Post by Veranda Kingsford on Dec 19, 2013 19:35:04 GMT -5
Cold. Quiet. Dark. Hardly a soul there save for the very desperate few who stayed late to pray for their eternal souls. Veranda found a certain appeal to the church this night. And it wasn’t populated, except for three people. One of which being the one she had stalked for three nights. He had continued his business as usual, completely oblivious to the vampire that haunted him. Veranda had even stopped trying so hard to be stealthy, and still he hadn’t a clue. Veranda wanted to take his life, having gotten all the entertainment she could from the man. But tonight was a surprise. He seemed a bit desperate, sweating, eyes darting around, chewing on his nails. He received a visitor as he left the pub. A visitor that he owed quite a lot of money to it seemed. This visitor must have been quite the scary gentleman, since shortly after the semi-rough visit the man she stalked came here to pray.
Veranda made her way down the aisle, boots clicking loudly in the almost complete silence. The only sounds were the whispers of the wind and the praying few here. Her man sat in the second row from the front, hands clasped before him, eying staring intently to the angel statue as he murmured his soft prayers of salvation. Too delicious. His desperation permeated the room. It was only a step or two from becoming fear.
She stepped up beside the man and sat down, the man hardly noticing. That is until she lifted her feet and rested them on the back of the pew in front of the two. The man’s eyes darted towards her, scanning her quickly. All he saw was a young woman in a comically too large black coat, her hood up, hiding her face in shadow, a black shirt tight against her body, pants, and black leather boots placed casually against the pew, like some sort of foot rest. He didn’t shoot a glare at her, though she felt his disapproval. His gaze returned to the statue and he continued his prayers.
“Prayers won’t help you.” She said softly. He blinked and turned to look at her, his eyes wide, face strained. “You’re praying to a god that isn’t there.”
“She’s a goddess.” The man spat. Veranda gave a chuckle. God, goddess, who cares? She doubted any form of divinity lived, and if they did, they sure as hell didn’t care. Fuck the divine.
“Regardless. Whispering to a statue won’t help your problems. I find it amusing you think this will help you.” She said, chuckling again. The man stared a moment.
“Who are you? Are you one of Rico’s men?” He demanded, a tad loudly. Veranda held a finger to her lips, hushing the man.
“No. I’m clearly a woman.” She said, smiling, fangs glittering in the candle light. The man shifted nervously, biting his lower lip.
“Tell Rico I’ll have the money tomorrow. I swear! I’ll have it for him.” He whispered frantically. Veranda suppressed a laugh. He really thought she was some thug! How funny!
“The only way to pay your debt is through blood.” She said. She watched as the man paled, eyes growing wider, which seemed impossible considering how wide they already were. Before he could respond Veranda reached out, cracking a fist across his face. The man’s eyes rolled up in his head and he slumped forward, looking like a man whose head was bowed in deep prayer. His cheek already began to swell. Veranda smiled, pulled out a knife, and cut the man’s left hand in the webbing between his thumb and forefinger. Blood instantly poured. She dug into the pocket of her huge coat and pulled out a squirming, whining little pup. It’s fur the deepest black with red highlights and markings. The pup’s eyes opened, revealing a deep crimson color that glowed in the dim lighting. It gave a pitiful little whine, smelling blood.
“Hush darling.” Veranda soothed, pressing the pup’s nose to the wound in the man’s hand. The pup began to suckle greedily, lapping up the blood. Veranda watched with interest as the skin around the man’s hand began to blister, the heat coming from the pup’s tongue being too hot for mortal flesh. Veranda still didn’t know what kind of creature she held, but she had a few guesses. Perhaps she’d go to the library at the castle and do some research. She was pretty sure she found a hell hound pup though. How or why it came to be was a mystery. But it was hers.
The little pup drank its fill and Veranda stowed the tiny body back in her pocket, the little thing snoring softly before she even tucked it away. Despite having it a week, it had already grown significantly in size since she first found it. It’d ears and eyes were open. In another few days it’d probably start walking. Delightful little thing. She decided to name it Maro, having chosen the name yesterday, when she was absolutely sure the creature wouldn’t die on her. She pushed the man’s hands into his lap and let him sit, knocked out cold, slumped forward. She’d let him live. She felt like being nice tonight.
Veranda made her way down the aisle, boots clicking loudly in the almost complete silence. The only sounds were the whispers of the wind and the praying few here. Her man sat in the second row from the front, hands clasped before him, eying staring intently to the angel statue as he murmured his soft prayers of salvation. Too delicious. His desperation permeated the room. It was only a step or two from becoming fear.
She stepped up beside the man and sat down, the man hardly noticing. That is until she lifted her feet and rested them on the back of the pew in front of the two. The man’s eyes darted towards her, scanning her quickly. All he saw was a young woman in a comically too large black coat, her hood up, hiding her face in shadow, a black shirt tight against her body, pants, and black leather boots placed casually against the pew, like some sort of foot rest. He didn’t shoot a glare at her, though she felt his disapproval. His gaze returned to the statue and he continued his prayers.
“Prayers won’t help you.” She said softly. He blinked and turned to look at her, his eyes wide, face strained. “You’re praying to a god that isn’t there.”
“She’s a goddess.” The man spat. Veranda gave a chuckle. God, goddess, who cares? She doubted any form of divinity lived, and if they did, they sure as hell didn’t care. Fuck the divine.
“Regardless. Whispering to a statue won’t help your problems. I find it amusing you think this will help you.” She said, chuckling again. The man stared a moment.
“Who are you? Are you one of Rico’s men?” He demanded, a tad loudly. Veranda held a finger to her lips, hushing the man.
“No. I’m clearly a woman.” She said, smiling, fangs glittering in the candle light. The man shifted nervously, biting his lower lip.
“Tell Rico I’ll have the money tomorrow. I swear! I’ll have it for him.” He whispered frantically. Veranda suppressed a laugh. He really thought she was some thug! How funny!
“The only way to pay your debt is through blood.” She said. She watched as the man paled, eyes growing wider, which seemed impossible considering how wide they already were. Before he could respond Veranda reached out, cracking a fist across his face. The man’s eyes rolled up in his head and he slumped forward, looking like a man whose head was bowed in deep prayer. His cheek already began to swell. Veranda smiled, pulled out a knife, and cut the man’s left hand in the webbing between his thumb and forefinger. Blood instantly poured. She dug into the pocket of her huge coat and pulled out a squirming, whining little pup. It’s fur the deepest black with red highlights and markings. The pup’s eyes opened, revealing a deep crimson color that glowed in the dim lighting. It gave a pitiful little whine, smelling blood.
“Hush darling.” Veranda soothed, pressing the pup’s nose to the wound in the man’s hand. The pup began to suckle greedily, lapping up the blood. Veranda watched with interest as the skin around the man’s hand began to blister, the heat coming from the pup’s tongue being too hot for mortal flesh. Veranda still didn’t know what kind of creature she held, but she had a few guesses. Perhaps she’d go to the library at the castle and do some research. She was pretty sure she found a hell hound pup though. How or why it came to be was a mystery. But it was hers.
The little pup drank its fill and Veranda stowed the tiny body back in her pocket, the little thing snoring softly before she even tucked it away. Despite having it a week, it had already grown significantly in size since she first found it. It’d ears and eyes were open. In another few days it’d probably start walking. Delightful little thing. She decided to name it Maro, having chosen the name yesterday, when she was absolutely sure the creature wouldn’t die on her. She pushed the man’s hands into his lap and let him sit, knocked out cold, slumped forward. She’d let him live. She felt like being nice tonight.
