The Artist at Work:

The Ravens · NPC Ravens

The Artist at Work:

The Ravens · NPC Ravens

Elsa's death had been just a spur of the moment whim. Watching her sitting on the beach with that god awful hair do looking like something out of a teletubbies nightmare! It had been just to easy, to good to pass up. One of his own so alone and longing for death. Thinking over the whole event while brushes moved in hasty sweeps across canvas. Her death would be the shrine to her life. Capturing the torment and suffering of the burning end immortally in the imagery pulled from his very own mind. In brilliant colors the rendition came to life. The flames licking at the midnight sky, heat distorting the faces that watched in horse as the lifeless body lay there, Burning, skin blackening in patches, Her hair melting away, cloths baking in to her once soft skin.

The small pink haired wolf has been fun, but so little of a challenge. The real thrill had come from all the madness it caused! The fear that permitted the air smelled so delicious! The tigers that had watched, one he wanted. The art gallery opening would be in only a few short weeks! He needed more then just paintings to fill the halls! Living sculptors! He wanted flesh to mold, that would breath.

Passing back and forth in front of this most resent work of art did little for his temper. It was missing something! Every moment of that night held significance to the artistic eye but in the painting, no mater how long he starred at it there was a gap, an empty space that he could not fill! So much so he could not find the name to place upon it as a caption! Hours passed laying back in the tattered leather chair, sinking in to the cushions resting his head resting against the flat squared off backing.

Lunar light filled the night sky, shining in though the curtains setting the mood for reminiscing over the events. A light bulb went off in his head! Launching himself forward, brush and pallet lifted in to hand. His own image in the mirror would be reflected out to his eyes! The empty space was missing the face of the master artisans who created such chaos! And the painting would be called "The Artist!"

The Ravens · NPC Ravens

She had been a vision of angelic perfection. Pure luck had their paths cross on a busy week day afternoon on a crowded street. Every step she took flowed with that unmistakable inhuman grace of a cat. The duel beasts running under her skin was the true reason for following Sade in to the church. He allowed her time to get herself settled. Peeking though windows, walking in to the foray only to wait for the right opportunity. Two would fall here. The first was the priest, Second would be sweet Sade, the Panwear weeping over her death family. Soon she would Join them. It took little to snuff the life out of her. Pleasure derived from her misery. The taste of death so sweet, the flesh tenderized and seasoned with fear! But there was more meaning behind each death. Art, he needed the inspiration for that of his passion! Before the last breath would leave her lips, there was one thing that needed to be collected. Blood, seeping from the ripped flesh in to the plastic flask. She would be the model for his next master piece.

Her swinging fist were made blindly! One eye plucked from its socket, crushed till nothing but optical jelly, tears and a flimsy sack remained of it. Its lovely twin followed in those same foot steps! Ripped away from feral claws wielded with the precision of a craftsman's blade! Off the wall, back pedaling steps dew him and his weeping angel along the line of pus knocking over the wooden benches to shorten the distance of his march! The howls and snarls of the wolf bellowed at the near full moons rising! Standing triumphantly over his kill, her beasts bloody and brushed on that Astral plain laying limp at his feet. Warding off her slapping little hands, she was slammed down upon her knees, left limp upon the floor. The church seemed so cold, ever heat beat bellowed in the emptiness of its hollowed halls. The illusion of serenity dropping her light upon the world. Dagger cleared the sheath, its metallic melody offering the promise of the end of agony. Down on bended knee he came to hold her against his chest. Whispering lips sheltered
words of mock compassion and affection. Soft as roses they felt warm to the arched ridge of the ear. -

To long in the darkness my dear. It is all right now, will release you, and send you in to the light you so long to bask in... you will soon find that lying in darkness was a much sweeter heaven. For the light will reveal all the lies. -Sheep to the church, Shall die by the devils wolves. God left his flock untended, for there was no god!- You will be my weeping mother!

-Tenderness became nightmare! Her finale moments spent in terror. Body manipulated against the base of that Divine image! The son of god, nailed upon the cross casting his head down to look upon his flock. Her hands gathered, Laid upon the foot of his almighty Lord. Silver blade pierced the flesh though the conjoined wrists severing artery and bone! There she would kneel, At the feet of the idol of a false god! His message to the world, his art work would be the truth that "HE" does not care! The black robe was tossed away. it got in the way of his movements. Flask fished from the back pocket. She spilled her last breaths with the waterfall of red, Gathering every drop with in the plastic vessel to be mixed with the paint soon to capture this image from memory coming to life upon Canvases. When he had what he needed, and his feet had been regained. Those solid black pools examined the vision before him. Flask tucked away he went in search of items he would need. Blue cloth ripped from a choir robe. the offering plate for the small Sunday Mass held each week. Over her head he lay the blue cloth, Her hair left in a fall against her checks sticking to the bloody tears gouged out eyes let fall. The offering plate came to rest at her knees, to hold her life with in it! Never go any where with out the skinning knife. Its every killers little buddy! From navel to neck was opened, each sawing motion of the hand filled the air with that sick ripping of muscle, the slurping of red syrup and mushy innards spilling in a warm steaming mass upon the floor. -

I will call it... Repentance!

- His job was done here, the vision on his head was of perfection. From the lighting upon her cheeks to the splatter of blood upon the stone alter. It would be his greatest work yet! The scene of the crime would be discovered soon enough. Slipping out of the church with out raising any suspension. It was a race to get back to the house that had been rented under an assumed name. To his Land Lord he was Aric Dalton, Just some mild mannered. kid with no past, paying in cash every month. Quiet and spent all his time working his art. Always dying his hair or changing his style. The blind old man could not really see him any way!

Back with in that large room filled with blank un faced frames. Each one waiting for the Canvas to be stretched across them offering up a pallet to hold his next master Piece. Every care was taken in selecting the right size to fully detail his angels beauty! Care taken in tacking the stick blank white fabric against its wooden carriage. This mural would be no small wall hanging.! He chose life sized dimensions! Twelve feet high, ten feet wide! This would be a center piece at the gallery opening!

Paint, the magic was in the paint mixed to bring his visions to life with every brush stroke... Blood, every drop of paint that would touch the canvas would be mixed with her blood...

to be cont....

Kota · Death's Handmaiden

The vampire bitch was dead. With her death came a sense of freedom at a very high cost. Everything she had been forced to see had numbed her emotions. The danger had lessened but was not completely gone. The call came in just around dinner time. Everyone who was still at the pack house were sitting around the table. Kota had opted not to join in on the family moment. Taking her dinner in her room had left the plate only picked at, more the food was just shoved around the plate.

Cell phone going off like crazy announced work. She was out of bed getting dressed when she answered it. The dispatcher was giving her that brief description and an address. Cell tucked in to her back pocket, Shoulder rig pulled on over the short sleeved T-shirt and her wind-breaker. That tacky one that aid Police on the back of it just for crime scenes. She walked past everyone in the house heading for the front door. Memphis was at work, Ash was not seen at the table. Was Mamma asking her where the hell she was going and why she was not eating dinner. Kota never turned to look back at the woman.

"Going to work"

Door closed behind her with a loud click. She had made a number of realizations while she was bound to that blood sucker on a personal level. Her life needed some changes. Amazingly the drive in to town was uneventful even in her thoughts. Just the GPC giving her directions on where and when to turn. Snazzy little system she never got lost! Flashing lights, people crowding and milling around waiting for the chase to see what happened. These were the tail tail sings of a crime scene in a public place.

"WOOOP WOOOP!"

She laid on the siren to get peoples attention who were in the way, everyone scattering when the lights flickered allowing the four Ranger to pull up in to the church parking lot. Yellow tape, Police caution ribbons all written on in bond black letters. Crime Scene, Caution, Keep Out, Do not Cross, Police. Then it repeated in that series over and over again. Feet on the ground, mind drifting to hanging out down by the airport watching the plans take off with Ash, To sleeping in late beside Harry and not wanting to get out of bed till she had just one more kiss. Life just was not the same anymore. Some ways it was good, other ways was tearing so many people apart.

An Evidence Unit was parked in the grass, backed up close to the doors to mask the coroners van from being seen by the press. Just scanning the out side of the scene told her that it was something bad inside. Something she was not going to like seeing. A uniformed officer was coming over to her, she was never big on names unless she absolutely had to remember them. Badge hung around her neck on a silver dotted chain. Same ones they use for Dog tags, save a little larger and made of pure silver.

"Evening Detective Marcs... Got two bodies, Old Priest, care taker, and a young woman. You gunna want to start with the priest."

Her small hand clapped him on the shoulder, offering a silent thank you as they walked, and told him to stay here with out saying a word to embarrassed him. Some have been on this job 20+ years and they still can't stomach the bad ones. Advice taken none the less. There were Techs around the body that seemed to be near the alter at the front of the chapel. It hit her all at once. This was her crime scene. She was the highest ranked officer on location and everyone was waiting for her.

" Aloha Marcs"

"That's Detective Marcs Manno, So what do you got"

Their steps fell in stride. Manno was this slip of a man, short, only three inches taller then Kota. Slender build so much so he was built like a 16 year old boy. Disproportion. To wide in the shoulders and narrow in the waist. He stood out among everyone because he was who he was. In this place he stood out even more. The church was one of those old types. Small stone chapel that could seat no more then 50 to 75 on a Sunday serves. As churches went it was really small. But the stained glass windows brightened the darkness. It had to be amazing in the day time when the sun came up shinning in the east side portholes.

Short walk along the east wall lead back in to the small office room and private sleeping chamber for the care taker. The office lines on three walls with book shelves over loaded with Bibles, old texts, lose leather folders and some unknown so old the covers had been ripped away and all that held them together was the lose cat gut thread binding/ Rugs on the floor seen better days. Cheep imitations of Persian styled carpets, A linking of sheep's wool padding under them to give that same warmth and thickness. Flip the ends and $10 to a donut it said made in Taiwan on the under side. The recorder came on when she stepped in to the room, describing what she saw as she went along.

"Male Victim, appears to be between 70 - 78 years of age. known to be one" She flipped open the note pad to make sure she got the names right." Father Michael Obanne'n, Caretaker and priest. No visible signs of struggle. It looks like the vic's neck had been broken. He had been stripped out of his customary robes"

Flipping off the recorder to look at Manno from her couched position on the floor. Did not add up for the priest to be out of his robes during the day. She was not a Christian any more, never really did believed in god as she was growing up. But she had been raised an Irish Catholic and knew these old priests did not own much along the lines of mundane wear or street cloths.

" Where is his robes?"

"we found them in the chapel. Been bagged and tagged already and sent off to the lap to get blood samples off it. But they also going to go over it for fibers. Maybe we will get lucky., get a hair or some of his own blood."

"I want those results the moment they come in. Along with the coroners report as well."

The rest of this room had been easily covered. The priest had been killed swiftly. Nothing drawn out or painful. The old man more then likely did not feel a thing or see it coming. Its the best way to go sometimes. The girl on the other hand. Kota stood there looking at things and could not understand some of the demitted shit that they come up with. Was no where near the worst she had ever seen.

"Looks almost ritualistic in nature... Like he is trying to send a message"

"What every it is he is trying to say its fucked up"

The two officers conversation is what clued her in on what she was seeing. Was not ritualistic or ay thing to do with religion at all. He was an opportunist, he was not planing this at all. He improvised with what was around. Everything used in her display was something that he found here in the church. Was this connected to Elsa's death? Was this the same person just waiting for an opportunity to strike?