his can- a simple obsession- inanimate objects were his friends- he was literally mentally ill. He leaped back into the fire, hell the heat that came off sent the flecks of gasoline spray on his pants into little burning spots of flame on his shins, his jacket catching fire on the arms and shoulders- but he reached with his half-gloved fingers to the door. He tugged it open- and there- burnt and busted open from where the gasoline inside had combusted , lie his friend- his inciter of chaos. Ziau wanted to die in the blaze- he wanted to fall with the building, so he just walked- let his flesh melt- let his arms become wiry paintings that had been thrown into the fireplace. =Over and Out= he reached down, picked up the can that singed into his palm, turned and left- still on fire. His tattooed outline seemed to char quickly- the hair on his tail and ears burning in little plumes of smoke. He saw it- saw it all from a distance, the building around were burning so vividly with the Forever Night sky- like long past nightmares of the people he terrorized. He would live- he hurt- but he was getting his show. His jacket and shirt had mostly tor and burned off of him, his sneakers melted under his foot pads and he could feel the hot concrete as he just stood there and watched. Even the palm trees were on fire- his entire peripheral filled with the fire- the ever blazing fire- the fire he wished to start. A woman ran past him, away from it- but a man approached his eyes sunken and fixed on the wolf. Before he could say anything- before he could even spring a thought Ziau had bashed him over the skull with the remains of his can. He didn't hold back- he would let them all burn, and he set the can down to reach into his tight jeans for the scalpel, his left paw shooting for the human's hair. He was awake- he was eyeing Ziau with fear, unrelenting fear- and the violin's Ziau played were so tiny- he brought the blade under his chin and cut him from ear to ear- tossing his head to the ground. With a little tuck- =Keeping the Blade= he pushed it into his pocket again and without a thought he returned to his red friend- holding it's ruptured frame against his leg as he padded twoards the beach. He drew his sword with his right hand- slicing an onlooker without a word or thought- hell they had their back turned, honor was nothing to a mad man, but beauty was. It was so beautiful- the sight, the ash falling the corpses that lined the street- the one at his own feet. Death was something Ziau thrived on- chaotic, never showing remorse, ah how he loved the sight of it. The scent that gathered, it was like death was making him =Smile Pretty for the Devil=. Ziau just stood there- listening- watching- waiting for it all to come crashing down, the fondest of recollections for the night. As he made it down to the beach, that night replayed so vividly in his head, his purpose so set in stone, he looked on the boat to see Sinthorn- passed out drunk, Pusher hunched over a crate, his fingers quickly working on some black powder- it gleamed red in the light. He just quietly walked into the shack and set his can down, tore his mask from his face- stripped the torn and burnt jacket from his back and had himself a good laugh. It was a manic therapeutic laughter, (The Willing Well I:)=Fuel for the Feeding End= of his urges, the wanting to get everyone in the city to weep- to fear this masked man,.. this -fuckstick- as SheJ kindly put it. Ziau laughed, his voice ringing out, a loud clonk of something hard hitting the wall and pusher calling out, "Shut up faggot." Yeah- that was his life- that was his end- this was what he waited for,.. all playing out just as he planned. Ziau fell back onto the rug, his eyes looking plainly at the celing- not blinking but snapping shut. Calmly, no longer laughing- Ziau would drift off to sleep. EDIT: fucking left smilies on- it was gay))	01/26/09 08:01

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Surfacing Part I	Llyr	02/13/09 22:21	View
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Story Time	Charissa	07/17/09 19:03	View
Pack Airship RP.	Tai	07/27/09 02:49	View
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Daddy blues	arsene_Braveheart	11/17/09 19:01	View
Chronicles of SIE	agentlyseria	11/22/09 12:27	View
The Lady In Black(A Drokan Exile Twisted Love Story)	AntiZero	11/29/09 06:36	View
The growing Darkness.	Leirain Koray	12/01/09 11:04	View
The lycan	Kayteear	12/01/09 16:00	View
City of Lost Jackman: The Untold Hollywood Blockbuster	AntiZero	12/02/09 07:11	View
Coming home for christmas ..	Kes	12/10/09 22:17	View
Bunneh Vs. Lich, DBZ style	Karsha Yutani	12/14/09 11:59	View
A Farewell	Roland	12/16/09 20:50	View
Of Death and Rebirth	Digital Enigma	12/21/09 20:14	View
The Story of Reoco	Reoko Farspire	02/06/10 20:47	View
Homecoming......... The Story of Orpheus Darkfold	OrpheusDarkfold	03/11/10 02:27	View
The Story of Orpheus Part 2	OrpheusDarkfold	03/13/10 23:15	View
Who owns who?	Kayteear	03/22/10 22:03	View
Missing the Ocean	ricercar	03/23/10 22:27	View
Letter to the editor: Manners in LA	Tink	03/25/10 16:58	View
Chasity Backstory	ChasityDawes	06/14/10 19:43	View
Something Black and Violent...	DavidJoshua Artful	06/19/10 22:23	View
Doctor Visit	erinnic	07/12/10 04:26	View
Gabby Perdide	vacantghost	07/19/10 04:42	View

Agora Forum Archive

Thread table for forum City of Lost Angels - Character Fiction

Topic Inspiration- music and roleplay