RP: Necessary action
Date: April 4th, 2005
Characters: Willis Travers
Location: Outside SHH
Status: Private
Summary: Willis is bothered, and takes a whore.
Completion: Complete
Willis couldn't remember where he'd found this one. Didn't fucking care, either.
Nor did he give much of a damn about where he was now. He had the general idea, some sort of layout, and that was all he needed. The place was dim, and he liked it that way. The girl looked better in the dark.
She still didn't look like much. Didn't look like anything on the street, just another one of 'em--and she'd never get beyond that level, a nothing like that--standing and watching and appearing out of nowhere, like they did. Just another one, but the first one he'd seen that evening, so he'd taken her. It'd been too foggy a time to do otherwise, and he figured it didn't matter much, anyway. The pretty ones were nicer, sure, but he wasn't in the mood for looking; he'd just wanted the fuck.
He didn't know where she'd come from, but she'd been there, just blinking, and it took a few minutes--later, when she'd shown the place, the room--and then a few more minutes before anything more than a blinking thing that must've been a woman came to mind, and then it still wasn't much. Arse and chest hardly worth a damned thing, and he wasn't sure whether her eyes were green or brown so much as they were useless. Not the sort of eyes he liked, but that wasn't what this'd been about.
She'd known her business, anyway. Did what he told her and did her part just like she should. That was what he'd wanted.
He'd torn her dress before, and she'd been angry about it, dared to say something before he'd glared at her, and then she'd quieted quick enough. She wasn't about to get her not so pretty little tail into trouble for that, and she'd seen his intent clean enough. Willis wasn't in the mood for any damned silly games like that. Not in the mood, at all.
He was sitting on the side of the bed now, the bed he hadn't let her choose--never let 'em choose. When he was good and ready, he'd leave. So long as he was there, it was his room, his place. Never mind where'd she'd gotten to, somewhere near him, except then she was there with that nothing body and face and those eyes.
The fucking eyes. Didn't do a thing for him. How hard could it be for a whore, even one of her sort, to show some decent eyes? Not worth looking at, and now this annoyed him, angered him when they continued to float and stare. What fucking business did she have being around? For a moment his hand only twitched, and then he hit her.
She cried out. He glared. And in the silence that followed, she receded into nonexistence.
It wasn't working. Not like he might've desired, and this discomforted him somehow. He refused to acknowledge this fully. Wasn't anything he was accustomed to, though it came now and then, and he didn't like it. It confused him, and just now confusion was overruling anger, so that even the hate he felt at this was caught up. He couldn't quite catch the anger. Couldn't quite catch anything, and that was what had him riled in an irreconcilable form.
He knew what it was about, yeah. Or told himself he did, and the main was there, obvious enough. He'd been in a foul mood since Siri had left. And what was the blame in that? Hell of a lot less diverting without her there. Not to say that he couldn't enjoy himself, that he didn't have anything to do. Just that'd it'd been something gone for a while, and--
Fuck. He'd thought this'd work, but it kept on. Here it was still colder, maybe, not like he'd have said, but not so he could ignore it, either. It wasn't that the thought of the now-empty house obsessed him, not by far, but it lurked there, speaking beneath his thoughts. He'd gone back to sleeping on the floor, in the chairs, wherever he ended. Back there, back then--Fucking maddening, and still more fucking complicated than he cared to explore, so he shook his head, snarled at nothing.
It'd made a noise. Muttering, saying some ridiculous line or other, running on with it. "What's that?" He spoke with teeth clenched, only turning with a glare for the second question. "What'd you say to me?" Again, she shrank away.
To hell with this. It wasn't working, wasn't going to. And a while with this one'd been satisfactory for what he'd wanted then, sure, but it wouldn't last long. He hated this stasis and its inability. The longer he was there, the more he saw her dullness, and the more it bothered him. He'd find something better to do. Just keep moving, that was it. He'd started it, started the work, and now he only needed to continue. Fucking simple as that. A grin flashed across his face.
When he was ready, after he'd left the money--the right amount, though she'd hardly bothered to watch, hovering about the other side of the room--he discarded the image of this room, its occurence and himself in it. Didn't matter what thoughts might've tried to make themselves known, didn't matter that he'd been irritated. He had his method now. That was well enough.
And then he stopped. She'd come over toward him, dress clutched to her chest, eyes swimming. She hesitated before speaking, giving an instant where he almost left, and then she spoke. "You gonna give me extra for the dress?"
He followed impulse, hit her again. Fucking dress, he'd forgotten about that. When she looked up again, there was something different about that nothing face of hers. He didn't give it any thought then, just stared for a moment. "Sure, sweetheart." He ripped the dress away, mouth twisting upward into a smirk. "What the hell."
The money followed the dress onto the floor. She wanted it, she could have it; the fuck did he care? But she only stared, not daring to turn away. And she thanked him. Girl'd learned her lesson, then. Good for her. And she looked damned funny, staring like that. And now he realized what it'd been. He'd drawn blood that last time. Almost made her more interesting to see.
Finally, leaving, he laughed.
Characters: Willis Travers
Location: Outside SHH
Status: Private
Summary: Willis is bothered, and takes a whore.
Completion: Complete
Willis couldn't remember where he'd found this one. Didn't fucking care, either.
Nor did he give much of a damn about where he was now. He had the general idea, some sort of layout, and that was all he needed. The place was dim, and he liked it that way. The girl looked better in the dark.
She still didn't look like much. Didn't look like anything on the street, just another one of 'em--and she'd never get beyond that level, a nothing like that--standing and watching and appearing out of nowhere, like they did. Just another one, but the first one he'd seen that evening, so he'd taken her. It'd been too foggy a time to do otherwise, and he figured it didn't matter much, anyway. The pretty ones were nicer, sure, but he wasn't in the mood for looking; he'd just wanted the fuck.
He didn't know where she'd come from, but she'd been there, just blinking, and it took a few minutes--later, when she'd shown the place, the room--and then a few more minutes before anything more than a blinking thing that must've been a woman came to mind, and then it still wasn't much. Arse and chest hardly worth a damned thing, and he wasn't sure whether her eyes were green or brown so much as they were useless. Not the sort of eyes he liked, but that wasn't what this'd been about.
She'd known her business, anyway. Did what he told her and did her part just like she should. That was what he'd wanted.
He'd torn her dress before, and she'd been angry about it, dared to say something before he'd glared at her, and then she'd quieted quick enough. She wasn't about to get her not so pretty little tail into trouble for that, and she'd seen his intent clean enough. Willis wasn't in the mood for any damned silly games like that. Not in the mood, at all.
He was sitting on the side of the bed now, the bed he hadn't let her choose--never let 'em choose. When he was good and ready, he'd leave. So long as he was there, it was his room, his place. Never mind where'd she'd gotten to, somewhere near him, except then she was there with that nothing body and face and those eyes.
The fucking eyes. Didn't do a thing for him. How hard could it be for a whore, even one of her sort, to show some decent eyes? Not worth looking at, and now this annoyed him, angered him when they continued to float and stare. What fucking business did she have being around? For a moment his hand only twitched, and then he hit her.
She cried out. He glared. And in the silence that followed, she receded into nonexistence.
It wasn't working. Not like he might've desired, and this discomforted him somehow. He refused to acknowledge this fully. Wasn't anything he was accustomed to, though it came now and then, and he didn't like it. It confused him, and just now confusion was overruling anger, so that even the hate he felt at this was caught up. He couldn't quite catch the anger. Couldn't quite catch anything, and that was what had him riled in an irreconcilable form.
He knew what it was about, yeah. Or told himself he did, and the main was there, obvious enough. He'd been in a foul mood since Siri had left. And what was the blame in that? Hell of a lot less diverting without her there. Not to say that he couldn't enjoy himself, that he didn't have anything to do. Just that'd it'd been something gone for a while, and--
Fuck. He'd thought this'd work, but it kept on. Here it was still colder, maybe, not like he'd have said, but not so he could ignore it, either. It wasn't that the thought of the now-empty house obsessed him, not by far, but it lurked there, speaking beneath his thoughts. He'd gone back to sleeping on the floor, in the chairs, wherever he ended. Back there, back then--Fucking maddening, and still more fucking complicated than he cared to explore, so he shook his head, snarled at nothing.
It'd made a noise. Muttering, saying some ridiculous line or other, running on with it. "What's that?" He spoke with teeth clenched, only turning with a glare for the second question. "What'd you say to me?" Again, she shrank away.
To hell with this. It wasn't working, wasn't going to. And a while with this one'd been satisfactory for what he'd wanted then, sure, but it wouldn't last long. He hated this stasis and its inability. The longer he was there, the more he saw her dullness, and the more it bothered him. He'd find something better to do. Just keep moving, that was it. He'd started it, started the work, and now he only needed to continue. Fucking simple as that. A grin flashed across his face.
When he was ready, after he'd left the money--the right amount, though she'd hardly bothered to watch, hovering about the other side of the room--he discarded the image of this room, its occurence and himself in it. Didn't matter what thoughts might've tried to make themselves known, didn't matter that he'd been irritated. He had his method now. That was well enough.
And then he stopped. She'd come over toward him, dress clutched to her chest, eyes swimming. She hesitated before speaking, giving an instant where he almost left, and then she spoke. "You gonna give me extra for the dress?"
He followed impulse, hit her again. Fucking dress, he'd forgotten about that. When she looked up again, there was something different about that nothing face of hers. He didn't give it any thought then, just stared for a moment. "Sure, sweetheart." He ripped the dress away, mouth twisting upward into a smirk. "What the hell."
The money followed the dress onto the floor. She wanted it, she could have it; the fuck did he care? But she only stared, not daring to turn away. And she thanked him. Girl'd learned her lesson, then. Good for her. And she looked damned funny, staring like that. And now he realized what it'd been. He'd drawn blood that last time. Almost made her more interesting to see.
Finally, leaving, he laughed.