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Devil in a Red Dress

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As soon as Sans had fired the bullet, he felt the world slow down, his vision taking in every detail in that frozen moment as he felt the slow droop of his cigar begin to fall and the heavy smoke taste stick like glue in his mouth.

The drawn out distant clink of bullet cases tinkling on the floor echoed around him, the muzzle flashes stuck mid-fire, the beads of sweat on his men’s faces shining with a sickly yellow glow as bullets hung in the air moving imperceptibly slow. Cards, poker chips and money were thrown up in the air as the trails of wood chips and dust flung everything aside. Tables were fixed in place as people cowered behind them as they flipped them up in a panic, fear and screams stopped in the still shot of time.

Except one person.

Her.

A devil in a red dress.

Stood amongst the stock-still hail of bullets, her red dress torn down the leg now billowed out behind her, the devil stood strong and proud. Hair floating in the air, her rose headband exploding into a plume of petals as a bullet struck through the middle of it, the headband snapped in two giving her black, metal horns. Wide eyes were lit by the muzzle flash of her gun, giving them an ethereal glow, while her perfectly red lips suspended in a lasciviously sinful smile as the bullets from her gun slide towards his lackey.

The only reason that Sans had even fired his own gun, he felt his sockets stretching slowly, the cigar had now nearly left his mouth. The bullet moved in slow motion towards her, her eyes completely focused on the man she fired at. Regret and sadness gradually rose inside him for having to take out such a feisty dame.

Her eyes snapped to the bullet in this frozen moment.

She disappeared.

Everything returned to normal, the bullet meant for her tore off into the wooden pillar where she stood. Sans’ cigar fell to the floor, the loud crash of bullets sang amidst the loud screams of monsters and humans. Cards, poker chips and money splattered across the floor amongst the blood and dust that started to pool.

Then a glimpse of that red dress caught the side of his socket, the woman appeared behind a man and her gun fired into his shoulder, blowing out the joint and then like smoke, she was gone as the idiot behind shot at where she had been, their bullets instead going straight into his comrade’s head.

The devil returned to blast out the kneecap of the same idiot causing a panic to rise in his men as they turned to fire on the red witch who used the handle of her gun to smash in the face of some insufferable fool Sans’ brother had hired before vanishing again.

A low, sensual voice uttered two words, her lips plucking on each syllable, “Bang, bang.” Shooting a bullet into the thigh of someone chasing after her as she moved like a wraith amongst them towards the front door.

It took Sans some time to realise what was happening. A human mage was using magic, void magic...his void magic. Snarling, he tore through the veil to spot a flash of a white featureless body zipping past. Snatching out his red clawed hand, his own body featureless before the power of the void, and snagged the wrist of the feminine figure.

The white shape turned back to look at him with no eyes for a moment, her hand slipping away as she hurtled away out of the void, leaving a slip of white in his hand. Sans peeled back out of the void, stood in the same spot as before, his claws wrapped around a red, silken glove.

Men shouted around him, screeching to chase after that woman.

Sans finally roared, “Fergit tha woman, git tha’ fuckin’ Don, ya useless shits.”

Startled, they rushed further into the gambling den, pulling and tugging its trembling denizens to the side. Sans clenched his hand around the glove, bringing it up to take in a breath. Spices, whiskey and a heavenly woman scent spiked the cloth like a drug. Sans rumbled as he took heavy steps into the room, tucking the glove away in his top pocket.

Maybe, he should thoroughly question the Don into who his lovely guest was. Sans’ grin was tight enough to nearly snap the dust off his teeth as he strode his way across the broken planks towards the lying son of a bitch.

#

The bastard knew fucking nothing.

 

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Sans leaned back into the seat of his car, letting a thick smog of smoke spill from his teeth, he snapped shut the black box in his hand and shoved it into the glove compartment. Taking another heavy drag from his cigar, his red eyelights travelled to a dingy set of stairs wedged between two bustling shops. So much for casing the joint, he couldn’t see shit from out here.

For such a shitty small space it sure was taking a lot of fucking business from his brother’s casino. And if it was taking business from his bro, that was taking business from him. Stubbing the remains of the cigar into the ashtray, he heaved his body from the car and spat out a thick, crimson globule on to the road, a slight sizzle hissing from the little blob.

Might as well take a good fucking look at the place whilst he was here. Popping out his black hat, he snugly slapped it on his head and casually walked out into the middle of the road, cars come to a screeching halt, but no-one yelled out in anger at him. He was Sans, Sans the Skeleton in this fucking town. The Judge.

Squeezing down the narrow steps, an equally narrow, red door stood silently. Sans furrowed his bonebrows, turned the bronze handle around, feeling a strange tingle in his bones and stepped into a large room. Surprisingly large for a place wedged between two shops.

Narrowing his sockets, he took a stroll straight to the bar, huh, well whaddya know, it was Grillby’s niece at the counter. Copper looked at him with a shy, anxious smile, knowing that if her uncle knew she worked here, she’d be in deep trouble. Not that it was any of Sans’ business, he shook his head and tapped the side of the counter for a whiskey.

When the stout glass came sliding along to him, he drank it down in a gulp and instantly regretted it. The whiskey was fucking unique, it didn’t have the rubbery, leathery taste of Scotch that Sans really enjoyed. Nor the fire of the cheap moonshine found at any hick’s place. It was smooth, spicy like cinnamon and the taste of apples clung to his bulky tongue.

Interested, he ordered another and gave a questioning brow to Copper, she smiled proudly, “Ah, it’s the owner’s special infusion, they make it themselves.”
Huh, well then, Sans swirled the whiskey around in his glass, he just had to get this stuff for his brother’s casino.

“An’ idea where I might talk ta tha guy fer this?” Sans rumbled, not taking no for an answer.

Copper seemed amused for some reason, then with deliberately slow words stretching her green flickering maw, she pointed, “They’re at the centre table.”

Sans turned around, the seat squeaking underneath him from the strain. The glass clunked to the table, his sockets stretched as his mouth closed over his teeth.

The devil in a red dress.