05-09-2008
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She should have guessed.
A friend of Mark's, he had to be equally fucked up. And yet, it seemed to be the way of this town, there were few exceptions to the rule of macabre that spread through Westriver’s population. Everyone had their vice’s, their dirty little secrets and even dirtier little thoughts. The trick, was finding out who’s was what. Yes, that seemed to be it, there was a dividing factor, she was a step closer to unravelling her precious mystery and with each person she spoke with a little piece of the blank puzzle slid into place. David was far too easy to read, however he would not be unsettled easily, he was still a challenge. His dialect was refined but his delivery was dark and lecherous, she found herself actually longing for Mark to return to the table but did not let this show on her face. She didn’t even so much as shift in her seat, she did nothing to let him know how uncomfortable he made her. Instead, Lilith inhaled and studied David for a few moments, her hand lifted and she began to fondle the crystal orb dangling so delicately about her slender neck, she played it about her fingers and her eyes glazed over. He’d loved her, she knew that, she’d known that all her life, she just had no idea how deep his devotion was seeded. He’d find her in the playground, crouched in the sand with tears in her eyes while boys being boys held an off-white stuffed rabbit over her head. They were not children to him, they were cretins who tarnished the precious flower she'd once been. Those children went home to their parents with broken eyes and busted lips where they sat in silence, afraid to speak of what he had done to them. Yet, in contrast, he’d held her so close as she cried into his shoulder. Years later and she still came to him when she cried, his embrace was warm and secure and he never stopped holding her until her tears ceased. She blinked, the ambience of the restaurant flooded her, had it been long? Mark was still at the counter, her silence could not have been more than a few moments and she was still able to respond to David. “Kill me?” she spoke as if she didn’t believe he could. “I’ve known men far more capable of murder than little boys such as you.” It was not meant as an insult, rather as a reflection between himself who despite seeming, when she’d first looked upon him, to be older than her by a handful of years, she realized now that he still attended their school thus he was either her age or a year older, no more. It was his relation with Mark that gave him away, it was too close, too regular and Mark didn’t quite seem the type to stand on a street corner making dealings in the shadows. No, she pictured him pulling David aside at lunch or after class, away from the prying eyes of teachers and peers. She’d paused but continued as if she hadn’t. “Even they could not kill me, given the chance,” she licked her lips and looked David up and down. “No, I’m willing to bet the only reason you’d have to kill me would be if I stole a bite from one of your little fish sandwiches. Not much chance of that I’m afraid,” she had the distinct feeling she needed a cigarette between her fingers to complete her look. “I’m in the mood for something meatier.” Oh yes, Lilith could play these games all day long with the best of them, she was quick, her wit was sharp, she rarely faltered and she never backed down. She recalled he’d spoken of addiction and leapt upon that topic with the hopes that he’d follow her train of thought without the need for elaboration. “Murder, simply murder – that would be far too easy. No, it’s the drive, the reason, the method. A murder is but a single action, it’s story would scarcely fill a page. However, the story behind it…” she chuckled very softly, “That story could fill a thousand pages.” He hit her on a more personal note then, she fought not to let the look of surprise wash over her features and felt she accomplished it naturally. Lil raised one brow as was her trait and grinned casually as she pressed her back flat against the chair, she lowered her arms, held them straight down, curled her fingers about the sides of her chair and gripped tightly. The sides of her jacket fell open, her corset was very tight, ribbed with lines that followed the smooth, slight curves of her body, it left little to the imagination, the bust was cut low, the thick straps hugged over the tops of her shoulders and a small section at the front was laced loosely closed. It seemed that the back was laced too by the end of a black ribbon trapped between her hip, her jacket and the back of her chair. She watched as his eyes followed the garment down to the heavy belt about her hips and the crotch of her jeans before she swiftly lifted her heeled boot and planted it on the edge of his seat, between his legs, dangerously close to a rather tender spot. “Perhaps, does knowing that I could crush the pride of your youth at a whim make you shudder deep inside?” Her smile was devious, she was playing with fire, what could be more exciting? Lil bent her knee slightly and tilted her head to the left as she lifted her left hand and swept all her hair over her over that shoulder. There was a moment of silence, Lil sighed and drew her foot back, even went so far as to push her chair back an inch before she relaxed and stared straight at David with that same look of cool disposition as she’d sat down with. He’d pissed her off. Mostly because he was right. She was a little wet.
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+ - "God made me a cannibal to fix problems like you." - + Last edited by Dystoxia : 05-10-2008 at 11:45 AM. 
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05-10-2008
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David smiled.
David smiled because he was in love. So cunning, so careful! Yet at the same time, so firey and impulsive! She played a dangerous game, this minx, and yet she did it without fear, without any reservations. Oh, yes, she came here with Mark, no doubt she had played the same game with him. She had no way of knowing how deep the currents she was swimming in went... no way of knowing about the sign that he saw, and that he suspected Mark saw, whenever he closed his eyes. That sign, like the Mark of Cain, branding a few as special, as chosen ones. David's father had not had the sign. That was why he had arranged for the police to catch his father selling heroin on the street. Because his father was a waste of good contacts. Mafia connections, quality product for the discerning customer and cheap shit for scumbags; all was wasted on Richard. Not on David. David had taken the connections given to his two-bit father, and had begun to swallow the other operations. It helped that he looked older than he was; but by seventeen he was the only person within a hundred miles selling heroin, and he number five seller of marijuana in the state. The other four were in major cities. Where, soon, he would be too. David was so good at what he did, because he knew about addictions. He could discern early what made a person tick, what they desired. What they needed. Those who needed drugs, he sold to. The others, he used. This one, he hoped to enjoy. "You know, I think I remember who you are now. Lilith, correct? Like the woman they cut from the bible. According to the Torah, before Eve, God made another woman for Adam, named Lillith. But, she would not consent to lie beneath him. She liked to be on top. I bet you do too." David smiled. "Tells you a lot about a person, wanting to be on top. You know, metaphorically, I'm almost always on top. Everyone else is a buyer, or a tool. Even Mark is a partner, not a superior. But I'll tell you a secret, Lillith. Deep inside of me, part of me wants to let go, and let someone else be above me. Part of me wants to be dominated, by just one person." David smiled here, and gestured towards the line, "Now, Mark will never let you be on top. He's addicted to power. But me, I'll let you be on top. I'll worship you like the goddess you are. And my subservience will mean something, because unlike the pitiful boys whom you torment just by dressing the way you do, I have a great deal of power." David leaned back, trying not to let his shock show. He had not meant to say so much. But the truth was, she was right. She did make him shudder, deep inside.
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Smurfette was a little blue slut.
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05-10-2008
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The open window, a sign that he was free, a sign that told him that he could wander out into the uncut grass of the field just outside. A freedom he had never experienced the first seventeen years of his life. Being home-schooled by his more than caring, paranoid mother. Over-bearing and on the edge of OCD, she barely let him out of the house to visit his family. Maybe it was his over-confident attitude that made her this way. His inability to believe in fears, or even acknowledge them at all, that filled her with fear. So afraid that the delicate existence of her son would be warped by the outside world that she would keep them secluded from the rest of the world. The neighbors had all given her reasons to stay away from them, so childhood relationships were destroyed by the conflicts of the adults who were in charge. Even at church, lines were drawn in the sand. Father had spats with the pastor, who happened to be one of his close friends. Father being the co-pastor made this a scene in mass. Whispers were everywhere, glares and stares, children were conveniently sick or some other half-cocked explanation for why they either weren't attending or just couldn't play in Sunday-school. Sitting up, what a chore, more than what Keith was willing to do right now, when the floor of the bedroom was so comfortable. The cot, just a mattress on the floor, he had spent the night on lay shoved against the wall. He remembered the days when he would wake up in the kitchen, under the table, or in the living room clinging to the edge of the couch. His sleep-walking was always a spice added to his boring life. Though sleep walking annoyed him when he woke up freezing-ass cold on the hardwood floor of the laundry room, it was a blessing when you needed an excuse for walking in at 4am, the time your dad goes to work. His natural sleep-disorder was also the cause of his mother blocking off the doors and locking the windows if such a happening would ever occur again. Melissa came around the doorway and spoke with that demanding older-sister voice she had mastered oh-so many years ago. Being the eldest of nine gave her that edge. "Get out of bed! Damn it, son. Its 8:30am already! Tom will be on my ass if I'm late." She spun around and stepped over Patrick who grunted and stumbled into the room, his usual coy not showing this morning. The one-year-old fumbled over his own feet towards Keith and slapped down on Keith's stomach, snatching him back to reality. Sitting up and lifting Patrick into his arms, Keith reached for the wrinkled black shirt that seemed just out of reach. He wouldn't be satisfied until he fell over. Standing up and slipping the shirt over one arm, Keith let Patrick wriggle from his arm while he continued to put the shirt over himself. Grabbing his boots and the cap full of pocket-contents he was out the room and into the living room just down the hall. Melissa tossed some chicken strips into the microwave while pouring a glass of orange juice. 'Damn cellphone, just can't wake me anymore.' Keith sighed below his sleepy breaths. He could remember the days when Missy would drive out of her way to get him for work. He'd wake at 6 am to go to work at 9. God what a child he used to be, what a child he still was! He'd relied on everyone around him for so long that the independence was looking grim. No more would he be able to go to bed and not worry because his mother would wake him for work, or his brother would hear his alarm before he even rolled over. It was all on him now, he was his own person. A person who would be late for work. Melissa grabbed Patrick and started for the door. Luckily for Keith, he had bathed and slept in his clothes the night before. All he needed was a bite to take out the door. A blue-berry strudel would do. The price he would pay for being late would be the aching pain in his teeth that he would endure from the frozen pastry. Climbing into the back of the old chevy S10 Keith balled himself up so that the seat could have room to squish against Melissa's two purses, a heater, and a diaper bag. She'd click on the radio to hear Linkin Park's 'Shadow Of The Day' play, a song Keith would strangle from their throats if he had to endure it any longer. The day was a grueling one, like he hadn't experienced since he had started working for his great uncle. The sun was high and bearing down on them heavily. Sweat had dripped generously from under his cap, stinging his eyes more times than his temper would allow him to handle. Working in the direct heat of the sun and jogging back and forth carrying hundreds of pounds of trees and shrubs that the his uncle kept in stock was pulling at his breaking point. Though he was still a greenhorn in most of the actual business, he still had quite allot to keep him busy. Lunch time wouldn't come soon enough. Time crawled by as he sat in the back of house six cleaning hanging baskets, bobbing his head to his mp3 player, ignoring the many nicks and cuts the thorns of this damned plant blessed him with. His thigh vibrated courtesy of his cellphone. Before he would even pull it from the case on his belt he would know it was Missy calling to see what he wanted for lunch. Sonic had burnt him out on popcorn chicken and strawberry malts, today they'd find some other variant of heart-attack to dine on. Peeling the glove from his right hand, he'd answer his phone to hear the same reply he'd always hear at that time of day. "Come to the front." Followed by the immediate click. A bad habit of his sisters' was that she would rarely say good bye before hanging up. One would assume she was always busy by the abrupt ending to every phone call, but Keith knew better by now, she had time to bid farewell. Keith ran down the narrow isle between the houses and got up to the store, slowing himself as he turned the corner so that he wouldn't be caught running. What a bother, all the his peers got nervous when he ran, so what? He had dropped a tree or two, toppled a cart full of shrubs, or even accidentally sprayed poison on merchandise, he was just trying to make himself a bit more useful! He was twice as coordinated as any of the old-farts that he worked with anyway. For every shrub they had cleaned, he probably cleaned ten. The instant he entered the small trailer-house they called a store, Melissa got up and walked out, her usual humor by lunch-time. Taking a brisk walk across the gravel drive to the grass where her truck was parked. Keith naturally walked faster because he worked less than her and would have more energy to waste by this time of day. He was exhausted, a word for her current state was one that escaped this author. Keith opened the passenger door of the brown truck and removed the car-seat only to push it behind the seat and into the back of the cab. Sliding into the truck Missy started it and pulled out. Her usual question was the first to come from her less-than-humored tone. "where to?" Keith would pause a second before answering and come back with a statement: 'I'm burnt-out on Sonic.' throwing his hat to the floor and shaking the sweat from his lochs. "No, just pick a place and lets go, damn it. I'm not in the mood to mess around." Keith turned and looked out the window for the length of the thick silence. These moments were all to many when it came time for working. Missy was distraught with her life, everything 'fucking sucked' Nothing was ever right for her and she was going nowhere. By her own words. Keith would listen to all her rants, raves, thick-headed half-decisions. Too many times had she vowed to quit working. But she still worked at the hell-hole she knew as the nursery. 'Just drop me off at Macdonald's.' Keith dared to break the silence, his usual course of action. 'I'll call uncle Tom and ask for the day off. Its no big deal, he's running out of work for my inexperienced ass, anyway.' Melissa opened her mouth to say something, but Keith would do something he had never done before, he would stop her. 'No, don't argue, I'll call him an get the day off. You won't have to deal with me, he won't have to look for brainless activities, and I get to lay on my ass. we all win.' Melissa sat in silence a moment, her eyes slowly moving from one side of the brain to the other, weighing her options. "Fine" she concluded. "But if you lose your job you're going back to live with mom until college is over." 'Deal.' Keith relieved the tension by popping in a CD he had burned for her into the player, the soothing bass of 'So cold' by Breaking Benjamin would massage their eardrums the rest of the way. Missy pulled into the lot and gave Keith a hug, something they weren't afraid of doing, they were both 'dorks' by Missy's standard, anyway. Keith hopped out and jogged over to the building as she waved and drove off. Keith immediately trotted over behind the wooden fence that surrounded the employees-area/dumpster. He was wearing his dad's old U.S. army jacket, and the instant he got around the corner of the fence he would extract a bottle from its depths. The label suspiciously covered by a paper bag that he would roll down. Keith had taken his first drink the night of Gabby's death, he had done it because he had watched the old westerns where the hero would take a drink before doing something that scared him shitless, now he did it to ease the guilt that weighed his heart down, guilt that hadn't ceased to build up since that night....The night he became a murderer.
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    Pm functions Posting RPG FAQ[In the works. This is not the official thing.] Come be a Power Ranger with me! Power Rangers Last edited by 76. : 05-12-2008 at 11:49 AM.
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05-11-2008
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Josie’s head snapped up at her name. She was shocked he knew it. Mark didn’t really seem the type to take much interest in people like her, the quiet, reserved one with a grey past and, as far as the world was concerned, nothing much to offer. Though, he did seem the type who liked to be in control. Perhaps knowing the names of those around him helped keep the ball in his court. After all, if you instantly addressed someone using their name when they weren’t expecting it, you could put them on the back foot and retain control of the conversation. Precisely what he’d just done to her. Anger bubbled inside her. The last thing she needed around was more controlling men. Of course, this was all speculation on her part, but it was too late to go back and consider that now. He was already set in her mind as a controlling, dominating male.
She looked up into his blue-green eyes and a face that seemed to radiate cool indifference. Suddenly, her thoughts took a familiar turn to a morbid place and she found herself wondering what his cries would sound like if she took a pair of toe-nail clippers to his eyelids. Would he shout out in anguish, or mask his pain behind anger? Josie would have put money on the latter. Josie was a being of pain. Driven by pain to inflict pain. She wanted people to understand what she suffered. Wanted others to know what it was to be powerless, helpless, with their body hurting in ways they didn’t think possible. She wanted people to share her pain, and she was good at it. Her father had taught her well. She knew it only took the slightest amount of pressure on the right spot and you could have a person in agony, only a small amount of force could break bone and even a blunt blade would tear flesh if you wielded it correctly. When she’d taken her first human victim a year ago, something in the back of her mind had told her what she was doing was wrong, but her desire to inflict pain on the boy in her grasp had drowned the little voice out. That boy, Jamie Sorensen, probably hadn’t even known her name. He and Bobby Cole had just had a fight in the woods and, after beating him unconscious, Bobby had left him for dead. Poor Jamie didn’t stand a chance. He woke up, tied to a tree and spent the next few hours screaming for nobody to hear. Josie could still hear those screams echoing though her head if she closed her eyes and listened hard enough. Stupidity on her part had seen him escape and, despite her best efforts, she hadn’t been able to find him. For the next month she’d waited for the police to come knocking, but Jamie’s body never turned up and the rumour at school had been, Bobby Cole had killed him. After all, who would suspect the weak, withdrawn Josie? She wasn’t the type. Josie suddenly realised, she’d been just staring at Mark for several long seconds. She blinked. Crap. What had he asked her? Was she feeling confident? What was that supposed to mean? She decided to go with a general answer to cover all her bases. ‘Um, sorry. Yeah, I guess so. I’ve never been one to be overly self-assured,’ she replied quietly with a small smile, hoping that answered his question. She glanced past him at the counter. ‘I think you’re up.’
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Logic merely enables one to be wrong with authority.
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05-12-2008
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Was it suppose to feel like this? Being drunk? This awful pain in his stomach followed by the feeling of having ones' head beat upon with a sledge-hammer. The awful smell that his own mouth fed to his nose was nauseating, horrible, constantly making him feel the need to gag. He had felt this for the last six or seven months, not stopping for any reason. The awful stuff slipped down his throat in place of every breath he didn't need to live. With every drink the red-stained pavement would fade from his mind, the small clomps of flesh would be washed from the stairs, and the soft cries that cut his mind's ears would be consoled. How long had it been since that night? He couldn't bring himself to think that hard. The liquor making its way from his stomach to his brain, he felt his knees arch under the weight of his body, and his shoulders take an interesting dip from their usual straight, and at-attention posture. The days and weeks had all melted into one-another, weeks turned into days, days turned into minutes, time turned into no time. Not allot of since that made unless one had been in the situation, but Keith could feel himself being torn away with every passing moment, one more second towards the fate he had pushed on someone else before they deserved it. His head turned towards the employee's entrance. He felt the sole of his boot grind against the sidewalk as he spun on it to face the door, but he wouldn't do anything more than chuck the empty bottle into the dumpster and walk out the gate he had entered. It was suppose to be locked, but with a bunch of zit-faced teenagers running the place, this was the best anyone could expect towards maintenance. A few staggered steps towards the entrance' general location and Keith would shake his head of the wooziness and step through. He usually composed himself well, but he may have had a bit too much of that bottle, he really didn't understand his own limits yet, if he admitted he had them at all. The inside of the restaurant was a bit cool for Keith's liking, even though he was scorching from standing in the sun, he didn't like the air to be too cool. He felt the hair on his neck stand up like it would if he had just stepped from a steamy shower into the brisk hallway. There wasn't much room to sit, it being saturday meant that the schools would be closed and the students out and about. Keith scanned the room, he noticed Mark, a real shady guy, he had a semi-high profile at school, but Keith didn't know enough about the guy to engage him in conversation, besides, he was already talking to Josie, one of a few, if the only, sets of twins in the whole town. Keith hadn't known her or her brother, but he had had brief talks with them when he met them in town, at the park, or in this very restaurant. Nick saw an empty table, he bounced off his heel and over to the table to throw his camouflage trucker on it, saving it from anyone who might take it while he ordered his food. Taking a semi-staggered step backwards, Keith spun around and stepped around behind Mark and Josie, taking his place in line. He arrived just in time to hear not only Mark's question, but Josie's response. "Eh, I'm okay. Confident? Not too sure about that...Maybe indifferent..." Keith realized that he was thinking out-loud, how embarrassing. Too bad his eyes were too red for him to see the people staring at him, apparently he had spoken louder than normal. Tilting his head back and putting his arms up behind it, he sighed and stared at the menu. The spicy chicken sandwich....fuck, this wasn't Wendy's
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Pm functions Posting RPG FAQ[In the works. This is not the official thing.] Come be a Power Ranger with me! Power Rangers Last edited by 76. : 05-12-2008 at 08:08 PM.
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05-12-2008
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“ ‘Overly’? Jesus, you look like shit, girl. If you had some confidence, any at all, you think that would be ‘overly’?”, his voice was condescending, and there was a look of calm detachment in his eyes. It was like tourette’s, but completely controlled. He never said anything he wasn’t willing to say. Modesty was something for generations past, “ I know you’re lying, you wish you had the guts to bitch slap me right here”, and at that point, his tone changed completely, accompanied by an egotistical smirk, “ I’d like to see you do it, and I’d like you to meet a friend of mine. I’m sitting right there.”
That was nasty look, she hadn’t even given one, but for a brief moment, he felt as if she held nothing but pure maliciousness for him, and this took place before he opened his mouth a second time. It was strange, but something was off, and he could feel it. A brief thought of whether she held this kind of emotion before the change fluttered into his mind, and instantly left. He still had a headache, it was probably his imagination. He blinked. But still… She was probably a barracuda. He’d seen it all before, and it was the same old story. A guy would go looking where he wasn’t wanted, and find himself a female that wasn’t quite used to attention. Logically, she should have been easy, desperate for any kind of attention after being deprived of it for so long. But, then again, that was logic, and these were chicks. Inevitably, the guy would find himself in the exact same situation he’d be in with any other chick. What didn’t work for one, wouldn’t work for any of them. It was ignorant to think that in generality, but Mark was thinking of specifics. If a guy had to go into some kind of pseudo-logic to find a girlfriend, he wouldn’t have any luck, ever. It was a depressing thought, but a chick like this would ensnare some guy with those needle teeth they all had. And she looked so helpless. No, they were never helpless. So it was just a waste being shy. With a single, smooth motion, he turned, grabbing the tray of food, and continued to his table. It was strange though, it wasn’t often someone answered a stranger’s question that wasn’t obviously intended for them. Then again, he wasn’t that much of a stranger. He took another sip of the black coffee. Like bitter hand-soap, he hated McDonald’s coffee, but as long as it was there, and as long as it was cheap… He came up to the table just in time to hear the conclusion to David’s lunchtime speech. “ God damn, big boy, keep it in your pants. You drop my name and go into this passion-driven declaration of submission? Forgive me if I suggest your affections are a bit misplaced, but you’re really not my type”, he casually placed the tray and slid into his own seat. David was probably a fan of looking in places he wasn’t wanted, but it was too bad about his destiny. Still, it was depressing to think about. He liked David about as much as anybody did, or about as much as David liked anybody. He’d been awake for about an hour and already he had felt a cold tension beneath words or expression coming from most of the people he’d seen that day. Of course, most of it was called for, especially that first one he had felt that morning, but somehow, he felt like he hadn’t deserved all of it. He dropped the thought as quickly as it came, it didn’t matter, and he didn’t care. He had but one life to live, and he wasn’t going to waste the rest of it trying to right wrongs. That would take far longer than he intended to live. “ So, what’s the business climate looking like, Gatsby?”, just then, he was glad he had read the book. For that single comment, those hours were not wasted. Now if only someone would get the entire connection. He took another sip of soap.
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05-12-2008
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The creaks in the 'Wide Variety Pub' had really begun to annoy Gentleman James Challings. It wasn't that they made him feel off balance, or that their creaks were louder than The Who in concert. No, the creaks couldn't be fixed. How had he managed to solve so many other problems, but a damn squeak had, in the divine order of things, somehow resolved to best him? He'd manage to deal with the lowlives who had once frequented the pub. Heh, that problem had been fixed easily when he started to hire security. It wasn't even that big of a dent in his profit - he did, after all, own much of the crime in the small town and its surroundings.
He had bought the pub years ago, almost a decade, in order to secure a respectable business front. It was located smack-dab in the middle of the mall, making it a bit of an eyesore on the otherwise PG-13 'hangout'. But he tried his best to limit its influence on the outside area when he could. It was somewhat ironic, though, that he made almost as much money from the pub and a few other businesses he'd bought in the years since as he did from more illicit activities. But he always managed to make sure crime never devolved into violence. He made crime safe. Most of his opponents said this was so he'd look respectable to the populace, so cops would have less of a reason to take him down, so that his small army of lawyers would have even more evidence should he be taken to court, or just because it was good for business. Maybe they were right. Challings was a complicated man. He was a crook, yes, but he had his reasons for being one. That was when heavy breathing suddenly caught his attention. His bodyguard, Jorge Raoul Cristo, stood next to him and had his eyes transfixed on the doorway. Despite the relatively peaceful surroundings, the tall and burly man was acting as if it were a battle scene and he was escorting the elderly Challings to safety. He wouldn't have any trouble doing so - despite Challing's muscular build, Cristo would not have been out of place as a lineman in the NFL. Challings rolled his eyes at the overzealous bodyguard, restraining himself from saying "Get just one for the Gipper." Cristo'd been working for Challings since before he came to the town. Both had previously worked for La Costra Nostra in New York, and both had several of their men with them when they left the mafia about twenty years ago. It was with that small powerbase that they went to the small town and began to invest in a bright future. They couldn't make as much money as they might in, say, Chicago or L.A., but there was relatively little competition and Challings honestly liked the people of the town. They were hospitable and likeable, for the most part. That might've been part of the reason why he tried so hard to limit crime in the city. Challings reclined in his booth, located in the left part of the pub. It wasn't anything fancy, and it definately didn't scream 'VIP'. Hell, he wouldn't have minded if someone walked up to him and started a conversation, although Cristo definately would have. Cristo was loyal to a fault, but so were dogs - but it's that kind of thinking that leads a person down a very dangerous road, so Challings quickly got the thought out of his head. "Calm yourself, Mr. Cristo," he said, calmly. He wrattled a finger on his desk as Cristo nodded once in response. "Challings... you bastard," came a voice from the door. Cristo and Challings rolled their eyes almost in unison as the source of the voice made its way through the front. It was practically foaming at the mouth, and that complemented the rest of its features. Was this a demon? Sent from Hell to do away with non-alcoholic beer? Or perhaps it was some half-wolf, half-human creature who only came out when Cristo's alcohol level was above zero. Wishful thinking. It was Challings' ex-wife. "Did you really think that I'd accept this?" she screamed, waving a paper around in the air as she practically charged the elderly gangster. The bartender, a kind and middle-aged man named Sal immediately looked away, wiping the bar as if he hadn't heard the ear-piercing scream. "Let me think, Ms. deSantis," Gentleman Challings said, his tone calm and reserved, not at all the way ex-spouses speak to one another. His green eyes, meanwhile, focused on her. She was blurry. It didn't help that she was approaching at lightning speed. "You take my estate in Miami as well as full control of my ownership in several stocks on the NASD-" "I don't want to hear that bullshit!" she said. For all her faults, his ex-wife was... she was a bitch. "I can't accept this." "You don't have to," he responded, a wry humour to his tone. "It's the law, and I expect you to abide by it." The statement would've made him burst into laughter, had he not been face-to-face with Lucifer incarnate. "Oh, that means a lot coming from you, Jim. I see you've still got the puppy dog with you," she scoffed, motioning to Cristo with her eyes. He narrowed his gaze and a fist clenched, although the fact that he hadn't killed her yet spoke much of his character. "Ms. deSantis. You will leave my establishment now. Insulting me is one thing, but insulting my employees another matter entirely." He meant what he said: he cared little for his personal pride and glory. He cared far too much for other people to be a gangster, and yet, here he was. She kenw that, and she stormed off without another word. Cristo and Challings exchanged a glance as she left, and Challings let out a sigh. "My, my, I suppose next I shall be visited by the ghost of Christmas Present." As if on que, a small and scrawny little man entered the pub. He was dressed in a trenchcoat and a fedora that obscured most of his features. Good God, the man could've been one of Capone's lackeys in "The Untouchables". He had a cigar in his mouth and his look was one of frustration mixed with doubt. Whatever was troubling him, it probably wasn't good for Challings. The pub was almost like his office - filled with people who wanted his attention for stupid things. The man finally reached the semi-VIP booth and spoke, his voice almost a whisper compared to the yodelling James Challings experienced only moments before. "Boss," he said, and his features came into the full view of Challings. This was Mr. Leo, one of his business associates who was responsible for bringing most of the alcohol to the pub. "I've got some bad news." Challings rolled his eyes. What else was new? Honestly, everything was bad news these days. "Yes, yes, out with it, then." Mr. Leo told him what the bad news was. "One of me mates found it about five minutes ago and called me. I don't know 'bout you, boss, but seems like a gang killing, to me." Challings nodded his head and took the information in slowly. There'd always been dealers in the city, but it was small time stuff, and Challings made sure that they didn't sell to kids or get involved in anything big-time. But he couldn't control everything. So one or two would always fall through the cracks and ruin it - Challings knew that. And he also knew his power was growing, and so did the lower-rung crooks. There'd be no gain in finding out more about this murder. Logically, it'd be best to let this one slide. What'd it matter? Let the 'defenders of justice' handle it. But: it hurt his heart to hear about a kid killed over this... this shit. It was a nickname they gave marijuana, any drug, really - almost out of affection. But there was no better word to describe it than that. It was then that he knew: he couldn't let this slide. Despite his rage, he struggled to maintain his usual calm. His words carried no hint of malice, instead being spoken in a very grandfatherly manner. "Let us not jump to conclusions, Mr. Leo. If you know where this place is, please, show it to us and we shall see for ourselves, no?" Mr. Leo cringed slightly. "But Boss, don't you think we'd risk, you know, the police? Findin' us there? And all that..." "We always are, aren't we, Mr. Leo?" he asked, as he, Mr. Cristo, and Mr. Leo walked into the mall's parking lot and left in a black limousine for a McDonalds. The car pulled up to the McDonald's parking lot and the three men got out, Cristo out of the driver's seat. It was a relatively nice place, but the neighbourhood around it and several teenagers who thought they were funnier than they actually are had taken their toll on the building, in equal proportions. 99 Billion Served had turned into 99 Breasts. The playground in the back of the McDonalds had several small children playing, all belonging to a married couple sitting on one of the outside table-benches. Would they be damned to suffer the same fate? "This is it," he said, in the direction of Mr. Cristo. "What?" Cristo asked. The word was what Challings was expecting. The three of them took a look around, and took a deep breath. Any crooks in the area would recognise them immediately. "The ghost of Chrismas Future."
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05-12-2008
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David blinked as Mark responded to his speech. It was strange that he had not seen the young man return; usually he was rather in touch with his surroundings. However, he shrugged it off. Mark probably took it as a feeble attempt to flirt; which it was. Leave it die on the floor.
Dave smiled at his sometime business partner. "Business, my friend, is as good as it always is. One way or another. There is always growth in the service industry." At that moment, in walked no other than Challings. The bastard called himself "gentleman" James Challings, David personally thought of him as little Jimmy. The man was old, and while he reasonably handled his business, he stayed out of drugs. Yet, his views on the subject were well known. It was Challing's boy Cristo that had led David to begin his workout regimen. While the young man was still fat from his eating habits, his large body hid tremendous muscles. Not enough that he would be stronger than Cristo, but he would be much stronger than anyone would anticipate. And sometimes, surprise is enough. "Mark, Lillith. I have a feeling that we're about to be approached by that guy who just entered. I suggest that you stick around. Things may get interesting. And frankly, I may need the help. You may earn yourself a discount here Mark."
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Smurfette was a little blue slut.
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05-13-2008
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She couldn’t say she wasn’t impressed. The bastard knew his biblical lore. This made things interesting, an inquisitive mind would dig even deeper than David had gone, they’d peel back the layers of her reasoning and wonder; why Lilith? It was more than obvious she’d not been born with the name, she was not baptised Lilith Novak, that would have been blasphemous. She re-called church life, walking the great steps under the shadow of a crucifix with a parental grasp about each small hand, she remembered the smell of rosemary beads, red wine and fresh bread and the warm glow of the sun as it seeped through stained glass windows. She remembered, with a hint of detest returning with but one hand grasped about her own, the remembered how their vindictive, accusatory stares had burned the beads, spoiled the wine and rotted the bread.
Lilith was a symbolic name, it reflected how she had been soiled and wronged by the decisions of men and the church. It was a fresh start. It was perfect. Her gaze had drifted momentarily from David’s face but it snapped back as he continued and she realized, there was a reason behind his story. Her hardened complexion broke into an irresistible, wry little grin. He wanted to be her Sugar Daddy. How sweet. She watched him closely as she played her tongue about her teeth and with her silence a many confessions spilled from David’s mouth, things that he could not take back, things that she now knew. And so, a relationship was born, one she would likely call upon again. Lil thought about replying, fortunately and to her pleasure Mark returned and answered for her, she tilted her head up and looked at him as he stood, then sat, she turned and looked towards the counter behind him. A girl stood with an almost anxiousness about her, she caught but a quick glance of her face before she turned to the appetizing, marketed pictures of food that could not live up to its expectations. The girl held a surprising likeness to herself, one that struck Lilith deep down. The short brown hair, the wide eyes, shattered and broken like glass, where veins of deep seeded pain reclined inwards to the heart, her thin, fragile frame and deceivingly slumberous complexion. She would have been just his type. She could have been her sister. Lil stared at the girl in the hopes that she’d catch her eye and when she did it was with a look and a smile that she sent out the invitation to join them. It was usually rare that Lil was so entranced by a single being, course Westriver seemed to be the exception that enforced the rule, she turned back to David and Mark, the invitation left dangling with the hopes that the girl would grasp at it. Her eyes turned hungrily to the cardboard packaging that housed her burger and the large cup next to it, within bubbled a black liquid the thought of which made her mouth water. She thought of pecking Mark on the cheek in thanks but decided that would be pushing it, so instead she took the small meal, broke the cups lid with a straw, took a sip of the Coke and let out a sigh of fulfilment. Lil bit at the burger in delight, it was greasy and filling and she had not eaten since last night, she couldn’t even remember the last time she’d eaten meat. Mark and David continued, ignorant of the feasting girl until the door sucked open, her eyes were down and she did not see the men who entered at first, until David said her name. She placed her half eaten burger down, grabbed a napkin and wiped sauce from the edge of her lips as her eyes raised and looked upon the figure hovering by the entrance. It was as if every molecule in her being froze in that moment, she swallowed even though there was no food in her mouth at the time, she dropped the napkin as calmly as possible and despite her best efforts could not pull her eyes from him. It was like looking at a doppelganger. His age, his build, his black hair, the only thing out of place were his green eyes where there should have been grey. Lil bit her lip, blood trickled over her tongue and she didn’t notice it but her hand had dropped beneath the table and grasped at Mark’s knee. On the outside she was calm and reserved, but her eyes – they were screaming.
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+ - "God made me a cannibal to fix problems like you." - +
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05-13-2008
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The McDonalds.
His personal opinion of McDonalds went down a few notches when Challings spotted David inside. Honestly, 'right of refusal' signs had been created to keep undesirables out and if that right shouldn't have been exercised then, when should it have been? To think that that monster had sat only ten feet away from the family that was playing outside - and the two figures with him, he'd never seen them before. But he resolved himself to judge them on who they were, not on who they surrounded themselves with (as difficult as that may have been). It was the least he could do: he remembered his teenager years, after all.
Growing up in New York wasn't easy, especially when your father was a "made man" in the mafia. All manner of person kept tabs on you, planning on using you as a weapon against your all too-loving father. He had done things that he wasn't proud of, and hung around with people he wouldn't touch with a ten-foot pole had he met them today. That isn't to say he didn't enjoy his teenage years, because he did. It's more to say that he learned from his mistakes and took steps to ensure others didn't make the same. If these two were anything like Challings was, he could keep them from David and save their lives. That thought struck a chord with him, like it was a virtuoso pianist who just played a particularly beautiful G chord, (the one in the beginning of "Free Bird", for example). Maybe he could save them where he failed with certain other people. As if Cristo knew precisely what Challings was thinking, the large Hispanic placed a hand on the old gangster's shoulder. "I know," Challings breathed. "I should worry about saving myself first. But..." He drifted off and shook his hand in the air to dismiss whatever he was going to say, and his gaze hardened as he determined to walk over to their table. McDonalds was hardly the place to conduct a meeting, but at least David wouldn't think about trying anything funny in the place. Not even Lucifer himself would kill someone in a McDonalds. There was an unspoken aura of safety within the confines of the double arch. Or maybe it was just grease. His walk was as balanced as that of a tight-rope walker, Cristo immediately at his side and Mr. Leo trailing behind them so not to be seen by anyone lest they mistake him for a chimp. Cristo walked slowly, so much so that it would more accurately be called a march. He was a soldier and he made sure everyone else in the room damn well knew it. Leo, on the other hand, was auditioning for the cast of Peter Jackson's "The Hobbit" as Gollum. There was enough food for all three of them on the table. And David was eating all of it. Merciful God, did you create the seven deadly sins just so that people like him would exist to break them? he thought as gluttony in particular came to mind. It was then that he noticed the young woman's gaze upon him. It was frightened, and despite every hint of confidence she had in her features, she was frightened. A person's eyes tell you more about a person than any other part of the body. Hell, look at a stranger for just a few seconds and you'll immediately start to feel uncomfortable. It's because eye contact is even more intimate than skin contact. He knew what lay in his eyes - confidence mixed with compassion. He knew his companion's eyes - Cristo carried the eyes of a loyal watchdog, and Leo's were wry and crafty. But David's... good God, whatever was within those, he didn't want to know. He prayed he wouldn't share any sort of intimacy with the man today. But he probably would. After a few moments of awkward silence, Challings spoke. "I must wonder, does Luxembourg bill you for eating the entirety of its food supply every month?" he scoffed, starting the conversation off with a bit of humour, as was his tendency to do. There wasn't a harshness to it. Almost the opposite, in fact: a real compassion, the way a grandfather would joke with a son as they were fishing. It wasn't on purpose. It was just the kind of person Challings was. Cristo smirked slightly, because he knew the routine. David was, as far as Challings knew, a small time dealer. Something was whispered in his ear. He was wrong. "Boss - this guy's practically the golden goose of drugs," Leo said, his voice so quiet that Cristo's pet Labrador probably wouldn't have been able to hear him had he been in the McDonalds with him. "He's got a pretty big empire built up. Don't underestimate him." Underestimating him was not something that he'd planned on doing, but that David was so young and had so much power... it had been unknown to Challings, up to that point. "Hmm. Peddling drugs to wealthy children who's parents trust them far too much for their own good. Take from the rich and give to the McDonalds, Robin Hood?" he remarked as he focused back on David, rolling his hands slowly as Cristo stood motionless beside him, and Mr. Leo fidgeted. Then he waved a hand as if to dismiss the thought, and asked, "Are you going to introduce me to your associates?" He looked towards the others at the table, and waited for a reply.
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