#⦗✦| i'd HTML edit but laaaazy girlie

[fluorescentmortem]

Plotted & closed starter for @storyuntrue

  On a cold night such as tonight, you'd think a woman would be keeping herself wrapped up in her home, bundled under blankets, sleeping or reading a good book to settle down to.

  Oh no, not tonight, however. Tonight was possibly one of the scariest nights of this woman's life. The woman in question: Margaret Hooper. Molly, she preferred. Being currently man ( woman? ) handled by a bloke behind her, her wrists bound behind her back. She hated this. Every bit of it. Being held in front of a large crowd of people — vampires, to her surprise — like a chunk of meat, or something even more valuable. No matter how much she struggled, how many times she tried to get her wrists free and the amount of profanities she spat out ( very unladylike, she knows ), there was no escaping.

  Fuck.

  Her dress beginning to slip down her freckled shoulders, hair unruly from her struggle... Molly honestly thought this could be her end. One man holding her, and the other, whom had just randomly appeared, for God's sake, started talking. Money, her, the highest bidder.

  Hold on. Highest bidder—? Her eyes shot open wide as she looked at this blood sucker with a face that had a mix of fear, shock and disgust ( she didn't know which one she was more ). She was going to be sold to one of these... these... 𝑴𝑶𝑵𝑺𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑺 as a blood bank!

  As soon as the bidding began, Molly's heart sunk lower and lower, right into the pit of her stomach, if she had to put it figuratively. She would died tonight. She knew it. Molly Hooper, death by major blood loss. She wouldn't need to sneak or dress up as a man to do her own autopsy, at least. That was the ONLY plus. Numbers were rising higher and higher between the blood suckers, Molly's brown, doe like eyes flicking head to head to try and keep up, to get a glimpse of who could possibly be dragging her home tonight.

  And then... a 𝑽𝑬𝑹𝒀 high number stood out amongst the rest, which had everyone's heads turning, quick enough to give anyone whiplash. He stood there beside a much shorter man, who was also looking at him with the most bewildered expression. Her eyes drifted toward him then, not being able to really get a good look at who had spoken — of bloody course he had to be so far in the back, if not THE back of the room.

  And with that... the man holding said little auction cleared his throat, pulled at his collar as a bead of sweat dropped down the side of his face as he spoke allowed, ❝The little wench,❞ Molly growled angrily at that, ❝goes to Mister Sherlock Holmes with the clear outstanding offer.❞