A flat, rectangle piece of plastic rested in between his fingers -- his name imprinted upon the front. In days passed, getting what ever he wanted entailed pillage, rape and murder. If his body sang for nourishment, he plucked an unsuspecting blood warmer off the street and drank to fulfillment. When he wished to don himself in the finest clothing, he simply killed the stripped the body. Entertainment was procured in the same fashion. A slow torture, designed to break the sanity of his sweet, young victim.
But now, getting his every material want and desire entailed passing this little card over the counter, signing the bill, then taking his...purchases...home. The implication of it stung his fingers and the card dropped to the ground. No. If he were to use it, it would be a denial of all he had so easily taken as a soulless demon. It made him feel dirty to have open access to anything in any store.
His debt to the world began as Angelus. How could he hope to become Angel while accumulating more?
"Sir? Sir? Your total is $263.29. Will you be paying with your credit card?"
He pushed the items toward the sales clerk. "No."
A leather jacket flared behind the dark, retreating figure.
Angel. Bittersweet. Credit Card.