#serpentinebrutality

Being on the receiving end of a bullet was less than ideal, in terms of where Theodore had wanted his day to lead. But that wasn’t unexpected given the revolver’s owner. Even the wayward souls she’d left roaming liked to play whisper games, it seemed. Some details were more correct than others he’d been told. More perturbing was the fact that the most intimidating thing about Romero wasn’t the gun at the end of her arm, nor the fact she was already somewhat taller. It was everything else; the casual but calculated poise, the slow appraisal of brown eyes as she chalked up the enemy… the feeling that this was an exercise she’d gone through the motions of a thousand times. That combined with the dryness in his throat made him swallow harder than usual.

He was an altogether different sort of figure; sure on his feet, if a little weedy. Not fearless of the woman standing across from him but able to hold her gaze all the same. The worn, brown alpine on his head had certainly seen better days. Finch lamented the fact that he’d likely not be seeing his horse again any time soon. Bigger fish to fry, he reminded himself.

Wetting his lips, he spoke as levelly as he could. “People tend tae call me Finch. Yer not all’at easy tae find, mind ye. Wasn’ any of yers that led me ‘ere…” Wary of being shot point-blank, the young man gestured at those of Romero’s gang dispersing. “Ye wouldnae believe me right now if I told ye how I got ‘ere. But I dinnae come tae make trouble outta m’self. Someone wants ye tae get what ye want, an’ they’ve waited a long time fer it, aye. I’m here tae help witthat --- if ye’ll let me.”

“I have heard so many things about you. How delightfully unexpected to meet you in the flesh. After all this time.” Came a smooth voice. It was delightful, true. But hardly unexpected. He’d followed her from the gallery to the woods with every intention of introducing himself when the time arose. Barely a few seconds after addressing her, he launched into his inquiry.

 “I know, I probably should’ve called first but I was just eager to share with you. I’ve been adjusting my old recipe and wanted to see how you’d like it. I hope you like rosemary. I also threw in some sauteed spinach and roasted potatoes. The girls liked it so I was hoping you would too.” 

bad moon rising. 

Sweet smoke trailed through the air, the curling cloud like a dragon poised to strike. Sunset’s orange kiss filtered in through any gaps in the building it could find. Only the faintest clink of glassware could be heard from behind the bar; its handler was meticulous, a maestro of the spectral touch. Long, silken black hair gathered up loosely under a wide-brimmed hat. He didn’t belong in the desert, and yet still managed effortlessly to become a part of it.

Leth. And only Leth, seeing as he’d never offered a surname. He seemed mature for a man supposedly in his twenties --- but then, he’d been telling his patrons that for a number of years. How he came into possession of the saloon was another matter entirely, and one which had spawned even wilder theories. The one most commonly spoken about involved the previous owner meeting with the wrong end of Leth’s Remington rifle after some bad blood. He hadn’t seen any reason to prove the rumours wrong.

“You’ll wear out my counter, Ben.” Came the bartender’s gentle reprimand, the smile on his lips just as audible as it was visible. His fingers reached out to settle on the back of Ruben’s knuckles. A promise for later. The other hand slid a glass across the polished ironwood, bandaged beneath the sleeve of his button-up. Pearly white teeth were his weapon of choice against the bottle’s cork. “And you, Red... I hear you’ve been busy. Not often you pick up new blood.” His eyes looked up while he poured --- mere slivers in the shadow beneath his brim. Despite it not being peak hour yet his voice dropped in several decibels in volume. Disappointed, but nigh-sympathetic. “She was a regular’s favorite, Red. Your boys have a handle on that, or should I expect a visit from our Dutch? I haven’t forgotten what’s owed . . .”

The feeling of being watched was one Leth was accustomed to. It was a slightly different situation when Therea happened to be the one watching, since he knew how sour she felt towards him. Hostility was a bit of an understatement. Even despite what Leth felt were his best efforts, she refused to meet him halfway. But even now, he doubted she’d have it in her to start anything more than a temperamental dialogue. Akephalos wouldn’t be pleased at either one of them breaching their fragile ceasefire. Maybe it’d be worth testing how much damage she could inflict, just to see Therea get her comeuppance from the other demon. His skin bristled with the urge to make some provocation. Christ, it would be so simple.

Lethros opened one eye, then the other. His thoughts lingered on Lilith and Akephalos. A part of him despised that he still couldn’t bring himself to speak with the latter. Visiting Syntherea had not been an entirely impulsive decision. He’d wanted to remind himself of what it was like to speak with a fellow fiend, and one whom he hadn’t yet struck up a connection with. The venture was both more and less successful than expected. Shuffling on the floor below alerted him to someone else’s presence. Usually he would have recognised something off a little earlier into the piece, but he was away in his own head for the time it took to clamber off the armchair and brave the staircase. “Phalos,” He cooed,  “You really ought t...” Leth’s words died in his throat.

His fine features --- usually so put together --- seemed unsure whether to be irritated, surprised, or something else entirely at the other demon’s appearance in the hallway. Leth’s hair was in a state of only slight disarray, but in comparison to his ever-perfect image it was drastically different. A towel was slung over his shoulder, hooked by two fingers. The demon didn’t appear particularly bothered by the fact he wasn’t wearing clothes. But whether his guest was as comfortable with that fact was another matter. What she gets for walking in as though she owns the place.

“Therea.”

“Unexpectedly. There is appeal in taking the path of a brawl, but it requires so little finesse to beat a person bloody.” The moon had hidden herself away tonight, shy behind a thin veil of cloud. It was the sort of evening which lent itself perfectly to the exchanging of secrets. “Tell to them the worst elements of who and what it is that you are. Tell them how you crave to understand the human enigma. They come to me with pity heavy in their breast, as if confession redeems me. Perhaps it does, in their eyes. When they are in my arms, there is always a little dance we perform. I am gentle and courteous. Generous, even. I guide them to the open edge of the precipice. Even whilst flirting with death, they will forget a handsome monster is still a monster. And the moment they forget, I let go. Why? They’ll ask me as they plummet into darkness, because they think it must mean something... Everyone longs to mean something.” Sebastian breathed out slowly, gazing at nothing. His lips peeled back to reveal pearl white teeth. “So I smile, and tell them the cruellest thing of all ---