The Bar

[countingfingers 111]

Kid, don't kill Fart-cough, he seems to have a great backstory.

I was afraid of killing him off, but I left it in the hands of his owner. Either he flips a coin like I did, or he lets the man live by choice.

Edited March 7, 2016 by countingfingers

[AEsob 26]

 

Kid, don't kill Fart-cough, he seems to have a great backstory.

I was afraid of killing him off, but I left it in the hands of his owner. Either he flips a coin like I did, or he lets the man live by choice.

 

 

Mokrie, take my advice don't flip a coin, let him live.

 

AEsob

[countingfingers 111]

 

 

Kid, don't kill Fart-cough, he seems to have a great backstory.

I was afraid of killing him off, but I left it in the hands of his owner. Either he flips a coin like I did, or he lets the man live by choice.

 

Mokrie, take my advice don't flip a coin, let him live.

 

AEsob

Maybe I should reverse the roles. Or possibly let them get lightly wounded. I dunno, I'm just brainstorming here. I should configure it.

[AEsob 26]

Lightly wounded sounds better imo

[countingfingers 111]

Still, I liked the notion of killing off the likeable characters, leaving the reader feel hollow, enraged, or just saddened. We'll have to discuss this with Morkie.

 

I'm perfectly fine with my character ending one way or another, hence the coin flipping, since she's kind of expendable.

Edited March 7, 2016 by countingfingers

[AEsob 26]

Yeah well, Trenchcoat and Rudra need to have a full blown argument and a fight first.

 

Still, up to Mokrie

Edited March 7, 2016 by AEsob

[countingfingers 111]

That I'd pay to see. Wonder what Morkie's thoughts. Should I flip a coin for my character's fate again or would you like to choose?

Edited March 7, 2016 by countingfingers

[AEsob 26]

She lives.

[countingfingers 111]

Righto. I was a little fearful of flipping the coin, fearing it would be heads.

 

Sorry for throwing the burden of my character's fate onto your lap like that. My sincere apologies.

Edited March 7, 2016 by countingfingers

[AEsob 26]

Well, let curiosity for once not kill the cat

[countingfingers 111]

Hope we can say the same for Fart-Cough. Gah, now I feel so guilty placing him in such a situation. f*ck.

 

Well, I'm afraid I may have tarnished something that had potential.

Edited March 7, 2016 by countingfingers

[AEsob 26]

Then change it, what's the edit button for?

[countingfingers 111]

It's been done. Everything that happens to Trench-Coat is on Morkie's decision.

 

Besides, we don't even have a definite name to go by on his character. It would be a shame to dispose of him.

 

 

Sorry, Morkie and AEsob, I'm afraid I didn't the whole event thoroughly. I'll be sure to take more precaution next time.

[AEsob 26]

Hey, don't be so apologetic, come on. We're not your bosses, we sure as hell won't fire you, or fire at you. Although in Rudra's case I can't be so sure.

[countingfingers 111]

It's just in my nature. I'm far too apologetic for my own good, I suppose. It's not that I'm feeling that I'm being pressured into doing it, it's that I feel oblivious that I thought that killing of a character so early on was a good idea.

[AEsob 26]

Right, let Mokrie come in and we'll have a discussion about what we do next.

 

AEsob

[Ziggy455 678]

I'm pretty sure if you want him to live, you can re-edit it now while you have the chance before more stories become intertwined.

[AEsob 26]

It's done ZIggy.

 

Holy sh*t, look at the number of posts and views...not too bad for a four day old topic eh?

 

AEsob

[Ziggy455 678]

Seems we're gonna bring some life back to WD after all.

[AEsob 26]

Yeah, this place needed some of the traffic back.

 

Not many Writer's coves left on the internet...most of them were wiped out by some secret writer holocaust.

 

AEsob

[Ziggy455 678]

As the whiskey went down slowly, and Kieran’s attention was focused more on the bar and its patrons, Sal Brutelli tried to think back to a time in his left where he was genuinely happy with things. Not the kind of supposed acceptance of reality, but genuinely joyful of something in his life. He had his boxing title, he thought.

 

Well he did. Back in those days he’d been one of the greatest, the stuff of legend, and had actually held the heavyweight champion title for all of two matches when it was stolen away by the Italian Protégé Joey Allen. That was back at the time the world stood toe to toe with him, and his had aims beyond drinking and feeling sorry for himself in dingy sh*tholes like the one surrounding him.

 

He hadn’t fought in years, and the accumulation of fatty foods and booze only worsened his condition. He remembered times where he ate protein like it was going out of fashion, and would spend hours at the gym, slaving away, toiling, crying, forcing the pain out with blood, sweat, tears; all within the morning workout.

 

It was only when he met Matilda that he began to wane and after the embarrassing two round knockout defeat from Joey, he lost the title, and soon after he lost Matilda, ironically, to a man named Joseph Allan. He was a born-again Christian who volunteered Wednesday church sessions with her. When he caught them in the act, her hands on his flat buttocks in the church confessional and her mouth around the remnants of a once erect penis, he only felt ashamed for her. Joseph was older than him, bald, with thick glasses and had an aroma of sudocream on him.

 

“You got no fight in you, you worthless wretch,” was the words that always came back to him. The last words he heard from Matilda before the divorce papers.

 

He poured himself another glass and heard the faint swinging of the double doors as more voices rang out.

 

From down the bar he eyed a thin, middle-aged businesswoman who stuck out here like a cheetah in a den of lions. She was taut with a Halle Berry-boyish cut, with one hand on a glass of Guinness and another wrapped around her phone which was glued to her ear. From across the way behind her sat two men that seemed to be staring at her just a little too much. The foam head of her drink was almost to the bottom, and she didn’t seem to notice the eyes firmly cemented on her.

 

It was almost ten minutes later when she slammed down her empty glass, tipped Molly a ten, and slipped out of the bar with her phone still in her hand. The two men took off immediately after her as Molly strolled over to him. The two guys shoved past him and Molly yelled after them but they took off. “They with her?” asked Sal.

 

“Naw. They came in after her.”

 

There was something building inside him then. He felt like there wasn’t something entirely okay with what was happening. It was probably nothing until he heard Molly speak out.

 

“Oh, she left her bag.”

 

Click. Like a punch straight to his gut, he saw a flash of light and jumped up from his chair, sending the stool flying as he gripped the bag and yanked it. “HEY, HEY SAL!” screamed Molly. “What the f*ck!?”

 

If they weren’t gonna steal her bag, what were they going to do?

 

He shot out of the doors with a thud and fell forward into the snow. Up ahead, near a pylon that held up the old train-tracks above, there was a figure standing by, and another two seemed too close for comfort together. What am I doin’? He ran through the snow wildly towards the pylon.

[AEsob 26]

Ooo, I can feel the tension building up...

 

EDIT: Well, the weather is fluctuating kinda hard, isn't it. It's raining one time and then heavily snowing next.

 

So, personally I don't have continuity issues, but just thought it'd be better to point it out.

 

AEsob

Edited March 7, 2016 by AEsob

[Ziggy455 678]

I think it's just snow. Could just put a weather table claiming if it's raining, snowy or whatever so there's continuity.

[AEsob 26]

Mokrie entered when it was raining...so yeah, the continuity chart seems like a good idea.

 

AEsob

[Mokrie Dela 2,833]

The man weakly pushed Rudra aside. "Trust me, I've eaten enough bullets to know how to treat the wounds." He pulled his collar down, exposing a nasty-looking scar on the side of his throat.

 

He looked at the woman's wounds, pulling her top up and pants down. Blood tricked down her buttock, and for a second he admired the view. The wounds werebt that bad, but it needed treatment.

 

"Help me take her back to the bar. I'm sure they'll have a first aid kit but the kitchen will have a knife and what I need. I also need some needle and thread." He fought the persisting cough brought on by the tear gas. "Jesus, Tom, what the hell happened? Someone spell it out for me. We came here to take out the assassin sent after Red-rum, here"

 

"Rudra," the Indian corrected.

 

The woman smiled. "I want more fun." Her smile faltered, sadness and tiredness enveloping her face. Her head fell backward, into Rudra's hands as she fell from consciousness.

 

"We need to get her to the bar, now," the man said.

 

"I'll go nick a car," Tom said, running off.

 

"Hey," Rudra said, pointing at the man's arm. "You're shot."

 

The man looked down, seeing a dark red blotch on his sleeve. He shrugged. "That's not shot." He showed his throat scar again, pointing at it. "That's shot."

 

Rudra said nothing, looking around at the carnage. He looked back at the unconscious woman. "She going to make it?"

 

The man nodded. "I reckon so. Once I get her to the bar, I'll take her upstairs, Tom will fetch me what I need - maybe you can help; get me a bottle of the strongest stuff they have."

 

"Not the time to get drunk."

 

"You're better than that. It's to clean the wound. Once that's done and we close it up, she'll just need rest and she'll come to."

 

Rudra shook his head. "This was meant to be a simple job."

 

"No job ever is. Anyway, simple jobs aren't worth it. Look, I might not like you, and I can punch that nose back into shape if you want... But you're not a bad shooter. Not a bad trick to have, being better than you appear. Me and Tom? Were among the very best there ever was, and that's not arrogance." He sighed. "We got something coming up, we may need your help on."

 

Rudra nodded, the thought of good money tantalising. "What about her?"

 

The man reached down and, with a gentleness that didn't fit him, brushed the woman's hair from her face. With his thumb he stroked her forehead.

 

"My kind of woman. The kind that'll slap your face while she bounces, you know? A bite here or there."

 

"You're both psychos; you're made for eachother."

 

"Maybe we'll cut you both in."

 

An engine revved and Tom appeared through a wound down car window. Wordlessly, Rudra helped the man carry the woman and set her on the back seat. The man waved Rudra to the front seat. He remained in the back, keeping the woman secure, her head turned by his hand so he tongue wouldn't choke her. He wanted that pleasure for himself. Something told him she'd never experienced that before, and that she'd love it. Fifty shades of grey, but with a real man, not a skinny lady boy.

 

He smiled at the fantasy as Tom jerked the car into the traffic-less road.

 

He felt tired. Just one more job, he told himself. Then one more prize in the crazy lady, a night she's never forget, and he could check out after.

 

Just hold on, old man.

 

 

"Use the back door." The voice woke him from some sort of daze. They were at the bar, parked down a side alley. Tom and Rudra were carrying the body to the back door. The man hurried through the front, shoving the bouncer aside and literally grabbing the barman from over the bar. He pulled him, sliding glasses and bottles to their shattering doom. He dragged the man into the kitchen and gave his orders. The man read between the lines; he didn't want anyone dying in the rooms upstairs. He followed, handing the tools and alcohol to Tom.

 

"Give us space," the man said. Tom and Rudra stepped back.

 

"Mate," Tom said, handing Rudra a ten dollar bill. "Ditch the car in the river will you. Get a cab back here and buy yourself a strong drink.

 

Rudra nodded and scurried out of the room ss the man ripped off the woman's clothes, underwear and all.

 

"Nice, huh?" he said.

 

"Give her some dignity," Tom protested.

 

"Her clothes are covered in dirt, sweat and dried blood. They need to go. Go get a sponge and some water. I need to clean her down when I'm done." He rolled her over, his hand gently squeezing her buttock. He then grabbed the tools and alcohol and set about removing the bullets, and closing the wounds. Once done, he washed her down, taking pleasure in cleaning her chest, though he wouldn't touch the holy grail without permission. Good things come to those who wait, he told himself. Then he dried her and left her snugly cacooned in the bedsheets. He left a shot glass and the strong alcohol on the end table beside her.

"Now we let her rest. If she's strong enough, she'll wake up. Or she'll give up."

 

"Let us hope."

 

"I need a f*cking drink," the man coughed. And left the room, "Oh, and I thought we could use these two on our next job."

 

Tom blinked. "That's a big call."

 

"It's a big job."

 

 

Elizabeth location: upstairs room. Status: unconscious

Rudra location: out of bar (disposing of car) status: alive

unnamed man & Tom location: main bar. Status alive.

Edited March 7, 2016 by Mokrie Dela

[AEsob 26]

That was good. Wait, just remembered...Rudra had a G36c and 5 magazines, a bulletproof vest and his Sero GM-6 Lynx in that Dead Drop...we'll need it if we want to kill more people.

 

BTW, the drop was locked biometrically and rigged to blow if opened by force, so forget about it, random people who want it for themselves.

Edited March 7, 2016 by AEsob

[Mokrie Dela 2,833]

Off topic random chat doesn't belong in this topic, fella. Keep all content of all posts 100% related; either post your segment or a discussion about the ongoing stories.

[AEsob 26]

Your wish is my command, oh lord. *WHOOSH*

[countingfingers 111]

It had been over an hour of unconscious slumber, but her she'd finally returned to the land of the living. With her eyes still shut, she pulled her hand out from the blankets and began rubbing her face, dragging her fingers along the roots of her hair. She could still feel the irritation from the tear gas. The leather strapped along her eyes seemed so rough and textured on her palm.

 

Wait, she thought, where am I? Her eye flew open, examining her surroundings. Her peace quickly came to a close when the realization that she was bare in a room crossed her mind. "Those bastards," she muttered, pushing herself upwards," They better have not-"

 

The jump from her awakening sent a sharp pain to her back, she hissed because of it. She instinctively sent her hand to soothe the pained area, feeling stitches darting to and from the straight line that was her now-sealed gun shot wound. It felt tender and cold. They stripped me down for this? She felt desecrated and violated.

 

The liquor on the table beside her seemed to catch her attention. Perhaps as an excuse to wash away with the shame. She shoved the shot glass off the table, sending it to the opposite end of the room. It shattered into pieces, leaving a trail of sharp glass on the floor that the residents would probably need to clean.

 

She uncorked the bottle and chugged a heavy gulp, letting some of it spill on the weathered mahogany floor. She curled her face due to the strength of the alcohol, nearly vomiting the booze out.

 

------------

 

She sat up straight, marvelling over what an amazing night it had become, grinning with ecstasy. She curled herself into a fleshy human ball, encased by the dull, grey blanket. The hard alcohol succeeded in enhancing her pain tolerance, for she didn't even feel the wound throb.

 

Everything was amazing. The gun shots robbing all the sound, the smell of blood and gun powder blending with the burning sensation of the tear gas all felt so amazing. She gripped her body tightly as though she was still in these memories.

 

"Why'd it have to end so soon?"

Edited March 13, 2016 by countingfingers

[SRB 14]

Kieran shook his head multiple times towards Tyrell as he stood over him in the front door. "Bad spot to rob lad" the irishmen snorted as he raises his fist, ready to pummel Tyrell. His eyes closed "This is gonna suck, I deserve this." The door flung open, and a man rushed past the two, pushing Kieran out of his way. This was an opportunity and Tyrell took it. He bolted, hitting the door like a linebacker sprinting down the street. A block down, he turns his head looking behind him for the irishmen, but doesn't see him pursuing. "Why is he not chasing me?" Tyrell just didn't know when to stop pushing his luck. He had to go back, he had to see what the reasons were for not chasing him. Walking around the back, he see's a crooked nose man driving off. "The f*ck is goin' on?" He enters through the back door, silently. He swiftly moves around the entirety of the bar, keeping a close eye out for Kieran. "Give her some dignity" he hears from a room, before then peeking into it. Inside this room there were a few men with a women, who lay on a table bare. "Dirty bastards" he thinks to himself. "Couldn't even get more private?" He ascends the stairs, making his way back to the balcony.

 

Location: Second floor balcony.

 

Incase any of you were wondering, my character basically just witnessed the the surgery on Elizabeth.

Edited March 8, 2016 by SRB