Fan
Girl

KarmaKat

The eyes of some
of the fans…scare me. There's no light in them. Fixed emotions.
Blind worship. Horror. It makes me think of what happened to us long
ago.

-Boris
Becker

They come from all
over the world. Different colors, different creeds, different
genders, but they all come for the same reason. They all use
different tactics to win the prize. Flowers, food, music, poetry,
art, but none of them ever succeed; many lose their lives. The prey
is too clever for their tactics, too detached. One must think like
the beast to acquire him. Cold, calculating reason will prevail.

I’ve
been watching him for months, marking his actions, his moves. I have
every nervous twitch, every spasm of his purple stained wrist down.
He’s amazing in a fight, forward assaults are his specialty; he
wastes no gesture, and no move is unnecessary. He is a bloody
ballerina and the battlefield is his stage. He despises weakness in
others, and he will not abide it in himself.

That’s
what the others don’t realize. He’ll let most of the pathetic
ones go, but the ones that beg, the ones that whine, they are the
ones that die. He can’t stand to let them touch his immaculate
facade. One caress of that snowy mane, one tap of that silky garb is
certain death. Just to stroke that fur… Some believe that it
is a worthy demise, but I want so much more.

I
gaze at his beautiful face through the scope of my rifle. Soon my
darling, soon. Normal weapons won’t work here. He is weaker
against projectile attacks, but he can hear even a muffled gun shot
from miles away. My weapon and location where chosen with great care.
I waited months for this convention; the nearby train depot is
situated between him and my rooftop position. My air rifle is primed
and my missile waxed to cut down on air friction. It’s all about
noise reduction when your quarry has ears like his.

I
watch patiently as the fans flood in, ask their questions, scream
their adoration and offer their inadequate gifts. He struggles to
keep his face impassive, but through my scope I can see his wrist
twitch with barely contained annoyance and bloodlust. The muscles of
his fingers curl into his sleeve to hide the menace of his claws.

Soon it will all be over.

Then, security
drags them away. Many will conceal themselves at the exits, hoping to
catch a moment with him unguarded to declare their adulation. Others
will return home to frantically develop their film and Photoshop
themselves to his side. I wait. Security leaves him along on the open
stage. No one left to interfere, perfect. After all they are
there for the fans’ safety, not his. He can protect himself; they
are there to reduce fatalities. The train pulls into the station; he
frowns in annoyance as the clattering, squealing commotion assaults
his ears. I take my shot. I’ve been training a long time for this
moment.

The
look of surprise on his face as the dart’s contents empties into
his body causes my stomach to do a little flip. I slide down the
banner rope from my rooftop and land with catlike grace on the stage.
At his side at last. His eyes are sleepy in his half aware
state as I load him into the waiting van. “Nick, lets go.” I call
to my accomplice, but she is already throwing the truck into gear and
we move quickly into traffic and out of the city.

I
kneel down at his side. His droopy eyes make him look so vulnerable
as I brush his glossy hair away from his face. His skin is silky
under my fingers. Better than my dreams. “Sesshomaru-sama,
it is so good to finally meet you. My name is Tonya, and I’m you
biggest fan.”