Patricia Goody found her name extremely amusing, since she was anything but good. Hanged for being a witch in Massachusetts in 1690, she, and the rest of her village, had discovered she was an Immortal. Driven from her home, she spent the next 200 years roaming the country, spending time with various Indian tribes and learning the skills she needed to make something of herself -- and to take heads. She'd even spent some time in California as a saloon girl just for kicks. Basically, she did whatever she found to be the most amusing at the time
( ... )
“Patricia….” Grabbing the drink from her hand and drinking it all down in one shot, Victor drops the glass onto the bar counter and scoops her up, flinging her over his shoulder swinging her around amused at the situation. “Good to see you still have your head. ‘for now,’ Victor thinks to himself as he plants his lips to her with a sexual, borderline feral growl.
“What brings you to New York or should we forego the questions and just do what we do best,” he asks amused as he sets her down without ceremony.
Flushed from her spin, she pokes him in the chest. "Don't call me Patricia. You know I hate that. And talk is cheap, you know that too. Let's go somewhere and later on you can ask me all the questions in the fucking world you want. And you're lucky I'm in this kind of mood or I'd make you buy me another drink first."
"Not even when I am screaming out the name Patricia at the height of passion," Victor jokes casually, laying a fifty on he counter, “Whiskey bottle now," he growls with a sweet smile, giving the bartender a vicious look that brooks no argument. The man gives Victor the largest, most expensive, unopened bottle of Whiskey in the house, a two hundred bottle to be exact before scurrying away and pretending that these two are simply not here.
He’s wasting their time or at least his and by the time that Patty has her sword dangling loosely from her hand, Victor makes his decisive strike. Knocking her blade out of the way, his sword makes a clean cut, leaving her head to roll slightly until it rests just near the tip of her own weapon.
The tip of his sword stays in the air for about five seconds before Victor turns it downward resting it in soil as the first surge of energy, the quickening tears through him. Every bit of Patty’s worthless but battle experienced life passes on to him in a matter of moments. Staggering back a few paces, Victor falls to his knees and stays there until the last shiver of blue sparks runs it course. There are many hours until sunrise and as Victor gets back up, he decides to go retrieve the little bit of pot he had stashed away in the church and mellow out before dealing with body disposal.
“A pity Patricia, we could have made a good team,” he mutters, walking away and whistling to the tune of “Thanks for the memories”.
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“What brings you to New York or should we forego the questions and just do what we do best,” he asks amused as he sets her down without ceremony.
Just what he needs.
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"Yes, your hell hole or mine Patri...Patty?"
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The tip of his sword stays in the air for about five seconds before Victor turns it downward resting it in soil as the first surge of energy, the quickening tears through him. Every bit of Patty’s worthless but battle experienced life passes on to him in a matter of moments. Staggering back a few paces, Victor falls to his knees and stays there until the last shiver of blue sparks runs it course. There are many hours until sunrise and as Victor gets back up, he decides to go retrieve the little bit of pot he had stashed away in the church and mellow out before dealing with body disposal.
“A pity Patricia, we could have made a good team,” he mutters, walking away and whistling to the tune of “Thanks for the memories”.
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