Hell is Murky || Anya & Spike
『✚』— The vengeance biz was going through its inevitable summer dry spell ;; lovers flocked from concrete jungles to oceanside paradises, not once stopping to consider the inevitable demise that would come with the chill of Autumn.
;; Stolen sand sprinkled kisses would soon become salt in the lungs.
But love-sick humans were none the wiser as they clung helplessly to the idea that a red string of fate bound them permanently to their soulmate.
Fish in a bullet-wounded barrel, waiting for the water to run dry.
❝ I'll have a martini, dry enough to suffocate me. ❞
Anyanka muttered to the clean-shaven barman as she slid onto a red leather stool, stiletto heels clicking loudly against the metal back as she made herself comfortable.
By some miracle of unholy design, she'd managed to find the one woman in the whole of New York willing to bleed her secrets and curse her former lovers. Harmony something had been her name. Kendall. Harmony Kendall. Gorgeous, vapid and easier to make squeal than a pig with a knife to its throat. One drink and she had wished up a storm. To raise the stakes, so-to-speak, Harmony didn't have a pulse.
It was a crappy and predictable gig that would most likely end with her coughing up the dust of Harmony's ex lovers and swearing off vampires for the rest of her existence, but it was still a job -- so she sucked it up (again, so-to-speak), plastered an innocent smile to ruby lips and waited for her target to show.
If she had her way, Spike would most likely end up with actual spikes pierced through his skin. Maybe she'd even turn him into a demon with spikes for skin and pluck them out one by one.