Blood and Water (Dekonic & Wooseog Ryu)

Wooseog Ryu

Edgepeasant
Original poster
LURKER MEMBER
FOLKLORE MEMBER
Invitation Status
Posting Speed
  1. 1-3 posts per day
  2. One post per day
Online Availability
It varies day to day!
Writing Levels
  1. Advanced
  2. Adaptable
Preferred Character Gender
  1. Male
  2. Female
  3. Primarily Prefer Female
Genres
Modern, Medieval, Odd Pairings
This wasn't the type of event that Dahlia was typically used to attending, but the same could have been said for any event really. This mansion though, it was something else. The towering walls of the hallways were finely decorated, the art and sculptures were captivating, but she felt like she was the only one admiring it. There was myriad guests, most of them now drunk and uproarious, and Dahlia with three other women were there for work. There was a way men got when they were drunk, and uproarious; the Gatsby-esque host of the party clearly meant to satisfy these men, who got such away when they drank. Dahlia was a "courtesan," one who was being paid quite a lot to be here tonight, satisfying the needs of such drunk and uproarious men who got such a way.

And Dahlia hated it all. Well, not including the money. She hated the men and the alcohol and the smell of cigarettes and body odour, be groped and glared at with lustful eyes. But she chose this life right? She felt as if she wasn't allowed to complain, but that didn't mean she wasn't allowed get lost in a hallway looking for a washroom, right? She breathed a sigh of relief when she was alone, taking in the artwork with a distant smirk.

"Flood the streets T.O. The more the property falls, the more the market falls, the more we buy up. My balls got busted getting this much here, but it can't be traced..." Strange. Dahlia thought everybody had congregated in the main hall, she didn't expect to hear voices around here. Whatever they were talking about, she knew it had no effect on her. She was being paid for her silence anyways, there were many prominent figures here. She turned to walk away, but only then realized the voices had been coming from behind her, there was an open door, and, good God no. Senator Darmody, his grey hair slicked back, his unmistakable complexion. The Senator stood looking into a suitcase which was filled with something white, and Dahlia knew she had heard and seen too much. In a panic, she walked faster down the hallway, trying to muffle the click of her annoying stiletto's.

"Hey! Red!" A voice called to her from the other end of the hall, there was a chubby man, red in the face who looked particularly drunk. Dahlia knew that she was "Red," but at least it was a step up from Ginger. "You're working here huh? Come on 'n grab a drink with me girly." She could tell by the way he was slurring he was wasted, Dahlia cringed and tightened her fist, there was a small twitch in her left eye, but she offered him a sultry smile, flipping her hair as an excuse to look behind her; it appeared the Senator hadn't noticed her. Thank God.

"Hey there darlin', you seem like the type of fella who might wanna skip the drink, fixin' to get down to brass tacks maybe?" Dahlia cooed in her distinct Virginia accent, internally shuddering as she touched her finger to his cheek. The man grinned and immediately put a heavy hand on Dahlia's bum. If she worked any other job she'd get to slap him, but Dahlia simply giggled and winked back. "Let's go have some fun, baby."

"God Damnit," Dahlia thought. "I fucking hate myself."

----

Senator Darmody under investigation.

The crumpled newspaper had the headline that was being read all over the city. It was a slip-up with some street level dealer, that was easy enough to be taken care of. then some witness came forward claiming to have seen the discussion? And the case full of cocaine? Everyone in the room thought the Senator was going to blow a blood vessel, they were shocked when he commanded them all to leave but one, his right hand, Damon.

"Phone Wick. I want Miss Harper to have an accident." Damon solemnly nodded his head, the Senator was not a man who's requests got denied. The Senator had found out who the girl was, he recognized only after being shown a photo. She was only a prostitute, this shouldn't have been a job that called for Wick, but they were guarding the young woman against her wishes, it was hard to get near her. If somebody was going to get the job done, it was Wick.

----

Finally, finally. Church was the only time Dahlia got to herself anymore, she had escorts otherwise, ha, how ironic. She sat with her neighbour, an older woman named Rose who Dahlia now only got to see on Sunday's. She had no idea what had happened three months ago would have flipped her world around so much. She should have just kept her darned mouth shut, but she felt like she couldn't just keep quiet. The Senator was a wicked man, she was proud of herself, but gosh darn it, it had made her life twenty times more chaotic. Was there somebody out to get her? Really? They'd have a hard time getting passed the two officers who felt like bodyguards to her now.

After all the singing and all the praying, and all the thinking, Dahlia only had about five minutes to meet with her sister before her escort came to take her home. Evelyn, her sister, was a nun at the church, and always breathed a sigh of relief when she saw her sister every Sunday. In Evelyn's mind, Dahlia had been silly to get involved. Evelyn wanted to hit Dahlia, but she never could. She knew Dahlia would do what she thought was right, no matter how stupid.

"Evy!" Dahlia called when she saw her sister, her eyes brightened and smile grew wide. "Evy I've missed you so much my dove." Dahlia embraced her sister tightly Evelyn couldn't help but laugh, Dahlia had a way about her that was so opposite her own. The strangest thing was, they were twins, the single difference between then was instead of bright red mess of hair, Evelyn's mess was black, like ink. Their green eyes were both just as wide, they were both just as petite and boobless as one another. Dahlia tended to wear pink, like the spritely sundress she wore today though, and Evelyn wore nothing other than black.

"I missed you too Dollie," Evelyn said with a smirk, lacking the southern accent that Dahlia accentuated, in contrast the black haired sister sounded like she'd been in Chicago her whole life. "Is everything okay babe?" Evelyn asked, as their hands lingered between them gently grasping on to one another. Dahlia nodded , still smiling brightly, the two of them talked for the brief period they were allowed, and the smile only faded once Evelyn was out of sight. Darn it, Dahlia missed seeing her sister whenever she wanted.

Stepping out into the breezy November afternoon, Dahlia regretted not bringing a jacket, and rubbed her arms to keep warm, watching her breath disappeared into the air. Her escort wasn't here yet, strange. Oh well, she assumed he'd be there any minute. Starting to hum to herself, Dahlia folded her arms behind her back and leaned against the outer wall of the cathedral.

She couldn't wait for this to all be over. It wasn't like Dahlia missed having to "work," but the three-thousand from that evening had only lasted her so long, she tried to stretch it out the best she could, but life often was expensive. "Where could this guy be?" Dahlia asked herself curiously, pouting her lips and looking around. It's not like she was scared. It was just strange is all.
 
  • Love
Reactions: Dekonic
When the phone rings, he answers.


The blood dripped from the chin of a chiseled jaw, crimson soaking into the Italian fabric of a now ruined suit, the third one in a month. A lonesome man stood, pistol holstered as several bodies lay lifeless, scattered in miscellaneous positions. Wick turned to the stove, turning the knobs so that methane gas began to pour into the home. Twisting towards the dining room, striking a match and tossing it onto a stack of papers. The flame quickly ignited and engulfed the table, ensuring that any evidence of this assignment would disappear like a candle flame in the wind. That is the legend of Wick, a legendary assassin known in the underworld. When a problem needs taken care of, they call.


And when the phone rings, he answers.
“We have an assignment.”


Wick took a breath, not saying much as he normally did. “Sending details to your PDS.” Again, silence though the other end clicked. His eyes readjusted to the darkness just as the device in his hand lit up with a picture depicting a slim redhead clad in a dress of sorts. “Familiar.” He spoke low and hoarse, furrowing his brow in thought before locking the device and covering himself with the sheet. Just another day in paradise, he thought before drifting into a light slumber.




Midday on a breezy Sunday, another typical day as a man with slicked black hair strolled through the streets clad in a three-piece suit. Blacked sunglasses hid his eyes from the public, his mind replaying the conversation a few days prior to this Sunday. His eyes came to a sculpted building, beautiful in its design, his eyes snapping to the strands of red hair flapping with the wind. Her structured frame looked familiar, enough for the assassin to divert himself down an alley just as a couple of other suits came to her side. He’d have to keep a safe distance, taking life in broad daylight was never a good idea. Too many variables, causing more loose ends that would need to be tied off. Too much hassle. He was good at his job however, even with the two sniper outlooks watching every movement. He stuck to the shadows, tracing each step out carefully and calculated. The air wafted into his nostrils, a nearby pizza parlor rolling fresh dough, several street vendors peddling knock-off Iranian food. Crowds of zombified people staring at their mobile devices bumped into one another like an adult version of bumper cars, making it just that much easier to sneak through.


A brownstone apartment came into view, a decent looking housing establishment. This caused Wick to raise his eyebrows in contemplation, the outward security detail seemed to lighten as well. Wick’s employer always made sure the job was a nut-hair away from manageable, it was almost as if they were always testing his abilities. Nevertheless, he proceeded to the apartment complex opposite of his destination, heading to the roof to lay in wait. Nightfall came slowly, wick taking his time waiting for the guard change before slipping himself into the thick of things. Things happened quick, fifteen seconds was all he had to get past the first guards unnoticed.


Now in the building Wick drew his pistol, a highly modified M1911A1. This weapon had seen more assignments than any other tool in the assassin’s arsenal. The feeding ramp was polished to a mirror sheen, reducing any feeding issues and effectively nullifying jamming issues altogether. The slide had also been replaced with a reinforced, form-fitting version with a slimmer tooling to reduce weight. The grip itself was checkered so that it digs into the hand, removing any element of possible slipping even in wet conditions. The sight system was a custom 3-dot type, with an enlarged front sight to allow for superior targeting capabilities. The hammer was also replaced, with a ring hammer to enhance cocking control and increased hammer-down speed. The grip safety was removed entirely, no need for safety in this line of work. The trigger guard was whittled down, allowing for Wick to use a higher grip type, especially useful in close-quartered situations. The long-type trigger was also aftermarket, an entire 2 pounds’ lighter on the trigger pull. The magazine was wider, allowing for quicker and easier reloads. An absolute tool for pros.


Ascending the stairs, coming to the top floor he peaked around the corner into the hallway. Two guards, chitchatting. They were innocent bystanders simply doing their job, Wick’s moral compass wouldn’t allow for him to take their lives. He holstered the pistol and casually emerged from the stairwell tossing the guards a simple smile as he approached. “Evening.” His hoarse voice was quickly met with hostility but it was all over. In a split-second Wick lashed out punching the closest guards throat followed by a snapshot elbow to the temple. Before the second guard could react, he met a similar fate, throat punch and temple punch.


He tried the door, locked. The commotion would’ve surely alerted her, fortunately there was no escape as the service stairs were locked down. Wick drew the pistol and kicked the door in. He lurched forward until red-hair came into view. The sights lined up perfectly, but the assassin hesitated. His finger shook for a moment before pulling the trigger and holstering the weapon. A bullet hole sat no further than three inches from the girl’s head.


“You’ve been given a second chance, you look so familiar I have to ask. What is your name?”
 
  • Love
Reactions: Wooseog Ryu
Dahlia was barely able to keep her eyes open as the night grew longer, she was keeping herself awake through an episode of Seinfeld before she would let herself go to bed. Her cat had fallen asleep under her gentle petting, a slender grey tabby cat that looked just and tired and out of place as his owner. She felt strange in this apartment, she couldn't wait to return go the comfort of her home; whether it was the change in setting or the fact she needed police officers to keep her safe, Dahlia had found herself unable to sleep comfortably.

"It won't be long, darling," Dahlia whispered to her kitten, as he stretched himself out and nuzzled his head against her stomach. Dahlia's cat, Shoe, seemed blissfully unaware that anything was different though. She envied the little guy, who was content to sleep and soak up all Dahlia's attention for hours.

The two of them were dozed off on the couch, Dahlia had just had the energy to flick the TV off before curling up with her pet. By now she wouldn't be aware of any potential danger, Dahlia was a heavy sleeper, and her snoring filled the apartment. However Shoe sat up like an sentinel, his eyes casting an eerie glare at anybody who walked in. The guards didn't much like the cat, who would swat when they got close to Dahlia, but getting the woman to come along would have been maybe impossible without keeping the cat too.

But not even Shoe was quick enough to react to the gunshot, which made Dahlia shoot awake screaming in terror, her heart racing as Shoe hissed, his fur standing on his back. Dahlia, in a look of terrified loss, curled into a ball on the corner of the couch. This was why she was here. What happened to the officers watching over her? Had they? Oh God, Dahlia grew sick at the thought that they may have been killed, but realized she was likely on borrowed time herself. The Senator had been after her. Dahlia kept her head down and looked away.

"Please please don't hurt me..." Dahlia begged, almost missing what the man had said in a low, gravelly voice. The idea that she would be familiar with him seemed preposterous. Then again, Dahlia did tend to associate with some less than savory types on more than just a few occasions. Trembling, Dahlia let her eyes open slightly. Her mouth fell wide open as she met eyes with her would-be killer. Dahlia remembered everything, but she remembered faces most of all.

"Y-you're... Anth," Dahlia struggled to find the words, and remembered that he had asked for her name. He remembered her too. "It's me, it's Dollie. W-we were friends." Dahlia thought for a second she might be in a dream, but flinched in pain when she pinched her skin between her nails. Shoe was baring his teeth, looking ready to bounce. Dahlia was almost praying a guard would kick down the door, and save her from her old friend who was trying to kill her.
 
  • Love
Reactions: Dekonic
Dollie he thought to himself replaying the past to the best of his ability. His childhood had been something of an erased melodrama that he’d rather pretend never happened. He was the quiet and shy kid everyone picked on. Everyone but a feisty redhead that became his friend and protected him from the masses of destructive revelry. When she went to speak his name, he shuddered, that was his best-kept secret and protected his identity from anyone wanting to dig up his dirty laundry. He holstered his pistol but remained cautious to the situation. His dead eyes took the details of Dahlia in, structurally she would look like Dollie if she had aged well. He remained skeptical though, people would con their ways out of death any way they could. But his name… no breathing soul knew his name. “What have you gotten yourself into.” He muttered turning to the door for a moment before turning back to her.


He remained silent, not exactly sure what he should do. His moral compass conflicted with the job, but Senator Darmody was an immensely powerful person with ties to the hidden group with the ability to make even Wick disappear without a trace. He couldn’t just murder someone who had taught him that not all life was without value. His moral compass was based on her actions as a child. His employers were monitoring him, his gun wired with special electronics that monitored his vitals and ammo count. They would surely notice that he had fired a bullet and would be inquisitive to his results. He drew the gun suddenly and pulled the trigger twice more, putting holes into the wall within a one-inch hole. Holstering the weapon and dialing a number he spoke again. “Target eliminated.” There was no return of vocals from the other side, a normalcy in the field of work.


He went against the most powerful group in the world. A group that knows exactly when you shit, how you do it and how much toilet paper is used. His life was endangered and so was hers. He had to act quickly. “Listen, you’re in some serious shit. I don’t know what you did but I bought a few moments but they will be sending a clean-up squad. When they find, you missing we’ll be put on a list of HVT. You’ve got an option. Come with me now, or force me to kill you for my own safety.”
 
"Anthony." Dahlia was able to say his name the moment he spoke again, as memories of her childhood came rushing back, meeting with the panic that already stirred around in her head. Dahlia shakily, and defensively scooped up Shoe in her arms, which immediately calmed him. This was the boy she had shared her lunch with as a child, they used to spend time together after school. The memories jerked Dahlia back into a shocked reality as her brows began to knit together in fear. What had she gotten herself into? That was a darn good question. Judging from the gunshot, Anthony was here to kill her, and she was up shits creek sans paddle.

"You-you're here to, to kill-." Dahlia flinched again as two more shots were fired off, but she threw her hand over her mouth to stop a little yelp from coming out. Dahlia hadn't changed too much from when she was a young girl, she figured. She was still petite, her hair was the same vibrant red, and had never lost its bouncy elegance. She was initially surprised that he hadn't recognized her immediately, but expected it at the same time. Dahlia had vanished in middle school, students, friends, nobody saw her much anymore. Dahlia never knew what became of Anthony, and he never knew what had become of her.

"W-what I did?" Dahlia asked a little stunned, like she was oblivious that she was a witness for a prominent federal case. "Is this because, the Sen-." There was hardly room to ask questions, Dahlia realized that by the way Anthony was acting, and if she asked the wrong question. She diezed up when he mentioned her life in danger, she could feel a panic attack coming on. "N-no!" Dahlia shouted, putting her hand on her head to stop the room from spinning.

She was as good as dead now, Anthony's "target eliminated" had decided that. But she really would be dead if she stuck around. Was he telling the truth? Dahlia remembered being kind towards Anthony, and considering him a friend. Was he repaying her? Her mind glossed over the idea of him doing the job then and there, but she quickly got a hold of herself.

"Get me to safety. Please."

He was her only hope, so it seemed.
 
  • Love
Reactions: Dekonic

Anthony had enough time to react as a pair of burly arms wrapped themselves around his neck. It didn’t take long before his instincts kicked in as he flipped the man over his shoulder and quickly put a bullet in his head. All bets were off, his moral compass didn’t matter when it came to some like Dahlia. “Stay close to me.” That’s all he said as he entered the hallway, three more guards coming with automatic weapons drawn. This was no light situation anymore. This kind of patrol wasn’t being sent via the government. Not with black-market AKs like that. They have eyes everywhere he thought to himself. Wick entered the room again and pointed to the window. “Get down the fire escape, now.”


They were able to slip out of the window unnoticed with enough space to get down to the ground level where several fans had now been parked. Wick counted in his head at least fifteen new guards in the vicinity not including the two unconscious slobs on the upper level. He knew of a nearby safehouse but even that was a stretch. The situation at hand was dire and there was no way of getting out of it. Or was there? He quickly grabbed Dahlia’s hand who had surely been gripping her cat and led them to the manhole. Gunfire rain down on them just as he pulled the cover off, yelling an Italian curse before shoving the girl into the sewers. He followed them, reaching for his gun once more and gunning down two guards as they attempted to enter in pursuit.


They had bought a few more moments of ‘fresh’ air, Anthony turning to the shaking girl with a scowl. “There’s a safe house a mile east. We can get relatively close through the maintenance tunnels.” He wanted to give her a gun but for one he didn’t have a spare and two, he didn’t quite trust her yet. They weren’t out of the woods yet but with narrow corridors Wick could even the odds. Though, he didn’t need to, not yet anyway. These were low-level henchmen, disposable filth and he was a world-class ghost. There were a few names in the criminal world that rivaled his but even their response time wouldn’t be enough to cut him off.


His heart pounded against his ribcage, unusual nerves settling beneath his skin. An emotion he hadn’t felt in years and it felt great. He felt alive, burning blood rushing through his veins. Fuck he felt alive again! Wick snapped around firing off two quick bullets into the heads of unaware henchmen behind them, a process in which he repeated several times until they came upon a ladder leading to 46th street. “Up you go, push the cover off and head for the metal building on the east corner.” He followed her close behind, making sure there was no more threat. After verifying the threat had ceased he opened the door and locked it behind him. He scrambled about gathering several bags and tossing them in the trunk of Nissan Skyline that had been blacked out entirely. “Get in. Then we can talk.”