#sangxinis

              Christian  Louboutins  clack  upon  the  polished  flooring  as  she  allows  her  gaze  to  drink  in  the  framed  canvases  hanging  around;  the  man  has  raw  TALENT,  absolutely,  and  the  woman  likes  what  she  sees.  Turning  to  finally  look  the  artist  in  the  eye,  crimson  lips  curl,  a  flash  of  pearly  whites  --- but  don’t  be  fooled  thinking  it  is  of  courteous  nature.  She  is  a  wolf  bearing  her  fangs.  “My  name  is  Ms  Vostrikova.  I  am...  interested,  in  commissioning  piece  from  you.  Perhaps  even  three,  if  possible.  Price  is  no  issue.  I  have  few  questions  however   ---  do  you  only  exclusively  work  with  your  own  blood?  Or  could  you  be  persuaded  to  use  the  blood  of  another?”

          “AH! GRÜßE MEIN FREUND!” He had not been expecting company... but Fredrick is always a pleasant surprise when unexpected. The film maker’s eyes light up, obviously pleased to see his artistically gifted company, and shifts to gesture to the seat opposite himself, using his thumb to save the page of his novel, other hand occupied with a gently smoking cig. “Please, come sit! How are you?” This is a favored place of the director’s to come, and act as if he is just as human as everyone else that swarms these city streets, marching ants of the colony. Little to their feeble, stupid minds, lacking true insight or imagination, there are quite a few creatures like Kubrick stalking them from their very sides, brushing elbows with their stupid fleshy shells. There are many monsters within this world that are lurking in human skins, flayed and tanned and adorned like suits, to mask the monstrosity of their truths. These creatures are perhaps the best actors of all, and the ones that appear the most human. Ernst is one of them, and almost all of his associates are, too. “I believe you had a new art piece put in a gallery, ja? I am sorry I missed it --- my work commitments, as of recent, have been... hectic.” And his body count as high as ever.

              “He is reckless, Fred. Stupid. We must deliver what the French call, coup de grâce. A blow of mercy. A blow of mercy to his stupid ego. And I know how. And it is going to hurt him. But he deserves it. For he will hurt you. More than physically, if we leave him to fester. So we must cut down the tree before it gets bigger.” He makes to sit next to his friend, place a hand on his shoulder. “We have Desmond do something to Jenny. Steve boats of how he shall hurt Adele. But let him have a taste of his own medicine. Let it be one of his own.”

A sniff of the air drew the beast to search in further, cloak swept around him in a bundle to keep him most interested in finding the source of it all. Perhaps an easy meal or a play thing.