Clarice. Holy shit, Clarice. She had double-D tits, and she was waving them in Sebastiao's face.
He had the dollar bill in his hand and was going to pull her thong string open to slip it in, when everything disappeared in a flash of light. He leaned back, and fell flat on his back, on a stone floor.
"Howdy, fucker! Did that hurt? I hope it did."
Sebastiao was confused. “What the fuck?”
A clear voice came to him “Put your money away. We're not mugging you, and I don't want to know what you were doing with it."
Sebastiao rolled to the side, and tried to get up. "Where's Clarice? The bar?" He looked in that general direction and saw a man dark sunglasses dressed all in black, and looking like a bodybuilder. He looked to the side to see another, smaller man in a brown trench coat. "Who the hell are you? This isn't The Daylight Club."
The man in the trench raised an eyebrow. “Where you in a strip club?”
The big man commented, “Smells like it.”
Sebastiao focused on the smaller man. “What the fuck, yeah. Wifey's gone off with the kids and her psychotic sister.”
The small man nearly growled, “Stand up.”
Sebastiao did, and shoved the money in his pockets. The man beckoned him to come closer. “C'mon, I don't have all day.” Sebastiao glanced over to the big guy. There was no way he was going to take him down, even if he cheated. The smaller one? Maybe. He looked about the size of his brother, and he could take him easily. He crossed over some glowing letters on the floor – his eye was initially caught by them, and then suddenly the man reached out, grabbed him by his shirt and yanked him closer.
He slammed his fist into Sebastiao's balls. “I'm your future brother-in-law, you piece of shit.”
He saw stars, while all the air rushed out of him without his making a sound. He would have doubled over but the man was holding him up. Then, something else held him up by the scruff of his shirt, and he straightened as the man in the coat slammed his palm into his nose. He knew it was broken. He opened his mouth to try and breathe.
Sebastiao got a fist slammed into his stomach before he could breathe again. He heard the big man, now behind him, say, “Don't forget his hand and shoulder.”
“Just realized we forgot to shake hands. Rude as hell, isn't it?” Sebastiao watched as the man's right hand became like flame. He grabbed Sebastiao's right wrist with his left, and then slapped his flaming hand into Sebastiao's palm. “Put 'er there!” And the man did not let go.
After a moment that he could take a breath – he screamed. The sick smell of burning flesh – burning blood – filled his nostrils. Surprisingly enough, there wasn't as much pain as he had just felt.
The man let go of his wrist, the flame died instantly, and he hauled off giving Sebastiao a right hook. “Shut up! You think the neighbors want to hear this?”
The punch snapped his head back, and he felt the other man still holding onto the neck of his shirt. He went silent, lolling his head forward, seeing blackness coming and hoping for it to release him. The man stepped forward, and slapped him gently. “Don't go to sleep. I haven't even told you my name yet.”
He woke up, opening his eyes, seeing the man's coat, then chest, then shoulders. He can't look the man in the eye. He doesn't want to. “Don't—kill—me...”
“Has Azzy ever said that?”
What did all this have to do with his wife?
He continued: "'Please, Sebastiao, don't kill me. Don't do this in front of the children.' She ever say that?”
Why was this guy bringing all this up? It wasn't his business. Azzy knew better than to go blabbermouthing how he hit her to people. He was in his rights. His father hit his mother. And his father before that, and before that...women needed to know their place. The Bible said that. The Church said that.
A cold voice said behind him, “Think you forgot to tell him why he was here.”
That voice sent a chill through him, and he immediately fell back on old habits: he began the Lord's Prayer in his native tongue. The cold voice laughed, and he was thrown into a stone wall, but Sebastiao was still held on by something. He begged for his life again. Then, he looked up from the hand that held him, and wished he hadn't.
The man – the creature – that held him had bright red eyes, and long, dangerous fangs. “DON'T EAT ME!” he screamed, using whatever strength he had left to try and get out of the man's grip.
He had lost any attention he may have possessed with the man who was next to him, tossing a fireball up and down in the air. The man was talking, but he didn't hear it – all he saw was these red eyes, these fangs. The man licked one of his fangs. Then someone flicked his broken nose, and his attention was drawn to the man with the fireball in his hand.
"Pay attention. I'm talking. You're being rude."
This man had been talking about his wife, right. He tried to explain in his native tongue that she obeys him. The man pinched his nose, and he howled. "No, no. Wives aren't punching bags. She isn't your slave. Repeat that right now, or I'm going to TWIST.”
The fanged man slammed him into the pillar again. Sebastiao cried out to God, the angels and saints to help him. He repeated what the other man wanted, while a voice said in the back of his mind, Azzy told somebody. Bitch. I'll make sure she never--
Something tweaked his nose. And then, he heard a snap and felt pain in his torso. He screamed and howled again. “Don't think he meant that.”
The man pinched his nose again. “Say it like you mean it.”
He did. In tears. Half in Portuguese with a prayer in between. These people were crazy! They were going to kill him. They were psychotic like her sister. He didn't need this.
“What'd I tell you about speaking in Portuguese? English. And say God again and I will eat you.”
“Slaves, wives ain't slaves – Please stop!”
The man in the trenchcoat said, “Dono? One more just to know we're serious. I don't think he realizes that we're not here to talk about this civilly."
Another crack, and another sharp pain in his torso. He tried to move his arms to wrap around his chest, but couldn't. He tried to tell them that it was his right--
The man put a flaming hand on his shoulder. Again, there was burning flesh. He tried again to get away, but his strength was draining, and he wanted it all to end. "We're goddam TELLING you what you're doing to do. What you think isn't worth pissing on,” said the man in the coat. “Sucks being helpless, doesn't it?” He reached over, and grabbed Sebastiao by his neck. Sebastiao could feel him squeeze
The big man took away the other man's hand, then turned to Sebastiao. “Look at me.”
Sebasiao looked at the vampiro's red, red eyes. He only heard his voice, saw his eyes, and was totally compelled.
“You know what I am. Then you're going to do exactly as I say. You are going to go back to Azzy and beg forgiveness for being such an asshole. You're going to treat her like a queen. As God is my witness... if you raise a hand to her, He and His angels will strike you dead on the spot. This'll be our little secret.” Sebastiao nodded, then looked over.
The man with the fireball was now a devil. He couldn't scream anymore. He could only whimper.
The next thing he knew, he was falling and crashing through a table while “Pour Some Sugar On Me” was blaring all around him.
(Note: Quotes from characters are as they were played out during role play)