The sound of crunching bones breaks the silence. The birds nearby lounging flee from the trees when screams followed soon after the crunching noises.
She runs fast, this witch, but too bad Alfred is faster.
His stamina isn't as low as this one either who started to lag not too soon after her sudden flit.
It seems that her energy reserves are not as big as his usual prey, what a shame.
When he catches up sooner than he expected, knowing that he really doesn't need to but just did it for the sake of inflicting unnecessary pain, he breaks her legs. And thus the sound of crunching bones and ear-wracking screams of shocked pain.
Though right after she skids and tumbles and breaks the bones in her legs entirely when she stumbled and stopped running completely, Alfred finds her back facing him, her practically dragging her body across the forest floor, cussing and laughing at what's to become of herself now that she's unable to run with her limbs useless. The way the bones jut out of the torn flesh is disgusting, but a part of him glows with glee seeing this scum suffer just as much, if not more.
His steps were slow and silent as he approached but she sped up nonetheless, feeling his nearly endless reserves of energy in the brink of overflowing.
When he steps on that red and white mess of gore, she screams again.
"That hurts!" She says, as if she's only being pinched. That positivity somehow reminds him of himself, then gets angry at the thought of ever seeing something in common with these monsters.
He was planning on getting her alive, tie her middle as tight as he could that it would make her lungs compress and hang her up a thick branch by the village nearby, for people to hit and throw rocks at her like a piñata until candy comes out. Shame. He pulls out his colt instead and shoots her between the eyes, when she turned her head towards him.
He can see her brain go splat on the ground behind her, as her head plops down, never to get back up ever again.
"What in the Gods-!"
Søren yelps when a mangled witch's corpse was thrown carelessly onto his desk, messing the things scattered on it including the newly-filled glass of good beer he had been saving until later. A tad pissed at the new comer, he looks up, face red and huffing to see a familiar face. He groans.
"Jones, of course!"
The man in question just huffs and leans his back on the desk, head turning to look at his friend, no signs of amusement or mirth reflected in his blue eyes, just indifference.
Another groan from Søren. "Do you really have to, I don't know, break her legs? Really? I told you again and again that a shot to the head with these specialized bullets were enough!" He almost shrieks as he nudges at the legs that were barely there, with how…roughed up it was with a pen.
"She was running too fast,"
"Uh-huh,"
"…well, not fast enough if she's here, is she?" Then there's that funny glint in his eyes again, as he chews his cheek, white teeth flashing and laughs like how you would at someone who slipped on a bar of soap in the public bathrooms.
Søren bites then sucks at his lips, breathes in, trying to hold in his temper. Contrary to what one might believe seeing them like this they actually get along quite nicely. They trained together to become skilled witch hunters and after that they never lost contact and even went to drinks together whenever they can, but what really pisses of Søren every time whenever he's with Alfred was whenever he's in his "witch-hunting mode" because he can get really sadistic and crazy insane. There's just some itch these witches has on him that makes him squirming and crazy unpredictable. Emphasis on the crazy.
He lets go of his lips with a pop, and he asks with a mock smile and enthusiasm, "So! Who is our lucky bastard of the day?"
As expected, Alfred shrugs, and says, "I dunno. Heard people talking about her in a village nearby so I went for a walk to go look."
"Okay, witch in a village nearby….wait. You said she runs fast?"
He gets a snort and a shrug. Right, not fast enough. Then recognizing the witch through description, his eyes widen in astonishment and excitement as he smacks Alfred in the shoulders whose smile only widens and turns into something more childish as he bites at the inside of his cheek at the friendly smack, followed by tickled laughter.
"You got the Flitter, you crazy bastard!"
"I did?"
"Yeah, you know how much her bounty costs?" They were both laughing now, Søren because he thought Alfred couldn't get anymore better at what he does but here he is again, to prove him wrong and Alfred because Søren's laugh is contagious.
"He pulls one of the blank documents under the corpse, thankfully the important parts not covered in too much blood and still legible starts scribbling the necessary information. A squiggly signature at the bottom and he's done.
Brandishing the paper, he hands it to Alfred whose hands had been held out since Søren started scribbling.
"And get rid of this, will you?" Søren adds, a hand covering his nose and the other waving disgustedly at the corpse that's starting to smell. Damn witches, always a pest even when dead.
Another snort is what he receives as a reply and Alfred is already walking towards the exit.
"Drinks on you next time, yeah?"
"Yeah!"