Duel of a lifetime

It was strange how quickly the evening’s events had turned; moments before Vito had plunged his blade into Jack’s flesh, he’d come to her aid when she’d found herself in a sticky situation. The unpredictability of the time the two, problematic life forms spent with each other almost felt as though it was against the laws of nature – but Vito had grown rather used to throwing off the delicate balance of things. He was an impossible creature; a living thing that he been created by nothing more than a negative emotion – but there he stood with, his fingers curled tightly around the weapon that he’d used to assaulted Jack with.

For a short moment, Vito felt quite satisfied by the power that surged through him; he had taken the upper hand by acting in such a way, and that was a form of control that he’d felt he’d begun to lose over the situations that Jack created. The situations that he and Jack created; it took two to tango.

This positive emotion did not stick around for long, however; after pausing for a moment to curse at Vito and to cope with the pain that he’d inflicted upon her, Jack had taken hold of the weapon, and for a horrific moment, the female had curled her warm, bloodied fingers around Vito’s. Wounds bled; it had been so since the beginning of the human race, and thus, the ‘man’ should have anticipated such a reaction from Jack’s injured body. The thick substance had begun to seep through the girl’s shirt, becoming visible to Vito’s slowly widening eyes.

For a painfully short-lived moment, Vito had felt powerful – but that was the one trick that nature always seemed to have up her sleeve; Vito Dee Symons was not a lucky man, and would never be. He’d embraced sin in a way that prevented such a change in his fortune ever occurring; if you decided to tip the scales, there was always the chance that they would teeter backwards, and drop you off in hell once more.

Vito drew the handle of his bloodied knife closer to his torso as he watched that dark stain upon Jack’s clothing continue to expand, spreading like fire.

Fire.

Vito could feel a fire in his chest, burning there beneath his ribcage with no other purpose than to torture him. He could feel the heat of the flame as it licked the useless organs beneath his skin – but he could not seem to decide what powerful emotion was to blame for the painful sensation. He held his right arm against his chest in discomfort with his blade still held tightly in his crumpled fist.

Jack spoke, breaking the silence that had lingered in the air for only the fraction of a second – but Vito was not pleased by the words that leapt from her tongue. He should have expected verbal abuse from the child after stabbing her so maliciously, and yet, for the third time that dark evening, Vito had not been as mentally prepared for the outcome that he’d received as he’d originally thought he would be.

Scared… Vito thought to himself bitterly; the world was truly disgusting. “Stop pretending, Jack; you cannot read my mind. You wish so desperately to help everyone - but you just can’t change me, can you? You have far too much of yourself to fix for you to be playing the role of Dr. Phil,” Vito spat while he had the opportunity, narrowing his eyes at Jack in the same catlike manner that he had so many times before. It was as though he saved that expression for her, and her only. “You hypocrite…”

He hadn’t been in the correct position to dodge Jack’s attack, and therefore, as the female pounced abruptly in his direction, he had no choice but to fall to the ground beneath her when he was hit, blinded by the blur of red hair that had fallen over his face. Vito groaned; the excruciating pain that he’d experienced in his groan upon having a spell fired in that direction was enough to render even Vito motionless for a few minutes. As stubborn as he was, however, Vito did not allow the fire within his chest, the sight of Jack’s bloodied skin, or the pain between his legs to keep him on the ground for long...

Vito sat upright hastily, using his shoulder to push Jack from himself roughly. He simply could not stand the feeling of having that blood-soaked t-shirt of Jack’s pressed against his own skin in such a way; it was beginning to make him feel as though he would rather sink through the solid ground, and return hell right at that instant. Even the maggots and the ashes of that underground prison could not compare to the torture of staring at the injury that he’d caused Jack; his only companion, save the wine and nicotine that he had become so very dependent on.

"You're the hypocrite-" she hissed. "You want the world to follow your every whim and desire, but God forbid I show you any true decency- like saving you from what you think you are." This never ending struggle- who knew better. For them it could not be Jack knew herself more and Vito knew himself more, or Vito knew Jack and Jack knew Vito... No, that was too natural, what then would they have to battle over? It had to be either Jack knew them both, or Vito did.

He might have had the upper hand, but not even being stabbed would stop Jack from trying to take it back. When they fell, she could feel the weight of the dagger between them, and the pressure on her wound of falling down caused her to bite her lip. He pushed her away, and again, the weight of rolling caused her wound to throb. It was still healing over, thanks to the spell, but the blood flow was just beginning to stop, and it was still tender. She rolled, one hand clenched to her stomach, the other reaching out to stop herself.

She pushed herself up, and the world spun. Her bloodied hand flew up to her face, pressing a few red finger marks against her pale skin, like a stamp. She scrambled for her wand and straightened up, staring at Vito. Her mouth twitched and then curled up into a small smile, her eyes narrowed, her brows low. "How'd it feel to be in control?" she asked him, sounding a little bitter and sarcastic. "Was it worth it? Getting that control just so you could lose it all over again?"

“I’ve always been a hypocrite, darling,” Vito replied, “but I point my finger with style. When you order people about you are just plain annoying” It was evident that Vito was enjoying the battle of words that was taking place between the two of them; an argument with Jack meant that Vito needed to be quick witted and on his toes, whereas an actual duel required that he be prepared to destroy his appearance for the sake of addressing an unresolved issue. Not even Jack was worth that much of Vito’s effort, and therefore, he would have preferred it if she’d decided to attack him with words in response to being stabbed, rather than whipping out her wand and her kitty claws – but it would have been rather out of character for Jack to make such a decision. She always retaliated. That was the one constant in their relationship; neither Vito nor Jack could turn down the opportunity to overcome the other.

The fire beneath Vito’s skin raged on as he watched Jack climb to her feet, and it took a good deal of restraint from him in order to prevent himself from acting on impulse once more; though there was no logic behind the thought, Vito’s mind continued in its attempt to convince him that, if he were to stop Jack’s pretty little heart from beating any longer, that she would surely stop bleeding. Vito knew better, however; he’d murdered far too many not to know that the blood continued to poor from the wounds of human beings until their veins ran dry, even after they’d died. Vito winced visibly; the pain that had so abruptly exploded within him was far too real for his liking. Never before had an emotion had such a powerful, physical effect on Vito – which he was certain the pain was; there was no other explanation.

Vito dragged his eyes away from the dark color that he’d painted Jack in, and began to adjust his clothing as an excuse for looking away; Jack was aware of his little phobia, sure, but Vito didn’t need to make it any more evident in that instance. Perhaps if he pretended that the sight before him did not bother him in the slightest, Jack would forget…. No; not even those who won the lottery had that much luck in them. As Vito began tucking the bottom of his white, long-sleeved dress shirt into his slacks once more, his eyes met with that red substance once more, and the jig was up; he staggered backwards in shock, surprised by the sight of Jack’s blood on his clothing. “Damn…” he muttered, bringing three of his fingertips to his temple; at the same moment, he’d begun to flicker once more, having been distracted by the evening’s events.

His eyes remained closed for a short moment, as though he was hiding from the mess that he’d caused – but he could still feel the warmth of Jack’s blood on his hands and on his shirt. There was no relief to the sudden explosion of emotions that was taking place within the walls of Vito’s skull. Fear and regret; they were foreign emotions, and as a result, Vito found that it was difficult for him to put up much of a fight against them.

When Jack next spoke, Vito’s eyelids flickered upward, and his dark brown eyes returned; if she’d recovered from her fall, there was the chance that she would spring once more, and Vito wanted to be prepared for the impact of another attack. He raised his blade threateningly as she raised her wand. It was quite surprising that he’d managed to gain control of his trembling fingers… “Defeat is only momentary, darling – and I wouldn’t call this my defeat,” he responded darkly, glaring in her direction.

“Look what you did to my shirt. Look at the state of it…” he stated after a short pause, glancing downward at his suit once more. “That was my new shirt.”

Jack liked it better when Vito was pleasantly buzzed and just being a cocky ass, rather than being a murderous ass. She liked it better when they had their rivalry but neither of them really had a hold over the other, before they had shared so much that it was all a terrible delicate balance, always ready to be toppled. They were playing a complicated game full of threads and knots. Pull one thread trying to loosen this knot, you tighten it and unravel another, and so on.

Energy was draining from Jack, and quickly. Which was understandable- no matter the way people treated her, she was mortal and she could be broken down and worn out. She had been kidnapped, has escaped, had been tossed around and had tossed others around in duels, she had been a mouse surrounded by three very angry kitties, and now she had been stabbed.

It had been a long day.

The bleeding in her mouth had stopped, at the least. And her wound had stopped bleeding, though her shirt was soaked, as were her hands covered and there still remained a faded red handprint on the right side of her face. The wind was still throbbing, and every movement was like having pins adjusting in her skin. The real damage would have to be patched up later. Jack had a high tolerance for pain and she could still function.

She ignored Vito for the most part- to piss him off and because she was much too tired to keep this game up. Her mind was clouding, and would suddenly clear with such a startling clarity, it stung. She ran a shaky, pale hand through her red hair, pushing it out of her face and grinning- it was like mocking Vito. She watching him fret over his shirt and suddenly- she burst into laughter.

It was not a laughter prompted from feelings of bitterness or irony; she was not laughing at Vito or his vanity. It was like she had suddenly got the punch line to a hilarious joke. She reached out and pinched the stain fabric between two fingers. Through her laughter, she said, in a sincere voice, "I am so sorry, Vito! I will make sure that gets clean, at my own expense!" She continued to laugh and finally composed her self, sighing. She looked up at him. "Now.. Where were we?"

Continues here... xD