Audience Of One
Title: Audience Of One (AKA: That prequel for You Don't Know A Thing About My Sins)
Author:
the_mourning Rating: PG-13
Pairing: None (But if you squint reeeally hard, and look sidways, Gerard/Jack the Ripper)
Disclaimer: None of this has ever happened. (Even though it'd have been EPIC)
Summary: Nineteenth Century London, one Gerard Way just so happens to know Jack the Ripper.
Warnings: Blood, Violence, one of two swear words
Word Count: 657
Author's Note: I am well awear that this isn't historically acurate (and don't really care, honestly, it's fiction, artistic representation, whatever you want to call it.) Con/crit would be nice though :3
Oh, and like I mentioned, this is a prequel to You Don't Know A Thingn About My Sins, and you will have no idea what is going on without having read that.
Fangs ripped through flesh, uncompromising, unyielding, just tearing and shredding. Blood poured over his teeth, running down his face, his neck, staining the collar of his shirt, splattering down onto his boots. The torn, bloody body in from of him, pinned against the wall was now silent, vocal cords severed; the only sound they could create was a wheezing, gurgling gasp. Her face was blank with the numbness the pain coursing through her caused.
Within moments, she fell limp against him, nearly all the blood in her body covering the both of them. He let her fall to the dirty alley way floor at his feet. The man standing several feet away, clad in an ankle length black leather duster and top hat that covered most of his face in further shadow then the night, tutted.
“You never let me have any fun these days, Gerard.” The man’s voice carried a thick English accent, one that carried amusement, not anger or annoyance.
Gerard turned and looked at the man, looking considerably less deranged than he had moments ago, despite the face blood covered his face and clothes. “It’s not like you couldn’t just go find another whore, Jack. The city’s practically crawling with them.”
“True enough.” Jack shrugged, “Maybe I will.”
“The infamous Jack the Ripper strikes again!” Gerard mocked, throwing his hands in the air, laughing.
“Shhh! Someone’ll hear!” Jack was almost laughing, too, as he said this, peeling off his coat. “Here’ you need this more than I do.”
It was true, the entire front of Gerard’s white button down shirt, waist coat and pants were all stained with a deep crimson red. Jack was dressed similarly under his coat, offering it out to Gerard.
“Thanks.”
“Let’s get you home before someone notices.”
It was pitch black in the alleys they walked, near impossible to see, but the pair navigated through them like it was broad daylight.
Gerard hadn’t been in London long, but in the grand scheme of things, he hadn’t been anywhere long. He was still an outsider there, his American marred dialect, and lack of knowledge about trivial things gave him away. It’d been like that since he’d arrived there, and he was about to just go back when Jack had taken him in, in a sense, teaching him what he needed to know, inadvertently discovering what he was (and amazingly not caring all that much, to Gerard’s surprise), and giving him somewhere to release his pent up… frustrations, if you would, and how not to get caught doing it.
Within several minutes, the two of them were standing in from of Gerard’s small, shitty apartment building.
“Have a nice night, Gerard.”
“Same to you. Here’s your coat.” He’d started to undo the buttons holding it closed, concealing the bloodied clothing underneath.
“Keep it. I’ll collect it next time I see you.” Jack laid a hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly before turning and fading into the night, away from the flickering light of the lantern above the door of the building.
Gerard watched him go for a moment, knowing he was going home; his knife was still in the pocket of the coat. He let himself into the building, moving slowly up the spiral staircase up to his room. He closed the door behind him, before peeling off the coat, and laying it on the table, placing the hat on top of it. Then, he turned to the fireplace set in the opposite wall, making his way over to it, and starting a small fire amidst the logs, going to bathe afterwards.
Once he had rid himself of the blood that had covered most of his body, he gathered the bloody clothes, throwing them into the flames, watching them disintegrate before his eyes, blackening and crumbling, pondering what his future might hold, hoping it was something better than mindless slaughter and slinking around hoping not to get caught.