Demons of the Mind
folder
1 through F › Criminal Minds
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
5
Views:
3,954
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
1 through F › Criminal Minds
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
5
Views:
3,954
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Criminal Minds, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
04 Old Whatsername
Chapter Four: Old Whatsername
oo8oo8oo8oo
She's a rebel
She's a saint
She's salt of the earth
And she's dangerous
She's a rebel
Vigilante
Missing link on the brink
Of destruction
oo8oo8oo8oo
Dragon had to wonder three things as he watched Razielle pull into the parking lot of his office. His first thought was to wonder how anyone filled out a pair of jeans like that, preternatural rebel-diva witch from Hell’s seventh circle or not. The second thought was more of a silent demand on her unknowing attention: what had taken her so long to get here? And the final thought that popped into his brain was to wonder why his favorite assassin had her best gun in plain sight and in her hand. The thought flashed through his eyes and disappeared as soon as Razielle, patron lady saint of murderers and whores, stepped through the door, looking ready to kill.
He suddenly felt like a slug. Not insignificant- the Dragon would never be that- nor even afraid, really, of the storming she-cat coming, it seemed, to rake her claws across his balls. Oh, no, the Dragon was never afraid. The only thing he really felt, besides that same rushing desire he always felt when confronted by the luscious Lady of the Kiss, was the almost fear a slug might feel when confronted by salt. As if his most tender parts were in danger of being burned alive by the salt of the earth, the salt of the woman’s sweat as she ruthlessly attacked him. She’d probably go for his guts, if she attacked him at all. What a delicious little thing she was. So inventive.
He wondered, not for the first time, how it would feel to break her beneath him. It would never come to pass- Shekinah’s rage would extend far, jagged glass talons that ripped any who harmed her spawn into bloody scraps of flesh- but it was sweetly intoxicating to imagine her begging him for anything and everything, especially when she was nagging at him to the point where he almost shook with the need to throttle her. Not to death, that was practically impossible, and would take far too long that way. But feeling her flesh bruise beneath his grip, feeling her larynx crush beneath the pressure of his thumbs. Sometimes, sweet as she could be, she really infuriated him, the little demonic darling.
When she kicked the door open, the glass in the door shattered, hitting the floor with the tinkling of beautiful chimes, like the striking of tiny silver bells. Dragon winced, recalling how much it cost to bring the girl to the office. Why did she dislike doors so badly? Her foot and the door to his office were like Batman and the Joker: one ended up being decimated. Usually, the door. Once, he’d tricked her, and she’d broken 3 toes. It had been the highlight of his week.
As per usual, the rookie security guard- he always kept one around, they were good for a laugh whenever they tried this- tried to rush her. She pistol whipped him in the face without even glancing at the man. He fell to the ground, blood gushing from his nose. She quickly stepped over him as if this were an every day occurrence, and slammed a spiked heel down on Dragon’s desk. She propped her elbow on her knee, her chin on her fist, and glared. Dragon wondered just how much it could hurt to feel a piece of green glass shoved into the middle of his back, right between his kidneys.
“I wondered when you’d get here, darling.” He tugged affectionately on the hem of her blue jeans.
“Don’t call me darling.”
“You look famished,” he replied, as if her disgust were not evident. He popped open the top button of his collar. “Care for a bite to eat?”
“In your dreams, lizard boy.” But he noticed she was having a very, very hard time keeping her eyes off of the vein pulsing in the side of his neck. “I’m here for the job. Twenty thousand now, twenty thousand after. You owe me before I’ll start this job. Give it here.” She held out a hand, palm open. Dragon grinned his lizard grin and handed her nineteen of the twenty thousand-dollar bills. When she realized that, she held out her hand. Dragon reached out as if to take it, perhaps turn it over and plant a kiss on it… but instead, he slashed her palm with one dagger-like nail, grabbed her wrist, and brought her hand up to his face.
“Found him, did you?” He chuckled, and then seemed as if he caught sight of the blood welling up from the slash in her palm. “Well, well,” he hissed, grinning, and she tried to jerk away. “Fresh blood….” His tongue stretched out, intent on catching a tiny taste of the scarlet on her skin, intent on proving to all in this office- and by word of mouth, all who worked for him- that this little witchy symbol of resistance could not stand up to him. He was a hair’s breath away from catching the crimson life on his tongue when she suddenly brought her .9 mil up to press the barrel against his temple. Suddenly, a line from a song sprang into his mind as he felt her sheer will close around the heart in his chest: she's holding on my heart like a hand grenade...
“Don’t you remember anything? I’m Miss Fortune, the one they call Old What’s-Her-Name. Whatsername. From Chicago to Toronto, from Madrid to Paris, from Rome to Budapest, I was the one they all feared, because they all broke their word. The Lord of the Arch and his bastards, the sons of the fallen stars, the royal family from the Storm Mountains… I made sure they paid for their forswearing of the oaths they made me. They feared Old Whatsername. My mother used to be that, remember? The one everyone’s so afraid of, they won’t even say our real name. You don’t even know my real name. And I have told you, and told you often, that I do not share my legacy with anyone. That was an oath, and I keep my word. I value such honor and truthfulness.
“So, Dragon the Dickhead, you take so much as a taste, and I pull this trigger. Now, if you want Spencer Reid dead, you’ll let me go, I’ll get my last thousand bucks, and I’ll leave and go kill the little sucker." The hellish green fire in her eyes dimmed a little when she said it, though. "You want him dead?”
“Yeah,” he snarled, though his tongue strained to reach the warm liquid spilling from the cut on her palm. “Yeah, I want it.”
“Then let me go, Dragon.”
Growling, he did what she said. He half expected her to belt him with the gun, but she didn't. Good thing for her, and really, for him, too. He didn't feel like explaining to Shekinah why her daughter was hanging upside down on his wall, nailed to an iron cross full of spikes.
“Give me my money.”
He handed the last bill over.
“Bye, Dragon.” She turned on her heel and left, stepping lightly over the prone body of the guard. She called over her shoulder, “Do something about the poor moron, Dragon. I think I broke his nose.”
oo8oo8oo8oo
In the words of JunoMagic:
Please feel free to leave a comment!
Anything at all: If you noticed a typo, if you don't like a characterization or description, if you thought a line especially funny or poignant or interesting, if there was anything you particularly enjoyed … I am really interested in what my readers think about my writing.
You can leave a public comment (signed or anonymous), though if you want me to respond to it, signed is best, OR send me a private message, though I do prefer comments and reviews.
Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed this chapter.
Disclaimer/Author's Note: don't own anything you recognize.
oo8oo8oo8oo
She's a rebel
She's a saint
She's salt of the earth
And she's dangerous
She's a rebel
Vigilante
Missing link on the brink
Of destruction
oo8oo8oo8oo
Dragon had to wonder three things as he watched Razielle pull into the parking lot of his office. His first thought was to wonder how anyone filled out a pair of jeans like that, preternatural rebel-diva witch from Hell’s seventh circle or not. The second thought was more of a silent demand on her unknowing attention: what had taken her so long to get here? And the final thought that popped into his brain was to wonder why his favorite assassin had her best gun in plain sight and in her hand. The thought flashed through his eyes and disappeared as soon as Razielle, patron lady saint of murderers and whores, stepped through the door, looking ready to kill.
He suddenly felt like a slug. Not insignificant- the Dragon would never be that- nor even afraid, really, of the storming she-cat coming, it seemed, to rake her claws across his balls. Oh, no, the Dragon was never afraid. The only thing he really felt, besides that same rushing desire he always felt when confronted by the luscious Lady of the Kiss, was the almost fear a slug might feel when confronted by salt. As if his most tender parts were in danger of being burned alive by the salt of the earth, the salt of the woman’s sweat as she ruthlessly attacked him. She’d probably go for his guts, if she attacked him at all. What a delicious little thing she was. So inventive.
He wondered, not for the first time, how it would feel to break her beneath him. It would never come to pass- Shekinah’s rage would extend far, jagged glass talons that ripped any who harmed her spawn into bloody scraps of flesh- but it was sweetly intoxicating to imagine her begging him for anything and everything, especially when she was nagging at him to the point where he almost shook with the need to throttle her. Not to death, that was practically impossible, and would take far too long that way. But feeling her flesh bruise beneath his grip, feeling her larynx crush beneath the pressure of his thumbs. Sometimes, sweet as she could be, she really infuriated him, the little demonic darling.
When she kicked the door open, the glass in the door shattered, hitting the floor with the tinkling of beautiful chimes, like the striking of tiny silver bells. Dragon winced, recalling how much it cost to bring the girl to the office. Why did she dislike doors so badly? Her foot and the door to his office were like Batman and the Joker: one ended up being decimated. Usually, the door. Once, he’d tricked her, and she’d broken 3 toes. It had been the highlight of his week.
As per usual, the rookie security guard- he always kept one around, they were good for a laugh whenever they tried this- tried to rush her. She pistol whipped him in the face without even glancing at the man. He fell to the ground, blood gushing from his nose. She quickly stepped over him as if this were an every day occurrence, and slammed a spiked heel down on Dragon’s desk. She propped her elbow on her knee, her chin on her fist, and glared. Dragon wondered just how much it could hurt to feel a piece of green glass shoved into the middle of his back, right between his kidneys.
“I wondered when you’d get here, darling.” He tugged affectionately on the hem of her blue jeans.
“Don’t call me darling.”
“You look famished,” he replied, as if her disgust were not evident. He popped open the top button of his collar. “Care for a bite to eat?”
“In your dreams, lizard boy.” But he noticed she was having a very, very hard time keeping her eyes off of the vein pulsing in the side of his neck. “I’m here for the job. Twenty thousand now, twenty thousand after. You owe me before I’ll start this job. Give it here.” She held out a hand, palm open. Dragon grinned his lizard grin and handed her nineteen of the twenty thousand-dollar bills. When she realized that, she held out her hand. Dragon reached out as if to take it, perhaps turn it over and plant a kiss on it… but instead, he slashed her palm with one dagger-like nail, grabbed her wrist, and brought her hand up to his face.
“Found him, did you?” He chuckled, and then seemed as if he caught sight of the blood welling up from the slash in her palm. “Well, well,” he hissed, grinning, and she tried to jerk away. “Fresh blood….” His tongue stretched out, intent on catching a tiny taste of the scarlet on her skin, intent on proving to all in this office- and by word of mouth, all who worked for him- that this little witchy symbol of resistance could not stand up to him. He was a hair’s breath away from catching the crimson life on his tongue when she suddenly brought her .9 mil up to press the barrel against his temple. Suddenly, a line from a song sprang into his mind as he felt her sheer will close around the heart in his chest: she's holding on my heart like a hand grenade...
“Don’t you remember anything? I’m Miss Fortune, the one they call Old What’s-Her-Name. Whatsername. From Chicago to Toronto, from Madrid to Paris, from Rome to Budapest, I was the one they all feared, because they all broke their word. The Lord of the Arch and his bastards, the sons of the fallen stars, the royal family from the Storm Mountains… I made sure they paid for their forswearing of the oaths they made me. They feared Old Whatsername. My mother used to be that, remember? The one everyone’s so afraid of, they won’t even say our real name. You don’t even know my real name. And I have told you, and told you often, that I do not share my legacy with anyone. That was an oath, and I keep my word. I value such honor and truthfulness.
“So, Dragon the Dickhead, you take so much as a taste, and I pull this trigger. Now, if you want Spencer Reid dead, you’ll let me go, I’ll get my last thousand bucks, and I’ll leave and go kill the little sucker." The hellish green fire in her eyes dimmed a little when she said it, though. "You want him dead?”
“Yeah,” he snarled, though his tongue strained to reach the warm liquid spilling from the cut on her palm. “Yeah, I want it.”
“Then let me go, Dragon.”
Growling, he did what she said. He half expected her to belt him with the gun, but she didn't. Good thing for her, and really, for him, too. He didn't feel like explaining to Shekinah why her daughter was hanging upside down on his wall, nailed to an iron cross full of spikes.
“Give me my money.”
He handed the last bill over.
“Bye, Dragon.” She turned on her heel and left, stepping lightly over the prone body of the guard. She called over her shoulder, “Do something about the poor moron, Dragon. I think I broke his nose.”
oo8oo8oo8oo
In the words of JunoMagic:
Please feel free to leave a comment!
Anything at all: If you noticed a typo, if you don't like a characterization or description, if you thought a line especially funny or poignant or interesting, if there was anything you particularly enjoyed … I am really interested in what my readers think about my writing.
You can leave a public comment (signed or anonymous), though if you want me to respond to it, signed is best, OR send me a private message, though I do prefer comments and reviews.
Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed this chapter.
Disclaimer/Author's Note: don't own anything you recognize.