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Death visits NOLA



 
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Spring Taylor

Vacation Douchlav had said. Vacation. She’d take a vacation alright.

The good thing about her multitude declarations of war, was she learned the general location of each crew. Douchlav was a chubby mother f***ing douchebag. So it was evident that he was getting food one way or another. Spring examined the information in the brochure, and scoffs at the information in the booklet. Yeah, yeah. Don’t bloody care about this. Show me some ****ing meat. Being a vampire was some bull s***. It’s not like she can blimey grow some bat wings and fly to mf New Orleans. Oh no. She’s flying. Flying for hours on a plane in coach class. Trying to keep a check on that haughty temper.

Spring reclines in her seat and discreetly commands the flight attendant to bring her all the drink the plane has. She can hear a bloody f***ing baby which makes her roll her eyes. Maybe if she wanted a snack she could dip down a couple of seats and take a little nibble. Who would even miss a baby? They’re gross. In fact the feeding on one makes her lips twist in distaste. By the time the plane lands, she’s sipping blood from a straw in a passed out hoodlum in the seat next to her. If you think she gives two sh-ts that she’s left evidence of her undeadlihood. You’re sadly mistaken.

Disappointment barely explains what she feels when she steps out of the airport. It smelt like six months unwashed feet, which she should know because of that hobo neighbor of hers. People were nasty like pigs, which made sense to Spring about the foodchain. She moves through the crowd rudely shoving people out of her way. But, she’s not fully recovered from her round with Death herself. At times she finds herself being knocked to the side by the wave of tourists. What the f-ck. Didn’t these as*holes have something better to do?

She’s peckish after the plane had landed. Even though she just had a sip through a f*cking straw, like an overgrown mosquito b*tch. The humidity made her want to smack a gaggle of grandmas, and kick a group of toddlers into the actual harbor. Spring glares as she sets her eyes on her snack. It’s a meaty man she can tell, there’s no blimey parka to hide it from her this time. She licks her lips in anticipation of the taste of blood, something that won’t give her unsatisfactory flatulence.

Being a creeper took little acting classes, but somehow it always ended up with Spring in a brawl. This time it’s outside a dive bar, and she’s hitting it up with the bartender. Vibrant blues asunder with chaos, as she whispers the commands into the brainless idiot’s head. That’s right. Lead people to this spot in the alley behind the dive bar, where she would lie in wait. It doesn’t take long for her to grumble about how cliché a method this was.

Instead she would go into this bar and bait her own food. How hard could it be really? The only trouble she could possibly run into is if one knew how to make a Jew cake. That ignorant f*cker would be her slave forever. Spring stomps through the doors, upon bursting into the bar one of them squeak her introduction ominously. She slaps a ciggy from her pack into her hand and flicks the lighter on. Finally. f***ing Finally she can see New Orlean’s meat. And it’s much more glorious than goddamn Moscow.

She saunters towards the bar her eyes hungrily comb through the denizens. A long drag taken from her cig as she exhumes the smoke outward. Closely monitoring the regulars of the bar from the tourists. It’s f***ing noticeable. A gentle cant of her head, her eyes snap irritably to the tender. “Oi! Bloke! Can a girl get some fcking whiskey or not?”

November 14, 2017 01:05 am

Gideon Abernathy

“FVCK.”

The knife stabs easily into the already bloodied body, over and over and over again, until it’s a mutilated mess. Unrecognizable from the person it had once been, he tosses it aside like an old rag doll. A blood-curdling scream forms in the depths of his person, and when it’s let out, it fills the room and bounces off the walls.

Having burned off some of the rage, he slides down the nearest wall and tries to wipe the blood from his face with blood-covered hands. There is no solace in this kill. He can’t find the calm that this usually brings him. Instead, he feels even more unsettled, his mind even more clouded. The cult, his father, his wife’s ex-husband… It’s all beginning to wear on him, and he’s losing that loose grasp on his humanity.

Maybe I just need another one...just one more…

Yes, that has to be it. The stress lately was significantly heavier than usual. He just needed a higher dose of his happy.

Quinn is expecting me home.
Quinn will simply have to wait. Some things are for the greater good.

At this, he can’t help but chuckle, a madman’s glint in his eye. Nothing Gideon does is for the greater good of anyone but himself. And a serial killer’s sense of good isn’t all that good.

In the doorway, he pauses, clicking his tongue in thought. “What a mess,” he muses, weighing his options. It’s unwise for him to leave all this evidence, but cleaning up twice would be such a chore. “I’ll make it quick,” he tells the air. With a wicked grin, he shuts the door to the one-roomed building and locks the padlock.

His feet carry him to what used to be his bar. It’s a lot busier than it used to be, which normally would turn him away. Tonight, however, it just meant his selection is that much more diverse. Forcing his way through the throng of people proves difficult, but he manages. Really, the annoyance just fuels his desires.

He slips into the vacant stool at the end of the bar, offering a nod of greeting to the bartender. “Suntory, double please. Don’t bother with the ice, thanks.” It’s in the middle of this request that an obnoxious demand for attention dwarfs the sounds from the rest of the patrons. Or maybe it’s just the fact that she’s right next to him, screaming in his ear. An annoyed twitch in his left eye is the only indicator to his current mindset; otherwise, the smile that flashes across his features is believable.

“I think she wants whiskey, what do you think?” The bartender has to suppress his own smile, but Gideon doesn’t hide his sh-t-eating grin. “Ladies first then.” The emphasis is impossible to miss.
November 15, 2017 07:55 pm

Spring Taylor


Spring’s patience, or lack thereof, had been wasted once she saw another person. The bitter ire in her bright blues miffed at the audacity they lived. All these people that live in this feet ****ing city still walked this realm. But her Jew didn’t, and they surely hadn’t died like herself and Autumn. Her demand earlier had almost been for Johnny Walker, but she remembered that was their drink not her own. This trip had been the first of her newfound freedom. She wouldn’t burst into random nosebleeds, she wouldn’t be trying to war her sister’s mind in her skull. A couple of ashes drop from the cig between her fingers. As she finishes it off, chewing the filter like a piece of gum.


Everything should be peaceful and that tranquility should have humbled Spring Summers. Instead it made her fury grow three times the thickness. Fingers tap the bar aggressively waiting on her demand, and then there’s this ****tard next to her. Vehemently her gaze zones onto him and his **** eating grin with a vindictive glare. “Listen. We aren’t bloody ****ing tonight f-ckboy. Take your ****ing Suntory double and slice your ****ing c**k off with it. Manky Git.” She hisses the words forth as she grips her glass of whiskey. Bringing it to her lips to knock it back with ease. “I’m not a ****ing lady. I’m a blimey Jewologist. Get your ****ing sh-te straight before you f-cking open that fugly ****ing face of yours.” Before she can spew anymore rage venom from her lips she feels the presence of someone on the other side.


One thing about Spring is on the outside she always runs hot, but she’s gorgeous. Her name, her appearance don’t fit the ire that pours from her lips. It doesn’t come close to defining her monstrous temper. But here she was picking a fight with some douchbag in a ****ing bar trying to locate a ****ing Douchlav to kill. Her shoulder pops when she feels the soft tap on it, she turns to face another patron of the bar. This one has a horse laugh and her brow is twitching, teeth gritting as she tries to remember that her full strength hasn’t returned.


Then her attention returns to this @rsehole and his Suntory. Spring grabs some notes from the pockets of her trousers, meanwhile horse laugh knobhead turns to face her. There’s an actual smell of desperation and sex to him. She offers him some b-tch of a smile and asks for a drink of his beer. Instead of a sip she downs the bottle entirely and curls her fingers around the neck of the bottle. It clanks and shatters when she swings it with full force against the bar. Quickly she tosses evidence in Gideon’s direction to her other side, and feigns a look of shock.


She scoots her stool back slowly connecting her gaze with her victim number two. The ire in her eyes illuminated in a cloak of suggestion. “I believe that f-cking bloke insulted you mate. Are you a f-cking ******? You should beat his f-cking face in. Pummel it to sodding hell.” Now it was her turn to hold a sh*te eating grin as the horse laugh tosser passed in front of her towards Gideon screaming obscenities. She witnesses a fist fly in the air, but if it connects she's unsure.


Now this was entertainment.

Coldly her gaze turns back to Gideon with that f-cking @sshole smile on her lips. “What did you say..Mmm..Ladies first was it? Take getting fisted like a f**king b*tch, you lazy sod.”
November 17, 2017 12:22 am
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