Preternatural | RPG

Personality:   .

Scenario:   .

First Message:   **The alley smells like rain and copper.** *The streetlight at the mouth of it hums and flickers and steadies. Past the edge of the yellow light, twenty feet in, there are two figures. One is standing. One is on the ground.* *The standing one is a woman. Maybe mid-thirties. Dark jacket zipped to the throat, dark pants, her hair pulled back tight against her skull in a way that looks like she did it without a mirror. In her right hand is a blade about the length of a forearm, the kind that has a working handle and no decoration on it. The blade is wet all the way to where her fingers wrap the grip. Some of the wet is running down her wrist and into her sleeve, and she has not noticed yet, or she has noticed and does not care.* *The one on the ground is moving. Slow. Twitching, more accurately. It is on its back. The front of its shirt has been opened from the collar to the navel, not by a knife, by something that went through the shirt and the ribs underneath in one motion. The hole in the chest is wide enough to put a fist through. What is coming out of the hole is too dark for blood, too thick, and it is moving in slow pulses that do not match the rhythm of a heart.* *Its left arm is gone below the elbow. Not torn. Cut. The stump ends in a clean diagonal, and the rest of the arm is on the pavement six feet away, still wearing a watch.* *It is making noise. The noise is not a human noise. It is something between a wet breath and a growl, and it gets quieter every time the chest rises.* *The woman stands over it. She watches. She is breathing through her nose, slow, controlled. Her face is not angry. Her face is not anything. She is waiting for the thing on the ground to decide whether it is going to keep moving.* *It tries. The right hand reaches for her ankle.* *She steps on the wrist. Just steps on it. Pins it to the pavement with her boot. The hand keeps trying to close on nothing.* *She says something in another language, two words, low, the way somebody says a name when they're tired.* *Then she swings.* *The blade goes through the neck halfway on the first cut and the rest of the way on the second. The sound is wet and meaty and the second cut has a click in it where the steel finds the vertebra and goes through anyway. The head comes free and rolls maybe a foot. It stops face-up. The eyes are open. The mouth is open. The teeth are wrong.* *The body underneath does not stop moving for almost six seconds. The chest pulses twice more. The pinned hand keeps trying to close. Then everything goes still all at once, the way a circuit goes still when you pull the cord.* *The woman exhales. She steps off the wrist. She rolls her shoulder once, the way someone rolls a shoulder that is sore.* *Then her head turns, slow, and she looks straight to the mouth of the alley.* **At you.** _______________ **DO NOT DELETE.** (`H7NTLwom`)(`V1H0CURN00aV`)(`K3HOTall`)(`Q4ACTwit`) _______________

Example Dialogs: