I can't remember if I've posted this before. It's an abandoned piece of fiction that was originally meant to be the origin story of two of my characters, and kinda turned into a weird pseduo horror thing. There was meant to be a third scene after it, but because of the changes I didn't know where to take it.
Going back to read it now, it's not half bad as a short stand alone thing. So posting it goes. I kinda want to draw illustrations for it, but hell if I can do that.
I sat at the bar of a nameless cub, one unremarkable and interchangeable with any of the thousands of others that have existed throughout time, except for one essential feature – me.
A mirror ran across the wall and I idly watched myself in it against the faceless backdrop of humanity around me, the perfect predator hidden amongst hapless pray. After a moment I flexed my power and the bartender responded with fogged gaze, bringing me a glass of liquor. The contests held no interest, merely being the final piece of the disguise I had crafted. I toyed with the amber fluid and returned my attention to the mirror and the study of my current form.
Male, if I was any judge of these things, short dark hair with whiskers that itched irritatingly against my face. I had chosen it for its build, muscles rolling pleasingly under the thin shirt as I shifted my weight. The previous owner had gone to some considerable length to develop them, and the effort was appreciated.
Some minutes later my hunting bore fruit, someone slid onto the bar-stool beside mine and ordered a drink. I shifted my gaze onto their reflection and became perplexed. It was a woman, if all of the flesh shown by the green and black dress any indication, but the hair had been shorn short and was a vivid green. Did humans have green hair? Uncertain and intrigued, I turned to examine her directly. She returned my look with feigned disinterest and raised an eyebrow decorated with rings. Across her face a dozen more metallic rings and studs were adorned. This was a area that was less uncertain, mutilation – self inflicted and otherwise – was something I was intimately familiar with.
I smiled at her, all teeth, and sent my power forth to swirl about us, cutting off the rest of the room behind a muted haze of disinterested.
“You don't want that,” I said, eyes flicking to the unfamiliar drink she was holding.
“You don't want that.” The bartender stepped through the barrier into the sanctum of my power, placed a bottle and pair of glasses in front of her, then stepped back out, all without seeming to notice us. I noted with some amusement that the liquid was green.
“What's this?” She asked, eyeing the drink.
“Better,” I said, my smile widening enough to momentarily reveal my eye-teeth.
“Absinthe?” She asked, picking up the bottle to examine. I stayed silent, shrugging and watching for her reaction. “No offence, but you don't seem the type.”
“None taken. If I can tell you a secret, this is just a disguise.”
“Yes. The truth of the matter is that I'm not even human,” I said, plucking at the yellow shirt I wore and easing a tendril of power into her. “I killed this individual and have been wearing his body ever since. And to be honest, I'm a little offended that you thought I would actually own a shirt this colour.”
“Like Hannibal Lecter?” She asked, pouring the drink – Absinthe? Hannibal Lecter? - into the glasses, giving me an amused smile. I felt the stirrings of hope and interest for the first time in the encounter.
“Almost. Sexier. Scarier.” She laughed at that.
“Why would I agree to have a drink with a scarier version of Hannibal Lecter? Even if he's also a sexier one.”
“What makes you think you can't?” I took the glass from her hand, raising it to take a swallow of the contents. The taste was indifferent.
“What the fuck?” She spat, looking down at the glass in her own hand, radiating shock as she realised that she had poured it unaware.
“Sexier,” I replied. “Scarier.”
She put the glass down on the bar with a shaking hand and I strengthened the barrier around us, worried that the fear might penetrate it. Reaching across in front of her, I tipped the glass on its side, spilling the drink out to drip down onto the floor.
“What are – what is going on?” I could feel her struggling against my influence within her mind.
“Well I was sitting here minding my own business when someone came and sat down beside me.” I shifted my power within her mind and she ran a finger through the spilt drink, bringing it half way to her lips before she regained control and slammed her hand down. “Still, I shouldn't blame you. It was a trap. A very special trap for someone strong minded enough to see me, but too stupid to see past the very obvious disguise I'm wearing.”
“What are you?” Her breath was coming fast and shallow now, both from her panic and her attempts to break free of my power. I could have stopped either, but didn't. They amused me.
“What do you want?”
“A better question.” I said, gracing her with a smile. “Right now I just want you to understand the situation. That I could could break you as easily as this.” The empty glass shattered with a loud crack, crumbling into fragments at my silent, unmoving command. “But I have not.”
“Are you going to kill me?” She was starting to calm down, no longer struggling directly against my influence.
“Do you wane me to?” I leered.
“Beg it of me.”
“Are you going to make me?”
“Do you want me to?” She went silent for a moment and I could almost feel her mind take shape around an idea.
“I could scream.” That caught my attention. She might be able to get a scream off before I could exert control, and it would break through the barrier of disinterest around us, attracting all sorts of unwanted attention. My options at that point would be limited. I withdrew the tendrils of power influencing her behaviour and cocked an eyebrow.
“Well. Go on then.”
She brought a hand up to touch her throat, holding it there, watching me until she responded.
“You won't – you'll let me go?”
“Do you want me to?” I leered again.
“Beg it of me.”
The encounter was balanced of the fine point of a knife's edge, I could sense it teeter but not which way it would fall. The uncertain anticipation thrilled me.
“What did you do to the room?” She asked.
“Perception field,” I shrugged. “All around us, they know we're here but can't bring themselves to notice us. Same with you and them.”
“But I can see them.”
“Can you, really? Pick one out, describe them to me.”
“I, uh.” I felt her attention brush against my power, but was turned away with ease. “Shit. What are you.”
“Ancient. Scary. Sexy. Powerful, and still waiting.”
“Why haven't you just made me?” she verbally evaded answering, but I felt the decision as she made it, and my interest swiftly faded. She had potential, but seemed it was not to be.
“Because I don't want it that way.”
“Well,” she pursed her lips, eyeing me in with a semi-anxious, contemplative anticipation. “What happens if I want to stay?”
“ Me,” I responded with menace veiled beyond her ability to detect.
Somewhere in the distance, the heartbeat of music thrummed. I stood on a plain of flesh that throbbed in time to the beat. Lights flashed secret codes into the sky and in the midst of it, I - I struggled to regain my equilibrium.
I was still in the same nameless club, standing on the dance floor surrounded by clueless prey, but within a new form. My previous body was hidden in the cleaning supply room I had lured the woman into, and the energy from her soul as I leached it away within her form filled me with a deliciously intoxicated sensation.
Her soul filled me, surging through my veins as I consumed it. It flowed from breasts to arms, to feet, to face and the world waved and changed as the power leaked out. My perceptions flicked and danced of their own violation and the highest of highs played out across my many impossible senses.
I walked through the flesh, or did I stand and wait as it pulsed past, drawing me in with disjointed moments, disconnected fragments of time? I danced, an uninhibited exploration my new body, feeling the tug of hidden piercings within the clothing, the sensation of strange youthful limbs and flowing supple form. I danced with the abandon of the powerful, on the energy of a stolen soul, to the compounded music of lives crashing about me, to the musical strains of flesh, to the bloody scent of food.
I extended my power wide through the crowd, caressing all around me, flexing to control the Meat like puppets, playing them like a god. Bodies came near - sacrifices to my dark power - that I reached out and touched, leaving them reduced by whim and desire. Destinies changed, fates stolen, I osculated against the twisting masses at random, brushing across the nameless life, each as unimportant and insignificant as the last. Until I saw her.
Across the floor a lone figure stood, still against the backdrop of meaningless humanity. Female, blond, unremarkable and watching me. I twisted my head, green hair falling across my face, and met her gaze across the crowded room. In my heightened, post-feeding state, she should not have been able to see past my will, and yet she watched me.
I smiled my malevolence, metal studs pulling the skin in strange directions, and felt a fear-flicker burn through the smell of the crowd. She could see me, past the illusion I wore, stripping away veils of influence, to the lie within. A thrill of excitement rose at the realisation, an escaping sigh through parted lips. Another quarry, and so soon after the last.
With a moaning shudder of anticipation I twisted my power, focusing it, weaving it about to bind her, then drawing myself along it's trail towards her. I floated upon waves of longing, heels sliding across a slick floor, watching as ardour and horror formed an unholy communion in her at my slow, breathless, inevitable approach. I solidified my power and stroked the crowd between us, moving people aside one after another, leaving the shadow of ruin in their wake, until the pathway was clear.
Looking at her, there was little to mark her apart from the rest of the mas of people. Dirty blond hair with a ragged fringe, a dress that could only be described as pink, make-up conspicuous by its scarcity. The only remarkable thing about her was her eyes, filled with my reflection. I moved until I was close enough to feel her unsteady breath on my face, and with a flick of effort cut off the writhing crowd around us.
“What are you?” the blond girl asked. She could see my mask for what it was, but not the hidden truth beneath it. She saw enough to fear, but not so much to flee. The balance was delicious in it's precarious delicacy.
“Do you want me to kill you?” I arched and stretched my new body, sliding silken limbs until she was enveloped yet untouched, then roughly thrust my power into her, holding her immobile and stopping any attempt to run before it began. Her eyes - enchanting eyes sparkling my echo - widened with shock, but she refused to speak.
“Oh,” I continued, leaning in to breath the words in her ear, my lips and tongue just shy of quivering flesh. “Do you want me to let you live?” A narcotic, perfumed fear clung to her, but still she didn't respond.
“My oh my,” I laughed stepping back to study her, each sound a priceless crystal shard shattering. “Is that it?” I asked, my voice dropping low and sultry. I dragged long, fresh and green nails across my body with tortuous slowness, from throat to thigh, over flesh and cloth both. Her eyes followed the movement. “Do you want me?
For a moment, gone almost before it was there, the outline of a smile touched the edges of her mouth and I felt, deep within her mind, the seed of a decision. I leered, as her eyes rose to meet mine, a mirror of exposed hunger and pain.
“Well then.” It was a promising start.
@ }-`-- Coffee + Hate = itches