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Tweak says, "Donald Duck the Suicide!"

christian malone ⊕ col. sebastian moran (

aloadedgun) wrote in

thereincarnates,
@ 2012-01-31 20:23:00

WHO. Christian Malone + everyone involved here.
WHAT. Visiting an old friend.
WHERE. Jena Williams' home in Boston.
WHEN. Backdated. Monday night. January 23rd.
WARNINGS. Christian.

THE CURTAIN OPENS.

Darkness. It was easy to manipulate when you spent your life in it. With just a trick of the lights, you could manipulate the quickest of shadows. That glimpse of something in the corner of your eye, the hairs rising on the back of your neck. That was the darkness. That was him. He swallowed it, the way it swallowed him. It wrapped him up as a comfort, as if knowing it was not alone in its own depravities. Somewhere, they say, if there is darkness, there is light. In him, there is no light. His is the kind your eyes can never adjust to. Pure black, sealed, contained, prepared to be shipped off to the gates of Hell itself until there is nothing left behind but the imprints of its sins. He knew of so very many.

Jena Williams. Yes. Ebony hair the draped down her shoulders like curtains through an open window. When she smiled, men stopped in their tracks. When she laughed, the world laughed with her. He destroyed her life once. He fucking enjoyed it. Oh, when she cried, that was when dear Jena was at her most beautiful. Weak, defenseless, without a comforting hand. Like a beaten, broken, bruised little doll. Mouthwatering. After the untimely death of her husband, he'd seen her on her knees whilst remaining at attention. Somewhere, then, Jena was lost, and The Army Doctor began. Mary Morstan's death reinstated the birth of an old enemy. Poetic. (Wasn't it?)

He'd listened intently. He was not sure of another way. The Professor gave him strict orders. Strict orders he would see through to the end. He always did. Faithful soldier dressed as a criminal. Sebastian chuckled against his throat. This was no longer a game. It was a battle between The Professor and his Detective. Funny thing, competition. One man trying to outwit the other long before they knew what they were doing. The Professor always knew. Knows. Will know. Always. It was time to remind of them of the stakes. Wouldn't do no good for them to forget. None whatsoever.

ACT ONE.

She looked the same. She looked different. Through the night, she appeared to him as she always had. Afraid of what was not yet there. The other was in place. It was the least of his concerns as she moved past him. Strawberries. Lush and ripe, rich juices to the tongue. Yes. Still the same. Something was wrong. Quietly so. He knew the place like he knew his hands. One did not move through their own home so apprehensively. Good, girl. She was catching on.

Jena stood. Jena waited. She was searching for something. Jena was not made for this night, for this darkness. Silly Doctor. Fucking Doctor. Can't you remember? Can't you think? We've been here before, you and I. Me and you. Just like old times. You spilled wine on that carpet. Your husband cleaned it up. Do you recall the way you watched us? (We can.)

ACT TWO.

The other gave way to his existence, letting loose a telling breath. Action. She worked fast, but not fast enough. Her arms were jelly. Full of putty. She tried, she failed. Sebastian chuckled. The display played out as it was meant to. The other was not meant to succeed, but so far he had been doing precisely that. Soon enough, she would find the upperhand again. It took time, in situations like these, for the fish to fight back. Wriggle. Make an effort.

As if on cue, something miraculous happened. The other began to lose. Good. His chin hit the floor and he bit his tongue. Blood. He grasped her by the ankles, yanking her along with him. The other needed his assistance, yet he would not give it. This was not his fight. It was not meant to be. A warning. Yes. A warning she would not forget. Not this time. Wine stains.

He adjusted his position without making a noticeable movement. Watching, biding his time. Observing as he was told to. The Professor always knows. His lips gave way to a grin, spreading over his face like the twisted cancer that he was. The weapon was in her hand. The upperhand. Always full of spunk. Always full of fear. Trying hard, our Doctor. He agreed. Not hard enough.

FINAL ACT.

Bang, thwap, thud. A fighter. He enjoyed it when they fought. That was new. Good. It wouldn't do to have her getting monotonous on him. He wanted to see her dance. To enthrall him with new movements she'd learned from the experience of having living life. The other was not getting up now. The Detective would find him. Recalculate every move step by step. Move by move. He would not notice them, however. Neither would Jena. Sloppy, inn't.

His turn. Bout time. One foot forward. Silence. This was when she pulled the gun. She tried to see him through the evening, but nothing came. To her, his silhouette was as menacing as her imagination would allow him to be. Was he dangerous? Was he frightening? He could see he was. Her pretty features were contorted in something panicked. Something afraid. A grin she could not see introduced itself to his ears once more. Our dearest, doting Doctor. Does it hurt you to know that you're staring death in its face? He didn't want to die, your husband. But he did do it so honorably.

She knows how to cock a gun. Did the Doctor teach her? Did she learn when she realized the world was a dangerous place and just like that nothing could be as it was? Bang bang, shoot shoot. Pull the trigger, Doctor. Let's see you take a man down in this life, as well as the next. They watched one another; they did not move a muscle. He noticed her finger growing agitated by the build-up. The pain of waiting. It builds up, it aches until you're begging, throbbing, screaming from the frustration. That was what she was doing. Jena Williams was screaming. This was how it was to wait. It made you all the more desperate for the pleasure.

He turned, then. Just as she prepared herself to try. Try. Try. Try. All she did. Try. Could she do? Could she succeed? He licked his tongue over his mouth, gone from sight. A rabid animal from a sudden stream of light. Her scent still lingered over his senses and he pulled his jacket collar around his neck. She would not follow. Too stricken with nightmares. Too overwhelmed by the suddenness of it all. He pulled a cigarette to his mouth, lighting it with one hand covering the precious nicotine from the wind. He inhaled, sucking on the filter to quell the sensation her fear sent through his flesh.

Soon, he would be reporting the details to The Professor. Soon, The Detective would be arriving to The Army Doctor's aid. And The Marksman would turn the corner and disappear, the horsemen Death returning to his place in the darkness.

THE CURTAIN CLOSES.

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