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Post by lucas on Dec 6, 2012 20:54:23 GMT -6
One of the questions Lucas had always had during his days of training was what happened if they began to feel guilty for an crime that is highly considered to be one of the worst things a person can ever do. And to do it, for money, and in such a cold fashion of professionalism. The last thing a person would see is an experienced, deadpan face of a murderer who only considered the money someone had put on your head to be important. His uncle had always told him reassuringly was that everyone who had this contract taken out on them were bad people. Who else would be so terrible that they had to be killed to be stopped for good? Even then, Lucas hadn't been entirely convinced. He wanted to believe that if he were going to do something horrible like that, that they had deserved their fate. And even though Uncle had always sounded so confident in his response, Lucas never bought it. Something in the pit of his stomach had always nagged at him that it was the wrong thing to do. The other thing Uncle had always said that over time, things would get easier. That had just made things worse. How could someone get used to killing someone else for money?
Looking back, Lucas could only revel in how truly pathetic and weak he had been. So full of sympathy for the truly loathsome insects he now killed. It was disgusting, really. Why should he care if he laid them down? It didn't matter to him much anymore who and what he was assigned to go after, kids, elders, dogs, blind orphans, etc. They were all the same to him - buzzing little insects that just stood around and made noise and breathed in his air. Even his current employer, who was much higher in status than he and paid him well, annoyed him. She just stood or sat there, flapping her gums and dressing like a midget prostitute. It was unnerving when she grabbed his ass, as that wasn't his service. He killed people, not entertained them.
And Narcissa Balthazar wasn't even the worst of them. Lucas held a grand dislike of the Navy, investigators and other criminals. Most of them were common criminals, nothing more than idiots who thought they could throw a punch. Lately, the Navy in particular had been getting into his business. They were reaching scenes within two hours of him having been there, killing the target. They had also begun to plaster wanted posters of him everywhere, like he was like the other criminals they were chasing. And somehow, they had gotten someone who had seen his face close up to draw him so they'd have something to go by. Before this, the Navy had only known the infamous Lucas Grey by sheer luck and reputation. He was a feared assassin, known for his absolutely spotless crime scenes and acute professionalism. Often times, his victims wouldn't be discovered for at least a day after the crimes had been committed. But now, the Navy's investigators seemed to have suddenly gained competence. Which could only mean one thing; that they had found themselves a good snitch.
Lucas couldn't even list the amount of people on one hand that even knew him at all. Everything about him was secret, kept quiet for the sake of business. Even Narcissa knew that, she wasn't stupid enough to sell out one of the only people who knew almost everything about her little 'side business'. So that only left two people, one, was his cousin, who had been trying to find him for gods only knew how long. The wizard was well aware of how frantically his childhood friend had been searching for him since his freak 'accident' centuries earlier. He had run into her by sheer accident about a hundred years ago, but he hadn't heard a word from her since. She was probably too off-put by what her once beloved cousin had become. Not that he really cared much, it kept her from talking to him, which was nice. So he highly doubted it was her. Which left only one person; Jack Frost.
Frost had been one of his first hits after he had begun working for Balthazar's family. One of his employer's associates wanted the kid gone for whatever reason, and so, he had. With no mercy, he had beaten the living shit out of the kid before slamming his foot on his chest and shooting him in between the eyes. At the time, Lucas hadn't been aware of the fact that the kid had been a demigod. His employers had felt that it hadn't been important enough to tell their assassin that there was a good chance that he may or may not have had the capability of surviving being shot in the head. Though after Lucas found himself free of some curse of cold or being stalked, he simply assumed the kid was dead and that had been that. In reality, Lucas had succeeded. He had killed the frost god, but not enough to kill his godly side, which appeared to him only a few years after the original assassination. And the kid was furious, desiring revenge of some sort. Not that Lucas could really blame him, as it must be frustrating to be dead. Since then, however, the demigod child had been nothing more than a thorn in his side. Lucas could give him the slip for awhile, but eventually, somehow, he always managed to find his way back to the wizard killer. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that ghosts were naturally drawn to mediums. Or maybe it was because he simply attached to him out of hatred. Either way, it was difficult to get anything done with Frost insistently attacking him whenever he could.
With this thought in mind, it was no doubt to Lucas Grey that it was the Frost kid who had drawn him. From an artistic perspective, it was actually rather nicely done. Nice shading, and whatnot. When he had been younger, art had been one of the things he had been good at as well. Sometimes, he wondered if he was still capable of drawing like he used to, or if that too, had been erased when a bullet had lodged itself nicely in the back of his skull. Surprisingly, that shot to the head had unlocked powers that he didn't even know he had- like the power to communicate and feel ghosts. He could hold entire conversations with dead people/ghosts if they wanted to; and if they felt a connection to the wizard somehow, Lucas could actually feel when they were near. It was kind of like a person with heightened senses, except that he was not a disgusting beast and didn't have to worry about drinking blood, on top of everything.
It was because of this that Lucas could feel Jack nearby. The kid felt such a hatred and contempt towards him that there was almost no way that he could avoid sensing Frost when he was near. Not wanting a confrontation, he stuck to the streets of a busy city street. Even though most couldn't see Frost, the kid was a pansy and wouldn't want to see any innocent civilians injured. Lucas sighed quietly, keeping his head down and avoided bumping into people. He shoved his hands into his pants pocket and found a bench to sit on, which overlooked the busy market street. People were out and about, having an enjoyable Sunday morning. Casually, Lucas loosened his tie and stared absently on the crowd, waiting for Frost to make his appearance.
words: 1286
notes: sorry if it's kinda rambly. :T
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Post by jack on Jan 2, 2013 9:09:18 GMT -6
Whoever it was who decided that hatred should be associated with heat and fire had obviously never spoken to Jack Frost.
People always seemed surprised to find out that the spirit of winter had a temper. It wasn’t easy to trigger the change from his usual carefree self into the angry ghost that had been responsible for some of the biggest blizzards in the last few centuries, but once you did, it was best to find somewhere safe and warm to hole up until his fit of anger passed. He used to be able to shrug things off more easily, but dying had apparently changed that.
He scared himself with it sometimes, truth be told. He’d been staying with Abbott for a couple of months now, and he was more comfortable with the man than he had been with anyone in a very long time, but he’d gotten so pissed off with him only a couple of weeks ago that he’d ended up creating one of the worst blizzards he had in a long while without even intending to. Plus, he’d nearly torn the inside of Abbott’s house apart as a bonus, and it was mostly luck and a testament to their growing relationship that the place was still standing and Abbott wasn’t a human popsicle. He was all too aware of the destructive side to his powers; that was part of the reason he had it as under control as he did. Even when he let go to have fun, he always kept it in mind.
That being said, there was one person in the world who brought Jack right to the edge of his temper every time, and it took everything he had in him to keep from losing it when this guy was around. It made it that much harder that Jack felt he was justified in hating the guy: after all, Lucas Grey was the man who killed him. Grey should be happy that Jack wasn’t completely crazy. Most angry ghosts left behind by murders just attacked their killers wildly until someone banished them or their killer was himself dead.
And don’t get him wrong, Jack wanted revenge. He wanted it so badly his hands itched to just blast Grey with a spear of ice and be done with it, especially once Admiral Dawson told him it was going to be difficult for the Navy to actually prosecute Grey even if they caught him. Jack just wanted it to be over. He wanted Grey to be somewhere where he could never hurt anyone again. If he was honest with himself, he wanted the man dead. He wanted the man to feel the same fear and pain that Jack had as he was killed. He’d only been a child at the time, and the man had taken money to kill him. It almost would have been easier if Grey had killed him for a personal reason, if Jack had at least done something to provoke it. It would be easier to stomach. But no. Grey had taken his life for a paycheck. And he’d done it again and again in the centuries since then, despite Jack’s efforts to stop him.
That didn’t stop Jack from trying, though. He’d finally found a Navy officer who could see him and speak to him, and he’d done everything he could to get as much information about Grey’s movements into Zach’s hands as he could. Maybe the Navy’s hands were tied with red tape, but Jack still figured the biggest law enforcement organization in the world at the moment had a better chance than him at stopping the man once and for all. So far, it seemed like the picture he’d drawn was the most helpful thing he’d done. Grey had been anonymous before, but now his face was plastered on all of the Wanted posters all over every town the Navy had access to. He’d had to be more careful, which meant less people dead at his hands.
It didn’t feel like enough. Which was why Jack, when he spotted Grey walking down the street, he’d decided to follow him. After all, even with his duties of making sure the world’s winter came when it was supposed to, he still had a lot of time on his hands. He didn’t sleep much, especially since he’d died. And he didn’t have many friends to hang out with, since he knew a total of three people who could see him, only one of whom liked to spend time with him. He felt semi responsible for the assassin’s movements. He didn’t know if Grey had a job to complete tonight, but if so, Jack would do everything he could to stop him. And if not, he might as well look out for chances to gather information or evidence that would help the Navy’s case.
Jack followed Grey along the rooftops. He wasn’t worried about being seen by anyone on the street, including the man he was following; it was the middle of the afternoon and the sun was still high in the sky. As it had ever since he died, the direct sun rays turned Jack translucent, making him little more than a wraith. No one could hear him when he was like this, either, and certainly not touch him. So even if Grey saw him, there wasn’t anything he could do about it.
He watched as the man settled onto a bench. The wind on the street below picked up slightly, several people grabbing for hats and papers as the breeze tried to snatch them away. Jack leapt down to the street and perched on the top of his staff, his arms folded and shoulders hunched. He glowered wordlessly at Grey, not bothering to try and speak to the man. Even on the street, the sun was still high enough to make him barely visible. Speaking would be an exercise in futility, and Jack had no intention of giving the man the satisfaction of seeing him struggle.
Tagged: Lucas.
Words: 1005
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