Post by Marguerite on Jan 9, 2009 2:07:48 GMT -5
Henriette was hungry and was therefore in a foul mood. Of course, it could be said that Henriette was always in a foul mood, but few people said that if they wanted to ever say anything else again. It was therefore extremely vexing that, for wahtever reason, no one seemed to be having dreams of punishment.
She stalked from mind to mind with in increasingly bad temper. Dreaming, dreaming, dreaming... ah! That one was dreaming of cooking and... what the hell?
Henriette tried to push into someone's mind and they very firmly pushed her back out. She began to swear viciously in French. What the hell? Henriette pushed again. It gave somewhat and then... no! Nothing!
She scowled viciously and quickly moved into "HENRIETTE SMASH" mode which meant that whoever the hell was too busy dreaming about slicing apples to make a pie to be frightened was going to get another thing coming to them. Panting with the effort, Henriette pointed at the knife and make a jerking motion. No blade was going to disobey Madame Guillotine.
It quite promptly did as was bid and swung up to the woman's neck.
"Oh!" she breathed. "This was getting so dull!"
Eh? Henriette blinked. "Are... you... scared yet?"
The woman nodded, albeit rather gingerly, because there was a knife at her throat. "Oh yes!"
Henriette didn't taste fear, so she gestured at the drawers. Knives of all kinds flew up, gleaming quite wickedly. "Well, not enough, madame. Better run!"
The woman did, and seemed to be having the time of her life.
Henriette moodily took out a cigarette, gloomy disgust quickly replacing homicidal anger.
"I say, you smashed up her mind pretty badly back here," announced someone.
"Fat lot of good it did," groused Henriette, puffing out a cloud of smoke and waving around her cigarette. "She's enjoying eet! It! Enjoying! See? This is... ugh, it's not even low-grade fear."
"It ain't fear at all, Frenchie," the man said, peering through the ruins of the woman's mind. He was handsome and wearing a red coat with an enormous amount of gold braid. "It's mixed with joy."
Henriette threw down her cigarette and stabbed it out with one spiky heel. "Ugh. Disgusting. I'd give myself food poisoning."
"Bring it to me, then Frenchie. I can't seem to get in."
"What?"
"I like testing myself."
Henriette regarded him with unfeigned astonishment. "Do you have a death wish? Why the hell would I bring this stuff out?"
The man grinned. "I'd stop calling you Frenchie."
"And I care because...?"
"Think about the nickanme 'Frenchie' following you around like a badly trained poodle all the rest of your days. Besides, I'm keeping this rapidly shrinking hole open for you with my dress sword."
Henriette considered this and agreed that, for another cigarette, since she'd just used up her last one, she'd do it. The Nightmare seemed pleased enough, despite Henriette's acid warnings that he'd make himself sick and she would just leave him there to rot.
"Oh nonsense Ginger!" he exclaimed, tossing her his package of cigarettes in exchange. "I admire your handiwork. You'd want to keep me around."
She rolled her eyes, fumbling for her lighter. "I 'ave a boyfriend at the moment. Why was it you couldn't get in?" Ah, sweet, sweet nicotine. Henriette inhaled deeply. "I couldn't get into any of them but this one."
The man shook his head, apparently suffering no ill-efects from his joy-laced fear, the hound. It wasn't fair men always had cast-iron stomachs. "Hard to say, Ginger. Been shouting for answers for hours now and no one seems to listen."
"Ginger?" Henriette asked, catching on. "What?"
"The red hair?"
She blew a cloud of smoke in his face.
She stalked from mind to mind with in increasingly bad temper. Dreaming, dreaming, dreaming... ah! That one was dreaming of cooking and... what the hell?
Henriette tried to push into someone's mind and they very firmly pushed her back out. She began to swear viciously in French. What the hell? Henriette pushed again. It gave somewhat and then... no! Nothing!
She scowled viciously and quickly moved into "HENRIETTE SMASH" mode which meant that whoever the hell was too busy dreaming about slicing apples to make a pie to be frightened was going to get another thing coming to them. Panting with the effort, Henriette pointed at the knife and make a jerking motion. No blade was going to disobey Madame Guillotine.
It quite promptly did as was bid and swung up to the woman's neck.
"Oh!" she breathed. "This was getting so dull!"
Eh? Henriette blinked. "Are... you... scared yet?"
The woman nodded, albeit rather gingerly, because there was a knife at her throat. "Oh yes!"
Henriette didn't taste fear, so she gestured at the drawers. Knives of all kinds flew up, gleaming quite wickedly. "Well, not enough, madame. Better run!"
The woman did, and seemed to be having the time of her life.
Henriette moodily took out a cigarette, gloomy disgust quickly replacing homicidal anger.
"I say, you smashed up her mind pretty badly back here," announced someone.
"Fat lot of good it did," groused Henriette, puffing out a cloud of smoke and waving around her cigarette. "She's enjoying eet! It! Enjoying! See? This is... ugh, it's not even low-grade fear."
"It ain't fear at all, Frenchie," the man said, peering through the ruins of the woman's mind. He was handsome and wearing a red coat with an enormous amount of gold braid. "It's mixed with joy."
Henriette threw down her cigarette and stabbed it out with one spiky heel. "Ugh. Disgusting. I'd give myself food poisoning."
"Bring it to me, then Frenchie. I can't seem to get in."
"What?"
"I like testing myself."
Henriette regarded him with unfeigned astonishment. "Do you have a death wish? Why the hell would I bring this stuff out?"
The man grinned. "I'd stop calling you Frenchie."
"And I care because...?"
"Think about the nickanme 'Frenchie' following you around like a badly trained poodle all the rest of your days. Besides, I'm keeping this rapidly shrinking hole open for you with my dress sword."
Henriette considered this and agreed that, for another cigarette, since she'd just used up her last one, she'd do it. The Nightmare seemed pleased enough, despite Henriette's acid warnings that he'd make himself sick and she would just leave him there to rot.
"Oh nonsense Ginger!" he exclaimed, tossing her his package of cigarettes in exchange. "I admire your handiwork. You'd want to keep me around."
She rolled her eyes, fumbling for her lighter. "I 'ave a boyfriend at the moment. Why was it you couldn't get in?" Ah, sweet, sweet nicotine. Henriette inhaled deeply. "I couldn't get into any of them but this one."
The man shook his head, apparently suffering no ill-efects from his joy-laced fear, the hound. It wasn't fair men always had cast-iron stomachs. "Hard to say, Ginger. Been shouting for answers for hours now and no one seems to listen."
"Ginger?" Henriette asked, catching on. "What?"
"The red hair?"
She blew a cloud of smoke in his face.