Sabrina (candied_kill) wrote in sin_ooc,


Main LJ Username: vengefulsiren
Character LJ Username: candied_kill
AIM/MSN/Email Contact: AngryPrincess887 (AIM),
Character Name: Sabrina Mortimer
Age: Just shy of 21
Position: Bartender at Kadie’s
Appearance: In short, Lolita-esque. 5’2”. Almost fragile-looking build. Chocolate brown hair, frequently pulled away from her face. Calm, watchful gray-green eyes. Charming smile.

“Mind if I smoke?”

She pulls out a cigar from her purse, unwrapping it as gingerly as if she were performing risky surgery, and rests it between her teeth. She doesn’t bother to pull out a lighter; instead, she crunches down and tears away a small, ladylike bite, chewing thoughtfully as the silky chocolate floods her taste buds. She closes her eyes, almost in a moment of reverie for this perfectly crafted ambrosia. “Much better,” she murmurs. “Nothing beds me down like the sweet stuff.” She dabs at the corners of her lips with a glossy fingernail, relatively long and painted a warm shade of cinnamon.

He eyes her with that same lewd, wolfish gaze leftover from years ago, one hand restlessly kneading the soft skin on her bare knee as she sits perched on his lap. Just like old times. “Does being here with me cause you to need being bedded down?” he inquires with faux innocence. He can’t stop a slow grin from creeping across his face like a shadow, hoping it would disarm her. It does its job well, eliciting her classic smile, as sugary as the candy she was munching upon. “Where did the time go? You was always the charming-est little bitch I ever had the pleasure of.”

She sates him with a good-natured grin and amused laughter, shutting out those brutal words that, in truth, cut her to the core. Thick around him were the scents of much smoking and drinking, overpowering, practically molesting her own pleasant scents of smooth vanilla and spun sugar as they mingled. And suddenly she was thirteen again, orphaned by a pair of spineless traitors in that squalid dump until the big, important-looking, and often ill-tempered, men came around to take surrogate payment for the debts said traitors had incurred and could never pay back. She had to be charming.

“As much as I'd love to reminisce, Nicky...” She finishes down the rest of her chocolate cigar, licking at the melted smears, like bloodstains, on her fingers. Her tone is one of shy affection. “I can't stand the suspense. You wanted to tell me something about my parents.” She looks into his eyes, soulless chips of obsidian, conveying to him that he had her rapt attention. Make him aware that the things she was willing to do to receive this information were infinite. Just like old times. “Please...if I served you and your friends as well as you say...please tell me. How long have you been holding them? Where are they? Are they safe?”

“Hang on now,” he replies, cheerfully condescending, his laughter a beastly roar. “You know full and well that with our sort, nobody gets something for nothing. Your turn to ante up, little lady.”

She nods soberly, ever accommodating. “I accept...and I’ll even raise that bet.” Resting one hand on his shoulder for leverage, she reaches across his desk and pulls from her purse an oversized cherry lollipop; ironically, the flavor he seemed to most enjoy crunching into, penetrating. She unwraps it with as much loving care as she had the chocolate, and offers it to him, serving it with a side of naughty smile. “It has indeed been awhile. Will you give me a refresher course? Show me again just how you like it?”

She didn’t have to ask twice. “Charming-est little bitch, just like I said,” he smirks, self-satisfied as he gives the lollipop a cursory lick. “I trust you to watch real close. And when we’re all done, I’ll answer every question in that sweet little head of yours.” He goes to work demonstrating just what he wants of her, letting her hold onto the stick, grinning at her girlish giggles as she softly swirls the lollipop further into his mouth. He doesn’t realize just how far the lollipop has gone until the rounded curve of the candy brushes the back of his tongue, or how she is no longer holding onto the stick, until he feels the hard candy descending into his throat, obstructing any further inhales of air. All he can emit are choked gasps, his grasping fingers leaping to his neck, feeling the lollipop lodged tight in his windpipe, the stick bobbing around like mad at his attempts to cough up the confection.

But she is not at all panicked. Her usual engaging smile is elsewhere, tucked away for safekeeping, but her look is one of utter intensity, eyes rippling and churning like a sea struck by lightning. “For all I care, my parents can rot,” she confides to him. “And so can you.” If his own voice was not stifled, he would curse her down to the ground, but all he can manage is a strangled, weak cry of rage. His vision begins to fail him, the black-and-white world fading to sketchy blurred grays, as he lurches his hands forward, wrenching at her throat. She doesn't even try to pry his fingers away, knowing that is a battle she can't win. Instead she tries not to think of the pain of her trachea being crushed by his desperate grip, the last thing on her mind being getting a heavy dose of oxygen, as she crawls deep inside herself to await the end.

She shudders awake when she realizes that his hands have gone slack and she can breathe again, taking in an agonizing gasp of air. She stares into a face ravaged by cyanosis, powerless eyes rolling harmlessly in their sockets, his mouth flooded with streams of blood and thick saliva. She can now push him away, brush his grimy hands off her body, something she has never been able to do before. She rises from his lap, snatching up her purse and popping in a stick of spearmint gum to soothe her nerves, and to subdue the metallic taste of blood in the back of her throat. She isn't smiling now, the charm switch dead and deactivated. Victory provided her with a brief warming glow, a match in the darkness before being snuffed out again by the icy air. But damned if it wasn't worth it.

“No matter," she whispered to herself, shuffling to the door. “I don't care if it kills me." One last time, she addresses the cold corpse, her first lover, behind his all-important desk.

“Maybe I should've told you boys...I’m through being your fucking pin-up girl.”
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