( lnfatuationn stares into the face of death )
A pale hand wrapped around a cold glass, grey eyes looking down at the structure holding it as he tapped his fingers. His compusure was seemingly calm, other than the quick beats of his fingers against the table. His coat draped over the back of the bar stool as he sat, awaiting a next possible victim to talk to him at the bar.
It always came in handy to be attractive as a serial killer, having victims just pile one after the other over you, just to be slaughtered in cold blood. Of course, the waiting was the boring part. It was the thrill of the kill that was fun, a pleasure coursing through your vains as they beg and scream for you to stop, but you don’t want to until those sounds fade away.
Thoughts were broken by a voice beside him, timid and quiet, barely audible over the loud music. A thin figure placed itself in the seat beside him, turning to reveal a seemingly ill girl, bandages wrapped around various body parts and hair thin and choppy. Here eyes were dull, yet she looked interesting...