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Raven’s tattooed form weaved through the gathered crowd towards the bar at the pub and she flipped her red and black hair over her shoulder. For some reason or another, they had a band playing and the pub was packed to listen. Her shoulder smacked into another’s shoulder, but continued on. “Hey!” Came the complaint, but she continued on regardless. Shuffles were heard from behind and multiple other complaints came, but not because of her. It was a man shoving other people aside to reach Raven and just as he did, she felt his hand grasp at her shoulder. Her steps came to a halt and she glanced down to her right shoulder, her brown hues spotted the fat, calloused hand that rested there. Normally, the woman would ignore the man, but she felt a little particular violent upon this night and a slow smirk crossed her lips.

Her chin lifted a little and she turned to face the man, her head angled to the right as she focused upon the fat man that stood before her with a beer held in his free hand. She lifted her hand to brush the man’s hand off of her shoulder. The woman then turned back around and began walking back towards the bar. “Hey! Don’t ignore me you little whore!” His grubby hand grabbed at her shoulder and forcefully turned her around, which she allowed. As she turned with the movement, she brought her fist up and flying into the man’s face in a right hook. Raven felt her fist connect and saw with her brown hues, the man’s face snap to the side. He stumbled back a few paces with a hand held to his face and she chuckled, flexing her fingers as she felt the pain from the punch. “Thanks, I enjoyed that.”

The woman turned around and began her path to the bar once more, ignoring the looks that came her way. She was used to them, especially considering the amount of tattoos she had, her nose piercing and even her red and black hair. Not to mention her outfit, her leather black pair of pants, her six inch heeled boots, black crop top and leather jacket. To pair it all off, a silver belt was looped around her waist. She settled her hands upon the bar, her black nails tapped the bar top with her right hand and she stretched the pained muscles as she did so. The woman enjoyed the small delightful pain, but that was all it was, it was nothing majored and she wanted pain, real pain.

“A Russian vodka, neat.” She said to the bar tender and leaned against the bar. The woman had lived in Harper Rock for her whole life, but it was boring to her. Raven knew just how to stir up trouble and tonight, trouble was her middle name. Pain was all that she cared about, especially if she felt it, it gave her a whole new rush, a rush that she chased down every night. With every new scar after a major wound had been inflicted, she would get a tattoo and she was feeling pretty damn lucky tonight. A glass bumped against her arm and she glanced down to view her drink that had arrived and she handed over the correct amount of cash.

Slowly, she moved her hand to grasp the glass and pick it up to take a sip. Tonight was a perfect night to stir up a fight, she was itching to punch someone and she was gunning for it. Every nerve and every muscle thrummed with the multiple opportunities that would present itself to her, especially when the bar was this full.

Flashes of faces and snippets of conversation. Clover went to such places to deprive herself of her deeper thoughts, to lose herself to the movements of the crowd and the steady bass of the music. Thump. Thump. Clo couldn’t tell the difference between the beat of the music and the beating of hearts; she reveled in her uncertainty and thrived in the confusion. Closing her eyes, she tried separating the voices from the music, and matched each person to a different heartbeat. Some of them were simply impossible to decipher, and she wondered if they were disembodied, if they were remnants of people that had also lost themselves to the beat, forever destined to exist within the music. Her philosophical thoughts found a way to blend with the environment, and they washed over her in the way that a sea washed over the sands, in the way that the beach, one she’d never seen, experienced the ebb and flow of the tides.

“Can I get you something else?” The bartender interrupted her thoughts, dragging her right back to the pub and all of its welcomed chaos. Clover shifted on the stool and pressed her forearms against the bar. She leaned forward to try and make hearing her easier. Even though she could have shouted, Clo felt like taking a quieter tone. She felt like communicating her passiveness in the way she spoke. For the moment, she felt at peace. No more worrying about Jesse. No more questioning about Jersey. No more family. No more friends. Just Clover.

“Give me a bourbon,” Clo answered, her mouth so close to the man’s neck that she swore she felt his pulse on her lips. Just like that, he’d ignited her hunger. Where she might have relished in the shifting atmosphere, she crashed back into the pub as if she’d made a quick descent from the highest altitude imaginable. “Neat.” The word was added onto the end of her quest, but she didn’t care one way or another. Clo only ate, only drank, one thing. Blood. The bartender was a walking delicacy.

Through the night, as she gave her drink away and reordered one after another (always the same bourbon, and always neat), she watched the man. Whether he knew it or not, she’d decided on him. The pub might have been full, possibly to capacity, but she’d chosen one man to fulfill her desire for blood. When he moved, her eyes moved. If it weren’t for the loud exclamation coming from somewhere within the crowd, Clover might have lost herself in a trance induced by her hunger, her need to climb over the bar, draw the bartender to herself, rip into his throat, and break each and every bone in his lithe body.

Whore. Someone had used the word, and Clover hated that word. How many times had she thought the same thing of herself? She might have left her seated and hunted the man down, but she watched her prey instead. The man returned with another drink, and then he moved on to another patron, one that had taken up a stance beside her. Clo readjusted her open-front blazer, pulling the two flaps together over her black halter top, and pretended to glance around the entire pub. Actually, she only turned to admire the woman next to her. Red hair. Black hair. Clo wondered if Logan would have gone for someone like the nameless woman, if he would have found something interesting in the piercing on the woman’s nose. And Clover did notice the piercing, even in the dim lighting. The metal reflected some of the light, like a tiny beacon in the darkness. Perhaps the woman liked the attention the piercing brought, or perhaps she liked making a canvas of herself. Clover didn’t know.

“Vodka.” Clover turned in her seat to smile at the woman, more of a subtle upturn of one corner of her mouth. “Why not something better?” Again, Clo fixated on the piercing, on the way the metal had driven itself through the skin of the female’s nostril. She’d waited until the woman had at least taken a sip before speaking. “You seem more like a Jameson girl.”

Raven pressed her back to the bar with her drink held firmly in her right as she cast her gaze over the room. She felt the rough edge of the bar press firmly into her back. She saw, dancing bodies rubbing, pressing and sweating as they rivalled in the adrenaline that the motion gave them as they danced with their partners and potential one night stands. The woman could even imagine that their hearts would be racing with such a rush, just like hers would be if she was in a fight. If she were to smell anything at that pub right then and there, it would probably just be sweat. Sweet and salty, or some people like to think of it as bitter and salty. The woman lifted the glass to her lips to take another sip but paused half way as she heard a woman’s voice mention vodka.

Slowly, her gaze shifted and her head angled to view the woman that was situated beside her and her brown gaze flickered over the stranger’s form as the stranger continued to speak to her, or so it seemed. Raven then continued to press the cool glass to her red lips and took a sip as she briefly wondered just as to why the woman cared as to what she drank. However, she did notice the simple glint within the stranger’s eyes and the corner smile that she had offered. Friendliness, it wasn’t one of Raven’s strong suits, neither was small chit chat. Her gaze shifted over the moving bodies, as she tried to pick her next target to pick a fight with. She didn’t want a drunk, they were too easy to take down and didn’t put up too much of a fight. The woman, wanted someone that spelled trouble, like a gangster who may carry a knife or two to stab someone and run. Raven wasn’t about the winning, in fact, she couldn’t care about the winning, it was too mainstream.

A breath was drawn before she looked to the stranger beside her once more, there was just something about her that made Raven think that she hadn’t seen her before. After a moment’s pause, she looked back to the crowd as she spoke. “Russian Vodka was the first thing I saw upon the shelf behind the bar as I approached it.” A shrug soon followed her words then and she finished off her drink. “I don’t really care much for what alcohol I drink, if it’s there, then it’s there. I try not to complicate things.” So long as it has a burn, she thought to herself as her gaze fell upon a man upon the dance floor. His shaggy brown hair fell in small waves down to his shoulder and he appeared to be dancing with another woman.

“I’ll get a Jameson next if that is your advice.” She said, continuing her conversation with the strange woman as her gaze continued downwards over the black t-shirt and the jeans of the man upon the dance floor. Her gaze lingered upon the small of his back, but she really couldn’t tell if he had anything tucked into the back of his jeans, not from this distance. However, he did look fit, his arms looked somewhat strong, but the way the lights dance over his form, she still couldn’t tell properly from where she was situated at the bar. Perhaps if she created a mass fight, she would probably seriously get injured. Slowly, she turned to set her empty glass down upon the bar once more and tapped her black coated nails against it.

The woman itched, it felt as if she hadn’t felt real pain for far too long and she could be described as a drug addict that was going through withdrawals, minus the drugs and the withdrawals. She just itched, her skin crawled with the need and she was tempted to just throw a random punch at the woman beside her. However, she wasn’t sure if the other woman could handle it… She glanced out the side of her eye, eye balling the woman once more, or perhaps she might be able to take a hit or two. The only question was was that, could she throw one back? She licked her lips and leaned back against the bar as she waited for the bartender to come back to her and she wondered just as to how she might be able to get a rise out of the woman. As the bartender neared, her gaze flickered to him, she licked her lips once more and ordered. “Jameson whiskey, neat...” She paused and then shrugged, “Make that two.” A simple smirk came to her lips then as she looked to her neighbour, “If I’m drinking it, then so are you.”

Most of her nights were dotted with small delights and peppered with pleasures; however, on that night, Clover recalled nothing but disaster and disappointment. The pub was an escape. Everyone, and everything, contained in its four walls became a distraction. She knew the place had become a coping mechanism. She understood it, and she welcomed it. Beneath the music and the heat, she curled in on herself and waited for just the right opportunity. Well, the bartender had presented himself as such an opportunity.

At the reminder, she turned her attention away from the woman, the one she’d deemed her drinking companion. Clo watched the way the bartender communicated with the rest of his customers. She watched the way he moved as he mixed drinks. Normally, she might have fallen in love with his movements. Perhaps, at another time, she might have lured him away, lulled him into a false sense of security, and ripped his throat out. But the more she watched his movements, the more she noticed the repetition. Clo fixated on his lackluster performance and rated him on his every move. She wanted life. She wanted charisma. She wanted a deep voice and a pleasant smirk. He failed. On every attempt at redemption, he failed.

Clover wanted from him what she couldn’t obtain elsewhere. She hunted to fill the empty spaces in her own persona. She hunted couples. She hunted men. She took everything she wanted from them and broke them all into tiny, meaningless pieces. The bartender didn’t belong in her collection. He had nothing to offer her, not even after he smiled at her or winked at her. His charisma was subpar. Pulling her thoughts away from her own disappointment, she looked back over at her companion and offered a half-hearted shrug, her own attempt at showing her agreement. Things should have been simple, but Clover enjoyed making things complicated. Clover thrived in the complications.

“Sometimes,” she thought aloud, her eyes lowered to the shot of bourbon still sitting atop the bar, “you need complications to make life a little more…lively.” For a moment, she looked as if she were going to take a drink, but she merely slid the glass back toward the bartender. She and the man had no need for words. Clo shook her head at him, a subtle indication that she’d changed her mind, or that he’d made a mistake, and he emptied the drink into the sink. He didn’t dwell on the lost alcohol, but she watched the amber liquid pour from the glass into the sink, and then listened to the sound of the liquid as it flowed down the drain. The death of her drink truly signified the death of the chase. She’d moved on from the bartender.

Clover turned to sit sideways on the stool. One forearm resting atop the bar and the other resting atop the back of the stool, she tried to find someone interesting in the crowd, but she saw more of the same. She saw people riddled with imperfections that she couldn’t admire. Her eyes moved between the woman beside her and the rest of the crowd. Someone had captured the redhead’s attention, someone that Clo had already dismissed. “Whoever it is, is he worth it? Is she worth it? You look like you’re starving.”

Her words were tossed out carelessly, intermixed with the noise around them and the remaining sound of the woman’s promise to order Jameson. The word starving only reminded Clo of her hunger. She wondered if she’d found someone else with a similar type of hunger, with a basic need for something more. Had she found someone with a deeper connection to some animalistic desire? It could have been pure lust. Clo looked as if she were just watching the crowd, a look of boredom plastered onto her face, but her passive expression hid the quick succession of thoughts and the endless array of questions.

Without knowing it, she’d found someone much better than the bartender. Clover had found a new delight. In the woman next to her, Clo had found something admirable. And perhaps she wouldn’t kill the woman with red-and-black hair, the woman with a smirk that brought up more than a few memories. “I’ll always take a free drink, but I don’t make promises.”

By the time the bartender came back with their drinks, Clover had already turned back around. She had her palms pressed against the edge of the bar, feigning some interest in the man’s motions, but when he left, she immediately turned her focus back to the woman beside her. “I’m Clover,” she introduced herself. “I was going to spend my time with the bartender, but I think you’re better.” She should have laughed to try and diffuse the very forward sentence, but she just smiled and ran a finger along the rim of her glass.

Raven listened and reflected upon the stranger’s words. There was something within the strange woman’s words that made her think that she knew why she was canvassing the crowd. Did she know what it was like to want to feel pain and inflict it? It was a hunger that never ended and not many, if any at all, understood that. A brow perked upon at that thought before she put it to bed. No matter, the woman’s name was Clover and from the sounds of it, she was worth it.

“Clover is an interesting name, are you particularly lucky by any chance?” She shook her head as she raised the glass to her lips and sipped. “I don’t promise anything Clover, nor do I believe in promises. They are pointless at the end of the day, because they were made to be broken.” She twisted her form so then her side was pressed to the edge of the bar and her arm rested lightly upon it so then she could fully focus upon Clover. Her gaze flickered to the smile and then to the finger that rimmed the glass in front of the woman and curiousity peaked her interest. “I only have one complication that I’m interested in and that’s the dance between life and death,” And the pain that comes with it, she thought to herself as she watched Clover. Oh hell, she wanted to throw the punch right then and there. Patience, wasn’t her virtue when it came right down to it.

The crowd seemed to get disruptive once more as exclamations of annoyance was issued, but Raven paid no heed to it. “I'm Raven…” A hand landed upon her shoulder once more and her gaze flickered to the hand, a hand she recognized as fat and chubby. Slowly, she sat her drink down upon the bar and angled her head to view the fat man from before. Except this time, he had brought a couple of buddies with him. Raven shifted her weight so then the hand that had been resting upon the bar, lifted to once again, brush Mr Chubby’s hand off her shoulder and her gaze viewed the men on either side of him. One of them wore a blue shirt although ripped at the neckline and she could clearly see the scar that ran down his left arm. The man also appeared to be wearing jeans and Raven began to wondered just as to why people wore jeans. Was that the new craze?

Her gaze flickered to the second man. While the first guy had been bald and white, an odd combination; this guy was also white but with extremely short blonde hair. He had a red and black shirt which had some metal band name on it, something Raven didn’t exactly care for and he also had jeans. Was it some kind of trend? All she knew was that it was a trend that screamed try hard all over it. As her gaze slid lower she noticed one thing; the way this man held the beer bottle in his hand. He gripped it loosely by the neck and if she knew any better, which she did, he would probably use it as a weapon in a fight that was sure to happen. Trouble had come along and she was ready.

Raven glanced back at the fat man and noticed the bruise that had spread along the man’s face, a bruise that she had put there only a few moments ago. “What, didn’t learn your lesson before Mr Chubby? Had to go get your little henchmen to do the work for you?” She paused for a moment as she shrugged off of the bar so she was stable upon her feet just in case she had to duck quickly. “I wonder though, does your fat make up for what you lack in intelligence? Cause you’re a slow learner.” She had the smug satisfaction of watching his face turn a shade of red and she snickered as she rolled her shoulders. “Why you little ***** of a whore!” He exclaimed and he turned to look at the two standing beside him. “Teach her a lesson that will make her regret what she did!”

It was then that she felt the rush pour into her veins, the kick of adrenaline as she saw the two men move forwards. “I have no regrets,” She said just as she ducked to avoid the fist that came flying for her face. Raven rose up and as she came up, she brought her own fist through from just above her hip to slam into the man’s fleshy stomach. The stranger doubled over and staggered back a step and she took another step towards him, the woman then brought her knee through and upwards into the man’s groin. She must have missed the sound of shattering glass through the sounds of the bar, because all she heard was screams of scared people suddenly scrambling to get out. So just as she turned to face the other man, she felt a piercing pain enter her left side and her red painted lips parted in a cry of absolute pained pleasure.

Hell, it felt so good, it fueled the adrenaline rush something fierce and she jumped to the side just as she saw the next punch coming her way. Her feet staggered and her left hand reached out to grasp the bar while she looked to the broken bottle that stuck out of her side. However, she couldn’t help but smirk. It felt so good to be alive right now. Pained laughter rose to her lips then as she saw the blood that seeped through her ripped clothing and began to drip upon the wooden floor to create a small puddle of red. Through pained breaths, she looked up through her red locks and managed to find the air to speak. “Ouch, that tickled.” Blood loss was probably going to happen, but with all of this commotion, the cops would likely be coming and so would an ambulance. Raven would bet her life upon it.

Even as she straightened and had to use the bar as support, she relished the shooting pain that flooded her body and sent warning signals to her brain. It was exactly the hit that she had been after, even though she had begun to feel light headed. She smirked once more, “Bring. It."

Clover. Her parents had some love affair with the name, as if they were old-world hippies, despite the fact that they’d never truly immersed themselves in the life. No, her parents had been terrible hippies. They’d gone into their careers and they’d been forced to relinquish all hopes of living the life, all hopes of socking it to someone they’d deemed “The Man.” The closest thing they had to the life was their eldest daughter; all they had left was Clover, the name and the girl. The name should have brought some kind of luck, but no. Clover smiled, an amused smile that said she knew something that the other woman didn’t, that Clover knew and understood the world’s greatest secret.

“No, I’m not lucky. I’d say I’m pretty unlucky, but it’s subjective,” she replied, not wanting to address the woman’s comment on promises. Clo didn’t mind the woman’s words, but they really didn’t matter as much as the reference to Clo’s name. Everyone had some thought, some opinion, on Clover’s name. She enjoyed the questions and comments. Perhaps that had been her parents’ goal all along; they’d wanted their eldest daughter to have an easy introduction, to have a conversational piece that would last a lifetime.

“What happens when you lose?” With the noise in the pub, Clover didn’t know if her words were heard. The answer to the question didn’t matter as much as the fact that Clover had asked. The brunette had made her point, if only to herself. Raven had walked right into a tangled web, and she’d said the wrong thing to the wrong person. The woman with red and black hair. The woman with the nose ring. Raven. Clo lifted her glass to take a drink of the Jameson, but she’d merely disturbed the liquid enough to make it seem as if she’d taken a small sip, as if she’d needed to relish the taste of the Irish whiskey. “One of these days, you won’t walk away from that dance, but something tells me,” she paused, eyeing the woman from head to toe, “you aren’t afraid. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.”

If Raven, as the woman had called herself, had no fear of death, Clover had no real interest in the woman. Unless Raven screamed and begged and bled. Clo admired her drinking companion, trying to imagine the different scenarios. When she hunted, Clo wanted to court her victims, whether that meant smooth talking to lull them into a false sense of security, or holding a basic conversation. At that moment, she wasn’t sure which of the two she meant to enact. Before she had the opportunity to continue the conversation, to delve deeper into the inner workings of the woman’s mind, she watched as a man closed his hand around Raven’s shoulder.

Of course Raven wasn’t alone. Clo's lips twitched for the beginnings of a smirk, as if she’d just stumbled onto the perfect prey. A couple. Oh how Clover adored couples. She preferred couples and men, as if they were delicacies, and she’d been presented with an ideal opportunity. When she noticed the presence of the other two men, Clover felt the beginnings of her smirk slowly falling away. The three men looked as if they wanted trouble, and Clo didn’t need any of her heightened senses to come to such a conclusion. The leader of the group, a chubby man, had an unpleased expression on his face, as if he had some sort of unfinished business, and his two lackeys, for they were lackies, looked as if they were the muscle behind the operation. The large man obviously lacked the ability to handle his own business.

Did they have knives? Were they hiding their weapons beneath their clothing? Clover wondered if Raven had initiated the final dance. But Raven was Clover’s kill. Raven was Clover’s prey. Her brows furrowed, Clo turned on her stool to get a better look at the three men. Despite Raven’s words, Clover remained silent. Clover let the strange woman sign a check that the woman couldn’t cash; the brunette wondered if Raven had any fighting ability at all. Did Raven intend to take the hits? Did Raven expect someone to come to her rescue? The questions were numerous, each one with more depth.

The third man, the one with the beer bottle, captured and held Clover’s attention. Clo had seen plenty of bar fights, some of them short-lived and some of them extremely violent. The way the man held the beer bottle said that he intended to cause a lot of damage, damage that Clover wanted to cause. And yet, Clover waited. She watched the redhead land a solid punch to the second man, the other lacky. Just as predicted, the third man slammed his beer bottle into the bar and lodged the jagged end into Raven’s side. That was when Clover sighed, the irritation clearly shown on her face. Her expression hardened, she slipped off of the bar stool and grabbed her drink from atop the bar.

Raven taunted the men, but Clover had no intention of using taunts to lure the men in her direction. Without hesitation, Clover reeled back and threw the contents of her glass into the third man’s face. He no longer had his beer bottle, but Clover didn’t care whether he had other weapons or not. The scent of Raven’s blood had already begun to creep its way up Clo's nostrils, filling her lungs and making her mouth water. The familiar poison associated with her bite had already begun to gather in her mouth. As the alcohol connected with his eyes, the man screamed and began to claw at his face. Clover stretched out her hand, and then she balled it into a fist. He’d already begun cursing at her, calling her a filthy piece of ****, calling her a stupid ******* *****, but Clover enjoyed the insults. When she punched the man, he flew back into the bar. Clo heard the succession of cracks, the sound of the edge of the bar breaking the man’s spine. Even over the hysteria of people still emptying the pub, she heard his high-pitched scream. He crumpled to the ground, a sobbing mess.

Clover’s eyes turned a dangerous shade of amber, her pupils transforming into narrow, vertical slits. Eyes of the beast. “Not now,” she whispered, trying her hardest to maintain control. Her voice was hoarse, so coarse that she barely recognized the sound. Already, she ducked down to snatch the fallen man by his throat. She dug her nails into the man’s skin until small trails of blood dribbled down her fingers. Blood. Delicious blood. Precious blood. Clo licked her lips.

“I’ll kill you!” She vaguely heard the exclamation, but the threat meant nothing to her, not from the fat oaf and his remaining lackey.

Something wasn’t right, Raven could feel it as her brown hues watched her drinking companion punch a grown man who suddenly flew right into a bar. His whole body had flown through the air from one simple punch. Raven didn’t fear death, because it was a normal process that everyone went through at least once in their lifetime. The only thing that she did fear, was the unknown and the unknown had presented itself in the variable of one strong woman. A woman who had made a grown man fly through the air. Raven was struggling to make sense of it all, for she had never seen such a thing in all of her life. Was Clover on steroids? Hell it certainly felt like Raven was whenever she felt pain that was bad enough that needed stitches. Her red painted lips panted with the pain from her side, but her gaze focused upon the fat man and his last lacky who seemed to have recovered from the hit to his manhood.

Both stood there as if they meant to do something, the fat man had yelled that he would kill her, but that was highly unlikely. He was too fat and too slow to do much fighting, if any at all. It was then that Raven realized that she still couldn’t hear any of the sirens that would indicate policemen or paramedics. Where the hell are they? She growled to herself as she shifted her position to step forwards. Pain, glorious pain throbbed through her body, but it was the unknown that was cutting through the pain to make her think clearly. Her hand lifted to press to her left side, just underneath where the broken bottle stuck out of. She felt the blood that began to dribble passed her fingers and she knew she was bleeding out and wasn’t sure as to how much longer she could stay standing.

Brown hues looked to the stranger, the woman that had been her drinking partner and saw the hunger that was visible within the woman’s eyes. She watched the tongue that darted out to lick lips and she saw the blood that dribbled from the stranger’s neck. The stranger that had pierced her side with the broken bottle. What the hell was Clover? Suddenly, Raven was glad that she hadn’t punched her drinking partner, simply because she probably would have been on the receiving end of the stranger’s anger with nails sticking out of her own neck. While that sounded like heaven, it probably would have scared her at the brute strength she held. It wasn’t humanly possible, not in the least. The idiots that said they would kill Clover but didn’t make a move, they just simply stood there as if they too were shocked by Clover’s strength. Raven couldn’t care less if they died, but for some odd reason, she reacted anyway. There were too many innocents within the bar still, too many witnesses.

Pain shot through her body like a rocket and a pained cry parted her red painted lips as her right hand grasped the broken bottle by the neck and pulled. Flesh shifted and suddenly it was free. Blood spurted from the wound and instantly, she felt light headed. ”****!” She gritted her teeth and shifted so her left hand covered the wound and she threw the broken bottle. It flew not towards any of the lackeys or the fat man, as much as she wanted to, but it flew towards Clover. The stranger frightened her because of her strength. Whatever she was, Raven still owed her. Witnesses were still in the room and she could now hear the faint distant sirens. Policemen had a habit of carrying guns. Whether the bottle hit the woman or not, Raven yelled, ”You bloody idiot! Witnesses!”

As soon as the words left her lips, she turned and began to move away from the scene, she didn’t want to see if the bottle hit or not. She slowly moved from the bar to the back door, as she fought to stay conscious. Removing the bottle had increased the blood flow and she was bleeding out. The woman cursed herself as she pressed a bloodied hand to the door to shove it open so she could stumble into the ally. Her right hand reached out to press against the brick wall as she slowly made her way down it. She attempted to get away from the scene, away from the police, even if it meant getting away from the paramedics. Inside had been what she would describe as someone who had a hunger that wasn't normal by her standards, strength that wasn’t normal. Raven could only describe what she had seen as a beast in human form, a beast she had warned but wasn’t willing to get close to because she too bled.

The woman knew that she hadn’t seen the hunger within Clover until after the henchman had begun to bleed, so she figured that it was best that she stayed away from the stranger as well. Her vision tilted sideways then and she pressed her back to the brick wall before her form slid down along it until her *** felt the concrete underneath. A laugh bubbled to her lips then before she slipped off her ruined jacket and tore the bottom off of her ripped shirt. She tore the material into strips and tied a couple together so then she could use it as a bandage to stem the flow of blood. Slowly she slid her right hand along her stomach until it rested over her left side, applying the pressure needed to help stem the flow. Raven had deliberately not stopped to see Clover’s reaction to her words and movements deliberately, she didn’t want her following her.

Her eyes closed for a moment as a simple sigh of content caressed her lips, especially when she hadn’t heard nor seen the woman follow. If she had missed such cues, then she had been far too distracted with her own actions. The sirens were getting closer and she wasn’t sure if they would even bother to check the ally, but she had left a blood trail, so maybe they might find her just in time. Wasn't it just her luck, that she had attracted an unknown variable. A beast in disguise and had even considered it to be a drinking partner. Was it her addiction for pain that had caused her to run into such a thing? All she did know, was perhaps that she should keep moving, but she was feeling light headed.

"Move," she whispered to herself and she forced herself to her feet once more. She stumbled across the ally so then she could use her left hand to press her weight against the wall. Her feet shuffled forwards and all that she focused upon was putting one foot in front of the other.

Losing control made her feel weightless. When she succumbed to baser urges, Clover felt as if she were slowly sinking below the surface of the water. With each passing second, the water climbed higher and higher, covering more and more of her body. Her feet were gone. Her legs were gone. When the water finally covered her head, she disappeared entirely. The ice-cold water contrasted with the heat of the moment, the heat she had quickly associated her insatiable bloodlust. Losing control meant submitting herself to a quick succession of hot and cold, like throwing herself into shock. And all she wanted, all that mattered, was the passing of blood over her lips, across her tongue, and down her throat.

Killing the lackey had been unintentional. Clo had tightened her grip around the man’s throat, pressing down on his skin until she felt and heard the man’s bones grinding against one another. The man had chosen the wrong crowd, stepped into the wrong pub, and pursued the wrong woman. He could have enjoyed his beer, like the rest of the patrons, but no. Even with the sound of the people fleeing the pub, Clover hesitated on releasing the man. She inhaled the strong, metallic scent of his blood. She moved close enough to his neck that she could dart her tongue out and taste the blood that had trickled down the side of his throat, right where her nails had punctured the skin.

Even with her face buried in the man’s neck, her lips pressed against his skin, she smelled Raven’s blood. Every type had a distinct scent; every person had a unique marker. Clover lived to differentiate between prey. Despite the fact that she’d begun to nip at the man’s flesh, she had yet to break the skin. Clo felt the familiar ache in her jaw, the ache that warned of her growing need for blood and her shrinking ability to contain her fangs. If it weren’t for the echoes of screams and the stamping of feet, she might have done more than lick and suck at the tiny wounds she’d created. Even as she was, she’d fallen to a level of desperation she only associated with her blind desire, the ever-present need, for blood.

Clover heard Raven’s curse, but the beer bottle played more of a role in breaking the spell. The broken bottle made a deep whir as it bridged the distance between the women. The glass cut through the air and connected with the bottom of the bar, shattering on impact. If Clo had been a few more centimeters to the right, if the bottle had been a few more centimeters to the left, she would have been the one struck, rather than the bar. The beer bottle brought her out of her stupor enough for the sound of sirens to reach her ears. Emergency personnel could have meant any number of responders, but she focused on the idea of police officers. Clover loved to aggravate cops. Raven’s insult seemed like a whisper, the rest of the words tucked so neatly between the sirens and the sounds of stragglers.

“I don’t mind some witnesses,” Clover replied, the words like an automatic response. Clover left witnesses, and she disposed of witnesses. Her choice depended on her generosity and the witness in question. Clo had let a few people walk away with knowledge that they shouldn’t have possessed, and yet she’d just turned two people for the same reason. The thought struck her then that Raven had gone from being prey to being a witness.

When Clo turned, she saw the woman’s retreating form. Had the words even reached Raven’s ears? How long had Clover been fixated on the blood? The questions swirled through her mind, coming and going in such a succession that she wondered if she’d stumbled upon one long thought, a single sentence with ideas separated by commas and peppered with ellipses. As she got to her feet, she had to step on the broken remains of the beer bottle. The glass crunched and popped beneath her ankle boots, being ground further into the hardwood floor. Behind her, the large man and his remaining lackey, stood and stared. The obese man looked as if he were going to piss himself, while his friend kept trying to nudge him in the direction of the front doors.

“What are you?” Suddenly, the large man found his voice. He looked at her as if he expected her to grow a second head, and she took joy in his confusion just as much as his fear. “I saw you. I saw you drinking his blood,” he whispered, his voice so low that anyone else would have had to strain to hear.

“No, you didn’t,” Clover replied, her voice flat.

“Yes, I did! You’re not human! You aren’t human!” The man had begun to get hysterical then, and the couple of people that lingered around the front door began to pay more attention to the odd conversation. Clover looked from the fat man to his remaining lackey, the stupid man that had been burdened by such a foolish boss figure, and she looked for some sign of agreement. Instead, the lackey took two steps back, turned toward the front door, and ran for his life. “Harry! Harry, where are you going? Get back here and take care of this! Don’t leave me here!” The man blubbered, tears staining his chubby cheeks. Clover walked over to him, grabbed his right arm, and proceeded to drag him to the back door. He opened his mouth to scream, but she fixed him with a hard glare. Her eyes had returned to their normal brown, but they flashed back to amber then. He started crying even harder.

Clover didn’t need to follow a blood trail, not when she could smell and hear her prey, but she chose to rely on her sight rather than her other senses. There was no point in exerting energy when she had no need. Dragging the pathetic man along behind her, she felt as if she were already burdened. Clo didn’t know if she wanted to kill the man or if she wanted to torture the man--Clo made a split-second decision to kidnap, and she regretted it with every step she took. She should have killed him in the pub.

“Raven,” she called out. “Where are you going, Raven?” A sigh followed, as if she were tired of the chase, but she enjoyed the chase. She wanted Raven to run. She wanted Raven to react in the way that Okoro and Nona had reacted. Although she would have settled for the way her other prey reacted; she would have been just as fine if Raven fell into a false sense of security. When the fat man stumbled, Clover released her hold on him and let him fall onto all fours. He showed no signs of getting up, so she drove the her right boot into his side. She kicked him halfway down the alley and then watched him roll right into a trashcan. The man cracked his head off the metal trashcan and went still, but he was still breathing. Clo focused her attention on Raven then, having closed the distance between them.

“Let’s talk about what you saw.”

Raven heard the woman’s movements and in her barely conscious mind, she paused to see the woman kick the fat man. Her brown hues watched as the man basically rolled down the ally before crashing into a metal trash can where he laid still. A laugh rose to her lips then as she shifted to press her back against the brick wall. Rule number one in any fight, don’t have your back facing towards an opponent. ”Well you see dear Clover, I would prefer to not be thrown in jail for the night. Stirring up trouble is way too much fun.” She drew in a deep breath feeling the skin pull at the edges of her wound and pain shot through her like a bullet once more. Clarity crashed through her and she laughed again, even though this aggravated her wound and sent more pain washing over her. The whole situation had become funny to the woman.

Yes, she was still scared of the unknown variable, but at the same time, she knew that death would come riding up on his black stead to claim her very life. It was only a matter of what would kill her first. Clover? Or blood loss? The woman had her money upon Clover. Why? Because she was was an unknown variable and they held that kind of power. A smirk fell upon her lips then as her eyes half closed while she pressed her head back against the wall. ”I tell you what. If I tell you what I saw, so long as you promise to say my name right before you kill me.” A bloodied hand lifted to run through her red and black hair, colouring the black a deep red. She then held up the same hand almost as if to stop the stranger from speaking, ”But then again, I don’t trust you and nor do I care for promises. I’m going to bleed out before the paramedics even work out that I’m down here anyway.”

A lack of trust ran deep within her veins and so promises were useless. Ever since that one day when she had almost bled to death from betrayal of her own brother who had sold her out, trust never came to the woman. So she had been a loner for years. Getting into trouble and letting no one in. Pain had been the constant while people came and went. It was her addiction and how she spent her days, no, years chasing it. Down alleys and within bars and clubs. She even just threw in a punch here and there randomly upon the street. If it wasn’t pain, it was fire she played with, but she always saw flirting with death just as similar as playing with fire. Right now, she was doing both. Raven played with fire, the woman who had followed her out the back door of the pub and down the alley. Plus, she flirted with death as she continued to bleed out onto the pavement underneath her feet.

”I saw you punch a grown man whose body flew through the air and hit the bar. I also saw a hunger that only seemed to have made an appearance within your eyes after the man started to bleed. That’s some kinks that you have there.” A weaker laugh followed through as she closed her eyes and her head leaned forward a little as she inspected her wound. Blood had already seeped through the makeshift bandage and had already began to leak through her fingers once more. Holding pressure upon it seemed rather pointless at this point and she was half tempted to just rip the bandage off so then she would die and not be at the mercy of the unknown variable.

Her brown hues flickered up to view the stranger from underneath her eye lashes and she wondered just as to why she hadn’t killed her yet. Perhaps she just wanted to watch her die without getting any more blood upon her hands, Raven told herself. Which she was fine with, she just didn’t understand as to why she brought the fat man as well. The woman’s head rolled so she could view the man who seemed dead to her, but she couldn’t make a decent decision unless she could feel for a pulse. Slowly, her form slid back down along the wall, too weak to continue standing and a groan parted her lips. Was she waiting for Raven to beg? Clover would be waiting for a long time… Well, until she bled out. A smirk crossed her lips then as she felt the fringes of darkness close in around her. They were familiar, did this darkness also witness her death from all those years ago? When she had been brought back by paramedics?

”I would say that if you’re waiting for me to beg for my life, that you’d be waiting for a while. However, I’d be lying. I’d say, maybe another minute or two, give or take. You’d just have to wait for the blood to flow faster if you want less than a minute.” Slowly, her hand fell away from the wound as a sigh of content caressed her lips and the blood flowed a little more quickly. Raven’s eyes flickered back to the woman, her chin lifting just a little to view Clover’s face. ”Say Clover, you wouldn’t by any chance have brought out a Jameson as well? If not, I’d settle for a cigarette if we are waiting for this whole slow dying thing to finish.” Slowly, her eye lids drooped before they slid closed and she drew in a deep breath. She felt the darkness that lingered upon the fringes of her mind creep in, but they just weren’t creeping fast enough. Was she ever going to finish dying?

Oh hell, why was she thinking that when she had the perfect opportunity to interrogate her onlooker. She was literally dying, so she would literally take Clover’s secret to her grave. ”I am curious though.” She said softly and took a deep breath as she felt her heart within her own body, start to literally slow. ”What exactly are you? No normal person could have done what you did. So, tell a dying woman who is literally on her death bed and who will literally take your secret to her grave. What are you?” She held a hand up as if to stop the woman from speaking, before it fell back into her lap. "It's also rude to lie to the dead, just so you are aware." Raven had lost her own bet, or so it seemed. She wasn't going to be dying by Clover's hands, no she would be dying of blood loss.

Focused on her words seemed impossible. Instead, Clover listened to the steady rhythm of Raven’s heartbeat, the heavy thump thump that had drawn her in and led her astray. And the scent of blood! Mouth-watering, at least; overwhelming, at most. Clo watched the way the blood soaked through the bandages. She imagined the slow, graceful movement of red across the fabric, as if the woman’s life force were overtaking the only barrier between itself and death. The brunette didn’t need any other proof. Raven was dying. Clover had the opportunity to sit and watch the light leave the woman’s eyes. She also had the opportunity to force the light from the woman’s eyes. Everything hinged on the thirst, the never-ending desire to feed, and how long she could ignore her body’s cravings.

Raven offered everything that Clover wanted. Blood. Intelligence. Conversation. Strength. How had Clover ever restrained herself enough to turn the childer that she had, the ones that she rarely saw, rarely encountered? At the thought, she licked her lips. Her tongue slid over her chapped skin; the poison from her fangs mixed with her saliva. Her poisoned bite had been used before. How easy it would have been to grab Raven by the hair and dig those poisoned fangs right into the woman’s neck. At that thought, Clo watched the woman slowly wilting. She watched the way Raven clutched at the injury, the way Raven slowly slid to the ground. The woman knew the same thing that Clover knew. The steady thump thump had begun to slow, like a song winding down to its finale. They only had a few minutes left together. How did they want to spend Raven’s last moments?

Clo reached into the inner pocket of her blazer and pulled out a half-empty pack of cigarettes. Again, Clover had taken up smoking. She closed the few feet between herself and the redhead, and she dug out a cigarette from amongst the remaining five. There was a pause as Clo felt around the pockets of her jeans, and then she produced her Batman lighter and lit the end of the cigarette. She held onto the middle of the cigarette and offered the filter end to the woman, a silent offering in the final hour, so to speak. And still, Clover struggled. The close proximity amplified the scent of blood and the sound of the woman’s heart.

Thump thump.

Clover closed her eyes and listened to the beats, counting them and treasuring them. One. Two. Three. How much longer did they have? And in those final few moments, just before Raven’s heart stopped, Clo wondered if she would rip the woman’s throat out and feast on the blood she so desperately needed. “Why the hell would I stop to grab the whiskey? What happened to ‘witnesses’?” She would have done air quotations, but she settled for an inflection in her voice, a reminder that she’d heard the woman’s words and found them both amusing and irritating. “I’ll admit that I’m disappointed you won’t beg for your life, but I haven’t decided what I want to do with you,” she admitted, her words slipped in just after she’d offered the cigarette.

With the loud sound of the sirens, they should have been fleeing the scene, even if Raven had such little time left. There were bound to be questions. They were the cause of such a commotion. Pressing her own back against the wall of the building, Clo slowly slid down the side until she came to rest right next to Raven. She could have brushed shoulders with the woman, if they were looking for some more camaraderie; instead, Clo reached out to run her fingers along the makeshift bandages, to try and feel the texture of Raven’s blood. Was it the same as other blood? It smelled the same. It looked the same. And how did it taste? Clover managed to swipe some and she rubbed her index finger and thumb together to complete part of her test. Yes, the blood felt the same. As she licked at her fingers, she judged that the blood tasted the same.

“I do like to lie,” Clover said, licking the remaining blood from her lips. She ran her tongue across to teeth to try and savor the taste, but the blood had already gone. The flavor had become another memory. Again, Clover found herself reached out to prod at Raven’s side, but she went with more confidence and she went for more than a taste. Her fingers were hooked, as if she meant to drive them right into the woman’s wound, as if she meant to drive them right into Raven’s insides. But she didn’t go that far. How many times had she played doctor? She wasn’t a doctor, something she’d realized while she’d played with Jesse, while she’d played with her victims, but she liked to pretend. “You aren’t dead yet.”

Again, Clover licked and sucked at her fingers. She ran her tongue along her palm. Every trace of blood was removed from her skin, and she looked like nothing had happened at all. She felt as if nothing had happened. Tastes were quick temptations, something that drove her back for more and more. Raven’s blood tasted delicious. Did the woman know the level of temptation?

“You have no idea how hard it is not to rip you apart right now. All I want to do is tear into your throat. You taste so good,” she sighed, her fangs finally freed. She tipped her head back and rested it against the side of the building. Clo relished the feel of her fangs and the tingling on her tongue. Blood. Her body craved blood. There was the thirst, like an old friend, just begging for more. Thump thump. “What am I,” she mused, clicking her tongue to try and think of how she wanted to phrase the words. Something told her to be delicate, to pick and choose her words as if she were trying to preserve the woman, to protect the woman. That was the portion of Clover that wanted to maintain some semblance of the masquerade. That part of Clover scolded her for having revealed such strength and such bloody desires. “I’m a vampire, Raven,” she admitted, without the pleasantries, “and you belong to me now.”