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Bocca Del Inferno

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Bocca Del Inferno

Bocca Del Inferno, the mouth of hell. An online interactive roleplaying community.

Mature Subject Matter.


July 4th, 2015



November 9th, 2012

OOC Post

Hush - two faces
What a joy to find the community still exists! I'm posting to keep it current and keep the incredible writing posted in this community!

June 9th, 2007

Hunger Inside

Without Text
Hurt, watching them fucking hurt me, as much as I wanted X happy, it meant I was alone, I could do alone, but I was use to him being around following me like a puppy. She was alive, his mate was alive, and yes I rejoiced, but I cursed as well. I’m a monster, selfish, and cruel.

Everything is capable of doing bad things, things they regret. Difference, I didn’t regret the things I did. I killed with such abandon, creatively, cruelly, and usually the mortal men I chose to fuck.

The night was dark, humid and inviting. Millions of smells traveled through my nostrils, teasing them with the virtual smorgasbord of food walking the streets: Chinese, and French cuisine tempting me to snack before my dinner. But I didn’t indulge, watching my figure was all-important since she was in the picture.

Stiletto’s clicking as I walked, I enjoyed the sound, and the memories they brought with them. Memories of carnage, and torture with those wonderful heels, and I had countless pairs of shoes. The appreciate glances only fuelled my hunger. It had been awhile and I was ravenous.

Entering the posh restaurant, I scanned the room for a possible victim, as I slid into my seat with anticipation, ready to sate my growing hunger for something more than just food.
Cruelty, my people knew it well. In every veiled look, every muttered, ‘Drac, vrăjitoare, rău; nenorocire,’ under their breath I felt their fear. People fear what they don’t understand.

When I walked, I felt eyes on me, at times; the invisible daggers hit their target with an innate accuracy. Once, I turned to look at the offender, staring into the eyes of a little girl. Small and petite, a dark-haired moppet, she could have been my own child. Beautiful face screwed into the look of hatred, copied from that of her parents.

Eyes catching hers, her gaze of disgust, changed to that of terror, as if my looking at her put some Romany curse on her small head. Bottom lip trembling, eyes filling with tears, she turned on her heel and ran as if her tiny little life depended upon it.

Heart dropping to my stomach, my body cold and numb, I covered my torso with my arms, as if to keep the cold and hatred out.

Leaving, that was my option. Borsa would never hold the same magic for me. I had to find another place.

Mala and Clay both insisted on England. I guess that made sense, it was the only thing I could remember of my past life.

In Clay’s eyes I saw the disappointment, in Mala’s an understanding, still I’d hurt my son and my sister, a son I couldn’t remember.

Grant, he filled my dreams, with so much passion and life, waking …. I hated my waking life. At every opportunity, I slept, escaping real life, blissfully slipping into another time, when Grant stole kisses beneath my parent’s watchful eyes. When he slipped the ring on my finger, and how he’d tease me to want, hands over and under my clothes, with such a passion. And then my memories stopped.

Assuring me he had another family, stubbornly I agreed. I’d caused too much pain in the sister I loved, and the handsome young man who was my son. Loving Clay, in some ways it was easy, I could see Grant in him and even, at times I saw my own reflection in him. Mala did such a wonderful job in raising him, and in that, it was easy to love him. To slowly believe he was my son.

All of that brought me to this, a bumpy plane ride. Forehead resting against the glass, fine pellets of rain assaulting the fuselage, like teardrops, my teardrops and I felt such an emptiness, and emptiness one only knows from not understanding her place in the world, waking memories of having been in a place where no living creature walks.

The seductive tones of the French Count asking Mala to join him for the holidays, and Clay’s insistence that would be fine. That was his answer to all things. Not that I celebrated the season, still it was a magical time, and for me one I dreaded.

Clay brightened at fact his best friend would be joining us. He raved about her, an animation I hadn’t seen before.

At least this would give me time to explore London alone, at least if Mala went with the dashing Count, and Clay would let me out of his watchful eye.

I had to find out why England had such a hold on me, why we were going to visit the Lindenbrook estate, and Grant; he still held my heart.

Rumbling, I felt the wheels descend the plane preparing for landing, the lights of the tarmac ahead leading us somewhere.

“Grant, where are you?” the inaudible whisper escaped my lips, floating out into the night, a sound from my soul lifting up into the heavens, and unknowingly making its way to him.


On My Way

MD braclets
He tried to make as if everything was all right, but I knew Clay, and things weren’t ‘all right,’ as he claimed. Something in his voice, it was sad, and my heart ached for my best friend.

As much as I wanted to tell him about my conversation with Ambrose, I couldn’t put my finger on it, but it was unnerving. He scared the hell out of me and yet was incredibly seductive. There wasn’t any one thing that made me fear him and run to Boston; maybe it was that I wanted him, but every time I breathed, I smelled danger.

Visiting the aquarium in Boston, enchanted by the seahorses, as I put my hand on the glass they swam as if to touch me as well. Walking past each viewing area, the creatures within seemed to be aware of my presence, finally I had to leave, people were making comments.

I wandered through the streets; hands in my pockets, keeping to myself, when the fine hairs on the back of my neck were on end again. The footsteps, the ones I’d heard in Florida, had that same peculiar sound.

In that moment, I made my decision, so I called him, convinced him he needed support, not sharing my own misery, but wanting to help him in his, I was more persistent and soon persuaded him to let me join them.

They were going to the Cotswoulds Countryside, outside of Oxford; reserving a 15th Century Manor House, Le Manoir Aux Quat Salsons. I found this rather odd, but then privacy was something appealing, so I accepted the invitation I’d wrangled out of him.

Gratefully, I made my preparations to leave.


January 6th, 2007

I wont deny my initial shock when Cait came to me for help with her sister. I also wont deny that I damn near chocked to death when Cait asked that Angelina be tied up, beaten and decorated with a shock collar that would go off every time she even tried to step foot in the training room door. Not that I didn't understand Cait's frustration and desperate need to get her sister back (safe, sound and sane) but I very much doubted that adding more violence to the young slayers life would help much. She, Cait, had been joking of course, or at least I bloody well hope so, and had finally settled on accompanying me to Giles' office and ask for his help instead. Mr. Giles had been the last resort of decisions due to the fact Cait was down right convinced he would send them away if he knew something was wrong with Angelina. But, after entertaining the idea of a therapist (and not the idea of a shock collar) we both realized this matter was not something we could handle on our own and Giles was definitely the next course of action.

All that had happened only minutes ago, though it seemed like ages since Cait had first stepped foot into my office. After our first meeting I was almost certain neither of the girls would want anything to do with me, let alone find it in themselves to come to me for help. Needless to say, I was flattered...and bit on the excited side. I had yet to be assigned my slayer (or slayers as it may possibly be due to a shortage in watchers) and I just knew if I could help Angelina, maybe even create some sort of bond with her, there was no way Giles could say no to the match up, could he? Of course he could, but would he was the real question. I liked Cait and I had no doubt under that hard exterior of Angelina's there was a girl I could grow close to without the least bit of trouble. As I thought about it my mind drifted back to the picture Cait had showed me and I nodded to myself. Yes, definitely a girl I could learn to get along with. I was itching for my own slayer and the future match would just make sense.

There came a moment of utter dismay when we had found Giles' office to be empty. No doubt he had retired to his personal chambers for the night. Which is exactly where he should be I thought, remembering the condition of his health on their last meeting. That is to say, a quick greeting in each others direction as we passed in the halls. I had become so preoccupied with Cait and Angelina I had completely forgotten, or over looked more likely, the things that had been going on around here on a day to day basis; including Giles' cold.

"Not to worry. I'm sure Mr. Giles has just relocated to some where a bit more comfortable. Come, I'm sure he wouldn't mind the company."

I wasn't exactly sure that was true but then again it wasn't me I was trying to convince. I myself require complete and total silence when I am in the process of nursing myself back to health, but there were some who could go on with business as planned without skipping a beat. My hope was that Mr. Giles was one of these later people. Without thinking I began to lead Cait in the opposite direction from which we had come and rounded the first corner without so much as a glance to see if the hall was clear.

It wasn't.

"Angelina...your here." I cleared my throat. "That is to say...Hello, how are you?"

Running smack dab into the girl we were, in some ways, betraying had definitely not been in my plans. In fact, staying as far away from her as possible for the next few days had been more my plan. But, as most plans do...it failed and now here I was in a very awkward situation.

I glanced over at Caith nervously, both of us knowing that if she wanted to, Angelina could turn us into a bleeding sticky paste at any time she pleased. We were going to have to tread lightly...very lightly. And by lightly I mean, letting Cait make the first move with Angelina rather then myself, of course.

[[Open to Cait and Angie]]

December 14th, 2006

...Stop me if you know this one...Collapse )

[Open for Dian]

December 12th, 2006

The thought of plastering a warning label to my forehead occurred more than once to me, yeah can we say contents under pressure? Watch what you wish for, isn’t that what they say? That was all I could come up with, some fucking wish stone.

Couldn’t have made it the last few days without my girl, K’. B’ was all MIA, I was trying to be the good slayer, cover all the bases, but B’ wouldn’t pick her up phone, yeah B’ being all, ‘I’m having my own crisis right now, leave a message girl,’ I’d had it with that stitch.

Hi this is Buffy, you know the drill.Collapse )

Somewhere in all of that, I began to change, I can’t quite put my finger on it, but I know I was different when I went to see Giles.

His door was shut, I’d rapped on his door much as someone was doing on mine, maybe that’s what made me remember, I hadn’t given it another thought since that day. The room filling with hot steam, water enticing my muscles to relax to get lost in the memory.

“Yo, Giles,” I called when he didn’t answer, as I cracked the door open, sticking my head in, this was unlike him, I’d made an appointment, which was unlike me. Maybe the return of my Watchers sent him to some alternate universe.

[Open to Giles and possibly Kennedy]

December 11th, 2006

My world was turned on its axis a month ago. My sister showed up in the middle of our village, naked, cold and confused. My sister died nearly eight years ago at the hands of a monster, a monster that had once been a man, he was also once a demon with a soul. A singular being amoung us all. Her neck was snapped, the coldest death, her body placed in the bed of her lover. Those were the things I was allowed to know when we buried her in the fields where we used to play.

I called my nephew, her son, the one she abandoned when she left this life and the rest of us behind. Funny how she left us all and yet kept the duty our clan convinced her was hers to carry out.

To watch a soul suffer.

I am still angry with my sister but this woman isn't the same woman who left. She can't imagine ever leaving a child she bore. She can't imagine leaving Borsa for a life she can't remember.

Clay came back days after my call, the one that ruined his birthday. My heart was heavy with the decision to tell him about Janna but I couldn't keep it from him. He deserved to know that his mother was alive again, that some dark magics had been implored to bring her back to this earth. He desereved to know her just as she deserved to know him.

I raised Clay as though he were my own. I suppose I could have lied and told him he was in fact my child. It's what I was told I should do but I still had an idealistic idea about my sister and I couldn't deny my nephew stories of the woman she'd been before she left us. She was an amazing woman, a gifted witch, on the path to take over grandmother's place but she left and she left him - us. And I was given that path instead, once my mother had left the earth Clay and I were free to return to Borsa. My mother wanted the power she thought my nephew had and I couldn't let that happen.

Now we're in London. Janna is resting and I'm trying to put the finishing touches on the spell that will hopefully lead us to some answers about where she's been or how to retrieve her memory. I'm not sure England was meant in the sense of the country but it was the only lead that we had and Clay insisted that we work from here. I can't really deny Clay anything in this. He's trying so hard to be accepting of Janna and not let the bitterness that permeated his being over the years seep into the relationship he's trying to build with her.

He wants answers, that much I do know.

Three Little Words

MD braclets
It was all I could to keep from physically shaking all the time; I’d made a quick exit from the bar. How could I be so stupid flirting with Ambrose, there were so many red flags, and I ignored them. Abandonment wasn’t an issue I dealt with easily, and Clay’s flight on his birthday, felt like abandonment all right, I wasn’t angry, I trusted Clay, and if he just up and left, it was for good reason, he never did anything lightly, well hardly ever. He was just confusing, and his face was ashen.

Maybe there was some anger, what possessed me to go to a bar in the first place, I’ll never know, dad had taught me to be so careful and yet I let my guard down. Maybe I’m just being paranoid, but I feel like a mouse in some maze, and he’s the one watching me. Could have been those intense eyes? The more we talked, the more I knew he wasn’t human. Okay call me crazy, but he’s just different, even then I didn’t leave, I could blame it on the alcohol, partially it was because of he attraction, and partially because around him, I had this feeling of power, if you’d call it that, frankly I was a bit inebriated, and I don’t remember.

What I do know is he could have hurt me, I allowed myself to get in that place with him, and he didn’t. It wasn’t pity, it was more like a game, but as scary as it is to think, I think we connected on some other level, and that’s what made him hesitate, why are girls drawn to bad boys? And they always want to think that they meant something? That’s where I am, wanting to believe that I got to him. It’s not like many things get to him, by the end of the evening I could tell he was a cold fish, but as he looked at me, there was a deliberation, a conscious decision to kill me, or kill me and change me into something else to be with him. God, I sound insane, and how does one interpret feelings, but that’s what I felt, real or not. Maybe I just wanted to matter to someone.

I’ve had a long time to think about this, develop and discard theories as I lived through my day-to-day without Clay. His silence, his absence an obvious need to deal with his own demons, I’ve been there, but it hurt none-the-less, and his cryptic emails, gave me no clue to what was happening, and for the first time in my life, I began to feel isolated, yes, I began to isolate myself just for self preservation, only going to class.

I’m not sure when I realized I was being followed, it was more of an awareness I guess, a realization, the sound of footsteps behind you, the phone ringing, and when you answer it no one is there. On one of my few outings with friends, I caught Ambrose staring at me across the room, as if to taunt me.

So I ran, packed up and got out of Florida and began traveling North, stopping here and there, and just when I began to feel safe, the overwhelming feeling of being stalked, and terror slow overtaking me like a slow cancer eating one up inside.

I’d wanted to be self-sufficient, to take care of myself, but death followed me and in each town, a series of violent attacks, following me my wake and I felt responsible.

There was only one thing I could think of doing.

Shaking, I picked up my cell and pressed one on my speed dial.

Boston was cold and icy, cheerful signs of the season greeted me in every shop, and street corner, but now they offered no comfort. Like a little child moving up and down as if holding it in because he or she couldn’t find a bathroom, my feet flat, my body shaking as if to will Clay into answering.

Finally, his familiar voice “What’s up homes?” I had to giggle, hearing that it almost melted everything away.

All I could must was three little words, “I’m in trouble,” before the tears started streaming down my face. Thank the goddess he couldn’t see me.
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