I sort of feel like I should be writing out someone trying to buy a car or a house on an expired credit card, but I think we're very, very close to the end of this tale now and we should get there. Maybe even before December starts!
Discredited “Put the knife down,” said the tall man. His voice was hoarse and strained. “At the very least we should talk first.” “This blade loosens tongues,” said Guilliamo. He waved the knife in a figure-8 pattern in front of him, despite the fact there were several metres between him and the tall man. “So talk, and we’ll see how effective it is.” Next to him, the man with the briefcase sneered. “That knife discredits your excuses,” he said. “Let’s see what you say when we cut down to the bone.” Famine laid a bony hand on Guilliamo’s shoulder. For a moment there was a feeling of unresolved tension, like an elastic band stretched almost to snapping point and held, and then the tension began to drain away as though the elastic band were being gradually released. “I have a business to run,” said the tall man. “I can’t just give things away for free. These are expensive, custom-made. We can talk about a discount, but… but it won’t be much.” “Brave of him,” said War, nodding in approval. “Calculated retreat, sensible man. Got a good head on his shoulders.” Guilliamo shook his head but failed to dislodge Famine’s hand. “I,” he started, and then stopped. The man with the briefcase looked at him, and for a moment something black and gold seemed to be swimming in his eyes. “You’re not changing your mind, bro, right?” he said. He had a New York accent, strong enough to make War and Pestilence wince. “We agreed, this guy can afford it.” “I,” said Guilliamo again, and stopped. “I’m not angry,” he said, manging the words on the third try. He set the knife down on the shelf behind him. “Tony, what’s been going on here? Why… why are we down here and not in the office?” Tony snarled, something only Guilliamo and the Incarnates saw, and then all the blood rushed from his face leaving him as pale as a snowdrift. “Tony?” said Guilliamo, and then Tony collapsed on the floor in a dead faint. Famine took his hand off Guilliamo’s shoulder and gestured upwards. “You do it this time, sis,” he said to Scuffles. “This one’s over and won, let’s get to the next one.” Behind him, War picked the hunting knife up off the shelf, turning it over in his hands and examining it. The Incarnates rose through the air, and through the ceiling, until they were standing in the lobby. “Not even a wobble,” said Pestilence. “Nice work, li’l bro.” “Teapot, sis,” said Famine. “What’s with the souvenir, fam?” “A strange description of a knife,” said War. He sounded like he wasn’t really paying attention. “A blade that loosens tongues. And there are oddities in this blade, things that aren’t metal. I am curious as to where that pismire got it.” “Keeping it, sis?” “Oh yes.” War looked up with a smile. “I have the perfect collection to add it to.” Pestilence tapped Scuffles on the shoulder. “Next scuffle, please,” he said. “Same themes.” Scuffles concentrated, hunting for ivory in the night.
As the train rocked its way across England, Emily wondered who, exactly, they were fleeing. "Tell me, mother, who are these enemies of yours who pose such a threat to us?"
Her mother turned from the window slowly. "My former assistant. She turned on me after I found her falsifying the reports on how much each heist brought in. She was siphoning off the top and I could no longer trust her, so I fired her. She resents it."
3 comments:
I sort of feel like I should be writing out someone trying to buy a car or a house on an expired credit card, but I think we're very, very close to the end of this tale now and we should get there. Maybe even before December starts!
Discredited
“Put the knife down,” said the tall man. His voice was hoarse and strained. “At the very least we should talk first.”
“This blade loosens tongues,” said Guilliamo. He waved the knife in a figure-8 pattern in front of him, despite the fact there were several metres between him and the tall man. “So talk, and we’ll see how effective it is.”
Next to him, the man with the briefcase sneered. “That knife discredits your excuses,” he said. “Let’s see what you say when we cut down to the bone.”
Famine laid a bony hand on Guilliamo’s shoulder. For a moment there was a feeling of unresolved tension, like an elastic band stretched almost to snapping point and held, and then the tension began to drain away as though the elastic band were being gradually released.
“I have a business to run,” said the tall man. “I can’t just give things away for free. These are expensive, custom-made. We can talk about a discount, but… but it won’t be much.”
“Brave of him,” said War, nodding in approval. “Calculated retreat, sensible man. Got a good head on his shoulders.”
Guilliamo shook his head but failed to dislodge Famine’s hand. “I,” he started, and then stopped. The man with the briefcase looked at him, and for a moment something black and gold seemed to be swimming in his eyes. “You’re not changing your mind, bro, right?” he said. He had a New York accent, strong enough to make War and Pestilence wince. “We agreed, this guy can afford it.”
“I,” said Guilliamo again, and stopped. “I’m not angry,” he said, manging the words on the third try. He set the knife down on the shelf behind him. “Tony, what’s been going on here? Why… why are we down here and not in the office?”
Tony snarled, something only Guilliamo and the Incarnates saw, and then all the blood rushed from his face leaving him as pale as a snowdrift.
“Tony?” said Guilliamo, and then Tony collapsed on the floor in a dead faint.
Famine took his hand off Guilliamo’s shoulder and gestured upwards. “You do it this time, sis,” he said to Scuffles. “This one’s over and won, let’s get to the next one.” Behind him, War picked the hunting knife up off the shelf, turning it over in his hands and examining it. The Incarnates rose through the air, and through the ceiling, until they were standing in the lobby.
“Not even a wobble,” said Pestilence. “Nice work, li’l bro.”
“Teapot, sis,” said Famine. “What’s with the souvenir, fam?”
“A strange description of a knife,” said War. He sounded like he wasn’t really paying attention. “A blade that loosens tongues. And there are oddities in this blade, things that aren’t metal. I am curious as to where that pismire got it.”
“Keeping it, sis?”
“Oh yes.” War looked up with a smile. “I have the perfect collection to add it to.”
Pestilence tapped Scuffles on the shoulder. “Next scuffle, please,” he said. “Same themes.”
Scuffles concentrated, hunting for ivory in the night.
As the train rocked its way across England, Emily wondered who, exactly, they were fleeing. "Tell me, mother, who are these enemies of yours who pose such a threat to us?"
Her mother turned from the window slowly. "My former assistant. She turned on me after I found her falsifying the reports on how much each heist brought in. She was siphoning off the top and I could no longer trust her, so I fired her. She resents it."
Greg - ooh, the end approacheth. I am both excited and not wanting it to come, as I have grown used to the company of these guys.
Morganna - and so the tale continues, gaining more depth and texture as it goes. An enjoyable ride, to be sure.
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