#PLEEEASSEEEEEEEEEE i would ove to know how you guys feel about this one

[sasster]

Bloodbath

I wrote this and I convinced myself I could go to sleep without posting it, and that was just a silly thing I told myself. If you see typos, no you don’t mind your business In which we see even MORE of what life was like for Dr. Lycaon in the before times.

tw: blood, death, general mayhem

Another trip to the past, Time Hopper?

—

Of course tending to the dead is not enough of tribute to the Messiahs to leave room for one to shirk the rest of their responsibilities, and as much as the mortician would have loved more than anything to stay squirreled away in that basement morgue of his, he is still a member of a subjugating sect. And as such, he is still expected to pull his weight.

Get his hands dirty, so to speak.

Messiahs help him, he hates getting his hands dirty. But that’s the job.

The bar he walks into is supposedly a popular hangout spot for some rebel operation, pulled from some masterlist the empire pulled together that he could not possibly care less about. It is more importantly, for his purposes, a place where lowbloods tend to congregate in great numbers. Potentially because of the comfort provided by the aforementioned rebels.

Safety in numbers, they must think.

Fish in a barrel, the empire thinks.

What Thanat thinks is that that is a silly turn of phrase, considering who the ruling class is. No time to dissect idioms, though. There are fish in barrels to be shot.

A lot is left to be desired on tasks like this one, Thanat would be lying if he said he did not love the opportunity to take his subjug hat (facepaint) off, let his hair down (pull it into a tight bun to minimize the chances of catching stray splatters of blood in it), and put on his laughsassin hat (literally just plain clothes).  Of course, the gloves stay on during mass murder.

He has mixed feelings, sitting at the bar, without his facepaint on. On the one hand, having all the grease caked on his face all day is typically a textural nightmare. On the other, his naked face is now prone to the outside world without that layer of protection.

Oh how he hates to feel exposed.

So he sits at the bar, sharp eyes, concealed by bronze contacts, scanning for marks, feeling a heavy mix of free and naked.

It is as crowded as he was warned when first sent on his way, and that means that there are several trolls in the lot that would suit him and his needs. It was annoying that they wouldn’t just send one of the big guys with a club to go swinging at the unwitting masses, but he supposes that if you have a laughsassin at your disposal, you’re going to use them.

Shame that it has to be him, he feels his stomach lurch at the sight of the trolls rubbing elbows and dancing on each other.

Filthy.

Among the crowd are a burly looking blue blood that stands a good head or so above the gaggle of lowbloods that surround her, a stock bronze blood trying and failing to chat up a disinterested hemo anon, and a similarly built bronze blood seated alone in a booth. Excellent marks if he ever saw any. The mortician takes a pen from his pocket, one that he borrowed on his way in, between his thumb and middle fingers. Even through the protection of his glove, he can feel the grime of it attempt to assault him.

“You would think that thing was going to bite you, the way you’re looking at it.”

The voice that addresses him comes from, surprisingly, directly in front of him and he has to refocus to see the jade blood seated next to him at the bar, he was too busy finding his marks to make niceties before now.

“Ah, yes. I just remembered that it was out of ink, I would have liked to write something down.” He feigns disappointment, twirling the pen between his fingers now. “Shame.”

“You wanted to write, at a bar?” They ask, incredulous. Over their shoulder a purple blooded bouncer, traitor that he is to the messiahs, begins to make his way seamlessly through the crowd.

“Inspiration strikes on its own timing.” He offers, almost sheepishly.

What a rare sight, an uncloistered jade hanging out on the surface like this. Coupled with the purple bouncer and the blue muscle, this place must actually be one of those underground rebel locations.

Way too obvious.

”Right. Still a strange place to do it. Let me get you a drink.”

Thanat’s eye twitches imperceptibly, who are they to question him, and he shrugs.

“Maybe so. Forgive me, but I am waiting on a friend before I start.”

The jade sucks their teeth. “You a lightweight?”

“Something like that.”

He didn’t need to go making friends and potentially enjoying the company of someone that was about to meet the end of their life.

Now that’s just depressing.

Before long, the bouncer is at his side, staring at him with wide eyes and a mouth clamped shut. The jade next to him raises a brow as a wordless exchange is held between the two purple bloods.

A hair tie, a wallet, and a phone join Thanat’s disgusting collection and the bouncer is back off to man the door.

“Not your friend, I gather?” His neighbor, insufferable as they are, asks, doing their best to get a look at what was handed off.

Thanat pockets them all, fighting against himself to ignore how upsetting it is to have them contact his clothes. “No.” He turns his attention to the bartender now, who was just on the way to take drink orders. “May I borrow a pen?”

The bartender hands over a pen that sat behind his ear at the same time the unmistakable sound of a club bashing into something hard and wooden echoes over the music and chatter.

What timing that guy has, he didn’t even have time to disapprove of the thin sheet of sweat that coats his latest acquisition.

“There he is.” He says as he rises to his feet and joins the bartender behind the bar.

“Hey, what are you doing– ” Annoying, nosey thing that the jade blood was, didn’t even get the protest out before the bartender made quick work of snapping their neck and dropping them unceremoniously to the floor.

Between that and the threatening sound of a club slamming against the door, a heavy sting of silence blankets the crowd as worried and panicked glances are shared between the patrons.

Five items, five trolls, Thanat stretches himself to guide them with ease. He knows their movements like the back of his hand. Before total mayhem breaks out, while the patrons are still gathering their witts, the bouncer situated by the door takes out a handful more of the unsuspecting lowbloods, the mortician finding his concealed daggers suitable for the occasion and in the same instant the blueblood has done away with her gaggle of little ones, the ones that clung to her for safety all evening, with brute strength alone.

A mixture of different low and mid hues paint the floor and that is when all goes to hell. Chaos erupts, the betrayals so monumental that no one knows who to trust and immediately a brawl breaks out.

In the meantime, Thanat busies himself behind the bar, throwing together a quick gin and tonic, while the bartender fends off anyone that gets too close to him.

The solitary bronze blood had on him a firearm that merely gets put to use for buffaloing. Guns are hardly any fun, after all, even if the name of the game is fish in a barrel. The other sports a pair of brass knuckles that make them anything but a fair fight.

In all of this, Thanat can’t help but think about how easy it is to revert a troll back to their true nature. It only takes a little bit of violence.

Pacifism on Alternia is a joke.

It is only a matter of time before trolls are tearing each other apart, Thanat’s puppets pick up the stragglers, and any poor soul that had the presence of self to just go running out the door would meet the business end of a club. Now it is just a waiting game.

He stirs his drink idly as he watches it all unfold.

Simple creatures.

Then all that remains, with the smell of blood heavy in the air, are his puppets, well, four of them, one of his bronze bloods met a grizzly end when the leg of a bar stool was turned into a stake, staring at each other with wide eyes. All of them breathing heavily

Thanat takes a sip from his drink.

“I would say that I could not have done it without you,” he flashes a row of sharp teeth in a quick smile. “But that would be a lie. I am, however, appreciative of your assistance.”

He does not return their faculties to them, that would be a fool's mistake, but he does make three of their deaths very quick by utilizing the bouncer and his blood caked daggers on them.

And then there were two and this time when Thanat smiles, it forces his eyes into a squint.

“Terribly sorry, but my friend outside will be itching to get a kill himself.”