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Doc Scratch half-smiled at Spades Slick's grumbling about "bare basics". It was hard not to comment on how it would take /him/ at least a month; Scratch knew he wasn't exactly a skilled carpenter, and he believed the claim. Though it only took Scratch a matter of moments to do the job properly, he wouldn't doubt Slick would need at least a month for the task. That was beside the point, however; Scratch was intrigued by the fact Slick was going to keep the intelligence he'd gained to himself. It would keep his comings and goings secret from his colleagues, yes, but there was more reasoning beyond that. He'd experience his fair share of guilt if he did pass everything on to the others, Scratch gathered, and he again felt... Flattered by the notion?
That's what he'd been feeling, no doubt. When Spades Slick thought he was handsome, that he tasted sweet, and wanted to kiss again, that had undoubtedly made him feel flattered. It was a sensation he was unfamiliar with, having never garnered these compliments before now. He and even more cause to feel that way considering it was possibly the meanest and most hard-boiled of mobsters giving him the feeling. It was enjoyable, he'd found; it felt nice to know someone thought such sweet things about him, to the point he was almost flustered as a result. He'd try to keep it under wraps, however- the First Guardian didn't want to run the risk of being teased for it, or even embarrassing Slick. Though the latter should have gathered by now there was no hiding anything from Scratch, and thus no use being embarrassed.
Doc Scratch only watched Slick with his trademark expectant eyes and polite expression as he crossed to him and sat down, the space between them startlingly small. The moment Slick's hand first touched him to tilt his head, rather carefully he noticed, Scratch's heart leapt. He almost scowled at the reaction, but it was to be expected; Scratch was rarely touched and when this happened, it was his automatic response. Though he knew what was coming and did not fear it, he still tensed. As he felt warm breath on his neck, his face darkened in color, turning a shade or two closer to green. And finally, when Spades Slick's filed teeth came into contact with his ivory skin, he shivered in a minute but noticeable way.
"You still could have had the manners to ask first..." Scratch murmured, tone appropriately low for their proximity. "Perhaps then you would have garnered a more positive response..."
He would bleed, yes, a few drops of jade blood that tasted very much like anyone else's, though Scratch knew there were slight differences in composition, he also knew Slick did not taste enough blood to notice them. He would receive the answer he sought, and a few moments after the cut was made, it would begin to seal on its own.
2014-08-06 16:36:58 -
β
The shiver, the slightly increased heat from the other's face, these things did not get overlooked by the taller. However, he was too concentrated on his current task to scrutinize the reactions properly. As soon as the peculiar color droplets of blood came into contact with Slick's tongue, he immediately realized it did indeed taste like iron. At first, he crinkled his nose, tongue sticking out slightly in an almost scowl like manner. It only lasted for a few seconds or so, then he was pulling a fraction of an inch away and glancing up to confirm the other had turned a couple shades or so darker from his former hint of a flush. It perked Slick's interest at that, the iron dancing upon his tongue as he cocked his head subtly to the right, intrigued. He keeps his hand under the other's jawline, making sure not to squeeze hard or cause much discomfort as he leaned forward again. He didn't think he could earn such a reaction from Doc, regardless of his words that raised a question or two. It was more then the reactions he's been able to coax from the other before, and he undeniably liked it.
A soft hum comes from him as he starts just a bit higher on the other's neck where the mark was, catching the small nick scanning over already. Well, that shouldn't have been surprising, considering all the other has told him already, but it still gets Slick to furrow his brow in vague bafflement. He didn't spend too long a moment on it though. Instead, he opens his maw once more, a swift, tentative lap with the tip of his tongue coming to swipe a small spot on the other's porcelain skin. The scent and taste of vanilla was an almost overwhelming mask of his senses, an as a result, his mouth watered in promises of something sweet. He doesn't bite Doc, but he does nip the skin he recently wet, then presses a kiss to the spot as if apologizing for using such harsh teeth, even in the gentlest of manners, against his practically perfect skin. "Manners? Wa's that?" He mumbled, smirking barely as he continued his task of licking, nipping, then kissing up the other's neck, keeping a close eye on the other and being aware to stop if told. "Hm... Let's see." Within another open mouthed kiss or two, he was pressing a chaste kiss to the other's start of his jawline, close to his ear.
"Scratch?" He asked in a tone that has not yet been heard from him, or at least Doc hasn't. It was a tad bit deeper then the usual gritty tone, accompanied by a light growl that was akin to the likes of a large cat purring. The voice itself was a rarity to use, seeing as Slick was usually hammered off his ass when it came out to flirt with whoever had catches his eye at the bar. But, he wasn't drunk now, nor was he trying to have a simple hit-it-and-quit-it encounter. He was merely attempting to show Doc a bit of what he was capable of, though the entire time keeping in mind to not throw him head first into anything he didn want. That's the main reason Slick was going slow, calculated almost. He wanted to be careful with someone who could easily break his neck if he wanted, but he wasn't motivated by fear. More so, some foreign feeling of affection he'd usually categorize as a buzz from drinking too much alcohol. Does that mean he can get drunk on a level off of Scratch?
Regardless, he still does as the other asks of him. "-ya want me to have 'manners' right? Fine..." His wrist twists, and he's angling the other to face him, tilting his head up just a bit for a better angle. "May I lavish ya with affection?" Blatant, straight to the point, however the other can already read his thoughts, so there was no hiding behind any boundaries. If Doc wanted him to continue, he'd want the other to lean forward, initiating it since it takes two to tango. Slick would not make the other lean forward, it was his choice and his choice alone. The Crew member was a thief, a liar, a killer, but he will not be labeled as some bastard who goes against someone else's will; not including when he's beating the daylights out of one for not informing him of something he wants to know. This situation was entirely different.
2014-08-06 18:50:24 -
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He was fully expecting Slick's further ministrations, that should have gone without saying, but he still braces himself a bit, hands curling tighter together as the other man kisses up his neck at a painfully slow pace. He reacted as if Spades Slick were going to sink his pointer teeth fully into his flesh and likely rip a piece out, not kiss him with an open mouth. Scratch knew no harm was to come to him, yet he still tensed. His eyes were squeezed shut, and he was gently biting the inside of his mouth; for some reason he didn't want to give any outward signs of how he enjoyed the treatment he was receiving, but why? He was, in a way, averse to letting Slick know he was, but what sense did that make? Why was he so drawn up and attempting to weather it as if it were some painful process, and not a display of affection? Spades Slick was trying to demonstrate that he could act this way, the least he could do was feign enjoyment.
But Scratch didn't really have to fake anything; slowly, his muscles unwound, shoulders and abdomen becoming less and less tense. He let Slick continue up his neck at his own pace, breath soft and quiet as he did. His face was already warm and flushed with color, and that did nothing to diminish as the other went on. Even when Slick spoke, in that deep, rough tone, he could not bring himself to reply; Scratch only swallowed gently in response to him. That was when his head was turned down so he could better face Slick, eyes opening to look at him in an alert manner. He was almost nervous now, though he was appreciative that Slick had finally called him by his given name, not 'smug bastard' or 'cue ball'. He inhaled in a quiet, sharp manner, barely a gasp at all.
Scratch knows what the other man wants but somehow it's still a very charming thing to hear him ask; for all his uncouth ways, he still wouldn't force himself onto anyone, the fact Scratch could beat him bloody aside. Maybe that was the reason he felt it was so endearing Spades Slick asked- or maybe it was because he was genuinely trying to display a softer side to Scratch, and not just for personal gain. There was another godforsaken pang in his chest after he did, and Scratch could only crease his brow and give him what he wanted- his own lips pressed to the other's, in a kiss reminiscent of the morning's, yet not identical. It was sweet, of course, but stronger than the previous. Not forceful by any means, but firm. It had been a bit hard to lean forward as Slick had wanted while his hand was under his chin like that, but he'd made it work after all, positively affirming the question that had been asked without Scratch saying a word (for once).
2014-08-06 20:33:17 -
β
It doesn't cross Slick's mind that the other may not have experienced such affectionate contact before. It was a hazy, vague note at the back of his mind, but never really pulled to the forefront. He just generally assumed that someone such as Scratch with his attractive looks and being alive longer then Slick has, would have inevitably come into contact such as this. Regardless of that thought however, he takes his time, wanting this to be just right and cause as little discomfort as possible. He had overlooked the way the other had tensed up, seeing as now he was fully relaxed, a respectable amount of green tinging his formerly porcelain skin. Slick would have pointed it out, maybe even chuckled, if it hadn't been for the furrow of the other's brows as he looked as Slick in an almost peculiar way. Doc hadn't said anything, not even moved to yank out of his grip. This started to rise some suspicion that he may tell Slick to stop, and that would have only made him feel like quite the embarrassed and guilty one. But, before he can jump head first into any assumptions, he's feeling warm, soft lips on his own, and an unintentional pleased hum is coming from himself.
Scratch initiated it, so that means he was willing to continue. Slick had made sure not to force anything upon him, and left the option to back out completely open. It was evident now the other was fully aware of what Slick wanted, and was allowing it. It earns a slight lean forward from him as he tilts his head a bit more, allowing better access to the kiss as his hand leaves Doc's jaw and instead slides gently down the other's neck, resting at the crook of his neck and grazing his thumb over the shorter's throat. The kiss itself stays as a simple lip to lip contact, until the taller is parting his lips and taking the paler lower lip between his teeth and lavishing it with the tip of his tongue before attempting to delve the pink muscle into the other's wet, green chasm. He couldn't help but feel the familiar clawing of heat at his back, making his skin prickle and a warmth to slowly pepper his cheeks.
The hand at Doc's neck shifted, a little hesitant, but nonetheless it entangles firmly into the other's platinum hair, extremely tempted to mess it up beyond recognition and have it a nice, ruffled mess. Speaking of messes, he wouldn't turn down the opportunity to have the other disheveled, his usual calm and collected like demeanor being tossed right out the window and instead have a flushed, panting host with more skin revealed rather then clothed. Slick's jaw flexes at that, hurriedly pushing the image aside and focusing on the task before him. He couldn't get ahead of himself, but as the lip contact continued, he soon found himself trailing the kisses from the perfect, porcelain lips and down his throat, lavishing the other's collarbone with licks and sucks and purring delightedly.
2014-08-06 21:16:37 -
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It could have been assumed that Scratch was at least basically acquainted with behavior of this sort, due to the fact he was very, very old and not half had to look at. The opposite was rather true, as a good percentage of people would be made uneasy by his looks alone. Once the fact he was a bit more "gifted"Β than really anyone in a large radius of the City was taken into account, that small number was reduced even further. Then the point that Scratch simply was not the sort to "hook up" wantonly had to be acknowledged. Something he respected vastly in any relationship was commitment. Another would be someone who didn't go out of their way to pry into his more personal details- ones even he was uncomfortable with from time to time. He would much prefer to build a bond with someone before engaging in that sort of activity, but doing it now was oddly exhilarating. He largely considered it so because it was something he knew he really shouldn't be doing- that was, making out with someone in the dead of night. Scratch really was an all work and no play sort of man, for a good few reasons. So something like this just seemed marvelously misbehaved to him.
The icing on the cake, so to speak, had to be obvious- it was Spades Slick he was doing the kissing thing with. Any given Felt member would surely riddle him with bullets or multiple stab wounds the moment they got a chance to, yet here he was doing something that was decidedly less homicidal, or even violent, and even enjoying it. Scratch could feel his heart pounding in its place again as Slick drew him in nearer; since he was already aware of exactly what Slick was going to do, things were much, much less awkward than they would have been if he hadn't. Scratch was thankful for that, at the very least. So when Slick moved to gain entrance to his mouth, it was not teeth as white as Scratch's skin he met; instead his mouth opened readily for him, allowing the contact, however brief it was. When Slick's hand tangled in his hair, another wave of heat hit his face. This was what he'd never had- someone who was unafraid to ruffle his feathers, who didn't quite treat him like the porcelain he appeared to be made from. The notion was savory in the most unprecedented of ways.
When Spades Slick pulled away from his mouth and moved to his collarbone, Scratch was leaned back on one arm with the other mobster having advanced on him; the hand that wasn't pressed into the cushion of the couch rested very lightly on the crown of Slick's head. He hadn't dug his fingers into his hair as the other had, perhaps wary of startling him, and his fingertips were just barely touching his hair, but the contact was there nonetheless. His breath came in the quietest of pants, so soft he'd figure anyone outside the room wouldn't even be aware. He enjoyed the sound Slick was making, however; a rumbling sort of purr as he nipped at Scratch's white skin. Half smiling, the smaller man watched him.
"Is this how you interrogate just anyone, or am I a special case...?" Scratch murmured, almost afraid of making him angry with the jibe. Suffice it to say now that this much had transpired, he didn't want to slip up just once and risk ruining it, so he had over-calculated many moves. Still, he hadn't meant it as a comment to harm the other, rather as a lighthearted jest.
2014-08-07 02:46:29 -
β
Maybe it was the thrill of doing something scandelous with someone who was considered his enemy, or maybe it was the fact this could be his personal dirty little secret, either way he held some sort of thrill with being in an intimidate situation with Scratch. He was probably the last person on the planet he should be attempting to get into the pants of, yet here he was, trailing nips and sucks on the other's collar like he was an empty canvas and in need of some green bruises. It seemed though, after a moment or so, the bruises would fade. Upon further inspection, Slick spotted that even the nick he'd made on the other's neck was about healed up. He wasn't shocked, maybe a bit disheartened by the fact he couldn't leave any permanent marks, but then figured that jut gave him more of an opportunity to do as he wished to the other's skin without worry of it showing. He was so focused upon his task that he hadn't even noticed that he'd gotten the shorter to rest on his elbow, until he was questioned lightly. Though the tease should be scowled at, Slick doesn't. Instead he just scoffs, smirking against a mark he'd recently made and snaking his arms around the other's waist to loop around his back. In the process, he arches the other's chest up a bit pressing it snugly against his own as he purrs before responding in an almost smart-alick tone. "Oh c'mon now Doc, ya should know ya'd be my special hostage; so ya can tell me what I wanna know, or I continue with the interrogatin'."
A light chuckle comes from him then, simply enjoying the fact he'd gotten Scratch to pant, not to mention a nice flush was taking over his formerly pale skin. It was a good look, however Slick feels like he could earn much more if he tried. Carefully, he moves one of the arms looped around the deity's waist, mechanical claws just slipping a claw into the front of the other's rope. It lesuirely slides down between the flaps of the fabric, halting at the tie around the waist that kept it closed. "I can touch this... Right?" He asked with a raised raven brow, nipping his jawline before going back to the quiet make-out session, not at all shy about pressing and running his tongue against the other's with a soft pant escaping him. The claw tucking itself into the knot at Doc's robe, undoing it at a measured pace as the arm around the smaller's back shifts to lower itself at the other's lower back, making his hips arch up now instead and comfortably leading Doc to lay on his back instead of on his elbow.
He was aware of the hand at his hair, and honestly was tempted to coax the other into doing as he pleased with the raven locks. Slick had experience with this sort of convenience, as much as he'd swear up and down he didn't enjoy such intimate scenerios, his actions spoke louder then his words. He attempts to shift himself between the other's legs, though not doing much other then resting his hips against Doc's arched ones, making sure every action he took was calculate and thought through before proceeding. He could at least, for once, admit that he was honestly trying to be careful, that he didn't want to fuck this up. Usually at bars, he couldn't give less of a care if a dame turned him down; it was easy to just pick up another one. But, now, Slick feels that if he fucks up here... He'll be quite pissed with himself. The sweet scent the other gives off and the delightful flavor of his skin with every lick and suck only has Slick purring louder and slowly half lidding his icy hue, mumbling something about having a sweet tooth after taking a moments pause from the kiss. He didn't even seem to notice the small, clear string with a slight green tint to it connecting between the muscles from their mouths.
2014-08-07 03:57:23 -
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For the most part, Doc Scratch allowed Spades Slick to do as he pleased, the hand resting on his head instead beginning to stroke his locks affectionately; his vibrant eyes were closed as Slick worked on his neck and collarbone, the sharp teeth not creating pain exactly, but more of a sensation that caused him to blush further and gently press back to him. Slick's response made him let out a quiet "heh", but he said no more- not just yet. Instead he let himself enjoy the attention he was being given by the other. He knew this wasn't the first time Slick had done something like this, but he was also aware that the other was much more conscious of the moves he was making and at what speed; he was afraid of Scratch disliking something or growing uncomfortable, and he found that to be respectable. Maybe it was the same reason that, after Slick pulled away the second time, Scratch moved one hand to take the wrist of his mechanical arm, the one inside his robe, and the other down from his hair to gently seize the collar of his dress shirt.
"I think you have what information you need, however..." Scratch said quietly, tugging Slick back a bit so he could better sit up. He was a bit more reserved now, that much was clear, but he wasn't cold by any means.
"At least for tonight. It is best you return to your own lodgings, lest someone wake and discover your absence." Scratch moved to begin re-tying his robe, then his eyes flicked back up toward Slick. "Besides... I can indulge you some other time. It isn't as if this is the last time you and I shall meet."
Why he had stopped Slick then, he wasn't entirely sure- he had a number of possibilities. Perhaps it was he didn't want caught by any of the Felt, though they were asleep. The chance of anyone stumbling upon them was always present, and Scratch was not fond of rearranging memories in others. There was also the matter of Slick needing to return to his own hideout; if he was caught sneaking about, the others would get suspicious and their current meeting might very well have been the last time they saw each other. There was also the notion that Scratch feared Spades Slick would indeed try to "hit it and quit it", a process Doc Scratch wanted no part of. He was wary of someone trying to take advantage of him like that, and would have absolutely none of it. An actual relationship with Spades Slick was unfortunately debatable, and Scratch almost felt guilty for trying to preserve his own integrity. He knew he shouldn't have, but it was hard not to, especially when with the first person who had ever expressed interest in him.
2014-08-07 17:05:23 -
β
There were a couple things to keep in min about Spades Slick. One, he was a very prideful man, one who'd rather slit his own throat then admit defeat to his opponent. And two, he was a fighter, not a lover, as rare as that is. Considering one's natural instinct when cornered is either Fight or Flight, more often then not, one would choose Flight... Unless they've been raised to think otherwise, and even then it's a minuscule chance he/she will fight at all. That aside, Slick usually got his way, without problem really, and if he didn't, there wasn't anything a little violence and coaxing couldn't do. Here, however, when a pale hand grips his wrist to halt his actions and the other is gripping his collar, this is where he should be snapping back, maybe even cursing and growing a bit infuriated he hasn't gotten his way. To be honest, it's more a reflex now to act in that way then anything else now, but he finds himself instead looking a bit confused. The desire to ask why they were stopping was present, but slick keeps a buttoned lip and merely glances out the (one of many) window(s) located near the back wall of the room. The sky was shading a burning shade of vibrant pink, showing that morning would be upon them soon and that Slick should actually be heading back just as Doc had pointed out.
For the longest moment, instead of growling and growing frustrated, he grew worried. Did he do something wrong? Say something or do something he wasn't suppose to? These sorts of questions filed through his head almost slowly, the questions much too foreign to be floating around in his head as he finds himself sitting up, biting the innards of his lower lip cautiously. He hadn't meant to fuck anything up, actually he had tried to attempt the complete opposite. Before he could curse himself however, the other's last sentence or so caught his attention. Like a tense inflatable, he slowly started to deflate and relax, not even noticing how tense he had grown in those last few seconds. "Yea... Yea." He had to echo the word, the first time he said it being a bit contemplative, but the second time he was more sure, more positive that this wouldn't (or at least he wouldn't allow it to) be the last 'meeting' they had. He pats his chest then, making sure he still has his pocketknife before pausing, and briefly kissed the other. It wasn't anything more then a chaste peck, swiftly maneuvering then to go retrieve his hat from the opposing couch, still quite wary of the sunlight creeping up the horizon. He wanted to quickly get out of the Manor before anyone of his Crew woke up, that and... Well, he was a bit embarrassed he wanted to give into his desires so easily. He should have even nervous to proceed to anything like that, but then again, he's lived that shady lifestyle that was more doing rather then thinking.
With the help of the light starting to illuminate the city in a soft color, he'd be able to swiftly navigate throughout the Manor's halls. Hopefully, he'd also avoid any and all homicidal Felt contact. Before leaving however, slicking back his locks a bit more and fixing his button up slightly, he pauses in the doorway, narrowing his blue hue at the other. "I ain't done interrogatin' ya." He promises, the stern expression softening enough so a smirk could curl pleasantly on his features, but didn't do anything more then that since he had to go, and quickly.
2014-08-07 18:23:50 -
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Doc Scratch couldn't stop himself from letting his shoulders relax a bit, revealing his relief that Spades Slick had not reacted adversely to his actions. If he had lashed out, Scratch would not have hesitated to reaffirm his prior statements, and if struck certainly would not have just stood by. Things like that really were the worst case scenarios, however; Spades Slick was many things, but he was not so cruel as to stoop that low, which relieved the First Guardian. He did feel a bit bad for him, but not enough to reconsider. It would be best for both of them if they went their separate ways, even if it was just for a bit. There would be more secure times for this sort of thing at later dates, and Scratch was sure Spades Slick would snatch those up at his first chance. The thought made him chortle a bit; Spades wanting so dearly to see him again that he grew unfocused at times, or caught himself smirking or grinning at the notion. It might have been wishful thinking, but Scratch enjoyed indulging in the thoughts he could have that affect on others.
Scratch stood after Slick had and smirked lightly as he was told he wasn't being interrogated by the other man; after seconds apart he'd already regained his aloof exterior, though a portion of the blush remained. He rested his hands in the pockets of his robes, an exceedingly uncharacteristic gesture in terms of how casual it was. This was what spoke most, perhaps, about how he felt towards Slick. It was true he felt unthreatened by the other, but he also felt no need to put on any airs around him really; well, he figured after such an intimate display something like that wouldn't be very necessary. He followed behind the other man until he reached the large staircase. After Slick had gone he went upstairs and leisurely wound his way back to his apartments.
Once he returned to his bedroom, he slid the knot on his robe loose and then pulled it from his shoulders. Scratch paused then, looking at the green garment. Then, he dropped it to the floor and backed away, sitting on the edge of his mattress. The white-skinned man then tilted his head, looking at the robe curiously. Seeing it lying there, it was not so hard to imagine it accompanied by other articles of clothing, his shirt or his pants or both. He never left his clothes lying about on the floor, so it certainly was not him who put them there, even in his very brief supposition. The thought was alien to him, in all reality; he was unsure if it was what he wanted right away, that was how distanced from the notion he'd been. That was changing, apparently, and it was intimidating but oddly exciting; he knew he could handle it, of course, but not without uncommon hesitation. He rose and put the robe away, then slid back under his covers. It was early enough to rise, yes, but he felt as if he'd earned another attempt at sleep.
2014-08-08 02:53:02 -
β
Once Slick was out the door, so focused upon getting to his car he hadn't even noticed Scratch had been behind him, he uses the heel of his show to kick the door shut and strolls down the sidewalk in a much calmer and painless manner then he has before. Another thing he hadn't noticed until he slid into his car was the fact he was humming, a familiar song of 'I'm a Member of the Midnight Crew'. It shocks him a bit because he only hums or sings when he's either drunk, or cleaning his assorted knives littered about his room. He quickly cuts out the humming, snorting at himself as he takes out his keys from his blazer pocket, jams it into the ignition, and starts up the engine, he gives the Manor a swift glance. Formerly, he'd been disgusted by the color, the entire monstrosity of a building being quite intimidating, if not just flat out ridiculous, but now... He supposes it's not all that bad. He doesn't stay longer then a moment sitting in his car, snapping out of his thoughts and moving the wheel about with one hand whilst the other reached over to the glove compartment and fumbled around for his packet of cigarettes. By the time he got to the red light that would signal him to turn into his usual parking space a couple blocks or so from the hideout, he had a cigarette lit and sitting promptly between his lips, the taste of vanilla still lingering pleasantly on his tongue as it fades slowly into a bitter, nicotine flavor.
Without a doubt, he'd be seeing Scratch again. He didn't think he'd be able to just have an intense contact such as the one he'd just had, and simply drop it like a deadweight. It was... New. Not to say he hasn't had an encounter such as that before, sure he's had a few dames or so say they weren't ready, or that they should really be getting back home, but Slick somehow wouldn't end up having that night alone. One, being intoxicated helped quite a bit, and two, apparently their emotions were pretty effortless to twist. It wasn't like he held them against their will or anything, he wouldn't stand for that, but he had a persistence that wasn't very present when Scratch had told him to return to his own hideout. Actually, instead Slick held some comfort in it, like something he could look forward to continuing later, or maybe not even continue where they left off. It was confusing for the Crew leader since he hadn't encountered an emotion where just the simple effort of just kissing was enough to sate him. It shouldn't have been, in fact he should have been infuriated the other stopped him, however he wasn't. He was still calm, even now as he blows smoke from his nose like a bull, he was relaxed and maybe even pleased.
Before turning onto the street he was familiar with, he pauses, glancing in the opposite direction, an instead goes down that route. He still needed to pull through with another heist, those plans weren't going anywhere and he really needs to finish them if he wants to keep food on the table. Not to say the Crew was in a struggle for money, they had plenty, Slick just... Really likes money. It was the only green (before now) he actually didn't mind being around. The next heist was undoubtedly at a bank, and a high-class bank to be exact. Though, the security was a bit bland, they had a hoard of money stored at the back. It was a pretty popular bank, their logo and name advertised above the one story building in big, bold letters. Slick just wanted to give it a quick once over, having studied this building for just over a month now. He was pretty sure his plans to infiltrate it would be swift and clean, if everything falls into place that is. He stays studying it for a few long moments, then sighs and drives off, making a U-turn to go back and park his car at the usual spot so he could hurry up and disappear into his room before anyone woke up.
2014-08-08 03:48:43 -
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Doc Scratch achieved his own form of hazy, drifting in-and-out sleep with much greater ease than he had previously. This was largely because he knew there was no one else to be waited upon now that Spades Slick had gone; he was aware of when Fin and Trace skulked back into the manor, but knew they would not call upon him until later. He was, to some degree, calmer as well, as if the previous session with Slick had been alleviating. Frequently Scratch was far too high-strung for his own good, and for few actual reasons. But he felt a deal more relaxed now, and he knew why. It was a good feeling, and he knew Slick was in a similar mood. He didn't want the other man to think he'd shooed him off because of something he'd done wrong- quite the opposite. He hadn't done a thing to make Scratch feel that way. The Felt leader was simply being conscious of their time limits. He knew Slick would have to leave and that, when the morning came, everyone would begin to be a bit more active.
Awake uncharacteristically early, Fin and Trace would want to talk with Scratch later. He often chastised the two for sneaking about in areas they knew were dangerous, up to and including Midnight Crew territory, and the new boundaries Scratch had put in place (as part of his and Slick's deal) did little to dissuade them from these excursions. They did their own sort of intelligence gathering, the kind that had nothing to do with kidnapping and interrogating, (and certainly none of the interrogating Spades Slick had demonstrated with Scratch earlier that morning) but more of lurking about and sniffing out past and future trails, an ability that their enemies cursed and the Felt used the best they could. And when the two weren't using them professionally, they were just snooping about in others' business for no reason save the fact they could. As impressive as their abilities were, they lacked severely in professionalism.
Doc Scratch did not leave a past or future trail, and this was by choice. His comings and goings were his own business, and were really nothing to interest the sharks whatsoever. But this only seemed to pique their interest and make them suspect he was up to clandestine activities, and the two liked to just pester him needlessly every now and then. It was mostly harmless and he allotted it, but this time he'd have to be more careful; as normal as they looked, Fin and Trace had dangerously acute senses. Their teeth might have been just as sharp as Slick's, but they had grown naturally that way, and their sense of smell was too sharp for their own good. That was what had worried Scratch- they'd be able to smell Spades Slick on him if he did not take steps to cover that. Showering was in order, of course, but there was still the sitting room to be taken into account, as well as covering Slick's trails. They weren't the brightest pair, but they weren't stupid- hopefully what they didn't know wouldn't hurt them.Β Doc Scratch was aware of the dangers posed in any one Felt member discovering what was a budding relationship, however brief the bloom, between he and their adversary, and he would jump through whatever hoops necessary to prevent it from coming to light.
2014-08-08 17:12:48 -
β
No one seemed to be awake when Slick slid carefully into the hatch, clicking the entrance closed as carefully and quietly as possible. He held his breath for a second as he waited to see or hear anyone from either the kitchen or living room. All he heard was the white noise of the television and soft breathing. More often then not, that was Boxcars waking up early to catch an early bird show that was way too dramatic for Slick's tastes. With caution, he looked into the living room, seeing the biggest Crew member on his side on the futon, eyes closed and drooling a bit. Good, he was still asleep. This allowed Slick to let out a sigh of relief, then walk over to the TV before clicking it off, and disappearing into his room to finish up the blueprints, or plans really.
Slick would take the rest of the day in quiet seclusion, heading first the coffee machine being turned on (undoubtedly this was Droog, seeing as Deuce was too short to reach over the counter, and Boxcars was too impatient for such a task) and soon the scent of coffee grounds and toast could be smelled from the kitchen. Slick ignored such aromas, engrossed in his work, and often chewing on the end of his pencil in silent angst before finally finishing up the plans and who will be doing what when shit hits the fan. Boxcars will have the task of taking out security, thankfully it was just one large guy who wasn't as tall or brute as Big B. Droog always dealt with the hostages, however he chose to do it always proved efficient and Slick would rather leave him to it. And Deuce would be back up in case the accountant decided he forgot the code for the safe. And as in back up, more so another route to get the safe open. There was a secluded time as to when the safe would actually open with the code however, so they couldn't just go in randomly. It had to be between four and five at night, and they certainly weren't doing this task today. No, today would be preparation and informing day. Slick would take his time explaining, seeing that this is the only thing he's good at being patient with, and knows there will be some fuss over small tidbits of the plans here an there, but it's better then going in blind.
It's afternoon or so by the time he's finished, his pencil littered with teeth marks and the plans covered in pencil streaks and eraser shavings. The rest of the Crew was up, if Deuce arguing about what show to watch next with Boxcars and Droog quietly sighing was anything to go off of. He does a double check on his clothing before walking out, seeing that he was still in his suit, and grimaced before tossing off his blazer on the floor of his mess of a room and took off his white belt to let that join the floor as well. He slid the sleeves to the button up to the crooks of his arms, giving himself a look like he'd been up all night (which he was, just not doing the plans) and walked out of his room to loudly announce, "Listen up boys, gotta'nother job for us." This earned both a deep groan, a squeal, and a raised, curious brow in his direction.
"Boss, it's like five in the goddamned mornin'--can't we do this tomorrow?" Box complained, making Slick growl and slap him in the chest with the rolled up blueprints.
"No ya damned sap, now pay attention-"
2014-08-08 18:05:24 -
π
Normally it was Crowbar who hatched whatever schemes or heists were put into action by the Felt- most of the others weren't half so good at it as he was, but there were exceptions. Snowman was usually the one to call him out when something sounded stupidly idealistic, and work out an alternative that was far more feasible. Crowbar was a capable leader, at any rate- under his organization, combating the Midnight Crew was much more effective than being a scrambled mess of members who only managed to annoy. They rarely consulted him for aid in making these plans- it was more of the "omnipotent and much too high and mighty for our sundry deeds" notion they had conjured up in their minds. So as not to say Scratch would just tell them whatever- they had to be self-sufficient on most levels. He was not going to cheat for them- he'd aid them if he found it necessary, but nothing more.
Doc Scratch was the one who gave the more important ideas to Crowbar or Snowman anyway; everything else was on the sidelines, fodder in regards to their main heists, which largely matched and occasionally conflicted with that of the Midnight Crew's. These things did happen; firefights and brawls and instances in which neither gang won over the other. The Felt had the numbers advantage, but not everyone in it was as focused or as driven as the Midnight Crew. Most were good about it, but some were not. Likewise as with plotting, if Doc Scratch accompanied the others, victory was assured. But he felt that unnecessary, and much too easy. He had his own sort of work to accomplish, and they had their; one does not use a screwdriver where a hammer is called for, and vice versa. On some level, however, he wanted the other members of the Midnight Crew to be aware of what he was capable of- and fear him for it. Perhaps that would better aid the protection of the Felt.
Some of the Felt were easier to feel protective of than others. To a point Scratch considered them all his charges and his business, but there were times he gave them a wide berth. He understood the need for individual growth via experience, and would not prevent it from happening to them. He wished now that there was some way for the Felt and Midnight Crew to peacefully coexist, but he knew that was pushing very envelope there was. There would always be conflict- the two groups would never achieve a state of mutualism, and would always be at odds on one level or another. The complete eradication of their enemies was brought up with unsettling frequency, but never acted upon. Scratch would do what he could to discourage this sort of activity more now, considering the recent events with Spades Slick that had recently transpired. Scratch was a bit caught between the groups now, fumbling for something that would bring even minor stasis.
2014-08-08 22:50:52 -
β
The majority of the rest of the day had merely been an assorting of plans and prepping. Of course, Slick had to explain some things to the boys (mainly just Deuce who just wanted to wait in the car) and once everything was settled and done, they went about to go clean their weapons, check up on the van they used for heists (Slick sure as hell wasn't going to use his Cadillac as a getaway car and have it riddled with bullets), and cooked dinner instead of ordering takeout. And by cook, more so Droog making a meal in the kitchen whilst he smoked a cigarette. Slick was in charge of making sure they had all the supplies they'd need for the the next day, stocking them into the van located in an abandoned building's parking garage on the very shady part of town. The supplies consisted of zip ties, backup suits in case they needed to redress in something else to avoid the cops or whoever was persuading them, and lastly four black metal masks that each had a specific design on them in white. They certainly couldn't waltz up into a bank and get recognized; though the masks gave the Crew a certain name Slick had grown use to, Carapaces, he didn't particularly understand why the hell hostages ended up calling them that like they were some sort of infectious bug.
After everything was in the van, weapons included since they'd walk to the van located a few blocks away instead of drive there- they didn't need the cops picking up Slick's license plate, and plus walking around in the daylight with guns is apparently illegal (unless you have a permit and/or are a federal force), he returned back to the base. Droog was almost done making whatever the hell it was he was making. Probably spaghetti since Slick refused to eat anything that didn't have meat in it, Boxcars enjoyed Italian, and Deuce just liked making a fucking mess when he eats. Droog didn't particularly care what to eat, so long as it was edible and Slick wasn't cooking something to have it end up like that of a dark, burnt blob. The boss wasn't particularly the most patient when cooking, or cleaning... Or anything other then planning heists, that's about it. So, Droog ended up doing most of the cleaning and cooking like a very neutral housewife. Of course, whenever Slick pointed this out, he received a nice, long red abrasion to his back where the taller whipped his pool cue across it. Usually the two fought often, more so then anyone else in the hideout, and usually had it end up with blood somewhere in the mix.
There was another little tidbit about the two the other two members didn't know. It wasn't uncommon for any and all of the Crew to get roaring drunk. It wasn't uncommon for all to wake up with a stranger in their bed either; however, there were certain occasions where either Slick or Droog (or both really) would consume substantial amounts of alcohol, and end up waking in one or the other's bed together. One could say they had a thing between them, however if so, Slick was oblivious of it since he considered the encounters between him and his subordinate to be swept under the rug. Though, Droog didn't talk of it either. It was a sort of friends with benefits establishment, but neither had talked upon it or agreed to the 'terms and conditions' that came along with such a relationship. Apparently though, one certain rule was that either had to be drunk or tipsy in order to sneak into the other's room. Not once had they encountered at night was it that both were sober, so maybe that why Slick didn't think much of it, merely shrugged it of like someone had told him the time of day. Droog was his subordinate, and Slick his boss, anything intimate between that was certainly unadvised. But, that seemed to dissolve with a bit of liquor in the mix.
2014-08-08 23:33:53 -
π
Given Doc Scratch's habits and the Felt's relationship with him, he never woke up in anyone's bed, and no one stumbled to his. Even if someone did, he would be more likely to redirect them elsewhere, such as a couch, than hook up with them, no matter who they were. He didn't feel very good about sleeping with someone who was drunk, especially when he knew they could always dismiss it later, saying they were drunk and didn't know what they were doing, no matter what transpired. Scratch wanted no part of that sort of relationship. It was to the point he felt very dismal about his own romantic prospects- it was commitment he desired and commitment that was dying quickly in the world.
One incident in particular made him feel jaded about it, one that had transpired early after the Felt had arrived in the Manor. He had tried to get on well with everyone, and some were more receptive than others. Deceptively so, in some cases. Clover had been very friendly toward him- he enjoyed their conversations, enjoyed posing riddles for Scratch, and often liked to gossip to him. Scratch thought his company was pleasant. The problem that arose, however, was that Clover was in a supposed relationship with Cans and was actively seeking to affiliate with Scratch in that manner. He asked him out for drinks, which was declined, and eventually stooped to outright propositioning him. Clover seemed to have a problem with that- he wasn't out gathering intelligence for the Felt late at night, Scratch would have told anyone that. It was more Slick's style of interrogating he sought, and would flirt with anyone he desired. The shorter man was frightfully cunning, in all reality. Doc Scratch disliked it, and in time grew to dislike him.
Perhaps what made it so angering in the end was the fact Clover had no emotional attachment to him- it was purely physical, and he'd considered the other to be something of a novelty. Scratch had directly told him he wanted no part of that and that he was better off soliciting someone else. The last thing Scratch wanted was to be used for his body, in brutal honesty. He got enough of that in a different way, through his relationship with Lord English. Even so, Scratch found the prospects for a desirable relationship abysmally low. Did he expect it from Spades Slick? That was difficult to say. He certainly wanted it, but there was no guarantee of anything. Doc Scratch would play things by ear, however, and if it turned out there was none... So be it. Scratch, in a way, was not able to say he'd be surprised. There was little to be done about the other man, at any rate. He was who he was, and the same was true for Doc Scratch. And Doc Scratch knew better than anyone that even though he was looking for someone to mesh with, there was a chance that would turn out to be no one. There was no sense in refusing to try, however.
2014-08-09 03:06:41 -
β
The rest of the day went by quite smoothly, and by the time dinner was made and Droog ordered the three to come into the kitchen, it was already nighttime. Slick just grabbe a bowl of the Italian food before slinking off to the living room, planning to relax as he watches TV that was something /other/ then the accursed Opera or Pretty Little Chicks With Way Too Much Makeup. He simply could not fathom why the hell Boxcars enjoyed such shows, and clicked it to a channel about instincts on some animal discovery channel. The other three had gathered at the kitchen table, but soon Deuce migrated to the living room, spaghetti sauce smeared on his cheek. "Hi boss! Whatcha watching?" He asked in a higher pitched voice that was abnormally irregular compared to the rest of the Crew's. Slick had the gritty, irritated tone that practically spelled out 'violent', Droog had the silky texture, at times velvet like, tone that could turn as cold as stone within a moment notice, and Boxcars had a gruff, aloof tone that seemed to ask a question with each and every sentence, as if talking was a concept of mysteries thrown together.
That aside, Deuce looked to the TV and caught a nice glimpse of a lion tearing a carcass of a wild boar wide open. His face turned from enthusiastic, to utter horror. His brown eyes flickered down to his food, then back up, an he slowly settled the food on the coffee table where Slick's shoes sat relaxed in the glass. A snort, then amused chuckle comes from the boss at Deuce's small, "I'm not hungry anymore..." And he somberly turns to retreat into the kitchen to probably grab a glass of wine. Slick continued to eat as the events unraveled before him, not at all fazed by the gore, and glanced into the kitchen at some soft scuffling as Deuce complained something about wanting what Droog had. This makes the boss' brow furrow, but he doesn't stick his nose into the predicament, just relaxes and finishes his food before sliding the empty bowl onto the table and next to the smallest's halfway empty one. He contemplated whether to go for a drink or not, then decided against it since the arguing was still quite evident from the kitchen, and instead went into his room to turn in early. He had a busy day tomorrow, and honestly, he'd rather not be cranky and hazy during the process.
It didn't take long to get undressed and ready for bed, which consisted of stripping to his boxers and plopping onto his mattress in an ungrateful manner that almost had a switchblade burrying itself into his torso. With his door closed, it was easy to block out whatever was going on in the kitchen and living room, his arms curling around a pillow and smothering his face hazardously into a pillow before swiftly drifting off to sleep. He'd had a long day, and the calm demeanor over him after his encounter with Scratch helped him drift quicker into a peaceful sleep... Until he hears his door crack open. Slick wasn't the most heightened in his hearing sense, however he was able to hear the crack of his door, and let out a warning growl through his fangs in a sleepy haze. It must have been Deuce; he wouldn't be surprised if the little idiot got a nightmare from watching a simple TV show. He was much like a kid sometimes. "Deuce. Get th' fuhk outta my damned room." He ordered in a sleepy slur, not even able to open his blue hue as he rolled onto his back, and felt the mattress dip. Fuck, he's on his bed. "/Deuce/, yah li'l shit-get ou-" Slick shoots up in bed, fangs bared and a very annoyed expression sketched over his face. However, the annoyance dissolves to shock as, even in the dark of his room, he makes out the outline of a sky smirk and silver of hazy grey hues staring drunkenly at him. "-D-Droog? Fuck, moron, the hell ya tryin' t'a do?"
"Shh, damn it bass, you're way...too damned... Loud." He slurre out, confirming the drunken haze that glistened over his cold hues.
"Get out ya idiot, I ain't gonna deal with this shit to-oh, woah, no." He ordered, feeling the familiar touch of the other's hand on his hip and slipping up. "Droog." He hissed in a manner like an animal losing it's patience. Droog seems oblivious to this, and instead leans forward to crush his lips against the smaller man's, not allowing him to talk. Usually, this gets Slick to shut up and get the point, however that is not the case here.
Instead of the usual, boss succumbing to the taller and allowing to let him do as he pleased, when their lips connect, he tenses, tautly. Almost as if in reflex, he relaxes subtly into it, growling and starting to understand what was going on. He can hear Droog sighing, and knows the other thinks he's won; but, that isn't the case at all. Well, at least not when Slick parts his lips and finally tastes the other, a hint of wine on his lips, and slowly starts to grow... Infuriated?
He doesn't realize it at first, but his hands had shifted to hook into the other's collar, and as something in him sets off, there's an intimidating flare of purple coming from his claws. A very threatening, and very malicious growl comes from him, purple flames lapping at Droog's collar as if to eat him alive. For the first time in a long while, the taller's face is utterly shocked and surprised at the sudden attitude. He thought everything was going fine, but apparently he had read the signals all wrong. "Get. /OUT/." Slick ordered in a voice not even recognized by himself. Droog had finally gotten the hint, his sinker eyes realizing the situation even in their drunken state, and he's soon yanking swiftly away, giving Slick a cold scowl, and stumbling over objects hazardously thrown about the boss' floor before exiting his room.
Slick watched him closely, panting and as taut as a knot as he tried to labor his breathing. He was boiling with anger, for what? He wasn't even quite sure... He shouldn't have been so pissed, so irritated by the fact Droog was attempting to get into bed with him, but he was. It was a bit confusing, he's never acted this way before, and wonders idly what had changed in him to just stop the contact so abruptly and aggressively. All that really kept dancing about in his head was:
'He didn't taste like vanilla'.
2014-08-09 03:58:40 -
π
That night Eggs and Biscuits had decided to make a rather large mess in the library, a spacious room on the second floor with three high windows on the back wall and several tall bookshelves in rows on either side of them. There were a few plush seats and small tables in the middle, to be used by whichever patrons dropped by. When Scratch entered, however, there were books strewn about and two of the bookcases were upended entirely. Doc Scratch sighed and, upon hearing him, the two seemed to realize they were doing something they were not supposed to. Eggs was the more childish of the two, still a bit on the mend from his recent incident with Hearts Boxcars, but usually was the one in charge of all their tomfoolery. Scratch didn't harbor any animosity toward the two for this, he knew they were of childish mentalities, but they would not go without a scolding. After that was accomplished, he sent them to pick up the books and put them in a pile while he righted the tall fixtures they were to be returned to.
Both Eggs and Biscuits were taller and overall larger than Scratch was, and of ambiguous age. They didn't seem to find him off-putting like the others, and Scratch tended to treat them in a way that showcased his more compassionate side. (That is, like a pair of very large and very excited dogs.) He could have been cruel with them, but had no desire to be. They were a bit innocent for their considered employment and in comparison to their colleagues, but Scratch accredited that to the fact they acted like eleven year olds, and not like fully grown men, which they were. As far as cruelty went... He could think of a few out there, not necessarily in the Felt or even Midnight Crew, which warranted such behavior from him.
Doc Scratch was not always the custodian he seemed to be; by and large the Felt were self-sufficient, making their own meals and eating at their own times, though every now and then someone would make something specific and a cluster of them would eat together. Rarer still they would use the dining room, which Scratch was very proud of in truth. It was a long room with a china hutch on the far end, next to a swinging door that led into the kitchen. The table that dominated the center of the room had sixteen chairs, which might have been a given, specialized and in numeric order. The solid and yellow striped Felt members sat on either side of Doc Scratch at one end of the table. Far across from him, at the other end, Snowman sat, with Crowbar's seat on her left and Cans' on her right. The other members' seats fell in order, and swapping was not allowed. Doc Scratch would cook every once in a great while, but not often at all. He did not eat frequently, really, though sometimes he felt like he should have, if not only to assuage others' concerns. Maybe it wasn't good he was cooped up in his office most of the day, but from there he could observe things uninterrupted. And in there, no one could see his thin lips curl into a sly smile at some indecent hour of the morning.
2014-08-09 05:57:09 -
β
That night, after the incident between Slick and Droog, the shorter of the two had quite the fitful sleep. He kept waking up at odd hours, falling asleep moment later, only to be waking up not twenty or so minutes later. It wasn't particularly the best of nights for him, and his thoughts kept pestering him nonstop for attention. It was too late, and he had too big of a day ahead of himself to contemplate them, but regardless of how hard he attempted to fall back into a deep sleep, he grew more and more irritated. Eventually, he jut gives up, and wakes up much earlier then the rest of the Crew for that day. He doesn't even bother to throw on anything else other then some slacks he snatched up off the floor. Undoubtedly, he was irritated and bordering the line of violence as he stumbled groggily into the kitchen located a handful of steps from his room, and started fumbling with the coffee machine to get something into his unsettled stomach. Questions kept bombarding his noggin, almost as if he'd drank about half of a liquor store in one go, and now was paying for his actions with the hangover of a lifetime. Though, he hadn't taken any alcohol or elixir, just spaghetti. Spades Slick was aware of what had him so perturbed though, and as much as he'd bask in the luxury of avoiding anything and everything to do with his actions of the former night, it instead comes stalking out of a room with a diamond painted carefully into the front of the door.
Droog looked like how Slick felt; his usual slicked back hair was disheveled, calm exterior more aggravated and impatient looking then the boss has ever seen his subordinate express. Though, the shorter only catches a glimpse of this as he looks up at the other over his shoulder, then quickly flicks his blue hue back down at the coffee machine. He has enough coherence in his hazy state to know that fucking with Droog right now would definitely be the end of him. As if to confirm this, the other pauses at the entrance to the kitchen, seeing Slick, and stares for an uncomfortably long moment before going about his business and digging for something in one of the drawers. Probably pain killers.
The rest of the day would go like this; the two avoiding each other and only vaguely glancing at each other, Slick more so perplexed with himself and internally fighting between confronting Droog or leaving it as is. He shouldn't have any bad blood between him and someone he could have his life dependent upon, but then again, what is Slick apologizing for? That he had told Droog three times to back off? The taller had continued at his own risk, and ended up with his face almost getting burnt off. That wasn't Slick's fault; it just wasn't sitting right with him to still have their little shtick going on of drunk affection when he was secretly growing affections for someone else. Rival or not, this is the first time the vulgar man has ever thought so deeply upon his actions and what step he'd take, with caution as well. It doesn't even hit him that Doc undoubtedly is aware of what fell between him and Droog, and honestly, it's better that way so he doesn't scold himself more so then he's doing now. So, in the end, he settles for letting the subject cool down a bit- he'd let his subordinate get over his hangover, let him think things through a bit, and then confront him on the matter. Besides, he had things to get ready for later in the day; he didn't have time to deal with Droog and his abused emotions.
2014-08-09 07:44:03 -
π
Doc Scratch, largely, was exempt from most activities that denoted mob behavior. He did not interrogate anyone, for obvious reasons, he did not break and enter, and he had never attempted to stab anyone. It was true he didn't leave Felt Manor, Spades had been correct in that assumption. If ever he did, Scratch knew he'd be subject to many odd looks- that went without saying by now. Venturing outside would likely be the only time Doc Scratch found appropriate for manipulating minds- he would go out just long enough to finish his business, whatever that might have been, and by the time it was done, whoever had seen him would only vaguely remember. His name, if brought up, would be unable to be recollected, and only the bare aspects of his goings-on were what could be recalled. Especially his appearance, that would be blanked out especially- to the point that, if asked, others would say they couldn't remember even his face. Scratch could become a nonperson in his entirety if he so desired- the mind was his mold, though he usually chose to let it be.
It made some of the Felt a bit wary of him, even though they knew he was on their same side and had no ill intent for them. The incident which had started that occurred roughly a week after everyone had settled in, and at that point no one knew the extent of his power. Everyone was gifted in some way regarding temporal or spatial manipulation (except Crowbar), and they only assumed the same of Scratch. However, when the large chandelier in the foyer dropped as a result of some shenanigans, it was not one of them who repaired it. Doc Scratch had, and judging by onlookers' reactions, they'd never seen a chandelier repair itself and return to its suspended position without even being touched. That was really what Scratch used his omnipotence for- household repairs. But the Felt were smart enough to speculate.
Perhaps it was the fact that he, with his usual air of nonchalance and the apparent power he radiated, rarely had anyone try to get under his skin that made the entire occurrence so entertaining to him. He liked it when others tried to best him, either through their minds or through their strength, and he liked to prove them otherwise. He was a man with slim stature and, to look at him, rather meek, but he possessed power enough to level cities. It was the shock factor of it he loved so much. But when someone acted like Spades Slick had, imposing on his boundaries in ways like that, it was surprising how quickly he could turn to putty. Just as Slick could become affectionate, he had another side beneath his exterior. In a way he craved affection, and had wound up finding it an essentially unexpected environment.
2014-08-09 18:58:24 -
β
Finally, when the clock struck 4:00pm, and the entire Crew had their getup on (which was merely black on black suits), they crawled out of their hatch, however Deuce was more so dragged out by Slick who didn't have the patience to deal with his height issues. The ladder was apparently difficult for him to clamber up, and though Slick would have made Boxcars carry him, he was too big to fit himself and Deuce, and Spades sure as hell wasn't going to ask the still very silent an very eerie Droog. It didn't take long to walk the few blocks or so, the Crew merely acting as if they were merely going out to a fine dinner rather then rob a bank. Deuce practically skipped down the sidewalk, Slick scolding him to quit his nonsense, and eventually they got to the secluded van in the abandoned parking garage.
It doesn't take long to show the Crew which bank they were going to hit, and Boxcars parked the van directly at the front so the Crew could have a quick escape route. Slick had to slide gloves onto his hands however, wearing as long sleeved a blazer he had to cover his bionic arm as well. Before storming in though, the masks were applied to cover their faces, and soon the four were abruptly waltzing right into the building. Everything had been going according to plan. Almost as soon as the Crew entered, the guard Slik had studied to be flanked off to the right of the trance was clicked out by Boxcars and his bar hands. Sure, the guard was bulky, but Big B was still able to pin the guy down on the floor and disarm him quite swiftly. There weren't many customers in the bank, lucky for Droog since all he really had to do was shoot a pistol up at the ceiling, gathering everyone's attention before calmly stating everyone to lay on the floor on their stomachs, hands behind their back and legs spread. Their was gasps, horrific looks, and Slick swears he hears someone feint somewhere he ins the counter. Droog hadn't even shot anyone (yet), and the few people there were almost pissing their pants. Of course, there was the occasional scowl or glare from a male willing to fight back, but Droog handled that quickly with a few solid hits with his cue stick before zip tying all of their wrists behind their backs. Slick took advantage of this time to grab one of the attendants, growling and yanking him by the collar through a hall that led to the large vault in the back. "Open it." He ordered quickly, the glint of his blade winking at the trembling attendant who merely gulped and fumbled with the safe's combination dial. The clock struck the correct time for when the combination could be entered and the vault could be opened, allowing the nervous man to quickly open the safe with little trouble before Slick abruptly cracks the hilt of his blade against the other's temple, knocking him out.
From their, Slick yanked a letting from around the guy's waist, hopping into the vault and calling Clubs into the vault so he could stuff hat ever money he could get his hands on and stuff it into two leather briefcases. Apparently, everything was running quite smoothly, as all of Slick's planned heists often do. As such, after a handful of drawers are open and bills along with a few diamonds are jammed into the cases, the two are hopping out the safe and briskly walking back to the front of the building. Boxcars still had the guard pinned, and knocked him out with a choice clock to a pressure point in the other's jawline before standing up. Droog had merely watched over the hostages, twirling his cue stick nonchalantly and noticed Slick and Deuce coming from the back.
"Let's go." Spades barked, snapping his fingers to get the other's attention and pointed to the front doors. Droog gave the tied up victims a contemplative look, wondering whether to let them go now or not, and decides not to. Slick was the first to open the door, grinning brightly at his own success but hurrying quickly before any of the people gathered enough wits to call the cops. Though, maybe Slick should have paid more attention upon what was directly in front of him, for if he did, maybe he might have noticed the god forsaken guard who had dropped by to take up his shift for the one currently knocked out. The Crew leader had froze, blue hue widening before the guard stared back, his brow furrowing before glancing behind Slick, noticing the other three similarly dressed fellows, the people huddled on the floor, and quickly put two and two together before fumbling for his gun. "FUCK."
He was already firing as the Crew dispersed, the boss almost dropping the briefcase in the process of filing from the firearm and soon the four were sprinting with vulgar profanities leaving their mouths.They had practically thrown themselves into the large white van, Droog taking the wheel as he frantically fumbled for the van's keys in his pocket, then jammed it into the ignition. Slick had carelessly thrown himself into the van, and while the rest of the Crew had hurried in, Deuce got a lap full of the boss' head and yelped in surprise. Boxcars was cursing because Slick hadn't shut his door, and the van was already speeding down the road like a runaway horse. "Boss! Close your fuhkin' door!" Boxcars snapped, twisting in his front seat and slamming the door shut, making Slick's scrawny legs twist awkwardly up against the door. He hadn't moved much more then that, his mask still covering his face. "Slick, I'm gonna have to ask you to /please/ sit up. It's bad enough to maneuver in this god forsaken city--you aren't making it better!" Droog pointed out from the drivers seat, glancing at the back seat as Deuce lifted up his mask, staring down at the boss still on his lap. "... Boss?"he asked quietly.
Spades didn't speak, one of his hands buried into the side of his blazer. He stayed silent for an eerie long moment, and soon he shifted, sliding his hand out from his side, and exposed it painted a deep crimson color, blood dripping from his fingertips as his other hand flicked off his mask. He was pale in the face, blue hue dilated as short intakes of breath could be heard going in and out shakily from his lips. "BOSS!" Deuce practically screamed, opening Slick's blazer. Though, his clothing was dark, there was no mistaking the massive drenched spot at his lower ribs, nor the hole in his shirt where a bullet had punctured through. Slick merely blinked at Deuce, his body in shock as adrenaline rushed through his veins, but not for long. He didn't feel the wound as much as he felt blood leaking from it. It was sure to increase in pain once his adrenaline wore down, but his body was stock still from the shock.
"I... Don't feel too s'well." He chocked out, fangs gritting as he refused to move from his awkward position, and Deuce made no move to shove him as Droog and Boxcars cursed; mainly just Droog who knew he'd have to patch the boss up.
2014-08-09 21:55:35 -
π
"... Which I, of course, think very disparagingly of, we're both well aware of that. After I told him why, I- Scratch?"
Doc Scratch blinked quickly, shuttering out his vibrant eyes for a brief moment. He'd allowed himself to grow unfocused, and his company had taken notice. Sawbuck, one of the more cultured members of the Felt, called on him occasionally and the two would have tea and discuss finer things. They were enjoyable meetings; not much was expected of Scratch except for him to listen and agree, seeing as Sawbuck was also something of a blowhard. But he'd allowed himself to trail off into what had turned out to be more pressing events that transpired elsewhere.
"Are you alright?" The porcine man asked, looking concernedly across the coffee table at him.
"Of course I am, please excuse me. You may continue." Scratch said, his tone clipped. Sawbuck looked at him almost as if to inquire again, but didn't, instead continuing the topic he had been on prior to noticing Scratch's distraction.
It was unnerving to be able to watch Spades Slick's heist begin and then go awry as it had, but such was the nature of his omniscience; Scratch could observe whatever event that was taking place anywhere as if he were present with a mere thought. The harder part was wanting to intervene but not being able or allowed to. He, for all his power, was not able to act freely; his master was still Lord English, and it was not his place to go against his whims, no matter what his thoughts or opinions on it were.
Doc Scratch was very conscientious of others' fragility, largely because they were mortal beings and, well, he was not. A bullet wound would be nothing to him, no matter where it was placed or how many were present. They would all heal, and that was only if they were inflicted in the first place. Often he wouldn't be clumsy enough to let that happen. But when others were shot, say someone in the Felt (or in this case, Midnight Crew) he could not help but brace himself just a bit. It was a bit stunning to him how easily they became permanently broken; thankfully they had a very able medic on hand, and he knew whether certain individuals would live or die, but it was still a point of interest. And even as he listened to Sawbuck prattle on, doing a better job of being actively engaged in the conversation this time around, all he could think was that Droog had better do a damn good job of fixing Slick up.
2014-08-10 00:15:22 -
β
The van had to be parked back at the abandoned garage, Slick merely lounging limply in the back seat with his head still situated on Deuce's lap whilst Droog paced back and forth whilst grumbling. He didn't have medical supplies with him; how the hell was he suppose to know this would happen? "Slick, why the obscenely hell would you not pay attention as to the guards' shifts! It's common sense, it's so simple, and yet /you/ somehow fuck it all u-" Droog was rambling now, and as much as Spades knows he deserves the scolding, now isn't the particular time to be dealing with that. "Droog... Shut up... 'N' listen." His tone was calm, much calmer then a man who had just been shot should be, but then again he's had his whole arm torn off, so a bullet into his torso may not have been the worst he's ever been through. "I'll be fine... Check the wound... See what bullet it is..." He ordered in a mumble, vision blurring in and out of Deuce's worried expression. The smallest never really was one for blood...
Soon, Droog was on the opposite side of the back seat, opening the door and maneuvering Slick's legs so he could allow Boxcars to slowly and carefully drag him out of the seat, and carry him bridal style to the back of the van. Even with those few short paces, Slick got paler, his breath stopping as his fangs dug deeply into his lower lip and his head felt light and fuzzy. Once he was settled down, a convenient blazer being folded and placed under his head, Droog started undoing Slick's shirt. The wound itself wasn't too big, maybe a couple quarters or so. Blood was constantly oozing from it, and as much as Droog would adore to put pressure on it, he did in fact need to know what sort of bullet that was fired. The fact it didn't go through-and-through was a good sign, however upon further inspection, and a bit of prodding at the wound, he found out a disheartening fact. "Fuck... DumDum."
Slick was going to vomit, his stomach churning uncomfortably as Droog dug around in his wound, then tugged out a single shard of why seemed to be brass or copper. "I ain't.. Dumb." Slick growled out in a gasp, looking away and focusing intently upon a screw protruding from the metal wall of the van. "Not you, boss, goddamn it. The bullet, as far as I can tell, is a DumDum. Otherwise, in blatant terms, a fragment bullet. Which means..." His jaw flexes. "You have bullet fragments littered about your internal organs... This isn't going to be easy..." He mumbled, teeth clenching and in clenching as he realizes Slick may very well need an actual medic. Though, Droog was quite advanced in the medical field, these sort of things required special tools, and a whole hella lot of esthetics to keep Slick still and loopy. But, again, he doesn't have the supplies with him.
Slick starts to understand the weight of the situation, his brows twitching as he fought the urge to groan and squirm at the increasing pain of the wound. His adrenaline was starting to wear out, and instead fear was starting to take hold. "A'ight... Fine... We'll jus'... Wait for the situation-" he inhaled deeply and breaths out slowly. "-to cool down. Until then... Go take the cases to the hideout... The cops will need several hours to fill out reports and look over video footage... Droog, I'm gonna-fuck-need ya to... Get rid of the footage. I would've done it on the way out, but'ta..." He glances down at himself, forcing a meek smile. "Anyway, delete the footage, use Deuce if ya need to... He's good at circuitry 'n'... Shit. I don't care how it's done, get it done. I... Need to get rid of... The van. Don't fuckin' argue with me, this is an order: Go." He snapped, shoving all his terror and vulnerability down to some very dark and cramped space in his head. He didn't need his subordinates fearing for him, nor did he need them to argue. Slick was still the boss, and as such, his orders were final.
They didn't look too pleased, however they did listen, knowing better then to argue with a hurtful prided Spades Slick. They change their attire, using the casual button ups and pants Slick shoved into the back of the van, and were soon waiting for further orders, boxcars carrying one of the two briefcases as Droog carried the other. Deuce fidgeted awkwardly, frowning. "I'll be back in a few hours or so with supplies... Don't die on us." Droog warned, almost in a cold tone, though under his stern expression, there was legitimate worry. Slick gritted his fangs as the doors to the van closed, and he heard the three's shoes scuffing against the concrete as they fled to blend in with the aloof people crowding the streets.
He needs to get rid of the van; his blood was staining it and he didn't need physical evidence against himself. But first, he needed to calm down, his blood pumper racing and only forcing more trickles of blood to seep from his wound. He had to take labored breaths, muscles forcing to relax as his jaw flexed again and again at each wave of pain tht seemed to only increase as the seconds ticked by. He would set the can on fire, burning all the evidence, then hide somewhere in the abandoned building to wait out a few hours. He rather himself get caught by the law enforcement then the whole Crew.
2014-08-10 00:46:53 -
π
Sawbuck's tone, usually a very aristocratic and intoned rise-and-fall as his litanies wore on, faded to a blur in the background, Scratch occasionally nodding or showing some sign of accord so as not to rile the other's suspicions any further. He did not find it hard to put himself away from the situation and pretend he was listening along, actually; he had an expansive mind and for the most part it was focused on Slick and his current, rather dire situation. While Sawbuck had his own tangent to go on, Scratch's was one mainly compromised of 'You idiot, you idiot, you idiot.'
Doc Scratch had never been shot before. But much like being kissed, he knew what it felt like, he just had not experienced it. There was a twist in his gut on the impact however, and part of him groaned inwardly.
'This is what you get for being so susceptible.' He thought sourly, though it wasn't Slick the thought was aimed towards.Β
While one part of Scratch felt foolish for getting worked up even minutely about this happening, another was trying to work some way to aid Slick. He had his own reasons, among them being the fact he disliked seeing Slick in prolonged suffering like he was, and the fact he could very well die.
The other Midnight Crew members had left Slick alone on his orders and Doc Scratch was thoroughly paused. He was too used to looking from the outside in, and bodies in rest tended to stay in rest; it would be far too easy to stay inert, but when Slick was recovered and came to see him again, how would he explain his idle behavior? He could, but not without a guilty conscience in the mix. Besides, he'd never gone... Out, before. He was wholly trepidatious about the endeavor, and with good reason. Doc Scratch was never reckless or prone to endangering others needlessly. Still, there was some urge in him. An urge to make his presence known in some way, somehow.
"Ah, Sawbuck?" His words were soft, but still sliced the other's palavering in two.
"Why- yes?"
"I am dearly sorry, but you must excuse me momentarily."
2014-08-10 03:15:55 -
β
'Step one: get your lazy ass up.' Slick thought in a slur, Ben his mind being quite jumbled at the moment. He's been through pain before, that was a dear friend who liked to occasionally visit Slick and toss him over on his back with a swift kick. He also knew what the feeling of bleed felt like; it was hot and cold, much like fingertips caressing over sensitive skin, and just continueing the same tracing pattern over and over again. However, he was not use to the feeling of blood pooling itself in his internals. That, was a a very new and very uncomfortable feeling. It was as if the bile of iron clawed up the back of his throat, tainting his tongue in the bitter taste and making him crave to wretch. Somehow though, aside from the constant nausea and the increasing burning sensation clawing it's way from the wound, and outward, he was able to gather enough coherence to sit up. His lungs refused to work properly though, but he was able to manage enough where he could muster enough strength to allow a few licks of purple flame to lap over his blood soiled hand. It didn't take too much energy to conjure up the flames, though his head would beg to differ, the rest of his body merely felt exhausted as he ran his Han over the back seat, allowing the flames to lap up the fibers and soon start engulfing every inch of it.
'Step two: get the fuck outta the van.' With the flames doing their work, he grabbed the blazer that had been shoved under his head earlier, and carefully slid himself to the back of the van's doors. It took a moment or so to fumble with the handles, but Slick eventually figures it out in his almost hazy state and clambers unsteadily out of the vehicle. The peculiar fire had started eating away at the seats, and soon, smoke was starting to puff from the windows and leak out through the small nooks and crannies. 'Phase... Four? I'm on four... Right?" He wondered idly, somehow stumbling to the wall of the concrete building and resting his fragile form against it. Though the Crew member looked scrawny, he was actually quite nimble and defined; he had to be in order to avoid law enforcement and deal with the Crew's constant petty strifes. Speaking of the Crew, he hoped the three understood to not stay swarmed together; it would be safer if they separated and met up at the hatch. Though, Slick was glad they didn't take the van to the hatch, seeing that video cameras of nearby stores or even onlookers could recognize the vehicle and tell the officials. Even if it wasn't the brightest idea to leave Slick to his own, it was better then getting caught. Besides, the van was usless now, Slick's blood could be evidence against him if they were ever caught, and the last thing he really needs.
After some time inspecting the car and deeming it thoroughly burnt, he looked about to find one of the windows that had been boarded up. This took even more energy to first burn the wood, then use his mechanical claws to rip the charred wood to shreds before slowly and carefully clambering into the building. It wasn't a huge hole, actually big enough to his it once more by using a cardboard box he'd found sitting against one of the walls, and shoved it against the hole for a lack of something better before allowing himself to slide to the floor. The wall was convenient to use as leverage, and soon the Crew leader was sitting on dust and dirt, using the blazer he'd snagged to hold pressure against his wound. He was quite tired, deeply so, and the temptation to just take a nap was comforting. So, with that, he tilts his head back to rest it against the wall, exposing his throat, and relaxing himself. The fire really did ware him out, as if his adrenaline come down wasn't enough. Every muscle was trembling, and it was oddly cold for the usual warm weather, or was that just himself that was cold? "Ngh... Fuck..."
2014-08-10 03:49:25 -
π
Doc Scratch was almost frightened of giving Spades Slick a shock with his sudden appearance in the abandoned building; but after taking a couple of steps down the green hallway, his form shifted and in a burst of static and hint of ozone he disappeared entirely. Teleporting came easy to him, like all forms of matter manipulation. It was not a necessarily bright process, but it did compromise a single very bright flash, like that a camera would produce. In broad daylight it meant little, but in pitch darkness it would be quite illuminating. Scratch could teleport groups as well, producing more energy and light in the process, though he'd never had cause to. He rarely teleported himself- he figured as long as he had them, he could use his legs.
Appearing in the warehouse itself was a grand unfolding; a thousand and one different stimuli hit Doc Scratch all at once, each one drastically different from the near-sterile environment of his office in Felt Manor. The sunlight from outside made his skin light up to an even brighter, almost glowing shade of white that made him seem nearly ethereal, and turned his eyes to prisms of green. It had been a very, very long time since he'd bathed in the warm caress of sunlight. Doc Scratch wondered just when he'd grown so afraid of it. If it took something so drastic as Slick's shooting to draw him from his conclave within Felt Manor, what had made him want to stay there?
Scratch decided to save his personal musings for later. Slowly, as if moving through a substance much thicker than air, he approached the downed mobster. The blazer he was using to put pressure on his wound was soaked with dark red blood. Without a second thought regarding his white pants or the dirty ground, Scratch knelt next to him. Carefully, one arm went around Slick's torso, under his shoulders, holding him loosely.
"Slick." He said in a quiet but calm voice. "Open your eyes. You need to look here, at me." His voice was gentle and goading as always, even though his throat threatened to close up. Some part of Scratch was discouraged at how human he was when reacting to this situation, but he ignored it. Scratch's other hand moved slowly toward the wound- it was time for him to display what he'd claimed earlier.
2014-08-10 05:42:48