Written July 1st, 2017. Remember that sociopathic antagonist story I mentioned a while back? Here's a probable drabble for it. (Note: their names aren't final, not yet. I'm waiting to see if I should change it or keep it as they are.. Tell me what you think!) For greyhavensking and FayeeeM .

He's scowling.

His fists and his finely defined jawline are both clenched, withholding the ire I can clearly see bubbling and frothing just beneath the surface, begging to be let out in a vicious rush. He's glaring, those perfectly blue eyes hard and lanced through with conflict which I know She's put there.

"Look at 'im," Ran manages through her obnoxious laughter, which I'd somewhat tuned out until she spoke, "lookin' like some kicked pup, ain't he, Cain?" She guffaws even more, kicking her leather boot-clad feet back and forth, back and forth, that if she hadn't braced her hands on the rickety railing she'd been sitting on for some time, I might've thought she'd tip too far back and careen to her death. A pity that may have been. (Sarcasm intended.)

"I'm no pup, damn it!"

Ah. I blink, lazily inclining my head as small bursts of lightning crackle and spark, hitting a poor desk lamp some ways off. He's breathing hard, I observe, drumming the tips of my fingers on the metal bar behind me. I can feel the wind whipping the tails of my coat around, flapping against the thick material of my pants. It rushes through Ciaran's choppy hair as she giggles, playing with her knives like the usual. (Lighting it on fire and letting the flames lick along the blade again, most likely.)

Slowly, I let my trademark predatory grin resurface, teasing at the edges of my lips and sending the amusing 'hero' stiffening in his place. Good.

"Oh?" I drawl, dropping from my perch on the railing beside my obnoxious partner, who waves me off with a grin. I make a mental note to take her to the black markets later—she'll enjoy having another cadaver to mess with, I suppose. (It's always better if she doesn't interfere with my business.)

"Then what are you, love?"

How interesting, I muse as I spy an unfamiliar flush coloring the hero's cheeks. Was it the pet name, perhaps? I grin, letting the wind take me for its own and disappearing to mortal eyes.

Nothing was more fun than playing with one's prey before the end, after all.

"Show yourself!" He demands, whipping his head back and forth as I laugh to myself, materializing right behind the oblivious fool. With a stifled snicker, I bring my hands up, one caressing the edge of his jaw, the other running through his sunny locks, barely contained by the outrageously extravagant mask he wears.

He tenses immediately, and I lean forward, my lips brushing the shell of his ear as I murmur, "What are you, August, if you are not mine?"

And as the hero turns, I disappear once again—as he always wants me to.

end.

Rereading this, it kinda seems.. meh-ish. Eh.

In case it was confusing:

She—the Author
August—the 'protagonist' of the story, or the hero.
Cain—our dearly beloved sociopathic antagonist. I've somewhat decided on his power to be one which controls the air or something similar.
Ciaran—Cain's partner-in-crime, a psychopath who controls fire. (And enjoys killing people sold as slaves in the black market, then sewing random limbs from the corpses together to make cadavers and playing with them.)

(Also I kinda ship Cain and August for some reason...)

Welp, that's it! What did you think?