That Attitude Amuses Me

[Youko]

That Attitude Amuses Me
The Man and The Killer

Prologue – Lies and Truth
-After Ten Years-

Luminescent sapphire orbs stared out at the sky as it slowly darkened. The light breeze gently carried dry leaves though the nearly abandoned park in the distance, the sound of the chained swings clanging against the metal bars that held them. The busy city was no duller than it had been during the day. People rushed around to get to work or to finish errands, and there were groups of people gathered in front of shops laughing or yelling. The bright lights shined brilliantly, illuminating the streets for those wandering about. All in all, it was a fairly normal place to live. He hated it.

With a soft sigh, the young man, dressed in a rather plain-looking business suit, began his long trek home from work. A few chocolate colored stands of hair fell into his line of vision, causing him to rake his finger though his hair in an annoyed attempt to put them back into place. The day went fairly well, despite the fact that he was behind on paperwork and his boss laid into him quite a bit. Okay, so it didn't go too well, but at least he wasn't fired or anything like that...yet. If he screwed up one more time, however, he would most definitely be out of a job. Then where would he be? Probably on the streets with the damn rats.

As he made his way down the street, he loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his dress shirt in an attempt to get more comfortable. The piece of cloth seemed to constrict his breathing suddenly, though he supposed that was normal. Sapphire eyes lazily watched the familiar area around him as he listened to the soft clicking of his dress shoes on the sidewalk, attempting to ignore the other sounds around him.

"I really need to invest in a car," he muttered to himself in an annoyed alto, obviously tired of being around people after work. All he wanted was to get home and sleep. Was that too much to ask?

It was the same routine every day, and he was getting a bit tired of it. With another sigh he unbuttoned his suit jacket, it was beginning to feel a bit hot. Upon finding that he was running a bit late, he turned down a dark ally intent on finding a short cut home. Somehow he had conveniently forgotten that he has no sense of direction.

That could only mean trouble for the young man.

[Azrael]

As the sun slowly sank into it's grave in the distance, brilliant dark eyes stared in an almost entranced state as the golden orb disappeared beyond the horizon. Another man in another part of that selfsame city sighed as his train of thought took a rather disturbing, if not altogether expected turn. This city bored him to tears; the people irked him, and the hustle and bustle of it all made him absolutely nauseous. The worst part of all this, however, was that there was seemingly no one who could match him in a battle of wits. Yes, he was very tired of this place. In fact...he might go as far as to say that he felt like this city was slowly driving him mad.

He took a moment to examine his hand which was sheathed in a white cotton glove dappled with red, before shoving it into the pocket of a heavy-looking, very traditionally cut overcoat. Withdrawing a nearly empty pack of unfiltered Lucky Strike cigarettes, he let out a rather exasperated sigh as he hung his head, his hair matted to his brow with his sweat. Staring at the rather forlorn looking package held in his grip, he sneered as his face revealed the utter rage and disgust that he felt he could no longer contain. Grasping it just enough in his right hand, he tapped the bottom of the package against his left palm causing a single cigarette to pop out of the opening in the flimsy paper packaging. Taking it in his full, slightly red lips he growled low in his throat as he stuffed the cigarettes rather agitatedly back into his pocket.

"I fucking hate these things..." were the sole words that left his throat. "They taste absolutely horrible..." His voice was a little hoarse, as if he had not spoken in an extremely long time. The tonality of his voice was a deep, rich baritone that was a little reminiscent of a cello being bowed by an expert instrumentalist, and he had a slight accent as if he had once lived in another part of the world, but had come here in recent years. It did not sound like he was making an effort to hide his accent, but rather that his accent was being slowly taken over by the current tongue in which he spoke. With another annoyed sigh he produced a wooden match from the same pocket the cigarettes went into, struck it against a nearby red brick wall, and lit his cigarette.

Taking a long drag, he tilted his head up and exhaled a column of smoke into the air, giving a wry little chuckle as he glanced all around him. Surrounding this mysterious man were several beaten and broken bodies, most of which were dead, with a scant few left on the verge of death. With deft, precise movements he made damned sure that there would be no survivors that might go around spreading annoying rumors. The man grinned once as he extracted a long, twelve-inch blade that was currently sticking straight up out of the crotch of one of the corpses in a morbid mockery of an erection. Slipping the blade comfortably into a sheath that the man wore at his side, he strode away, kicking one of the several beaten, bloody corpses of the would-be attackers that dared to try and target him.

For him, the night was only just beginning.

[Youko]

The young man soon found that going into the alley was a very bad idea. He should have known better considering his sense of direction, or lack thereof. Of course, now he wondered if he should have just gone the normal route. Would he already be home by now? Probably. His bed seemed to call to him from far away. Damn, he shouldn’t have tried to find a short cut. His sapphire gaze shifted almost wildly as he searched for a way out of this maze of faded and beaten brick walls, though he had no such luck. He didn't dare call out for help, well aware of the fact that he would probably end up getting mugged, which he of course, didn't want to happen.

It wasn’t that he was scared, oh no. It was mostly because he had just gotten his paycheck and needed it to pay his half of rent. He knew he wouldn’t last against any of the thugs in this city, not for the lack of trying. He just didn’t have the money or time to spare for any kind of lessons. Perhaps he was also lacking the interest as well.

After about an hour of wandering, he leaned against the dirty wall, no longer caring if his clothes got dirty. He could always wash them if it was bad. Leaning his head against the wall, he dropped the deep brown briefcase onto the ground, the soft thud echoing softly against the brick. After a few moments his eyes began to drift shut of their own volition. He felt that if he stood there for too long, he wouldn’t be able to remain conscious, and that definitely wasn’t a good thing. When he finally felt rested enough, which wasn’t much, he pushed himself from the wall with his right elbow before bending down to pick up the briefcase. With the hope that he would find his way out of this alley still shining lightly in his eyes, he continued on his way.

Finally, though, he just gave up. Wandering around aimlessly in a maze of brick walls at night really wasn't what he wanted to do at this point. It was just too dark and he didn't even know if he could get out anymore. A soft sigh escaped his pale lips as he slowly slid down the wall and onto the ground, the brief case thudding lightly beside him.

"It’s just not my night, is it…” he muttered tiredly to no one at all.

[Azrael]

Stopping for a moment to flick the slowly dying butt of his cigarette to the ground and grind it into dust with his heel, the man with the knife tossed his matted and tangled raven-black hair. He groaned slightly as he attempted to brush out some of the tangles in his hair by running his long, thin fingers through it as a fiendish half-smile stole across his face.

"Those idiots actually thought they could take me on... SSST!" Hissing sharply at a sudden jolt of pain at his side, the man's face twisted into a scowl. "Dammit all... Looks like they got a couple of blows in after all..." He looked down his side where he saw a steady flow of blood causing his overcoat to cling to his body rather uncomfortably. With a slightly displeased click of his tongue, he inspected what could have only been a stab wound with the care of a medic. Sighing slightly, he ripped the hem of his now blood-soaked white dress shirt and used it as an impromptu bandage...but not before sighing almost ecstatically as he dragged his bloodied hand across his face, licking the coppery tasting sanguine off his fingers. In the darkness of the city illuminated with the false gleam of street lamps, he looked much like a demonic warlord, the bloody streaks across his face looking much like war paint in the sickening glow of the lamp he stood underneath. Finally, he bandaged his wound and staggered off, the loss of blood making him a bit light-headed.

He walked through the city's twisted, turning network of side streets and passages until his body could take no more, and he collapsed in a heap somewhere deep in an alley where he was sure he would be left in peace. No one, he thought, would bother to come here. The once-white strip of fabric he used for a bandage now stained crimson and dripping with his own blood felt strangely delicious against his open wound. As he heaved and panted in an effort to catch his breath, he reached deep into his coat and withdrew his rather ornate dagger, the self-same one that was not so long ago buried deep in a dead man's groin. Its blade was stained with dried, old blood, and the handle seemed as if it had seen it's fair share of use. There were numerous nicks on the blade as if it had been used on stone, or perhaps something else. Pulling up his sleeve, he smirked to himself as the light shone on his now bared arm, illuminating disgusting, scabbed-over wounds that looked disturbingly like tally marks. Using every facility he could muster up within himself, he recalled his earlier would-be assaulters and carved one...two...three...eight new marks on his arm as his deep voice reverberated throughout the dead city. With each cut, his usually cold face's expression changed to that of utter bliss and almost orgiastic ecstasy as his tongue lulled out of his mouth every time a cry issued out of his throat. When he was done updating his "score," He struggled to his feet and started for home...

...when he heard the breathing of another living person.

‘Hmmm... This night might not be a total waste, after all...’ Was all that he thought to himself when he slowly peeked around the corner of the alleyway, laying his cruel, cold gaze on a rather bedraggled looking businessman...

'Looky looky... Another tally for the score...'

[Youko]

Slowly the young man’s eyes drifted shut once again as the sounds of night lulled him into a light sleep, the distant sound of cars and people drifting away as his mind fogged lightly. He never would have thought that he would be sleeping on the street that night, not that he wanted to, but that's what he got for going into the alley in the first place. He would just have to find his way back when the sun came back up. After a few moments the young man's breathing slowed as he dozed lightly, slumped more against the wall.

This, however, didn't last for very long. A strange pained, yet almost ecstatic, echoing cry reached his ears. His sapphire eyes snapped open and widened in shock and slight alarm. Despite the slightly distressed sound of the cries, he wasn’t afraid in the least. Though he wasn’t too keen of getting involved. He soon took a deep breath to ready himself before he searched the area with a slightly blurry gaze. He hoped that whatever was going on, wasn't anywhere close to where he was. Obviously he wasn’t keen on getting jumped that evening. At first, it seemed as if nothing at all was wrong, but he soon the hair on the back of his neck prickled. Someone was watching him.

With a light shudder, he got to his feet, his eyes continuing to wander and search. Pale fingers began to clench and unclench uneasily as he abandoned his briefcase to go to investigate. There was nothing all that important inside anyway.

He hated the feeling of being watched.

"Is anyone there?” He asked in a slightly strained voice. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea, maybe he was just going to make things worse for himself. “Can you help me? I...kinda got lost..." he asked, laughing nervously near the end. His body was ridged as he waited for a reply, the nervousness obvious in his slightly pinched expression.

He really hoped that it wasn’t whoever invoked the screaming he heard earlier. ‘Cause really. Who wanted to get beaten up in some alley never to be found again? Not him.

[Azrael]

As he heard the businessman speak, he laughed to himself silently. He just couldn't help it. This was going to be far too easy, and far too much fun...

Groaning, the beaten and blood-soaked man slumped against the disgusting, wet, mold-covered wall again and clutched at his still-bleeding side, finally allowing himself to show exactly how much unbearable, excruciating pain he was in. Hissing and groaning in pain, he clutched his side and doubled over in agony, hoping that his pained outcries would draw his quarry out of hiding. His raven hair was matted against his forehead with sweat and his palms were bloody. His clothes were stained beyond all hope of being salvaged and his body was a wreck. He did have a moment of slight amusement, however, when he came to the realization that most of the blood on his person was, in fact, not his own. He threw a cautious glance toward the section of the alley where the other, younger looking man was standing to see if he had come out of hiding, and then he resumed his pained groans.

"Agh... Fuck... Is anyone there...? Help me..." was all he allowed himself to say for fear of sounding too fake, too rehearsed. Looking up, he noticed a rather large moth flying around the lamp that was shining its hideously bright, artificial light all about him. With a little inward smirk he could not help but remark how the moth desperately flailed and battered itself against the glass casing of the lamp. 'Certain things are always tempted by the dangerous and beautiful, I suppose...' he mused inwardly as he continued to act like he was in as much pain as he seemed, waiting patiently for his prey to emerge...waiting patiently to strike...

'However...if a moth gets too close to the light source he so lusts after,' the man continued to think, 'that moth...is always consumed...'

He could not help but wonder what the moth felt in that instant of being engulfed by flame... Despair...? Anguish...?

...pure exhilaration...?