#;something wicked

[mahkittens]

@seancesayshello

Silas is thankful for the warm weather, and for all the people it’s lured out to the park that afternoon. Lots of foot traffic means lots of spare change--a dollar here, a pocketful of quarters, even a $20 or two if he’s lucky--as he performs his heart out. The southerner’s parked himself on a nearby bench, his guitar laid over the wide tears in his jeans.They’re starting to look more tattered than trendy, but they’re all he’s got for now. At the very least, they’re clean.

Each song flows fluidly into the next as Silas plucks at his strings, singing sweetly to each passerby. Most are kind enough to pay him a few seconds of attention, or drop a little something into his open case. He thanks them with a nod and a smile--one of genuine gratitude in knowing he’ll get to eat today. Maybe even afford a pack of smokes. And so, he plays on for his dinner, his vices, and most importantly, for himself.

When a young, peculiarly dressed man wanders nearby, Silas offers a similar grin. At first glance, he looks like the eccentric type with some cash to burn. 

“Hi there, sugar,” he keeps strumming right along, “got any requests?”

[mahkittens]

@the-frozen-lark || New York City

His chest is aching with every breath, each frantic and visible in front of his face as it mingles with the frigid December air. His lungs are crying out for rest, wetting his tongue with the metallic tang of blood, but Silas can’t stop moving. His legs carry him down the avenue with remarkable speed, dodging pedestrians and vehicles alike as he runs for what could very well be his life. He can hear his pursuer behind him, albeit a good fifty yards away. The man is relentless, and the southerner isn’t sure how much longer he can keep up dodging the cross-hairs on his back. 

A sudden grunt escapes as he bumps--no, slams--into another body. The impact knocks the air from his burning lungs, sending him wheezing and stumbling to the ground. Silas lands hard on his ass against the cold concrete, eyes batting wildly in terror and surprise. Where the hell did she come from? He could swear she appeared right out of thin air.

“What in the--”

He hasn’t time to think on it. Cobb instead looks up at her with pleading eyes, his heart pounding in tandem with the hunter’s approaching footsteps. 

[mahkittens]

redxcollar

It’s so goddamn cold.

Silas’ jaw sets tightly to stave the persistent urge to whimper. It’s harder and harder to resist with each involuntary spasm or frantic shiver as he huddles tightly inward, his eyes screwed shut against involuntary tears. The water around him stabs at  his every nerve, burning him all over with unfamiliar, unprecedented pain. The restraints that bind his wrists and twist his arms behind his back are a mere formality. Cobb couldn’t move an inch from this hell if he tried. The fire in his veins is all but extinguished, rendering him truly and terrifyingly powerless for the first time in his life.

Time is lost on the cambion as he sits there, awaiting an uncertain fate, praying silently for the reprieve of unconsciousness. The southerner, as proud as his blood is red, would grovel on his knees for rescue. He doesn’t realize admitting it out loud, though the plea is visible in short, shuddering puffs of breath that hover in front of his numbed, running nose.

“Christ, help me.”

[mahkittens]

[rondeursx]

Cobb hums a merry tune under his breath, fingers tapping a swing tempo over the top of his knee. His leg soon begins to bounce--half in impatience, half in excitement--to join in on the silent tune. He’s like a kid on Christmas morning, just waiting around for the rest of the family to wake up. In this case though, waiting’s a big part of the fun. In fact, He almost hopes she’ll remain asleep all morning, if only to sweeten her inevitable suffering.

Good things come to those who wait.

The sun just begins to poke through the bars he’s fixed to the basement windows. He’s seated out of light’s reach beside her cell, his knees sprawled and shoulders slumped under the weight of lingering fatigue. Getting her here wasn’t easy, but certainly worth the hassle of an all-nighter, especially as the rays creep closer to her bound and gagged body, just touching the tangled curls of her golden hair. 

“Rise an’ shine sweetheart,” he coos softly, a wicked grin sprawling over his lips, “The day’s a-wastin’.”

[the-back-a-me-feckin-hand]

  "I see ya've dropped camp in Africa again.    Personally, I've grown awful bored a' the    place. Might we try the Americas next?"

[mahkittens]

"Well, you look like hell.   No pun intended."

"...Wanna come in?"