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| Somebody Got Murdered | Started by: Strummer on Oct 30, '07 07:05 |
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(Oh yeah, you gotta love that title) Strummer grabbed the mans throat from behind, pushing his wiry forearm against it. He silently pulled his switchblade and nicked it into the neck, just behind the windpipe. As he pulled down, he felt the body buckling against him and the blood spurt against the wall of the thin corridor. It ran down in thin streams, staining the already filthy windsor patterened carpet. He pulled the blade out and let the body fall, hawking and spitting at the coppery stench of blood in the air. He wiped the gleaming wetness off his knife and sighed. It was nothing like the movies, he'd say that much. Still, it was better than having people shit all over him like when he used the garotte. Sighing again, he bent down and took out a playing card, tucking it neatly into the incision in the mans neck. Without a look back, he turned and stumbled down the stairs. Slapping a twenty on the counter at the side of the foyer, he shouldered his way through the door into the crisp morning. It wasn't windy in Chicago for a change, but Strummer still turned his collar up against the biting cold. He saw a man hiding behind a broadsheet down at the corner of the road and made his way to him. |
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| The man looked Strummer in the eye, then he looked a bit lower, a good deal lower. What was he thinking? Only Strummer knew but they were both thinking the same thing, the very same thing. It probably wasn't PC and it probably wasn't something they could keep their jackets on for. As their eyes moved back up, Strummer'e eyes were impassioned and raging sensations of "BOING" were evident, it wasn't metaphorical. Not even one little bit. | |
| Reply by: Spectavia at Oct 30, '07 17:30 | |
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Strummer breathed deeply, wringing his hands. The coppery stench of blood had been left in the hotel, replaced by the overpoweringly pungent stench of cheese. He speculated about Spectavia. Pun fucking intended he thought to himself, rather wittily. Then he speculated about himself. "Am I?" he thought. "No, I can't be, I'd know." "But what if I am? Just...a little bit." Strummer couldn't even think straight, which given the circumstances, was a delicious irony |
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| Reply by: Strummer at Oct 30, '07 17:35 | |
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Spectavia watched closely from his vantage point. He wasn't a voyeur but for some reason he had a feeling that Strummer wasn't intending on "snatching a purse"...or was he? The purse, yes the true purse, his first purse... Strummer looked confused, he couldn't think straight but something else seemed painfully direct, painfully and direct, pointy even, pointing to the heavens. His mind was clouded but his intentions were clear. What could be behind the newspaper of this fearsome looking conquest of a man, casually leaning, pelvis forced out on a street corner. Strummer had a fair idea. But could he take the next step, his body said yes, but his mind said no. It really could go either way. WHAT WOULD STRUMMER DO? |
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| Reply by: Spectavia at Oct 30, '07 17:40 | |
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