Edited. Now without the silly mistakes [hopefully]. Also changed the chapter order slightly.
As a human Frankie had been overly possessive of anything he dubbed as 'his', which not surprisingly was a lot of things. His clothes, car, locker and even the one meter radius around him was his and if anyone even attempted to touch/come into it then they'd come face to face with his fist.
Unless they were hot chicks.
He'd make an exception then.
The rather childish act of claiming things also applied to people as well. Bartholomew was his, in a sense anyway. He made the kids life a living hell and hated his guts but still, only he was allowed to do that. If he saw anyone else do it then there would be hell to pay.
Frankie walked behind the cafeteria, lighter in one hand and a cig hanging out of the corner of his mouth as he pulled up his baggy jeans with his free hand a few inches, still not enough to hide his boxers. But hay, it was fashion.
If you were a colour blind hobo anyway.
He lit the cig and took a quick drag, coughing into his hand a few times still not fully used to the burning taste which no matter how hard he tried he couldn't get himself to stop. Not that he wanted to try. Nyah, this made him 'cool' according to his peers. And Frankie was one cool guy.
Pfh
Yeh
Right
Ignorance is bliss after all.
As he past the bike shed he herd the sounds of people talking though he didn't pay them much attention, probably some angst emo fuckers gaying it up or something. Only when he heard a certain voice did he stop and turn, letting the cigarette fall from his fingers onto the floor and the very same hand ball up into a tight fist.
Now Frankie wasn't the strongest of guys no matter how much he liked to pretend, but he was pretty tall and could take a few punches, not to mention he had fucking crazy person stamina and would beat the person into submission and then a little more just for shits and gigs.
He slowly made his way behind the other side of the building, pausing on the corner then peering around, feeling his blood begin to boil at the sight before him.
There, laying on the floor was HIS bitch. Bleeding from a cut above his eye and one of his upper arm, probably from the shattered glass littering the floor. From the looks of things he'd interrupted some drunk fucks having a little party and they'd decide to play whack a mole with his head.
Classy.
Frankie would have to try it out sometime but not now, no, now was the time to show those bastards what was his and teach them a lesson.
He looked around for a few seconds then spotted some crates used to package up the boxed lunches they served in this shit hole every Thursdays, though the crate he currently had his eyes on had been cracked in several places, being reduced to nothing more then a few planks of splintered wood with nails jutting out in different directions.
Perfect for bashing people around the head with.
The bastards didn't know what hit them. One moment they were laying into Bartholomew with punches and kicks and the next second one guy was out cold and the other had a nail embedded in his right shoulder while the last remaining drunkard was currently getting a face full of wood as Frankie slammed it into his head, breaking his nose and splitting his lip.
The fight lasted the worse part of eighty seconds before the two ran away, yelling curses to Frankie as they tride not to trip over their own feet.
The other boy stayed on the floor, not being able to do much seeing as he was still out cold, though when Frankie kicked him in the ribs he made an off groaning sound much to the tall boys amusement.
Now that the immediate threat had gone he paid attention to Bartholomew, who by now had gotten to his feet and was trying to work out what the fuck had just happened, and more importantly WHY it had happened.
"…..you…..saved me?" he asked, none to sure about it in all honesty. It just didn't seem real. Maybe his head had gotten to messed up and he was simply seeing things. Or maybe he was dead. Either one would make more sense then Frankie, the guy who had made his life a living hell for the past X amount of years, having saved him.
Said saviour chucked the bloody plank of wood away from him then smirked, folding his arms over his chest and taking a step closer. "heh, guess I did. Gonna give me a rewards or just stand there like a pussy all day?" he asked, tilting his head to the side and frowning as he saw the large bruise forming on the boys cheek. "A reward? What the hell! I didn't ASK you to save me yer bastard" Bartholomew yelled, waving his arms about ignoring the pain that flared up his right side. "Yeh you're right you didn't but life's a bitch that way now pay up or I'll take a different form of reward faggot" Frankie didn't realize how….odd that sounded and probably never would even if it was spelled out for him. He never was the brightest crayon in the light bulb box after all. Though unlike Frankie Bartholomew did see the oddity in the statement and hurriedly looked around for his wallet, realizing that not only had the three boys stolen his dignity but also the damn thing.
Wonderful.
Just wonderful.
"I don't have anything to pay you with, just get lost, I need to get to the nurse" Bartholomew said with a sigh, using the usual tactic of giving up the fight which normally made Frankie grow tired of the little charade and leave him alone quicker. Though today it seemed it wasn't working.
"You ain't got nothing? Heh, lier" In a second he had the boy pinned the the wall, hand against Bartholomew's skin slipping under his top making the short boy shudder and kick out, getting Frankie in the shins which earned him a quick head butt making him see stars. "You never learn do you?" He said almost sounding amused as he grabbed the side of Bartholomew's t-shirt, sliding it up over the boys arms then rolling it up into a ball, holding it between both hands smugly.
"There, see, now were even midget" Frankie smiled and petting a now shivering Bartholomew on the head mockingly before turning away, pleased that not only had he'd beaten the shit out of the people who had DARED touch his bitch, but also had another item of clothing to add to his ever growing pile of the other boys clothing
Something inside the smoker clicked as he watched the witches claws dig into his hunters stomach making the infected howl in pain and unsuccessfully try and scratch the bitches eyes out as she continued her rabid attack. Batholomew had been making his way through the park when he'd jumped down from a ledge and startled the little whore who'd been crying softly behind a vending machine of all places.
Witches were weird fuckers.
Bawwing because they didn't like death but then slaughtering everything that crossed their paths.
Some logic that was.
But, Frankie didn't have time to think about the mind set of the bikini clad young women as he let out a animalistic growl and ran forwards, raising his right tumour ridden arm above his head then slamming it down sharply onto the side of the bitches neck, successfully startling her and making her let go of Bartholomew who sat slumped against the tree, hissing and clutching at his heavily bleeding stomach as he watched the two infected battle it out.
The witch turned sharply, claws slashing out catching Frankie across the arm creating deep welts as he slammed it down upon her again, feeling something crack but then regretting the action as the witch grabbed onto his arm and yanked him forward, pulling them flush against each other.
Some ware at the back of his brain he instinctively knew to look down, getting a nice look at some witchy bitchy cleavage before he was sharply pushed back and pounced upon, feeling pain flare up on his left side as the witch dug three fingers into his side, howling above him like some deranged widow.
Frankie curled up onto his side then rolled onto his back, screaming as the witch bit down on the back of his neck making him spazzem as her teeth brushed against his spinal chord sending of random impulses throughout his body. He grit he teeth hard enough to shatter them then suddenly smirked, a rather sick smile spreading over the smokers face as he felt the witch above him seem to be caught off guard for a moment.
In a split second he had her hands entangled with his tongue while she thrashed above him, the tongue protruding from his neck now half way down her throat.
Chocking her.
Killing her.
makeingoutwithherlolwtf
Eventually the bitch fell still and Frankie got to his feet, feeling the wound on his back then slamming his arm down on the witches head crushing it to pieces sending bits of god knows what spraying out covering him in witchy bitchy no longer twitchy goo.
This defiantly felt right.
Even though she was dead Frankie adored overkill, so he didn't stop smashing and bashing until her corpse was unrecognisable to the human, or infected, eye. Just a big ol' pile of guts and mush.
Just the way Frankie liked it.
3
He brought his hand to his mouth and licked some up with one tongue, grimacing at the taste and wiping his hand on his jean, fingers brushing over the lump in is pocket making him remember the hunter, who by now was on his feet with something in his hands.
The two looked at each other, well….Frankie looked anyway. Bartholomew just stood there with his head in the correct direction. It was one of those moments where time seemed to stand still, neither of them did anything, both waiting for the other to make the other move, waiting for their rotting lumps of brain matter to come up with an actions to act upon while they simply stood there in silence.
Frankie was the first to make the move. Always had been and probably always would.
He ran forwards, arms out stretched as he grabbed Bartholomew by the shoulders, digging his fingers into the shorter infected shoulders, screaming at him at the top of his lungs. It was a primal action with little or no meaning behind, simply a way of intimidation, trying to get Bartholomew to submit to him but instead getting a face full of hunter claw. He snarled and stepped back, batting away the hunters hands and then growling, snaking his tongue out along the floor then clamping it down around Bartholomew's legs making the younger boy hiss and fall forwards onto his hand, scrambling around on all fours and clawing at the appendage trying to get legs free before Frankie pounced him, wrapping his arms around the others waist pinning his arms to his side.
They both sat there, in a rather odd hug pose, almost seeming…docile.
Until of-coarse Bartholomew turned his head and bit down on Frankie's shoulder in exactly the same place he'd bit him, marked him, infected him before sending Frankie into a wild fit of rage, slamming his hand down on the back of Bartholomew's head and straddling his back, tongue wrapping around the boys neck as he attempted to strangle him.
While the two battled it out they never once noticed themselves being watched by a girl with light brown hair dressed in what had once been a nice little outfit but had since been reduced to a blood stained scratty mess. She'd been making her way to the docks (there had been a radio transmission stating that the army had set up some tankers which would take any uninfected survivors away from the madness) when she'd heard Frankie scream. It wasn't an uncommon mistake but due to the fact Frankie's infection was far more noticeable then Bartholomew's she assumed the shorter boy was a human, about to be killed by some horrible creature and being the nice little lesbian she was she wanted to help the poor 'human' boy. She pulled her back pack from over one shoulder, feeling the weight of the bricks inside make her arms hurt for a few moments before she swung up around her head and let it fly, hitting Frankie in the side of the face making him twitch and unravel his tongue from Bartholomew's reddened neck. She managed to run a few hundred feet before Frankie's tongue warped around her leg, dragging her towards him as he rose from utop his bitchs back and clambered towards her, steps un even and slightly mismatched from his out of balanced body.
"Awwww shi-" before she could finish she was in the air, arm around his neck and tongue tightening around her mid section making her ribcage flare up in protest, her breathing becoming laboured and un timed as the grip grew tight enough to shatter bones. She would have died, would had joined the ever growing list of the people the smoker had killed, had it not been for Bartholomew and an untimely growl.
Instead of having her ribcage cracked and broken she was instead given a swift bite to the forearm then chucked a few meters out of sight, landing on the cement pathway that waved its way through the once tranquil park, knocking the soon to be wrapped girl out cold, her last thoughts being of the small human boy who, even though she liked vagingle, had seemed rather….cute.
