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Post by clouds just clouds on Feb 25, 2014 17:17:03 GMT -8
The bar scene was painful, but necessary. At bars people drank, and when people drank, their lips loosened up and gave Edmund all the details he needed to find his target. At the moment, he glared at the counter. The smell of alcohol teased him, but he denied it. All his boys left him, and when he finally woke up drunk, miserable, and alone, he decided to quit. Quitting was one of the hardest things to do. Quitting meant remembering, and wondering what he couldn't remember.
In a masochistic way, he thought it was a good thing that they all left. At night he would force himself to go through every painful thing he did to those boys--because they weren't his anymore, he lost that right--and then when that wasn't enough, he replayed everything his own father did to him, and for the finally he went through the devastation of losing Ana. If nothing else brought him to tears, that always did. But beating his boys--no, not his--always caused tears of guilt to trickle free from his tired eyes.
Alcohol covered all that up, but it also ignited his anger. That anger is what made him beat his children. "Sir?" The bar tender tapped the wood of the bar. Edmund lifted his eyes to a woman wearing very suggestive clothing. That crevice could bury the dead bodies Edmund piled. "I asked if you wanted anything sugar." She winked at him.
Edmund sighed, "I'm twice your age, don't call me sugar." He almost said it. Almost. Instead, he said, "No. Coffee, and water. I'm good."
She leaned onto the counter, and he leaned back. If she noticed, she didn't show it. "Why do you come to a bar if you don't drink?" The bar tender gave him an alluring smile.
"Why do you wear clothes if they don't cover anything?" Edmund shot back. The woman's cheeks flushed, but before Edmund could let her say anything, he said, "I'm looking for a man. Gregory Carrollton."
"Take a look around the bar," the woman glared at Edmund. "Maybe you will hear something." She left him with that, which made Edmund half want to pull a bullet on the woman, just to scare her, but that would ask for too much attention. With a long sigh, he turned and stood up from his place at the bar. He looked around, looking for his target.
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Post by Dina Doo on Feb 25, 2014 18:06:15 GMT -8
The bar was not the place one would find a young teen, a teenager who wasn't old enough to even have a drink. Among the crowd of drunken men, the ones who boasted loudly and had a good time, this young teen slithered through the crowd. He was young, small, still had the potential of hitting a growth spurt. Despite the strong, powerful wings that were hidden under his shirt, this boy looked weak, fragile. He looked lost, innocent, though it was only a ploy. At least, some of it was. Hidden beneath the pretend feeling, fear burned brightly.
This strange young man would occasionally stop in front of a strange man, ask for something -it may have been hard to hear, he spoke in such a quiet, stuttering voice- and simply walk away when the stranger he asked shook their heads.
What was such a young one doing in the bar? That was a secret known only by the boy, and perhaps the civilians in the bar who knew of him. In that case, the boy's intentions and his business were no secret. This young man was a prostitute. And he was searching for his next client.
Perhaps, he found the man he was looking for sitting in the farthest reaches of the bar. "E-excuse me," the young teen stuttered, looking as weak and vulnerable as he always did, something he found his clients liked. Anything to get money. But the stutter, he found, had become real out of fear and shame. "A-are you Gregory Carrollton?"
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Post by clouds just clouds on Feb 25, 2014 18:43:58 GMT -8
Gregory glanced up with a bored expression. He had an aristocratic face. His skin was smooth marble with a small scar on his high cheek bone. He had eyes as clear as water--except they were a muddy green. His dark hair, tipped black, hung in loose curls around his face. He looked expensive, and he wore expensive clothes. "Yes. Who is asking?" His eyes dropped and looked Cyril up and down. If he liked what he saw, he didn't show it. But he did. He started clenching his thighs, if you catch my drift.
Edmund slipped through the crowd. Even if he was a commanding presence, that was quenched by the drunk fools around him and his shortness. More than once he was elbowed and smacked. He caught the wrist of the person who slammed him, resisting the urge to break it. "Excuse me, do you know where Gregory Carrollton-"
"Some kids wazzz asking fer him!" The male-maybe-female giggled. "Thert way!" She pointed.
Edmund wondered what a kid wanted with Carrollton. From what Edmund knew, the guy was bad knews. He was the type who had followers, peope who worked under him because he could guarentee safety for pickpockets and so on. He was the leader of an anonymous gang--a small one, but still. He had a big price on his head.
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Post by Dina Doo on Feb 25, 2014 19:08:26 GMT -8
The man's appearance didn't intimidate Cyril so much. He preferred not even bother with appearances. It was best not to remember the faces of the people he was ultimately sleeping with. The money was all he needed. That was it. A part of the act included a blush when he noticed the man taking in the sight of him. But much of the act had merged with real feelings and the blush held shame. "I-I'm Cyril Sinclair... I-I was told to meet you here? Y-you're my next client, right?" Cyril swallowed the bile that was building up in the back of his throat, but he could not suppress the burning fear that tore down his spine and ruffled the feathers on his wings, but that was hidden.
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Post by clouds just clouds on Feb 25, 2014 20:52:09 GMT -8
Gregory tilted his sharp chin up, a smirk filling his placid face. "Ah, yes. I hope to make this quick, so don't dwadle, but do make it joyful for me, will you?" He glanced across the table he sat at, a few lesser men smirking because they knew what Cyril was and why he was there. Gregory leaned over to one of the men and muttered not-so-quietly, "He is shaky and a bit weak. I doubt if he has anything down there." The men laughed, staring at Cyril as if they could undress him with a mere glance.
Gregory stood. His height was impressive. He stood about six feet. "Shall we go then? I assume you got a room with the money forwarded to you." He paused and leaned over to the men. "Make sure everything gets sorted out. Check the shipment." He knocked his knuckles in the table and moved with a very slight, almost unseen, limp. Edmund spotted it right away, and he spotted Cyril too. He wondered if that was the child searching for Carrolton.
Edmund assumed the kid was asking to join, probably a run away. Maybe even a slave with the way he rattled on his bones. His assessment of the kid was mostly that he was skinny, weak and definitely not someone who would last long in a gang. His heart cringed. Skinny? Shaky? A picture of Elijah cut behind his vision and blinded him with a hot mess of pain. He's probably dead. His search for the boy had turned out nothing. That thought always occured to Edmund, but along with the shriek of anger that stirred him. Oh, how he longed for a drink! He would give in, later. And that would cause Scott his dog, but that was later. Wasn't it?
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Post by Dina Doo on Feb 26, 2014 5:35:55 GMT -8
"Y-yes, I got the room," he muttered quietly, dropping his gaze for a moment to avoid the glances of the other men. And yes, in that very room, in the bathroom he had hidden something away, something he hoped would be alright until 'work' was over. To distract himself from the thoughts, Cyril began to calculate the money he had and the money he was to receive. Maybe he had enough for a decent breakfast the next morning instead of snacks from a vending machine.
But then he followed after the man, doing his best to ignore the gazes of the others who sat at the bar, the ones who smirked, the ones who knew the boy and what he was going to do. Maybe, if Cloudy wants, the hotel wasn't really that far away.
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Post by clouds just clouds on Feb 26, 2014 9:22:11 GMT -8
Gregory followed Cyril the entire way, except he held his head up and without shame. When they came to the hotel, he didn't frown at its appearance. His face remained quiet and impressive. Little did he know, the entire way a gunman followed them. Not once did it occur to our little Edmund that this child, this boy was a prostitute. He was focused on his target, watching the man favor his left leg instead of his right, and so on. Gregory leaned on the wall beside the door, waiting to be let in. "Where are you from?" He mostly was making mindless conversation--just to get Cyril to speak. In all honesty, he found the kid's stuttering amusing, and cute.
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Post by Dina Doo on Feb 26, 2014 14:15:56 GMT -8
Cyril was slightly surprised as many of his clients never bothered to make conversation with him. Though, he wasn't at all expecting them to care; he knew they didn't care. The sooner they got to the hotel room, the sooner they could get what they want. And Cyril was left to feel like a filthy animal. "O-oh... I-I'm from Letha.. D-dropped out of school and ran away to Eloria.." Since they arrived at the door and he had the key, Cyril stepped forward and pulled the hotel key from his pocket. Once the door opened, Cyril stepped to the side and waited for Gregory to enter first. The poor boy's heart pounded in his ears, like it always did when he was with a client because every time he did this, he was as afraid as he was the first time.
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Post by clouds just clouds on Feb 26, 2014 15:09:28 GMT -8
"What a gentleman!" Gregory's eyebrows lifted. He smirked, "Interesting. I was born and raised in Eloria." He waved his hand in the air to dismiss the subject of himself. That was probably the most information he wished to give out. As soon as they entered the room, he looked around. "No wine?" Gregory eased down on the bed and worked on taking his shoes off. "I don't want to waste any more time, and I'm sure you don't want to either. Let's get started then, shall we?" He smirked up at Cyril. "I hope you don't mind. I don't like taking my socks off." He waved Cyril closer to him. "Lock the door, 'do not disturb' sign."
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Post by Dina Doo on Feb 26, 2014 15:47:09 GMT -8
"I-I'm not even old enough to drink," Cyril stuttered quietly, glancing down at his feet for a moment. He was still until he forced himself to move again, moving towards the door. He did as he was told, first putting the sign outside the door then locking the hotel door. Cyril turned around and began to head back towards the man sitting on the bed. Only, the young teen paused for a moment, his pale purple eyes darting over towards the bathroom door that was closed. What was behind there was only known to him. Before drawing attention to himself and what was in the bathroom, Cyril stepped closer to the man as he was instructed to.
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