A moment to die for

Tears streamed down a dirty face, her hair was a mess, covered by a hood, red tangles falling down her face like blood. She had just left Calvin at the hospital, had just fallen onto the ground, mud splattering her face from the April rains that had come that day. She had lain in the mud for what felt like days, until she managed to pull herself to her feet, and walk. The whole time she had been running her hands through her hair, twisting it, pulling it, knotting it into the mess it was now, her tears had started about two hours into her walk, at first it had been a simple, numbing walk, a walk that she had simply wrung her hair to tangles, and walked, one foot after the other.

But two hours in Chase had let the emotion hit her, watching her husband, her love, sobbing on the ground, apologizing for something he hadn't done. A flash of green, ending a life that was far to young and innocent to have stopped. Water, so much water.. water was how she would end, it was meant to be that way, water had killed her family, water had been falling the day Katie had been taken away, she had gone into water on the last happy day she had ever had, a day that had involved Nessie the Loch Ness Monster, and brownies.

Water was her enemy.. water was supposed to be the symbol for cleansing, for healing, for change, but the change it had brought her was nothing good, the cleansing had taken away what was good inside of Chase's heart, and washed it away, into the mud that lay plastered onto her face, washed the good and let it fall down into the mud at her feet, mud she slogged through, mud that was slowly sucking her dry, taking her hope, her love, and her wholeness with it.

She was dying, she didn't know what from, but life was slowly taking her down, she couldn't handle it, the pain, the suffering, the endless amounts of torture and pain.

Sometime in her mindless walking, Chase had found herself enter the Leaky Cauldron, out the back, tap the bricks and head into Diagon Alley. She tripped and stumbled through the rain, finding her way up the steps into Gringotts, where she spent a good hour putting her finances in order, making sure Calvin would be well cared for, and most of her money would go towards Hogwarts, and whatever was left would be spent helping find a cure for werewolves.

Chase stood on the top step of Gringotts, her will in her hand, already drenched by the rain that was pouring down onto it, making the words fade away. She would have been worried if she had not seen them place an exact copy into her vault. Chase slowly stumbled down through Diagon Alley, and then into the place where she knew rotten things lie, the place where she belonged inside. Knockturn Alley. Chase stumbled through the mud and the muck, tears pouring down her face again, but the rain washed them away as easily as it had washed away the mud, washed away what was good and decent inside of her, and let it fall to her feet, never to be felt again, even though it clung to her, she couldn't feel her clothes, and she drifted, lifeless, into the dark streets that summoned her to her death.

The rain could be a loathsome thing. Though such weather provided many who lurked about the darkest crooks and corners of Knockturn Alley with a much needed cover, such trivial matters did not concern the likes of Vito Dee Symons. He was practiced in the trade of merging himself with shadows, as well as the art of waltzing about town while repelling unnecessary confrontations with little more than a darkened stare. Therefore, the rain was of little use to Vito, and thus remained nothing more than a burden to him as he made his way back towards Satan’s after an afternoon’s feast.

What little he cared for the risk of being spotted with blood-painted lips drove him to do no more about the matter than drag his thumb across the corners of his arrogant smirk, and continue on his way under the cover of his black umbrella. After all, very few so much as glanced in Vito's direction presently, for far too many of the residents of Knockturn Alley had learned of the previous year’s events in Muggle London. A massacre, they’d called it, a title with which Vito was quite pleased.

Little further than twenty feat from Satan’s did Vito spy a familiar redheaded female. His surprise brought him to a sudden halt as he examined with narrowed eyes the sight before him. Could it be that his newly obtained eyes had already begun to play cruel tricks on his mind? Or was it so that Chase Moor, a child whom he’d longed with such ferocity in the past to put an end to, had been thrown at his feet? His smirk faltered for a brief moment, becoming a hard line which so clearly betrayed his disbelief as he neared the brilliant red smudge that had been made across the grey canvass that was Vito’s alleyway.

However, he'd restored his mask before he had extended an arm in her direction, grasping within his frost-bitten fingertips several locks of Chase’s hair. “Clara Bow? What a lovely surprise,” Vito greeted the woman, his tone as icy as the air that ghosted from his lips with every word that he spoke.

Chase heard a name that sounded like it was from far away, a haunting of the past, a name that had haunted nightmares in many forms. Clara Bow, a name she had used once to seduce a poltergeist by the name of Vito Dee Symons, a name which had gotten her passage to his room, before she had revealed who she was. Clara had been her sister's name, and the last name had been made up, but it wasn't that name that startled her the most, it was the sudden pressure of her hair being caught, and the voice, the voice as cold as ice that brought her to a dead halt.

Standing, sodden, and worn, tears still traveling down her face, there was an obvious air of a small amount of panic as she slowly turned her head to look at the man, the man who she did not recognize.. a man who had used a name that she had only used on one other person.. a man she immediately detested, and though her eyes swore it was not him, she knew it was.

With a soft gasp, Chase sat rooted to the spot. "I'm not Clara Bow.." She whispered, fear in her voice, as well as her body posture. The man was looking rather pleased, and she knew he had right to be, he had caught her at her most vulnerable, and she was there at his mercy, because she didn't think she had it in her to run anymore. "Please let go of my hair sir.." She said, just loud enough to be heard over the pouring rain. She did not like the man's icy touch, nor his nearness to her, and all she wanted to do was to get away as fast as possible and go home.

"Why the formalities, Clara?" was Vito's calm reply, eerie in its very nature. He gave a rough pull of Chase's vibrant hair towards himself, dragging her body upward in an attempt to hold her nearer - yet not close enough to make contact, for her muddied clothing would surely foil his pristine suit.

"I am disappointed in you. You do see me, and yet you choose to forgo the mention of my name?" Vito paused for a moment, so to gesture with the hand which he hadn't wound tightly in her untidy hair, but held his umbrella, towards her eyes. Those soulful eyes, so sorrowful and tortured as they glistened with tears. It would be undoubtedly pleasurable to tear from them the lids behind which Chase was still very much capable of hiding. "You know who I am," Vito continued. And with a kiss of his bloodied lips against the flesh of the woman's right ear, Vito whispered his command: "Address me by my name."

Chase let out a soft whimper when his hand tightened in her hair. "Ow.. please let me go.." She whimpered softly, her hands immediately flying up to her hair to try and lesson the weight it had on her scalp. His lips were so close to her ear she could feel his chilling breath rain down her neck, almost like a fog, it's coldness crept under her skin, into her bones, and straight down to her soul, where she could feel it like a razor, slowly stripping her of herself. His lips touched her ear and she let out a soft hiss of fear and almost pain, as the cold lips brushed against such a sensitive spot.

"Please.." She begged, tears falling faster, she didn't know how to get out of this one... she had no idea at all, it was as though she had taken a wrong turn, and had landed right into his arms, this man's arms, who had a different body surely, not as handsome as before, but just as deadly and frightening. "Vito.. Vito D-Dee Symons." She gasped standing on her tip toes just inches from him, so as to relieve some of the pressure on her head.

How clever a b!tch was Karma to serve upon a gold-plated platter the finest delicacy in the land? 'Twas a fine example of torture: to provide a feeling-fresh, murderous poltergeist with such a beautiful toy in the knowledge that it would mean his demise; Vito loathed those lengthy conversations with the Mrs. that such decisions as that to murder her dearest acquaintances often resulted in, after all. There was no thing more bothersome to Vito in the realm of the mortals than Jack Dylan scorned. But, as the situation had been so deviously designed, Vito simply could not deny his longing for a few minutes alone with Chase Moor, everyone's favorite tragedy.

“Good girl,” he whispered against the side of her face once more. “How fitting, that we should meet once more under the very skies that saw your family off,” a deep chuckle rumbled within his core, betraying the amusement that he felt towards the irony of which he spoke. “Come, get up. Walk as I tell you to. Do not struggle - I don’t want you ruining my suit.”

Chase could feel her terror deepening, This was a man who had every ability to kill her that night.. a man who could do things to her that would either have her eating out of the palm of his hand, she would do what he said if her family was threatened in any way, she knew she was putty to his cold, merciless fingers. When he spoke, chills went through her body in one collective shudder. She was crying harder now, her whole body shaking with the sobs as he spoke against her cheek.

When he ordered her to her feet, it took her a moment to realize she had even fallen. Then, with the utmost care not to hit him in any way, not to touch him besides where he was willingly touching her, she struggled to her feet and stood there, trapped, powerless, she had her wand of course, tucked up her sleeve, but what use would that do her? When he had the power, she could use her wand all she wanted to, and it would never do what she needed it to. She waited for him to guide her, waited for him to tell her where to go.

[OOC: In your next post, you may godmode her saying where he leads her and that she follows willingly and whatnot if you want to]

Her sniveling was infuriating. "Shut up, whore," Vito growled, much in the manner of a momentarily agitated feline. However, his poise otherwise remained intact, for he had deemed it of far more importance that his exterior continue in its flawlessness than it was to reprimand Chase for her misbehavior. Such punishment would be delayed until they'd relocated to the safe confines of Vito's kingdom, where every element of his surroundings obeyed his commands. "Those tears were not born in my name, but of something else entirely. Teenage angst, perhaps?" Vito's eyes flicked in a controlled, circular motion. "I will be giving you something worth sobbing over briefly," he promised.

With another vicious pull of his curled fingers against the knots in her hair, Vito dragged her along at his side in the direction of a shelter from the rain, and a haven in which to steal from Chase Moor the livelihood that had once mocked Vito so. Satan's awaited.

"No fee for this one; she won't be staying long," Vito informed the employee by whom he'd been greeted upon nearing the door through which Vito never again intended to allow Chase Moor to pass. He was smooth in his every movement, even as he pulled Chase along, throwing her past the threshold. "Upstairs. You remember where my bedroom is, don't you Clara?" he inquired mockingly; a statement which elicited several, poorly-muffled chuckles from the regulars. To which Vito promptly responded with a proud smirk.

Chase let herself be insulted and dragged along to his club, a club she had entered on one occasion previously, a club she had never intended on entering again... and yet there she was, being dragged straight towards his club.. his club full of evil rotten beings who came here to dance, get drunk, and high, and pretend to have fun. Chase held onto her hair, trying to keep his hand from hurting her to badly, as he half drug her through the rain and mud to the door where the man stood.

"No fee for this one; she won't be staying long,"

Fear ripped at Chase's heart, made her eyes sting, and a sob to escape her throat, as she was half flung through the doorway, she managed to stay upright, and turned around to face Vito, pretending confidence as she stood there, soaking wet, tears still dripping down her cheeks, her hair a mess, covered in mud, she stood with her head high, glaring at Vito as he made a smart remark that made a few people in the club chuckle.

Chase glanced around the room for a fraction of a second, staring hard into the faces of people who wouldn't remember her in the morning, glaring them down before she spun on her heel and marched across the room, heading towards the large staircase that would lead her up to Vito's bedroom, and from there who knew what.

'Twas not in the nature of Vito's luck for such events to intertwine so neatly in his favor. Though it had been with the vigor of a deceptive child that Chase had lead Vito to his bedroom during their previous evening spent with one another, he had not anticipated such compliance from her under different terms; his terms.

His momentary success very nearly resulted in his undoing; it would have been so simple, to come unraveled at the hand of the doubt that had begun to consume his thoughts. But he denied himself such luxuries, deciding it best to seize without concern the opportunity which he'd been so eagerly handed.

It was a simple matter of acquiring the weapon with which he intended to split the flesh of his victim, before he would allow himself to follow after her: a bottle of wine, seemingly harmless in appearance as it dangled loosely in his hand alongside his umbrella, which he had long since folded.

"You better have behaved yourself, Clara," Vito warned the woman as he approached the oak door that remained between them, speaking in a sing-song tone that was laced with amused excitement.