fatespoken | ∞ [ action post ]

Entry tags:

!ooc,
action

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✏ LOGGING: This is your thread for logging, whether spontaneous or plot-related, silly or serious. His normal haunts include shifts at the Blue Light, various city bars, cafes, random encounters, etc. Prose preferred, [] are fine too.

✉ TO SET UP: Just drop me a line at aeloriax[at]gmail.com or Y!M/AIM (listed in the post below) to give me a heads-up. I'm open to anything as long as it fits ICly.

TRACKING:
March;
Peter & Amory [ Blue Light ] ✯ this is a song lyric [ in progress ]

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[ Amory should take more precaution than he does, wandering the streets this time at night. It could be that kind of complacency that settles when you live in a place too long, and convince yourself that you're immune to its dangers.

The point is that Amory is walking home, cigarette perched between his lips, entirely unaware of the danger that lurks in this shadows. Within his visions, he may be privy to the lives and fates of victims, but he was rarely the victim. The City had tested him once with Frankie.

Circumstances would soon prove him wrong again. ]

[Target in sight. He keeps it quiet and cool, walking a distance behind. Chances are, being he's supernatural something something, he can detect someone around. Then again, it's a City full of people. No shit.

He follows a few streets, Larry doesn't want him to know wherever the hell he lives. Being in the area that's so familiar should be more than enough. The best time to strike he decides is while they're between streetlights. The victim, that's you Amory, will be able to see but not everything. In case he runs to the cops it could be too dark to get a full sketch. This is exactly what he's banking on.

Gun ready, he strikes. Two shots, no silencer. Hey, it's the City. This should not take long anyways.]

[ He's completely blind to White's presence, by virtue of the older man lacking any supernatural aspect. So when those two shots fire, it comes at a complete surprise. Amory's hardly the kind of man who can outrun bullets, and when he hears the double shots, the impact of the two bullets seem instantaneous.

And he screams like a motherfucker.

At first, he's not really feeling anything. It's panic. Shock dampens the impact, adrenaline kicked up with the ratchase in his heart, beating a hundred miles per hour. Pain's not alien to him, but each kind of pain's got a different name—a different bite. The pain from his blood comes like encroaching waves, building slowly and culminating in a sudden impact, then drawing back to repeat again. Getting shot twice in the legs would be different; it'd hurt more, since everything is felt once.

If he isn't screaming already, once the shock wears away, he'll surely be ripping his throat out. ]

[Scream all he likes, even make a plea. Chances are, that was the very last thing Freddy resorted to when he couldn't beat this piece of shit off of him.]

May as well can it, no one's gonna come running.

[Larry takes his time walking to the crumbled body on the pavement and he crouches, lifting him up by the hair none too gently before giving him a solid blow to the mouth with the knuckledusters.]

Don't seem so damn smug anymore do you?

You're a fucking lunatic.

[ He manages to squeeze the words in after the first knuckle to the face. His breathing is heavy and syncopated, with notes of pain pulling against the edges. He spits out a glob of blood.]

What did I do? Shit, Shit, you're a maniac-- fucking fate's whore. I've never done anything to you.

[ He's doing just as good of a job at eloquence, as he is at calling on his magic. It's pure performance anxiety. His magic rushes around him, there, but it slips away like a fish. He's unable to make a proper grab at it, unable to form it into anything usable.

Soon, pain supplants shock. It's the type of pain that feels like white, hot metal rods being driven into your brain, and there's no doubt that Amory is still crying in pain. ]

[One punch isn't enough? Well, alright. He'll dole out as many as it takes. Larry goes for another, probably getting flicks of blood on his shirt and jacket.

The sight of this much blood takes him right back to driving back to the heist. Freddy screaming and bleeding out, holding onto his hand like it'll do something. And now he's properly given the chance. The stranger's wails don't do anything for him.]

You fucked the wrong people.

[More blows to the mouth, for a moment he let's go of his hair to let him slump. The better to kick him in the gut.]

[ Amory's never played this kind of victim before. He's never been this vulnerable before another human. Sure, he's been punched in the face before. A guy like him? It'd be a miracle he hadn't once received a fist in the face. But this kind of unceasing physical abuse? He had been a fucking spoiled brat from Sea Cliff, San Francisco. All homeschool, first class trips, and clean golden bubbles. Even his powers and condition pose a different kind of threat, nothing this aggressive and painful-- nothing this immediately savage.

This was Darwin in motion. The fear of one creature who struggles under the force of another overpowering him. Alex would mock him for this, laugh at him, glower at him for letting a human overtake him. But Amory Felix doesn't care about that shit and hierarchy. ]

I'll make you fuck yourself with a goddamn pole, you fucking piece of shit. [ Smart? Not exactly. He can barely talk, and so the words are ground out low and fragmented. ] I don't even know what you're talking about, old man.

[For that little bit, Larry lugs him up as much as he can forcing him to attempt to stand on his useless legs right now. Before he drops like a sack of potatoes, he grabs a hold of his collar.]

It'll come to you, dumbass.

[He flexes is fingers straight then balled into fists around the metal at his knuckles. It's partially for show...but also because in the damp, cold morning he feels somewhat stiff in the joints. Nothing to write home about. He flies at his jaw again, connecting hard with his fist.

Give him a tooth, you motherfucker.]

[ There's only one thing; the obvious answer. Did biting someone really deserve this? It isn't even his fault. Amory believes that actions dictated by the City require no accountability.

But that's his perspective, and not one shared by this guy. Who was this guy anyway? The blonde guy's father? If that was really the reason, anyway. This could all be a fluke-- a case of mistaken identity. He didn't recognize his attacker at all. ]

I didn't do anything, you crazy son of a bitch.

[He reaffirms between globs of blood, spitting them out like candy against the pavement. Red, from his gums, dribble down his lips and chin. His screaming has ceased, but Amory's barely managing to strangle his cries. Posturing, posturing, his threats have no force if he's crying like a baby. ]

Fuck off.

[ He feels a tooth slide against his tongue. Shit. ]

Edited 2010-11-23 00:33 (UTC)

Spit it out.

[That's going to be the prize he takes home. Larry won't confess he was the one to do this, not unless directly asked by Freddy and Freddy alone. Merely presenting this should be admission enough.

Amory knows what he's done. And he'll be sorry for it for sometime. That's the point of it all.

Whether or not he tosses the tooth, Larry gets out the other bits of materials needed. He places the silver chain and cross about the writhing bastard's neck. And now for the garlic. He pulls it out like a prize.

Hungry?

[ The pain, fucking hell, the pain is unbearable, and White's not doing any favors with all the jostling he's been giving his body. Pulled up onto his ruined legs, punched in the face multiple times, and now, humiliation?

He's never experienced any antagonism- not physical, anyway- at his heritage. Now, it hits him like two bullets lodged into his thighs. He can't help but crack, ripping out another scream. The tooth slips out and drops onto the concrete. ]

You- [ He struggles to form the word, face contorted with pain. ] You... don't- You don't know shit.

[ Garlic and silver crosses? Really? He'd laugh if it wouldn't hurt ]

[The only satisfaction, Larry tells himself, is from the retaliation. It's just what he deserves. This has nothing to do with being damn proud to break a person down in a few moves. Or a blood lust.]

I'll take that as a yes.

[Without a bit of tenderness, he shoves the clove of garlic into Amory's mouth, whether or not he'll open up that's up to him. He'll keep shoving. Maybe there will be more loose teeth out of it.]

All of this, it's... it's a lie. Folklore and legends— misconceptions. I'm not-

[ His words are cut off by the garlic. Shoved deeper and deeper into his throat, it stimulates a gagging reflex. But he can't cough it back up, not when Larry keeps on shoving. So he chokes and gags, and resorts to breathing through his nose. The blood, clogged and drying in his nostrils, makes that a hard task. He pulls desperately at air, anyway, straining through the blood.

He doesn't want to die. Fuck, he doesn't want to die.

The fear burns sets a spark to every nerve, eclipsed only by the overwhelming shock of pain. ]

[One more good shove. There. That should shut him up. Larry stoops carefully. There's a chance Amory could be jerking his chain by playing the victim until the right moment. He's seen enough movies to believe that. The reason why he's crouching is to retrieve the tooth. He holds it up to the light between two fingers. Looks like a molar. Well. Not quite what he wanted but good enough.]

Simmer down now. It'll all be over soon.

[He reaches into the blazer trading the tooth for his Smith and Wesson's piece again. Slowly, Mr. White stands, pulling back the safety.]

Don't feel too good, huh?

[ What you're looking for isn't there, Mr. White, if elongated canines are your goal.

Embarrassment or shame doesn't even cross his mind. Those sorts of emotions become frivolous once you're lying on the concrete, bleeding to death. And Amory's far too weak to even try at his magic, with every effort akin to dragging a five-hundred pound weight. The smart thing would be to save his strength to mend his legs partially, but the prospect of even moving, no less reaching that far, seems insurmountable.

He moans throatily through the garlic, and refuses to cry.]

[See though, he didn't know that. That's just fine though. Looks like Amory won't be pulling any more unnecessary bullshit. Cursed or not. The barrel of his gun stays fixed at the prone man's head.]

I ought to just bust you open right here.

[One more moment, the gun fixes on him. Larry debates on firing again this time off target just so he could shit his pants. Looks like he's done enough though. Like clockwork he clicks the safety off and tucks the gun away.]

Now you listen to me, you piece of shit. I can and will come after you again if you so much as step a toe out of line. Today I'm gonna let you go. Think long and hard about what'll happen if there's a next time.

[Mr. White adjusts his coat, surveying the scene before turning away, back to the streetlight. Not a speedy get away. In case if this chumps got something to say, or some trick up his sleeve. Over his shoulder he calls out] Happy Thanksgiving, Asshole.

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∞ [ action post ]

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