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disinfernus · 1 year ago

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PARTIES: @dirtwatchman and @disinfernus TIMING: Current SUMMARY: Two people are up to nefarious business. One chickens out and runs into the other who, as always, keeps their cool. A deal is struck but deals don't mean exemptions from a fae's natural impulses. CONTENT WARNINGS: Unsanitary tw, allusion to domestic abuse tw

“A simple address and I will be gone. You won’t see me again. A simple address and I can make all of this… stop.” That wasn’t a lie. While the shadow nymph could lie, there was always some sort of repercussion that fit the size of the lie. There was no wince to be found, no headache that throbbed or stomachache that threatened their dinner. But without that address, the knife that had buried itself so deeply into the man’s gut would only go further and twist tighter. There was a refusal and a curse through the pain; they were brothers, after all. There was no way any of them could give up family to a stranger.

The middle-aged man, peppered at the temples and in beard, groaned when Dīs gave another twist. With that address, he could live, but a too big heart got in the way. All they wanted were some answers — that was it. “You’re the one who put that knife there when you tried to attack me with it. This isn’t my fault,” their hand went to their chest, offense in fabrication only. Without that address, things would end with more bloodshed and a corpse on the ground. And that lead would be severed. Unfortunately, they couldn’t get much further when they suddenly felt someone else’s eyes on them.

Business like this was conducted under the guise of darkness and usually in nondescript locations, usually when everyone else was already tucked away in their beds. There was an unusual amount of nocturnal in Wicked’s Rest, but truthfully, they thought they did a good job at choosing somewhere with less foot traffic. Apparently they were wrong.

Dīs turned away from their suspect in a way that concealed most of the damage done to his abdomen, but still used their power to strengthen the shadow between them. They did hope that this was just some lowly and boring human, otherwise the smell of blood could be a monkey wrench in the illusion. They nodded politely to the stranger as they passed, hoping dearly that nothing seemed amiss to them — aside from the blanching of the man’s skin and blood upon the ground.

In all the time that Caleb had been thinking of doing the unthinkable he found it so fascinating that his mind had not yet gone to the one person that deserved death more than any other. That day with Gael, the day he had rushed away from the man who seemed so concerned, the zombie had spotted someone from his past and knew in his heart that the man needed to be a life that he snuffed out, a life that was owed to Caleb and Caleb alone. But with that realization came another. He didn’t have the nerve. After following Gary that day and reliving the past trauma the man had put him through, it was discovered that he couldn’t even show the older man his face. It was the most disappointing, soul crushing event that had happened to him recently.

So, instead Caleb followed. For days now he’d been following his foster dad through the street’s of Wicked’s Rest, getting quite good at ducking behind walls or lowering his head behind a newspaper to keep from being detected. It was satisfying, watching Gary getting more and more paranoid as the days went on, and so Caleb kept aggravating that paranoia even further. A small noise near an alley, a chuckle that reverberated off the walls of the close buildings, all small tricks he had picked up from movies. It was so nice to watch the slow mental decline in his foster father that Caleb was slightly worried about his own mental state and how much he was…enjoying this game of cat and mouse.

Until the tables turned. It wasn’t as fun after losing the man in a crowd that had come out of a closing bar and the paranoia decided to transfer from fake father to fake son. Had Gary spotted him? Was Caleb about to be hunted down and thrown right back to his twelve year old state where he couldn’t fight back? That man had an iron grip in the form of fear locked around Caleb like a snake coiling around its prey and the panic sent him fleeing.

He was in a seemingly deserted alley leaning against a brick wall, his head slamming back into it as the force of his body connected. It took several minutes for Caleb to calm his nerves only for him to notice a couple of people who seemed…not in great spirits a ways down the alley. A deserted alley that wasn’t so deserted was never a good sign. All he had to do was pass though, his lips pursing into what he hoped was a smile though it was so tight that he knew it couldn’t possibly resemble one. The zombie placed his hands in his pockets and started to move to get past them.

Even with his poor eyesight, Caleb could clearly see that the ground was wet beneath one of the men and nowhere else. Either the man had messed himself after drinking too much or…well, he didn’t want to think of any other alternatives. He had every intention to keep walking but his dead heart still seemed to beat in some metaphorical way. Two steps away from them, he slowly turned to face the one who had nodded as he passed. “Um, are you both okay? Because…it doesn’t seem like it...” His eyes went to the one on the ground as the words trailed off, the sallow skin a dead giveaway that something was amiss. ‘All you had to do was keep walking…’ “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Why them? Why did it feel like every time they had someone on the ropes, someone had to come in and ruin it? Where were all of these good samaritans even coming from anyway? The tall fae mentally cursed the stranger and hoped that their position was enough to keep anything too incriminating from view. Naturally, the wetness of the blood that had pooled between them was noticeable by the toe of Dīs’ shoe.

They tried not to show their irritation with being interrupted on their face, they really did. It was probably inevitable, at this point, considering how close they were with, hopefully, getting an answer. There wasn’t much hope, with how reluctant their victim seemed to be, but maybe with a bit more prodding and twisting, something would come to light. Now with this audience member, however, they weren’t sure if they’d get the chance.

“Yes,” “N-no..” “We’re fine, we appreciate it.” Their voices overlapped a tick and Dīs drifted their gaze to the man who currently sheathed their knife in order for him to get the hint that he really needed to keep his mouth. “Ple..” “We’re just.. Having a bit of fun.”

This didn’t look like fun. The man on his knees was almost whimpering, not able to get out his answers as the other person spoke over him. The wetness on the ground, the fear Caleb could now see…no this wasn’t fun for at least one of them. Why he felt the need to continue interfering was beyond him and yet the zombie took another step towards the two. “He doesn’t seem okay though.” Blue eyes went to the ground and Caleb took in that wet spot again, dark but with the little bit of light that was coming into the alley he could see a red hue this time. Shit.

“Maybe we should call for an ambulance?” His eyes lifted to the person that was standing, an urgency now appearing in them. Giving the person an opportunity to come back from this, it was more than most people got in this town. Then again, Caleb had no clue who or what this person was and he was most likely making a grave mistake of his own. His only advantage was they didn’t know what he was either.

He looked at the man on the ground again, they’re eyes meeting, and he wondered if he’d done anything for this to happen or if he’d just been an unlucky victim. Then it occurred to him that it shouldn’t have mattered, right? Caleb’s thoughts were starting to mold themselves around his reasonings for his own chosen victims…or victim at this point, and it was a little scary. “I think he’s hurt.”

Dīs tensed their jaw. They felt a tingling just at the edges of their eyes, the burn from their light that wanted nothing more than to escape the magic of the glamour and bare itself into the man before them. But there were still too many passersby, too many opportunities for someone or something to see their most successful disappearing act.

They had to do something.

“He is hurt,” they admitted. The truthful angle could work, if they used the right cards and pulled on the right heartstrings. If this young man was eager to help someone out, maybe the shadow nymph could turn that compassion towards themself. “But he deserves it. He killed my family.” Their previous facade of playfulness melted away into a tone of vengeance laced with grief.

“N-n.. No.”

“No. I’m not too keen on calling an ambulance for him.”

The story was compelling, that was for sure, but was it true? Trust was hard to come by and when you come into a situation where someone has one leg up over another already it was hard to believe anyone who said it was at the fault of the person on the ground. But then something in Caleb told him that he could be in this situation someday himself, that someone could come across him stalking the man who had tormented him his whole life or even trying to get rid of him, and if they didn’t believe the zombie when he told the tale then he would be screwed. Or maybe he just wanted a reason to believe this person. He wanted a reason to tell himself that hurting someone else could be justified.

After all, it’s what he’d been trying to work up the nerve for himself. It was most likely the wrong move though he found himself not backing down, but not without another question.

“Are you going to kill him?” The nerves that had been coursing through him were only getting worse but he needed to know for multiple reasons. Caleb didn’t want to help with the murder if that was what was coming but the clean up? Yea, he could be a part of that purely for selfish reasons. If this was inevitable, which it seemed like it was, there was no reason to waste the meal that could come out of it. “I might…have a deal for you if you do.”

“A deal?” The man suddenly started squirming, objecting to being killed. Dīs had no idea who this inquisitive stranger was or why he would want to make a deal after the deed had been done (usually people liked to make a deal in favor of the other person’s life, not against it), but they would be lying if they weren’t interested.

One of their hands went up to cover their victim’s face, muffling him, but not silencing him completely. “No. Shut up,” the lampade commanded, though they didn’t take their eyes off of the brunette before them. “What kind of deal?” Death left the limp body - its bones, organs and tendons and blood. Is that what he wanted? The corpse afterward?

Truthfully, it mattered not to Dīs what became of the body, as long as they were able to get the information before his last breath. That’s the only thing they cared about.

The protest of the man whose fate seemed sealed had his stomach sinking so low. Why was he doing this? The man was bleeding but not dead yet and it seemed Caleb had been the last factor to his impending doom. It didn’t feel good. He was already starting to regret the words he’d previously spoken but he had to push forward or he could meet the same fate…not that a stab to the gut would do much to him. It could certainly send him after another though and cause more pain to unsuspecting victims.

Looking up from the victim’s covered mouth to the person standing over him, Caleb stood his ground. The underlying anxiety would have been so much worse had his heart been able to beat as fast as it probably wanted to. It became one of those rare moments where he was glad he was dead or else his body would betray him. “My silence and my services for his body. I’ll take it off your hands, clean up your mess. Just don’t touch the brain.”

There it was. If this person had any inkling of what went on in this town, knew anything about the undead, Caleb had just revealed exactly what he was to them. Why was it so much easier to tell a complete stranger what he was and not the people who cared for him? Probably because this stranger was in a predicament of their own. He briefly glanced to the man on the ground, seeing the fear in his eyes grow, and looked back at the other before the zombie could change his mind. “What do you say?”

“My silence and my services for his body. I’ll take it off your hands, clean up your mess. Just don’t touch the brain.”

There were probably a plethora of uses for a human brain, more than any that Dīs could procure, but their most immediate thought led them down the undead route. More specifically, the zombie kind. Now, they weren’t about to play a rousing game of Twenty Questions with someone who was so willing to take the body off of their hands once they were done with it. Why ruin a good thing with questions? But this seemed to be in line with their assumption and what limited knowledge they were going on.

The nymph regarded the other man for a quiet moment — as quiet as it could be with the human man’s muffled sounds of pain and disagreement. He started to fade, quickly, which left them with little time to get the answers they needed. They needed to get better at where they stick the knife or how long they hold their stare for. They needed to fine tune their interrogation skills as it seemed they’d just ruined another one.

Dīs then looked to their captive with a rather listless expression. “I think that’s up to him,” they started and raised a brow. “What do you think? Address or would you rather go with our new friend?” A spat of blood was their only answer, despite the obvious fear that reeked off of him. What a waste. Was all of this as dead of an end as it seemed? With a sudden and twisted thrust of the knife that was already embedded in the man’s body, he was dead. A few sputteres escaped his open and bloodied mouth, but that was it.

The knife was pulled and held gingerly while the now corpse dropped to the ground and uttered its last remaining heartbeats. A disgruntled sort of sound escaped the nymph; they were disappointed, to say the least, and it showed on their face. “There, take it. I’m sure you will find more use for it than I could.” The blade was then wiped on a black handkerchief and stowed back into an inner pocket in their long robes. They then gave pause and turned their gold eyes to the young man who so graciously offered their… help. Or hunger — it mattered not to them.

“How might I find you, if I have more?”

‘Just give them what they want.’ It was like Caleb was trying to put the thought into the other man’s mind, the phrase repeating over and over while he stared down at him. But the efforts were lost, the man only spitting out the contents of his mouth in their direction, and he knew right then what was about to happen.

Knowing didn’t stop the flinch of his body as the stranger sunk the knife deeper, his eyes closing but the unmistakable gurgle of someone’s last breath thick with blood still filled the air. His heart sunk so low that time that it felt like it had left his body altogether, the void of not feeling only there for a split second before it all came rushing back again. He wished it had stayed gone, wished he had stayed numb to it all. Instead, when his eyes opened at the sound of the thud on the ground, Caleb’s chest started to ache at the sight in front of him.

Something told him that the callous way the person spoke of him afterwards meant he wasn’t getting much more of this story. It would have made him feel better to know if the tale of this man killing the other’s family was true. He assumed it wasn’t since an address was the object of their desire before. That didn’t seem like something a person full of grief needed unless they were going after others.

Others. Caleb swiftly looked up at the word ‘more’ with shock that probably should not have made an appearance. What made him think this would be the last of this person’s transgressions? It was said so nonchalantly, like they were making a business deal, which the zombie surmised was exactly what they were doing. “How many others are you planning on killing?” It was the wrong question and he knew it as soon as he’d said it. Did it matter? Not really, not when they were already implicated together. What was another body? Besides, wasn’t he doing this same thing with Anita?

Maybe…maybe this was the business venture he needed.

“You know what? I don’t need to know that.” He shook his head, looking back at the body on the ground while knowing he didn’t have too much time before rigor mortis started to set in and it would be even harder to move. He didn’t want to give them the funeral home’s business card, that would unnecessarily put people he loved in danger, so instead Caleb pulled out a random rewards card to an insignificant shop from his wallet. The pen was in the dead man’s front shirt pocket but he only hesitated for a moment before he was pulling it out and writing his cell number for the other. “You can reach me here if you have more.” When. He should have said when. He knew how this went. “I’m available…most of the time. What was your name?”

They were glad that he quashed his own curiosity, though they weren’t abashed enough to tell him to mind his own business if the question still stood. Dīs wasn’t ashamed of what they did, not in the slightest, but they weren’t going to have a full blown discussion about their plans with someone they’d just met, even if they both seemed to share similarly questionable morals. This wasn’t the place for it, anyway — it was much too public despite their shroud darkening the area. Maybe one day, if their nefarious no good deed were to ever cross paths with four walls and no wandering eyes. But until then, a made deal was enough to trust him with their leftovers.

It wasn’t like they were going to do anything with the bodies, anyway — these corpses weren’t special, they weren’t sought after. They were all killers, in their eyes, and they didn’t deserve a place among the decaying remains or jewels that littered their old, decrepit home. At least the nymph’s scraps would go to use elsewhere.

Dīs turned the piece of thin cardstock between their fingers and read over the phone number once before sliding it into a pocket. The rewards card was inconsequential, a throwaway, like the corpse before them. The nymph would save the number and the card would find its way to the bottom of a garbage bin. “Most of the time? I will leave my voice messages vague, then, if need be.” They stepped around the body to give the young man room to do whatever it was he was going to do. It would make sense to take the bounty home and then to take care of it, but they couldn’t exactly blame him if any… urges… became overwhelming.

“It is Dīs. That is what you may call me,” they answered coolly and smoothed out a wrinkle in one of their sleeves. There was always the opportunity, especially with people they’d never met before — gratitudes and greetings were plenty and easy to procure. The nymph could practically feel the inkling and goading of magic; a want, almost like an obsession, that tempted them to take and take and take. “And you? May I have your name?”

Deals did not mean exemptions. But that’s only if the fineprint went unread.

“Yea, I do have actual jobs too.” He hadn’t meant for the words to sound harsh but for some reason that was how they came out. As many dead bodies as he’d seen, as well as the few murders he’d already committed, it was completely different to watch someone else do it intentionally, to see them take that light from a person. He’d always thought the worst part of seeing someone die was watching that life drain from them. It wasn’t the before or the after that bothered him but the moment when the before became the after, that one second where everything went dark. He’d closed his eyes so he didn’t have to see it this time but Caleb’s mind was still replaying its own version back to him over and over which was unnerving to say the least. “Maybe just, say a location, I don’t know. I don’t think I��ll forget your voice.”

Dīs. A name for the face of his newest client, the face of someone he hoped he didn’t have to see kill another again. The after was where Caleb belonged, where he hoped to stay, and if this were to become his new business venture he really hoped that the after could become his new home. “Of course, yea…” Hopefully this time his voice didn’t portray how shaken he was, his hand reaching out to shake that of the killer’s before him. “It’s Caleb.” Not realizing what it was that he had just done, the zombie turned back to the body and tried to think of the best way to start this clean up. His truck was a couple of blocks away, he’d have to move it closer to the alley, possibly back it in if he could. All the possibilities were whirring inside his brain while oblivious to the fact that he’d just given Dīs more than a new business agreement.

#unsanitary tw #domestic abuse tw #thread; the before and after #tr; caleb e #thread

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