Dainty Little Sadist --Oliver

[Imara Sophia "Immie" Deveroux]

Immie was bored. Which was never a good thing. But here she was, bored out of her skull, and with no Julian to talk her into staying in the house where at least he could make sure she didn’t make a mess that he would have to go out and clean up after. She honestly was not sure where he could be, but it wasn’t anywhere near where she was, and thus, he wasn’t anywhere near where he could exercise the control over her, slight as it was, that he had somehow managed to acquire when he had brought her back from being entirely feral.

Not that he usually went out of his way to baby sit her. In fact, half the time Immie wasn’t sure where the other boy was, no, no she wasn’t. Half of the time she could do as she pleased and bring in whoever she wanted to play with. Unless he found her first and told her why she shouldn’t, or why she should drag out playtime with whoever she currently had because of something silly like not wanting to draw suspicion to themselves because she had been taking too many.

The police had enough to worry about with the feral fledglings who didn’t have a Julian to make sure they didn’t do anything bad. She was hardly a problem, and she usually remembered to clean up after herself if she took blood from people who were outside of the house. Simple little mind trick, or if there was a body it was simple enough to burn it and move on and no one would be the wiser. Besides, she knew which parts of town that she should be careful to stick to if she was planning on going out hunting, yes, yes she did.

The bad parts of town, where the nobodies and the left behinds were. The people that no one would miss if they disappeared and wouldn’t have a hope of being looked for. The people that, even if their body did turn up, no one would look too deeply into their deaths. Everyone thought that because Immie was insane, that meant that she wasn’t that smart and not quick to think about these things. They would be wrong, yes, yes they would be. Even before Julian she knew better than to take from anyone that people might worry about being missing.

She knew how it felt to have family missing, yes, yes she really did.

So she knew better than to take someone who might miss them like she missed her family. Speaking of her family…Immie giggled and whirled around when she saw her brothers out of the corner of her eye. They were eternally ten in her mind, even if they would have been nearer to fourteen or so now, she hadn’t kept track of the ages. But they were also dead. The images of them that Immie saw were entirely created by her mind to comfort her, or something of the sort. It was all entirely in her mind.

If anyone had bothered to diagnose her, it would have been clear that Immie was schizophrenic, of the delusional kind. She saw things, she talked to things no one else saw, she got paranoid sometimes when other people caught her at it. It was just the odd way that her mind worked. But she whirled anyway, though she knew that they were not really there—such was the nature of Immie’s disease, it wasn’t so bad that she wasn’t aware that it existed—and her poofy princess skirt flowed out to match the movement, her platformed shoes squelching on the ground. It had rained a short time ago, and it was apparent from the ground that this was so.

She skipped off deeper into the alleys that she was currently stalking around in, following her brothers. They seemed to know where they were going, so why not? She ran off after them, but they were so fast! When had they gotten so fast? She did not know, no, no she didn’t. The real version of her brothers were never this much faster than she was. They led her through twists and turns in the alleys, slowly getting into darker and more seedy areas, which didn’t bother her at all, no, no it didn’t. In fact, it didn’t stop her from giggling as she ran.

Until she stopped.

Because she had bumped right into a very big and very bulky person. He looked down at her as she looked up. ”Great, I have to deal with a freak with red contacts in” he grumbled and that made Immie pout. He was making her lose her brothers! They were getting away from her. She cursed in French and tried to get around him but he took up too much of the alley. Little freak trying to get away? I don’t think so. Still so pretty for a freaky little thing” he said, reaching down to touch her.

And she growled. He had made her mad, he had made her miss her brothers and then he tried to touch her? Take advantage of her? Oh no. She was not going to take that sitting down. Instead she reached out, quicker than most human eyes could follow and snatched the hand reaching for her, bending it back at the wrist until she heard things, such as bones, crack and grind inside his arm. She giggled, satisfied with the pained noise he made at that.

And proceeded to ignore his begging as she swept his feet out from under him. He was too tall, she couldn’t reach his neck properly.

It was minutes later that he was dead on the rain covered ground, with a satisfied little Immie on top of him, wiping her mouth clean almost daintily. She giggled a little and bounced a bit. She wished she could have tortured him a bit more, but oh well. She had gotten to satisfy her hunger at the very least.

Footsteps became apparent to her sensitive ears and she looked up, unaware of the smear of blood that she had wiped across her cheeks. No one could ever accuse Immie of being a neat eater.

Words: 1071
Muse: Apparently high? lol
Comments --

[Oliver Stride]

Things weren't going well for Crissatha Pandora; and no one knew that better than Oliver Stride.

The red fledgling; dishevelled russet hair, muscular frame with a handsome face to match, leaned against a wall, barely hiding underneath the moonlight. The edge of his lips were flicked up to form an arrogant smirk, his dark eyes narrowed and cold.

From where he was standing, he could see Crissatha quite clearly in her room; a now single one, a separation from her friend. He considered dropping in; to give her a little visit. But no. He had waited far too long for this to give it all up now. How many months had he waited for his revenge? He had been patient, and soon, so very soon, it would all pay off.

The male smirked; the best thing was, she had no idea. Crissatha thought that he was dead. He was no longer a worry in her eyes; in everyone's eyes. Oh, how wrong they all were. They all thought he was gone, forever; never to be seen again.

"Oliver?"

Well, except for her.

Black flickered down to the small timid thing trapped underneath his arm, azure looking up in a pleading sort of way. "Ca-Can you let me go now? You, you promised you would.." He leaned forward and she flinched, as if expecting some sort of hit. Gently, he pressed a soft kiss on her forehead, one hand softly brushing the side of her face; his touch filled with so much care, and love.

But she knew -- too late now -- that it was all a lie.

"In time, love. In time." He murmured softly into her ear, the hand he had prisoned around her holding a firm grasp on her shoulder. He forced her to stand in his place, using his free hand to tilt her head in the correct position. "You see that girl there? The one with the black hair, and purple streaks?" The girl nodded, her hands starting to shake. "She's going to die, soon." He smiled dreamily, his expression so sincere, it scared her to think of his features showed such a different man to who he actually was.

"And guess what?" He continued, "you are too." He smiled sweetly, leaning forward to plant a gently kiss on her lips.

The girl began to shake viciously, her legs collapsing; unable to hold herself up any longer.

With a small laugh, Oliver grabbed the girl before she hit the floor, and he lifted her up into his arms, shaking his head a little. "Now, now. Don't be like this, sweetie. You've still got a long day ahead of you." With another smile, he began to walk towards town, using the shadows to stay concealed. The girl attempted to find some sense in the direction, but after the seventh turn in two minutes, she gave up. Timidly, she pressed a hand on Oliver's chest, finally accepting her fate.

Oliver twisted his way into the bad part of town, slinking into the alleyways that he knew off by heart. He made his way down the path, about to turn the corner when he paused, his brows furrowing into a frown. ..Noise. He looked up, glancing at the corner of the alleyway the shut off his view from the rest of the path. He dropped the girl, making sure she made no noise and he crept towards the corner, tugging the girl along with him.

"Little freak trying to get away? I don’t think so. Still so pretty for a freaky little thing.”

A growl.

The dance of feet; a crack, a scream.

Begging.

A smirk grew on Oliver's face; someone was dying -- someone was being murdered.

Tightening his hold on the girl, he silently turned the corner, his black eyes quickly spotting the obviously feral fledgling bent over the body of a dead man. After a few seconds, the girl looked up, blood splattered across her face in a wild manner.

Oliver smiled. The girl screamed.

With a roll of his eyes, he sighed, before reaching out lightning fast, and grabbing the girl's head and smashing it against the wall. Hard enough to hurt, but soft enough for her to not black out. The girl crumbled to the floor nonetheless, and Oliver stepped over her, as if she was nothing but garbage. Which she was.

He smiled once more, arching a brow at the dead man. "Impressive. But it could have been done better." And it could have. She had wasted a whole body; she could have at least experimented on the man. "Perhaps I could show you with this one?" He offered, the smile still fixed on his face. He hadn't spent his time with the other red fledglings, but when he did (and when he met some nearly as blood thirsty as he was), Oliver never hesitated in showing them a few tricks in the trade.

He nudged the girl with his foot, causing the girl to whimper in fear, and pain.

[Imara Sophia "Immie" Deveroux]

Immie giggled when he begged after she swept his feet out from under him. She liked when they begged, yes, yes she did. She liked when they screamed, when they pleaded, when they begged. When they wanted to keep their own pathetic lives for only a little while longer, because that was all it would be. Immie never left her playmates alive. Some lived longer than others did, this was true, it was, it was, but they all died in the end. This one begged, even though moments ago he thought that she was his prey.

The thought made her giggle again.

She hadn’t been anyone’s prey in a long, long time. She had been back when she was fourteen and scared and about to be sold into slavery. That was when she couldn’t stand up for herself and her own sister had to save her more times than she could count. But that wasn’t how she was anymore, no, no it wasn’t. Now she could more than handle herself. Now anyone she came across was counted as her prey. And this person here who had gotten in the way of her following the illusion of her brothers was most certainly prey.

She only bothered to swipe him to the floor with a simple sweep because she couldn’t reach his neck when he was standing up. She was only a tiny thing, after all, and he was very tall. This meant she oculd not reach where she wished to reach. Though there were other wonderous parts of the body she could bite, the neck was always her favorite. It was classic, it was timeless, yes, yes it was. She was so aggravated by him that she didn’t bother to torture and maim this one before she dug into him, her fangs viciously digging into his neck, their appearance brought on by her fit of temper.

Her fangs were usually out. She wasn’t stable enough to remember to keep them in unless Julian asked otherwise of her. She listened to him for reason’s she didn’t quite comprehend. He grunted with pain but that soon settled into the typical moans and he pulled her closer until his hands went limp at her back with death. That was boring. She was full now, but she longed to find a prey she could take back to her playroom and mess around with for a few days until she bored of them.

A noise distracted her from this noise and she looked up to see a man standing there with a female. The girl’s scream made Immie’s blood red eyes brighten as she locked on the girl. She adored screams such as those. The male slammed her into the wall. It was a calculated blow that Immie could most certainly appreciate, her gaze went from the girl who was now crumpled in pain back to the boy who had caused the pain. Pain always caught her attention, and those that knew how to cause it well would always catch her attention further.

He called it impressive, what she had done, and Immie scoffed. Nothing impressive about killing. She had been so sloppy with this one, she should have tortured him first but he made her mad. He commented saying that it could have been done better and she nodded, licking a bit of blood from the corner of her mouth. ”Oui” she said in her native language, and the rest that she said became colored by her native French accent. ”He made me angry. It was sloppy.” she said with a little shrug before slamming her fist down onto the dead man’s left rib cage and at least getting the satisfaction of cracking a rib or four. That made her feel better at least. The sound and feel of things breaking always did.

Immie stood, not that it did much, she was not of an impressive height. She often had been compared to a sadistic little baby doll with her innocent and tiny stature, and the fact that all her features were just as small and innocent seeming. No one expected her to be the bloody killer sadist that she was. She had been an innocent little child once, yes, yes she had. Now innocence drove her to a serious bloodlust that couldn’t be quelled.

He offered to show her with the girl he brought along, who was now cowering. Her gaze flickered to the girl momentarily before going back to the boy as her, immaculately clean, hands brushed over her poofy skirt. They had to be clean if they were to touch her skirt, she did not like getting blood on her skirts. ”Perhaps” she conceded, tilting her head slightly in that quick and predatorial way that feral red fledglings often displayed. ”But I am not in the habit of sharing prey” she said, and then she fell into giggles as she always did.

Immie was entirely mad, entirely off her rocker. There was nothing about this that Immie did not realize. People tried to call her schizophrenic often, but she waved them off. She was insane, she was sadistic. Why add fancy titles to it? She was quite happy in her little feral state. Though the idea of seeing what this boy who thought he was at her level could do amused her. Perhaps she had met another at the same level of her and Julian? Delighted she considered the possibility that he was at a higher level. That would surely amuse her. That would allow her the chance to get worse as well.

[Oliver Stride]

Fangs extended, eyes crimson, and that look, that feeling that only red fledglings could ever understand; the girl was glorious.

Oliver, always a man obsessed with power -- and she, most definitely, was a creature of power -- smirked, interested. He watched with anticipation etched into his eyes, ignoring the cries of the girl at his feet.

"Oui--" french? "--he made me angry. It was sloppy." Definitely french; he could hear the accent wrapped around thickly with every word.

The girl proceeded to slam her fist down onto the dead man's chest, and Oliver could distinctly hear that satisfying crack of bones shattering -- a sound that he knew, and loved, so well. He looked at her with approving eyes, noting her strength -- although, with her being one of the undead, it was to be expected -- with a small, amused grin. The girl at his feet, however, took to the movement with another shriek of fear, frightened hands shakily covering her face. "Shut up," he snarled, annoyance dominating over the previous interest. The girl, after one last whimper accompanied with a growl from Oliver, complied, both hands taped over her mouth.

Satisfied that she would stay put, he turned his attention back to the red fledgling, who had now stood; she was, truly, a tiny thing.

Why, if he hadn't seen her rip a man's throat out in mere seconds, he would never have guessed the things that she was capable of; but then again, many people could say the same about him, also. The edge of his lips twisted with malevolence at the thought of all the women that had fallen for his act, all, who inevitably, soon met their end thereafter.

Oliver offered up the girl he had dragged along, keen to see what the other fledgling could do; because, he knew, that what he had just seen was the minimal amount of her skills. He could tell from her eyes -- the same blood lust, the thirst, the adrenaline that only those who'd murdered (and enjoyed it) would ever experience was there. This girl, he knew, was just like Oliver: insane with death.

They both controlled it, twisting it to do their will. He cocked a brow expectantly, when her gaze flickered lower, to the girl. The look on her face said it all; they'd dance with death once more.

"Perhaps. But I am not in the habit of sharing prey."

He nodded once, twice, understanding. He too, never shared; until now.

"Of course. Neither am i; however, for this one time, i am willing to make an exception." He smirked, raising both brows. "Are you?"

Not bother to wait for an answer (because he already knew what it was; it wasn't hard to guess), he stepped sideways, nearer to the wide-eyed girl (who apparently, hadn't yet figured out that the prey was herself), before grabbing her hair and pulling her to her feet, with ease. To his surprise, except for a muffled "eek!", she didn't make another sound. He smiled, pleased. She was learning.

Peering at the red fledgling, he sighed a little at her height -- this would cause problems. He turned the other girl around so that he was facing her front, and for a moment, their eyes locked; green, wide and terrified, hazel, cheerful and smiling. Eyes still locked, he bent her head back. "So, small one," he murmured, addressing the other fledgling. He leaned forward and softly placed a gently kiss on his prey's neck, before yanking her backwards, aiming a kick at her knees. Her shrieks filled the air, and he, oblivious to it all, raised his voice to continue speaking. "Mind telling me your name? I'm Oliver. Oliver Stride."

He flashed a grin, before turning back to the now sobbing girl, and aimed one, last, calculated kick. Crack. The girl hopelessly fell, her kneecaps shattered into nothing.

Oliver, gentleman as always, bent forwards slightly, as if bowing. Smirking at the red fledgling, hazel alight with violence, he pointed a hand to the crumpled girl on the floor, a cunning smile fixed in place. "Ladies first, mademoiselle."

[Imara Sophia "Immie" Deveroux]

Immie had not come out on this night expecting to meet another of the feral red fledglings, but she was not opposed to this in the slightest. She had grown bored and that was why she had ventured out here of course, so being near another red fledgling was no big deal, especially a feral one rather than the ones that had gone all soft and gotten their humanity back. Those she could not stand and refused to associate with. One of her own kind as this one was was interesting however, this she could be happy with.

She stood from where she had been sitting on her prey that she had killed far too quickly without playing with him at all. He had made her angry, and when she truly lost her temper she forgot what Julian had reminded her of once, that the more careful she was the longer their screams lasted. She had remembered that since. However, when she got angry, she forgot, yes, yes she did. He called her sloppy and she agreed, answering him in her thick French accent.

She had broken a rib or two on the dead man’s chest before she had stood, causing the girl to whimper and Immie’s bright red eyes to flicker to the pathetic little child. The other red growled at her, and it caught her attention further, yes, yes it did. Strong, he was, and he knew it. It was quite interesting, yes, yes it was. It was something that she found quite intriquing, Someone who knew how to command but also to cause pain. It was something that Julian had and it was why she bothered to listen to him, he kept her in line. He didn’t have the same type of strict decorum from what Immie could notice, no he didn’t, but most people didn’t have Julian’s stick up the butt attitude as Immie liked to teasingly tell him.

He offered up his prey to be shared and Immie had considered it, but she was a possessive little creature. She liked her playthings to be kept to herself and she loved to be the one to kill them when she grew bored of her play. She wasn’t sure she could tone down that innate dominance about herself long enough to be able to show him what it was that she could do, being that he would show her on the same female what he could do.

Could she share?

It was possible.

She had giggled after telling him she didn’t share, she always giggled, it was just Immie’s way. She found the most insane things amusing, yes, yes she did. And no one ever got it when she tried to explain it. It was truly frustrating and she pouted slightly at that thought before turning her attention once more to this boy and his prey. It was an interesting proposition. To torture right here in this alley? It made her feel like those vampires in her novels, yes, yes it did. She giggled again, a more manic giggle than the one that had come before. He said he was willing to make an exception. It was him speaking that brought her out of lala land.

Most people couldn’t handle talking to Immie because she would tune out in the middle of a conversation, miss most of what other people said, and then tune back in like she had never tuned out.

She did not answer, mostly because she hadn’t heard the full question, she had just heard a bit and she knew better than to answer, she was learning, but he was asking her if she was willing to make an exception from what she had gathered. She watched him command her up, just a stifled shriek. Oh, how Immie would love to make her scream. She grinned and took her little dainty steps forward that made her tulle skirt bounce as she walked. She looked like a bloody little doll, Immie knew this. Most people underestimated her because of it.

She watched him move the girl, tilting her head, a slight smirk playing on her lips because she found herself quite amused with all of this. It was amusing. Someone who could casually cause pain while still speaking? That was someone she wished to spend more time around. She needed more friends with similar interests, yes, yes she did. She giggled and bounced, watching him kick out her knees and shatter them. She was oh so amused. The girl was sobbing and broken. How sad. That was why she often played with boys, harder to break down like that.

She tilted her head at the girl than looked back up at the man who had called himself Oliver Stride. She giggled. ”Imara Sophia Deveroux” she said, her name very French for all that it was not her birth name. ”Call me Immie” she said, not a suggestion…that was a command. She hated being called Imara.

She let him direct her attention to the girl who was a crumpled mess now and grinned, going over to her. Ladies first indeed. The girl was only a little bit shorter than her in this position, Immie had no need to crouch or stand up taller, she liked this. She grinned a bit wickedly. ”Ah, but she is so broken already, yes, yes she is. I do so like when they try not to scream…though screaming is always preferable” she said softly, more talking to herself than to the boy who ahd called himself Oliver. She darted her hand out to catch the girl’s chin and look at her face. What to do. She had none of her blades on her, which was a shame. But she was strong enough.

She dropped her grasp on the chin and crouched, though the move was not needed with her height, to take the girl’s hand. ”People. They prize their hands so much, no? But there are so many lovely tiny hands. It is so easy to damage them” she said, speaking to the girl, as she said “to damage them” she snapped one finger for each word, loving the sound of the break and the screams that followed. So easy to break those little bones, but if done right they would heal wrong, if she lived, which amused Immie so very much. She straightened, dropping the hand, suddenly curious.

That was Immie. Her moods had issues.

”I have a question” she said, looking up at Oliver with bright red eyes. ”Do you wish for her to live?” she tilted her head with the question. It may seem random, but the damage she liked to do depended on this question.