Fits|Jack the Ripper, the Leather Apron (casual)

[JACK THE RIPPER]

I have laughed when they look so clever and talk about being on the right track. That joke about Leather Apron gave me real fits.

The light briefcase bumped against his leg as he plunged himself into the slums of the Bronx, a shadow among shadows, bleak and inky. To be sure, the briefcase was bothering him, but only a little; the shivering up his thighs and through his shoulders were enough to block it out. Time for another kill. Another week, another kill was not how he thought of it at all- it would never become a chore. At this thought, a smile crept onto his face. It would never be a chore.

Selecting a victim was usually something he did carefully, and even before he went out for the kill, he shopped around for ideas; who he would have in mind, where he might find them... perhaps even their name. He dealt fine with spontaneous, but that was not how his brain automatically worked. And Jack trusted his brain.

The sort of woman he had in mind, tonight, would slither out of a club that was literally unnamed and onto the dirty street to do their business each night. He'd been inside of the place before, and all of the tell-tale signs of good hunting ground presented themselves: sticky floors, dim lighting, dirty glasses, and a woman pawing at him within two minutes of arriving.

Jack waited patiently, his shadow only slightly detached from the rest outside of the club. Fuzzy-sounding speakers were blasting Rio by Duran Duran, and he could clearly discern the shape of shadowy forms moving past the windows, in the ritualistic dance that would ruin them. He did not have to wait long for a couple to break away from the hot, busy movement and start toward another street. The woman was tall and sleek, taller than the man, with very thin, pale legs and wide hips. He hadn't ever seen a woman built like that. What a treat he was in for tonight.

With a sudden but fluid swooping motion, he took off after them at a steady pace, his rubber boots making not a sound on the pavement behind the pair. Instinctively, he tugged at the brim of his fedora when the cruel, patient smile of a predator sprung onto his face. High time for another kill. High time.

He followed still as they shuffled themselves into an alleyway and began the second half of that doomed dance. He slowly drifted into place on the opposite side of the dumpster which stood at the mouth of the alleyway and waited. After listening to their panting and grunting for awhile, he looked across the way with heavy lids, and saw something he didn't think he ever would.

Slowly, he set down his brief case, and smiled at the Leather Apron.

[TOMMY "THANATOS" KRISTOFFERSON]

A strange restlessness had worked its way into Tommy's body. He hadn't killed in almost two weeks and his fingers seemed to itch for a throat to throttle. All around him, men who were giving up their lives and their minds for foolish pleasures. Too many for him to correct them all, but he knew what an impact he would have if he chose the right victim. Tommy's message could get out with the right kill. For a couple of days, Tommy frequented the night clubs where high class men would slum with prostitutes and desperate women. It was always a perfect place to pick out a victim, especially when one knew the faces of all the men.

Tommy had found one particular gem of a man in a dingy club where his shoes stuck to the concrete floor and he didn't dare to sit down for fear of getting dirty. Michael Forsythe, an accomplished banker and potential Senatorial candidate had his arm around a tall, leggy woman with odd proportions. Not paying any attention to the girl, Tommy watched as Forsythe threw himself at her, groping and kissing with no regard for environment. Together they stumbled out of the club minutes after Tommy had left himself.

He knew their habits, he knew which alleyway they would go to. So, Tommy waited behind a stack of boxes and watched them pass by. They were oblivious to his presence, of course they were. People didn't notice Tommy, not even when he lurked, waiting.

Hearing the couple begin what surely wouldn't last too long, Tommy leaned against the wall and let his head fall back against the brick. He had heard someone else follow Forsythe and his whore into the alleyway and when Tommy swiveled his head to look across the alley, he knew who it was.

Jack the Ripper.

In the animal kingdom, predators could sense a fellow carnivore. A feeling of recognition squirmed through Tommy's veins. Two hunters, each eyeing a different prey. Tommy was after the man, The Ripper was after the woman. It was common knowledge how the other hunt.

Tommy nodded his head slightly, returning The Ripper's smile. He knew he was too.

[JACK THE RIPPER]

So this was the man who was taking all the credit for his work. Indirectly, of course, but credit all the same; he did not seem like the kind of killer who would want attention drawn to him, much unlike Jack himself. Jack was a very frustrated, suppressed child, who yearned for attention and would play up any sort of antics just to get it.

Slowly, the Ripper led Leather Apron's eyes in the direction of the two, and then called the attention back to him with a sharp hand movement. He pointed their way, jerked his thumb out of the alleyway, pointed at Tommy, and then gestured fluidly toward them again, mouthing, 'Get him first.' This situation wouldn't work unless they were in it together, since neither one was willing to give up their kill.

He then pointed to himself and made a quick stabbing motion in the direction of the girl, faintly noticing her give a loud, shivering gasp. He then mouthed, 'After you finish him.'

Finished with his miming, he stood up a bit straighter and crossed his arms, glancing at the finishing couple a moment and then back at Tommy.

[TOMMY "THANATOS" KRISTOFFERSON]

Tommy furrowed his brow, not liking what the man was suggesting. With two targets, they would have to move at the same time, not take turns. Tommy shook his head, carefully mouthing 'At the same time'. Tommy knew all about Jack the Ripper, an arrogant, risk taking idiot who liked the thrill of a dangerous situation. Tommy didn't like taking risks. He liked it when it was safe and clean, no chances.

Tommy reached into his pocket, pulling out the piano wire he had tucked away in his pocket. It was wrapped in a bit of plastic wrap to keep it clean in his pocket; Tommy was precise. The plastic wrap kept the wire from collecting particle evidence and the plastic wrap was put away in his pocket after unwrapping the wire.

A bottle of amonia was pulled from his pocket. It was used to spray down the wire to be sure. Once he felt that the wire was ready for use, Tommy wrapped it around each hand, creating a taught length between his fists. He looked across the alley way and nodded once to Jack.

Tommy moved before waiting to see if The Ripper was going to actually follow him. He approached the couple quickly, silently, wrapping the wire around the man's neck before either of them knew he was upon them. Yanking back, Tommy cut into the man's throat, his arms bracing the man and keeping him from falling back.

[JACK THE RIPPER]

Jack's mouth curled into a snarl, watching the other man carefully prepare his weapon, if it could really be called that. It was simple, it was... not poetic. No romance. But, he thought, to each his own. Personally, the Ripper liked sharp, precise deaths. The work could be messy- it was a liability when dealing with art.

He rounded the corner after Leather Apron had a firm hold of the man, walking almost directly into the girl. Before she could react or even open her eyes, one hand clapped over her mouth and the other pressed roughly into her windpipe; he knew from her weak squirming that he had hit her hard and in just the right place. Slowly, he let her lower to the ground.

"Ssh, shh," he whispered to her as her pupils deepened. Jack was forced to look away from those eyes, instead relishing the way her body weakened and then went limp in his arms. Only then did he take out his long-bladed dagger, shifting to straddle her before slitting her throat in two quick movements. The blood slid from the wound in threads at first, and then began to pulse out as her last heartbeats faded out.

Jack blocked out the other killer, who he assumed was already finished with his work. This one wouldn't be as spectacular as he had hoped- it hadn't been personal, like he liked it. But it would have to do. He was hardly half-hearted as he ripped through her navel, downward with a persistent slicing motion.

The deed was done within a matter of three minutes or less, but he hadn't the drive to take something from her this time. Her intestines were slung over her shoulder, nearly half way across the alley; the gore between her legs blotted out the white skin. The spready substance that pooled in the crevices of her innards covered the dirty pavement and Jack's gloves. Just as well. None of this had been doing her any good when it was still in her.

Slowly, he looked up at the Leather Apron, who was still there. "Refreshing," was all he breathed, his voice low and husky.

[TOMMY "THANATOS" KRISTOFFERSON]

Tommy's powerful forearms propped the banker up effortlessly, even as his body shook and bucked trying to get free. With every squirm the wire slipped further into his neck. Like butter. It cut through the fat and rested painfully on the man's airway. Ignoring what the Ripper was doing to the poor girl, Tommy propelled the man to the side, swinging him in a wide arc, the wire forcing it's way into his trachea. There was a small popping sound and a sick, wet wheezing as Forsythe's airway was comprimised.

Tommy flung the man to the ground. His large, flabby body spasmed like a fish out of water. Tommy calmly pulled a zip lock baggie from his pocket and fished out a pair of hospital booties. Slipping them on, Tommy pressed a foot against Forsythe's back, pressing him into the pavement harshly. He dug his heel into the small of his back, twisting it cruely as the man continued to twitch. He wasn't dead yet, not even close. Raising his leg, Tommy dropped it forcefully and the sound of Forsythe's ribs snapping like twigs filled the air.

Delivering a kick to his side before retrieving the wire and stepping away, Tommy calmly went about clean up. The wire was sprayed down with amonia and wrapped in wire again, the booties were burnt, his leather gloves put into a bag to keep the blood from getting everywhere. There wasn't any blood on his person, he was too careful about making sure that such a thing didn't happen. Blood was bad. Trace evidence was bad. He even wore a tight fitting stocking cap to make sure that none of his hair fell into the crime scene.

Tommy was clean. With a glance at the Ripper, he ascertained very quickly that his cohort was anything but.

"Refreshing,"

Tommy nodded and cleared his throat. He had a gravely voice anyway and after a particularly good kill he had a hard time speaking.