- Invitation Status
- Posting Speed
- Multiple posts per day
- Online Availability
- Generally online in the afternoon eastern time
- Writing Levels
- Give-No-Fucks
- Adaptable
- Preferred Character Gender
- Male
- Female
- Genres
- Fantasy, mystery, magical, modern,
Christina Fitz @CloudyBlueDay
"Chris." A gentle voice billowed next to the young woman's ears, the crook of her neck being graced with farm fabric of her blanket as she was tucked in. His hands, rough but gracious, patted down the bright blue cover. He pulled the hems of the blanket over her toes, his footsteps soft and cautious. He approached her one more, her closed eyes presenting a facade of slumber. Her caretaker was too aware of the young woman's devious tendencies, and with a sigh he placed a kiss upon her forehead, brushing her scraggly hair from her visage. "I'll be back in five hours or so. You've got a delivery for later today. Don't keep your old man waiting, okay? I promised Ricky we'd play poker when I got home. No trouble, you hear me?" Christina shuddered underneath the sheets, turning onto her side away from Eric.
"I don't wanna get up." She grumbled, curling into a half hearted, lazily constructed fetal position. "Can't you just drop it off and come back home? I ain't feelin too well." To make her point clear, Christina pressed her hand over her fuzzy armor, indicating her stomach. "Might be a damn winter bug, but it's kickin my rear."
"It's just down the street, Chris. Besides, they aren't going to be too happy to see me. You appeal better to most clients. Might be your warm personality." Chuckling, Eric turned from her bed, his footsteps growing heavier and heavier. He was pacing, purposeful with each increasing movement. "It's nothing big, I promise. Old Gregory needs his inventory for the next week. It's just a confirmation. That, and a small gift. Don't think of takin it."
"I won't." Christina grumbled, propping herself onto her elbows and sending Eric her favorite digit. "I'll make sure he gets his papers. Can I at least get a hug before you go? Rush of endorphins, all that jazz." Without protest, Eric glided along the bedroom floor and embraced his friend.
"Get to it, Chrissy." He patted her back and planted a kiss on her forehead, his scruff scratching along his skin. A chuckle escaped his lips. "The quicker you do it, the better. Chop chop." He messed up her hair one last time before vanishing through the door frame, leaving a disgruntled and grumbling Christina to get up and ready for her delivery.
----
"Oi! Fitz!" A sharp whistle broke through the early morning air. Christina's head snapped back, her heel digging into the pavement as a familiar voice came calling. Ah...This was going to be good. One of Eric's old associates. Creepy crawler. Christina hadn't memorized his name, but knew him by the grotesque, poorly executed rose that was tattooed upon his neck. It crawled up his skin and slathered lazily along his cheek. He had to have been a year or two older than Christina, yet he was scrawnier than most young men she had encountered.
"Rosie red." She greeted, saluted the tattered man with two fingers. Slicking back his oily, blonde rats nest, the man offered her a toothy grin. His milky, dead grey eyes locked onto the package underneath Christina's arm. It was a creamy, light envelope that appeared to be rather empty. It was firmly tapped shut, accompanied by a death clutch from its owner.
"Eric sendin ya off? Need some company?" The man offered, resting his hands by his hips. Just staring at the young man made Christina feel...greasy. Gross. Instead of staring at his crooked nose and dimming eyes, she focused her attention at the horrific tattoo.
"No thanks. Much appreciated." Christina waved the man off dismissively, but it didn't seem to deter him. He rounded around Christina, inspecting her with dejected and pitiful eyes.
"Doesn't hurt to have some company on these sort of runs, ya know...I know it's daylight and all but…" Unmoving and as mindful as a statue, the man towered over her. With a gracious smile, beaming and filled with a facade, Christina swiftly reached to his back pocket and unsheathed her pocket knife in one swift flick of her wrist.
"Back off."
He did.
Christina wouldn't see him again after she politely deposited the knife back into her pocket, her heels clicking pleasantly behind her as she began to hum a tune. The last words she'd hear him say was simply
"Your funeral."
----
Despite the confidence she held as she strolled through the sunlit, quiet street, she continued to hear Rosie's words in her ears. There was no reason to be anxious. This trip was less than fifteen minutes. She could make it in ten if she ran. She had done this route so many times that the houses became nothing more than mindless blurs. Yet Rosie sounded like he knew something she didn't which set her nerves aflame. She glanced back to see if his form was still residing along the street corner.
He was gone. No sign of him.
Her form tensed. "Okay. Serial killer slasher movie time." She grumbled, hand returning to her back pocket instinctively. She found that her heart was thudding soundlessly in her chest, each thump causing exploding pain to travel through her ribs. "Fucking pansy." She grumbled to herself, taking another step forward…
Leather covered her face before she had time to identify the voice lingering in her ear. "Hold still." She bit down into the glove in her response, blindly slamming her foot down into the top of the attackers shoe. Her sight was regained as the leather stripped down, a moan of pain emitting from the attacker. Swiftly Christina retrieved her pocket knife, flicking it open and swiveling on her heel.
Another hand grasped her wrist from behind, his grip tighter than steel. Despite this, her brain worked swifter than her assailant's, and her head slammed straight into the center of his face. Once again she found herself free, but the main man had already recovered, and using the entire strength of his upper body, slammed into the young woman. Caught off guard, head hitting the pavement and stars beginning to invade her vision, she did the only thing she could. She jammed her weapon upwards. Not once. Three. Four. Five. Endless. The man had fallen onto her, which gave her a chance to damage his torso.
Reality blurred. Movement became arbitrary, and as a shadow loomed over Christina and the first man, she felt a pinch sting against her neck.
The last thing she could recall was the copper taste blood speckling against her tongue.
"Chris." A gentle voice billowed next to the young woman's ears, the crook of her neck being graced with farm fabric of her blanket as she was tucked in. His hands, rough but gracious, patted down the bright blue cover. He pulled the hems of the blanket over her toes, his footsteps soft and cautious. He approached her one more, her closed eyes presenting a facade of slumber. Her caretaker was too aware of the young woman's devious tendencies, and with a sigh he placed a kiss upon her forehead, brushing her scraggly hair from her visage. "I'll be back in five hours or so. You've got a delivery for later today. Don't keep your old man waiting, okay? I promised Ricky we'd play poker when I got home. No trouble, you hear me?" Christina shuddered underneath the sheets, turning onto her side away from Eric.
"I don't wanna get up." She grumbled, curling into a half hearted, lazily constructed fetal position. "Can't you just drop it off and come back home? I ain't feelin too well." To make her point clear, Christina pressed her hand over her fuzzy armor, indicating her stomach. "Might be a damn winter bug, but it's kickin my rear."
"It's just down the street, Chris. Besides, they aren't going to be too happy to see me. You appeal better to most clients. Might be your warm personality." Chuckling, Eric turned from her bed, his footsteps growing heavier and heavier. He was pacing, purposeful with each increasing movement. "It's nothing big, I promise. Old Gregory needs his inventory for the next week. It's just a confirmation. That, and a small gift. Don't think of takin it."
"I won't." Christina grumbled, propping herself onto her elbows and sending Eric her favorite digit. "I'll make sure he gets his papers. Can I at least get a hug before you go? Rush of endorphins, all that jazz." Without protest, Eric glided along the bedroom floor and embraced his friend.
"Get to it, Chrissy." He patted her back and planted a kiss on her forehead, his scruff scratching along his skin. A chuckle escaped his lips. "The quicker you do it, the better. Chop chop." He messed up her hair one last time before vanishing through the door frame, leaving a disgruntled and grumbling Christina to get up and ready for her delivery.
----
"Oi! Fitz!" A sharp whistle broke through the early morning air. Christina's head snapped back, her heel digging into the pavement as a familiar voice came calling. Ah...This was going to be good. One of Eric's old associates. Creepy crawler. Christina hadn't memorized his name, but knew him by the grotesque, poorly executed rose that was tattooed upon his neck. It crawled up his skin and slathered lazily along his cheek. He had to have been a year or two older than Christina, yet he was scrawnier than most young men she had encountered.
"Rosie red." She greeted, saluted the tattered man with two fingers. Slicking back his oily, blonde rats nest, the man offered her a toothy grin. His milky, dead grey eyes locked onto the package underneath Christina's arm. It was a creamy, light envelope that appeared to be rather empty. It was firmly tapped shut, accompanied by a death clutch from its owner.
"Eric sendin ya off? Need some company?" The man offered, resting his hands by his hips. Just staring at the young man made Christina feel...greasy. Gross. Instead of staring at his crooked nose and dimming eyes, she focused her attention at the horrific tattoo.
"No thanks. Much appreciated." Christina waved the man off dismissively, but it didn't seem to deter him. He rounded around Christina, inspecting her with dejected and pitiful eyes.
"Doesn't hurt to have some company on these sort of runs, ya know...I know it's daylight and all but…" Unmoving and as mindful as a statue, the man towered over her. With a gracious smile, beaming and filled with a facade, Christina swiftly reached to his back pocket and unsheathed her pocket knife in one swift flick of her wrist.
"Back off."
He did.
Christina wouldn't see him again after she politely deposited the knife back into her pocket, her heels clicking pleasantly behind her as she began to hum a tune. The last words she'd hear him say was simply
"Your funeral."
----
Despite the confidence she held as she strolled through the sunlit, quiet street, she continued to hear Rosie's words in her ears. There was no reason to be anxious. This trip was less than fifteen minutes. She could make it in ten if she ran. She had done this route so many times that the houses became nothing more than mindless blurs. Yet Rosie sounded like he knew something she didn't which set her nerves aflame. She glanced back to see if his form was still residing along the street corner.
He was gone. No sign of him.
Her form tensed. "Okay. Serial killer slasher movie time." She grumbled, hand returning to her back pocket instinctively. She found that her heart was thudding soundlessly in her chest, each thump causing exploding pain to travel through her ribs. "Fucking pansy." She grumbled to herself, taking another step forward…
Leather covered her face before she had time to identify the voice lingering in her ear. "Hold still." She bit down into the glove in her response, blindly slamming her foot down into the top of the attackers shoe. Her sight was regained as the leather stripped down, a moan of pain emitting from the attacker. Swiftly Christina retrieved her pocket knife, flicking it open and swiveling on her heel.
Another hand grasped her wrist from behind, his grip tighter than steel. Despite this, her brain worked swifter than her assailant's, and her head slammed straight into the center of his face. Once again she found herself free, but the main man had already recovered, and using the entire strength of his upper body, slammed into the young woman. Caught off guard, head hitting the pavement and stars beginning to invade her vision, she did the only thing she could. She jammed her weapon upwards. Not once. Three. Four. Five. Endless. The man had fallen onto her, which gave her a chance to damage his torso.
Reality blurred. Movement became arbitrary, and as a shadow loomed over Christina and the first man, she felt a pinch sting against her neck.
The last thing she could recall was the copper taste blood speckling against her tongue.