PlanetNiles

Here is the emotional scene I wrote earlier today that made me cry. More excerpts if you hold me down and do wicked wicked things to me:

Tara – Still Dressed to Kill

Kadia had given Tara the address of a bar that was frequented by some of Budapest’s criminal classes. It was conveniently close to the entrance to under world she and Jones had exited from; Tara was sure that had they a dramaturge with them they’d have been wittering on about Authors Intent and other such bollocks. The bar occupied a modest corner of a building and much of the adjacent courtyard. Jones secreted himself into an a lonely corner table and watched as Tara mixed and mingled. She didn’t so much drape herself over any available man, with her height most men would have looked like jewelery against her, but she certainly made her presence known to her potential paramours. It didn’t take her long to find the biggest baddest bastard in the joint, a heavy it was said had blinded his girlfriend after beating her half to death during a drunken rage, nor was it too hard to wrap him around her little finger. Getting him to leave with her was hard, getting to leave with her alone was even harder. Jones followed at a safe distance as she dragged her victim towards the under world. Even a scum bag like that was reluctant to enter such an ill omened place but Tara teased him, or so Jones guessed from her tone, and for a moment he was worried the arse hole would hit her. But instead he diligently followed her into the darkened tunnels. Not enough blood to run both heads indeed, Jones mused with a sudden hot flash of lust. He hovered on the threshold, part of him eager to let Tara take her lover into the tunnels alone, while Jones returned to Kadia to reignite the evening’s passions. His greater head won out, willing him forward into the shadows.

Jones followed the couple deeper into the labyrinthine passages, keeping the light of their torch within sight as much as possible, his own light source used in such a way as to prevent Tara’s victim, Jones didn’t know what was going on but couldn’t help but think of the man as such, from realizing he was being followed. Jones could hear the rats scurrying in the shadows, just out of sight as he moved along. Soon he arrived at the entrance to the chamber that Tara had led him to earlier that night. He paused, not wanting to enter but a burning curiosity driving him to know more. he pressed his ear to the door.

Friar Gabriel heard Tara loudly proclaiming out side the door to the chamber and hurried away from the coffin to hide in the shadows. He had decorated the chamber appropriately for the deed; a lit candle at each corner of the open coffin lit its contents and threw flickering shadows against the bare stone walls.
“Just through here my sweet, my hidden boudoir in the tunnels, a real dungeon of debauchery to please the most wicked of tastes,” she said loudly in Hungarian. The door opened and a large, heavily set man entered, his eyes were wide as they took in the chamber’s contents. he swore, turning back towards the door and was struck with enough force to knocking to the floor and against the heavy stone plinth upon which Igor’s coffin rested. Tara followed, entering the room with her a face seemingly in its own shadow. She grabbed the man by his hair, eliciting a cry of pain as she dragged him around to the other far side of the coffin. He screamed as she raised his head up to the lip of the coffin and he saw the severed head of Igor resting before him. “Oh you don’t like it when a woman can fight back, eh?” Tara asked him, drawing Igor’s sword from its sheath. Gabriel went to move forward to stop her, to let him make the kill, but instead he let his hand drop and remained still, his features hidden beneath the hoods of his robes. The man saw the movement and cried out again pleading for mercy and at the horror of the death before him. Tara pressed the cold steel edge to the sword to his throat. “Any last words, you woman beating waste of breath, before I send your soul to hell?” she asked him. The man cried out again, babbling incoherently. Tara became aware of a spreading puddle at her feet. She gritted her teeth and tried to slice the sword across the man’s throat but her arm wouldn’t move. She tried again, desperate to end his worthless life and restore her beloved uncle to her.

Igor’s face swam before her “Too much blood has been spilled my dear, and no matter how much we hate and how much we hurt, spilling more it neither brings neither peace nor relief.” She remembered the cold spring morning so many years before when that they had buried two empty coffins. Grandad Q had cried then, tears spilling down the wrinkled lines of his face. Tara remembered standing between her grandfather and uncle as the empty coffins were entombed withing the family crypt, lowered side-by side into the ground, symbolic of lives lost. She remembered being confused, where had her parents gone, why wouldn’t they coming back, how could they live in such a small stone house and not with her and Igor. Grandad Quincy had died the following winter and soon lay in the crypt beside the bones of his parents and the empty space of his son ad daughter in law. Only then had she understood. Only then had she cried.

With a scream she hurled the man away. “GO!” She commanded, with a voice that seemed to shake the room. The man ran, hurrying through the nearest open door in fear and shame. Tara staggered from the coffin, her cheeks wet with tears. she collapsed at the foot of the coffin and let all the bottled up grief flood out in great gulping sobs.