Sons of Satan (Hetalia RP) Open!

[LyingLastBreath]

((XD))

"Non, we won't be late, as long as we don't procrastinate any longer." Francis smiled charmingly. "We may have to walk a bit faster though, sorry ami." He added lightly, starting on his way.

[Zaphod Riker]

Jadenne frowns. "They tell me where to go... It's usually a specific location, so it's never a direct handoff..." The scared messenger says, covering her mouth and frowning slightly.

[Paul Stamets]

A relieved smile slipped across Matthew's face. "That's fine." He said. "Let's get going." He followed after Francis. He did hope they wouldn't be late after all. He wouldn't mind at all walking faster, he didn't want to be late after all.

"And what sort of locations do you drop these off at?" Tino then asked. "Don't go silent on me now." He really did hate to hurt people, and didn't want to have to hurt this poor little girl. Then again he has managed to get her to speak, so he should be able to again!

[Zaphod Riker]

Jadenne looks hesitantly at the ground. "... Usually it's at parks or cafe's... Occasionally it'll be in a cab." She says, frowning and looking back up at Tino, as if fearful that he would hurt her.

[Paul Stamets]

Tino wouldn't hurt her unless she's lying! "And in what sorts of locations are those?" He asked, keeping track of the kinds of places she was saying. Gah why was she so uninformative.

[Zaphod Riker]

"It's always in low-traffic areas, in our territory and on the edges... What else do you want to know..." Jadenne asks, frowning and shaking.

[LyingLastBreath]

Francis nodded though he did not reply to that. He didn't really have anything fitting to say to it really, it was one of those just open statements that didn't need any follow up. Bonnefoy went briskly through whatever crowds they faced, while still making sure his Canadian stayed nearby. Finally he made it to where he thought they were supposed to be. Maybe he wrong, but he jus had a hunch that he wasn't. He looked back at Matthew with a smile, which slowly turned into a grin which widened across his face. "Are you ready, mon ami?" He asked gently. His voice low but radiating mystery and a bit of comfort at the same time. It was like his voice had been mixed with the purr of a cat. He did not yet see their target, or well, their victim, but he figured it would just be a matter of time. And when that time arose, Bonnefoy was going to make sure they were both ready for it. A spark seemed to light the blue in his eyes. It was more a deadly spark, one that welcomed you, but sent chills down your spine. Like what a Venus Fly Trap must be to a fly. It must know that it is dangerous, it may even see the remains of another unlucky fellow still in the jaws of the murderous plant. But still, it is overwhelmed and cannot help but venture forth. It knows of it's own doom, but allows it to happen, and gets caught in illusions. It is only once it is too late that the fly may realize that it shouldn't have done that. But by that time the jaws have set around it, and panicked wings will cease to beat. That is when the plant has won. With his charms and sharp tongue. Even the strongest of flies can be tricked. This was Bonnefoy's game. A game of lies and false hopes, where one moment you're dancing in the most wonderful of dreams, and the next your life is passing before you. The hope for beauty and wonder drains like the energy of your body. Then it hits, like a rush of cold ice down your spine. The light flickers from your eyes, and you're gone. Death is the biggest part of life. A life cannot begin that will not end. There is no use fearing what is inevitable.
Even Bonnefoy knew immortality was unattainable. Though this by no means made him want to quit it, some sick twisted part of him, that must have grown during his orphan years where the world only seemed to be full of people who's likeness to dirt and betrayal were that of a mirror reflection, made him feel like taking the lives of others only ensured his place on earth. As if, like the Venus Fly Trap, his victim's life force was directly transplanted into him. The sickness in him loved it. Even if there is still the angel of his conscience urging him to stop this madness. One who felt remorse and guilt for the crimes he had committed, Francis had pushed it far back. He couldn't have it ruining him. It came out in the worst of times however. During times of pure love, the kind that depends on the unity of souls, and not just the attractiveness of bodies. This sort of love is what brought him to his knees. That is why the French man so craves and fears such a thing. It would be the death of him, but at the same time, it would also be the rebirth. But Francis was too afraid to go, even with it's rewards, he couldn't bear the consequences of his own behavior.