Crack! Came the splintering sound of shattering wood, particles spraying outward from the collision. A drunken groan came from the debris. “I really hoped it wouldn’t come to this love.” A dangerous coo purred with heated venom beneath an unsettling calm demeanor. Scarlet lips parting, A larger man slumped into the mess of debris. Judging by the mess, he’d been thrown with impressive force. There was a feeble utterance of a desperate plea – apologizing for the wrongdoings to which the red-eyed woman simply tilted her head at. A felines’ chirp briefly caught her attention as a white and incredibly fluffy cat amicably trotted towards its masters side. Purring it rubbed against slender limbs, sweeping her tail against the maiden.
“Oh, my little sugar cube. You’re a perfect little a gem.” The woman cooed gingerly towards the feline. To which the cat’s bright pinkish red eyes blinked and looked up, its tail twitching back and forth, proud to receive such praise. There was coughing that interrupted the brief reunion to which platinum blonde curls bounced in the slight movement of her skull. An exaggerated sigh escaped painted lips. “You know I really don’t like getting dirty unless I absolutely need to.” though it was clear that her prey was still very much alive and – well, she couldn’t have that, now could she?
It was swift, her movements clean and precise. “Ah, I do dislike the taste of tobacco in their system.” Came a bitter scowl, pale thumb brushing away a stray trail of scarlet from her lips. “Martia,” a summons came. A woman in appearance that seemed much older, stepped from the shadows dressed in a formal maid attire. Her silver hair was tied in a neat, tight bun. “Would you be a doll and clean this mess? I want to make sure there isn’t a single scratch on Dutchess.” The older woman nodded contently without complaint while Vixen retrieved her feline companion who nestled contently in her arms like the little fluffy royalty her master treated as such.
There lingered perhaps vain hope that no further distraction would pull his focus this night, that this damned city would permit a serpent to return to the comforts of home. Allow far different thoughts to occupy the mind than what currently swam in unending stream. Each self assigned task had been carried out as throughly as one could in the moment and yet there was still so much to be done, other matters to handle before preparations could truly be deemed complete. Just thinking of it now threatened to twist expression.
A matter he is not allowed to dwell on for long for it seemed reprieve would not be granted so willingly as the resounding splinter of wood filled his ears. Some sort of commotion rising from the darkness of an alleyway. It was likely some street rat who prowled for scraps or maybe some drunkard who had lost their way, such possibilities nearly convincing the snake to continue on his way. Mind his own business and simply allow whatever occurred to play out uninterrupted. But no matter how such an option haunted him there is an unwillingness to heed it.
One could not turn away from duty sworn. If there were some manner of trouble brewing within the Red Queen’s lands it needed to be dealt with. Swiftly. Notion only cemented further as the unmistakable perfume of blood tainted the air.
Exasperated sigh fled painted lips as this tell tale mixture of misfortune spurred him to investigate. The faint click of heels sounding against the pavement until the presence of each unknown reached the senses. One lain still against debris, two still standing. If he had not hesitated then perhaps events could have been altered but for now he needed to keep focus on the present. Each of the living dead a radiation of aura and sound, each taking to their own tasks - clean up and the coddling of a feline. Now was the elder a willing accomplice or one forced to do another’s bidding?
In the end it mattered not. Within the eyes of the law both would be found at fault, each partook in criminal action.
And before one of silver hair could tamper with the scene much more, phrases would snap in harsh announcement. Summons for their attention as lyrics fell in firm unwavering tone, “Do not touch a thing.” Simple command, one easy enough to follow. With an ear trained on the actions of a supposed maid address would shift to the woman supposedly ‘in charge’ between the two, “Care to explain what happened here?”Criminal.
Despite the assumptions already held, Mithras would at least take statements. Listen to the woven tales of this debacle from the living no matter how clearly a crime was lain out. A man lay dead, another sought to clean up evidence, the obvious destruction of property. Countless marks upon the list, always something more to report. No matter what was said both would be charged, brought in for processing and further question. Though this was hardly something he’d hoped to do tonight and there came little joy in knowing of the paper work one would need to complete for even a temporary arrest.
Duchess purred, nuzzling into the bosom of its mistress. “Ah, Miss.” Came a weary sigh from the presumed maid or aide bid to clean the mess to which Vixen turned to acknowledge. Her face was blank and brow arched. Innocence laced the mirthful simper. “What is it Martia? Did the drunk hunter harm you?” The feline had since leapt from her throne, trotting down the alleyway free to do as whatever it was the feline wished to do. “Bruised miss—but your back is—” Vixen blinked, puzzled as one could not exactly turn and look at their own back to see what was being referred to. The maiden clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “Ah, it burns a little but we mustn’t dawdle—”
Do not touch a thing.
Came the sharp curt reprimand. A gentle curse escaped painted lips, quickly gathering her bearings before she spun on her heels, platinum blonde curls bouncing in unison with other pronounced features of the aristocrat. Care to explain what happened here? There was a tug to her lips in a curlish manner, shoulders dropped as a huff escaped her lungs though otherwise dismissive of the general commander. “Only if you’re willing to listen, love.” Her hands crossed over her breasts, defined by the now tattered corset and stained blouse.
Pointed ears turned back at the notably annoyed huff which fled the accused’s lips. Only for his own exasperation to taint the lyrics which greeted her in turn, “If I did not intend to listen I would not have wasted my breath.” Would not have taken the time to even ask before issuing an immediate arrest. Yet here he stood, waiting for something more than her snideness to reach the senses. For her own explanation of the situation at hand.
Well, that and something other than the purposeful way she seemed to accent her more endowed features with the press of arms. Mithras’ hallow gaze refusing to drift in those moments as it remained fixated, locked upon her contemptuous visage. Spurring the sharpness of a serpent’s tongue to overwhelm that bid for distraction, “It is in your best interest to answer truthfully.” Lest she wished to leave the duke to his own assumptions of the scene seemingly lain out before him.
Perfumes of blood and alcohol. One down, two standing. Captured phrase of cleaning up a mess, the evidence which could no doubt contradict whatever lies may spew. It all spelled one thing. Murder. However, without proper examination or a story to build a case from all the draconian could do was assume.
Always the astute one, she mused mentally with a lift of her brow. Vixen wondered if the smaller duke did anything for fun or if he remained as rigid as a statue. Scarlet gaze would trail up and down his elegant frame, her thoughts slipping to more promiscuous endeavors rather than the scene before them. If I did not intend to listen I would not have wasted my breath. He jeered back at her to which to which her expression remained unchanged save for the slight upturn of painted lips. It is in your best interest to answer truthfully.
“Of course, Mithy.” She hummed following a wistful sigh. “Look, here if you will,” she turned her back and motioned to the remains and retrieved the belt of the deceased. It was a dark brown, near black leather with six vials of holy water and a pouch filled with silver and coin. Vixen held the belt with her index and thumb, away from her person. A broken crossbow remained in the debris. “Oh, this is new.” She hummed, catching sight of the journal, carelessly dropping the belt and retrieving the small book, thick with use and wear with some water damage from evident travels. “In short, self-defense and retrieval of what had been taken from me.” She motioned the white fluffy feline that had a clump of fur missing from the back of her neck while flipping through the journal.
“Male, human, twenty-o—” she rose a brow and glanced at the corpse with disgusted disbelief before continuing sifting through the book. “Vampire hunter.”
Her bright red eyes flashed towards the Duke as she pointed to the poor handwritten inscription. “He took my cat, and I wanted her back, he wanted to stake me, so,” she shrugged in nonchalance as if the rest would speak for itself. “There are names written in the next few pages,”
It was hard to ignore the sensation of a wandering gaze, how it traced every dip of his frame. A discomfort this woman was known to eager provide and yet it only brought him to loathe her ever more. Such displays were hardly meant for the public eye to behold. It was an embarrassment for one of supposed nobility to be so brazen. Though to this he says nothing, knowing commands for such behavior to cease would be a losing battle. She would only amplify her efforts so it is so far different phrases he clings. For they make him bristle the moment they lace the air.
A hardly contained scoff leaving him in a rush, “You are on very thin ice. Do not insult me with such a calling Vixie.” The very same treatment offered to her. If she would not hold respect upon her tongue than neither would he in this case. But no matter how he may hiss that frame turned with a flourish, an uncaring attitude that grated upon his nerves.
Envenomed hiss fled his lungs as false sights took in the way she rummaged through scattered belongings. Resounding clatter bringing ears to turn back as she further contaminated the scene and each piece held within it with every brush of her fingers. Oh how she so carelessly tossed things about leaving vials to shatter in pursuit of ever more while prattling along about her proclaimed innocence. Even if this drunken fool was a hunter she damned herself with each graceless act.
So with a frown plaguing his own painted lips, the metallic click of fanciful heels strode forth. There were a great many of the damned who deserved to be staked within the draconian’s eyes and this lustful sinner was one of them. A beast who deemed herself above the law, crafting her own downfall when evidence would point to none but she should money not bribe her out of trouble once more. But in these moments she tied the noose around her own neck and Mithras was all too eager to pull it taut. Secure the fate lain out for such a soul deserving of nothing less than the tender embrace of death.
The permanent kind. One she would never awaken from… but no matter how that urge wished to seize him there is restraint for instead the draconic catches her by the wrist before more could be thrown about without a care for what shattered in the process. Digits coiling so that she could not wrench herself away as a free hand went to snatch the book from her clutches. Lyrical tone hissing with a venom that tinted the very gaze resting upon her features, “What is so hard to understand about not touching anything woman?”
Sure she wove her ‘woeful’ tale and yet did so much more in the process, “I asked for your version of events which you gave with rather lacking detail.” Now the truth of it could not be entirely confirmed with how all else now lay, “Your prey was drunk, I can smell it. A foolish thing to indulge in if he were to be hunting this night.” Which only left him to think she may have started the ordeal before her feline apparently got tangled into the mix, “I know how you are Vixen. You don’t care to hide your vulgar mannerisms.”
Yet a sigh would still slip, “But a hunter is a hunter. Self-defense or not.” He would have been eliminated by one eventually, the humans nothing more than fools to think they could take on accursed souls with forged weaponry alone. A tongue clicked in annoyance as briefly focus shifted toward the journal - whether it still lay in her hand or his own - as if scrawled lettering could be gleaned as easily as she beheld them. “The names, however, are likely future targets,” callings and descriptions of those known. Of beings another wished to be exterminated, “Unless they were stupid enough to be felled by a human.” As magic danced over where a few had been crossed off and held note of payment received.
