Am I being punished for something? [Jon]

[JONATHON ROSSUM]

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The intensity was... intense. Yes, there was no other word for it. Her lips were parted, her breathing was sped up, he could smell her burning. Wanting a touch. Jon was a more than happy to oblige. Leaning forward, he wanted to taste what he had wanted for so long. Her lips against his. Pure, unadulterated, passion. Sadly, they were interrupted. "Can I get some service over here?"

Jon's head turned like a hound catching a wiff of a rabbit. "Kinda busy here Guy." There was an edge to Jon's voice, which the guy picked up on. His friends turned, sensing a potential story to tell drunk girls they would one day pick up.

"Or how bout, the beer bitch does her fucking job, and gets us a round."

Ohho. That wasn't bright. Jon's pupil's dilated, though one could not tell given his eye color, and his nostrils flared. But otherwise he appeared calm. He took the shot of Jager that Amy had poured for him, inhaling relaxingly, before chucking the shot glass at the guy; beaning him right between the eyes. The man stood for a second, before falling backwards unconscious. Instead of checking on their friend, his friends roused at the challenge. The corners of Jon's thick lips turned up wards, and he pulled out his butterfly knife, flipping it open deftly. The Jabberwock's curious North London accent shined through for a moment. "Problem Gents?" He growled, not an ounce of fear despite being out numbered.

One of them approached him, though the others wisely stayed back. He was bigger than Jon, height wise, with a nose that had obviously been broken. "You knocked my friend out."

"Very observant. Now trot on and sit down, b'fore sumffin bad happens to yeh." J.B. purred, almost amused by this diversion. The man, obviously annoyed with the threat, raised his fist to swing at Jon. J.B. was having none of that, and instead caught the fist before it could collide. He twisted it behind the man's back, pushing the fellow's head down with his upper arm, smashing it on the bar; having decided against stabbing him.

Might turn off the Bird, after all.

The man whimpered under the pressure, making Jon's smile grow wider. His friends yelled in protest, though they decided to stay their difference. Other than a few onlookers, things seemed to carry on business as usual. "Now, I warned you, didn't I? And lookit what happened. I said sumffin bad would happen. Didja think I was lying, you fucking Pratt?" Jon pulled the mans fist higher up his back, the muscles resisting at the foreign strain. "You know what I oughtta do? I should taking your fuckin nose. Teach you a right lesson on respectin ladies." Jon lifted his arm, which held the knife, from the mans head, and pressed it to his nose. Not quite hard enough to cut, but enough to splendidly scare the shit out of the Stranger.

"NO! NO! PLEASE! OH GOD NO!" Jon chuckled at his pain, though stopped himself short. He raised the blade, and brought it down hard. It wedged itself into the bar, the cold metal touching the mans nose just barely. Mercifully (to J.B.), he released the man, whose eyes were now rimmed red. He backed away to his friends, the front of his pants soaked.

"You pissed yourself, fucking child. Go on home now. Go on." Jon looked honestly amused, as they gathered their knocked out friend and their dignity. With a slight grunt, he yanked the blade out of the wood, and smiled at Amy victoriously. His accented voice disappeared, replaced by the norm. "Now then. Where were we?" He purred, smoothly.

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[AMY WINSTON]

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[atrb=background,http://i55.tinypic.com/124btab.jpg] This was it. This was the moment that she had been waiting for since Jon had walked in. Right? Or at least, that was what her drunken mind was telling her. Their lips were so close to touching, she could feel his hot breath against her own mouth, the scent of sex hitting her full in the face. She could feel him going in for the kill when suddenly, she was hearkened upon by one of the resident Neanderthals. Oh that's right. She still had a job to do. Jon attempted to dismiss the man and recover the moment, but then, "Or how bout, the beer bitch does her fucking job, and gets us a round." She closed her eyes and sighed, quick and exasperated. Yeah, moment ruined. She wasn't particularly offended, she'd been called a beer bitch before. She actually preferred it to some of the other nicknames she had received over the years. She worked in a dive bar, it was kind of expected. With grace uncharacteristic of her drunkeness, she spun on her heel and grabbed a pitcher from the glass chiller, and worked on filling it, when she heard an odd London accent coming from behind her. Quizzically, Amy turned to see something absolutely terrible. Jon had seemed to take up a life of vigilantism in his absence from her life. As the man hit the ground, she couldn't say that she found it too terrible given that there was something similar going on not 20 feet behind the men. But, then Jon pulled a knife. "Jon! What the FUCK are you doing?" She watched in abject horror as one brave soul came forward, looking to beat some ass. This was ridiculous. He was either defending her honor, or just feeling pure enjoyment at causing harm to others. Her earlier assumptions were right. He had changed. For the much, much worse. As he brought the knife down, her hands flew up, and Bud Light splashed down her front as the pitcher she had dropped clattered to the floor. What a fucking way to sober up. This was craziness, this was madness. She was NOT about to lose her job over Jon. And oh how she would. Some guy comes in, nearly makes out with her, and then stabs 4 guys? She might as well write her own goddamn pink slip. Thinking quickly for a way to stop the madness, Amy hopped over the bar just as Jon brought the knife down. "No-!" She began to protest, when she noticed that no blood had been spilled. The man backed away, his pants proclaiming his fear to the world, and Jon deftly shut his blade, his curious new accent disintegrating. He turned back to her, and slickly asked where they had been a moment before. As if none of that just fucking happened. As if he hadn't almost just stabbed a fucking guy, RIGHT IN FRONT OF HER. RIGHT AFTER HE PROCLAIMED HOW HE HAD CHANGED! How DARE he?! She was outraged! She was fucking LIVID! She was...she was...she was wondering why the room was going black. As she watched the floor start spiraling toward her face, her last conscious thought was that she would NEVER forgive Jon for this. Ever.

[JONATHON ROSSUM]

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It would seem that him defending her honor did nothing to impress her. How odd. Why, she looked down right pissed off. Well, that can't be right. Even the Beast gave a curious purr, not quite sure what to make of this turn of events. The Beast had been wrong? That never happened before. Both the Creature and the Puppet waited, with almost doe like eyes, as Amy's face flushed with rage. But then, her own eyes fluttered slightly, and she began to fall to the floor. Jon caught her easily, hoisting her up light as a feather. Women were such fragile creatures...

"Is she okay?" A pretty little co-worker inquired, her green eyes filled with worry. She was a sweet little number, Jon decided to make a mental note of her for later.

"Oh, she's fine. Just a little too much to drink is all. You wouldn't mind covering her shift while I take her home, would you?" His black eyes gleamed warmly at the stranger, who blushed at his intensity.

She gave a sheepish nod, flirting with her eyes, no longer thinking of her friend. "Sure, yeah. No problem." Jon gave her an appeasing smile, and headed out, giving a 'farewell' grin to the fellows he had just roughed up. Despite Amy's inexplicable rage, tonight had gone well. And even her anger wasn't a complete loss, as he was taking her home. Touching would have to be put off til he could dull her fiery anger, but that was fine.

He had waited this long, what was a few hours?

This completely baffled J.B., who stared at the creature he was holding in the strangest mixture of disdain and intrigue that it had felt in its long life. She smelled.... lovely. Even with the beer smell clouding it, it was intoxicating. Her skin was fair, her eye lashes long. Actually she seemed to resemble many of the ladies Jon had bothered to seek out (as oppose to being sought after). Had he been chasing Amy, like a child tries to catch a wild rabbit. Supplementing her absence with look alikes? It would be romantic if it wasn't so twisted. Or pathetic.

Jon seemed bored with the quiet, as J.B. concealed his own thoughts. If there was anything J.B. loathed about this mortal shell, it was the constant need for stimulation his host had. All of the time: drugs, porn, sex, more drugs, driving fast, MORE DRUGS, MORE SEX, excess, excess, excess. Never once did the ponce want to just sit with a good book. Not that J.B. would be content only doing that, for sure, but Jesus this guy was as intellectual as a box of rocks. He couldn't blame the girl for fleeing his monotonous adventures. A woman of such esteem should be with a complete package, not a retard with a God Complex.

J.B. decided to fill the silence, as Jon retreated into the brain with little fight. He might not even be aware. Jon didn't care much at the moment.

"Will you walk into my parlor?" said the Spider to the Fly,
"'Tis the prettiest little parlor that ever you did spy;
The way into my parlor is up a winding stair,
And I have many curious things to show you when you are there."
"Oh no, no," said the Fly, "to ask me is in vain;
For who goes up your winding stair can ne'er come down again." J.B. spoke in a soft voice, his North London accent filling the glum alley's. In the distance cop sirens could be heard, though they were quite far off. Rap music could be heard, along with little dip shits being little gangsters.

"I'm sure you must be weary, dear, with soaring up so high;
Will you rest upon my little bed?" said the Spider to the Fly.
"There are pretty curtains drawn around, the sheets are fine and thin;
And if you like to rest awhile, I'll snugly tuck you in!" He spoke to Amy tenderly, as if experimenting with it for the first time. She shifted in her sleep, and J.B. wondered lazily if she was dreaming. "Oh no, no," said the little Fly, "for I've often heard it said
They never, never wake again, who sleep upon your bed!"

The Jabberwock began to feel disgust within himself. What did he care for a hapless whelp? She was no different that the other women Jonathon indulged in. Disgusting creatures, everyone. Said the cunning Spider to the Fly, "Dear friend, what can I do
To prove that warm affection I've always felt for you?
I have within my pantry, good store of all that's nice;
I'm sure you're very welcome - will you please take a slice?" He could hear her heart beating, her chest rising and falling delicately. Stupid girl, she must have no sense of self-preservation. Otherwise she would have ran upon seeing Jonathon in the first place. J.B. had seen the memories. Jonathon Rossum was a spoiled little bitch, who threw temper tantrums when he didn't get his way. That was why he had like her so... She had not immediately succumbed. "Oh no, no," said the little Fly, "kind sir, that cannot be,
I've heard what's in your pantry, and I do not wish to see!"

the company began to walk down there own street, and the Beast kept his nose honed for that little fruit of a roommate the girl had. "Sweet creature," said the Spider, "you're witty and you're wise;
How handsome are your gauzy wings, how brilliant are your eyes!
I have a little looking-glass upon my parlor shelf;
If you step in one moment, dear, you shall behold yourself." God, she was truly beautiful. For a human. Her pursed lips, her austere cheekbones. Her rich, dark hair wrapped around her face as if to comfort her as she slept. "I thank you, gentle sir," she said, "for what you're pleased to say;
And bidding good morning now, I'll call another day."

As he climbed into the service elevator, in the shithole of an apartment that they lived in, the Beast held the damsel tightly to his bare chest, his shirt forgotten in the bar somewhere. The Spider turned him round about, and went into his den,
For well he knew the silly Fly would soon come back again;
So he wove a subtle web in a little corner sly,
And set his table ready to dine upon the Fly.
then he came out to his door again, and merrily did sing,
"Come hither, hither, pretty Fly, with the pearl and silver wing;
Your robes are green and purple, there's a crest upon your head;
Your eyes are like the diamond bright, but mine are as dull as lead."

The elevator gave an irritating 'ding' as it brought them to the third floor, and he walked out to the peasoup green walls that peeled with age. A little boy, with dirt on his face, played with a couple of action figures as his parents yelled (good yelling or bad, J.B. did not care) inside the apartment. He continued the walk to the apartment. Alas, alas! how very soon this silly little Fly,
Hearing his wily, flattering words, came slowly flitting by;
With buzzing wings she hung aloft, then near and nearer drew, -
Thinking only of her brilliant eyes, and green and purple hue;
Thinking only of her crested head - poor foolish thing! At last,
Up jumped the cunning Spider, and fiercely held her fast.
He dragged her up his winding stair, into his dismal den
Within his little parlor - but she ne'er came out again! The little boy watch them pass wearily, as if able to smell the evil off from the Beast.

For beneath J.B. cool and savvy exterior, and his interest in the woman in his arms, he was a creature of pure darkness. An id of the psyche. He wanted primal wants: Pain, Ecstasy, Passion, Vengeance, whatever your poison. His interest in Amy Winston was not romantic, though it could be considered such by an optimist. His urge was to corrupt her, to make her his. Jon Rossum did not realize it yet, but his selfish pursuit of the only woman he loved, the woman he had hurt years before, could very well be her undoing. J.B. opened the apartment door and went to the bed, hearing it slam shut behind him. And now, dear little children, who may this story read,
To idle, silly, flattering words, I pray you ne'er heed;
Unto an evil counsellor close heart, and ear, and eye,
And take a lesson from this tale of the Spider and the Fly.

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[JONATHON ROSSUM]

FIN