#pumpkinstabs

Corinthian prefers making his kills somewhere a little more private. Seducing willing victims back to a motel room or their own place. Bathroom stalls and back alleys do in a pinch, but they can get messy. What with possible witnesses and no easy way to hide a body.

But sometimes, a gorgeous pair of eyes are just too good to pass up on. And their owners get spooked. Too weary to follow a stranger home.

Hence why he has this prettly little thing pinned to a wall in the back alley of a local restaurant.

Those icy blue eyes stare up at him with lust and trepidation. Quickly twisted into betrayal and mounting horror when the mortal realises this isn't just some back alley hookup. The sharp, cutting steel of his blade caresses his victims throat as the Corinthian lurches over him like a starving wolf. His sultry smile taking on a sharpness that is fare more sinister.

"What do you want-- money?? My wallet is in my pocket, please, take it-!" Futile attempts to beg for his life fall on disinterested ears. A low chuckle of dark intent rumbling within the Corinthian's auxilary throats as those concealed maws begin to drool with anticipation over their next meal.

"Oh, I don't want your money, doll."

The Nightmare looms closer. The mortals eyes widen with utter terror as they catch a glimpse of gnashing teeth beyond the depths of his shades.

"What are-!?" Shaky words are cut short by the sweeping embrace of Corinthian's blade across the young man's neck. Crimson billowing forth to cascade down his shirt whilst any further attempts to speak get stuck in his slit throat.

"That's it, baby. Die nice and quick for me." The monster muses as the human hopelessly clutches at their throat- then the Nightmare's lapels. Grasping, choking, trying with desperation to fight off the monster that has him pinned.

But his attempts don't seem to phase the Nightmare in the slightest. A golden hand viciously grips the dying man's jaw. Forcing his victim's eyes to meet his own so that the Corinthian can witness every frantic emotion that flashes through them.

☾⋆｡✦₊˚  Gloved fingers wrapped around the victim's throat from behind, the sharp blade of his knife disappearing into the poor soul's back over and over again, until blood was pooling into their mouth and dripping all over the dark leather of his glove and sleeve. Wide hazel hues hidden behind the ghostly mask focused on the man standing in front of them, Michael. The silence surrounding the three of them only broken by the sound of the knife slicing into skin and muscles and the wheezy breathes of the victim as their lungs filled with blood.

Laurie squeezes the books to her chest as he approaches, though she makes sure that her smile doesn't falter. She didn't want to be rude, after all. She watches him approach, though her eyes narrow in slight confusion as he questions her, leaning back only slightly as he held his hand out to her. She takes a moment to look over the photograph, some old Christmas photo with kids on the front. They looked young, the photograph looked aged. She... guessed the younger boy might be Michael, as he introduced himself, but the girl in the left didn't look like anyone she knew. Blonde hair like she did, but it seemed like half the girls in school were blondes and the rest were brunettes. Laurie gives a slow shake of her head, eyes turning from the photograph and towards Michael. " Uhm... no, sorry, I don't, " She kept her voice quiet, apologetic, " Do you know their name? " She questioned in an attempt to be helpful. The kids looked close in age, so if they were here... she might've met them, Hawkins High was basically where every kid went.

Michael would have to forgive Laurie for not recognizing herself. It wasn't as if she had any pictures of her childhood, at least her younger years.

@pumpkinstabs has entered the web.

NUMBER 13 PEERS INTO THE CONTAINMENT UNIT, BLUE EYES BRIGHT WITH CURIOSITY AND THE CHANCE TO PICK A LOCK. Inside, through quite a great of defenses that shouldn't be there, he sees another child, someone who looks lonely and cold. Thirteen had been walking around with a blanket anyway, as he had done some testing for the team of scientists that had visited his home, The Spencer Foundation Home for Adolescents, and he knew how cold it could be. In truth, he shouldn't be down here; someone had messed up and let the prodigy slip passed them.

He crouches, curling himself as close as he can against the door to hide what he is doing. Thirteen takes out his lockpicking kit and sets to work applying just the right amount of pressure to jimmy pins into place. The click is music to his ears, and he grabs his baby blue blanket from the floor and slips inside the door. Coming to sit in front of the other, Thirteen places his blanket over the kid's legs and offers a bright smile. "They call me Albert," he says, "what's your name?"

Fortunately for both of them, he bottle misses Michael's head by a couple inches and instead bursts into tiny pieces as it hits the wall behind him. He does not flinch, though the noise does bother him and threatens to set him in a sour mood. He is not here for a fight, though. He doesn't come here for that anymore. The Boogeyman waits a moment before he shakes his head to say no, he's not here to bother him. Not in a bad way, at least. Then he steps into the other's office, noticing the heavy smell of alcohol in the room.

"...Good."

Perhaps if he had been capable of guilt - or even the smallest shred of remorse - an apology would have quickly followed. But in it's place a long quiet pause would simply have to suffice.

His annoyance has dissipated at least now. Knowing that the figure that's approached is one that he at least get's along with seems to calm whatever was starting to burn up inside.

"Come to see me?" He asks, like Michael has ever had any other reason to be here outside of the trials. He lets out a sigh, smelling the rich wine on his breath. "I'd offer you a drink but that was my last bottle."

there is no response from the one in front of him other than a glance in his direction. as a matter of fact, it's an almost painfully nonchalant reaction. still, eddie can work with this, he thinks, as the other continues to wander further into his domain. perhaps she's just the silent and mysterious type — perhaps she wants to make him work for it, perhaps she wants to play a little game of her own. she could have ran away — that's what most of the others try to do — but she is willingly walking down into the darkness. very interesting.

so, as the other continues along the path, eddie simply falls into step behind him. humming to himself, eddie's eyes never once leave the newcomer. he notices it, the bloodied trail left behind, the hospital gown. this one will need special attention, he's sure of it. thumb brushes along the handle of the knife tucked into his waistband ; it is there and ready for use at a moment's notice. he will play the gentleman, but like always, if things change ...

➫ HANNIBAL flipped open the mornings newspaper with a loud crinkle, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. He had made them a nice spread for breakfast, two plates laid out on the table, coffee for the chef and just about any drink Michael could ever want in fancy glass pitchers, all aligned in the center. Cereals, fruits, breads of various sorts, meat of course, eggs and little vegetables for garnish. Sometimes he'd eat his breakfast with a bed of spinach or some tomato and although he had tried to refine the other killer's palette, he'd also provide him with simple, pedestrian choices as well. He had the paper covering his head as he read, the clink of his fork on the plate occasionally to let the other know he was still there. This was a very typical morning for them, the doctor could catch up on the week's news, Michael could take his time waking up from the night's sleep, whether he got any is another story. He crossed one leg over the other, eyes flicking across the page and landing on a grizzly black and white photo.