What did someone like him need a Siren for? She couldn't help but feel a bit out of place here. She looked at the man next to her, swirling a shot glass of whisky and a crooked smile, suppressing a shiver. His black eyes sharp like a greedy tiger with a bad ink job, a thin handmade cigarette wavering in the corner of his thin reptilian mouth. Behind him a younger thinner man carried a large flower wreath, making his way to the coffin to set it down in front of the others, all of similar size, if not bigger, a room full of them.
'Flower shops must make fortunes off of their deaths.'
There was not a single tear in the room, and there had been well over a hundred questionable figures who had come through to shake hands and throwback some alcohol before leaving again. It wasn't really a Funeral, or a Memorial, just a viewing that lasted since late that morning until now, near midnight. She had been so tense the whole time, that now she was so exhausted, she felt it was a wonder to be standing at all. Alex had his arm wrapped comfortably around her, holding her gently up. She had taken her shoes off hours ago to his amusement, and he held the spiked heels by the ankle-strap.
'He's been a perfect gentleman,' she thought. 'Well, almost.' She felt his grip loosen to refill his glass.
She sighed and turned back to look at the open casket. The coffin was dark stained cherry and it was perfectly polished with cushioned and silky lining. It looked more comfortable than some beds she'd seen. The man was not small, but not all that large either. He didn't look all that old, he had to be in his fifties. She wondered if he knew when he would've died, or how, if he would've still thought it was worth it. His purple suit was perfectly tailored to him, shoes shined like a black pearl.
'How much did it cost just to dress him?'
He turned from pouring another glass of whisky for a guest to her. He had taken his jacket off and was in the process of slipping it over her shoulders. His suit was tight enough she could see his sculpted body, twitching ever slightly. She smiled at him weakly, but all she could think of was leaving, and she was guessing he felt the same way.
'How much longer will we have to be here?'
That's when she heard it, what sounded like firecrackers, though she knew better. She watched glass shatter in every direction, some of the men diving for cover, others pulling out handguns. Alex had disappeared, enacting what she knew was most-likely a plan for just the occasion. She wasn't frozen but didn't move either, not quickly. She swatted glass off of a stair, deciding there was too much glass for her bare feet to risk cutting them.
'For taking pride in being hardened criminals, I'm not seeing much.' She looked around the room at the men, most of whom had just gathered themselves enough to shoot back, but it was a little late. It was over. 'Just enough nerve to hold down a few drinks,' she grinned.
Alex and a select few had already killed most of the outsiders, who had suddenly ceased. She waited a full minute before standing, even though she heard the crunch of his Oxford's.
"Are you alright?" He looked her up and down, relief easing through him when he saw no blood. She shrugged and looked around the room. It was a shame, all of the beautiful Italian woodwork lied in pieces. "Come," he said, scooping her up as she dangled her bare legs. It was really such a shame. She sighed and tugged at his jacket, she forgot how cold it could get at night.
"So what now?" she asked quietly. His eyes were hard and angry, glowing as she had never seen them, but he had a slight smile.
'He's going to use this,' she thought. That was the smart thing to do, but how far would he take this.
"We teach them to respect the dead," he called, his eyes fixed on the intruders. "Tie them wrist to ankle with their dead and bury them. Let them kiss and breathe their future in."