Raoul wanders into the street, something he hasn't done in as long as.... erm barry's Forehead? Anyway, he wanders into the street in an effort to strike up some conversation. Being an international sex symbol and arch-nemesis of James Bond can be strangely rewarding and lonely at the same time. Now, what to talk about? His Grandmother's island? old Hat. Mummy being very bad? No, too Oedipus like. Tying bond to a chair? 

Raoul almost drools at the thought before catching himself on, the fear of someone seeing him as less than perfect weighing heavily on his conscience. Its then, in that moment that a thought hits him.

Friends, what is it in this life that fills you with dread? What sends a shiver down your spine? What fills you with Fear and Loathing? All to often we hear people asking questions about what you want, or hope to accomplish, what drives you on, but i want to know what makes you huddle in bed in the small hours of the night.

You see, Curtis fears only two things, large floppy eared rabbits, and apparently that at some point I may rise up and strike him down assuming his position. One of these is of course completely irrational, I'll let you decide for yourselves which that is. The Stig fears that people will find out that he is not actually the Stig from Top Gear fame, but rather the Stig from the 1963 Clive King Novel. Barry of course fears that the butchers shop he stole his face from may actually come looking their block back some day. I on the other hand, fear only that Bond will somehow stop my fiendish plan to gain revenge on that harlot, M. A lungful of Potassium Cyanide has an amazing ability to purge fear from your mind.

Raoul toys with the idea of removing his prosthetic and revealing his true appearance to the world in order to shock and awe them, but then decides that perhaps now is not the right time.

So tell me my friends, what is it that scares the bejesus out of you, as Setanta would say?
 

Walking down the street, wearing one of the finest three-piece suits any man has ever had the pleasure to wear, along with a gold pinky signet ring and pocket watch, Padrino noticed a man who looked nearly as stunning as he did. Usually Padrino did not stop to chat with anyone and everyone on the street but this man asked an interesting question that made Padrino think. He approached the man and offered him one of his cigars, which were of such quality that the number of those lucky men who ever had the pleasure to smoke them was not a big number.

"I will be honest with you, there's not many things that can frighten me. After all, I am Padrino, son of Nello, descendant of Nello and Padrino. My bloodline has been through a lot. However, even still, there do exist some things which, as impossible as it may seem, can shake the seemingly unshakeable persona that is yours truly. One of those things are potatoes. The unpeeled kind, that is. Because not many people know, and I've come to know this by experience, is that a potato contains most of its power in its peel. You peel a potato, it's like taking hair from Samson. Speaking of hair, mine looks stunning, doesn't it? Yes, this life has done me good I must say. It's not always fun and games, but you know what they say, no pain no cocaine. Speaking of cocaine, there is some that I would have to offload so if you would excuse me."

Padrino walked away from the man, leaving him to enjoy his magnificent cigar.

Only two things scare me, and one of those is large floppy eared rabbits. Curtis was on the money with those little bastids. They're out to take over the world I tell you, just you wait and see. 

What's the other? Carnies. Circus folk. Nomads, you know. Smell like cabbage. Small hands.

Setanta slowly looks at Raoul_Silva's hands, they were pretty damn small. He inhaled slowly through his nose, the smell of cabbage undeniable in the air. He thought about Raoul's movements recently, he had been in Philadelphia and now here he was setting up home in New York. More than just a little nomadic. Setanta knew it, this guy was a carnie! 

I mean... it's just the floppy eared rabbits really. I just get a little excited when I think of them. Those carnie folk are smashing people. With their clever circus tricks... and those freakishly small hands.

Raoul sparks up the uniquely fantastic cigar and takes a deep draw, whilst admiring Padrino's silky smooth hair catching the sunlight as he struts down the street like a peacock. He almost chokes on the cigar as the incessant burblings of Setanta finally snap him out of his reverie.

I do not have freakishly small hands, what are you insinuating? I can even prove this!

Raoul rustles in his pocket and pulls out a photograph.

See! this is me holding hands with your sister less than an hour after performing the horizontal tango!! Freakishly small hands indeed. You sister has freakishly large hands for a woman, and even a hint of an adam's apple, so at least you can see my hands are larger than hers! At least it didn't take me 10 years to finally learn how to spell my own name correctly, SETANTA...

Raoul goes back to smoking his fine, fine cigar and admiring Padrino's hair. Damn he was a handsome man.

Barry sighed as he watched the drunk and stumbling form of Raoul Silva wander to the streets and start slurring his words in the barely comprehnsible manner, which he considered to be public seaking. The rumour going around Factory was that Red Nose Raoul wasn't much longer for this world, having seemingly lost his unending battle with the bottle, and spent the last 200 days doing his favourite tortoise impression.

"Want me to put him back in his room Boss?" asked FlintBeastwood, pity and concern mingling in his tone. He had a kind heart did Flint, he always kissed the whores on the mouth when he was fucking them, so it was little surprise that he alone from Barry's gang of shits wanted to help the old boy.

"I don't think so" Barry answered before giving his forehead a reassuring rub "he will either pass out or piss himself in a minute anyway. Best not to waste your energy."

"What's your money on happening first?" Cooed Batiatus, ever the sycophant, seeking any attempt to gain acceptance from his peers.

They all ignored him.

Everyone hated Batiatus.

There was even a petition in the Warehouse for him to be replaced by the more qualified Vodrux, but so far Barry had resisted. He wondered how much longer he could hide Batiatus' many failings from the rest of the family as Raoul prattled on about fears while drifting in and out of consciousness. Barry sighed again..

"Enough. Back to Brooklyn, lads" problems for another day "someone can get Raoul from the drunk tank later"

Pulling a rather nifty hand brake aided side swipe into a single parking spot outside the infamous Ma’ Dingles brothel and speakeasy, The_Stig opens the door of his beloved Buick to the tones of a familiar voice. He spots Raoul_Silva aloft on several packing crates, gesticulating and delivering a most eloquent speech. He also hears names mentioned, Barry’s forehead and long eared Rabbits.

Thank you Raoul, that has my mind racing…………..now let me see……….ah yes.

Well, the things that give me the willies, besides having to follow Batiatus up a spiral staircase or asking Tetley if he’d like a cup of Ty-Phoo, I’d categorise as follows;

Dread……

I knew a Judge once, a man who I’d always be up in front of at the slightest of driving misdemeanours. I couldn’t look at the guy out of fear that I may turn to stone. I got the feeling that I’d die on the spot should our eyes meet and turned on my heel quickly so as to avert any possibility of eye contact. His gaze was icy cold and such a pale complexion with earie red bloodshot eyes. He would delight in sending me down. I have a dread of Judges.

Shivers down the spine………..

Being asked to check the rat traps in the HQ basement. You could ride the fuckers down there because they’re so big! They sit and wait, looking at you from their vantage points on the central heating pipes. Scratching their nuts and preening themselves as they wait to pounce.

Fear and Loathing………….

Well, among other fears which are somewhat personal, like the LONG EARED RABBITS!..........The_Stig begins to shake uncontrollably…….I’m ok, I’m ok……….It’ll pass…….. He gathers himself before continuing…………

There is the sight of Barry attempting to enter his car. The amount of dry skin and hair deposits above the drivers’ door is alarming to say the least, and the repetitive thud, followed by a small cry of pain as he continues to gain entry with that enormous head of his, again and again.

Apart from that, I sleep pretty good.

Raoul smiled inwardly, he knew all the workers in the warehouse where jealous of him. They resented his looks and his talent. they resented that they had been cast out of the factory to toil in the dark, cold, depths of the warehouse. They didn't like that Curtis had chosen Raoul as one of the few to remain in the Factory where it was light and airy. Raoul also knew that the real reason Curtis had kept him in the Factory was that fear that one day Raoul would murder him in his sleep, viscously forcing large floppy eared bunnies down his throat whilst he slept, choking the life from him. He'd heard the boss's screams as his tortured nightmares overtook him each nigh as he strolled the hallways of the factory, admittedly drinking 50 year old McCallan.

At best he could be described as "happy", he definitely wasn't drunk. Three bottles of scotch a day wasn't enough to get a 10 year old drunk let alone a seasoned drinker like Raoul. He smiled broadly as he let the cigar burn out. A Cigar this good you didn't smoke all in one go. Flicking the ash he placed the half smoked stogie in his pocket for later.

"Yeah boys, get on back to Brooklyn like butcher's block said."