Die In Sleep {HS}

II - Curse

[Hazza ]

It's human noise that wakes him up. Despite of how strictly he has people instructed to only acknowledge his existence once he deliberately gets out of his room and decides to show up, it's what sounds like a riot outside the building that has just made this day start bably for him and, consequently, for everyone.

He pushes the sheets away somewhat furiously, standing up from the bed with a deep breath he managed not to let out as a groan, instinctively running his fingers through his hair to fix the soft chestnut curls that are surely soon to be covered by his hat.

On his way to his wardrobe, he decides to take a quick glance through the window to evaluate the real gravity of the situation. On the sandy road, he's slightly surprised when he doesn't quite see a small agglomeration of the people that live here, ready to break the entrance door down and hunt him alive, for some reason he was yet to find out.

Instead, they are spread all over the street, ones heading somewhere specific, another majority calling for him and seeming to want him to go there too, and a few others get here only now without a single clue of what is going on.

It doesn't go unnoticed how the chants immediately soften drastically as soon as his unhappy frown is briefly seen at the window, as if they suddenly regret having done so. They better do, the Sheriff thinks to himself, getting away with an ironic chuckle while taking the steps needed for his naked figure to come to a reflexion in the mirror.

The only things he praises in his life are the fear he causes on people and himself for doing so. And it's rare the morning when he doesn't take a minute to contemplate that last concept, sometimes even doing so too much, whenever the state he wakes up in requires that specific attention.

It isn't the case today. The mirror reminding him of the previous night he indeed had, as another figure moves between his sheets on the bed across the room. He barely acknowledges it, whatsoever; thankfully or not, the noise outside isn't near of being over and it's his stupid duty to do something about it.

An old button-up shirt and dark trousers are quickly chosen, tugging the last ones on expensive ornate white boots announcing his soon departure from the room.

"Hazza.." A female voice he almost doesn't recognize moans for him to come back to bed, as if that bed was just as hers as she thinks she's his.

"It's Sheriff Styles for you." He replies sharply, cursing at whatever told him it would be a great idea to let her stay for the night. His coat, displaying his inicials as extravagantly as the boots, is taken from the hanger and carefully dressed at the mirror.

"Alright, Sheriff Styles." The woman smirks at the emphasis, seeming to enjoy this nomination more than he expected, and he secretly hates it that he does too, himself. "I suppose you would mind then if I told you about the crimes I've committed".

He shifts his gaze to her across the mirror, pursing his lips into his mouth as the sheet is slowly pulled down on her laying body and her big breasts are the first ones to teasingly pop out. "Oh, I'm such a rebel. Would you do so bad to me if you found--?"

However, Hazza couldn't care less if anyone has committed crimes or not, so her talk does no effect on him if not even more impatience. He grabs his hat and exits the room for good before he could hear her voice any longer.