If You Want Blood...

It was late. Trix knew that much. What time "late" might actually be, well, that she didn't have the faintest idea about that. She was scoping out a worn-out, run-down, and pretty shifty old warehouse, and so far the emerald eyes had yet to pick up any movement.

She was crouched down on a wide ledge, the material of her cat-suit stretching to accommodate the shape of her legs in this position. The cat-suit was a standard part of her hunting attire, as were the decorations that went with it. The suit itself was patterned using the Batman series's Harley Quinn as a model. It had been specially made for her by one of her more gifted Scathachian sisters, Desi. Desi had used some kind of amazing material for the get-up. It was durable, easily washable, form-fitted while remaining amazingly flexible when she was shifting around, and didn't cause her to feel like she was going to overheat. It also had a name that Trixie couldn't recall for the life of her. Whatever it was, it was perfect.

The suit was two colors, crimson and black, placed in an alternating sequence. It had a high collar, with a garnet set squarely on the center of the throat. She had no idea how Desi had gotten the garnet to stick and hold so well to the fabric, but stick it did. Trix was sure some kind of magic was involved. Desi was a priestess, after all.

Also squarely set at the center of the collar was a line, which pretty much ran down the middle of the suit itself. Just about three inches beneath her breasts, another line, this one running horizontally, broke the suit into quarters.

The first quarter, on the upper-left side, was all crimson, except for two black diamonds on the inner forearm and the black glove on her hand. The second quarter of the suit, on the lower left side, was all black, except for three red diamonds on her hinny, two red diamonds on her inner calf, and the red slipper-like shoe. The third quarter, the lower right side of the suit, was all crimson, again, except for three black diamonds on her thigh and a black-slipper like shoe. Finally, the fourth quarter was black, with two crimson diamonds on her upper arm and a red glove to match.

Stylish, no? Harley and Trixie apparently thought so. It was the perfect outfit for hunting, too. Both gloves allowed for her to grip the swords she had on either hip, the crimson handled blade on her left and the one with the black hilt on her right. The slippers had great traction, as well, while remaining lightweight. Agility was a must.

Trixie had decided to forego the jester-like hood Harley usually wore, as well as the ruffley collars around the neck and wrists. She couldn't be exact, now, could she? When she went out hunting, Trixie much preferred to have her blondie locks pulled tight and secure into two little stubby pigtails that were just visible behind her ear lobes. And while the make-up was fairly similar, Trix had added a bit more to this,too. Using only the very best in stage make-up (which was sure to be able to withstand harsh conditions), Trixie painted her face and all other visible bits of flesh pure white. Then, black was added on to paint a Domino mask around the eyes, to outline the little heart tattoo on her cheek, and to line her lips. Trixie liked to add two up-turned lines to the corners of her mouth. It gave her that mad joker look, ya know? The whole idea was to look as cartoony and crazy as possible.

And as strange as it was, this is exactly what she wore every time she went out to hunt. At this point, you're probably wondering what exactly it is that she hunts. Well, you're about to find out, because Trixie just spotted some life down there.


A man, probably around forty-something, was shuffling towards the warehouse, dragging along a pretty and quite noticeably terrified young girlie by the arm. And frown as Trix did at this little scene, she kept on crouching, just biding her time. She had to wait. She needed a motive for an attack. As jumbled as the moral code was that Trixie McAllister lived by, the few rules she had were set in stone. Rule number one was that she never struck without having the evidence and the facts to back-up her decision.

She didn't have to wait long. She heard a muffled cry, and taking that as a cue, she sprung over to a rooftop a bit closer to the warehouse in question. She tucked into a roll as she landed, winding up in the perfect position to peer out over the ledge, into the warehouse's cracked windows. She could make out the man's back as he lurched forward, arms outstretched. The girl, which from this viewpoint was nothing more than a trembling figure to the far-far-left, let out another cry, which Trixie and her wolf-like hearing could make out pretty easily. But still, Trixie needed to see a reason.

The man moved in again, and grabbed for something. She heard a whimper. But no, that wasn't enough. It was time to get closer.

She stood up, and leapt again, latching onto gutter pipe that was running down the side of the warehouse. It let out a fierce groan at the added weight, but she was really hoping it would hold out for just a bit. Just enough to see something bad go down.

The man had paused at the sounds outside, but it was an old building. The creaky noises weren't going to completely spook him out of a misdeed. He went back to what he was doing, which Trixie could now see was rather clumsily fondling the young girl. He'd managed to rip her clothes up something awful, and was looking to get up under her skirt. The girl, for her part, was letting out "no, don't!"s and "please, stop!"s, but the man would not be deterred. Was this enough? She couldn't decide. And as terrible as it was that this was happening to the girl, was this punishable by death? Trixie had to be sure.

The man pushed the young girl down, eager to ravage her. His dirty mits were pawing here and there, trying to find a spot they felt the most comfortable. The girl cried out more, having been forced down upon. She called for an absent mother, a hard-to-find father, and for a savior. But Trixie watched. Trixie waited.

The gutter pipe shook, and the joker held tighter. It was going to break soon. She just knew it. At this point, the man was ready to take away the girl's innocence. He'd pulled out a knife when Trix must have been observing the conditions of the pipe, and was holding it to the girl's throat. A threat to hold still, no doubt. The tip of the blade was pressed down into the milky flesh of his victim as he eyed her hungrily.


The pipe growled and shifted. However, it was not complaining about Trixie's weight, anymore. Rather, it was calling out after her as she moved.

You see, the man was now directly a threat to the girl's life. She'd seen the means with which he was going to harm her, and witnessed his intent to wound her. This was enough.

The few shards of glass left in the window she was closest to were relieved of their tiresome hold to the pane. As they came crashing down, the man lifted his eyes in time to make out the Harlequin, standing up to her full 5'8" form.

"Your friend there looks a lil' new at this. Wanna play with someone more experienced?"

The black lines and lips curled up to make a sinister grin. Trix let her hands fall to the swords hilts, flashing the longer than normal canines.

...You Got It.

It was even later when Trix finally got back to the flat. Surprisingly enough, when she entered the building, she was completely somber. The walk had helped her to shed any excess insanity that came courtesy of her lust for blood.

Her sisters were sleeping, so as quietly as she could, she crept past their beds, snatched some comfy clothes, and snuck off to the bathroom. Jenai and Issy were probably still adjusting to her being up until all sorts of ungodly hours of the night. On the Island of Shadows, where Trix, Issy, Jenai, and the rest of the Scathachians spent quite a considerable amount of time, her cabin-mates usually had to wait a week to get used to the faint sounds of Trixie rustling around until dawn. Sure, it was irritating, but she couldn't help it. Sleep didn't come easy.

She locked the bathroom door and ran the hot water to fill up the bath. In the meantime, she peeled off her black and red get-up, laying it out carefully over a chair. From the corners of her emerald eyes, she made out the faint reflection of her naked body in the mirror. Faint was putting it mildly. Trixie could just make out the contours of her body, and the patches of color that represented her tattoos. For the most part, the image in the mirror was translucent, ghost-like. But this was something Trix was used to. Some days, she didn't even have a reflection at all.

You see, like was previously mentioned, Trixie was a mutt. She was cursed. But exactly how was she cursed? Well, lucky for you, she was just about to reflect on that as she stepped into the steamy water.

Trixie (who wasn't always named Trixie, by the way) was born in 1892, the only child of Lee and Jytte McAllister. Lee was a jovial sort of Scotsman who had met his wife in England. Jytte, herself, was originally from Denmark and convinced her husband to move there after Trixie was born.

Even as late at the 1890s, folklore, myth, and superstition were still a part of European culture, even if only minorly so. Many sorts of creatures were said to lurk and populate the country sides, and of these beings, few were better known than the witch. But these aren?t modern-day wiccans, or white witches we?re talking about. Back then, witches were mostly known as dark servants who should be avoided, despite the fact that they could offer some substantial help.

Despite the dangers, Lee McAllister was prone to the alluring promises of sorcery. You see, even though he was a bright and friendly man who rarely left a joke untold, somehow he wasn?t doing as well in his trading business as he had hoped. With a new baby and a recovering wife to feed, it became imperative that a turn-around in income happen quickly. Lee was sure all he needed was a little charm, just something to boost him up. So, he sought the counsel of a grizzled old woman who lived just outside of the marketplace who was pretty much known as the resident witch. The few that were bold enough to go to her swore by her remedies, so Mr. McAllister figured he?d give it a shot. The appointment was short, much quicker than he figured it?d be, but a deal was reached. The woman would be like a business partner to him, and would receive a portion of the money earned once business picked up.

Just as promised, business did indeed pick up. The family was able to meet their expenses easily, and even had enough left over to splurge now and then. Lee was sure to keep up with payments to his partner, as well.

But years went by, and Mr. McAllister grew confident in his own ability to run his business without his invisible partner's assistance. The payments ceased, and the money was used towards the immediate members of the household.

What a very silly thing to do.