Things may or may not get a little mixed and faded in this fic. There are triggers in later chapters, so you have been warned. Its a three way relationship for the moment, but decisions will be made so there's that.
I hope you all enjoy!
She laughs, a truly sugar-sweet laugh, and skips down the dank alleyway.
Bare feet sift through vile, sun warmed, puddles of garbage and oil. But she doesn't care, why would she? She was beyond those basic creature comforts - the ones that included cleanliness and nice smells. Had been for some time now - away from pretty things, pretty possessions.
She twirls a submachine gun in her right hand.
She really should have dressed for the occasion - or better yet, she should have come naked. How funny it would have been to have seen his and that saggy hookers face when she - self proclaimed murder goddess, self proclaimed Morrigan - approached them from the dark, naked as the day she were born, wielding a gun a little bigger than half of her tiny frame.
"It would have been delicious," she purred, pointing her gun down and firing.
The man - what was his name again? Jeremy? Jerry? Wait! It was Richie, the governors nephew - had been trying to drag himself away, sleek suit dragging through the putrid trash he was akin to - oh, and don't forget the blood from the hooker, who lie quivering near him; a deep, angry slice gracing her throat from ear to ear. He sobbed, begged for his life, offered payment, riches - but she didn't care. With a heavy belch from her gun, his head snapped like a rubber band, falling forward, body still.
"Te he he," she giggled, walking just a few steps past his dead body before turning. She cocked a hip, grinning the whole time, arms drenched in sticky blood up to her elbows. "I'm doooone," she sang the last word, voice pitching oddly monotone for a moment.
His gloves smacked loudly as he clapped, slinging himself around lazily before stopping behind her. She giggled and swayed back into him as he wrapped his arms around her shoulders, resting his head against her right shoulder. She let the gun dangle from her fingertips as they surveyed her work - her first solo performance - and he planted a wide, sloppy, kiss against her cheek. It left a streak of red and a wet mark.
"You. are. perfect."