Even if we are fanservice characters ...bondage do NOT want! [Active/Open]

[gin_no_kishi]

Characters: Zero, Kallen, open
Setting: Blue Kitchen, beyond to wherever the collars may lead
Time: Day 003, late afternoon/dusk after the Graveyard Shift Thread
Summary: They had just wanted to stock up on food, maybe get in a little nap before night falls. What neither Kallen nor Zero expected was to wake with collars around their throat.

Comments

[guren_q1]

God, sleeping in a chair sucked. She hadn’t exactly wanted to fall asleep, she had been looking forward to that tea, but… something had come over her and now whatever ruckus Zero was causing had just woken her up with severe back pain, sticky skin on her cheek and arms and

[gin_no_kishi]

"And shot in the face." Zero ground out, having stopped clawing at the collar and instead turned his attention upon the chain connected to it. So much for the only positive thing about this house. Chained up again. His face was mirroring Kallen's in her anger.

"Someone, or something, must have put them on us when we were asleep." The hunter gave a sharp tug on the chain, probably looking rather idiotic to the other, who could not see his. The thing was...weird, running off with no discernible end, no weight to it. Magic. Probably some kind of bond. It would explain the feelings at the back of his mind, and the pulse of life and emotion that were not his own. It was unnervingly close to what he experienced whenever he was drinking from someone. A closeness, as if he was not one, but two people.

It made him more than a little wary. With vampires it was possible to lose oneself in such a connection, to become a thrall. Who knew what the side effects of this thing were.

"Let's get our things. I guess sleeping will have to wait."

[guren_q1]

“Damnit,” Kallen muttered, becoming more angry and frustrated by the minute. It was just one thing after another in this damn house! When she collapsed in the middle of a battle, she would not be surprised. She gave her chain a silent glare, following it with her eyes to where it limply lead out of the dinning room and to who-knows-where.

“… I need a sandwich or something,” she finally said, turning to stalk back into the kitchen. Damnit, but she was hungry and tired and pissed off. As she rummaged around the kitchen all of her movements had a deliberate harshness to them, though none of it at all satisfying. She mostly likely wouldn’t feel any better until she found a source to this particular madness, and by then she couldn’t be blamed for her actions, no matter how violent.

[inkblotjustice]

This house. It made him want to kill something.

It was toying with him. It knew his plot. It had to; constantly watching him, trying to trick him, to kill him. Toying with him. He was a prisoner here, at the whim of an insane jailor. A jailor who knew how to get to--

No. He wouldn't be swayed by this house. He'd escape, or die trying, and this little game - this collar - would not deter him from his goal. It was, however, his only lead. Perhaps by following the intangible cord, by playing into their hands, he could get some answers. Preferably in a matter that he was well familiar with.

He found that it led into the kitchen, and that the cord led to a red-headed woman, who was also similarly constrained. He glanced briefly at the man with her, a white-haired, feral and unhealthy looking fellow, one that he made a mental note to keep an eye on. However, his interest was more grounded on the woman with the same collar as his, the inkblots in his mask shifting into inscrutable patterns. "Want answers. Now."