𝐩𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐥𝐞 || tbob

𝐦𝐫. 𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧

***TW: Heavily implied drug use, harassment (assault?), graphic depictions of violence (magical decapitation)/gore***

Not only did the motel smell like sex and piss, but it was quiet.

Bee missed the soft music of a harp or acoustic guitar like there was in her apartment with Terra. She'd come home from a long day of renovating houses and step into a Hozier love song or some elven enchanted song Terra'd learned from her mothers family. Her apartment would have the thick scent of an incense, whatever Terra had chosen to burn (Bee knew her favorite was jasmine, and that was what normally was burned). Mixed in would be the scent of dinner, something heavenly Terra had conjured. 

The motel was in the middle of fucking nowhere, sitting off the side of a highway. It was so run down, Beatrice had thought it was abandoned upon first seeing it. When she got to the door to take shelter in it, she realized there was in fact someone working there. A simple sob story had gotten her a free room. There only other person there was an old man who was so addicted to heroin it was a wonder he was that old. Bee avoided him best she could; he gave her creeper vibes.

She hated the motel, yes, but it was for the best. It was the closest she could get to the mansion while staying out of the magical world. If she was in the magical world, Terra would find her much quicker. She'd tough out the piss and sex stained rock mattress and the creepy old dude if it mean Terra didn't find her.

She turned her head this way and that, trying to get a good angle in the cracked mirror. Dutch braids were hard for Bee even with a decent mirror, near impossible without one. In frustration, she considered it good enough before extracting the worn leather book from under the floor board and shoving it in her duffle bag. 

The duffle bag was slung over her shoulder as she excited her motel room, locking the door behind her. The lock was questionable at best, but she figured a 0.5 chance was better than giving it no chance.

Just her luck, Mr. Creeper came out of his room just as she was about to pass his door, and stood in her way. 

"Excuse me, Mr. Henderson." She gave a tight smile, and tried to push past him; he caught her arm. 

"Hey, come on, why are you in such a rush?" His voice was forced and she realized he was more than likely higher than a fucking kite. 

"Let go of me." She pulled her arm away only to be trapped against the wall with his body. He might've been an old man on heroin, but she did not want to risk him sticking her with one of his needles, so she pushed herself as flat as possible, moving her bag between them.

"What do you have in here?" Henderson's hands reached towards the bag, which Bee had stupidly not bother zipping all the way; the corner of the book was visible.

She couldn't lose the book. No one could touch it, ever; it was, at the moment, all she had to connect her to Terra. No one was going to take that from her.

Her mind scrambled for something, anything, she sent a prayer to every god, goddess, spirit that may be willing to help and pushed against the man blindly. Something warm splashed across her closed eyes, and there was a thud at her feet.

She opened her eyes to see Henderson's nearly bald head rolling across the cracked concrete of the motel, leaving a trail of blood all the way. His decapitated body was at her feet, blood spurting from the arteries of his neck. Her sneakers were beginning to soak up the still warm liquid. Blood dripped off the tip her nose, splashing in the puddle at her feet. The hall was quickly filling with smell of irony blood, and her mouth was filing with the taste of it as more of Henderson's blood dripped down her face. She gathered saliva in her mouth, spitting to clear the taste before wiping at the blood around her chapped lips.