Simple Job
Characters: Lysandra and priest
Rating: PG-13 for death
Disclaimer: This is all original characters and story lines that have been copyrighted.
Time line: November 1934
Summary: Once a well respected agent of the A.B.I. now a force unto herself. See how far she's strayed.
“Forgive me Father for I have sinned,” the words fell from painted lips in the darkness of a run down confessional. The woman in question was currently sitting gracefully with her legs crossed and her hands clasped in her lap. The little black dress she wore hugged her figure nicely and even through the meshed window she could tell this man of God kept peeking at her chest.
A small smile curled those painted lips upward as she waited for the man in question to finish crossing himself before continuing. “It’s been a while since I was last talking to a Priest let alone in a confessional. I’m not sure where to start Father.”
“It’s always good to start at the beginning, child.”
“I fear that story would be to long to tell. You see my real story, the one that will leave you at the end of your little seat there started back almost a hundred years ago.” She paused as she focused on the perplexed expression coloring the man’s face. “You see a vile woman far older than I screwed me up and ripped out my humanity, not that I really had any to begin with. No human blood runs through my veins but those aren’t my sins. They are the sins of another. See my sins include desertion and murder among others. I’ve killed to keep order while deserting what was once my family.
“Wish I could say guilt lingered in my heart but sadly there is none. Only grief I hold is for one solitary child that has been dead many long years now. Thankfully the storm that rages in my mind because of my mixed heritage drowns out that grief quite often.”
“Child I- I’m not sure what you are talking about. Are these delusions or are you actually confessing to a murder?”
“No, they are facts and there murders were committed probably while you were a babe so confessing now will do no good. I am sure you wish them delusions since that would make me less a threat but these truths have been the life I’ve lived since 1847. That was the year of my transformation, which I’m guessing is all starting to ring a clear bell in that head of yours. You’ve been given a warning about me, I am sure.”
She heard the distinct sound of swallowed fear echo within the small confines. It wasn’t every day that she got this reaction. It always sort of slipped her mind that most human’s still hadn’t developed a way to detect a NightOther but she was sure now that the man was starting to figure it out considering the company he kept. Her own band had been on his trail for almost a year now since the Bureau had more pressing matters at hand. Probably rescuing a flock of orphans or some non-sense.
“Who are you?”
“Well that’s a useless question since you know the answer but I guess there is no harm in telling. I’m Lysandra but you probably know me as the Ringmaster. It’s nice to meet you, Father Mitchell was it?”
“Did he send you?”
“That foolish Werewolf you’ve been helping? He would never be able to possibly hold my reigns.” Slowly she picked up the small purse that was currently in style and unclasped the handle while swallowing down the slight anger that rose. She was no ones pet, not again. “No, I am only here to clean up.”
Before he could utter a reply the woman pulled a small pistol from her back and shot the man between the eyes. The gunshot echoed loudly but she was sure that if anyone responded she’d be long gone. After all she did have that Were to deal with as well.
She stood easily and placed the pistol back in her purse. “Hopefully this will be a warning to all. Your God and NightOthers don’t mix.”
Rating: PG-13 for death
Disclaimer: This is all original characters and story lines that have been copyrighted.
Time line: November 1934
Summary: Once a well respected agent of the A.B.I. now a force unto herself. See how far she's strayed.
“Forgive me Father for I have sinned,” the words fell from painted lips in the darkness of a run down confessional. The woman in question was currently sitting gracefully with her legs crossed and her hands clasped in her lap. The little black dress she wore hugged her figure nicely and even through the meshed window she could tell this man of God kept peeking at her chest.
A small smile curled those painted lips upward as she waited for the man in question to finish crossing himself before continuing. “It’s been a while since I was last talking to a Priest let alone in a confessional. I’m not sure where to start Father.”
“It’s always good to start at the beginning, child.”
“I fear that story would be to long to tell. You see my real story, the one that will leave you at the end of your little seat there started back almost a hundred years ago.” She paused as she focused on the perplexed expression coloring the man’s face. “You see a vile woman far older than I screwed me up and ripped out my humanity, not that I really had any to begin with. No human blood runs through my veins but those aren’t my sins. They are the sins of another. See my sins include desertion and murder among others. I’ve killed to keep order while deserting what was once my family.
“Wish I could say guilt lingered in my heart but sadly there is none. Only grief I hold is for one solitary child that has been dead many long years now. Thankfully the storm that rages in my mind because of my mixed heritage drowns out that grief quite often.”
“Child I- I’m not sure what you are talking about. Are these delusions or are you actually confessing to a murder?”
“No, they are facts and there murders were committed probably while you were a babe so confessing now will do no good. I am sure you wish them delusions since that would make me less a threat but these truths have been the life I’ve lived since 1847. That was the year of my transformation, which I’m guessing is all starting to ring a clear bell in that head of yours. You’ve been given a warning about me, I am sure.”
She heard the distinct sound of swallowed fear echo within the small confines. It wasn’t every day that she got this reaction. It always sort of slipped her mind that most human’s still hadn’t developed a way to detect a NightOther but she was sure now that the man was starting to figure it out considering the company he kept. Her own band had been on his trail for almost a year now since the Bureau had more pressing matters at hand. Probably rescuing a flock of orphans or some non-sense.
“Who are you?”
“Well that’s a useless question since you know the answer but I guess there is no harm in telling. I’m Lysandra but you probably know me as the Ringmaster. It’s nice to meet you, Father Mitchell was it?”
“Did he send you?”
“That foolish Werewolf you’ve been helping? He would never be able to possibly hold my reigns.” Slowly she picked up the small purse that was currently in style and unclasped the handle while swallowing down the slight anger that rose. She was no ones pet, not again. “No, I am only here to clean up.”
Before he could utter a reply the woman pulled a small pistol from her back and shot the man between the eyes. The gunshot echoed loudly but she was sure that if anyone responded she’d be long gone. After all she did have that Were to deal with as well.
She stood easily and placed the pistol back in her purse. “Hopefully this will be a warning to all. Your God and NightOthers don’t mix.”