there's a good reason these tables are numbered, honey //c+m

[gamemaker kelsier]

[presto][/presto]

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It is not surprising in the least that Cross is currently spending his day sitting on the legs of a young female in the main living area of her home. It happens a lot more often than one would think. The peculiar part lies in the fact that they are both fully dressed and neither are very much pleased. True to his name, his legs were loosely cross as he sat comfortably on her thighs, expression set in stone as he checked his watch for the hundredth time. Amity was supposed to be meeting him here a good ten minutes ago, she'd explicitly said, "I'll meet you at the hit's place in one hour." Here he was, literally on top of the situation and Amity was nowhere to be seen. Fucking typical.

He'd tied the girl's hands tightly behind her back and once she'd started trying to roll away he'd taken a seat on top of her, ignoring the grunt of pain she'd produced as he had landed heavily on her legs. If it weren't for Amity's lateness he would have informed the girl minutes ago of the prize she had won herself just for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. However, he couldn't care less if she knew the reason for any of this or not. It wasn't his job to babysit people, nor was it to care about how they were feeling emotionally.

He'd followed her home from the shootout, actively ignoring the screams f the dying grunt he left behind to die in the street like a dog. The grunt was no longer of use and he did not care whether he lived or died in the end. The main focus was the witness that had gotten away before he could place a bullet between her eyes as well. Seeing as nothing was ever Amity's fault, the witness was now his responsibility, ergo, he was sitting on her legs and not enjoying it at the same time.

A moment of rest was always appreciated however, and there was the spot on his side where the bullet had just skimmed along his ribcage. There was a nasty little cut and there would most likely be a bruise in the morning but pain seemed to be irrelevant to Crossbones, a Lieutenant to the deadliest drug cartel in the district. His elbows rested on his knees and his hands hung loosely into the space over his lap, for all the world looking like a disinterested teenager.

If he wasn't such a good little puppet he might have killed this one long minutes ago, but he'd been told not to kill her but to wait for Amity to question her. Cross didn't know why, it was much more simple to either cut out her tongue and sell her to the brothel or kill her, waiting around like this was a waste of time and seemingly pointless. "If we sell you to a brothel," he finally said, voice devoid of emotion despite the harsh words, "I'll visit you there later."

†

[presto][/presto]

[pepper.]

The perverse and insistent itch of rug-burn crawled up her spine whilst she assessed the situation. Quite frankly, she could have been at least a bit more surprised. Maybe thrown a plea for help or two in for effect. But the fact how neither of them were that interested in the events that were currently being upheld said something about their priorities, Etain's especially since she was literally in a life-or-death situation. To be fair, staring up at the pallor shade of her Living Room's ceiling proved to calm her if she had ever experienced anxiety in the first place, no doubt probably manifesting words that would be used to agitate and annoy in the near future. But, until then, it seemed like a good idea to stay quiet.

With every moment passing, the ropes that coiled around her wrists sharply proved to be insufferable, rubbing insistently at the skin there until she was sure it'd be raw. If it wasn't such a comprising position, maybe she would have just stayed face-down, to save the constant irritation burning at her hands. Reluctantly, her gaze flickered lazily over the boy whom had, rudely mind you, decided to make a seat out of her. And if Etain wasn't careful, she'd probably turn into a pin cushion aswell. Regardless of both these facts, her eyebrows furrowed discreetly at him, sarcasm slicing through the air of uncomfortability.

"Cut down on the steak a bit, yeah? Obviously isn't doing you much good."

Getting caught in the midst of a shoot-out wasn't ideal, especially since she was practically staring down the face of Death right now and making a joke about their weight. If this were a normal scenario, the witness would have probably broken down pleading for their life and offering up their worldly possessions like that would do any good. Their Family's lives in exchange for their own, that sort of crap. Thinking of Family she nearly pissed herself a little, considering her slumbering Father was probably unaware of the exchange going on between his very walls.

In complete and utter boredom, she bounced her ankles on the spot with what little muscles she could move considering how heavy this little fucker was. He was like those rashes that wouldn't go away even if you sought for them to piss off after time. But at least she was still alive and intact, although it had felt as if her hands had lost circulation a long time ago, and would possibly fall off at any given second. This could have all gone down alot worse, or not gone down at all.

"If we sell you to a Brothel, I'll visit you there later."

The irony of this situation appeared to only have just caught onto Etain, who stifled a laugh and clogged it up in her throat, not even chortling. Perhaps she'd let the seriousness of it all sink it later, but until then a few remarks wouldn't hurt, right?

"Thanks." Speaking almost hoarsely, she thumped her head uselessly against the carpet, "Don't be disappointed when a man shows up on your doorstep, spraying dick-blood everywhere after I decide to promptly bite his two-incher off."

[cass]

the o w l

Amity had returned, explain that the job he had ordered had gone a little side ways. He didn’t mind, however, sometimes you couldn’t factor in every little problem that would happen, and sometimes people walked in on a dangerous situation when they weren’t supposed to. It happened. People witnessing the shootings and the massacres that sometimes occurred were going to happen. Os could hardly order an entire sector of the district to be cut off so they could kill undisturbed. That gained a lot more unwanted attention, doing something as reckless as that generally meant the Peacekeeper’s would become involved. Os could deal with ordinary citizen’s stepping in his way, but Peacekeeper’s? No getting the authority involved would be far too dangerous and stupid. So you just had to take a chance when you set off to kill a group of people, and you just had to plan for mistakes to happen.

Amity had informed him that Cross had headed after the girl that had seen too much, and that she was going to go and help deal with the situation. But after a moment Os had stopped her, because something far more important had came out that needed her abilities and so he had sent her away and he had agreed to deal with the situation.

He got lost three times.

That was expected, however, he had started off determined, but then after a few steps he had sunk into the depths of his own thoughts. Then before he knew it he was thinking about the stars and the way he would draw patterns and shapes with them every night. Or the way he aspired to be greater then they were and then he was thinking about lights and the way Amity’s eyes flickered when he kissed her, or the way they darkened when he said something stupid and before he knew it he had no clue where he was. Cross was definitely not going to be happy about this, but considering the fact that he was the boss he doubted the man would have little to nothing at all to say about it.

It’d be awfully amusing to watch the man try and say something. Os would like that, to see what the sharp man could think of before he realised just whom he was facing. He had seen Cross a number of times, watching from afar, he always did that, especially with the people he held in high positions and he never revealed who he was until the right moment. You could never be too cautious.

He took three more wrong turns before finally reaching the correct house. It was the same as almost every other house in the neighbourhood, boring, simple and not very appealing to the eye. Smirking he pushed the door open and by way of greeting he said, ”because your brain becomes active and engaged in your daydream, the act of daydreaming can actually be highly stimulating, there those that daydream are generally smarter then those who do not.” Smirking he closed the door behind himself.

”And that’s why I’m the smartest one in the room.”

[gamemaker kelsier]

[presto][/presto]

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He wanted to know why it was that he was destined to work with idiots. It was understandable that the young woman beneath him was literally and figuratively beneath him. She was just some bitch who lived in a shitty house and made annoying quips that he had not requested and therefore did not want. However, being forced to live with dumb statements and shit for brains in the workplace seemed like it should be filed under 'harassment'. For a man known simply for getting the job done, people tried to small talk him a hell of a lot. He didn't appreciate their 'cute' comments. To be fair, this time he had been the one to speak first. He hadn't meant it to become a full blown conversation however. His words were not an opening statement, simply a remark. People should know these things so he didn't have to waste energy ignoring them.

Idly, he slipped a knife from the sheath in one of his boots and begin to flip it in the air in front of him, watching the doorway as he did so, only feeling for the knife landing rather than watching it. When he came to the safety factor of this habit he was rather lenient, trusting fully in his reflexes and ability to catch it. However most people did not trust his hands to keep the knife from falling point first into their flesh and sometimes it was a small pleasure just to see how one reacted when he let the knife fall too close.

He like pain, the texture of it no matter who was wearing it at the time. It didn't matter.

For a brief moment of calm he was actually enjoying the afternoon, it was restful here with a body to sit on and no one currently telling him what to do. However, as most things go a day can easily be ruined by just about anything. In this case, anything happened to be a blithering idiot coming into the place instead Amity. The knife stopped flipping as Cross regarded the new person and his hand tightened around the blade, wondering if this was yet another person he had to deal with just because Amity couldn't figure out how to be on time for once.

He's expecting violence in the very near future but instead the new entree seems to be insisting on small talk as well. To be honest, Cross is the smallest bit speechless at this fresh idiocy. Spouting out random nonsense about daydreaming with a fucked up smug grin isn't going to help the guy's chances of living. In fact, Cross has probably had it up to his eyeballs with the whole snarky responses and carefully thought out snippets of information that people insist on bestowing on him.

He was pretty damn sure that the best way to shut people up was through violence.

He resumed flipping the knife in his hand, decidedly ignoring the attempted insults of the girl he was currently repurposing as a chair. "Who the fuck are you?" he asked, somehow managing to ook completely disinterested despite the tension in the air.

†

[presto][/presto]

[pepper.]

Etain valued her privacy almost as much as she valued her life. So it wasn't a surprise that she mirrored the boy's expression; a stark look of utter terror, almost as if they were plotting to kill kittens. The difference between the pair? She actually had killed a kitten or four on many occasions, and the evidence was in her basement. The fact that this might be the last time she saw the skin of those fleshbags hung up on meat-hooks that were aligned on the inner walls of her basement almost saddened her, but having her throat slit or a bullet put between her eyes couldn't be that bad.

Although with every passing moment and his little hint, it became painfully obvious they weren't going to kill her, most likely. Becoming a prostitute or a Drug Mule angered her, made her want to grab this little fucker's head and split it open onto the coffee table. He was a pretty thing, well-maintained. Something that would sell well. Something she'd enjoy splitting from neck to navel and gauging of it's once life-like features. It hadn't been much of a surprise that he came after her after their little shoot-out, although she had expected him to be more sloppy.

But instead Etain was propped onto her back, wrists losing circulation by the second, tightly coiled underneath her spine with ropes that cut into her skin. With a boy that she felt intense fury for propped onto her legs, much heavier than he looked, legs crossed almost casually. He must do this often, maybe it's a hobby of his to kidnap unsuspecting witnesses.

 

If that wasn't bad enough, he began flipping a knife in his palm, she had only realised this by the woosh of air it produced every time it almost struck her in the thigh, only prevented by the boy who seemed to have pulled said weapon out of his arse or some other indistinguishable place, quite frankly she could have gave less of a shit. If it wasn't for the impending dagger that was surely about to be sunk into her flesh soon.

Then the door was pushed open and Etain almost wanted to sob in relief because she was, in all honesty, so very bored and had nothing to do than await her obvious demise. Instead of being met by someone serious, a chorus of words swept them both away.

”Because your brain becomes active and engaged in your daydream, the act of daydreaming can actually be highly stimulating, there those that daydream are generally smarter then those who do not, and that's why I'm the smartest one in this room.”

It dawned upon her that she might have to wait for her captor to take care of this oaf before actually deal with her sorry ass. Tilting her head upwards to peer at the door, she was met by a smirking bigot that was no doubt the one who had seemed to spout verbal shit just a few seconds ago.

Simultaneously, she spoke in sync with Cross.

"Who the fuck are you."

"Think you might be at the wrong conference, bud."

[cass]

the o w l

It would be so simple and easy to glare at Cross, and most leader’s would have simply stepped forward and probably punished him for being so completely and utterly rude to them. But that was not the way Owl worked, instead he smirked, eyeing his lieutenant with a shit-eating grin, he didn’t get angry, and when he did it was for a short amount of time, but it was scary, he did reckless things when he was angry. That was why he tried, with all his willpower, to overcome every moment of aggression, as leader you had no time to become reckless, not when an entire cartel was at stake with every decision you made. It was how he had kept the business going for three years straight, and in those three years it had come to run better then before, everything flowed and the peacekeeper’s didn’t have even the slightest clue about where to begin looking for them all. He was better then his father, his father had seen his potential and his abilities and had thrown the company at him when he was thirteen.

This boy, Cross, had attitude, not only did he have a very cold sense of humor, but he seemed unaware of the presence Owl created, most people, even if they didn’t recognize them as their leader could tell he was important and they weren’t so openly rude. But that only made Owl’s grin broaden.

He wasn’t sure how long he actually stood there staring at Cross, thinking, well, daydreaming about his attitude, his business and how the world worked, but he finally tore his gaze away, slowly letting it slide over to the girl he was keeping pinned down onto the ground. After entering, the two had taken no notice whatsoever about the fact that he had told, if Amity had of been here she’d have listened, why couldn’t she be sitting on the girls legs? Instead she had Cross, and Owl wanted to tell them both more facts and interesting things, but he felt as though he wasn’t going to get a single positive response from either.

How disappointing.

The girl looked fierce as though it hardly bothered her that such a sadistic man was sitting on her legs, he’d give her points for that. She was either brave, and confident she’d get out of this mess or incredibly dumb. He liked people like that, they were generally decently smart, but easy enough to manipulate to get them to work for yo-

Oh.

”You’ve given me an idea!” He grinned and stepped closer to the pair, raising a hand to show three fingers. ”Well three actually, firstly, I’m going to make spaghetti for dinner.” He said, looking at the girl on the ground, before putting one finger down, ”secondly, Cross isn’t going to kill you, I want you.” He looked at the boy, did he need to throw in a greeting there? ”Owl, by the way,” he tossed it onto the end before, tucking another finger away, eyes dashing away from the two, towards the rest of the room.

”And thirdly, I’m taking this home with me!” He put his hand down and raced to the cabinet that stood to the back of the room, a pocket watch sat on the dirty wood, Os picked it up, bringing it up to his eyes. He then turned around, swinging it back and forth, ”isn’t it pretty cool?”

[gamemaker kelsier]

[presto][/presto]

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A lot of people might blame his horrible demeanor on his upbringing. For some reason people preferred to blame the parents rather than the psychopath they had standing right in front of them. Some people might say that he was a direct result of the society that he was brought up in and that there was nothing his parents could have done.

Maybe it was that he was taught that loving someone meant making them be in pain every goddamn moment of the day and he still can't forget the lovely way the rope felt as it had constrained him, the way the cigarette butts felt when they pushed them into his skin. His parents had told him that they loved him even as they'd snorted cocaine to get away from him, told him that they loved him even when they were coming at him with a baseball bat during a confused high. To Ingran, the idea that someone could be loved by holding them, that you could get love across with a kiss was ludicrous. The only way to ensure that the person knew that they were loved was to abuse them so senselessly that they forgot themselves.

That wasn't to say that he killed people out of love, no. He kills people because he does not care. Empathy is a foreign word from a foreign tongue to a boy like him.

The idiot with the senseless mind tosses his name out as if it's of no matter. He cannot know that Cross has been working his way up the drug cartel chain for nearly two years now in order to kill him, he cannot know that he's been waiting to get the chance to be alone with him for two long years.

He flips the knife in his hand and in a sudden flurry of movement brings it down with force over the girls' eye, pausing just before impact.

He's not leaving any witnesses.

He watched the so-called Owl as he pranced around the room, looking like a child in his excitement. This was the man who was meant to have ordered the death of his parents? The man that Cross had been following every single order from for so long just to prove his false loyalty?

He stares at him, arm extended over the girl's face, expression carefully blank. He had gotten so good at not showing emotion that he'd forgotten how to anymore. He was meeting the man who had killed his parents right here in this shitty living room.

"No, you're not. Cut the bullshit," he said, voice oddly sparked with the embers of something for once in his short life. This guy, there was nothing special about him. He looked like a fucking hippy and spoke like one too. This wasn't the mean he had been gearing up to kill, this wasn't him.

It couldn't be him.

This wasn't the man who was going to be able to finally take Crossbones down.

†

[presto][/presto]

[pepper.]

There was an unspoken of tension that sparked in the air, thick enough to be cut with a knife. Speaking of knives, suddenly the boy on her lap stopped flipping the blade he wielded so carelessly, Etain's relief being short-lived while she considered the possibilities of whether it was a good or bad sign. This could be the part when this supposed 'Owl' would order her imminent death, and she'd be added onto the body count along with the corpses she had seen earlier that day during their little scuffle that triggered their warrant on her in the first place.

Footsteps echoed throughout her Living Room as the man practically pranced about with a smile that reached his eyes and left both of the other occupants puzzled. Etain silently prayed to Ripred that he wouldn't start speaking in that same almost hurried, self-righteous demeanour. If his ranting wasn't the reason her braincells seemed to slowly deplete with every passing moment, than she really didn't know what was. 

”You’ve given me an idea!”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him shift closer, causing the rug to ruffle at the hinges a bit. Unimpressed, she muttered a quiet, 'watch the carpet' under her breath.

”Well three actually, firstly, I’m going to make spaghetti for dinner.”

There was only a pause to enable him to look pointedly down at her, to which she responded with a smile full of nonchalance and drooping eyebrows. 

”Secondly, Cross isn’t going to kill you, I want you. Owl, by the way.”

What a lovely surprise. The man then, promptly, proceeded to practically frollick to her newly scabbed cabinet, that was antique mind you, and lifted her pocket watch high in the air, open for display. Opening her mouth to object, there was a whistle through the air before steel was hung dangerously close over her eye, the very tip of it nearly poking into her cornea, which would no doubt leave her blind. Instead of panicking and throwing a fit, Etain calmed herself from the inside out, smoothly lifting her gaze past the knife towards the man, the tip of her lips peeling downwards in apathy.

It didn't surprise her that he didn't even spare her a glance, his own glare situated firmly on the man that was currently coo'ing over her pocket watch that was rusting at the edges, and had probably been shoved up someone's oesophagus once or twice. Not that she was complaining, because really nothing could be worse than having her eyeballs stabbed out repeatedly over a quarrel by some boy.

"No, you're not. Cut the bullshit."

Honestly, not knowing what else to do, she craned her neck a bit to avoid moving unnecessarily and getting herself shanked. Against her will, Etain's chest lifted and then lowered in a clearly audible yawn,  accompanied by a quiet smacking of lips.

Not a single word was spoken.

[cass]

the o w l

”No, you're not. Cut the bullshit."

Fire clung to those words, an odd sort of emotion slipped into what he said and it was the first time Os had ever heard so much emotion in a few words, coming from Cross, that is. Now, if Cross hadn’t of actually said what he had just said Os would have taken notice of that little fact, but he didn’t, he was already being consumed by his own spark of anger.

The situation changed at the drop of a coin and before he knew it Owl’s entire demeanor had flipped. It was like he’d snapped, not literally, of course, that would have been extremely awkward, and a moment of peace before his guts and blood would have littered the carpet. It was a nice carpet too, no, he didn’t snap like that, he wouldn’t have wanted to ruin that nice carpet – maybe he’d take the carpet as well, it’d look good in his room.

Stop.

The pocket watch fell limply by his slide as his grin died away, quicker then it had appeared. His dark eyes narrowed, a coldness steaming from the iris as he turned his attention towards Cross. The cold spread, seeping through his entire eyes until that warm brown was completely overcome with an ice. He stepped forwards, placing his free hand on his hip, every movement calm, calculated, but at the same time his body radiated the coldness that bleed from his eyes. It was the first stages of seeing Osgarus Beauvallet getting angry and if he didn’t stop himself now he’d do something stupid, he was dangerously reckless when his anger reached a certain point and the bar was ticking, the pressure rising.

He was a dangerous man, he was a very dangerous man, he didn’t need to use his own hands to have people killed. His hands weren’t blood free, though. Most people were quick to assume that he simply had others do all the killing for him, but most people seemed to forget that before he had been leader he had been like them. He had killed, and plundered and taken orders, otherwise his father would have never handed the title over to his dashing young son, no matter how smart and talented he seemed to be.

Calm down.

The words, when spoken, crossed his mind with a rather feminine tone. It took a few seconds before he realized that those words had been said in her voice, and Amity was pulling him back. It was as easy as that to force his willpower into gear, and before he knew it that coldness was retracting and the warmth of his normal gaze shone through the frosty air that had enveloped him. Os’ hand tightened around the pocket watch as he released a long sigh, before running his vacant hand through his hair.

”This always seems to happen. I keep telling her that I should show my face once in awhile, but then I somehow manage to talk myself out of it without her even saying a word.” He grinned, gazing down at the girl that Cross was sitting on. Then, in one quick movement Os was sitting on the floor, opposite of Cross. ”Honestly, I have no way of proving who I am, so you’re just gonna have to believe me, and if you can’t then-“ he narrowed his eyes, for an instant the coldness seeping back into his tone ”-you’ll no longer be of any use to me.” It was gone and he was smirking.

”Girl, what’s your name?” He asked.