(no subject)
Amid the gut-wrenching agony, Kohl's head swings round instinctively to catch the delightful Scout Niblett turn very much into The Artist Formerly Known As Scout Niblett.
Shit.
The blonde at the bar is forgotten as he plunges towards the back of the club, towards the gents, towards a gaping toilet bowl where he relieves himself of several rum and cokes and the remains of a half digested pizza.
Shit.
Aster. She'd know what to do. Yeah. Kohl fumbled in his pocket for his phone, holding it to his ear as he tried to rid his mouth of the taste of alcohol and bile.
Eventually, she answers. With a greeting of orgasmic moaning.
He was good, but he wasn't that good.
Nevertheless, he gave her the low-down - the Goddess incarnating, the inkling that he may be in for a spot of bother. Emily, being Emily and not David, knows that he's in trouble. And that he's a fool. And that he should have been running instead of wasting his time on the phone to her. It's then that he whirls and spots the narrow window. It's then that he scrambles up the wall, turning back to see what he can feel heading towards the door.
She's there. Right there. With Her "Hello David". Like She's been expecting him and She has. She brought him there.
Even as he slithered further out of the window, he tried stalling her with attempts at explanation. Attempts they both knew would never work or even get heard. It's not what they're there for.
David Kohl's not entirely sure what it is they are there for though. She's not happy though. Not at all. But he'd known that the moment he'd felt the pain strike him low in the gut.
"Shut up, David. I'm not going to kill you."
At least She's not going to kill him, the fear of that had entered his mind as she's carelessly torn him from the window and thrown him down to experience the 'charm' of the floor.
"You're not an enemy. If you were, I'd have surgically pricked you like a pimple ripe with pus. But you, Kohl... you betrayed me."
...it's not sounding good.
"I brought you here to hurt you."
Shit.
The blonde at the bar is forgotten as he plunges towards the back of the club, towards the gents, towards a gaping toilet bowl where he relieves himself of several rum and cokes and the remains of a half digested pizza.
Shit.
Aster. She'd know what to do. Yeah. Kohl fumbled in his pocket for his phone, holding it to his ear as he tried to rid his mouth of the taste of alcohol and bile.
Eventually, she answers. With a greeting of orgasmic moaning.
He was good, but he wasn't that good.
Nevertheless, he gave her the low-down - the Goddess incarnating, the inkling that he may be in for a spot of bother. Emily, being Emily and not David, knows that he's in trouble. And that he's a fool. And that he should have been running instead of wasting his time on the phone to her. It's then that he whirls and spots the narrow window. It's then that he scrambles up the wall, turning back to see what he can feel heading towards the door.
She's there. Right there. With Her "Hello David". Like She's been expecting him and She has. She brought him there.
Even as he slithered further out of the window, he tried stalling her with attempts at explanation. Attempts they both knew would never work or even get heard. It's not what they're there for.
David Kohl's not entirely sure what it is they are there for though. She's not happy though. Not at all. But he'd known that the moment he'd felt the pain strike him low in the gut.
"Shut up, David. I'm not going to kill you."
At least She's not going to kill him, the fear of that had entered his mind as she's carelessly torn him from the window and thrown him down to experience the 'charm' of the floor.
"You're not an enemy. If you were, I'd have surgically pricked you like a pimple ripe with pus. But you, Kohl... you betrayed me."
...it's not sounding good.
"I brought you here to hurt you."