Peace danced the streets, lining the pavements, and bouncing off the walls. Nothing would break the idyllic mood, not for the humans.
For a predator, it was like they were living in a bubble. They wandered through their day to day lives, ever content, never having anything real to complain about. What he would give for the right to grieve his own death. If morals existed then they were far more ironic then he gave them credit for –far more twisted then him.
His eyes, a shot of carmine in the darkness, so accurately like the blood he was about to take. The humans took lives of lesser creatures to feed – poultry, beef- almost obsessively, like mass murder. Why could he not do the same?
His target was moving; he hardly expected it to wait around for him. Its waistcoat was made of fine fibres, but that would present no challenge for knife-like teeth – designed for the exact purpose of ripping away human flesh, and tearing the bodies apart limb by limb, bone by bone.
It was the type that –although the predator didn't know it- was everything that he had wanted to be. When he was human, that is. It was well educated, witty, swish – everything the predator, a mere chimney sweep- was not.
Which was why in a few well placed movements; it would be subjected to the same fate as him. Eternal damnation, as it is so gracefully referred to.
As it turned a corner into an alleyway that was beautiful by day, yet could quite subjectively be picked out of a horror movie at night, it had no idea what was coming. That was the idea of a predator prey relationship – it was nature, or so our predator was telling himself anyway.
One moment it was walking along a lady who he could only presume as his wife on his arm. The next, she had emitted a shrill scream because, on wrapped around its neck was him; the predator.
He gave of one of those ostentatious 'Hey, I'm going kill you, okay?' vibes, so in essence danger was imminent from the off.
Nobody ran to her screams, if they did, they'd have died too.
But he didn't die, not quite.
Because, when the predator ignored its screams, her shrill protests, nature run its course. Despite the failing arms trying to bat him off, his arms twisted joints from sockets leaving sickening crunches fleeing the air like doves. No matter what it did, the predator was still going to have a little fun first, before he ruined his life for the better.
The scent of blood lingered on the air like flies around a corpse. The wife fainted around the time of what the predator would call him finest moment, although he wasn't paying much attention to her. He didn't care for women. (AN; He aint gay, it's France in the 1700's they had a lack of respect for ladies at the time.)
He turned his eyes to the tender succulent neck lowered beneath his face. The moon light raked over it, dashing over its eyes, reiterating the fear. He loved the power he had.
Slashing through the silence that had descended upon the scenery –natural in every way, but so forsakenly unnatural in every other- Laurent's life ended.
Teeth clamped onto his olive toned neck, his eyes widening before he passed out completely. He had lasted so long, the predator would never know. He had strength, which gave him potential in what was coming. The burning hot venom seeped through his veins, wreaking molten havoc with every single synapse and molecule of his existence.
There would be no more theatrics tonight. The predator walked away, fading into his grim existence, the final curtain. There would be no more theatrics tonight, but how many more times the predator would repeat this scene was something we daren't need to answer. This act was over.
Laurent's life –however- was just beginning.
AN; So, what do you think? I'm liking the character of Laurent. In the next chapter I'm plotting a twist you may enjoy, and a few chapters after that I'm adding a character that I know a lot of people love, so I'm hoping I write them good.
Anywho, reviews please? I'd be great. Anyone who reviews gets Edward cookies (made with orange food dye. Yum.)
-Nin.