@mutatedangels / the hitcher for blair & the muse of your choice! / a non-satanist verse for blair, he's a hitchhiking serial killer that's just been picked up by your muse (for whichever reason you decide). could be set in the eighties for extra fun, but not a requirement.
whoops! turns out when you murder people all over town, you might just get caught. that was the only reason blair was even wandering the southern highways. he made it out of his hometown of robichaux, louisiana by the skin of his teeth, so close to being arrested. luckily, small town sheriffs were stupid pretty much all across the board. so he went from one town to the next, hitchhiking along quiet state routes, and tried to indulge in his hobby as often as possible. sitting in the passenger seat of the stranger's car, blair held the most polite, gentlemanly smile possible—he had a lot of practice, twenty-seven years of being a good ol' boy before he finally learned the joys of death. it was all so easy for him. it sometimes took awhile, but inevitably, someone would give him a ride.
"i really do appreciate, y'know. so many people drove right on by and didn't even give me a glance." blair appeared truly grateful, and he was in his own way. his right hand was in his jeans' pocket, fingering the handle of his switchblade, twitching with anticipation. he knew he didn't look like much, but he was strong. and quick. the act of murder was so kinetic and exhausting but blair could do it forever. that's why he liked to tempt fate. it had been months since he started, and they never even came close to catching him since he left robichaux. kind of boring, honestly. blair became sloppier with each kill because he thought he was a god. the lack of capture proved it to him. even his victims weren't much of a challenge. he started out with the weak, then advanced to stronger prey. he started in the shadows, then became more blatant. he still liked the weak and the shadows, but they just tided him over. "i guess most people wouldn't take the risk of pickin' up a stranger, eh?"
even though he was able to keep up small talk for longer than he cared to, his patience was running thin. he retained his smile as he brought the knife out of his pocket. the blade flipped out. he was still smiling. "guess you ain't too smart then." quickly, he pressed the blade against their neck and used his other hand to press onto their knee, forcing their foot onto the gas with his ironlike grip. "now, don't try nothin'. this ain't my first rodeo, y'know? don't try to drive the car off the road or push me out the door. don't speed to get the attention of some police cruiser. those are old tricks and i'm bored of 'em, you understand? say you understand."
