Chapter Text
The blood flowed freely onto the cold ground, each weakening pulsation of the man's heart staining his clothes black in the bleak moonlight that filtered through the broken panes of the warehouse window. Indeed it was not the ideal place for one to die: walls marred with paint by rebellious adolescents, cobwebs hanging off the dusty corners, various bottles, trash, and drug paraphernalia left by migrating vagrants and lowlives. The wind blew cruelly through holes in the roof, any rain that might come through washing away the evidence of misdeeds as the concrete floor drained the warmth from life and held the truth, untelling for eternity. It was this place, this abandoned warehouse, that he had chosen to house his evil that night, and as he watched the floor greedily drink the life of the man he had sentenced to a slow death, he felt the building thank him, for it had once more been rendered useful, if only for a night.
He turned away from his latest victim, a middle aged man with a stab wound to the gut who was choking on his own blood, wiping the steel blade on an old rag off the ground. He almost felt sorry; this man hadn't done anything wrong. He was probably married, maybe with some kids. Too bad they would never see their daddy again. He was just unlucky enough to have been chosen that week.
He glanced at his reflection in the glinting blade; his brown eyes were more alive than they had been after the last kill. That was the downside of taking women- they just weren't as fun. He grinned at himself, the blade turning it into a twisted grimace. His dark hair was a little mussed from the tussle that had ensued; it was inevitable, but it was also half the fun.
A horrible, wet rasping rose up from behind him, drawing his attention. "Be quiet," he spat, glaring over his shoulder. He sheathed the knife where he kept it hidden in his boot, tugging the leg of his jeans down to cover it again. Walking back a few steps, he crouched by the man's head, reveling at the fear in his green eyes. "Just hurry up and die, won't you? I have places to be, you understand?" The man sputtered a few more times, green eyes growing wide before dimming and then fading out as his life ended. That was his favorite part, watching their lives drain away. It was... Beautiful.
He stood up slowly, leisurely even, stretching his arms and back. He walked out of the warehouse casually, the door shutting behind him with finality; nobody would know of his crimes for quite a while. The moon watched him, casting him in a spotlight of silver as if to illuminate his evil. He smiled up at her, daring her to speak. Silent, he turned and began walking, happily letting the moon curse him on his way. Never let it be said that Octavius was one to shy away from the face of disapproval.
It wasn't two days later, his latest victim but a dim memory in his mind, when he felt the spark again. It was on his break, when he walked from the public library to the coffee shop two blocks away, that he felt it. To be more specific, Octavius felt it inside the coffee shop, when he had arrived at the counter to place his order. He seemed to be fascinated with his fingers, Octavius was, watching the long digits as they fidgited with the empty air between them, rolling it around themselves, over and under and weaving patterns. They were strange indeed, his fingers, and yet fascinating at the same time; thus was the intrigue of the human body. He looked up when he saw the dark countertop appear beneath them, letting them come to rest in a loose fist. His eyes, as they rose, took in the unfamiliar form behind the counter: the dark green t-shirt, the silver name plate reading 'Jedediah,' the lightly tanned skin of the man's throat, the broad smile and crooked nose. As he met the crystalline blue eyes, the spark raged through him, bouncing off his very essence as it screamed to him, 'this one, this one!' It was the spark, the same one that told him once a week which was next, which person on the street was deserving of him and his mercy. It was this spark, but it was different as well.
Octavius was not given time to linger on this, however. "What can I get ya?" poured cheerfully from Jedediah's lips. A beautiful little southern drawl, how wonderful.
It was not in his turn to drink overly sweet coffee; the beverage was made to be bitter, and he felt the bitterness reflected the bitterness of humanity. This opinion was apparently not shared by the new barista, who made a face as Octavius ordered plain dark coffee, the choice banal and unadventurous.
"That all you want? You don't want nothin' sweet?" Jedediah was watching him expectantly.
Octavius smiled, turning on his inherent charm. Ah, the joys of being slightly crazy. "Now why in the world would I need something sweet, when I have you standing right in front of me?" The blush that quickly stained the other man's cheeks only made Octavius smile even more.
It was kind of cute, actually, the way Jedediah sputtered to find words, his hands fumbling to get Octavius's change. "I, uh- I mean- it'll be just a moment," the blond man finally managed, his face a bright scarlet as he turned away. Octavius chuckled to himself, pocketing his change and stepping aside.
This wait was somewhat to his advantage, as it gave him a small amount of time to question the spark while it was still in the front of his mind. That he felt it at all was strange enough; it only called to him, chose for him, once a week, and it was too soon to take another. The feeling of it was different this time as well, as if he were being forced in the way of Jedediah, not simply pointed in his direction. This spark, Jedediah's spark, was louder than the others, more demanding of his attention, yet the intention of it seemed more mellowed. He had not the desire to kill this man, to feel his life drain away beneath his fingertips, to see thought fade from his eyes. There was still the desire to draw his blood, yes; that would be with him no matter. But instead of wanting to feel the man's heartbeat fade, Octavius wanted to feel it race beneath his hands, perhaps from terror, or joy, or existential pleasure; he wanted to feel it live. Those eyes, blue diamonds that would be beautiful as cold, lifeless gems, would be near stunning perfection if he saw them playing through the emotions of fragile humanity.
Octavius was drawn from his thoughts by the voice whose owner was the one burying him. "Hey, friend. Your coffee's ready."
"It's Octavius," he said, taking the cup. "Thank you." He looked at his watch; he could spare time for a little idle chatter. There was no one in line, either. "You're new here, Jedediah."
He looked confused until Octavius pointed at the silver name plate, causing another slight blush to spread. "Yeah, yesterday was my first day. I just moved in and the job was open, so." Jedediah left it there, seeming to not know what else to say.
"Is this your regular shift?" Octavius asked. Jedediah nodded in response. "I guess we'll be seeing a lot of each other," he said with a smile.
"We will?" Jedediah asked with an arched eyebrow. Octavius laughed.
"I walk here every day on my break," he explained.
Jedediah tilted his head to the side a little in a way that was positively adorable, not that Octavius would say that. "Where do ya work?"
"The library, a couple blocks away. Speaking of which, I had better get back." He gave Jedediah one last smile before he turned to leave. "I'll see you tomorrow, Jedediah," he called over his shoulder.
"Yeah," he heard from behind him. "See ya, Octavius."