“What a wasted evening,” Alexander mourned to himself as he scanned the dim nightclub. He had lingered beneath the strobe lights long enough to finish several colorful drinks, none of which he had had to pay for save with a smirk and the tilt of one gold eyebrow, but two AM found him still disappointingly sober and without a single target worthy of his time. Alcoholic overtures did nothing to entice him; he preferred to select his own quarry and lead the dance himself, otherwise where was the challenge? Half the night’s fun was the thrill of the hunt. Tonight, though, none of the lithe bodies twisting on the dance floor or the lonely shadows hunched over the bar had caught his attention. The location was all wrong, he knew. These ones were too young, too cocky in their belief that they belonged to the delicious darker world after inhaling a few lines of white dust in the bathroom. Arrogance was an aphrodisiac, to be sure, but only if one had the talents to back it up. These naive, rebellious boys with their black eyeliner and cheap drugs were eager to please but could never live up to their own promises in the final heat of the moment. Such a waste of his time.

With a dramatic, self-pitying sigh, Alex downed the last of his night’s gifts and rose from his vantage point at the far end of the bar. Enough. He would go home, wash off tonight’s stink of failure, seal out the light of the rising sun behind his bedroom curtains, and sleep the day away. Perhaps tomorrow night he would try again. He knew better haunts than this, places where he could hone his talents on someone far more promising than these anorexic beauty queens. Someone real, someone solid, someone burning with a hunger too all-consuming to ignore. That was the person he wanted: someone who would twist and bend just for him. “ Better luck tomorrow night,” Alex promised himself as he stepped out of the club and into the bitter cold.

“Giving up for the night, are we? You don’t seem the type.”

“Who the f–” Before Alexander could fashion a scathing retort, an agonizing pain blossomed in his face, blinding his vision with white stars. Darkness took him before he even hit the pavement.

“Damn, I’ve wanted to do that for such a long time.” Daren chuckled to himself as he admired the unconscious Alexander’s battered face and broken nose. “Huh. Kid can’t take a punch very well, can he?” He nudged the body with one foot but Alex did not stir. “Out like a light.”

“You hit him in the face with a crowbar. Not quite the same as a punch, I think,” Mage pointed out as she emerged from the alley by which Daren had been waiting for his victim to pass. She eyed the crumpled, bloody figure on the sidewalk. “You know, he doesn’t look that much like you,” she noted thoughtfully. Daren shrugged and flicked a drop of blood off the crowbar.

“Well, now he looks even less like me.”


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  1. Pingback: #1202 | Only Fragments

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