“They're following me again, love.. Meet me down at 2nd Avenue on Mainstreet? Be sure to talk more, then. Got something for you.. Have to go. Stay safe, hon..” Click. The monotonous ring of the open signal was all that relayed through the telephone line. Her last words, smooth and beautiful like satin silk. The last time he'd ever hear of her, just twenty minutes prior to taking to the open streets. The endless fall of a torrential downpour crashed against the asphalt, casting a permeating mist over the urban landscape.
A car pulled up through the onset of the storm, the distance of fifty or so feet from where the dog stood. The cherry red veneer of the cars paint job had shown darkly against the veiled light of an overhead street lamp, but the look was distinctive enough. It was her.. Mira.. She stepped out of the open car door with that swaggering strut, the gentle sway of curvaceous hips behind a thick black rain coat. Golden blonde hair hung long past the shoulders, a beautiful face matching the effeminate beauty of her form. Past the living splendor of their meet, in the back of the dogs mind, something felt off. Perhaps it was the slip of her tongue over the telephone, the ever so slight change in her tone, or the exposed location she had chosen as their meeting place. But something left him on edge; perhaps she was followed after all..
Slowly, he'd shove off against the hard granite of the white-washed wall, and approached her from across the street. But through the fabric of his trench-coat, his paw instinctively reached for his gun, walnut grip clenched hard in right hand. All the while, as he caught the sight of her silhouette in the pale lighting of the street lamp, he'd just as soon glance over their surroundings for any sign of another. Rather casually, she reached into her coat pocket, likely for a familiar manilla file-folder. Except this time, as she'd pull against the flap of her coat, there was the resilient shine of metal. He had but a heart beat to react, whipping out his Reman 98 with a sudden quick-draw. The brazen roar of two gun shots echoed across the city streets, as the two figures stood across from one another, guns raised high.
The first shot split her chest wide open, the Mag-Lock's heavy slug piercing her soft flesh like butter. The second had since pinged off the pavement, but inches from where the dog stood. And then she went down.. blood pooling from her open wound into the storm waters that flowed over asphalt. The whole sequence felt like one long movie sequence, but in truth, only spanned the length of several seconds. And he remembered what he saw.. her face, her beautiful face, dashed by that devious look. An expression of danger, just as she was reaching into her jacket to pull at something.. The glint of metal against the street light denoted ulterior motives. The sound of metal against pavement as she fell was consistent with the weight of a gun.. For the longest time, he just stood there, the distance of thirty or so feet away from her. The distance between them came to a close as the dog walked forth in slow, methodical steps. And with an empty gaze, he stood over her body, his brilliant blue eyes running over her lifeless form. Shiro eventually forced himself to look away, turning his back to her in disgust, a huff leaving his curled lips.
Mira the mink.. Glamorous show star at the classy L'levours Club, eloquent singer, dealer in privileged information of the criminal underworld, and a sort of “heist girl.” She was crazy like a fox, seemingly untouchable in the various social circles between the reach of the upper class and crime rings of the underworld. Now, she was just another dead stiff, lying face down on the black asphalt of a rain stricken street. It had been three days time since they conversed before this night, but what Shiro wondered was how anyone could have turned her against him. Her of all people, the one true love that he held close like no other. Money wasn't everything with Mira; she had a convoluted sense of honor bound morality that extended to her choice acquaintances. This went far deeper than that, far deeper than Shiro was willing to accept. Blackmail? Extortion? It didn't make sense.. Or maybe the truth of the matter was that he didn't know her quite as well as he thought he had.
With his back to the street lamp that hung overhead, the dimmed light filtered over his form as he stood in the passing of the rains. His expression long since having darkened into that of a glare, a lingering dissonance now gripped his mind, matched with an enduring sense of loss and regret.
Commentary: With finals week upon me, I'm surprised I managed to finish such a picture tonight. It didn't come out exactly as I imagined it might, but ah well. It's a nice picture of Shiro, nonetheless. Could have done better with the synopsis, but there's always next time.
6 years, 3 months ago
15 Dec 2012 12:37 CET
Full Size: fdaa4255bbaf7ddd869b6a5dac59f70b