Hells Tales Side Story: Dramaturgy

Another Night, Another Mask Part 2

Disclaimer: This is a Fan-fiction. The only character I own is my own Oc the Writer. Damian belongs to Lucian Valkyrie/ FrostViper/ ScreechingCarnifex. Please enjoy.
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    It took everything in the Writer's power not to retch in the alley she had arrived in a moment ago, covering her mouth and nose with a handkerchief she had pulled from her coat pocket. The bodies of some of the unfortunate had been thrown about, some still in one piece surprisingly, others...well, she only hoped that their fates were swift and painless. Even worse, in between the puddles of red, spots of black ooze glistened in the dimming neon lights that illuminated the street before her and shattered pieces of white crunched under the heel of her boots. "Shit...looks like I'm going to be behind again." The Writer muttered as she made her way out of the alley. The street was far worse, the stench of decay causing her to stumble for a moment. It couldn't have been more than a day or so yet the corpses that decorated the road were already in different states of decomposition. She pressed on, stepping over an arm and a leg here and there, frowning as the bodies began to pile higher and higher.

    "Let's see," The Writer quipped with a snap of her fingers, a small black leather memo pad and quill hovering over her shoulder with a puff of smoke, "The origin of this..."massacre"...use it loosely please...has to be the center square. Whatever or whoever planned this would've wanted all eyes on them. How they pulled this off without anyone noticing is still a tad baffling. Unless it was a blitz attack; but even so, where did they get the army?" She paused, kneeling to collect one of the larger pieces by her feet. "Looks like it was a part of some sort of armor; porcelain? Plaster?" The Writer turned it over in between her fingers and stared at the other side. "There's some sort of insignia or a seal painted on the front. If I could find more that aren't damaged beyond repair, then perhaps I can put them together again." She pocketed the piece, rolling her shoulders as she continued towards her destination. "One thing is for certain though; the culprit isn't a human. Not that I'd imagine a human not being capable of causing such a mess, but the fact that there isn't an energy signature prevalent to that of an occupant of the earthly realm, living or deceased. The same applies to angelic. So it has to be another demon. Or something demonic in nature." She stopped and glanced back at the memo pad. "I certainly hope you got everything."

"Yeah, pretty much. Though I have one question-why?"

The Writer spun on her heel at the voice, staring at its owner as he flipped through the pages. "Why go though the trouble? We're all damned anyway." He closed the memo pad and pocketed it inside of his black blazer. "Excuse me?" She gaped, "Where did you-when did you-were you...following me?"

    "Answer my question first; maybe I'll answer yours." He smirked as he straightened his crimson red tie. Despite the circumstances it was always nice to see a new face in Hell. Though, from the small flares of power that kept emanating from her, he was certain she wasn't a newcomer stepping into her power. There was something more...archaic to it. Something vile, sinister. Something dredged from someplace far deeper than darkness itself could reach.

    The Writer stared at him, ruby red lips pulled into a frown before she stomped up to him. "I don't know who you think you are but that is mine! Also, if I knew what was going on myself I wouldn't be here!" She snapped as she got in his handsome face, unfortunately still coming a tad short on the tips of her toes. She really should've taken Greta's advice on heels. Or he could've lowered himself just a bit more so that she was just barely level with his goatee. He was tall, even without the horns protruding from his dark messy hair. "Well, that's a shame." The well dressed stranger frowned as he stepped away, causing her to stumble forward with a gasp, "All that talk and you don't know anything? Your notes say otherwise."

    If looks could kill, he would've been speared with several shards of ice. The Writer huffed as she fell back, the silver spines that made the heels of her boots clicking against the ground. She crossed her arms. "If you've already read through my notes, then you don't need me to reiterate any of my thoughts that have been written down." The Writer turned and started to walk away, "And I'm not obligated to tell you a single thing beyond that which you already know."

"I still don't know why." He appeared in front of her, causing her to jump back with a yelp. "Please don't do that!" The Writer shouted as she grabbed her chest. "I get enough scares from my lousy assistants!" He stepped towards her. She backed away into a nearby wall not covered in body parts. "Sorry not sorry. Now this is gonna be the last time I ask-" He growled, caging her in with both arms above her head.

"Why?"

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The Bandersnatch purred as it eyed the two below from its rooftop perch, a long pink forked tongue slipping out from underneath the mask adhered on its face. Such fortunate timing, it thought, its' crooked tail swaying back and forth. There was nothing but scraps scattered about and dinner was so far away. Surely, her majesty wouldn't mind if it indulged in a small snack...

Only to be speared by a braided tendril covered in bright vibrant flowers.