[hr][center][img]https://txt.1001fonts.net/img/txt/b3RmLjEwNi43NjY3NjcuVTJ4dllXNWxJRVpoY21sei4w/bachelorette.regular.webp[/img] [img]https://i.imgur.com/r7scdkh.png[/img][/center]
 [right][b]Interactions:[/b]  Anya [@Fernstone] & Jack [@Blizz]
[code]Resort Bar. The Halloween Festival[/code][/right][hr]

What most people would mistake for breathing and blinking was actually an absolute avalanche of expressions, the mix of horror and amusement dusting off the slopes of Sloane’s face and melting as they mixed within her second drink. It wasn’t as tough to get down as the first one, at least until Anya mentioned the fisting. Sloane made what could only ever be described as some kind of noise, one that would be impossible to replicate if she tried, and immediately clapped a gloved hand over her mouth. It was actually a strategic maneuver that perfectly coincided with the appropriate time to show shock, as she wasn’t covering a gasp but rather covering up the old fashioned that she had snorted out of her nose. She kept her hand over her mouth until she was sure there was no evidence on her upper lip and to give herself something to bite to keep herself from screaming as the inside of her nose burned from the whiskey. 

Maybe it’d go away if she took another sip of her drink. (It didn’t, but perhaps a bigger sip?)

[color=6644ff]"I have a feeling he only [i]pretends[/i] to be so disgustingly stupid, and I'm well-versed in the art of lying to someone's face,"[/color] said Jack. [color=6644ff]"But, your sacrifice will not be forgotten."[/color] 

Lying was a weird habit to brag about. She didn’t really see any value in it anyway—there was never any need to lie if things were done right, while lying to protect people from the truth was just delaying the pain until later.  Sloane looked at Jack, trying to discern if the only person he was lying to about being a good liar was himself. It was difficult to get a read on him, but that could just be because his face was obscured by the robes of his costume. It was unfair, but a small part of her was happy because it meant there existed a reality where he hadn’t just lied to her. Dishonesty was disgusting, unlike this old fashioned. It was starting to taste quite good.  


[color=silver]“Yes, if you ever need anything just name it, Anya. But I don’t know about your theory, Jack. Sometimes people are just that stupid,”[/color] said Sloane, glancing out to the sea and thinking about how she’d seen Drake earlier. She went ahead and took that bigger sip. She might have finally acquired the taste for alcohol, but it still wasn’t making her feel good. Just a little too warm for comfort, actually. She was actually grateful to see that a cooling rain had startedt. 

[color=9966CC]"As far as 'dates' go, it was the worst I’ve ever been on. It reminded me of why I haven't been dating for the last few years,"[/color] said Anya. Sloane turned her head, interest piqued—and also to try and flag down another server. [color=9966CC]”I don’t think I’ll be going on another anytime soon”[/color]

[color=silver]“I don’t know, Anya. Trevor is obviously a creep but if that was the worst date you went on I don’t see why you should give up on finding someone,”[/color] said Sloane, trading her empty glass for a full one. [color=silver]“Seriously. I’ve been on worse dates than that one this year.”[/color]

[sub]Oh. [sub][sup]
[i][b]Fuck![/b][/i][/sup][/sub][/sub]

One gulp and Sloane finished half her drink and, yes, if anybody asked the glass was half-empty. The panic set in, although panic in this case looked like a woman in her late twenties daintily dabbing at her lips with a cocktail napkin. Her dating life was not a subject that was up for discussion. It was something to keep locked away in her vault, next to all of her artifacts and counterfeits that were missing and a copy of her seven-year-plan for the city that was now absolutely useless because she was going to have to leave town after tonight. She had to pivot now and she had to pivot hard. So much for doing anything for Anya, Sloane was about to offer her up as a sacrifice again. 

[color=silver]“You know what I think, Jack? I think to thank Anya for her sacrifice we should take it upon ourselves to find her an actual date with an actual guy who is deserving of someone so brilliant and beautiful. Don’t you think so too, Jack?”[/color] said Sloane, blinking out an SOS that even if Jack failed to pick up Anya would surely notice, so she tried blocking Anya from her view by brushing away at a phantom thread of hair. At all cost, she was going to avoid eye contact with Anya. She began to crane her neck, looking around the bar for eligible bachelors. [color=silver]“Surely we can find you someone here.”[/color]

[color=silver]“What’s your type anyway? You never really talk about guys,”[/color] said Sloane, forgetting what she had just told herself as she took a sip of her old fashioned and made eye contact with Anya. She didn’t pull her mouth away from the drink until her teeth touched glass, [color=silver]“Um, you too Jack. I’m sure we can find someone for you here too. I'll just play matchmaker. And keep an eye out for a server, also…”[/color]

Or a gun she could shoot herself with. 

[hr][center][img]https://txt.1001fonts.net/img/txt/dHRmLjEwNi4wMDhiOGIuVmtGVFNGUkpJRTVQVlZJLjA/raindrop-splash.regular.webp[/img] [img]https://i.imgur.com/xer3sr5.png[/img][/center]
 [right][b]Interactions:[/b] Don't worry, bro
[code]Cracker Island. The Halloween Festival[/code][/right][hr]


Rip.

Tear.

Rip and tear, tear and rip. Freshly polished nails flashing, claws slashing, in and out, animal style. Real savage ultraviolence. Faster and faster and faster. Teeth gnashing, eyes bulging, chest heaving. Rip and tear, tear and rip. Hands wet, face splattered. Kill, kill, kill. Soaked insides spilled all over the ground as limbs flew. Heavy breathing, seeing red. Hands ripping at her throat, claws tearing at her chest. More, more, more. All of history’s violence before this was just preamble, laying down the groundwork of brick after bloodsoaked brick for this massacre right here, right now.  

Absolute carnage. 

Pure horror. 

No calls would be made when the body was discovered, drenched and eviscerated. No tape would be put up around the area, no sheriff would be shaking their head and questioning what sick fuck would do something like this, no lookie-loos would be trying to sneak a peek of the scene to add a little excitement to their boring routine. No time of death would be called, no next of kin would be called, and no funeral would be held. Nothing would come of the pointless violence, except perhaps the mild frustration of a groundskeeper as they went about picking up the torn up bits of synthetic fiber and cheap polyester that made up the shredded remnants of a giant stuffed bear and a crocodile onesie.  

An act of frustration? 

Or a warm-up?

The top of a black hoodie poked out from around the scene of the crime’s corner, nearly impossible to see in the rain. The storm continued to expand over the festival, the light drizzle gaining a bit of umph and turning into a proper rain shower. The black hoodie joined the crowd that was still too determined to have a good evening to let a little rain ruin it, unaware that they had become camouflage and human shields. Families with young children, teenagers on first dates, and young adults desperately trying to hang on to that qualifier paid little attention to the black hoodie as they passed by, unaware that they had just brushed against death but were fortunate enough for today to not be their day. The black hoodie pulled back its sleeve, massaged its wrist, and flexed its fingers.

Five digits, five targets. 

Which little piggy was first?

But first: buzz buzz, buzz buzz! A neon pink phone vibrated in its pocket, the catchy pop song used for the ringtone drowned out by the noise of the festivities. 

[color=darkcyan]“Yeah?”[/color] said Vashti, muffled by the shawl covering the lower half of her face. She pulled the Leviathan’s Veil away from her mouth. [color=darkcyan]“Sorry, what? What? Fucking what? Who!?”[/color] 

A pause.

[color=darkcyan]“You mean Lila?”[/color] 

Another pause. 

[color=darkcyan]“Mmm, this kinda sounds like a hate crime, bro. Huh? Oh, no, I’ll take care of it, obvi. Can’t let them make us look weak. Hm?  What do you mean by who’s them? Them as in Sycamore them. What other them is there?”[/color] asked Vashti,  her eyes widening in shock as she cackled wickedly. [color=darkcyan]“Ohmigawd, dude! Dude, stop! You’re the worst! I’m hanging up. Don’t you ever call this number again!”[/color]

For now the little pigs were safe, there was a loose bird that needed caging. Vashti pulled the shawl back up over her nose, covering the cruel smile on her face. With the shawl over her face and the black hood over her head she looked like the kind of person who attended a peaceful protest because it gave them the opportunity to throw molotov cocktails and smash in windows. A Halloween costume that was in poor taste at best and an understatement of things to come at worst. 

Not like she gave a shit.

Time. To. Hunt.