The wind felt pointed to Autumn, like strands of hair made of saw blades gently scraping at her bare shoulders. She was still furious – she had been warned by everyone whod seen her with him that Ollie was trouble. Took after his father, her mother had said – the father that had left more or less the moment hed been born. Shed dressed up, gone out, enjoyed herself at Confession for all of two minutes before hed started drinking. Again. Theyd discussed it briefly – something hed not liked, clearly, but had tolerated – and she thought shed made her opinion clear. Give the first drink time to get down your neck before you start kissing the second bottle. Footsteps sounded behind her and she shook her head, wavy red hair flying across her face for a moment, “Dont even try Ollie – you knew what I thought about this. Were done.” Her accent was thick and broad, a musical Irish lilt that had given her more trouble over the years than it had helped. Nothing was said in response – just the continued heavy trudge of well-worn boots thudding against newspaper-clad concrete. It sent a crooked, juddering feeling down Autumns spine, a cold pang of uncertainty. “Ollie?” She turned – and the face she saw was not that of her drunken ex-lover. He was pale, his hair sodden and dark – were it not so short, Autumn imagined itd be awkwardly plastered to his forehead. His eyes were so pale and yellowed she had to do a double-take – nobody had eyes like that. Then he opened his mouth – and something out of a horror film descended from his jaw. Fangs. Long, pearly and twinkling with a subtle menace, a level of subtlety that the rest of him struggled to even look at much less compete with. Autumns jaw shuddered all on its own, not sure how long or loud to scream but knowing it definitely should. She stood, frozen, as her nightmares shuffled closer, nose scrunching up and drawing a long, analysing sniff of her scent. Her heart sank – her studies at University meant she knew for certain now it had her scent. And whatever this thing was – really – she had no idea how long it take for it to lose track of it. It may never. A clang sounded from a fire-escape further down the ally, drawing the attention of the skinny and pale as snow figure with a second baring of its fangs and a hissing snarl – this was the only chance she was going to get. Autumn felt the world slow as she counted down the seconds and splits of seconds between her present and the only two actions she could take – attack it, or try to get somewhere more public. This could still all be a prank – or at least she could still keep telling herself that. As the yellowed gaze of the creature began to swing back to her inch by inch, she made her choice. Autumn ran. She took three full steps before a great coat swirled from around the corner of the noisy fire escape and the man wearing it drew a strange contraption from within the folds of cloth, her distraction tripping her and scraping her knees angrily across the ground. Crying out, Autumn looked to the man shed nearly collided with and saw what he held in his hands – a crossbow. With a whisper of the string letting fly, she watched him reach up to the silver handle standing upright from the wooden grip and he pulled back, the string returning to its previous place and... Another bolt? Just like that? “Dont worry, ma cherie – I got this.” He said, his voice carrying a strong American accent that Autumn found herself struggling to place given the amount of questions and panic running in her mind, her pulse pounding in every extremity and her knees stinging with frozen bloody scrapes. He fired again, and this time Autumns gaze followed the bolt, striking the pale assailant in his chest – and as he fell, he erupted, a bloom of fire rendering him nothing but a scattering shower of ash in the winter breeze. Autumn looked to the stranger, his grey eyes analytical and calm despite having just committed murder with a frigging *crossbow*, and found her head feeling worryingly faint as the questions just stacked and stacked and stacked. “Youre gonna wanna get up, cherie. They hunt in packs.” Something for Joe to enjoy/add to. Not my best work, given that the perspective is not actually from the character(s) this story is gonna focus on, but its something I can refine. Opinions welcomed!
Posted on: Mon, 05 Jan 2015 23:53:54 +0000
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