Thread: Courting Death [Gypsy x Bishop]

Trembling digits grasped his timepiece, its chain glistening in the pale moonlight of a night in midsummer. It was thirteen minutes past the second hour as the second hand ticked through each passing moment like a trotting mare through the streets of London. Click. Click. Click. It had been well over an hour. She was overdue. The wind shuffled at his overcoat, an overbearing breeze forcing a wall of rain sideways through the alleyway, drenching him to his undergarments. It was cleansing, washing away the proof of his sins. He peered down the street in trepidation, watching for any signs of movement, any evidence of life or lack thereof. His fingers tapped against the brass pocket watch in frustration, the other hand flexing, only to relax and repeat. His gaze fluttered from the alley entrances to the face of the timepiece, then back again. He had been told by women past that he had the stare of a man possessed, as if the Devil himself would leap from the icy hell that was contained in his irises. There were days that he pondered whether or not this could actually be the truth of things. Click. Click. Click. She isnt coming, he muttered to himself as he spun on heel. His vigil broken by disappointment and impatience, his attention turned to the object of his previous attention. Her hair fluttered in the breeze, blonde curls swaying to and fro, her sky blue bonnet sitting crooked upon her crown. The moonlight left it the color of the night clouds, spotted with blotches of shimmering blackness. He reached down, thick fingers coaxing her fair hair to slip betwixt his fingers like air itself, leaving streaks of still-wet blood upon his flesh, only to be cleansed again by the purifying downpour. Fix yourself up, love. You look dreadful! He pinched the edge of the bonnet, straightening it upon her head as he crossed her arms upon her lap. He left the body where it lay, sat up as a proper greeting for Death, a wasted effort it seemed. Grasping the handle of his blade, he plucked it from the womans breast. The hefty thwump and slosh of its unsheathing was masked by the plodding of raindrops against the brim of his hat. From the wound, a canyon to the womans heart, her lifes essence oozed out in a slow and steady stream, a sharp contrast to the gushing spray from the back of her head an hour prior. He stepped over to the gully, a small rivulet conveniently flowing through a divot in the mud as he knelt to cleanse the knife. Bloody Death, unreliable as always, he groaned, slipping the blade into its holster. Youd think shed show a bit more appreciation, wouldnt you? he asked the corpse. I mean, arent I making her job a bloody deal easier? The corpse stared at him blankly. Exactly what I was thinking, love! See, I knew it was brilliant to invite you. As insightful as the day I met ya! Whats that? We only met today? Well, thats proof enough for me! He rose before the corpse, a wicked smile and a nod given. He lifted his hat from his head, gesturing toward the lady as he gave the most gentlemanly bow he could muster. Alas, I must bid you adieu, he remarked, and make sure she sees that note, whenever she bloody well decides to show up. Beneath her bonnet, penned in fresh ink in a barely legible scrawl, was written a memoir of his affections. My beloved bringer of ends taker of lives and giver of rests how my heart sings every time I offer you my love and affection I hear the myths, the grim reaper and maker come from on high but I know the truth! You are no mere myth, but the lifeblood in my veins! You shall be mine one day, of this I have no doubt. I humbly offer this token of my obsession in hopes that this dames sacrifice serves you well I shall call to you again soon the same time in the coming week I do hope you grace me with your presence as surely my love cannot fall upon deaf ears and blind eyes Till we finally meet, Entirely yours, Millard Watkins He returned his hat to its station upon his head, disappearing into the night.