The last kiss of twilight was finally giving way to a starless night when Garvey began his stroll, seemingly uninterested in the citizens of...well, whatever the name of the port city was. Mildew, Middle; something like that, anyway. His grimm, Anne, would most likely tell him yet again in some conversation in the near future. It didn't matter now, when dark intents were traded in secret, humans scuttling about in the shadows they assumed would hide them. Almost idly, the Infitalis tilted his head, listening to the murmurs of dark deeds from his perch on the a stack of crates in the alley next to a shop that had long since shut its doors. The people were more active now than they had been earlier when he and his grimm had arrived in the supposed safety of daylight. But with no sun to burn the boogeymen away...well, there were worse things than men under children's beds or in their closets. He was one of them, after all.
It was the glint of metal, little more than a flash of bleached color, that caught his attention, pulling the plague away from his far-traveling thoughts and focusing them on a single figure in the distance. Though Garvey couldn't see much though the growing crowd, he could make out a man's rigid figure, tall and proud as he watched the cluster of skulkers. An unexpected flare of hatred and scorn flashed through the Infitalis, compelling him to leave the safety of his current hiding spot and breaking his inherent ability to camouflage with the earthen material around him. Garvey recognized this feeling, he realized. He'd felt it before, as a Caedos basking in the worship of Obscuvos with his grimm and other House members. It even left a strange taste in his mouth, though Garvey quickly realized this time it was bile and not the aftertaste of opium and incense.
Sometimes the simple predictability of humans was a good thing, he mused as he dragged himself to the edge of the alley. They were all so busy looking down on each other and at the despondency of the world around them that none ever thought to look up. Equally as predictable were the complaints of their livelihoods, how things should be better – all ways to help cover any sound he might have accidentally made.
From his new position, he was able to see the mysterious figure more clearly, and the reason for his disgust and contempt became clear: though he wasn't wearing the traditional jacket or full uniform, there was no doubt that the man in question was of the militia – few else would carry themselves with such obnoxious self confidence, as though they owned the very ground they walked upon. Garvey's lips curled into a sneer as he considered his options, his mind racing with the prospect of not only furthering his cause, but also having some...well, some
fun in the process. After all, accidents happened every day, so who was to say
he was the reason for the man's demise? With the way cities were anymore, one could easily cover their tracks, and Garvey certainly had his share of experience in such matters. A dark, bemused chuckle hissed softly through his teeth as he plotted, seeking a way to surprise his target.
“Mildell is certainly lively this evening, isn't it?” a soft, familiar voice mused amicably. Garvey's breath caught in his throat, disbelief stopping him as he fought back a groan. Where his grimm had come from, he could only guess, but the fact that Anne was out and about – was investing time in the man – meant that Garvey's instinct was more than likely head-on. Frozen, he tightly pressed his lips together and listened, his thoughts racing. Anne
sounded okay; she sounded like a normal citizen, which she mostly was, but there had to be a reason she was out and about. Conversion wasn't on her usual agenda, nor nighttime strolls.
“You could say that, yes,” the man answered as he eyed the small blonde woman. Garvey's hand clenched into a fist, heedless of any pain as he fought the urge to spit at what could only be a rather obvious trap. Anne was smarter than that – he
knew this! - so why was she talking to the man? Why bide her time and not cut to the point, whatever it was?
“One must hope the constables are nearby to handle such dark dealings. For the sake of the city, of course.” Anne's tone was deceptively mild, and it was obvious that there was a deeper meaning to the her words. Garvey frowned, reluctant to act as he puzzled over the change in the normally quiet, subtle woman.
“Indeed,” the militiaman agreed. “But then, why would one suspect such dangerous things? Surely every city has its vices, despicable as they are?” The man shifted to look at Anne more, allowing Garvey to catch a glimpse of a pale face and hawkish features. The image burned into his memory, searing him like a red-hot blade fresh from the forge.
“Dark alleys and dark nights breed all sorts of mischief,” Anne demurred, looking around absently. Her normally well-schooled features dipped into a small, thoughtful frown. “I should, perhaps, heed my own advice and leave. No respectable person would be out here lest they had no choice, I think.” A faint, polite nod followed her words as she left both men staring at her, working her way around the milling crowd with haste. Garvey could well imagine the thoughts that would accompany her on the way home, including the desire to get away from the press of so many bodies in such a close space.
The Anhelo blinked, his grin breaking full and unfettered as he fought a laugh. So
that was it! Anne may not be overly fond of some of the more sinister aspects of the House, but she knew well enough what would happen if a plague was discovered, no matter what faction they might belong to. Her uncanny ability of knowing when he was in trouble had most likely saved his arse yet again. It was, after all, far from the first time he'd disappeared without notice and
certainly not the first time he'd gotten into trouble along the way. Sometimes, once was even a sign of a slow night. The memories filled him with nostalgia as he shifted his weight, wondering what Anne had discovered while he was gone. What could be important enough to seek him out and risk exposure before they were ready?
The soft whisper of a brief touch against his skin shattered Garvey's thoughts. Stifling the snarl from before, he spun to discover a child staring at him with wide eyes, squeaking in terror as his whorled eyes fell upon the trembling figure. For a moment, nothing happened, and Garvey wasn't sure if the child was a figment of his imagination or if time had simply stopped. Then the small mouth opened abnormally wide and a shrill cry of terror pierced the night, shattering the quiet
“Dammit,” he muttered. Another, less pleasant, epithet followed as the child darted out of reach and into the crowded street. Garvey was nearly overpowered by the stench of fear and filth as he followed the wretch, but when the bodies of criminals and who knew what else pressed together, the Infitalis realized his blunder. People
might listen to one terrified street urchin, or they might dismiss it as a cry for attention, but if there were witnesses to a plague roaming the streets then there was going to be all sorts of hell.
Of course, as soon as he realized this, some simpering fop had to fall back inon him. Garvey's growl was more surprised than anything, but it quickly became tainted with despair and frustration at the sight of black, crackled skin where his fingers, unconsciously freed from the cover he usually kept over them, had brushed against the stranger. Surprise and pain flickered over the person's features before panic set in, crying out the one word that nobody wanted to hear.
Plague. The venom and terror in the single word was like a release, giving Garvey the permission he needed to give in. Mentally cursing, he used his hands as a barricade and sought a path through the crowd that simply did not exist. Those closest to him either pulled away, spat or threw things at him, but none were spared. If he was going to go down for something he couldn't control – for their continual stupidity and refusal to just
move already – then he wouldn't be responsible for the consequences. The notion was like water breaking through a dam, overflowing his common sense and re-energizing his will to move forward. The stench of fear was intoxicating, thick and viscous as blood as people realized they were trapped and, like the caged animals they were, tried to retaliate. Those who did were added to his growing fatality list, soon to learn a permanent lesson as the single mind of a mob tore their logical reasoning away and revealed vulnerable flesh and bone.
Among those trapped was the militiaman from before. It was like fate had brought the two together, to show the world their own glorious destiny. Garvey's grin widened at the thought, transforming his face into an eerie death mask as he wormed his way towards his target. So much chaos lay in his wake, falling behind him like a shadow. Would anyone suspect him alone for it all? He almost wished they would, that the world would wake up and realize what lay in their midst.
Whoever he was, the private had guts. Though the man tried to reach the fringes of the madness, it was impossible to break free. The more the militiaman struggled, the deeper he was dragged into the fray.
Yes, yes, yes! The monotonous chant practically sang in Garvey's veins as the humans proved useful in their mindless panic, bringing the him closer to his target until the Infitalis was able to reach out and grab the man in front of him with ease. The fabric of his military uniform crinkled so easily under his touch, blackened and smelling of mildew as it, too, died an eventual death. Dark eyes met Garvey's own, the man's pupils so wide that they swallowed all color. In that moment, with the crowd pushing them together that they were as close as lovers, the man was truly beautiful.
“Who--” the private sputtered, jerking his head away so sharply from Garvey's touch that his neck cracked. The Anhelo merely smiled, pulling his captive closer still.
“Lord Obscuvos loves you, you know,” Garvey said mildly, his voice deepening as his words grew softer. “I'm kinda jealous. Pass my love on, will you?” His free hand covered the man's mouth, smothering any noise and filling his nostrils with the scent of death. The private's eyes rolled in the back of his head and, almost tenderly, Garvey held him there before gave a sharp twist to the neck. It was amazing how easily one could die, he mused as the body fell to the ground, swallowed up by the bodies around them as screams filled the night.
Whatever the purpose of coming to the port town had been, it no longer mattered. Garvey felt a near cackle bubble in his chest and let it break free, heedless of how it would sound. He'd made a mistake, certainly, but these foolish, simple-minded humans saw only the plague, saw only death, and reacted as any vulnerable mortal might. And, like death, they would learn the hard way. Let him be the reaper for tonight. Let them remember what happens when one crosses a plague.
i couldnt find the right hair
