Cherubplay

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Anyone up for some odd ball pairings? Like, Doc/Alpha!Dave, Slick/Alpha!Dave, Droog/Alpha!Dave, Slick/Crowbar, Slick/Doc, or Slick/Droog?

I'm up to talk about AUs and anything else! I personally have no triggers, and the only hard no's are bathroom kinks, feet, and vomit. I adore talking OOC, so don't be intimidated to connect. ^_^ ))

2014-07-29 04:13:22
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It's hot. That's the first thing the scraggly Crew leader notices as he saunters down the road, albeit reluctantly. The sun was at it's highest peak in the sky, practically glaring down at the darkly dressed male who had gotten out of an equally black 1920s Cadillac, the care sitting leisurely in front of a bricked building probably used for storing household appliances or something along those lines. The man didn't particularly spend time ogling the sign right above it, just got out of his car and slammed the door shut before going down the once silver, now scuffed and overrun with gum wads pavement. It led him directly down the street to his destination of where his presence was requested by a certain vibrantly green eyed man who has given him quite the trouble with trying to keep the city in his mechanical clutches. One would even dare say the deity being was purposely set here in this city to be of a nuisance, a personal gift for a dark haired male with short patience, and even shorter contemplations over his actions.

This man was Spades Slick, or just Slick to those outside of his Crew. This one eyes man would seem rude, gruff, and maybe hostile at the first glance... And one would be right with this observation. He wasn't anything of the sort relating to 'affectionate', 'understanding', or even 'sane' really. He was one of those people who often jumped to conclusions like the floor was lava, and acted first before asking questions. This characteristic, however, often got him in trouble. And as of late it seemed he had been getting into deeper and deeper shit as the days drag along.

Last week Boxcars had been out into the hospital, after having quite the scuffle with a certain Felt member and one way or another, decided devouring his head was the best resolution to their scuffle. Of course, this immediately sent the bloke to the emergency room, and before that, another Felt member had taken Droog's hat (for whatever reason slick knows not) and Diamonds almost beat the Crew to a bloody pulp until a certain purple hated jokester came in the hatch and dropped the black article into it. Of course, these were measly things compared to other situations the Crew have dealt with. Such as, Snowman, better known as Ms.B Bitch, had the audacity to not only shove a damned cigarette holder into his eye during a scuffle between the Crew and a few members of the Felt, but also took his arm with a single flick of a whip, and tear. It was quite gruesome, and Slick had rather

not think about the event. His shoulder gets sore every time he does, and he will often rub at the seam between flesh and metal before growing agitated and tell anyone and everyone to kindly fuck off.

Because of these tragedies, Slick has decided to come to... Or more rationally, just level with the Felt leader. He was getting tired of waking up and nearly throwing a tantrum because another idiot decided to leave over a dozen clocks in his room (regardless of the fact he'd locked the hatch to the hideout), and was seriously finding some of these methods of 'torture' to be like childish pranks at this point. Of course, he wasn't the one who had come up with the idea to meet up; no that was actually Doctor Scratch's idea. He was surprised to be informed of his presence being requested at the Felt Manor, a large, disgustingly green mansion that could seriously need a touch of black here and there. It was like the Felt lived off this color or something; though that was a bit hypocritical since the Crew adorned black like they were the night itself (hence their name), at least it wasn't some god awful green color that made Slick want to claw his eyes out. It was one of the most absurd buildings he'd ever seen in his life, really, and when he hesitantly opened the gate (well he just kind of lifted up his leg and kicked it open actually), he found that the grass was even an unusual vibrant green. It was odd, very odd, and it took all of Slick's self will to not bend over and pet the damned lawn. He instead just paused, almost glaring at the color, and growled something incoherent as he shook his head and continued walking, icy blue hue narrowed to a slit and obviously not amused.

When he finally gets to the front door (why the fuck, there's such thing as green doors too?) he stared long and hard at it, contemplating either knocking it, ringing the doorbell, or simply turning on his heels and walking off. This could certainly be a trap, that thought was very present in the leader's mind, however if Scratch really wanted to cause damage, why make it so evident? He was more cunning then that, and really, it would set his standards quite low to harm the leader when there was a supposed 'truce' for now as the two would talk about some things that would need to be gone over. It would benefit both of them, or even better, merely benefit Slick and leave Doc lying on the cold hard ground. Again though, the Felt leader was mischievous and cunning... Dangerously so. It often irritated Slick how the pale man could know the Spades' move before he even knew it himself. Actually, it was /really/ annoying, and just the thought of it made Slick's hand flex in his slack pocket, purple flames licking up his fingertips from an invisible source.

He eventually realizes he's been standing there for quite awhile, and snaps out of it before huffing, and just gave a small 'fuck it' under his breath before reaching forward and pounded a fist twice against the wood, then stepped back a bit, unsure of what would happen next.

2014-07-29 05:59:52
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There was a certain trick Doc Scratch liked to pull, and for one with his 'talents', it was exceedingly simple. Nobody had to know Spades Slick happened to be dropping by Felt Manor that afternoon; he had sent a few members of the Felt out on sundry tasks, to be completed whilst the good doctor entertained his company. Others were still in the manor, though they would not happen upon the meeting. It was good to know where others would be and when at all times, it made organizing things such as this much easier. He could send the others here and there and they would think it was nothing more than a task given, when in reality it was Scratch's opening to handle his own business. What the Felt did not know would not hurt them. Doc Scratch was even capable of altering past and future trails, so even his dear, loyal sharks wouldn't be any wiser.

Today's business happened to be capital to him; it was an important meeting he was to conduct, and as always he planned to do so as smoothly and with as much politesse as someone such as himself were capable of. It was a whole lot of politesse. All of it, practically. Even someone as admittedly coarse as Spades Slick deserved his very best custom. Doc Scratch was not about to lose his immaculate reputation on one ill-tempered man; just the opposite, really. That was another perk to his omniscience. He knew it irritated Slick and that was amusing as could be, but he would keep that to as much of a minimum as he was capable of.

Scratch waited in one of the numerous side parlors in Felt Manor, this one nicely lit from the single tall window and with a lower amount of clocks. They were still present, of course, that was unavoidable. But there weren't as many here. Just as well, Scratch knew Slick would be unable to negotiate with in the wrong environment. There was not a single thing he hadn't taken into account. He had brought out a nice silver tea set, with a few refreshments available as well, though he knew Slick would ignore those and go straight for the Scottie Dogs. Just as well, that was why they were there. Scratch knew habits and recognized them for what they were. He was dressed as sharply a always, in the standard yet classy fare, white dress pants and suit jacket, green dress shirt and bow tie.

The two colors were really the only ones that looked good on him; everything else just seemed to offset his alabaster skin and give it an unappealing pallor. It didn't help that when he blushed, rare as it was, he almost looked sick. Scratch disliked that, in short. But it was what it was. His hair was the exact same shade as his skin, cut short and neatly combed. One would be hard pressed to catch it in any other state. He had a very calm, clearly expectant look about him; this was allotted for someone who had everything to expect, after all. Scratch's features were elegant and composed, as if they had been carved from ivory, but the illusion was rather disrupted by his eyes, which were bright and reminiscent of green cathedral glass. There was no distinction between the whites and irises of his eyes; both were a shade of green laced with his odd power. His pupils, a darker shade of green, were the exception.

Many thought Scratch's gaze to be sharp and unsettling, uncomfortably knowing and far too tangible. This was not the case as he approached the front door of Felt Manor after hearing the impatient knock that could only have belonged to Spades Slick. Quaint as they were, most that called on him still knocked on his door and felt the need to announce themselves. It wasn't necessary, but Scratch understood and respected their attempts at manners. He laced his arms behind his back as he approached the door, carefully opening it and stepping aside to allow Spades Slick entrance as he did.

"Good afternoon, Slick." He said, inclining his head in greeting. Scratch had a voice that begged to be listened to; it was as smooth and difficult to pin down as quicksilver, and settled in the ears just as a liquid would. It was the sort of voice that could twist and distort into something frightening if need be. Scratch dearly hoped it would not come to that; he greatly misliked having to show his guests the door prematurely.

"Please do come in. I have been eagerly awaiting your arrival here."

2014-07-29 07:36:02
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Where as Slick could have easily just stood there and awaited the door to be open, if he in fact were informed of Doc's ability to answer the door like it was his sixth sense (what Felt member would inform him of this characteristic whilst Slick would be trying to stab the bastard in the process?) , he would have promptly done it. But, would then complained about the amount of time he took in answering it, which really would have only been close to five second or less. Of course, that wasn't the case though, and instead he had knocked, stepped back, and awaited like the patient man he was dearly not. He had been looking over some etchings off the door, brow furrowed at the design (and color) before the green wood was suddenly shifting, and opened.

Now, Slick didn't know what to expect. Maybe Quarters with his massive gun pointed at Slick's entire form, maybe Snowman with her whip and a devious smirk on her face, hell he wouldn't doubt if he was merely knocked out from behind whilst the door was a mere distraction to him. But, instead he was met with a shorter man, few inches or so, who was blindingly white. Droog was a pale color, that much was knock by the Crew leader, however this man made Slick's subordinate look like a tanned Jersey girl on a hot summer's day. It was tempting to find a black pen and draw incredulous things on his face, but the taller dared not since the next feature he met was the startling verdant eyes. Not just the iris itself was the color, but the whole damned socket was. The only way the darker clothed male knew he was being looked at was the telltale dark green pupil looking up at him expectantly to step into the Manor. He could feel himself stare at the color, not out of fascination, but out of growing agitation. Before he can even control himself, basically tossing aside the entire greeting that was offered his way, he's already opening his mouth to speak his mind rather then keep it closed.

"The fuck is everythin' so green for. 'S disgustin'." He grumbled in a gruff, low tone. It was like boulders rubbing against each other, nails across a chalkboard, and even when he laughed he could probably make a child cry. Of course, it doesn't hit him that this can come across as rude, no he feels like he's just making conversation more than anything else. Even if the velvet like tone that sounded like melted honey to his ears coaxed him in, the taller did not do so until his fingertips clutched around the hilt of his switchblade, for security if nothing else. He doesn't make this a moment of hesitation though, and finally steps forward onto the green wooded (are you fucking serious?) floorboards. Just like the outside, the inside was the grotesque color. He only lets his nose crinkle at this, glancing around on high alert still. "... Where're the rest?" He slurred out in an accent between southern, and Italian, sounding much like he jumped out the 1920's and was a living embodiment of the era. Almost as soon as the words came out of his mouth, when he was done paying intent attention down the hell thy was connected to the room he was currently in, he heard it. He heard the faint, blood cuddling sound that could make even the most fearsome killer in the city turn tail and run.

Clocks.

The faint 'tick-tock' noise echoed through the Manor, like the damned house was a beast and the clocks were it's heartbeat. He knew there were many more then one, though how many in total? Maybe a hundred, or just over, but that certainly wouldn't be a problem if Slick was left alone in the Manor for an hour or so. He doesn't know why, but the thought of clocks and their entire reason for being, irritated and horrified the mobster. It was like time was mocking him, always reminding him that he was here for only a short time on this planet, and there was nothing he could do about it. It always ran his life, telling him where to go; who to go to; when to wake up; and when to go to bed. It was a nuisance, so he'd told the Crew awhile back to get rid of any such objects: alarms, watches, clocks, anything and everything related to time.

Speaking of the Crew, he had made sure to keep the three busy. Droog had to file some reports, and not only that but look over Slick's blueprints for an upcoming heist. Deuce was busying himself with shopping for clay since sawdust apparently made explosions more unstable then he originally thought (that's all they had at the time), and lastly Boxcars was out and about with Deuce, probably shopping for food for the Crew to cook later. Just small thing since Slick certainly couldn't have any of them unsupervised and dealing with anything that had to do with potential death and murder. The leader would very much like to be present there for that, so he just gave them little errands to run and said he'd be back later. Hopefully no one noticed his slightly off behavior of anxiety and impatience before he left, because if so, this whole place could dearly go up in flames... Unless Matchsticks was around. That thought didn't at all please Slick.

This would be the perfect time to high tale it and run, but he doesn't. Oh no, that would mean defeat and Slick was a stubborn man. He just stands there instead, staring at a grandfather clock set promptly in a corner, and narrowed his good eye at it as if that action might help burn the damned thing. Apparently his actions were for naught, and he ends up looking back at the shorter male. It was a bit of a wonder that this was the same man who kept foiling every goddamn plan Slick made against the Felt, let alone be gruesome enough to tame someone like Snowman or Cans. How the hell can someone such as this guy do that? Hell, he looks like even Biscuits could pick him up and chuck him across the room. It perturbed him, however he doesn't voice these thoughts (surprisingly), he more so just wants to go over what they need to and leave. The clocks do nothing to sooth his nerves over whatsoever either.

2014-07-29 19:31:18
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Scratch allowed him in, then owed the door quietly after. He paused there, pressing his eyes shut for a moment and exhaling soundlessly. To say Spades Slick was an abrasive individual would be putting it gently. But Doc Scratch refused to let Slick's coarse demeanor make even a scuff on his polished manners. Being the one who had to deal with the Felt's shenanigans day in and out, Scratch was heavily practiced in the art of patience. He had more than enough for Slick. At least he was far less destructive than Eggs and Biscuits could be on their rougher days. But he had to bear in mind that while the two of them actually liked him, Slick did not. In fact, he was sure Slick abhorred the sight of him already. It must have been a record.

Scratch was used to stares. He was aware that, in all of Midnight City, he was the only one who looked like he did. Uncanny. Unnatural, even. This was an appropriate label, considering he was not truly human. He surely did resemble one and conduct most of the same bodily functions as the others would, but the fact remained he was more than human. This caused some degree of ostracism between he and the others; nobody would say it to his face, but it was clear he was set apart in more ways than one. Even so, it acted to most as a warning signal. Effective, but not always appreciated by Scratch himself. That was neither here nor there, however; he had much more important thing to attend to than his own woes.

"That was the color chosen to furnish the Manor by the head of the organization." Scratch said, tone polite and as if he were pleased to inform the rival mobster of various trivia regarding the Felt. "Truthfully, I had no hand in the decisions relating to the decor here and everything you see is the product of Lord English's whims."

Of course Slick had to know of the fabled Lord English, who had never really appeared to any of the Midnight Crew members. He did not make his home in the manor, nor did he care to regularly visit. Scratch had his own opinions regarding Lord English's 'whims', but it was not his place to share them.

"As for the location of the other Felt members, it is not a very pressing topic for today, and I am reluctant to answer the question for reasons that should be quite obvious. Only you and I will be necessary for this little meeting." His eyes seemed to glitter then, though the teasing present was a bare trace. It was his own inside joke, like many things were.

"I will, however, deign to say that we are not alone here. Not every member is in attendance, but those who are will remain anonymous." Doc Scratch shrugged dismissively. With his revealed information, Slick was still largely in the dark. There could have been one Felt member somewhere here, or there could have been fourteen and one out and about. He would not know and Scratch intended to keep it that way.

"But I tell you the truth when I say that no one is lying in wait for you anywhere; a truce is a truce and I am not so low as to strike a blow toward you now. You are a guest today and, though that status is very capable of changing, you will be treated as such." Scratch could deal with Slick with excessive ease, whatever that might have entailed, but was not like to grow martial toward him. That came with too great of a risk; if he caused a commotion he'd alert other Felt members, none of which he wanted harmed.

"If you would be so kind as to follow me to the parlor, we may begin our discussion." Scratch said, watching Slick with his uncanny eyes. He would lead him down a short hall off to the side of the grand staircase in the middle and through a door to the left and into the quieter, warmer parlor. Scratch would be sure to show him his seat and allow him to sit before he did; courtesy had to be key with guests, even Spades Slick. Especially Spades Slick.

2014-07-29 21:57:41
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Slick kept his hands promptly in his slack pockets, watching the other closely as he spoke and soon informed the taller that the head of the Felt basically ordered for this color. Huh. Another guy to add to his list of gutting alive. Though, he'd have to put it at the bottom of the list, seeing that he's heard quite the numerous stories about this said Lord English. This was not at all someone he could trifle with and come out unscathed, or even just the a basic joint popped out of its socket. Just the name itself sent shivers down any same man's back, and they had good reason too since the things Slick has heard of this man's doings... It made the Crew's scuffles with the Felt and law look like child's play. Honestly, Slick wouldn't mind taking a tip or two from this brute who was said to be quite tall and large, let alone the bit of an aggressor that could very well put the Crew leader's temper to shame. He doesn't comment on this though, just sneers slightly at the name and grumbles silent hung incoherent about the Felt having bad taste in color or something along those lines. Another thing he noticed was the scent. It didn't have the lingering waft of week old blood, the pungent smell of broken bottle of alcohol staining the wood, nor the scent of classic cigarettes. Slick had grown so accosted to these differentiating smells that he was put a bit off by the almost lemongrass scent of the building.

He began wondering idly what the hell he have to do to get a certain blood stain on the floor of his own room to have this sort of scent, but snapped out of it at the information as to where the other members were. Of course, he knew he shouldn't have expected a straight forward answer, seeing as that wasn't Scratch's style, regardless of whether Slick would take advantage as to everyone's whereabouts or not. What was he going to do? Whip out his walkie-talkie and radio the other three stooges of the Felt's whereabouts? One, that would be too obvious, and two, he doesn't have time (hah) for that at the moment. He didn't want to deal with another guy in the hospital room, Boxcars having just got out the other day or so from his stomach being pumped. It was a grotesque process, and ever since, Slick hasn't been ably to look at spaghetti the same way again.

That aside, he merely snorts the the other's beating around the bush, being quite the opposite where Slick would have been as blunt as a knife gone years without sharpening. He was aware of his subordinates capabilities, it was one reason why he still kept them around. They could handle one, maybe two, it really depended on who was pairs with who, of the Felt members. Three? No, they'd definitely get their lives and time beat out of their very being, however Slick was certain none would go down without a fight. So, he merely shrugs one shoulder at the information that the two wouldn't be disturbed during their conversation, still keeping his guard up to a T no matter what.

He makes sure to narrow his blue hue at the subtle threat where his tab as a guest could swiftly be changed, a scoff and amused smirk tugging one corner of his lips. "Like I expect anythin' else, ya 'n' your 'excellent host' shit." He mocked, reaching up to fix his hat slightly, but dared not take it off. One moment he could have it, the next it could be gone. He's learned that much with Droog and his hat shenanigans, and doesn't particularly wish to participate in such affairs. "Yea." He had merely let slip from his lips at the offer for him to follow the perfectly postured ghost, still watching and observing him closely, however he wasn't scrutinizing him anymore. The words that he wouldn't be ambushed helping ease the darkly dressed fellow into a slightly relaxed state. Of course, he could easily snap into a tense position and get violent within a seconds notice, but he allowed himself some comfort. The other'e voice seemed to only spell trust, and as much as Slick would love to have that voice choking on it's own words and probably blood, he lets it continue.

Without fuss, or much of it really since every green doorway, carpet, picture frame, anything that was the god awful color practically dragged a curse from his fangs. He had the right mind to grab a paint bucket and splash whatever color he found suitable on this Manor. Though, knowing him, it would be of a darker, twisted color, that didn't matter to Slick. He paid attention to whatever turn and hallway they came too, just in case he had to make a break for it and run, but kept quiet as the came to the room, giving a subtle cold glare to Doc before looking to the grossly colored seat, and let out a long reluctant sigh before plopping down in the chair. He slouched in his seat, almost looking as if he'd slip out of it, but was perturbed to find he was quite comfortable where he sat. It didn't take long to notice the tea set, nor the bowl of candy full of- "What the fuck..." He mumbled, furrowing his brows at the Scottie Dogs, and doesn't even hesitate to reach forward, looking much like a kid in the candy store as he picked up a handful of the black licorice candy, and tossed a couple into his mouth. It doesn't cross his mind that this shit could be poisoned or anything along those lines. No, he's more so intrigued in the candy itself really. Besides this, he realizes that business is to be settled here, and though he could hear the irritating ticking of clocks from his perch, it wasn't as deftly loud as before, and was able to push then out of mind quite quickly. "So we gonna discuss shit now or what, cue ball?" He asked in a quick and nonchalant manner, the nickname coming from his mouth before he's realizing it, but pays it no mind.

2014-07-29 22:49:04
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Scratch did not fear his master as much as Spades Slick did, but that feeling was certainly present in him. He did not much expound on his and Lord English's relationship, nor did he wish to, and much rather focused on other aspects of how the gang was to be formed. A few Felt members knew more than others- Snowman, Stitch, but he was keen to keep it all under wraps. Doc Scratch was rarely asked his personal opinions. He was more used to being asked for facts, so that was what he delivered. He was devout about not lying; lies of omission he regarded as different, however. He knew everything and, when asked a question, would never be able to tell the inquirer everything there was to know. He allowed himself to omit what was unnecessary to their answer. Oftentimes this was used to his advantage. It was their fault, in the end. They should have asked him better questions.

Scratch did not fear for any of the Felt members; if something were going to occur to one, he would be able to divert it. He considered them his charges and, though he was more fond of some than others, would look after each of them. Some were more, ah... High maintenance, so to speak, but he was skilled in handling them. Others he was closer to, such as Snowman. He found her to be good company, capable of exercising common sense and holding an intelligent conversation. Even if she was rather fond of assuming things beyond her station, Scratch was not overly averse to her company. He was on rather good terms with Stitch, who, unlike some others, was very good about doing his work. He was smart, too, and Scratch made it a point to visit him every now and then. He was rough around the edges, yes, but very amiable to Scratch for various reasons. Everyone had the decency to at least uphold a sense of respect for them, and for that he was grateful. There were others who may not have liked him, but were gracious enough to wait until he was out of the room to show it.

Scratch sat, left leg crossed casually over the right. He was settled into his seat, watching Slick with a muted sense of amusement. He obviously found the other's reaction to the scottie dogs comedic, but no comment was made and no harm was done by him.

"Yes," He said. "Do let's begin our discussion. I trust you found your way here easily enough? I apologize if my invitation seemed a bit out of sorts; I did not wish to be construed improperly, or as some threat." He aforementioned invitation had simply appeared to the Midnight Crew, a white envelope with a paper of the same color inside. It was a thick piece, with a creamy feeling to it that made the reader want to drag their fingertips against it. The hand it was written in was a curving scrawl done in dark green ink, signed with a flourish by the dastardly head of their only rival gang. Unprecedented, to say the least, but Scratch would be loath to do it any other way. It wasn't as if he could just call the taller man up on the phone and request his presence for tea. He had to do it formally and in a way that displayed his intent.

"Because, as we are both aware, threats are not the purpose of this meeting." Scratch laced his fingers, looking to Slick. He ignored the 'cueball' nickname. It was to be expected- each Felt member had a designated billiard ball to be associated with and with his purpose and coloration, even, he was undoubtedly the cue ball. Depersonalizing as it was, it was not up for debate by him. He did not care if Spades Slick called him by that. He could always think up an equally intriguing nickname for the darker-dressed man, one he was sure would get under his skin.

2014-07-30 02:47:22
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The one thing that really annoyed him at the moment, besides the fact he was in enemy territory and sitting so casually in what seemed to be an office whilst discussing so leisurely, was his teeth. Don't get him wrong, he simply adored having the razed sharp fangs and using them as a threat to anyone that was ignorant enough to trifle with him, however it made eating things such as the licorice candy to that of a difficult task. He couldn't chew the candy without it getting stuck between his fangs and opted to tossing a few to the back of his mouth, using his in sharpened molars to chew the scottie dogs and only subtly glare at the tea set promptly settled upon the coffee table. What the hell was this? Some sort of casual formality? Well, then again, this was suppose to be a 'friendly' meet up. Here for mainly (well, only) the purpose of smoothing some things, if just a couple, between their gangs.

After giving the kettle a thorough scowl, he glanced over to the male that could have very well been a prompt doll made out this Manor, or more fitting, for it. Like this place was some sort of dollhouse made as some joke or prank for Slick, and Doc was just the icing on the cake. It crossed his mind that the other fit this place almost too perfectly, unsettling so, and an even odder thought that crossed his mind was the wonder as to how well the frosting to the cake tasted... Very odd. He blames it upon not eating all day and the sun scalding up his skin, let alone his dark clothing increasing such temperatures. At least it was quite cool in the Manor, allowing some ease, not much, but enough. "'M here, right? That means I found the shit well 'nough on my own. 'S kinda hard to miss the big ass, green giant from the depths of hell itself. Seriously, I ain't that stupid." He pauses, rethinking his words. "/Not/ that I'm stupid even slightly, jus' that it doesn't take a rocket scientist to find this place. Fuck." He growled, seeing that he had practically insulted himself, and tossed a few more candies into his mouth before rolling the substance around with his tongue at the back of his teeth.

Something dawned on him, and he swallowed the scotties before continuing. "Ya ain't expectin' that letter back, are ya? I tossed it in a fire... Good luck gettin' the shit back if so." He snorts, amused. To be more specific, he took the letter and burned it up with his bare hands, the blindly white envelope and letter burning up in purple flames after Slick had found it so promptly sitting on one of the steps to the ladder that led up to the hatch of his hideout. "How the fuck did ya get that in there anyway...?" He asked with slight curiosity, narrowing a cold hue his way. He knows the topic of choice at the moment wasn't the point of meeting up, however he was still curious. The hatch had been locked, as far as Slick was aware, and he was more then a bit perturbed at the sight of the thing just sitting there... Almost mocking him with the fact it was effortlessly placed, just for Slick.

Even if Scratch's words of threats not being the point here, that didn't sooth the off putting feeling Slick had. He didn't enjoy his personal space being prodded at so lightly, not even remotely. His hideout was his safety, his sanction, somewhere where the Feds and anyone related to the law enforcement could fuck off and leave him be. He was perplexed as to how it was even found, let alone how someone could get in so easily without alerting any of the Crew members. It just goes to show how fucked they were against the Felt, regardless of physical power or not because Cans could literally knock Slick into next week if he so pleased it. "Yea, yea, 'we're on good terms' 'n' shit. I get it. But what I'm tryin' to get at is, why the fuck are your subordinates all up in my ass? Literally, my own heists that have shit-zero to do with your li'l billiards shtick ya got goin' on here, 'n' I end up with one of your fuckers in the mix. I dunno if it's accidental or what, but imma say it's really pissin' me off cue ball." He growled out, not even noticing as his mechanical claws tense into the candy in them, squishing the doggies effortlessly and making a bit of a mess.

Slick grunts at this, relaxing his hand, and busying himself with prying the squished licorice from the metal. He undoubtedly had a temper, a very thin line that could possibly break without even much of a moments notice before he'd have someone pinned up against a wall and a finely sharpened blade snug up against their throat. He hadn't made such actions (yet) mainly because this was not his surroundings of safety, nor did he know this place well. He knew it existed, yes, however he'd never personally ventured out to go inspect it. He'd heard Deuce come back after a midnight scout around the place, saying it was like a green monster, and had paid him no mind at the time, but boy was he right.

2014-07-30 04:26:12
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Doc Scratch did not find Slick's filed teeth to be intimidating. There was little he could find it in him to truly fear, and sharpened teeth were near the bottom of the list. In fact, he found them a bit amusing, especially since they gave Spades Slick issues while trying to eat the scottie dogs. Human teeth were flat for a reason- for grinding food. Sharpened teeth were for ripping chunks away and swallowing them whole. This had to lead one to wonder as to why Fin and Trace's were in that shape naturally. They hadn't been filed, but were that way naturally. He wasn't afraid of their teeth either. Really, Slick made it difficult to take him seriously at some points. But the First Guardian knew better than to dismiss him entirely.

"To answer your questions, firstly, no, I was not expecting the invitation back." Doc Scratch said patiently to the other. Honestly, burning the letter had been a predictable event. "And, regardless of the amount of intellect it required to locate the Manor, I must express my delight at you having found your way here with ease. I would have been mortally embarrassed should you have lost your way." Scratch adopted a rather soft grin then, one thin white eyebrow raising ever so slightly. "How I managed to place the invitation is your quarters is of no real consequence at the moment. I have my ways and you will find me much more capable than the Felt members you are used to dealing with periodically."

On some level Doc Scratch wanted Spades Slick to know what he was capable of, omnipotence and all. It was a veritable cause for fear in the hearts of many, to be in the presence of a man with such unrivaled power. But he saw no use whatsoever in flaunting it right now. He did not want to come across as an aggressor to Slick, though that was the most wishful thinking there was in existence. Still, he would do his best not to provoke the taller man. No good would come of that.

"Ah... And my 'little billiards schtick', as you so eloquently put it, has managed to meet you at every turn." Scratch said softly. "By now you know that none of us are to be taken very lightly, and we do indeed pose a threat. I must, however, give the devil his due in saying that you four are formidable in holding out against us, and then some." Scratch's tone was saccharine, honey dripping from the fangs of a viper. He was sure that, of all things Spades Slick had expected upon arriving here, compliments were not one. "You ask why the Felt infringes on your heists and the answer is simple; our respective groups both spot a worthy opportunity and they both decide to capitalize on said venture. There is little more to it than business being properly conducted as usual. But, as I have mentioned, you realize that we are not an organization you should consider nonthreatening to your own ventures, and this has been demonstrated. Really, it is nothing personal, only the rules of the game."

Doc Scratch had no personal grudges against any member of the Midnight Crew. The Felt were allowed their own opinions, of course, but his own were his own. He also saw them as a very minor threat, though he'd never let the man across from him catch onto that. Scratch operated on a much grander scale than the bulk of them, which he would also work to conceal, and the Midnight Crew did little to register on it. Even so, there were a number of precautions he could take in order to prevent Spades Slick from gaining any real foothold in the city, and to be sure, he had already enacted some. He was vaguely playing with them, putting schemes into action in order to simply watch them unfold. He was the brains of the outfit, quite clearly, and it was obvious that if Slick wanted to play in his leagues he would have to use his own mind, and well.

2014-07-30 07:01:42
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If Slick could somehow tamper into the other's thoughts, he would have been quite baffled and very, /very/ enraged at them. The dark clothed male was quite the prideful one, never hesitating to do something even remotely absurd even if he was just glanced at the wrong way. It really shouldn't be surprising that Slick got into more scuffles then he can remember, and if he were to recall who started them, undoubtedly it would be of his own doing and quick to jump to conclusions character. Of course, he shouldn't care less about what one thought about his teeth, it was for his own benefit and nothing less. Where as he would sometimes lose his knife if a bastard got the blade stuck in his bone, or whatever the case, Slick was not above biting someone's throat. Maybe it wasn't particularly the most tastiest of things he'd ever have upon his tongue, however he found it to be very affective. Not just that, but it was like carrying his own batch of knives in his mouth, even if his pockets were always carrying such an item, it was always good to have a backup plan.

At the confirmation the other indeed hadn't wished for the letter back, Slick merely scoffed through closed teeth, unamused. Hell, he would have cackled if Scratch would have said he wanted it back. That would have given Slick an open opportunity to rub it in his face that such a request could not be fulfilled and he would just have to deal with it... Just as Slick would have to deal with the constant dancing about topics the cue ball kept doing. He rather liked the nickname, and concluded to call the other that instead of Doc or Scratch. Anyway, upon the topic where Cue Ball refused to explain how the invitation was put into the hideout, Slick dropped the few scottie dogs he'd been able to pry off his claws, right onto the green carpet, ignoring the sound of the candies toppling down and spreading about. Slick didn't bother to look down, just grunted. "A'ight, that's fine." He lied through his fangs, wiping his hands down on his clothing, knowing if any licorice that stained his hands had happened to come of and onto his shirt, it wouldn't show what with the fabric matching the candy's color. Not only was the Doc's smile unsettling and seemed to match the rest of his skin color, it rubbed Slick the wrong way. He knew there was a subtle insult upon the other's words about finding the Manson, however he couldn't decide if he was being called stupid if the other was generally concerned that the Crew leader had little to no intellect at all. He reframed from muttering a low 'bastard', sneering unpleasantly.

He should have said the word, but something about the way the air moved around Scratch, and still the fact remained that Slick was in shady territory, he decided to keep at least a few insults from leaving his lips. With this in mind, he fidgeted only slightly in his seat at the explanation as to why the Felt was at every corner. "Yea? More like a fuckin' nuisance then a damned threat. Ya lot should jus' fuck off completely and burn in whatever accursed hole ya came from." He spat, a bit more violent then intended, his posture straightening up a bit, shoulders tense for a fraction of a second. He was now aware that he liked when others were blunt, straightforward, and straight to the point. Much like himself really. Where, Doc was quite the opposite, and seemed to be enjoying dancing about his words like they were lava. If the other's dancing about with answers aggravated him, he certainly was perturbed at the off putting compliment. He was caught between scoffing or growling, not liking the way the other' stone was laced with venom, and idly let his claws prick into the wood of the furniture he way in, arm rest a perfect scratch post for his frustration.

It seemed the other wanted to pull out tricks, things Slick wouldn't expect and knew what would ruffle the taller's nonexistent feathers. "... I don't give a shit if your moronic pawns find this 'game' interestin', or whatever the hell. This ain't chess, nor do I even know how the hell to even play that, but I'd probably flip the game board over on your sorry ass'... Cut it out." He was here to compromise, to come to polite terms and agree on certain matters; that's the whole point why he's here. But, he seems to just be growing aggravated, a slight huff coming from him before he's slouching more so in his seat. "I hate fuckin' board games anyway. Waste of time, waste of patience, and it sure as hell doesn't test anyone's potential or ability when I can just easily burn them to the ground and be some with it. Ya wanna play games though? Fine. By all means; but lets set some fuckin' rules for this shit." With that, he crosses his arms, uninterested in the candy by this point and relaxing with his legs spread in an unflattering manner, but he certainly didn't seem to care.

2014-07-30 07:45:35
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The good doctor's thin smile (he always made sure not to do so broadly- his gums and tongue were green as well, and he understood how odd that was to others) was retained even as Spades dubbed the Felt more of a nuisance than threat. 'Oh, Slick.' He thought to himself, amused. 'I can understand why one would say that. Especially when they have not met me.' Scratch was full of himself to an extent only; he knew well what he was capable of and was not afraid to display it. With good reason, of course. He used his omnipotence with discretion, finding that in this case less really was more. He did not expect Slick to catch on about his prowess until it was outwardly displayed to him. And when that did happen, Scratch pitied the man- it was sure to come as a shock. Perhaps even literally.

Doc Scratch ignored the jab about about "burning in the hole they'd come from"; he was not about to sink to Slick's level, which embodied the childish flinging of insults and words being growled instead of properly enunciated. He thanked Spades for the suggestion, but they both knew that was highly unlikely. The Felt was here to stay, as was obvious. Much to Spades Slick's chagrin, that was. It was clear by the way he was clawing at the arm rest that he was frustrated. Scratch readjusted himself in his seat, looking engagingly toward Slick. The rival mobster's position in the seat was a very dominant sort, which spoke well about his aggressive personality. Scratch was more reserved, even while in his own territory. There was no call for displays of dominance or volatility when he knew he held each and every card in play.

Scratch refrained from letting how smug he felt show on his exterior. The Midnight Crew leader was just so easily aggravated it amused him. It was hard not to feel superior to someone with such glaring anger issues. He thought it was cruel he pressed him in the wrong way, however, and would have to curb that impulse. Being able to goad him into a state of infuriation might be useful down the road, but not at this particular moment. Now was the time for tact.

"Yes, yes." Scratch said. "I am aware you wish for us to cease and desist all activity as a whole, so your own capitalization of the city would be more successful, so to speak, and I will not beat around the bush in saying we have no intent to do so. Your wishes are completely valid and I can only hope we reach a compromise that fits us both, even if for only a short amount of time."

Scratch regarded Slick in a mature, inquiring manner. "What do you propose be done, aside from the full eradication of our faculties? I am not going to show you one deal and tell you to take it or leave it. As it so happens, Mr. Slick, I am very flexible." His grin appeared once more for only a fraction of a second, Scratch's own personal joke the other had no comprehension of. It was almost teasing, but in an innocent way that meant no harm toward the other.

"What 'rules' do you consider appropriate?" The First Guardian continued, putting on a very convincing mask of curiosity. "State them and I will do my very best to accommodate you, in dear hopes you would do the same of me."

It might have been wishful thinking, but in the end nobody would be able to say he had not tried.

2014-07-30 19:30:17
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That smile, Slick doesn't particularly know what to think of it. It was small, measly, slightly smug, however the corners tipped sharply upward in a manner that portrayed much of a snake's trademark smirk. It made indecent shivers run up his spine, causing his clawing to pause for a moment before continuing their task to make the armrest like that of wood chips... Well, if wood hips and shavings were a vibrant green, that is. He felt he should be fearing that smile, that he should be fearing this peculiar doll-like-puppet-man who certainly would have people's heads turning if he walked right outside. This made Slick vaguely wonder if the other ever went out in the sun, or just outdoors -period-. It didn't seem like he was much of a night owl, or day walker. More so, it jut seemed like he wasn't even real, that having such interests as going outside was too overrated for him, especially when he could just stay here in this grotesque manner and... What? Make tea? This thought made the taller snort in amusement, using one of his metal claws to rub thoughtfully along his own jawline.

He was strange, that much was evident, and he was undoubtedly one of the most frustrating being he'd ever met. Even when Slick was a little shit to Snowman, she eventually knocks the blue eyed male off his high horse and makes him a bloody mess. Though, Slick feels some unrequited pitch black hatred towards her, that wasn't the same here in this situation. Sure, he wouldn't mind seeing what color Doc's blood was (he seriously wouldn't doubt if it was green), but he makes no move to harm him. Instead, he sits here and simmers in his own aggravation, growling periodically like that of a dog who's in a new and foreign household. He wasn't particularly afraid, he had no reason to be since not a hand was laid on him ever since he'd gotten here, but he will admit he was indeed intimidated. It was an odd feeling, an he /hated/ it. He hated the fact the other had merely brushed off his insult, and even went as far as to thank Slick for the offer. This definitely made him sink his claws into the wood, like a knife into flesh, then yank them out with a dull 'thunk'. "Smug bastard." He let slip from his slightly apparent fangs, a hand reaching up to take his hat off.

It was a hassle to have on and not have knocked over with his slouched position against the chair, so he ends up resting it on a table next to his seat, keeping a close eye on it however. "Yea, I'd really appreciate if ya'd fuck off completely, but we both know that ain't gonna happen, not unless somethin' really fuckin' bad motivates one or the other to do so." He points out in a mumble, rubbing at his jawline again in quiet irritability since he was trying to figure out a way to catch the other off guard, earn some kind of reaction that would wipe that smug air about him right off. As the other continued, Slick brain stormed, halfway paying attention. He only responds when he catches the glimpse of the other's grin, the peek of his green gums apparent and earning a narrowing of a cold blue hue at that. It was as soon as it appeared though, Slick abandoning his clawing of the chair and instead sitting up, leaning over his knees so his elbows could rest on them, however his shoulders stayed slouched.

He didn't really understand what was so amusing about the 'flexible' part the other had spoken of, however he ignores it, figuring it was some concept the taller really doesn't want to wrap his head around. "First off, you're a fuckin' creep... Cue Ball. And second, if I don't like what ya have to offer, I still ain't gonna accept it. Anyway, to the rules..." He trails off, glancing down at the wooden floors before figuring a few out. "Boundary lines. I'd really fuckin' 'ppreciate if your buddies kept that fuckin' most outta my hideout. Ya don't see me walkin' in here 'n' stealin' your shit; that's my fuckin' sanction. Another thin' is, the few blocks around said hideout, that's my territory. There's a whole fuckin' city, ya can at least give me the decency of havin' a few blocks without runnin' into one of your idiots." He runs a hand through his locks in contemplation then, tugging the back of his hair before letting it go. "'N' leave Droog's hat alone. I almost got the livin' shit beat outta me cause he thought 'I' took it when on of your fuckin' guys did instead. I can't even get my hands on the li'l purple hated bastard since any pain is automatically negated onto myself; bastard." He huffed at remembering he'd attempted to stab Clover, and just ended up stabbing one of Droog's suits... That didn't end well for him. "I think these rule are fair."

2014-07-30 22:12:14
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Spades Slick, although he was unaware, was right in thinking that his gracious host did not often venture outside. There were a cluster of reasons Scratch preferred the comforts of Felt Manor, chief among them being he was sure to draw stares and rude comments from all sides. Just because he put up with and seemed to be unfazed by them did not mean he enjoyed them; it was hard enough knowing every thought that passed every mind, he did not wish to garner more hurtful ones in his direction. He was also capable of conducting whatever business he found necessary from his own office, located on an upper floor of the manor. He hadn't entertained Slick's company there for his own reasons, knowing the deeper in Felt Manor he went the more cornered he'd feel. Spades Slick was not difficult for him to understand, in truth. Then again, nothing really was.

Scratch knew Slick's thoughts about his doll-like appearance. He did seen very pristine, his features smooth and highly reminiscent of a china doll's. So as not to say the man was unattractive- once one cared to look past his odd skin coloration and eye shade, he was admittedly handsome. Still, he found the label to be rather depersonalizing, especially once his relationship with Lord English was taken into account. Doc Scratch had little to nothing to say to Spades on that topic, for once. He preferred it was not even broached; if it were, he would prove to be of little insight to his own personal thoughts and feelings.

'I shall have to repair that arm rest later on.' Scratch mused, sparing a glance to the chair Slick had claimed. Then his eyes flicked back to the other mobster, for a moment holding such cutting clarity one would be sure he was about to speak up and tell Slick he'd best hold his tongue. He did not, however. He'd been called worse than both "smug bastard" and "creep" before, and would be called worse later on down the road. So the cutting edge faded from his eyes, dormant once again. He listened to the demands set by Slick politely and without interrupting, as if anything like that were feasible from him. It was clear his attention was focused solely on the rival gang leader's words. Simply because Doc Scratch knew what was going to be said was no reason to neglect the speaker.

"Your demands are simple." Scratch leaned back slightly, lacing his white fingers into a steeple. "They will be easily met and I promise to you I will conduct a meeting with the other Felt members as soon as possible to make these new regulations known to them. I will do my best to ensure they show your boundaries respect and obey them, at any rate. As for the rule about Diamonds Droog's hat, well..." Scratch spread his delicate palms to indicate the matter was beyond them. "They are creatures of habit, what can I say? I will strongly advise them against tampering with your colleagues' wardrobe, but they are their own people." Scratch was entirely capable of forcing Felt members not to do something, but not without hijacking their self-control and robbing them of their free will. Both were things Scratch respected in others, and was not likely to touch. Besides that, Slick's demands were easily met and Scratch found them agreeable enough, at least for ideas the infamous Spades Slick had suggested to him.

2014-07-31 05:17:36
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It only now crossed his mind that drawing deeper into the Manor might have been a good opportunity in evaluating his surroundings and charting up whatever he saw in a mental file for later. However, he'd rather be safe then sorry, and was more so thankful for a room near the entrance of the green monstrosity rather then, oh, the second floor? He certainly wouldn't have enjoyed that, rather would have probably freaked out and started either burning or stabbing things and people... That wouldn't be good for anyone. It wasn't so much being cornered like a dog as it was the paranoia that would hit him at that point. He just wasn't the type to trust people, and given his line of record? With good reason. Last time he hesitated to shoot someone, he ended up with a cigarette holder in his eye... Not the best experience, he can say that much.

Slick looked much like a child who wandered upon the hiding spot of his Christmas presents a day too early at the sharp look Doc shot his way. The glance itself was testing, as if the taller was standing on his last nerve and testing it like that of a trampoline. It caused a very smug and very entertained grin to curl on his lips, even after the subtle look had vanished. It was enough to let the Crew leader know that there /was/ a way to irritate the other; maybe he wasn't as doll-like as he'd presumedly though, seeing that he could indeed be coaxed into an emotion other then the relentless smug one. A sort of enlightened thought hit him then, one that went as soon as it left, and dear god it took almost all of Slick's restraint to not smirk at the thought. It was... Well, a bit out there, definitely something that would earn a reaction, however exactly which one was the question. The darkly dressed male could only assume it would be irritation or aggression; either would be a well deserved reaction to say the least.

So, he doesn't get as aggressive himself as he would have originally at the explanation that Droog's attire would still be undoubtedly tampered with. Well, Slick tried, right? He wouldn't doubt if Droog would ring him up on a coatrack for not arguing over the predicament, but then again, he didn't even know where the boss was anyway. For all his subordinates knew, Slick could be at a nearby bar getting his full of whiskey and burning bourbon. He doesn't do that often though, as tempting as it may be with his line of work. It would only numb his sense and make it easier to be jumped, so he'd rated get wasted in his own surroundings rather then in a bar and stagger alone on the streets afterward.

"Good, that's what I like t'a hear." He admitted, slightly aware that it should be alarming he hadn't nearly bitten Doc's head off at the fact his hands were tied in cutting out Clover's shenanigans, but he doesn't really give much opportunity for this to settle on as he stands up, popping a few joints in the process. "That's all the requests I fuckin' had for today... So." He starts, seemingly to idly walk as his shoes lightly scuffed against the wooden floor. In a few steps, he was easily in front of the porcelain man, narrowing his blue hue at him before leaning down enough to rest his hands on his knees, keeping a good distance between himself and the shorter however. He doesn't know why, by he has the vague scent of... What was that? Vanilla... Milkshake? It was sweet, almost intoxicatingly so, and Slick would be called a liar if he said it didn't make his mouth water slightly. He still blames that upon not eating much but scottie dogs all day. "-I'm gonna guess that's a deal." Well, at least he finally said his name (partially), albeit intruding on his space and giving quite the unsettling scowl.

Now, this wasn't particularly what he had in mind, just invading his space wasn't enough. So, he had that extra cherry upon the sundae dessert, leaning forward so a hand could rest a palm against the back of Scratch's seat, leverage really, and he abruptly leaned forward to well... Kiss him, hard, and none too shyly either, to, in plain terms, seal this confidential deal of theirs.

And maybe that's why he does it... Not because this guy was quite handsome if one overlooked his peculiar characteristics, or the fact his beating around the bush irritated Slick, but more so, for once in slick's life, he feels intimidated, threatened even, and... Likes it. It wasn't sadistic charisma Snowman held, or the death glare he'd certainly receive from Droog if he touched his suit, but instead was just the fact this man seemed to be able to put the 'dog' in his place with just mere words and not brutes. It was foreign, completely opposite to what the Crew leader was use to, and maybe that's why he allowed himself to lean forward to close the space between their lips. Just so he could earn a reaction, see if he could trigger him, just to witness if he'd be like the rest and beat the shit out of Slick. If he did earn a reaction, he'd undoubtedly cackle, knowing he'd won this 'game' and could go home satisfied.

2014-07-31 18:36:39
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Similar to Spades Slick's arrangement, none of the Felt members were aware that an enemy was under the roof, nor would they be until Doc Scratch himself chose to reveal the fact to them. By that point there was nothing they would be able to do about it anyway, besides perhaps getting angry and looking at Scratch like he were a madman. He supposed they had reason to- each of them were aware of what Spades Slick was capable of. But they also knew quite well that their white-skinned host was a nearly unrivaled force. If there was anyone capable of completely thrashing Spades Slick, or any other aggressor in the city, they knew it was Scratch. What many of them didn't understand was why he regularly confined himself to his apartments and rarely displayed the part of him that was truly fearsome. Scratch knew his place and it was not on the forefront of the Felt's firefights. If something really did require his attendance, he would make it so.

Scratch knew that, for the most part, he had no cause to fear the opposing mobster, or his cohorts. His omniscience allotted him vision of most everything to come in the future- what he could not see would later become ascertainable, either before or while it happened. While the dark patches in his vision were unsettling at times, he chose not to dwell on it. Many simpler minds regarded knowing everything as a great gift- Scratch knew better. It was more of a curse, in all honesty- if ignorance was bliss, what was unadulterated knowledge Painful, to say the least. That was why he distanced himself from most of the Felt. He hid what he knew, and for good reason. He might have been considered odd or eerie for his ways, but they were his own, and he stuck to them. Since he knew everything Slick was going to do, he had no fear and no worry, even as he stood to approach him.

Doc Scratch was rarely touched by anyone, either in a benign or malevolent manner. He seemed a bit too fragile, a bit too ethereal for sundry hands. Apparently Spades Slick did not share that opinion. But Scratch knew he had the taller man in he palm of his hand, like he did most everyone else he was in contact with. It was just a trait he bore- he was a leader, whether anyone knew he was the piper calling their tune or not. It was a trifle ironic, really; the one who had been dubbed "puppetlike" was the one pulling all the strings. But he did not force Spades Slick to rise and approach him, or to infringe on his personal space like he did. Scratch merely uncrossed his legs as the rival mobster stood, making no move to stand. His confident exterior had returned, leaving no indication of the previous and brief usurping it had undergone moments prior. He knew what Slick wanted, but all he did was watch expectantly.

He said not a word and found it hard not to brace himself as he was roughly kissed by the other; touch beyond an accidental brushing-by was alien to him, and something like this was unprecedented in its entirety. He might have known what it was like, but he'd never experienced it until now. Knowing and having firsthand experience were very different. Scratch kept his muscles from tensing as he knew that was what was expected of him. So he was sure to provide the opposite, largely to aggravate Slick. The First Guardian kissed him back with similar fervor, raising up against him briefly before breaking off. He did not relax into his seat, however, and remained hardly an inch from Slick's face.

Doc Scratch let a smirk flit across his features, as if the kiss had been an inside joke they'd plotted for a long time now. By no means was it, but he certainly was not about to pitch a fit when he knew that was what Slick desired. He'd had the impulse to throw him across the room and erase all notion of kissing him from his mind, but he'd allowed it for once. He didn't want to face why that was, so he focused elsewhere.

"I must extend to you my sincere thanks for an interesting and productive meeting." Scratch murmured, the steady stream of silver in his voice reduced to a trickle. "You have been a pleasant guest here, and should you find yourself in need of any other services, you are aware of where I can be found." Scratch let his eyes run down the scar over Slick's missing eye. "Would you prefer I escort you to the door?"

2014-08-01 04:47:29
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The tension, sound of cursing, maybe even a kick between the legs, this is the reactions Slick expected. These were also the reactions he certainly did not receive. Instead, he came to realize he was being kissed back, the kiss just as hard and was even pushed against slightly. He doesn't even realize it, but his eye opened, wide for that matter, and a sound close to a growl had emitted defensively from his chest. Surprise and fury couldn't even scratch the surface of Slick's current emotions, his face a twisted mix of both as he stared in first bafflement, then slowly, gradually, the look hardened. His fangs gritted hard against one another cold hue narrowing as the pupil dilated to a small dot. He doesn't think he's ever been so infuriated, even when he'd lost his arm, or his eye, he'd at least been able to curse and send a few choice insults Snowman's way. Here, now though, he was at a loss, the hand at the back of Doc's chair flex and digging blunt nails deep into the fabric, surely tearing it with his sudden aggressive antic. He can't speak, even as he racks his brain for a response, and the suffocating scent of vanilla coming from the other was auffocating him unpleasantly now, not to mention that smirk. That amused, smug ass smirk that curled upon Doc's lips, it was the topper of all desserts.

He doesn't stop to think that the other had actually yearned to obliterate him, hit him so hard he hit the opposing wall and would erase his memory of ever acting upon such actions again, and nothing gives a hint for him to think of these things. No, he honestly thinks the shorter couldn't give less of an interest in his actions, and turned Slick's own actions against him to make him look much like a fool. An ignorant, oblivious, fool. He should have known something was up by the way the other hadn't even shifted away from him, besides the rearranging of his legs, and didn't even pull away when the darkly dressed male got up close and personal. In fact, he was still within breathing distance, his voice lacking it's former immense suaveness, and dissipated to that of a whisper, but that goes unnoticed by Slick. In all reality, the taller probably wouldn't have noticed if he was socked in the jaw right now, his mind reeling over and trying to digest the fact his plan hadn't worked.

That was new. All his plans worked. All of them. From the large, obvious outcomes and floor plans, to the small trinkets and timings, every single detail he'd observe and add into his mind like a safe, locking it up for future use. But, here, either he hadn't out much effort into studying the other, maybe he overlooked something, or even he had simply just... Fucked up. He can't even muster the thought of messing up a plan, or a route, but here he was, face to face with one (quite literally) and it was giving him the look like he'd come upon a million bucks. It disgusted Slick, not that he really had a problem with gender preferences, he'd swung either way when in the mood, but the fact Doc was aware he'd won, that he'd danced around Slick and pulled at his strings was... Revolting, to say the least.

He doesn't speak as his mouth twitches into a snarl, the growl in his chest saying all of it for him as he pushed away from the shorter, and almost kicked over the coffee table in his wake. He'd merely stomped last it though, swift and agitated, one would even say the air around him was oddly hot, and one would be right. He didn't need the smug bastard guiding guiding him to the door, he'd memorized where it was, locked it into his vault of a mind, and tread down the hall like hell itself. His claws reached out of his pocket, mechanical digits reaching out and dragging deeply into the wood of the halls as purple flames lapped at the wood hungrily from his fingertips. It seemed the closer he drew to the door, the darker the flames grew, engulfing his whole arm as scorch marks and purple fire ate and lapped at whatever he dragged his claws through. His breathing was close to an pant, from frustration or the energy it was taking to control his shadow magic, he wasn't entirely sure.

What he was positive about was the fact that if a Felt member did indeed try to cross his path right now, maybe even Snowman, he'd light them up in flames without a moments hesitation. He doesn't know how far he'd be able to get before either the fire ran him into the ground with an empty tank of energy, or if more Felt members overwhelmed him, however that thought was at the back of his mind as he takes a few turns, knocks over a few frames, and singes parts of the green hall, black. It felt good to let out his aggression, even as his fangs continued to grit, and his hand burned the metal of the doorknob to leave black prints into it. His flames had calmed enough to a few licks at his fingertips by the time he's walking down the pavement to the front door though, and he decides to go to a bar as he'd originally planned in the end.

2014-08-01 06:24:20
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It would have been overkill to say that Doc Scratch expected Spades Slick to storm out in a decent fit. He expected it, he facilitated it, and he had witnessed it firsthand. He remained seated as Slick moved back from him and snarled and spat, watching him as placidly as one would regard slow-moving traffic from an office window. Nobody was to be injured in Slick's little fit- except perhaps himself if he weren't careful. Doc Scratch dearly did not want him to pass out on the front lawn. That would have been a horrible end to his temper tantrum.

Scratch chuckled then, to himself alone now that Slick was gone. /Temper/ tantrum, and he was capable of generating flames and heat. High temperatures. He found himself to be very amusing at times.

But as Doc Scratch stood and observed the mild carnage Spades Slick had wrought, he did not feel amused. Only vaguely triumphant, and something else. As green and gold sparks danced about, repairing the damaged armrest and back of the chair, racing down the hall to erase scorch marks via Scratch's omnipotence, the First Guardian found his heart beating emphatically. Most of the time he was only vaguely aware of its presence, not really paying it any mind, but now, now it thudded in his ears as if he'd just gotten a scare. Which was impossible- nothing had scared him. Slick wasn't that bad at kissing, as to frighten him. He knew why this was happening, and it unsettled him on some level. But he did not choose to face it, not yet. That time would come later. Now he focused on ensuring the parlor and halls were as they had been before Slick happened to them.

Doc Scratch's powers were not tangible like Slick's flames or heat were; it was more akin to electricity, and was received as such, with hair standing on end and the taste of ozone in the air when used in copious amounts. But for smaller things, it was more like sparks with green and gold tints to them. All this energy was provided by the Green Sun, which did the same for every First Guardian in existence. It was due to this Scratch was immortal as well- he did not require nutritional sustenance in order to survive, and could go many months at a time without eating if he chose to do so. It was the reason he had that infallible air about him, and it certainly was not about to cease.

Scratch took on a very composed, serious look after closing the front door of Felt Manor. Slick, in his rage and urgency to exit the green mansion, had neglected to close it. Scratch would not grudge him this; it was understandable he'd want to flee. Scratch crossed his arms behind his back and turned, heading up the middle staircase and down a hall to the left. He walked slowly, strolled really, verdant eyes on the deep green carpet, looking for something which wasn't there. He'd accomplished what was intended and come out on top of their meeting, but something sat wrong with him. He knew what had caused it, but that did nothing to take the sense of frustration from him. He would not let how the events had affected him show, however; when he conducted the meeting of Felt members later that evening, he would be sure to keep a stoic front.

2014-08-01 20:18:22
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'Frustrated' didn't particularly cover what the taller was feeling at the moment. It was a mix of irritation, disappointment in his efforts coming out fruitless, and something that couldn't be labeled regret, but he lacked a better word for it and labeled it as such. He'd calmed down as he strode down the sidewalk however, opening his car door and slipping into the vehicle with a grunt and huff. He'd taken off his hat and tossed it into the passenger seat, then leaned forward and pressed his forehead against his steering wheel with an exhausted and long groan. His hands were trembling by this point, from both the aftermath of being so pissed and from the come down of his flames. He really needed to learn how to control himself better, but at least he hadn't set the entire Manor up in flames, as tempting as that idea was, he'd reframed since he still had subtle respect for the Doc. Even if he was a frustrating an smug bastard in Slick's opinion, he had an air about him that beckoned to be respected, and Slick /hated/ it. He hated and liked it at the same time, and banged his head on his steering so hard it honked, bringing him out of his thoughts with a subtle jump and quick glance up.

At that moment, he caught Doc shutting the door, and raised a raven brow at the slight... Well, he didn't know what to call it really, on the other's expression. It looked almost annoyed, or perplexed, like he was lost, as how subtle that was, Slick managed to see that much on the porcelain face before the green door blocked him from sight. The Crew member say in his car for a bit at that, not noticing his hands tightening on the steering wheel until the leather creaked in distress. Quickly, he relaxed his palms, contemplating his own thoughts before shaking his head, grumbling vulgar profanities, and cut the Cadillac on with a twist of a key into its engine. He really shouldn't be so worked up, over what exactly, he doesn't even know anymore.

At first, he thought he was quite infuriated over his own failed attempts to earn a rash action or string of insults from the peculiar male, however his own outburst had efficiently toned down such disappointment and self aggravation that he's left with... Pity? He's not too sure whether it's in himself or not, but he doesn't think too hard on it as he backs up the car a bit, turns the wheel sharply, and is out of the parking space against the curb in a few seconds. He'll admit he's a bit confused with himself, knowing the move he did would rise questions and false assumptions, however if he were asked why he took that sort of step instead of merely flipping over a table or setting half the Manor on fire, he wouldn't be able to give a straight answer. It was an impulse, something he was use to going off I and using. He was use to acting before thinking, and surprisingly that was the first action that came to mind, regardless of how it ended up. He knew he'd beat himself up over this in a bit, whether because it failed or it was just overall a pathetic move, he doesn't really care. He feels like socking something, beating up something beautiful and watching it whither and die. That would be a grand way to end his night, however that's not what he does as he drives down the road, thoughts rattled and confused.

The Cadillac pulls up to a nearby bar, where Slick just hops out and locks his doors, still contemplating his own emotions and organizing them into categories that would be better to understand. He stores these thoughts for later, to study over and wrap his head around why the hell he was so confused with himself. It doesn't take long to get a seat at the bar, get a few drinks down his throat, and eventually forget the whole ordeal. Of course, he's only there over a couple hours or so before the radio in his pocket is going off, Boxcar's voice booming through the speaker and asking where Slick was and what the hell was taking so long. Slick couldn't even respond coherently, slurring out a bunch of nonsense before Hearts realized the boss was drunk and asked what bar he was at. To this, Slick doesn't respond to, just scoffs and stands up from the bar, paying for the elixir he downed, and stumbled about a bit to file through the bustling of people and drunkards alike, before getting to the exit of the place and almost collapsed onto the good of his car. Admittedly, Slick was a very enthusiastic, if a bit happy, drunk. He'd often offer people dances when in this state, and was in all honesty a good dancer. He had to be when going undercover, having learned most from Droog actually, and knew proper etiquette, he just never saw any real reason to use such characteristics unless it was absolutely necessary. He liked to be seen as the careless, drunk, predictable Crew leader. It have him an opportunity to prove his enemies wrong, though that was a rare outcome, it was a full possibility if wanted by him.

Carefully, he gets into his car, having drive with a few beers in his system many times before, and pulled out the parking spot to go back to the hideout, probably argue with Droog over where he had been all day, then crash out on his bed to wake up to a lovely hangover.

2014-08-01 20:59:44
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Doc Scratch held the meeting later in the evening, once everyone had returned from their various forays. He knew they wouldn't be thrilled with the new boundaries he had for them, well a lot of them anyway, and he wasn't wrong. Thankfully some of them didn't mind in the least. He managed to supply valid reasons for having wanted these changes without mentioning Spades Slick's suggestion of them, and without saying explicitly that they were his original ideas. Nobody had to know either way, and none of them expected either way. By the end of it some were grumbling quietly but all were in accord with the new ordinances he'd proposed. Just as well, Doc Scratch was a very convincing man when he had to be. And when he didn't; it was just a skill he had, and employed often.

Every now and then his mind would wander to thoughts of Spades Slick; well, they weren't thoughts exactly, more like brief glances into his activity. Apparently the other mobster had chosen to forget their encounter through alcohol, something the other would have discouraged. Scratch was incapable of becoming intoxicated, at any rate; alcohol registered in his system as a toxin, and so its properties were negated. He disliked it anyway; the smell was too strong for him, and the taste was unappealing. He wanted to set a good example for the others, as it were. He did his best. He felt a bit disheartened by the fact Slick had gone drinking, though he shouldn't have. It was Slick's decision, Scratch had had no hand in making him do it, it was merely his guilty conscience at work again.

The First Guardian's nights were largely spent in solitude, unless someone cared to make the trek up to his apartments to visit him, or he had gone to them. Usually he did various forms of paperwork, jobs too paltry and dull for the other Felt members. He did them almost mechanically; often he would work and his mind would be elsewhere entirely, or simply thoughtless and letting things run their course. His omniscience was something like a loud radio or television in the back of his mind that he could do nothing to turn off; it was constantly playing and it was all he could do to tune it out by focusing on other things. This made sleep a nearly fruitless endeavor, with the constant stream of information and happenings that flowed through his head. Even so, he did not need sleep. It was optional, much like eating. Scratch preferred not to think on this, really, because the more he did the less and less human he felt.

2014-08-02 02:57:03
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Slick had easily driven home, though he was a bit hazy in the process, he was safe and secure by the time he got to the hideout. Of course, by the time he got there, parking the car a block or two away so if he was trailed, or if his license plate was jotted down, the hideout would still be a little ways away from it, the rest of the Crew was there. Droog had been cooking the meal for the night, Boxcar had been stuffing groceries into the fridge, and Deuce had been sitting at the kitchen table, enjoying a bowl of ice cream. Probably prepared by Droog since the smallest would have eaten the dessert straight from the container if given the chance. Slick almost stumbled down the ladder, but caught his balance at the last second and reframed from collapsing on the floor, chuckling. His mind was fuzzy, delightfully, and though getting drunk was an almost every other night thing (mainly because he couldn't drown his demons since they knew how to swim), the Crew was a bit upset to see the boss roaring drunk.

He rested against the island cabinet, grinning and chuckling lightly as Droog pointed the knife h was using directly at the boss, face stern and threatening. Slick knew he was in for it at that point, still chuckling, but after half an hour or so, Droog had gotten his mind out of his mouth and Slick only got out of his wrath with a small bruise to his temple. The subordinate had used it to 'knock some sense into him', then told him to go to bed. Slick had grumbled and cursed, rubbing the side of his head and reluctantly stumbled off to his room. Droog told him he'd make the boss breakfast in the morning, if he wasn't acting like a dick by then from his hangover, and continued to finish up dinner.

Slick slammed his door shut like a three-year-old, cursing vulgar profanities and throwing both his hat and blazer on the ground of his room, other articles of clothing littered about along with hazardous knives and other numerous sharp objects that he didn't pay attention to. It should be a bit shocking he didn't hurt himself in stumbling to his bed,

2014-08-02 04:16:34
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*bed, only collapsing once his button up was undone and tossed aside. He didn't usually fall asleep with his slacks on, more so just his boxers, but he was too exhausted and hammered to pay much attention and fell asleep with his face smothered into his pillow.

2014-08-02 04:17:41
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Among the other night owls in the Felt's roster were Clover, who had a penchant for sneaking out to get into all sorts of mischief when unaccompanied, Snowman, who was given to some forms of prowling at night, or otherwise would sit in Scratch's apartment and smoke until he told her to put it out, when she would begin asking the (occasionally prying) questions their discussions usually branched off from. Stitch was prone to working late into the night, unless Scratch himself was down there and urged him into turning in. It really was the pot calling the kettle black- oftentimes Scratch never even laid down for the night. But they didn't have to know that.

There were a lot of misconceptions about Doc Scratch within the Felt's ranks; they were all well aware of his omniscience and omnipotence, but only Snowman knew what a First Guardian really was, beyond a very powerful being. Most of them thought he was an alien. They weren't very far off. The truth was often stranger than fiction, as it were. He could only begin to imagine what exaggerated rumors the Midnight Crew had heard. Well, that wasn't true- he knew exactly what they'd heard. Now that Slick had seen him firsthand, however, perhaps he'd do something to set those to rights. If they were going to hate him, it might as well be for the right reasons, not some exaggerated lie.

That night, no one came to call on Doc Scratch. It wasn't that he preferred to be alone, but some just assumed that was the fact. That someone powerful as he was had no time for people who, well, weren't. It was another misconception, one he was working against gradually. As night lapsed slowly into morning, Scratch himself showed no notice of the passage. When the dawn came, his vibrant green eyes were still open and showed no fatigue, only emerald folded into itself, waiting for the day to begin again.

2014-08-02 05:24:11
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When morning came, Slick was only awakened by the sound of car horns honking and the cursing of Droog from the living room. The boss groaned loudly, smothering his face deeper into his pillow and allowing his claws to sink into the fabric of his sheets. The longer he tried to fall back asleep, the louder the shouting got. Soon, it was accompanied by Boxcars yelling back at Droog, something about eating his hat or some shit along those lines? The Crew leader had no idea, and soon found it dangerous to be in the hideout as he heard something like the kool-aid man bursting through concrete walls. His blue eye opens, pupil dilated to a partial dot as a low, exhausted groan escapes him.

He didn't want to get up, nor did he think he should as his hands shift along the bed, and he forces himself to sit up... Or, more so, curve his back in a position where he's staring down at the mattress, arms propped up to hold up his torso. "F...-uck..." He hissed under his breath, smelling alcohol and hair gel from himself. It doesn't take long for him to register he looks like a mess, a solid purple bruise at his temple and throbbing loudly, his hair was a mess with the hair gel having a few locks stand up awkwardly. He soon decides to take a quick shower, cold, so he'd wake up a bit, but doing just that seemed like rocket science. His hands kept fumbling with the shower nozzle in the bathroom connected to his room, and halfway through the how're he realized he still had his pants on. With a curse, he got those off, finished up his shower, got rid of the bitter aftertaste of alcohol in his mouth with a quick brush, and lazily slid on a new outfit. It was his usual, however the black button up was only halfway buttoned, his blazer was the one from yesterday and was a bit wrinkled, but he had another pair of slacks to match so he supposed it was okay. Only thing that wasn't black was his white belt, and soon he had his socks on and shoes, planning to avoid the wrath in the living room, yet coming face-to-face with it instead.

Apparently Droog had his hat missing, once again, and though he was quite pissed about this, he had daggers at Slick when the shorter male appeared from his room, eyes scrunched and his nose crinkled with a scowl on his face. He was really trying to fight the throbbing in his cranium, rubbing the temple that wasn't bruised to sooth it a bit. "Boss, where were you yesterday?" Came Droog's stone cold question, and Slick only glanced at him through a partially open eye before grunting. "None'ya business." He snaps, growling before moving about, not stumbling, but sure as hell swaying in his movement.

Apparently Droog had waited to ask Slick about where'd he'd been last night, but he didn't want to overwhelm the boss when he was drunk. As if being on a hangover was even better? The boss just shrugs him off, saying he'll explain later, however he needed to go out to go check on some shit for a future heist, or down thing along those lines he let spin from his mouth as he walked past a basketball sized hole in the wall. Well, that explains the loud noise he ears earlier. By the time he climbs out of the hatch, cursing, he just realizes he had forgotten his hat. Well, he can't necessarily be bothered with it. He wasn't going back in there to argue Droog, plus he needed to make sure Doc had followed through on his half of the promise. Not to mention Slick needed Droog's hat back, or else he'd get more then a few stern words thrown his way.

When he's in the car, almost walking right past it since he refused to open his eye, the sun starting to rise and increase the pain of his headache, he cuts the car on and waits in there for a moment, groaning and rubbing his forehead before running a hand through his now gelled locks, looking a bit more presentable then before, but still not spectacular. If vaguely crosses his mind that he shouldn't even bored with going to the Manor; Clover will eventually give Droog his hat back, and everything will be bearable. However, Slick can not deal with that sort of anger today, especially in his current condition, and makes up his mind by stepping on the gas, forcing himself to look at the road and sneers in displeasure at the glare of the sun. He had no way of contacting Doc, besides the invitation, he hadn't even known it was possible to come into can't with the Cue Ball. So, dropping in uninvited was the next best thing... Well, at least that's what his mind set assumed at its current state.

2014-08-02 06:31:11
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The hardest part had to have been getting Diamonds Droog's hat from Clover. The Felt's shortest member was a tricky one to deal with, strangely cunning beneath his mischievous and flirtatious exterior. He knew better than to give Doc Scratch any of that behavior, however; he was one of the few who could, unfailingly, answer every riddle and counter every trick he possessed. Scratch visited him early in the morning, while he was still asleep, actually, to retrieve the hat. Clover was groggy when he came to the door and less perceptive than he usually was, and much less likely to put up a fight about keeping it. It took little persuasion for him to acquire it, and hopefully Clover wouldn't remember it had happened until later on.

Doc Scratch was expecting Spades Slick to return for it, yes, but in broad daylight? While he was hungover? That was asking for trouble. It would prove to be far more of a feat to keep the Felt members from realizing he was there now, even if he merely knocked on the front door. The very thought made Scratch wince; their reactions would vary depending on who answered it, but more often than not their course of action would be along the lines of 'shoot first, ask questions later'. 'How unfortunate,' Scratch had to think. 'He goes through all the trouble of rousing himself after that long night, making himself presentable, and coming here only to receive a rather cold reception.' Cold receptions were something Scratch was not only acquainted with, but detested conducting- he would have to make Slick's the opposite.

Still, Doc Scratch was who he was. He'd be able to play this so it turned out well; for some reason he didn't want Spades Slick injured. Well, not "some reason"- the man had come here, after all, not looking for a fight, but looking to regain possession of his colleague's hat, most likely so he wouldn't be in as horrid a mood as he had been lately. Scratch would not grudge him a bit of peacemaking within his own group; he understood how incredibly detrimental tension between teammates could be to their efficiency.

Doc Scratch would let him come, and then he would do his best to keep the matter under wraps. Just as well, Scratch's best was nearly incapable of being beaten.

2014-08-02 16:25:43
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By the time Slick had his car parked in the spot from the former day, he was already rethinking his actions, contemplating if going through with this shit was at all worth the pain he was in right now. Well, the pain could be worse if he got back to the hideout, not to mention the questions that would rise once more as to where he keeps disappearing off to. Hell, how would he be able to explain where he found Droog's hat...? Slick was a master of twisting lies, so he supposed that wouldn't be a hard feat to accomplish. Maybe he could say he ran into the little fucker on the street? He'll figure it out when he crosses that bridge he supposed, getting out of the car and closing the door as gently as possible without making an abrupt noise to startle his headache. The honking of cars on the road didn't particularly help him at all, it just kept a constant throb between his temples, the bruises on beating obnoxiously.

When he's at the front door, after the fact he had opened the front green (figures) iron gate, and ignored the buzzing in his head as he walked down the sidewalk to the front of the Manor, he froze. What the hell was he suppose to do? Knock? Ring the doorbell? Did this damned monstrosity even have a door bell-nope. He narrowed his hue at the front of the door then, glaring at it as if it was a burden, which in a way it was. Maybe he could just... Walk in and snag the hat? Oh yes, astute observation Slick, walk right into a Manor full of ruthless killers with guns and knives, yes, walk right into that. His shadow magic wouldn't be able to help him much in that predicament, especially if Matchsticks was there with his fire extinguisher. Slick doesn't even have his trusty blade on him for once; he had ran out the hatch too quickly that he didn't notice. The rush of trying to satisfy his Crew mates needs were definitely above his own, and though he would swear up and down otherwise, deep down he knows that's the truth. They were basically the only ones he wasn't afraid to say what his min was thinking. Of course, he does that anyway, however with a grumpier and aggressive like behavior. At least around the Crew he was treated more so like a brother, and in turn did the same. Occasionally he's stab one of them, but more often then not, they deserves it... For whatever reason Slick has in his head about the matter.

As he starts to wander off this task he's suppose to be accomplishing, mind wandering onto lesser things, he's soon snapping back to reality when he notices he's leaning a against the doorframe, staring at the floor and groaning lightly whilst his hand that wasn't pressed to the doorframe was rubbing his unharmed temple. "Fuck." He cursed under his breath, leaning forward onto the door with his forehead and relaxing. Only when the door would open would Slick almost hazardously collapse on whoever it was standing there, partially biting his tongue in trying to catch his balance and end up coming within an inch of the opponents face. Both embarrassment and rage at being caught off guard will bubble in his blood, claws lightly digging into the wood frame as a blue hue dilated to the close proximity.

2014-08-02 17:16:59