Pearls hung from pale skin as Mrs. Anderson prepared herself for the nightly festivities that would soon follow. Her little Jessica, age six, had just been put to bed by her own hands, as her father was busy getting dressed. She was dressed in an elegant, black dress that fishtailed across the floor. A shawl, composed of black guard hound fur, adorned her neck and shoulders. At the end of the shawl, black chocobo feathers danced in the light breeze that whistled through the room. Locks of golden hair splashed against the woman's black canvas as she smiled into the body-length mirror in front of her. "L is for the way you look at me.." She spun on her thin heels, only to meet her husband in the hallway. He was dressed in a neat tux, short, brown hair slicked back, and snake-skin shoes adorning his feet. "Jessica just fell asleep.." Mrs. Anderson placed a hand on her husband's chest as they headed down the newly-polished stairs.
It was nine or so, dark enough. There had been reports lately that no one should travel alone, there was some sort of violence that had leaked up from the slums of late. This was the perfect reason for a high, keening scream, shouted, pleading words, a shortly choked yell for help. There was a commotion, trashcans being knocked over, sent flying, bouncing into the street. It was all right outside the Anderson's house, ending with a swerve and squeal of tires and beep of an irritated commuter. The night was still, other than a dog marking the end of the disturbance a block or so away. It was all right there at their front stoop.
The married couple were caught in a quick kiss before Mr. Anderson opened the door. His wife, feeling the slight chill in the air, turned on her heels to retrieve a jacket from the closet in the back. Charlie Anderson took the time to light up a fresh cigarette outside. Whisps of silver smoke trailed off the elder man's lips as he stared into the dark oblivion. Tonight was a special night; he would announce his wife's recent pregnancy and raise hikes for his employees. Charlie quickly stamped out his cigarette once his wife called him. "Have you seen my new fur coat? I can't find it anywhere!" Sigh. "Did you check upstairs?"
And thus came where the Andersons would no longer be permitted to dismiss the sounds ouside as street noise. Half on the sidewalk, half on the road was what had once been a woman not that much different than Mrs Anderson, the dress less extravagant, the hair less luxurious. She was crumpled, battered, light taupé satin dress splotched with dark stains of blood and street grime. Her once carefully styled black hair was gnarled and spread out around her like a bloodstain. Violence like this was rare in Sector Eight, above or below. She moaned weakly after a moment, voice broken and gravelly. "...someone... anyone..." She knew Mr Anderson could hear her. "...please... someone..."
The husband turned around, eyebrow raised at the unique sound. He gently stepped away from his home and reached into his pocket; all he had on him was an old revolver. He gently shook his head and proceeded into the darkness, ignoring the calls from his wife. "Miss?" His eyes came across the battered woman, and his speed picked up. He raced the to the young woman's side and knelt down beside her. "Miss? Are you alright?" She was hurt bad, from what he could tell.
Slowly, shakily, with as much strength as a newborn, she lifted her head, startling hazel eyes blurred with tears and grit. "...thank gods..." she rasped, sending herself into a violent wheezing. Something thick and dark rimmed her lips, pooled in the corner of her mouth, ran a line across her face. She sunk back to the road, eyes rolling into her head a bit as it reaquainted itself with the asphalt.
"Oh good GOD." Charlie picked the woman up and quickly headed towards his home. "Julie! We have a problem! Call the hospital!" Julie covered her mouth once she saw the bloodied woman. She quickly ran towards the kitchen while Charlie placed the young woman onto the floor. "What's your name Miss? We're going to get you to a hospital as soon as possible." Charlie quickly pulled off his jacket and wrapped it around the girl.
There was a soft, wet cough. She gripped his jacket, wrapping her hand stickily around his lapel. "My... my..." she fell silent, wheezing, head lolling backward, tilting against his chest. She was barely hanging onto consciousness, arm wrapped tightly around her stomach.
"Honey! Forget it! WE'LL DRIVE HER OURSELVES. GRAB A CURE MATERIA QUICK." Charlie pickked the girl off of the floor and headed into the kitchen area. There, he met with Julie, who was holding a small, green orb in her hands. "Oh dear God.." The wife knelt down quickly and placed the small orb against the woman's wrist. "Stay awake for us.." Charlie gently patted the girl's cheeks.
The young woman glowed faintly, taking a deep breath and hacking up a rather digusting blob of black. She breathed again deeply as the magic dissapated, her eyes opening while she began a deep, easily rhythm. "...thanks..." she murmured, offering a weak smile. She sighed, looking down at her stomach before she looked back up at Mr Anderson. "...I had a nasty hangover..."
The hand previously around her waist had raised, muzzle of the sleek Glock at the underside of his chin, silencing mechanism on the end. There was a soft rain of blood and flesh, the gun turning to Mrs Anderson. "...mind if I take it with me in case it comes back?"
The wife let out a horrible scream as blood splattered across her face. She quickly tried to move away from the person on her kitchen floor, only managing to trip and twist her ankle on the shoes she was wearing. Her nailed fingers dug into the floor as she reached for the phone, which was resting on the counter in front of her. "Charlie..CHARLIE. Oh god.." Julie kicked at the ground with her legs, scrambling to get the phone.
The murderous woman slowly pulled herself to her feet, apparently no worse for the wear than her victims had been. She licked her lips lightly, taking aim behind Mrs Anderson. "Don't y'wish y'd minded yer own business now...?" the figure purred, loosing two more rounds from the gun. Between the two of them, the pearls fell, some matting into the gore, the rest bouncing and rolling away. The gaping hole through the back of her neck vomited gore upon the linoleum, sputtering as her lungs fought to work.
The house was silent after the final drops of blood splattered against the pearly-white walls. Then came a sound, which most would probably ignore. Some little creaks echoed from the stairwell as a sleepy little creature came down from the sanctuary of her bedroom. Dressed in a silky, pink nightgown with a stuffed kitten and chocobo in her arms, the young Jessica, tiredly, rubbed her eyes. She let out a soft yawn. "Mommy...I had a nightmare..."
The woman froze, turning to the noise instantly, gun lowering to her side, grip on the weapon readjusting. She swooped on the child the second she came into view picking her up and whisking her back into the hallway. "Aww... shh, shh..." she cooed, eyes twitching at the expanse of hallway before her. "Aunt Tessa will tuck y'back in." Aunt Tessa smelled funny, that was sure, of pungant, metallic dampness and sticky-sweet syrup; strawberry gashes, indeed. She held the girl tightly, gun pressed flat against the girl's back. "I'm here t'watch over 'til Mama an' Daddy get home, alright...?"
The small girl opened her eyes; they were pale, too pale to be normal. To those who knew their facts, she was blind. Her small hands groped around the other's face, trying to figure out what they looked like. "..Why are you so cold Aunty? You should be warmer.." Jessica gently carressed the other's face, innocent, blind eyes starring at her form. "...Are you ok? If you're sick, you should sleep. Mommy always tells me to sleep when I'm sick." The small girl touched the woman's nose before running a finger down and across her lips.
"I'm always cold, love..." Tessa cooed, twisting her head to kiss the girl's hand. "Now I forget, which is my big girl's room?" Bathroom noted on the way. Good, good. Everything was on track.
"...Three feet from the closet. I 'member the whole house." Another, squeaky, yawn came from the young Jessica as she placed her head on "Tessa's" shoulder. "Tell Mama and Daddy I love them when they get home.."
"They told me t'take good care of yoooou..." she fairly sang, though in very hushed tones. There was the closet. First door must be it. The woman shifted the girl in her arms, pushing open the door. "Oh, my. Yer room has so changed, love!" There was the bed, there was a half-full glass on the nightstand. "Should I get somethin' t'drink before bed fer my big girl...?" It would be best if you agreed, dear child. "Aunt Tessa" set the girl down in the bed, stroking over her hair with gore-slick hands. Up the covers went, smears of blackish-rust around the edges.
"Just..a little bit of water please.." Jessica curled up in her blankets. "..I love you..Aunty.." Those cloudy eyes fluttered shut as the young Jessica made a nest in her blankets.
The murderess looked down at the child, and what Jessica could not see was the consternation there, the moral battle. She turned sharply from the bed, snatching the glass. She went back to the bathroom, taking up some toilet tissue and wiping the glass, holding the bloodied paper around it as the old water was dumped. New was put in, the cabinet opened. OF course, they were rich, and further it meant they were prone to taking it easy. The Valium was expected and after a minute or so, the entire bottle was crushed and dissolved into the glass. And so Tessa moved back to the little girl's room, sitting down next to her on the bed. "Sit up, love. Here's th' water. I want it all gone like big girls do an' then straight t'sleep with ya. It'll help keep th' nightmares away."
Jessica slowly sat up and groped around for the glass. Once she found it, she quickly took it into her little hands and began sipping at the glass. The poisoned water was quickly finished off and with another yawn, Jessica returned to the warmth of her blankets. "..Night Aunty Tessy..."
"G'night, love." She lingered, stroking the girl's hair until she was asleep, waiting just a little longer as her breathing slowed and surely enough, ceased entirely. Aunty Tessy then stood, slipped out of the bedroom, closing the door behind her. She walked out, noting the congealing blood already stained into the walls and floor. She moved past them and out the door, locking it behind her as if nothing was amiss within.
The woman sashayed easily down the steps and to the trashcan that had rolled into the street. She paused, scooped around inside and removed a worn blue jacket. Shortly thereafter followed a white shirt, matching slacks, boots. She moved across the street and into the nearest alley, changing direction toward the Shinra Building. A few more feet and she pulled off the tattered wig and after a few more, slipped out of the pumps. By the time she reached her destination, she was no more than a tired, painted Turk.
The redhead paused, wiping his face on the tattered taupé fabric and shoving it into a trashcan, pumps and all. The wig he slipped under his arm like an ugly little dog and in he went. Up the stairs he climbed, working off his adrenaline's last stand, finally reaching the top, completely exhausted.
To Rude's apartment the young Turk went, slipping his duplicate key into the door and slipping inside. The older man was still working, he knew, and thus, he helped himself to a shower. It was only when he raided the cabinet for asprin did he think back to his deed, and moreover, the little girl. She was a littl blind angel, completely trusting him as he reeked of death and fruit preserves. Why hadn't he just shot her as well. She wouldn't have known anything, dead there with her parents.
It halted him for a few moments. He hands slowly stopped moving aside bottles, eyes no longer focused outwardly. Why had he drugged the girl? It was, he decided after a bit, because he was always a pleaser. He gave love free to anyone, to his dozens of nameless, faceless bedmates, to the old men as escorts, to anyone he could sway. And she was too young to understand, and full herself of so much love to give. She was no different than the miserable masses, looking for someone who would, at least pretend to, give them some time of adoration and warmth in such a heartless city.
Satisfied, he grabbed a cottton shirt from Rude's drawers and pulled it over his head, curled up on the couch and slept away his sins, the girl forgotten just as quickly as his last girlfriend and just as dead. He'd satisfied them both and sent them away with what affection he had. It was their fault for trusting.
Current Mood: yawn.
Current Music: OC Remix - Love Hurts