| | midnight.MURDER at Belvonte |  Sat Jun 21, 2008 4:36 pm by Admin |
Zariah jumped out of the black, Victorian carriage, her hair getting wet by the heavy, pouring rain and her combat boots getting dirty by the thick mud surrounding her feet. She shifted her green, cat-like eyes, looking at the filthy place she was in. The carriage she traveled in was long gone; the driver didn’t want to be there, neither did she, but she was there for a reason. The rain fell hard, each drop that fell on her head felt like it was trying to drill a hole into her skull. She looked at the full moon in the dark sky, and saw the dense clouds trying to conceal it. She sneered and began walking towards the pub that wasn’t far from where she stood. The bastard driver didn’t want to go as far as the first dirt road in the village, so she had to walk. She could have easily made him drop her off, but she decided to spare his life.
There were several people outside their homes looking at Zariah with fear in their eyes and on their faces. She loved it all; the thought of bringing fear to someone made her feel powerful. Some ran into their brick houses and huts, not coming out until she passed them by. Some, she looked in their eyes, invoking more fear into them until they started trembling and wept in the streets. Even the animals, the occasional porky pigs and feathery chickens, seemed frightened by her: the pigs squealed loudly and ran in the opposite direction while the chickens flapped their wings forcefully, feathers flying astray; it was such a misfortune that they weren’t given the gift of flight. Zariah smiled to herself and pushed open the heavy doors of the pub.
The pub was dark and foul, with only a few lights hanging from the ceiling, casting a dim glow every five feet. The place seemed like the perfect spot to get beat, murdered, or robbed and just as she expected, there were men everywhere. Most were drinking their rum and having needless conversation while others were flirting with the waiter girls. Zariah scanned the room, looking at the various, scuffed, and carved faces. They all seemed as if they were guilty of a crime, committing some kind of wickedness to their little village. She saw a man sitting in a corner, with a candle holder sitting on the table, and the light glowing softly and flickering with the wind. Without hesitating, she walked over towards him, her boots thudding on the floor with each urgent step that she took. Zariah snagged many eyes as she made her long walk across the pub. Those eyes were too drunk to notice who she was. The bartender, in his drunken stupor, made a grab for her arm, but with unsuccessful aim, his own arm fell helplessly to his side. She rolled her eyes and walked towards the man sitting in the corner with the brown, rugged coat.
She pulled up a chair, turned it around, and sat with her front facing the chair’s back. She folded her arms across her chest, and stared in the man’s eyes waiting for him to tell her exactly why she was there in the first place.
"Zariah Hunter, it’s nice to see you," he said, lifting his heavy beer glass to his lips and taking a sip. He wiped the foam from his mustache, using his sleeve, and brought the glass back down on the wooden, circular table.
"What do you want?" she questioned him, her voice cold like ice. She didn’t like the fact that she was called to come to this place. She turned her gaze to the other men and weren’t surprised to see half of them watching her. She rolled her eyes and turned back towards him.
"Tsk tsk tsk, why so mean today? What have I done to you?" he smirked. He tried to gain an advantage in their conversation and seem as if he was the person in charge. Zariah sensed that.
"So I see you know my name. That’s good...I suppose." She simply stated, staring into the man’s brown eyes with her green ones. He didn’t seem fazed by her at all. That brought curiosity her way.
"Everyone knows your name. You’re the best of the best. That’s why I called for you. I hope you don’t mind the scenery," he said, referring to the pub that they were in. She grinned and reached across the small table, grabbing his glass and taking a drink herself. She downed his drink in an instant, and wiped her mouth, just like he did.
"Victorian’s Amber Beer." She looked at the glass, identifying the contents that were once in it; her finger traced the rim of the glass as she rotated it in her hands. She took her eyes from it, and back towards the man. He smiled, showing her his toothy, twisted grin. She scrunched her face and set the glass down in front of her.
"So, what do you want? You still haven’t told me," she folded her arms across her chest again. His eyes lit up, as if forgetting, and he leaned in closer towards her, almost as if he didn’t want anyone to hear their conversation.
"I need you to do me a big favor." His musky breath hit her lips.
"...and that would be...?"
"I need you to rid me of a problem." He whispered. His eyes showed that he was serious.
"And what’s the problem?" she asked, talking in her normal tone, not whispering like she knew he wanted her to do.
"There’s this guy, actually. Name’s Christian Belvedore. Lives in Transylvania with his lovely wife Samantha in the Balvonte Castle atop Balvonte Hill. He owns the castle, along with Samantha, and their eight year old son, Tristan. I need you to...erase Christian from history." He didn’t sound the least sympathetic. She raised her eyebrows and moved back slightly.
"Why? Is he a threat?" She asked, wanting to pry information from him. There had to be more to Christian than he was telling her. Why would someone just want to kill a man without reason behind it?
"Don’t ask me any questions. I just want him dead."
"Not until you tell me why." She spoke and looked through his eyes. He was going to tell her; she knew that part already, but she didn’t know when.
"No wonder they said you’re so hard to get along with. But I need someone who can do the dirty deed for me, and I know you can." He tried to complement her, trying to make her forget about her question, but it didn’t work.
"Good try, but not good enough. Exactly why do you want him killed? Do you want to get with his precious wife? Have their mansion to yourself? Own his money and property?" she questioned him.
"I don’t want anything belonging to him. I just want him killed, plain and simple! Now, can you do that for me?" his voice got louder, as his anger raised up slightly. She smirked, loving the fact that she could change his whole demeanor with only a few words.
"Ok, I’ll kill him, but for the right price." She put her elbows on the table, with her fist underneath her chin, only a couple inches away from him.
"What do you have in mind?"He questioned. She smiled.
"Well, what do you have?" she questioned back.The man shook his coat pocket and Zariah heard the coins clinking against one another. There had to be nearly 400 zentos in his pocket, she estimated, judging by the tone the coins made.
She smirked and stood up.
"Give me a day and a time." She commanded him.
"Saturday, before midnight. Kill him, and don’t leave behind any evidence." She shook her head, taking in everything he said and memorizing it to herself while walking out the pub, returning back to the dark, stormy night.
"Saturday, before midnight. Kill him, and don’t leave behind any evidence..."
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