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Darkseeker
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Lightbringer
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Darkseeker
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It's beautiful 😌 do you want to do a starter or should I so you get a break from writing lol |
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Lightbringer
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Darkseeker
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🫡 I shall begin a starter now |
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Darkseeker
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I'm gonna recycle a post lol |
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Darkseeker
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The office was dark when Bodhi stepped in, but he'd expected that. Smoke curled from a cigarette in the darkest recesses of the room: the desk, and the shadowed figure sitting there. The young man moved smoothly through the room, his dark eyes seeming casually bored, but were truly sharp and alert, scanning the room, assessing the man sitting across from him.
"Father," said Bodhi coolly, draping himself across a cold leather seat. "You do know I don't like having to see you when I don't have to."
The older man practically mirrored his ill-mannered son, impressively sprawled over a huge desk chair, fingers tented, the cigarette pinched between the fingers on his left hand. A few more cold words were exchanged between the two of them, and Bodhi rose a moment later, dropping a crumpled letter on the table.
"Next time, don't make me come here. A phone call, or letter that's actually useful would be great," he snapped, stalking out of the room.
His dark suit only helped him blend into the shadows as he headed out of the room, but outside the office, he walked out into a decrepit building on the very edge of town, the sun was sitting low in the sky, making him even more suspicious. He scowled. Being a part of the mafia was something he enjoyed immensely: people were scared of you, you got to be an asshole with no repercussions because people couldn't find you, couldn't pin you down. But, when your father is the leader, you often run into problems of being treated like a child, or a messenger. Bodhi kicked a rock, watching it skitter across the parking lot, easing from dark corner to dark corner, his limp causing him great pain. He'd covered almost twelve miles on foot that day, and wasn't used to the wear and tear that it caused on his old childhood injury. His mood only worsened, and he flicked an imaginary piece of dust off his immaculate suit jacket, slinking around another corner. He was in the better part of town now, and he walked by a hulking mansion twice before the people surrounding it slowly ebbed, and he carefully slipped a lock pick from his sleeve, jamming it angrily into the lock on the gate. It clicked open, and he slipped inside, mostly unnoticed. It took him precisely four minutes and twenty seven seconds to disable the alarms and set a thick letter on the desk of an important government employee, then make it out without much fuss. He pulled off his gloves, and shoved them in his pockets, still muttering about being nothing but a messenger boy. It was late now, and he was hungry, so he immediately went to the closest casino that he knew his father owned, demanded a meal, and settled into the darkest corners, studying the going-ons in the gambling dens, slot machines, and exchange areas. A waiter brought him his meal, and he picked at it, more interested in the surroundings that he had chosen, and deciding where he wanted to spend the night. Normally, after a heist, big or small, he would lay low, and hide in the safe houses he could find. Tonight, however, he had a hankering to lose some money, and end the night at one of the pleasure houses along the river, but he had an appointment first. A smirk quirked his lips. Assassins were superb, he thought to himself. Time to chat with his personal assassin. |
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Cameron was doing what every normal person would do on a day like this. Sitting, draped over a couch with gaming controller in hand, playing a variety of games. He had splurged to buy the gaming console, despite his well-paying job, and he had only recently noticed he hadn't even opened the box in the month since buying the thing. Despite the house he was in being on the warmer side, he sat in a long sleeved shirt and jeans, socks, and even a scarf to hide his most recent injury- a long gash along his neck. The slash wasn't too deep, and it stopped bleeding a while ago, but he was now wearing scarves daily. His hair was- weirdly- sort of combed, though he hadn't put much effort into it. He had just needed to head to the store, and at the moment he had looked like he had gotten electrocuted five times over. The sun was setting, and he was getting mildly hungry, but he was too focused on.. minecraft. He assumed himself to be a rather good builder, and was currently building a replica of his house. The ceiling fan and light hanging above the living room couch cast a glare on the tv, one that was getting on his nerves. If it weren't for his need for light, he'd be playing in pitch black darkness right now. He sighed and set down the controller, instead reaching for his phone. He laid on his stomach and propped his arms up on the couch's elbow rest, scrolling idly through social media. He wished he had something to do, but social media and games were all he could come up with, since his personal knife collection was polished and sharpened, and those were really the only activities he enjoyed. He sighed again and rolled over, onto his back, watching the fan spin above him. My hands :=) I didn't even write as much as I wanted too. Im dying. Sorry for the poor quality. |
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Lightbringer
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Lightbringer
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Winter 
Day Weather: 
Brimstone
