LOKIforDREAMS
'... Police are still baffled by the apparent destruction of the transcontinental express, The Flying Pussyfoot, as well as the deaths of both detectives inspecting the train at the time. No new suspects have been revealed to the public at this time...'
Claire came to and immediately knew one thing, very clearly. His head hurt like hell. Even a long day of work on the trains didn't give him as much of a headache as his throbbing temples told him he had. He moved to soothe the pain; and found he couldn't move. There was a single instant of panic before he realized he was tied up, not paralyzed. Defiantly not a good way to start off his day. He quickly assessed his situation mentally and the facts did not add up well. He was currently bound, or more accurately hogtied. He had a head wound of indeterminate severity that he couldn't check or bandage. It was too dark to see and he was gagged with something that tasted like silk. Running his tongue over the gag, he noticed several ridges that could only be embroidery. It clicked in his head after a second or two. The bastard had gagged him with his own handkerchief!
The next twenty minutes were spent devising several especially gruesome deaths for whoever had done this. Obviously Graham was involved, but he wasn't exactly capable of this level of planning on his own. Claire would think up something really nasty for that bastard once he was untied. No one got away with breaking the Flying Pussyfoot if he had a say in it. He had the sneaking suspicion that little Czeslaw Meyer was behind this. And the brat was going to pay dearly. Both for coming after Claire, and for sending that maniac to destroy the train. That was just wrong.
First things first though. He had to untie himself. Whatever moron had tied him in the first place had assumed Claire would be unable to work the knots in his position. That person was stupid. Anyone with Claire's level of training in the circus would have been out of this in no more than five minutes. Claire was taking longer because he was still disoriented and thinking through a haze of pain. He managed to work his hands around the first of three knots when a light blazed into the small room and blinded him.
"What's this? Trying to escape, huh? That's stupid." Of course, it was that brat. How many others would go to the trouble of kidnapping him? On second thought, being an assassin meant someone always wanted Claire dead. This kid was just a little more tenacious than the others. Technically he'd killed all on his enemies. Czes included. The boy roughly pulled the gag from Claire's mouth, letting him speak for whatever reason.
"So, what'dja plan on doing ta me?" Claire asked, going back to working on the knot, but the searing bright light in his dark-adjusted eyes only added to the amount of pain in his head. Why do so many things have to start hurting him now? The boy bent next to Claire on the tiled floor of what must have been an old bathroom and none too gently, slapped Claire's hands away from the knot. "You should really be more careful. This is a sailor's knot after all. Pull the wrong part and it'll take your hand off." Czes spoke mock-caringly, retying the hard work of the past half hour.
So many words crossed Claire's mind, begging to be shouted out loud at the immortal child, who probably wouldn't have even flinched at them. He didn't say any of them. Instead he calmly asked, "And what do I owe this first-class treatment?"
Czes was tempted to replace the gag. But he really wanted to hear this man scream. Just the way Czes had screamed when his arm was grated away on the train tracks, or any of the other times the Rail Tracer had killed him. "Oh I plan ok killing you. But I can't get blood out of wood really well and I plan on having you bleed quite a lot before you die. And unlike me, you won't be coming back from this death." Czes produced a knife and placed the tip against Claire's throat. "By the end of the week, you should be begging me to spare your pathetic life."
Claire almost laughed. Hearing the words he usually uttered, coming from an eternally prepubescent boy was amusing, almost hilarious. "You're jokin with me, kid. Dat's too rich. Me beg? Not gonna happen." Claire laughed, staring the boy down, nearly delirious with pain. He then uttered the two words he would come to regret for the next two hours, though never out loud. "Bite me."
~~~~~~~~
Czes left the bathroom to get a fresh change of clothes and go home to Ennis and maintain his innocent image. The homunculus would never suspect that he'd been flaying alive a serial killer. Maybe Firo would if he learned that Claire had gone missing, but the happy go lucky mafioso probably wouldn't put two and two together until a body showed up. And if Czes was careful, that wouldn't be for a long while.
Claire had passed out from the pain; moments after the sick twisted child had left. He came to an hour later in a small pool of his own blood, slightly amazed. He hadn't known that it was possible to DO that to a living person without major blood loss. But it still hurt like a bitch. It took him a little while, but he managed to free his hands. The first thing he did was pull the gag off and toss it clear of the bloodbath. He'd kill before he got blood on that particular piece of fabric. Blood was one of the few stains he was good at cleaning out of regular cotton or wool. But silk? Forget it.
A quick twist of the leg freed his feet and he shakily stood up. The bathroom was fairly threadbare. Nothing to bandage himself up with in here. But the next room over, a living room with sheets all over it to keep the dust off the furniture, proved more adequate. Sheets were ripped into bandages and tied rather tightly over the areas of exposed flesh, where the small boy had stripped away the skin. The was no doubt in Claire's mind. Czeslaw Meyer was dead meat.
Odd, but interestingly enough, the boy had abandoned the knife in a corner, along with his bloodied clothing. Claire didn't dwell on it long. The only thoughts making it through his head currently were on revenge. Graham would be found and killed later. This brat was going to get it the moment he walked through that door. Claire sat down on the sofa, content to wait. For now...
TwinsOfABlackRose
Claire found himself a small hiding spot behind the door, the sheets were working good to hold his wounds together but the pain still throbbed throughout his body. The only good he could say it would do would make adrenalin rush through his body making his reactions faster than they had been when he fought Graham. The glint in his eye, the redness that was once used by the Rail tracer, beamed brightly as he awaited his prey.
He looked warily over at the back of the door where he had tied the silk handkerchief so it would avoid the splatter of blood he was sure they would come into contact with. He looked back down at the floor and his blood soaked clothes, it gave him that feeling of power he had when he punished those on the transcontinental train. An overpowering feeling of invincibility, although he had been shown he was not.
Claire heard two sets of footsteps and the sound of metal dragging along the ground outside. Wonderful. He could finish of Graham at the same time. The door swung open and Czeslaw led in Graham following in after him.
"Ah this smell! This Texture! This knowing that somewhere the great assassin Vino quivers in our midst of the strength of my own fist," Graham started to rant and swing with spanner, "ah watching such a sad tale unravel is such an interesting piece don't you agree little mouse? I bet he's pissin' his pants right now in fear!"
"I wouldn't count my eggs yet," Claire said slashing the knife across Graham's back along with a quick disarming attempt leaving him with the oversized blood-stained spanner in his hand; he was ready for whatever they could throw at him. He was ready to grind this little kid to dust.
Czeslaw brought his hands together in a slow sarcastic clap stepping closer to Claire; he looked up at him innocently. New clothes and fresh washed hair; Ennis spoiled this kid way too much for his own good.
"You may have a hold of Mister Graham's main weapon but it still doesn't mean you have won," he stepped closer before lightly kicking the assassin's shin, "you have to keep your distance or you'll fall apart correct?"
Claire smirked back at him, true he had a single weakness now but he wasn't going to let that stop him. No, nothing was going to stop him because he couldn't die. If he died the world would disappear. He laughed, "I find you amusin' kid an' if you din't come afta me I wouldn't have ta kill ya right now," he shook his head, "I was quite all right with ya livin' an' all but now, no that just won't do. I know I can't kill ya but I'm sure I could seal ya away or make it so you'd never show that little face around me again. I do hope you're not too attached to your limbs~"
The apparent kid swallowed deeply taking a couple of small steps backward, "G-graham!" He spluttered falling back, memories of being dragged along the tracks finding their way back into his mind flashing in front of him in a violent whim. Clare was always so calm when carrying out tortures and the likes, the fact he was calm now showed that what he had done to him hadn't hurt the assassin in the least; or that he was able to cover it up at least.
Silence fell upon the room and the three males stood in a triangle of each other looking into their eyes.
Czeslaw shaking in his boots but trying to remain calm.
Graham grinning like a fool on the edge of another manic rant.
Claire standing their calmly holding the knife and spanner.
The room stank of blood, fitting for their final confrontation, and was barely lit. Small glints of the sun outside made their way in yet again messing with Claire's eyes that had adjusted to the dark but also creating eerie shadows and an aura that seemed to effect Czeslaw.
"Are ya scared?" Claire asked looking down at Claire, "I remember last time we meet you ran off screaming like a girl."
"You're not in a position to talk big," Graham spat reaching for the closest object; a broken metal towel rack, "just so you know I'm just as good with improvised weaponry as I am with my main."
Claire nodded dropping the spanner to the ground standing out from behind the door to look Graham in the eye, "Then let's do this."
Graham ran toward Claire swinging down the towel rack, "Listen up," he said swinging around to follow Claire as he darted around the room, "of a sad tale of a dead dog who thought he could fight off the big bad wolf~"
"So that makes me the big bad wolf," Claire made his way closer to Graham slashing the knife across his cheek, he quickly moved back putting the weight on his more stable leg, "because I am not dead yet and I don't plan on dying...ever really," the next thing he did would have been considered amazing for a normal person and put a great strain onto Claire.
He ran toward Graham clasping the edge of the pole and with a quick flick of his wrist twisted around Graham's elbow pushing him to the ground. He wrenched the pole from his fist throwing it aside bringing the knife down onto his shoulder. Graham gave a pained cry and another when the knife was pulled back but still reached for his spanner. Now in his own territory Graham stood holding it firmly in his hand.
"Looks like you popped your head," he laughed, "sucha sad tale of a dead dog who's head burst~"
Claire felt his temple, dammit the wound had opened up again.
"You should mop that blood up," Graham reached for the handkerchief throwing it onto Claire's forehead. The clean pristine white silk mixed with the red quickly spreading across soiling the embroidery.
Claire's hand reached, again, to his forehead and he pulled the handkerchief off dropping it to the floor, in a split second his knife was in Graham's torso and he fell to the ground with a grunt.
"He's not dead," Claire said pulling the knife out walking over to Czeslaw, "and he won't die either, I've made sure of that." Claire collapsed to the ground with a groan, panting. He had used all his energy up in that one fight and his vision was starting to blur.
"I still need to get you," he grunted biting his lip leaning his head back, okay this was not cool. The great assassin Vino couldn't be shown to have such weakness. He refused that possibility as he fought for consciousness letting out a series of grunts and groans.
Czeslaw reached down to the handkerchief trying it around Claire's mouth, "While I love to see you in pain your voice is starting to irritate me," out of the child's mouth came words that sounded so horrible and sadistic looking down at the figure. Then he gave an innocent laugh, "I should be getting home Ennis and Firo will be wondering where I am~"
As he left Claire wondered if Firo would help him. Probably not.
~~~~
Claire's eyes darted open, he stood pulling the gag from his mouth shoving it roughly into his pocket, "I hafta get home," he pulled himself up limping out of the house and down the road. It took him a while before he worked out where home was, he unlocked the door and walked in. He picked up the note on the table and sighed collapsing in a chair. Luck was gone on business.
He reached for Luck's bottle of scotch opening it putting the nozzle in his mouth drinking much more than what was healthy for him in his state but he didn't care. If he could keep the pain at bay until Luck got home...no...
A smirk came across his face as he stood; he didn't need anyone's help. Why had it taken him this long for him to come out from his mood? Now he was ready. He was going to win this battle.
LOKIforDREAMS
Claire spent the night in Luck's empty room. It wasn't because he was worried anymore. Instead, it was the only place he found the first aid kit and a bottle of aspirin. That and the rest of the booze in the house ensured that he healed with the least amount of pain possible. After the amount of skin that brat had removed, he needed all of it. Luck wouldn't mind, would he?
As soon as he got into the first aid bandages, he officially assessed his injuries. The skin on both right limbs was completely stripped. His head now had a scabbed gash and a bruise down the left side that was turning a nasty yellow-purple. And his neck was circled with small bruises in the shape of a child's hand. Claire was lucky that, because of the way he was tied, the child hadn't been able to get to his torso so easily. That wasn't to say he hadn't gotten kicked several times once he'd passed out.
Basically, he looked like crap. And he felt like crap. So he stayed where he was on Luck's bed. And he stayed there until night fall the next day. That was the point he got up and changed out of his bloody clothes. If he was going to heal, and more importantly, if he was going to get his revenge, he needed food. And Luck hadn't left any in the apartment. Annoyed, Claire decided to kill two birds with one stone.
He slid a knife into his trench coat pocket and limped out the door. The cold was kind of refreshing for the tail end of a hangover. He started walking down the block, thought for a moment at the corner, and turned around to the other direction. How screwed up did the last few days have to be that he'd forgotten which direction the Alveare was?
A week ago, Claire had just gotten back after a job in Chicago. The entire world had been in order. Life had been going just fine. Then Czeslaw Meyer happened. And things had dropped faster than Ladd Russo off the side of the train. It was insane!
Claire ended up sitting at a table in the dining room of the Alveare with a glass of red wine. Ironically fitting. He was waiting for some indication that the boy was in the building. Probably, he would be sticking close to Ennis until the sun went down and he would go to Luck's apartment again, looking to kill Claire. But the assassin planned to get the jump on him.
"Heya Claire! Hows it goin there buddy?" Claire started, almost pulling the knife. Firo dropped into the seat across from him. Claire smiled, not really paying Firo that much attention. But even if the brunette wasn't the smartest guy on the planet, he wasn't totally imperceptive. He knew Claire wasn't his usual cheerful self. He gave off a bloodthirsty feeling. A distracted one, but the red head was going to kill someone before tomorrow. "Hey Claire, What's amatter?"
Claire shrugged. "You seen the kid? Czes? I need ta talk ta the kid." Firo knew that tone of voice though. It wasn't a talking tone. "Now why don I believe dat?"
"Alright, so I don wanna talk to him. I'm lookin ta kill the brat."
"Claire!" Firo jolted. "What? He'll recover. Eventually."