The text-message tone chirped as the pair of slender, waifish Goths lay sprawled like lizards across the hotel lounge. Taking a swig from her chosen bottle of poison, Lauren flicked on the screen of her phone to check the message. Her expression softened sympathetically.
“Aww, poor baby.” She said gently, closing the phone again and letting it drop onto the lounge. Leaning over momentarily to set the now empty bottle down amidst the small forest of its siblings, she then readjusted her posture on Vincent’s lap. Pale shoulders rested against his legs even as the purple curtain of her hair streamed over his knees; a rare shock of colour amidst all the black and white.
“Problems back home?” Her partner asked, dragging his fingers through her hair and listening idly to the soft clinking of chains on his clothes.
“Oh, Franco’s fallen ill after working hard to stave it off. Had to work a bunch of extra hours at work and didn’t quite get the rest he needed to stay healthy.”
“Ah… No Halloween parties then I’m guessing?”
“Pretty much; even if he felt well enough to go to any, he wouldn’t want to risk infecting anyone else. And since his computer is still at the shop getting repaired, he’s stuck in bed watching TV for the next few days.”
“Rough.” Vincent replied, picking up a fresh bottle and twisting off the cap against his own chest. “Maybe a little teasing would lift his spirits?”
“Heh, it might…” Lauren agreed, a toothy grin spreading over her face as she considered it. From above, Vincent could see the subtle shifting of her expression as wheels turned in her head.
“And what fresh torment are you cooking up in your head then young lady?”
“Weeeelll I was just thinking; our little ‘play session’ tonight.” Her gaze drifted up to meet his, a pulse of anticipation rolling through Vincent as he recognized the excited glint in her eyes. “Would you mind if we made it a little more public?”
“A public whipping?” He chuckled, smiling down at her. “Sure; it’s pretty tame by the typical standards of violence in American streets.”
“Ha.” Lauren replied, rattling off a message to Franco before rising to her feet. Setting her phone back in her pocket, she turned on a thick-booted heel and extended a hand to Vincent. “Shall we then?”
* * *
Bzzt. Bzzt.
Franco groaned, slumped on his lounge beneath a woollen blanket and a small pile of snotty tissues. Lifting his phone into his peripheral vision, he peered at the glowing screen out of one bleary eye. Lauren’s name sat merrily in its midst.
“Anything good on the news?”
He squinted suspiciously at the message.
“Is there ever?” He replied with great scepticism, but he switched the channel over all the same. “… Oh.”
A wave of thunderous sounds and a cacophony of wailing sirens greeted him, along with the bewildered screaming of many people as the pale-faced reporter tried their best to remain composed, even as they and their cameraman were running along with the rest of the churning crowd.
The camera itself was tilted a little higher than was normal for a news report, and even with the steady bobbing of fleeing footsteps, the transmission still captured the indistinct shapes of two looming figures in the distance. Under-lit by the neon glow of countless city blocks, the only glimpses of detail on the pair were from the spotlights of particularly ambitious helicopters, or the beams from floodlights atop the surrounding buildings.
Each step they took caused the image to quake and shudder, the booming impacts drowning out the reporter as they tried with absolute futility to describe the situation.
Franco felt surreal in that moment, as though he alone in the entire world fully and completely understood exactly what was happening –and more importantly, who was doing it. He didn’t bother sending a follow-up reply to Lauren; she rarely checked her phone when she was playing.
Sinking down into the mass of cushions beneath, Franco flicked off the lights.
* * *
“Oh-hohoho… I’ve been looking forward to this for a long, long time.” Lauren purred with sadistic glee as she stepped down into the water, her eyes gazing hungrily at the structure stretching out beyond. Vast waves surged in all directions as she moved like a human force of nature.
“The Golden Gate Bridge huh?” Vincent smirked, joining Lauren in the bay even as they casually ignored the muted voices of police shouting ineffectually at them through megaphones. “Interesting choice.” Their choice of scale for this particular expedition had kept them at a smaller size than they usually went with, leaving them standing over head and shoulders taller than the apex of the bridge. More than enough though for what Lauren had in mind.
“Been wondering for a while if these beauties,” her elegant fingers drifted softly along the cables of the bridge, “would make for a decent improvised whip.” She cast a devious glance at Vincent as she gripped the first bundle of cables, ripping them free with contemptuous ease. A groan of twisting metal accompanied the action as the bridge tried to adjust, along with a fresh wave of cries from those stranded below.
“Only one way to find out.” Vincent noted, watching with undisguised delight as Lauren casually frayed the ends of the cables, whetting his lips in anticipation of the pain to come.
“Soon.” Lauren declared, her voice adopting an imperious tone the longer time went on. Wrapping her freshly made makeshift whip around her forearm, she braced her feet in the water and gripped onto the arch it had been attached to prior. Grunting with the effort and relishing every second of it, she bent the protesting metal-work further and further until it ripped free with a shudder, causing a ripple to pass down the length of the bridge.
A brief shower of debris rained upon the stalled cars beneath, pitching several into the churning waters by Lauren’s boots. If she was even aware of the dozens of tiny people clinging in horrified desperation to her ankles in an effort to not get swept away, she paid them no mind.
“Hold out your hands.” She commanded, setting the arch on Vincent’s wrists and bending the prongs on either side, fashioning the thing into a pair of improvised handcuffs. “There, that’s better.”
“I am quite sure I could rip through these with ease.” Vincent quirked an eyebrow as he shook the mangled metal against his wrists. Lauren responded by planting a single finger pointedly on the cuffs, a flicker of purple light slithering from her veins onto the restraints.
“Not anymore you can’t.” She grinned with adoring malice as she took a step back, unfolding the cable-whip and pressing it against Vincent’s shoulder. “Kneel.”
The impossibly tall Goth sank to his knees in the water, a wave rolling over the bridge and sweeping a fresh batch of pedestrians into the froth. He watched quietly as Lauren strode around him in a semicircle, dragging the frayed end of her new toy across his shirt. Disapproval was evident in her eyes as she tutted.
“Oh no, this won’t do at all.” She licked the tip of her finger, steam rising from beneath her nail as she lowered it to the base of his neck. Standing fully behind him now, she drew a straight line down his spine that sizzled and spat in the darkness, leaving behind a smouldering trail. Without hesitation, Lauren seized the fabric and tore it away like wrapping on a gift, revealing the scarred, battle-worn back of her boyfriend. “Muuuuch better.” She giggled, taking a moment to admire some of her past handiwork. “Mmm… Gods you’re handsome. A beautiful, beautiful man… I look forward to decorating you some more.”
“You’re too kind.” Vincent replied with baited breath.
There was a pause as Lauren tested the weight of the whip in her hand.
Thwack.
A streak of reddened flesh appeared on Vincent’s back from the impact. He grunted and jerked very slightly, but otherwise seemed unmoved.
“Another.” Lauren deemed, still getting used to the cluster of cables.
Thwack!
Deeper red crossed in the other direction, the frayed tips of the whip almost striking true the second time around as Lauren felt the adrenaline pumping in her veins now. The rest of the world was all but drowned out now; helicopters, the flashing lights of emergency response vehicles and even the patter of small-arms fire bouncing off her skin like rain – none of it mattered as she felt certain the next strike would be a winner.
“Another.”
CRACK!
The sound split the air like a bolt of lightning, an instant of silence engulfing everything as blood spattered under the blow. Lauren laughed lovingly as the lash launched lines of crimson onto the cowering crowd. Vincent bucked forward, his muscles rippling and reacting to the pain even as he hissed in approval.
“More.” He grunted, his voice shuddering.
“More?” Lauren asked, the grin obvious in her tone as she tilted her head to the side, watching in delight.
“Please… more…”
The looming form of Lauren tapped her lip in amusement, letting his pleading hang in the air for a few precious moments before bringing the whip back and striking again. Once more the frayed cables tore at Vincent’s flesh, and once more the crashing waves beneath were stained briefly red.
“P-please, Mistress, more! More!” Vincent growled in growing need. The sound of it was a sweet elixir that gave life to Lauren, and as her whipping toy begged her to continue she lifted the cables into the air above.
With an effort of will, storm-clouds gathered in a swirling maelstrom around Lauren’s outstretched hand. Flashes of light burst within as forked tongues of lightning rained upon the surrounding landscape. Eyes wild and teeth glinting in the dark, the monolithic mistress drew all the power of the storm to that central point, raw electrical current dancing in a coruscating string down the cables.
Like a Goddess of thunder she whirled the whip about her in an arc that lit up the night sky, blinding those foolish enough to not look away as she lashed down upon Vincent.
Again… and again… and again…
Crash! Crack! Thoom!
The smell of ozone filled Lauren’s nostrils as she breathed heavily, tiny tendrils of blue light still slithering up and down her fingers as she gazed happily upon the fruits of her labour. Bloodied wounds and lashes alike had been partially cauterized by the blows, though the blood still flowed in exquisite patterns down his back.
“Good boy… very good boy… you’re doing so well…” She chuckled as she watched Vincent’s squirming. He had bent further and further forward with each impact until his palms were gripped about the bridge itself, tipping the entire thing on its side and causing it to fall gradually apart at the seams.
“T-thank you, m-mistress. I s-shall be ready to continue, in a m-moment.”
Lauren grinned, turning her attention briefly from the object of her affections to one of the news choppers orbiting her head like a buzzing fly.
Reaching up with horrifyingly casual slowness, Lauren gave the thing a knowing look. The pilot realized far too late the peril he was in as her fingers pinched either side of the little machine. Its blades shattered against her fingernail, falling away in shards as she casually shook the crew out like salt grains into the water far below.
Gazing through the camera, Lauren smirked.
“Hey. Hey Franco. Wish you were here.” She placed emphasis on the final word as she brought the chopper down behind her, letting the camera get a long, lingering look at her leather-clad backside… before she smacked it into her cheek with crushing force.
* * *
Under his blankets, Franco’s face was burning – and it wasn’t the sickness. Sweat beaded on his brow as he closed his eyes and let the image sit.
“… I have the best friends.”