𝐅𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐜𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬... ❧ ᴏᴅᴜ / ɴᴄ & ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

🌾S1 CH. Two; The Stayover

❧

The door to your [RESIDENCE] slams shut as you kick your shoes off and strip off your dirty work clothes, revealing the long underwear underneath. The thin fabric allows the cooler air of the house to touch your hot skin.
         Here you feel safe, no longer walking the dangerous streets covered in creatures and hooligans.
         As you walk further into your home you quickly make plans to take a shower, grab a bite to eat, maybe read something or watch a movie, all before going to sleep.
         Each evening for you requires relaxation, the ultimate kind. Considering you get home at 7:30PM and have to start your next shift at 5:00 in the morning.

As you rummage through your drawers for a lightweight pair of PJs, you could've sworn you heard something in the storage closet. You pause what you're doing and listen carefully, but everything is silent.
         "Hmm," you mumble as you look back into the drawer, finally finding your favorite pair of PJs.
        "Bingo~" you say under your breath, a small smile on your face.
         Stuffing your bath things under your arm, you head out of your bedroom and straight across the short hall is your bathroom. Piling your things onto the counter, you next retrieve a couple towels from the shelf and drape them over the rack next to the shower.
          Excited to finally rid yourself of the smell of trash and disease, you start to pull your top off when a glinting red light reflects off the mirror.
         Quickly you spin around whilst grabbing the nearest weapon, the toilet plunger...
         You feel yourself scowl deeply at the sight of him, leaning in the doorway and smoking; and in your [RESIDENCE] no less!
          "Don't stop on my watch."
          He chuckles, his deep and smooth accent already your biggest irritant.
         "Get out of my house, Macabre!" You shout, red with anger and waving the plunger at him as if it were a long sword.
         The operative runs his eye over your body, his one and only eye half-lidded and uncaring of your outburst. He takes in a long drag of smoke and blows it towards you, furthering your anger.
         He smirks in response, looking away from you and inhaling more of his cig.
         "How long have you been here? And how did you get in?!" You demand, and Macabre looks back at you. "Couple hours? Not really sure, I lost track while sleeping on your bed," he replies to the first question, humming in amusement as your mouth falls agape in disgust.
         "And I just walked in, you should know [Name], it's very dangerous to leave your door unlocked, whether you're in your home or not," he points out, clicking his tongue in mock disappointment.
        "This... this asshole!" You thought, glaring daggers into him, "I've lost my keys a couple days ago, and I've been too busy with my job to order a new mold of them!" You snap, folding your arms with an angry huff.
         Macabre turns his entire body towards you, causing you to stiffen as you try to catch every little movement he makes. "Now that I'm here, how 'bout I put in an order for you?" He asks with a smooth yet icy tone, he also takes a couple steps closer, before stopping to stare at you eerily.
         For a couple seconds you feel a little conflicted, maybe you should ask for that? It'd save you some time to– wait a minute, how could he put in an order for your [RESIDENCE]'s key when he doesn't have a copy of it? Every house in this city has a slightly different key design, it would take–
        Before your thought can finish Macabre holds up the keychain with your house key on it, along with others you use for your job.
        "If I can get a mold for myself, I can visit whenever," he laughs, jingling them in front of you before pulling them away. He stuffs them into his black vest's chest pocket, still savoring the shock on your face.
        "You're such a brute!"
         You fume, stomping your foot upon the bathroom tiles; while throwing this mini tantrum, Macabre takes it as his chance to strike.
          Before you can react with your plunger, Macabre has you pinned to the hard floor. Arms in a tight grasp above your head while he puts the rest of his weight into holding your legs down.
         You gasp– shock, fear, and discomfort all rising in you as you feel hot breath blow against your neck.
         Your attempt at escaping just causes him to laugh maniacally as he pulls his face away from your body.
         "This will be fun," he murmurs, staring down at you with a wicked grin, a grin that only grows wider as he unsheathes a knife.
         Your chest tightens as you watch him lower the twelve-inch blade of silver towards your neck, "don't worry, lamb, I'll make sure to reserve a nice spot in my graveyard for you~."
          He hums a shallow toned tune while tracing the silver blade over your throat, past your collarbone and down over your chest... all the way to your stomach, where he presses the blade slowly into your gut.