Post by Rift on Dec 28, 2021 7:01:52 GMT -7
Christmas Eve. A time of celebration, fellowship, and excitement. Families gathered to stuff themselves with food that had been painstakingly prepared for hours in advance while children, fretted over the arrival of Santa Claus after they went to bed. It was a time honored tradition practiced in homes far and wide, but like so many other people Johnny Blaze had little interest in the holidays. Once, long ago it had meant something to him, but that was before he had lost everything he cared about. Knowing that Roxanne and his kids were no longer in the realm of the living meant he had little use for celebrating. And thus, like most Christmas' of the past several years he found himself in a bar. Unfortunately, unlike a few years ago when he had spent the remainder of the night entertaining fellow supernatural hunter Elsa Bloodstone, he was completely alone in the darkened corner.
"Oh if only I was really alone. At least then I could get wasted and forget just how much existence sucks for a few hours. But no, there's you. Always you. Stopping me from having a life, not allowing me to die, and preventing me from even getting drunk!" he snapped, raising a bottle. "Here's to you, you brimstone breathing bastard!"As usual, the Spirit of Vengeance he played host to was silent. He always was when it came to anything other than demanding blood and retribution.
Standing he took in his surroundings and smiled. The dingy little hole in the wall bar was exactly the kind of place he liked with the smell of smoke in the air (despite no smoking signs posted), the sound of other lost souls racking a pool table, and the clinking of glasses and bottles. The only thing missing was a decent song drifting from the jukebox to ease the troubled mind.
Wandering over to the old machine, he began to peruse the selection, smiling when he noticed someone had removed a Christmas album, the Mariah Carey CD laying on a nearby counter in pieces. Depositing some coins he selected a number of songs, some Bob Seger, Ozzy, Metallica, and other classics. Turning to head back to his corner he stopped short just as the first haunting notes of a Johnny Cash classic began to come through the rattling old speakers. The Rider was on to something.
It seemed ridiculous to anyone whose soul was not tangled up with a weapon of the Almighty, but sin has a smell. The intensity and fragrance was different from person to person, sin to sin. This particular odor was like fetid meat mixed with sulfur. Rank, rotting, and evil.
Sniffing the air, head on a swivel he zeroed in on a group of men sitting nearby. They were not all that different from Johnny himself, clothed in old worn leather jackets, scuffed boots, and very obviously bikers. Fighting the feeling of Zarathos squirming beneath his skin he listened closely, catching only pieces of conversation.
"...but why does it have to be tonight? I mean we started gathering 'em back on Halloween, I thought we would of done it then instead of waiting until tonight of all nights," a bald guy with tons of tattoos complained.
"Because," he partner, a man with long red hair and gray in his beard snapped. "Had to have the right number. Besides, this is better. We take the brats we grabbed Trick or Treating, least the ones still sucking air, and with the ones Carl spotted during his Santa gig and we take 'em to the tree."
"Yeah, but why?" Baldy asked, still confused.
"Because," said another man, the oldest of the bunch. "It is tradition. We make our offering this night. Like our ancestors did. We not only receive the blessing, but imagine the shock when they find out it was done on their precious holiday. Icing on the cake. Assuming of course those morons came through. Spotting proper tribute while playing mall Santa ain't the same as convincing them to come outside into the cold."
"Don't worry Cliff. Carl and the others got this. They know what they are doing."
The old man sneered and replied, "They better. Because it is our heads if tribute isn't made on time. Let's move."
The fools should worry, for tonight vengeance WILL be served, Zarathos growled in the back of Blaze's mind.
Downing the last of his beer Blaze headed to the door. "Merry freaking Christmas to me."