Post by Raenius on Jul 30, 2009 9:45:47 GMT -5
‘Can women get pimples on their fanny flaps?’ asks Raenius, a bit too loudly for Nyx’s liking as she sits in this particularly lavish and fancy restaurant. She looks around, trying to see how many people the Resident Evil offended this time. An outcome that has happened almost every time he’s opened his mouth since he walked into this place.
‘Well… yeah,’ she replies quietly.
‘Fuck.’
‘You can get them anywhere. So, I suppose it’s possible.’
‘Well fuck a duck,’ states Raenius pensively, viciously slicing through his medium-rare steak and forking the chunk of meat before firing it sloppily into his gob.
‘Look, Raenius,’ continues Nyx, raising her voice slightly to make sure that she’s heard over his boorishly strident chewing. ‘We need to talk about this Dirge thing.’
Raenius stops chewing. ‘What fucking Dirge thing?’ he asks through a mouthful of steak.
‘The fucking thing where he lost us the tag titles?’
With a cough and a splutter, Raenius half-chuckles, half-chokes when he hears the statement.
‘Are you fuckin’ high, bitch?’ he coughs out.
‘I always said he was a weak link in the chain, Raenius, and that proves-’
‘That fucking sentence proves that you don’t know your arsehole from your ear hole.’
‘Come on, Raenius. You know that if Dragon was your partner… Or Fear… shit, even that fuck-up Klaus, you know we would still have those belts.’
‘We?’
‘The Covenant. Which, technically, I’m a member of.’
‘Technically? Maybe. Dubious? Definitely.’
‘Point is, I care. I manage you… uh… sort of, so I obviously care about success. You’re success is my success. And Dirge? Dirge is a handcuff. He’s an extra wheel, and we can’t afford a weakness like that. And punching you the other night? That doesn’t piss you off?’
‘Fraternising with the dickheads that I fraternise with leaves me with more important things to worry about than the odd smack in the jaw. You know… like being arrested. Like bleeding to death. All that good shit.’
‘Whatever… but, on the other hand, he has been talking some serious shit about your mental state. Telling you that it’s distracting you… making you weak. Telling you to give yourself over.’
‘Look,’ says Raenius flatly, setting his cutlery down and giving her the patented “Raenius evil eye”. ‘I’m not a fucking idiot. I know the only reason why you’re here, talking to me, is because you failed once before. Why else would you ask for a sit-down with me, unless the other me had already spoken to you about this?’ Nyx fidgets uncomfortably. ‘See, the thing is, I know myself. And either side of me, whichever arsehole I am at any given time - he’s loyal. And he doesn’t surround himself with weaklings. So my other side… the side you deal with… has already told you no, hasn’t he?’
Nyx doesn’t speak.
‘So you came here to see if I would help you. Because you don’t like Dirge, and you saw this as your shot to get rid of him.’
‘He heard me out. Was willing to hear my side of things.’
‘Fuck your side of things. He’s my brother. So, no matter what the other me said… you can go fuck yourself.’
‘You can preach loyalty all you want, Raenius, but you’re all going to be in the ring together soon.’
‘You let me worry about that…’
~
John 6:53-54;
Then Jesus said to them, “Verily, verily, I say unto you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man, and drink his blood, you have no life in you. Whoever eats my flesh, and drinks my blood, has eternal life; and I will raise him up at the last day.”[/b]
Darkness covers the quiet thoroughfare, making the twilight feel like a child hiding under a blanket to escape the things that may or may not go bump in the night. Though however safe a child may feel under a blanket, or a man may feel under cover of the night’s embrace, it is quite decidedly not a viable safeguard. Yet man is ignorant to the true dangers of his complacency. The mud squelches underfoot, providing a soundtrack to approaching pedestrians, which gives yet one more sense of falsified security. Such is man. Such beasts. Such cattle. The muck shifts noisily beneath the disgusting and dog-eared boots of a man who seems far too smug to be true. The greasy, bleach blonde hair protrudes only slightly from the black hat upon his head, rain running off both, tapping lightly against his jacket and particularly gaudy black and white striped waistcoat. A moist cough jumps out of his lungs as he fixes his belt and rubs the rainwater from his snake-like face, his chiselled and stubbly jaw line, his worryingly small nose and squinty, deceitful eyes. A chuckle escapes his cheeky grin. A creaking chair groans in the dimness.
‘Gun,’ spits a raspy voice from the corner of the pitch black room, the only light coming in bleeding out from the full moon that glares down at existence like a suspicious mother scrutinizing her children. ‘On the table.’
The shadow around the man shifts as he brushes his jacket open to reveal his holster, his grin slowly disappearing. ‘You not trust me or somethin’?’ he asks to the room, looking around apprehensively while he lifts his revolver and places it on the table in the centre of the room.
A scoff from the nothingness. ‘Trusting a bull not to buck is seldom advantageous for one’s health.’ A flash and a flickering as the candle is lit, casting a writhing glow upon the owner of the mysterious voice. Deathly pale skin and, in this light, what looks to be purple eyes, look piercingly toward the man who grows obviously more uncomfortable by the minute.
‘Uh… look, I’ve done my deed. Exactly as you asked,’ he says as the candle-shadows dance around him as though they were onlookers to some insane circus. ‘I want my reward.’
‘As does everyone around here,’ replies the ghostly man.
‘I deserve my reward!’
‘You’ll get what’s coming to you. I can promise you that.’
The dishevelled-looking man throws a bag down on the table before his benefactor with nonchalance that borderlines on irritation. Once opened and peered inside, it brings a cocked eyebrow.
‘Who’s are they?’
‘My brother-in-law. That’s one son of a bitch I can live without.’
Scowling, scoffing, the pallid face looks slowly upward.
‘This is your sacrifice?’ it asks.
‘Uh… yeah?’
‘You do realise that a sacrifice is only a sacrifice if it means something,’ it states, standing up. ‘So what the fuck do you call this?’
‘I-’
‘I call it a fuckin’ easy way out.’
Panicking, the man ploughs his hand into the depths of his coat to reveal a second gun, and in a split-second, raises it and fires toward the pale man at the table that penetrates his forehead, sending his head jolting backwards viciously. Slowly, the man’s head lowers again, sending a trickle of blackened blood dribbling down between his eyes, down his nose and into his mouth. Where his tongue, protruding from behind pointed teeth, licks it up.
‘But there’s nothing easy about this way out…’
Until long into the mournful, regretful night, the screams are not quite loud enough to wake the dead. For not a single wink of sleep is disturbed in the entire town.
‘Well… yeah,’ she replies quietly.
‘Fuck.’
‘You can get them anywhere. So, I suppose it’s possible.’
‘Well fuck a duck,’ states Raenius pensively, viciously slicing through his medium-rare steak and forking the chunk of meat before firing it sloppily into his gob.
‘Look, Raenius,’ continues Nyx, raising her voice slightly to make sure that she’s heard over his boorishly strident chewing. ‘We need to talk about this Dirge thing.’
Raenius stops chewing. ‘What fucking Dirge thing?’ he asks through a mouthful of steak.
‘The fucking thing where he lost us the tag titles?’
With a cough and a splutter, Raenius half-chuckles, half-chokes when he hears the statement.
‘Are you fuckin’ high, bitch?’ he coughs out.
‘I always said he was a weak link in the chain, Raenius, and that proves-’
‘That fucking sentence proves that you don’t know your arsehole from your ear hole.’
‘Come on, Raenius. You know that if Dragon was your partner… Or Fear… shit, even that fuck-up Klaus, you know we would still have those belts.’
‘We?’
‘The Covenant. Which, technically, I’m a member of.’
‘Technically? Maybe. Dubious? Definitely.’
‘Point is, I care. I manage you… uh… sort of, so I obviously care about success. You’re success is my success. And Dirge? Dirge is a handcuff. He’s an extra wheel, and we can’t afford a weakness like that. And punching you the other night? That doesn’t piss you off?’
‘Fraternising with the dickheads that I fraternise with leaves me with more important things to worry about than the odd smack in the jaw. You know… like being arrested. Like bleeding to death. All that good shit.’
‘Whatever… but, on the other hand, he has been talking some serious shit about your mental state. Telling you that it’s distracting you… making you weak. Telling you to give yourself over.’
‘Look,’ says Raenius flatly, setting his cutlery down and giving her the patented “Raenius evil eye”. ‘I’m not a fucking idiot. I know the only reason why you’re here, talking to me, is because you failed once before. Why else would you ask for a sit-down with me, unless the other me had already spoken to you about this?’ Nyx fidgets uncomfortably. ‘See, the thing is, I know myself. And either side of me, whichever arsehole I am at any given time - he’s loyal. And he doesn’t surround himself with weaklings. So my other side… the side you deal with… has already told you no, hasn’t he?’
Nyx doesn’t speak.
‘So you came here to see if I would help you. Because you don’t like Dirge, and you saw this as your shot to get rid of him.’
‘He heard me out. Was willing to hear my side of things.’
‘Fuck your side of things. He’s my brother. So, no matter what the other me said… you can go fuck yourself.’
‘You can preach loyalty all you want, Raenius, but you’re all going to be in the ring together soon.’
‘You let me worry about that…’
~
John 6:53-54;
Then Jesus said to them, “Verily, verily, I say unto you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man, and drink his blood, you have no life in you. Whoever eats my flesh, and drinks my blood, has eternal life; and I will raise him up at the last day.”[/b]
Darkness covers the quiet thoroughfare, making the twilight feel like a child hiding under a blanket to escape the things that may or may not go bump in the night. Though however safe a child may feel under a blanket, or a man may feel under cover of the night’s embrace, it is quite decidedly not a viable safeguard. Yet man is ignorant to the true dangers of his complacency. The mud squelches underfoot, providing a soundtrack to approaching pedestrians, which gives yet one more sense of falsified security. Such is man. Such beasts. Such cattle. The muck shifts noisily beneath the disgusting and dog-eared boots of a man who seems far too smug to be true. The greasy, bleach blonde hair protrudes only slightly from the black hat upon his head, rain running off both, tapping lightly against his jacket and particularly gaudy black and white striped waistcoat. A moist cough jumps out of his lungs as he fixes his belt and rubs the rainwater from his snake-like face, his chiselled and stubbly jaw line, his worryingly small nose and squinty, deceitful eyes. A chuckle escapes his cheeky grin. A creaking chair groans in the dimness.
‘Gun,’ spits a raspy voice from the corner of the pitch black room, the only light coming in bleeding out from the full moon that glares down at existence like a suspicious mother scrutinizing her children. ‘On the table.’
The shadow around the man shifts as he brushes his jacket open to reveal his holster, his grin slowly disappearing. ‘You not trust me or somethin’?’ he asks to the room, looking around apprehensively while he lifts his revolver and places it on the table in the centre of the room.
A scoff from the nothingness. ‘Trusting a bull not to buck is seldom advantageous for one’s health.’ A flash and a flickering as the candle is lit, casting a writhing glow upon the owner of the mysterious voice. Deathly pale skin and, in this light, what looks to be purple eyes, look piercingly toward the man who grows obviously more uncomfortable by the minute.
‘Uh… look, I’ve done my deed. Exactly as you asked,’ he says as the candle-shadows dance around him as though they were onlookers to some insane circus. ‘I want my reward.’
‘As does everyone around here,’ replies the ghostly man.
‘I deserve my reward!’
‘You’ll get what’s coming to you. I can promise you that.’
The dishevelled-looking man throws a bag down on the table before his benefactor with nonchalance that borderlines on irritation. Once opened and peered inside, it brings a cocked eyebrow.
‘Who’s are they?’
‘My brother-in-law. That’s one son of a bitch I can live without.’
Scowling, scoffing, the pallid face looks slowly upward.
‘This is your sacrifice?’ it asks.
‘Uh… yeah?’
‘You do realise that a sacrifice is only a sacrifice if it means something,’ it states, standing up. ‘So what the fuck do you call this?’
‘I-’
‘I call it a fuckin’ easy way out.’
Panicking, the man ploughs his hand into the depths of his coat to reveal a second gun, and in a split-second, raises it and fires toward the pale man at the table that penetrates his forehead, sending his head jolting backwards viciously. Slowly, the man’s head lowers again, sending a trickle of blackened blood dribbling down between his eyes, down his nose and into his mouth. Where his tongue, protruding from behind pointed teeth, licks it up.
‘But there’s nothing easy about this way out…’
Until long into the mournful, regretful night, the screams are not quite loud enough to wake the dead. For not a single wink of sleep is disturbed in the entire town.
