capeandcowllogs | They always say truth will find a way

WHO: Grell Sutcliffe, Megan Gwynn, Lorna Dane, Jonothon Starsmore, and Robyn Slinger
WHERE: A warehouse...somewhere. IMAGINATION, GUYS.
WHEN: Monday, backdated to...alskfj somewhere around sixish?
WARNINGS: Attempted murder, Grell, Grell getting his face beaten in, Grell bitching, violence, etc. etc.
SUMMARY: Grell's coup d' grace isn't quite as...majestic as he though it'd be. A failed attack on Pixie, defeat by Lorna Dane, and subsequent arrest.
FORMAT: Para, probably.

Grell had spent his time (his entire day, really) allowing Megan to drag him around shopping for clothes, not because he wanted to get clothing, but because he'd made a decision earlier the night before. These whores, they weren't good prey - they weren't worthy of his scythe, not really. They didn't mean anything but another news broadcast and another corpse in an alley. No effect on him, no skin off his teeth.

It's why he needed more...important prey. Something that would not only put up a fight, but shake the community, force it to panic. Plus, it always meant more when he actually liked the person he was about to immolate, so another plus there!

"M-Megan," he began in a shaky tone, ignoring the not unpleasant way his heart sped up when he began to speak the words, "there's really something I'd like you to see. If, ah, if you'd like to, of course."

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She pushed him away gently. Poor Grell. Meg knew he was scared, but her head was pounding and she couldn't deal with his whining just then.

"No... no worries, eh?" she tried to sound cheerful even as she gingerly rolled onto her belly so she could crawl to a piece of furniture, then use that leverage to finally get onto her feet. "Just sit tight, friend. We can, uh... s-send for help. I'm sure the X-Men are worried sick. Don't fret. I'm sure they're looking for me right now..."

He stood shakily, smiling just as shakily at her - completely sheepishly, completely discomforting, being as useless as he is. While she was getting to her feet, he staggered off to the dark corner he'd been waiting in for the time it took her to wake up.

"You have such pretty wings, Pixie." He said it softly, almost reverently - and hefting the chainsaw all the while. His stumble turned solid, sleek. "I wish I could have them, they're so lovely."

Chainsaw hanging lazily in one hand, he gave a tug at the collar of his shirt as he began a confident pace back, black gloves looking sharp and heels clicking pleasantly. His voice lost the soft edge and grew sickly sweet.

"I think I'll take them."

"Not now Grell, please, I'm--" his voice took a turn somewhere, however. The stutter was completely gone, and there was something in the way he spoke that she'd never heard in him before. Something like... confidence. This was an odd time to grow a backbone... and why was he looking at her like that?

"W-what?" Suddenly she was the one stuttering, as she rested most of her weight on a nearby wall. She felt so tired, and rather dizzy... the world wasn't making sense. "What are you talking about?"

...why was he look at her like that? Why was she nervous? It was Grell for goodness sake.

"Your wings, my dear Pixie." He stopped a moment, only smirking in confidence and something excessively predatory. "They look good on you, but I'm sure they'd complement me much better." Setting the chainsaw down by his feet, Grell took a moment to press on his fake eyelashes and pull off his round glasses, tucking them into the black coat crumpled on the floor. He idly scooped his red woman's coat from its place behind the ruined couch, sliding it on easily but allowing it to hand at his elbows - he pulled the sleeker red framed glasses out of its pocket and placed them on his face.

"It's just a shame they're attached. Taking them off is going to be more difficult that way, but I suppose I really don't have anything to complain about." He gave a tug on the red ribbon and pulled it loose, letting it flutter to the ground limply while producing a (red) comb to brush the brunet out with, admiring the way his own hair turned a deep red color. "At least the work is something I can enjoy."

He flashed her a grin, the most terrible shark-toothed one he could muster while scooping up his chainsaw again and hefting it over his shoulder effortlessly.

"My scythe is unsatisfied with the recent blood it's had - bourgeoisie, mundane, far too easy to chase down. A long draught of mutant blood could be something new!" Grell chuckled gently, flipping a lock of hair over his shoulder and then giving a coy wink. "So don't be boring prey, Pixie. It would be such a shame to kill such a close friend so easily."

"Grell... why are you...?" He was changing. Into someone else. Into something horrible. She couldn't tell if there was a full moon and this was something that was beyond his control, or if he had planned this all along from the moment she'd teleported to his side. But one thing was becoming clear: he'd brought her here. She was in this horrible, filthy room, with a massive headache and a pang of fear in her heart... because of him.

"Please, stop. Grell, don't do this. Not my wings.... Stop saying you're going to kill me. Stop it..." she begged weakly while looking around the room for a window or some other method of escape. "You can't have my wings. You just can't!"

With that, Megan sprinted desperately for the nearest door and flung herself through to the next room, then the next, only breaking her stride when a door turned out to be locked or a floorboard sprang up threateningly. She didn't even know if he was chasing her or not. She just ran.

They always say truth will find a way

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