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Wormwood 1/1 R Cordelia LaMorte

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  • Swampfoetus@aol.com
    Title: Wormwood Author: Cordelia LaMorte e-mail: Swampfoetus@aol.com Rating: R Summery: Evo-Rogue at a fetish club guess who finds her. Disclaimer: I own like
    Message 1 of 1 , Nov 25, 2001
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      Title: Wormwood
      Author: Cordelia LaMorte
      e-mail: Swampfoetus@...
      Rating: R
      Summery: Evo-Rogue at a fetish club guess who finds her.
      Disclaimer: I own like two pairs of flip flops and some Tori Amos CDs, not
      much else and none of the else includes Marvel characters.
      Dedication: To Dark Ferret who I haven't heard from in forever and a day. I
      hope you're doing okay hun. And to Terri who has frustrated me grately by
      addicting me to her stories and then depriving me of my fix. Grrr that's just
      cruel.

      Flashing lights cast momentary glimpses of throbbing youth, writhing in sync
      with mechanical music, dilated eyes and plastic jewery, all pushing together
      in semi-erotic motions. The misbegotten pariahs of a wasted generation hoping
      to lose themselves in a noisy void. The heat generated by their animated
      bodies raising and suffocated like the poisions in their blood. Drunk on the
      wormwood of life, martyrs of their opinions and dispassionate sires, all
      collected in the converted warehouse of a New England industrial district.

      And in the equidistant of the assembly of rogues and deather ungulated the
      strangest of angels. That's who Scott came to find, that's who he watched
      from the catwalk. One arm gracefully thrust above her head exposing a white
      hand, the intricate silver and garnet torc bracelet sparkling in the erratic
      lighting, gringing along to the thundering sounds vomited by the speakers, as
      another hand trailed down a corseted body, only to pull up and thread through
      a mane of sanguine and ermine, and for a moment he could pretend it was he
      that was exploring the hollows,curves and plains of her form, as nameless
      phsiognomies caked in kohl and powder marched around her in tune to the
      disorganized music in a chaotic ballet. A man approached her attempting to
      thrust against her in a near rape of a dance, only for the pale enigma to
      turn away from him and into the vinyl gloved arms of a flaxen haired
      girl-child.

      He was before her now, her back to him as she continued her rhythemful sways,
      until she turned to face him fully, chartreuse eyes carefully lined in black,
      cupid bowed lips artfully stained. At only 17 the inured expression was well
      grafted to her heart shaped face, but upon recognition of him it seemed to
      lift, if only slightly, and she began to rub innocently against him.

      "Couldn't sleep Rogue?"

      She closed her eyes and smiled wide, with a laugh she responded with, "Mah,
      mah Scott, don't we look out of place?" She looked at his attire, price tag
      freshly plucked from J. Crew. He looked down at himself and then around.
      Truer words were never spoken.

      "Are you drunk?" A brow quirked. "Are you?"

      "Not a drop of alcohol. Scouts honour"

      "Were you ever a scout?"

      "No, but Lance was." She grinned continuing her dancing.

      "You ready to come home?"

      "Anyone know Ah'm gone, 'sides you?"

      "No"

      "Then no, Ah'll come back when Ah'm good and ready."

      A willowy creature appeared from behind Rogue, androgionous and beautiful,
      Scott could only recognize the gender by the small mounds of flesh her own
      corset pressed. She reached from behind Rogue to present her with a glass,
      Rogue tossed the contents into her mouth with an experienced flick of her
      wrist. Licking little pearls of liquid from her lips she looked up at Scott,
      before casting a glance behind her.

      "Dance with me?"





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