#para: bar and murder tips

[bohdisharma]

𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐮𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐮𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐥𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐬 | SELF PARA

And if you're still bleeding, you're the lucky ones 'Cause most of our feelings, they are dead, and they are gone We're setting fire to our insides for fun Collecting pictures from a flood that wrecked our home It was a flood that wrecked this home

ft. @elenabradshaw , @austinparker , @emmelinehq , @charliexabbott , @dakotaxatwood , @cfremy , @theandipowers

TRIGGER WARNING: death, murder, stabbing

it was an odd way to think about it, but bohdi had always wondered if the sun and the moon died every night in turn for each other. they would return to living, produce a light that shone over the world before soon leaving once more so that the other could take their turn. some might have jeered and told him bohdi, you're overthinking it. as he always did. even still, he would rather cling to such a notion than go about his life living in an endless pattern of normalcy and lies.

not every case was that way. some had a genuine need for protection from the legal system that sought to take their feet out from underneath them and drag them asunder. however, in hidehill they seemed to be the exception to the rule. despite the career that atwood legal had given him, a bleary-eyed student of the craft fresh from the confines of law school, he knew he couldn't be there anymore -- but perhaps he'd find some solace as their opponent. a prosecutor, who put the likes of carter thompson and izaiah wheatley behind bars in the deepest depths of the prison system for the rest of their natural lives.

meeting elena bradshaw had actually given him the chance to believe that he could be something other than the man he had been conditioned to be. that he could actually make decisions for himself, chase after the life that had always aspired to. a future that had once been dim now shone just as bright as the sunshine, a prospect that could only be blinded by his devotion to her.

this particular evening had been a quiet one, as many had been since sasha's passing. he had never known sasha very well, but the way elena spoke of her was enough to bring a certain amount of sadness. he never forced her to speak more than she was ready for -- even then, he wasn't sure if she ever would be.

he doesn't know that the very papers he once thought might kill him would truly be his bitter end. reading glasses are perched on the tip of his nose as he scans the file he has been so engrossed in -- even if his eyes fight to close. but the bleariness soon dissipates as there is a sudden knock at the door. it seems odd that someone would make themselves present in elena's home at this time of night, unless it was someone in need of help. it seemed like everyone needs help these days, to lean on each other after the amount of loss that has been ripping the town to pieces.

oh, how wrong could bohdi have possibly been.

❝ elena? ❞ he calls out to every crevice of the apartment, taken aback by the lack of response. he moves slowly towards the bedroom door, shutting his computer as his eyes scan the hallway that couldn't have felt longer. he hopes that he is met with a positive scene, with the sight of a familiar face, someone he cared for. austin. dakota. remy. charlie. andi, unexpectedly back when he knew he had to tell her to keep running. to be happy with nicola. even emmeline, even if their relationship wasn't as close. as the weeks past by, he had found himself genuinely enjoying her company.

when he finally reaches the main room, his stomach drops in horror at what he sees. the woman he loves, tied to a chair with her eyes completely shut and a piece of fabric tied over her mouth. the shadow. they had finally come for her. he should have known, with elena's notoriety. it's within seconds that he's pushed backwards into the kitchen -- where his body hits the ground and all he can see is a faceless figure overhead.

the first thing he can think of is elena. he didn't know if she was still breathing, but he was going to fight for her. with everything he has, with everything he is. the second thing he thinks of is gain evidence. bite, scratch... if he can get his opponents dna in his teeth, in his fingers, this would bring them one step closer to getting them justice.

the first stab to the gut causes him to yelp in pain, but he continues to go with the punches. he lands as many as he can, but then comes another, and another, until his body becomes all too used to the feeling. the numbness that washes over his entire body becomes warm, comforting, calling for him to let go. but he can't. she's in the other room, and he can't help but wonder if he still has time to get to her. he'll grasp at whatever second he can...

until he can't.

bohdi sharma's body gives out, right there on elena's kitchen floor -- where he would never know if she made it out. she had to.

for he was the sun, who would die over and over again just to let her breathe.

[bloodandpaintchips]

Bar & Murder Tips

Tagging→ Andrea Sheldon, Johnny Arcos Time Frame→ 11/29/2020 around midnight. Location→ Sangren, Colorado General Notes→ They’ll continue these conversation topics after the hangover.  

For a moment, Andrea was distracted with all the bottles lining Johnny’s counter, and their colors. He’d told her things here and there, tips on working behind the bar at TARTARUS but this was the first time he was showing her anything. She’d mentioned the need for a small purpose again, needing somewhere to be and a schedule before she lost her mind or herself again. She didn’t know what to expect, her palette for alcohol being very limited considering she didn’t start drinking beer until her mid-twenties and liquor, until after she “died.” She could be terrible at this, or she could be mildly competent; she had no way of knowing. “So...the sheer possibility of combinations here is kind of intimidating.”

"I find it odd that you still get intimidated," purred the witch as he set yet another bottle on the counter. Nothing too expensive, but definitely nothing he served the more... economical customers. The drinks he intended to make with Andy, no matter how terrible, would not be wasted. "Someone tells you what they have a taste for and you follow the notes of that taste to produce something they would like." With a wave of his hand, he willed the lights in the kitchen to dim and music to waft into the room like a breeze. "It does help, however, to know what the alcohol tastes like. Do you know what vermouth is, my Andy?"

Andrea snorted, turning her gaze away from the bottles to look at him. “You’d be surprised what things change and what things don’t.” She left it at that, drumming her fingers on the countertop and listened to his explanation. “Seems simple enough, except I don’t know what most of this tastes like. And no, I have no idea what vermouth is. Except I’ve heard the word. I know shots of whiskey and various beers. Please don’t be as judgemental during this as you are about my clothes,” she joked. There wasn’t much to make fun of at this moment; the great thing about training at home was the fact that she could learn this in the oversized tee she slept in, bare feet on the floor, barely feeling the cold.

"I will absolutely be as judgmental about this as I am about everything else. Your clothing is awful," he tacked on. He pulled a glass from the counter behind them, then reached for the bottle of Cocchi Vermouth di Torino. "We will drink." He poured her a glass and then himself. "Hold this. Smell it."

The only comeback she gave him was an eye roll before he moved on to grab a fancy bottle (they were honestly all fancy, nothing you’d find in the liquor store with the flickering OPEN light downtown). She could already smell it as he was pouring it, and she was intrigued, taking the glass from him and inhaling like he asked. “Wow. It’s like sweet and spicy. Really…” she raised her eyebrows a bit, holding the glass away a little. “Strong. I like it though. Makes me think of autumn.”

He sipped a bit at his glass, rolling the amber liquid along his tongue. "Vermouth comes in this sweet, red form, but also in a dry, white form - which is used for martinis. I prefer the sweet, but with the dry, I like to pair it with lemons. What do we think pairs well with our autumn taste?"

She listened, making a mental note. “In the past I may have hated the dry version, but lately I’ve been trying a lot of things I may have hated and liking them, so who knows. I like the sweet though. And I don’t know, maybe something like orange? Citrus seems like the way to go still. Do people ever pair things with juice?” She took a sip, surprised to find she really enjoyed it alone. She liked the spices and the warmth in her mouth. It made her throat prickle in a way she liked.

Nodding approvingly, he downed the rest of his drink, then poured another glass. "Everything can be paired with juice, but one must be aware of the full flavor of things. Red vermouth is sweet already, spicy... woodsy and herbal - orange is an excellent choice. Add gin and you have a cocktail." His freshly poured drink went back just as fast and he set his glass in the sink. "What is a taste that you like that isn't citrus?"

Andrea smirked, a little proud of herself like a good student when he said the word “excellent.” She watched him knock back the drinks, an eyebrow raising in curiosity. “I like cranberry. I like most berries actually. Chocolate...I’m not sure what the right answer is really.” She ran her fingers along her glass before pushing it towards him. “Do you get drunk easily? Like in terms of being human?”

"Oh, I get drunk very easily," he told her, even as he took her glass and pulled the bottle of cognac forward. Her used glass went into the sink and was replaced with a clean one, which he poured a taste into before giving it back. "Cognac can be spicy as well and has hints of fruit and chocolate. Hold it on your tongue a bit."

She took the new drink from him, taking a sip and holding it in her mouth like he asked. “I can taste that...but the thing I think I taste the most is nuts. Maybe walnut? Kinda think this would taste good with blood.” She said the last part quietly, briefly thinking about how she had to take care of that soon. She’d succeeded in making it feel like a job. For a few seconds she felt like the lamest creature ever, but she pulled herself out of the distraction by downing some more of it. “What goes with this?”

"That is not the first time I have heard that; many of our... guests at the bar have asked for a bit of this with a few fingers of O-positive." Johnny watched her drink the mouthful with curious eyes, lingering over her expression to gauge a reaction. "Overall," he continued, "Cognac is very good - alone, mixed with ginger ale or lemonade, all kinds of ways really." He poured himself a taste and knocked it back, shaking his head as he began to feel the drink. "Tequila next, I think."

She raised an eyebrow at that, feeling strangely validated she wasn’t the only one who thought that about the flavor profile. “I need to get more comfortable saying things like that. I still talk about blood like it’s my dirty secret,” she said, laughing a little. “But lemonade seems like it’d be really good with this too, so I’ll also keep that in mind. “Tequila. Don’t people usually just take that in shots?”

"Tequila is really quite versatile - shots, sours, cocktails... margaritas!" He turned and reached for the blender beside the sink then, with a blink of empty, black eyes, the blender was filled with a light green mix of alcohol and ice, buzzing away until he stopped it.

Squinting her eyes at the witch, Andrea couldn’t help but smile as she noticed he was getting a little looser with every swallow. “You get a little swishy when you’ve had a couple drinks, Johnny,” she told him, smile getting wider as she admired him. An eyebrow raised when he materialized margarita mix and she simply helped herself. “I think you should know that I’m beginning to feel these and will probably pay less attention to how the drinks are made, so for now let’s just focus on how they taste,” she said, sipping. 

"You have to know how to taste... how the drinks taste when you are serving them," he agreed with a lofty nod, holding out a glass for her to pour his margarita into. He gulped a mouthful, scowling at the brain freeze, but soon he was moving his hips to the music playing and chuckling. "'Swishy' is a good word, my Andy. More tequila - a sunrise! Ironic."

Andrea laughed, rolling her eyes and taking another sip of her drink. “Ah yes, sunrises. Loved those.” She tried to make it sound like she said it in jest, but it likely just came out as bitter. “Hopefully the drink is pretty,” she added, smirking whenever she noticed him get a brain freeze. It made her very aware of her lack of one. The more she had to drink, the more she found herself getting lost in thought about those changes.

"Yes, a sunrise!" He reached for her hand then and rolled her cool fingers between his own. "I will give you sunrise," he said, then sealed the promise by lifting her fingers to his mouth for a kiss. He then reached for a new bottle of 1942 and the grenadine. "You will find, my Andy, that adding grenadine to just about any drink will please any sorority girls that wander into the bar." Once he was finished with the drink, he swiftly exchanged her margarita for it.

She let herself be distracted by his promising kiss to her knuckles, smiling and letting him take her glass. “For a moment I was worried you were going to give me a literal ball of fire, but this will do fine.” She chuckled at his advice, tucking it away for future reference, because if she remembered anything, she remembered the greek crowd. Sipping the new drink, her eyebrows went up and she downed it before setting the glass down. “I like that one.” She slid the empty vessel toward him so he could refill it. “Can I tell you something that I have to say out loud before I explode?”

He hummed inquisitively as he swallowed the last of his sunrise and waved his fingers so that the music changed to 'More Than A Woman' by Aaliyah.

She turned around and jumped up to sit on the counter as she waited for him to make their drinks again. Swinging her legs for a moment and listening to the song, she finally went on. “I think I burned the bridge with my dad. Like burned it, totally,” she said, holding out her palm in a leveling motion. “I went back there to fix things and made them worse. I should stop trying to fix things. Drink more tequila sunrises.”

This stalled his hand as it reached for the next bottle and he turned to look at her quizzically. "Fix things? ...Is he dead now?" Quick as he could, he tried to pull what he knew about necromancy into the forefront of his fuzzy mind, but even as his fingers wrote runes into the air between him, he just as quickly forgot what he had intended to do. "Is he dead?"

Andrea laughed dryly, watching him attempt something and quickly forget with a smile on her face. “No, he’s not dead. That probably would have been easier. I didn’t make it worse like that, I just got angry at him. More angry than I’ve ever gotten at someone in like, person. I wanted to talk, but he still thinks I’m a demon. And then I kind of acted like one.” She shook her head and downed another drink. “But fuck it.”

"Well... you are a demon, I think, so the behavior is expected." He frowned down at an empty glass on the counter, then licked a finger, rimmed the lip of the glass with it and willed another drink into it. After taking a sip, he lifted his gaze back to Andy and said, solemnly, "So what shall we do about this, my Raggedy One? It sounds as if your father doesn't understand what kind of town Sangren really is."

She set her glass down and folded her arms, scoffing a bit until it turned into a full blown laugh. “You know, I guess I am a demon. I wish that felt cool instead of just me feeling like my lame self, but meaner and more okay with murder,” she replied, shaking her head. Meeting his gaze, she shrugged. “I guess there’s nothing to do about it. I don’t wanna see him again. You know, he actually mentioned he had an idea of this town and just hoped we dodged it or something. Like he couldn’t save me from the town in the end.” She growled a little, rolling her eyes and sliding her glass toward him to ask for another. “Like he’s fuckin Super Frank and movie nights and Hungry Man dinners would shield his poor daughter from the hellmouth. Incredible.”

Johnny took the time to contemplate what a hungry-person meal could possibly entail by taking another long sip. By now, the fuzz was starting to warm him from the inside out and the need to reach out with his powers to support Andy's growing agitation was growing ever more tempting. "These are survival instincts - the need to shield a child from exposure to evils for your father and that feeling 'okay' with murder for you... all survival."

Andrea was quiet for a moment, sipping her newly filled glass. “Survival. Maybe that explains the why of it, but that didn’t really work out for him did it? The pretending. His wife walked right into it all and it claimed his daughter. His daughter, who is now a demon,” she said gesturing towards herself. “I guess it’s a form of survival but it didn’t do a lot of good for him did it? He still lost everything. Staying blind on purpose and turning me away....I guess I see how it’s a survival tactic but it also feels like it was easy for him to love me and that changed in an instant. He just seems like a coward to me.” She set her glass down after downing it and slid down against the cabinets to the floor. “I...also think it’s more than being okay with murder. Saying it like that just feels better.”

He waved his hand dismissively. "'Murder' is such an inconsequential term to creatures who are no longer mortal, my Raggedy One. It's a wonder you have any appetite at all - Magic requires sacrifice, no matter what form it comes in. You see it when I bleed myself. You see how strangely it burns through Gunnar. You see it in death here, especially. It calls for this death, these sacrifices - what are people placed in your path for if not to be sacrifices?" He finished his drink, then suddenly slouched against the counter. "I'm drunk."

She let his words sink in, staring down at the ground for a moment with her eyebrows furrowed. “Sacrifices,” she repeated. Something did burn through her, and surprisingly his drunken advice had given her a bit of clarity. Just a bit. When she thought about death and sacrifice and magic in the way he described it, it made a little more sense. “Guess I’m just getting used to the order of such things,” she said, reaching up to grip the side of the counter and stand. “You are. I am a little too. How about I walk you to your room? That seems like the best course of action now.” She laughed a little and moved towards him, gently slapping a hand on his back.

He had straightened, but found himself buckling a bit at her slap. "You forget yourself," he chided lightly, even as he recovered and stood ramrod straight to allow her to lead him to the staircase that led to his bedroom. "I wonder, how long it will take for you to realize that you are now an apex predator, my Andy?"

She ran a hand through her hair and winced. “Sorry, I actually swore I was being gentle,” she replied, rubbing the spot and taking him up to his room. Being ahead of him, she walked in and pulled his sheets and comforter back so he could just fall in. She hadn’t responded right away to what he said but once they were inside his bedroom, she responded. “Yeah. Me too.”

"Come sleep," he sighed, already burying his face into his pillow. "I could have sworn I was better at drinking. I haven't done it in so long."

Laughing a little, she nodded and kicked off her jeans before jumping into the soft bed opposite of where he laid. Andrea relaxed against the pillow, smiling and turning her head to face him. “Personally I thought you were great at it.” She snuggled in, sighing and continuing to think about their earlier conversation until his words “sleep,” echoed in her head and she closed her eyes to let herself.

[bi-apps]

Accepted - Mundungus Fletcher

severus-tobias

submitted:                                                    Mundungus Fletcher App            

(To be completely honest I ended up getting an app done for Mundungus and an app done for Amos and just ended up flipping a coin to settle which one was being submitted. If you’d like to see the Amos one I don’t mind sending that in as well but didn’t want to overwhelm you with my indecisiveness)

OOC Information:

Name/Age/Timezone: Nat/25/EST

Activity Level: 7 at the moment

Ships/Anti:Ships: N/A outside of acknowledging that my characters usually lean toward the queer side.

Did you read the rules? Yes.

IC Information:

Character Name: Mundungus Age/Birth date: 20, December 13

Faceclaim: Robert Sheehan, Jeremy Allen White, Christopher Larkin Occupation: Petty Thief/Dealer of Wizarding Artefacts Blood Status: Half-blood

Traits: + Adaptive - There’s never a dull day for Mundungus. Between outwitting the public and making sure he has a meal and place to stay for the night, he’s been good at keeping busy. Having no proper roof over his head has left him relying on bars, benches, and shopfronts as a place to lay low.

- Greedy - Mundungus is prone to putting his own needs first, often caring little about how others may feel about his actions.

+ Persistent - He doesn’t give up easily and will usually do whatever it takes to get his way.

- Deceitful - Prone to lying and manipulating as a way of getting things to go in his favor. He prides in being able to talk his way out of most sticky situations.

+ Cunning - Mundungus is quick to find a different way of doing something to achieve an end goal. If one tactic fails he can usually come up with an alternative in doing things to achieve what he initially wanted.

- Self-Reliant - Mundungus doesn’t trust easily. He’s been used to doing things for himself since age five and has come to believe he is the only one he can rely on and trust.

Patronus: Hippo

Boggart: Dementors - although sticking to petty theft and avoiding getting into physical fights, Mundungus fears he may be blamed for something bad enough to land him in Azkaban.

Key Points: - Mundungus’ parents were not the best. They were prone to picking drugs, alcohol, and partying over their child’s needs. He was often shipped up to his grandparents for weeks a time.

- His grandparents eventually gained custody of him. The damage from a neglect filled childhood proved to be something they struggled with while raising him.

- It was believed that Mundungus couldn’t talk when he first got to Hogwarts. The eleven-year-old was quiet and didn’t seem to trust anyone, only speaking up after several weeks spent keeping a calculated eye on his peers and professors.

- Humor is one of Mundungus’ coping mechanisms. He will usually laugh if it’s a serious matter or something stressful. He’s come to believe that making light of a situation makes things easier to handle.

- The invite into the Order came as a surprise. Mundungus had planned on remaining neutral until he figured out which group would give the best offer. Having heard whispers of the group that focused on dark magic had him curious. Dumbledore gave a good pitch though and the Professor had always been kind to him regardless of how he behaved. He didn’t have much of a choice since he would have felt guilty if he said no. He wouldn’t be surprised if the death eaters tried to approach him as well since he knows the inner workings of most of the wizarding world’s thieves.

- Mundungus has a strict code of sticking to petty theft. He usually steals enough to get by and leaves it at that. The idea of murder or attacking someone is downright unthinkable at the moment.

- He gets a kick out of dealing fake wizarding items to gullible witches and wizards. The world around him has been growing more and more chaotic so having a bit of humor in what he sells to the masses has become a way of staying entertained.

- Mundungus doesn’t have a place to call home. He sometimes has enough cash to be able to book a few nights at the Leaky Cauldron. Bad spending habits and poor money management skills usually leave him scrambling for a place to sleep at the end of the day.

- He isn’t above sleeping with someone if it means a temporary roof over his head and a warm meal. Unfortunately, he isn’t one for having serious relationships and usually gets kicked out once his partner realizes they were being used.

Changes/Extra Info: N/A past me going can we have the Gilderoy friendship being more him finding him entertaining than anything else?

Para Sample: (He’s a new muse of mine so this is hella rusty. My apologies.)

“This just in, the newest in protecting yourself from dark magic,” Mundungus crooned, his right arm holding the edge of his cloak to expose the worthless trinkets he had for sale. Shiny metallic objects clung to the inside of his cloak, each one looking brand new despite proving to be useless once tested.

A witch approached and he forced one of his politest smiles, looking her in the eye when she questioned what a small silver circle was for.

“Aye, you’ll love this,” He exclaimed and took one out, promptly sticking it to his forehead. Mundungus allowed his arms to shake a little before speaking again. “I can feel it now - all my fears have washed away.”

He let his shoulders relax after that and gave her a calm looking smile. “Works every time.”

“What’s the price?” The witch asked and reached into her purse, grabbing a few coins.

“Three sickles for one. We’ve got a deal of three for eight sickles today only,” He murmured, eyes lighting up when she produced eight sickles.

“I’ll take three,” She sighed. “One for myself, my husband, and our child.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” He offered the three items after pocketing her coins. “You won’t regret this.”

She wandered off and he looked around in search of his next victim, edging close to a family until he spotted a familiar face in the crowd. Mundungus quickly removed the sticker from his forehead and narrowed his eyes. Someone must have tipped the auror office off again since there was an official on the opposite side of the street.

“Bollocks,” He added a few other curse words under his breath and tied his cloak together, promptly placing a hat over his head so he could blend in with the crowd.

[mayhemwithmatty]

matty & nevara: paras

It had been a long night at the bar. And not a particularly fruitful one. There had been too many cops lurking around to bother with any of the usual side-job type stuff. Not that he could blame them - if he was failing to solve two murders, he’d be drinking his liver dead as well. 

Their manager had left and there were just a couple of the last closing duties left to do at this point. Matty was shoving clean glasses into a top shelf, and moving older ones down so that none had time to collect dust when Nevara wandered into the back. “Good night for tips, or nah?” Matty asked. 

[apromisetoeveryone]

Opportunity Drinks || Self-Para || Flashback || *TW*

A cool light splashed across the smudged bar, highlighting the spills, fingerprints, and stains that littered its surface. Walden pressed a glass to his lips, taking a long swig before turning to survey his surroundings.

He’d only just arrived at the old underground pub, but Quiver’s was a familiar haunt for him. Located right around the corner from Diagon Alley, it wasn’t unusual to see more friendly faces in the pub. Witches and Wizards who wanted a place a little less family-friendly than The Leaky Cauldron, but perhaps a little nicer than The Dragon’s Breath. Therefore, it was a good place for him to go and pick up some decent one-night-stands.

Which was his intention tonight as he eyed the crowd for worthy potential. There was a lad about his age in the corner who certainly had an appeal, the slightly older man in the corner smoking by himself also wasn’t off the shelf, but it was the woman at the bar that truly caught his attention.

She was short and thin, with wisps of brown hair tumbling from a messy bun that sat upon her head. She was wearing a red dress that fit her form nearly perfectly, helping to accentuate her otherwise unimpressive bosom. It wasn’t this that caught his attention, however. No, it was when she flashed her pretty blue eyes his direction and he realized he knew her. She was older now, most likely her mid-forties, but there was no forgetting that soft gaze and the sad tilt of her eyebrows.

Walden stood, striding over to her and leaning on the bar next to her. Her gaze never left him, but her eyes narrowed at his approach. “Do I know you?” she asked, her words slurred slightly.

He flashed his teeth, making a gesture at the bartender to cook up another cocktail for the woman. “Jenny, right?” he asked her, looking her up and down more appreciatively this time. “I believe you used to be my therapist.”

She snorted unattractively at that. “No way, I only work with kids. You’re faaaar too old to be one o’ mine.”

Walden barked a laugh at that. “Rude. I’m not that old.” He was only twenty, after-all. “And you were. I wasn’t so handsome back then, though.”

She squinted at him, taking him in for a long moment, not even noticing when the bartender put another drink in front of her. After a minute, Walden was prepared to continue trying to convince her when she suddenly snapped her fingers and gasped. “Walden! Holy fuck, you’ve grown up. Man, you were properly fucked in the head, too. Thought you’d be dead for sure. You’re looking good.”

A warm feeling was growing in his stomach the more she spoke. She was falling so easily into this trap and he hardly even had to try. Thank mercy she already had a few drinks in her, otherwise, she might have been trying to pick apart his brain as always. Instead, she was being more honest than she’d ever been when he was a child. He liked this Jenny, but not enough to stop him from lifting his hand in celebration, tipping a potion into her drink as he did so.

“Right on all accounts,” he said with a grin. “Though, I think I can thank you for the fact that I’m no longer ‘properly fucking in the head’.”

She waved her hand, making a vague noise of dismissal. “Naw, that’s all on you. You have to make the choice to get better and want help and all that shit, you know?” Reaching out, she took the drink that had appeared in front of her and took a swig. “Though, glad I could help.”

“Indeed,” Walden agreed with a nod and a smile. There was a brief pause in the conversation as they both drank their respective drinks before he continued. “So, what is it exactly that brings you to this dingy place tonight?”

Jenny tucked some stray hairs behind her ear, a frown overtaking the smile that had been present a moment before. She took another long drink before putting the empty glass down heavily. “Got stood up,” she growled. “It’s our fucking anniversary and apparently his work is too important.” With another angry hiss, she took the drink from in front of him and threw it back as well. Walden only raised a brow, noticing the ring on her finger that glinted in the light.

“Hmm, doesn’t seem like he appreciates you much.”

“You could say that again.” She slammed his drink down with so much force the glass shattered. The bartender glared at them before repairing it. “Fucking arsehole.”

Something swirled pleasantly in his chest as he took in the scene. She was married, she was drunk, and she was vulnerable. How often had he dreamed of this opportunity? And here it was, placed in front of him on a golden platter. It wasn’t even going to be difficult judging by the way she swayed as she got to her feet and excused herself, wobbling to the toilets.

Rolling his newly restored glass across the bar, he considered his options, wondering what the best approach would be. It wouldn’t be much longer before the potion really started taking effect and after that, he doubted she would be any trouble at all to wrangle.

As he thought, when she stumbled back to the bar, teetering dangerously on her feet, the bartender approached with a heavy stare. “Think it’s about time you and your friend got out of here,” he said in a low rumble.

“What? Fuckin’ no!” Jenny shouted, but Walden caught her arm and gently started pulling her toward the entrance.

“Come on, you’ll be better off at home anyway,” he encouraged her quietly.

“No!” She protested, shoving at him weakly. “I ain’t gonna spend my anniversary alone! That’s bullshit! No one should have to do that!”

Walden ignored her protests, continuing to lead her out the door. “You’re right,” he cooed at her softly, “I won’t leave you alone, I promise.”

Jenny stopped struggling as they got out the door, squinting up at him. “You’d do that?”

He nodded. “Of course. I’d hate to be alone in your shoes, too. Come on, why don’t you tell me where your house is and I can take you there.” It seemed that Jenny was beyond struggling, now simply staring at him as though he’d grown a third head. When she didn’t respond, he gave her a nudge. “Jenny?”

“You’re so pretty, so nice.” Her hand reached up to stroke his face. “...So pretty.”

Walden chuckled. “Thank you, but really, we should get you home.” Shit, those drugs were working too quickly.

“Home … home, right. Home …” She finally prattled off her address and he nodded, hugging her close him as he turned and pulled her along in apparation.

They arrived in her front hallway and she tipped so much, he had to struggle for a moment to keep his balance as he held her up. After a second, she got her feet underneath her and she turned her gaze up at him again. “So pretty,” she muttered softly, bringing her hands down to his chest.

It was those wandering hands that pulled him into an embrace, that started pulling at his clothes and he returned the gesture with vigor. She was swaying, but he found his way around her apartment and pulled her onto the bed in a tangle of frantic limbs.

She was begging him, her breath hitching, everything leaning into him, wanting him. He gave her it all, and as he made his way up her body, he reached her throat with his hands. In the throes of their passion, he pressed down, cutting off her air supply. She started to struggle, small noises escaping her throat, her veins popping. He savoured the moment, his heart hammering in his chest, his body aching with the need for release as he watched her breath leave her with every struggled cry.

But as her eyes began to roll he wrangled his control and pulled back. No matter how much he wanted to take her life, to add it to the cacophony in his head, he had other plans. Instead, he reveled in her stuttering gasp as her back arched as she gave a strangled cry of pleasure. He gave into his own, feeling more alive than he had in a long while.

As he collapsed onto the bed beside her, he watched her waver in and out of consciousness until she finally gave in to sleep, her breath becoming slow and steady. Once she was asleep, he gave into his own tiredness and let exhaustion wash over him.

-

Footsteps were what woke him. He was a light sleeper, especially when he was in someone else’s home. Remaining where he was, it took him a minute to remember where he was, but his memory clicked into place just as there were some softly muttered words and a light came on.

“Jenny? Hey, are you awake darling? I’m sorry, I ---” The warm glow of a lamp spilled over the two of them. There was a long pause and some low groans from the woman beside him as he rolled over to squint at the intruder, trying to look blurry-eyed and confused.

The silence lasted until Jenny woke and looked up. “Gerald?” she mumbled. “What time is it… What?”

Gerald, who was dressed in robes typical of a healer, was staring at them as though he had just witnessed a murder. The expression clouded at her words, and like that, the storm crashed down. “What --- What the fuck!?”

Walden leapt from the bed and hurriedly began pulling on his clothes.

Jenny seemed to suddenly remember what had happened. “No … no … no, this … this isn’t---”

“What it looks like? Fucking --- fuck --- what … what ---”

Walden was throwing his shirt over his head. “I’m --- I’m so sorry! I didn’t realize she was ---”

“Shut the fuck up!”

“What!?”

The couple turned on him in tandem and Walden had to wonder how much Jenny remembered from the night before. Did she know he was lying?

“Just … Just get the fuck out of my house!” Gerald screamed at him.

Raising his hands defensively, Walden wandered past the man, backing towards the door. Jenny was staring at him the whole way. “No. There’s no way. I wouldn’t do this. Gerald! You know I wouldn’t! He --- he set me up! He did this!” She was pointing at him frantically, looking to him as though he might back her up.

“You can’t honestly think I believe that bullshit!”

With Gerald’s back turned, Walden let his smile creep out, offering his old therapist a wink and blowing her a quick kiss before ducking out of the room.

He heard her scream, heard something crash against the wall, heard Gerald’s yells back, heard the sobbing, and he strolled from her home feeling more accomplished than he ever had in his life. This was better than killing her. This felt like winning. She didn’t deserve death. She deserved to have her life picked apart, have her flaws ripped from an open wound, gaping and bleeding for the world to see. He wanted to tear out her heart and leave it on her doorstep. It was such a thrill, he never knew he could feel this good without the kill, but as he strode out into the dreary streets, he felt like a new man.

Finally, a free man.