[Deleted]

WORDS: 662 | Theme: Reckless | NOTES: Scene, causing a Scene.

Eyes traveling upward over the spray painted symbol, Scene tilted his head to the right carefully, as though his mind were taking pictures of the sign so he knew how draw it himself, if necessary. On his head was a solid white mask, made of cast iron. There was not dicernable way to remove it, as though it had been welded on at some point in his life. Crystal green eyes were heavy with thought as he proceeded to roll up his sleeves. The man was not large, or imposing. He didn't cut a threatening figure by any sense...but he had this strange air of confidence bordering on lunacy. It was as though nothing could touch him, despite the truth of his flesh and blood. As he continued rolling up the white sleeves of his arms, he revealed fresh, slightly red tattoos, from the wrists up to the tops of his shoulders.

On his right arm, a chess board, with a screaming woman who's face bled into a skull. Around them and up to the shoulders were a myriad of other images, his sleeves covered them however, as his rolling terminated just above the elbow. On his left arm was an image of Saint Michael, the angel, piercing the devil who lay squirming at his wrist. As he looked down at the body of the spray painter who's life he'd just taken, he'd crouch to examine the body. Any sign of tats, anything that indicated true loyalty to the Spades.

"Hey....what did you do to him?"

Scene continued to rummage through the mans pockets, but would respond. Best not to be rude. "I put him to sleep." The guy walked up and put a hand on Scene's shoulder, griping cloth and hurling him backward with enough force to cause him to smash into the building and flop onto the ground. He spat blood, coughing a little from the position on his hands and knees. A super. One with some strength. He sniffed, hocking a snot ball out with blood. "Now....that wasn't very nice." The man was a body builder, clearly intent to put more muscle on top of the mountain he'd already formed. Scene returned to his feet. wearily.

"You don't attack the Spades and get away with it."

Scene's brows rose.

"Oh, so you are real spades then? You see, I didn't really picture you as the types to spray paint signs on the wall or stop to bruise every injustice against your organization. Bulls fighting fleas and all that..." he noticed the confused look, and tsk'd. "Oh....you poor dear. You have no higher capacity for understanding. A big dog with a small leash. Very well."

The man had already bent his knees with intent, so clearly his words were getting to him. He hurled his body forward, so Scene would dive forward feet first, drop kicking the man just below the kneecap, causing him to tumble face first over the masked man to smash his head into the wall. Scene came back over as the fellow woozily shook his head. "All bark, and such a little bite." He'd grip the mans hair, digging his fingernails into the skin by his enemy's nose and giving a wide arching scratch, ripping his flesh so that three deep cuts would form, and were likely to scar. The fellow let out a blood curdling scream.

"If you truly are Spades....tell whoever commands you that I'd like to meet, right here, in three days. One PM. I will bring the lunch. If they refuse....then this little love mark will be all you'll remember me by, I suppose."

He'd let the guy go and grin as his body would sizzle out of existence, leaving behind a slight crackling to the air.

***********************

Seated on a blanket, legs criss-cross apple sauce, Scene sat among a plethora of foods, with rather expensive wine. On the blanket next to him was a gun- baretta, 9mm FS. He waited patiently, as the clock rang over to one, watching the entrance to the alley.

And if you're still breathing

you're the lucky ones. cause most of us are heaving through corrupted lungs.

credit to nat of adoxography.

[Jack Fontaine]

Nobody Don't you know who I think I am? + @scene

"Your first mistake was attempting to piss off the Spades." The figure that walked into the alleyway was shorter than Scene, skinnier too, with nothing about them that could be considered physically intimidating. They were, presumably, the last thing that Scene had been expecting. Jack knew that they would have been the last thing that they were expecting in Scene's situation. Not that they would ever have been in that kind of a situation. They'd come prepared to this one... of course. "You know enough about them to know they really exist, so you should know not to piss them off." They walked down the alleyway, glancing idly about them as they did so. They didn't look particularly impressed, their expression, not quite fastidious, but certainly displaying their displeasure at Scene's choice to host here. After all, there were so many more hygienic out of the way and abandoned places that were not quite as distressingly attired as this alleyway was. "Your second mistake was flashing your power so obviously." They sat down opposite Scene, not even glancing at the gun, but spending rather more time inspecting the wine. They raised an eyebrow, "A little heavy for my taste." They picked at the food Scene had brought with them, pulling a grape from a bunch and popping it into their mouth. It was sweet, refreshing, clearly an intentionally picked counterpoint to the wine. They took a second, but instead of eating the fruit, played it back and forth between the long fingers of one hand. "It's quite a wonderful ability by the way. What's your limit? Three, four dozen?" They shrugged, "It would be an interesting exercise, to see just how much power you need to hit your upper limit. At what point do you just stop? And when do you just… give out?" Jack tossed the grape into the air, put their head back, and laughed, almost childishly, as the grape bounced off their cheek. They seemed not in the least bit bothered by the embarrassing failure. They picked up another grape, simply eating this one. "Looks good though. Always liked a flashy ability. Except not really…"

© seadra of gs