There are a few things that changed from this original idea-
I added the "I wish she had married me" thing- it didn't seem in character that Charlie would easily give into seduction if he was totally sober, so I needed a plot device to get him a bit drunk.
I gave Tychia those killer boots in the comic- she's wearing trainers here.
Brimaz started out as a lionman, but when I started scripting the comic, I felt lions have too much 'good guy baggage', so I changed him (with my daughter's suggestion) into an ape.
Enjoy!
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The only actual sounds were of Charlie's own ragged breathing and a steady drip drip drip emitting from a clogged eave onto the top of his wet hair and into a puddle beside him. Despite this, he was certain that his pounding heart was audible as well. The rain had subsided, and the dark London streets were confusing rivulets of light created by street lamps and traffic lights, bluish white except for a solitary red exit sign over one door which bled an alarmingly brilliant streak of red.
Charlie had no idea where he was or how far he may have run before finally seeking refuge in this unfamiliar refuse strewn alleyway. Shivering, with his back against an old crumbling brick wall, and his arse soaking wet in the puddles on the cobbled street, he listened a bit longer for any sound of pursuers, and finally allowed himself to become aware of the dull ache below his left collar bone. He pulled his bloodied hand away from the wound just long enough to see more dark blood pulsing out onto his soaked shirt, and quickly clamped his hand over it again. The sight made him woozy, so he tilted his head back to look away from it and up toward the cloudy night sky.
A light came on in an upstairs window above him. Charlie burrowed quickly into the crates and boxes that surrounded him to make himself as invisible as he could, but no one looked out the window, and the light soon went out again. He let out a shuddering sigh.
What the bloody hell just happened?
Fro three years now, his world had been normal. More normal than his life had ever been. But in this one night, everything had been tossed up and then blown away like dead leaves to the wind.
I was packing for my trip...
"Aw, Liv, don't look at me like that."
While the sound of the soft rain pattered on the roof of his second storey flat, Charlie pleaded with the little sorrel and white dog as she followed his every move; while he folded clothes, wrapped books and writing utensils, double and triple checked where he had put his passport, and then as he packed his laptop, wrapping it in bubble wrap and winding the cord. She positioned herself clearly within his eyeshot wherever he went, staring at him with her dark soulful eyes, her enormous ears off to each side. It gave her the appearance of a bat that had flown into a window. A very large bat.
"Liv-y,"
The Corgi let out a mournful whistling whine.
"I know you aren't happy about me going away, Liv, but Egypt is one place I have --
Knock knock knock!
"That's odd, I told the driver to pick us up at quarter after," Charlie thought, and awkwardly stepped over luggage with his long angular legs, and opened the door.
A petite young woman stood in the hall. Like Charlie, she looked to be in her early twenties, and had short curly hair blonde enough to be nearly white. Her bloodshot eyes were painted heavily in sparkling bright green eyeshadow, black liner, and mascara, but all of the time she spent on them was wasted into black streaks down each cheek. Her dark purple lipstick was smeared across her mouth and chin as though someone had slapped it off. She was dressed in a black 'Damned' tee shirt with both sleeves ripped off, a narrow pair of jeans and purple trainers. The entire outfit was soaking wet from the steady evening rain. She wasn't beautiful, but something oddly vulnerable about her stung Charlie in a strange way.
"What is it? What's happened to y--?" Charlie started to ask, but whipped his head around, startled. Behind him, Livy had begun to bark. Not the friendly bark he was accustomed to from her, but a deeply gutteral, snarling bark. The little dog's teeth were bared, and her ears were pinned back. With each sound she made, the force of making the noise lifted her feet off the ground.
"Livy!" Charlie shouted.
"Oh, oh! Will ya 'elp me?" The woman cried out in a reedy voice. "Would ya let me in?" She stood rooted to the spot on the worn carpet of the hallway, holding her hands up in front of her and clenching and releasing her fists. Her reddened eyes darted back and forth from Charlie to Livy.
Charlie hesitated. "Erm..."
Livy continued to bark frantically and he scolded her again.
The girl pleaded,"'e'll kill me if ya don't! Oh, please!"
"Kill you?" Charlie repeated. With Livy's racket raging behind him, Charlie stuck his head out of the door and peered down the hallway, down one side, and then the other. At last he reached his hand out, wrapped it gently around the girls damp and narrow shoulders, and ushered her into his flat.
As Charlie locked the door, Livy lunged at the girl who leaped remarkably high in the air and let out a squeak.
"Oy! That's it!" Claude yelled. He grabbed Livy's collar and dragged the twisting, yapping dog to his bedroom and shut her in. She immediately began to bark and scratch at the door.
"Pup's 'havin' quite the wobbly there," remarked the girl narrowing her smudged eyes.
"Don't know what's gotten into her," apologized Charlie. "She's usually quite friendly." He nervously ran his hand through his hair and glanced at the clock. It was already 6:45. He looked back at the girl who was gazing casually around the interior of the flat. He noted that she now seemed calm. Her wet shirt clung to her chest, and Charlie could tell she was cold. He swallowed hard and pulled his eyes away.
"Here, I'll uh, get you a towel, you can get yourself dried off. I'll give the police a ring and we can get you on your way --"
"Oh, no need. " the girl replied, lazily.
Charlie folded his long arms across his chest looked directly at the girl. He was starting to feel foolish and frustrated that he had been taken in by some sort of prank. "If you actually have someone planning to kill you, we need to get the cops involved. See, I'm on my way to--"
Charlie frowned as he watched the girl cross the room and open the window. He could hear the sound of rain hitting the pavement a storey below and batting against the leaves of the tree outside. He could see the rain coming in the window as well, dampening his furniture. The girl stuck her head out and looked down the street.
"'ey. It's raining. Let's have it closed," Charlie said, irritated, and began to reach across to the window. Without warning, the girl wrapped both arms around his neck and pressed her painted mouth against his lips. Stunned, Charlie stumbled backwards over a table and with arms flailing, fell backwards with the strange woman on top of him.
He could hear Livy in the next room, throwing her body against the door with loud thuds in an attempt to escape. Her barking had given way to howling.
He could feel the woman's cold wet shirt through his dry one, her body pressing against his, her hands on either side of his face, then running her fingers through his hair, her lips softly kissing his own.
She smells of patchouli or is it cinnamon?
I don't know this girl.
I need to tell her to get up.
I need to pack.
I don't know her name.
My flight leaves in --
I don't give a toss, I need to kiss her.
For the next few moments, Charlie hungrily kissed the odd girl, a warm swirl of empassioned oblivion almost taking hold of all of his senses. He was distantly aware of the rain hitting the sill inside his flat and his dog desperately trying to escape the room she was imprisoned in. He was able to ignore them.
It was a scraping sound that brought him back to reality.
Charlie half opened an eye. Someone was standing on the back of his now soaking wet sofa. Jerking his head away from the girl to have a full view, Charlie's heart gave a great lurch. A small man stood over them, his arms raised. The man's eyes burned with a maniacal gleam and seemed to reflect light as a cat's do in a car's headlamps. He was dressed in an oddly archaic tunic of a grayish suede that was stamped with runic looking patterns. But most peculiar was that his legs were completely covered in fur- brown striped fur, and he had feet like a lion with long talon like claws and a bushy ended tail thrashing behind him. In one hand, the man-creature held a long spear.
Charlie's throat was dry, and he tried to yell but no sound came. Scrambling, he attempted to get to his feet, and shield the girl at the same time, but the girl threw him back to the ground and held him down with one sneakered foot. He struggled to move her leg, but he felt as though he were pinned under a car. He could still hear Livy, desperately throwing herself at the door, trying to escape the prison he had put her in. She had known.
"Shock! Horror!" the girl laughed a sharp laugh. The table lamp toppled onto the chair and cast an eerie light up into the girl's wicked face. "You was snoggin' a bad girl!" Charlie noticed for the first time that all of her teeth were pointed. She leaned in a bit closer. The sweet smell of cinnamon was gone and replaced with a rank of mold. "Very bad." She whispered with a nasty grin.
"After all of this time, you made this too easy, Claudius." the girl continued, her voice now deeper and rasping. "TOO easy."
"Brimaz! Finish him!" She shouted to the lion-man.
"For Deimos!" growled the man with the spear.
"Whatever." replied the woman.
Pinned by the woman's foot, Charlie felt foolish, like a fish thrashing on a boat deck. Whatever had happened in the moments before had left his limbs weak and useless, as though filled with local anesthesia. But his mind was still sharp, and filled with dread and fear as he waited for what was to come. Brimaz raised the spear, and in what seemed like slow motion, Charlie used every ounce of energy he had and pulled himself to one side as far as he could. He felt the spear pierce his chest, but not his heart. As the beast ripped the spear back out Charlie let out an involuntary cry. He watched an arc of his own blood splatter the ceiling, the carpet, the sofa.
That'll be tough to clean.
