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 [WYB] you {tortured} little girl, open!
winnifred sadie wolfe
 Posted: Sep 17 2015, 07:45 PM
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17 POSTS
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18
what's that?
hahaha
amanda IS Offline
winnie


you've got it all worked out
funny little girl
With a foggy head and heavy eyelids, Winnie looked up from where she lay on the concrete. She could see well enough, after a few moments to let her eyes adjust. High in the sky above her, the moon was almost full, but still bright enough to light up the cloudless sky. The street lights not far off glowed orange, but the alleyway in which she was sprawled was dark, out of the way of any passers by. She struggled a bit to gain a better position on the hard ground below her. It was the end of summer, but even in the middle of the night, the heat of the city could be overwhelming. The light pajamas she was still wearing stuck to her body, slick with sweat.

Groggily, she tried to turn her head from side to side. Her range of motion was limited, her movements slow and clumsy. Winnie had hardly remembered being taken from her bed - honestly she thought it was a dream. She’d had similar visions for at least a week now, someone in her room, out of the corner of her eye… but here she was, sore from whatever had been done to her, and very much awake. It was as if she was waking up from a deep sleep - she must have been knocked out, as she certainly did not get here by herself. A few days from now, she would be furious - her animal instinct fueled by the full moon - yet tonight she was only terribly frightened, a trapped pup in a strange place.

Her senses were returning, slowly at first, until they hit her like a brick and it was all too much. She could see most of the alleyway now, and the soreness in her wrists and ankles was all thanks to the nylon rope that bound them together. The wolf girl could move slightly, enough to readjust herself and sit up straight, but she’d need to lose these ties if she needed to run…. Panic started to set in. Why was she dumped here of all places? Why was she dumped at all? Where was the man in the mask that had haunted her dreams? A million questions raced through her mind and clouded her thoughts, instead of allowing her to take a moment to sniff around. With a more level head she could probably figure out where she was, who these ropes belonged to, or why she had been taken from her home.

Winnie squirmed, trying to twist the rope that coiled around her wrists. They did not budge, and only made deeper imprints in her skin. Upon seeing them, she let out a bit of a whimper - the quietest little whine, no louder than a whisper. She was a hardy little thing and could take a lot of pain (not to mention her ability to dish it out, too), but in her panicked state, this was only adding to her fear. This was exactly what her dad had warned her about - and Uncle Drac too - humans were dangerous. She should have listened to them, she should have stayed at home… if only she’d had the choice. Another whimper escaped her lips and her eyes stung like fire. Winnie would not cry, she refused.

All the same, she could not stay here. Frantically, she brought the bindings to her lips and gnawed away furiously. After several minutes with no luck, she sputtered and spit out the tiny bits she managed to tear off. It wasn’t much, and definitely not enough to wiggle free. Silently the girl cursed her soft human skin and her dull human teeth; Winnie missed her strong claws and her sharp teeth. She didn’t want to admit it - in fact, she vehemently denied it on most occasion - but she needed help. A few more minutes of struggling left her sore and sweaty… she couldn’t keep at this for much longer. Back slamming against a brick wall she turned her gaze to the street. There were cardboard boxes and garbage cans in the way of anyone seeing her directly, but maybe if she called out… Now that was something she really didn’t want to do. Still there was no way of knowing if her captor would be back. ”H-help!” she called, in a timid, shaky voice. She didn’t know who might answer, but she didn’t have any other choice.

733 | open! | D: scared winnie |
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roscoe conan fowler
 Posted: Oct 2 2015, 01:52 PM
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21 POSTS
6'1''
But remember this, Pigeon, a human heart has only so much room for love and affection.
31
single
bisexual
loor IS Offline
tramp


TAG: WINNIE
NOTES: HOPE YOU DONT MIND ME SNAGGING THIS <3 (802)
Soundlessly, without warning, the call would stir him. Sometimes it didn't come for weeks. He would go about his business, extract as much fun as he could from life and even let himself be lulled into a false sense of security. It got easier, the longer he stayed away. The negative emotions that bubbled whenever he thought of the past would settle into a subtle simmer. He could go about life focusing on what he liked most: the here and now, the present. During other periods, he could not rest. It wouldn't leave him alone. The compulsion, the nagging pull would persist for days, a week maybe. When it called, he answered like a good boy. Of course, the level of his compliance varied greatly. Depending on his mood, he would ignore it. The businessman would envelop himself ecstatically in new projects and keep his days filled with nonstop activity. Anything to delay the inevitable. He would come, all right, but not without gnashing teeth and pulled fur hair.

He refused to go during the day. It somehow felt like a waste of his time when there were endless other tasks to be done, all of which were better options. So, under the cover of late summer night he sauntered uptown to the portal. Butterflies beat frantically against his stomach, his body's pointless attempt to warn him away from the risk he was about to take. Ros was a daredevil and a mischief-maker by nature; he was accustomed to a certain level of pre-performance jitters. It made him more aware, his mind sharper and ready to tackle any twist or turn. This was different. It was a dread he'd only felt once before when that horrible, fat elderly woman had shipped him to the pound as a thanks for saving the baby. As he'd lain on the worn wooden surface of the carriage, each bump in the road felt like a death rattle. Ros was convinced he would've died that night had Lady's family not intervened. Each crossing was a risk, a chance that he might never return to this city. It was a healthy but insidious fear that mixed up his thoughts and distracted him from the ultimate reason for his trip.

It was her. It had always been for her.

As he neared that distinctive alley, his breath caught for a moment in his throat. Something felt wrong, notably wrong. He hesitated. Here it was quieter, as if Manhattan itself could sense the unnatural magic of the place and gave it a wide berth. The adjacent street was quiet and devoid of cars or pedestrians. It was a rare cocoon of quiescence. A single flickering lamppost buzzed overhead, providing only a poor outline of the narrow entrance. Inhaling deeply, he pressed onward, about to cross the road into the darkness when he heard it: a cry. A soft, frightened cry for help. His heart hammered as his casual walk sped to a jog. Immediate worry (and faint hope ...could it be her?) enveloped his brain as he spotted a figure struggling and damp on the ground near the assorted garbage and debris. Closing the distance without second thoughts, the young woman came into clearer sight. He stopped a few feet short of her and reevaluated his aggressive entrance.

Crouching down slightly, he held out his hands and spoke in a quiet tone. "Hey, hey, it's okay," he called. As his poor eyes adjusted, he realized she was restrained and covered in sweat. She was wearing pajamas. She's just a kid. Sadness and a sick sensation swirled around in the pit of his gut. He'd never seen this before in his many years making the crossing. A million questions lit up and he had time for none of them. Shutting off the analytical side of his mind, Ros lowered his body closer to the ground, slowly and cautiously. He had no idea if the girl was so traumatized that she would attack him or hurt herself. If he made any false moves, he could put them both at risk. "Hey, look at me," he encouraged, concern wrinkled into his face. "I'm not going to hurt you," he promised, speaking slowly and clearly. He paused as he looked for any wounds or blood on her body as he considered calling an ambulance. Finding nothing, he put that idea on hold. There would be too many questions from the damn nosy police. And Ros had a reputation to maintain. "What's your name, thunder?" He said (nickname already given) as he looked into her dark, stormy eyes. "I can cut you free," he offered gently. Naturally, he'd help her. The ragged thing before him was no threat as he might have suspected; she was a terrified kid. Ros didn't intend to leave her alone.

<3

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