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If Spades Slick had been a member of the Felt, he could have expected a thorough chastisement and 'you should have known better' from Doc Scratch for a number of things; firstly for leaving his base while hungover, and thus vulnerable, then another altogether for forgetting his switchblade. Scratch could have guaranteed the rival mobster that if anybody else besides him had answered the door, things would not have gone half as well as they had. But Scratch didn't broach that topic, for once. He knew once he opened the door he'd have a limited time to speak to Slick; it wasn't as if this was a routine stop by from a neighbor he was on good terms with. Things would have to move quickly.
The went wrong right off the bat. When Scratch opened the door he found himself face to face, quite literally, with Spades Slick. He knew they'd be this close but somehow the actual event occurring was different. He froze, if only for two seconds, looking right at Slick, his narrowed and icy eye and the dark bruise on his temple. The lightest blush came to him, though any blush at all was noticeable due to how pale he was. He shook the light green flush, then straightened a bit. The door was open wide enough for Spades to see the scorch marks from yesterday's encounter were gone, but whether or not he was looking at the wall right now was up to strenuous debate. After a scant five seconds of being in dubiously close proximity, Scratch pressed the hat into Slick's chest, giving the other a hint of how strong he was, even for his essentially undersized frame and build.
With that motion he had given Slick the hat and put more distance between them, though he hadn't pushed the Crew leader flat onto his posterior. He easily could have, but the very last thing he wanted was an uproar being raised by the angered male. Scratch released the hat once he was sure Slick had it, but hesitated in closing the door. His expression was placid but couldn't help but retain a hint of... Curiosity, perhaps? If Doc Scratch were even capable of the feeling.
"You should have better sense than to come here in broad daylight, and at such a disadvantage." He said, tone clipped but evidently holding a tinge of worry.
"You couldn't have waited until nightfall, at the very least? And perhaps used a window to enter?" By his tone and expression it was clear he wasn't aggressive, but incredulous. Spades Slick really had shown up on their doorstep with no backup and no weaponry on his person. Any other Felt member would have ended him then and there, but not without a great deal of humiliation first. As if he needed any more distinguishing from the others, Doc Scratch was not one to do that.
2014-08-02 19:31:05 -
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Slick blinked once at the other he'd come within close proximity of, the red flag going off for him to yank back already, however his limbs weren't particularly acting in the way he'd wanted. They were positively tense, like he awaited a good thrashing, and not having his weapon meant he'd probably have to go all out on the shadow magic, but he didn't feel threatened by the other. Not that Slick was saying Doc wasn't capable of harming him, sure that was definitely a possibility with the Crew leader in his current state. It was more so that Slick got the odd air the other wouldn't harm him, unless provoked of course, but if he really wanted to hurt Slick, he could have done it just at that moment. Even yesterday, when he'd pulled that ignorant trick, Scratch could've gunned him down, but he didn't. It wasn't clear whether this was some sort of trick or not, but before Slick can conclude anything, he feels something being firmly pressed to his chest. Before he was pressed back, he had caught the ever so slight green tint to the other's pale complexion, and the way his eyes had widened subtly at the quick closing of space. In any other state, the taller might have cackled and asked what the hell was wrong with him. Was his blood color green as well? Was that a blush? He didn't contemplate that for long, taking a slight step back as a force he didn't think the other could manage forced him back. His raven brows narrowed only slightly, however he didn't look bothered, more so intrigued by the action, and glanced up over the male to look into the Manor.
He felt something gnawing at him, something he should notice about the Manor an how it looked to be quite different from the way he had left it... "Oh." He murmured, more so grumbled really with his sluggish tone, and finally noted the black scorch marks he'd left were undeniably gone. How the hell that had happened, he wasn't quite sure. He thought he'd left pretty deep claw marks into the wall as well, however those were gone as well, as if the predicament hadn't happened in the first place. This makes him raise a brow, but it's soon lowered as he notices Droog's hat is in his hand, the other still braced against the door frame. So, the bastard Clover really did have it again. Slick was going to skin that little fucker alive... When he was in better shape and actually had a knife to do the skinning, that is. He studies the hat for a moment, then looks at the shorter male, sneering vaguely to keep up his usual annoyed appearance, and opens his mouth to say something smart or a half assed threat before Scratch is talking instead. The other's tone catches him slightly off guard, and for a moment, he feels like he's being scolded like a mother would her child. It makes him scrunch his nose, sticking out his tongue slightly and clutching the hat before dropping his arm to his side.
"I ain't... In the mood for Droog's sassy mouth... How the fuck did...?" He keeps trailing off, mainly because he feels like each word is going to have him toppling over and cringing with the effort it takes just to form a coherent thought to speak. "A'ight, never mind..." He catches the last part the other says though, about sneaking in through a window, and out of nowhere Romeo and Juliet comes to mind. It might have made him snort, he doesn't know, he can't hear anything over the buzzing in his head. "Er, yea, my bad... I guess, then. I can't... Argue right now, a'ight? Later... We'll argue... Later." He waves the other off with the hat, and in the process, feels his mouth water at the scent of vanilla he picks up. Fuck, not again. He knows for a fact now Scratch gives off this sweet scent, whether it was natural or not, Slick didn't seem to have a fuck to give about it; it still made him crave the dessert nonetheless. He pauses then, standing there for a long moment before furrowing his brow, as if concentrating on something that needed his in depth attention, and leans forward, carefully, slowly, like approaching something that might bite him at a moments notice. It should really dawn on him that he should get the hell out of there, he got the hat, and though he had some questions that still needed answering, especially about the wall and how the hell Scratch knew Slick was coming for Droog's hat, he stayed, just for a few moments longer. Before he even knows what he's doing, his head is tilted to the side slightly, leaning on the doorframe like one of those greaser boys from those old movies Deuce and Boxcars were always watching, and came within a couple inches or so of Scratch's face again. He doesn't know what he's expecting to come out of this, and really he doesn't care. His head is too fucked up to think up of an excuse other then if Doc tastes like vanilla milkshakes, and he is coherent enough /not/ to say that aloud. He does speak though. "... Lean forward..." It wasn't an order, and no threat was hiding behind the words, it was just an offer if nothing else. He kept searching the other's expression though, for a reaction, maye a twitch of muscle before he was socked, or something. He doesn't think before he acts, he just does, then contemplates the reactions afterward; experimenting really.
2014-08-02 20:24:40 -
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Doc Scratch nearly winced hearing how Spades Slick's sentences were slurred and butchered by his hungover status. It made him again question why anyone would want to drink, especially to the point that this would be their end result. Even if it were capable of affecting Scratch, he would never touch a drop of the stuff. Something that could dull senses and awareness like that was nothing he wanted near him, personally. He just hoped Slick wouldn't insist on getting falling-down drunk and dropping by afterwards on a regular basis. Scratch wouldn't receive that well at all.
But this time, all he had greeted Slick with was genuine pity. It had to be miserable being hungover like that, he could tell by the way he'd had his head pressed against the door and nearly fell onto him. Scratch knew it was likely Slick didn't want his pity, but there was no stopping it now. Slick's state truly was piteous and, as he leaned against the threshold of the green mansion, Scratch found his eyes on him once more, as they had been yesterday, prior to their kiss. He looked at Slick, almost stubbornly.
"... Lean forward..."
Thankfully Spades Slick was unaware that Scratch's heart had leapt up into his throat and was effectively blocking his airway, in response to his words. Though for their proximity, he very well might have heard it pounding. Scratch knew every one of Slick's thoughts, and that he'd later write them off as a product of his hangover and nutrient depravation. Scratch bit the inside of his mouth; Romeo and Juliet, of all things. There was no climbing into windows in that work- Slick was probably thinking of the scene where Juliet was on her balcony and fawning over Romeo. He disliked the comparison; no one would die as a result of this, he swore that right then and there.
'He wants to know if you taste like vanilla, too.' Scratch thought. 'This isn't like last time, he doesn't think he's springing this on you, he's proposing this. You aren't being put on the spot.'
Scratch's grip on the door tightened as he closed the space between them, pressing his lips to Slick's gently. It had to be the opposite of yesterday's kiss; it was nothing short of sweet, almost entirely innocent in meaning. It was shorter than the previous kiss as well, with Scratch pulling away from him within seconds. He swallowed then, voice a minutely-shaky whisper when he spoke: "If you try anything as boneheaded as this again I promise you the greeting you receive will not be half so warm as mine. Now go."
With that, Scratch managed to pull himself away from Slick and close the door to the manor.
2014-08-02 22:12:36 -
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Slick couldn't tell what was going through Scratch's head, or even if he'd spoken loud enough for the other to hear. But, he knew the shorter must have heard the two words by the way his neck flexed a bit, and his throat shifted as he swallowed. The taller didn't know if that was a good sign or not, lips parting to say something, or maybe ask what was taking Scratch so damned long, before he hears a grip tighten on the door frame that certainly isn't his own, and is feeling warm lips against his own. His eye widens slightly, a bit shocked that the other had actually leaned forward, and een more so shocked at how gentle it was. It made his jaw flex, the small muscle in it tensing out of reflex before relaxing into the soft contact. Almost as soon as it happened though, the feeling was gone, and he was hearing not only a buzzing in his head, but a thudding. It could only be the reaction of his blood pumper quickening, blood rushing to his ears and causing him to stare in what could only be bafflement at the other. He couldn't even speak, his body language relaxed and lax, even after Doc got done speaking his warning. Only when the door closed did Slick blink, staring at the green pant before him before licking his lower lip, and cursed lightly. Fuck, he does taste like vanilla, sweet ass bastard.
Carefully, he let's go of the frame, still a bit lost as to what the hell just happened, but for some odd reason, his face felt mildly hot. Casually, Slick blamed it upon the sun rising, shaking his head and glancing over his shoulder to make sure no one had just seen what he did, and turned on his heels swiftly before doing as the other asked. Only when he was strolling out of the gate, kicking it closed behind him with the heel of his shoe, do a satisfied smirk curl on his expression, hand clutching Droog's hat none too shyly though. He had just gotten his rival (well, were they rivals still...?) to kiss him. Not only that, but he swore the other's usual smugness was completely depleted in that moment, showing Slick an almost flustered Doc really, and he lavished in that realization. It made him want to laugh, but he decided to keep this little secret to himself... And then it dawns on him. He just... /kissed/ his arch rival... His opposing mobster crew that plans on a daily basis of how to kill and destroy him and his own Crew. Slick is literally strolling in the devil's den now, poking the sleeping bear, and as odd as it sounds, the Crew leader can't seem to find a single shit to give about the predicament. In fact, it almost gives him a rush at the thought, a delighted, palm sweating rush he thought he'd only tasted of once or twice in high school. Except, this particular predicament included guns... And knives... And possible death... He grimaces at that thought, but nonetheless is in a pretty damned good mood when he gets in his car. All he'd wanted to do was snag a quick kiss, for whatever reason he'd been craving it, he had.
Of course, if the Crew knew of this, they'd give Slick hell and would probably beat some sense into him, literally. That's one of the main reasons why he wasn't going to tell them; the less they know, the less they'll get hurt in the end, at least that's what Slick thinks. His head ache is still pestering him like a nagging nanny however, but it is bearable throbs by now. Soft pulsing against his temples as the scent of vanilla still lingers, and so does the craving for it as his mouth waters subtly.
2014-08-02 23:18:26 -
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Spades Slick had smelled faintly of alcohol and cigarettes, scents that the good doctor was not at all acquainted with but nonetheless knew permeated the Midnight Crew's base. The mansion didn't smell that way, not even a bit; it was strange and different and it clung to Scratch as he ascended the staircase again, in his nose and mouth. It faded slowly, and gave him conflicting feeling as it did. They weren't the most pleasant smells, but together with Slick they seemed wholly different. Scratch would like to say his composure had returned the moment Slick left, but that would have been a lie; slowly his heart slid down his throat and back to its place in his chest cavity, continuing its incessant pounding in his ears. It was just as foreign a feeling as the smell of Slick had been. It was neither good nor bad, it was simply new, and he was experiencing the most mixed of feelings in reaction.
Doc Scratch slowly walked back to his apartment; he had nothing to attend to and by now the other Felt members were beginning to go out and about their daily activities, and for once he almost looked out of sorts. Shell-shocked, even. Something had finally, finally made him seem startled. Perhaps he'd been waiting for this day, and was relishing the feeling of being caught unawares like that. Unawares was the wrong term, really; he'd known it was going to occur and always had, but he was unable to believe it. The fact that someone had genuinely wanted him to kiss them was astounding in and of itself. He was too used to being seen as something high and mighty, above others, on a pedestal, even. Conversely, he was disliked by some others. Scratch was so unused to being treated in a differing way that it had come as a shock to his system when the opposite had happened. He couldn't remember the last time someone had shown him affection such as that, if it had ever even transpired before now. He doubted it; in all his years, he'd lived a secluded life.
Even now he retreated to that, sitting himself down in his apartments but not resuming his work. He simply looked at his desk, eyes open but unseeing anything the room had to offer. He let his mind branch out, exhaling slowly and beginning to unwind. Slick had enjoyed their kiss. Scratch would lose his reputation of being entirely honest if he claimed he hadn't, too. Something about the rival leader was alluring, unconventionally so; he was rough around the edges and knew it and enjoyed it, like a serrated knife, where Scratch was polished and rounded like, well, a cue ball. Slick was palpable in the oddest of ways, seemingly not a treat for the senses, but something that could stimulate them in his own trademark way. It was almost frightening how this had all hit Scratch when he'd tried to repress it; undoubtedly he had tried to negate these feelings in the past, and done well, but no more.
2014-08-03 03:48:07 -
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Slick could not wipe the smirk off of his face, as much as he tried, even after some scolding directed towards himself, it was still very prominent and refused to diminish. He doesn't even know why the hell he was so... Thrilled, really. And he honestly didn't want to contemplate it too hard. It wasn't hard and rough like those rare occasions him and Snowman would hate snog, where one' slip would end up a bloody mess, nor was it lustful like those few nights Slick would take a nice looking dame back to the hideout. It was... Gentle, soft, and the more he thought about it the more his face grew hot and hurt a bit from his constant smiling. By the time his Cadillac came to a stop at the usual block, he had to compose himself in the car, biting the innards of his cheek and scowling for a brief moment before finally calming his facial expression. The earache had dissipated to that of a light purring at the back of his head, the bruise still throbbing, but at a slow, steady beat that completely opposed the rush of his blood. It was still coursing hot and quickly, but Slick have no hint of such as he climbed out the vehicle, twirling the hat about between his hands before locking his car, and giving a quick glance around before moving to unlock the hatch. It clicks softly, and with a few steps and a hop, he's down it and reaching up to shut said entrance. Droog was in the kitchen, reading the newspaper, however the way he was postured looked oddly tense. Boxcars had a wrap of gauze around his right hand, thanks to Droog wrapping it undoubtedly, and Slick could assume Boxcars hit harder then he meant when putting a hole in the wall earlier. Deuce was sitting with Boxcars on the couch, watching some soap opera and indulging on his gummy bears. When Slick tosses Droog's hat at him, the taller merely glances up before swifty catching it, a look of slight surprise crossing his face before it hardens.
"Where did you get this, boss?" He asked crossly, and the man in question scoffs. "No 'thank-ya'? Damn Diamonds, how far up are your briefs in your ass?" He remarked in a snide tone, ignoring the question for the moment as he hummed and opened the fridge, taking out a bottle of yea instead of beer for now, and cracked the cap open whilst using his hip to close the fridge. "Well... It's appreciated, I suppose. However, please, do enlighten me as to how you were able to acquire my hat, Slick." Oh. He said his name. That usually meant Droog was either low on patience, or drunk, and seeing as he wasn't smirking lazily or tipping out of his seat, Slick went with the first option. "Ehh, found it. Look, ya know for a damned fact I ain't got shit t'a do with your damned hat; Clover had it, like always. Why ya always wanna pin shit on me? I dunno--but I got the hat back, so be glad 'bout that." He grumble back, downing a bit of his drink before looking about, and found his switchblade sitting on the island. He must have left it there from his and Droog's scuffle the former night.
Slick picks it up, pocketing it before humming and moved to wander off to his room. With all the hit going on for the past two days, he almost forgot he needed to work on some plans for the next heist. It wasn't like the Crew was running low on money or anything of that sort, it was more so to keep up appearances and, well, Slick liked money. However, when he's finally situated at his desk, which consisted of the keys of his piano being a flat surface for him, his tea set off to the side, he couldn't seem to focus. It was like whenever the pencil touched the surface of the blueprints, his mind wandered off, and it was always the same subject it wandered to. Scratch. He didn't know if he was becoming fascinated by the other or what, but the thought of his lips against his own was constantly at the back of his mind, festering into more then just the occasional remembrance, into actual questions. 'I wonder why he did it', 'is this gonna come back and bite me in the ass?', and 'goddamn it, no one has lips that fuckin' soft' started manifesting through his thoughts, before they all directed to one conclusion. Said conclusion makes him groan, rolling his blue hue at himself before he drops his pencil and prints on his lap, leaning forward to drop his head onto the piano's keys and let out a steady, low sound of three or so tunes in sync. He grumbles out a faint, "I want to kiss him 'gain" before lifting his head and hitting it on the keys again. This was seriously going to toss him onto his back and knock the air out of him in the future... however, Slick thinks he'll cross that bridge when he comes to it. /If/ he does, that is.
2014-08-03 04:27:46 -
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Doc Scratch tried to preoccupy himself but his hands and mind were far too often separate for his own good; he could work mindlessly on some task and catch himself starting to slip off, to other distracting thoughts. Especially when Slick had questions in his own head, ones that Scratch couldn't help but answer to himself. The one about soft lips did have him blushing again, however. Nobody had ever said, or, well, thought anything like that about him before. It was strangely flattering. Even so, Scratch was not eager to reveal the fact he knew all of Slick's thoughts to him; he couldn't help that he was able to, and it really wasn't his choice. He knew she understood that some found it creepy and an invasion of privacy. To those people all he had to give was an apology and a sincere promise not to bring the stranger things up, as if he would.
Early that evening Doc Scratch had the distinct fortune of being visited by Snowman. The taller woman sat opposite his desk, extinguished cigarette and holder held fashionably between two fingers. She knew he didn't like her smoking around him, but tonight he wouldn't dare allow it, lest the smell remind him of Spades Slick and return him to those moments. Snowman would be sure to cut him down quickly if she saw him look that way even for a second. He was not in the mood to dance conversationally with her; she was exponentially more clever than Slick was in that regard, and nothing short of an end to the discussion could curb her.
Scratch did well to uphold the conversation and work while concealing his wandering state of mind.
"You look distracted."
Or so he'd thought. Snowman was perceptive to a fault.
"Why, what could you mean by that?" Scratch replied, looking up to the woman. "I am near always in another place, mentally. It does not mean I was paying you less attention."
The woman's eyes narrowed almost unnoticeably. "Even so. Perhaps I have an interest in what's on your mind."
'No, you wouldn't.' Scratch thought. 'You certainly would not care to know that the caliginous solicitor you have is waxing red for me, despite all restrictions put in place by our positions within rival gangs.'
"Not so much. It is rather beneath you, a thing to be resolved shortly, really." Scratch said indifferently.
No, she wouldn't care about that in the least. It was good Scratch decided not to waste his time with it, then. Still, he felt a sense of pride over her due to the recent events. Slick liked his kissing. More than his kissing with Snowman, perhaps. It made him feel strangely proud of himself, but he'd never let her catch on.
Later, after she had departed, he could not help but grin to himself and his desk. It felt good to do it again- the smiling, that was. He had his reasons, and he'd come to enjoy the small triumphs, if only a little bit.
2014-08-03 06:38:25 -
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If Slick coul have known that one, namely say Doc Scratch, could read his thoughts at the moment and practically hear everything he was thinking, he wouldn't see it as creepy really. One, he'd certainly be a bit baffled at the idea someone has that capability, and would undoubtedly as the other to prove it. And two, he'd be extremely embarrassed since one way or another, his head had a few screws loose and his mind always wandered into depths it really shouldn't. It could be the thoughts at the forefront of his mind, to the deep, dark, twisted ones that lurke in the dusty corners of his cranium. He wouldn't particularly be extremely excited or enthusiastic about the idea of it, however he'd most certainly not throw some end of the world horror freak out over it. It would just be another detail about someone; hell, everyone had baggage, some more then others, but it's all the same. He stares idly at the piano currently though, this thought not necessarily crossing his mind, but in the near future, it might. Right now however, he's attempting to focus on the plans he still hasn't been able to sketch down upon. He had details already written and drawn about the prints from his former scouting of the bank he planned to hit, his own personal scouting since Deuce was too short to catch some things, Boxcars was too large and able to be spotted within a moments notice if he was doing anything peculiar, and Droog... Slick fights with his right-hand man on the daily, he didn't need to get into an argue ment with him and have the taller end up leaving out a few details for the blueprints to sabatoge the boss. Of course, he wouldn't do anything that would end up hurting one of the Crew members badly, but maybe 'forgetting' the safe's code or whether or not it was the blue or green wire to cut of the security system, those were things Droog would undoubtedly do to Slick.
As time drags on, and the Crew member seems to have still not come up with any ideas of how to persue this heist, he finally deems his head having a heist-block, and tosses the pencil over his shoulder into the havoc of his floor before rolling up the plans, and tossing them into his bed. He still can't shake off the porcelain male from his thoughts, and soon grows aggravated with himself for acting like he was in highschool again and trying to impress the shy girl of the class, or the nerdy buck toothed boy at the empty row of tables. He didn't particularly have... Outstanding past relationships, though those type of deals were only in the movies. Especially deity-awful chick-flicks that Boxcars watches every now and then. For such a brutish guy, he was quite the softy; hence the word 'Hearts' in his name, figures. Aside from that, Slick was usually the guy who only had a relationship with someone because... Well, he could. Because he was always the 'spunky' or 'bad boy' of his usual chat group, he'd usually get the 'it' girl from his mere reputation. He never kept them though, mainly because it was too much drama and all he was really interested in was how good in bed they were. Of course now, that he's older, he has a slightly different view on it, but all the same he still finds relationships to be... Tricky, in blatant terms. And boy, did he have a tricky route before him; might as well be tight-roping with a thousand pounds on each shoulder and face blindfolded.
Wait. Did he just... Think about having... A relationship with his arch rival?
His face grows hot, and he huffs before running a hand through his raven locks and quickly shakes that thought from his head. All it was was a kiss. It wasn't a fucking marriage proposal, so he shouldn't be jumping head first into any conclusions before he got a bigger picture... However, that's not Slick's style. He always jumps fully into whatever thought he has, regardless of the consequences. Even now, after he'd told himself to disregard whatever twisted thought kept curling it's way to the front of his mind, it refused to quit pestering him. So, to clear his mind, he looks down at the keys to his piano. One of his hands reaches up, laying a few fingertips upon a few keys, and he presses a sweet tune or two with just that. Before he knows it, both hands are on the keys, mind focusing on the task before him. Though his mechanical hand puts up a bit of a fuss, not being able to feel the keys and all, he was still able to work with it efficiently and started the music off soft and slow. He only used the most high pitched of keys, creating a melody that floated and drifted about each key stroke... Soon, the pace picked up, until it was a solid beat and fatter notes were added. It became a more somber tune, the occasional flutter of lighter keys dancing among the deeper, thicker tune, coaxing them to sound more upbeat and to bring out a more relaxed and content sound. Slick was glad his door was shut, or else the other's might have yelled at him to cut out the racket. Or, at least, tell him to tone it down since not even Droog could say that he found Slick's handiwork with the keys to be unimpressing. So, Spades continued like this for thirty minute or so, keeping up the tune and only focusing on the music until it started to slow down. The keys were lightly stroked, and soon, Slick was nodding off at the piano, only hitting a few more keys before leaning forward. His eye kept blinking, attempting to keep himself up, but even that proved futile as his vision hazed, the keys starting to silence, and he could feel the cold of the piano against his cheek before passing out comfortably.
2014-08-03 07:46:01 -
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For some reason Doc Scratch felt as if he had gotten one up on Snowman for having kissed Spades Slick like that. Perhaps it was the fact the two were always at odds and honestly trying to beat the other to a bloody pulp (if they weren't indulging in sloppy hate makeouts), but Scratch had been able to completely quell Slick and had kissed him sweetly in a manner that was anything but black. It was true he had been hungover and tired, but Scratch still had. He didn't have a doubt he could do the same later on, when he was back to his usual self. It made him a bit haughty to know that the person who was constantly on her case had given him attention of the opposite inclination. She'd never find out, of course, but Scratch still felt some sense of triumph as a result of the whole thing.
Scratch could not deny having a bit of a natural aversion to caliginous relationships; not only because kismesissitude constituted a strong sense of rivalry between the participants, of which Scratch was incapable of finding (who could rival an omniscient and omnipotent man?), but because, as a First Guardian, he had an innate sense of compassion. Due to complicated reasons he would be unable to protect and facilitate his own planet, putting him at an embarrassing loss. As such he'd rather adopted the Felt as an outlet for those intuitions, keeping them safe in his own ways and looking after them in others. His compassion was his downfall, really; in places where he was not required to be hard of heart, he would feel the need to exercise it. It was a difficult spot for many reasons, most relating to Lord English, but he was getting ahead of himself there. The point was he did not want a part of the sort of relationship Slick tried to have with Snowman. They didn't suit him, in his opinion.
That was not to say Doc Scratch was incapable of malice; he surely was and, though he would never let them know it, manipulated the Felt's environment far beyond their understanding. A lot could be accomplished with his omniscience and omnipotence working in sync. What he would do was tweak minor details in the world around them to work for their advantage and protection; if one of them was to run afoul of someone they shouldn't on a night out, he would hold a traffic light too long, or tug their mind elsewhere and distract them until the danger passed. They never noticed and, as it turned out, every second was of importance in protecting them. He didn't particularly like toying with their minds, but others' were a different matter. He knew just what got under the skin of any individual, and would use it to his advantage, sometimes for nothing more than his own amusement, as he had with Spades Slick in their meeting.
Doc Scratch had decided to attempt sleep, knowing the night would be rather long without it. It was still relatively early when he slipped into his sleepwear (contrary to popular belief, his wardrobe consisted of more than just suits) and then into bed. He had a bed that was clearly for more than one person, but he was the only one who used it, and only occasionally, at that. Sleep, as per usual, came with difficultly. Scratch laid there with his eyes closed for what felt like an entire day before he lapsed into the half-conscious state of mind that he had come to know as sleep. Dreams, for him, were always dangerously unpredictable, and he would prefer none at all. When he slept he would always turn on his side and curl up into a fetal position, knees tucked in against his chest and breath coming softly. He looked at peace, yes, but that was always up to strenuous debate.
2014-08-03 13:34:29 -
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The night is quiet when Slick slowly comes out of unconsciousness, waking up from his nap and blinking his eye a few times before realizing he had drooled onto his fucking piano keys. He gives a thorough scolding at himself for that and using the sleeve of his button up to wipe up the pool is saliva before sitting up, and pop his back with a few sharp twists. This earns a grunt or two from him, and slowly he recognizes that the living room is silent. Which meant, usually, that everyone had fallen asleep. He narrows his eyes at this, humming before standing up and running a hand through his hair to slick it back a bit. He pats his pocket, making sure he had his switchblade before looking about for his hat, and found it on the floor with the rest of his hazardously placed objects. When he slaps his wide brimmed fedora upon his head, he wanders out of his dark room, and into the living room of the hideout. The TV was off, and the only thing on was the kitchen light so midnight wanderers wouldn't bump their shin into the coffee table.
Slick doesn't stick around for long, giving the hideout a quick look over before finally deciding upon what his next move would be. He was still intrigued about Doc and how he'd known about Droog's hat, and also how the other had fixed the scorch marks on the walls of the Manor. It had been late when Slick allowed hi flames to eat at the wood a bit, and it had been early when he went back to the Manor; there was no way a carpenter or anything of that sort had come over and fixed so much of the damages. Slick was sure he'd also find the chair he clawed into to be fixed as well, though he hasn't seen it, he had the feeling it would be repaired if he did check. So, the Crew leader does what any good in investigator does; snoops.
Now, he wasn't like that accursed Problem Sleuth bastard (better known as Shawn), however Slick knows how to get information, just, maybe, not as up front and clean as the opposing investigator who insists on dressing primarily in cream or white colors. It was almost as disgusting as the overrun green color the Felt used. Slick was fairly aware that it would be considered breaking and entering to just walk up to the mansion and break into a window, however what the Felt didn't know, wouldn't hurt them. A few minutes on one of the Manor's computer, and all should be said and done. Spades would have done some research on his own laptop, however he wouldn't be able to snoop through the Doc's things in the process; personal thins, that is. It would give him a better insight as to what and who he was dealing with. Apparently, Doc was stronger then one would assume by first glance, of the firm push to his chest was anything to go off of. And though Slick didn't really go judging one off of looks, though Scratch looked odder then most. No one could be that pale and have a blush the color of emerald stones. There was definitely something peculiar about the other, and before Slick always himself to... Grow attached in any manner or form, he decides to get a better picture of Doc.
It doesn't take quite long to get out of the hatch and down the block to his Cadillac. His hangover had subsided now, and was all together gone as the bruise seemed to have calmed down to just a sensitive spot on his cranium. It didn't throb or pester him with pain, but Slick didn't dare twist his head around quickly or press against his temple in fear that the bliss of quiet calm may be interrupted by a migraine. So, he reframed from feeling the bruise, glancing around as he slides into his car, only a select few street lights allowing a sorry excuse for light to illuminate the darkness in a pale yellow film. It was quiet as well, and Slick could only assume it was quite late, the half moon looming lazily above the city with a pale white shine. Even his car purred quietly as he drove down the mainly empty roads, humming along to some blues playing on the radio. After a few minutes or so, much shorter then it had been since there wasn't any traffic, he pulls up slowly to a street opposing the Felt Manor. His blue hue dilates as he looked over the green monstrosity, seeing a couple widows with their lamps still on, however the rest of the building seemed as quiet as a mouse. This have Slick the extra courage to pull through with his plan, silently getting out of his car and shutting the door as gently as possible before looking around, and crossed the street to the gate. Thank whatever deity he doesn't believe in that the gate only creaks once as he opens it, then slides his nimble body through the small opening before leaving the gate open. He couldn't close it again just yet, in case he needed to make a quick escape or something along those lines. There were numerous windows surrounding the Manor, and taking the door would have been a bit too risky. So, Slick goes for the window near what seems to be the kitchen. These windows were actually cracked open a bit, probably to air out whatever the hell the Felt had cooked that night, and it took close to no effort to slide it all the way open, and hop in onto the counter silent; much like a cat of the night really.
2014-08-03 23:16:25 -
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Doc Scratch's eyes flicked open as Spades Slick touched down in the first floor kitchen, which was the largest. Felt Manor had three floors, and each had a kitchen on them. There were also several sitting rooms and parlors, half a dozen bathrooms, a library, numerous closets, and fifteen bedrooms in use. Other spare rooms that were not fitted for inhabitance were present, and there was Doc Scratch's own apartments. They were on the third floor, behind a large set of doors that were oddly tucked-away for their size. The Felt knew it as his apartments, but Slick wasn't likely to walk in there with the express purpose of seeking him out. If one were to enter, they would first find his actual office; a small study-like area with a desk front and center and a chair before it. Felt members who found themselves sitting there were often in some sort of trouble, or had to give a report of some sort. This was why it was occasionally referred to as the hot seat, or sometimes the mercy seat, depending on what they were there for. Behind the desk was a threshold and step down, which led to a small sitting area. There were a few low-lying couches there, around an equally-set coffee table, and one large grandfather clock present. There were a few other things sitting about, ranging from a phonograph to a standing-up globe. There was another doorway on the opposite wall that led through a short hall and then Scratch's bedroom. Hardly anyone got to the sitting room, and no one had been in his bedroom, aside from himself.
The porcelain-pale man laid on his side for a bit, eyes almost aglow in the darkened room. That had to be the most telltale sign of his difference; energy was always in him, around him. In the end, he wouldn't be surprised if his entire physical form was composed of it, not of blood and sinew like the others' were. Even for him it was an odd predicament to be in; he was not the sort to receive anyone while dressed to be asleep. But it would be nothing short of strange and a bit of a stretch to dress right away. He'd want to shower as well, at any rate. It was a bit of a nuisance to him, but one fact still remained at the forefront of his mind.
Spades Slick had broken into Felt Manor, the veritable viper's nest that housed his enemies, at the most unholy of hours, with the express intent of snooping and digging around. Not on future heists, not on dark secrets, not to scout for weak points, but to discover more about Doc Scratch himself. Stupid was but one word he would call Slick's idea. Others would have to be absurd, inane, banal, dull, idiotic, witless, foolish, and possibly one of the most winsome things he'd ever had done on his behalf. It almost elicited a chuckle from Scratch, if it weren't for the dumbfounding danger of the situation. It was unlikely anyone would come across him due to the time of night and the size of the Manor, but Scratch would much rather be safe than sorry.
He rose slowly; there was no rush, for now anyway. Scratch went to his closet and retrieved a green smoking jacket, pulling it tight around his slim figure. He was already wide awake, and thankfully no dreams had come to visit him in his short respite. It was painfully informal to receive Spades Slick this way. In his pajamas, that was. He, who was always known for his formality and urbane aura. This was near to degrading. Well, Slick had shown up hungover earlier on. He supposed this would not be in the worst of taste with that taken into consideration. Doc Scratch moved throughout the Manor as if it were broad daylight, eyes still faintly aglow as he crept soundlessly down the halls. Well, slippers were good for one thing, he supposed.
2014-08-04 01:19:11 -
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It was dark, that's one thing he noticed right away as he slid off the counter he'd crawled atop of to get in and dropped to his feet on the tiled floors. He didn't even have to see to know the tile was green, his claws touching the stone cabinet as he let his blue hue gaze around curiously. Before he ignorantly starts fumbling around for a light switch, he merely snaps his fingers, a lick of purple flame appearing on his fingertips and illuminating the kitchen in some light, however with the dark shade of the light, it was still quite hard to see. Not to mention he doesn't have the use of both his eyes, so he's at a bit of a disadvantage. He does, however, realize the kitchen is about double the size of his own room, which was quite intimidating. He knew the Manor was large, immense really, but he hadn't fully realized how large it really was until now as he gazed around in silent surprise. He couldn't stay long in there though, seeing as he needed to hurry up and get what he needed before leaving. A bit reluctantly, he leaves the kitchen, keeping a steady source of flames lapping from his hand as he looked around, the other hand deep into his slack pocket to clutch his switchblade tightly for reassurance. He was really in the Devil's Den right now, and now he was willingly dwelling deeper into the den, looking around and furrowing his brow as he comes to the hall with which it was leading from the front door, and deeper within. The same hall where he'd thoroughly scorched the walls.
He strolls silently down the hall, furrowing his brow at the wall as he looks it over with a skeptic eye. There wasn't a single sign of a black scorch or frayed wood chip from his claws digging deep into the surface. In fact, it seemed the entire predicament hadn't even happened; like it was how it had been before Slick laid his destructive hands on it. This raised a red flag for the Crew member, however this Ian enough evidence, nor does it sate his interest, so he strolls deeper down the hall, looking for any marks he may have left, but surprisingly comes up empty handed. He also had to keep in mind to be alert, making sure there were no wandering footfalls or clicks of the safety of a gun cutting off. There still weren't any lights on from what he could tell as he took a turn, vaguely wondering where the hell the Felt would keep private information, or maybe a secluded computer, stashed at. An office came to mind, but he had no idea as to where it was, and found himself hesitantly glancing ino a few rooms that were located here and there on opposing sides of the walls. He'd found two bathrooms, what seemed to be a guest room (who the fuck would stay here for a weekend vacation?) and came upon the room him an Scratch had first conversed in. Well, there were some books in this room, and so he decided to glance about those a little bit. He made sure to keep his flames away from the books, grumbling as he looks over the spines of some of the literature, and comes up empty handed. No surprise there.
Before he turns to leave the room, he sees the bowl of scottie dogs from the former day are still there, and he grins at this before picking a handful up, the one without the flames eating it, and tossed a few into his mouth. With that, he turns on his heels and walks out, looking left, then right, and continued venturing leisurely down the halls. At least he could store what the Manor looks like on the inside in the vault at the back of his mind. Though, he has to admit, the further he tread through the Manor, the more tense and rigid he grew. He still didn't particularly like being surrounded by places he wasn't familiar of, and considering this place was full of rival mobsters with full intent to kill him? Not the most comfortable feeling place he's ever been in.
2014-08-04 02:20:04 -
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Though Spades hasn't come to Felt Manor in order to bring anyone harm, Scratch was glad the Felt's rooms were scattered about in the mansion, not in any form of succession. It made them even harder to pin down, if that was possible. It was good to keep them distanced from the two mob leaders as they went head to head as well.
Not that Scratch considered himself going to go head to head with Slick. They were only going to converse, that was all. But if that were true, why was his heart racing once more? It was as if the idea of seeing Slick again had roused him somehow. He wouldn't deny it was interesting enough of him to break into Felt Manor on his behalf, but this was a bit much. Scratch had half a mind to teleport down there in order to get things over with quicker, but he knew the sudden and sharp burst of light and energy would startle the Crew member. Startling Slick was never a good idea.
Slowly, Scratch descended the grand staircase and entered the foyer. Off to the right side of the staircase was a smaller passageway which led downward. If one took that hall to the left, they'd be in the den, where Felt members would plot heists and generally mess around recreationally. There was a pool table and television there, the only one in the Manor. If the hall was taken to the right and down a few more steps, one would find oneself at Stitch's workshop. It was secluded, just as the ninth member liked it. Slick would have been in trouble if he'd gone down there. Thankfully the doorway was nearly invisible in the dark, and had been overlooked. Scratch padded silently after Slick, his heartbeat in his ears frighteningly loud in contrast to the Manor's silence.
'I should not sneak up on him.' Scratch thought. 'He will only jump and react in a manner that is adversely conductive to our mutual needs; it will only cause him fright. I really, really shouldn't sneak up on him.'
So, of course, he did. Perhaps his sense of pressure proceeded him, but Scratch had come up behind Slick with ease, arms crossed behind his back and looking as haughty as he had their first meeting before he said, "Are you finding everything alright, Mr. Slick?" If he was looking for computer records, there were none to be had. They were all on paper and kept in Scratch's office. Slick couldn't have been farther from his answers- until now, when they all stood before him in the form of some sort of man.
2014-08-04 03:28:20 -
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Slick was turning another corner, keeping his meld as quiet as a mouse and occasionally popping pieces of the scottie dogs into his mouth. He should have turned around, maybe glanced about just to double check that no one had been following him, however he seemed to be too interested with a dark room that may have been another bathroom or guest room; he'll never really know considering he heard a familiar, silver-quality like tone speaking to him from behind. Slick was coherent enough in his sudden shock that he didn't yell, however that did not mean his vocals were silent as he jumped where he stood. A chocked noise came from his throat as his fangs but down onto his tongue, surely cutting as the hand full of doggys goes flying, and the candy is soon scattered on the floor. As if that wasn't embarrassing enough, his inflamed hand grows brighter, the fire eating up his whole arm before going out as if someone blew on a candle. The only audible and sensible word then that came from him was the hiss of, "Bastard!" As he whipped around, obviously displeased and quite embarrassed at the sneak up. And he had thought he was on his toes; apparently not.
Swiftly, he snapped so his first few fingers were aflame, a growl emanating from his chest as he glares down at Scratch, as if he was the intruder and Slick had every right to be where he was. "Whatcha tryin' t'a do, make me wake up the fuckin' Manor?" He snapped in a harsh hiss, fangs bared in a manner that suggested he was really tempted in biting Scratch's jugular, however he makes no move to hurt him, as tense as his shoulders and muscles may seem, he was more so startled then pissed. He curses then, mainly at himself, and notes that the other was dressed in something other then a suit. It was still quite fancy in Slick's definition, and much more then what the Crew member would wear to bed. That is, if this is what he wore to bed? Spades certainly wouldn't be able to sleep with so many layers of clothing. That a side though, since he shouldn't be focusing on that, he also realizes the other had noticed he had broken in...wait. How the hell did he know that? "Ya got some explainin' t'a do." He points out, in a growl, swallowing slightly dryly since he now feels the full weight I hi shenanigans, but doesn't seem to regret them much. He was just doing legitimate research... So what if he broke into someone's home, or more so sanction, to find out the answers? That can be overlooked, hopefully.
In regards to the question, he was aware it was rhetorical, and simply didn't answer it. Merely because the words would taste as bitter in his mouth if he were to taste the iron of blood. It wasn't the most pleasant taste, though bearable, if he had a choice, he'd rather avoid all contact with such a taste. Speaking of tastes, which fell under the category of senses, the not so overwhelming scent of vanilla tickled his nose. Silently, he inhaled, brow furrowed, and let's the air out between slightly parted lips as his jaw flexes, and the underside of his tongue tingles with the familiar sensation of his mouth watering. He ignores it though, shoving the feeling aside as he instead pays attention to how the hell the other knew he'd snuck in, how he'd known about Droog's hat, and also how the hell he fixed the scorch marks on the wall. Of course, he should be explaining himself, but... He doesn't feel the need to.
2014-08-04 03:54:09 -
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Doc Scratch raised a single white brow, showing Slick exactly what he thought of his words.
"'You've got some explaining to do', says the man who unlawfully entered the hideout and home of his enemies and is all at once confronted with their leader." Scratch said dryly. "Your logic works out perfectly." With a sigh, he stepped nearer, if only marginally; he didn't want Slick to feel as if he were creeping on the edge of what little light he had. Scratch looked carefully at the hand which supplied Spades' dark fire, his eyes only mildly curious. After, he was back looking to his face. He retained a bit of his expectant expression, if not a bit toned down, arms folded and hands pressed to the small of his own back. The other part of his expression was that of resignation; Slick was here and there was nothing at all to be done about that.
"I understand why you have come." Scratch said, tone appropriately hushed for the time of night and their location. "Which is part of the answers you desire, no doubt. What you have come in hopes of discovering is not written on paper or stored in any computer; I am the only one who can provide the answers you seek." At that, Scratch allowed a small smirk to form on his face. He was used to having the upper hand here and, if Slick wanted any fruit for his endeavors, he would have to acquiesce to Scratch.
"Would you care to discuss them in the hallway, however?" Scratch said passingly, bright eyes flicking about before resting again on the opposite man. "This topic is one you would prefer to be sitting while being told about, I am quite sure." That and Scratch could really never stop being an inviting sort of person; even if he were here to beat Spades Slick senseless he would be polite about it.
Far, far beneath the more professional exterior Doc Scratch and adopted, he still felt oddly affected by Slick and even his very presence. He couldn't hide anything from the First Guardian, that much was obvious; he knew that Slick's mouth would water at the scent he wore, and he'd confessed in private, to himself, to wanting to kiss him again. Scratch couldn't shake whatever this feeling was; it was difficult to pin down, and he was unused to it. It made him uneasy, almost on edge, like Spades Slick would strike him should he let his guard down for even a moment around him. But vulnerable wasn't the word; it was... Anxiety? No, it wasn't a bad thing. It wasn't bad and it wasn't good. It was hard. That was all it was.
2014-08-04 16:43:10 -
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It would have been better for the taller to expect his own words to be thrown back at him, however that isn't the case since a look of bafflement contorts Slick's expression, as if the words were foreign and he were trying to make sense of them. He knew damn well what the other meant; it was spelled out for him really. Slick was sure that if it were possible, Doc would write out the words and rub it in his face to emphasis the fact that the Crew member was completely in the wrong, though he'd ignore it of course and only point fingers in return, in a way he supposed he would deserve it. But, he can't really think over that too much since the other is swiftly explaining to him that there is actually no file via electronic device, nor parchment since, from what Slick can assume, it's all stored in that peculiar head of Scratch's. So, his own explanation goes right out the widow since it seems the shorter had figured out what the taller had been snooping for, or as Slick would put it, 'investigating'. However, this only intensifies his curiosity as to how the other knew what he was looking for, and just as he was just about to ask said thought, he's being answered with an offer to converse somewhere that wasn't directly out in the open and vulnerable to a stray Felt member wandering upon the two.
Staying in the hall wasn't really an option, though Slick does consider it, and figures he'd rather take a chance with someone he figures he can overpower, if needed (which he highly doubts for some odd reason), rather than a row of gunmen willing to tear his throat out with their bare teeth. Before replying as to follow, though, he takes note of the smug smirk that curls on Doc's pale lips. At that moment, a rake of irritation claws down his back, and his muscles tighten to an extremely taut reaction. He doesn't bark back a question as to why the other feels accomplished though, he's already aware by the way he'd stated his words to him. He knew Slick didn't have a choice, especially if he wanted answers, other then to listen to the green eyes male with one too many cards up his sleeves for the Crew members liking. It makes him want to grit his fangs and stomp his foot like a three-year-old having a temper tantrum because mommy didn't want to buy the blue furred bear for him. As tempting as acting in this way sounds, he just snarls and slowly nods his head, as if the very action pains him to do. "... Fine Cue Ball, what fuckin' place did ya have in mind." It wasn't really a question, it didn't matter whether he'd like the area they'd converse in or not, either way, he was going if he wanted answers. It irked him to a high degree that the other could simply look at him and know everything that was going on in his head; like he could simply read it or something along those... Lines...
Wait.
Slick stared at Doc then, staring closely and hard like inspecting some sort of new endangered specimen, the purple of the flame giving the shorter an almost eerie look that should honestly intimidate the taller, but instead it just tempts him to draw closer. "Ya are some freaky shit, ya know that? I jus' wanna know how the fuck ya know what I'm gonna do, or are doin' before I can even tell ya or say somethin' 'bout it. I hadn't told anyone that I was comin' here, so I was the only one to know that, yet, lookie here. Fuckin' Cue Ball Host is all over my case 'n' know in' the shit I'm doin'." He keeps his voice as quiet as possible, but it's still substantially louder then Doc's, and if anyone were nearby, Slick would most certainly be heard for his gritty tone and naturally loud voice was quite hard not to recognize.
2014-08-04 23:47:38 -
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Scratch narrowed his eyes minutely at Slick. It was a sort of chastisement for his outburst, yes, but Scratch would have been lying had he said the words had left him unhurt; he should've been used to it by now, really, or at least more hardened to the names, but they still cut. He wouldn't let on about that, however- Spades Slick would have sneered and spat more if he did, no doubt. So he kept a still look about him, riding out Slick's harshly-hissed words. Judging by them, he certainly wasn't stupid enough to let every indicator go by unnoticed. That was good. Scratch was glad he wasn't completely imperceptive after all.
Doc Scratch sighed lightly, stepping around the rival mobster; it was clear by the unhesitant way he moved that he did not fear Slick suddenly assaulting him, and did not even find anything particularly tensing about being near him. He had good reason for feeling this way, and he was more than likely going to explain it now to Slick. He beckoned over his shoulder for Spades Slick to follow, and knew full well he would. If not, he'd be stranded on his own in the Manor, a position no Crew member would expressly enjoy. He assumed nobody would be a threat to anybody as long as Slick was with him. Even if they were walked in on by a Felt member who had awoken, he was sure he could twist the situation to make it seem as if the meeting were anything but candid.
"You want to know how I can seemingly predict your actions before they even occur." Scratch said as he led him further down the dark hall. He almost sounded like a tour guide, but he wasn't giving the lowdown of Felt Manor- rather, he was discussing himself, his own features so to speak.
"I will tell you now, there is no prediction or divination involved in the process. It is quite easy to comprehend, though I have no doubt I'll have to reaffirm or explain a few things simply due to the nature of present company." Scratch led him into a drawing room in the back of the manor. The curtains drawn in front of the tall windows, and there were two couches opposite each other in the room's center. In a replay of their first meeting, Scratch would wait for his guest to take his seat before sitting across from him.
"In layman's terms, I know everything there is to know. About you, about the Felt and our surroundings, and generally every other topic anyone could care to mention. I know your thoughts and I know your habits, as I do everyone else's. This makes preparing for whatever instance will occur incredibly easy. I knew you were retrieving Diamonds Droog's hat this morning and I knew you were coming here, at the very least." Scratch paused then, aware Slick would want some sort of proof. "I also happen to know you fell asleep with your head on the keys of your piano, and drove home the other night while intoxicated. Not very wise of you, if I may."
2014-08-05 01:32:49 -
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To be blatantly honest, the harsh insults and names weren't particularly anything personal. In fact, Slick wouldn't have minded not saying them at all; however, he had to keep up appearances, regardless of the two short moments of actions that may counter his words. He was still a rival member, and he had no idea the other knew perfectly well he had some sort of... Soft side (for lack or a better word), towards Scratch. If anything, the other could very well be manipulating Slick's head into thinking the actions that had fallen between the two of them of something other then manipulative, when that wasn't the case at all. Bottom line, Slick is one of those people who needs their entire layout to be written in black and white before accepting anything as a fact. Right now, everything was questionable and colored in more than one shade, so he surely wasn't anywhere close to finding any answers on his own... Until now, of course. However, this little question he has not necessarily thought often about, and keeps pushing to the back of his mind for safety purposes towards himself and anyone else that would likely be involved. It's answer could be harmful, very harmful, if said aloud... Even to the person in question.
Nonetheless, he watches the other with a narrowed hue as he's walked around so nonchalantly, like that of a white rabbit venturing right in between the legs of a junkyard's guard dog. Slick would have been a bit insulted if he weren't so uncomfortable. Not to say Scratch said or did anything to make him feel that way, more so just the close proximity and intensified scent making his jaw clench tight as he controlled his natural body's reactions. It was a mix between craving something sweet, and being disgusted with himself for being such a way in one if the most uncanny of situations. He can't think too much on that though as he's being beckoned to follow, and doing so just like an obedient dog. He's a bit surprised the other can venture so easily in the dark without the help of any sort of light. Slick's flames didn't lighten up much but a foot and a half around himself really, but the other was a yard or so ahead of him and ventured easily. Maybe it was because he actually lived here and knew which hall led to which room, where as Slick is as lost as a mouse in a maze. He probably would have gotten lost if left alone by that point.
He furrows his brow at the shorter when he starts talking, at first curious, then giving a flat expression as he caught on to the subtle hint that Scratch might need to explain in depth how he knows Slick's moves so efficiently since the Crew member was less understanding then others (bastard). Though, that may well be true, Slick still growls lightly in defense, pausing only for a moment as they come to a room he wasn't familiar with yet, and glanced around before stepping into the doorway and finding the other standing instead of sitting in his seat. Well, he was probably expecting Slick to sit, and eventually the taller does, but not without giving a perplexed look to the other at his very blunt and confusing statement. Once he's settled down, he takes off his hat and sets it beside himself, always keeping it close, and does indeed feel a tinge of doubt towards the other's words... Until he's voiced some proof about his own antics of where he'd slept and driving intoxicated. "Woah... Woah, woah, woah." He holds his hands out as if the entire room were spinning and he needed it to stop at that moment. "By the sound a' it, ya know everythin'... I mean, someone's move before they do it, 'n' what's goin' on with them, 'n' what their... Thinkin'..." The first two facts doesn't hit him as hard as the last one. Scratch can know his thoughts.
/Scratch can know his thoughts/.
His back feels hot, like claws were raking down it, and his face starts to feel a bit warm as well. He's not caring about the other's opinion about him driving whilst drunk, no that can be snarled at later, he's more so focused upon the fact that he has had some pretty questionable thoughts about the Felt leader and he /knows/ them. The hands in front of himself drop on his lap, and he swallows dryly, jaw clenched so right that his fans hurt. One could mistake his reaction for utter frustration or anger... If it weren't for the embarrassed flush on his face or the way he glanced over at his hat as if it waiting for it to eat him alive. "... Can ya control it?" He asked in a hesitant manner, not even daring to look in Scratch's direction now.
2014-08-05 04:36:56 -
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To be blatantly honest, the harsh insults and names weren't particularly anything personal. In fact, Slick wouldn't have minded not saying them at all; however, he had to keep up appearances, regardless of the two short moments of actions that may counter his words. He was still a rival member, and he had no idea the other knew perfectly well he had some sort of... Soft side (for lack or a better word), towards Scratch. If anything, the other could very well be manipulating Slick's head into thinking the actions that had fallen between the two of them were something other then manipulative, when that wasn't the case at all. Bottom line, Slick is one of those people who needs their entire layout to be written in black and white before accepting anything as a fact. Right now, everything was questionable and colored in more than one shade, so he surely wasn't anywhere close to finding any answers on his own... Until now, of course. However, his little question about what was going on between them has not necessarily been thought about often. He keeps pushing it to the back of his mind for safety purposes towards himself and anyone else that would likely be involved. It's question and answer could be harmful, very harmful, if said aloud... Even to the person in question.
Nonetheless, he watches the other with a narrowed hue as he's walked around so nonchalantly, like that of a white rabbit venturing in between the legs of a junkyard's guard dog. Slick would have been a bit insulted if he weren't so uncomfortable. Not to say Scratch said or did anything to make him feel that way, more so just the close proximity and intensified scent making his jaw clench tight as he controlled his body's natural reactions. It was a mix between craving something sweet and being disgusted with himself for being such a way in one if the most uncanny of situations. He can't think too much on that though as he's being beckoned to follow, and doing so just like an obedient dog. He's a bit surprised the other can venture so easily in the dark without the help of any sort of light. Slick's flames didn't lighten up much but a foot and a half around himself really, but the other was a yard or so ahead of him and ventured easily. Maybe it was because he actually lived here and knew which hall led to which room, where as Slick is as lost as a mouse in a maze. He probably would have gotten lost if left alone by that point.
He furrows his brow at the shorter when he starts talking, at first curious, then giving a flat expression as he caught on to the subtle hint that Scratch might need to explain in depth how he knows Slick's moves so efficiently since the Crew member was less understanding then others (bastard). Though, that may well be true, Slick still growls lightly in defense, pausing only for a moment as they come to a room he wasn't familiar with yet, and glanced around before stepping into the doorway and finding the other standing instead of sitting in his seat. Well, he was probably expecting Slick to sit, and eventually the taller does, but not without giving a perplexed look to the other at his very blunt and confusing statement. Once he's settled down, he takes off his hat and sets it beside himself, always keeping it close, and does indeed feel a tinge of doubt towards the other's words... Until he's voiced some proof about his own antics of where he'd slept and driving intoxicated. "Woah... Woah, woah, woah." He holds his hands out as if the entire room were spinning and he needed it to stop at that moment. "By the sound a' it, ya know everythin'... I mean, someone's move before they do it, 'n' what's goin' on with them, 'n' what their... Thinkin'..." The first two facts doesn't hit him as hard as the last one. Scratch can know his thoughts.
/Scratch can know his thoughts/.
His back feels hot, like claws were raking down it, and his face starts to feel a bit warm as well. He's not caring about the other's opinion about him driving whilst drunk, no that can be snarled at later. He's more so focused upon the fact that he has had some pretty questionable thoughts about the Felt leader and he /knows/ them. The hands in front of himself drop on his lap, and he swallows dryly, jaw clenched so tight that his fangs hurt. One could mistake his reaction for utter frustration or anger... If it weren't for the embarrassed flush on his face or the way he glanced over at his hat as if waiting for it to eat him alive. "... Can ya control it?" He asked in a hesitant manner after a contemplative moment, not even daring to look in Scratch's direction now.
2014-08-05 04:51:49 -
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Scratch crossed one leg over the other after giving his explanation, reaching nonchalantly over to flip a lamp on and cast the room in a soft yellow glow. He watched as Slick seemingly experienced a minor aneurysm at his explanation. There were only a few exterior signals as to his reception of the fact, but Scratch knew he was embarrassed. He'd thought of things he considered to be compromising- really what they did was reveal a side of him that wasn't as coarse or as violent. Doc Scratch could understand why he wanted that to remain under wraps. He was supposed to be a notorious gangster. Crushes weren't something he could afford to harbor. Could Scratch even afford that? Was it something he was even capable of? Oftentimes he felt as if it wasn't- that the only reason he was there in Felt Manor was to lead the Felt and serve English's bidding. His omniscience and omnipotence were just tools for him to do that, and he was the same.
Doc Scratch blinked after hearing the other's questions; of all things he was asked after the omniscience reveal, "can you turn it off" was not one he heard. He folded his hands in his lap, looking down at them briefly.
"No. No, I cannot 'turn it off'." He said in his practiced, patient tone. "It is permanent and there is very little that can escape my sight. That being said, I by no means will use this to harass you regarding your personal thoughts. That would be truly despicable of me- I find it bad enough that the action of knowing without permission itself is so prying, I am certainly not about to make it worse." Scratch bristled slightly, and seemed to hold his head a bit higher. This was one assumption about him he detested.
"Your thoughts are your own business and, while I am aware of them, I am not about to use them against you." He had too much dignity for that and, despite what others might think, his own set of morals.
One thing Scratch considered insurmountable, personally, was rendering others incapable of their own physical and mental faculties; he considered those completely personal and would not ever tamper with them. Though he was fully able to forcibly take control of another like that, he was not about to. So when Slick thought that perhaps Scratch had been manipulating him into kissing him and then making him do it once more, he felt affronted on a personal level. He would never be so low as to do that. It was good to feel as if someone viewed him that way, for the first time as well, but he wouldn't force anyone into anything. It simply dismayed him, and he felt as if he were bringing Slick to dislike him more and more by simply being who he was.
2014-08-05 17:14:22 -
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The taller stays staring at his hat for the longest moment, a bit disappointed it hadn't momentarily come alive and devoured him, and glanced over at the other just in time to get a nice glow of light in his eye. He hissed just slightly at that, pupil dilating sharply as he glanced away once more and stole a few seconds to get use to the soft glow. Though it wasn't immensely bright, it was surely brighter then the glow his small flames had given off, thus it hurt a bit for a brighter light to be brought up. Besides this mild discomfort, his attention is perked a bit at the mention that Doc can in fact not turn off this foresight or the mind reading ability he has. This earns a furrowed brow from Slick, looking off to the side as he slowly realizes: "So it's a constant thin'..." To the Crew member, it sounded more so like a disability rather then an ability. He couldn't even fathom the thought of knowing everyone's thoughts and moves. It sounded like a curse, something that could be considered loud and annoying, if not irritating. How would the simple task of playing chess turn out? Well, Doc would always win, and if he didn't, that meant he allowed his opponent to win instead. Doc would never be able to win in all reality though, no one really liked an opponent who can always pull through successfully, nor does one like the fact their success is handed to them on a silver platter... "Sounds..." He trailed off gently, rubbing the back of his neck and feeling the corners of his mouth tip downward, however he fought the urge greatly to frown.
Then again, Doc would know his thoughts, the reasons behind his every word and action. What was the exact purpose of hiding it then? Slick was only further motivated to keep his usual harsh actions and words on tab when the shorter mentioned he wouldn't dare use such private information against him. Though, even if he did, which Slick highly doubted with everything Scratch has done and said, what was the taller to do? There wasn't a way to stop him, other then the option of killing him, however that idea... Makes his stomach twist uncomfortably and his jaw flex defensively. He wouldn't really consider that an option actually and disregarded it entirely as he came to the conclusion that he'll just be openly blatant then. If he acted like his usual self, it would be seen right through, and even if he does act the way he is thinking, it couldn't run back on him since Doc would already be knowing it was coming. He could stop it if he wanted to...
Which also means, he could have stopped it when Slick had asked to kiss him, or when he had done it the first time so abruptly, or at least abruptly in his own opinion. Yet, he didn't. For a brief second, a smile, genuine and amused, tugs at his lips, then it's gone and he's back to asking questions. He only had one opportunity to get the answers he sought, and he wouldn't let emotions get in the way of that. "So ya got some mind connection shit goin' on. A'ight. So what 'bout the walls then? I recall specifically clawin' a shit outta a few select areas, but'ta they weren't there the last I checked. There's no way a repair man or carpenter or whatever could'a fixed that shit so quickly." He pointed out, resting his palms on his relaxed and parted legs like his former position from their first conference. Only thing that was different was that Slick wasn't tense, just curious more then anything else. Doc was in fact as peculiar as the taller had assumed, however as much as he knows he should be intimidated by all this, he more so is just intrigued and a bit pitiful towards the other because of it. Huh. Who would have thought Slick of all people would feel pity towards his rival, not only that, but his rival leader.
2014-08-05 18:53:06 -
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There was a definite pang in Doc Scratch's chest when Spades Slick regarded his omniscience as more of a curse, just as he did; though he would want to write it off as perhaps a minor blood clot instead of that, he was much too averse to ill health for that. For a moment his heart had hurt in the best of ways as a result of something Spades Slick had thought. It was sweet, he thought, how Slick could rage and tense and bluster all he liked on the outside but think something else entirely on the inside. It was a bit amusing to the First Guardian, with whom what you saw on his exterior was true to his real feelings. If he seemed unaffected, it was likely because he had no cause to get a rise out of himself. Indeed, most others only saw a portion of the painting. Though he was not the one with the brush in hand, Doc Scratch had a full view of the portrait, and knew there was always something bigger to come in due time.
Scratch tried not to show any scorn at Slick's thought of murdering him, and it was accomplished with ease. It was a common mistake, one thinking they could kill him, even if they were aware of his omniscience. No one would be able to come close to it; Scratch knew there was only one way he could go out and that way could only be managed by his own works. It was true, however, he'd suffered very little injury in his long, long life- pain was a foreign concept to him, more like a distant memory than something he was used to.
"You correct in thinking that." Scratch said, inclining his head slowly to Slick. "I did have a hand in repairing the damage you caused." He paused a moment, ironing out the words he would choose for this. "To put it shortly, I am in possession of power to match my knowledge; that is, nearly limitless. The correct term is omnipotence and, with it, repairing a few scorch marks and some damaged wood was a simple enough feat." Scratch surveyed the opposing mobster with seemingly benign emerald eyes.
"Of course, do not mistake me; when used in a martial tense, I am unrivaled." Scratch said. "However I would not advise testing this claim- I have no desire to hurt anyone. Indeed, it would take some rather strenuous pressing before I am goaded into displaying them for you." He smiled thinly then. "And to set your mind at rest further, my blood is, in fact, green."
Doc Scratch dearly hoped Slick did not want to test him; as much as the Midnight Crew member did not want to harm him, he was as against the same himself. There were very few things he could do to warrant Scratch's hand raised against him, and the pale man trusted him to have better sense than to act on them. He was a patient man, yes, to a fault really, and did not wish his wrath on anyone whatsoever.
"If you have more inquiries, it would be my pleasure to receive them." Doc Scratch said pleasantly, not a hint of malice or obscured visage in his tone. "We have quite some time left to the night, and I am at your service." His smile matched his voice as he regarded the other man.
2014-08-06 00:46:02 -
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Slick made sure to pay close attention to what the other said, though a noise close to that of subtle confusion being voiced came from him. "So... Ya can fix shit, prolly more, jus' from a mere whim?" So no carpenter had fixed the wood, nor the singes, or claw marks. He is then reminded of the chair he'd deeply scarred earlier, but soon assumed it was fixed as well. Doc had been behind that, and from the description he weaves for the taller, he's actually a whole hella lot powerful then Slick could really fathom... And he wasn't necessarily willing to express such power unless needed. So the press to his chest when the other had then him Droog's hat was just a tidbit of his strength then too, from what he can pull from all of this, Doc was a lot like... Well, a god, or some form of deity. Where as Slick had the ability to create a not so friendly source of fire, the other could accomplish much more, and this power came to him naturally unlike some shenanigans the Crew member had gone through to achieve his own ability. Still, to be able to have so much power, coming at the cost of not being able to turn it off at all? Sounded as close to hell as Slick would get in his mortal life... "Wait." He leans forward in his seat slightly, confusion gone and more so an interested state of expression coming from him. "So, what're ya? I mean, can ya die? Or is that somethin' that's laughable from your perspective?"
Another tinge of pity. What if Doc can't die? And he has to live like this for a very, very long time? Well, honestly, that wouldn't be considered living, and soon the taller is a bit disgruntled at the thought. A part of him doesn't even want an answer now, however he's already asked, so he can't go back in time and take his words back. Speaking of time, he doesn't even notice the clocks by this point, nor does he feel the heavy realization that he's quite deep into the quarters of the Manor. He's instead fully intent upon the other's words. Maybe a bit too intent when the other's voice points out there's still quite a bit of time left in the night, and he is at Slick's service. He swallows slightly at that, ignoring the thoughts that try to cross his mind, and instead try to think of more questions. Of course, there's not much left now since the other has answered quite the bit of them for Slick. He leans back in his seat, racking through his head for more questions to ask before realizing he's coming up empty. "I don't really have anymore fuckin' questions to ask; ya kinda covered the playin' field here." He admitted, furrowing his brow as he remembers the other mentioned his blood color was in fact green (why is Slick not surprised?), and narrows his blue hue at that. "Wait... Can I see your blood color?" He asked carefully, not thinking about knifing the other or anything along those lines, but if the other tasted and smelled like vanilla, and his blood color was also unusual... Does it still have the irony quality to it?
Slick might very well have a soft spot for sweets, of his binging out on licorice Scotty dogs was anything to go by. Though that specific candy was bitter and almost minty really, it was so he didn't flat out devour the whole pack of candy Droog would get from the store when he'd stock up on food for the hideout. So, coming in contact with a being who was unbelievably sweet taste wise is a bit... Tempting, for the Crew member. He wasn't going to use his knife either, no he didn't want to accidentally cut deeper then needed, if the other did allow him to draw blood from him that is. Slick would undoubtedly use his own teeth, seeing as they were sharp anyway, and it'd make it quicker to take a taste and have his answer like that before pulling away quickly and leaving. The bitter taste of a normal being's blood made him crinkle his nose, though he only knew the taste from scuffles he'd get in and would either get a good clock to the jaw, or taste it when the opponents blood splattered all over the place, it wasn't the most tantalizing of flavors to be exact. So, one can't really blame him for being curious as to what Doc's taste like... And Slick is only vaguely aware the other is still able to read his thoughts before stopping them all together very quickly, mind wandering onto something else to distract himself.
2014-08-06 02:36:55 -
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"Of course I can repair them." Scratch said. "That is only the bare basics of things, though. I am also at liberty to reshape them and destroy them if I find the need. Doing so without cause, however, I consider pointless and irresponsible." If Scratch was anything, he was responsible. For the Felt, for the state of things in the Manor and, recently, of Slick, or so it seemed.
The other man's next question seemed to hand Scratch a large weight however; he took a pause, the silence ponderous though short, before answering him: "No. I do not consider death laughable by any means whatsoever." He debated whether or not to tell Slick he could die, or even his actual age. He cleared his throat lightly.
"I will tell you now I have been alive for quite some time, and I have been in this place longer than any of the other Felt have been, and before even you arrived. On the topic of death, it is true I am capable of dying. That being said, I cannot be killed, if that makes any sense to you. My life cannot be forcibly taken from me, is what I mean to say." Could it be given over willingly? Yes. But he wouldn't say that- he'd leave it and see if Slick would assume it on his own.
"For all my power, I certainly do not see myself as above you, or anyone, really." Scratch sighed lightly. "Humility is an important trait. I bear it, but I also know I deserve and warrant respect from others."
Something he had inadvertently (or perhaps purposely) revealed was that he had been there before either Slick or the Felt had arrived. This was, obviously, true. He was two billion and a half years old by this point, and had been around anywhere longer than they had. For a long while he had been at the Manor alone, however, simply waiting for the others to arrive with no company but himself. Days had seemed to run together worse than anything back then, and had been compromised largely of Scratch staying within the Manor's confines all on his own. He cleaned to pass time on some occasions. He enjoyed doing things such as that with his own hands, and found them mind-numbingly absorbing. He waited and waited and eventually it was time for the Felt to make an appearance. Things had become much busier then and, for the first week or so, even bordered on hectic. There were a few skirmishes, and though the Felt were wary of him at first, afterward that dropped and they merely began to deal with it. He was glad for that, and for their company.
Scratch sat, hands folded and one leg crossed over the other, regarding Slick patiently and seeming not to notice his thoughts about biting him. But he certainly did- Scratch would be able to tell him on his own that his blood tasted no different than anyone else's, and if he felt it did, then the First Guardian certainly was not playing with his mind to make it seem as much. He was still stuck on the fact Slick thought he tasted sweet, and enjoyed it. The notion gave him a slight shiver that was not wholly unwelcome, especially considering he'd never felt anything like that before. He reacted to Spades Slick in the oddest of ways sometimes, but he was only just now recognizing this was how generally everyone else reacted to the same stimuli. Why he had to regard it as something so clinical instead of a natural thing was only his way of thinking, and he doubted he'd be able to break free of it.
"See my blood." Scratch mused. "One would have to ask how you would want to accomplish that, and even why; I am not lying to you, and I thought earlier this morning you had seen me blush at the very least." Scratch seemed to realize he'd blushed just as he said it; well, Slick wouldn't be one to laugh at that, considering he'd just got done with a bit of blushing himself. "If you are bent on it, however, I am sure some arrangement could be made."
2014-08-06 03:18:45 -
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"Bare basics my ass, it would've taken me at least a month to repair even half the shit I wrecked." He grumbled more so to himself then anything else, huffing before momentarily glancing at his hat. This information the other was telling him was substantial, and what was more was the fact the taller had no wish to be leaking such information to his Crew. If he did, not only would the Felt be monitored more so then it already was, but Slick would be questioned as to how he acquired such information. Regardless of the fact he would feel legitimately guilty for informing the Crew, he'd be screwed either way. He couldn't have that happening, and soon found the only solution was to keep a lock on the information and just keep it in mind whenever something suspicious happens when dealing with the Felt. And as long as he turned up back at the hideout before anyone was up, no one would suspect him of anything either. It was a bit surprising he could get the slip up on his own gang, especially on Droog who was known to be a light sleeper, but he was like that of a dark colored cat. Sneaking and snooping about before planning mischief, or whatever his mood wanted to deal with that is. It would explain the animalistic like quality to his character at least.
His cold hue glances at the other as he explains of his time of being here for awhile. And by the sound of it, it was a pretty shocking amount of time if it was even before Slick turned up here. Whether Doc meant by birth or coming to the city, that much wasn't clear, however the taller got an eerie feeling it wasn't the ladder. He can't dwell on that for too long though, his interest being attracted to the other explaining he can die, however he can't be killed. Well, for some odd reason, he feels a tinge of relief, but pushes it aside for now. "Ya can die... But not be killed. I'm gonna go out on a limb 'n' guess the only one who could really achieve puttin' ya six feet underground would be either yourself then, or... Maybe Lord English." He offered, just guessing verbally instead of in his head since it would be known either way. "Either fuckin' way, I get the feelin' ya ain't goin' anywhere anytime soon." He concluded, crossing his arms and slouching in his seat. To one who was observing him, this may have been a look of defeat, when actually it was just him getting comfortable, relaxed even. Funny he can do such a thing in a place that could have Death knocking at his front door... Or, hatch, really.
He taps his claws against his opposing forearm in its current crossed position, humming in a way an animal would when considering striking or relaxing. It was a moment or so on contemplation before he's shifting where he's situated, then huffs as he shoves himself up and off the couch he was perched on, glancing to his hat reluctantly, and then promptly sitting himself beside the other on his couch. It may have been in his personal space however, there were just some habits Slick couldn't quit, even in the most absurd of situations. "Ne'er said ya were lyin' Scratch, damn." He snorts out, only slightly amused. That light amusement soon turns into a bit of delight as he had drawn closer, now being able to depict a faint green tinge to the other's complexion, and already knew it was because he was bringing up the second time they conversed for Droog's hat. It actually earns a chuckle from the Crew member, liking the fact he wasn't at the embarrassed end of the stick anymore, and raised a raven brow. "'Work somethin' out'? By that, ya mean go along with the shit I already had set in my head? Since, I know ya know what I was thinkin', 'n' ya haven't stopped me yet..." He points out, verbally rationalizing out the situation (for once, wow), but soon rationality is flying right out the fucking window as he carefully reaches forward. The action is hesitant, though it doesn't halt even in the slightest as he maneuvers the other's head slightly, exposing his neck just subtly, then just leans forward. If Doc wanted to stop him, Slick would, however if not, he was going to continue, which means parting his lips and using his sharp teeth to create a nick in the other's flesh where the collar of his suit would certainly hide such a mark. After that, he'd simply lick the droplets or so of green blood like a tentative feline cleaning a wound.
2014-08-06 04:16:45