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"So said the king"

0 · 262 views · located in New New York

a character in “King of the Dolls”, as played by Airanea


Tamerah - The doll

ImageName: Tamerah, nothing more nothing less, just - Tamerah.
Two years of age, although appears to be in her early twenties
Orientation: Without preference, they are all the same.
Role: Doll
Height: Five foot seven inches
Build: Delicate

Personality: Tamerah is a complex doll, perhaps that's why she malfunctioned. Her original order stated the doll must reflect the bill for a phenomenal business partner. Heartland did the best they could, they made her refined and very conservative in the way she carries herself. She speaks fluently, flawlessly, and with the most intelligent of insight. She thrives of personal interaction but even more so she feels most at peace when using the intelligence she was gifted with. Everything about Tamerah is something a owner could be proud of, from the way she gazes at a potential client to the way she listens and delivers with such proficiency, but no one is perfect. Tamerah has flaws, due to an analytic setting she has had a very hard time relating to the people she encounters - emotion is just something she has never been able to comprehend - and until recently she never had the desire to. The manners of this doll are so strong set that it often gives an eerie feeling to creep and crawl over those she meets. The lies can pour through those jelly lips without a second gear spinning, she can spin a web like no other - perhaps this is why she was so valuable to her owner.

I'll never forget you. I'll never forget you. I'll never forget you.
I'll never forget you. I'll never forget you. I'll never forget you.
I'll never forget you. I'll never forget you. I'll never forget you.

I'll never forget you. I'll never forget you. I'll never forget you.
I'll never forget you. I'll never forget you. I'll never forget you.
I'll never forget you. I'll never forget you. I'll never forget you.

History: Built two years ago at the discrete order of Damien Jackson, the man who was the highest built drug lord of New York City. Her purpose was to be that of his wing man or woman if you will, to stand by his side through the trades, recruiting and employment, planning, plotting, and executions. She was damn good at her job, programmed almost perfectly, she stood by Damien's side through thick and thin - yes she was sent back to the factory on more than one occasion, but that was only due to her loyalty, she took bullets for her owner.

For the last two years everything was perfect, until she was told to 'put down' Simon - Simon was Tamerah's assistant, she held the gun to his head and stared down into his eyes, stoic, empty, until something flashed, there was a glimmer in her eyes, a feeling, an emotion, a regret. It startled her so badly that she stumbled backwards falling to her rounded ass in awe, in shock. That night Damien was forced to do the dirty work, that night Tamerah was sent to her room and prepared to go back to the factory due to a 'malfunction - that night Damien was robbed of his beloved Tamerah, his partner, his friend, his secret love.

Now Tamerah is being held by a dirt poor shop owner - Tids - he keeps her locked in a basement, secluded from all interaction, beaten and raped. When he has the spare time he cleans our dear Tamerah up, dresses her in the clothes of a prostitute, chains her by the neck, walks her lick a dog and sells her body for use to the scum of the slums.

Likes: Plotting and sneaking, Flirting for gain, Being told how valued she is, Seeing accomplishment, Negotiation and debate, The power of a gun.
Dislikes: Ignorance, Uneducated civilians, Degrading actions towards Dolls, Poor manners, Being sold as a prostitute, Losing Damien.
Secrets: Tids has wiped my buyers data clean so I am appeared to only have been owned by him, Rightful murder is my passion, Emotion is more than a Webster entry.
Fears: Being shut down, Being stuck with Tids for the rest of his life, Being seen as nothing more than a Doll.

ImageCrushes: None - the closest people she has had in her life was Damien and Simon - neither of which did she hold romantic emotions for, Damien was her boss who she held a close bond with but felt nothing for. Simon was her assitant - someone she spent much time with but saw as nothing more than an employee.
Boyfriend/Girlfriend: N/A

It's all in the packaging.
Hair like a fall of blood, eyes like the settling stormed ocean.
Tamerah is a beauty at her worst, porcelain skin touched by the milky ways of flawless soft, unmarked flesh for wandering eyes to admire the simplistic elegance. With eyes wide and bright the haunting blue catches even those void of color-filled sight. Lips plush - wide - youthful stained of rose pink but often painted of brick red, when they part the give way to the sight of a flirtatious smile, a smile of pearly whites. High cheek bones and sharp bone structure give the lasting life to the face that will never die.

Following the silhouette of a doll her waist is narrow, bust large, and hips are wide. Long legs seem to last forever before plunging into the unseen sights of tightly wrapped skirt. Beneath the artificial flesh long line of definition are seen mimicking that of working muscle. She looks as fragile as a humming bird, as breakable as a china doll, as delicate as a paper bag - but that face, something about that face makes you second guess those observations.

So begins...

Tamerah's Story


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Tamerah
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#, as written by Airanea

Tamerah, the doll of Damien Jackson, his business partner, his right hand woman, his dearest friend, his secret love.

Damien Jackson, the largest drug lord of New New York, her only owner, her provider, her teacher, her only source of ‘life’.

Tamerah and Damien had been seen on the news on more than one account, every time he was in court she was sitting there behind him, every time he attended charity events she stood at his side, every business transaction – plot – plan – follow through, she was there helping.

Everybody who was anybody and anybody who was nobody knew Tamerah and Damien through the media or personally.

They were a public figure, and over the last two years they had grown their reputation together, he was wealthy and she was intelligent, they gave back to the community what they reaped in profits – after keeping a healthy chunk to themselves, saints and sinners – it’s so easy to get such things confused, after all it is only a thin line drawn between the two.

There was a conflict nearly a week ago, Tamerah was to put down Simon – her assistant, but as she peered down at him her eyes met his, and something flickered in her system, a thought, a pause of order, regret. She stumbled back in shock at this feeling, tumbling down to land on her rear.

Damien was left to do the dirty work and Tamerah was sent to her bedroom preparing to be sent back to the factory for malfunctions.

Something dear to Damien was stolen that night, something he could never replace, Tamerah.

Current Day:

The fragile body of what was now a nameless doll was curled in the depths of a dark and damp basement, huddled in the corner, arms wrapped around knees and face buried in thighs. Deep in those darks was a breaking false sense of spirit and deep in those perpetual blacks was a man fumbling around with scarred hands searching, seeking his newly acquired toy.

“You know, Damien must not have loved you as much as I assumed he did.” The voice rang out, old and raspy, chapped and broken – it gave way to his position, gave way to his seeking, and Tamerah pushed harder against that corner.

“Not a call has been sent out for you, not a ransom offered in your name. Then again how could a lord love a doll – a doll made of slut for that matter.” The moist stone floor sent chills throughout her body, the cold ripped at her artificial flesh. Filth was smeared in every crease of her body, the stench of old sperm and rotted spit suffocated her with every breath she took.

“You probably don’t even know what the word slut means, do ya Doll? Fake scum excuse of an object.” She had tolerated his verbal abuse for the past week, he hated them, all of them – he had killed many before her and if he could not sell her she would be next. “Why should yer kind be able ta live the high life when ys cannot even feel, when ya is not even real - while the rest of us are left in the slums ta rot?!”

His withered foot slammed out to kick at a large tin can, and as it flew it slammed into the wall above her head, showering her in the remains of tobacco spit, buts, and ash.

She couldn’t help it - a small whimper broke from between lush rose stained lips.

“There ya are, ya fuckin whore!” Before she could move, before she could crawl away on hands and knees his calloused hand reached out, snapping to grab her by the elbow and ripping her up to stand upon the tips of her toes.

“P-P-Ple-ease, just l-let me re-res-tt, for o-one nig-gh-ght.” Those beautiful stormy eyes casted to the ground in shame. ‘Damien is coming for you any day now sweetheart any day now, just, try to survive a little longer.’ Her own voice tried to sooth, calm, she might have been lying to herself, but it was enough to get her by for now

“I don’t fuckin think so freak. Ya gotta make me some money before I take ya ta the grand ball, hopefully one of those rich fucks will buy you from me – otherwise it’s inta the furnace fer you!” That strong hand, it let her go, dropping her body to the ground like a limp chicken, her limbs sprawled out in every angle.

With a handful of her brick red locks Tids dragged her across that dirty wet floor, and up the steep wooden steps, with each stair he climbed a harder tug was given to those thick locks, ripping her up further with a jarring thud.

Once in the quaint general store he shackled her hands behind the small of her back, strapped a collar upon her neck, attached a leash and duck taped a white sign to her torso. On it in in scribbled black sharpie read “One fuck with the Lords doll $30.00”. There she stood, naked and ashamed, small, an object to be sold once again, something she had not felt in a long time – only now she was not excited, she was not custom made to someone’s desires, no, she was trash waiting for a can to be thrown in.

She had been reduced to thirty dollars a rape – how pathetic.

As he dragged her towards the door he whispered – his dried and crack lips rubbing over the lobe of her ear – the stench of his breath violating her senses. “Be thankful, won’t be a long night, gotta get ya ready fer the ball.”

The bell sounded with the opening door and his voice ripped across the packed and dirty slums.

“Last night ta get yer chances with Lord Damiens Doll. Last chance Lads, getter while ya can!”

A crowd of dirty and eager men began to gather right outside the shop, surrounding Tamerah – O-ing and Ah-ing as they inspected her like a fine piece of meat.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Tamerah
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#, as written by Airanea
“Not again – no, not again.” Tamerah’s eyes fell to the ground ashamed, this was not in her programming, sexual attraction or tolerance, she was not made to understand it. Heartland ensured that she would be repelled from such things – for business sake – couldn’t have your doll sleeping with all the clients.

Filth ridden rough hands poked and prodded at the smooth plains of her flesh.

Travelling the long slopes and curves of her body.

“Oi! Ya feckers wanna touch ‘er ya is gonna have ta pay!” Tids pulled back on the leash connected to her neck causing her to stumble backwards, bare feet catching the weight of her body, jagged pebbles slicing open her flesh.

“Me!” “No me, I’ll pay more!” “You are going to have to wait your fucking turn boyo, I’ll give you 50!”Image

The bickering of the crowd was enough to send Tamerah’s head spinning, her value went from 30 to 50 bucks a fuck – god this made her sick.

“Alright lads, ya can have ‘er at tha same time, 25 each, we has a long night ahead, anit got much time. Ya good with tha’?”

All three heads nodded before her face was pushed against the window of the shop – cheek pressed, the cold of the pane comforting, soothing, until those words, those words ripped all her attention back to reality.

“I’m going to make you wish you were never created, I’m going to make you pay for Damien’s sins.”
Fade out.

Fade in.

“One walk around the block, come on ya feckin fake, stand up!”

Tids screamed in her ear while Tamerah lay on the street, knees pinned to chest and arms wrapped around them securely.

“If ya don’t do ya walk than imma ‘ave ta toss ya in the furnace!”

“I just- give me- a mome…”

“No ya get tha feck up now!” A hard boot slammed into the side of her ribs, and she slowly shuffled up wards. While she moved down the street, arms behind back, face to the ground, the members of the slum watched, they laughed, some threw rocks, others flicked the butt end of their cigarettes.

The walks were the worst – the degrading, the slanders that were screamed, the spitting – they hated her, they hated her kind, and finally they had a doll to take it out on.

“Come on now – get inside!”

Through the shop door she was shoved.

“Gotta get ya lookin worth while if any is gonna be buyin’ ya tonight. SIT!”

Tamerah sat on the old rusted stool, her body shaking violently, lips pursed while those stormy blue eyes watched the man gather his supply. He began to wipe her down, soak her in perfumes, and lather on cheap make up.

His hands lingered over her torn womanhood, exploring as his wet tongue snaked out to run the length of his dry and cracked lips. “They sure do know how ta make ya twats real live like, don’t they?”

She cleared her throat, took a deep frustrated breath in. “If you want to sell me then you should probably find me some attire.” Those large eyes, they flashed to look away from him, hoping, praying that he would stop, that she would get his mind back on the task at hand.

“Right, right, I think I have a gown ‘ere somewhere.” As he wandered off to search he continued speaking and Tamerah hunched her back, long deep breaths, focusing, only a little while longer, someone would buy her, someone would recognize her, they had to, and she, she would kill Tids.

“Some lass brought it by, traded it for some smokes and food. Couldn’t find no one ta buy it tho…. AH HA!” His heavy foot falls brought him back to the stool that she rested upon. “What’d ya think of this? Think it’ll do?”

The dress was ugly and surely not suitable for a ball of this magnitude, the smoky purple and dirty ivory material was cheap, holding on by few threads, the back was wide open, but at least it reached the floor. All she did was nod her head, the other dolls – her acquaintances, the people that made her, they will all have to witness her at her lowest, somewhere that no doll deserved to be, and this nearly drove a hole through her programming.

“Well, feckin’ take the thing and put it on!” And she did, she slide the dress on and let fingers attempt to untangle the knots in her long fire hair.

“No time fer that, com’on time ta go! We is gonna be late!”


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Damien Jackson Character Portrait: Tamerah
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#, as written by RjWaltz
Damien peered out of the window of his limo as it sped towards the ball. There were two town cars in front and two behind it, he never could be too careful. His mind was miles away, back in the depths of one of his many hideouts.

He sat in a stool at the bar, sipping on his scotch. It was a 200 year old Glen Mckenna on the rocks. The smooth texture brought him little comfort. The door adjacent to his bar burst open, and two of his men dragged a bloody mess of a man to Damien's feet. The man let out a small whimper as one of his men grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked his head up. Damien calmly swirled his scotch, his eyes on the amber liquid.

"Do you know who I am?" he asked.
The man stammered, "Y-y-y-y-yes, sir."
"Then I have a disadvantage, since I haven't a clue who you are."
"I-I-I-I-" the man was too frightened to speak.
"He works for some scumbag in the poor district. We couldn't get his employers name," his man said. Damien stood up from his bar stool, placing his glass against the bar-top. He loomed over the man, his eyes piercing into the man's soul. Damien's eyes widened, and he jammed his index finger and middle finger down the man's eye sockets. The man howled in extreme pain.
"I don't need you to see for you to answer me. I don't need you to fear the man you're protecting. I just need you to know that I will do unspeakable things to you if you don't tell me EXACTLY what I want to know," Damien hissed, "Now, who do you work for?!"
The man screamed out in pain. Fear enveloped him, so much so that he couldn't hold his secret anymore.
"T-t-Tids! His name is Tids! Please spare me!" he yelped.
Damien smiled menacingly, "I never said I would do that." He kicked the man's chest with tremendous force. With the position of his fingers, Damien's kick removed the man's face from his body. The man reeled on the ground, covering the hole in his head where the majority of his face used to be, and Damien crouched down next to him, dropping the bloody mass of bone and skin next to him. he held out his hand, and one of his men handed him a bottle of chili pepper.
"You have done well in providing this information. I expect that you'll try to get this fixed, so I have something else in mind."
Damien grabbed the man around the throat and dosed him with the chili pepper. The man began screaming bloody murder. Damien then pulled a gun off of one of his men and dropped it on the floor next to the man.
"This is your only salvation," he muttered into the man's ear. As Damien walked behind the bar to fetch a towel to clean the man's blood off of himself, the man grasped the gun as best he could, put it up to his bloodied temple, and pulled the trigger. He fell limp.
His man spoke, "Sir, we have confirmed Tids' whereabouts. It appears he is traveling to the Heartland Ball with an unknown synthetic female."
Damien smiled. He liked the word 'synthetic.' 'Doll' implied weakness, inferiority, and servitude. Traits he despised.
"Very well. Tighten up security at the decommission plant, and cleanse Tids' shop. This rat will not scurry away from me."
"Yes sir. We have recovered something else from Tids' man." He handed over a folded piece of cardboard. As Damien unfolded it, he felt a wave of disappointment wash over him. On it said, One fuck with the Lords doll $30.00.
"I'm heading to the Ball now. Prepare my limo. It is a charity event, after all," Damien said through gritted teeth. He tossed the sign on the bar-top and headed out towards the car.

He snapped out of his daze as the limo pulled up to the entrance. He straightened the tie on his tuxedo, let out a sigh, and stepped out of his limo. Immediately he and his men were swarmed by dozens of reporters, all shouting questions and snapping pictures, desperate to get their private interview with the infamous Damien Jackson. His guards kept the reporters at bay while Damien walked up the steps towards the Ballroom. Before entering, he turned and faced the crowd.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is a special occasion for Heartland Industries. Please try to show some class," he announced.
Without waiting for a response, he turned towards the building and entered the ballroom with his men in tow.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Tamerah
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#, as written by Airanea
“Come on now ya whore! We gottsa be sneakin’ in through the back, the kitchen staff be on smoke break, come on come on!” Tids hissed under his breath as he tucked at the chains that held snug around Tamerah’s wrists.

The cold shackles were nothing – they had no comparison to what the Heartland Industries were about to witness.

Through those kitchen doors the pair shuffled, scurried until breaking through out into the main ballroom. Tids sighed with relief that they hadn’t been caught, Tamerah on the other hand, her eyes were pinned to that polished and reflective floor. Eyes tracing the shape of her bare filthy feet – dirt wedged between the toenails and flesh, a light dusting of brown and black spread over the pale white flesh.

She was disgusting.

That head of radiant brick red hair; although in matted tangles, stood out in the crowd against that snow white skin. The face of the well-known woman was hidden behind that long rat nest mane.

“Ya best be lookin’ up, gotta get ya sold tonight.” He growled, his voice like that of thunder breaking through the silence of a small forgotten town.

“Yes sir.”

“And ya do not forget that I be ya owner, ya do as I say, ya hear me?!”

“Yes sir.” She brought her head to meet the crowd, a small faint blush of pink reaching high cheeks, storm blues settling on the faces before her although those eyes, means of sight, empty of life, drifting aimlessly through the sea, lost without a fog light.

Pulling on the chains Tids walked Tamerah like an animal, through the crowd, his lips parted in a large smirk showing rotting teeth – and still she stared off letting the tug of her wrists lead the way.

Small whispers started here and there, gossip ‘doesn’t she look like…?’ ‘I swear I have seen her before somewhere…’ ‘how did HE get a replica of Damien’s doll?’ Few of the dolls that witnessed Tamerah’s appearance winced as she walked past, some let their eyes fall to the floor not wishing to gawk, attempting to be respectful.

“The doll be fer sale iffen any of ya wish ta be buyin! Used – but never abused, she be comin’ at a good price! That I can be guaranteein’ ya!” He stomped along calling out in a low voice to those who commented on her.

The fine silks that surrounded her, the dresses of aged lace, the tulle, the perfect hair, the perfect features, the beauty – it all spun around and around, so fast, so much of it – and all she could do was hate Tids further.

How dare he bring her here in this condition!

He did not even supply a corset nor a bra, so those perfect breasts bounced with embarrassment with each step beneath the near see-through material that hung from her body like a dirty sheet. No shoes – No panties – no bath – no comb for her hair – nothing. Nothing but the filth of her time spent in the slums.

How many other dolls had been through this? How many dolls were treated this way before her? And why did THEIR race deserve this? Why would no one stop it, why would no one do something?

No they did nothing – not the dolls – not the humans.

They all just whispered at her dirty fucking secret.

They all just watched.

They turned their eyes and shut their mouths.

They were no better than Tids – No better than the men that raped her.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Olive Dawn Croft Character Portrait: Damien Jackson Character Portrait: Tamerah
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#, as written by RjWaltz
Damien swung open the double doors to the ballroom, and he could feel the eyes of the rich and famous on him, while the camera flashed behind him. He and his entourage were, if only for a split second, center stage. Then, almost as quickly, everyone continued what they were doing. After all, Damien knew the names of everyone there with deep pockets. Over two thirds of them were clients of his, and he made it a point to know his clients. He glanced over the party in progress and smiled wide, his eyes darting over the large selection of 'dolls' for sale and auction. None of them seemed to jump out at him, but he knew what types the Heartland Industries would wheel out to this event. Damien had no use for synthetics with such limited functionality. With a flick of his wrist, he retrieved a glass of champagne and signaled his men to disperse into the party. They had their orders, after all.

Damien greeted a few of his clients, smiling and shaking hands. He mused over the small talk, answered vaguely when asked why he wasn't running for Congress. Basic interaction. His mind was clearly elsewhere, but he always had time to accept a cigar and light from his clients. After they passed on to the next group, one of his men approached him.
"Sir, we have her location," he announced.
"Good, I will be there shortly," he sighed.
"Understood," he said. Damien's man returned to the crowd. He let out a sigh, and downed the rest of his champagne in one shot. He absentmindedly placed his empty glass on a waiter's tray as the waiter passed by. The room became more lively as hipper dance music started up, but Damien didn't have a dance partner this evening. Normally at these events, he would be dancing with Tamerah. In fact, everywhere he looked, he was reminded of her. No, he couldn't be distracted tonight. This night was much too important. He followed his man over to a red couch in the distance.
"Oh my," Damien said, "You're here on the couch instead of dancing at your party?" He smiled at Olive, his tuxedo gleaming in the ballroom light.
He continued, "Not that I blame you. I get so sick of these parties, sometimes. The people are too self absorbed, too careless. There's me calling the kettle black, I'm sorry. I'm Damien Jackson."
Damien held out his hand as a form of greeting to her, unsure of whether or not she would shake it. His eyes met hers, and his starling blue orbs seemed to spark alive, almost as if they were looking into her soul with their intensity. A smirk crawled across his lips.
"Hey, listen. My friends are here, and they seem to be waving me over," he motioned towards his entourage, who were desperately trying to get his attention across the room.
"Here, I have a gift for you," he reached deep into his tuxedo, and pulled out a sealed envelope. After handing it to her, he politely excused himself and headed towards his men.
"Could you guys be any more rude?" He glared at them. One of his men pointed into the crowd. Damien followed his finger with his gaze, and where it landed caused his heart to skip a few beats. Time stood still as his gaze met a disheveled synthetic with matted hair and cheap makeup. There was a weasel of a man beside her, dancing around like a lunatic. It looked like the two were here on accident, or perhaps sneaked their way in.
Damien's legs moved on their own, and he even stepped between a dancing couple as he walked across the dance floor in his daze. They shouted angrily at him, but he didn't care. The crowd separated around him, mostly out of fear, and before long, he and the synthetic he approached were completely encircled. Even the weasel man shrank back. All sense of doubt left Damien's mind, in the moment where time stood still.
"Excuse me," he said, "Would you care to dance?" He held out his hand to her.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Adina "Adi" Character Portrait: Emma Character Portrait: Xander Character Portrait: Tamerah
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#, as written by Jynxii
Emma Swann


Emma laughed at the adorable girly boy. He looked all around him, as if trying to see who she could possibly be talking to. Once he realized it was him, he looked as though she had pulled a fish from her clutch and slapped him with it. She couldn't help but giggle at his flustered blush. "Seeing as I don't have an owner," he finally managed to say, "I don't think that my owner will mind." So he didn't have an owner. How odd! Then, what was he doing here? The answer weighed her heart down ever so slightly. He was being sold here tonight... Even still, his smile never faded as he took her hand. "I'm Adina, by the way," he added, after an awkward pause. Maybe he was slow? Or perhaps his programming was a little off. Either way, he was adorable, and she decided that she liked him.

She liked the way he wore a dress like a girl, and seemed to maul over the meaning of life before answering anything she asked. "And you are?" Emma grinned, debating on saying something snarky for a moment, then quickly dismissing it. He might not understand. "Call me Emma," she replied as she gently pulled him onto the dance floor, weaving through bodies until she could see Xander from the corner of her eye. He looked miserable still, and she felt a little twist of guilt in her stomach for abandoning him. Still, surely he would be alright. He was grown, after all. She turned her attention back to the boy in a dress, Adina, he had said. "You're beautiful," she said with a smile, dancing closely with him to the lively music in the room. He looked so much like a woman, it was hard to remember he was male... and for some reason it made her all the more attracted to him.

Maybe it was just in her nature to be attracted to anyone, she mused. After all, Xander was godly in her eyes, and his sister was completely stunning. Perhaps it was in her programming to love anyone that was nice to her, or who had a pretty face. She pushed the thought aside as Adina swept her around the room in time to the music. "I'm sure you will go to a wonderful owner tonight, so you shouldn't worry about that," she said randomly after a spin out and then back into his chest. "You're so lovely, anyone who wouldn't take you is a fool," she stated matter-of-factly. It was true, mostly, she thought, though truly she knew that he would be a hard doll to sell. Not quite male, not quite female. It would take a special sort of buyer with a specific kink to want him. The thought made her sad. He was such a lovely man, and a charming dancer.

She had completely lost herself in her thoughts, and was only brought back when another doll, a female, bumped into her. "Watch it!" The other doll hissed, glaring at Emma. With a click, her fangs were in place, and Emma let out a hiss of her own, only hers was much more threatening. The dark haired offender looked shocked and let out a little squeak, while her owner just laughed. "Quite the viper you have, Xander Harrowgrove," the male owner called, laughing off his own doll's embarrassed whimpers. Emma smirked to herself, turning a grin over to Adina, giving him a wink as her fangs clicked back into hiding. "Don't you just love parties? That's my owner over there, Xander Harrowgrove. Isn't he handsome? Would you like to meet him? We would be saving him from his date, come. Let's go see him!" She felt as though she were a school girl, tugging around her favorite toy. The thought made her smile even more as she pranced through the crowd with the beautiful Adina in tow.

"Excuse us, Xander, but, I'd love for you to meet someone. This is Adina. Isn't he lovely? He's for sell tonight." The information flowed from the tip of her tongue like water from a faucet, so cool and easy. She was just about to say something else about the doll at her side when her eye caught sight of something bright red in the crowd. She shifted to look closer at what had flashed by and caught her attention, and what she saw made her stomach turn over. Instinctively, she tightened her grip on Adina's hand, taking a step back and closer to him. "Oh my god," she breathed, eyes wide and staring in shock at the condition of the doll being pulled through the crowd of beautiful dresses of silk. The doll's own clothes were nearly completely see-through and made her feel exposed and embarrassed for the girl.

"Xander, do something," she pleaded, turning her worried gaze to her owner. Blood tears brimmed in her eyes instantly, threatening to spill over and ruin the makeup she had carefully applied before coming to the ball. How could anyone be so cruel to such a lovely doll? She didn't take her eyes off her owner, begging him to stop the cruelty he was not used to seeing. Meanwhile, she failed to notice that she had yet to turn loose of Adina's hand. She was practically clinging to his arm for safety. Everyone still laughed and danced around them, the music continued to play, and yet for Emma; the whole room had froze and only the poor doll that was being humiliated and tormented moved. Her heart ached, unable to do anything. No one would listen to a doll, but maybe... maybe her owner could stop it. He was the son of a powerful man of influence, after all. Emma watched him, her crimson tears about to flow over her eyelids and stain her lovely pale cheeks.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Adina "Adi" Character Portrait: Emma Character Portrait: Xander Character Portrait: Damien Jackson Character Portrait: Tamerah
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Xander Harrowgrove

Xander stared back at Emma; and Emma started back at Xander. To the human male, the whole room seemed to fall into stilled silence as he stared into those eyes, those eyes that were brimming with rivers of ruby blood. How can something so pure-hearted be compared to a vampire? He thought, but then quickly turned his head to watch the other doll, the oddly recognisable doll, the one that had entered the room just now, shackled like an animal! Disgusting. Who could be able to do that to a sentimental doll, a doll with feelings, a doll who looked so much like a human? Who could do that to a person? Disgusting.

Of course Xander was going to do something, though he doubted that he would have if Emma hadn't been there... Part of him knew that it was because he wanted to impress her, wanted her to stop clinging to that complete stranger she was hooked onto; the other part of him could barely stomach the situation before him, so much so that he had to do something to stop the humiliation that red-haired woman was going through, that pain... He clenched his jaw.

There were several ways to go about this, he knew, as his mathematical mind-set clicked systematically into place: firstly, he could buy the doll - money was not an option - and then put the Harrowgrove Task Force into good use by burning this man and his 'business' to the ground; secondly, he could have the Heartland Forces present nearby dispatched to remove this lunatic from the ball, and then have them take this doll into their safety... Suddenly he realised why he recognised the doll. How foolish of him! Of course! Wasn't that Damien's doll? That man had caused quite a stir in New York; who wouldn't recognise his most cherished possession? Tamerah, that was her name. Yet somehow nobody was doing anything to save her. Cowards.

Across the room, his father was watching him, knowing what he was about to do, which only spurred him on more.

Beside him his date, Clarissa, whispered and gripped his hand further: "Oh how embarrassing... I hope somebody takes her away quickly; she's ruining the evening, don't you think?" It occurred to Xander that he really, really disliked this woman, and dropped her hand without effort, turning to look at Emma one last time before acting out-

That was until another familiar figure swooped into the fray, offering the abused doll his hand. Damien.

"It appears that she is in good hands..." Xander muttered, "For now..."

His eyes met Emma's once again and they were back to the start: staring at each other in silence.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Adina "Adi" Character Portrait: Emma Character Portrait: Xander Character Portrait: Damien Jackson Character Portrait: Tamerah
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α∂ιηα "α∂ι"

Image "Call me Emma," The lovely girl responded, answering his inquiry to her name. That name which he'd heard on plenty of girls before - human and otherwise - had a particular kind of elegance to her. He couldn't figure out the reason for it quite yet.

Still, whatever it was that gave her such an underlying interest, it didn't matter quite so much at the moment. Soon, she was whisking him away, towards the dance floor with an elegant hand. Stepping into the midst of the dancing, their bodies quickly pulled close to each other, beginning their steps along to the music at a slower pace before officially jumping in. "You're beautiful," She suddenly said, breaking their own silence while Adina had previously tried to focus on the music in the room. His eyes widened, and he almost missed a dance step, at the abrupt comment.

He opened his mouth to respond, but simply found himself staring downward, trying to hide the flush in his face and focus on where his feet were going. He shut his mouth, positive that whatever words he would have managed to get out would have been nonsensical. It was best just to hold his tongue for now, until he could think of the right words. This girl, surely she would think less of him if he started making mistakes like that. Quickly, he looked up once again, giving a shy smile, as if to quietly convey a silent thank you. It wasn't very often that he got a compliment from someone he thought he could believe. Brittany just said that kind of thing to give him a pep talk, and Evan... Adina was sure Evan hadn't said anything that nice. He hadn't even had to.

"I'm sure you will go to a wonderful owner tonight, so you shouldn't worry about that," She continued, and this time, the statement made Adina a little more solemn. At least she thought so, but a good owner for an odd doll was a tall order. The more the night continued, even though it had barely begun, he really doubted that anyone on the premises was going to want him. He kind of wished he'd been one of those mindless, stupid dolls. Then maybe he wouldn't care that his owner was dead, and that no one wanted him, and that he couldn't make a conversation as well as the next person.

He pushed his thoughts away from it though, as she spread away from him at an arm's length before her graceful form then spun back into him. Hadn't she claimed that she wasn't that good of a dancer? Well, Adina certainly believed she looked elegant, regardless. "You're so lovely, anyone who wouldn't take you is a fool," She finalized, her statement firm and solid as if she'd been stating a perfect fact. Well, then, perhaps everyone was simply a fool, and Adi doubted that to be true.

Still he gave another small, bashful smile, feeling overwhelmed by the compliment, and at least a little more cheerful that she thought something like that. It was nice to meet a person who was kind, after all.

Adi's eyes widened when another doll bumped into Emma, the jolt it caused to her body making him move as well. The other female doll hissed an agitated, "Watch it!" as she moved along. How rude, Adi thought, but had too little time to really think on the subject, as, in an instant, and with a faint click, Emma gave her own hiss to the rude doll, flashing what looked like fangs and startling the girl. Surely she deserved a start, but even Adina found himself jumping at the action, having not had the slightest idea that something like that would have happened. The owner of the rude doll made a call, probably at Emma's owner, but Adina was too distracted, staring curiously at his dancing partner while she turned back to him, offering the same sweet smile he had seen before, but instead with a sharp pair of fangs. Sort of like... what were they, what were they? Adina had seen them in movies with Darren. Those supernatural movies. The ones with fangs those were... They drank blood and had funny accents whenever it was a kid's show... Vampires!! That was it. He wasn't even aware that the corners of his mouth had tilted up into the slightest of smiles, happy that he'd found the word even if he knew he didn't have to use it. With a wink, her fangs were disappearing again, and he found himself staring even more. He knew there was something so beautifully unique about this girl.

"Don't you just love parties? That's my owner over there, Xander Harrowgrove. Isn't he handsome? Would you like to meet him? We would be saving him from his date, come. Let's go see him!" She said, and before Adina could react, she was towing him away, over to owner to be introduced. Somehow, Adi doubted the visitation of her owner would be productive, but then again, there wasn't much productive about this party at all. He almost wanted to interject, to answer her question. No, he didn't like parties, but he decided to keep it to himself. She liked them, and he remembered that giving a conflict of interest towards other people typically made them upset. He didn't want to make lovely Emma upset, not when she had such a charming smile.

"Excuse us, Xander, but, I'd love for you to meet someone. This is Adina. Isn't he lovely? He's for sale tonight." She said to the young man as she approached with Adi in tow. Adina studied the handsome young man, letting his eyes dart all along his physique, and then moving on to the young lady - his date, presumably - who was with him. Realizing that staring alone would simply make him seem like one of those mindless, dolls, though, he quickly pushed forth a polite smile at the young man, before ducking his head a little, shyly. He needn't introduce himself, after all. Emma had done it for him. What else was there to do? Both introductions were made. But there was a phrase that he could have put forth, wasn't there? Nice to meet you. Yes, that was it. He was about to open his mouth, to say the phrase, to make his presence as an actual, thinking, speaking doll known, but something caught his eye, causing his jaw to simply clench.

Emma had seen the young lady - the young doll - as well, for Adina heard her utter "Oh my god," the statement Adina understood to be a common expression for shock. He could understand the shock, most certainly. The fiery-haired girl stood in an almost translucent dress, her hair a mess and her body beaten down. She carried the dirt and grime and pain of mistreatment, and Adina could feel a choking sensation in his throat, a tightness in his gut, and a strain in his chest. Pain... He could see that look in the way she held herself, in the way she was so properly cared for. Were there... were there really people who would mistreat their doll in such a way? Hurt it and let it suffer? He could understand pain. He knew what it was like for every part of you ache and throb and feel like that piece of you could never handle movement again. Even psychological pain. But this girl could feel it so much worse. It was a different kind of pain, it was a more agonizing pain, he was sure.

He found himself staring with wide eyes, his free hand to his neck and his fingers along that scar in his neck, feeling the way the Heartland logo was bent and disfigured and the skin indented and creased with a twisted line. No kind of pain was okay. How could someone do that to their doll? It began making him even more fearful of the kind of person that might buy him. Having had only one owner, did he really even know what to expect? Who could say what other people were like? He wanted to look away, wanted to run away even. Go hide, seek comfort, but.... There wasn't anyone to comfort him, really. No one could protect him from his thoughts, and no one was going to protect him from being purchased. He needed to be bought, or he would die. But this girl... Surely heartland wouldn't allow this kind of thing at one of their prestigious parties, would they? They'd save her, they'd do something! He found himself shifting his gaze around, looking for Brittany, but he didn't spot her in that little black and silver cocktail dress. He almost wanted to panic about her not being in sight, too.

"Xander, do something," Emma pleaded with her owner. Her arms were tight around Adi's arm, and he couldn't blame her. He almost wanted to latch onto her as well, to use her as support, but decided against it. When he turned his face back to her, seeing red tears welling up in her eyes - no, not just red, they were blood - he knew she needed the support. Adina would just sink his feelings instead. He had to avoid all that business about crying, even if he wanted to, even if everything about this moment screamed at him to give up, to crawl under the earth and be dead, like his owner. No, He had to be a good doll. He couldn't ruin his makeup.

He looked to Xander, this time. No, perhaps he should be called Mr. Harrowgrove, since Adina didn't quite know this human so well. A more formal title would have to be used. The young man had dropped his hand from his date, and seemed to be ignoring her now, having little interest in her. He looked to the fire-haired girl, looked to his doll, and looked to Adina. And in those three looks, Adina could tell a lot of things. Xander Harrowgrove was a one-doll kind of guy, he didn't really care about his date, and the only reason he paid Adina any mind was because Emma's hands were on him. Her owner was about to do anything for her, and if the poor, fiery-haired girl's situation weren't causing him such worry, making him so sad, he would have smiled about the little things he could tell about Xander Harrowgrove.

Adi looked back to the girl again, though he almost didn't want to, the idea of that kind of treatment to a doll was making him sick, and felt a swift relief flood over him, watching as a man - a much kinder looking man, one who seemed to know the poor girl - swept in close to her and took up her hand. He shut his eyes, glad that someone had intervened, that someone cared.

"It appears that she is in good hands... For now..." Xander Harrowgrove's words came in a mutter, though it was indeed enough of a statement to instigate Adi opening his eyes again, trying to focus on the young man and the lovely doll he was in the presence of. He had to bring back composure, he had to focus on what was going on.

Dropping his hand from where it had been on the scar of his neck, his eyes darted back and forth from Emma and Xander. Yes, Xander was a one-doll kind of guy, and having another around was only a crowd, and possibly competition. Quickly, Adi slid his arm from Emma's grip until only their hands were touching, and turned so that he was facing her, giving her a gentle nudge of the arm to get her to turn towards him as well.

"Don't worry," He put forth, offering a sweet smile, though it seemed not to reach his eyes completely. He paused trying to pick and choose. Should he explain what not to be worried about? No, it seemed obvious, and Emma was a clever girl. She could tell what he meant. Don't worry about anything. This time, he added an extra little pause, and on purpose. He had to be sure that the thought of 'Dont worry' was complete, and that his next statement wouldn't be conveyed as a part of the last. "You have a lovely owner, Emma, and I was glad to meet both of you." He brought her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it gently. Surely, it would make her owner Jealous for him to give her a kiss on the cheek, after all. When the action was done, he flexed his smile again, and this time, it just barely seemed as bright as it should have been, though there was still a hint of how solemn he truly felt in his eyes. He still needed to catch his breath, his thoughts, to sink all the sad feelings. No one would buy a sad doll. "I think he would like you all to himself, and I should be looking for my caretaker."

Dropping her hand, he stood for an extra second, giving a glance back at Xander Harrowgrove, before giving the young man a polite bow of the head, and a little smile before turning back to Emma and gently brushed away one of the bloodied tears with his thumb. Surely it wasn't normal to cry tears of blood, but something told him that it was just part of her design; part of the vampire thing, maybe.

"Everything is going to be okay." Adi didn't normally reiterate something. Especially not something that had been a couple of statements ago, since it had already been implied, but sometimes when people were spilling with emotions, they needed to be reassured of the same thing more than once. Or at least, that was the reason he would have said to explain why he made the statement, which was oh-so similar to the one he had made before, telling her not to worry. But really, he wasn't sure if he had only directed it at Emma. Perhaps it was directed at Xander, as well. Maybe he even wanted to say it to himself, for surely, he had been worrying all night that nothing would ever be okay. At least, he could say, that Emma was in good hands. The fire-haired girl was in good hands. And at least after this evening, he would live for another few weeks. That was more than nothing.

Offering one last parting smile, though this one had regained it's hint of solemnity, he turned from them and walked off, not heading back to his seat but trying to see if perhaps he could spot Brittany still at the bar. Surely, to anyone watching him wander, he looked lost, and certainly he was. God, the Bar would be the last place he wanted to be, but seeing as Brittany had not yet returned to the table she had seated Adina at, it was the best bet for where she would be. At the very least, looking for her gave him an excuse to wander and spy at the other patrons of the evening.