Hellfire ✞ a.f.i.

21: mark of the beast

TW: blood, knives, bodily harm, death, assault

They tried to kill me in the rain,
Tried to lay me down, and so I ducked and ran away,
Put a gun up to my face, so I'll fucking catch a case,
When I find this motherfucker then I'll lay him in his grave

DAYWALKER! ; CORPSE and MGK
         

        Eden's feet feel as though they have been cast iron. Everything is heavy; the rain, the buildings, the lights. She feels as though the MGM Grand is looming over her back, bending towards her, ready to swallow her whole. Her angry steps cause explosions of water beneath her feet as the puddles grow deeper and wider the closer she gets to home, not aware of the fact that her best friend, as well as her own life, are in great danger.

         Hot, slow tears befriend the chilled drops of rain as they both scatter across her freckled face. She had though that she would have left Ashton's suite with pride, maybe perhaps residual anger, but certainly not a deep depressive feeling. Did that mean she had made the wrong decision? Did she go about it in the wrong way? It wasn't supposed to ache this profoundly. 

         Her baby blue bandana is doing little to protect her hair from the rain. She didn't think, even if the weather had turned sour, that it would storm in a manner so intense. The visibility, despite the plethora of neon signs, is little to none as the drops grow thicker and fall quicker. She pulls her light windbreaker tighter across her arms. Her blouse underneath has become ever so slightly dampened. Her navy bralette is barely visible through the material now. She shivers and she begins to pick up the pace.

         The Altior and the Sicarius wait patiently several blocks ahead of her, under a torn awning of a sketchy casino's back door. Luke lights a cigarette lazily, stuffing his own handcrafted lighter back into his pocket. Rain drizzles through several holes in the awning fabric. He's leaning against the weather-worn brick of the building while Calum stands across from him, his back to the streets of Vegas. Calum's eyes flicker upwards towards the sky, considering the clouds, before he asks a question he hadn't considered until moments before.

         "How do you do this shit?" His voice is gruff, in need of a cigarette of his own but not desperate enough to ask his newfound partner for one, "And don't bullshit me, Hemmings."

         Luke raises a brow at Calum, the cigarette hanging loosely between his lips. He looks at the ground before removing the cig from his mouth and blowing out thick smoke in a long exhale. He offers the cigarette to Calum. Calum steps forward and takes it from him before pulling in a long drag. Neither party says a word for a long moment, before Calum passes the cig back to its original owner.

         A soft grumble of thunder proceeds Luke's next few words. He looks up at the sky, as if he can watch the sound itself scatter across the deep gray clouds. He brings the cig back to his lips and it remains there.