Another dreary street in the city, another smog-filled residence biting against the ageing signs of a gradual and slowly wrought urban decay. The hustle of an evening commute, steps and lost mundy's tapping against the pavement in search of dwellings- amongst them a figure that passes with an idle regard, occasionally studying the side walk.
The tap of a huff and puff cigarette sends a spiral of crying ash to the stone-cold pavement, the same hand causing it to then rise as he takes a much-needed drag. He always preferred the night- Despite the disturbances of bright lights and the culmination of the day's pollution striking his feral sense of smell, it was the one time Bigby Wolf could muster his thoughts against the sleeping hum of the city.
Much had changed since the Crooked man had fallen into the witching well, a court dispensing judgement to his crimes, a last minute testimonial delivered by the only girl to survive a ribbon that wrapped-still wraps her neck. It should have been easy to accept all that occurred, to have finally uprooted the cancer that had been silently festering its silent roots upon the community.
Yet something was still missing.
A southern flick of the burned out smoke would soon be met with the end of the Sheriff's leather shoes, grinding the spark of flame to its death.
It wasn't a long walk to his apartment now.
-
The woodland luxury apartments, 12:03am..
The third press yielded no result as Bigby's thick finger removed itself from jamming the lift's call button.
It was the third time this month that the damn thing refused to work- but always notably when the Sheriff had forfeited sleep for work, the majority of it now spent behind his work desk- He grimaced at the thought of finding further paperwork on his own, personal desk, but was far too tired to even consider getting a head start on tomorrow's tasks.
By the time the worn-sheriff reached the second flight of stairs, Grimble's snoring had become a little less heavy on the ear. Every step to apartment 204 felt strangely stretched- Perhaps merely a consequence of hoping that Colin wasn't sleeping on his chair again. He really didn't want to have to tell him, let alone pry him off.
The smell that filled his senses upon arriving at his door however, spoke of a complete opposite.
''...Shit.''
The involuntary commentary did little to settle the wolf's perception of blood. Another draw through his nostrils and he was certain of it- The key to the lock turning slowly, slower still so that no sound would voice itself of his arrival. As the door to his apartment opened, so too did that overpowering scent of bloodied swine, the slits of Bigby's eyes scanning the interior between the apparent folds of dark.
''Hi Wolfy.''
Any sign of Collin's usually irritating presence was replaced by a deep sense of foreboding. The figure that sat upon his chair at the end of his small residence turned only ever so slightly so that half of her features would be met to his gaze. It had seemed she had been watching the television, an old Mundy sit-com upon which the audience would still laugh at the jokes that needed the assurance.
Bigby's eyes would betray the calm, purposeful nature and step his body would take- If a gaze could speak bloody murder, his own would revel at the chance of it, closing the door behind him as he bit back the desire to turn there and then, and shred a hole through the uninvited guest.
''What's wrong deary? You are not happy to see me? It just so happens that I was dying to see you.''
Bloody Mary's smile would also betray the look of malice ever-present in her gaze. The seductive, sinister air upon which she reigned a throne of fear and death, clearly one that could have only been made worse by the recollection of a Mundy's knowledge of her story, and how foolish it would be to chant her name, five times before a mirror.
Everything about her wanton gaze dared the wolf to come at her, as if inviting him to violence in a way that somehow comprehended his very nature- left staring as the hoarse, cigarette beaten voice of the Sheriff filled the room in a lowly drawn rumble.
''...Look. If you are that desperate to die, get in line and you'll get your fucking turn because I've had an incredibly long day of bullshit. So before I lose my temper- I'm only going to ask you this once. Where's Collin?''
''Worried about a little piggie now, are we?''
The tilt of her head would offer a strange look of pity that riled the inside of the Wolf's core as he watched her rise slowly, approaching him with a hand pressed against her hip. Her glance over the apartment and gesture to the bloodstained walls would yield a look of amusement.
''Your little boyfriend's been picked up at the request of my employer. He did make a lot of noise, but it's nothing we couldn't fix.''
As if on que, Mary's sleight of hand would raise to reveal a long, cut-off tongue impaled between a shard of sharp glass, head tilted as she studied the look of horror about Bigby's features.
''You fucking BITCH!''
Before his fist could crash against the delicately sharp nature of her face, a bladed hand of glass had already weaved it's way into Bigby's side, causing him to buckle as she capitalized on the moment, knee rising high to crack the underside of the Sheriff's jaw. The table housing the phone would collapse as Bigby would unexpectedly hit the floor, hands scrambling to reach up, suddenly then impaled by shards of glass, pinning him down.
Mary's form would straddle the man going Feral, hair and teeth flared into a snarl as she'd breathe over his lips, clutching him with inhumane strength.
''We are going to play a little game, wolfy. We ring you, to do a job for us. You don't do what we tell you- the pig dies. You don't do when we tell you...the pig, dies. You don't do it where we tell you...the pig...dies. You tell that bitch in the off-''
The claws that reach for Mary's throat grip with the intention to kill, the feral being beneath her only a few steps away from becoming truly bad. A fleeting moment before the wolf can crush her windpipe, her tongue slides over his lips, placing a kiss that completely throws his focus off before she blinks out of sight.
Frantically looking around within his apartment, the trail of a red jacket can be seen pacing away in the mirror opposite of where the floored Sheriff lays. He smashes it suddenly in a rage, losing the lead to the sounds of what is almost a distant laughter.
Clearly, it was going to be another sleepless night.
