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The cigarette he had been smoking was now down to the filter, and the kitchen had a hefty amount of nicotine and ash wafting about the air. It was a mystery as to how he never set any of the rooms on fire, or flicked a cigarette butt away at a trash can and missed, causing a horrendous turn of events in the hideout. In fact, he seemed more careful with the cancer sticks, as if handling them with any less care then he did now would certainly sign his fate. Well, he didn't constantly play with fire, even when he was a child. Maybe that was what made him relict it so much, because in a way, the flames: red, yellow, orange, blue, white, or his signature purple; were a part of him. He couldn't necessarily bend any flame to his own will, but whatever fire he could warp, he took great caution with it. Of course, there were times where he could be found getting a bit carried away with the power and would end up scalding a few things, or people even, in his actions, however the worst he has ever accomplished was when he had gone terminator mode with the cursed golden ring and set the city ablaze. With Scratch, his ability was intertwined with that of electricity. His capability was natural, or as natural as an immortal could be really. Slick's capabilities, however, came up by some unfortunate falling of events. Originally, he couldn't warp, touch, or even conjure up any sort of flames, let alone create such an abnormal color for them. It was only when he had started messing around with the supernatural and things along voodoo, did he come upon the manipulation of fire.
At first, he kept it a secret, much like everything else he was currently keeping close to his own knowledge. But, eventually, Droog and the rest of the Crew members became aware of his ability. He didn't often use it in heists, unless necessary, and even then Deuce covered any and all evidence of the scorch marks by setting off a bomb or another explosive. If the law enforcement saw any sort of peculiar burns, that was sure to raise some brows as well as some questions. It was a bit contradicting, really, since Slick was very open about using his ability when confronted with the Felt leader, but halted any sort of destruction via flame almost as soon as he came outdoors. He couldn't risk being seen doing such a thing, and he supposed his original purpose for nearly sending the Manor's halls aflame was because he was enraged, annoyed, and not thinking too clearly. Maybe he also saw it as a way to intimidate someone, however that didn't seem to go too well for him since he's seen what Doc Scratch was capable of doing. Not to mention the fact he could heal basically after every single scratch Slick would be able to land on him, not that he would however. He had little interest in the Felt as of late, but he knew lacking such wanting to ruin the opposing rivals would surely seal his fate, so he had to pretend. Lying surely helped the situation, to an extent, and now he would have to come up with a rather cunning lie sooner then later to get the Midnight Crew off of his back when he started dressing up nicer then usual and was leaving the hideout. He didn't particularly know how to dress himself too properly, other then what he's observed from Droog, but he's sure there should be more then just slapping on a tie. What did people wear to balls anyway? Just a suit, right? Well, he's seen his taller subordinate dress a bit spiffier before leaving for that sort of outing, and Slick would surely be a deadman if he touched a single fiber of Droog's clothing without question. That man may have some issues with people and touching... It would explain how he snaps so often at Slick since the Crew leader was one of the few that actually got quite close to him.
Speaking of the devil, as the mobster starts leaning back in the chair adjacent to the kitchen table, he hears the soft creak of one of the four doors with suit markings opening up. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out who it was; Deuce usually stumbled over the coffee table in the living room, hitting his knee of the edge of it before cursing and collapsing on the couch to nap for another hour or so. Boxcars usually gave a rather loud and obnoxious yawn, his heavy footfalls could be heard well from the kitchen, and he'd end up going directly to the fridge for something to drink, alcoholic beverage or not. But, instead of the other two, it was a very quiet sound, lie that of a cat clinking through the shadows of the hideout before appearing at the mouth of the entrance to the kitchen. Droog stood there in what seems to be a suit made up to be pajamas, silk woven fabric from what Slick can tell from where he sits. The other looks shitty, as if he hasn't slept well in the last few days, and hell, he couldn't blame anyone for lacking in catching enough hours of sleep since its been a bit hectic for the Crew for the past week or so.
"Well, hello sleep in' beauty. Decided t'a grace this mornin' with your appearance?" He questioned snidely, smirking with fangs evident. Slick was a bit exhausted himself, however he couldn't find himself falling asleep now since it seemed everyone would be getting up soon, not to mention Deuce may try to put more firecrackers in his bed to help wake him up (more like piss him off). The other merely gave a grunt, eyes scrunched closed as he seemed incoherent with what was going on. Obviously, he must have just woken up, and was setting the coffee marine to roast so he could have something to drink after he readied himself for the day. Slick watched carefully as his subordinate wandered over to the machine and mechanically set to work, as if it were programmed in himself to do such a task. From as much as Spades could tell, Droog could very well still be pissed at him, however in his grogginess, he was unaware of the fact he should be scolding the boss for how early he was awake, and for him storming off mid-argument the former day.
2014-10-23 11:05:05 -
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As for the concealment of special abilities and powers, well... Doc Scratch didn't have enough exposure for that to matter to anyone. No one had seen him, no one knew. The Felt members were a different matter, however. Scratch had no policy at all on keeping them under wraps, and merely trusted them to be responsible with them. This was effective to varying degrees. Itchy used his unnatural speed for recreational purposes every now and then, much to the annoyance of others, and Doze's were his bane every now and then. Trace and Fin enjoyed snooping through the use of trails, as well as utilizing them to antagonize others when they were bored enough. Clover's were vexing for all parties involved save the man himself; even Scratch found them to be annoyingly persistent. Clover used them as a free pass to get into trouble, however, which Scratch would not condone. Matchsticks was the most responsible, easily, always using his own abilities to the aid of the group overall. He was helpful, yes, but let himself be walked over. His compassion was a bit of a pitfall in some cases, and Scratch sometimes thought that if Spades Slick himself were unconscious in a burning building, the man would go back in to pull him out. The notion was vaguely amusing to him, but that was the way Matchsticks was. Scratch had to admire the diversity in the group; why, a few of them no one would suspect ill of at all. Itchy and Doze just looked to be average young men, and Eggs and Biscuits too childlike to be threatening. Scratch himself resembled no godfather; he could only imagine (and chuckle at) whatever Spades Slick and the rest of his crew had envisioned him to look like. Certainly not so very small, Scratch thought. Usually Scratch cared little for his physical stature, and enjoyed the fact it helped him deceive enemies without even speaking, but when people started asking him how the weather was down there, he began to get a little, well, short with them.
Doc Scratch was not half so anxious about attending the ball as Spades Slick was, largely because he knew exactly what he was going to wear to it. He didn't need to go to anyone for advice when dressing himself, but he did need to go to someone to get the suit. This wasn't an outfit he'd just keep in his closet, oh no, this had a special place. It was kept in a garment bag in the same room Stitch kept Lord English's cairo overcoat. He had the bearing of a man on business as he strode down many hallways and sets of stairs before reaching the other man's workshop, stepping down onto the wood floor. Stitch looked up as he entered, offering a simple hello.
"I'm here to pick up a suit." Doc Scratch said, straightening the cuffs on the jacket he currently wore.
"Are you now?" Stitch didn't even stand as Scratch went by him, into one of the two back rooms. The larger was almost like a fitting room, and the smaller Stitch's bedroom. In the front of the former, a three-panel mirror was set up, and on a stand before it was a large green coat with multicolored fringe. There were no visible tears in the lining, which was always a welcome sight.
"No, not really." Scratch called back. "I'm here to sabotage the fabric of time."
"Okay." Came his reply, without even missing a beat. Stitch usually kept the coat far from anyone else's hands, and no one was quite willing to cross him. Most of them were a bit scared of accidentally damaging, well, time, but some (Scratch wasn't going to name names) did it inadvertently. Stitch always repaired it, however. Scratch was thankful for his diligence. It wasn't long before the tailor stepped into the room as well, watching as Scratch thumbed through garment bags on a rack, then opened one to peer into its contents. Scratch examined the suit within, a satisfactory, almost triumphant gleam in his eye. Yes, it would suffice very well. It had been a while since Scratch had worn one of his other suits- too long, if he were to be asked.
"What're you pullin' that out for?" Stitch asked, standing adjacent to Scratch.
"Why, I'm going to wear it, of course." Doc Scratch replied, sounding innocently distracted.
"Where to?"
Scratch paused a beat, half turning to look over his shoulder at the taller man. "To an establishment which advises the patrons be dressed according to a rather high standard." He said, with a bit more edge to his voice. "And I feel that my regular attire, while undoubtedly up to par in that regard, is a bit too mundane for such an instance. When you constantly dress to the best of your ability, the bar is raised a bit higher simply by the fact you are often seen in what is considered more formal attire. Thus, I will take out a different style of suit in order to change things up a bit."
Stitch was no fool, and knew when he was being advised not to pry. He was curious, though, as to where Scratch was going. Perhaps more importantly, he wanted to know /who/ the porcelain man wanted to look good for. It was partially his conscience that made him suspect Scratch was meeting someone, but there were other hints- what he'd said about being seen often in the same suit, and the fact Scratch never, /never/ left the Manor. It could be business, and Stitch wished to write it off as that- Scratch was the sort to make an appointment with another at somewhere classy. The tailor knew his habits more than most anyone, and while Scratch did have a few strange quirks, he wasn't completely unreadable. Stitch knew enough to be aware that
Scratch didn't tell everyone everything. He hated to suspect him of anything, really; so he didn't. He put the other's clipped tone far from his mind and resolved to simply... Hope for the best on his end, and believe that whatever Scratch did, it was for the good and gain of the Felt overall.
2014-10-25 04:34:21 -
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Slick, basically, watched Droog like an ever observant scientist watches his latest experiment, preparing himself internally for the bubbles of anger to appear, the snap and pop of bared teeth and tense muscles, maybe even the sudden drop of temperature in the room as those cloudy grey eyes would settle upon him in a manner that would certainly give even death the chills. However, the awaited moment was reluctant to come, and as Droog mechanically filled the filter with coffee grounds, Slick found himself slowly, but surely, relaxing in his seat. He even went as far as to shift where he sat, bringing his legs up to cross his ankles on the surface of the coffee table, black shoes giving off soft glints of the sorry excuse for light he kitchen bulbs provided. His cigarette was gone by this point, crushed against one of the many ashtrays of the hideout, said glass sitting upon the table as well with soft curls of smoke drifting from it.
When Droog finished filling the filter, he closed the top, tossing the measuring spoon into the sink and yawning quietly as the leader of the Crew finally snorted, smirking slightly so a fang was exposed from his upper lip and his expression lax into an almost smug appearance. He knows the other was close to snapping out of his groggy stupor, however Slick decided not to get up and walk away, nor did he move to irritate the taller subordinate any further.
Instead, he merely waited, icy hue narrowed slightly as the other finally walked away from the coffee machine and made his way to the opening of the kitchen, but paused mid-step before he could fully leave. A sudden look of what seemed to be confusion twisted his features, almost painfully, and he glances at his boss with a look that is now perplexed and almost baffled.
"... You. You owe me an explanation."
Spades scoffed, raising a raven brow and crossing his arms over his chest. "Oh, I do? And what the fuck for? Ya pissed me off, 'course I'mma walk off. Watcha want me t'a do, stand there like an idiot-"
"No, not the argument you moron. Listen to me carefully, boss, for you have the tendency to have cotton stuffed into your ears." Though Droog was still recovering from the lack of a well rested night, he seemed stern and a bit tense. It didn't seem that he would be lashing out anytime soon, though. "I'd like an explanation as to where you were last night." He finally let out, calm and stiff.
Well, that was a question Slick wasn't particularly expecting, and his sudden silence expressed as much before he finally gathered up whatever wit he had and snarled slightly.
"Where the hell do ya get the nerve to ask that sorta question? What does it matter where I was?"
"You're dodging the matter."
"I ain't dodging shit!" The shorter of the two snapped in his usual shirt-tempered manner, arms uncrossing themselves as he sits straight up in his seat, legs sliding off of the table. He didn't understand how Droog had known he was gone; he'd made sure Diamonds and the rest of the Crew had been in bed before leaving. Was he not quiet enough? Did the hatch's usual squeak accidentally waken the stone cold subordinate from his usually light slumber? For the current moment, he had no clue, however Droog seemed very determined to yank out whatever information his boss had, by willingness or force, it didn't appear to matter.
"You aren't? So, explain to me why you were absent from your quarters last night."
"The hell were ya doin' in my room?"
Droog freezes at that, blinking once, then waves him off. "I came to give what was to be an apology for my irrational matter about earlier; I had difficulty sleeping that night since I didn't necessarily want bad blood between us that wasn't worth the fight." He gave a straight answer, seeming a bit reluctant, but it came nonetheless. It took Slick a moment to let it sink in, and once it did, he felt an overwhelming sense to be both perplexed and irritated, but let neither emotions surface, only because he was more preoccupied with being stubborn. He wished to know why Droog was so curious, and how it mattered.
"I'll ask again, Slick. Where were you? I know you've left a few times during the night prior, and it's always the same response with you, 'I went out drinking'. But, you see, I went to the bar last night and... you weren't there. Now, I know what you're thinking, I could have simply overlooked, but the barkeeper even remarked that he hadn't seen you for, mh, weeks actually. He owns the only bar that's still up ever since you went off and slaughtered half the population roaming about Midnight City. All in one day, too, which is outstanding for someone like you."
"The hell ya mean 'like you'? Whatcha tryin'a say?" Slick growled out, feeling like here was some sort of insult hidden amongst the other's word choice.
Droog sighed. "What I'm trying to get through that thick skull of yours is that, well, your uncontrollable. Not just with that ring that had potentially corrupted you worse then the voodoo you so insistently played with when we were younger. You do what you wish, say the things that pop into that dense mind of yours before rationally thinking of what is to come next." Droog slowly made his way over to the kitchen table, still tense and a bit indifferent about his features, but doesn't take a seat. "-And I'm afraid that one day, you'll be your own end. You will seal your own fate because of your ignorance; whether that is by making the wrong deal, trusting the wrong person, or making a mistake that shouldn't have been made, I can't tell."
Slick listened intently, watching Droog closely to see if he would suddenly snap at him, yet he still seems rationally sane.
"... I watch myself, you watch yourself. Ya don't worry 'bout me, I do that. I look out for the rest of the Crew, make sure y'all don't fuck up, so don't /tell/ me the shit that I could possibly mess up. I'm aware of the stakes, I'm aware of what will happen; I ain't as moronic as ya like t'a think I am." He stated firmly and tensely, gaze hardened by the sudden twist of events, however he isn't particularly pissed. More so, he's being defensive, attempting to hide what he knows is potentially significant to their gang. Droog stays silent for a long moment, watching the shorter man and taking in every tense muscle and the fact his mechanical claws had so casually started it's all too evident tick; the soft click of metal talons against the iron of his palm sounded softly from him, the noise like that of the ticking of a clock, or much like a timer on a bomb before it finally explodes.
Before the taller answers, he inhales deeply, shoulders shifting with the breath, then looks away and turns hon his heels slowly, making his way out of the kitchen with a surprisingly calm step.
"Whatever you do, Slick, for your own sake, mine, the Crews, and anybody else's, do it for a decent reason." With that, Diamonds disappeared into the living room, then the soft sound of his door clicking close could be heard by one's keen ear as he got ready for the day.
2014-11-01 22:09:31 -
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Doc Scratch let the garment bag fold over his arm and bid Stitch a rather curt farewell before leaving the room. He didn't mind to walk everywhere, really, though most would consider teleporting much easier. Scratch thought it a bit lazy, in his humble opinion, and he was in no immediate rush. He took his time, one arm carrying the suit in its bag, and his free hand in his pocket. He passed next to no one, save Die, whose gray eyes followed him, and did little to conceal their scorn. Die, thin and fleeting as a shadow, had little affection (or anything resembling amiability, really) for Scratch; he did not like him, did not trust him, and disliked even the sight of him. To further the matter, he was entirely open about his animosity, and hardly even acted civil about it, slipping in snide comments whenever he liked. Die was like this with most people. No one really despised him, but Scratch thought he assumed they did. He was a bit more lax with the Felt's members, holding his tongue and remaining taciturn with them, but with Scratch he enjoyed a more open sort of hatred. Scratch usually did not return the treatment in kind, but at times certain nerves were touched on and Scratch had to silence him with a cold reply. Fortunately, Die stayed out of most, if not all, of Scratch's business. In fact, he did not actively bother any of the Felt members; Die largely remained on his own, either in the library or his own room, which no one dared to go near. Die had strange habits and interests, which were wildly speculated on. Scratch knew most were a gross exaggeration, but did not care to dispel them. He had little concern whether or not Die practiced his voodoo within the confines of the Manor, but he would be keen to make sure nothing got out of hand.
And Die, with his pins and precious doll, was more clued in to the various timelines around them; he knew more than most about the various temporal paths, and usually used this for his own ends whenever he desired. One of these ends was gloating over dead bodies. This was highly apposed to another who was well versed in timelines, Sawbuck, who would occasionally panic when found in an entirely different setting that had occurred long before or even after his own time. Doc Scratch usually helped him to return to his original timeline- the alternative was Sawbuck repeatedly harming himself until he found himself in the proper place again, which was not only time consuming, but dangerous as well. Scratch would not be so courteous if this were ever the case with Die; if he insisted on being so crass about basically everything, Scratch would wait a while before retrieving him. And then probably lord it over him for a suitable amount of time. Scratch was usually very mature. Usually. When it suited him. Surely, he was not one to pick fights or argue purposelessly, but Scratch was very capable of being petty. He disliked it, and tried to keep it to a minimum, but exceptions to cases did exist. However, Doc Scratch passed the other Felt member this time with nothing being said or even really communicated. He preferred it that way, honestly. Staying out of each other's business would prove to be mutually beneficial, and he was sure the other man would agree.
Scratch found his way to his own apartments with no mishaps and hung the garment bag up before taking to his desk. The ring had not moved at all since being hidden away, and its presence still vaguely irritated Scratch, like a smudge on the corner of one's glasses would. The rest of its effects, however, were gone; it seemed all Scratch needed was a few solid surfaces between the item and his person, and for that he was gratuitously thankful.
The existence of an item that could affect him in such a drastic way unsettled Doc Scratch. It went without saying that he wasn't used to being even close to threatened. It wasn't the form Spades Slick had taken when wearing it that challenged him, either. It was the cursed ring itself. Scratch disliked every aspect of it. It put him on edge, but he didn't know why- and they made it all the more worse. He wasn't used to not knowing things, either, and the missing figure in this equation was too large, too conspicuous to be innocent. It wasn't just another veil over something far-off and meaningless; it was a blip in the radar that made him paranoid. Scratch really and truly loathed the feeling of not knowing something; he wondered how those without omniscience even managed. But he had to bear in mind that, once someone had experienced being in possession of as much knowledge as he had, everything else would seem lackluster by comparison. But they hadn't, so they were not familiar with the bittersweet gift Scratch had. The same was true with power, he supposed; it was something that, once you had a bit of, you would want more. Those who were especially greedy would find themselves consumed in a desire for it. Money and power had a terrifyingly strong allure to them, and Scratch could only be relieved he was not the sort who was greedy or ambitious; he'd had his place handed to him, whether he liked it or not, and never went above nor beneath his own station. One wouldn't immediately assume Scratch was essentially beyond material possessions, and he wasn't entirely; he simply supposed that he might as well enjoy what he had while he could, but not to a form of excess, the possibility and outcomes of which unsettled him. He supposed he would take things as they came- and Scratch was able to pace things, as he knew exactly what would be coming and when.
2014-11-05 18:02:47 -
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Slick grumbled something smart under his breath, hunching over the edge of the table and bringing an arm up to rest a balled up fist under his chin and stared off into space with a scowl on his features, seething. What right did Droog have to tell him what he could or could not do? Slick was the boss, the leader, the top-dog who told the others when and where to do something. He didn't need one of his subordinates coming up to him and telling him how he ran things was absolutely ridicules. Though, Droog hadn't necessarily said that, he might as well had tacked such words on a note to the mobster's forehead and forced a mirror into his personal space. The other's words kept pestering him, "if you're going to do something, do it for a reason." Spades always does things for a reason, /always/. He doesn't simply break a door down because he can; regardless of that one time he was roaring drunk and had to bust open the liquor cabinet in one of the bars the Midnight Crew looked over. The bartender should have known Slick would have been quite pissed about his alcohol being cut short.
As time ticked by, and the sound of Boxcars and Deuce came to the blue eyed man's ears, he realized he should start picking out a few things for his date that following night. Just as he started shoving away from the table, sighing through his nose and picking up his fedora from the surface of the same furniture, Deuce comes yawning and stretching into the kitchen. He gives a curt, "mornin' boss", before going to find something to eat in the fridge, Slick returning the pleasantry with a grunt and then walking off to his own room. He doesn't bother with shutting the door, tossing his hat somewhere in the room and stepping over the opened switchblades. In all reality, he wouldn't have minded if Scratch ever wished to drop by, however the only problem was that the Crew leader would have to clean up the place for one thing (and make sure none of the other members wouldn't notice, which was highly unlikely), and make sure said Crew members would be absent for the remainder of the night. Of course, there would be no way to make sure such a thing would happen, so he doubted the Felt leader would be visiting anytime soon.
First on the list for he night, he had to get a shower. Not only that, but also eye a few articles of clothing to see if they would suit him or not for such an occasion. He's sure he has a tie, under the copious amounts of hazardous items and stray empty beer bottles. With a few half hearted kicks, he comes upon and elk bone handled switchblade he's been missing for awhile, puts it on his nightstand, then figures he'll find a tie one way or another by the end of the day. He turns swiftly on his heel, walking off into his bathroom and cutting the light on. Whilst undressing, he comes upon the fact that he should really shave, maybe cut his hair a bit, or is that too much? He wants to look formal, at least, so maybe a nice trim would suffice for the occasion. After all, the worst case scenario is that... Well, actually, there were quite a few worst case scenarios considering this was Spades Slick showing up in a ball meant for the creatures that run the slums. At least, there wouldn't be any cops, for all Slick knows at least. Even if there were, they'd be the sort of law enforcement who'd look over a few million dollars being stolen from their savings. The whole ball in itself shouldn't exist, but some of the ones with dirty paws find a way to fund such a secretive place and keep it under wraps from the public.
2014-11-17 01:09:55 -
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Doc Scratch did not consider himself nosy. He had no drive nor desire to root around in others' lives for answers or gossip, and honestly found the process to be needlessly exhausting. He already knew most everything, so he had no cause. But this fact made some figure that he liked to have his ear to every door anyway, and closely monitored everyone's activities. In reality, Scratch couldn't care less. Being aware of it was useful, yes, but only sometimes. Sometimes it was just disturbing. The only time he'd confront someone about their comings and goings or perhaps hobbies was if it would personally endanger them or the other members of the Felt. He didn't worry about outing traitors; he knew guilt and paranoia would do away with any intent for mutiny. It was impossible to sneak around behind the back of an omniscient man, and the entire Felt feared whatever punishment Scratch would devise for turncloaks. He was very open with his hatred of liars, after all. But recently a more personal dispute had made waves within their ranks, and Doc Scratch himself had been put under a bit of pressure. The issue, which at its base was something akin to domestic violence and abuse, was one Scratch was absolutely repulsed to see under the Manor's roof. But at the same time, he did not see it as his place to step in and resolve the matter. While he certainly could, he did not think that it was what the situation needed. Dissent was being sown and he was being looked to for action, it was true, but he didn't think he was the one meant to solve it. It was a personal matter and should have been left to the persons involved. Scratch was not involved in any way save for being the supposed authority of the group. He disliked it when he was looked to and asked, "Can't you fix this?" He certainly could. But it wasn't his place to.
Doc Scratch felt similarly about the arguments that took place in the midst of the Midnight Crew; ultimately, it was not his circus and not his monkeys, so to speak. But the frequent disputes vaguely concerned him even so. Since he and Spades Slick were apparently official (though not public), he did care about what transpired. But it was his place to stay out of it. He was not about to fight any of Slick's battles for him; on the contrary, Slick seemed made to fight, and did it well. Scratch knew he would be most content when left to his own devices, and would do just that. But, being as powerful as he was, he would always feel some need to intervene, or come to the other's defense in some way. Scratch wasn't sure he wanted to classify this as being possessive or protective of the more rugged man; it wasn't up to debate that Slick was essentially the more physically fragile of the two of them, but he did not need protection from anyone. Scratch might have possessed an aptitude for compassion (which he largely wished he did not), but he was not out to coddle anyone. Both of the men's lives were fraught with danger, and there was no such thing as total and complete security. Scratch regarded such an idea as completely ludicrous and entirely unattainable anyway, no matter what else his opinion could have been. He wasn't sure he would desire it even if if did exist, and was almost entirely certain Slick wouldn't either; after all, the man himself was almost the incarnation of danger. Scratch was of the opinion that it was part of his allure, though he wasn't about to tell that to anyone, except perhaps Slick if he cared to ask- or if he wanted to lord it over the other man for some reason.
Doc Scratch would admit knowing everything gave him an impeccable sense of timing, however. He was always perfectly on time when he needed to be, and was always prepared at a moment's notice- because a moment's notice was not even that. He would have known for a long while about whatever it was he was going to be told. It also came in handy whenever Itchy decided to pop in and bombard him with a flurry of questions about nothing in particular. Complicated questions or paradoxes were thrown his way to try to "beat him", but the first Felt member never prevailed. Now that omniscience came in handy when he needed to know at what pace to get ready for their meeting and at what time to depart for the location. Scratch had since readopted his content countenance from before the slight, awkward dissension that had happened in Stitch's boutique, and seemed very at ease to any casual observer, a slight smile gracing his features. He was not anxious about their meeting later or even remotely nervous, and he had to figure it was because this sort of "date" seemed exactly up his alley. He was good at things Spades Slick really wasn't; dressing nicely, behaving well, and being courteous when necessary. So much so he was even able to inject these aspects of himself into dirtier forms of work- even if Scratch was dispatching someone, he would do so in a civil manner. Unless he had been roused to anger, in which case his foe could expect a very cold and vicious defeat. But Scratch always retained his manners; nothing short of death or downright possession would end that. He figured that even if he and Slick hadn't become romantically entangled, he still would've treated him politely, in some passive aggressive jab.
2014-11-25 01:39:39 -
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After a long day and a bit of intimate shenanigans with Scratch, he feels quite relieved to finally be in the shower. Some would be mistaken to think he was utterly repulsed by cleaning himself, which indeed wasn't the case as he found it relaxing to wash away the day's events. The hot temperature proved to be relaxing as well, erasing some stress knots and soothing his skin with an almost light crimson color raked down his flesh in the aftermath of his scrub. A part of himself found it odd when he finished taking a shower, wrapping a towel around his waist, that he didn't merely walk right into his room and get dressed. Instead, he paused, looking at his reflection in the mirror and contemplating what next to do with his appearance. He had already formerly promised himself to do a quick shave, though did he have to shave everything off completely, or just clean it up? With a small snarl, he ends up figuring that he could simply clean it up with a quick trim and shave around the edges. The only thing that unsettled him slightly was that there was to be a blade applied to his face. For the first time in what seemed like forever, he'd have to place a sharp object to one of the most sensitive areas of his body and be careful enough as to not slice up his features. He's played with knives before, even went as far as to twirl them carelessly between his fingertips and hold a blade between his teeth, but this was different. A part of him contemplated asking Droog to do it for him, and though that might have been easier on himself, he decided to do it alone.
Applying some cream to his face helped a bit with shaving, as he soon found out from some recollection of seeing Droog shave his own jawline a few times. The clean up in itself was problematic, but at the same time tested Slick's steady surgeon clutch on the blade that seemed to come straight out of the 1920's. He only cut himself a couple times, cursed a few times, but eventually he looked... Well, respectively clean-cut compared to his former appearance. The scruff in itself was thicker around his chin, but dissipated into nothing along his jawline. A quick brushing of his fangs, slicking back of his raven locks in a very tedious manner, and rummaging about his closet and room for an outfit, and he was soon looking dapper then usual. Honestly, he would have made Droog proud. The scent of aftershave lingered closely about his features, complimented by fresh mint. The suit he adorned was of the usual black fabric, though the blazer was different since it looked pristine and undeniably came from his closet where gravity took care of most, if not all, of the wrinkles. The button up he chose wasn't black, however, and was instead an icy blue color that matched his cold gaze. The accents about his outfit was silver; which included the cuff links, buttons on the collar, and buckle on his black belt. Lastly, he decided it would be best to include his eyepatch, snapping that on and making sure it didn't disturb his hair as he slipped his black dress shoes with the buckles along its straps.
When he did a look about himself in the mirror, he was almost take aback, blinking a few times at himself before finally scoffing and rolling his eye before grabbing his wide brimmed fedora and exited his room. He didn't bother cleaning said room, not at all planning to have Scratch come back to his hideout and be witness to the corrupted living space the Crew leader lived in. As he walked out, he was slightly surprised to see Deuce sitting on the couch, dressed in his usual outfit and sipping what seemed to be hot chocolate from a mug that still had steam rolling off the top.
"Ay, where's the other idiots?" Slick asked with a small growl, a bit tense since he didn't know how the other would react to his outfit. Deuce hummed, eyes on the TV before the hazel hues looked to his boss; he had almost dropped his mug and yelped for Boxcars.
"B-... Boss? Gee! Ya look spiffy! Wait... Did ya shave?" He asked with a furrowed brow, then grinned widely as he turned his head to the kitchen.
"They're in there. Oh, but't'a, Droog said he has some errands to run today, and Boxcars wants to go to a bar later with us. Where are you going? You look all dressed and stuff! Trying to impress a dame, boss?"
"Errands? What errands? He didn't tell me th--no. No I'm not; shits none of your business so shit your fuckin' trap." He did a zipping motion with his slightly bared fangs, hinting for the other to keep his mouth closed.
"Anyway, I'll be gone for a bit. Have some...business."
"Ohh, gonna gut someone boss?"
"No, I'm n-didn't I say it ain't none of your fuckin' business?""
2014-11-26 22:58:53 -
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Doc Scratch had never really found it necessary to shave. It really was a rare occurrence, and whenever he did, no one could really tell- even if he cut himself it would just heal before it made any matter. That being said, Scratch was also essentially incapable of growing any facial hair whatsoever. He could go for months without shaving at all and no one would notice, in all reality. He supposed this was because of the uncanny similarity between his skin and hair colors, both a pure shade of alabaster. But just for posterity, he did it while getting ready. A few things about the man couldn't be disputed by anyone, and one among them was the fact he was intensely keen on his personal hygiene. It was a good habit to have, in his opinion; looking sharp was always a priority no matter what he was going about. Some might have tried to label him vain in this regard, but to no avail; Scratch was not the sort to boast his own abilities or assets with no purpose. He was entirely honest, however, when it came to these things. He possessed more than a modicum of modesty when in more casual situations, however, and he didn't consider keeping himself neat and clean to be anything similar to vanity. He would have to be honest with himself, however; he liked the more rugged look on Spades Slick. It just seemed to suit him in some way, but he wasn't about to stop the man from shaving if he desired. It was somehow sweet for the other man to go about all this in order to make himself what he saw as "presentable" for Scratch. He wouldn't begrudge Slick an opportunity to clean himself up, but still considered it a charming gesture.
One thing about the whole omniscience package was that it utterly ruined any surprises that could've come Doc Scratch's way. This was good and bad; while Scratch couldn't say he'd ever been genuinely and wholly surprised, which was a slight loss, he loathed the idea of actually being taken by surprise by something- anything, really. It was an uncomfortable notion, that he be unprepared for something and have to face an unknown consequence as a result. He liked to be ready for things, even though he was very capable of thinking on his feet when he found it necessary, and everything would usually turn out fine under those circumstances. Scratch would've considered himself ineffectual if even the slightest miscalculation threw him off his game, so to speak. He would not allow himself to be so easily beaten. But the idea of being blindsided entirely by an event that had been completely invisible to him was not one he was fond of or even dared to consider. It wasn't likely to happen, anyway- such a thing would be a glitch in his figurative matrix, and Scratch was a perfectly efficient operating system. On the tamer, more domesticated side of this issue, he disliked the limitless knowledge because he knew at once what Spades Slick looked like after finishing his preparations. It would not be any sort of surprise, unfortunately. That was the only pleasant surprise Scratch could think of; but at least he'd get to see him properly and in person, in due time. And it was then that Slick would be treated to his reaction.
Doc Scratch feared that since he always set the bar so high for himself that he couldn't change into something that would be impressive enough for Slick; even so, it was nothing elaborate, simply something he had sitting around and waiting on him. Scratch wore a tailcoat with a pearly, almost metallic sheen to the fabric. He would keep it buttoned in front until it warranted removal (if it did at all). Underneath that was a dress shirt in the same bright green as usual, and a bow tie of a darker shade. His cummerbund matched the dark green, winding high around his midriff; his dress pants were white as per usual, though this pair had a higher waistline than his usual, and was more snug in that general vicinity. He wasn't wearing suspenders like he normally did, so a slightly tighter fit would have to serve for the night. He had a nicer pair of dress shoes on, which he'd spent some time polishing until they passed his muster. And he did look very neat- perfectly pressed in place, he thought as he looked himself over. For a moment he felt strangely despondent about it- he always looked that way, after all. Oddly perfect. Like... Well, a porcelain doll, irony of ironies. It made him frown at his own reflection, until he spurred himself out of it. He picked his gloves up off the desk- dark green, for tonight- and pulled them on. Hopefully there would be no one around to comment on how he'd "cleaned up", if they would at all. Doc Scratch was constantly clean, after all- to an unsettling degree.
2014-11-29 05:05:19 -
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After a pleasant round of twenty-questions from Deuce, Slick avoiding each and everyone with an expression of gage exhaustion and major irritation, he ends up finally shoving the smallest Crew member out of his way with a simple flick of his wrist and a displeased grunt.
"If you're done interrogatin' me, I gotta go now. If Big B and Droog ask where I am, I'm out dunking."
"Oh, all right!" He piped back enthustiastic ally, however he ends up pausing with a furrowed brow as he starts to realize that that was technically lying to the other two Crew members. He knew for a fact that his boss wouldn't dress up like he had just to go to a bar, get drunk, then come back with or without a dame for the night. However, before he could question it, turning around to look down the hall Slick went down that led to the hatch, the mobster leader had already disappeared. Like that of blending in with the shadows, like the Crew was known for doing. Well, that and they didn't mind getting their hands messy; aside from Droog, but his OCD was another matter entirely.
It must have been around evening, when he appeared out of the hatch and locked it afterwards. Of course, it could still be opened, but only from the inside rather then the outside. There were a few downfalls of having such a hideout out in the open, and especially somewhere that was usually crowded with people. But, at least, around this time people were retreating from their lunch break and going straight back to work for another few hours to earn their mediocre paycheck. It wasn't difficult to sneak out then, looking left and right before finally walking down the street to where his Cadillac was usually parked. The only thing off about the city was a few sections of scorch marks, some vibrantly colored cones surrounding a few buildings, but the scent of burnt toast located at the bottom of a toaster was entirely gone. Instead, a nice fragrance of dew and lemongrass had picked up around the area, giving an almost calm air about the place.
This didn't mean he lowered his guard, but that did mean he had a subtle grin on his features, fingertips toying with his key ring before finally making it to his vehicle. He idly wondered if anyone would recognize him on the streets, but then recalled he didn't dress entirely out of the ordinary. He always wore suits, and though they weren't worn as well as he was doing at the moment, he still had a very ragged appearance regardless of what accessory or article of clothing he adorned. Even if he did try to look utterly pristine, like now, he still had his sharp features and unsettling eye color that practically emphasized his cold heart and affinity for sharp weapons. It was a good thing he has a prominent slouch, making people underestimate what he could do, right up until he finally snapped, at least.
Carefully, he slid into his car, sliding the key into the ignition and getting started with heading over to the Felt Manor. He couldn't simply park in the front, however, or even adjacent of it. He would have to park a good ways away from the housing, knowing that since there was still a good bit of daylight seeping over the horizon, he'd be easily spotted. What made matters a bit more difficult was the fact that the Felt knew his car, knew the license plate (or he wouldn't doubt they knew it) and would probably take his vehicle apart the moment they saw it sitting right outside their hideout. Without reason, really, only because they knew that Slick had to be prowling around if his precious Cadillac was near. And if there was no transportation to get to the diner that was on the down-low, Spades Slick would be a very aggravated and very stabby man the rest of the night, and rest of the week for that matter.
To avoid that whole predicament all together, he parked the car at the corner of the street, hiding it behind a bricked walled building that also led into the mouth of an alley. It was then he had to decide on whether or not to get out of the car. He couldn't simply stride right into the Manor, and using the back door may prove unnecessary since there would be people passing by. Thief probably see him sneaking around, and the law enforcement is the second to last thing he needs; the first is the Felt members (aside from Scratch, of course). So, instead, he supposes he could wait it out a bit, rolling down his window and rummaging about the glovebox for his pack of cigarettes before lighting one to calm his nerves. Scratch should be ready by this time, undoubtedly, and he wasn't really in any position to make a move. Five minutes; he could wait that much and see where he stands. If the Felt leader didn't show up by that time, Slick would take the hint and merely sneak upon Felt grounds the best he could. The diner was always open anyway, so he didn't have to worry about running out of time.
2014-11-29 20:41:50 -
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Slipping out of Felt Manor unnoticed was easier than the Crew's hideout, or so it seemed; even though there were several more members that could be lurking around any given corner (some of which had means of finding out where one was going or appearing without warning) in the Felt, the place was much larger and, at any given time, at least one of them was absent, off on their own business or perhaps an assignment of some sort. But at twilight the place was arguably at its most active, members getting ready to depart or already exiting if they desired. They were, however, caught up in their own agendas, and usually would not have paid much mind to Scratch; if anything, seeing him lurking about would have ushered them out all the quicker. But he was dressed a bit differently than usual, which was cause for a second glance and, in the less reserved members of the Felt, a few words sent his way. It wasn't much different than what Spades Slick had faced, really, but the difference between them was that Doc Scratch disliked the thought of lying about it. Sure it was a trivial matter, but the notion of simply being blatantly dishonest about it didn't sit well with the First Guardian; they all knew his policy on lying, and if ever it was found he had gone back on it for any matter whatsoever, whatever trust anyone had held in him would be shattered. Scratch was incredibly averse to that occurring, for professional and personal reasons alike. The whole idea of "sneaking out" as it was felt strangely truant to him– even when he knew it shouldn't. He got up to more criminal things than avoiding being seen when exiting his own residence.
Strangely enough, it was just when absconding from Felt Manor that Doc Scratch felt he was under some degree of pressure; once he stepped out of the back door and rounded the building, the orange sunset struck his eyes with an almost painful clarity. It reminded him in an instant how infrequently he actually saw it. Then again, he'd been around to witness more sunsets than anyone else on the entire planet had, he was sure– he had just never bothered to actually view them. Some might have considered that sad, in a way. Scratch didn't. Instead what struck him was the touch of the sun's dying rays; he could feel the warmth on his face and in his fingertips, and a small, secret smile came to him when it did. The light was something he could certainly get used to, and the clear air was another. Though the city had quite recently shouldered a relatively heavy blow, things seemed oddly peaceful, and the break from the sterile surroundings that usually encased him was nothing short of dizzying in effect. He immediately asked himself once again why he'd never emerged from the green manse, and then answered himself– he'd never had a reason to. But that had changed, and he was... Glad for it, no matter what. Scratch looked out over the lawn, down the street to where he knew Spades Slick sat parked. He strode across the yard with purpose, making it quickly to the sidewalk and starting down it with a more casual air about him. It wasn't as if he'd be spotted– even if he was, no one would recognize him. If they saw him exit the building perhaps they'd be suspicious, but Scratch was fully confident no one would be. The reason for this being that he hasn't quite given up on his Invisible Man routine; while he did feel confident enough to leave Felt Manor, he was not going to walk down the street in broad daylight just yet. He'd decided, however, when they arrived at their destination that he'd give up that particular ghost.
Doc Scratch was not about to keep the other man waiting, but he did not seem to be in any particular hurry– he made decent time on his way to Spades Slick's Cadillac, not taking so long as to incite worry in the other, and not being so quick as to be conspicuous. Indeed, the other would have just enough time to finish his cigarette before Scratch appeared in his rearview mirror, almost out of place in the sunset–soaked scenery of the city. He could have been an apparition of sorts in all that white, really, but was not about to get up to anything otherworldly. As he approached Slick's car, he couldn't help but bite back another sort of smile– if leaving Felt Manor undetected was misbehaved, walking up to a parked car and getting in it with someone who was waiting for him was positively unthinkable. It had negative connotations, ones Scratch did not like to dwell on– or perhaps he did, in secret. One could never be quite sure; the inner recesses of his mind were an enigma, after all, and he was glad for it.
Scratch approached the car from behind, crossing over to the passenger side of it, where he gently rapped on the rolled-up window and waited for Slick to respond. He wasn't going to just open the door and sit down inside the car without being told- it felt rude to do as much. Once Slick indicated he could, Scratch would enter the car and they would be on their merry way.
2014-12-01 05:23:48 -
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Seeing that Slick wasn't at all in a rush, he took his time smoking, ashing the cigarette every now and then out the open window so that it wouldn't dirty his vehicle, and busied himself scouring the streets. They were mainly empty, however there were still a few people walking about, to either carry out some errands or merely satisfy their endless pit of boredom. He usually contemplated that, just doing something because he was bored rather then doing it because he saw it as a necessity. He fitness wondered what his life would have been like without the Crew, without all the chaos of heists and bounding about lies like they were lava. Surely it wouldn't be as hectic as it was now, fluctuating between his own gang and keeping ties with Scratch that looked more and more like a real relationship, but would Slick still be entertained by such... A simplistic life without so much going on? Would he be satisfied, or always looking for something to sate his hunger for adventure and action? He recalls that even when he was younger, he was a very curious boy, always getting into things he shouldn't, and without the proper guidance from his parents, no one was necessarily there to stop him. He came upon the wonders of thievery and hand-to-hand combat at a young age, starting off small at first, then working his way up to the big dog he was known as today. Though the cops had a hard time trying to put much proof on him, if he was found, they'd certainly know what sort of damage he was capable of. Regardless of the fact he had the advantage of manipulating fire, it would do one best not to trifle with him.
Without being told, he was suddenly aware that the flash of white in his rear view mirror could be nothing make the Scratch making his marry way along to his car. Just as hypothesized, he was able to finish his cigarette and ash it out before flicking it somewhere out on the sidewalk. It was too much of a coincidence for the other to have shown up right when he finished his cig, but he made no comment on it as he unlocked the doors and watched the other with an air of what could only be described as fascination as he perched in the passenger side seat. He had originally thought that the Felt leader couldn't have looked any dapper, even if he tried, but there Slick was, being defied the satisfactory of being right when Doc Scratch was involved. Maybe playing a game of cards with him wouldn't necessarily be in his favor after all, regardless of his skills.
"Ay, ya think ya might've blinded a couple people on yer way here? You're practically... Glowin'." Now as rude and blatant as that statement may have seemed, Slick had a very admirable tone about his voice, icy gaze taking in the Snow White colored fabric and matching accessories. He wasn't very enthusiastic about the ever so persistent green the suit included, however he couldn't complain since it honestly brought out the color in the other's eyes much more prominently. Vaguely, just subtly really, Slick felt suddenly very protective about Doc. Of course, he was always like that around the Felt leader, however it was more so along the lines of, 'if anybody makes a move in you they're going to receive a nice blade to the jugular.' Sweet, clean, and simple. This wasn't a very dense thought in his mind, but he can feel it brush against his conscience, warning him to stay on guard. Usually, his gut wasn't wrong, so he wasn't going to solely ignore the feeling.
"... Ya look good, Scratch. 'M kinda surprised." He pointed out nonchalantly, rolling his window back up and cutting the engine on once more. He doesn't just pull right out from where he sits on the side of the road, checking his mirrors before feeling reassured that no one had spotted either of them, and started turning the wheel about so they could start their short journey to the ball.
"I'm'ma guess 'n' say ya didn't have much, if any, trouble gettin' outta the Manor, huh Mr. Pristine?" Ah, yes, it was almost invigorating to tease the other, like having a nice cold glass of lemonade after during a hefty amount of yard work during a hot summer's day. It brought a very genuine smile to his features, his antics not aiming for irritation as they so often do, but more so playfulness, like a stray black cat batting at a passerby's untied shoelaces. He wasn't looking to be stepped on or scolded, more so something to entertain himself with. Considering Scratch's patience as well, he highly doubted the other would get his metaphorical feathers ruffled at a simple jab. He was sure that there would be plenty of such during the night, and as odd as it may have sounded, he looked forward to that. One could even say he enjoyed being teased back, like a couple bickering at each other and knowing that there was no harm, so no foul. Again, he wondered what life would have been like if he hadn't became the Crew's leader, and he suddenly realized he certainly would have missed out on this event and relationship. That's not something he's quite keen on, so he's still siding on the half where he's glad he's a mobster/boyfriend.
2014-12-02 04:01:24 -
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Doc Scratch was careful as he stepped into Spades Slick's car, claiming the passenger seat with his usual bearings- that which was oddly graceful for doing something so mundane. He crossed one leg over the other, almost reservedly, fitting the seat belt over himself. If Slick happened to make a jab at him about that, of all things, Scratch would politely remind him that getting pulled over for not wearing a seatbelt would be the most anticlimactic way possible for him to be discovered by the law. He was sure the other man wouldn't want that.
"Blinded anyone?" Scratch echoed, feigning a sort of innocence. "Now Slick, we both know I am attractive, but I think that is quite the gross exaggeration, not to mention a poor substitute for a greeting." He hadn't missed the way Slick had said it, however, which he appreciated. When he had replied to the other he'd held a sort of pride anyway- Scratch knew the game between them by now, and wasn't going to let whatever teases Slick threw his way rile him up. They weren't meant to offend anyway. Scratch knew he looked good and knew Slick shared the opinion, no matter what he might've said.
Similarly to when he had previously ridden in Slick's car, (on their way to the park- which seemed like ages ago now) Doc Scratch seemed rather poised as he sat, watching as Slick adjusted his mirrors and scoped the area quickly. Scratch allowed his eyes to rove, giving the man a once-over, then raising a single brow at what he said.
"Oh? /You're/ surprised?" The First asked, sounding mildly amused. "You say you're surprised to see me of all people dressed up, and yet here you are..." He gave Spades Slick one more up–and–down, and couldn't help but slowly shake his head. The Midnight Crew's leader looked absolutely impeccable, and that was all there was to it.
"Absolutely stunning." He said, and there was no sarcasm, no teasing in his voice, and his eyes held merely a noticeable level of contentment. Only admiration and a sense of pride was discernible from him– yes, Scratch was proud. As if he had somehow had a hand in helping Slick to clean up for their date tonight, though he obviously hadn't. Or perhaps he was proud that Slick was his significant other, and was capable of making himself look so presentable. That was equally, if not more likely, though the other gang leader may have been rather surprised by it. Not by the fact he was able to tidy himself up, but by the fact it made Scratch almost beam at the sight. He was entirely certain that wasn't the response Spades Slick was used to garnering from onlookers. But it honestly was all he could think to do, and all that came to mind when he cast a glance at the black–haired man. Scratch supposed that this was almost like a childish sort of excitement to him– he was rarely excited and had never been a child, but figured this was the closest he'd come. He couldn't quite pin words to the sense of elation Slick's ensemble gave him. It was strangely surreal and... He was happy.
"Ah, no." Doc Scratch said, quirking bit of a grin at the nickname. "Mr. Pristine"– he must've come up with it on the spot, evidently. "I faced no real issue trying to leave. It's a rather large place, as I am sure you are aware. You really needn't worry about any members of the Felt tracking us down, if that is your concern– no one is to discover me missing or find it in them to tail your vehicle. I am also quite sure they will not be appearing at the same venue as we shall be." He hoped that sated Slick, and while he knew that the man was largely teasing him, he decided to bypass it in favor of setting his mind a bit at ease for the evening. Scratch disliked when Slick grew stressed while they were together, simply put.
Doc Scratch never wondered about being anything other than the Felt's second in command. It didn't cross his mind very often, if at all. This was because in every different reality Scratch was privy to viewing, it never changed. He was always playing host to Lord English in one form or another, some more twisted than others. Scratch was literally incapable of imagining what it would be like to have a separate lifestyle, one untouched by the spreading hand of his master. It was as unfathomable as eternity itself, and as unknown as the dark side of the moon.
2014-12-04 04:14:25 -
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Scratch seemed to brighten up the inside of Slick's usually dark colored and shadow-like innards of his Cadillac, giving it a sort of brilliance that was foreign, yet comforting at the same time. The almost exact same illumination that had overcome his vehicle during their first official date, though lacked the same awkward air that was likely a one-sided emotion on Slick's part. Aside from the fact he was literally the living embodiment of everything Spades Slick wasn't, including the lighter colored clothing he ardorned (skin color as well), the mobster meant that the other brought himself such different emotions when speaking of a different 'light'; like that of a dying plant springing back to life and flourishing. Just his presence alone brought some sort of undying enthusiasm in his system, kicking in gears he hasn't felt the click, crank, and slide of before. As such, he wouldn't want them ceasing their process anytime soon. It wasn't necessarily an emotional high, but there wasn't any other way to label it. He didn't care if he had a horrendous day, with a heaping side of tense muscles and a persistent migraine. If Slick was able to have a simple dose of Scratch, for even a couple minutes or so, he'd more then likely have a sharp toothed grin on his features and a craving for sweets that always accompanied the opposing man after a meet-up. The craving in itself was difficult, if not impossible, to ignore.
He gives a small snicker at the other's perfectly played innocence, cold gaze on the streets as he takes a nice smooth detour through the city, almost as if he's taken this route millions of times when in fact this would be his first. He's only heard of where the place was, and if he's correct, it was near the more decrepit side of town where the slums run free. It wasn't as flagrant as other's peg it to be, however that doesn't mean Slick would walk around idly with his guard down.
His snickering slowly died into a look that was subtly caught off guard, expression dropping for a moment before a small muscle in his jaw twitched and a tint of crimson lavished his expression. He hadn't expected such a compliment, and as assumed, he automatically grew flustered for the briefest of moments. He didn't say anything cocky in response, merely grumbling under his breath before finally calming down enough to get a grasp on his usual façade.
"Yea, well don't get use to it. It's a one time opportunity thing, 'n' Imma say right now that I don't understand how ya can dress this way all the damned time. I feel... Stiff." He snorted, rolling his shoulders a couple times for emphasis and keeping a satisfied smile curled about his lips. When he feels off or out of place, maybe even embarrassed, his snap reaction is to play it off as if it angered him rather then what it really did. There was nor harm or foul, it was merely how he coped with what had caught him by surprise. More often then not, Scratch had that affect on him.
When informed about how the other was able to easily evade the members of his gang, Slick merely scoffed. It was at that same moment too that he noted the other was wearing his seatbelt, and though he could have certainly called the other out on wearing such a pesky thing (also considering he wasn't wearing his own), he thought better of it since he got the feeling Scratch wouldn't do something without a good reason. At times, it would prove best if Slick watched his tongue, however that was as rare as an eclipse occurring two nights in a row. It doesn't happen, bottom line.
The reassurance has him relaxing quite a bit though, grip on the steering wheel relaxing since, in all reality, he trusts the other sitting alongside him. Certainly if they weren't as close as they currently were, he wouldn't go about risking his neck by sneaking about and taking a mental note of everything the other said.
"Good. I don't feel like pullin' out a knife tonight anyway. I kinda jus' wanna have a nice night with nice food and, obviously, with ya." He shrugged one shoulder nonchalantly, a sort of zoned out expression overcoming his features. But, a small sparkle of something relatable to excitement flickered in his gaze, the taller man looking more forward towards the occasion then he verbally led on. His actions and expression spoke louder then his words could... Well, most of the time. If he grew enraged enough, that was an entirely different story.
2014-12-05 16:27:46 -
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Doc Scratch had been only slightly nervous when they had gone to the park on their first "official date"; it hadn't been anything, really, and things had turned out rather well, in his opinion. Well, save the end, in which things had soured quite a bit, but that was neither of their faults. Unlike that instance, however, tonight was... Bigger, in some ways. They wouldn't be alone, and wouldn't be in a secluded spot– they'd be in the public eye, surrounded by others. That was new for Scratch. The other times he'd left Felt Manor within the century really were all tied to Spades Slick's influence; leaving to tend his bullet wound, leaving to enter his hideout and pick up Fin and Trace, leaving to go to the park, and now leaving for a ball. This would be the first time he'd let anyone else legitimately see him, however. Scratch decided that it wouldn't be necessary to twist minds into being blind to him like he had before, during previous outings. Some part of him thought it was high time that he make his presence known. Most citizens of the underworld knew the name Doc Scratch, but no one could claim to have seen him– that had changed as of late, however. The Midnight Crew had all seen him. Granted, that had been a tense situation, but Scratch wouldn't deny the looks on their faces were the most palpable thing he'd witnessed in eons. But Doc Scratch was not out to cause such a disturbance as he had then; he never really was. No, if he had any say in it, tonight would be just as Spades Slick desired.
If the other man had been vocal or even deliberately pondered on how Scratch positively affected his mood, he would have received a very flattered and quite possibly blushing First Guardian in return; Scratch knew his influence over Slick and honestly marveled at it. He wasn't quite used to that sort of reaction, but he found it was absolutely endearing from Slick. He was glad he could lift the mood of the darkly-dressed (and similarly-minded) mobster with such ease. But he couldn't say his case was the same– there were some differences, but much of it lined up. Spades Slick was the only person who treated him that way, and Scratch would be hard–pressed to find a single gesture that wasn't whole–hearted and... Thoughtful, even. He was suddenly struck with the notion of placing a hand on Slick's forehead to see if he had a temperature. Strange behavior to say the least from such a man. Conversely, Doc Scratch found his attitude changed around Slick as well; the other man did cheer him up a fair bit, no matter the circumstance, and he was undoubtedly the only man to have ever treated Scratch like he did. Scratch could barely wrap his head around the sheer unorthodox treatment. He had a bit of an issue in identifying irony, in all reality, but he supposed this qualified as some form of it. Some part of Doc Scratch was actually waiting for this all to be revealed as a huge joke at his expense, one that everyone was in on– but he knew it couldn't be.
Spades Slick had to have known that Scratch hadn't been to this part of the city before either– at least not while it had looked like it did. When the city had been in its developmental boom time, Scratch had ventured out much more frequently, to the occasional lounge or restaurant. He was a regular at some places, had a few acquaintances he got on with, but had gradually withdrawn from it all, becoming a reclusive white specter in Felt Manor's empty skeleton. That had been a long while before the Felt arrived, when Scratch had walked endless narrow hallways, moving through the emerald estate like a sleepwalker. Days and nights had run together in an endless, inconsequential chase, and the city progressed, built itself up, and prospered. Scratch himself had remained the same, watching from the outside, and waiting. The city that had sprung up was almost entirely foreign to him, and though he still remembered the old as if it were yesterday, it had been practically a century. Scratch was practically beyond age, however, so he wasn't exactly surprised, but the transition had been interesting to observe. He watched the buildings and streets slide by from the passenger seat of Spades Slick's car. As he did, a very small smile crept onto his face, without him scarcely knowing it had. In the wake of the rainstorm that had come through, a fresh scent had come to the city, and left already a sweet taste in the ivory-skinned man's mouth.
2014-12-08 03:11:40 -
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He didn't think of the public date as anything more then just that; a date out in the public eye. He knew he should be a bit more cautious, seeing that not only was the Crew leader out and about and on a date, but he was also with another top-dog that coincidentally was the leader of the Felt. No one would be aware of that, however, as far as Slick was aware. If Scratch held true to his word, and so far Spades believed he did and would, Doc hadn't shown his face to this generation of humans, or any generation for that matter. That meant Slick didn't have to look too closely into things, make sure no one was planning to harm his significant other (well that was a foreign way of putting it, yet fit at the same time), so that was a small weight off of his shoulders. All he had to pay attention to was anyone giving him sideways glances, or if the food was tampered with, maybe even if his drink was spiked. Yes, even though. The most rugged of crooks ran the place and most every criminal came and went to and from there, that didn't mean scan does weren't involved. Most anyone with a record knew about the place and they tried to keep it strictly as that. Reinforcement have been issued as a necessity to keep large mouths buttoned and rats caged where they rightfully belonged without getting caught by any sort of law enforcement. What was the funny thing was that if there were some Feds that were aware of the place, they had a criminal record of their own, which meant successful blackmail or another valuable customer that could help fund the ball. The scam in itself ran perfectly, though some questions were indeed drawn and a few people that were, for the majority, clean of the law did know of the place, their assumptions were never confirmed. It was more a legend then anything else and the felons would like to keep it that way.
As Slick drove around, fingertips tapping the leather of his steering wheel casually and the distant hum of the radio music curling about the air, he picked up on the familiar, yet unsuspecting, entrance to the place. What was before them was a large, abandoned mall, the parking lot smeared with the white and yellow paint that use to be parking slots. Though the place seemed to have not been touched for years, there were no leaves in the lot, nor trash, or even cracks in the granite from the touch of time caressing the gravel. Instead, vehicles were parked there, but no person around to say how long the cars have been there. For all a mere stranger could assume, the cars were parked there because neighboring building's had full lots and not enough space for their customers. It was a convenient cover up, and since not many curious people came by and wondered, "why are all these vehicles here?", they kept doing such a simple task; hiding out in the open.
Slick parked the Cadillac near the front of the decrepit looking mall, turning the car off and only mumbling something under his breath about inconvenient timing before getting out and walking over to the passenger side. Like their first date, Slick opened the door for Scratch, awaiting for him to hop out before offering an arm to him so that he may escort him into the building. The car was locked with a quick press of a button from his car keys and he seemed a bit tense. Actually, as soon as they had pulled into the lot, Slick had grown oddly rigid. That was only for one reason and one reason only; he recognized a cream colored Porsche parked outside, right next to a crimson Ford truck.
The Porsche could belong to anyone, though not someone from around these neck of the woods. Hopefully, it wasn't who Slick assumed it was, but if so... Well, he's glad Scratch is there to keep him from snapping and losing his temper. For if he wasn't, and if Slick did end up doing something he shouldn't... He could very well be cuffed within the blink of an eye and taken downtown for more then just a ride. He silently hoped that the vehicle did not belong to his second rival, and a quite annoying one at that, Problem Sleuth, or Phillip Seth. Slick did wonder why he wished to be called Problem Sleuth, but never had a chance to ask personally since whenever the two meet, they were always threatening and harassing each other.
With measured steps, he carefully leads Scratch into the vicinity, cold gaze roaming around before traveling deeper into the building. It had cobwebs and cracked walls, oil stains from long forgotten signs clinging desperately to concrete, and a few busted light bulbs for character. What was a bit odd though was the amount of beer bottles in the place. Some were broken, others weren't, so there had obviously been a few visitors prior to Slick's entrance. There was an elevator, down the wide ranged selection of rooms that were once stores, and Slick led Doc into it. Now, entering the elevator in itself was a dramatic change; the floor, walls, and roof in itself was pristine. A velvet carpet was draped on the floor, and behind them was a flawless mirror that reflected their appearances. There were three buttons to press; one was to the roof, the middle one was the floor they were currently on, and the last was the basement. He pressed the last one, looking a bit irritated at the cheesy music that played along from the speakers above them as the elevator dropped.
"You'd think with all the short tempers and money they have, they'd change the music to something a bit more enjoyable." He mumbled.
2014-12-24 23:29:59 -
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Doc Scratch could be considered absolutely paragon when it came to observation and essentially "keeping an eye out" when the situation called for it, as Spades Slick seemed to think was necessary for tonight. Scratch wouldn't disagree; the other man was a notorious gangster, and he wouldn't be surprised if a few of the other patrons had less than civilized intents toward him. That being said, Slick wouldn't be the only one watching out, and it wasn't up to debate that Scratch was keener on what would take place than the other man– certainly not a jab at him by any means, but it was the truth, and he had to know it by now. Scratch didn't think he had any problems on the horizon, at least for tonight; he would trust Slick to be civil, and if he couldn't, Scratch was certain he could diffuse any tense situations that cropped up.
He'd noticed Slick becoming a bit stiffer as they parked, and couldn't help but know why. Scratch wouldn't say it aloud, but it was an interesting turn of events. It might not have bode well for Slick's temperament, true, but it couldn't be denied that Scratch had a fondness for games, and whether they knew it or not, most people would always play with him when he wished it. The First Guardian always found it fun to take people down a few pegs when they least expected it– but allowing it to happen to himself, that was a different matter. Sometimes he accepted it, however, and actually wished it.
Doc Scratch took the arm offered to him, then let his other hand rest on Spades Slick's upper arm. He felt rather... Contented by this. Happy, in a intimate sort of way. It was strange to think, but this made him feel oddly desirable, a very foreign but completely welcome feeling. He was actually rather relaxed as they approached the building, and hoped Slick would take notice of this and translate it to the fact that there was little to worry about– at least with Scratch around. Slick might've felt the need to look out for Scratch in a somewhat protective way, but the opposite was just as true; if he was able to have a say in it, no one would even touch Spades Slick tonight. And if they did, well... Scratch himself was not above reprimanding them in his own manner. The last thing he wanted, however, was to cause a scene– thankfully subtlety was one of Scratch's specialties, if it ever came to that.
Scratch didn't ask about the Porsche that had seemingly set his significant other off; he didn't have to, really, and didn't want to risk further setting him off with some unnecessary inquiry. He was instead silent as they entered the building. Scratch had to commend them for the neat set–up of the whole scheme; it seemed to run flawlessly, and he could always appreciate a system that worked with such a minimal chance for accidents occurring. The building's appearance was nothing if not seedy, and Scratch, while not so fond of such decrepit sights, had to give credit where credit was due.
The elevator was, naturally, quite a nice change in scenery from the building's exterior. Scratch let his gaze travel it slowly, with only mild interest. He looked, for a moment, at their reflections, and fought the urge not to shake his head and laugh. He really couldn't believe the surreality of the situation; it was nothing short of odd, when you considered it. And yet, he wouldn't have changed it at all. Well, except for the music, perhaps.
"Quite." He said in response to Slick's gripe about the elevator's ambience, glancing to the speaker briefly with a vaguely furrowed brow. Though one had to take personal preference into account, Scratch still found he had to agree with Slick on the matter of the music. A trivial thing, really, but Doc Scratch happened to think that an elevator was not truly an elevator until it was playing an appropriately disagreeable tune.
2015-01-02 19:02:27 -
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The elevator in itself was, in a very surprising way, comforting. Sure, the music was unnerving, the reflection of their own character being mirrored upon them practically confirmed the fact that yes, they themselves were in fact doing this, but being in the confined space didn't seem so much as a bad idea. It gave the sense that Slick and Doc were alone, no one peering in on them and looking gem questionably over; no concerning kg judgmental eyes wandering over him either. He knew he would recieve a look or two, mainly because he was one to not be found arm and arm with a long termed partner. It wasn't like Slick was going to outright say who Scratch was to him, however he would certainly say he was a means of importance to him. If asked, Slick would willingly oblige to the question. There wasn't much reason to hide it, other then the fact he didn't want Doc getting hurt because of some grudge a guy had against Spades, but he also didn't want to seem like an utter bastard for not fussing up their serious relationship. That's what it was; a relationship. Not a fling or one night stand, an actual, intimate bond that Slick doesn't feel keen on separating from anytime soon.
As the lift dropped fully to the basement floor, something that only took thirty seconds or so, the doors finally open and the scent of floor cleaner and sweet cigarettes curl under Slick's nose.
There was a respectable amount of chatter flowing from the outside, the levant or having dropped directly into the ball itself. There was a waitress standing patiently at the side of the door, however, an arm bent so that a white fabric napkin draped over an arm and a timid smile curled upon her features. She was small, barely Scratch's height really, and seemed quite cheerful, even considering the place she worked at. The woman was adorned in a black dress, laced with pink around the neck and bottom of the fabric. Her makeup was light, pink lipstick, mascara, and pink eyeshadow. The only thing sticking out really wa the Hijab around her head, consisting of variating colors of blue, green, and pink.
"Welcome sirs! I'm Paint, and I'll be showing you to your table." She piped enthusiastically. Slick offered a sideways smile, his free hand stuffed into his slack pocket as he followed the dame from out the elevator and escorted Doc deeper into the massive room they were in. The cieling must have at least been thirty meters high, a chandelier hanging from the top with strings of crystals webbing this way and that to decorate the surrounding area. Lamps were protruding from the walls, decorative white metal curling and tracing about the frame. There were many tables, each covered with white table cloth both men and women sitting at them. Everyone was dressed expensively, like an actual ball, however a sinister air and dark glint of the eye could be both felt and seen from the indivuals.
Some were smoking, some were laughing, and most were drinking a drink that caught their fancy. They were all spread around the dance floor, music from a piano, violen, cello, and a few other instruments flowing from a stage that was at the very front of the room. It didn't flow over everyone's chatter, though was loud enough for a few to dance to the music. Off to the side, there was a bar and tender, men lining up in seats with words slurring and conniving smirks on their faces. It seemed like a place for Slick and Droog to relax at, however he was here on something more important then a simple kick-back session. As they weaved about tables, the variating scents of both earthy cologne and suffocating perfume masking his senses, they were soon seated near the dance floor.
"Here you are! If you have any questions, concerns, or feel that someone may indeed want to cause you harm, let me know and I'll get right on it. Your waiter should be here soon sirs, so please take a seat." She gave another smile, then was waltzing off to go attend to some indivual who was tensely conversing with another about private manners. And by tensely, it was more like the guy was itching to strangle the other.
Slick pulled out one of the chairs for Scratch, allowing him to sit down first before perching in his own seat. He couldn't help it, he had to look around, gaze flickering about before settling on the other. Doc seemed... Relaxed. Not alarmingly so, but the fact he didn't seem so tense or withdrawn helped Slick relax a bit himself. Albeit, he relaxed just enough that an amused smile managed to widen on his face.
"So, whad'dya think?"
2015-01-12 03:59:38 -
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While Doc Scratch did appreciate the enclosure that the elevator created for the two of them, he really could not bring himself to care about the “judgmental looks” that they might have been receiving should they have been under the scrutiny of public eye. It was true he'd received them before and that they would likely receive some themselves that night, but Scratch knew the thoughts that his behind those looks– and even further beyond that. That was why he would more likely laugh than be offended if someone delivered some haughty consternation to he or Spades Slick that night; to Doc Scratch, there was no such thing as a secret. He also knew people tended to point with one hand and hold all their dirty, incriminating details in the other, clenched tight in a sweaty fist. Scratch personally kept both his hands behind his back, infinite knowledge in one and the fingers of the other gently crossed, but that was neither here nor there. The fact of the matter was that Scratch had the privilege of being treated to a viewpoint no one else could be, one from where he was shown that those who liked to tread upon others they considered were rabble were actually even worse than their victims. After over two billion years of life, Scratch had gotten over how disheartening it was to know there was so little good in the world. He couldn't say in confidence that he knew one good and virtuous person, who exhibited selflessness and charity at once. Well– that wasn't exactly true. There was one, but he wasn't about to kowtow to them, no matter how much they may have deserved it.
Knowing what it would be like once they exited the elevator and experiencing it firsthand were two very different things, which occurred to Doc Scratch just as the doors parted. Spades Slick might've preferred to keep them in close quarters, and Scratch certainly did not mind that either, but stepping out into the room itself was an experience. The porcelain man stuck close to his partner, comfortable in their shared proximity, and let his eyes slowly sweep the room. The air was laden with a heavy blend of numerous perfumes and colognes which, while a bit sharp initially, dulled into a warm, permeating scent thick enough for Scratch to feel as if he were moving through it. That was new to him, as were so many people all in one place. Fifteen was a decent number, true, but this was a different venue altogether. Larger gatherings were more intimate, in his opinion. At small parties, one would find themselves trapped with the same people all that while, and it could become dreadfully grating. But at larger parties, a couple could sneak off and not be missed, or a few individuals would group together on a whim and chatter together. It was easy enough to blend in at a larger party, and Scratch thought they were doing quite a good job of that at the moment. It had been relatively simple, he thought. Something such as this had, originally, given Scratch a much more complex impression. It was relieving and even a bit satisfying to know that that wasn't the case.
Doc Scratch's smile was nothing but gracious as Spades Slick pulled out his chair for him. He seated himself lightly and folded his hands on the table, before looking across at Slick and considering his question. It was termed rather vaguely, yes, but to someone like Scratch that didn't quite matter.
"I think you must have been very lucky indeed to stumble upon somewhere such as this." Doc Scratch said coolly. Slick didn't seem the sort of man to purposely seek establishments of this caliber out, and he would've liked to have been recounted the story of how it was found, but figured that could very well wait for another time.
"It certainly is a rather impressive place, and I am certain that will only be further proven as the night wears on." He paused a moment, smiling in a vague, almost sly manner. "Then again, I wouldn't think you would take me somewhere that you considered lackluster or unimpressive."
Not that Scratch would really mind. Company was a large factor of his perception, and it had to be known by the other man by now that he enjoyed his company. He wouldn't exactly be here if he didn't actually like seeing Slick. But if it so happened that he wasn't aware, Scratch was sure he could find whatever ways to reassure him of that.
2015-01-17 18:08:10 -
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Of course Spade Slick had keeper his question vague, which is completely to the contrary of how he normally is. He couldn't help himself at this instance however, seeing that if he had been too specific, then he would have seemed as if he only cared about a certain part of the event so far. "How do you like this table cloth? Is the music pretty decent? Y'know that waitress is a pretty decent gal? Do you also know I'm as nervous as if I were walkin' into a police department with a .45 that has an empty magazine and e'eryone has their own cold artillery pointed at me?" Thoughts raced like the hot blood under Slick's fingertips, tainting his gloved palms with a thin layer of cold sweat and deeming the man quite off guard at the moment. He wanted everything to go right tonight, every single thing; from the outstanding illumination the chandeliers above provided, to the light chatter between convicts, felons, and mobsters that littered the ball room. Their waitress was even under Slick's unusual scruntinty, though not for the reasons one might think.
Of course he wasn't necssarily worried about her flirting with Scratch or anything of that sort, she respect him and he, her, but he was more worried that everything wouldn't be up to Doc's expectations (whatever they may have been). The last thing he needed this night was the pale waitress to give poor service, but then again... The place did seem decently alive. The scuffle between two mobsters at an earlier point had died down to a mere grumble and a probable promise of a good beating from the boss (whoever that person may be, for aslick couldn't care less).
Almost as soon as that occurred, he perked up subtly at the other speaking, his arms crossed over his chest almost in a defiant matter that could earn a raised brow, but that was merely his resting stance. In fact, he was admittedly pleased with the other's answer, even smirking a bit since he was glad Doc saw the place as at least decent.
"Of course I wouldn't do that, I mean, only the best for tonight. Tomorrow, eh, I'm prolly orderin' Chinese for me an' the Crew." He was merely teasing, but chinese takeout did sound pretty satisfying. His mind wandered on that for a moment, but soon snapped back to the present as he straightened himself out a little bit in his seat and patted one of his slack pockets to make sure he had a switchblade on hand in case anything should occur. The image of the white vehicle sitting so smugly in the parking lot when the two had first arrived still bothered Slick, but at the same time he knew he shouldn't feel so threatened. He's yet to see the spawn of all that is annoying and respectively 'lawful', and the darkly dressed male is crossing his fingers that he won't see a single glance of the detective for the rest of the night, or week for that matter.
2015-04-01 02:08:03 -
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If an outside observer were to glance over at Doc Scratch just then, they could have confidently assumed that Spades Slick was just deigning to recount him with a particularly entertaining and innocent anecdote, as Scratch, at the moment, seemed somewhat amused by the other man. The set of his mouth (a very slight upward quirk, just barely discernible) and the small glimmer in his green eyes betrayed some sense of mirth, but not quite because Slick was saying anything all that funny at the time. Doc Scratch knew very well how nervous he was in all actuality, and could not help but find it somewhat endearing. It wasn't as if he thought it funny that Spades Slick felt this way; the last thing he would do was laugh at the man for this. The fact he cared enough about the date and how things would turn out and the general quality of everything to the point of unease was actually somewhat charming, when the fact it was all in attempts to impress Scratch himself was considered. No one familiar with the Midnight Crew's leader would suspect him of stressing out over a date, of all things. Honestly, Doc Scratch almost felt highly honored by this sort of behavior– almost.
While he was certainly flattered to be subject to Spades Slick's more romantic pleasantries, and thankful besides, he didn't want their night out to be marked by the other man's constant anxieties about whether or not it would be up to Scratch's par. His expectations were hardly that; when one knew exactly what was to come, expectations were essentially useless, rendered merely some obligatory formality. And it wasn't as if he was particularly picky; in truth, he would have followed Spades Slick wherever he would have cared to take him. Even some seedy, ill–reputed tavern had its pleasures, that the First Guardian could not deny. Part of it lay in the novelty of such places, though Scratch was not about to expound on the quiet thrill they gave him, and the other in present company. If Slick was there, it was bound to be an interesting outing, to say the least. As for now, however, Doc Scratch did not want this companion of his to be so caught up in ensuring he was impressed that he failed to enjoy himself as well, else the ivory–skinned man would be somewhat upset. He wished to inform Slick of this, almost, in hopes he would relax just a bit. Scratch wasn't about to think poorly of either Slick or the establishment itself if the experience turned sour; those things did happen, and it was not either of their faults. Outside forces and all that, and he was aware Slick was on the watch for such disturbances.
The Midnight Crew leader's small joke drew a soft chuckle from him; Scratch could nearly hear the nerves in Slick's voice, and watched him carefully from across the table. He had cleaned up very impressively, and Scratch was still not through being glad about it. Seeing Spades Slick all tidied up like so had just about made Scratch's entire day, if he had to be honest. He knew it was a rare occurrence, so he would be sure to appreciate it at every chance he could get.
"You know," Doc Scratch said, in some sort of confidential tone, "You really needn't worry about whether or not everything is going to go exactly as planned." Ironically enough, Scratch fleetingly worried if the little bit of mind–reading he'd just done would annoy Slick. That was a common thought, however. He continued "I am simply glad to have a little... Break, shall we say, from the usual routine. I would much rather you try to enjoy yourself as well."
He could sense that some of Slick's worries were not unfounded, and that some were merely a result of the other man's somewhat protective ways around Scratch, which were as charming as they were unnecessary, which was very. If things did come to such a situation (one that Scratch did not particularly like envisioning) he was sure he could stick up for himself– and Slick besides. But he had the feeling Slick would at least try to stay on relatively good behavior tonight. 'Try' being the operative word.
2015-04-11 23:28:40 -
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Admittedly, it wasn't the most attractive characteristic for a mobster to be a nervous, or a rather fidgety, individual when dealing with something as domestic as a simple date. However, this would be the first time Slick has done anything for anyone and actually have some intimate meaning behind it. This wasn't something he threw together haphazardly, somewhat hoping that it somehow all fell together and made a lick of sense by the end of the night. No, here he has put some--no, a lot, of effort into and plans for such efforts to be successful and not for naught. To his utter realized, though, he does somehow catch the very subtle, yet satisfied, smirk the other held on his features. Slick doesn't stare though, as much as it baffles him that he can somehow earn such expressions from the deity, he knows it's considered impolite and darts his icy hue away and onto something, anything else that he could fixate his attention onto. In an establishment such as the one they were in, it wasn't very difficult to find something that would catch his attention: Spades found himself watching a figure in a brilliantly white suit conversing with another individual who seemed to be very preoccupied with downing every single bottle of wine they could get their hands onto.
The staring was brief, a matter of a handful of seconds, and eventually the darkly dressed male was looking back to Scratch, both brows raising as he's taken aback at the other's comment. It was almost as if Scratch could read his... Oh, that's right. Slick really did have a tendency to be quite forgetful, as bad as a habit that may be, he's still able to function as properly as anyone else could. Almost as soon as his surprise appeared, it was gone, a sign escaping his fangs and his shoulders slowly losing their tension,
"Yeah, yeah, I know Doc, don't worry. As long as you're havin' a decent time, I gotta say I'll have a good time too, y'know? I jus' really want this shit t'a turn out good is all I'm sayin'." He shrugs one shoulder carelessly, allowing a smile to crack his features and allow a sharp fang to protrude boldly from his upper lip. He supposed that he should relax more, he hasn't seen a lick of any trouble so far and he doubts he'll see any by the end of the night. Scratch seemed to be amused, so Slick could go ahead and humor him by putting his defense's down just a notch and enjoy himself. Hell, maybe he'll forget they were surrounded by the most hostile and figuratively filthy of crooks.
As Spades finally got comfortable in their environment, he couldn't help but feel a little... Off put. It wasn't by anything Scratch said, of course, however he kept feeling the odd sensation of eyes being drawn over him. Well, that could have been his own paranoia that was getting to him, but why was his skin prickling in such a warm room? He wasn't cold, it was just as if cool fingertips caressed his skin, leaving goose flesh in their wake. He kept his charming smile on though, trying to toss the feeling aside, but allowed his sight to skim over the crowd to ease any of his worries.
"Ay, how 'bout later I ask the bozos on the stage to play a nice song for us, eh? I think it'd be kinda nice, really fuckin' cheesy, but't'a-..." It felt as if his very words were yanked from his breath, gaze double taking on the figure not a couple tables away. Slick found his eyes stuck back to the individual in pristine white, though not the flawless ivory skin Scratch owned, but as close as one could get. What was extremely unsettling was the fact that this person noted that Slick had laid eyes on them, and what was even more intimidating was the fact they stared back... And smiled. Now, Slick is use to that sort of dilemma, even if he's usually the one delivering such skin crawling smiles, but what made this certain expression unsettling was the fact that it came from none other than Slick's worst nightmare: Phillip Seth. Soon, his rigid stature was back, as hard as he tried to resist the urge, the edgy Crew leader gave a subtle snarl, his goosebumps fading as his blood turned hot.
'Damn it, just ignore him Slick,' he thought forcefully, slumping back in his chair and, as calmly as possible, looked back to Scratch.
"... But, I think we'll be fine." Hopefully, Phillip kept his distance.
2015-05-24 04:41:17 -
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Doc Scratch could've continued to passively and amusedly harangue Spades Slick, or go on to say something about how the latter's enjoyment of the evening shouldn't have been as dependent as it was on his own, but decided it would be better to hold his tongue. Scratch did, however, give him a patient and pleasant look. It was strange to think, but Scratch had found he needed to talk at Slick much less than he did at any of the Felt members; rather, he would talk /to/ him. He found he had a very minor urge to extrapolate and carry on, much less to expound on topics until he was sure that the point he was attempting to make had been thoroughly pounded into the man's head. While it was true that some members of his own group were slow to grasp a point (Scratch was certain the Midnight Crew was in much the same position at times), the First Guardian had discovered that Spades Slick was quick to pick up on things– at least sometimes. Scratch could recall, not without a bit of amusement, a couple of blank looks being tossed his way in the past. As far as comprehending the omniscient man's various statements and answers to questions, however, Slick couldn't be awarded the absolute worst, and that was certainly a compliment to the man. Doc Scratch himself appreciated it to a profound degree, whether or not that was noticeable. Even so, he still wanted to tell Slick it would be alright to unwind; even if something did go terribly wrong, Scratch would never be caught unawares.
Being prepared for generally any turn of events was basically Doc Scratch's cornerstone; nothing was unexpected, nothing was surprising. Did it make life dull? At times, yes, things could become predictable and tedious. But were both he and the entirety of the Felt much safer for it? Absolutely. That was undoubtedly the reason why his group had retained all fifteen original members– not counting the numerous clones of Eggs and Biscuits that were essential cannon fodder. Yet even those sorts of minor incidents Doc Scratch could easily negate; he might as well have been lauded as king of the butterfly effect. If he did not want the tornado to occur, Scratch would never allow the aforementioned butterfly to even flutter its wings.
Even if he didn't tweak the course of events ever so slightly, Doc Scratch was expert at rolling with the punches, whatever they may have been. This largely accredited to his omnipotence and undeniable intelligence; Scratch was sure that even without omniscience he would be incredibly smart– if not much more easily surprised. Most of the surprises in his and Spades Slick's line of work weren't all too pleasant, however, and more often than not they were capable of helping some unlucky, unwary gangster step into a pair of nicely–fitting concrete shoes. Doc Scratch had done his fair share of making that happen, so he couldn't say it wasn't probable, let alone likely. At the very least the Felt's leader didn't have to worry about a spur–of–the–moment assassination, and for that he was grateful.
By the time dancing later on was proposed, Doc Scratch had noticed Spades Slick's nervousness become outright discomfort, and he couldn't say he was quite pleased by it. Of course, he wasn't agitated by Spades Slick, and if the man thought for a moment Scratch didn't know just why he was so uneasy, he was fooling himself.
"That sounds lovely– regardless of any clichés present." Doc Scratch said, his voice a warm hum. "You never told me you could dance."
Part of his sweet vocal tone was an attempt to wrangle Slick's attention once more and iron out some of his nerves, and another part was genuinely pleased at the notion of a dance with the other man. Few things would make Scratch's eyes light up like they did when he thought about it, and he was sure that once it actually took place, he would be absolutely aglow.
However, beneath that demure façade was another impulse, one much more base than the one he was focused on currently, and it involved quite a few rather mean–spirited and downright violent events taking place towards another patron of the establishment. Doc Scratch was quite sure that the management wouldn't appreciate someone being eviscerated on the premises, however, and that was fine. He could make do with threats of boldly harm and mind games, thinly–veiled insults and conversational slights to embarrass and confuse and anger.
The fact of the matter was that Spades Slick had planned this evening. He had taken the time to dress up and case the restaurant and had really, actually set up this date for the two of them. Doc Scratch could do more than appreciate that; he could respect it, and he would not allow one insignificant haymaker to ruin it. If that meant keeping Slick away from this source of distress, so be it. If that meant staining his favorite suit in the due course of events, as well as cutting the night rather short for some, so be it. Scratch was content with not a word being said– but he was also more than content with spilling innards when it pleased him.
2015-06-01 02:25:05 -
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The reassuring smile Scratch cast Slick's direction was able to allow some sort of comfort to melt upon his shoulders, as little as it was. As much as Slick would prefer it, his nerves wouldn't settle as easily as the smooth smiles from Scratch would usually permit. Instead, he felt that the need to keep his guard up was dire, comfort not necessarily taken into much of an account. He couldn't even release the tight grip that was slowly intensifying by the seconds upon the pristine table cloth, the robotic clawed culprit on the flank of Slick where it wasn't noticeably apparent by his significant other. It wasn't the matter of wether or not he should let his muscles ease out of their current preparation to strike, but more so a matter of, 'is he going to have to make a break for it or get a little violent beforehand?' It almost made the Crew leader grimace at the thought of ruining such a fine evening with Scratch just so he could settle some unfinished matters with Phillip. Almost.
If one little frown could express the turmoil in his gut, which it inevitably would seeing that (aside from his omnipotence) Scratch was admirably a very evaluative individual, then Slick would slap on a shark-toothed grin and keep up a not-s-convincing facade to keep up the pleasant atmosphere. This night was important, prominently so, so of course he is going to take as many regards as possible when coming up with an end result for the night. Ever single thing came into account: the color of the tablecloth, what color the chandeliers were, what perfume the lady three tables down wore, and especially how the music complimented the scene. As Slick has slowly come to realize, one event always leads to another. One domino can not fall without knocking over another, and another, and another. Precision and tedious fingertips could make the night, or end it. Whichever way, it wouldn't end too terribly if Slick had a thing or two to do about it.
At Scratch's response, the Crew leader almost allowed a scoff to escape him. Not the kind of scoffing Deuce would earn when he would accidentally lose key components to a rigged explosive that would undoubtedly be needed in a sticky heist, but one that had a hint of affection and amusement in it, his icy hues flashing something curious.
"Hmm, if that's not cliche enough for your tastes, I can certainly think of a shenanigan or two to accompany it, yeah?" He joked lightly, using the free hand that wasn't constricted against the tablecloth to wave off handedly around in the air. "I only know a move or two, it ain't anythin' too fancy, but ay, i can throw in a spin or two." For emphasis, the devious mobster curled his index around in a circle in the air, smirking confidentially.
Along with being one of the greediest of gang leaders, being a leader meant that one wasn't afraid to get a little down and dirty. Slick wouldn't let those fancy pants and charming smiles overrun the fact that Scratch was also a notorious mobster, able to handle most (if not all) predicaments with carefully crafted hands. Getting a bit of blood probably wasn't the preferred manner to handle many situations in Scratch's opinion, but Slick certainly would jump at the opportunity to get a little red on his clothing, though it probably wouldn't be too noticeable on such dark attire. Regardless, Slick enjoyed that thrill of getting caught in intense fire, the numbing effect of adrenaline coursing smoothly through his veins and his mind evaluating escape plans and fighting techniques all at once. The planning and preparation wasn't all too exciting, but actually doing it and falling through with heist plans, now THAT was the thrill.
Now, what wasn't the thrill at the moment was the standing up of hairs on the back of his neck and his sixth sense kicking him in the head, warning him to not keep those eyes of his off of the enemy. It was too late however, for even in the rowdy establishment surrounded by the clanking of shiny silver and pearly plates, Spades was able to depict the unnerving sound of a chair scraping against tile and pricey shoes clicking steadily against the ground. Slick's jaw flexed, fangs clenched together quietly as the clicking of shoes seemed to be venturing closer to their table.
Phillip was going to learn the hard way as to when he should promptly fuck off.
2015-08-07 06:57:24 -
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Doc Scratch watched Slick's progression from distressed at the scope of the evening to that easy, confident grin and the open hand gestures. That was the Spades Slick he liked to see; sharp and bright as one of his switchblades when he grinned and ragged as a serrated edge when he spoke. It was that confluence of attitude and bearing that had and would continue to draw smiles out of Doc Scratch, something that most were convinced was as easy as drawing blood out from a stone. It warmed him somehow. Perhaps it was that he knew he was the cause of it, that Slick felt comfortable and content enough in his presence to let his guard down and display that cool assurance. Or perhaps it was that he could cause it at all, and it was an extension of his amazement at how things would react to him instead of remaining stagnant and unchanging. But then that look on Spades Slick's face faded back into tension, and Scratch nearly wanted to sigh in frustration.
It wasn't frustration with Slick, or even close to it. If anything it was frustration with some of the other patrons, even though Scratch had never personally met any of them. But Slick had, that he knew. He also knew that Slick had gone out of his way to a huge degree when he planned this date night for them, and as a result he felt... Frustrated. He could appreciate that, why couldn't they? Why did they have to decide to show up and throw this carefully-concocted outing into disarray so flippantly, and so easily? Part of him reasoned that if Slick had never stirred the coals with these fellows at all they would have never run into this problem, but that was something he would never say to the other man's face. Slick didn't know they were going to be here as well, so he couldn't be blamed. By that logic, neither could anyone else. No one except for Scratch, that was, who had no excuse not to have done anything about it. He could have, too, without anyone but him being the wiser to it. He could have thrown out something so meaningless and inconsequential that it would have been written off as bad luck and never suspected to have had any origin other than Fate's fickle hand. A car could have broken down, a suit could have been ruined- he could have made it happen with no repercussions. So why didn't you, a voice in his head asked. Why didn't you stop all this? What could you possibly have to gain from it? What's your excuse this time?
He refused to think about it.
To distract them both Doc Scratch extended his hand and placed it gently over Spades Slick's. It was the one currently dug into the tablecloth, of course, but Scratch made no move to pry him off of it, nor did he even squeeze it; he simply laid it there lightly and waited for Slick to look at him. There was more than one thing he wanted to convey. He wanted to tell Slick it would be alright, there was nothing he couldn't handle, regardless of which of them it was headed towards; that if he wished Scratch could handle any confrontations entirely and use the power of his personality to diffuse them; that he could and he would do whatever Slick wished (within reason of course) to right whatever had already been wronged by an outside factor. Scratch knew Slick had had to fight to have anything his whole life, and he wanted him to just have something for once, something nice, that he didn't have to bite and scratch and claw to keep. He could do that for him if it ever came to it, and if Slick would let him. Scratch just wanted to see his partner content at the very least.
2018-07-15 05:12:36