Violent Delights ↠ Oslock

prologue

The room was filled with darkness, and felt cramped to the girl sitting in one of the two arm chairs. Her eyes narrowed, flicking from one part of the room to the next, analyzing it with little difficulty. She was clever, but the easiest bit was that she only had to spot the difference, nothing more. She had been in the room enough times to recognize when something was out of place.

The easiest thing to recognize was the man sitting in front of her. Westwood suit, dark eyes, darker hair, a narcissist, and a psychopath. She would know, after all. After him only a few things were askew, most likely having to do with the mans unnecessary need to make a mess of things. Everything, in fact.

"I need something from you." He stated, his voice dripping from his lips like honey, sticky and sweet. Anyone who knew him would know his voice was misleading.

"You can ask for it, darling," She spoke, the pet name dropping from her mouth, curved into a smile, with an added edge, "doesn't mean you'll get it."

A smirk placed itself on his face, this was it. this was why he loved her. Not the sweet, romantic love, neither one of them could possibly handle that. No, their love was a storm, ready to wreak havoc upon any who encountered it, and they loved it. That was the problem, however. They loved their love, they didn't love each other, they only thought they did.

"I'm sure you'll want to do this," He grinned, but it seemed unnatural, like anything other than his psychotic smirk was a facade for something bigger, dangerous, hidden under the surface of smooth ivory skin.

"I don't want to do anything, that's the problem it seems," Her smirk remained fixed on her face, a playful look in her eyes. She loved games, she loved anything to distract her from just how boring everything in life actually was. "But you already know that, so what have you got for me? What will be distracting me today?"

"It'll be longer than a day, my love," He whispered, standing from his chair and pulling her near him, leaning down to compensate for their height difference. She felt his warm breath on her neck as he finished his sentence, "it might even be a whole year in fact."

"What," She murmured into his ear, "could possibly," a grin forced its way onto her face and she trailed her hand down his torso, feeling him stiffen beneath her, "distract me for a whole year?"

"You'd be surprised baby," he grinned pulling back, "you better go get changed, I'll get you a briefing packet."

"Why on earth would I need to get changed?" She questioned, but she was just playing the game. That's all she did, play games. It annoyed some people, but he didn't mind. He liked games too.

"I'm afraid most of London would be appalled at your current attire," He shrugged, glancing at her clothes, or lack there of. A thin, silk, black sheet was draped around her small frame, "However it seems you and your mission will get on swimmingly, given your choice of attire."

"Well, we can't have that, now can we?" She questioned, her face pulled in false sincerity.

"No darling, we can't." He laughed, and walked out of the room, leaving her to her own resources. It didn't take her long to get changed, the ease of not having to take any clothes off. Soon she returned to the same room, the heels of her black boots clicking as she went. She wore a grey sweater tucked into a black skirt, a green coat and her black purse resting on a chair near by. Her lover was back in the room as well, holding a file.

"Lovely darling, I hope you don't mind reading in the taxi, you have somewhere to be." He was grinning, watching his plan unfold out in front of him in perfect succession. This was the best part of a plan after all, everything going perfectly.

"I don't mind at all," She shrugged, grasping the folder and giving him a peck on the cheek before pulling on her coat and placing the strap of her purse across her torso so that it would sit at an easy place to reach. "Where should I tell the taxi driver?" She questioned, grabbing the handle of the door and walking out.

"He already knows," He stated, watching her form walk away from him, "just read the packet darling, you'll know what to do."

She gave no reply, just stepped out of the room, and eventually out of the manor, making her way to the taxi parked out front. Neither one of them talked as he drove off and she reviewed her file in mild interest. He was right, this would keep her quite busy.

It was a relatively long ride to where she was going, but as she stepped out and onto the pavement she analyzed what she was looking at. Dark green door, so dark in fact it was almost black. Thousands of nicks and scratches from God knows what, and the bronze knocker placed askew. She straightened it before ringing the doorbell.

She heard the hurried pounding of a pair of feet on a staircase as she waited a moment before the door was pulled open. An aging lady with short, blonde-grey hair stood in front of her, wearing a simple purple dress with flour on the sleeve, and a strong scent of perfume. Before she could even think the words slipped from her mouth, "have you been baking?"

"Sorry dear, what?" The woman asked, and she took a breathe.

"It's just, you have flour on your sleeve," she stated, pointing to the spot, "just there."

"Oh um, yes! I have," the woman smiled. Liar, she thought to herself, smirking internally. "I'm sorry, why are you here dear?" The woman asked.

"Oh! Right, of course. I'm so sorry, um, I'm interested in the flat 221C, if it's still available?" She asked, pulling her coat closer to herself and looking down at her feet, forcing herself to look nervous and bashful.

"Oh, yes it's still available! I'm Mrs. Hudson dear, what's your name?" The woman asked, leading her into the slim hallway with two different sets of stairs and a door way.

"I'm Clara." She smiled, offering her hand to shake, "Clara Oswald."