Former IC Thread [The Exodus of Fables]

[Elle Joyner]

Esther Tellman

The Ticking Clock

​

Time at the Ticking Clock seemed to stand still at certain points during the long evening hours. With the pounding pulse of the music running non-stop in the background, the flashing lights and people in every nook and cranny they could jam themselves, there was always an intensity about the place that brought to mind a thriving, populated city… shoved into a warehouse. But every now and then when one group shuffled out and another was being slowly ushered in by the aid of one extremely particular Bouncer, there was a comfortable lull… A relief when one had been working a double-shift.


For Esther Tellman, that lull was normally a God-send. That night, however, she was hoping for the distraction. It was too easy, getting sucked into the thoughts she had been avoiding when there wasn’t a surplus of work to do.


It had happened a week ago… The incident, and too many times to count, her mind had journeyed back to that night and what she had seen.


It had been the close of her shift, and as she did every night she worked at the bar, she clocked herself out, took her things from the back room and slipped out into the alley, to where she’d parked her car. That night, however, as she made her way to the car, voices carried… an angry shrieking back and forth, echoing through the nearly empty parking lot. Looking around, she could oversee two men in an alley, standing rather close… One of them tall and thin, weaving uncomfortably back and forth, like an anxious snake, the other short and squat, with a round, bald head. From her distance, she couldn’t make out faces, but something about the shorter man seemed familiar.


It wasn’t the first argument she’d overheard, but she couldn’t help pausing, her key in the door at the words being exchanged only a short distance away.


“We’ve got three guys stuck in the damn precinct cause of you, Mole… Guy is furious! The Chief ain’t gonna budge, and if they roll? The whole operation goes down. And who do you think had to explain to him what happened, huh?”

“I told you, it wasn’t my fault! Pauli left the damn file sitting right there, open and everything fanned out! I did what I could, but you can’t expect miracles when you give me a bunch of idiots to run things!”


“You said you had it covered! And then you just left them there, to take the heat! You ran away like a little bitch and left behind a mess, with no way to clean it up!”


“What did you want me to do? If I’d stuck around, I’d be right there with them!”


“You should be! This job takes sacrifice, Mole. We talked about that from day one. You signed a contract…”


“I didn’t agree to go down for someone else’s stupidity!”


“…You agreed to give your all to the Sandmen…”


“Woah…woah! What the hell, Shane! Put that away! That isn’t… This isn’t necessary! I can talk to Guy! I can figure this out. You just gotta give me time!”


“…The order comes from Guy, Mole. Sorry…”


There was a clicking sound, and from her position, Esther could see something shining in the sodium vapor light over the men’s heads. Before it register what the item was, there was a sound… like heavy books being dropped on concrete and the man, tall and thin dropped backwards like a ragdoll, hitting the pavement, where he ceased to move again. It took a moment to realize what had happened, and as that realization hit, Esther sucked in a gasp, her hands covering her mouth to stifle a scream of shock.


Hand still grasping the key, Esther stood frozen as the short man stepped out of the alley passage. Their eyes met, his widening. She knew him now. His name was Monty Cane and he was a frequent patron of the clock. Somehow, she didn’t think that would make a difference in whether or not he shot her on sight.


Jarring the key to the right, the car door unlocked and she ripped it open, jamming herself across the passenger seat and into the driver’s side. The key scraped the dash several times before finding purchase in the ignition and as the engine growled to life, Esther slammed the gearshift forward into drive, her foot hitting the gas pedal…


“Hey… Miss? You in there?”


Looking up, Esther caught sight of the man standing across the bar, waving his empty glass in front of her eyes.


“Oh geez. Sorry. Yeah. Just spaced out. What can I getcha?”


“Rum and coke… extra ice.”


“Coming right up…”


As she took the glass from him and dropped it into the dish bin, then grabbed a fresh one from the rack a soft sigh escaped and she shook her head. It had been a week and she hadn’t seen any sign of Cane… But that didn’t mean anything these days. In Emerald City… there was always time to kill…

 

[Fly]

Jay Torolf

Jay's Apartment > The Ticking Clock

​

The morning had started out boring enough - a droll meeting, followed by a somber luncheon, followed by a drab dinner, followed by mediocre drinks. Face had been made, business plans had been ironed out and money was set to roll in by the end of the week. As wholly uninteresting as it had been, it was a necessary evil for Jay Torolf.


As soon as Jay strolled through the smooth steel door of his eighth floor loft he peeled off his coat, tossed his tie to the side, flung his shirt onto the floor and kicked his pants into a corner. Alone, finally - a thing of beauty in moderation. As is customary, he did his rounds in his boxers and socks - first he made himself a whiskey sour, then rolled himself a joint to carry unlit in his mouth on the way to his closet to dig for casual clothes. Plaid vest? Nah. Striped tee? Fuck no. Studded leather jacket? Hell yes.


He maneuvered a white v-neck tee over the J between his lips, pulled on the jacket then withdrew the lighter he knew he had left in the tight right pocket. The clicking and fizzle of the fire rewarded Jay in an especially deep Pavlovian way so when the first puff burned his lungs it felt more like a breath of fresh air. He sighed the smoke through his nose contentedly as he picked a pair of jeans and slipped his muscular legs through them. He toed a pair of fine leather boots from a rack and wrestled in his feet. Comfortable for the first time all day he took himself from the closet and grabbed the previously crafted whiskey sour from his private bar to drink it near one of the floor-to-ceiling windows on the East side of his loft. The sun was still in the midst of setting, the good folks below retreating under rocks to make room for the villainy prepared to spring up with the moon. This was his favorite part of the day - the cross over. Now he was officially off the clock.


A few drinks and joints later, a long time after the sun had disappeared behind the buildings of Emerald City, Jay made his way down to the lobby of his building, his cyan mohawk now freed from the prison of the top knot. Using one of the few keys dangling from his belt he unlocked his mailbox and withdrew a letter with a woman's photo folded into it.


TTC - Tellman - Do I need to remind you again to keep it quiet?





Jay rolled his eyes with unnecessary flare at the obnoxious note and, with a particularly expressive grunt, shoved it and the photo into his front right pocket. He had seen the girl before - mousy for his taste, nosy too. His teeth ground in his skull at the thought of her. He didn't often go to the Clock, preferring quiet company, but he had been there enough times to know she usually worked late. Feeling no rush, he walked out of his building and towards the Clock with a lax air, enjoying a cigarette and the cool evening along the way.


The night had aged to a ripe midnight by the time Jay rolled up to the Clock. He glared at the alluring signs and dolled up clubbers and strutted right past them to the door.

When a few people raised their voices in agitation he was quick to fling his fist into the air with an erected middle finger. Seemingly confident, he trudged up to the bouncer and put his arm around the man's shoulders.


"Hey, man, remember me?" He said casually with a grin, his snake bite piercings pressed tightly against his white teeth. Knowing the trick would work as it did every time, he withdrew a small wad of hundreds he had left prepared in his pocket to shove unceremoniously into the bouncer's hand. With an affirmative clap on the man's back, Jay nodded at the aggravated people waiting at the front of the line and lumbered inside.


The music was immediately too loud and the people were too cluttered and busy but at least Jay had the pleasant palette - one that reflected his beard and 'hawk - to appreciate. He, for the most part, stood well above the heads of the bothersome but thinning crowd, him and his hair easily spotted above the sea of drunk druggies. He didn't linger, however, and just as soon as he could shove those in his way to the side, was at the bar.


Though he noticed Smee and Hook nearby his interest was almost entirely honed in on the Tellman woman. He prickled slightly at her adorable face and petite stature and failed to hide a sneer. Certainly he would enjoy his work tonight.


"Hey!" He barked, his deep, booming voice loud enough to catch the attention of anyone nearby even over the thumping music. "Whiskey, no fucking ice." He squared his shoulders and put both hands flat on the counter top, wanting the nearby mouse to feel even an ounce of precious fear.

 

[Grey]

Peter Holmes

The Ticking Clock



​

Peter's tried opiates before. There's a stretching of perception, a bending of time, and sensation... is stranger. He doesn't have the words for it, anymore than he can explain the way this barmaid - her dime-a-dozen hair, her Middle-America features - makes him feel.


I am weightless and I am forever young and nothing hurts here except for what I do not know and-


He chokes it down. It's not just him, he thinks, based on the way her knuckles whiten on the countertop.


Or she, coincidentally, has had a very bad night. Peter does not lack for imagination, but there's a reason he's in the game and not sitting under a tinfoil hat.


"What's cheap?" He asks, armoured behind a winning smile. "I'll take two, whatever it is."


Taking a moment, he glances away - and briefly he thinks he sees Marko, but no. Someone else where they shouldn't be, maybe. Along the bar. Pete makes a note of his face as the other barmaid approaches, and turns back to the one serving him,


"Crowded, ain't it? How d'ya stand it?" He feigns intense concentration. "And this garbage music."

​

 

[Ayl]

Sebastian W. Scathelocke

The Calm Before The Storm

As Will sat at the dinner table, he watched his former companions attend to each other in their familiar manner. For some reason, Much seemed rather distant, like he was not very content with being there and was doing his best to avoid them, as much as possible. It was strange, but understandable. After all, he was quite unsure of what he was doing there in the first place as well.


Seeing as Johnna sat next to him, he winked to her very discreetly, then turned towards Much as he addressed him, inquiring about his choice of beverage. "Yes, Much, thank you! Oh, and if you would be so kind to make it on the rocks, I'd be grateful!". Normally, he'd drink it dry, but he was nervous enough without anymore stings.


Hanging his cane by the back of the well-crafted wooden chair, Will took another look around the room, throwing swift glances at Robin and Marian to assure they were done with their flirting, so he could possibly initiate some conversation. It was interesting watching them, as the one that seemed to be the main teaser was Marian, while Robin was the worrying type. Quite the reverse with what the case usually is.


Seeing as their back-and-forth would continue, he turned to Johnna. "So, appart from living with tribesmen and kicking Robin's backside, I assume, what else have you been up to, Johnna? I imagine you've got some interesting stories to tell since we've last seen each other!" he asked, with a smile on his lips.

 

[Dusky]

Gwen Darling

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The Ticking Clock​

He responds – after a pause. As her swirling thoughts calm down, she quirks an eyebrow. The Ticking Clock, as bars go, is high end debauchery, with customers who rarely spare any expense. She has seen stranger things, though, and any poor man can treat himself from time to time. She hums a tune she can’t quite place as she mixes two rum and colas. From the well. Hopefully he brought enough to tip with....


Carefully avoiding the stranger’s eyes, Gwen slides the two drinks over to him. She laughs as he speaks, before catching herself. Most customers don’t come into Hook’s abode seeking to insult it; she can’t help but wonder why he’s even here. Then again, she did laugh, and she works here.


“After a while,” she says, stifling a smile, “you get used to it. ‘Sides, crowded means good business.” Gwen grabs a glass from the drying rack and takes a rag to it, continuing to talk. “Why come to The Ticking Clock, if it’s not the crowd or garbage music?”


A tick. A lapse. Her fingers twitch and the glass slips, only to be caught by the rim just in time. She pretends it didn’t happen and wonders if she’ll ever run well-oiled without Dust again.

 

[Ashurbanipal]

Captain Hook




Wendy flees from her savior; the captain is left alone with a human crocodile. His throat burns from the alcohol that went down it, warm and nested in his stomach, and the pain brings a sort of intoxicated clarity--it soothes that constant demand for alcohol always lingering in the back of his mind, that social lubricant, that liquid courage.


And Lord knows James Hook needs courage around this woman. His hand aches. The missing one.


"Your home doesn't exist anymore," the captain spits, suddenly angry--but none of it directed at Mirelle, his mind suddenly elsewhere. "The whole damn world's gone mad. Maybe it's still there, somewhere--when I sleep, my thoughts drift back to old voyages across the sea, storms of blood and thunder, and a mist-shrouded isle where I was meant to be king. But even if the island is still there, it isn't Neverland, do you understand? It's just an island. I would be king of rocks, and you'd be a drowning girl."


He exhales, heart pounding, the fear settling in and becoming comfortable; the life of a criminal, on land or sea, is one of danger, intimidation, and adrenaline, and fear becomes a treasured friend that keeps you sharp.


Hook, ever so sharp, stills his trembling hand and draws a cigar from a pocket, grinding the end of it between irritated teeth.


"Our Neverland's a never-land, crocodile. Sometimes, I think we dreamt it all, because how would something like that just disappear?"


Unlit, he inhales. It's the action more than the smoke that soothes. His gaze smolders in its place, the man quiet, back to the predator, face to the ground and eyes looking up. He relives a thousand adventures in that moment, lip turned in a sneer of cold command, brow furrowed--the betrayal of his first captain and the theft of the Jolly Roger, the wars against the natives at Her Majesty's command, the opium-fed dens of the orient and the snake-tongued cultists therein, the cannibals of Aka Tikan..


Two fingers fork around the cigar, gripping it between center knuckles. "It's time for a new adventure, darling. Home is where the heart is. I'll help you find one."

 

[Kagura]

Lil' Bo' Peep


The Ticking Clock

Mary loved busy nights at The Ticking Clock. It was where she thrived most, gliding across the floor to rub past customers who were all too delighted to purchase her 'services'. It was overtime for her but it was easy money. It came in the form of private strip shows, good lap dances and one trip to a bathroom stall. Mary's light blue bodice was already stuffed with bills, and somewhere in the fray she had lost the bonnet she wore.


Little Bo' Peep was still very recognizable, a main attraction in Hook's line-up of girls that would usually grace a stage. Except that never included Mary, her time was better allocated to work the floor, where she flourished under the pressure. The patrons she deals with are left satisfied and she is more than willing to lend her hand, or body, in any direction.


It was a good thing she was watching the floor, because Hook was stuck in the back with their latest problem. Mary heard Ms. Gwen Darling was caught up in the altercation, making her somewhat worried for her friend. This left her distracted from the man she was currently chatting up, looking past him to the bar. It didn't matter much this late into the night, men were drunk enough that they were happy to stare at her breasts, or really any of her revealed skin. Her costume consisted of a frilly bodice, small detached sleeves with ribbons, a small tulle skirt and knee high socks with white pumps on. Even with her missing bonnet, she spoke to her stage name.


A hand slid up her leg, forcing her attention back to the man in front of her who had his hand plainly up her skirt. Mary smiled, pushing his hand away "Uh-unh. You don't get to touch me unless I get my money" a winning smile is attached. The man panics, looking for a form of payment until she finally sees her friend at the bar. Mary gets up with a wink and a grin, trailing her hand across his shoulders as she walks past the man. "Talk to me when you can pay for me, honey" she whispers it in his ear before heading towards the bar.


Gwen already switched into work mode by the time she got there, and Mary tied to meet her eyes to send her a worried look before moving down the bar. Esther was tending the bar like usual, serving a man by giving him a rum and a coke. About to approach and ask what was happening, she saw a familiar man standing up from the bar. It wasn't the first time Mary had seen Simin, and it certainly was one of his more innocent moments. Although she was unaware of the back-hand dealings that happened in The Ticking Clock, she was aware of where the money was.


Mary decided Gwen Darling would be fine with a brief glance back, distracted by the man who she was currently serving.


Putting her mischievous smile back on her face, Mary sauntered up to Simin "Hi there" she practically purred when she talked. Walking a circle around him, she gave him a decent up down before sliding her body a little closer- stopping at his side. "Would you like some accompaniment tonight?" she quirked a brow and met his eyes dangerously.

 

[Brax]

Simin {♕} Bahad

Sinbad the sailor

​

If there was one thing that Simin could respect, it was a woman with the right motivation.


This woman certainly had it, because she was barking right up to the money tree as it stood in the flesh. Simin’s eyes kept fixated on the showgirl whenever she was in view; when she circled him, hues did not follow. She was obviously either very into him, or money. Either way, the sailor was pleased with his surroundings given the moment. He did not care that this woman was a stripper in the slightest. Such small details only piqued his interest because it meant she was willing to do whatever it took for a cash flow, much like he would.


A power play was not in order either, because it was not Simin’s style. While the man was all about money and power came with it, he could care less about anything other than the fact that he was able to afford the things that he wanted. That was important to Simin, to have any and all options available for him at all times. At this point, that was closer to true than not. He had waited to speak for quite some time since Mary had approached him, but that was about to change. A small smile was offered. The sailor raised one of his eyebrows briefly as he continue looking at the woman before him.


“Depends on whether or not you could handle me.” Obviously, he was only teasing. His cockiness was certainly on full display, though. He removed the appropriate form of currency from the pocket furthest from the woman, not bothering to look at the amount of cash he had gathered up into his hand. Instead, he simply made it all nice, folded it into a wad and placed it into the woman’s cleavage. Turning from her, toward the bar, he took another swig of his bottle of alcohol. There were quite a few new faces since he had previously walked but a couple of feet away.


First was Esther Tellman. He was undeniably attracted to the woman, even given the fact that she was not the type of woman that Simin would go for at all. Aside from the fact that he found she was almost irresistible, Simin had never made a move. Something always kept him at an arm’s length. Gwen was currently speaking with another boy, known as Peter. And a man named Jay had just finished barking about grabbing some Whiskey, another whom he was generally unfamiliar with despite the fact that the dude had a bitching beard.


Reaching into his back pocket, Simin removed a metal cigar holder. Opening it up to a row of ready-rolled cigars stuffed with Marijuana, the man would remove one and place it between his lips. This was before providing fire to the appropriate end. He took the cigar from his lips only to place it down on one of the bar’s ashtrays, next to his half-drank bottle of whiskey. When he turned back to Mary, fingers found themselves grasping at the fabric belonging to the back of the woman’s skirt. Then he dragged her closer to him, until she was either leaning against him or damn near close.


“Forget about working. You're off for the night.”


Simin could easily provide what she would have made on the night and more. He was not familiar with the woman, but it was obvious that she owned her line of work much like the sailor owned his own. It was true that Hook was a main supplier of dust, but that was it. Simin was always packing heat of various flavors – a trafficker and a hustler down to the last fiber of his being. It was not enough for Simin to employ others; for the most part, he had to do his own dirty work, too.


With his back against the bar, a hand moved to find the cigar he placed in a nearby glass tray. When he found it, he brought the still-lit blunt back to his lips. When he took a sharp inhalation of smoke, he waited a couple of seconds before cocking his head back and exhaling a large cloud of smoke into the air. Then, without thinking further or even knowing the man beside him, Simin would extend a hand to his soon-to-be-beardbro. It was holding the blunt. Obviously, he had no idea if the man even smoked. The sailor was simply passing to the left.


“If you don't mind me asking...” His tongue escaped to lick its lips. Simin’s face was so close to Mary’s that he was practically whispering into her lips. Eyes were not fixated on her own, rather on the lower portion of her face. Occasionally, he looked down to see the prize that had found its way into his grasp. His hands were resting on her hips. “How much money were you expecting to make tonight?”


Simin was going to give this woman so much money that she would consider a normal night’s revenue grossly unworthy in comparison.
​

@House of the Fly

 

[Grey]

Peter Holmes

The Ticking Clock

​

"Dust," he says simply. "I hear everybody comes into the Clock for Dust."


Money changes hands, and he watches. Calmer now, sobering up. Paranoia melting away.


She shakes, he can see. She won't meet his gaze. Pimp, pusher, boyfriend... someone has her scared, addicted. Question is - booze, Dust, coke, heroin? Well, if they're sitting on the supply...


He hopes she knows something. Hopes there's an excuse to rescue her.


I am weightless and airborne and my sword scrapes the treetops all my boys behind me and she-


He downs one glass. Sips the other.


Fingers the money in his pocket, counting.

 

[Elle Joyner]

Esther Tellman

The Ticking Clock

​

It was almost over. Her shift. Her feet ached, her head hurt and she had had enough of the techno and bouncing light show, the half naked - or in some cases, entirely naked women - and the never ending string of colorfully inconsiderate patronage. Normally, there was a thread to her bar tending, which she enjoyed thoroughly, but after the last few days she had had and the sneaking sensation that around some corner she might find a bullet with her name on it, she was ready to crawl beneath the covers and never leave. But at long last, the long night was coming to an end, the final rush bringing her work day to a thundering end. She was eager to finish, to clock out, drive home and fall into bed.


In truth, she'd considered, after everything that happened, taking a few days off, but she had no real excuse that wouldn't sound crazy... and the late night hours were short staffed as it was. There was also a part of her with a cusp of pride, which demanded she stay calm about the experience and get on with her life... Another part of her, the sensible one, hated that part...

Another patron stormed the bar and Esther met the man with a forced smile, taking in the intimidating state of his hair and beard, mentally noting the display of bravado. Strange, the things one grew accustomed to, as a tender. He wasn't the first person to think he was tough, because he was bigger than her... he wouldn't be the last, and he certainly wasn't the most impressive.


But then... she'd seen him around enough, spoken to enough Tell-alls to know more than a few sordid details.


"Evening..." She offered politely, before grabbing a glass and a bottle of Maker's Mark. Hook always kept the good stuff in stock... You'd never find a cheap bottle of anything, but most of the time, the patrons didn't mind a little higher tab, if the quality was there. Swirling the glass as she poured, she picked up a cocktail napkin and set it down in front of the bearded fellow, before placing the glass down on top of it.


"Anything else I can get for you?


 
Johnna Little

Dinner at Marian's

​

She'd caught the wink... and shook her head with a quiet chuckle, but internally, something... a familiar something twinged, all too recognizable in that place deep within where she had, for so long now it was painful, sublimated certain things. It was impossible not to feel for him how she did, no matter how desperately she tried.


And so, as Johnna sat, she distracted herself by watching the exchange between Marian and Robin, smiling coyly at the pair, wondering idly if they were even aware how effortless their relationship was. Certainly, they had difficulties... All of them did, but the reverence with which Robin viewed Marian, and the easy, collected manner in which she parried his overzealous affections, without rebuffing him. They were a match, plain as day and it tormented Johnna to know they'd been fighting it for so long, now... when so clearly, they had not lost each other's favor. Not entirely.


On second thought, she considered it probably wasn't the best idea, utilizing the pair as a means of distraction...


Much went to collect drinks and Johnna turned to Will as he addressed her, smiling faintly at his question. It was a dangerous one to ask someone who had been around for so long, but it was, nevertheless, a subject with which she could hardly get herself into too much trouble, "Honestly, a lot and nothing all at the same time. I traveled, quite a bit. Saw most of Europe and the States... Ventured up North and took a summer in Australia, a few years back. Took some courses in Art... A few adventures, here and there... nothing world renowned. Then, once Robin and I were able to track down Much and Alan, we came here, with the intentions of starting a network to help those in need of our specific... talents."


Tucking a strand of electric blue hair behind her ear, she leaned back in her chair, "What about you? What have you been up to, besides the obvious?"

 

[DamagedGlasses]

Gene Kingsley

Drury Lane Apartments

"We rent'em cheap, when you feelin' beat"

​

Gene breathed as he sat down in exhaustion, his face morphing into a frown as the sounds of springs echoed through the small apartment he had found himself in. Brushing off some dust from his jacket, his favorite one, Gene let his head dip down into his hands as he licked his lips, his mind going miles per hour as he tried to adjust once more to the almost trash-ridden life he had grown up in. It was weird to think that just a week a go, not even a week, more like 4 days, he had been plotting up a new scheme.


It would be one that would finally get his damaged gangs moral up and he would be able to once again rally their voices together in the harmony of war. Yet, his still forming plan had failed before it had even been introduced to the public eyes of his team, their mutinous thoughts being corralled by another louder voice before Gene was able to voice his own. However, the backstab had not been unseen, no, it had been fully expected, although it had happened a bit sooner than he had imagined it would. Still, his preparations had been enough and he had made it out with very few real injuries.


Speaking of injuries, Gene stood up from the bed, and grit his teeth as his ankle broke into flames, the muscles having gotten used to not feeling the pain. While it did feel bad, painfully so, Gene knew that it felt millions times worse than it actually was, and he still had almost full use of the appendage, as long as he could deal with the pain. Moving to his bathroom, Gene lifted his hurt ankle onto the toilet seat, before pulling up his pants leg.


Bending down, Gene unwrapped the gauze that had been placed around the injury and smiled slightly as he saw the bruised and hurt looking portion of his foot. While he was not a glutton for pain, he knew that he had successfully escaped worse, and this ankle was his trophy of victory. He would another day to plot and plan, gathering resources as he made his way back up. The only problem with that train of thought was there was no coal to get it moving. He had no money, or at least, no money that would actually help. Most of his current resources were being used to keep his refrigerator stocked and his belly full.


He also couldn't go around and spread his name, looking for people so soon, as that would just turn out to be the blood for his gang-turned-sharks to follow. No, he had to subtly increase his balance, and buy out places that would increase his income. Of course, he could get a job, he had no problem with that, but with all the things that had to be done, and the level of obscurity he would have to throw away to go out in the sun for that long was not worth the reward. No, he had to get money in a way that would be productive, easy, and suitable for his line of work and situation. Luckily for him, he had just the idea. It was a slight detour from what he planned to do with his gang, his lack of manpower obviously limiting his ability to get things done, but otherwise, his plan from before could go through without any fault, just with a lot less reward.


He grinned as he thought of the night his plan had been cemented.

Spoiler

Jumping through the air, the jump being a particularly long leap, Gene tried to keep his breathing steady as he readied himself for the landing that was to surely come in no time at all. Hitting the cement of the building, Gene felt his body tumble as he reduced the amount of damage done to his bones and body in general to a very low level, almost insignificant. Quickly getting to his feet, taking off without a second thought, Gene's eyes dashed around trying to pick out what could help him.


Behind him, he could hear the grunts of his more skilled thugs taking the jump almost as well as he had, the difference being that they lacked the grace and simple awesomeness his own had possessed. Gene was about to grab a mop he had seen and smack one of them in the face, but he became distracted as he heard the most beautiful voice he had ever heard. The voice, like an angels, peaked his full curiosity, and made him turn his face towards where he could hear it coming from.


Quickly searching the skyline, the danger of getting killed still actively encouraging him to, well, run for his life, Gene spotted the singer and was struck with a strong sense of Deja Vu. It was like he had met her before, bringing him to think of all the women whom he had gotten with over the years. Yet, try as he might, he could not place Mandy or Sam to the face, as well as, Genny, Jayla, Terri, Tori, Tina, Linda, Lilly, Wendy, Dana, Sarah, Sissi, Nina, Penny, Petunia, Jessica, or even Helga.


Yes, none of those names clicked as he looked at the face and luscious blonde hair. It was only pure luck that he was able to tear his eyes away from it in time to jump successfully off the building and land on the next, however, the lack of preparation time made him land a bit too heavily on one of his ankles, making him fall as he felt his muscle get stabbed by daggers of pain.


Panting, Gene picked himself up quickly before the men before caught up to him and managed to get to his feet. However, he was no condition to run and jump like he wanted to with such a bad and recent injury. Looking around, Gene stumbled over to where he saw a bucket, picking it up and finding that luckily, it was full of water. Looking up at the men chasing him, his unfamiliarity with the three men on account of them being relatively new, Gene, smiled as he got a plan that he could quickly take down them all.


Getting the bucket, Gene ran over to where the guys had recently landed and kicked out his foot towards the closest one, knocking him with a dazing kick that left him unbalanced. As the other two gained their footing on the building, Gene lashed with a hand and pushed the unstable man, his footing completely losing and falling off the edge, his screams loud, before suddenly ending.


Gene dodged as one of the others threw a fist, ducking and letting it fly over his head. Rearing the bucket underhandedly, Gene brought it up with zest and let the water fly out into the face of his attacker, before spinning and smacking the other guy with the now empty bucket, his now wet friend unable to do anything in his defense as he tried to get the mass amounts of gunk that had been in the bucket, out of his eye. Dazing the man with the hit to the cranium, Gene grit his teeth as he struck out with his bad leg and harshly dug into the man's gut with malicious intention. His desires were met as the man, who couldn't defend himself with his arms digging the gunk out of his mouth and eyes, was pushed back and over the edge of the building.


Gene was about to attack the last one, but was struck as he felt a punch impact the lefts side of his face, only his will giving him the ability to stand tall. Looking over, his eye's sight blurry from the punch, Gene struck out and punched the man with a intense fist to the face, a satisfying crack telling him that he had successfully broken the man' nose with ease. As the man shouted from the pain, Gene sent a kick from his good leg into the man's knees and knocked him to the ground in a kneeling pose. Rearing his leg back, Gene kicked upward and into the man's face, sending his head off in an attempt to fly, but it was grounded as it's heavy body followed, anchoring it to the ground.


Smiling, Gene hissed as he felt the pain from his ankle more intensely as the adrenaline started to decrease. Looking around, Gene smiled as he saw a ladder going to the ground level of the city. Taking one long, last glance towards the hotel he had seen the woman, Gene started to climb down the ladder.


Gene smiled as he thought of the woman. He had seen her that night, and ever since he had been thinking of her, or more specifically, the building she apparently lived at. It was the same building he had been planning to rob blind with his group, but with them more or less traitors, he would have to it on his own. From what he had seen, there was a building right beside the large Hotel, the size being smaller, but still big enough for Gene to work with.


He would be able to get into that room easily during the night, and it shouldn't be difficult to steal things silently. It wasn't like he couldn't kill the blonde if she was too loud, even if that thought gave his heart some added pounds for some reason. Changing up his bandages, Gene sighed as he smiled, before heading out the door of his apartment, which he had bought with the small funds he had left in his personal bank account, and into the streets, his mind on the Hotel every step of the way.


@Shura

 

[Teh Frixz]

Mirelle Dylan
How cheerfully she seems to grin,

How neatly spreads her claws

​

Her face is expressionless, cold and disjointed. The shock of being told your home was gone, wiped from reality by cosmic power beyond any sort of understanding. Your generations of children wiped out, your beloved nest burnt in a whisper of aether and only existing in dreams and memories would rend the raw emotion of pain from even the hardest of hearts.


Hard hearts. Not a cold one.


She gives the same slow blink in response, edging closer to hook. Close enough to wave her hand through the ghost of his missing appendage. She looks up, staring with expressionless eyes. "It's no more gone then your hand is. It's in me and it's in you. It's in the darling girl and the crowing boy. It's in the codfish and tribal drums. It's in the powder of your guns and the dying breaths of a speck of light so far gone that roaring applause can't save it." Mirelle starts to slowly circle him, clicking her lips in a delicious tick-tock.


"It's still there and we can feel it. I don't know if others want to admit it, but it calls to us." More clicking, a beat settling in as she gives him one more circle. The music outside providing a slow bass to her ticking. "I want it back Hook. Your ship is out there, your pixies able to dust it and bring us all back together. My adventure never-ended Hook..." She leans in close, whispering into his ear "As long as you have all your...amazing...soft...wet....limbs...my adventure can't end"


Mirelle veers off towards the door, settling in the shallows of the proverbial deadly waters.


"Hearts are too easy to come by Hook. I can't find a home in something as fleeting as a heart. All it takes is a snap and heart and home vanish in the belly of some beast which just won't accept the idea that her home is a dream. I'll take all the hearts one by one if I have to Hook. It's only a matter of time. Get your boat, get your dust, and get your happy thoughts and we can go back to a place where you have some place to hide again~"


Her hands drag over the walls, catching and digging in to the moist plaster as she leans into it dramatically.

 

[Fly]

Jay Torolf

The Ticking Shithole

​

The music. Heaven help him, the music. It knifed Jay's ears and gnashed his patience, that dreadful, skeleton-rattling thumping, that retched beat that rubbed every nerve the wrong way. Awful, tasteless, like tacky furniture. The beat bumped ad infinitum, fueling stupid dancing and idiotic displays of what somehow passed as sex appeal. Terrible. Atrocious. It made him sick.


It was easy to forget why he hated the Clock so much - the cringe-worthy environment always quickly swept from his mind post-visit - but every time he returned, most often for business or out of some self-deprecation, he was passionately reminded. The scum, so close to him he could almost smell the sweat that beaded off them, dancing shamelessly in next to nothing or less. Girls - hardly women, never ladies - throwing themselves at men for dust and money like they were cattle. Petty excuses for humans - less than - grossly ill-conceived, infuriatingly given value. Vomit-inducing, repulsive.


His teeth ground in his head. Just catching them in the corner of his eye made his hands curl into fists, their movements and fake smiles and soulless hearts summoning feelings Jay could never seem to bury. He was so on edge he was ready to drop - and it excited him.


The young slip of a thing, the mouse, took too long. She moved slowly, unenthusiastically, in limbo long enough for the gentleman beside Jay to offer him a most gracious beard-bro blunt. He flicked his eyes down at the man's forked fingers, then up at the man - attractive, sculpted features, foreign eyes that made him linger - before snapping to the woman attempting to become one with him through osmosis. He curled his lip but the call of free greens and a handsome face made him take what was offered and toke to the maximum his lungs would allow, which truthfully was an impressive amount.


Evening, she whimpered the recycled word. Evening, she whined. She didn't want to be there, and it was painfully obvious. Thankfully, Jay was willing to help.


Lungs full of what was clearly his only form of medication, Jay leaned over the bar as she set the glass in front of him to pour and exhaled two jets of smoke from his nose like a raging bull directly into her face. He pursed his lips together in a half-displeased, half-amused smirk and braced himself as he grabbed the wrist attempting to deposit the whiskey and forcefully yanked it over the bar. He bent at the waist, tall enough to press his cheek against hers.


"How about your head?"


What a rush! The feeling he lived for. The minute moment between his threat and her reaction felt like a lifetime - sweet and wonderful - always his favorite second. He hoped she felt protected as one of Hook's girls. He wanted her to feel safe in the confines of that shithole club. She would have to leave eventually.


And Jay was patient when he wanted to be.


@Elle Joyner @Tree

 

[Sol]

Matt Mulligan (Much The Miller's Son)

And the quest for drinks!

"Alright water it is for the big boss. Lady Marian, the offer is very generous but I really doubt they'd come over at such short notice for a shit-faced British young man like me. Besides, I...well I have no defending words for being single my entire life and that's a long time to be single."


Matthew said the first part to just notify Archer that he heard and acknowledged the order. Water though, for one of the biggest drinkers in the entire company. Hell must be running out of vacancies or getting colder. He could also hear Will correcting his order and absolutely no confirmation from Johnna. She couldn't complain if he got her some kind of wine that she didn't like. Though he couldn't fault her for having her attention consumed by a man who could make women swoon just by staring at them.


He followed Lady Marian to where the cellar was and had to hold his shock in when the door swung open and the lights illuminated what would probably be heaven for Tuck. A few pounds would say that if Tuck knew about this, Lady Marian would have another permanent resident in her house. Everything was orderly, every bottle lined on the racks looked pristine and untouched probably aged to perfection or aged to give them all indigestion but it was a gamble he was willing to take.


"An impressive if not modest collection of fine spirits, Lady Marian. Always wanted to use that word 'spirits' makes me feel refined and cultured. Off I go then and she's gone. I forgot to ask her what she wanted to drink. Oh well."


Modest was an understatement, and so was impressive. Feeling like a thief in the royal treasury, Matthew made his way down to the cellar and collect the drinks they ordered. They being Johnna and Will. A bottle of each should be fine. He was surrounded by bottles upon bottles of spirits and hard drinks, just like the time he was surrounded by mountains of coin in Prince John's treasury. There was no need to rush as everyone seemed to be engaged in jolly conversation up top, out of earshot of the only single guy present. After all, the drinks were like icing on the cake, pretty and decorative but not the core of the desert. No it was the spirit of camaraderie that was the core of this gathering.


"Oh Bourbon, my bourbon, where for art thou bourbon..."


It made him feel that his role was diminished because once he got the drinks he'd probably spend the night nursing them while the couple couples would catch up and talk about whatever it was couples talked about. He had never fallen in love and probably couldn't say anything to what either of the four are going through. He belonged, but at the same time he questioned if he really did.


"Ah there you are my bourbon. And there are a lot of you. Now which one would make a fine sacrifice to Will? What about you..."


He pulled out a bottle at random, on it was "Jim Beam Black" a black label drink. Matthew was sure that Will would love this to accompany his talks with Johnna.


"And for my next trick...wine!"


Matthew went further into the cellar to find something suitable for Johnna, though he had no idea what kind of wine she wanted. Like with Will's drink he ended up just picking one at random.


"Louis Jadot...and then there's french on it. It's probably good."


He held both bottles by their necks between his fingers as he went around for something Alan would want but gave up on that as he gave up on what he thought Tuck would want. Matt never had much knowledge in the realm of liquor outside of beer. He was torn between getting a bottle of vodka or grabbing a bottle of tequila. In the end he had settled for a bottle of Belvedere Intense Vodka, though he had only partaken in other Belvedere drinks a fair few times and knew enough that it was Polish in origin the intense was what grabbed his attention.


With the drinks on hand, Matt went out of the cellar and made his way toward the kitchen, stopping to realize he had no idea where Lady Marian kept the glasses he might use for their drinks. Matt himself had no problem drinking straight from the bottle but a certain degree of 'grace' was to be observed in the presence of Lady Marian if only because he still couldn't get over the fact that she is still royalty and automatically made her his better and superior. That and Will asked for his drinks on the rocks and he didn't exactly think putting cubes into the bottle would work assuming he could even find cubes that could fit the bottle's opening.


As much as it made Much awkward to interrupt their much enjoyable conversation Much had to ask Lady Marian where she kept the glasses.


"Lady Marian, where might the glasses be?"

 

[Erica]

Archer Robert Moore (Robin Hood)

Marian's Home on Citron Court, Emerald City

​

Having suffered wounds of varying sorts over the years, Rob knew wounds of the heart lingered longest, healed slowest, and stung the most when reopened. Having tried all manner of remedies, he had long accepted that some things could not be fixed. Before today, he had considered his relationship with Marian in that category.


Now he was only marginally certain that was the case. It was something. A start.


Her quick rejoinder made him look at her curiously. So much defensiveness meant he had hit a nerve. He would take the deflection and offer a riposte before they dove into the meal itself. Light blue eyes sparked with amusement and the corner of his lips twisted upward as she teased about pillow talk. “As the lady wishes. If that’s your preference...” Despite his teasing, there was steel at the heart his tone. He was willing to concede the time and place of their discussion, but now that she had hinted at his suspicions being correct, he would follow through.


He timed this to coincide with Much’s - or rather, Matthew’s - return from the cellar, an effortless act that came from years of habitual orchestration of events. Rob turned toward the only marginally younger man as he approached, donning a neutral and open expression.


"Lady Marian, where might the glasses be?"


Rob leaned back slightly in his chair, looking at Marian as innocently as he could manage, awaiting her response. Once she had answered, he would focus on the dinner - and bring them back around to the other necessary discussion of the night. Perhaps after the first course.

 

[Honeybucky]

_____ Matthias A. Hatter_____
About to receive his vice.







It was the most wonderful nightmare. One minute, he had been waltzing down a dark and slightly left leaning street, when something in a shop window had caught his eye. Intrigued, he had paused his frivolous skipping and hum drumming to peek inside, having to bring his face dangerously close to the window. Upon closer inspection, he discovered that it was a rather strapping suit. Bright purple and lined with a dark blue stitching, the spacing so gorgeous it looked as if the hem were kissing all the curves of the bodice.


The fabric so fine it looked as if it had been cured in nitric acid and mercury for days. The shoulders curved up so gracefully that Matthias found himself glued to the window, his entire body pressed up against the glass. The jacket alone had him in a stuttering mess, let alone the rest of the ensemble.


That is, until the dream curled from a fantasy into a full blown nightmare. The most horrifying thing happened then, and if he were awake, surely this would have been considered a fate worse than death. He noticed... it. Three buttons away from the bottom button of the jacket lay a stray button, as if someone had lost one and replaced it with a spare. Normally that would be fine. In fact, it would have given it the most perfect flare- had it not been for the color. That sort of yellow looked as if someone had puked it up after spinning too fast off the flying wargle.


Matthias felt so horrified that he instantly unstuck from the window, a look of sheer disgust and terror flying across his features. Yellow was such an ugly color. He couldn't comprehend what he was seeing; it was too morbid for mortal eyes. He tried to take a step back, but as he did, the window crept forwards following him every time he tried to abandon ship. Soon he found himself running at an inhuman pace, shouting obscene comments and attempting to outrun the beast that followed him. He was just about to get crushed between the opposite shop and the horrifying yellow button, when a soft voice startled him from his endeavor.


"Hey, Gorgeous… Midnight snack time. Little late… but who’s counting?"


Making a startled sound he found himself jumping ever so slightly from his stone still slumber, only to blink himself out of reality and back into the dream. Or, wait, was it the other way around? He had no idea. Taking in a deep breath, he tried to ease the sleep from his mind in order to comprehend her strange language. Had it been any other time but now, he would have been able to understand her unfathomable gibberish right away. But this time he actually had to think about it. Sliding up onto his elbows, he made a face in the slight darkness and shifted under the blankets. It was an odd feeling, being in a comfortable bed. It was almost like he was participating in some sort of taboo action by sleeping here.


" Hmm?" He began, lifting a hand to rub as his now finely groomed face. " Has it passed Tea Time? How absurd. Tea Time should be all the time, my dear. You got it forwards, An Isabelle-"


Wait. She had slid him over a platter of tea and cookies, and he let a purring laugh rumble from his throat. His eyes filled with mischief, and he reached out to take the little fingers that had tapped at his nose. He gently took her hand and pulled it towards himself, examining it a little closer. Why, with all the fuss going on about last night he couldn't get a chance to look at her hands properly. He was far too distracted with everything else.


" Ah! So that is that, and then is why! Such a silly creature, An Isabelle; playing that it isn't Tea Time when it clearly isn't not!" He brought her fingers up, and, as if he had seen someone do it before to the woman in his thoughts, tickled her them against the stubble of his mustache playfully. Reaching down with his spare hand, he picked up the cup of tea, and daintily raised his little finger.


" Absolutely exquisite," He muttered quietly too himself, taking a generous and careful sip. His back arched like a cat into the base of the pillow, and he had to adjust himself so that he was sitting up properly, so he would not dare to spill a drop. " Undoubtedly indubitably so." He paused to look at her, and raised a brow at her curious fashion choice.


" You simply must let me model you." He decided aloud, releasing her fingers to reach out and pick gently at the strange robe she was adorned with.


" The most excellent collection, surely. T'would make me far more than a pennies dime, or a dime a copper." He pondered what he would dress her in, and decided that it would be anything but purple and blue.


" A green for An Isabelle!" He finally declared. He had an eye for these things. And Green was most definitely her color. Flipping the blankets from over top of him, he rolled his shoulders and stretched, flexing his muscles and twisting his abdomen. Normally this morning ritual would be painful from sleeping on concrete, however, he found himself pleasantly surprised. For once, he wasn't in insurmountable amounts of pain. He managed to reach his spare hand out to snag a cookie, as he suddenly felt rather famished, and devoured the thing in a mere bite. Along with another. Followed by another, and a rather large sip of tea to wash it all down. He moved into a sitting position and tilted his head slightly upwards to look at the still standing An Isabelle.


" I shall run to the market, and procure the finest fabrics!" Matthias announced, and was just about to stand and begin his journey, when he realized a vital factor was missing. But he couldn't quite place it. Looking down upon himself, he blinked and cocked his head to the side, thinking heavily, and feeling rather chill from the air against exposed skin.


" Curious predicament." He muttered, lifting his hand to pat at his bare chest, crinkling his mustache with thought.


" If you would be so kind as to direct me into the direction of the directed market, that would be most stupendously helpful!"


That's right. He had no idea where he was going. That's what was missing. Other than that little snag in the road, Matthias was totally ready for an adventure to the market.

If you would be so kind as to direct me into the direction of the directed market, that would be most stupendously helpful! Hatter

 

[Syrenrei]

Marian Greene (Maid Marian)

A Not-So-Humble Home on Citron Court, Emerald City

​

Marian merely raised a brow at Robin's reply. Oh, he just thought he was so dashing and charismatic, didn't he? In her mind it was a belief grounded firmly in fact, but she refused to let herself go weak at the knees like some schoolgirl. One would think even Robin of the Hood would have a little less confidence over these few hundred years that they had been apart- yet he had met her challenge in the book store's cafe and now toyed with her as surely as she had with him. They were both incorrigible. While she was not particularly religious, the wedding proclamation that went something like, 'let no man tear asunder what God has joined,' was very relevant to their situation. Not even time, their stubborn pride, or their poorly placed sense of self-sacrifice would completely disintegrate the affection that dwelt beneath hearts and flowed in every word.


It all only made her feel worse about her secret- not that she kept it, but that it affected her life. Shame and guilt temporarily seized her and a brief wave of paranoia washed over. It was only exacerbated by Much's reappearance; he seemed ignorant right now that she was afflicted by anything adverse, but what if she said or did something now and raised suspicion? Would he think ill or less of her? She was the brave Maid Marian that had been sister and mother to all of the Merry Men, that had remembered their birthdays each year, that had matched them in wit and swordplay. She cringed inwardly at the notion they might look on her with pity.


"They are in those cabinets," Marian gestured with the hand still clasping the bottle given to her by Robin. Where she indicated was one of the upper cabinets and was filled with glassware for alcohol including shot glasses, wine glasses, martini glasses, champagne flutes, beer mugs (glass and ceramic), and tumblers. Sparkling in the light they looked as if they were not used often- if at all. Not a single scratch or chip could be spotted. In the adjoining cabinet was more simple drinkware- glasses and ceramic cups of various shapes, sizes, and colors (Marian still favored green).


"So what really brings you here?" she asked, no longer speaking softly so as to not interrupt Johnna and Will. It was nice to catch up (and flirt) but she wanted a real answer. Parting from Robin's side she casually began to make herself a plate as if her question were but a simple inquiry on the weather. Even if her dear husband wouldn't respond one of them ought to have the decency to give her a forthright response. Will had arrived separately so she may have to depend on Johnna or Much to be blunt if Robin would not. Just as he would not stop probing her moments of haze, she would not relent in her pursuit of the nature of their visit to Emerald City. "I'm flattered you all came to see me, but I know there must be something that drew you here. If you try to persuade me it's the factual inaccuracies of my book, I'll lob cutlery at you." A touch of humor to appear a little less.. demanding.

 

[Kagura]

Lil' Bo Beep


The Ticking Clock

Mary’s challenge was accepted with a small smile, the man was ready for the type of games she liked to play. He quirked his brow and asked if she could handle him, prompting her to bite the side of her lip in a soft gesture. “This is my area of expertise” although Mary’s height was certainly no asset, she used it now to look up at him through her lashes. The man was only teasing though, grabbing at the appropriate funds now before tucking the wad into Mary’s cleavage.


Mary smiled devilishly in response, waiting patiently for Simin to take his swig of alcohol- it always made clients easier to deal with. Not to mention the fact his cigar reeked of something other than tobacco the moment it was lit. The odds were clearly stacked in her favor, but Mary was not someone who would complain about easy money.


The man’s hands found their way to her skirt, pulling her forward to destroy the miniscule boundary of personal space and sexual tension that she established. Her response was to pull her shoulders back, allowing him the great view of her chest while it was leaning into his own. Mary slid her leg in between his own, giving him a bemused look when he said she was off for the night.


“All night?” she wonders, “Is that a promise?” she licks her lips after, smoothing her hand over his pectorals before sliding up to his shoulders, tenderly squeezing the muscles underneath. The man blindly reaches back for his cigar, allowing Mary to twirl her hair in mock flirtation. When he cocked his head back to blow out smoke, Mary found Esther’s eyes behind the bar and winked.


Whatever he was smoking, Mary would taste it soon enough.


Simin hands the cigar off to another patron at the bar- the man Esther is currently serving before he turned his attention back to her. Their lips only had a minute separation, his eyes scanning her body and lower portion of her face before he asks her how much money she expected to make tonight. It was hard not to laugh, to blurt out the near-impossible-quantity with his hands rested on her hips and her own now wrapped around his shoulders.


A sharp movement caught her eye before she could answer; the man down the bar had caught Esther’s wrist and yanked her across the bar. Mary’s face didn’t show her worry, but she immediately tensed up in Simin’s arms. Jay was bent at the waist, his cheek pressed against the bartender as he whispered something. The challenge was all but forgotten.


In the smoothest way she could, Mary took a step back from Simin, and didn’t bother asking for the estimated sum of seven hundred and fifty. She slid up next to the bearded man instead, not bothering with the pleasantries as she got into his personal space. “Now, now- she is not for you to touch” Mary’s hand had found its way to his upper thigh “I, am more than willing.” It was hard for Mary to turn away from the promise of easy money, but Esther was more important than that.


They were Ticking Clock girls and Mary felt like she needed to protect her own kind.


@Tree @Elle Joyner @Fly

 

[DamagedGlasses]

Gene Kingsley

Emerald Towers Apartment Complex

Rooftop->Apt# 601 ->Apt# 701​

About an hour after Rebecca had left the porch, feeling a twinge of slight despondency, the empty rooftops below became rife with activity, the silent commotion lead by none other than Gene as he grit his teeth, his ankle bothering him as he climbed up the last steps of the ladder and completely got onto the rooftop without any harm to his person, letting the bag he had carried fall onto the ground. Dusting off his jacket, Gene squinted into the darkness that had settled onto the roof and smiled at the natural cover he could capitalize on throughout the night for his own wishes.


Sighing, Gene bent over and picked up the duffel bag again, throwing it over his shoulders as he went over to where he planned to set everything up for the big show. Going behind a rather large rooftop vent, which shielded his presence from the rare pair of eyes that creeped in the darkness, Gene set down the duffel bag once more, before unzipping it. He smirked as he saw the materials stuffed into the bag, all of it light weight, and most of it he would not even need really. Taking a second, Gene bent his knees up a bit and peaked over the vent towards where he saw the rather dim lights of his target go strong, the woman inside obviously being ready to go to sleep, but it was like something kept her up.


For a second, Gene just stood there a second and gazed at the slight silhouette that he could see of his target. It looked like she was doing something that had to use a lot of concentration, but he had no real guess about it, nor could he bring himself to care. The only thing that he took from the scene was that she wasn't completely asleep, nor did she looked like she would be very soon. Smiling, Gene went back to the bag and rummaged through it, bringing out the things he would need for the plan, as well as the extra things in case stuff went wrong. Putting the stuff in his pockets, as well as a smaller, more manageable carrying pouch he had on his side, Gene stood up completely and went to where he had decided to break into the woman's house.


Now, he knew he wouldn't be able to jump completely to the targeted room, where the riches lay, but he would be able to get to the ones below it with ease. Jogging to the end of the roof he was on, Gene readied himself, bringing his knees to a slant and his arms ready at his sides, before taking off towards the edge of the building, his eyes on the prize as his confidence made sure he would not fail. It was soon that he was on the last step of the building, the defining moment, and he put all of his leg power into it, leaping off and towards the railing of the apartment room's balcony.


Flying through the air, Gene had little time to process things ,but his earlier planning did him well in regards to his next actions. Stretching his legs, Gene aimed for the empty sections between each rail, ready to plunge them into the safe hole they created. In the midst of the impact, Gene shot out his arms and quickly grabbed hold of any railing he could find with his hands, holding them with his life. Not looking back to see how much distance there was between him and the street below, Gene hurriedly jumped over the railings and stopped down.


His pants quiet and fast, Gene reached out a hand and made sure, out of reassurance, that his carrier bag was still there around his neck. Smiling at the leathery feel of the bag under his fingers, Gene stood up and walked to the glass screen, his eyes squinting in concentration as peared at the simple lock keeping him from sliding the door out of his way. Reaching to his bag, Gene took out a small screwdriver and leaned in closer to get a better look at the door's handle. While he was used to more orthodox door handles, and he was never really the guy chosen to do this kind of stuff, it was all common sense really. He just had to keep a level head.


Getting in the door with only slight difficulty, Gene smiled as he looked around the rather large, but completely empty room. While others would place this down to luck of the draw, Gene knew the truth. He had spent many of days learning what rooms had people in them or not and which one would give him the least difficulty for using in his plans. There was plenty of stuff he could steal and sell in here, but he wasn't looking for chump change, no, he was looking for a big haul and that was what he was going to get. Going to the door, and peering out into the hallway, finding nothing but emptiness, Gene stepped out with smile, liking how smooth his plan was go- "Who are you?"


Gene managed to not jump as he turned around, his eyes curious as to who he had missed in his quick check of the hall. Looking at his detector, Gene felt his mouth gape open slightly as he saw a middle aged woman in an official dress for the establishment. Looking behind her and seeing a slightly open door, as well as a maids cart, Gene cursed mentally as he realized he had been to careless, a rarity. However, as he ignored the woman's questions and slowly rising anger, Gene realized this could work. Smiling, Gene finally answered as he started to riffle with the contents of his bag, "Oh, I'm Jack, Jack Prince. See, I recently became interested in one of the rooms here, but I didn't feel the pictures did it justice, so I got the owner to let me look at it real quick."


The girl obviously was not convinced, and was even beginning to get uncomfortable as Gene continued to look for what he wanted, "Why are you here so late?" As she watched the man reply, her hands were also reaching for her phone, ready to call the police and get this man out of her presence for as long as possible.


Gene acted quickly s he got what he wanted, and didn't bother to answer as he lashed out with a fist, smashing the girl's face with ample strength to knock her out cold. Her eyes rolling up into her skull as she flopped to the ground, Gene stood over her, and held the shiny, silver duct tape he had managed to get from his bag. Stretching out a good amount of length of the sticky tool, Gene bent down with determination with his eye as he bent down and began the process of making sure the maid would not wake up and do what she wanted. Also, he made sure to grab her keys as he checked her pockets for anything of importance. He didn't even give a second glance to her nametag, though he did learn that her name was "Jessica N.", which helped him about as well as you would think it had.


Walking down the hallways after he had tied the woman up and dragged her into the room he had arrived in, Gene rubbed the master key he had in his hand and felt a smile fall onto his face. Getting to the elevator, Gene quickly got into it and made sure he remember which room he had came into, as the room above that was his target. Pressing the right buttons, Gene felt the room start to move upwards, as well as the "comforting" song began to play in the background. The soothing noise was a big difference from the Mission Impossible style he thought would suit better, but it wasn't like he had a choice.

As the ding was heard, telling him he had reached his destination, the doors opened and Gene stepped out. His eyes quickly went to the door that held the same number of the room he had arrived in, but it was accompanied by a different floor number. Yes, that was the one. Going to the door with confidence, Gene raised his hand to put the key in, but stopped as he got an even better idea that he could do. Making sure he had his clothes on straight, looking official in his twine coat, Gene knocked on the door and smiled kindly as he waited for an answer, his hands behind his back along with a readied roll of duct tape.


@Shura @ThatPoorMaid

 

[Brax]

Simin {♕} Bahad

Sinbad the sailor
​

In this particular case, Simin watched as his temporary object of purchase had danced out of his arms. While it was rather surprising to see such a sight, the sailor was rather impressed. Such a display of hospitality and testosterone had done the trick for that particular female, be that as it may. Typically speaking, Simin never judged females based on their decisions. Each one was different in many ways and had various motivations as a result, in their own right.





Simin did not care, for more often than not he used females much like a squirrel. The man had been known to get his nut on a want-basis, rather than need. It was all the same to him; like most urges, women came and went just as quickly. Not bothering to say a word, Simin used two fingers to pluck the cigar from Jay's fingers. He brought the blunt to his lips and took a hearty drag, filling his lungs with as much smoke as he could possibly muster.





At this exact moment, another man walked into the bar. His eyes had been fixated on Simin. He was rather large in stature, with a shaved head. The tired lines of his face would have anyone assuming the gentleman was over thirty-five years old. Tuxedo-clad, the man greeted Simin at the same time he dragged a cell phone from his ear, to his pocket. “There is a problem, sir.” A rather large smirk had grown upon the visage of Simin once more, as he was spoken to.“Pray tell, mister White.”


The man had leaned over to whisper into Simin’s ear. As he continued talking, Simin both nodded and acknowledged what had been said to him. “Mmm… Well then, we’ll have to change that. Right, right. I see… Hold on a second.” Placing two fingers into each corner of his mouth, Simin would whistle loud enough so that he caught Smee’s attention once more. The bartender had been attempting to look down the shirt of a rather busty pixie that had been grabbing a couple of drinks.


“A sheet of paper, Smee. And a pen.”


When the bartender had retrieved the items that Simin had asked for, the sailor began writing almost immediately. The instructions upon the paper were rather simple to follow, given the language in which it had been written. It was not too obvious as to give away a heavy dose of information. He spoke audibly of an address, telling Mr. White to remember it.

Bring seven with you.


Finish both tasks immediately. Make haste.


Return to the Ticking Clock.


- $

As soon as Simin finished writing, he folded the piece of paper up and placed it within the hand of the man. Shaking his employee’s hand, he spoke once more on the subject. “I want you to burn that mother fxcker’s house down. Do you understand me?” Afterwards, he diverted the employee’s attention from Mr. White to the bar.





The first move Simin's employee had to make was a couple of phone calls, gathering up the correct number of bodies that Simin wanted on the job. When all seven people were gathered up, they had done so by means of the first employee picking every man up with his vehicle. Without Simin’s gifted SUV in this man’s name, such a feat would have been much more difficult. Together, Simin’s men would drive to the address, which had been given. They walked into the apartment building in one group, dressed in all the same colored tuxedos. One of the men pressed the ascend button belonging to the row of elevators.


Five, maybe ten minutes had passed since they had gotten to the correct apartment building. This was all taking place within the hour after directions had been given from Simin. One of the large men kicked the door down belonging to the target. Walking inside the small apartment, they would find one woman high on Dust, who was the target’s wife. They would find the target in the bathroom, passed out on the toilet. The couple’s crying baby was in its crib, lying down. It was barely a year old, if that.


One of the men began pursing the female who was lying down on the couch in the living room. As he creeped closer with devious intentions, practically salivating and praising his higher power for the chance to get such a disgusting urge out. “You guys gonna get in on this?” The employee that previously had dealt directly with Simin would remove a pistol from its holster and shoot a bullet through the back of said employee’s head.


The rest of the group was not surprised. They merely watched as the man’s knees buckled and his corpse hit the ground like a brick. Simin made it a point to never deviate from the goal at hand. Mistreatment of women by any employee resulted in immediate death and reward for the one who took that particular employee out, because even though money was his primary motivation, Simin did not allow such disgusting acts to occur under his direction. The sailor only made it a point to tell his managers of such; others learned through witnessing. Afterwards, the group of men moved to the bathroom. Shots fired would have handled the man inside, but further investigation found that the man had overdosed before their arrival, or during it. He was dead.


The posse moved from the bathroom. One of the men grabbed the baby from its crib, while the others began scrounging the apartment for items they could grab; primarily, money or jewelry. When alcohol was found, the group would use it to ignite the apartment. The sleeping mother lay without bother as the curtains first went up in flames; then the carpet started to light on fire. The wooden table in the kitchen was ablaze. She would eventually be engulfed along with the rest of the apartment, and the dead target. Taking the stairs down to the first floor, the group left the baby on the receptionist’s counter without so much as a word. The sprinklers turned on and the alarms began sounding as soon as the men walked out of the apartment building’s front doors.


@Fly @Kagura @Shura @Elle Joyner @anyoneelse

 

[Grey]

Peter Holmes & Gwen Darling

The Ticking Clock

Collaborative post between Dusky & Grey​

Dust, he says, and she pauses, still as a statue but mind aflutter, a million different things she could say dancing through her mind before she settles on, “Yep. Place is filthy with it.” Even she does not believe the contempt in her voice. She spies a Pixie walking by and calls out to her. “Belina! Here’s someone you might wanna meet.”


Belina is the most brusque of the Pixies Gwen knows, all business. She strides over, names her price, and fishes around in a tiny purse that one would never expect to house such an operation. Gwen turns her back and busies herself, but she is listening closely.


“Is that really safe?” Pete asks, leaning on the bar. “Just… carrying it around?”


“That’s a dumb question and you’re dumber for asking it. You paying or not?”


He pauses, shrugs. “Paying, I guess.”


Money changes hands, and Peter suppresses a grimace. He tucks the product away inside his jacket.


Gwen is torn between laughing at the man’s misfortune and wincing on his behalf. Belina does not waste time in hanging around, but she does spare a smile for her new customer. As she clacks away, Gwen is conveniently no longer busy doing… whatever she was doing. “You’re a forward man, Mister….?”


For some reason, asking feels silly. Maybe it’s the magic in his eyes.


“Peter,” he says, without hesitation. “Just Peter.” Of course she’d ask. He should’ve known better than to answer.


“How ‘bout you?” He sips his second drink and contemplates a third. He’s got what he came for, but something about her is curious even if she seems like the star of a sob story he’s heard a million times.


This one is different, he says internally, but the resultant grin at the stupidity of the sentiment makes it out.


For the second time that night, Gwen drops a glass, staring at the man. She is on the rock with him and he pushes her away, bleeding -


There are a lot of people named Peter out there. But how many of them smile forever young- No. She quashes that thought.


Slowly, she crouches down, disappearing behind the bar as she sweeps up the glass. As she does, she thinks. She retained little of her memories over the years; she doesn’t even realize, anymore, how she’s been alive for nearly a century more than her apparent twenty-odd years. The haze of time, the haze of guilt, the haze of Hook’s deception - few things stand clear through all of that. Names only. Michael. John. And Peter. She takes her time before rising and depositing the waste into a bin.


There are a lot of people named Peter out there.


Glancing up at him briefly, then immediately down at her hands, she says, “Wendy.” She hasn’t thought of herself that way, by that name, in a long, long time, but that’s what slips out. “Er, Gwen to most.”


“Wendy,” he repeats. What an old fashioned name - like who is even called Wendy this side of the fiftie-


City streets far below. She trusted him.


“Do you like Gwen better?” Peter asks, rattling the ice in his glass with a hint of nervousness. Suddenly he feels like her boyfriend is going to show up and take exception to their conversation.


Nobody’s ever asked her that - it gives her pause. “Wendy is… from another time. I don’t know if I really like one better than the other.” She winces, faintly. Stupid, stupid. Why’d she even bring it up?


“They’re both nice,” he nods. “They sound nice, I mean. But how many people are called Wendy?”


Good thinking, Peter. Now why don’t you describe it as a motherly name or something. Girls love that.


“So, uh, you work here long?” Pete asks, changing the subject a little hastily. Her mouth, which had opened to respond to the bit about her name, popped shut for a moment.


Huh. How long has she worked here? “A long time… I can’t even remember not working here, honestly. Hook keeps what he takes on.” Her eyes roam around the club, now. It’s late - though still thronging with music and lights and dancers, all but the most desperate or nocturnal have retired. It’s rare that she doesn’t have to run around attending to a dozen different people. Maybe she’ll work graveyard shift more often. But that’s a silly thought - convince James to allow that? Laughable. She is his best dancer, and he is a practical man.


“Sounds like an asshole,” Pete says, dismissively, letting his confidence to come back. “You like working here?”


His whim now is to get her out - damn the hows and whys. Or what exactly anyone is meant to do afterwards.


She purses her lips, mentally subtracting the appropriate amount of points from however many Mr. Peter here had accumulated over the conversation. “He takes good care of me - er, of us. Employees. You know.” She has weeks when she loves Hook, she has weeks when she hates him. This has been an upswing.


“Yeah?” He’s skeptical, but avoids sounding too invested, too interested. We’ll see how well he takes care of anyone, and what really matters to him, he muses, and drains his glass.


“Can I get you another?”


“I think I’m good. Might as well get some use out of what I bought, right?” He replies, patting his jacket. “It was good to meetcha, Wendy,” he says, in parting, and prepares to wend through whatever crowd remains to reach the exit.


It occurs to her she should probably, for the good of the company, urge him to enjoy his purchase here in the club. Opiates bring the wallet out. Out of self-preservation, she refrains. Opiates bring her demons out. “And you.” She sees him preparing to go and frowns. “Don’t forget to pay up, now.”


“Right.” He slaps a few notes on the counter - probably short - and immediately makes for the exit.


She counts, pouts. “Bastard didn’t leave a tip.” She counts again. “This’ll come out of my paycheck…” A sigh, and she heads to the register, somehow not having it in her to be angry at the boy - man - boy? “I want to never grow up.” “But, Peter… Never is an awfully long time.”

 

[Dusky]

Gwen Darling

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The Ticking Clock​

Peter is gone and Gwen is unoccupied. Her eyes sweep the room, looking for an unattended customer – and light upon Esther, being roughened up by a man she’s seen a few times before. She pauses, unsure of what to do – she couldn’t possibly just, confront him – aha!


When she emerges from the bar moments later carrying a drink, she notes with a small smile that Mary, too, has stepped in. Still, if she can help at all….


A well placed stumble sees the entirety of the man’s back drenched in some fruity concoction with rather too much grenadine in it. The beverage splashes his neck, runs down under his collar - a masterful spill, truly. Sticky, scented, cold. Gwen bites back a smile as she clambers up from the floor and exclaims, “Oh, I’m so sorry! My foot just slipped, I am so so sorry… Here, why don’t you go to the bathroom and I can get you a towel to wash up with.”


She looks up at Esther as if just noticing her and the hold this man had on her wrist. She looks back to him. “Is she bothering you? I see she is – we’ll go ahead and move her far from you, sir. Out of your sight, even. Our customers are top priority, after all.”


She hopes Esther understands what she’s doing. Ideally she could just remind the man that there is a strict no-touching rule for all of Hook’s girls, but this establishment wasn’t built for them. It was built for the likes of the man she is smiling sweetly at.


She has weeks when she loves Hook. She has weeks when she hates him. This has been a downswing.

 

[Fly]

Jay Torolf

The Ticking Shithole

​

Esther froze at those words, certain she had misunderstood him... praying she had misunderstood him. Then his hand looped around her wrist and with a painful tug, she toppled forward, catching herself on the bar with her free hand, a soft, startled yelp escaping.


It was only a moment... a tense, terrifying moment, before she heard a second voice interjecting, and looked up to see Mary, smooth and subtle, sensuous as anything, running what could only be considered the perfect distraction.


Jay was instantly repelled by the closeness of the woman that felt it necessary to inject herself into his private dealings. He glared at her, a snarl of revulsion overtaking his previously amused mug. He could smell her - that perfumed scent meant to lure men into her bed - and that combined with the presumptuous touch shook him so severely that he loosened his grip. "Don't fucking touch me, filthy slut," he growled deeply, spit springing from his lips with each sharp syllable.


The distraction was enough and Esther carefully but quickly extracted her wrist from his grasp, just in time to spot Gwen approaching, from the other angle. She wanted to call out... to tell Gwen not to interfere, but it was too late. The drink was spilled - a method they had been taught during their training - and words exchanged... words Esther could only imagine were meant to help, but in truth were more detrimental than Gwen would ever know.


The chill of the drink shocked the back of his neck and made him pull away from the bar completely. The anger in his face is enough to frighten but his clenched fists and panting, rage-fueled body were a sight to behold. "What the fuck, you inept c***?!" He barked at the bitch who drenched him.


He was so flustered by the stickiness dripping down his favorite jacket and the proximity of the women that in a burst of fury and, admittedly, mild panic, he shoved his palm hard at Mary's sternum to throw her to the floor.


"I think it's time we called the bouncer." She said, suddenly, a sternness in her tone, her eyes moving quickly to Gwen, "Now..."


Jay raised his hand to Gwen but turned his head sharply to glare at Esther when she spoke. For a brief moment he held a hint of his original amusement in his expression but it was quickly washed away by a grimace. He leaned across the bar to her again, head tilted at an angle as he growled privately to her. "He can't help you, pet."


Esther's eyes narrowed, and she leaned backwards, as he moved closer, "Then you haven't met our bouncers. Get out. While you can still walk."


"Meet you outside," he said with a wink that was horribly juxtaposed over his scowl. He lunged menacingly at Gwen as he slipped away from the women and marched towards the door.


When he had gone, Esther slumped, leaning against the bar, "...Fantastic."

 

[Elle Joyner]

Isabelle Lockwood

Isabelle's Loft

​

Her hand caught in his, Isabelle learned towards the strange man in her bed, smiling faintly at his unusual words. The way he talked made just about no sense at all. She spent her life around strung out junkies, who could barely form a coherent phrase, but there was something in the manner in which he formed sentences that was just... defiant against reason. He wasn't ignorant... he just wasn't like anyone else. The funny thing was, despite only spending a few hours with the man, she'd almost gotten used to it, an unusual concept, considering she barely understood normal people, who weren't possessed of such acute quirkiness.


"You've got me all figured out, hmm?" Chuckling softly, her fingertips dancing along his cheek, resting on the side of his face. When he leaned back, she straightened, taking a cup, herself and a slow, thoughtful sip. She almost felt comfortable, but that in and of itself was a frightening thought.


He continued again a moment later and Isabelle laughed, looking down at her wardrobe. She'd almost forgotten the sheet, until he mentioned it. It was certainly a fashion statement, "...Oh, this old thing? You think this is nice, you should see my comforter. But I don't think I'd make a very good model."


Green...


But then, that was her color, wasn't it... And how fine she had looked, in her dainty little dress, made from delicate leaves... sewn by hand. Her shoes, tips with bells... Those jingy, jangly bells...


"...Green, hmm? I don't think I own anything green, anymore." She said, distractedly. But a moment later, the blankets were thrown back and her attention once again returned. She smiled softly, shaking her head as he devoured the cookies, and her eyes rose when he did, following the line of his perfect, trim figure, her lip quirked upwards in a tight smirk, "There's a few places, up the street. Just past the Clock. But it's really early. All the stores are closed... You're just going to have to find another way to pass the time, till they open."

 

[Ayl]

Sebastian W. Scathelocke

Getting Reacquainted

Clasping his hands together, letting them sit gently upon the dinner table, just a few inches from the silverware that was set out for them, Will's face donned a smirk, as his gaze trailed off as he tried to recall his activity from the past 6 centuries that did not involve hunting, spying and killing his targets. "Well, despite never actually believing I will accomplish it, I fulfilled my wish to see the world, from since I was but a boy. All the way from the monks of Tibet to the Pyrenees, to the icey plains of Greenland and the hot dunes of Sahara.". Fixating Johnna again with his eyes, he leaned in closer and whispered: "I've even been to the mysterious Bermuda Triangle. I won't spoil it, but you should see it one day!".


Reverting to his original position, he continued to relate his adventures. "While you were no doubtly having fun with your treetop roommates," he said in a jokish tone "I was fighting the good fight for numerous causes. It was a good way to keep in shape!" he joked again. "All that running, and singing and..." his cheerful voiced stopped as flashes of piles of bodies upon bodies invaded his mind. "And death..." he mumbled. Shaking his head, he regained the smirk he lost for a few seconds and watched Johnna once more.


"So, about those hotel accomodations. Know any good establishments here I can call and arrange something? Do not worry about payment, I got that part covered!" he winked again.


At that moment he heard something curious coming from the 'happy' couple at the other side of the table. Something about a 'real reason', but Will didn't catch the full context. Still, the word 'real' was enough to catch his attention. Afterall, he did not come here just for the pleasure of seeing them all again, and now it seemed that neither did Robin and his crew. The night promised to become much more interesting.