# 5 : Black Abyss

It's a fascinating display.

Watching the low life's and scum who frequent this watering hole come and go, gulping down crystal after crystal of bitter inebriation whilst the seductress's ply their talents on the stage, the pits of front full of the wrenches who scream and bale like caged canines coveting a carcass.

The hip swayers on show are nothing short of fine portrayals of femininity, and I would be lying by not confessing the truth that I do yearn to caress their corrupt curves, to tenderly taste of their wares.

And perhaps I might have chosen one of them tonight. T'would be easy enough...regardless of the heavily scarred madonus hunched over on his bar stool, thirsting eyes drinking in the leather clad whore in front.

Marv the locals call him.

He sweats of the sweet copper. A hundred different victims mist off the battled hands, one as recently as this sundown.

A peculiar individual, the self appointed praetorian of this theatreous charade.


A simple name for a simple, albeit powerful, pleb.

There is no terror to be told of him. Only a cautious respect. Doubtless he shares the same sensibility with myself. I cannot help but smile at that thought. he knows there's more to the portrayed enigma of my character then what I allow to reflect off the surface. This Marv and I have observed each other several nights while the dogs pulsed and pushed around us.

He sees that when I occupy my corner the tables and booths around remain empty. He also knows that I order just one drink during my occupancy, and that it's always full when I leave.

He is foolish but no fool and although quite slow the man knows I am not typical clientele.


It seems some hunters sense has kindled in that marbled cranium of his. His attention has been turned from the dance to me.

Our gazes meet and I smile at him from behind shaded spectacles.

Marv chugs his drink and slams the glass down on the wood without a glance.

He rises, eyes never leaving mine.

Before he can langer over to my table a fortuitous fool attempts to jump the stage and it seems I lose my status as priority. The hulk turns, coat tail breezing at the motion, and grabs the scoundrel by the neck with both large hands.

A scuffle turns into a brawl and soon the whole cunny pit is festering with fisty cups.

Not tonight, potential adversary.

If fate has us cross violently, then so bet it, but tonight fate has a different wheel spun for me.

The girl sits through the commotion despite her closeness. She is younger, much more so then the illicit age that occasionally floats into this den. Most hope to find something to fill the widening pit of their troubled teenaged souls. Most wind up in the deceitful arms of a smiling stranger, disappearing soon thereafter into the alleys and gutters of this heavenly city.

She is not here for that though. Her black abyss of curled locks shine out against the doll like skin. Her stunning beauty and youth have enticed a few of the more confident predators, but with a few whispers they scamper away as though her lyrics were the humming of the great demon itself.

She is an enigma to me.

I want her.

She is chosen.

I am so intoxicated with lust that I momentarily forget the orgy of violence that is perspiring only a few feet forward. A bottle whiffs by her seating and whatever her agenda entailed; it is no longer viable. She rises ghostly as she pulls the hood up on her Jet coat. she breezes through the danger silently and reaches the door. I put down a large bill and leave it along with my full drink for the busied busser.

The alleyway is cold and dark but against it's chill I can see the sweet silhouette. She is quick, frail fog floating with no echo. I peruse.

Her head never turns as I stalk stealthily. Then out of nothing she stumbles and curses, her surprised lyrical profanity pleasant pantering in my ear.

She knew I followed.

My little pretty.

You almost had me.

What other revelations, I wonder, do you hold for me?

I reach the angle of her disappearance and hear the metallic ratchet behind.

The Marv man has broken free of the fight and now stands at the entrance. I pull off my hat in salute letting him see me. His heavy boots pound on the wet and grime but by the time he reaches the corner my sweet Raven child has disappeared with me into the corridors of this brick forest.

We play her game.

We both delve deeper down, the occasional pathetic body, dead and alive, our only land marks to this maze.

"Where are we going pretty?"

She stumbles again as I call out to her in low pitch, and she stops.

Are we done so soon?

No. A quick step to the left and she disappears down a side.

Suddenly I am sick of this game. My stomach growls at the thought of her porcelain skin and noir clothing. My claws spurt out spontaneously as I step heavy around the corner and confront her.

It's a dead end and she stands defiantly against it, two large revolvers raised at me. Silver flashes in the wheels and despite my lust and languish I laugh.

"Pretty!" I hiss out from unsheathed fangs; "Deceitful beauty!"

The mist of enigma melts away and we both breath in the stench of our battle ground. Gunshots bounce off cement as another scene of death plays out elsewhere.

"Young beauty. Such a sweet flavour."

She smiles and pulls back the hammers.

The dead end is long and thin with no trash bins. This is a chosen ground.

"I have twelve sweet flavours for you right here monster."

Her voice sends a shiver of delight through me.

The moon wanes red above.

This is a blessed night.