rendezvous (p)
Feb 28, 2015 17:35:28 GMT -5
Post by spook on Feb 28, 2015 17:35:28 GMT -5
LOOK WHAT I HAVE DONE
TO MY SAN SEBASTIAN
TO MY SAN SEBASTIAN
Alhambra wasn’t in the practice of obliging torn up brutes who promised information and then withheld it in favor of an instruction, and yet here he was. Because his pride, as always, proved superior to any other motivation, and neither was he in the practice of simply not receiving information when it’d been promised him. He moved toward the warehouse at an elastic trot, still debating whether or not he planned to rip out the tawny asshole’s throat once he arrived at their rendezvous. He felt tempted. Imbeciles like that didn’t learn lessons unless they were bleeding.
But he remembered this place, and he remembered standing behind Lark while dogs poured out of the woodwork. All of them had appeared to know one another, and none of them had been excessively friendly. Alhambra considered himself proficient at what he did—and what he did sometimes required killing fast and remorselessly—but he knew his weaknesses just as well as he knew his strengths. And being spindly and slender didn’t lend itself well to a fight stilted against him. These dogs were all enormous, as tall as or taller than he and with the substance to match. He’d lose a fight to them.
The longdog gritted his teeth and decided against ripping any throats unless absolutely necessary. He’d attempt negotiations. He’d be charming and handsome and hope he penetrated the ill-received air of superiority the asshole had carried. It irked him, but if he felt useless and defunct now, he’d be defunct for certain if they killed him. Slowing his pace, Alhambra moved into the darkness of the fighting arena where he’d been instructed to show up. He’d been given no clearer instructions than at night, so here he was—the moon smothered by a veil of thin clouds, the air cold but not freezing.
He made no sound when he entered, just took up a post and sat down, giving off the appearance of a dog utterly unperturbed by his surroundings. He’d wait—they’d come to him, dammit, since he’d been enough of a puppet to turn up at all.
Bird is the word East
I WASTED ALL MY CHILDHOOD DREAMS
BY STARING AT THE SUN
BY STARING AT THE SUN