Better run, better run- faster than my bullet

Axelle Napier · 08-11-2012, 07:14 PM

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This is funnn ! Hope the PP with him throwing the knives at her is okay Big Grin

[WC: 1042 | Pts: 10]

Axelle peered over the rooftop’s wall and saw the black man lying in the street. He had his back to the floor and his legs folded at the knees. She also noted the blood on the ground and the arrow sticking out of his leg. Bingo.. Her eyes narrowed as she studied the man’s actions. She still didn’t notice his face, and to be honest – seeing the face didn’t mean much to her. She wanted to see his throat cut and dripping and hear his gargling on his own blood. That’s what she cared about. She didn’t need to have the face of her victim haunt her, even if he would – but she doubted it.

She stayed peering over the roof a little too long, and when she was looking to the left, he must’ve spotted the black side of her face. A very close WHOOSH alerted her to duck, and she nearly missed the second one, whatever it was, skimming past her face. As the weapons clanked on the roof top behind her, she looked to see what they were. They were throwing knives, in which this should have alerted her that it was someone she knew. Itzal was famous for his skill with throwing knives, but somehow the memory slipped her mind.

Axelle gathered her things from her spot on the roof, and crawled toward the two knives that landed on the other side of the roof. One fell in one of the roof holes, and the other was teetering on the edge. She grabbed that one and strapped the dagger back onto her leg, while she carried the crossbow. She bounded down the weak fire escape again, not caring that they could collapse at any moment. She didn’t need it anymore and it didn’t matter if it crumbled after her as she went down. The metal groaned under the pressure of her body weight, but otherwise stayed intact. Rust flaked off as her feet left certain, narrow steps, and some of it must’ve cut her foot pads. Her left leg stung a bit, but she couldn’t let that bother her right now. She jumped from the landing and onto the ground. She didn’t waste her time with the appliances. She hit the ground running towards the man. She went the other way this time, circling around the building the other way, so that she could find him on the corner. She had to jump a fence or two, but it was well worth it and she managed to do it without making much noise or clumsiness. It wasn’t every day that a wolf had to jump over fences, especially in Lupecri form.

She rounded the corner with her crossbow in hand, now just walking quickly. She saw the man trying to get up and sent another arrow his way, but missing him as he awkwardly ducked. Her aim was good, but that shot had been sloppy. The arrow stuck into the brick wall by his head. As she neared him, she swung the crossbow over her shoulder as she walked toward the victim. She threw the knife that she found on the roof at him, but as she wasn’t as skilled as the man was – the knife didn’t go where she planned it to. That, too, bounced off the brick wall behind him. It didn’t even stick in the brick as she had hoped it might. She crossed the abandoned street and took the knife from her thigh sheath. She walked over to him, stepped over his, now struggling, body, and sat. She kneeled over his midsection and held the dagger to his throat. The others hadn’t struggled so much, probably underestimating her, but this man was a struggler. He made it difficult for her to sit atop him, but she managed to keep the blade pressed against his throat. She had gained a lot more muscle mass since she last saw Itzal, so she was a lot stronger now. She managed to keep herself on top of him for a moment. She didn’t bother to say anything to him, and pressed the knife harder to his neck now.

One would think now that she was sitting on top of him that she would have recognized his face – but no, she didn’t. She wasn’t even paying attention to it. Even though her eyes had looked over his face in the littlest bit, she didn’t take in who he was. She didn’t realize that she was just about to attempt to cut her past lover’s throat. Itzal, the dark man who interested her so much; the man of two personalities – the one that fed her need for danger all of the time. The man who was a ticking time bomb whenever he was made upset or provoked, like right at that moment. The man that she could have seen herself asking for help when she went to murder her father. The man that she would have happily carried his pups – and who was he now? Her target. The target that was just about to die a slow, painful death for no reason other than because he was walking on this street. Axelle had reached serial killer status, and by this time – there was nothing that would stop her. What she would have done for him before he disappeared! Anything. At all. But now, it seemed the feelings she had for him turned sour.

Instead of realize what she was doing and who he was, she kept her empty bi-colored eyes on the wound that she was about to make in his throat. He struggled, but she used every muscle in her body to make herself rigid. She was heavy now that she was a living, breathing tank – armored, ready to kill. She tried to pin his arms underneath her knees, but he was too strong. It was a bad thing that he was fit, too, and now angry – which helped him a lot. She was done struggling with him, and she broke free of his grasp. She pressed the sharp blade to his throat, fed up with fighting him – wanting to get this over with, ”Say bye-bye, you filthy…” But she didn’t get to finish her sentence or slice his throat.

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