i got a bone to pick and a few to break -- Roulette Rome

[no ones muse]

Everything had begun to go haywire in her life. It was still as stable as it could be, but that wasn't saying much. There was a lot of cluttered confusion racking the scream queen's brain. And for once, it had nothing to do with the current of sound that weaved through her head.

Deacon had come home. And they both swore they would never leave one another for a long period of time like that, ever again. It just made the voices louder. Made life more miserable. Made every day a drawn out period of time where all you focused on was the screams and cries that echoed inside your skull. It was horrible, and she didn't know if she could take it again.

That day, he had returned. Her body had swung against his and clutched so tight that she was afraid she might break him. They had shown each other affection. True affection. The type that you saw and made you wretch with an overdose of "cute". It was odd, but then again, they only acted that way with one another. It was policy, really. She loved Deacon. He was probably the only thing that really mattered to her.

They had their own lives, and lived them on the whim of spontaneous combustion. Never letting things pass them by and always as hostile as the riot they induced in fans. And with that, came meaningless relationships that lasted in the period of a twenty four hour fuck fest. None of it meant anything to the other. Those people they indulged in for a matter of a few moments were just lost pawns.

One of those pawns happened to be a smut peddler that went by the name of Ryan Carmichael. A man she knew before she met him, not from visions of foresight, but of strict infamy that ran through the porn industry. Hey, Roulette was a healthy twenty seven year old woman. Of course she watched porn.

She had stumbled apon him a matter of days ago, and balanced out a diet of suckling on his physical being for a pass time of sexual need. That's all he was, afterall. Well, she atleast kept telling herself that.

That night, the band had played an outrageous show that left Deacon and Roulette to dive to the bottom of a bottle and become zombies of drunken activity. Deacon had gone home long ago, but Roulette being the night breed siren she was stretched out in search of something satisfying to end the night with a bang.

She got that bang, alright.

After dropping by the Tavern for a couple of beers, and noting that Ryan had lipstick smears on his skin that wasn't from her, she had wondered out into the city. The long trek home would be avoided by her simply waiting out a passing cab.

When she lit a cigarette to help in her lingering patience, she noted a small blur of a black smudge in the middle of the street. With a curious arch of her thin brows, and a rush of smoke from her nostrils, she peered towards this movement and motioned foreward when she figured out what it was, exactly.

A small kitten was mewing loudly. Lost from it's mother and starving for affection, warmth and milk. It shivered there on the asphalt and when Roulette came up slowly on it, it went wide eyed and seemed terrified.

Roulette was a monster of a woman when it came down to the personal habits of people. Social activity wasn't exactly one of her great accomplishments, as most people were blown off with out a second thought. Though this kitten was helpless, utterly. It stole her heart before she could wrap it back up in barbedwire, having the scream queen quirking her mouth in a crescent smile.

Though before she could step a couple more paces foreward to pick it up, headlights were suddenly on her. It was ignored, thinking the automobile was going to turn before impacting her emaciated physique.

Unfortunetly, that wasn't the case.

It came up fast and before Roo had time to spring into action and move out of the way, her body was crashing into the front of the car and toppling over with a shatter of glass and a fling of limbs to roll over the hood of the car. Bouncing off the trunk and landing with a harsh smack of flesh and bone to the pavement. The car stopped, if only for a moment, before peeling off down a side street and dissapearing into the belly of the urban jungle.

For long moments, there was barely any movement from the broken looking girl. On her back, trying to breathe, feeling the puncture of broken ribs into the tissue of lungs. The pain finally caught up with her as the shock and adrenaline waded out just faintly.

Foam of red bubbled from her mouth and nose. Her face a discarded mess of scrapes and cuts. Some skin a long her arms torn free leaving an obvious detail of gore-work on her limbs.

She wanted to scream for two reasons. One, being the utter horror of laying there, not being able to move as it felt like every piece of her had shattered with the hit of the car. And two, because with this trauma came the uprising and uproar of those in her head. The then and now that she saw in flash blinks of her teary eyes.

"For fucks sake, Roulette. Can't you just stay in one piece of more than a month? I swear, I'm getting sick of looking at your face."

The sound of heels a long concrete had Roulette squinting up, but it was all blurred by the tears and blood that stung her eyes. She knew that voice. Knew it well. And it she could have spit out a few vulgarities, they would have been sent.

Fate stood over the fallen seer, cracking out a grim smile that told of death and the delight of her job. In that black suit, all lank and lithe in her tall obscurity. Black eyes downcasted to stare at Roulette while smoke from Fate's fingers danced up the length of her arm.

"Now, how am I supposed to fix this? Oh, that's right. I just don't cut your string. Boy, I bet you're in a lot of pain right now, honey."

Tucking the filter to her devil red mouth (the only hint of color to the morbid black-white deity. Hard stare was offered down to Roulette, as the raw songstress choked on blood and winced terribly at all the surging burn through her body.

"Hrm. shame I can't just leave you like this, no? Though would it be sadistic of me to say I quite enjoy seeing you like this. All snapped in half like and bleeding."

Murmered. Roulette strained to listen but could barely pick her head up.

"Oh, I think I hear sirens coming?"

And Fate was right. The loud noise of an ambulance was heading their way. Fate crouched down near Roulette, steaking long, boney fingers of cool flesh to the girls chin.

"I better get going."

That smile. Oh, that carnivorous smile Fate dawned down at Roulette was the truth behind it all: Fate was playing a game, as she always seemed to do. Roulette budged a hand, nudging finger tips to her side and trying to edge them to her mouth.

Before she could ever say anything to Fate, the paramedics had arrived and were collecting up the brutality a car had done to her. Easy with their touch, as to not strain anymore of the pain.

__________________________________________________

Roulette had wound up in the hospital after it all. Stiched back up and mended like some new age mummy.

Oxyen tank had been hooked up to help in breathing, as her lungs had been shredded and ribs smashed, causing the likely hood of her breathing on her own to be a slim chance to none.

Spread out in that hospital bed, her eyes dazed with morphine and fatigue.

It would seem someone was out to get the scream queen, and it obviously wasn't Fate.

[no ones muse]

One day. One day was all it took really for most of Roulette's bones and wounds to heal over and mend. It was really a simple answer to why it had happened, but she would never tell random doctors about it.

It was between two entities that it could have happened from: Mary, who might have slipped into Roulette's hospital room while she was drugged up and smiled down at the scream queen. Or, it could have been Fate. Of course, Fate wouldn't have enjoyed it, though it was her job to keep the seers alive until their secrets were exposed.

Roulette didn't worry about it too much. Though she was now being gawked at through her small hospital room window by nurses and doctors a like. Even a few patients were there, getting a peek at what they were calling a "miracle".

She hated that word. She hated the meaning. It wasn't a fucking miracle, it was a fucking curse. If only they knew.

During the afternoon, when the sun was Spring hot outside and she was still sprawled out in that hospital bed, she had gotten a few trinkets of flowers and balloons. Luck had been there. Deacon had let her know about that. It had Roo cracking her split mouth and chuckling. She always did enjoy Luck's company.

Don't ask why, but man, Luck was hot. Why wouldn't she enjoy his company? Plus, he was light hearted and had a way of just ... being silly that let you think on other things.

The tabloids had gotten a hold of the car accident last night. The worst hit and run they had supposively seen in a while. Journalists went off on how Roulette Rome was a twenty seven year old radio station owner and lead singer for a band named Eroticide. How it was a jaw-dropping event that should have left the petite woman for dead. Again, with that whole "miracle" word printed everywhere in newspapers and magazines a like.

They hadn't taken her off the respirator, but they could have. Whoever had come in and made sure she wasn't in much pain, had reconstructed the bonework of her ribs. Aligned back the structure of her spine and helped with the burning tides of stitches around her body. But to not cause too much alarm, or truely baffle the rest of the staff and the world, Roulette played a long with still being in some form of critical condition.

With her hands pushing away the newspapers from her lap, she leaned back into the pillows to stare up at the ceiling.

Someone had hit her on purpose. Someone had the intent to kill when they swung their car into her frail body. That someone was a sneaky bastard, too, because Roulette had no idea who would try such an event on her.

Then again, when you're as wild and hostile as Roulette, sometimes your enemies outweighed your friends.

[no ones muse]

<center></center>

<center>When you're ripe you'll
bleed out of control
you'll bleed out of control
you like attention
it's proof to you you're alive
stop parading your angles
confused?
you'll know when you're ripe
when you're ripe you'll
bleed out of control
you'll bleed out of control
you're pregnant with all this
space thick with honey
but I lost my taste
you're into depression cause
it matches your eyes
stop this faux to be famous
confused?
you'll know when you're ripe</center>

<center>Deftones -- Elite</center>

[no ones muse]

Seems like the whole fuckin' God damned army has arrived on behalf of Mary and Saint. I guess it's time to throw a party, huh?

Let's see. Who's shown their face so far? Well, Fate, Destiny, Hope, Love and Luck. Yeah. The Fuckin' Demented Five.

All of these damn entities (including Mary and Saint) think themselves so high and fuckin' mighty. Find themselves to be the ultimate, and will sit and brag and brag your damn ear off for centuries to come. You know what I say?

Fuck 'em. That's what.

Let's start with Fate. Fate's got this stick up her ass because her job is so morbid that it finally got to her. It sunk deep in that fuckin' pea brain of hers and set off some tidal wave of aggression. I'm not sayin' I don't blame her, but shit. In all reality, Fate is just as pathetic as the of those shmucks. Even Fate loved once. Stupid fuckin' Luck.

Oh, speakin' of Luck. That guy? That guy's just a fuckin' body with hormones for blood. He's just so spaced out in the world of beautiful women that really, his "luck" is the equivalent of being drunk at a bar and scoring with another drunk person who is ten times hotter than you cause they gots them beer goggles on.

Hope and Destiny? Please. I won't even get started on those two. Talk about false hope and a fucked up destiny. Ain't nothin' those two can do for humanity but blindly lead the sheep to a fuckin' cliff to jump off like a bunch of followers.

And Love. That kid... man. That kid gots his work cut out for him. Love will either make ya' or break ya'. Ain't no real big win-win situation when dealing with the emotions of the fuckin' heart. Best to just ignore that poppycock prick an' realize that that shit just doesn't really fuckin' exist. It's the fuckin' equivalent of eatin' large amounts of chocolate and goin' an' masturbatin' right afterwards. Save yourself the fuckin' pain and sorrow.

And Mary and Saint? Fuck them too. Mary ain't no fuckin' martyr, and niether is Saint. Both of them trying to reach for that title in the sky, to have the masses bow down and kiss their fuckin' feet.

God is sadistic in her own way. She created all of us, the humanity of you and me. Let us run around with what she gifted us as "free will". To choose and make decisions, bad or good. Would she forgive us? Fuck yes she would, because she "loves" us all. Does she try and sway our judgement? No, not really. She just runs around in those foo-foo sundresses eatin' ice cream thinkin' everything is fuckin' peachy keen.

And Saint? Saint's a pussy. He's jealous of Mary's status within the halls of religion. She's mentioned more than anythin' in the historic times of wars and movies, so on and so on. Really, the whole "I worship Satan" thing has become a big ol' occult joke. He'll sit there and tell ya' how he gave so much to civilization, but he ain't any better than Mary. He tries to lure us into his lovin' graces with sins of his, but oh no, he's really good at heart. Give me a fuckin' break.

They're both worthless idols. The whole lot of them.

Me? Well, I ain't no angel myself. I've done my fair share of bad things to appease Saint himself, and I've done my fair share of makin' Mary smile.

An' if any of these bastards think I'm gonna start spillin' the truth about the future now? They can rightfully go jump off a bridge, cause I ain't. I ain't doin' it. I'll live for fuckin' ever, an' not tell a damn soul about any of it. Ya' know why?

Cause I can play this fuckin' fucked up game just as good as those bastards.

I'm steppin' out of what they want, and sayin' fuck the voices, fuck the visions, an' I'm livin' now. Livin' a normal fuckin' life.

... if that's possible.

[no ones muse]

Roulette screamed her heart out into that microphone like it was the soul benefactor to her life. As if all the people and fans in that bar could hear her truth beyond all the static of Jersey growls and hunched over banshee calls.

Her shows always left her in some odd glow. It could have been the sweat, or the way her voice was drowned from all her lyrics recited like a hostile convict, but she just shined like a fallen star. Most noticed it. Some didn't. Her band always did, and allowed her that small sliver of peace after a show and left to haunt other nightlife crowds.

"Those friends of yours, Roo?" Said Ben, the bar tender at the local, run down helter-skelter club called The Shelter.

When the scream queen looked in the direction the man spoke of, three extremely sinewed out men were watching her like wolves on the outskirts of a flock of sheep. She had noticed them before, when she was set on the stage. In a place like this, guys like that didn't go unnoticed.

"Nah, man. Neva' seen'em before." Murmered near the mouth of her opened beer bottle. She didn't advert her gaze though. A staring match between a five foot four street pixie and three very large, brutish thugs. Comical.

"Want me to get them escorted out?" Ben was protective over Roulette for two reasons only: He wanted to fuck her, which would never happen, and because her band played her weekly and brought in a good crowd.

"Nah. It's cool. I'm outta here, though, Ben. I'll be seein' ya." Saluting the man with her empty beer and shifting it down the bar. Her limbs sailed into motion and she was exiting out the back door, rather than the front, where the trio of men lurked.

Outside the night was crisp and cool. It tasted like humid city rain and the clouds above threatened a monsoon of water to pour down soon enough.

Things that had happened recently were a vivid imagery of her confusion. First, being in that hit and run and having no clue who the culprit was. Second was Ryan, and how he had admitted in a subtle way that he had taken care of it. It was obvious Mr. Sleazy Smut Peddler was in on all this, and yet she was still left to the lines of obliviousness.

"Roulette."

Her name was called by a nonfamiliar voice, so it had the petite girl spinning around to face the being. Instead of one though, she was staring at the three from the bar. Her brow pitched high, and something cracked in her nerves.

"Who the fuck are you?" Not exactly polite to strangers that thought following her home was a good idea.

The one who spoke seemed to be the team leader. Mr. fucking alpha male with his bravado of good looks and a killer smile. He brushed a hand down the front of his suit and glanced right, and then left.

"Well, I ain't the fuckin' police, so you ain't got nothin' to be scared of, little girl. We just want to talk with you."

"Then fuckin' talk." At a distance. She kept a good space between them, and was taking a few steps back with each second. Something screamed in her head, and it wasn't a voice of a real person. It was her.

"Why don't we go some place else, and talk. I'm sure we got a lot to talk about, Ms. Rome." With each step she took back, the trio followed. Cautious, but more over, unintimidated by the pipsqueak nymph.

"Huh. I ain't into gang bangs, fellah's. Sorry to dissapoint ya'. Now, if ya''t mind I think I'll be go--"

Before she could finish she was off in a sudden sprint. The three of them cursed and followed at full pace. It was either stupid of her to run, or the keenest idea she ever had.

This wasn't right. This wasn't fucking right. She knew why they were here, deep down. She knew they had something to do with Ryan, with the guy he killed, with her hit and run.

Through a maze of alleys, she twisted and turned down each open ending, stumbling only a few times into some potholes filled with grime and muck. Her breath in her chest started to sting when she took large gulpfuls down, feeling it tear into her lungs like Winter had just exploded in her sternum.

Face was flushed with red from her panting escapade, but she slowed when she couldn't hear foot steps behind her. Frantic eyes glanced this way and that, trying to suddenly empower some sense of night vision through the dark clusters of the alleys. Carefully, she took steps back, but faced where a good portion of doors were that they could spring from any moment.

"Fuck!"

She heard the word, felt it burn in her throat, and didn't know it was her shrieking that until she felt the harsh pull of hair into a fist of strong fingers. Her spine cracked back, and her footing stumbled on the pavement. She was caught.

The feeling of air and warmth brushed near her ear, while the Alpha Male grinned something malicious near the shell of it.

"Should have taken up my offer, sweetheart. This could have been a lot easier."

"Fuck you!" Spat when she tried to curl her head around her shoulder and get a good look at the man. It only caused him to shift his vice lockdown in her hair and wretch her body more. Hands went up, trying to tug at his wrist, to no avail.

"Maybe later, honey. Right now, though, you gotta come wit-- ARRH!"

He didn't get a chance to finish. Roulette hadn't wasted time to listen to him rant and rave like the villians always did in the movies, trying to scare the poor victims into submission. She never followed the rules of the game, anyways. Her sharp heel had been pounded hard enough into the mans foot that it spliced through the leather of it and went straight into the guys flesh and bone structure. It had him in such pain and shock that he let go, which gave Roulette the automatica insentive to struggle free and flee the scene.

One problem: Her heel didn't slip with grace from the mans foot. It was suckled deep into blood and skin, muscle tissue and wires of veins. The man dropped and howled his agony, while Roulette tugged and tugged.

He grit his teeth, propelling foreward at a momentum that startled Roulette enough to reach down and just yank off the heel, leaving it embedded to the man. A keep sake trophy, really. She should have autographed it.

The two other thugs were heard behind her, as she flailed and pulled off the other heel, tossing it to the side. Better to just run bare foot rather than be lopsided in her bipedal motions. Feet crushed into the harsh asphalt, and splinters of debris got stuck into her soles. It hurt, but the adrenaline she felt was enough to aleve the pain and keep her running.

A door was found to an abandoned looking warehouse, and for some reason, it called her name. She swung to it, heaving with breathless curses and pulling the door open. She heard a snap when she stumbled into the darkened establishment, and didn't stop to think of what it was.

The two behind her didn't slow down, and weren't dumb enough to figure an open door led to their prey. They argued with one another, running in after her.

Stairs. She saw stairs. Now this was a bad idea. Stairs always led to a roof top, where there was no where to turn.

What did she do?

She went up the fucking stairs out of sheer thought that it was atleast, for now, somewhere to run.

And run she did, tripping on her way up as she tried to take two at a time. She had no agility in all this, and didn't really see the closed door in front of her and had no real time to stop her pushing. Instead, her body crashed into it, throwing it open and bruising up her already mending physique.

And what she dreaded came true.

She was on a roof, where the wind whipped so hard at this height that her hair went into a wild array of auburn snakes. A sharp glance behind her when she heard them coming, coming closer and here she was, like a fucking deer in headlights. With no where to go.

She pushed on the gravel of the roof, slipping and stumbling foreward with a sharp veer to the left to hide behind the construction of the door and it's bulky status of having four walls, still.

Hiding, or atleast trying to, and holding her breath. She could see them, but could they see her?

She spied from the side, letting the shadows become her best friends in her hide and seek game with a couple of killers. They stumbled out, looking this way and that. One grunted, upping his chin to the other. They began to circle the roof like a couple of land sharks looking for blood.

A glance down gave her hope (as much as she hated admitting it) and a lead pipe had been abandoned. Perhaps Luck was on her side with this one. Shifting just slightly, not causing a sound, and picking it up with slim fingers. It would be used as her savior, tonight.

When one came too close, and almost sniffed her out, she was swinging that pipe up into the side of the mans cranium. The sickening sound of lead to bone vibrated a long the pipe, and shook her hands. The man however, did not stay quiet about this and yelled, throwing a hand up to place to his bloodied temple and another to reach out for the girl.

She swung again, this time aiming for the mans face. It made a direct hit with his nose, shattering it with a force Roulette hardly thought herself capable of. She didn't drop the pipe, but rather, turned to run past the man as he dropped to the floor, knocked out cold.

Before she could rejoice in her victory, the other man was coming up fast behind her. Just a flash of him from the corner of her eye and she was sprinting forewards. To where? The edge of the roof.

But it was too late. The man heaved himself foreward, grappling arms around her waist and thrusting himself to tackle her to the ground.

Unfortunetly, they didn't hit the ground. They both stumbled, as Roulette tried to fight him, and tripped over the edge.

Free falling was one thing. Free falling while screaming and trying to punch a two hundred and something pound man off of you while you did it was no fun.

Seven stories up and the ground was coming close. It all turned to slow motion as Roulette reached and grabbed the man closer to her, but shoved herself ontop of him. Huddling, he cackled before he realized her plan.

And it worked.

With a heavy thud and a splash of blood, and the snapping of bones, the man had impacted on the concrete ground. Eyes wide and lips twitching before everything went shallow and silent. Roulette glanced up, groaning, as she had been thrown off from the man when he landed. She used him as a cushioning device.

The man's brown eyes had already rolled into their sockets. The pool of red beginning to spread beneath his skull growing by the minute.

She couldn't think of a way to help him, and fuck it if she wanted to. Roulette was already scrambling up from the floor, sore and bruised, but nothing broken, and fleeing the crime scene.

What she didn't know, was the snap she had heard when opening that door was an alarm.

And already, the sounds of sirens were coming up through the streets.

[no ones muse]

Roulette hadn't been making herself known as of late. Her habits of being somewhat of a social butterfly within the district of hardcore punks and gutter brained beings had dwindled down. It wasn't really something that needed to happen. On the contrary, Roulette just seemed ... bored.

The nights of voices in her head had failed to keep her wide awake, and insomania wasn't a plague in her bittersweet brown eyes. It would seem someone out there was taking some pity on the status of the scream queens mentality and she could only guess who.

Saint had royally pissed off the street nymph. Roo had come to the decision to just back off all the regal deities and let them do whatever the fuck it was that they had planned. Deacon and her didn't see much of one another and she wasn't sure why. Fate hadn't popped up and around a dark corner to patronize her, and Luck was off somewhere trying to put his hand up another red skirt. Love, Destiny, Hope. They were all scattered around. Even Aaron had been MIA.

Perhaps it was just that time of the year where everyone found the on coming summer heat too exhuasting to drag out any main plans for the future. Either that, or they were all just getting extremely lazy.

Roulette was bouncing around the apartment doing what was rare: Cleaning. Boy cut shorts rounded up around her thighs and a bleached and blotted wife beater was tiny on her upper torso. The loud blaring of music wasn't crazy, or even political. It was of a later generation that Roulette secretely loved: Eighties music. Danger Zone pitched from her speakers while her mouth moved and voice sailed with a gritty lace to it when she sang a long to the cheesy lines.

It would seem that being anti-social as of late had put her in a mood to not give a fuck. Even moreso then normal. The two people she missed though, were still hiding away in the cracks of soceity that blistered outside.

Ryan and Deacon.

Even Mary was missed. It wasn't something she was used to, but then again, Mary was the Ultimate of them all. And in truth, Mary took good care of Roulette when she was in need. The night after Saint had attacked her with such harsh words, Mary had come and wiped away Roo's tears. Kissed her forehead and put the Jersey shore girl into bed for a blissful night of uninterupted sleep.

Though, the time was coming again, when Roulette would start popping back up here and there. Hopefully the world would be ready for her, because Roulette was sure things were going to change.