[hr] [center][img]http://txt-dynamic.static.1001fonts.net/txt/dHRmLjcyLjQ0MzM4YS5Ra28sLjAA/non-watercolor.regular.png[/img][/center] [hr] [center][color=turquoise][b]Monday[/b][/color] // [color=deeppink][b]August 16[/b][/color][/center] The Goat had been on the lam for about two days, keeping low and generally not walking around Razor territory swinging his dick around. Not everybody knew he did it, but everybody who was somebody seemed to, which was unexpected but not much of a problem yet. Nobody had been looking for him, as far as he knew, leaving him to spend the past two nights maskless under a bridge. Nobody knew. Nobody would. He stopped to think on the fact that he hadn't worn his mask for two days, and though nobody had seen, what that meant. There were so many things nobody saw. Things that they [i]couldn't[/i]. [hider=Flashback]The factory [color=turquoise]The Bombers[/color] used as a hideout wasn't as flashy or comfortable as the catered drug den [color=deeppink]The Razors[/color] called home, but it had its comforts. Namely, the vending machines. Before it was made the official clubhouse by Rex's predecessor's predecessor, it was the home to a colony of squatters who had stored room after room with stolen vending machines full of soda lifted from a freight train, unaware that their stolen goods would be stolen by a gang before they could make use of them. The basement was somehow nearly filled with the machines Tetris-style, and one half-filled dented machine would usually stand watch at the corner of every hall. Most rooms had one or two, with an overturned machine being used as a coffee table or seat, while larger rooms kept rows lined in whatever was deemed the room's "back". Some said it was to stay awake to be up for anything. Others said it was because their group had so many [i]kids[/i]. Whatever the case was, the machines were far from having been used up, and the sight of two or three men in masks carrying vending machines up and down stairs was a daily occurence. The room BJ and Rex were in had four machines; Two between the windows, and one covering up a missing chunk of plaster in the wall to their right. Rex sat on the fourth machine, knocked over and emptied of its goods long ago, whereas BJ stood with his hands behind his back, somewhere between a soldier at attention and some sort of horrific satyr-waiter. Eight years had been a long time, and even though most people didn't know BJ, Rex did, and even in private, BJ just liked to stand like that. Different strokes for different folks, Rex always thought to himself about his eccentric old friend. Rex's mask was a custom-outfitted polar bear, with no decoration other than a pair of bomber-blue framed sunglasses and a plastic golden crown, though the mask itself was furry rather than latex. He said that inside, he had fans that kept him cool, and that it had a radio and "A little polaroid with a girl that got her titties out on it.". He had light brown skin and a thick layer of black hair across his arms and legs, with scattered tattoos of allegiance from his knuckles to his neck. What's important to note is that he had a [i]lot[/i] of tattoos, covering a [i]lot[/i] of Rex. The man weighed as much as a small car, and his frame seemed to spill over the edges of every seat he took. He held a can of soda in one hand, holding it with an underhand grip as if he were swirling an old cognac, while his other kept busy going in between a bag of [color=orange]Cheez-O's[/color] and underneath his mask in a steady rythm. Across from him stood BJ. It was almost comical how different they were, as if Laurel and Hardy were wearing animal masks. Rex leaned into his seat, eating, drinking, and laughing. BJ's stood as straight as a rail, and he was as quiet as a churchmouse. As [i]always[/i]. Rex liked him, but he never liked that, and a lot of other things, about him. It was worrisome. Skeevy, almost, or at least to the jovial Rex. There had been a bowl of sunflower seeds set out for BJ -- Rex enjoyed entertaining guests even at the factory, and would always find a reason to give some small dish out at a meeting -- though they remained untouched. [color=turquoise]"Whatsa matter? You think I'm stupid, Beauregard?"[/color] [color=304095][b]"No, but I think [i]this[/i] is stupid. I bet you know it is too."[/b][/color] BJ's golden eyes shone in the sunset peering through the windows. His rectangle pupils always creeped Rex out, though it made sense that such a person would choose such a mask. Even before the mask trend, the cajun always had such an [i]odd[/i] way of looking at him. Rex took a sip of his coke, sighing a deep grumble to himself, and deflating further into his seat. [color=304095][b]"I bet your palms are sweaty [i]thinkin'[/i] about it, Reginald."[/b][/color] BJ's raspy drawl sent a chill down Rex's spine. For what it was worth, the pale goat across from him was right. [color=turquoise]"That may be so, but just 'cause something's so dangerous it's dumb doesn't make it less imperative."[/color] Rex was a party animal and a glutton, but he was no coward, and his leadership showed that. He was a first-in, last-out kind of a guy in a fight, and he would address issues if he saw them, when he saw them. [color=304095][b]"That's very brave of you."[/b][/color] BJ took the seat at his side -- a ratty old armchair -- and leaned forward to pluck a few sunflower seeds from the bowl. [color=304095][b]"Myself, I've always thought of bravery as the kindest description of being dumb."[/b][/color] Rex gave a chuckle through crunching up bits of Cheez-O's. [color=304095][b]"But why lie and say it's just drugs? He probably agreed to have this meeting with you in The Grotto because he's fixing to put a bullet in you. Why not have it somewhere safe so you know you won't die?"[/b][/color] An empty sunflower seed dropped from the neck of BJ's mask as he spoke, turning to look at the last bit of sunset through the factory's windows. He hadn't noticed until then, but the sky was already dark. The sun's orange and fuschia now only covered the bottom of the sky near the black sillhouette of San Marzano's cityscape. The rest of it was now deep, dark blue. [color=turquoise]"Everyone dies."[/color] Said Rex. [color=turquoise]"And if people know I died trying to bring about a truce, they wouldn't just want to kill whatever pendejo snuffs me. They'd call for a fucking genocide. I'm talking lamb's blood on the fucking doors, BJ."[/color] Rex wiped his hand off on the leg of his shorts, and took the last swig of his coke, tossing the can over his shoulder. Even at his most serious, Rex always tried to make the situation seem a little brighter. [color=turquoise]"We'd start killing them, they'd start killing us, and even more people would die in the end."[/color] [color=304095][b]"So why risk your life for something that might not work?"[/b][/color] BJ took another few sunflower seeds. His rectangle pupils now stared through the dim blue filter of twilight as the sun completed its descent. He heard crickets in the distance, unsure of whether they were outside or in the factory. Both seemed likely. In the dark, Rex's polar bear head seemed more blue than white, as the massive mexican sighed a heavy sigh. [color=turquoise]"Why does the sun fucking rise? I don't know. Who knows, man. I'm just tired of all this."[/color] Rex's voice ached with sincerity, and BJ turned to meet his gaze, or at least that of his mask. [color=304095][b]"You ask me to talk to you in private just to unveil your give-peace-a-chance plan?"[/b][/color] BJ took another few sunflower seeds as he spat the shells out, chuckling softly to himself. [color=304095][b]"You picked a bad mouthpiece. I don't think I've sat next to a Bomber in weeks."[/b][/color] [color=turquoise]"No, BJ. You're the only one who knows, I want it to stay that way. I wanted to make sure that if I die, you'll make sure anyone who knows why is dead so that world war three doesn't break out in San-Fucking-Marzano."[/color] BJ stopped his crunching for a moment and paused to think. Mocking Rex for wanting to stop unneccesary bloodshed was one thing, but work was another. [color=304095][b]"How will I know how to find Gary? Doesn't he travel with a pack of goons?"[/b][/color] [color=turquoise]"Gary's favorite goon is this cat named Timmy. Skinny guy with a tiger mask. Real fuckin' mean. He's his eyes and ears. If I get killed, find Timmy, and either get him to take you to Gary or have Gary come find you. When that happens, anyone who might've been a witness will also come with him as back-up, so you can squash all those birds at once."[/color] Rex stood up with a heave and audible whining noise from the vending machine he had been sitting on, and dusted his hands off once again on his shorts. He didn't seem shaken, but worried for certain. He was a man who expected to be killed, and for all the laid-back traits he was known for, there was no way of thinking of anything else. [color=304095][b]"You know what they say 'bout problems looking like a nail to the man with a hammer."[/b][/color] BJ pulled his rock hammer from his pocket and gave it a spin in his hands. It had a plain wooden handle, and a simple steel hammer-head attached to a wide chisel tip. It just barely shone in the moonlight, though not as much as BJ's translucent plastic eyes. [i]Damn that mask[/i], Rex thought to himself. Still, though BJ was a creep, he was a friend, and Rex could count his true friends on one hand. [color=turquoise]"Thanks BJ."[/color] Rex walked over to the window, putting both hands on the frame and leaning forward. Most of the glass had long ago been smashed away, leaving Rex's furry white face to peer out at the concrete jungle further away with a clear view. [color=turquoise]"Glad you're taking this in stride. I don't know why, I guess I expected you to worry."[/color] [color=304095][b]"Hey, man. Live by the sword, die by the sword. Take care of yourself."[/b][/color] Rex could hear BJ stand up and begin making his way to the exit. He thought that he heard a tinge of anger in his old friend's voice and knew in a way, he deserved it. Suicide was a selfish option, and what he was doing could turn out to be just that. [color=turquoise]"You too BJ."[/color][/hider] He shook his head. No time to start getting all sentimental. What was done was done. Rex knew he was gambling, and he lost. [i]The cards don't always come out in your favor[/i], BJ thought to himself. He looked up at the empty street he had been riding down. He was reaching the factory, and already, he saw familiar faces. There were scores of Bombers around, sitting on the curb or standing by rows of bikes leaning together, all headed towards the factory. Today was an important day to be a bomber. Today, they would choose a new leader. [hr] Meanwhile, "[i]Church[/i]" is in session at The Grotto. Though it is the middle of the day, the nightclub is [i]packed[/i]. Rows upon rows, pews, [i]banquet halls[/i] of Razors mingle within the club's pink velvet walls, buzzing with feverish life. The few windows the club has have been covered with purple curtains, and the front and back doors only open for brief moments for those to go in or out. Within The Grotto, the chaos is only amplified. Voices shout to speak over one another, and threats are fired in no particular direction. Finally, a voice louder than the others is heard, though it does not shout. It is the ring of a phone. [i]The[/i] phone. Each voice somehow stops in unison for the phone to ring, and as if the voice of a scolding parent, ringing replaces the chaos immediately. Behind the bar, there is a hot pink telephone that has only ever had one caller. [i]Jimmy[/i]. After one ring, a wolf at the bar picks up the phone, and immediately presses speaker. [color=deeppink]"Everybody here?"[/color] The wolf nodded immediately, before correcting himself and speaking up with a 'Yessir'. [color=deeppink]"Good. Let's get this show on the road. I want to know what's going to be done."[/color] [hr]