[Mock-Fiction] I - Requiescat In Pace

Note: Please read the Formal Notice movella. It should be on the list on the right hand side.
Have i succumbed to the inevitable... or just made a mockery of it?

Cover by Secrets Unfold

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3. 2 – Sniper

For Adam Leonidas Gilray: This is nothing in comparison to your work. The world is plagued for having not seen yours. And I didn’t get to read you sequel to ‘Midnight’. I wish I could talk to someone about food as much as I did with you Dx I really miss that [and all the cat jokes, but that’s another story]. Thanks for helping me create my muses also – Bartolomeo hasn’t gone marauding for ages in mourning of your cyber martyrdom and Aeschylus has been in fitful sleep since. I just hope that this is at least satisfactory by your standards. You are and have been sorely missed. [Somebody send this to Gilray plz :3]

 

Niall grumbled as he walked through one of his many bordellos. He’d received complaints that one of his workers refused to serve his customers.

He hated it when they did that.

Why the bloody hell would you apply to be a whore, if you weren’t going to do what you’re meant to? he thought miserably.

He made his way into the courtyard, and passed-by a handful of men and women flirting and indulging in far more erotic deeds than would be advised in Puritan public. Niall didn’t care, though. With Harry’s thugs protecting the place, the Puritan government could do next to nothing. And, anyway, it wasn’t like government officials weren’t enjoying his services also. If they wanted to flop-about, then they’d have to keep their lips sealed.

 

Niall scanned the place, and found what he was looking for. Amongst the scattered people, a girl sat by the central fountain, her fingers brushing against the water’s edge pensively, as birds chirped above and bathed in the burbling water. Though Niall should have been angry with the girl, he found that he was smitten. She was Oriental, pale-skinned, with finely applied make-up and her raven-black hair was short. She wore such provocative clothing that very little was left to the imagination; a strapless corset-dress that only reached mid-thigh, fishnet tights and knee-high stiletto boots. Her eyes called to Niall the most, though: golden, like fresh honey, only emphasized by the gold eye-liner and the long lashes wreathed around them, in no need of mascara. They were soft, like two precious amber droplets; and yet… they were fierce like a tiger’s eyes.

They were, by all means, attractive.

 

As he approached the virtual Aphrodite, she noticed him nearing. She stared at him blankly for a moment, and then smiled sweetly. As Niall came closer and closer, he noticed that the black choker on her neck read: ‘Sniper’.

 

Perhaps that should have been his first warning.

 

‘Mr. Horan,’ said the girl. She had a slightly nasal voice and a distinctly Chinese accent. Something about her reminded Niall about another of his workers, but he dismissed the thought as soon as it occurred to him.

‘Your name?’ asked Niall, without a return of greeting, trying to sound stern. He failed miserably.

‘Gilray. Amy-Lee Gilray,’ said the girl firmly.

Niall took her hand, tentatively stroking it, ‘Emily?’

‘No. Amy. Lee.’

‘Isn’t that what I said?’ responded Niall, with irritation yet holding a clearly dreamy look on his face.

Amy ignored the question and said, ‘What can I do for you?’

‘I’ve been receiving complaints about you,’ said Niall, stroking her cheek, ‘I can’t have you acting all virtuous around here. You’re a whore. Do what you’re getting paid for.’

Amy shrugged, ‘I did it to get your attention.’

Niall raised his brows. There was a pause. ‘You what?’

Amy got up, ‘Come,’ she said suggestively, ‘Let’s go somewhere more private.’

 

Niall paused again. He thought he ought to be more professional. That was what his brain was telling him anyway. His urges, however, were saying something very, very different.

There’s no trouble in a merchant trying out his own merchandise, they said.

It didn’t feel right. There was something strange about this ‘Emily’. Maybe it was her straightforwardness, or her indifference to his power and position. It wasn’t right. But in the end, lust won over Niall [as it often does with a pimp].

 

He nodded, and gulped to suppress all the sirens and warnings his mind was screaming at him, and gestured to the bordello.

‘We’ll find a free room,’ he said, flatly.

Amy flashed another smile by him, ‘Okay. Anything you want.’

 

They walked up the path, and entered the bordello. It wasn’t hard to find a room. It was Sunday, so almost everyone was at church attending the Mass [with the obvious exceptions, of course]. Niall opened a door, and checked the room quickly: lavish curtains, a double-bed with velvet sheets, a soft rug made of bear’s skin, a piano-forte in one corner, etc, etc. It would do. He allowed Amy to step in first, and then closed the door with a sharp click.

 

And, of all the mistakes Niall had made already, this had to be his greatest.

 

A harsh pain crunched Niall’s jaw, and he went sprawling. When the world stopped spinning, Niall got up slowly and spat. A tooth flew out of his mouth, gore flowing it like a bloody tail. He looked up behind him at Amy. She stood poised, her fists clenched and her teeth bared. The tiger in her eyes was roaring.

‘I… I don’t understand…’ said Niall, still confused, rubbing his jaw.

‘Of course you don’t,’ said Amy, her voice nothing more than a whisper, ‘You never have. You never will.’

Niall sat up, and then stood; trying to compose himself. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘It was because of you that my sister joined your whores five years ago, in some idiotic blind hope that she might service you one day. She contracted AIDS and the Puritans are letting her die for her deviance. But there’s more to it. They’re letting her die because of you!’

‘Emily,’ said Niall, trying to reason with her, ‘Your sister became a whore at her own risk. I had no part in it. There was no contract to say that I would be serviced by any one of my workers. Surely you understand that?’

Amy’s pupils contracted in rage. The tiger was crouched for the kill.

 

She reached into her boots and pulled out two short swords. Scrape. The blades escaping their hidden scabbards made Niall stand up, erect and alert.

‘You will not die with her pain,’ said Amy, ‘You’ll have that to be grateful for once I send you to your Maker.’

There was silence. The calm before the storm. A pearly bead of sweat ran down the side of Niall’s face. Or was it a tear? Three… Two… One.

Time’s up.

 

Amy leapt at him, her swords slicing through the air. Niall swept aside in time, and the tiger’s teeth buried themselves in the lush duvets on the bed. Amy growled, and sliced at the rebel’s face. He moved back just in time, thinking quickly. He needed something to block her blade, or she’d cut him to ribbons.

That’s it! he thought as the inspiration finally hit him.

Amy sliced once more with her left, Niall ducked out of the way, and then the right hand descended, hoping to meet its mark. Niall caught Amy’s right hand and wrenched the blade free of her grasp. He then slashed at her wildly. Amy parried and dodged. Niall swung the sword at Amy’s face. Amy brought up her sword and blocked the blow, sending it wide. Amy lifted the sword and arched it down on Niall’s head. He leapt aside as the sword buried itself into the piano, splintering the wood. Amy pulled at the sword, but it would not budge.

 

She grunted in mild disappointment, then spun round to find Niall on is feet once more. He held the sword in his right hand, the blade’s edge resting on his left palm. He wore a smirk on his bruised face.

‘Not going as you planned, eh, Sniper?’ he chuckled.

‘This is far from over, Mr. Horan,’ said Amy.

She lunged at the smirking man. His head bounced on the impact with the floor, making his world spin once more. But he smiled still. He had heard a tearing – of both clothing and flesh. And it wasn’t his own. Amy yanked the blade out of Niall’s hands, gasping as the blade cut against the tender skin of her torso. She threw it into a corner of the room, the point burying itself in the wall. Clenching her fists, she spat in Niall’s face.

 

‘You’re going to kill me without a weapon?’ said Niall, with a sheepish grin, ‘You should know that your time is running a little short for that.’ He pointed at the mark the blade had made.

Amy looked at it briefly. The blood was coursing restlessly out of the long horizontal wound just below her diaphragm, dyeing the lower half of her dress a deep and oddly sexy shade of red.

‘We shall see, Mr. Horan,’ she wrapped her long fingers around his pencil-like neck, ‘How long can you hold your breath?’ she said, with a smile of her own.

Niall went pale. He struggled and clawed at Amy’s hands, but to no avail. She may have been losing blood, but her will was as solid as stone. Niall’s eyes rolled up in his head, the images of the present fading, and a flash of his wasted life appearing and then disappearing in the same moment.

 

Amy let go of the pimp’s neck, and realized that the senses in her fingers were leaving. Struggling, she stood up and hobbled over to the netted window, and opened it a little. She breathed in the fresh air and listened to the chirping of the birds that were still playing and bathing by the fountain. The job was done. Her life’s primary goal had been completed. She slid down to the floor, and sat there breathing in the last few fresh breaths.

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