Baileigh Solis (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
deep_red_bells) wrote2008-08-07 11:08 pm
deep_red_bells) wrote2008-08-07 11:08 pm
Entry tags:
[MS] Smokey Joe lyric
If I kill him there are complications
I did not ask for this
“Oh but Love yes you did”
Tori Amos, "Smokey Joe"
========================================
It's the eyes. The instincts that have been swirling through her veins for months scream at her to rip them out. They're too dark, too deep, they see too much. They see her and in her and through her, all the things she's been fighting like hell to hide.
He's sitting at the counter in the mostly empty diner, devouring the slice of strawberry pie she just brought him and drinking coffee, casually as you please, as every word out of his mouth deconstructs her life. He isn't human. She doesn't know how she knows it, but she does. He's something...else. He's...
"You think I'm a what?"
He waves his fork at her. "It's not a matter of think, sweetheart. It's a 'know.' You got any idea how hard it is to find you girls? Nope...we don't make mistakes."
word count: 630
I did not ask for this
“Oh but Love yes you did”
Tori Amos, "Smokey Joe"
========================================
It's the eyes. The instincts that have been swirling through her veins for months scream at her to rip them out. They're too dark, too deep, they see too much. They see her and in her and through her, all the things she's been fighting like hell to hide.
He's sitting at the counter in the mostly empty diner, devouring the slice of strawberry pie she just brought him and drinking coffee, casually as you please, as every word out of his mouth deconstructs her life. He isn't human. She doesn't know how she knows it, but she does. He's something...else. He's...
"You think I'm a what?"
He waves his fork at her. "It's not a matter of think, sweetheart. It's a 'know.' You got any idea how hard it is to find you girls? Nope...we don't make mistakes."
"You're crazy."
He raises an eyebrow, tips his head at her curiously. "They're never relieved. You know, I think I would be. If something as strange as this had been happening to me, well, I'd want to know what was really going on."
The instincts crawl and swirl and bite at her. Kill it. Kill him. Make him bleed. Snatch the fork out of his hand and jam it in his eye.
She wraps a dish towel around her hand so tightly that her fingertips go numb. "How?"
"How...?"
"Do you know?"
"Killed anyone lately?"
She stares at him.
"Or wanted to?"
Her jaw tightens.
"Hurts, doesn't it? Physically hurts. Scares the shit out of you, too, I bet." So casual. Unconcerned. They could be talking about the goddamned weather. "It's cruel, really. Irresponsible of those that put it upon you. We can help. Channel the...impulses."
She can't feel her fingers. She lets go of the towel, lets circulation resume. "You didn't answer the question."
"It's not important how we know. It's enough that we do." He glances down at his watch; it's sleek and silver and probably very expensive. He sighs and sets his fork down, wipes his mouth on a napkin, takes a card case out of the inside pocket of his jacket. "Tell you what...I don't have much time here. Usually I'd tell you the offer expires the moment I walk out of the door, but this is really very good pie. So I'll leave you my card, and when you've given it some thought, you can call me."
She doesn't look down as he slides a pristine little white card across the counter to her. She doesn't look away from those eyes. She's still thinking of all the ways she could loosen them from his head. "And if I say no?"
"Then you're on your own, and eventually the others--the others I told you about? They track you down. They deal with you."
She flinches a little and looks away, lays her hand over the card. "And if I say yes?"
"Like I said, sweetheart. We can help you." She lifts her gaze and glares at him, and after a moment, he relents. "We train you. We assign you someone to...take care of you. Watch after you. Help you on assignments. And you work for us. We'll take very good care of you." He smiles. The trusting, earnest smile of a politician. "I promise."
He gets up and pays for the pie and coffee. He leaves her a nice tip. He whistles cheerfully as he walks out the door.
She's holding the card with her fingertips, turning it over and over, thinking. Not about the offer. Not about the story he spun of vampire Slayers and demons and war.
She's thinking of exactly how she's going to pluck his eyes out of their sockets. One at a time.
For every time he called her 'sweetheart.'
He raises an eyebrow, tips his head at her curiously. "They're never relieved. You know, I think I would be. If something as strange as this had been happening to me, well, I'd want to know what was really going on."
The instincts crawl and swirl and bite at her. Kill it. Kill him. Make him bleed. Snatch the fork out of his hand and jam it in his eye.
She wraps a dish towel around her hand so tightly that her fingertips go numb. "How?"
"How...?"
"Do you know?"
"Killed anyone lately?"
She stares at him.
"Or wanted to?"
Her jaw tightens.
"Hurts, doesn't it? Physically hurts. Scares the shit out of you, too, I bet." So casual. Unconcerned. They could be talking about the goddamned weather. "It's cruel, really. Irresponsible of those that put it upon you. We can help. Channel the...impulses."
She can't feel her fingers. She lets go of the towel, lets circulation resume. "You didn't answer the question."
"It's not important how we know. It's enough that we do." He glances down at his watch; it's sleek and silver and probably very expensive. He sighs and sets his fork down, wipes his mouth on a napkin, takes a card case out of the inside pocket of his jacket. "Tell you what...I don't have much time here. Usually I'd tell you the offer expires the moment I walk out of the door, but this is really very good pie. So I'll leave you my card, and when you've given it some thought, you can call me."
She doesn't look down as he slides a pristine little white card across the counter to her. She doesn't look away from those eyes. She's still thinking of all the ways she could loosen them from his head. "And if I say no?"
"Then you're on your own, and eventually the others--the others I told you about? They track you down. They deal with you."
She flinches a little and looks away, lays her hand over the card. "And if I say yes?"
"Like I said, sweetheart. We can help you." She lifts her gaze and glares at him, and after a moment, he relents. "We train you. We assign you someone to...take care of you. Watch after you. Help you on assignments. And you work for us. We'll take very good care of you." He smiles. The trusting, earnest smile of a politician. "I promise."
He gets up and pays for the pie and coffee. He leaves her a nice tip. He whistles cheerfully as he walks out the door.
She's holding the card with her fingertips, turning it over and over, thinking. Not about the offer. Not about the story he spun of vampire Slayers and demons and war.
She's thinking of exactly how she's going to pluck his eyes out of their sockets. One at a time.
For every time he called her 'sweetheart.'
word count: 630