ceptembre [ in the glory of the masses ]

[white lines do not lie]

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The hunt had exhausted her to no end. Ceptembre had always been a sucker for the male body, as she finished the licking to her mouth. By this time, she had already changed back into that human form. Her muscles were aching, popular feeling after the change, as her hands bleed. She remembered running through a thicket, so that must've been the cause. Her mind was racing, somehow she was still in the mind set of her other persona, which she loved to call Sally just for old time sake. It came from a childhood friend of hers who had a great fear of wolves. She found it comical. Her limbs felt like they were on fire, as she lowered herself over the remaining parts of the human carcass. She always found it fascinating the way the body looked when the insides were now on the out, and the flesh torn. The little princess was morbid -- too morbid for her tastes. Thankfully, she had asked the man to take off the clothes he was wearing before the tearing of limbs went on. At least she had something somewhat cleaned to wear home, as fingers messed with the Fox Racing shirt, and finally put it over her head. Now, she knew that most wolves wouldn't be so keen to the tearing of limbs, but when you haven't fed in weeks : the excitement could be too much, and sometimes, Ceptembre felt like a murdering psychopath.

The shirt was too big for her, but it would do until she was able to bathe herself in hot water. The pants hung off her hips like they were sucking the air in between her bony hips, and the fabrications of it's own thread for dear life. As always, she made a mess on herself. The shirt would cover the blood smeared on her chest, as she looked down at her thin arms. Bloody messes always made the water colder, she thought as she finally stood. Bare feet circled around the carcass, as she'd smell that slick liquid still pooling underneath the body. Too bad, he was kinda cute. Pink muscle came to lick at her own pale cotton-candy lips, as she'd raise an eyebrow. At least she didn't make it an all night thing. It was still darkness, and that meant that it would be easy getting back to her home. All she wanted was a warm bath, and the comforts of her sheets. Even the wolves in sheep clothing had to sleep.

That wild femme would turn high tale, as if she was still in that wolf form, as she would carry that head up high. The walk home was easier then she thought, as she'd barge into her own apartment. She never locked the door when she knew she'd hunt. There simply was no point, she'd end up loosing her clothes, and thus her keys. The shirt was soon taken off, as it was thrown down to the white carpet. Feet made impressions within the thousand of threads, as hips were soon free from the pants. Fingertips tugged the over-sized pants down, as feet slipped from the holes made for legs. Thinking about it now, the man was a bit big in body measurement. Either way, Ceptembre was sedated. Her naked form wouldn't go towards the bathroom yet, but to the bare kitchen that seemed to be screaming for attention. She ignored the scent of spoiling milk for now, as she reached for the bottled goodness that most would call Jack Daniel's. Ceptembre never needed a glass. Tonight, she had a date with good old Jack, and bath water.

<font color="#FFFFFF"><font size="1">[ September 18, 2007 07:26 PM: Message edited by: white lines do not lie ]</font></font>

<font color="#000000"><font size="1">[ April 20, 2008 10:05 PM: Message edited by: white lines do not lie ]</font></font>

<font color="#000000"><font size="1">[ April 20, 2008 10:08 PM: Message edited by: white lines do not lie ]</font></font>

<font color="#000000" size="1">[ April 20, 2008 10:11 PM: Message edited by: white lines do not lie ]</font>

[white lines do not lie]

We've got another one for you.

The words weren't anything new. Ceptembre heard them at least four times a day, and sometimes the words would be jumbled with more then just one. Her hues glanced over to the black body bag, as it was set on the nearest stainless steel table, as Ceptembre finished stitching the Y cut she had made hours earlier on the one that dead-like corpse below her. Her hair had been pinned back with the use of chopsticks, as she blew the single strand of hair that escaped the fate of the others. The gloves on her hands didn't bother her like they bothered the boys whom brought in the bodies. The final stitch was brought up, as she crossed her arms to grasp the pair of scissors, as she snipped the excess off. Her hands finally went towards the tag that she had prepared, and she moved to hook it around the big toe of the dead.

Too bad, she was a good screamer.

Her head turned to the fresh dead body now, as she noticed the grass stains on the lower thighs. Struggle? Perhaps, but not from her. Maybe another one. Or maybe, for just once, they'd have an actually killer, and not just the usual suspects of shape-shifting wolves, cats, and bears. Unlike most werewolves, the sign of blood didn't cause any aftertaste for Ceptembre, it didn't cause a change in the eyes, or the underlying monster to crawl towards the surface. No one knew what little secret Ceptembre hid, and no one would know about it.

Those gloved hands went towards the face of the victim, as she lifted the dead chin upward, just to take a look towards the bruises against the flesh. Strangulation. The bruises looked very small, but five in tact which meant nothing other then two opinions. A woman, or a man who had the hands of a woman. Ceptembre heard that one theory : Women can not be killers. They don't have it in their systems, or their brain patterns to even conceive the thought of taking ones life. Whoever created that theory wouldn't want to meet Ceptembre, especially when she was in her wolf-like stance. She had moved to gather a fresh set of medical utensils, as she canted her head.

Bre, you have a phone call on line one.

Ceptembre blinked as she narrowed her eyes slightly towards the skinny man in the hallway. The superintendent. She nodded softly before whispering in the dead's ear, "Guess I'll have to play with you later, cupcake. "