cvnt_snvc

Therese hates and loves touching and being touched. She feels a chill, discomforted by the cold, does she yearn to be warm again? She hates loss of control so much she blips out of existence. She touches, she lashes out. She is in charge because she has to be. Of course the most obvious explanation is usually the answer and the story usually goes that the sex kitten is the one born from the ashes, because that's how that kind of thing is designed to work, but what if it was the control freak? What if you were loving, tender, innocent, free, and look where it got you. The cope is the veneer of having your shit so together, that other people are made and broken at your whim, at your command, under threat of your wrath. It is everyone else's job to please you, and not vice versa. What if it all went so wrong that it was too much to bear, and so actually that could never have happened, not really, not that way, because that was never You, because You have always been in control. You have always been proper, right, good; There was never a time You didn't know evil and know better. No one ever took advantage of You, You were never naive. You knew what was right, and more importantly, what was wrong. You Decided, You Chose, You were always In Control, you were doing Your Duty. You could have chosen differently, but you decided not to, because you knew, always knew, have always known, what was right and good, and what was evil and disgusting, and you always made the right choice. Always. Always. Always.

Therese casually beating up on Vandal. Hitting him with a clipboard. Smacking his nose with a pen. Slapping his hands away from things, knocking things out of his hands. Throwing things at his face. Stepping on his toes. Pinching him. Shoulder checking him. Beating him about the face and neck. Flicking him. Pulling his ear. Tripping him. Closing the door on him. Stapling him. Papercutting him. Just randomly lashing out. That's all.