Write Off; battle Ihavenoideaanymore
Who: Ric and Emma
Where: HellFire!Verse
Prompt: Inspired by this
Rating: PG
Word total: 1,224
Warnings: None really. Sorry
--
The cherry tip of his cigarette glows brighter as he inhales through the filter, holds the breath for a moment before exhaling, smoke swirling around lithe tan fingers that pinch at the body. The phosphorous yellow of the street light casts a dull beam of light, around which the darkness lurks at the edges, waiting like a caged beast to pounce upon its victim until the next shaft of light breaks its hold.
The streets aren’t all that busy around here, there’s no one out at this hour of the night, no one who you’d want to cross paths with anyway. Especially in this part of the city.
Someone yells further up the street, a fight breaking out between a group of people but he doesn’t speed up to get involved, doesn’t slow down to survey the carnage as he passes. Three guys laying into another, the spatter of blood across the pavement and road pools rich and red. A girl screams, another joins in with the fight, trying to break it up but gets a slap to the face for interfering. Julio just lets it happen. They’re not his friends. He doesn’t care about any of them. So it’s not his fight. Not his problem.
That’s the only way to survive around here. Keep your head down, nose out of other people business and pretend that you know nothing, saw nothing, heard nothing and will say nothing. Julio learnt that growing up the hard way, got himself a few broken noses and busted ribs but now? Well things are different. Those kids won’t know who he is, not when he keeps his shoulder hunched up and the duffel bag slung across his shoulder close to his body. He’s got a place to be and a timeframe in which to get there, no point lingering to talk to them, point out that he doesn’t like curb-side fights in his patch. He’ll just send someone back, tell them to go clean up the mess and make sure that the kid wasn’t anyone of importance; he’s got more important things to do.
The steady echo of his footsteps provide a baseline beat for distant sound of sirens wailing, the occasional passing car and the barely there murmur of television sets turned up too loud for paper-thin tiny apartments which are crammed close together. Julio turns down one of the dark and dingy alley-ways that break up the monotony of run-down buildings and shops, providing a black gaping hell into hells bowels.
It takes a few moments for his eyes to become accustom to the dark, the only light at the end of the tunnel provided by a flickering EXIT sign, illuminating a rusted door. The words have been worn away over time, flecks of peeled paint and rust litter the floor and float on the oil and dirt slick puddles that provide a mini-moat around the bottom step. Discarding his cigarette butt with a sizzle into the nearest puddle, Julio raises a fist, bangs on the door to a staccato beat and waits.
The peep-hole slides open with a clang, there’s someone peering out but Julio doesn’t speak, doesn’t make any comments, just waits. It snaps shut with an equally loud noise and then hinges that haven’t been oiled in years creak and groan in protest as they’re forced to work, the door opened wide enough to allow Julio to slip in with his duffel bag. He doesn’t linger to talk to the person behind the door, just takes the stairs, two at a time and pushes open the beaten wooden door.
A steady base beat vibrates through the floor, matching Julio’s steps as he strides down the hallway and pushes open another door. It’s a myriad of corridors and doors, a labyrinth that would confuse and lose those who don’t know it off by heart. It takes Julio no time whatsoever to navigate his way up to the higher floors which connect the stretch of buildings together. Most of the doors and hallways he walks are those leading to apartments, wallpaper peeling and stairwells stinking of vomit and other bodily functions, squalor at its finest.
The door looks like any other, numbers hanging at an odd angle and it takes a little skill to jimmy the key in the lock before it clicks and swings open. Checking the hallway up and down, Julio shuts the apartment door, bolts and dead-locks it and finally leans back against the smooth wood. He takes a moment, catches his breath and lights up a new cigarette, before crossing the room to the window which looks out onto a fire escape. Stepping out onto the creaking metal frame he clambers down the ladders and jumps the last few feet where the steps are raised off of the ground.
At the end of this alleyway the street is bustling and alive with noise and people, cars race by and neon lights advertising ALL NIGHT ENTERTAINMENT and D-list or Z-list celebrities appearing at various venues. Julio tugs off his jacket, lays it over the duffle bag and straightens his black shirt, sliding his sunglasses up to perch on the top of his head and joins the throng of crowds that line the sidewalk.
The queue for the Hellfire Club snakes its way past him, guys and girls in various states of inebriation, tottering on high heels and laughing loudly at some joke or other. Julio ducks under the red rope, grinning and clasping hands with the bouncers as they greet him. Someone complains in the queue and is immediately tossed out, much to Julio’s amusement as the guy gets put in his place. Weaving his way through the crowd, hands grasping the strap of the duffle tightly, Julio makes his way to the STAFF ONLY door alongside the bar and swipes his ID card.
Emma’s office is sound-proofed so she doesn’t have to put up with the music in the club if she doesn’t want to, she sits behind her desk listening to something less invasive on her personal sound system. She barely bothers to look up from her notes as Julio enters, chucking his jacket to lay across the back of the leather sofa.
“Everything go alright?”
Julio flashes Emma a grin as he dumps the duffle beside her desk and heads over to the liquor cabinet, making both of them up a cocktail before setting it down in front of Emma. He perches on the edge of the desk, sipping at the edge of salt edge glass, chasing a drop of alcohol with his tongue as it streak down the side. “Obviously.”
One hand wraps around the crystal stem of the cocktail glass, the other rests on Julio’s knee, perfectly manicured nails scratching up and down his thigh in a soothing gesture. “Aren’t you just a darling.”
This is how it works between them, Emma calls on Julio to run some of the errands that she doesn’t trust anyone else with. They’re not the type of jobs where people need to disappear but they usually involve a transaction or deal where she can’t be seen to be the front woman.
Of course, Julio does whatever is asked of him, no questioning what is being asked of him at all, he just does as Emma requests. Always has and always will.
Where: HellFire!Verse
Prompt: Inspired by this
Rating: PG
Word total: 1,224
Warnings: None really. Sorry
--
The cherry tip of his cigarette glows brighter as he inhales through the filter, holds the breath for a moment before exhaling, smoke swirling around lithe tan fingers that pinch at the body. The phosphorous yellow of the street light casts a dull beam of light, around which the darkness lurks at the edges, waiting like a caged beast to pounce upon its victim until the next shaft of light breaks its hold.
The streets aren’t all that busy around here, there’s no one out at this hour of the night, no one who you’d want to cross paths with anyway. Especially in this part of the city.
Someone yells further up the street, a fight breaking out between a group of people but he doesn’t speed up to get involved, doesn’t slow down to survey the carnage as he passes. Three guys laying into another, the spatter of blood across the pavement and road pools rich and red. A girl screams, another joins in with the fight, trying to break it up but gets a slap to the face for interfering. Julio just lets it happen. They’re not his friends. He doesn’t care about any of them. So it’s not his fight. Not his problem.
That’s the only way to survive around here. Keep your head down, nose out of other people business and pretend that you know nothing, saw nothing, heard nothing and will say nothing. Julio learnt that growing up the hard way, got himself a few broken noses and busted ribs but now? Well things are different. Those kids won’t know who he is, not when he keeps his shoulder hunched up and the duffel bag slung across his shoulder close to his body. He’s got a place to be and a timeframe in which to get there, no point lingering to talk to them, point out that he doesn’t like curb-side fights in his patch. He’ll just send someone back, tell them to go clean up the mess and make sure that the kid wasn’t anyone of importance; he’s got more important things to do.
The steady echo of his footsteps provide a baseline beat for distant sound of sirens wailing, the occasional passing car and the barely there murmur of television sets turned up too loud for paper-thin tiny apartments which are crammed close together. Julio turns down one of the dark and dingy alley-ways that break up the monotony of run-down buildings and shops, providing a black gaping hell into hells bowels.
It takes a few moments for his eyes to become accustom to the dark, the only light at the end of the tunnel provided by a flickering EXIT sign, illuminating a rusted door. The words have been worn away over time, flecks of peeled paint and rust litter the floor and float on the oil and dirt slick puddles that provide a mini-moat around the bottom step. Discarding his cigarette butt with a sizzle into the nearest puddle, Julio raises a fist, bangs on the door to a staccato beat and waits.
The peep-hole slides open with a clang, there’s someone peering out but Julio doesn’t speak, doesn’t make any comments, just waits. It snaps shut with an equally loud noise and then hinges that haven’t been oiled in years creak and groan in protest as they’re forced to work, the door opened wide enough to allow Julio to slip in with his duffel bag. He doesn’t linger to talk to the person behind the door, just takes the stairs, two at a time and pushes open the beaten wooden door.
A steady base beat vibrates through the floor, matching Julio’s steps as he strides down the hallway and pushes open another door. It’s a myriad of corridors and doors, a labyrinth that would confuse and lose those who don’t know it off by heart. It takes Julio no time whatsoever to navigate his way up to the higher floors which connect the stretch of buildings together. Most of the doors and hallways he walks are those leading to apartments, wallpaper peeling and stairwells stinking of vomit and other bodily functions, squalor at its finest.
The door looks like any other, numbers hanging at an odd angle and it takes a little skill to jimmy the key in the lock before it clicks and swings open. Checking the hallway up and down, Julio shuts the apartment door, bolts and dead-locks it and finally leans back against the smooth wood. He takes a moment, catches his breath and lights up a new cigarette, before crossing the room to the window which looks out onto a fire escape. Stepping out onto the creaking metal frame he clambers down the ladders and jumps the last few feet where the steps are raised off of the ground.
At the end of this alleyway the street is bustling and alive with noise and people, cars race by and neon lights advertising ALL NIGHT ENTERTAINMENT and D-list or Z-list celebrities appearing at various venues. Julio tugs off his jacket, lays it over the duffle bag and straightens his black shirt, sliding his sunglasses up to perch on the top of his head and joins the throng of crowds that line the sidewalk.
The queue for the Hellfire Club snakes its way past him, guys and girls in various states of inebriation, tottering on high heels and laughing loudly at some joke or other. Julio ducks under the red rope, grinning and clasping hands with the bouncers as they greet him. Someone complains in the queue and is immediately tossed out, much to Julio’s amusement as the guy gets put in his place. Weaving his way through the crowd, hands grasping the strap of the duffle tightly, Julio makes his way to the STAFF ONLY door alongside the bar and swipes his ID card.
Emma’s office is sound-proofed so she doesn’t have to put up with the music in the club if she doesn’t want to, she sits behind her desk listening to something less invasive on her personal sound system. She barely bothers to look up from her notes as Julio enters, chucking his jacket to lay across the back of the leather sofa.
“Everything go alright?”
Julio flashes Emma a grin as he dumps the duffle beside her desk and heads over to the liquor cabinet, making both of them up a cocktail before setting it down in front of Emma. He perches on the edge of the desk, sipping at the edge of salt edge glass, chasing a drop of alcohol with his tongue as it streak down the side. “Obviously.”
One hand wraps around the crystal stem of the cocktail glass, the other rests on Julio’s knee, perfectly manicured nails scratching up and down his thigh in a soothing gesture. “Aren’t you just a darling.”
This is how it works between them, Emma calls on Julio to run some of the errands that she doesn’t trust anyone else with. They’re not the type of jobs where people need to disappear but they usually involve a transaction or deal where she can’t be seen to be the front woman.
Of course, Julio does whatever is asked of him, no questioning what is being asked of him at all, he just does as Emma requests. Always has and always will.