TW: This is going to be a violent, cruel, crass ride. Colin's a bastard. Legit. He is a walking trigger.
attn: anyone who reads this | mention: payne, briefly. Colin, Henry Sturges
βThis is the end.β
New Orleans.
He had always hated this cesspool of a city. Godawful Jazz playing on every corner, disgustingly spicy food filled the air, too many immortals resided there. Colin O'Callaghan was a man who hated this damned place. He wasn't fooled by the cheery demeanor of it all. Once you left this part, it was poor people who struggled. One hint of rain and they were panicking. A city where the dead were buried in mausoleums because if a bad enough storm came, it would erode the ground and up would come bodies. He remembered the news after Katrina. Callous as he normally was, he had felt sympathy for the families of those who had lost a loved one again that way. He could think of no positives to being here. No, he took that back. Mardi Gras and the drunken twits. That was a pleasant time. There were countless amounts of them. They wanted beads and he would buy them beforehand, presenting them once he felt sufficiently sated and they'd been compelled to forget.
Despite the visible scarring, he was a good looking fellow who wasn't afraid to use his charm. Most women he encountered swooned at his Irish brogue. They made it almost too easy for him. He especially loved when clueless little blondes paid him attention. It made him think of the reason he was here in the city. Clarisse. The mention of her name made his blood boil. Granted, he had seen her at a party and had been enchanted with her briefly. As his wife...He had regretted it by the following morning. The harder she tried, the more he hated her. And yet, she remained steadfast. Thus, his sadistic side had reared its head and he couldn't resist playing with it.
Even now, he could envision his hand around her pale throat, squeezing until she was unable to breathe or speak. It wouldn't kill her but he'd give his left arm to see her suffer. Why should she live such a good life? His name had been dragged through the mud. His life had become a punchline. As her star had risen, so too had his. Into infamy. A scowl crossed his features as he thought about it. Granted, he could go back to his birth name; but he was quite fond of Colin O'Callaghan and he fancied being Irish too. He'd begun his life in Romania, eventually leaving after the death of Vlad III Tepes. But Ireland was home; centuries there had made his brogue as strong and as natural as though he had never lived anywhere else. Christian Daniel Vladislav Neculcea was dead. By the Grace of someone; perhaps God? His rebirth was complete.
He wondered what he would do to her first. Choke her? Beat her? He might even have his way with her. He liked to have a squirming bitch beneath him. How better to make her suffer than to do what he knew would repulse her most? But also to see her writhe beneath him, to be screaming and begging. The twitch in his trousers revealed to him that it was certainly on the table. Nothing would be off bounds. He was keen to have his vengeance and he had no shame in ruining her reputation to do it. Perhaps he'd even bind that demon and make him watch, reminding him who had her first. That despite it all, he had been the one to take her virginity. Every man wanted that for himself. He remembered that night well. She had waited for him and he'd held her down by the throat, spreading those white thighs and had forced his way into her until her virgin's blood had stained the sheet beneath them. The look of bewilderment had been great fun for him and he'd taken special pleasure in committing it to memory.
He couldn't help but applaud himself as he lazily read over a newspaper. He had been in New Orleans for weeks, keeping a somewhat low profile, save for the piles of bodies he had been leaving strewn about. They'd been buzzing about a serial killer and other immortals had been cursing the vampire who was dragging the attention onto them. It was such a delicate balance, keeping their worlds from overlapping. He had been certain to kill as many men as he had women, maiming a few for amusement. And yet...for all the blood he drank, his face was still scarred from the night that little bitch had tried to kill him. He had tried previously to hire people to rid the world of her. But Clarisse Elisabeth du Volde had staying power, as it were. Finding her was simple...in fact....
------
Indeed, it wouldn't take long to find Clarisse Elisabeth du Volde. She wasn't, nor had she ever been, hiding. She had no reason to. Her neighbors knew her, mortal and immortal alike. They kept quiet about her true nature and she did the same for them. They were aware that she was a vampire, but also that she possessed a good heart and truly meant to harm as few as possible. They knew if they needed help, to simply ask. She was as generous with her smiles as she was with her money. She had bought a bookshop in town, the elderly owners unable to afford the price hike in rent, and refused their money as she insisted they keep running it. She finally accepted their checks but refused to cash them. That was the type of person she aspired to be. Granted, she had her enemies, but they stayed away mostly. Most were simply jealous of her life and how she refused to hide away like she was 'supposed' to. There were rules, of course. But Clarisse had never been one to follow them. When they said she was the most 'human amongst vampires', she wore the title with honor.
Her only true enemy was Colin Francis O'Callaghan. Her stomach still turned in knots when he crossed her mind as he was now. Her tongue always moving to where she was missing a molar. For three years, she had been his wife. If one was literal, they'd never divorced and thus, were still wed. Fortunately, since they were both so old, it really didn't matter. She brushed her fingers to the curve of her neck; knowing the precise place his fangs had sank on that fateful night. Knowing how he'd denied her a quiet, peaceful end. He had gloated and earned even more of her hatred; she had thrown a lantern at him. Last she had heard, he was still bitching about the scarring, but she didn't know if he was still alive. Clarisse took a breath as she thought of him. "God, I hope he's dead," she grumbled to herself as she pulled on a Saints jersey and pulled on a pair of leggings. From what she understood, a few of the NOLA Saints would be out and about that night. She didn't understand football but she knew it was important to support a hometown team. "Who dat!" She chuckled to herself, moving onto the balcony of her townhouse, looking down below.
Inhaling deeply, the scent of all the cuisine New Orleans was known for blended together making a lazy smile cross her lips. She had no true need to eat, though she couldn't resist occasionally. The first few times had made her horrendously ill, but she had adjusted through the years. The magnolias and jasmine made a sensual scent; one that she wanted to bottle up as a perfume. She loved this city. There wasn't a thing about it that she disliked--save for the one very obvious fact that there were a lot of other vampires in the city. And one was causing quite the uproar. She'd heard about the mass killings. She had even gone so far as to try and track the perpetrators down, but alas, she'd had no luck in the matter. It had frustrated her. The attention was no good and soon, hunters would descend upon the city. Clarisse's hand ran through her hair. And she couldn't leave if that happened. She'd look guilty. Someone was trying to start a war of some sort, of that she was certain.
However, for this evening, she was aiming to go amongst everyone who was out and about, getting ready for the impending Mardi Gras celebrations. Heading down the stairwell, sandals on her dainty feet, Clarisse blended in easily. She kept an eye on some of the younger people out and about, giving directions to some, and pointing out where they could get the ever famous beads. "Of course, ma cher demoiselles. Be careful out there. For as many fun people there are, there are some who have bad intentions." Waving them off to have their fun, she kept her eyes open. She knew she wasn't alone. Her emerald eyes landed upon several other vampires in the crowd. Silently acknowledging one another and their mission--to catch the murderer. No one needed to feed as much as whoever was doing what they were. Not even a newborn. Though normally they all tended to stay apart, dislike well known amongst them, Clarisse was more than willing to put that aside. The words of her dear friend Henry Sturges in her head, Judge us not equally. She would not judge others. Most she could tell were just living as well as they could.
From the corner of her eye, Risse saw something strange...everyone was walking ahead...but this figure was walking in the opposite direction. Rising from her seat at the Cafe du Monde, she began to follow after them. The more barren the streets became, the more her senses heightened. She froze when it was the pair of them alone. Secured in the waistband of her pants, a switchblade given to her by a friend, but she stood vigilant. "I know it's you," she called out, a shiver going down her back. She knew it. The way her hair was standing up on the back of her neck, the way her nerves felt electrified, and how fear pulled at her. She hadn't felt this way since...well. That was for another time. This was her moment. This had to end. No one else had to die--no other innocent was going to die. Projecting her thoughts to the others in the area, giving them warning to stay away, she awaited him to step out of the shadows. Seeing his scarred visage amused her on some level; glad to see she'd left a 'lasting' impression upon him.
"Ah, 'ello t'ere, Wife."
"Delusional as ever, I see. I am nothing to you, Colin. Get it through your head. Your blood gave me this life, but that's all it did. You're a plague and a misery. You're nothing to me. Dog sh*t on my shoe has more value to me than you."
His temper, as always, got the better of him. Hearing her speak so brazenly to him, he who had given her everything? Colin roared as he came at her with the force of a man who had hellhounds on his tail and knocked her to the ground, looking down at her, his hand closing around her throat. "T'en you'll know t'at tonight is the night you're finally going to die..." Colin sneered, his face an inch from her own. Dark eyes met her crimson ones as she raised her hands, clawing at his face, digging her razor-sharp nails into his eyes, making him scream in shock.
"Bring it on, you rotten son-of-a-bitch. Tonight it ends, I agree." Clarisse snarled, her hands hanging at her sides, rain beginning to fall over the pair of them. "One of us is going to die. But it's not going to be me."
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