The Best and the Worst

Joined: 3:59 AM - Sep 19, 2012

4:51 PM - Oct 22, 2012 #1

Simon sat down at the table. He'd come down here for some dealings, but he wasn't looking forwards to it. The place wasn't exactly the cleanest. He had placed his order a few minutes ago, studying the various clientele of the place. Some of them could pass as decently clean. Others might have just rolled in from the streets. All of them looked tired, as if it took more effort than it was worth to just keep breathing.

The platter arrived, a large burger with greasy fries piled around. He might have dug in if he hadn't been so suspicious of what exactly was in the meat. He sipped from the coke instead. Hopefully he would show up soon so Simon could get out of there and return to where the stench was better hidden.
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Joined: 3:22 PM - Sep 29, 2007

8:00 PM - Oct 22, 2012 #2

The short, blonde boy at his side had a deceptive air of harmlessness about him as they walked down the sidewalk at a pace Michael liked to think of as "controlled," in the way that most predators could hope to be "controlled" - meaning not at all. (Another deception, he supposed.) He tried to avoid looking at him, not out of an awareness of exactly how deceptive his apparent harmlessness was, but because today, this short, blonde boy was being unusually irritating. He insisted on always being a half step ahead of him, and kept passing him grins like some deranged puppetteer - that, as it happened, was all Michael saw when he looked at him. A deranged puppetteer who had long since lost control of all the strings he was meant to be pulling.

He was glad to reach the burger joint, where he could finally face the man after a sudden turn, plant a hand to his chest and authoritatively say, "Stay." After a moment's consideration, he added, "Try to be unobtrusive," after which he turned on his heel and went inside the establishment, ignoring the words that followed him on his way in. What's that supposed to mean?

In contrast, his gladness diminished substantially on those final few steps up to the table Simon had chosen. A cop, corrupt; the words had such a foul taste about them, but the aftertaste of necessity was also notable. He sat down opposite him without smile nor frown on his face, and regarded his platter of dead things with a level of blankness that could easily be construed as judgment - mainly because it was, without a doubt, judgmental. "Clearly," he started, arching a brow as his eyes lifted to meet the other man's baby blues, "You chose this place for its ambiance."


this wound cuts straight through me; I fear I shall never be whole again
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Joined: 3:59 AM - Sep 19, 2012

5:56 PM - Oct 26, 2012 #3

Simon's face remained blank as the man slid in across from him. The man who took a seat was neat, his hair styled with care. If it wasn't for the glint in his eyes Simon would think he belonged in the north end. Inside he felt something twist slightly. The man was disgusted with him. At least he was honest about it, and wouldn't try telling him any lies about how what they were doing was for the good of the people.

"It was close." He'd wanted a place that was fairly discreet as well, and even with the restaurant as it was none of the occupants would spare more than a passing look on those inside.
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Joined: 3:22 PM - Sep 29, 2007

5:16 PM - Oct 27, 2012 #4

He met his eyes with unforgiving blankness; there was a touch of indifference to it, like there was usually a touch of indifference to Michael's communications - or rather, to Snake's. Crossing his arms over his chest, he leaned back in the chair, slouching down in disillusioned-teenager style (and he had been, once, years ago; now he was simply surrendering to gravity) and using a nod to indicate Simon's food. "I hear the secret ingredient is spunk."

A stray strand of platinum blonde fell into his line of vision. Irritably - though his expression never left the realm of indifference - he pushed it out of the way and ran his calloused hand through the messy mop of chemically treated (or rather, mistreated) hair. He needed to cut it before it caused him enough annoyance that he started taking it out on the boys. It wouldn't be long; he'd find the scissors that evening and slash off some of the more troublesome strands. If he could be bothered.


this wound cuts straight through me; I fear I shall never be whole again
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