tampered | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

When; Saturday evening.
Rating; R
Characters; Mara

cold_dry_pieces
Summary; Mara's cursed and runs into a dear friend. Things don't go as well as she would hope.
Log;

Mara hated these curse days, but after years of living in the City, she'd more or less gotten used to them. After the first few times she'd found herself looking into the souls of others, she'd put on glasses, she's kept her head down, and she'd tried not to look up too much. Customers didn't seem to mind, but she did.

And she did it so long she twitched something in her neck. The Gods did not smile on her it seemed, and on the way home she decided to get a drink to see if that helped. A quick message home and she was off to the bar, where an unfortunate incident with the bartender convinced her that perhaps she should skip the drink and see if Ken would draw her a nice bath instead.

Heading out the door, she swore as she realized that she could hardly see anything with her sunglasses. Weighing the risks, Mara came down on the side of being able to see and after tucking the glasses in her purse, she headed out.

Still with her head down.

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Another month, another weekend of chaos. This time he's managed (as far as he can tell, and in general he's a decent judge of it,) not to be afflicted by any nonsense; but considering the scope of other people's misfortunes, that hardly means anything. He's dodged his share of curse-crazed strangers already.

Now, though, he's distracted; brooding a bit as he stalks down the street, considering for what feels like the thousandth time whether it's worth the risk to try his luck, to see if the deities made me do it is a working defense here.

It's not that he doesn't see Mara coming; he just assumes she'll step aside, or stop to chat when she notices him. Right now he'd almost prefer the former; keeping up the friendly act in this mood is a positive chore.

Only Mara didn't see him coming, she was too focused on not meeting anyone's eyes. At all. She didn't even realize someone was heading her way until the inevitable collision, sending her stumbling off the side. Her purse even skittered out of her grip, spilling out onto the ground.

"Gods, damn it, I'm sorry. I wasn't looking..." She still hadn't even really seen who it was she'd stumbled against.

"It's all right,"

he murmurs, forcing a faint note of humor because Mara would probably expect it, and even half-distracted it's an instinct, being what people want to see. If he had any idea--

He bends to help gather her things, lips quirking in a faint, faked smile.

"Long time no see," he adds, glancing at her and waiting for her to look up. The funny thing is he's good at eye contact, good at selling his persona with a guileless-seeming gaze.

Usually.

"Rudy!" Mara smiled as she started to look up. It was good to see her friend, they spent so little time together here. "I'm so sorry, let me get these gathered - would you like to get a drink?" It was polite to ask, even if she had been intending to get home.

She scooped up the last of her things before she fully turned, the surprise of running into him temporarily overriding her memory of why she was looking down in the first place. She should have remembered.

She held his gaze just a moment too long and the switch was tripped. She felt the connection open, she felt him being laid bare before her and she couldn't stop it.

He doesn't manage to answer the invitation, but his smile doesn't falter until it's far, far too late. He's always scoffed at the very notion of a soul; and indeed, inside he's uncommonly empty; cold, tinged with the coppery stale scent of blood. A killer, without reason or regret; there's no question of it, connected as they are in the moment.

His mind, his past, full of women he's known and taken and never cared for, coming closest to it in the intimate hours spent with his blades, turning flesh into art. An act of creative destruction he'd like, very much, to repeat. Soon. And Mara herself, through his eyes-- a convenient piece of camouflage, potentially promising as a subject for his work, and nothing more.

He straightens up, not breaking their gaze, uncertain. Something's wrong, he can tell; he's not sure what, but he's poised to grab her if she makes a break for it.

There are horrors. Like the worst of the stories about the outerlands, the places outside of the Order's protections. There was blood and knives and women, so many women. So many, many, women.

And her. Deep in her soul, in his, she now knew. He saw them all as art and he a terrible, terrible artist.

The connection broke as swiftly as it was started and Mara was left gasping, stumbling back from the power of what she'd seen. She couldn't stop the terror from showing on her face the revulsion as she tried to keep her balance.

"Mara..."

She knows. There's no conceivable way for her to know, but the look on her face-- trying to salvage the situation, he steps closer, voice soothing. (But it's a lie, of course; they've all been lies, every kind word, every memory. Comforting her after she confided. All just a part of his game; and such a long one it's been.)

"Are you all right?" It sounds perfectly genuine.

He shifts, trying to drive her towards the wall. There's no one around; still, the quieter he can make this, the better.

"I..." Lie. Say something, anything, but her mind was slow, still trying to process what she'd seen, what she'd learned. Rudy (Brian), her friend, the person who'd helped her heal her powers when she'd lost them after her death. The man she'd told so many of her secrets to, a murderer. As bad or worse as the men who'd killed her before.

Ken, Gods, she needed to get to Ken, he'd know what to do, who to call in the police. And with that goal, the fog lifted. "I'm fine, just cursed is all, I keep having the spells, I get dizzy." She stood, upright, trying to judge her surroundings. "Perhaps we should have that drink another time. I should get home. Ken's expecting me."

Even if she'd managed to lie gracefully, chances are, he wouldn't believe it. With that look on her face, there's no way he's going to let her go. It calls for a risk; one he wouldn't normally take, has carefully avoided for far too long, knowing how the City operates. But his luck is up already; if she goes, he guesses (can't know, not like she knows, because he doesn't have a lucky bout of mind-reading tonight,) she's going to tell everyone.

If she comes back, she certainly will, but at least he'll have gained some satisfaction.

"Would you like me to walk you?"

Not even an honest question, just a misleading tone of voice as he moves to slip an arm over her shoulder, gambling that the supportive gesture will throw her off long enough for him to pull an arm around her neck, to cut off circulation and knock her out. It's always been his preferred method of incapacitation-- harder to trace than drugs, nearly as effective.

His arm around her made her stumble again, this time as she fought the instinct to run. Running wouldn't get her far, Rudy (Brian, her mind insisted) was larger and probably faster, her only option was to hope he dropped it.

"No." She tried to shrug his arm off, "It isn't that far, but thank you. I just... this curse, it is best if I'm alone, being around people seems to exacerbate the problem, it's been happening all day at the shop."

"I insist," he murmurs smoothly, the tone much less reassuring. He's not planning to let her slip away-- her comment about the problem she's had all day makes it even clearer that she knows too much. His eyes are roaming up and down the street, hoping he's lucky and there's no one about. So far, so good.

The arm on her shoulders slips around her neck, and he squeezes-- tight, precise; he's tall and stronger than he looks, and (as she certainly must know,) well-practiced at this. Struggling might prolong the inevitable, a little, but he's not letting go before she passes out.

She should have run, as soon as he did not move away, as soon as he moved even closer, Mara realized she should have run. Still, she struggled, trying to scream through a throat that would not pass air, let alone sound. In her panic she struggled harder, nails digging into his arm, trying to draw blood. It was all for nothing and she could feel her oxygen-starved mind grow slow and her vision narrow to nothing by pin-pricks.

With her final thought, she sent out a prayer, Forgive me, Ken. I love you. Find me quickly.

This isn't how he prefers to work-- he savors the anticipation and the preparation as much as the actual kill, the inviolate and practiced steps of his own private ritual of fulfillment. Though he enjoys what he does, he doesn't do it because he enjoys it; it's compulsive, and the further he has to deviate from his preferences, the less satisfying it is in the end.

Still, tonight has suddenly become full of promise; as soon as she sags against his arm he bends to shoulder her weight. He's known Mara a long time; and though that doesn't breed emotional attachment, it does add an interesting dimension to what comes next, which might make up for the rushed circumstances.

No; looking at the whole, he can't muster many complaints. Certainly he's waited for and wanted this chance, and there's a ready space. Contingency plans waiting for a proper catalyst; a curse-driven gift, in fact. With a slight smile-- more genuine than any she's seen, pity she's missing it now-- he slips through the sidestreets towards to cool, clean room awaiting them both, savoring the thought of bleeding her dry.

When she woke, the first thing she was aware of was the pounding in her head. Painful, throbbing, and not going away, largely owing to the fact that it was much lower than the rest of her body. And as she became aware of other things, she realized that her body was tied down quite efficiently.

Panicking, she cried out, "Ken? KEN! SOMEONE HELP ME!" Adrenalin flooded her system and she started to struggle, trying to weaken or tear her bindings, but it was to no avail. She was captured. Kidnapped. By Rudy. Brian. Her... Gods, had he ever truly been her friend?

"No one will hear you, of course."

He steps into her field of view as if summoned, though of course he's been here all along. Savoring the moment. Waiting. Checking and rechecking his tools, making his plans, considering places to display his work. But timing is everything; that moment of realization and recognition when they wake has always been worth it to him, another puzzle piece of ritual clicking into place.

"Though," he adds, voice low and promising as he takes a step closer, smiling faintly, "everyone tries it anyway. Hello, Mara."

"Rudy, please..." It was time to beg. If ever there was a time to beg, this was it. Mara hadn't seen details, the connections weren't like that, but she saw the monster inside, Brian, and she knew how he saw her.

Art.

"I'll do anything. Even not tell anyone, please, just let me go."

Begging is better than screaming; neither is effective, but this is less likely to give him a headache. He leans against the table behind him casually, latex-gloved hands on the edge, regarding her with that same faint smile.

"You'd be obligated to. After all, I'm clearly dangerous."

"This... it's just a misunderstanding. The curse... it's done something to you. To me. To us." Gods knew it wouldn't be the first time. "I can tell them that, please, Bri- Rudy. Please." She could feel tears in her eyes and felt shame for it. Had she met her previous death like this, begging for her life? She didn't like to think so, but she suspected it.

"Please don't kill me."

Arching a brow, he pauses a moment, trying to give the impression that he's thinking it over. Honestly, it's not a terrible excuse; and when she comes back, unless he's very lucky and she doesn't, he might try to use it. It's why he's always thought this would be one of the best times to make a move.

"Do you think that's true?"

A carefully chosen quaver of uncertainty. Pushing off the table, he leans over her slightly, looking concerned. Wasting time, but maybe he can stir up a spark of hope to crush.

"I mean, it must be-- we've known each other so long... I can't really want to do this."

"Yes, yes, I think it's true." She lied, she'd been seeing those visions all day, she knew they were true. And she knew that Ken was looking for her. That he knew she had been planning to come home, wait out the rest of the curse. He knew that she would not have delayed willingly. He would know and she wouldn't lie to him.

But she put all her hope in her face, "I think this is a mistake, a misunderstanding. We can still take it all back. Please, Rudy, we've been so close for so long."

The smile looks genuine, the same supportive look he's shot her any number of times.

"You're not very convincing," he murmurs, stepping away. "But it was a nice try. No," he adds decisively, stepping around the table so he can keep his gaze on her-- idly nudging the handle of a scalpel into perfect alignment with its fellows-- "I think we can both afford to be honest about this. I've been waiting too long to waste the opportunity, and I'm not going to let you ruin me without getting something out of it."

Selecting a blade, he steps back towards her, with a deliberate calm, still looking more genuinely pleased than ever.

"Please. Please let me go." Mara could feel the tears falling down her cheeks, hot and wet and she knew she was close to hysteria. She could see more details of the room, few there were, and she understood it for what it was. A killing room. Sparse. Easy to clean. Instruments all in a row.

"Please, Rudy, please."

He does pause; not to consider her pleas, of course, but to appreciate the scene. The begging isn't a strictly necessary part of the ritual, but he enjoys it; the tacit acknowledgment of the power he holds, of the end approaching. He's fairly certain none of them ever expect it will work.

"I don't have a better side you can appeal to. I'm sure you've figured that out."

He says it gently, because he thinks that must be worse to hear. The scalpel sinks toward her, his hand steady, to lay the flat of the blade against her skin. If she flinches now, it will be over all too soon.

If these were Mara's final moments, as final as any here in the City, she didn't want them spent begging. Crying, yes, but her begging ceased. "He will kill you. Ken will hunt you down and murder you where you stand. There will be no where you can hide."

If he could live with her death, she'd give him the surety of his to keep him company.

Regrettably, the City rarely allows for proper finality; he half expects that finding him won't be difficult, that she'll be back in a day or so to point a finger. Not before someone finds her, he hopes; it's always gratifying to see the reaction to his work, though not crucial.

"Then I'd better make the most of you," he answers calmly, the blade still resting on its side as he draws a gloved finger along her collarbone. He's dragging it out a little-- why rush such a rare pleasure?-- but really, there's nothing more to say. He lifts the blade again, and it's only a breath's pause before he lowers it, biting edge laid properly against her skin, to draw things to their bloody conclusion.

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