::when everything means nothing:: [Geebs]

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charade
Retired Staff

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Thinking

::when everything means nothing:: [Geebs] Feb 14, 2019 3:05:57 GMT -5

Post by charade on Feb 14, 2019 3:05:57 GMT -5

Sebastian clenched and unclenched his fist, looking at the scraping on his knuckles. He’d gotten into a fight with another vagrant over who got to sleep in the abandoned shack. It had taken him several more punches than he’d have liked to get the message across, but get it across he had! And, he’d even taken the other guy’s shirt. It fit well enough; maybe a little tight around the armpits until he had cut the sleeves off, but you had to take what you could get. The other guy had parted with it eventually. That was the problem these days. No respect. Sebastian blew out a sigh. If there was ever a sign that he needed to get a new crew together…

He rubbed his hands together and rocked on his heels. In the old days, he’d never put much thought into the kind of people he had in his gang. It had been enough for him for them to be loyal, and to know how to get their own food. His ideas of becoming a king, of ruling the alleyways had never really come to fruition. The farthest he’d gotten was taking over another gang, and then, then he’d fallen in love. Love was a poison, he decided. A drug. Nothing else had mattered to him but her. They would rule together, but first he had devoted all his time and energy to her. It had been euphoric.
Then, then it had killed him. Or rather, they had dressed her like a Capitolite and then killed her.

That worthless, good for the nothing waste of space from district one had decorated the field of battle with his beloved Zanita’s blood and brain matter, using a flamingo shaped mallet of all things. Sebastian thought his heart had stopped. Once the initial shock of the absurdity of it all had settled, it had given way to rage. Pure, and unbridled. Oh how he had caused a scene in the district square that day, screaming bloody murder, loudly proclaiming that if that Lumiere son of a bitch managed to win, he’d kill him. He’d cut off his head and shit down his throat, he’d cut his tongue out and force-feed it to him, he’d kill him, bring him back to life and then kill him again.

He didn’t know how long he’d carried on like that before collapsing to his knees out of sheer exhaustion, his throat raw from screaming and his face slick with the tears that had been streaming down his face. A couple days after that, he’d contemplated sending himself to join her, ending his life in a hail of bullets on a suicidal charge at the peacekeeper outpost. He’d even climbed to the top of the justice building with the intention of throwing himself off of it. Both times, his hand had been stayed by the memory of her face. Her voice. Knowing that she’d have killed him herself if he did something so asinine.

She’d want him to do all the things they had dreamed of doing together, of that much he was certain. He couldn’t besmirch her memory by throwing his life away. It wouldn’t solve anything. It was because of her that he hadn’t just stabbed fancy-pants in the alleyway and taken his stuff. Benedict, he reminded himself. It was why he was willing to listen to this job offer. If it was lucrative, then he could use the funds to start a real operation, something bigger and better than the street gangs he’d run with as a teenager. The black market? The thought of being a gun runner or a smuggler was appealing, more appealing than being a pimp in the red light district anyhow; though he couldn’t rule that out either.

No drugs though, that was his only rule. Drugs and alcohol deadened the mind, dulled the senses. Just look at how close Benedict had come to dying the other night. Yes, that was the one facet of the underworld he would have no part of. He had the muscle, he had the smarts, and he knew enough people in the business to have connections of a sort. Tangential maybe, but it was better than nothing. Sebastian sighed and pulled out the photo of the red-haired girl that the beanpole had given him. Who was she to him, he wondered. Was she his Zanita? His queen? Was she lost to the sands of time as well?

Or was she in the district but out of reach?

Sebastian had taken great pains to keep the photo from coming to harm, it was a talisman of sorts, his ticket to a better life. A reminder of what he’d lost. A low, rueful chuckle worked its way out of his throat. He had no pictures of Zanita. Anytime he wanted to see her, he’d have to watch reruns of the quell, and that was not something he particularly wanted to put himself through ever again. Even if some days he found that he couldn’t remember the way she smelled, or the comforting presence of her head on his chest.

Goddamn them! His hand was shaking and not because of the temperature.

He had no idea what had happened to the rest of the gang over the years. Dead was a good possibility. An extended stay in the detention center was another. Sebastian closed his eyes. What made a good gang? He’d need enforcers. People that knew how to fight. Runners to work as pickpockets, informants and the like. Maybe an attractive working girl or three to run the old honey pot scheme. His discussion with Benedict came to mind. Bodyguard. A protection racket? Claim some turf and defend it from all comers, keep the people that lived there safe.

It could work.

But he was getting ahead of himself. Someone was coming towards his lurking spot, and he was pretty sure that it was
in fact, the man he was waiting for.

It was.

“Kept your photo safe ah, mister benedict.” Couldn’t hurt to be polite. Man seemed like he was on the up and up, and he hadn’t even sic’d the peacekeepers on him for an attempted mugging.“So, lay it on me. You're the man with the plan.” He said with a grin, finding himself surprisingly eager to see what would happen next.

16 Jul 12, 23:43
GB: I bet you just sit at your computer with a tea cup and a monocle

sbeeg
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::when everything means nothing:: [Geebs] Apr 29, 2019 22:18:04 GMT -5

Post by sbeeg on Apr 29, 2019 22:18:04 GMT -5

Benedict Nolan

Morning light flooded into Benedict's room irritating the already irate headache thumping through the young man's head. His mouth was dry and he quickly chugged down the glass of water on his nightstand- a preemptive measure made by a very anxious, very drunk Benedict the night before. He'd slid into the apartment, dropped his keys on the floor and quickly began flying through his things trying to figure out how one hires someone else.

Benedict Nolan was a savant of gambling, a prodigy of back room dealings at such a young age, but it was the more common problems that gave him trouble. Like how to appropriately talk to your girlfriend, and how to avoid a mugging.

The now very hungover man stumbled into the living room peering down at a pile of crumpled up papers. He shoved them off the table and onto the floor revealing a final document he'd put together in the wee hours of the morning. A contract per say. After a brief read through, with plenty of brain breaks to give his vodka headache some breathing room, he decided it sounded pretty good. Sure the handwriting was sloppy in places, and he seemed to misspell bodyguard three different ways but he doubted Sebastian would mind. The man didn't seem like the one who worried much about grammar.

Benedict wondered suddenly if his new friend could read. Well, he'd certainly find out.

He made for the alleyway, a bag over his shoulder and his contract in hand. He wouldn't have thought about honoring such a decision made out of desperation and one too many vodka sodas, but evidently drunk Benedict had formed a loyalty. Giving away his snapshot of Alicia like that was risky, but no one had to seen his guts so it was a win win.

Besides, giving back to the district that was what good people did. Alicia was a good person. Risking her neck to get all the dirty details about district nine's worst.

Huh. Guess that means Benedict was one of the worst. Yeah, that checks out.

This was a way of being less worse. Helping out your fellow man, all that hand holding stuff, sing-a-long stuff.

Sebastian was already waiting for him with a prompt greeting complete with proper title. Benedict blinked. Seemed the brute learned some manners.

He must really need this.

"Afternoon Mr. Sebastian," Benedict said, giving a nod and returning the courtesy. He quickly pulled his handwritten contract out of his jacket and let it unravel before him. "I have brought a job contract for you to take a look at and if it works with you I'm glad to go into business."

He handed it over and remembered his fears over the man's education level.

"Basically, what you'd be doing is accompanying me to various gambling halls I may or may not have made enemies at and lookin' really scary. I doubt you'll come to blows with anyone, but if you do I've promised to take care of the costs to heal the accompanying injuries. You'd get paid weekly, or biweekly or really whenever you want I'm not picky. The only thing I ask is that you stick around for at least a year. Don't want to invest all this into a guard and start running my mouth only to have him ghost me two weeks in, ya know?"

He met the man's eyes giving a small smirk.

"And I do plan to run my mouth."

charade
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Thinking

::when everything means nothing:: [Geebs] Apr 30, 2019 0:35:24 GMT -5

Post by charade on Apr 30, 2019 0:35:24 GMT -5

Now that he was really looking, he could see the hangover in the man’s eyes. Benedict sure liked his vodka, a little too much considering how helpless he was even when he was sober. But then again, that’s what Sebastian was for. He greeted him and pulled a contract and a pen. Handwritten. Perhaps hastily so, he thought as he started to read the contents. He’d just barely gotten past the first line when Benny-boy started nervously explaining the contents.

It was simple enough work, stand around, look intimidating, fight if necessary. It was perfect for Sebastian. With the money he’d make doing this, he could start branching out. Hire a couple of enforcers and lockdown Bendict’s neighborhood from all comers. Now he’d just have to run a few things by Benedict, put some feelers out. Maybe after they’d been working together for a while. Now if only Benedict could stop flapping his –“

“And I do plan to run my mouth.”

Yeah, he was doing a bit of that already.

Sebastian made a show of not being able to comprehend the document in front of him, nodding sagely, squinting here and there and holding it upside-down for a moment before neatly signing it Sebastian Rothul, esq. in cursive.

“I’m homeless and prone to violence, not stupid.” He said with a grin. “And how drunk were you that you misspelled bodyguard three times, in three different ways?” Sebastian shook his head. At least he knew that this guy was serious about his proposition. Real deal bodyguard work intimidating the enemies that he’d known Benedict would have. He was even offering medical care, what a champ.

“Weekly is good.” He said after a moment, running a few quick calculations in his head. At that rate of pay, he’d have enough to hire someone of his own in several months. That was fine. He had mastered playing the long game. District Nine’s underworld would be his, one way or another. He’d forge an empire in the name of his lost love, and anyone who opposed him would die screaming. Sebastian’s eyes flicked over to meet Benedicts.

Of course, there was still the matter of working hours. It didn’t matter too much to him; he was available at any time of the day or night. “Two things first, do you have a spare bit of floor I can sleep on? I'm telling you now, its gonna get old real fast if you have to hunt through the alleyways and abandoned warehouses for me every time you need some muscle.”

It made sense of course, but most people weren't willing to suddenly find a roommate, much less one like him.

"The other thing...what's in the bag?"