02-07-2014, 09:16 AM
A disposal expert, Dane cringed at the degradation of his expertise. As though he were a mere custodian hauling out the trash. He was an artist! And artists need be revered! Watched! Adored!
Luckily for the stranger, his subsequent question distracted Dane from all thoughts of correcting the man's grammar. He'd struck upon screeching octaves in his mind, one that howled over every other sensation until Dane was enslaved to answer it.
Ravenous eyes engulfed the mound of men, once more. He continued to pace in his slow circle, but now a hand rubbed his chin as he sorted through the possibilities. "They would have been in pieces by now."
His musings paused to look Giovanni up and down as though sizing him up. "You have to put your back into it, but you look like a big lad. You could probably manage it."
Butchering a man was harder than it sounds. Dismembering a roast chicken was a messy labor. And men's shoulders did not pop apart as easily as one might think.
Dane waved him off, though. "No point beating a dead horse, though."
His glint twinkled. Beating a dead anything could provide hours of entertainment. Especially before rigor mortise set in.
He went back to studying the mound. His pacing had carried him closer to where their killer stood sentry. "Your only option is burning at this point. If only you had an incinerator in your pocket."
He shrugged as though Giovanni was out of luck, but a conspiratorial grin gave away the tease.
"Or in your hand."
He thrust forth his hand where suddenly churned a small fiery globe, held to hover above his glove. The light reflected in the blacks of his eyes like twin furnaces burning within.
He expected Giovanni's jaw to fall and perhaps a timid backing away from the devil that'd manifested before him. If the man were a killer, he'd found himself in the company of a sadist.
The flame extinguished itself when Dane's palm curled into a tight fist. His arms returned to their previous, relaxed dangling.
He shrugged and turned as though to depart, however he caught himself before abandoning the stranger. He lifted his hand as though to offer fair warning, and dipped the fingers into a pocket of his coat. The heavy cardstock he retrieved was perfectly blank, but between the fingers it had the fibery feel of canvas. He held it up as though showing off a winning hand at poker. "You don't happen to have a pen on you, do you my good fellow?"
He studied the grizzly Italian once more. "No, probably not."
He gestured once more and pat his own chest until locating the slender stem of his trusty ballpoint.
It took a moment, but he sketched a tiny, inked figure of a bird in the center of the card. The pen went back in his pocket, and the card he offered to Giovanni. Dane licked his lips, giddy, and carefully watched the fellow's face for signs of recognition of the Mockingbird.
Edited by Dane Gregory, Feb 7 2014, 09:22 AM.
Luckily for the stranger, his subsequent question distracted Dane from all thoughts of correcting the man's grammar. He'd struck upon screeching octaves in his mind, one that howled over every other sensation until Dane was enslaved to answer it.
Ravenous eyes engulfed the mound of men, once more. He continued to pace in his slow circle, but now a hand rubbed his chin as he sorted through the possibilities. "They would have been in pieces by now."
His musings paused to look Giovanni up and down as though sizing him up. "You have to put your back into it, but you look like a big lad. You could probably manage it."
Butchering a man was harder than it sounds. Dismembering a roast chicken was a messy labor. And men's shoulders did not pop apart as easily as one might think.
Dane waved him off, though. "No point beating a dead horse, though."
His glint twinkled. Beating a dead anything could provide hours of entertainment. Especially before rigor mortise set in.
He went back to studying the mound. His pacing had carried him closer to where their killer stood sentry. "Your only option is burning at this point. If only you had an incinerator in your pocket."
He shrugged as though Giovanni was out of luck, but a conspiratorial grin gave away the tease.
"Or in your hand."
He thrust forth his hand where suddenly churned a small fiery globe, held to hover above his glove. The light reflected in the blacks of his eyes like twin furnaces burning within.
He expected Giovanni's jaw to fall and perhaps a timid backing away from the devil that'd manifested before him. If the man were a killer, he'd found himself in the company of a sadist.
The flame extinguished itself when Dane's palm curled into a tight fist. His arms returned to their previous, relaxed dangling.
He shrugged and turned as though to depart, however he caught himself before abandoning the stranger. He lifted his hand as though to offer fair warning, and dipped the fingers into a pocket of his coat. The heavy cardstock he retrieved was perfectly blank, but between the fingers it had the fibery feel of canvas. He held it up as though showing off a winning hand at poker. "You don't happen to have a pen on you, do you my good fellow?"
He studied the grizzly Italian once more. "No, probably not."
He gestured once more and pat his own chest until locating the slender stem of his trusty ballpoint.
It took a moment, but he sketched a tiny, inked figure of a bird in the center of the card. The pen went back in his pocket, and the card he offered to Giovanni. Dane licked his lips, giddy, and carefully watched the fellow's face for signs of recognition of the Mockingbird.
Edited by Dane Gregory, Feb 7 2014, 09:22 AM.