04-19-2014, 11:06 AM
The fringe of Dane's scarf waved in a breeze that carried the stench of soggy city streets. He cringed at the smell of body fluid, excrement, and whatever else floated along the questionable gutter. He was thankful for the shadow of night for his eyes were not subjected to the details of his surroundings.
His hands, tightly gloved, were rested in the pockets of a long tweed coat the collar of which was turned up around the back of his neck. An oxford cap was tilted across his head, smashing down what strands of thin hair dared to peek out around the edges.
A block down the street, Aria suddenly quickened her pace. The woman she had been following was a classic beauty seemingly born from the Siberian snows. Her skin was paler than the thin moonlight that shone down upon them. Her hair lifted in the breeze. She was slender and graceful, and carried herself fearlessly forward.
Dane stopped, watching them as though watching a movie. It was then he drenched himself in the thrill of power. When it gushed through his body, his lips turned upward ever so slightly, and details between the two women came into knife-like focus.
The women met one another at a door, and although no mouths moved between them, Dane knew some sort of communication had been exchanged. But what? He was drawn another step forward, and before he knew it, he'd crossed the street and approached with all the swiftess Aria had displayed. In his pocket, one hand had wrapped itself around the handle of a paring knife. The kind used to peel apples. He slipped the cover from the curved blade, and removed it from his pocket, held it in one hand, obscured from sight.
The women parted before he was within earshot, Aria disappearing inside an unmarked door, and the pale beauty around the corner.
He looked at the door as he passed by it. A plain door. No markings but for faded flyers stapled to a wall like advertisements in the Stone Age. Dane sneered and made the next corner to follow Aria's friend.
She was waiting for him. In the center of an alley, a dumpster on one side and a homeless man's nitch on the other. She smiled like she knew exactly what was about to happen.
Dane was soaring as he walked straight to her. "Hello,"
he said. The power flowed through him like a sadistic vice to his head, and his hand curled around the knife like he were caressing a lover.
They both moved closer, neither afraid of the other. Dane's heart fluttered with the anticipation.
Her eyes, tilted and dark like Aria's, lowered to the hand obscuring the knife. She shook her head, disapproving. "You won't need that,"
she said. Her accent glittered like the snow of her skin.
Dane's smile grew wider, wrinkling his eyes and cheeks with the mirth of an active imagination. "I know, but I like it anyway,"
he replied, and lashed out with whips of the power.
She moved so fast, she almost blurred out of focus. A hand gripped his arm from behind and a pinch bit down on his collar, but the smell of blood only raged him into action.
He shoved the knife upward. Its curve fit perfectly under her ribs. She screeched and released his neck. When Dane ripped it out between bone, she doubled over and snarled with those horrendous fangs.
Blood dripping from the cutlery, Dane all but ignored the sting of his own wound. Another whip of the power, but this time she was too slow. She tripped, face first. Dane jumped on her back, and barely straddled her down with the vice of his own knees against her hips. She writhed, until he plunged that curved knife into her back like he were making a sacrifice upon a sacred altar.
She twitched, blood gushing out around the hole between her shoulder blades. Dane bit his lip hard to keep from crying out in ecstasy. He grabbed her hair and lifted her face from the ground just enough to pull the paring knife along the front of her throat. Her remaining yell in defiance gurgled and soon she stopped struggling. Dane dropped the little knife beside her face and let his panting slow. He smoothed her hair from where he'd roughed it up, and ran his palms down the curve of her back. Such a beauty.
He kissed the back of her skull before standing to admire his work. The knife he abandoned where it was and left, riding his high back to the shadows where he would wait until Aria led him onward once more.
Edited by Dane Gregory, Apr 19 2014, 11:12 AM.
His hands, tightly gloved, were rested in the pockets of a long tweed coat the collar of which was turned up around the back of his neck. An oxford cap was tilted across his head, smashing down what strands of thin hair dared to peek out around the edges.
A block down the street, Aria suddenly quickened her pace. The woman she had been following was a classic beauty seemingly born from the Siberian snows. Her skin was paler than the thin moonlight that shone down upon them. Her hair lifted in the breeze. She was slender and graceful, and carried herself fearlessly forward.
Dane stopped, watching them as though watching a movie. It was then he drenched himself in the thrill of power. When it gushed through his body, his lips turned upward ever so slightly, and details between the two women came into knife-like focus.
The women met one another at a door, and although no mouths moved between them, Dane knew some sort of communication had been exchanged. But what? He was drawn another step forward, and before he knew it, he'd crossed the street and approached with all the swiftess Aria had displayed. In his pocket, one hand had wrapped itself around the handle of a paring knife. The kind used to peel apples. He slipped the cover from the curved blade, and removed it from his pocket, held it in one hand, obscured from sight.
The women parted before he was within earshot, Aria disappearing inside an unmarked door, and the pale beauty around the corner.
He looked at the door as he passed by it. A plain door. No markings but for faded flyers stapled to a wall like advertisements in the Stone Age. Dane sneered and made the next corner to follow Aria's friend.
She was waiting for him. In the center of an alley, a dumpster on one side and a homeless man's nitch on the other. She smiled like she knew exactly what was about to happen.
Dane was soaring as he walked straight to her. "Hello,"
he said. The power flowed through him like a sadistic vice to his head, and his hand curled around the knife like he were caressing a lover.
They both moved closer, neither afraid of the other. Dane's heart fluttered with the anticipation.
Her eyes, tilted and dark like Aria's, lowered to the hand obscuring the knife. She shook her head, disapproving. "You won't need that,"
she said. Her accent glittered like the snow of her skin.
Dane's smile grew wider, wrinkling his eyes and cheeks with the mirth of an active imagination. "I know, but I like it anyway,"
he replied, and lashed out with whips of the power.
She moved so fast, she almost blurred out of focus. A hand gripped his arm from behind and a pinch bit down on his collar, but the smell of blood only raged him into action.
He shoved the knife upward. Its curve fit perfectly under her ribs. She screeched and released his neck. When Dane ripped it out between bone, she doubled over and snarled with those horrendous fangs.
Blood dripping from the cutlery, Dane all but ignored the sting of his own wound. Another whip of the power, but this time she was too slow. She tripped, face first. Dane jumped on her back, and barely straddled her down with the vice of his own knees against her hips. She writhed, until he plunged that curved knife into her back like he were making a sacrifice upon a sacred altar.
She twitched, blood gushing out around the hole between her shoulder blades. Dane bit his lip hard to keep from crying out in ecstasy. He grabbed her hair and lifted her face from the ground just enough to pull the paring knife along the front of her throat. Her remaining yell in defiance gurgled and soon she stopped struggling. Dane dropped the little knife beside her face and let his panting slow. He smoothed her hair from where he'd roughed it up, and ran his palms down the curve of her back. Such a beauty.
He kissed the back of her skull before standing to admire his work. The knife he abandoned where it was and left, riding his high back to the shadows where he would wait until Aria led him onward once more.
Edited by Dane Gregory, Apr 19 2014, 11:12 AM.