ArchivedLogs:The Fun's All Ruined

The Fun's All Ruined
When drug deals go bad!
Dramatis Personae Razor, Shelby
In Absentia	2013-05-16 Warning: A little of that ol' ultra-violence ahead.
Location Frat House
Pretty much what you'd expect! This frat house is ALWAYS a mess. With dingy letters right over the doorway (Iota Sigma Delta), this is known as THE party-frat. Inside, there are beer bottles, emptied kegs, and empty pizza boxes strewn everywhere. While music is always thumping loudly inside, there is also almost always a (dis)respectable number of frat boys and sorority sisters passed out in random locations. With a spool for a table in the main room and a ratty couch the only place to really sit, people in the know recognize the real party is in the basement. That's where the coolers and the hydroponic pot farm is located. Plus there are black lights. So that's kinda cool. It's one of THOSE evenings. Cool, quiet, with a lot of young men and women preparing for the weekend ahead. Noone is much interested in going out or getting in trouble. Unless you're at ISD. Iota Sigma Delta. Or as the locals call it 'I'm So Drunk House'. A phrase one can expect to hear shouted any time of the day or night when walking by. They were in fact SO rowdy, that every one of their neighbors moved out decades ago, leaving them with a nice space cushion so that the party NEVER HAS TO STOP. Or turn down the music. Or worry about drunken and disorderly conduct. Or- Well, really, it's just not a very pleasant place to hang out unless you're there to party, drink alcohol, or buy and/or consume drugs. They get a lot of little runners through here, of course. People selling their parents' prescription drugs left and right. And with rich indulgent parents, they USED about 90% of the drugs they bought from their small-time dealers. The drug sales out of here were more about friendly 'bro-ism'. They were nothing if not free with their bounties, after all! That said, not EVERY member of the place had wealthy parents. Such is the case with Greg. Greg is a douchebag. From his douchebag khakis, to his douchebag polos, to his douchebag upside down visor. Greg also buys and sells lots of drugs. Greg has also been known to occasionally shoot people. Greg thinks he's way more gangster than he actually is. Greg also tends to pay ridiculous or downright stupid prices and make awful trades for the drugs he buys. In short, Greg is a dealer's wet dream. Right now, he's rubbing his cheek against a particularly bud-covered marijuana specimen like a kid hugging a long-lost pet while he, as usual, over-explains to Shelby about his pride and joy,"And this one is Miranda... She's a saucy bitch, but I treat her right, and she just lets me down soooo smooth. She's the culmination of yeas of horticultural- I mean, I worked hard on 'dis here plant, yo. Ya feel me? She light you up so hard, you think yo nuts its burnin' off!" The REAL price for dealing with douchebag Greg is that he NEVER SHUTS UP. Shelby loves Greg. /Loves/ Greg. People like Greg are her reason for /living/ because she can run circles around them and feel not one lick of guilt about it. The trick to dealing with wannabe frat boy gangsters is compliments. Just that--lots and lots of compliments. Of course, she's working on a limited time table here--after hopping off the train from Westchester this evening she /had/ promised Jax she'd be at his place within the hour--but you can't rush /art/. So as Greg makes out with his beloved Mary J. Yuana plant, she hikes her eyebrows up and looks downright /impressed/. "Damn, man. I totally feel you. Some of that shit out there, they tell you it's a smooth ride but if this is what I got the last time..." The teenager is still dressed for school--jeans, t-shirt, hoodie--with her backpack slung over her shoulder. She looks like any of the female high school hangers on around here, who think it's sooooo coooooool to be invited to a real frat house with college guys. Shelby, on the other hand, has not forgotten her original purpose. That scrap of paper given to her by Kris is in her hand. Ready for a natural break in the conversation. Like...now. "I told all my friends about it, bet you get s'more business soon too. You think you could help me out with somethin' else? This is kind've a special order and no one's hooked up like you." Greg babbles on for several minutes longer about his favorite plant, and snatches the piece of paper. He walks over to an over-stuffed chair, and plops into it, then grabs his reading glasses (comically business-like for such a douche) off a small side-table. "For you, sweetcheeks? Sho 'nuff. Estradiol valerte? Yeah. I can get it... What you want to trade it for? I got some tabs that will blow your fucking brain out your shitter and up your cooch again. But I mean... what the fuck you want this for? You can't party on this!" Greg lowers his glasses slightly to look over the top of them, and then takes on a serious tone,"Is it yer moms? Is she sick? Going through menopause." His eyebrows raise, and then in a deadly-serious voice, he asks,"Has she got-" He licks his lips, and then finishes,"-the boob cancer? Hey, wait... Aint this the shit trannies take?" He stops looking at Shelby's boobs over the top of his glasses, now, and throws his hands up in the air,"Say it ain't so, babydoll! You ain't swingin' low, are ya!?" Upstairs, there's some loud thumping and all that, like something hitting the wall and the floor, and then a little shrill female scream. Not entirely unusual in this house. So Greg takes a broom and slams the top into the ceiling several times, bellowing,"PIPE DOWN UP THERE! I GOT JAILBAT TRYIN' TO BUY DOWN HERE!" Of course, now he can't help but look Shelby in the lap with a certain look of creepy terror. Is she, or ain't she!? "IF YOU FUCK UP THIS BUY, I SWEAR TO GOD I'LL PISS IN YOUR FUCKING BEER!" He looks sheepishly at Shelby,"Fuckin plebians ain't got no fuckin' manners." He picks up a bowl full of multi-colored pills with a couple of joints laying atop of it, and slides it on the table,"Help yourself, boy... girl... uh... whatevs? Equal opportunity smokeups, I say. I think there's beer in the mini-fridge. I gotta go upstairs to get what you want." Like a very stupid drug dealer, he gets up to head towards the stairs, leaving Shelby alone, and begins to head up the stairs,"I'll be right back. I keep it in the fridge in my room upstairs." As he disappears up the stairs, there's the sound of Greg shouting... like he tends to do, its cause pretty well muffled by the floor between them. "What, and give up all this?" Shelby says, dragging a hand down her (entirely non-curvy) side and grinning at the man. "Nah, s'for a friend. She's got the hookup for Xanax but no cash, y'know? So I'm playing in between." Of course, he probably hears that all the time but hey. She doesn't care if he believes her or not. Just gives an appreciative titter at the funnies he's cracking and throws herself into one of the other chairs. Sitting sideways, backpack dumped on the floor and a foot hanging over the arm of the chair, she makes herself right at home. A look of sympathy is offered to Greg before he departs. "No respect, huh? Take your time, man." She /does/ keep an ear tipped to the noise coming from upstairs. It's an old street habit. But this place is always so fucking noisy, right? So rather than getting alarmed after several minutes have passed and the ruckus continues, she leans forward to begin sifting through the bowl. A couple of joints set aside, a handful of pills...her expression is pure speculation, how much of this can she get thrown into the bargain? The first sign for Shelby that something is up is when Greg comes flying down the stairs following a loud thumping sound. In reverse. Not under his own power. He hits the ground with a loud *THWACK* sound as he spins a spiral of blood from large-ish hole on the right side of his chest. He's twitching and clawing at the ground with one hand, while the other hand claws at the new hole,"B-babydoll... p-party's o-over..." Whatever just happened to cause this is met by a chorus of screams, and more loud thumping sounds. A trio of people people, half-dressed two men and a bikini-clad woman come running down the stairs with terror on their face. "Oh god, oh god, oh god! Go-" And then a much LOUDER thumping sound as a silenced gun is fired from the very top of the stairs into the back of the woman's head, quieting her. The black shoes that show at the top stair bend as its occupant crouches. Like that, a small Asian woman WEARING those shoes launches herself down the stairs and into the last man down's back. As she collides with his back, her hand drops the gun and whips out a long butterfly knife which unfolds with a flip of her hand and goes sliding beneath the man's chin... and into his skull. All in one smooth motion. After riding the man to the ground, she looks up from where she crouches on his back and wipes the blade on the back of his shirt, and looks up quietly at the remaining man as she pockets her knife. As if she hadn't noticed Shelby there just that moment, she reaches into a pocket inside of her jacket, and pulls out a pair of black gloves which she tugs on. This is followed by removing a long pearl-handled straight razor from the same pocket, which she opens ever so slowly. The entire time, her smile never flickers. If anything, it grows wider. It is not a comforting expression,"I told Greg to stop selling or start paying. Toole, Serano... I told them that, didn't I." A pair of men, one a mid-thirties Irish man, and the other a much older scar-faced Italian walk down the stairs holding silenced pistols in their hands. The Irishman answers,"You did, Miss O'Shaugnessy." The woman, Razor (why she has an Irish last name is anyone's guess), ignores the remaining 'victim', apparently still not really SEEING Shelby just yet,"And you delivered that message, right Toole?" As she checks the fit of her glove, she informs the young victim,"See, Toole said he delivered the message, and well, Toole doesn't lie. Not to me. I can only assume, thus, that you are stupid. That is the only conceivable reason I can think of that I had to be PERSONALLY pulled away from Angry Birds to come here. I'm only on the twentieth level." The young man she is talking too chooses that moment to wet his pants. Well...fuck. Shelby is no slouch but she /has/ been living the good life for the past several months. There was once a time where she'd have been out of the chair and in a closet or something in the blink of an eye. Now, at first, she can only stare at the puddle of blood growing beneath Greg. It's only when others come rattling down the stair that she makes it to her feet, intent on putting as much distance between herself and the owner of those black shoes as she /possibly can/. Which means scuttling backwards until shoulders connect with wall and her hands come up. She surrenders. No threat here. No weapons, no nothing. Just a ginger teenager gone pale(r) beneath her freckles. A ginger teenager who, it should be noticed, is able to twitch the look on her face into something like curious interest while Razor converses with her victim. Never mind the way her heart is hammering at her ribcage, trying to claw its way out. Glancing at her expression will show someone who is both interested and slightly detached from the goings on--if one can overlook the trapped bird flutter of her pulse in her throat. It's almost like a show custom built for her. As Shelby will find out mere moments later, apparently Razor did see her. "Toole, Serano." The men step forward, even as Razor barks at the young man,"KNEEL!" With a sharp swiping motion, she slashes the razor down the man's chest. It cuts shallowly, but sprays her with... quite a bit of blood. That makes her laugh, and it is also the first time real joy enters her eyes. As the boy stumbles back, screaming, from the blood on his chest, the man known as Serano puts a hand on is shoulder, as does Toole, and whirls the boy to face AWAY from razor. Then they kick him in the back of his knees so he sits there. Toole points his gun at the side of the boy's face and Razor steps forward. It starts with lots of little shallow cuts along the man's cheeks, and arms, drawing whimpers every time. Then real screams as she circles back around behind the man, and begins to draw deeper cuts across his back and calves. Finally, though, she comes up behind the man, and leans down slightly (she's short so she doesn't have far), and cups one hand underneath the boy's chin. She draws her tongue up against his cheek, as if tasting the blood. While she's doing this, she's making full eye-contact with Shelby. Never breaking it, she kisses the boy on the cheek. As she does this, Toole's chin quivers a little, and Serano turns her head. It is almost instantly apparent why. She finally lifts it to the boy's throat and pulls the razor through it in one smooth motion, causing a choking, gurgling sound to emit from the boy as blood pours from his throat. Almost like a mercy, Serano puts a bullet through the boy's head. This is pretty distracting in and of itself. However, Razor is nothing if not showy. She's already used her power. Thankfully, it is silent. So when a duplicate appears leaning on the wall right next to Shelby lazily, it's kind of sudden. The duplicate says,"God, that's hot isn't it? I mean, am I wrong? I think that's hot." A mere ten seconds gone, and another duplicate appears before Shelby, hands on either side of her against the wall, as if to prevent her from going anywhere. "Here's the question girl? What should we do with YOU... I mean, you're kind of young, but we DID tell Greg to butt out, and here you are doing BUSINESS with him? You work for him? Hey girls, what should we do with her!" The first 'Razor' chimes in,"Slit her from ear to fucking ear. It'd be hot." The second says,"I second the motion!" And the final one says,"All in favor?" Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck. That has become Shelby's mantra. Her phone is burning a hole in her rear pocket. So close, the panic button there, and yet so far away. She doesn't really dare move--though in the end, she /does/ glance to the side, away from Razor's grim demonstration. The blood and brutality are maybe not foreign to the girl but hell if she wants a front row seat to it all. Which means that when the woman appears beside her--and then another /before/ her--she isn't prepared. Fear makes control slip and slipped control with /this/ teenager means that every fake tattoo she has tucked underneath her clothes now slips up and dances madly over her skin. Hands, face, throat--she's become a human kaleidoscope of color, boasting everything from koi to tigers to flowers to rainbow leopard-spots. The display is a /little/ more impressive than the choked sound she makes when her voice catches in her throat. "I...kinda like my throat the way it is." Shelby doesn't know who to look at! Aaa! She glances at the duplicate beside her then looks forward to meet /that/ one's eyes. Adrenaline allows her to hold her gaze this time, unblinking, though Razor is surely close enough to know that she's shaking. "I don't work for the asshole. Dumbass always let me cheat him on price." She's got creepy to add to scary. She leans close to the terrified girl, and SMELLS her neck, like she's inhaling the girl's scent. Razor holds this position as she speaks,"A mutant, eh? Interesting. Hm. Okay. Fine. We'll make it a test." Toole and Serano turn for the stairs, each now dragging a body. Cleanup time? Razor ignores it anyway. "It IS a pretty nice throat. Strong arteries. I guess that's kind of hot." The other two, one and two, chime in at the same time,"AAAAWE! Just kill her!" The third looks over her shoulder, and a duplicate appears where she'd dropped her gun, picking it up. She examines it, and checks to see it still has bullet left. Seeing it has a half full magazine, she pulls the action until it has one bullet left. Another duplicate appears near Shelby (starting to get crowded) and presses the gun into her hands, careful to angle it towards the first Razor. She says simply,"If you shoot her to fucking death, that's it. I go bye-bye, and you get to live. Come on. All you gotta do is put a bullet in Razor-prime. Kill me, and you walk out of here. Serano and Toole, they fucking hate me? They'd probably shower you with cash and all the blow you can handle just for doing them the favor. So come on, darlin'. Do it." This time it is Shelby who looks like she might have wet her pants a little. The teen has this thing about guns. Not a little thing either. Although really, in comparison to the straight razor... Her bony hand is shaking almost too hard to maintain a grip on the firearm, even so. Her arm quivers as her fingers are wrapped around it, one touched to the trigger. The look she gives the muscle? Fucking /dubious/. Yeah, she's not buying that line of bullshit. This is probably a trap. No, check that--it is definitely a trap, even if the lady is a mutant. So maybe it is a boon that between being scared witless and /hating/ guns, her aim is terrible. Even if Razor helps support Shelby's arm, when her finger tenses on the trigger, the girl turns her away /away/ from the recoil and closes her eyes. This is less poor aim than a complete lack of aim. The third duplicate actually lightly rests her razor on Shelby's neck, not cutting, and leans up until her face is half an inch away from Shelby's,"You've got nice eyes, darling. Oh my God, and I bet your blood is even nicer... Not much meat on you... You got a little boyfriend? Girlfriend? You think about how they're never gonna touch you again in that oh-so-sweet wa-" Just when it was getting extra creepy, Shelby pulls the trigger, and there is a scream from the Razor duplicate. It's fake, of course. She timed it so Shelby would be firing right when the first duplicate expired, crumbling into a pile of dust. Then all three of the remaining duplicates in their best theatrical manner clap their hands to the side of their head and wail as they slowly begin to puff into inert carbon ash piles,"Nooo! You've killlled uuuus, kiiiiilllled uuuussss!" Such assholes they are. Shelby wants to cry. She /really/ wants to cry. She'll cry later, when it won't serve as waving red in front of a bull. She also /really/ wants to swallow but the kiss of steel against her skin is enough to convince her to let that saliva just collect in her mouth. The report of the gun draws a moan from behind lips that are clamped together. The wails that follow leave the girl biting /hard/ on the inside of her cheeks, flooding her mouth with the taste of copper and salt. Naturally, she drops the gun. Then, with wide-eyed determination (desperation?) she looks at the remaining Razor. She /has/ to swallow now, in order to speak, but it is a careful and tricky bit of business. "You...you said you deal?" she chokes out, ignoring ALL OF THE QUESTIONS asked of her. Now it's Razor's turn to look surprised. That smile doesn't really ever leave her face, but SOMEHOW she manages to look IRRITATED too. Like a small child having a tantrum, she throws her bloody razor on the ground and begins stamping her foot,"YOU FUCKING RUINED IT." More childish stamping,"I saw you down here, and I was TOTALLY going to pop out and scare you when you thought I was dead! Then I was going to slice you a little on each cheek, say some scare shit, stick my tongue down your throat to creep you the fuck out, maybe lick your eyeball, and then make a monologue and disappear!" She glares at Shelby. GLARES. "Now the fun's all ruined." She grumpily bends to retrieve and wipe off her straight razor, then snatch up her gun and pop a new magazine in it, which she lazily aims at Shelby's head,"Maybe this'll make me feel bett- OH MY GOD, WHY ARE YOU STILL TALKING? Fine, yeah, yeah. Drug Queenpin or whatever. Greg got greedy, wouldn't pay up." She waves her gun irritatedly at the girl,"Hurry up, say your piece. OH MY GOD, I'M SO BORED." What is there for Shelby to do but cringe! Except she /tries/ to stop herself. Weakness and all that. She's shaking like a leaf inside of her hoodie, and pressing against the wall...and then going bone-white as she finds herself looking down the barrel of a gun. Right. Hurry up. "I...I...in the bag. There." She jerks her chin towards the chair so hastily vacated just moments ago. "There's a shit load of Xanax. I was gonna do a swap for...um. Some...sort've...look, I got a friend. She needed some estrogen shit, in needles. For that and some cash. I didn't /wanna/ ruin anything, just help a lady out and maybe screw Greg over a little," she says, words all tumbling out with /entirely/ too much honesty. "Oh. Well. That's different." She fires a bullet into Greg's corpse in one sudden, lazy motion. "'Cause fuck that guy." She fires several more bullets into Greg's corpse. Then she walks over and kicks the corpse,"He was... like... the biggest douche in the world. I mean, did you SEE that visor of his?" Then she goes to check the bag of Xanax. "TOOLE! SEND ONE OF THE GIRLS DOWN WITH THE CONTENTS OF GREG'S FRIDGE." Then she bends down rifling through the man's pocket. She finds a few needles, syringes, and a couple of small bottles of some sort of fluid. Then she finds a wallet,"I'm gonna need your school ID, kid." She tosses the now-bloody wallet in Shelby's direction. It is at that moment that a girl comes down the stairs. She's a hispanic girl with a flannel button-up and some jeans, and she has a pistol tucked into the back of them. In her arms is a metal tray full of STUFF. "Looks like he could've fielded an entire pharmacy, boss." Razor starts picking bottles and pills that look or in any way resemble estrogen, walks back over to Shelby, and sort of just shoves them into the girl's hands,"Ain't got no use for this stuff. Expires too fast for me to keep it on hand except for special orders. Okay, kid. I'm takin' these pills as payment." Pause. "And everything else. From now on, though, when you sell, you talk to my Consigliere, Serano, or one of his guys. You don't, I will find out. You go to jail for any reason, you tell noone anything, and you make Serano your first call. And if you talk to ANYONE about this, I will cut the eyes out of everyone you love and force them down your fucking throat." Like a magic trick, her smile looms over Shelby's face, her straight razor suddenly out and extended, the corner pointed at one of the girl's eyes,"Do you believe that I am lying, or in any way incapable of doing this?" "Yeah, fuck 'im," Shelby wheezes faintly. She, of course, jerks with each bullet fired but it is a victory that she hasn't vomited on her shoes yet. Care is taken to not look at the ruin that was Greg. It means she doesn't spot the wallet until it smacks her in the hip. It should be noted that even shaken, the girl is not rube enough to reach down and touch the thing. She leaves it there on the floor. "Don't...didn't bring that shit. With me. Not to a /deal/. Cops, they...if they busted the place. It'd fuck my life, y'know? Fucking cops." She says fuck a lot but it also looks as if she was telling the truth--there are regular textbooks in that bag, but also the bottles provided to Shelby by Kris. There's also a notebook but it's filled with lyrics and sketches, rather than schoolwork. The sketches match the style of the images still flitting about over her face; at the moment, a Japanese style crane is perching on the bridge of her nose. Both she /and/ the bird are still listening to the instructions when Razor APPEARS. The bird has the advantage of being able to dive down, disappearing beneath the hoodie. Shelby, not so much. She stiffens and freezes. "...hell no." "Hmm. That's too bad. SERANO. WE GOT A KID HERE WHO NEEDS A RIDE HOME. YOU'RE DRIVIN' HER!" Razor turns away from shelby, and, tugging her female goon along with her, wanders up the stairs, leaving Shelby to it. She pauses at the top,"By the way kid... You need to work on your control. And stop writing fucking music. This is where the real fucking money is." Then she goes back to trumping up the stairs, whistling 'Whistle While You Work'. Mere moments later, the older italian man comes back down the stairs and sort of sees the girl just... standing there. He looks around the room, sighs, and goes to pick up her bag. Then he bends down for Greg's wallet, takes the cash out, and dumps it into the open bag. This done, he holds said open bag out to put the bounty of estrogen in it, while snatching up the pills meant for trade. In his weary, accented voice, he murmurs at Shelby,"Calm down. She's gone by now. You done fucked the pooch real good, kid. You know that, right?" Left to her own devices, Shelby...does absolutely nothing. A fire could break out and it's questionable as to whether she could shift herself from Point A to Point B. She only manages to shake that off when she's addressed, and for his efforts Serano just earns himself a blank look at first. When she does recover some manual dexterity, it's used to clumsily tumble the vials into the bag he's holding for her. "Tell me something I /don't/ fucking know, yeah," she says, gulping at the air and closing her eyes. Breathe. You can do it, kid! C'mon, breathe! With sweaty palms, she reaches out to take the bag from him and cradle it to her chest. Every passing second helps bring back a little resiliency. Tiny increments. Eventually she's even able to give the man a nauseated smile. "Wouldn't be the first time. Y'know they pay big bucks for that down in Florida." Holy shit, was that a joke? It's almost like lightning, the way Serano reaches out in an attempt to bestow the wisdom of the pimping hand upon Shelby's cheek,"Show some fucking respect. I don't like killing kids, but do not for a second make the mistake I am a nice man or that I work for a simple 'lunatic'. Every time somebody in this little organization of ours fucks up or says something funny, that woman tortures someone. To death. We're talking old school peeling flesh." He points to her face,"When I tried to turn down the 'honor' of being her consigliere, she strapped me down and cut me for hours. She LIKES us. Be happy she probably didn't think to ask your name." He turns for the stairs, barking at the girl,"Now where do you live, and where's your phone. All you kids got 'em. I need to program in my number. You can call me Serano, and I don't care WHAT you do with most of your time, but when I call you, you answer. It's yes sir, no sir. You end up in jail, I bribe or bail you out, long as you don't say anything to the cops, and you owe us for it later. You sell and buy from us and only us. You understand this rules... What IS your name?" Shelby is slight. A good bitch slap is enough to send her reeling several steps until she connects with the wall again, her hand flying up to cover the mark that instantly rises to the surface. Fair skin. It is her curse. On the plus side, the rattle it gave her brains puts them back in full working order. She does not glare at Serano, spit obscenities at him or otherwise act like a teenager. This is survival mode, and it involves straightening up without complaint and producing her phone from her pocket. "Lofts, in the Village," she says, swiping her finger over the screen to unlock it. She may or may not also be blinking pain-tears away. It is a good thing that Serano is not a telepath. The phone is offered, for the programming. "I'm Eden. Yeah. I understand." Serano calls his own phone from Shelby's, saves the number in hers as an 'S', and then tosses the phone to her, jogging up the stairs. Pretty spry for an older guy. "Time to get you home 'Eden'. Before your parents worry where you are." It's a nice little limo. People in limos seem trustworthy right? Providing any real other dustups, 'Eden' will get walked up and through the now gore and body-spattered frat house and will receive a ride in the back of a limo back to the lofts where Serano will presumably 'see her to her door'. He does leave her with one simple text on her phone though: Don't fuck up.