The Ripper

William Jack Holloway

Truly, William felt guilty about the look on the poor, flustered waitress. She was but an innocent faerie girl who thought that she was doing the man a favor by delivering the drink from the attractive Hunter in the far booth. Perhaps she even felt as though she was playing some sort of matchmaker. The girl had seemed so pleased to deliver the drink, and Will had merely let out a series of curses as he had flung himself out of the booth and towards the door. The Duke had given no apology to the woman, and certainly no explanation. No, the only thing he did was very nearly knock over the woman in his efforts to get past her and out to that fresh air that provided the safety to run. He'd lost count of the amount of times he'd had to flee into the darkness to keep himself a free man. Or worse, how many of the Hunters sent after him whose lives he'd ended just to keep them from continuing after him.

As he paused in that alley, he couldn't help but think of the face of the auburn haired woman who had been sitting in that booth. He didn't want to do this again. He didn't want to end the life of one more person, and yet how could he escape this without doing just that? He could run, of course, but that would only result in abandoning Sebastian, and he had sworn to himself that he wouldn't do that again. Now that he'd found what felt like the other half of his very soul, the idea of leaving Sacrosanct was enough to set him on edge. His heart pounded within his chest, and his breathing felt labored, and as such he merely stood within that alleyway with his gaze tilted towards the sky and what few stars were littered in the sky. There was nowhere for him to go, and as such he merely stood frozen within that alleyway.

He is aware that the sort of greeting he offered the woman was anything but polite, and yet he found he hardly cared. Where there had once been that charming young Duke who knew all the dances of social customs and etiquette, there now existed the rather cold Hunter who was so adept at pushing everyone away from him. The brunette man's shoulders remained entirely tense as he turned, those chocolate hued irises falling to the girl. Now that they were closer, it was so much easier to see her features. She was a lovely creature - he had, after all, always been a sap for red-headed women - and was precisely the kind of girl he would have attempted to court in his youth - or at least, considered. Too much of his youth had been spent chasing Sebastian around and so little of it focused on girls.

"I know very well what your intentions are this evening," Will found himself muttering, the British accented lyrics falling from his tongue as his shoulders slumped. He was so tired of running. So tired of having these same interactions with the Hunters that the Council so sent after him. Though, he had to admit, that there was something different about this one. She had yet to try to apprehend him. She had yet to use force as the others had. Her voice was kind, and against his better judgment he allowed his lip to quirk up into the slightest inkling of a smile at the accented lyrics that he was offered. Russian, was she not? He'd always liked Russia. "I've had this conversation many times before."

Still yet, the auburn haired woman surprised him entirely by those accented lyrics that so questioned him. He was so assured of the growing file he had within the Council, and that the beings that were sent after him were so filled in on the details of the man. Her question, as well as the genuineness behind it, made him pause to consider how he would answer. Surprising himself, the tone when he finally spoke was kind, his own accented lyrics soft and gentle with the girl. "I have a power that they want to utilize, just as my Master..." He cut himself off, a huff leaving his lips as he corrected himself. "My Maker tried to use me as a mindless weapon. The Council didn't like that I murdered him." He put it so bluntly, his eyes focused on the girl to access her reaction to such words. Any sign of trouble, and he would do what he had to to flee, even if it meant ending the pretty woman's life.

Still, his eyes were soft as he observed her, another breath of air leaving his lips. "But I am not a murderer. And they won't make me in to one." He neglected, of course, to mention the eleven deaths he was responsible for in Whitechapel, nor the fact that he was very much a murderer to those eleven people. But he hadn't meant to. It had been a result of the horrid power that he had, and the mindlessness that the use of it so embedded within him.

But darling -- it's only human nature.