Every soul that makes a contract must come through this place. Those are the rules, and have been for many, many years. In this house, the devils rule over the desperate, preparing them for their trip downstairs. The souls of the wicked and the damned are devoured, and those that try, may earn their chances for redemption. But this house changes people. Will it change you?
Has there ever been anything you've wanted, that was worth selling your soul for? Have you ever been so desperate for a change in your life, that you made a deal with a devil? Sure, most people think that it's just an expression. No one would actually do it. No one would even know how, right? They are wrong. The devils walk among us, striking deals when people are their weakest and most vulnerable. A contract must be formed, and the debt must eventually be paid. So what happens when your time is up?
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Post by Percival Graves on Dec 11, 2017 23:21:01 GMT
The penthouse in this apartment space was rather droll, but it accommodated all the needs of most people. A full refrigerator, a fluffy bed, a glass of wine for the lonely nights looking atop one's throne, a bathroom with a perfect lilac scent, clothes to fit the most dominant of men, and probably above all else; the most important thing any person could need in the penthouse suite.
The heat and or air conditioning, which was just a hair off from utter perfection.
Okay, so maybe not everyone needed this to live, but for the brunette prince Percival Graves, that was an utter necessity. To be treated as anything less would be a disgrace; a disgrace that was six feet under and forever buried to the deepest corners of his conscious. The prince had no time to dawdle on horrid memories. Because they were probably decayed corpses now.
As he sat as princely as he did, one leg over the other, and a glass of wine in his black gloved hand, Percy was effectively on top of the world as he was born to be. He was on the private terrace, sitting upon his brown armchair with a lining of red. He could look upon the world upon a throne meant for a king. As he sipped his wine slowly, he knew it to be true.
Percival felt himself convulse a bit at the mere mention of a visitor attempting to come to his penthouse. Ah yes. House guests. In both literal senses; the Wailing House and a guest for his abode. He tsked, feeling the wine glass in his hands was ruined by the mere air that he would soon have to share with his visitor.
Turning his head towards the door, standing up. He knew he would be getting that visitor any second now. Still, he was no less ready for her. As he slid open the glass door, and moved his way through a bed he didn't find nearly acceptable to sleep in, the boy moved to the closet, where opened it. Since he needed clothes to treat the guests.
Oh, yeah. He had been naked the whole time looking upon the world, with black gloves on. He believed himself allowed to do that.
As he got dressed, a black sweater upon his form and brown slacks, as well as bunny slippers that were made from the comfiest of materials known to man, as if stepping on a pillow forever, while still donning his black gloves, he hurried his way out of the bedroom, through the outside dining, and towards the entrance. The elevator would take her up eventually anyways. Might as well prepare for it.
Oh, and one more thing. As he looked to the beautiful artwork, he looked to a mirror. And he gave himself the best scowl face he could; not at all hard due to his neutral expression. Sometimes verbal abuse was fun to cause upon another, if only to give him satisfaction of knowing he were better.
[attr="class","smdbody"]Camellia liked to live on the edge of her pants. She would say ‘panties’, but she didn’t wear them half the time.
Today was not one of those times. She made sure to properly dress herself – although proper to her standards was her usual slutty schoolgirl outfit. Her short skirt swayed in the breeze, the green material occasionally hitching up dangerously close to her rear and giving passerbyers a shot of what was underneath. Several men stopped themselves on the street and took a second look at her, her smirk only growing in confidence at their obvious stares. This is what fueled her. This is where she thrived.
A few clicks of her feet and she found herself standing at the entrance to a large apartment complex, gazing at the orange lights flickering on as night dawned. Her hands rested against her hips, golden eyes looking on as people came and went from the front double doors. She supposed he would be expecting her soon, as he never seemed surprised during her random drop ins. If he was, he feigned ignorance to it.
He might not let her in from the front door if she takes the obvious entryway up the elevator to his top floor. He’s been stubborn before, despite their only recently coming together to form their contract. He was hard to read.
But then again, so was she.
Deciding to take the back route, she stretched out her dark feathery wings, bringing them to life from the confines of her back. They were invisible to the human eye, no one batting an eye as the fallen angel expanded her wingspan. She braced herself on the concrete ground, bending her knees slightly before bursting forward, soaring up the side of the tall building.
Flying was something she’d been used to since she was created, the mechanism of it coming naturally to her. Her wings fluttered in the harsh winds as she increased her speed, her hair flying about behind her. It would’ve been hard to spot her with a human’s eye, and even if someone did no one would believe them. Besides, she hardly cared. Dealing with humans and their beliefs of the supernatural wasn’t in her responsibilities, nor did she want it to be.
It wasn’t long before she reached her destination, her wings fluttering open as they allowed her to land gently against the balcony of the penthouse suite. Just as quickly as they had appeared, the black feathers tucked themselves back inside her, leaving her with her normal appearance once again.
Looks like she arrived just in time.
Her contractee was busying himself changing, seemingly not noticing her standing at the window just yet. She leaned her back against the balcony, enjoying the view. A steady smirk curved up upon her lips as she slid the glass door open with one delicate hand, leaning on the frame seductively.
“How’s my favorite dick?”
[attr="class","smdtags"]word count ■Percival Graves■ let's do this!
[attr="class","smdlyrics"]strike
[attr="class","mdlyric"]me down
[attr="class","giveitlyric"]give it everything you've got
Post by Percival Graves on Dec 12, 2017 3:26:45 GMT
Call it fate. But Percy knew today was going to be a bad day. It was just unavoidable. As he finished getting dressed, he looked at himself in the mirror. He didn't look too bad; in fact, all things considered, he would gladly hop into bed with himself, if he himself ever had that ability. But he looked like a prince; an elegant man, who had gotten what he had deserved; what he had desired. All he had to do was sell his soul.
What a joke. He should've killed his parents and sold his soul years ago. Skip the drama. Not like it was important. He got this place, where most people had to go to college, get a degree, or do something profound. He got it for his soul. His felt himself smirk at himself.
And then her voice came in. A double entendre surely, for the lecherous whore often had a one track mind, though sometimes there did happen to be a moment of clarity with whatever insultingly small size that brain must have been. And the way she stood within the frame of the glass pane only did more to annoy him, trying to provoke him through such lascivious means. Did she expect him, a prince, to make sex, because love was too good for her, to a common whore?
Oh no, she was more than that, wasn't she? He felt himself scowl, a scowl meant for her and their newly found relationship. He was a contratee, though he was more a prince than one who created a contract. And she were the master, and it sickened him. He remembered making that contract between them, and it always made him green, ready to puke; a perfect puke, but a puke all the same.
Luckily, he wasn't one to be so taken by her lusting tactics, and turned his head her direction, his expression giving the meanest of looks, and he'd laugh when on called that 'meanest'. As he turned his nose up to her, and felt his scowl suitable for her, he returned her words. "Fine until just recently. How's the world's most deplorable harlot?" he felt himself happy with the insult, but he knew he could do better. His eyes stared swords in her general direction; and had he the ability to, he may have had her skewered.
Wait. She would've liked that. She couldn't even think that without the innuendo bringing them full circle. He felt a curse in his mind, as he turned to the angel, crossing his arms. And then a thought arose. "Have you been watching me change?" he felt his eyes narrow into angry little slits. Oh yes, he was furious now.
[attr="class","smdbody"]Camellia drummed her fingers against the glass pane, waiting oh so patiently for her beloved contractee to notice her presence and acknowledge her. She wouldn’t be surprised if he purposefully tried ignoring her, but she had her ways to get his attention. He wouldn’t want to gamble her wrath. The last man that tried ignoring her got a stick up his ass. Literally. She wasn’t to be trifled with.
He seemed to somewhat understand that concept as his gaze turned on her, his usual scowl present. Lesser people would tremble under his scornful eyes and furious expression, but she knew better. He needed her, hence why the two came together for the contract. She had him right where she wanted him. Well, not quite. Once their contract was up and his soul was hers to devour, only then would he be where she most desired.
Until that day came, however, she had to be patient.
His voice came out cold and harsh, brushing right off her shoulders and into the night air. A mere human couldn’t scare her off. The thought was laughable.
Her smirk widened as she leaned her curvy body against the doorframe, gazing at him with amusement in her eyes. “Fine until just recently,” she casually repeated his words, eyes twinkling. “Now I’m even better.” Her gaze looked him up and down approvingly, knowing the finer clothes suited him. He believed himself to be some sort of royalty, from what she gathered, only furthering her amusement with their various interactions.
He proceeded to ask if she watched him change, his anger evident in his tone and eyes. She smiled innocently in response. “Watching. Admiring. Craving. Whatever word you prefer.” She waved her hand nonchalantly as if his response was uncalled for, and in a way it was. Camellia could do to him whatever she saw fit. He was her new toy, and she’d use him till he couldn’t get enough of her.
[attr="class","smdtags"]word count ■Percival Graves■ let's do this!
[attr="class","smdlyrics"]strike
[attr="class","mdlyric"]me down
[attr="class","giveitlyric"]give it everything you've got
Post by Percival Graves on Dec 12, 2017 5:04:33 GMT
Any other person would see Camellia in the doorway and submit to her. Their soul would be forfeit, as well as any hope to have a reasonable day. The sweet embrace and release would feel good enough, Percy wagered. But the fact of the matter was, that Percy had no interest in the contractor. A lot of that interest probably came from sexual excitement. Percy didn't care about that; to him no one but himself could claim him for themselves.
Then her harlot voice came again, and Percival foudn his scowl worsening. She echoed his words. Did she think she, of all people, were cute? He felt the disgust come when she finished the sentence finally. It was like she knew what buttons not to press to turn him on, and instead hit the ones that did the exact opposite. It was laughable, if Percival even knew how to laugh properly. Her gaze lingered a moment far too long, which caused the male to raise a brow.
Well, at least she had the audacity to know what real goods were. Not some other cheap, dietary servant or slave at the Wailing House, but real, unadulterated royalty. If nothing else, Camellia had good enough tastes, though Percy would never admit it, and anyone who heard him admit it would never hear him utter a compliment ever again. He would never, not in a million years. Not in ten million, or a hundred million say that. Because that was the only thing she had going for her.
Then her whorish mouth opened wide again, something Percy could bet was a fun pasttime. Watching and Admiring? Fine. Craving? If it weren't with lecherous intent, he'd almost feel flattered. But she raised her hand, as if saying a response was uncalled for. He hushed himself, realizing that she had played better at this verbal spar than he, and he wouldn't take that lying down.
A look over to her, and he went over to the master bedroom's bed, and sat himself down, crossing his legs with a frown. "Give it up. I only made the contract to live the life that I was cheated out of. As far as I'm humanly concerned, our relationship will stay as such; Master and Contractee, you being the one to provide the contract, and me being the master." His ego was rather bloated, as he gestured to himself, and his brown eye squinting just a bit.
His bladed gaze met her own again. "Are we clear?"
[attr="class","smdbody"]She pressed her rear against the doorframe, back arched with her chest out, long legs holding her up. If he was going to keep staring at her, she may as well give him something to stare at. Her lips were still curved up in a devious smirk, a knowing amusement flickering in her golden eyes. Camellia knew how she looked to men. Hell, even women. She was a seductress; it was all a part of her game. And he was just another chess piece she planned on knocking over.
He moved himself to the bed and frowned at her, looking indifferent to her words as he went on about the life he was cheated of. She’d heard it all before. Old news. She pretended to look at her wrist for a nonexistent watch, feigning a yawn of boredom as he carried on. He was losing her interests talking about his human desires. She wasn’t invested in the life he left behind, nor the lives he killed in cold blood to do so. What fueled her was passion, something this human seemed to be lacking.
Still, his sass kept her mildly entertained. Maybe she would use his insults to get off to next time she was alone.
And then he called himself the master.
Her ears perked up at his words as his brown eyes met hers. She raised a brow, a grin cracking across her features. First, a chuckle escaped her lips. Soft and fleeting at first, no higher than a whisper. Then it grew in strength, becoming a full-blown laugh as she tossed her head back, her voice filling the night air with her laughter.
Her giggles matched her schoolgirl outfit well as her voice slowly died down, gazing back at him with newfound amusement. “Listen, human,” she began, her smirk evident on her face. “A master is someone that meets the needs of a contractee. Are you saying you’ll meet my needs?” Her eyes sparkled with interest. “I could think of a few ways a mouse could please a cat.”
[attr="class","smdtags"]word count ■Percival Graves■ let's do this!
[attr="class","smdlyrics"]strike
[attr="class","mdlyric"]me down
[attr="class","giveitlyric"]give it everything you've got
Post by Percival Graves on Dec 12, 2017 6:13:31 GMT
If Percy had opened his eyes during any point of his explanation to his master in regards to why he got the contract to begin with, perhaps his anger would have doubled, nay, tripled. He would have to teach this whore some manners. But instead, he had his eye closed, not at all seeing her antics, or how she didn't care about his backstory. How he was cheated from life.
As he got to a more interesting topic, he had opened his eyes and saw her smirk at the idea of him being the master and her the contractee. Her chuckle was insulting enough on its own, but the full-blown laugh filled the night air outside, and Percival found himself wrinkling his nose. His pupils shrunk, and his scowl intensified, so much so that mere swords were not piercing her anymore, but large butcher blades in terms of glare. Had he the ability to, he'd cut off her tongue.
Then she addressed him as human. Percival almost found himself retorting, but she wasn't done. And in her words, the trap was laid. Percy's ears picked it up, and he opened his mouth for a moment, until he realized what she had just done. By saying no, which was impossible because he could please anyone he saw fit as a prince, he would effectively be a better man for it. Was he confident in his sexual abilities? Perhaps. But saying no meant disgracing everything behind his new lineage of royalty.
But if he said yes, there was a fraction of a chance Camellia wouldn't jump him right then and there; being the lecherous slut she seemed to present herself as. He effectively was trapped in what he said next. But he made his choice, his crossed legs on him as he pulled down the gloves on his hands. He rose a brow, irritated.
His gaze seemed to suggest such scorn that unmatched anything prior. "As if I would waste my time on such lascivious women." he started out, his scorn shown through every little wrinkle his nose had now. But, he continued, biting his lip the whole way, almost drawing blood. "A prince can meet such whorist necessities, yes. When the whore addresses her master by the proper term." he looked her over once more. Maybe when she gave him the thing he wanted, he might think of what she so desired of him. He would not give in, not to this trap. He was not a mouse, he was a cat, and she were the mouse.
[attr="class","smdbody"]Camellia stretched her body out against the glass pane, waiting impatiently for his response. She had set her trap, knowing fully well he couldn’t give her a yes or no without conceding in some way. It was perfect. Maybe this would teach him a lesson in humility and being more humble. Not that she was one to talk. Those two words hardly came up in her extensive vocabulary.
He seemed to think it over for a minute before speaking again, his insults shooting out like bullets. But they deflected off her as always, used to his typical treatment. If anything, it aroused her moreso than being given compliments. Compliments was something she was used to. Not getting her way wasn’t. He was a tease, and she was enjoying every second of it.
Her eyes widened a touch as he made his demands. She certainly wasn’t expecting that.
A confident brow rose questioningly at him as she crossed the barrier into the master bedroom, her hips swaying side to side as she walked. She reached the side of the bed he was on and slowly dropped to her knees before him, remaining eye contact with her golden irises on brown. Her knowing smirk was still plastered to her face as she gazed up at him from her position, knowing fully well he was getting a peak of her chest from this angle.
“Would you bet your soul on those words?” she questioned softly, her breath fanning out on his legs. Her hands were placed delicately in her lap, blinking up at him in amusement and delight. This human was on another level. He certainly made things interesting since he stumbled his way into a contract with her.
She looked forward to taking his soul. This one would be worth the wait.
[attr="class","smdtags"]word count ■Percival Graves■ let's do this!
[attr="class","smdlyrics"]strike
[attr="class","mdlyric"]me down
[attr="class","giveitlyric"]give it everything you've got
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