For the Devil to Dance Again
By Berry's Ambitions
A/N: Funny what boredom and spare time can do, isn't it? This is the result of mine. Yep, a Leprechaun fic. This is a fandom that hasn't even crossed my mind for the longest time, but when inspiration hits, it hits. For reasons beyond me, I watched Back 2 tha' Hood yesterday (for the first time in years) and - despite the fact it was an undeniably ridiculous movie - found myself intrigued by the interactions between Emily and the Lep. I'm probably reading it into it too much and see something that isn't even there, but can never seem to help myself when it comes to shipping. In my defense, the Lep flat-out stated that he liked her, lol. I myself liked Emily's character a hell of a lot more than I did the other heroines from this franchise, considering the fact she was the only one who directly stood up to the Leprechaun, but I digress.
Anyway, I doubt I'll get many reviews for this but I didn't see the harm of putting it out there. But by all means - if you have feedback of any sort, don't be afraid to speak up! :)
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Leprechaun.
It's dark.
It's dark, and Emily is running. She's isn't sure where she's running to, exactly, only that it's far from where she started off.
She's in heels - expensive ones. Gucci, perhaps. They make it all that more difficult to run, of course, but she doesn't have time to strip herself of them.
It's hard to breath, and it nothing to do with the fact she's exerting herself. No - Emily feels like she might just be suffocating. Yet she continues to push herself, step by agonizing step. After all, suffocation is a gentle way to go compared what he has in store for her.
Her throat is dry and sore, as if she'd eaten sand paper. There's the coppery tang of blood in her mouth, but she cannot recall how it got there in the first place.
She doesn't care. Not about any of it, as long as she gets away. She will not be a victim. She's come too far for that now.
There's the click-click-click of his own heels as he follows her. Emily doesn't look back and doesn't need to. Looking at him will not make him go away, after all; just knowing he's coming for her is bad enough.
Her muscles burn as she runs, a choked sob slipping from her lips. Everything hurts, but she welcomes the pain. The pain distracts her from what's really going on - what will inevitably happen to her one way or another.
And it does.
She's shoved violently to the ground, and Emily barely breaks the fall with her hands and knees. It stings, but she's only half-aware of that. A gnarled hand wraps around her ankle, pulling her back into the pavement before she's even recovered.
His eyes meet hers now. He smiles.
The Leprechaun stands over her, illuminated by the moon - which, tonight, is almost a sickly green colour. That horrible grin of his widens; the sight of it makes Emily want to scream, but it's turned into one big fucking horror cliche and she can't get a sound out.
"Hello, me sweet," he says jovially, eyeing her like she's a particularly appetizing snack. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"
She wishes he'd just go ahead and kill her. That's what he wants, isn't it? She doesn't have the gold anymore, so he must be after her life now...
But no. There's a hunger in his gaze that wasn't there before - or worse, she hadn't picked up on it until now. The sight of it is enough to make Emily retch on the spot.
But instead she finds herself back on her feet again, sprinting in the opposite direction from the demonic entity. There's no sign that he's pursuing her, and Emily isn't sure if this comforts or terrifies her. She doesn't feel like waiting around to find out.
The street ahead of her seems endless, and she makes no effort to stop the tears that have begun streaming down her cheeks. All that matters is running and running and never looking back again.
He tackles her from behind, and now she has it in her to let loose a scream - a shrill, piercing sound that's grating even to her own ears.
Somehow he's managed to get Emily on her back again, straddling her in the process. Emily's prepared to strike at him, but he's pinned her hands firmly to the ground. Her voice has grown hoarse from all her shrieking, but he either doesn't care or actually enjoys the sound - looking at the pleased expression on his face, Emily leans towards the latter.
There's a piercing sensation as his claws dig into her wrists. She can feel the blood starting to seep out, running down her arms and onto the cold ground beneath them. Emily whimpers - from pain or escalating fear, she doesn't know which. She can feel his hot breath against her neck as he leans closer, and Emily can't help but wonder if it's worth it to spit in his face.
She's trembling now, in such a state of panic that she doesn't feel him release his grip from one of her wrists. Only stares at him bleakly as he cups her cheek in a mockingly gentle gesture. I win, his gleaming eyes seem to say.
There's a grotesque tearing sound, and suddenly his claws are dripping red. Blood is all she can taste now, filling her mouth and spilling out as she makes one last attempt at screaming. He throws back his head and cackles at the gurgling sound that comes out instead. At least, that's what she thinks he does, because everything is now blurry and confusing, giving Emily the impression that she's drowning. Her lungs burn. Her vision is clouded with green now. Not scarlet, as it should have been, but deep green, like the cloak he adorns -
Emily awakens covered in a light sheen of sweat, her blankets a crumpled heap at the foot of her bed.
She lies there for some time, bunching her legs against her chest and tightly holding them in a vain attempt to comfort herself. She reminds herself that it's just a dream, that the little green man is sealed away and can never harm anyone again.
Emily inhales deeply, pulling herself into a sitting position. She runs her fingers through tangled dark hair, and slowly but surely rises to her feet. Her feet feel heavy as she shuffles into the bathroom, the light seeming more harsh than usual as she flicks it on.
Her movements are clinical, almost robotic, as she twists the 'cold' knob on the sink. Emily splashes her face two, three times. When she opens her eyes once more, her own reflection greets her.
She stares at it for a long time, taking her deep brown eyes - the colour of chocolate, Lisa used to tell her. At the memory of her best friend, Emily swallows back a lump in her throat and rests her hand against the mirror, as if to support herself.
Her breathing is heavy and her heart is practically thrumming inside her chest. It's not the fear anymore, though. Oh, how she wishes it was.
Emily's face is not that of a trauma victim, but of a someone on a high. Not that she's ever tried anything stronger than dope, but Rory tells her about it and she's pretty sure that's how she's feeling now.
Jamie and Rory always praise her, amazed at how well she's handling the whole thing. They're barely sleeping at all, they tell her.
Oh, Emily would give anything to be in their place.
Jamie has become quieter, more thoughtful and introverted. Rory uses the horrible memories as motivation to improve his life. She, on the other hand, has turned into something worse than a junkie. It's been a year now, and she still craves the rush - the rush of running for her very life, knowing she could die at his hands at any minute. The rush of beating the living hell out of the twisted bastard, even if they both know she's only wasting her time.
The rush she got whenever he looked at her.
It's disgusting to feel this way, and probably traitorous as well. She can only imagine Rory and Jamie's reactions if they found out.
Even sicker than that, a small part of Emily actually hopes they will, somehow. Just to see how what would happen.
All she has to do is think back to that fateful day (days?) - or better yet, dream of them - for something akin to an electric shock to creep down her spine. Does she regret it? Perhaps a little. How can she not?
Nevertheless, Emily smiles at herself. She feels more alive than she has in a long time, and it shows.
But, just like any other addict, her high begins to fade, leaving Emily feeling desolate and already in need of her next hit. She closes her eyes, trying to recall the particular shade of green that had consumed her nightmare.
Then there's a burning again, this one similar to thirst. But for what? Sin? Her own bloodshed?
She's worse than Jamie had been with his bud, she realizes with a bitter laugh. Jamie used marijuana to numb himself, while Emily wants to feel her blood fucking sing.
"Your kind is weak, and will always give into your selfish yearnings."
For the first time, Emily believes that she and the creature have come to an understanding.
~The End~