I don't know when the tendency towards enjoying murder started. I started very young, and maybe shooting people with some expensive guns affected me in a twisted way during my more formative years. There is a saying that the red dirt of Africa was dyed by the blood of all of those who had died there; I think those who had guided me towards a sadistic pleasure of killing would have changed the phrase to include the pavement, too. Sometimes, I hated the fact that I enjoyed feeling the last drops of blood ebb from open wounds. I enjoyed the way bones felt when you snapped them slowly and deliberately, persuaded to take your time by the fact that time itself feels like it stops to allow you your transgressions. I enjoyed channeling whatever power proved itself most necessary to break a body down into pieces, dust and flesh back to the earth. Fire didn't interest me, usually, - there were a handful of times setting flame to a house had been exciting enough to entice me into the action but usually? There were far more aggressive and pertinent ways to exume a body.

The vampire regarded me with a smirk that he sprinkled no ounce of sugar on; his expression was dry and bored. At my suggestion of dismemberment, his eyes came alive with a sparkle that didn't come anywhere near the lack of sugar on that face. He, too, quite obviously enjoyed the same kinds of behaviors I did. Differentially though, because he had built in means of killing, where as mine were channeled from a warped kind of nature. He thought I'd never ask? Oh, believe me, I had thought about a handful of ways to dispose of the job, and it hadn't ever occurred to me that someone might rob me of the opportunity to lose some of the itchiness that the work week had given me. I fought the urge to stop him with a reply that might sound like a petulant child, my eyes narrowing. It was clear he was faster than I was by sheer fact that it was another built in kind of advantage for vampires.

Why was it those ridiculous creatures got cool weapons from evolution, and most get jack shit?

"I kind of wish you were in pieces," I muttered, my accent garbling the words enough he wouldn't hear, or understand them.

I had watched in mild, inward horror as my opportunity was quickly destroyed. With still narrowed, lightening eyes, I watched the way the man demolished the job's body, literally ripping him limb from limb. In a martyr like fashion, he held the body up with arms out as if it was on a cross. Feeling oddly violated, I crossed my arms and almost wanted to start tapping my foot for him to hurry up. But honestly? I would have had to say that the quick work he made of it with concise, clean tears made my eyes slowly start to darken again as an amused simper edged it's way onto my face.

When he was finished, I snorted at his words and uncrossed my arms to crack my knuckles, readying to play my part. I took the steps towards the pile, finding a very, very solemn expression.

"People pass on, but they never truly leave our hearts," I started, my voice low and serious. "May he rest in piece."

In a flurry of activity, the silence was broken by the acquirement of the limbs. They suddenly started flying right towards the open grave, but not without a hand came flying too close to my face to move. I quite literally got face-palmed by a fucking corpse's hand. What the actual fuck! Instead of a snarl, it was really in good humor that I tossed it in after his remnants. My piece? I had thought of it while he was ripping up the body, and the desire to partake overtook me by nearly making my fingers tingle. Without much of a thought, I knelt beside the grave to study the body, a small half-smirk spreading. It was second nature to feel the damp, dirt-like feeling spreading in my veins like a sandstorm. The sandstorm had shattering winds that pulled every ounce of me into a half-blissful state.

The top of the coffin would fall shut with only a gentle use of my fingers. Mirroring the action I wanted there, I felt satisfied by the audible smack of wood-on-wood, melting any kind of metal on it to seal the top on. Once he was secure, I turned my attention to the pile of dirt nearest, drawing it up with simply a focused eye, dramatically dropping all of it at once over the coffin before standing. With a very light sigh, I brushed the effort off by bringing a cigarette to my lips, knowing I deserved it, even if it was just for the stupid testosterone fest we'd had originally.

"Dirty work? Wouldn't want you to get your hands dirty."

I was starting to feel like I could enjoy this experience. Never before had I spent my precious hours ending people with others, ... Okay, I had. Never before had I enjoyed doing so. The idea for reimbursement struck me as quickly as the irritation with my exclusion from the dismembering had shown up.

"Money is useless," I started, raising a brow as I knew he felt the same. " But I'm looking for a business partner, and fancy that. A job opportunity just opened up."