#Scissor seven Shadow clash | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

new2otomelol · 4 years

Text

Maid to the Rescue - Part 2 - KBTBB fanfic

I do not own the rights to KBTBB, Voltage does. This is just a fanfic made for fun! Hope you enjoy.

Two days later...

Preparation for rescuing the bidders took longer than expected, but when it comes to the prime minister, we have to be extremely thorough.

Night lights on the freeway breeze past me as I speed to my location. My heart beats in anticipation for what's to come; not out of fear, but excitement.

A year ago, a planned mode of attack would have never crossed my mind, in fact, many things scared me back then, not anymore.

A sudden beep lures me back to the present. "Siren! It's done! Net took his buddies out to the bar. Nix and I are taking off." I tap the earpiece in my ear to respond. "Great job everyone, I'm parking at the south end. Was the other vehicle dropped off and weaponized earlier?" Nix responds this time, "hell yes darling and I can't tell you how happy I am to be back with you all." God I missed my friend. "It's rock and roll time! Gage, do you have controls over the cameras and signal blockers for the warehouse?"

I hear a different beep this time, "yes sweetheart, there's 20 armed guards and a masked guy in there. Be safe. We're on standby for you." I click my earpiece one more time and give the code "operation GAMBLE is underway."

I park the car two blocks away from my intended location and exit the vehicle, proceeding to remove my weapons from the trunk. First, I store the tranquilizer guns on my side holsters and grab a couple of Glocks loaded with armor piercing rounds and other small bullets to cause damage, but hopefully not to kill. I place my knives on the inside holsters of my jacket as well and place a few hand-held darts on outside pockets of my my bulletproof vest. I have to anticipate the boys’ physical condition due to their current situation, they might be weak, or worse. Just in case, I prepared injections containing electrolyte solution and a bit of adrenaline educing drugs and store them in a small container on the inside of my boots. I finish off with my face scarf covering everything except for my eyes and connect my earpiece to the side of my tactical helmet that is equipped with automatic night vision and other goodies. Clad all in black I walk toward my destination in the darkness of night.

I reach the rear entrance of a dilapidated warehouse and notice a guard standing outside the door; a parking lot light hardly illuminates his area of supervision. I make my way slowly behind him as he leans lazily on his side against the door, attempting to ignite his lighter for some much needed nicotine relief. The man suddenly jerks as he notices a shadow on the ground creep up from behind and a sudden sting on his neck, but it's too late to react as the Ketamin in the dart takes effect. I catch him quickly and ease him down on the ground as he falls. It's nighty night for a few hours sweetheart.

I hurriedly pick the lock on the door with my tools and enter a very brightly-lit hallway that seems to have a couple of doors. The building itself is old and has been abandoned for some time, but these guys get use of everything the government owns, thanks to the prime minister.

I scope the area out and discover one of the rooms to be the security camera section, bingo! I tap the side button of my helmet to connect to my earpiece and contact Gage. "I'm about to take on the video security guys, let's start radio silence and jam all signals for 2 minutes." I whisper and hear a small beep as acknowledgment from Gage. I open the door slowly and find 3 men sitting in front of a set of 20 monitors. Some of the videos I could tell had been looping thanks to Gage's crafty hacking. I slowly take out 2 tranquilizer auto-injectors and sprint towards the men stabbing the two to my left and quickly taking another to engage the third guard. The poor man is taken by surprise which causes him to react late. He reaches for his radio and turns pale as he notices there is no signal detected. He lunges towards me in an attempt to strangle me, but I side-step him quickly and tranq him as he passes me.

I honestly feel bad for the men, they're only doing their job, but still, these are the bad guys Lisa, focus! I turn my attention to the monitors and notice that most of the views of the warehouse are set to observe outside and to a couple of the hallways, then I spot them, the bidders. The men are sitting on what looks like steel chairs that are volted to the ground and restrained with chains that are all connected to the center of the room held by one large lock. This should be easy enough.

I engage my comm and contact Lucy. "Alright Luce, I can see where the guards are and have acquired their location, go ahead and cut off the lights and block cellphone and radio signals again, we don't want them to communicate with each other."

"Sweetheart are you sure you want to go fully silent? We won't be able to get to you in time should something happen." Gage interjects. "I'm sure guys. I got this. Stay ready for part 2 of the plan and I will contact you in the next 15 minutes, if not, send help."

"Roger Siren!" I hear them all say and then the audio goes dead. The lights cut out almost immediately activating my night vision visor. I take out my dart guns and walk out to the hallway once again.

I can hear the rushing of footsteps all around the factory as confusion and chaos sets into to their reality. I run down the hall to the second door and before I can open it, one of the men bursts in. I take a step back and shoot him with a dart. Once he falls to the ground I notice two more behind him and shoot them as well. Seven down, 13 more left.

I jump over their bodies and make it to the main open area of the warehouse. I look around to find the stairs, I need to reach the second floor. The scene before me is almost comical as I see these tough men in suits scramble around in the dark aiming their weapons at nothing and sometimes at each other. "What the fuck man? Somebody must have broken in!" one man yelled. "Dude, better not shoot at anything, we need to get our flashlights! Where's our boss?" another yells. The first idiot answers back, "he's upstairs with those assholes!"

I try not to laugh at their dialogue and shoot them and 5 other men with darts; 10 to go. I rush up the staircase and notice beams of light coming from the railing. Crap, they found their flashlights.

"I see something!" one of them yells as I climb up the last few steps and spots me. He runs towards me in an attempt to tackle me. I drop my now empty tranquilizer guns and take out one of the auto injectors. I open my stance to let him get to me as he clashes to my torso, I bring up my knee with much force to strike him in his diaphragm, knocking all the air out of him. He pins me against a wall and coughs roughly, gasping for air. I stab the needle in his arm to tranq him and knock him out.

I hear the whistling sound of a bullet pass me by as I realize the rest of the men on the second floor with me and some have me in their sights. I push the man off of me and take out one of my Glocks as I roll out of the way and hide behind a metal cabinet. I hear many more shots, but I crouch low and shoot out their flashlights, gaining back my cover.

I venture out once more and pass by two men before another one manages to grab me by the neck and squeezes tightly as he realizes that he has acquired me. I hold on to his arm and perform a scissor kick, entangling my legs around his neck and shifting our weight breaking his center of axis, taking us both down to the ground and knocking him out successfully.

Hearing the scuffle, 3 other men walk towards me, trying to feel their way around in the dark. I shoot each of the men’s legs where I know it won't be fatal and quickly get up and run towards the door at the end of the hall where my targets are located.

Keeping the count going, I have 5 men left to go and the masked idiot as well. I take a step back against the metal railing and support myself as I kick down the door that leads me to the bidders. Once the door is smashed I roll out of the way and take cover behind the wall next to the door. As expected, the masked man remained inside with the rest of the guards. They quickly shoot a few rounds and stop to reload.

The lights suddenly flicker back on. Figured as much, I knew one of the men I left alone would eventually make it to the breaker and restart the system. I take a deep breath and prepare myself for what I know and have planned for. "Come out you bastard or we shoot them!" a man’s voice calls out from the room.

So cliché, can't criminals be a bit more creative? Laser sharks? Something more fun? Ugh, alright, time to end this. I stand up and walk in slowly while waiving my guns in the air as a form of surrender.

"Now what in the world do we have here?" Says the masked man. As expected, he is confused by my physique. Why would an intruder be skinny and shaped like a woman? Men, so predictable. I look at Eisuke, Mamoru, Ota, Soryu and Baba and thank goodness they are aware enough to see what is going on. It won't take much to get them going, although, poor guys, they look very roughed up and dehydrated.

The masked man lowers his gun, preparing himself to make a villainous speech and I take advantage of his ideocracy. I drop my guns to give him false hope that I am turning myself in, causing the men to laugh. They should have paid attention to my fingers, my throwing knives are hooked and ready to go.

It all happens in slow motion for me I start to swing the knives quickly into position and throw them. First, I am at the masked man's shooting hand, stabbing him right through his wrist. I then start to cart wheel to the side as one of the men begins to fire and I throw two more knives with one hand, hitting both men as I use my other hand to support my movement. I end up croouching next to Eisuke because I know the guards are under strict orders to not shoot him or the others.

"Bitch! Come out here and fight us!" One of the remaining two men states as the others either tend to their wounds or run away. I laugh a little too loud by accident and one of the men catches it, grunting in frustration.

Eisuke looks down at me and whispers, "I don't know who you are, but do you have a death wish?" I shrug it off, if he only knew who he was speaking to. "Okay, so does that mean you want to fight hand to hand?" I yell out to the remaining morons.

The men whisper to each other, more than likely coming up with some sort of half-assed strategy. "We're lowering our weapons, come out, right fucking now." I place my guns on the floor and kick them away. I stand up and walk towards the men. As expected, one of them pulls out a knife while the other tries to pull out his gun from his back belt-holster. I run towards the man with the knife and smash my left arm in an angled swing against his right arm as hard as I can, causing him to drop his knife. I hold onto his biceps pushing his arms back and using them for balance as I plant my left leg down and kick hard at the man that was reaching for his gun, hitting him right under his chin with the heel of my right boot. I then shift the top part of my body back arching as much as possible, grabbing and pulling the knife guy hard, flipping him downward, smashing his head on the floor with his own momentum. Before I can hit the ground, I had let go of the man used my arms to support me leaving me in a wheel position, except for my extended right leg. I bring that leg down hard on top of the guard’s head, propelling the lower part of my body up and helping me flip upside up again. Both men end up knocked out.

I move quickly go to collect the guns from the floor as I hear a startled Baba yell, "Holy shit, that was amazing pretty lady!" I laughed again, they have no clue of who I am and no way to know as my helmet disguises my voice. I take a quick bow for fun and quickly look around again to get my bearings straight. At least two men are able and out there somewhere and masked freak has run out of the room like a wounded dog.

I re-upholster my guns and take out the case holding the electrolyte coctails I made for the men. As I take the auto-injectors out, the men begin to panic a bit. "What are you going to do with those?" Soryu yells. "Relax gentlemen. If I wanted to kill you, I would have done so already (I always wanted to say that). These are to help you get rehydrated and give you the strength you need to follow me out of here, I can't carry you all."

I head to Mamoru first and stab him on one of his legs and do the same to the rest of the men. "Who are ya kid?" Mamoru starts off the inevitable round of questioning. I go to the center of the room and begin working on the massive lock that is holding all of their chains together. Jesus, masked man has a flair for the dramatic for sure. The lock seems complicated, but I begin to work on it. "Look pops, right now is not the time." He scoffs in frustration.

"Who sent you?" Eisuke asks. It takes me a minute and the lock finally gives way, I don’t have time for idle conversation and have to ignore them. "Alright men, listen to me. You can begin pulling your chains, they are lose now." I look up at them as they stand, then see that they have thick metal cuffs, stupid masked man. I take a small container of acid I carry for just such occasions. "Okay, show me your cuffs. I will be putting a drop of acid on the hinges. Be sure to shake them off quickly." The men do as told, but not without making a fuss about it all. "What else ya got on you?" Mamoru asks, trying to be funny. I remain silent, focusing on my plan.

"Okay men, we are heading out of this warehouse towards the back end. I anticipate that we'll be followed so we have a great cinematic car chase to look forward to. Be sure to grab some guns from the ground. Let's go!"

PART 3 COMING SOON...

#kbtbb fanfiction #kbtbb fanfic #kbtbb soryu #kbtbb mc #kbtbb #kbtbb ota #eisuke

15 notes · View notes

matronpersephone · 4 years

Text

(tw: torture, mention of unconsenting intercourse, mention of death)

The man quivered against his confinements and the rope burn restored his conciousness crippled back to him instantly, to return him from the promised lands of dreams to the agonizing hell of reality. Count your blessings, they say. So little his moments of bliss seemed, so quick to pass and fleet through the cracks on his fingers like the river waters, he whaled in protest almost pathetically. He wanted to cry, he wanted to scream, he wanted to plea, but his tears had dried, his throat had turned sore and his remorse was exhausted, upon deaf eyes. The memory of his wife and his son seemed a distant haze, a wild summer dream and the thought alone of reconnecting with his family was no longer written in his stars. Alas, life was short, so short, so much shorter actually than all he had reckoned. And for that, he lost faith, he lost ambition, he lost sorrow and as all emotion turned to mold from the inside out, he was turned into a shell of his former self, a cheap replica of his days of glory and youth. Life was a game that could take the right player anywhere; now she was collecting unpaid debts and there was no cheating this round. Only reckoning.

He was handsome and strong, and his eyes burned with mischief and desire. But who was he now? Or what, really? The man could only just barely see in this sea of darkness and the goddess of the moon was mayhaps feeling merciful for one final time to grace her light, through one hollow crack on the ceiling this one ray of pale silver, taking a leap of faith into the void of his prison, granting him one glimpse of life again. He crouched closer, thirsty for her grace, thirsty for her saviour, and he cupped the silver in the bloodied hold of his palms, trying to delight what tiny beauty remained in the world. When did he become so mindful of nature, when did he finally grow eyes to see the beauty and when did he find the clarity in his mind to treasure the on going moments of mortality? Death truly changes people and those that meet the dead, they are never one and the same again. Perhaps this explained why now, of all times, he did, finally, truly see. And perhaps he owes even gratitude to her.

---

Maymm has always been an adversary for quick, clean kills. The purpose of the executioner is not to bring suffering, but to carry out a fatal sentence. It is never their responsibility to measure guilt and justice; once jurisdiction has been spoken, the executioner obeys. And perhaps she is right. For all her nonsensical blabbering, maybe this one time Maymm was not a self congratulatory fool, but actually precise. Nothing quite compared to a swift, spontaneous kill. To steal their breath, to stop their hearts, to overshadow the light behind their eyes and to let their thoughts and their minds and their hopes and their beliefs all bleed peacefully into eternity forevermore, to end a life and to bring a halt to years upon years of pursuits and endeavours and to all that made a person this one, specific person, all in but a split moment in this infinite line of time; that is orgasmic. Maymm never taught her the amusement in a kill, she just had to learn it her own way. For as long as she remembers, the she had to rely upon her own strengths and efforts to teach herself all the necessary lessons to survive in this world and understand it. Well, clearly enough to turn her into an assassin like no other of her kind. Because who other of her own would ever take joy in such cruelty, misery, suffering than the only one with a brave spirit and a huntress' heart. Quick kills are good; sometimes, prolonged is better. And in the case of such scumbags, who dirtied her land with their crimes and shed the blood of her people, oooh! Prolonged was (really) the better of the two.

The silver in his hands clashes on the smooth surface of perfectly sharp steel, gliding smoothly on the sharp edges of the weapon and reflecting in the four corners of this room. The man flinches with horror and he collapses on the flayed, butchered muscles of his back, to no avail but a surge of pain that paralyzed him again. The woman was quiet, so quiet always, so discreet when she danced in the dark and she moved unseen, unheard and unparalleled in the shadows. He never noticed her, not him and definitely not his companions, albeit their magical properties. Had the woman no influence over the spirit realm, or were they so reckless they failed to detect her? Impossible. Impossible, that with no magic one could ever be so swift, so precise, so deadly. Impossible that one could ever circle seven mercenaries so quietly, move so quickly and kill them, one by one, always with one, perfect blow so efficiently. He watched the six, as they surrendered to the sweet embrace of death all around him, their skin turning pale and cold before they hit the ground, and he was left lone, to face judgement. For the first time in his life, afraid. Scared. Horrified.

She likes the fear. Fear is necessary. There can be no respect and no integrity without fear in the spirits of one's enemies. This was, all along, why Ionia had to suffer before she learned her lesson. The old ways worked for the past, but the future did not adhere to the laws of yesterday and thankfully, someone was making sure the laws were on their side of the field this time. So yes, a bit of brutality here and there? That was just some necessary evil. From Navori, to Weh'le and to Puboe, or anywhere else in Ionia, criminals of the war remained hidden, outcasts that were condemned when their evil dreams sank and their ambitions were met with nothing but the wrath of justice. (Someone) had to pull out the weeds and end this infestation because if no one did so much, there will be no tree for her former masters to Prune. Well, and the thrill of the hunt made it all the more exciting.

She turned him over with the heel of her shoe. Poor bastard did not make a pretty sight no more. For a gang leader and a traitor of his homeland, who gambled on the misfortune of his people and tried to chase privileges in foreign empires, he was quite the charm. But now most of all that was lost and the true ugliness of himself was brought to the light. Of course that required some little help of her kama, that was unsurprisingly quite the effective thing. He was given a choice, after all, to confess his guilt and spurt out his secrets, in exchange for a quick passing; he declined. So why would she feel remorseful for her actions, like for one when she first dag deep her blade into his skin and peeled his entire arm off with the precision of a mad surgeon, or when he tried to strike her for a wild attempt to freedom and she slashed the fingers of his feet? Or when she caught lies in his testimony and he forced her to slice across chest and lower torso, smoothly removing the ugly clothing so that perhaps when his heart would come closer to the light he would at least feel less confident in his escaping efforts? She loved that one, watching the steel glide so effortlessly, like scissors on paper, almost brushing against the bones. Perhaps the Kinkou was not so useless, teaching her all about human anatomy and that much. It definitely brought the two so much closer.

He weakly moved his head, with every fiber of his dying being begging only with his eyes. He had seen a kunai before, it killed all his friends so peacefully and what he feared now he longed desperately for. She tilted her scalp. "Oh this? Yeah, it can probably end the pain," she jabbed with a smirk. "But I'm not sure I should do that little favour for you. You see, you turned on my people and then you tried to hide from punishment. You kind of became my problem. And I'm really good at dealing with my problems."

The ghost closes his eyes and flails weakly, as he cries but his tears come no more. But he can hear her smile. It's wicked, it's cruel and it has a voice of its own, that he will remember even when he reaches the skies, the spirit be good. His whole life he fought for a better future for his child, for a chance to save her from the poverty of their family, the cold of the winter and the cruel hunger. His whole life Ionia turned its back on his child that lived in the streets and when he turned his back on them in return, is this what he deserves? To hell with honour and patriotism, they never kept mouths fed; the invaders did. The invaders sheltered them and gave them seats at the table. So to hell with this righteous wench, to hell with it all, why was he so undeserving of a quick death?

But she never answered, she never asked, she never doubted and she never pondered. Why would she ponder, on a killer of the defenseless? On an enabler of the tyrants? On a selfish fool that brought the blades of the enemy into their land and guided them into the bodies of the weak? They murdered, they usurped, they raped and for what? The honour of dying in the wars of someone else that proclaimed himself a righteous conqueror? Was that it, a life any better? Was that enough to trade the suffering of thousands? Was that worth the trauma that now scars them?

Akali doesn't think so. Now twilight falls, and forgiveness is a privileged the guilty have lost.

#league of legends #akali #short story #ionia #caution advised

4 notes · View notes

purple-prose-porn · 7 years

Text

Lovely, Loved and oh so Lost

The clock strikes three and Delia raises her glass to the chimes that echo through her apartment, bouncing off the thick walls and coming back to her softer but just as piercing. Every chime of the clock is a drink, she’s had the shots lined off since her alarm woke her at twelve, midnight of course. Three shots of tequila that burn on the way down for the three chimes of the clock and a glass of finely aged whisky to top it all off.

She actually has no idea why today is so special to her, there’s no real rhyme or reason to it. She doesn’t have any movie premiers to go to, no galas to attend, no exclusive parties or clubs to visit. There’s nothing too remarkable about the day but it feels special to her for some reason and she supposes that’s enough to make it special.

“I wish I was a bottle blonde,” she sings, soft and sweet in a deeper voice than she usually would and wonders about that for a bit before she pours herself another glass of whisky. She loves her golden blonde hair, combined with her vibrant blue eyes and full lips she’s very classic Hollywood and she’s always loved it. She’s perfect to star in all the movies, she’s perfect to sing all the lovely romance songs, she’s always the perfect cast and she loves it.

“I don’t know why but I feel conned,” she hums as she pours herself glass after glass of whisky and enjoys the honeyed texture of it, slow and warm. There’s something comforting about a nice glass of whisky, one that cost more than most people’s monthly incomes, one that went down so smooth it was like liquid silk. Is decadent the word she’s looking for? Or satisfying? Hmm, she does love her life, her extravagant, wasteful, sinfully, hedonistic life.

What’s better than having what other’s don’t? What’s better than having everything she could possibly wish for? What’s better than being everything she’s ever wanted? She’s thirty-five and there’s nowhere to go but up, no boorish husband to hold her down, no annoying brat to hold her back.

“I wanna be an idle teen, I wish I hadn’t been so clean,” she mumbles into her…fourth glass? Fourth or fifth? Sixth maybe? Delia blinks irritably at the bottle and clucks her tongue as she tries to remember, when was the last time she spent time getting so deliriously lush? A week? Two weeks? Anything more than a day is obviously too long so she doesn’t feel any kind of guilt as she pours herself another glass, another one just to make sure the rest have company. She’s a caring woman after all.

Oh she’s very caring. She cares about so many things, so many charities and protests and movements. She’s a good person, always the poster girl for all the good, nice things in the world, it’s terribly ironic when it clashes with her party girl life but it makes for such good press. There’s nothing she loves better than some good press, scandals are the most fun and they’re so easy to make these days. Look at someone wrong, tweet something, imply just a little too much and the whole house of cards starts to totter.

“I wanna stay inside all day,” she giggles as a soft rain starts bashing itself against the kitchen window, “I want the world to go away.”

The rainy season, such a lovely time. The rain covers all the dirty pieces of this city so well, she can go out on the roof during a storm and scream as loud as she wants. She can sit on the edge of the building and look down, down, down all those dizzying stories down and not have anyone threatening to drag her back to ‘safety’.

She’s not suicidal, why would she be? Her life is great, it’s grand! She has everything, money and fame, a reputation. She has everything she ever wanted when she came on the scene eighteen years ago, when she was foolish enough to be with a man who did nothing but hold her back. She was suicidal back then, wanted nothing more than to take a pair of scissors and slice her own neck open. At least in death she would have gotten the recognition she deserved, the recognition that had been so selfishly kept from her during life.

But. But she’s not there anymore, she’s in an expensive, luxurious apartment with her alcohol collection and her custom made chandelier. She has a wardrobe full of lovely, design clothes that cost more money than she ever thought she could have. She has everything. She has another glass of whisky.

“I want blood guts and chocolate cake. I wanna be a real fake,” she sings drunkenly because she is drunk now, seven or eight drinks in and she’s up and dancing around the apartment. She turns on her chandelier, her specially made crystal chandelier and dances as it spins serenely above her. She loves that chandelier, all the pieces were carved and sculpted by hand and put together one at a time, made so when the light was turned on, made so when it turned, the shadows cast would be scenes.

Scenes of people dancing with her, people in lovely clothes, people like her. The chandelier was the first piece of furniture she brought to this apartment, she slept on a bare mattress in the bedroom while it was made. She ate over the kitchen sink while it was made, she sat on the floor or the counter, while it was sculpted. She refused to bring anything else until she had that, she’d always wanted one, she’d promised herself that she would have one, she’d sworn.

“Yeah, I wish I’d been a, wish I’d been a teen, teen idle.”

Now she has one. Now she’s dancing around her apartment with all the lovely shadowed people that it casts and is having the time of her life. The rain beating against the windows even sounds like a beat, one that rises and falls with her heart, chasing her steps as she stumbles every so often. She still has her glass in hand and every stumble sends some of the lovely whisky sloshing out, onto the carpet, over her fingers but she doesn’t care.

“Instead of being sixteen and burning up a bible,” she hiccups and she’s sure she skipped a line or two but that’s not important. It isn’t her song so it doesn’t matter, it’s a good song but not good enough to be hers and the only reason she likes it might be for that line. She did burn a bible at sixteen, she burnt it to ashes in front of her God fearing mother’s house. She did it out of spite because it was the last thing she could do to spite the old bitch, to spite her for throwing her pregnant sixteen year old out on the streets.

‘Whore! Slut! Harlot!’

Delia remembers all the slurs and words her mother hurled at her, some of them thrown so hard they bruised, some falling just in front of her, some so far off mark they couldn’t ever hurt. Oh yes, her mother was a terrible old bitch but that was fine because she was a terrible old bitch who died of smoker’s lung not two years later.

She can still remember her father’s call in the middle of the night ‘oh Deli you need to come to the hospital, your mother’s been in a terrible accident.’ She can remember nearly word for word her sisters’ texts the next day ‘Deli mom’s dead!’ ‘Deli please come home, we need you’ ‘Deli she was sorry, she forgave you, it’s okay’. She doesn’t remember how any of them got her new numbers but she does remember calling them, acting like she was going to leave her tour to come home. She remembers how grateful they all sounded, how they were putting off the funeral until she got there, and she remembers calling her manage to confirm the next concert in Europe.

“The pretty lies, the ugly truth. And the day has come where I have died,” she tries to carry the note but she can’t, her voice cracks as she slips but it’s okay. Delia crashes into her liquor cabinet and her glass smashes on the floor but that’s okay, it’s fine. She shakes her hand, wipes off the alcohol on her…dress.

She doesn’t know why she’s wearing a dress, today wasn’t supposed to be special but what does it matter? She’s drunk, past tipsy and well, proper drunk and she can’t even sing straight anymore but it’s fine, it’s fun! She’s dressed in a lovely golden dress, one that hugs her curves and shows off how darlingly slim she is. She’s wearing a lovely golden dress that matches her hair, compliments her eyes and makes her stunning, she’s a lovely train wreck in action and there’s nothing she loves being better.

“Only to find, I’ve come alive!” she screams to the empty apartment, screams as loudly as she can, listening to the screeching way her voice breaks again and smacks her hand against her cabinet. She can hear the grandfather clock wind up again, even though it’s across the room from her, even though she shouldn’t be able to. She hears the gears whirring and feels every little ‘tick’ echoing around her skull.

“I wish I wasn’t such a narcissist,” she whispers, pushing away from the cabinet and stepping on the glass but not caring. She listens to every little tick, steps in time with it and spins herself back under her lovely chandelier.

“I wish I,” the words die off in her throat as she looks at the crystals, watches them shine and shimmer as they go around and around in time with the clock. She knows every piece of it, what makes it go, what makes it tick, and she knows there’s something wrong. She can’t see it from the ground but she knows, call it intuition, and she needs to fix it.

“I wish I didn’t really kiss,” she repeats under her breath as her grandfather clock strikes the half hour and her chandelier…stops…moving. The chandelier stops turning, the party full of people stops stock still, even the echoing chime of the half hour stops on the second echo and Delia. Delia stares, she stares and stares at the glimmering chandelier, her chandelier.

“No,” she mumbles, ignoring the bloody prints she leaves across the nice hardwood.

“No, no, no,” she hisses as she grabs the back of a chair, a heavy wooden chair made of mahogany, a lovely chair, part of a set chair.

“No, no, no,” she snarls as she drags the chair, yanks and pulls it across the lovely hard wood floor, all the way from her tiled kitchen to her living room where her chandelier has stopped. She doesn’t care about anything else, nothing else matters to her; not the pain of glass, not the screeching of wood on wood, not the thundering tick of the grandfather clock.

Nothing else matters to her as she climbs up, nothing else matters as she gets on tip toe to reach the chandelier. She doesn’t think about turning off the light, she doesn’t think about calling anyone, she doesn’t even think too hard about the length of rope in her hand. She doesn’t think about how she doesn’t keep rope in her home, she doesn’t think about the perfect noose she ties with it. She doesn’t think about the way her fingers move along the rope, practiced and sure but mechanical in their surety, it should be unsettling but isn’t.

“The mirror, when I’m on my own,” and somehow she’s still singing her song and she feels a genial smile tugging on her lips again, pulling them up. Her name is Delia Daniels and she’s the best, she’s beautiful, she’s talented, she’s rich and famous and lovely, ever so lovely.

“Oh God!” she giggles, laughs, cackles, because God has nothing to do with it and she doesn’t even question slipping her head through the perfectly tied noose. She laughs as it rubs against her neck, she laughs harder as she loops the other end of the rope around the sturdy support of the chandelier; her chandelier.

“I’m gonna die alone,” she gasps between the choking laughter, stuck in her throat laughter, tight around her neck laughter, not enough breath in her lungs laughter. She’s gasping around the bubbling, boiling laughter in her mouth, the laughter that’s wrapped itself around her neck and is squeezing tight, tighter, tighter.

She…she’s choking.

Choking, but not on laughter. Breathless, but not from humour.

Her legs are kicking free, she can’t find the chair, she can’t see her chandelier. Why did she, did she jump? Why did she, why did she make a noose? She doesn’t understand, why did she, she is she…

“Delia, dearest.”

She can’t see her chandelier but she can see the grandfather clock. She can see the elegant golden hands; short hand three, long hand just past six.

“I did enjoy you.”

She can hear the tiny ticks, tick, tick, ticks. She can count the spaces. One. Two.

“But a deal’s a deal, yes? Of course, and I know you don’t break your promises.”

Three.

“Now, just close your eyes, and die. Die pretty, die lovely. You’ll be plastered over all the tabloids, every website, all of them will have you, dearest. They’ll get it wrong, they’ll say it’s a cry for help, they’ll forget the whisky on the table, they’ll ignore the glass on the floor. They won’t know the time, they won’t see the rhyme, or reason.

My dearest, no one will ever understand what you did or why, not even yourself. No one will understand because this is beyond them and when he shows up, your lovely darling boy won’t either. I look forward to him, dearest, I look forward to your death and all the rewards I get to reap, and all because you couldn’t spare a few seconds for the fine print.”

Ha, hmm, it’s so…tragic. Oh so tragic.”

#suicide #hanging #Delia Daniels #oc writing #Diabolus Et Per Singula Res

2 notes · View notes