Goldmarble
Member
Old
- Last Seen: 8 days ago
- Old Guild Username: Goldmarble
- Joined: 11 yrs ago
- Posts: 673 (0.17 / day)
- VMs: 0
-
Username history
- Goldmarble 11 yrs ago
-
Latest 10 profile visitors:
-
Most recent →
Mixtape Ghost N
Status
User has no status, yet
Bio
User has no bio, yet
Most Recent Posts
Any word from Tripwire there Musket?
GreenGoat said
wat, wat happen here? I go to sleep with Edgar's Anaconda stuck in my mind, and then suddenly OOC blew up again.
Stupid happened.
Raen was kicked from the RP. Voluntarily permabanned himself.
Raen's alts were subsequently banned.
We good?
Brovo said
Okay guys. I had a good laugh at this, but in the future, just report Raen alts to moderators (Holmes, Lillian, etc) and ignore him.
For all you do, this glass is for you:
Daekaelian Sinrae said
You want an alt? HERE IS MY FUCKING ALT ASSHOLES! Just made it. Black Rabbit is a Friend. I gave her the name to use, because she couldn't think of what to use, after leaving Roleplayer.net.
Okay...
I reccomended her to the fucking site, AND the RP, because I thought it was worth a shot, even if the community here is just a bunch of asshole dick-wipes apparently.
Wait now, we're the bunch of asshole dick-wipes, when you're the one throwing insults at people without reason, calling people names without reason, and above all: harassing people through PM because they don't agree with you, and threatening them?! Seriously, figure your shit out, and learn how to take responsibility for your own fucking actions. You keep saying shit, and then blaming your myriad of mental illnesses, like we are supposed to treat you with big soft padded child gloves, lest we hurt your feelings.
Guess what! You are far from the only person in the world to be diagnosed with mental illnesses. You are far from being the only person in these GAMES with mental illnesses. I am one of the people Brovo alluded to who has significant mental illnesses, ranging from Boarderline personality disorder, to severe depression and anxiety. You do not see anyone else hiding behind their problems, asking to be treated special, do you?
No. Grow the fuck up. Handle shit like an adult. Take responsibility for the shit you say. It is not our fault you say stupid shit. It is your fault. Figure it out.
Fuck off. I guess I was wrong to think so highly of you Brovo. You are just another stuck up fuck-face running a group of thugs. Next time you insult one of my friends, I will have the notion in my mind to do more than rant. Take that threat however the fuck you like. Afterall, I am borderline psychotic, so who knows what the fuck I would be willing to do.
No. You're not wrong to think highly of Brovo. He accepted you into his games, even after seeing your Mary Sue characters, and the concerns raised by long time players. He gave you multiple chances, and multiple warnings to shape up. YOU shat on that. Don't blame Brovo for your mistakes. Own up to it. Grow as a human being. Is it hard to accept the reality that you fucked up? Is it hard to accept that you may just not be as good at logical thinking at you thought you were? Yes. But it is a critical step in being a decent man/woman, and not a entitled child.
Secondly. What? You seriously think we give a shit about how borderline psychotic you think you are? No. Stop waving around your claimed mental illnesses like some kind of badge of badassness, or as some thinly veiled, pathetic attempt at a threat. Grow up. Deal with your shit. Seek medical help. Talk to a counselor.
I stayed out of this mess until now, but you've threatened Hellis with harassment, and now your making veiled threats against people here, who never insulted your friend, they insulted you.
TL/DR?
Take ownership of your problems and deal with them.
Don't insult people without provocation.
Do not, ever, fucking threaten people.
Your mental illnesses are not reason to give you special treatment.
Wonder if you can get back into the military after this?
Marching tunes would suck though...
"RIGHT! RIGHT! SPRING! RIGHT RIGHT!"
Actually, not terrible.
Marching tunes would suck though...
"RIGHT! RIGHT! SPRING! RIGHT RIGHT!"
Actually, not terrible.
Shit, a bandwagon I can join!
I don't even know how it started, but the first thing I remember about it was that I discovered this odd formula that gives a coded location to something that would help us find some kind of...power thing. I can't remember if it was something that gave super powers or some other thing, that caused something. All I remember, is that some shadowy para-military group was after it fucking hard. I found the formula, and took it to my friend who was able to decipher it, the location lead us to a person who gave us another formula that they said would take us to the Power Thing.
This person was in a school, and as we were talking with them, this para-military group surrounded the school, and ordered us to hand over the intel. I managed to slip out, unnoticed, stole a vehicle, got around to a un-watched side door, where my friend was able to get out and we ran. We ran to a grocery store to get supplies, but arrived late and it was closed. My friend, who was male when we left, was now female. Which made things awkward when we found a hobo-camp outside the grocery store, and tried to figure out how we'd sleep for the night. Luckily, there was this blanket that folded out to be a massive blanket that was warm as hell.
The next morning, I took a walk to clear my head. I somehow knew that the van we had escaped in was compromised, and that we'd probably need to leave on foot, to escape notice. I figured out a plan, and headed back to the Hobo camp. To be greeted by my friend cheering loudly and happily, with a ten foot pumpkin sitting between some trees, that she was carving with those little tiny pumpkin carving saws...somehow, spread all over we pumpkin guts, and I joined in. Cause fuck the mission of the power thing!
Yep. That's where my dream ended. Carving a 10 foot tall jack'o'lantern.
I don't even know how it started, but the first thing I remember about it was that I discovered this odd formula that gives a coded location to something that would help us find some kind of...power thing. I can't remember if it was something that gave super powers or some other thing, that caused something. All I remember, is that some shadowy para-military group was after it fucking hard. I found the formula, and took it to my friend who was able to decipher it, the location lead us to a person who gave us another formula that they said would take us to the Power Thing.
This person was in a school, and as we were talking with them, this para-military group surrounded the school, and ordered us to hand over the intel. I managed to slip out, unnoticed, stole a vehicle, got around to a un-watched side door, where my friend was able to get out and we ran. We ran to a grocery store to get supplies, but arrived late and it was closed. My friend, who was male when we left, was now female. Which made things awkward when we found a hobo-camp outside the grocery store, and tried to figure out how we'd sleep for the night. Luckily, there was this blanket that folded out to be a massive blanket that was warm as hell.
The next morning, I took a walk to clear my head. I somehow knew that the van we had escaped in was compromised, and that we'd probably need to leave on foot, to escape notice. I figured out a plan, and headed back to the Hobo camp. To be greeted by my friend cheering loudly and happily, with a ten foot pumpkin sitting between some trees, that she was carving with those little tiny pumpkin carving saws...somehow, spread all over we pumpkin guts, and I joined in. Cause fuck the mission of the power thing!
Yep. That's where my dream ended. Carving a 10 foot tall jack'o'lantern.
Illusion, so that I could maybe, finally, communicate exactly what I see in my head, to anyone and everyone, without having to fumble with words and language.
Rosa & Antonino:
The constant roar of fat drops hitting the steel-sheathed wooden roof of the Studebaker was relaxing as she leaned back in the cushioned seat, wrapped in one of the four motor robes she kept in the car for times like this. Cold nights with lots of waiting. The thick wool blanket of tartan red and black, was soft and warm as she waited down by docking point for the freighter that was bringing Antonino back home from the North. Putting the slender cigarette of reefer to her lips, she inhaled lightly as the tip glowed a soft cherry of red. The heat in her lungs helped to shunt the cold, and the smoke helped her to relax. It was just an ordinary night. Looking into the mirror, she could see the dark, sombre hulks of the trucks, waiting for the shipment to arrive.
As the cigarette dwindled to nothing, she dropped the remains into a puddle outside of her window, the chill air and wetness followed her hand back under the robe as she fished out her pocket watch. It was a model from long ago, a piece handed down from her mother's family. Originally from her great, great grandfather. Silver with a face tat had faded to a patina of ivory-like colour, with hand painted roman numerals in black. It continued to work and served her well as she checked the time, using the light from the moon that peeped through a break in the clouds far away. She had a few minutes before she was to start flashing the signal to the ship, that was likely out there already, waiting at anchor a mile or so from shore.
She pushed the heavy wool robe from herself, and crudely folded it in the dark. From under the dash, she fetched her three cell torch and her umbrella. As her boots cleared the running boards of the car, they sank a little into the soaked earth beside the small dockhouse, where the boat crews were waiting for the signal. The umbrella opened swiftly, a rustle of fabric that clicked solidly open, giving her a shelter from the hammering cold water that splashed at her legs. Wearing clean, dark grey slacks and a heavy navy blue longcoat, she traded a bit of femininity for utilitarian functionality, however she wore the slim brimmed sisal cloche with a plain navy ribbon to keep anyone from mistaking her for a man.
Torch lit, she stepped around puddles and rapped on the doors to the trucks, making sure the truck drivers were alert and aware. Five minutes. At the last truck she doubled back to the boat house. Two raps and she entered, finding the men playing an impromptu dice game as they waited, at her entrance however, they straightened, and quieted down. “Get the engines warm. Four minutes until I signal.”
She was met with nods and a man in his late sixties, salt and pepper hair, and skin with caverns and crevasses from decades of working the lakes, echoing, “Get'em ready ya pikers!” The mix of men, from young to old set to business, casting lines and as she closed the door behind her, the rumble of the engines purred into the night, muted by the board walls. Reaching her car, she looked to her watch once again, two minutes.
As the second hand tripped to halfway to the time, she flicked the lights on, and off, in a unique pattern similar to morse code. The modification of an extra pair of headlights that aided her in driving at night, also served as effective signaling lamps when needed. The four beams piercing the night and rain into the dark that loomed over Lake Michigan. The coded message was simple, letting the ship know that there was no police activity, and four launch craft were enroute. She waited a moment, and the reply came, correct code. She gave a quick honk of her horn, and the launches powered out of their protective shelters, to rendezvous with the freighter, and acquire the excess cargo the ship was carrying, and its passenger.
Antonino grumbled under his breath as the sound of the crew being roused to prepare for docking woke him from his fitful rest, while on his feet the pitching back and forth of the freighter hadn’t bothered him, at least not until he tried to lay down and close his eyes, then his belly started doing flips as the freighter rolled on the rough waves. With a grunt he rolled up and kicked his legs over the side of the bunk and slipped his shoes on, then stretched out his arms, twisted left and right working the kinks out of his back, got to his feet and pulled on his overcoat, then made his way back to the wheelhouse.
Antonino walked into the wheelhouse just as the new Captain was returning the corresponding sequence of light flashes then turned to look at Antonino, “The launches are on the way, hopefully I’ll never see you again...no offence of course”. Antonino lit a cigarette, “Do your job, don’t help yourself to the Don’s merchandise and you wont”, He said between puffs, “Have a safe trip, Captain”, He finished then left the wheelhouse and waited for the first of the launches to come along side the freighter. Once the first launch pulled up alongside, Antonino climbed over the side, “Take me to the dock”, He said to the man piloting the boat who gave him a ‘who the hell are you’ look,” Yeah, ok, right after we load”, the Pilot replied as he steered the launch down the side of the freighter. “You didn’t hear me...take me to the dock, I’ve a meeting with Don Sapienti, you wouldn’t want to be the cause of me being late...Trust me”. The Pilot mumbled under his breath then relented, “Fine, fine, have a seat”, Then pointed the launch and headed back to the dock.
Antonino wasn’t sure what to think of Rosa Lowe as he stepped off the launch and onto the dock, pulling the collar of his overcoat tighter around his neck to fend off the rain, the first thing that came to mind was that she seemed like a duck out of water, given her normal attire, she appeared to be more at home in either a garage or out on the farm rather than hobnobbing with the Chicago Socialites. But he had heard about her driving abilities, and how she could just about fix anything on wheels as well as drive it, useful enough skill even for a woman and obviously she had made an impression on the Sapienti Family. Antonino approached the Studebaker, tipped the brim of his hat to Rosa, “Good Eve, Miss Lowe, A pleasure to met you, despite the weather, I trust you’re here to drive me to the meeting?”.
The signaller flashed back to shore when the launches arrived, four times. She responded with a single flash, the brilliance of the lights turning the slashing rain into a wash of gold before the car. Her right hand dropped from the lights switch to the ignition, and turned it on. A press of the button and the electric starter churned the engine to life, a thick bass-heavy snarl, settling into a thrumming drone as the car idled. From what she had heard from her boss, Manuel Galiante, Antonino was straight-forward, and could be impatient. She figured he’d be coming back before the launches were loaded, which wasn’t a problem. But it did make it a bit of a pain, after the meeting, she’d have to get a hold of the head driver and the old man leading the launches and get the figures from them to make her report. Neither of the men knew exactly how much the shipment was, which made it easy make sure they were being honest.
Another noise rose over the burble of her Stude’s engine, and she looked up into the darkness over the water. She couldn’t see it yet, but it was one of the boats returning. Her hunch was right. A few minutes later, she offered Antonino a polite smile and a nod to his question. “Pleasure to meet you Mr. DiStefano,” her tongue missing a beat with his name. Her voice was pleasant, but not musical, a hint of Germany coming through. “Yes, Galiante sent me, via the Don. Which is why, if you check under the green robe, there is a dry coat of yours waiting for you.” Of which, she had taken extra attention in placing under the coat and robe, a pair of hot water bottles, which would leave the coat and robe themselves quite warm and welcoming.
She shifted into reverse, backing away from the lake while swinging the nose of the car in line with the black hole of the road, as she asked, “How was Sault Ste Marie?” Once the nose of the car was clear of the trucks, she brought the vehicle to a stop, and turned on the headlights. Shifting into first, the Special Six rolled forth on the wooded lane.
Antonino regarded her question with a perked eyebrow and a moments silence, rarely was he ever questioned about his jobs for the Don by anyone outside if the inner circle without risking being thought of as a Stool Pigeon for the Gum shoes not on the Sapienti payroll, and very bad things happened to Stool Pigeons when they were caught, He hoped for her sake it was just a naive question. After a minute or two, he shrugged it off, pulled a cigarette from the pack in his breastpocket and lit it, after a puff he calmly answered her question as if it had just been a typical business trip, "As expected...the freighter Captain was replaced last night, I'd like for you to keep an eye on the next shipment or two, make sure whats unloaded matches up with the manifests and I'll see that you get a little extra cabbage at the end of the week for your trouble, and thanks for the coat, I'll switch once we get to the speakeasy, speaking of which, I knew the Cook there, makes a genuinely old world tomato sauce, I'll have him prepare a plate of pasta that will warm you up much better than those water bottles will".
As she turned onto the road that headed back towards the lights and glamour of Chicago, the lack of an answer made her realize she had made an error of judgement. As she guided the car down the improved gravel road, she kept waiting for the man to say something, cough, clear his throat, move. The stone silence and her limited knowledge of Antonino’s reputation put her on edge. She hadn’t acted as chauffeur for anyone in the Family higher than Galiante before, and this was both an honour, and a test. And she had corked it.
His movement, fishing out his cigarettes and lighting one distracted her momentarily, her thoughts of previous tasks fleeing from her mind as she resumed her focus on the road ahead. A beam of light appearing in the far gloom through the wipers that beat at the rain that covered the windshield. He answered, not callously, but...with a nonchalance of the act that spoke volumes of his experience. Strangely, while reinforcing his level of intimidation, the casualness eased the tension in her shoulders. “Glad I never met the sap,” her thick hair shifting over her neck as she shook her head once, “Thank you for the offer, I think I will take you up on it. Going to the warehouse after this meet to count the deliveries.”
The rest of the drive was quiet between them, yet neither companionable nor uncomfortable.
Outside D’s, the Studebaker rolled to a stop outside the door. The deep hunter green paint of the body and black of the running boards and roof reflected the yellow street lights in dim hues, failing to stand out especially from any of the other cars on the street. Popping the vehicle out of gear, she looked over her shoulder to her passenger, “I’ll let you out here, away from the pitchforks that are fallin’ outside.” They had arrived a bit early, as she had planned. Antonino was one of the new Don’s closest men, and he was just back from job. He likely needed a minute or five to talk to Sapienti before the meeting got underway.
The constant roar of fat drops hitting the steel-sheathed wooden roof of the Studebaker was relaxing as she leaned back in the cushioned seat, wrapped in one of the four motor robes she kept in the car for times like this. Cold nights with lots of waiting. The thick wool blanket of tartan red and black, was soft and warm as she waited down by docking point for the freighter that was bringing Antonino back home from the North. Putting the slender cigarette of reefer to her lips, she inhaled lightly as the tip glowed a soft cherry of red. The heat in her lungs helped to shunt the cold, and the smoke helped her to relax. It was just an ordinary night. Looking into the mirror, she could see the dark, sombre hulks of the trucks, waiting for the shipment to arrive.
As the cigarette dwindled to nothing, she dropped the remains into a puddle outside of her window, the chill air and wetness followed her hand back under the robe as she fished out her pocket watch. It was a model from long ago, a piece handed down from her mother's family. Originally from her great, great grandfather. Silver with a face tat had faded to a patina of ivory-like colour, with hand painted roman numerals in black. It continued to work and served her well as she checked the time, using the light from the moon that peeped through a break in the clouds far away. She had a few minutes before she was to start flashing the signal to the ship, that was likely out there already, waiting at anchor a mile or so from shore.
She pushed the heavy wool robe from herself, and crudely folded it in the dark. From under the dash, she fetched her three cell torch and her umbrella. As her boots cleared the running boards of the car, they sank a little into the soaked earth beside the small dockhouse, where the boat crews were waiting for the signal. The umbrella opened swiftly, a rustle of fabric that clicked solidly open, giving her a shelter from the hammering cold water that splashed at her legs. Wearing clean, dark grey slacks and a heavy navy blue longcoat, she traded a bit of femininity for utilitarian functionality, however she wore the slim brimmed sisal cloche with a plain navy ribbon to keep anyone from mistaking her for a man.
Torch lit, she stepped around puddles and rapped on the doors to the trucks, making sure the truck drivers were alert and aware. Five minutes. At the last truck she doubled back to the boat house. Two raps and she entered, finding the men playing an impromptu dice game as they waited, at her entrance however, they straightened, and quieted down. “Get the engines warm. Four minutes until I signal.”
She was met with nods and a man in his late sixties, salt and pepper hair, and skin with caverns and crevasses from decades of working the lakes, echoing, “Get'em ready ya pikers!” The mix of men, from young to old set to business, casting lines and as she closed the door behind her, the rumble of the engines purred into the night, muted by the board walls. Reaching her car, she looked to her watch once again, two minutes.
As the second hand tripped to halfway to the time, she flicked the lights on, and off, in a unique pattern similar to morse code. The modification of an extra pair of headlights that aided her in driving at night, also served as effective signaling lamps when needed. The four beams piercing the night and rain into the dark that loomed over Lake Michigan. The coded message was simple, letting the ship know that there was no police activity, and four launch craft were enroute. She waited a moment, and the reply came, correct code. She gave a quick honk of her horn, and the launches powered out of their protective shelters, to rendezvous with the freighter, and acquire the excess cargo the ship was carrying, and its passenger.
Antonino grumbled under his breath as the sound of the crew being roused to prepare for docking woke him from his fitful rest, while on his feet the pitching back and forth of the freighter hadn’t bothered him, at least not until he tried to lay down and close his eyes, then his belly started doing flips as the freighter rolled on the rough waves. With a grunt he rolled up and kicked his legs over the side of the bunk and slipped his shoes on, then stretched out his arms, twisted left and right working the kinks out of his back, got to his feet and pulled on his overcoat, then made his way back to the wheelhouse.
Antonino walked into the wheelhouse just as the new Captain was returning the corresponding sequence of light flashes then turned to look at Antonino, “The launches are on the way, hopefully I’ll never see you again...no offence of course”. Antonino lit a cigarette, “Do your job, don’t help yourself to the Don’s merchandise and you wont”, He said between puffs, “Have a safe trip, Captain”, He finished then left the wheelhouse and waited for the first of the launches to come along side the freighter. Once the first launch pulled up alongside, Antonino climbed over the side, “Take me to the dock”, He said to the man piloting the boat who gave him a ‘who the hell are you’ look,” Yeah, ok, right after we load”, the Pilot replied as he steered the launch down the side of the freighter. “You didn’t hear me...take me to the dock, I’ve a meeting with Don Sapienti, you wouldn’t want to be the cause of me being late...Trust me”. The Pilot mumbled under his breath then relented, “Fine, fine, have a seat”, Then pointed the launch and headed back to the dock.
Antonino wasn’t sure what to think of Rosa Lowe as he stepped off the launch and onto the dock, pulling the collar of his overcoat tighter around his neck to fend off the rain, the first thing that came to mind was that she seemed like a duck out of water, given her normal attire, she appeared to be more at home in either a garage or out on the farm rather than hobnobbing with the Chicago Socialites. But he had heard about her driving abilities, and how she could just about fix anything on wheels as well as drive it, useful enough skill even for a woman and obviously she had made an impression on the Sapienti Family. Antonino approached the Studebaker, tipped the brim of his hat to Rosa, “Good Eve, Miss Lowe, A pleasure to met you, despite the weather, I trust you’re here to drive me to the meeting?”.
The signaller flashed back to shore when the launches arrived, four times. She responded with a single flash, the brilliance of the lights turning the slashing rain into a wash of gold before the car. Her right hand dropped from the lights switch to the ignition, and turned it on. A press of the button and the electric starter churned the engine to life, a thick bass-heavy snarl, settling into a thrumming drone as the car idled. From what she had heard from her boss, Manuel Galiante, Antonino was straight-forward, and could be impatient. She figured he’d be coming back before the launches were loaded, which wasn’t a problem. But it did make it a bit of a pain, after the meeting, she’d have to get a hold of the head driver and the old man leading the launches and get the figures from them to make her report. Neither of the men knew exactly how much the shipment was, which made it easy make sure they were being honest.
Another noise rose over the burble of her Stude’s engine, and she looked up into the darkness over the water. She couldn’t see it yet, but it was one of the boats returning. Her hunch was right. A few minutes later, she offered Antonino a polite smile and a nod to his question. “Pleasure to meet you Mr. DiStefano,” her tongue missing a beat with his name. Her voice was pleasant, but not musical, a hint of Germany coming through. “Yes, Galiante sent me, via the Don. Which is why, if you check under the green robe, there is a dry coat of yours waiting for you.” Of which, she had taken extra attention in placing under the coat and robe, a pair of hot water bottles, which would leave the coat and robe themselves quite warm and welcoming.
She shifted into reverse, backing away from the lake while swinging the nose of the car in line with the black hole of the road, as she asked, “How was Sault Ste Marie?” Once the nose of the car was clear of the trucks, she brought the vehicle to a stop, and turned on the headlights. Shifting into first, the Special Six rolled forth on the wooded lane.
Antonino regarded her question with a perked eyebrow and a moments silence, rarely was he ever questioned about his jobs for the Don by anyone outside if the inner circle without risking being thought of as a Stool Pigeon for the Gum shoes not on the Sapienti payroll, and very bad things happened to Stool Pigeons when they were caught, He hoped for her sake it was just a naive question. After a minute or two, he shrugged it off, pulled a cigarette from the pack in his breastpocket and lit it, after a puff he calmly answered her question as if it had just been a typical business trip, "As expected...the freighter Captain was replaced last night, I'd like for you to keep an eye on the next shipment or two, make sure whats unloaded matches up with the manifests and I'll see that you get a little extra cabbage at the end of the week for your trouble, and thanks for the coat, I'll switch once we get to the speakeasy, speaking of which, I knew the Cook there, makes a genuinely old world tomato sauce, I'll have him prepare a plate of pasta that will warm you up much better than those water bottles will".
As she turned onto the road that headed back towards the lights and glamour of Chicago, the lack of an answer made her realize she had made an error of judgement. As she guided the car down the improved gravel road, she kept waiting for the man to say something, cough, clear his throat, move. The stone silence and her limited knowledge of Antonino’s reputation put her on edge. She hadn’t acted as chauffeur for anyone in the Family higher than Galiante before, and this was both an honour, and a test. And she had corked it.
His movement, fishing out his cigarettes and lighting one distracted her momentarily, her thoughts of previous tasks fleeing from her mind as she resumed her focus on the road ahead. A beam of light appearing in the far gloom through the wipers that beat at the rain that covered the windshield. He answered, not callously, but...with a nonchalance of the act that spoke volumes of his experience. Strangely, while reinforcing his level of intimidation, the casualness eased the tension in her shoulders. “Glad I never met the sap,” her thick hair shifting over her neck as she shook her head once, “Thank you for the offer, I think I will take you up on it. Going to the warehouse after this meet to count the deliveries.”
The rest of the drive was quiet between them, yet neither companionable nor uncomfortable.
Outside D’s, the Studebaker rolled to a stop outside the door. The deep hunter green paint of the body and black of the running boards and roof reflected the yellow street lights in dim hues, failing to stand out especially from any of the other cars on the street. Popping the vehicle out of gear, she looked over her shoulder to her passenger, “I’ll let you out here, away from the pitchforks that are fallin’ outside.” They had arrived a bit early, as she had planned. Antonino was one of the new Don’s closest men, and he was just back from job. He likely needed a minute or five to talk to Sapienti before the meeting got underway.
idlehands said
Because it's strange and unconventional and people like to comment about those things.
You're missing: "Ugly as hell."
© 2007-2024