Paul A Dever State School
pic taken by me
Mobiles were very useful. Especially when you were out alone in the city. Or when you needed to get in contact with your older brother fast. Or when somebody buried you alive in a concrete tomb and the only one who’d seen it was a dumb teenage kid who was too busy vomiting to figure out where you were.
So you died.
Brandon wanted to cry. Screams still echoed in his ears. He clenched his teeth, swallowed hard to stop the surging of emotion and stomach bile. He shot the lady a rather intent what the fuck? face, though he would never say something so rude. What was she—a horse trainer? Who carried sugar cubes around London?
"Er. No. Thanks."
I just wanna go home.
Quickly, she waved her fingers for a taxi cab to come closer. With the way she appeared and the man at her side hunched over, it would be quick time for one to draw near. It also helped she waved about a large amount of pound notes in her hands after removing them from her purse. One squeealed as it did an llegal u-turn to draw close to the sidewalk. The driver pumped on his brakes in front before jumping from his open door.
"You need a lift, Miss?"
Yes, indeed, as she looked towards Brandon, reaching up to caress his face. He reminded her far too much of her oldest son, a brave soul who wished to make his mother proud. If only she seen him long enough to know what became of him. “Yes, I need help with my son,” she said loudly, careful to look at Brandon for the right to feign herself as his mother; otherwise, the ruse would not work and the driver may even inform the authorities something was amiss here. “Need to get him to our home, rest, poor dear is in bad spirits.”
Send “✿” for a suggestive text.
[text] How moist is it?
[text] I’ll be coming soon, but I seem to have trouble pulling out of the garage.
[text] Some dingbat almost rear-ended me!
[text]: Rear end them back
[text]: Slam into them from behind nice and hard
[text]: Make them realize their mistake in slamming into you.
"With weapons and other cool things, yes. Yes I am," Ares affirmed with a small nod of his head before it rolled upon the back of the couch nearer to the Countess where he looked upon the magazine she held. "And you’re not painting me nude. You’ll get everything wrong. You should keep all the paintings you do for me and put them all in one room of your house. Call it the room of Ares. Glorious.”
Mmmm, she could not fault him for filling the room with necessary items. Should another war break out or humans enter his household uninvited, it would be perfect to slaughter a few within his room. She would recommend for him to place a drain in the middle of the room to have it an easier clean up. “Do you believe I will paint your phallus to be too small? You are aware I would paint it large, grand, and even sturdy.” Not those tiny little shafts she observed on a few marble statues. “Oh yes, one entire room devoted to you.” She pointed to a painting in the magazine, “This one is blank, no one’s painted on it. Ridiculous.”
"A lot of people say I take after him, so that shouldn’t come as much of a surprise. But this time, I hadn’t meant to break your precious artifacts. Call it a wrong place, wrong time, kind of ordeal." though that was not the case, it was definitely an idea they could invest in. "I would imagine a woman such as yourself could handle herself against such odds."
"Yes, but more and more males do not enjoy when a woman holds power." Even now males found any excuse to bring down a woman to her knees with insults and jabs. For The Countess, it only made it difficult not to wipe the entire male population from this world. "What would you do if a male were to insult a female before you? One of your sisters before you and state she was below them?" Would he agree with the man or would he cut him down for insulting the good name of his bloodline?
It was unnatural to sit back and close his eyes here, but
Grigori did. He never felt fully at ease in the Countess’
presence, but a momentarily lapse in absolute wariness
would not be so detrimental.
She continued to sing, her voice reaching the higher notes of the Aria. It was a rare moment to sing around company, a secret hobby she held away from many. Her consorts and company were aware of her gardening, painting, and dancing, but not her singing. When the last note came, she raised her hands up to the sky and turned to face him, singing it to him. “Ahhhmmmm.”
Alex only shrugs, a mirthless smile on his features. “I guess you could say I want something normal. 8-balls, they’re messed up, but at least they all think the same. I’m tired of being like this. I don’t want people to bow down to me, 10 years ago I lived on the streets. Hell, for all the girls I’ve seen naked I haven’t touched a single one!” Alex then realises he’s getting off track and scoffs. “I’m just… done.”
"Now, the woman will line up to flash themselves for you to honor you as the Chosen One." Slowly, the pieces began to fit into her mind of the tale of the child who would rise up and defeat the Fallen Angels. Her interest in him grew tenfold as she wondered how he would burn down the Eight Ball. "You now hold the entire world in your hands and for a man who was once seen as an outsider, I can presume the light being shined upon you makes your eyes water?" A shame indeed as her eyes floated over his features and towards his throat. Would his blood hold a deeper pull than the others?
Countess is reading that one thread and is like ‘they’re going to rut’. Ahhh yes.
He regarded her with a small smirk. He didn’t dare tell her the truth. She likely wouldn’t believe him, anyway. No one ever did.
"I have been performing these duties for…many years now. And I have experimented with several methods. I find, though, that my blades are the most reliable." He paused for a moment. "I will use other methods if necessary. Poison is useful, but not always reliable. Removing one’s head, though. That always is."
"True, for some humans are naturally immune or build up a tolerance to it." She met a few who could sip a few glasses of arsenic and it would be weeks before the poison set itself into their bodies. Others, a few seconds, but poison was a fickle creature. "Mmmm, yes, heads." Her own hand caressed the skin of her throat, aware she would not wish for anyone, including him to remove her head. She found it suited her better on her shoulders. "Yes, a knife suits you better, but it means you are closer to them when your blade finds the skin of their necks."
Alex gave a quick nod, striding over and joining the woman on the seat. “I don’t even care. As long as it’s not this. Hell, I’d even be an 8-ball. At least they aren’t so… complicated.” He sighed, sliding his hands down his thighs and resting them on his knee caps.
The Countess found herself laughing over his comments. “You would not wish to be an eight ball. I have seen them, they are tortured with hungers, with a need to satisfy.” He wouldn’t be satisfied until he killed every last individual. “Would you give yourself up to a life where you murdered young children? I saw one strangle a young child to death for the fun.” She scoffed as she murmured a small prayer for the child. “You are itching for trouble.”