Post by Krähe on Aug 30, 2018 21:19:27 GMT -5
[All Off Camera Obviously]
Part 1: Devil’s Tattoo
A black hardtop 1967 Chevy Impala winds its way down city streets,gliding over asphalt like a predator formed from black metal.
Its destination...the open road.
The steel beast is just as eager to leave behind the overly bright lights, and smothering population of the city.
It isn't long before the streetlights that once chased across car’s sleek body become fewer. The sounds of sirens and horns give way to the sound of wheels turning and wind blowing through the open windows.
The near silence is interrupted by the sound of the radio being turned on to Black Rebel Motorcycle Club's “Beat the Devil's Tattoo”. The band croons along to the highway whine with all of its garage rock glory.
To some this would be a dreaded ride, either too boring, or at worst unsettling. Humanity has a habit of shying away from the silence. They facilitate their unconscious war on silence by filling the void with senseless chatter, and singing along to their favorite songs when alone.
The man behind the wheel...is not singing.
“There is no peace here
War is never cheap dear
Love will never meet here
It just gets sold for parts
You can not fight it
All the world denies it
Open up your eyelids
And let your demons run”
He was content to let the soulfully gritty vocals wash over him. What was once white noise to block out the distractions of the city, is now something to be enjoyed for the moment...or hour.
The time didn't really matter, as he wasn't in any particular hurry to reach his destination. He would get there when he got there.
The bright red cherry at the end of his rolled cigarette burned brightly in the darkness of the cab. A plume of smoke fills the air with the heady smell of whiskey tobacco, before spiriting away with the wind.
A scarred hand flicks the remainder of the cigarette into the night. It's landing on the asphalt marked by minuscule explosion of embers. Wind pours through calloused fingers like water. It's as soothing as it is biting, a little bit of heaven mixed with a bit of hell...
He craves these simple moments of transition where one is simply whatever they are at the moment. Perhaps he’s like those men that dream about sailing the ocean, but instead of a sailboat he has the Impala. Instead of the ocean he has the highways...a sailor of highways.
The moment is interrupted by sudden muffled yells and banging from the vicinity of his trunk. The sound of his unwilling travel companion has him turning the volume up.
No, he is more like a pirate. Captain Asshole has a rather nice ring to it.
The thought causes a dry chuckle to break the silence. He runs a hand through his dark tousled hair, and settled in for a long ride.
Part 2: Prayers for the Devil
The early hours of the morning found our vagabond man stretched out in the beat up both of a dinner. One of those small establishments that never closed and could be found in every corner of the country.
He was there for two things: business and ice cream. Not precisely in that order mind you.
Lovingly nestled in the palm of his hand was a bowl of ice cream. More specifically a veritable mountain of ice cream, whipped cream, chocolate fudge, gummy bears, rainbow sprinkles, and cherries...multiple cherries.
He is currently the only customer in the establishment, which leaves the solitary waitress on staff ample time to ogle him from the counter. Her eyes watching every scoop of his spoon as it enters his mouth, and the cream is licked away.
The man is equal parts sin and boyish charm a deadly combination for the female heart. Despite the distressed quality of his clothing he carried himself with a careless confidence and ease. There was no doubt in her mind that he would walk into any high end restaurant wearing the same faded blues jeans and scuffed leather boots without a second thought. Handsome devil would pull it off too.
After all, when he had looked up at her with his dark hair mussed and grey eyes full of lazy mischief, she’d been ready to give him more than ice cream.
He could have asked her for the register in that same polite manner that he requested his ice cream...Well maybe not the register, but she was honest enough with herself to admit she would happily drop her panties with a simple please.
She was admiring the way his canvas jacket stretched across his broad shoulders when the sound the bells on the door jared her. Another customer at this hour?
The man that moved his large frame carefully through the door was as out of place as the previous customer was at home. The gentleman wore what could only be a custom navy blue suit that was obviously tailored to fit his massive muscled form.
She was relieved when the man didn't even bother to acknowledge her while heading directly to the only other customer in the diner. Releasing a breath she didn't realize was holding she could only shake her head in disappointment. It was always the sweet devil’s that got themselves into the most trouble. She’d say a prayer that this time he hadn't bitten off more than he could chew. Sometimes the devil is the sinner that needs prayers the most.
With another sigh and shake of the head, she turned her attention back to filling the salt shakers.
Part 3: With sprinkles on top
Z cursed under his breath as the mountain on legs made his way towards his booth. He should have known better than to take this ”delivery”. He’d had an odd feeling in his stomach from the moment he answered the damn phone, but the money was too good to resist.
How could he have been such a stupid asshole? A huge alarm should have gone off the moment he was asked to escort a fucking clown (literal clown) to the middle of nowhere in his trunk. Then again how could he resist something so bizarre that paid so well. Stupid Z, you are a stupid asshole.
His new dinner companion snagged a nearby chair, and dropped it down next to the scuffed up wooden table. Clearly he wasn't about to limit his mobility by squeezing himself into the booth. Mentally Z cursed again, of course out of all the dumb muscle in the world he had to get the one that was smart.
Looking up Z allows a lazy sardonic smirk that twisted the corners of his mouth.
“Of all the waffle joints in all the towns in all the world Jay, you had to walk into mine.” The adapted quote was delivered with a Bogart impersonation, and just enough edge to let the newcomer know he wasn't entirely welcome.
However, rather than looking annoyed the giant arched eyebrow, but was otherwise unruffled.
“Butchering Casablanca now Krähe? Not even classic cinema is sacred to you.” Chuckling with amusement because he knew it would dig under Z’s skin, Jay settled his large frame into the chair comfortably.
“It's been too long Krähe, how have you been?” While the polite question was asked amicably enough, both men knew that in that moment neither truly gave a fuck if the other lived or died.
This was just a dance. A stupid dance that Z loathed with a passion, and he knew the only reason Jay was taking the steps to do so was to agitate him.
“I dunno Jay, I'd say it hasn't been long enough, but hey my nonexistent wife and kids are doing great. How are you? Let me guess, you are living your best life?” He didn't miss a beat with his words, and somehow managed to maintain the line between outright challenge and his typical smartass humor.
Eyes growing colder Jay allowed a slow smile to spread across his lips. That was the problem when dealing with Krähe. He could never tell whether the man made him want to laugh or strangle him. Perhaps he could do both at the sametime, but then the boss wouldn't like that.
Biting back a sigh, Jay decided to reply in kind rather than upset his employer. It was time to move this meeting along.
“Too right, I am living my best life and your nonexistent wife keeps my cock wet every night you're away from home.” The fact that this was delivered with all seriousness with such a pleasant tone, forced a surprised laugh from Z.
He may not particularly like Jay, but he did have more respect for him than most.
“Are you done now?” Jay gruffly asked feeling that the ice had finally been broken.
A careless wave of the spoon before it was dug into more ice cream gave the go ahead to continue with business.
With a grunt of acknowledgement Jay pulled out a small manila envelope and a phone from somewhere in his coat.
The envelope was set on the table, and the phone was soon ringing. The moment the call was answered Jay passed the phone to a suddenly very serious Z.
“The last time I spoke to you, I was arrested in Japan...I know I was released that is not the point...Of course it was fun, who wouldn't want to do that with a monster truck? That is not the point.”
For the first time since he entered the diner Z was starting to visibly appear flustered.
“I don't know what the point is!” Taking a breath Z took a moment to calm himself, before a look of perplexity crosses his face.
“Yes I have the clown, and I am eating ice cream.” Grunting when he hears that he is indeed going to be fully paid without issue he takes another bite of his ice cream that he was reminded of.
“What the hell is Valor Pro and why do you care?...Fair enough. What’s in it for me?” Glancing over at Jay he gives a small nod of the head with a bemused look. The larger man shrugged in reply clearly saying. If the boss is happy I really don't care or need to understand.
“Ok, I’ll play along for now, but on one condition.” Turning in his seat he quietly whispers into the phone in a childish conspiratorial manner that had Jay rolling his eyes.
When finished the phone is handed back to Jay with a gesture for him to talk. With a slight sense of dread the giant complies. Dutifully he listens in silence annoyed silence before grunting his compliance into the phone, and hanging up.
After tucking the phone away once more he looks at Z with pure venom.
“Krähe, will you pretty please join the wrestling federation Valor Pro on behalf of my employer…” Z arched his eyebrows, and Jay ground his teeth for a moment before continuing. “Pretty please with sprinkles on top?”
Chuckling with true mirth Z nods his head and sets his bowl aside. A twenty dollar bill joins the bowl on the table, both paying his bill and leaving a generous tip.
Jay hands him the envelope with a silent scowl, and Z is happy to take it with a grin.
“By the way why did I kidnap a clown anyways?” Z asks his voice tinged with curiosity.
“Because it's funny.” Jay’s immediate blunt reply causes Z to shoot him a sideways glance. “Trust me just leave it at that you don't want to know.”
Considering the man’s employer Z decided Jay was probably right, and so he let the topic drop.
The last thing the waitress heard as they leave is a deep voice saying “I hate you.” followed by devilish laughter.
-The Beginning
Part 1: Devil’s Tattoo
A black hardtop 1967 Chevy Impala winds its way down city streets,gliding over asphalt like a predator formed from black metal.
Its destination...the open road.
The steel beast is just as eager to leave behind the overly bright lights, and smothering population of the city.
It isn't long before the streetlights that once chased across car’s sleek body become fewer. The sounds of sirens and horns give way to the sound of wheels turning and wind blowing through the open windows.
The near silence is interrupted by the sound of the radio being turned on to Black Rebel Motorcycle Club's “Beat the Devil's Tattoo”. The band croons along to the highway whine with all of its garage rock glory.
To some this would be a dreaded ride, either too boring, or at worst unsettling. Humanity has a habit of shying away from the silence. They facilitate their unconscious war on silence by filling the void with senseless chatter, and singing along to their favorite songs when alone.
The man behind the wheel...is not singing.
“There is no peace here
War is never cheap dear
Love will never meet here
It just gets sold for parts
You can not fight it
All the world denies it
Open up your eyelids
And let your demons run”
He was content to let the soulfully gritty vocals wash over him. What was once white noise to block out the distractions of the city, is now something to be enjoyed for the moment...or hour.
The time didn't really matter, as he wasn't in any particular hurry to reach his destination. He would get there when he got there.
The bright red cherry at the end of his rolled cigarette burned brightly in the darkness of the cab. A plume of smoke fills the air with the heady smell of whiskey tobacco, before spiriting away with the wind.
A scarred hand flicks the remainder of the cigarette into the night. It's landing on the asphalt marked by minuscule explosion of embers. Wind pours through calloused fingers like water. It's as soothing as it is biting, a little bit of heaven mixed with a bit of hell...
He craves these simple moments of transition where one is simply whatever they are at the moment. Perhaps he’s like those men that dream about sailing the ocean, but instead of a sailboat he has the Impala. Instead of the ocean he has the highways...a sailor of highways.
The moment is interrupted by sudden muffled yells and banging from the vicinity of his trunk. The sound of his unwilling travel companion has him turning the volume up.
No, he is more like a pirate. Captain Asshole has a rather nice ring to it.
The thought causes a dry chuckle to break the silence. He runs a hand through his dark tousled hair, and settled in for a long ride.
Part 2: Prayers for the Devil
The early hours of the morning found our vagabond man stretched out in the beat up both of a dinner. One of those small establishments that never closed and could be found in every corner of the country.
He was there for two things: business and ice cream. Not precisely in that order mind you.
Lovingly nestled in the palm of his hand was a bowl of ice cream. More specifically a veritable mountain of ice cream, whipped cream, chocolate fudge, gummy bears, rainbow sprinkles, and cherries...multiple cherries.
He is currently the only customer in the establishment, which leaves the solitary waitress on staff ample time to ogle him from the counter. Her eyes watching every scoop of his spoon as it enters his mouth, and the cream is licked away.
The man is equal parts sin and boyish charm a deadly combination for the female heart. Despite the distressed quality of his clothing he carried himself with a careless confidence and ease. There was no doubt in her mind that he would walk into any high end restaurant wearing the same faded blues jeans and scuffed leather boots without a second thought. Handsome devil would pull it off too.
After all, when he had looked up at her with his dark hair mussed and grey eyes full of lazy mischief, she’d been ready to give him more than ice cream.
He could have asked her for the register in that same polite manner that he requested his ice cream...Well maybe not the register, but she was honest enough with herself to admit she would happily drop her panties with a simple please.
She was admiring the way his canvas jacket stretched across his broad shoulders when the sound the bells on the door jared her. Another customer at this hour?
The man that moved his large frame carefully through the door was as out of place as the previous customer was at home. The gentleman wore what could only be a custom navy blue suit that was obviously tailored to fit his massive muscled form.
She was relieved when the man didn't even bother to acknowledge her while heading directly to the only other customer in the diner. Releasing a breath she didn't realize was holding she could only shake her head in disappointment. It was always the sweet devil’s that got themselves into the most trouble. She’d say a prayer that this time he hadn't bitten off more than he could chew. Sometimes the devil is the sinner that needs prayers the most.
With another sigh and shake of the head, she turned her attention back to filling the salt shakers.
Part 3: With sprinkles on top
Z cursed under his breath as the mountain on legs made his way towards his booth. He should have known better than to take this ”delivery”. He’d had an odd feeling in his stomach from the moment he answered the damn phone, but the money was too good to resist.
How could he have been such a stupid asshole? A huge alarm should have gone off the moment he was asked to escort a fucking clown (literal clown) to the middle of nowhere in his trunk. Then again how could he resist something so bizarre that paid so well. Stupid Z, you are a stupid asshole.
His new dinner companion snagged a nearby chair, and dropped it down next to the scuffed up wooden table. Clearly he wasn't about to limit his mobility by squeezing himself into the booth. Mentally Z cursed again, of course out of all the dumb muscle in the world he had to get the one that was smart.
Looking up Z allows a lazy sardonic smirk that twisted the corners of his mouth.
“Of all the waffle joints in all the towns in all the world Jay, you had to walk into mine.” The adapted quote was delivered with a Bogart impersonation, and just enough edge to let the newcomer know he wasn't entirely welcome.
However, rather than looking annoyed the giant arched eyebrow, but was otherwise unruffled.
“Butchering Casablanca now Krähe? Not even classic cinema is sacred to you.” Chuckling with amusement because he knew it would dig under Z’s skin, Jay settled his large frame into the chair comfortably.
“It's been too long Krähe, how have you been?” While the polite question was asked amicably enough, both men knew that in that moment neither truly gave a fuck if the other lived or died.
This was just a dance. A stupid dance that Z loathed with a passion, and he knew the only reason Jay was taking the steps to do so was to agitate him.
“I dunno Jay, I'd say it hasn't been long enough, but hey my nonexistent wife and kids are doing great. How are you? Let me guess, you are living your best life?” He didn't miss a beat with his words, and somehow managed to maintain the line between outright challenge and his typical smartass humor.
Eyes growing colder Jay allowed a slow smile to spread across his lips. That was the problem when dealing with Krähe. He could never tell whether the man made him want to laugh or strangle him. Perhaps he could do both at the sametime, but then the boss wouldn't like that.
Biting back a sigh, Jay decided to reply in kind rather than upset his employer. It was time to move this meeting along.
“Too right, I am living my best life and your nonexistent wife keeps my cock wet every night you're away from home.” The fact that this was delivered with all seriousness with such a pleasant tone, forced a surprised laugh from Z.
He may not particularly like Jay, but he did have more respect for him than most.
“Are you done now?” Jay gruffly asked feeling that the ice had finally been broken.
A careless wave of the spoon before it was dug into more ice cream gave the go ahead to continue with business.
With a grunt of acknowledgement Jay pulled out a small manila envelope and a phone from somewhere in his coat.
The envelope was set on the table, and the phone was soon ringing. The moment the call was answered Jay passed the phone to a suddenly very serious Z.
“The last time I spoke to you, I was arrested in Japan...I know I was released that is not the point...Of course it was fun, who wouldn't want to do that with a monster truck? That is not the point.”
For the first time since he entered the diner Z was starting to visibly appear flustered.
“I don't know what the point is!” Taking a breath Z took a moment to calm himself, before a look of perplexity crosses his face.
“Yes I have the clown, and I am eating ice cream.” Grunting when he hears that he is indeed going to be fully paid without issue he takes another bite of his ice cream that he was reminded of.
“What the hell is Valor Pro and why do you care?...Fair enough. What’s in it for me?” Glancing over at Jay he gives a small nod of the head with a bemused look. The larger man shrugged in reply clearly saying. If the boss is happy I really don't care or need to understand.
“Ok, I’ll play along for now, but on one condition.” Turning in his seat he quietly whispers into the phone in a childish conspiratorial manner that had Jay rolling his eyes.
When finished the phone is handed back to Jay with a gesture for him to talk. With a slight sense of dread the giant complies. Dutifully he listens in silence annoyed silence before grunting his compliance into the phone, and hanging up.
After tucking the phone away once more he looks at Z with pure venom.
“Krähe, will you pretty please join the wrestling federation Valor Pro on behalf of my employer…” Z arched his eyebrows, and Jay ground his teeth for a moment before continuing. “Pretty please with sprinkles on top?”
Chuckling with true mirth Z nods his head and sets his bowl aside. A twenty dollar bill joins the bowl on the table, both paying his bill and leaving a generous tip.
Jay hands him the envelope with a silent scowl, and Z is happy to take it with a grin.
“By the way why did I kidnap a clown anyways?” Z asks his voice tinged with curiosity.
“Because it's funny.” Jay’s immediate blunt reply causes Z to shoot him a sideways glance. “Trust me just leave it at that you don't want to know.”
Considering the man’s employer Z decided Jay was probably right, and so he let the topic drop.
The last thing the waitress heard as they leave is a deep voice saying “I hate you.” followed by devilish laughter.
-The Beginning