***Slight Gore, nothing extreme.***
237Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡdOUcON3eGG
He laughed. It was manic. The way baby dolls have that fake laugh that sends shivers up your spine. He gripped the railing hard, looking up at the sky as it rumbled grumpily above him. He couldn’t go back down into the subway, although everything screamed at him to. If he did, he’d lead them to his charges. The children that he had snuck into safety.
But if he climbed the stairs into the upcoming rain…
His frenzied laughing became chuckling, the way cats purr as they lie dying. Calming his system, allowing him to think. Breathe. Plan.
Hope.
He had nothing to leave behind, no one would be waiting for him. He had been smuggling children out of blood trafficking for years. But he could sense his doom with every fat raindrop hitting the concrete above him. He stuffed the letter with the word goodbye written in scrawling letters into his pocket. He knew who it was from. Lady Pink herself.
Scratching his neck he checked weapons, rolling his neck in a nervous twitch. He popped a vial with a pink-red liquid, grimacing at the tart taste.
Ready. Set. Match.
Five minutes before it took effect.
He wasn’t some infamous bounty or monster hunter. He was Jack Manchester, thirty-five-year-old pen pusher with a… hobby on the side.
He climbed the stairs, not surprised to find the street empty but for one person. She held a pretty pink parasol over her head, her pink summer dress clinging to her hips to flow down to her knees. She wore a sunhat with blood red roses on top, matching her lipstick and pleasant smile. Her pretty shoes had bows at the corners, clacking across the street as she caught sight of him.
“Good afternoon Mr. Manchester,” she said amicably, “I hope your train ride was enjoyable.”
The rain fell around them, Jack lifting his briefcase over his head. “I got your… letter.”
She giggled, twirling her parasol so water sprayed around her. “Yes, we believe it is time for you to retire.”
“You can kill me, but there will always be others.”
She tutted, shaking her head, “oh, those children belong to no one. No one would miss them.”
“Murdering parents doesn’t make them free meals.”
She frowned, “that is very crude of you Mr. Manchester. Vampires need blood – the human children provided that.”
“Are you here to kill me?” Jack sighed, “why else call the rain and block the sun? You have been hunting me a long time.”
She smiled prettily, showing him her fangs. She ran her tongue across her teeth, propping her parasol in her armpit so she could take of her white lace gloves. She neatly folded them and slid them into a pocket of her dress.
Jack had seen her prepare for fights countless times. Had seen her tear throats apart, giggling all the while as her prey screamed silent screams. She stood out against her kind, always dressed as though she was on her way to a tea party. She detested the dingy black jeans, the stereotypical leather jackets. Marie Lace, or Lady Pink as she was known, with her hair neatly curled around her ears and love of white cats smiled at poor Jack and whispered one word as the downpour drenched him.
“Run.”
He shot at her as she lunged, her parasol left in a puddle. He knelt in the downpour, firing his silver bullets up in the air. One caught her arm and she hissed, turning to consider him as thick blood trickled down her arm onto her dress.
“That was unkind,” she murmured, “is that how you treat a lady?”
“Just ones that eat children.” He shouted over the rain, aiming for her again. She darted out of the way, grinning as her shoes click clacked across the ground.
Jack wasn’t planning on surviving. But he did want to take her down with him. “Did you know,” he yelled, blinking water out of his eyes, “that I had wine before this encounter? A nice red for my late lunch.”
“Oh?” she queried, snarling as he ducked her clawed hands, “I do love a man who is wined and dined.”
“I wanted my last meal to be... appetizing”
He ran out of bullets, throwing the gun at her. She dodged it easily, frowning at him and shaking her head sadly.
“Come now, you and I have known each other for a while now Jack. Since… what was her name? Bianca?”
“Becky,” Jack ground out, “the only girl I didn’t save in time.”
“Ah, yes. Becky.”
Lady Pink grabbed him, forcing him to his feet and holding him against her. He was bigger, but she was infinitely stronger.
“You could’ve joined us Jack,” she whispered, “all it would’ve cost was a few human orphans.”
“Too steep.” He snarled back.
She gripped his shirt and pulled him with her to the parasol lying in the rain.
“Pity,” she sighed, cracking a knee into the back of his legs so he fell to the ground before her. She ran a finger up his face and into his wet hair, pulling his hair and forcing him to bare his throat to her.
“Any last words?” She asked sweetly.
He shook his head and she gently nipped him, coating her tongue in his blood. “Mmmm, you did drink the red wine.” She said against him, passing him her parasol so he held it up over her as she drank.
“I do,” he gasped, “have some last words.”
“Oh?” she murmured, delicately lifting her head, “make them quick then.”
“They know.” He shuddered as she nipped him again, watching her pause for a moment, his blood trickling down her chin. The hunter organization that could never find the nest. Until Jack had shown them. “And; I drank some poison that’ll kill both of us.” The payment for the information.
He felt his body grow heavy, pawing at his jacket pocket for the vile. He held it up for her as she snarled, her pretty face transformed into beastly rage.
He chuckled as the artery on his neck pumped blood down his throat and shirt alike, “Two tickets to hell for the price of one.” He spat out.
She threw him to the pavement, a scream of anger echoing in his muffled ears. She wiped her mouth, smelling the blood on her sleeve. It was indeed poisoned. The rain kept pouring, the dying man still chuckling as he drowned in his own blood.
She felt the poison stir in the blood inside of her, turning it rancid.
She pulled herself over to him, hatred deep in those old eyes. “I hope this is worth it,” she spat.
Her last sight was dead Jack. A smile of contentment spread across his face. She could almost hear his voice. For Becky.
ns 15.158.61.48da2
