Bramare
EM - POVWe are vain and we are blind
I hate people when they're not polite
~Talking Heads
As I glanced blankly at the rush of traffic on the streets below, the cars blur past each other in colorful brush strokes against the darkness. The low murmurings of the patrons provided a slight camouflage to the rantings of the men at the back table while attempting to blend in to the chaos of the city sounds below.
To a passerby I am nearly invisible, a pensive soul reminiscing over a cold shot of liquid courage. This deception enables my audial attention to be on that table while appearing disinterested. The rooftop bar area was generally vacant, aside from a few smatterings of people catching up or chilling in the most peaceful spot in this den of iniquity. With the glass doors open, you can still hear the roar of the music and mayhem living up to the Club's reputation.
The roar was comfortable and familiar. My mind worked that way at times, like those blurred lines almost melting together into the night below. The picture altered due to the way one's brain processes but assisted by the numbing substance making its way through my system in a heart racing, nerve tingling, familiar rush, keeping me alert and on top of my game. Another sound pierces through the rumbling, standing out with its 80s vibe as a young blonde catches my eye; her heels click, click, clicking as she sashays across the room and settles into the lap of the slime ball I have been observing without his notice.
These fools remind me of one of those Coolidge paintings of the dogs playing poker, acting grown with their booze and cigars, not a care in the world. They feel safe, untouchable….
Irrational, careless, amateurs…
I flick my gaze back to the girl, snickering under my breath in disdain at the group. She's young. Too young. And out of her element while surrounded by this particular pack of jackals. Her desperate attempts at fitting in by flirting and appearing more-worldly turned my stomach. I can tell what he sees in her, superficially of course. But what she doesn't know is she is merely a pit-stop and a notch on a post for this dickhead, and his lap won't be the only one or thing she'd be sitting on by the time the night's done. She really does resemble his fiancé, just…. barely.
Silly little rabbit, caught in the fox's den
Ce que j'ai fais, ce soir la
Ce qu'elle a dit, ce soir la
Realisant mon espoir
Je me lance, vers la gloire, OK
Sounds of that tune drift past as I take in my surroundings. Eclipse stood regally out in the city skyline, the multi-level entertainment complex a bit out of the norm yet easily at home in a city that wants to party like Vegas but attempts at being higher class. Various restaurants and clubs are housed here, along with a five star hotel that rivals The Plaza.
But I digress. This chick has dulled my focus on the conversation I was overhearing, which had my mind floating off of what the end result of this game I was playing would be. Which is careless, something the Demon Twins do NOT do. We are NEVER careless. Well, almost never, apparently.
What do we do about Rosalie Cullen?
I shake the voice off, along with the thought of that woman. The one this little preschooler was unconsciously emulating while this shit-for-brains contemplated what types of lurid, decrepit things he and his "boys" would do to her once they were away from prying eyes. All because this wilted creature somewhat resembled my…. Royce's lady. The one who stirs up warm, gooey feeling inside me, feelings I am completely uncomfortable with, fail to understand, or want to embrace. No good comes from the path my mind takes when considering that particular girl. I switch focus instead on the low-life in charge of the table of dogs.
Fine. King then. How do we handle Royce? Masen wants him dead.
I shake that off too, what Masen wants, that is. I really don't give two quarters of a fuck what Cullen wants right now. Fucker is walking on a fine fucking line, get me? My head keeps shifting back and forth as I roll my eyes over THAT clusterfuck. Why can't people just stop poking the fucking bear, eh? I'm so in my own head I fail to absorb the tune coasting on the edge of my consciousness until I hear the small snort come from the shadows of the rooftop. I chuckle as I turn towards the slight sound, because that particular snort I would drop anything for.
"Gonna answer that this time, psycho killer, Qu'est-ce que c'est?" Bell leans forward as she speaks, allowing the shadows to slowly shift off her face like a sun rising over the mountains, removing the dark nothing of night with the colorful glow of light and color. I can't help the warm grin that I feel spreading across my face as the dimples wink hello to my sister.
Fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-far better
Run run run run run run run away oh oh
"It's just your boy, Bell." I mock, chuckling, knowing she knows WHO I mean as her body arches in a feline way as she hisses at me. "Not MY boy, Em. He's your boyfriend, NOT mine!"
I gauge the potential for her to strike forward, taking in her body language while maintaining eye contact. She's antsy, shifting on the balls of her feet like a panther preparing to spring forward. She's lithe, a sneaky little minx, and since I really didn't want to have to get anything stitched shut tonight I contemplated what to say next to avoid an eruption.
Tisk Tisk, little sis. Slip that mask back on. Vultures are afoot.
I'm STILL shaking my head at her and smirking, as the phone starts blaring out again. Her eyes shift and land on my jacket pocket, like she can see it behind the fabric. Edward Masen Cullen was my baby sister's Achilles heel, and the only human being I would ever consider a friend, brother or confidant. The way he kept chasing her, he's lucky. Lucky that I regard him fondly, and don't think about the best way to kill him as I do most people I come across. Any other cocksucker sniffing around my twin would be mincemeat by now. Sacrificed, tortured in some gruesome, horrid fashion to help feed my thirst for blood and destruction.
For my little sister was perfect. She was my soul, justification, and redemption in this dark hole where my mind felt at peace. The warm burning sensation returned… I loved her. Adored her even, with every breath. This little lady feared NO ONE, for damn good reasons. Not only did she have one of the most effective killers guarding her six, but with the way we mirrored each other in life, the ONLY person deadlier… well was Bell.
From the moment we could both walk, we were molded by the best to be… well better: more ruthless, less obtrusive, and shrouded by the shadows much like the demons we are named after. If you are on our list, best make peace with whatever deity you worship, for your time on this earth is about to come to a grinding and most likely gruesome halt. Few were granted immunity from our form of judgement, and aside for my twin, any feeling I had for anyone in my world were limited and… impassive.
But Rosie… There was something, this spark of interest: a yellow flare in a world of black, white, and shades of grey. I reminisced over her; I seldom bother. I dislike thinking of her fiancé, or the fact that he gets to touch and see what I should never even desire to. But I don't … care? I must, or I wouldn't keep revisiting thoughts of performing acts of gratuitous violence upon her intended.
Can't touch her if we slice off his fingers, now can he?
The phone interrupts once again, pulling me out of my unwanted thoughts of one VERY unavailable lady.
Psycho Killer
Qu'est-ce que c'est
Fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-far better
Run, run, run, run, run, run, run, away oh oh oh
Yeah yeah yeah yeah!
This fucking guy…
Sighing, I lift the phone to my ear preparing for the ambivalent force that was Masen. "Yessssssss?" I purred into the phone, causing Masen to hesitate briefly before hissing at me vehemently.
"Where the fuck are you at, Em? I told you thirty minutes at Il Roseto two fucking hours ago!" He barked his words like orders, but Ed's problem was... I don't take orders. I looked up at Bell, who smirked while sticking her tongue out at the receiver as she overheard clearly his disgruntlement.
"Shit came up." I shrug, like he can actually see me. "Was there something you needed, man?" I rolled my eyes, since I already knew the answer to that question. Masen wanted King dead, and he couldn't care less how it happened, he just wanted it done. He has been plotting Royce's demise since the day Carlisle announced the marriage arrangement he struck up with Marcus, between Royce and Miss Rosalie. He couldn't wait to "deal with this shit stain" for months. It didn't interest me, not really. Why? Long story short: Royce King hadn't pissed me off enough. Not yet.
"I need you to track King down," he states while I observe yet another young blonde girl approaches the King's table. This guy and his blond fetish. Why the Cullens treated this schlep like a trusted family member, I would never understand. Ma would scrub the dirty fuck down with bleach if she ever got her hostile little hands on the prick.
"Do you now?" I chuckle as I respond, my smirk once again emerging cause this guy is a trip. "And why exactly do I NEED to do it, Cullen?"
He proceeds to explain like I'm a small child why I need to get my ass to his office so we could determine how I would rid the earth of Royce King. I need to track down Royce and remove him from the equation before the engagement is announced and things get "messy". Apparently, Royce's finer qualities consisted of being a deviant, criminal, abuser, and terrorist. Things that were irrelevant when Rose's father decided her being young Mr. King's arm piece was her best path forward.
The stupid little fuck within my range caused most men to cringe uncomfortably in nervousness. They called him sadistic and demonic. Was he? Meh... I couldn't see it, the darkness in him. It was… irritating to not completely have him logically dissected yet. I found that critical, determining the weak spots and areas of easiest opportunity. Finding my angle, exit point, hard to see places, and danger zones. The worm before me was a mirage, a charlatan.
Might be my kind of animal.
But in comparison, an amateur
Out of the corner of my eye I notice as Bell moves away, rolling her eyes, amused by Masen's distress and detailed list of atoneable feats. Fool doesn't see what's right there: I've had this shithead in sight for way too fucking long now. She waves adieu and moves off to re-enter the bar… right past Royce's table and line of sight. My upper body tenses as I foresee the straw about to break the camel's back falling as he decides to reach for her ass.
Bell pivots, and the idiot falls out of his seat clumsily as his hand grabs at the air and he tumbles to the floor. She snorts, turns back to me with a wink, glances at the phone in my hands, and saunters away. As my gaze follows hers, I realize my anger, I tightened my fist to the point I cracked the screen. A growl forms in my chest as I step forward.
A few steps later I pause, shake my head to clear it, and slip the mask back in place. I reach down to help him to his feet, and ask, "Need a hand, King?"
King's face began to pale the moment he realized who was speaking and he slowly looked up and gawked at my outstretched hand like it was about to strike.
Silly rabbit.
I grin, and once again offer my hand to help him up. After rising to his feet, his face begins to regain his color, his expression telling me he is dropping his guard and opening my door of opportunity. "You like to party, yea?" I offer, as inspiration strikes.
You can thank me later…
End Note: This entry for last year's Babies at the Border Fundraiser collaboration was an extra I put together and submitted for Snoopylover60 who is the main reason I returned to the fandom and started posting again. She is one of my biggest supporters and I love her tons!
Also, lots of love to my fantastic five: I would be lost without these women in my life: Bitterharpy, MissLiss15, MarieCarro, KrazyK85, and IcarustoSun!