AS THE CLICHE SAYS-1/20/09-SDA
Chelsea Welsh
Summary: A Human Learns Not To Judge On Appearance Alone...
"Yes, Hiei...a good night to you aswell." An out-of-place redhead quietly dismissed himself from the presense of what some could mistake as a child. "Hn." A sprinkler shut off nearby. An average man stood on the sidewalk curb, smoking half a cigarette. His eyes didn't leave the couple.
He had expected the little demon to vanish. Nothing moved, but he knew...Hiei [Yes, that was his name...how could he forget?] was far off by then. ...The human was alone.
Perfect.
The lowly thief, as always. Cowardly. Hiding, waiting for opportunity. He could feel his pulse in every cell, the switch-knife heavy in his damp hands. Waiting; always the hardest, yet most boring part of the job.
Empty streets. Was it 2, 3 am? It didn't matter. A wide grin spread to reveal stained teeth [too much coffee and cigarettes, no doubt, coupled with poor hygiene] and, wordlessly, he started forward...
Cold, hard metal. The green eyed teenager did not stiffen, though he did cease movement. Almost as though he had expected it. Or perhaps he was merely annoyed; one couldn't know.
"Empty your pockets..."
The blade was dull, though not harmless. Perhaps a few years past it's prime.
"...Is that all you can do?" Kurama felt the smile. He hadn't intended to show expression...but, oh this was just too good. Too horribly, deliciously wonderful to pass up. He licked his lips.
He could feel, hear his own pulse slowing. Every cell thrummed like a tuning fork. In a moment, his hair would drain of color. Only a moment; no more, no less.
Blood. Little crimson flowers falling from his neck and onto nature's pristine, white blanket. A sick art very few could appreciate.
"I'm going to give you to the count of three...and then your neck breaks."
The chuckle rumbled in his throat and chest. "Start counting, you fool." Rasping; his voice was no longer sweet, gentle. Just as calm. Always calm.
"One."
...Thump...
"Two."
...Thump.
His heart stopped. "You know how the cliche goes...things aren't always as they seem." The iced wind carried away the weakened rasp of a final breath. He fell stiff, features still frozen in what could have been shock or horror.
"Oh, by the way..." With an elegant flex of the wrist, he sent the human to the once-perfect ground. Long, bony fingers straightened unnatural, pale hair.
"Three."
"Stupid fox." Yoko's left ear flicked towards the beautifully familiar voice. "You didn't have to kill him." Despite the scolding, his tone suggested amusement, pleasure at seeing his lover's real face. Such a rare occasion.
"I know," golden eyes focused on red, "But it's so much more fun than simply sending him into lunacy."
They left no footprints. No trace; the thief, to those who would come in the morning, would have appeared to have committed suicide. But, as the cliche is
...things are not always as they seem...
END
