J.R. Sedant (timeandmemory) wrote in thecompendium, @ 2015-03-23 23:32:00 |
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Entry tags: | ash, jr |
He isn't sure Soho is desolate enough for him to complete the transaction he's interested in. Small, tittering crowds of theatregoers are dotted all over the street and the sidewalk, gossiping about this show or that actor. They're lucky - approaching groups is too difficult most of the time.
He's wearing something nice enough - dark pants, grey overcoat, shiny shoes. He's run in them before; he can do it again.
He's looking for one person - preferably not in prime condition, but not diseased. He can taste disease; it's foul and painful and he usually has to vomit and shower for hours before he feels clean again if he gets a bad one. Drunk is fine; any kind of chemically altered state is also acceptable. It's nice to feel a bit out of control for a while. But only a while.
Turning a corner onto Bateman Street, he sees a possible candidate - a man, young, with long dirty black hair. He smells high - methamphetamine is J.R.'s best guess. But he moves like a cat, ready to strike, and when he follows his eye line he catches a glimpse of a graceful brown head of hair and dark skin behind the little miscreant trying to creep up on her. Female curves. This woman smells too intriguing to be alley bait.
In half a second he has pulled the youth's tail, jerking him backward onto his back, which earns a shocked "The fuck?!"
J.R. puts one heavy leather shoe on the human's frail chest. "Do not," he says gravely, "assault women."
The youth begs and protests while doing his best to act like he isn't, insisting he was only wanting to talk to the dark-haired girl. But J.R. knows these things by now, and he smiles with his eyes, an acid thing that doesn't reach any of his other craggy features. "You do realize that it only takes about thirteen kilos of pressure to break the sternum," he murmurs. "And I weigh far more than that?"
Now the little bottom feeder is scared. J.R. closes his eyes and enjoys the fear. He leans more, pushes harder, hearing the boy's voice crescendo into a petrified squeak. When he hears a faint crack - probably not audible to humans - only then does he desist.
The youth scrambles to his feet, tripping as he runs away, noiseless but smelling of urine. "Go," J.R. intones at his departing form, "and sin no more." Turning back to the direction he had been going, he wonders briefly if the woman is still there. If she would be intent on thanking her rescuer. He hopes not.