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Droog and Boxcars merely stare at Slick for a moment, ignoring the pained breathing coming from the middle of the room as Droog shifts against the wall, and soon his the end of his cue stick pressed snug up against the leader's throat. This earns quite the surprised look from Slick, who quickly regains his composure and gives an animalistic like growl, baring his teeth subtly.
"Where. Were. You." The taller snapped, silver eyes looking a bit dull and admittedly enraged.
"Where the fuck do ya think I was?" Slck snapped back quickly, hands flexing at his sides to snap the pool cue in half, which would be an easy feat with his artificial arm. The thing is, Droog was quicker then the shorter man, and would have Slick knocked out before he knew what hit him.
"You have been sneaking out, more often then usual, might I add. I opted to leave you to whatever shenanigans it was you were tending to, however I've about had enough of your evading of answering my questions. Now. Where the /hell/ were you?" Droog's tone was stern, cross even, and had Slick snarling for a moment before recalling what Scratch had told him. He was still amazed as to how the Felt leader would be able to see his subordinates reactions before they even occur.
"Look at yourself, Diamonds, ya ain't thinkin' clearly. If ya gotta fuckin' know, I was out to get a /cigarette/. Your ass is all cranky 'n' high strung, so I wanted to fuckin' relax without bein' patronized. I would've came back sooner, had it not been for findin' a fuckin' Felt car loomin' 'round."
That seemed to catch Droog's attention, his steel eyes glancing to the two tied up to the chairs, and then back at Slick.
"... Keep going..."
"I left my radio in the Caddy so I didn't have to worry 'bout /ya/ botherin' me, 'n' wouldn't ya know? After I tailed the car for a bit, found out there was some Felt shenanigan shit goin' on." His blue hue glances to Fin and Trace, mentally cursing them for choosing now of all times to evade the Midnight's territory.
The bleeding Crew member shifted where he stood, mulling over what Slick had said, and slowly, almost reluctantly, lowered his pool cue before leaning against the wall once more.
"Now don't'cha look fuckin' stupid." Spades grumbled, disliking the fact two Felt members had witnessed the two butting heads. Boxcars had stayed silent, wanting no part of the two most aggressive Crew members on his case. However, he would have yanked the two apart eventually. Droog was now glowering where he slumped, grumbling something incoherent before slapping a mask of smothered anger upon his features.
"... What do we do with them boss?" He asked after a moment, letting his cue stick rest on the floor for a second or two before picking it back up and drawing closer to the two tied men.
"We can't just let them go, you do understand that, right? They've been in our hideout; they're better dead then alive." Slick felt as if some part of Droog, or maybe solely, was taking his frustration towards his boss, out on the Felt members. And, as if that wasn't enough, he didn't even know how to respond to his question. He certainly couldn't let the two go, as much as he honestly would given his situation with the Felt's leader and whatnot. He'd get too many questions from Droog, maybe Bixcars too. He was in a bit of a pickle now, and could only stare at the shark-like rivals before grunting and looking to his subordinates.
"Did ya get any information outta them?"
"Yea, not much though..." Boxcars glared at the subordinate holding the cue stick. "Droog knocked out Fin, then was attackin' Trace before I came 'n' tore 'em apart."
"He /bit/ me. Not to mention... Ruined by fucking suit." He cursed in a hissing way, barring his own teeth for a moment before calming almost too quickly. "I should've killed them both before you came..."
2014-08-22 23:28:38 -
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Silence reigned supreme in the den, though now its tone was shocked, incredulous really. Well, Scratch wouldn't have expected anything less. Their head honcho, Doc Scratch, as reclusive as he was, was going to leave the Manor for the first time in forever (or so they thought) to retrieve their captured comrades? It was too out there. Some thought he was joking. Scratch wished he was.
"Now," Scratch said, straightening his back from where he'd been leaning over the pool table, "Which of you know me to be any sort of jokester?"
After another profound silence (Scratch found he was good at inducing these), Itchy grinned broadly. "You're gonna fuck 'em up so bad." The Felt's youngest member snickered. This broke the ice considerably, causing even Scratch to smirk lightly.
"There will be none of that." Scratch said, tone easy and indulging of the other's antics.
"What're you even gonna do? Ask politely?" Quarters was a coarse man, even by the Felt's standards. He had little respect for anyone, and boasted a dangerous temper.
"I might very well." Scratch countered him. "And if they do not comply, perhaps I will take Itchy up on his suggestion."
The mood had done an absolute about-face, and Scratch was receiving a taste of how his subordinates would react if he took a more active stance in their activities. It was rare (the times he'd done this could be counted on one hand) but when he did, they considered it the main event.
"When are you gonna go?" Itchy pressed, eyes alight with excitement.
"Soon. Perhaps this coming morning, in a few hours. It all depends on what they do." Scratch said, stowing his hands behind his back. "As yet, they are not in immediate danger. Some actions to prevent further harm would, however, be prudent." Scratch turned a bit, motioning to Stitch. The other man simply nodded and stepped on his own from the room. He'd have to visit him later, Scratch thought. The two had some business to discuss.
Within moments Itchy had dashed from the room, to let the others in on developing events, no doubt. Scratch was in no real hurry; neither of the sharks were in immediate danger, and he always tabled his time precisely. Scratch once again returned to his own room, and unbuttoned his suit jacket. He draped it across the back of his office chair, then stepped back farther into the sitting room. He rolled the sleeves of his dress shirt up to just above the elbow, debating heavily whether his gun and holster would be necessary. It was the only arm he owned, of any sort, and even it he found to be surplus. It was agreed, however, that it was a well-made firearm, composed of an unidentified metal as well as a polished ivory grip. He'd never had any cause to use it. The only scenario he'd consider it was likely dramatic execution. Scratch slipped the holster around his waist, anyway. Presentation, after all.
Scratch was fully aware of what was transpiring at the Crew's headquarters; he trusted Spades Slick not to be too hasty in his judgment of the sharks, and his ability of keeping his comrades in line. He knew Diamonds Droog was in a right state due to Trace's assault on his suit, but he would leave it to Slick to keep him in line. Part of Scratch was apprehensive about making this appearance, but it was high time the Crew became aware of who they were dealing with when they combatted the Felt. Just a bit of harmless flexing was all- and it'd be fun to see their individual reactions, at any rate.
2014-08-23 01:20:23 -
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"Now now, let's not do anythin' hasty..." Slick mumbled in a sickening tongue, personally disturbed at his own words, however he felt like they needed to be said. He knew Droog was itching to beat the two into a bloody mess, but Slick would undoubtedly hold him back if necessary. A solid part of him doesn't want the Felt members hurt, and another part of him is /craving/ to just have a little fun with the two idiots who'd wandered unknowingly about their hideout. Slick knew Scratch had to have known of their antics, and decided to talk to him about it later. Though, as the shorter had stated, the Crew leader pulsing do much about it, nor would he in intimidation of what Scratch may do in turn. It was a bit mind racking to sort out his thoughts and keep his Crew from boiling over with frustration; or just one, at least. Boxcars seemed calm, though his arms were crossed over his wide chest and a look that was a mix of confusion and irritation was on his features, at least he wasn't hovering like a blood thirsty animal over its prey.
"I'm calm boss, however these two need a good reminder as to why they shouldn't f-... Trifle, with us." He had to correct himself before letting a curse slip up from him, tending to be the less profanity blatherer of the four members. Slick Spades knew he was stuffing down an immense amount of anger because of this, and stepped forward with his hands in his pockets, raising a raven brow at Droog.
"... Ya know what I think? I think you're pissed..."
"Oh, astute observation Sherlock. Please, do enlighten me upon your most enthralling wisdom. Yes, so go on." Droog was murmuring, but the didn't hide the venom that laced his words.
"I wasn't finished, asshole. I mean, you're fuckin' pissed at me, 'n' yea you're pissed at these fuckers too, but mainly me." Slick looked over to Boxcars. "Watch these two for a moment, I'll be back. They move, knock 'em out without hesitation." He warned, going to the entrance to the room and awaiting Droog to follow. The taller pauses, narrowing his eyes into daggers, but is soon striding over to the ex trance and following Slick down the hall a bit. He was still clutching his shoulder, and his breathing had heightened to a wheeze.
"Boss, I am not aggravated by you. I am merely aggravated with those hooligans having the audacity t-"
"Ya lie, 'n' ya know it. You're pissed at me cause of that one night I shoved ya away, ain't'cha?" The last word was spoken slowly, but a bit tiredly, as if he's known for awhile and is figuring it's high time he's spoken of the incident.
"What do you mean?" Diamonds was leaning against the wall, staining the concrete a bit in the process, and watched the shorter male snarl slightly.
"Ya know damn well what I mean. You're goin' all rage-killer-mode, 'cause of some shit between ya 'n' me. Look, I understand, you're pissed, but knock the shit off Droog! Deal with what happened, 'n' know it'll keep happenin' no matter how hard ya try to 'fix' it when there ain't anythin' to fix! Jus'... Drop it." This earns slightly perplexed look from Droog, but it slowly dissipates to a neutral expression, and he's quiet. Slick can almost /taste/ the tension coming from the taller, and feels a growl building up in his chest as silver eyes flash something fierce, then it's gone.
"Well that's all you had to say boss. Why don't you quit beating around the bush so much? You're also quite loud, stop yelling."This definitely earned a noise between a snarl and groan, the shorter merely gritting his fang before throwing his hands up in the air and brushing by his subordinate before going back to the room.
2014-08-23 01:49:09 -
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Scratch had left his gloves on his desk, in front of his suit jacket. His fingers didn't seem the sort to pull any trigger, slim and dexterous as they were. They seemed more suited to playing some instrument, the piano or violin perhaps, than they did curled into a fist or closed around the hilt of a knife. They were delicate hands, used to tug at the smallest of strings and tweak the most minute of details. Now, however, they would be used martially. Though Scratch desired to wait a bit longer before retrieving Fin and Trace, he was expected to go out soon. It would steal a bit of his thunder, but he was sure the duo would have learned their lesson well enough by the time he was finished. He didn't intend on staying long, or even doing much talking (as out of character that seemed for him), but on getting in and getting out. Scratch feared none of the injury or pain that would come go him during this, as he was aware he wouldn't be killed, but he did want to keep the other two out of harm's way. They were incapacitated as it was, he wanted no more damage done.
Predictably, the rest of the Felt, save Fin, Trace, and Stitch, were in the foyer, standing about and apparently waiting for further news. Snowman noticed him coming first, wearing a quietly triumphant expression, as if she had suggested he go out on his own. When all eyes were on him, Scratch spread his palms in an open gesture, half a shrug, to ask them what they expected of him.
"Don't stay up waiting for me." He said. "The rest of you have put in a full day, and I am sure once we return they will tell you all about it themselves." Scratch smiled a rare, borderline mischievous smile as he faced them. "Until then, ah... I would avert your eyes."
When he teleported, it had a habit of burning eyes like the flash of an LCD screen in the dark, and always used that sort of advice. On the way back he'd be taking three with him, and he didn't doubt his passengers would loath being teleported. Well, that was part of what they received for their reckless behavior. A thorough scolding and punishment would imprint their mistakes on them and hopefully dissuade them from later, similar actions. If it didn't, well... They'd learn their lesson the harder, more permanent way sometime.
Scratch materialized roughly a block from the Midnight Crew's hideout. He walked casually the rest of the way, as if he'd strolled down these streets all his life. He certainly hadn't, but nobody would be able to tell otherwise, even if they spotted him. His hands were actually in his pockets, green eyes roving with mild curiosity. Quarters had been joking when he asked if Scratch was going to ask the Crew politely for Fin and Trace back. Scratch hadn't been joking when he'd said he would. He had a way of going about things, and was not about to deviate from it. He looked much less formal without the jacket on and his sleeves rolled up, but hopefully the look was enough to tell them he meant business of some kind. When he got to their hatch, he paused. He wasn't just going to walk in. No, he wanted to have fun with this. He couldn't have quite told Slick that when he was asked what he did for fun, but... This was an answer, one way or another. So Scratch simply knocked purposefully on the door. Four short, smart knocks were all it took before his game began.
2014-08-23 05:07:24 -
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"... So no, I ain't gonna fuckin' touch them. I think ya already did enough of that."
"You can't be serious. So you're just going to leave them here? Until what? Until they die from blood loss? Boss, as much as I'd enjoy something slow paced as that, that's absolutely ridiculous-"
"U-uh... Boss?"
Slick furrowed his brows, then twisted around where he stood in front of Fin, one hand in the Felt's blood stained hair to yank his head up and look over him to make sure he wasn't dead already. He hadn't expected Deuce to come down here; he usually said the proclaimed 'basement' gave him the creeps.
"What? What the fuck do ya want? Can't ya see we're busy?" He snapped, dropped Fin'a head and wiping the partial smears of blood on his hand onto his black button up.
"Y-yea, well, uh, boss, I think... Someone knocked... On the hatch."
"... What." It was more a statement then a question, a confused and slightly perturbed expression on his face before he rocks on his heels for a moment, contemplating. "You're sure it was a knock?"
"Four raps. I thought someone dropped somethin' at first, but they were too measured and specific. Boss... Did you call someone here-"
"Oh fuckin' hell no.
"Droog, go answer the door."
"I most certainly am /not/. I can barely walk down a hall at the moment, let alone climb two ladders. Deuce, just get the hatch and see who it is. Maybe Slick just ordered some takeout before he came back, hm?" He asked with mild irritation, and was given two hands with the middle digit proudly pointed upwards to him. Deuce had scampered off already, not liking the basement too much, and quickly climbed the ladder back up to the first level of the hideout before hesitantly maneuvering down the hall that led to the hatch. Slick had also strode out from the room, warning Droog not to move a single muscle before he came back, and for Boxcars to watch him. He'd snag some medic supplies for the Diamond of the Crew, and also see who the hell was at his door. He didn't recall telling anyone where the hideout was... Maybe it was a Felt member? No, no no no, they would've blown the hatch open, not simply knock on the damned door.
Deuce climbed up the ladder, reaching up to click the hatch's lever before pausing, taking a small nervous inhale, and opened the hatch. He was really hoping it was just Slick's proclaimed food delivery, but almost let go of the ladder when he doesn't see a teenaged boy holding pizza boxes. Instead, he's looking up at a ghastly white person with white slacks and a green button up. The thing the was most startling had to have been the fact he didn't look too... Human. His eyes is probably what set this thought in his head, and he was stammering quickly.
"I-I, u-uh... B-boss!"
"Quit your fuckin' gripin', what the hell do'ya want? I'm busy..." Slick called from the bathroom, gathering some of Droog's first aid supplies.
2014-08-23 10:29:16 -
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His left foot placed on the metal lip of the hatch's entrance, Scratch leaned on his knee, peering down at the smallest Midnight Crew member. Finally, someone else who was shorter than he was. There weren't enough of them around, he thought.
"Good evening." The good doctor greeted Deuce, tone nearing no evidence of danger or ill intent, and simply showcasing his gentle manners. "You must be Clubs Deuce. It is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance. I am Doc Scratch, the leader of the Felt." There was a natural pause here, as he let the claim sink in. "I really am loath to call upon you all at such an indecent hour, but it seems you have something that belongs to me." He was sure Deuce would have slammed the hatch and skittered away within his first sentence, if not for his almost hypnotic voice. "It would be... Greatly appreciated if you were to allow me entry, in order to retrieve them both. So I may be on my way, and the rest of you can have a relatively peaceful remainder of the night." He didn't seem to be threatening the other at all, and was indeed asking politely- even though he knew it would get him absolutely nowhere. But what Deuce didn't know, and neither did the rest of the Crew save Slick, was that no amount of metal hatches would be able to stop him. He could have skipped it entirely and went directly to the cellar, or even teleported both the sharks back at once, but he found those to be in bad manners and bad taste, respectively.
Scratch had one foot on the hideout's exterior, so to speak, and the other inside the cellar which Fin and Trace were kept in. Trace was entirely silent, glaring hatefully at anyone who glanced their way. Though he was bound thoroughly, he would have made a move to bite anyone in range should they be trying to harm either of them- Slick was close, but he knew he wouldn't try to hurt him after what he'd said. When he came close, however, Trace's eyes narrowed. What he smelled for the most part on him was blood, though that might've just been the cellar, Fin, and the taste he had in his mouth from Droog's shoulder. But underneath that... It was hard to say, but Trace was sure there was something foreign on the man. It didn't matter now, though, as news was brought about someone knocking on their hatch. Trace didn't know who it could have been- they weren't able to call anybody, and no one from the Felt was either stupid or courageous enough to knock. Maybe Snowman. Trace's hopes for rescue were, in truth, abysmally low. Though this was the first time he'd ever been inside their hideout, he knew already this place was not one that was escaped.
Scratch could follow the other man's train of thought, and it gave him a higher sense of urgency- he had to get the two of them out, and would disregard any attempts on his own life, aware they were fully futile. He would broker his time properly, however, and would see to it neither one of his comrades were mortally wounded. Or else some of those drastic measures he'd discussed earlier with Slick might have to take place. Fin and Trace were too valuable as members and his charges nonetheless, and would not be content in leaving them to such a fate as that.
2014-08-23 15:12:36 -
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He wasn't expecting the guy to introduce himself, not was Deuce expecting the words 'Felt leader' to roll off his tongue. This, in turn, made his blood run cold and his brown eyes widen slightly as his hand on the hatch tightened to an iron-like grip.
"Oh..." He mouthed the word, nodding his head slowly and slightly. He doesn't know exactly as to why he believes the other's words, however some part of him admittedly does. No one walks aroun claiming to be the Felt's leader, and the way he'd introduced himself so nonchalantly, as if he didn have anything to worry about, made Deuce's red flags come out in full sight.
"Well, eh, I don't think the boss would be too keen on that, so uh, yea, uh, bye." He was a bit frantic now, letting go of the ladder so he could use all his weight to slam the hatch back down. He soon let go once it closed and the night sky wasn't infiltrating the hideout.
"BOSS, BOSS, BOSS!"
Slick was bringing the kit down the ladder's steps to the hall, holding gauze in his mouth (probably not the most sanitary thing to do) and had a bundle of medical supplies in his right arm.
"Mmf?"
"Boss, th-there's a guy outside!" At that, Slick gave him an impatient look, awaiting more details. "He said he's the leader of the Felt, and and and, and he's here for Trace and Fin and I dunno what to do! I slammed the hatch in his face but now I think that was rude and, what are we gonna do?"
Slick furrowed his brows at that, then raised one, silently asking for him to explain as to why he thinks this guy is the Felt leader. But, before Deuce answers, he's jumping forward, practically tackling Slick, and though for his height it was meek, but he was a bit on the chubby side and had the Crew leader outmatched in withstanding his balance on the rickety ladder before both were plummeting to the ground with a dull thud and loud curse from Slick.
"YOU IDIOT!" He snapped, gasping as the air was knocked out of him, but Deuce was already up and scampering into the room Droog and Boxcars were in.
"You guys'! There's a really pale guy outside with weird eyes! He wants Fin and Trace, but I didn't know what to do so I closed the hatch and holy crap, what do we do?"
Slick was still trying to gain back his breath, groaning before realizing what Deuce had said.
Really pale and weird eyes. Oh fuck.
Before he knows what he's doing, he's scrambling back upon his feet, kicking aside the medic supplies, and in the doorway.
"You... Shut the hatch on him?" He asked a bit baffled, vague weariness on his features before he's looking at his Crew and... He's worried. He's legitimately worried, and doesn't partcularly know how to go about telling his Crew that one, Deuce was stupid for doing such a thing as he did, and that they needed to just hurry and give up the two Felt members to avoid further conflict. But, they don't know what Scratch can do, and all deuce has witnessed is he's just an odd man.
"Untie them." Slick ordered to Boxcars, who have him the most quietest perplexed look he's ever seen on the biggest members face before.
"But-"
"Jus' do it!"
He sighs, glaring at the two sharks, before starting with Fin, seeing as he was still passed out and wouldn't irritate Hearts as much to have him merely sitting there unconsciously whilst he also untied Trace.
"Ya bite me, 'n' I'll bite you." He warned in a growl, wondering if he recalled his antics with Eggs and that little mishap between the two rivals.
2014-08-23 16:45:21 -
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Trace was unashamedly tuned into the conversation the Midnight Crew members were conducting, following every word acutely. He heard what Deuce said about the man at the door and the words "pale" and "weird eyes" were really all he needed to hear. But he didn't grin or show any form of relief, oddly enough- if anything, he grew more tense, almost frightened, it seemed. When Boxcars came to untie them both, he didn't move to attack, either. The muscular Midnight Crew member's threat did not change this.
"You're so fucked." Trace muttered, though it wasn't a taunt. With his expression and tone matched, he might as well have said "We're fucked" instead. And he knew he had been from the start, no matter how the situation was going to pan out. All he knew now was that when they got back, he and Fin would be entrenched in the deepest shit of their lives.
Up above, Scratch had straightened up when the hatch slammed in his face, chuckling softly. Was it bad he found Deuce's reaction to be amusing? He really should not have been as entertained by all this as he was right now. It wasn't okay. But that wouldn't stop him, and in a brief flash he was below the hatch, in the Midnight Crew's base. He already knew how everything looked, despite this being his first time inside. He couldn't say the scent particularly agreed with him, but he supposed it was because he wasn't used to them, really. The smell of alcohol was too strong for his liking, and he was quick to find the second hatch. The Crew were already in the room they were holding Fin and Trace in, and Scratch would be quick to join them. Forgoing the hatch itself, Scratch disappeared in his trademark burst of green and gold static. Before he reappeared in the room below, the lights very briefly dimmed, as they were prone to doing in Felt Manor. If it happened there, they knew it was him and paid it no mind. But here, in some sort of cellar, it'd be nothing short of creepy.
The sharp, almost coppery tang of ozone split the still air, accompanied by a sickly green mist that rolled off Scratch like he were just taken out of deep freeze. He did not speak right away, instead surveying the room with mild interest, the sort a CEO would after entering their board meeting. His eyes rested briefly on everyone, in turn, and no one could have guessed he was familiar with Spades Slick outside of this setting.
"I do so hate to barge in uninvited like this." Scratch's quicksilver words rolled off his tongue as he slowly stepped forward, slower even than a stroll. "But I really must collect my two colleagues there. They have a fair bit of explaining to do." He looked at the unconscious Fin and shaken, rather startled Trace, and for a moment his expression seemed very pointed. Immediately after, however, it was back to a pleasant, hospitable set. "Surely you will not mind if I take them off your hands...?"
If they did, then they would have a problem on their hands, as was evident. If not, good, Scratch wouldn't have to do any convincing.
2014-08-23 20:18:17 -
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Boxcars had given a lost look to Trace, contemplating why he'd looked so terrified. He hadn't looked this pale when Droog was death threatening him, nor did Fin, however he gets the feeling the unconscious Felt member would have if he were indeed conscious.
"Boss...?" He slowly said in warning, glancing over his shoulder at Slick who was currently tapping his mechanical claws against the metal of his palm; his ever so present nervous tick. That wasn't a good sign either, even with Droog being more pissed then coherent, he knew trouble when his boss was ticking as such. The four members had heard the sound close to a rumble of thunder and electricity hissing from the first floor then. Three members cursed, looking bewildered, while one tensed and inhaled deeply with a racing pulse in his ears. Huh. So Scratch really was here... There was no thrill running up his spine from such an encounter, which was unusual. Only worry and dread, and once the familiar bright flash of light was occurring in the room, Slick squeezed his eyes shut in silence before exhaling the air he'd been holding in. Boxcars had given a loud exclaim asking 'where the /fuck/ did he come from?' and Droog was just utterly perplexed and a bit thrown off by the turn of events.
Deuce had jumped out of his skin, and before Slick knew it, he had the smallest Crew member hiding behind his leg and gripping the side of his slacks. He heard a small chant of 'oh shit oh shit oh shit' coming from him, and hissed for him to shut up and calm down before spotting Boxcars eyeing the proclaimed Felt leader. The Crew leader already knew what he was doing, and cleared his throat to get his subordinates attention before shaking his head 'no'. He didn't need hearts tackling Scratch, and the biggest member did scowl at the boss, but he did not advance any closer, and instead backed away a bit. An eerily silence set in then, besides Deuce's insistent quiet cursing.
After the Felt leader had spoken and the question hung in the air for a long moment, Spades Slick crossed his arms, forcing his insistent palm ministrations to stop, and acted as of contemplating the other's words when he already knew his answer. He wouldn't hold the Felt members hostage, that wasn't his choice to make, now or ever. Though, he couldn't simply hand them over as quickly as he was asked, that wouldn't look too good from his Crew's perspective. So, he says the first thing that comes to mind.
"... What if I do mind?" He asked slowly, almost reluctantly really, but stood stubbornly with a slight narrowing of his eye. Droog was standing stock still, and Slick couldn't tell if this was a good thing or bad, until he sees the Diamonds hand shift on his cue stick.
'Fuck, why does /everyone/ want to fuck thin's up?' He questioned himself mentally, shifting a bit so he could stand in front of Droog slightly. To one, it would look like the second to shortest member was protecting his subordinate, when in fact he was merely blocking his path to get to Scratch. Droog apparently had his trigger finger itching, and the last thing Slick needed was someone (namely the Crew) getting hurt.
2014-08-23 20:52:51 -
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Fin only slumped over further, Trace sparing a glance to his friend before looking up at Boxcars' hulking form as it turned. The man had neglected to free Trace of his bonds, but he had enough motion left to him to jump when the loud pop heralding Scratch's arrival sounded. He did not fear his leader would harm him; in fact, he knew that Scratch could never stoop so low. But there was something about the other man (if he could be called that now) when he was in this state that put others on edge; it was akin to walking to close to a generator in a power station and feeling the vibrations it caused in the air lift the hair on your skin in warning of the tremendous voltage you were presented with. This was on a lower level, some animalistic part that presented you with fight or flight when he was confronting you, which everyone had. One had to wonder if Scratch himself possessed animal instinct of any kind- the answer most would guess was no, due to the blatant control he exercised over himself. That was what made him frightening, in Trace's opinion- all that power and whenever he used it, it was never on impulse. He was always in control, and always conscious of what he did.
"... What if I do mind?"
Scratch wouldn't let it show fully on his features, but Slick's obvious stalling made him want to laugh aloud. This was because of their, ah... Running around that had occurred prior to this. Now they were playing at enemies who hardly knew a thing of each other. Even so, he couldn't help but look a bit amused by the supposition. His eyes shifted to Slick, one corner of his mouth drawing upward in a half-grin.
"Well, Mr. Slick, I certainly would not advise it." Scratch answered. "I know that I, personally, truly am reluctant to fall back on the use of force to achieve anything when I know that simple words may suffice but..." He trailed off, looking helplessly to the other man. "If that is truly what you desire, I will see what can be done. One way or another, however, I will be leaving with the two of them."
Scratch really had no drive to hurt any of the Midnight Crew; Clubs Deuce was absolutely innocent, and Hearts Boxcars was looking more confused than belligerent for the time being. Diamonds Droog, now... Scratch could see himself having to defend against him. Would he lash out at the taller man? No, that was infinitely unlikely. But self-defense was another matter. Scratch would also make no move toward Spades Slick, for the obvious reason. Scratch only wanted his two idiot subordinates back, and he meant to do just that. He could go through the four of them with absolute ease when it came right down to it, but... He was having an unhealthy amount of fun.
2014-08-23 21:28:25 -
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Slick did not like that half grin on Scratch's expression, but physically showed no distaste, just stayed quiet and feigned contemplation. He could feel the tension rolling off of Droog and making the hairs on Slick's neck stand on end.
"You better not boss..." He hissed at the shorter man, Deuce glancing up at the hostile words. He hasn't seen Droog so tense before, though he has seen him ticked off or utterly enraged, he looked much like a soda bottle one had shaken up one too many times, on the edge of bursting.
"What would ya have me do, Droog? Ya had your fun, 'n' there's always next time..." Slick grumbled over his shoulder, not moving an inch out of his way as he hears the familiar sound of a palm tensing tightly against the wood of the pool cue. "Watch yourself."
Boxcars was utterly lost, rubbing the back of his neck and looking confused whilst a part of him knew he should be on edge, he didn't know why, so instead he just stood their dumbly. As he stood there, Slick had to quickly come up with an answer, finally huffing through his fangs slightly and nodding his head once.
"Fine. Take 'em. Less work for me."
"You must be /joking/."
"No, actually, I ain't. Now you're gonna calm down 'n' let't'em leave, do ya understand?" He asked sharply, twisting hallway around and giving Droog a look to let him know he was running thin on patience.
"You're just long to let them go? After coming into /our/ hideout and causing so much trouble?"
"Yea, if ya wanna put it that way. Ya can argue 'bout it later." He shakes his head, turning away again from his subordinate who was starting to overflow with uncontrollable frustration.
"Take 'em. I hope ya can fix their snoopin' shenanigans. I don't think next time, if there is a next time I mean, my subordinate here is gonna hold back." That was a promise; not that Slick could control what Diamonds did, that was out of his hands entirely. All he could do was threaten and warn him of his actions. There was a reason slick was the leader and not any of the three; Deuce was quick to react, but too soft, Boxcars was large and brutish, but at a loss for his own judgment half the time, and Droog was usually well mannered and quick witted, but once he was pissed, it was almost impossible to reign him back down to Earth. Slick was openly aggressive, that much was sure without a doubt, but he was able to judge easily, be cold and soft when needed, and knew what was going on most of the time without being informed. He may not have een the most brightest leader, but his gut has gotten him this far, so he was doing something right.
That aside, he was still a bit perplexed as to why Scratxh hadn't informed him of the following events before him. He had told him a few steps to take when proceeding with this puzzle of predicaments, but he had neglected to include his take in the scene. Another thing he was vaguely worried about was his hostile Crew member; he had a feeling anything would set him off, and Slick did not need an outbreak between the two of them in front of the Felt. Scratch would know of it, nonetheless, but at least it wouldn't be in person. He hated it when one would witness him taking a few swings, it hurt his pride more then anything else. Droog had a killer hook too, maybe not as bad as Boxcars, but the slender man could do heavy damage when fully enraged. He was borderlining that point, crossing between forcing himself to calm down, or knock Slick out and take matters into his own hands. Slick didn't want him to be ignorant right now.
2014-08-23 22:00:55 -
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Trace was watching from the far side of the room, already bearing witness to the dissent between Slick and Droog; he certainly hadn't anticipated them to be so hostile toward each other, and was surprised now. The way Droog grew angry reminded him of Quarters, though nobody cared to ever calm him down, really. He just subdued it until he could take it out on someone else. He actually hoped Droog wasn't the same way; for some reason it seemed wrong for the Midnight Crew to be so dysfunctional.
Trace blinked, almost tiredly. He probably had a concussion. That'd explain all his thinking.
Still, he watched numbly as Scratch nodded ponderously. Their leader was good at brokering any situation, and was usually able to diffuse combatants with little more than a sharp glare and cold words. Anyone who was aware of his power didn't want on his bad side, which was why he had told Boxcars they were fucked. If one of them made a move to harm Scratch, it was likely they'd find themselves thrown into a wall or given a single punch capable of incapacitating any heavyweight that cared to step up.
"Good." Scratch said sagely, a more serious reflection coming over him as he regarded Slick, mainly. He was also being wary of Droog, and certainly did not take kindly to the tone of voice the other man was using. He needed to better check his temper before it got him in some sort of trouble. Those words he always thought would be directed more toward Slick, but that was not the case this time around.
"I am glad to see some of you are in possession of common sense." Scratch said passingly. "I assure you my friends here shall not roam into your territory again, and I am terribly sorry of any inconvenience they may have caused."
With that, Scratch folded his arms behind his back and walked slowly to the right of Boxcars, passing behind him to gain access to Trace and the unconscious Fin. In doing so, he did move so Droog was closer to him that Slick, but he feared no move the taller Midnight Crew member would make. All he would accomplish if he did strike was making an example of himself, something Scratch himself would not encourage.
Once he reached Trace, Scratch knelt to the side and quickly did away with the knot securing his wrists. The one around his torso Scratch did not bother with- he simply snapped them with his own hands and left Trace to deal with the ones around his knees and ankles. Scratch stood back up to his full, unimpressive height after, looking down at the beaten and bloodied Fin. Stitch would have a few words of his own for the two, meaning they got a second dose altogether of scolding. No one was really exempt from the tailor's griping, not even Scratch, but it was nothing like the harsh tone of voice Droog bore toward Slick. Scratch disliked it on a number of levels; he thought the sharply-dressed man should have shown more respect toward his leader, for one, and due to recent events surrounding he and Slick, the notion was made even more abhorrent. Scratch's temper was nonexistent to the Crew, however; he had been more than certain to ensure he showed no rage while present.
2014-08-23 22:39:45 -
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Slick nods his head slowly to Scratch, pausing before watching him walk over to Trace. His muscles tensed a bit more, feeling Droog glare coldly at the rival leader and mumble something smart under his breath.
"Ya better not Droog..." Slick murmdered to him, mimicking his words not spoken too long a moment ago, and narrowed his gaze at nothing in specific. Boxcars merely allowed the shorter man to pass him, giving a curious blink before Slick snaps his fingers, attracting the biggest member's attention.
"Eh?"
"C'mere. Bring Deuce upstairs." He ordered, jutting a thumb to the smallest member who was still a bit jumpy by the falling events. At least he wasn't cursing anymore, but he was still taking shelter behind his boss, obviously avoiding any and all touches upon Droog. Boxcars had paused, hazel eyes narrowing at Slick, not out of annoyance or irritation, but curiosity. Why didn't he want him to bring Droog up too? He could most certainly haul the smaller man up the ladder, however he may earn a few good bruises in the process.
In a moment, after Scratch had untied Trace, Hearts ushered Deuce out from the room. Though the smallest attempted to stammer out an arguement, he was a bit relieved to be out of the basement and out of the tensely aired room. Slick stepped back a bit, using his back to coax Droog back and away from Scratch, which the taller succumbed to reluctantly. His steps were measured and quiet, and when Slick stops, so does Droog, however they weren't backed up towards the door, more so against the wall. Slick was aware the two of them wouldn't be able to exit without another scuffle, however both had enough sense as to not strife in front of their rivals. Though, the leader wanted no part that night, or early morning it seemed like now, to become enthrawled in a scuffle with his subordinate. Maybe some other time, maybe, but certainly not now.
"Yea, apology accepted. Ya can go now." He offered in a gruff tone, his crossed arms dropping to his sides before taking the opportunity of the time to casually slide off his black blazer, then hold it in one of his hands. He didn't even notice the Felt leader felt rigid towards Droog, which meant his mask was quite convincing. Had he known of such, however, he would have told Droog to leave and would deal with him later. No, instead he's tense as a knot in a rope during a tug-of-war festival and was silently hoping Droog wouldn't ruin his stitches.
His subordinate may not be at his most lethal level either, seeing that he's lost a bit of blood, he may be slower the usual, but still effective enough to avoid anything slick would throw.
"Don't be too harsh, though." Slick mused, smirking. Honestly, he didn't care as to how harsh scratch would punish his subordinates; that was his gang, and his alone. Just like Scdatch should let Slick handle his own mischievous crew of mobsters. In whatever way he pleased, really. Their settling of scores usually ended up bloody and sore, but more often then not, soon afterward they'd be bickering and annoying one another nonstop.
2014-08-23 23:54:33 -
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Doc Scratch bent and picked Fin up, moving the taller and slightly brawnier Felt member with ease, putting him over his shoulder. He didn't complain as this took place, obviously, and when he offered Trace a hand to pull him up, it was not denied. The latter swayed a bit upon regaining his feet, but within moments static crackled around them, signaling their exit. The teleporting would be harder on Fin and Trace than it would Scratch, who was used to it and in a way tuned to the sensation. They wouldn't exactly enjoy it, but that wasn't the point. The point was leaving, and as Scratch did he looked at Slick in serious manner, one he hoped to communicate something along the lines of "stay smart" with. He certainly didn't like the idea of Droog physically harming Slick, to the point it stirred a bit of anger in him. It was the same sort of anger he got when Felt members fought like that- he didn't think it was necessary or conductive to the group at all. Maybe another visit would be in order, he mused. But not now- now the three of them were enveloped in light and energy before vanishing, leaving behind an odor of ozone that couldn't completely overpower the sweet, subtle tinge of vanilla.
After that, the battered duo were subject to a two-in-one lecture and patching-up courtesy of Stitch. Fin, who had been roused by that time, and Trace sat on the counter, looking appropriately dejected. Scratch knew they were both rather shaken by the events, but they still needed their scolding. Once Stitch was finished with them, he tagged Scratch in, who greeted them with a sigh. He was responded to with quiet, ashamed looks. Fin had a major concussion, and his gaze was rather fuzzy, but he shared the sentiment.
"By now you two must have realized your mistakes." Scratch said quietly. He stood before them, arms crossed, while Stitch cleaned up behind him. Scratch received two sullen nods. "This cannot continue. I can tell you the next time you are at such a loss, you will not find mercy from any of them. What do you propose I do about this?"
They fidgeted uncomfortably. "Nothing." Trace said after a minute, eyes on the floor. "It's not somethin' you gotta do. We have to."
Scratch nodded. "That's right. You are not to branch off from the group without notifying anyone of where you are going any longer. You are not to leave the immediate area. You will return to the Manor at a set time every night."
They both wanted to speak out against a curfew, which they had been threatened with before, but before they even could, Scratch raised a hand and silenced them, taking no arguments.
"This curfew will be instated starting next week. For the remainder of this week, however, you both will be under house arrest and exempt from any excursions the others conduct, whether they be for work or recreation."
They both voiced their outrage at that, but again Scratch would have none of it whatsoever. He knew it was for their own good, and deep down (somewhere) they (probably) knew it was, too. In the end Scratch dismissed them to their rooms and to rest. They didn't object to that one, and dragged themselves from the workshop to do just that- and tell the others about what Scratch had done, which he was sure would be exaggerated over time. It had been rather anticlimactic in his opinion, but necessary.
"So." Stitch said, sitting heavily down in the chair at his work table.
"They're going to complain so much." Scratch shook his head, but he grinned as he did.
"They will. But it's for the best."
"I suppose so." Scratch allowed. "Still..."
"Did it at least go well?" Stitch day back, watching him.
Scratch shrugged evasively. "I think it did. We all returned unharmed."
"You had fun." The tailor smirked. "Don't even try to lie."
"Since when have I lied?" Scratch grinned, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Still not denyin' it." Nothing got past Stitch.
The First Guardian shrugged dismissively. "It was... Satisfying, in a way. I really should, ah..."
"Ah...?"
"Go out more. If I find cause."
That gave the other man a good laugh, and Scratch didn't mind at all; they got along well, in truth, and Scratch considered Stitch essentially his closest friend. He treated Scratch like a regular man, like the rest of them, and he appreciated it. The two also grew aggravated by similar things, namely the lack of common sense that so frequently surrounded them. Of all the Felt members, Scratch would admit to being biased toward the ninth- and if something chanced to happen to him, he'd more than readily bust the heads of those responsible.
2014-08-24 03:10:30 -
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Slick watched quietly as the three vanished, feeling his fangs clench at the stern look Scratch gave him, and held his breath as obnoxiously bright light flashed, making his eyes scrunch closed. Droog was a bit quiet behind him, and at first Slick didn't understand why, until he remembered such a short, delicate looking man had hauled Fin up effortlessly as if he were Boxcars.
"Did he just..." Droog started in a low voice, staring where the three had been and attempting to figure out what the hell had just occurred. Slick merely shrugged, looking at his blazer, and tossed it off to the side of the room where it wouldn't be in the way. Afterward, he started turning around.
"Now, I know you're p-" He doesn't even get to finish his sentence before he's being hooked in the face with a fist, and he feels the concrete of the floor crashing his fall. He doesn't even remember collapsing to the floor, just that their was an unfamiliar cold feeling crawling up his back, along with short bursts of pain in his face, and spine. Nor does he notice the fact he'd cried out, a hand coming up to do jack squat with the pain, and came off his face to show a respectable amount of blood on his palm.
"Damn it Droog." He growled, attempting to sit up and figure out what was bleeding (from the throbbing in his nasal cavity, it was probably his nose). Before that, however, just as Slick is trying to sit up, he gets the weight of Droog fully upon him as the taller kneels down over him, and grabs the front of his shirt before slamming him back down. He doesn't even yield at the blood on Slick's face, then again, he probably didn't care for a suits further ruining if it was already ruined.
"Why. Did. You. Let. Them. Go?" He growled out each individual word with clenched teeth, landing a left or right hook respectively to his punctuation. Slick didn't even recall hearing him drop his cue stick to the ground, seeing now that it was rolled up against a wall, but supposed the ringing in his eyes made up for that as an excuse. He doesn't answer at the question, just cackles with each punch, and ends up earning a blurred, grimy vision before his shirt is gripped again, and his upper torso along with the back of his head is slammed down. That action doesn't get a chuckle, just a groan, but he doesn't fight back. He's aware that most of Diamonds' anger is from him, and so allows him to take it out here and now so there are no more further disputes. However, that doesn't seem to be enough at the end. Soon, nimble fingers are curling into his raven locks and yanking his head back in a way to expose his throat, making Slick swallow the bile taste of iron in his mouth.
"You're absolutely pathetic boss. We could have earned more information from those two idiots, but no... No, you just had to let them go, huh? Were you scared boss? Hm?" He picked his head up and slammed it again, Slick's groan being louder this time as a hand reflexively shot up to grip Droog's wrist of the hand in his hair, vision cloudier.
With a sigh, Droog stands up, panting still from exertion and other traumas considering the Felt, and finally got off of the smaller man. He wasn't done yet though, picking up his cue stick as Slick tried to regain enough sense to sit up and not collapse back to the floor. Now, Droog does not beat him with his pool cue... However, he does put a heel on the other's chest, holding him down, then uses the thinner part of the stick to bring it down upon the area he'd had to see up twice that week. The boss gave a howl like that of an animal getting it's paw snapped in a bear trap, making the taller scoff.
"Oh please. Howling like a mutt won't get you anywhere. Now, explain to me /why/ you let them go?" He twist the weapon into Slick's wound, both of the shorter's hands shooting out to grip the base of it in hopes to lessen the pain because, shit that really hurt. He still doesn't answer though.
"Hmph... Nothing to say? Do you not have an excuse?" He 'tsk'ed Slick. "That's a first. So, when I'm done here, does that mean I can go do as I please with the Felt? Make a pathetic noise for 'yes'." He twists the stick, and Slick growls with growing irritation.
"Ooh, I can? Fantastic boss, now we're on the same page. So, by now I'm assuming I may also do away with or whatever I please, to the Felt leader, yes?" He smirks, and leans on the weapon, but is shocked to see that he received no noise of discomfort. Instead, the smaller had gone silent.
Droog had just threatened Scratch. Somehow, just that small tidbit, even with the knowledge he wouldn't get far with such a threat, had his blood boiling with what could only be described as vile hatred.
"/Answer/ me." Droog ordered a bit uncomfortably, making Slick pause to gather his words and a few coherent thoughts before mumbling something inaudible. "What?"
"I said... I'm gonna burn ya t'a hell." Though the boss smiled, it wasn't a pleasant one. Blood tinted his fangs a see-through crimson color, blue hue dilating to a mere dot, and for the first time that scuffle, he does move... With homicidal tendencies.
2014-08-24 09:19:08 -
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"Are you alright?"
Doc Scratch allowed a frown to come over his features; he'd been slipping lately, but unlike Sawbuck, Stitch knew that Scratch did not simply zone out- when he appeared to be lapsing in attention, something somewhere else had snatched his attention. Usually it was more pressing than whatever was being conducted at present- a lot of things were more important than idle conversation, so Stitch didn't want to be alarmed just yet. It could have been nothing, but then again it could have been... Something. Scratch wasn't giving any indicators straight off; for a moment he looked almost startled, then he wet his lips quickly. Those weren't good signs.
"Scratch." He prompted.
"I-I'm sorry, I grew distracted." He replied, brow creasing slightly, eyes falling to the floor.
"What's happening?"
"Nothing." He realized that wasn't true, and scrambled to make amends: "Nothing that concerns you, or the immediate well-being of the Felt." Perhaps he shouldn't have been so specific, but of all people Scratch trusted, Stitch was at the forefront. Even so, the tailor recognized the almost anxious look about him, and though he was curious he knew better than to attempt interrogating Scratch. That would prove only to make him shut down any form of response, and worsen the state of things.
Scratch felt intensely guilty; he considered the strife between Spades Slick and Diamonds Droog to be a direct product of his "fraternizing" with the former. If he hadn't kissed Slick that second time, made things more complicated between them, Slick wouldn't have pushed Droog away that night, and started the bad blood between them. It might have even been that Slick wouldn't have gotten himself shot during that heist. Guilt was no new experience, really; Scratch dealt with it frequently, but now it was happening in real time, not as a precursor to his actions. He knew there were things he could do to put an end to the fighting, but was it his place? And he'd just come from their hideout, why rush right back? What should he even do- prevent one from killing the other, under some pretense of his own creation? It'd be hard to pull that off without lying, but if he could separate them, perhaps. It wasn't that Scratch didn't know what to do- he simply had too many options, and the violence occurring elsewhere was affecting his judgment as well. It was stupid of Slick to let Droog gain the upper hand so quickly- under no circumstances should he have just taken a beating from someone he claimed was his subordinate.
"What do I do?" Scratch looked up at Stitch. His voice was quiet and strained; he felt too indecisive at the moment, and it was hurting. Stitch was silent, having expected anything but that question to be asked of him. Maybe an explanation, but now he'd been put on the spot.
"... Whatever you think is right." He said after a minute, shrugging. "I don't really think you make the wrong choices. An' if ya did, it'd be because ya had a lesson to teach someone as a result of it."
Scratch nodded almost imperceptibly; he did not always act on his own accord. Some things couldn't be helped, but this... This was perfectly in his hands. But was it his place to bother in business that, seemingly, was between the two Midnight Crew members?
"You always do what's right for us." Stitch said. "I wouldn't doubt ya do the same for others. Without anybody even knowin'." A crooked smile appeared on the taller man's features. "I trust your sense of judgment."
Scratch was silent; his throat felt tight, so he nodded in place of speech. He'd grown too used to being inert, and this was his result- hesitation and stalling. He felt almost ashamed of himself, but it couldn't be helped by this point. His action was decided for him.
2014-08-24 14:50:27 -
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Slick doesn't know when or how, but now he was standing. To be more exact, he was standing about halfway on Droog's neck. He had knocked his subordinate over with quite the rough shove of his shoulder, and before he could get back up, he went for his ankles. He had hoisted up said point in the air, restricting him from twisting around from where he lay on his stomach, then placed the heel of his shoe at the back of his neck to keep the upper part of his body pinned.
"Are ya done?" He snapped down at Droog, digging claws into flesh and adding more pressure to the back of his neck. The taller was still struggling, growling an attempt to sit up, but Slick had all the leverage, so all he could do was end up lying limply on the floor whilst panting.
"... Ya done now?"
"..." Silence. At least he'd stopped struggling. Slick gave him another thirty seconds or so, scanning over him, and took his still movements to be a sign that he gave up. Slowly, hesitantly, he let his grip around his ankles loosen, then let them completely slide out from his grasp to have them drop to the floor. As soon as that was done, he hopped back, putting a good couple feet between him and Droog.
"Clean yourself up... I hope you're fuckin' happy now." Slick grumbled, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth before turning and walking off. The opposing man's cue stick had been thrown off to the side somewhere, during the strife, Slick had grown tired of it and almost broke it before deciding against that, and tossed it off to the side.
Besides that there were indeed black scorch marks still sizzling against the concrete. Droog also had a few patches of burnt suit material caked onto one another, not to mention a nice burn on his right cheek. Slick was finding it hard to just walk, being exhausted from the lack of sleep, the strife, and the usage of his shadow magick when it wasn't necessarily needed. He was still dearly aggravated and hostile, and maybe that was what was helping him stand on his feet; before he got to the doorframe and had to clutch to it for a moment, that is. Before he could even set one foot out of that room, he heard Droog at an alarmingly close proximity.
"No, actually I'm not." He growled, making Slick twist around, or at least attempt to since a loud thud is heard, his arms go numb, and hi eyes are forcing themselves to close. He doesn't feel the impact of Droog's weapon against his skull, more so hears it, and then feels his knees hit something hard and solid, then he's seeing the floor coming up to meet him. After that, it's just darkness.
"... Now I'm satisfied." Droog grumbled, glaring down at the passed out form before slowly relaxing. He was drained of energy now, and by god, was he freezing. He didn't remember the basement being this cold, and was trembling at this point as he hit the wall with his uninsured shoulder, and slid down to the floor. His pool cue had a crack in it from when Slick almost broke it, then decided against it, and tossed it aside. Droog was a bit grateful he hadn't broken his weapon, but couldn't necessarily say such appreciation as the weapon was rolling out of his palm, and he was slowly falling into darkness as well. Then, just like Slick, he's enveloped in the shadows and passing out, his upper portion of his body collapsing to the floor.
Boxcars had been sitting near the hatch that led to the basement the entire time, large arms crossed and his brow furrowed as he listened to the two go at each other's throats. He knew better then to barge in, and allowed the two as long as they needed to settle things. What he did not expect was the dirty move Droog did to Slick when he was trying to leave. There wasn't much he could do about it though, and awaited the two to come back up the basement ladder for a total of five minutes before judging the two knocked out. Deuce had been sat in the living room, holding some hot chocolate instead of coffee for his morning brew, and sipping with a light look of worry on his expression being casted at Hearts every now and then.
"I'll be back." The biggest sighed, rubbing the back of his neck before climbing down the ladder.
"Be careful!" He ward before finally dropping to the concrete floor. Medical supplies were scattered about the ground there, and he shook his head with a sigh before walking down the hall to find both Diamonds and Spades knocked out.
"Ya guys are a handful... Literally." He grumbled to the passed out forms before leaning down to pick both up; each being slung over his shoulder, an then turning with slight difficulty to climb up the ladder. Deuce had to help bring the two to the couch, sitting one on said furniture, and the other on the futon.
"Deuce, go fetch me th' uh... Uh, stuff to fix them. I think I saw a bunch a' shit on the floor in th' basement." Deuce nodded once, slowly, looking over the other two members before frowning and scampering off to do as told.
2014-08-24 16:27:31 -
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Minutes passed and neither man spoke; Stitch was patient throughout the silence, watching Scratch closely and taking account his expression and position. Scratch had his arms wrapped around his thin chest, one bringing his hand up to his mouth. Scratch biting his thumbnail had to be the equivalent of Slick tapping his metal fingers on his metal palm, but this was a much rarer occurrence. Scratch hated letting others know when, mentally, he was not present in a situation, so he actively prevented himself from doing it. But now there really were no reservations left. Scratch was following Spades Slick and Diamonds Droog's brawl as if he were present in the room, breath sometimes coming in minute gasps or exhalations. This was yet another conflict he was exempt from, like the few that had transpired in Felt Manor. And the Felt's fights were never like this- usually a more responsible member would hold another back, especially if they were tired of the situation as a whole. Scratch had never had to forcibly separate anyone, but Snowman had. She was rather good at it, seeing as no one was fool enough to hit her. (Not even because she was a woman; they were frightened of the repercussions that came with it.) Scratch usually diffused fights with his arrival, but this one, no, he had to watch.
And all the while the thought that kept repeating in the First Guardian's voluminous mind was that Slick had begun to fight back when Diamonds Droog had threatened /him/. Though he'd been regarded as "the Felt leader" instead of by name, the sentiment was the same- Slick had become enraged only in response to Droog saying he intended to harm Scratch. He thought it was curious, really; someone valued him so highly they would be willing to fight until grievous injury to protect him, even though they knew he was basically incapable of being harmed himself. He didn't know if Spades Slick was acting stubborn, chivalrous, or just brainless. No matter which of these it really was, Scratch felt angry he'd do it when the result was bodily injury. But he couldn't deny that increasingly-frequent sensation he'd labeled as flattery was present in him as well. This one he wouldn't admit, however; he wouldn't tell Slick it was a flattering notion for any reason- he would not encourage similar activity in the future. He'd do more to dissuade the man from them, really- Scratch could handle his own fights, whenever they came.
After Clubs Deuce and Hearts Boxcars had gone to tend to the unconscious men, Doc Scratch let out a weary sigh, tense muscles beginning to relax. He looked up at Stitch finally, eyes dull and tired.
"Did they finally...?" Stitch trailed off, unable to help the one question he asked.
"No, it wasn't them." Scratch replied softly, shaking his head in sync. Stitch had been referring to a different pair, two rather unstable Felt members everyone was waiting for to crack.
"... Good. I wouldn't think so, but..." He felt a little awkward, not to mention out of the loop. But Scratch was being oddly stagnant with details- usually he'd reveal the issue after it had passed, but still seemed troubled. "You don't have to tell me."
"I know." Came his curt reply. "I just..." Scratch laughed humorlessly, smiling at the tailor in an exhausted manner. "How can some people be so completely ridiculous?"
Stitch could shrug. "Some of 'em are pretty good at that. Scratch, you oughta go to bed. It's technically tomorrow."
"You too." Scratch half-whined. "You need more sleep than I do, you know."
Stitch would constantly dismiss that, and slept far less than he needed. to the point sometimes Scratch himself would tell him he needed to go to sleep. But now they'd switched- and Scratch simply decided to go with it. Though he was not physically tired (he never was) he was ready for the "day" to have ended. And though he would have liked to comfort Slick somehow, that wasn't possible right now.
2014-08-24 20:48:38 -
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"Do... You know whatcha doin'?" Deuce asked with a confused expression, having seen Droog sew up wounds before, and he'd start at each opposing end so neither lips of the opening were uneven. Boxcars had merely started at the left of Droog's shoulder opening, after dousing it in alcohol that is, but even then Droog didn't wake up.
"Yea, yea, I know what I'm doin'... It's like sewin' a blanket, right?" He asked with a perplexed look as he continued his tedious work. For a guy with a large character and the grace like that of a thousand pound weight being dropped on a glass champagne tower, he was careful enough not to let the needle slip from his fingertips, regardless of the blood coating it. Deuce had been watching Boxcars work, however he also occasionally checke on the boss, making sure his chest was still rising and falling, even if slightly, before carefully reaching forward and started to undo his button up. He wanted to see what the damage was, and wasn't too pleased to see some large bruises, but Slick would be able to stand such an injury. The thing he may not be able to stand was his bullet wound being re-opened for the second time. Of course, it wasn't as bad as the first time it ripped, but now there were pieces of thread sticking out from the wound, not to mention blood oozed continuously from it.
"Ay, Hearts, we're gonna have to get Droog to do this when he wakes up... Ya think he'll do it?"
Boxcars looked over at the boss, seeing his wounds and the more immediate for attention bullet wound bleeding thoroughly.
"I mean, I think 'e will. I doubt he'll still be pissed after this whole shindig shit. 'Sides, boss'll be whinin' if he doesn't, he's gonna have t'a. I don't trust myself with that-" he dips his chin to the wound. "-so I'd rather Droog do it. 'M almost done here anyway." He shrugs his bulky shoulders, Deuce sighing before walking off to return with dry and wet towels. He first used the wet one, gently wiping up the crimson fluid from the leader's side, then used the dry one to add pressure to the wound in hopes it would slow, if not stop, the bleeding until Droog awoke from unconsciousness. It took almost an hour for Boxcars to finish sewing up Droog's shoulder wound, and even longer for him to wake up. Slick had stayed unconscious, but eventually the two remaining members knew he was merely sleeping with soft snores were escaping him and filling the quiet living room.
When Droog woke up, a long, low groan escaped his lips. His silver eyes were a bit glassy as he opened them, the light from the living room making him blink forcibly a couple times.
"Nngh... Goddamn it, Slick." He growled, attempting to roll his shoulders, but freezes as he realizes his right shoulder was taut. With a glance, he sees his blazer was removed, and his button up slid down so his wound could be stitched. That made him raise a brow, then glance over at the kitchen as Deuce was tossing some used medical supplies in the trash. Droog grimaced, then looked over at Slick, who was still passed out and snoring a but loudly now in his sleep. It would be just like him to come out of his knocked out stupor, only to awake and fall asleep. He must had been really exhausted...
"Deuce. Where is the gauze?" Diamonds asked in a much calmer tone then he'd been able to talk for the past week or so.
"Hm?" Deuce looks over, then smiles slightly at seeing the other finally up. "Oh, Droog! I'll go get it. Oh, you also gotta look at Slick's wounds. Boxcars didn't wanna touch it, so..." He shrugs slowly, then wanders off to the bathroom in search of gauze and a few other supplies as the conscious subordinate stands up shakily, going pale, then shakes his head before walking over to Slick and kneeling next to the futon. He grimaced at the boss' condition, feeling slightly guilty, but more satisfied the anything else.
"Boss..? Hello, boss, you have to wake up now." He shook one of Slick's shoulders. "Boss... /Boss/... //Slick//." He growled, but it wasn't much of a threatening noise, more irritated and exhausted.
Eventually, he ends up pinching the shorter's nose closed, and closing his mouth by pushing up his jaw. Slick woke up in five seconds flat, choking and flailing slightly to swat Droog's hands away.
2014-08-24 22:46:31 -
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Doc Scratch made his way slowly through the Manor's labyrinthine halls, arms crossed behind him and eyes on the floor, mind still operating tirelessly as he did. His steps were slow, still surveying the events in the Crew's hideout. He was vaguely aware of the countdown to sunrise, and stepped thoughtlessly over the sleeping forms of Eggs and Biscuits, who had ignored the fact they had completely fine beds and instead went to sleep in the middle of the hallway. He didn't bother rousing the two, and continued on his way.
His cool, windowless apartment awaited him, and the first thing he did was strip for a hot shower. The thin, uniform scar down the middle of his spine stung oddly, as it was prone to, and he simply ignored it as steam filled his bathroom.
Afterward he slipped into his nightclothes and then bed. Though Scratch had never felt physically tired, there was always the sensation of wishing to end the day, or being unwilling to continue at all due to other stressors. As expansive as it was, part of his mind was capable of tiring itself out- the human part, specifically. The rest of it reminded him of a computer, in all honesty, constantly processing data and retrieving it when it was necessary. Cold and calculating at times, and even refusing to work when others didn't do things correctly. Scratch was kept up by it constantly running and usually without his behest. As night segued into dawn he mulled things over still, until the more lax part of him lapsed into fitful unconsciousness.
Scratch had considered accompanying the Felt on heists more frequently that night. Just to enforce a few rules better, and not exactly to do any heavy lifting. As more of an overseer than anything else, and if they encountered the Crew he'd be able to diffuse it easily enough. Scratch knew he could serve that end easily enough, but something made him hesitant. When the Felt were out and about, the Manor was empty, a good time for Slick to drop by with much more ease. There was still the Crew to consider, but they were fooled easily enough (well, most of them were). Scratch offhandedly wondered if Slick would still try to make the planned dinner work- perhaps another letter was in order, one Slick would be bade to burn, this time, to conceal the contents.
2014-08-25 01:41:26 -
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"Will you please reframe from twitching like a junky with withdrawals symptoms?"
"It /hurts/ ya asshole. How 'bout I take a cue stick 'n' shove it in your eye socket."
"Ooh, kinky." Droog earned a giggle from Deuce who was sitting on the couch, the former one he'd actually been laying upon. Slick was now sitting up on the futon, most of his wounds checked upon and a few had an ice pack or two covering them. The Crew leader's more critical wound was currently being sewn, pieces of the former string having already been pulled out by distilled tweezers and set into the trash. The living room smelled faintly of sterilizing alcohol, and not the usual elixir sustenance. The hospital-like smell wasn't too unbearable however, and with the help of Droog's nicotine smoke from the cigerette promptly between his lips, it oddly helped calm Slick as he picked at a few wrappings of gauze around his arms and tongued a few scratches and marks in his mouth from his teeth scraping or biting through the innards of his cheeks.
"Y'know, ya didn't have to do that dirty shit at the end. That was unfair, 'n' ya fuckin' know it." He growled down at Droog he merely shrugged one shoulder, smirking around his cigerette.
"There's nothing you can do to fix it, so go ahead and gripe and whine all you want boss."
Droog had been in a seemingly better mood, as Boxcars had hypothesized hours earlier, and even had dinner cooking in the kitchen. It wasn't anything extravagant, just panini noodles and alfredo sauce, however it was a good sign nonetheless. He was still irritated about his suit, though there wasn't much he could do with it now; maybe save the slacks, but that's about it. After a long moment of quiet stitching, Deuce spoke up almost curiously, brown eyes on the TV screen that played something questionable for an adult man to be watching.
"Hey, uh, didn't you guys' think that Felt guy was, uh... Scary? I don't think I've ever seen a guy /that/ pale before. I mean, that teleportation shit he did was /awesome/, but... Hell, Droog ain't even that white." This definitely earned a loud cackle from Slick, Droog merely glaring subtly at him, but shaking his head as smoke was blown through his nose.
"I'm not pale. I'm normal. Slick's paler then me."
"Mmmmh, I don't think so Droog. Especially now that ya lost a lot't'a blood. You look almost sick."
"Hah, fuck you." All three take enjoyment at those three words, snickering whilst the smoking subordinate finishes up Slick's wound, then wipes off the excess blood before wrapping it up in gauze.
That night, when everyone had a satisfied stomach and Slick was forced to retire without a say in the matter, he sat himself at his piano, popping his sore joints and groaning at them. The other three members were still awake, watching TV in the living room. Spades Slick spent the next few hours until dawn looking over some former notes and blue prints for heists. Not only that, but files on some store owners that the Crew personally protected with a monthly fee. A couple were running slack on their payment, but Slick would shack them down in another day or so. As he stood up, pencil between his teeth, he winced slightly at his sore muscles, then rolled his shoulders, and walked out to the living room to see the three other mobsters passed out on the couch and snoring.
"Oh ya gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me." The pencil slipped from his mouth, and he ends up contemplating whether to just leave them there or not... Eventually, he's hoisting up Deuce, the small fucker being a bit heavier then he thought, and carried him like a toddler to his room before laying him in bed, and tossing a blanket on him half assedly. Next was Droog, who he had to wake up a bit so he could shoulder the subordinate to his room before helping him in bed as well.
"I hate you Slick." He mumbled in a groggy tone, curling up in his blankets and satin pillows.
"Yea, yea." The shorter waved him off, going now to Boxcars... He was definitely not hoisting this fucker up. Instead he just eased him down on the couch, fetched a blanket, and tossed it at his large form before cutting off the TV, and retreating to his own quarters. He was beyond tired, but had quite the amount of things going on in his head too. A few things right off the top would be Scratch, then his Crew, and then lastly the work he'd have to set the other three to do. He'll admit, they had a long day, so he'll let them rest up for a bit... Not because he cares, but because he doesn't need any slackers, that's all...
2014-08-25 06:04:08 -
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Thankfully Scratch was not the kind who had to drag Felt members to their respective beds when they were found sleeping in odd places; he knew the majority of them would rather be left sleeping and if they woke up with a crick in their neck, so be it. Next time they'd be wiser about where they slept. Others complaining about Eggs and Biscuits asleep in the middle of the floor would just have to take matters into their own hands. For the most part the gang's members knew the rules and how to treat the facilities, and picked up after themselves. If they neglected to, Scratch would rope them into full-blown chores for a while; under threat of doing the laundry for over a dozen men and one woman, most did their own cleaning. Scratch knew how to run the place, at any rate.
Groceries had to be the biggest task of them all, and really the trips were conducted late at night and fairly frequently; one big trip would be more suspicious than several small ones made by different people every time. Places with as many people as those, as well as direct conversation and interaction, were not up Scratch's ally. Though he was greatly skilled socially, he was, well, Deuce had put it perfectly: Weird. Scary, even. He stuck out so much there was only one solution he could think of when the time came for him to acquire what he'd cook for Slick: not going at all. Scratch found that when people desired not to see something, they would become blind to it. Mass mind control was no difficult feat then, and as he moved through the grocers necessary for what he needed, for all intents and purposes he went unseen. Those he did interact with would readily forget his presence, seeing as it made no difference in their daily life. For that day, he was a ghost. He did not steal, of course, but paid for everything he needed (Scratch considered himself far above petty theft), even the other personals he'd considered it prudent to acquire. It was best to be prepared, he thought. Of course, everything stored in refrigeration he picked up had to be appropriately marked, or else it would vanish at an alarming rate. The wrapped parcels would go unscathed if he did, though it'd be likely they'd be taken into account with a thought of 'I didn't know he ate'.
Well, nobody had to know they weren't for Doc Scratch, after all. There would be no witnesses to his rendezvous with Spades Slick, he would make sure of that. Those who called the First Guardian sneaky would be proven right without them even knowing of it, that was just his nature. He was used to the immediate distrust- there was a lot he could be keeping from people, that was obvious, but he sought to abolish the supposition he cheated others with always speaking the truth and giving the proper information when necessary. Scratch didn't want to be manipulative when it wasn't necessary, and usually found he had no reason to be. That was good, he thought. He had very few hoops to jump through in order to function as leader, then.
2014-08-25 19:48:56 -
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Slick had been strewn out awkwardly on his bed for the few hours as the sun hovered in the sky. He had practically slept the entire day away, and seems that he would have slept deep into the night had it not been for the abrupt intrusion of Deuce busting through his room's door and throwing small, harmless firecrackers in his room. At first, all the taller could hear was a soft hissing, groaning as he shifted in bed, the blanket falling off of his bed, and looked to see a straight line of cherry bombs sparkling and nearing their end of their short life span. Slick didn't know what he was looking at at first, narrowing his eye as his foggy and disorientated vision zoned in and out before focusing upon the firecrackers. Though, he jumped too late hen they finally set off and loud, quick pops could be heard from his room. Droog was sitting at the coffee table, humming with his legs crossed and newspaper in hand. He had heard the boss' yelps and curses, though merely sat and chuckled as he picked through the former nights leftover dinner.
"You do understand the fact he /will/ inflict pain upon you for that, yes?" He asks Deuce who was currently taking shelter under the kitchen table and snickering at Slick's shock and surprise.
"He won't find me if you be quiet, DD!" He whined lightly, frowning as he heard something fall over in the room with a spade symbol on the door. Another curse, and Slick was present in his slacks, and that was about it.
"Where. Is. He." He growled, looking fully enraged as sleep still clung for dear life on his groggy tone and half asleep expression. Droog merely hummed, exhaling smoke through slightly parted lips.
"Haven't seen him boss. What, wake up on the wrong side of the bed?" He cooed, smirking around his cigerette and watching the shorter, and even shorter tempered, man flip him off before grumbling and fetching a cup of coffee. Boxcars must have still been asleep as well, and none of the Crew made a love to awaken the not-much-of-a-morning-person member. The rest of the day, which was only a few hours or so, went by smoothly. Spades had finally found Clubs hiding in his room by the end of the day, and the smaller ended up with a nice hematoma on the back of his head from Slick's horse hitcher.
"I'm turnin' in again." The satisfied Crew leader pointed out offhandedly as he walked off to his room. This earned a raised brow from his subordinate reading his Gray Ladies.
"Really? Again? You've been sleeping all day boss. I'm surprised you're that exhausted."
"Ain't'cha?" He countered quickly, pausing at his doorway with a hand resting on the frame.
"I suppose..." He pauses for a moment, then gives an indifferent look with a hint of a shrug before continueing to read. "Don't dream about falling. If you don't wake up before you hit the ground, you'll end up dead."
"Ha, ha, you're so fuckin' funny. Why don't'cha jus' take your jokes, 'n' shove them up your ass."
"Well aren't you the flatterer." Droog rolls his silver eyes then, rolling his still tender shoulder to get some kinks out of it, and allows Slick to supposedly fall asleep on his bed.
Slick will admit, he was still a bit tired, however he had more to do rather then get some shut eye he could simply achieve at a later time. Instead, he was getting ready to leave for the night, having still remembered the night's events he was willingly partaking in. It's all he'd been thinking about the entire day; not just the whole situation of having Scratch cook for him and possibly annoy the shorter man, but he also had some questions for him as well. Not only that, but he had the creeping sensation he was going to be chewed out for his carelessness with Droog. Some uneasy feeling settled in his stomach as he recalls the scuffle they had, and he hopes, as he's cleaning himself up, Scratch would not terrify him as bad as Trace had seemed by the porcelain man.
2014-08-25 23:59:46 -
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Trace and Fin, for all their poor judgment and lack of common sense, understood Doc Scratch a bit better than most others did. With their temporal abilities, they were capable of seeing where people had been and would be, respectively. Both found their skills to be taxing at times, especially when overworked. Mental stress was a very real thing for them, and severe headaches were not unheard of. It was only a matter of a few questions and putting things together in their minds before they realized that Scratch saw both past and present, and much farther into both than they did. Further than that, he could see the alternate timelines with perfect clarity, and knew which they were in. The two of them thought it was tough knowing what they did, but Scratch's knowledge exceeded theirs in every aspect. Not only did the man know everything, he was also infinitely more powerful than they were. Their temporal abilities were only as offensive as they were, but Scratch possessed insane amounts of power, as evidenced by the power flickers and surges. The two honestly considered him a god among men, and if he could reassemble a chandelier, he could certainly disassemble a human. They weren't familiar with the concept of First Guardians, but they knew immortals when they saw them.
Said immortal had busied himself well enough in preparing the setup for cooking Spades Slick's dinner. He'd only set one place at the bar in this particular kitchen, and did not really plan on eating anything himself. He knew Slick wished to converse with him, and hoped he would not mind doing as much while Scratch cooked his dinner for him. He actually liked the idea of cooking for one person in specific, sort of a special meal for them. He didn't mind it was Slick; in fact, it seemed a bit fitting, in some ways. He had been looking forward to it as well, with a rather positive mindset, even humming a bit throughout the day. Scratch considered it better to focus on the positive with the other man, instead of more negative recent events. Slick kissing his hand and insisting on the removal of his sling so they could link arms. Even the sting of the icing incident had faded, and he was able to ruminate on it a little. Thankfully no one saw him and pointed out how he seemed to be in a better mood than usual that day, and as it turned slowly to night the Felt members themselves grew scarcer, and things quieted down throughout.
2014-08-26 02:35:19 -
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Before walking out of the hideout, he gave himself a quick up-down look about himself, and actually considered wearing a tie. It would still be black, like most things he owned, maybe even a gunmetal grey (the only other color he bought/stole clothes in), but eventually snorted at the thought before grabbing his wide brimmed fedora and put it upon his head before leaving. Droog had seemed to turn in, and the other two members could be heard snoring from their according rooms. Diamonds Droog was the only one who didn't have the misfortune of having such a characteristic when he slept. Then again, it could be because he slept on his stomach rather then his back like the rest of the Crew. When he slipped out of the hatch, he had to be careful of the small squeak the rusty hinges made when lifting and lowering the metal manhole covering. It wasn't drastically loud, however it was loud enough if one were acutely listening for an disturbances in the night.
It seemed to be a pleasant night at the time. The moon was waining and there was a nice breeze that picked up. The streets were calm, cars parking on either side of the roads in the city, and Slick assumed it would be a pleasant night by the current atmosphere. He double checks his pockets to make sure he at least has one switchblade, remembering how exposed and just flat out naked he felt when he didn't have such an object a week or so ago, and got into his Cadillac. It seemed the route to the Felt Manor had started to map an automatic route for him; he didn't even pay much attention to where he was going, but ended up at the Manor anyway. A part of him told him to be wary of this as he got out of his Cadillac, but a more massive, ignorant side told him it was perfectly fine. It wasn't like he drove often during the daytime, and when he did, it was at night and either to a bar or (now, at least) to the Manor. He wasn't as ridged and nervous as he was the former night, and thanked his nerves for holding it together like they usually did.
Slick wondered vaguely if he was allowed to smoke in the Manor; something told him yes, but that was only because he knew how much Sn0wman smoked, and knew she undoubtedly did so in the Felt's hideout. The remainder of himself scolded him with an immediate 'no', however that was the side of himself he almost never listened to; most of the time, it was right, but Spades Slick would never be caught dead admitting to such a thing. Quietly, like a sleek black cat, he slipped through the gates at the front, afterwards making his way down the path that led up to the door.
2014-08-26 12:25:20