Opposites Attract.

Discussion in 'ROLEPLAY GRAVEYARD' started by Wren, May 31, 2016.

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  1. Boots hit the floor loudly as they, along with a body ( of course ), traveled down the hallway. A finger came up to gently push the owner's glasses up the bridge of his nose, a low exhale puffing from his lips. It didn't take him long before he was seated in front of a glass window, eyes fixated on a stranger with an orange suit. He could clearly see the inmate even though the glass behind his own head reflected light from the ocean. Honestly, it would be hard for him not to notice the way the other looked...The hot ones were always criminals to him.

    Ugh - Why was he thinking of something like that now?

    Pierre shook his head, trying to clear those thoughts from his mind. "'Allo. Let's start wiz zee introduction, no?" Almost immediately did he set down the clipboard with a clatter, un-clicking his pen and setting it next to the plastic object. "You probably know me, but just a wee little reminder for you - I am Pierre Moreau, the son of Monsieur Moreau. I'm sure zat you 'ave 'eard of 'im." The man brought his hand up, splaying his fingers across his chest, placing his palm flat on his sternum.

    "I know...A lot about you, but it would be nice to 'ear you say it for yourself." The Frenchman cleared his throat and motioned towards the inmate. "So, go on."
  2. Damn. He never would have believed it would all come to an end like this. After a long streak of event after event, finally the notorious bomb thief was caught and imprisoned like a caged bird. Garielle, or the Loonie as many officials referred to him, had resided to his fate and accepted that there was no more running. No more bloody screams from the churches and schools. No more heists. No more tinkering to make the perfect bomb. Just this. He had been placed in a glass room containing the bare minimum of a mattress, a chair and a desk. Even going to the bathroom would have to require approval and heavy guarding. What a bummer. The maniac laid on the bed with his legs against the wall and his head hanging off the side of the mattress. His eyes watched as his foot moved from side to side. What a bore.

    His ears perked slightly as he listened to a voice coming near. Wasn't familiar but it wasn't like he had friends or anything coming to see him. As the man spoke, he refused to look away from his feet that moved above his head. He lifted his hand slightly waving it without care. "Oi, do my a favor and shut your trap. Your accent is torture far worse than this cell." He said with a slight snicker. He then grumbled as he turned slightly and sat up. He stood about 6'3", quite muscular, and quite celebratory his Hispanic culture by the various images tattooed on light brown skin. However, something was missing. That's right. A left arm in fact. And by the appearance of the wrappings, it was quite fresh. Most likely due to when he was caught. "Now, I don't know who you are why your here. But in all honesty, I could care less." He mumbled raising his middle finger with ease.
  3. Not a single ounce of sympathy was shown on Pierre's face as he gazed at the bandages, right eye twitching as he crossed one leg over the other. "Mmm...We've got ourselves a wise guy...Great." Blue rimmed glasses were removed from his face, closed up, and put down on the counter, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. A slender, noodle of a man - That's what he looked like compared to Garielle. Well, him and the two guards that stood next to the Frenchman.

    "Look..." He breathed out, rubbing his nose up and down with those same two fingers. "I don't want to be 'ere any more zan you do, okay? I'm just 'ere to get some of your ideas, pick your brain, observe you - All of zat. I only 'ave a monz to do so...You'll be killed soon. Which, 'opefully, I'll 'ave a glass of Red Wine while watching as your 'ead falls into a basket. You know - France was ze last place zey 'ad an execution by ze guillotine. We'll call it a private execution and enjoy ze show - The authorities will be none ze wiser. It'll be fun, no?"

    A smirk stretched onto his lips, but it quickly disappeared as he reached forward, opening up his glasses and putting them back on his face. "Comply wiz me and I will make sure you get ze needle. If you don't, zen you will say 'Au Revoir!' to your neck. Simple as zat." He held his serious tone the whole way through, hands resting on the kneecap that was on top of the other one. "I can eizer speed up your execution, slow it down, or, and zis is ze JACKPOT, even let you walk free - I have ze power, you know. Zey say money can't buy 'appiness, but it can sure as 'ell buy your freedom." The two guards looked at each other nervously before a glare from Pierre had them both looking straight ahead.

    "And anyone zat tells our little secret won't be around to spout anyzing else off for, well...For forever." The guard on the left gulp, getting the hint.

    "So...Can I trust you to be more compliant? Will you make zis easier for ze boz of us? I don't need zis information - My père wants it. He wouldn't ever fire me and if I tell him you weren't being cooperative, zen he will understand. Besides - I'm not exactly tall enough or strong enough to FORCE ze answer from you...But I have ze money zat can make you talk. And if you don't want to walk out of 'ere a monz from now a free man...Zen keep up ze attitude. But don't come crying to me when your 'ead is on ze chopping block."
  4. Gabrielle watched as the man began to ramble on. As his speech came to and end, he paused and soon began to laugh before standing and making his way to the chair. He grabbed it, and sat in the middle of his cell folding his arms. "What? Think your gonna bribe me with a promise of freedom? A promise of a smooth end? Oh please frenchy. Me and death got a thing going on. And boy, I can't wait to drag stuck up runts like you to hell with me." He said as he ran his thumb along his neck. "OH. Your from that Sky Corp place aren't you? Now it's starting to make sense. No wonder your head's so far up your daddy's ass, he's got quite the big one to begin with." He snickered and began to slump in his chair. "I don't give a damn what your money can do or whatever it is your talking gibberish about. None of that matters to me. And if it did, I'd be kissing your feet by now." He smirked slightly. "Ohh now it's starting to make sense now. You coming to pick at my brain. I remember you runts. Wanting me to give up my line of work to come and fix the scraps your idiots couldn't do. Dios mío. I'm even surprised that damn company got off the ground with the so called 'innovations' your big wigs are sporting."

    Soon, the man began to shoot quite the uneasy glare to him. "Heh. Money can buy a lotta things. But what's it any use to a dead man like? I'm not fit for the outside world. They call my creations weapons of destruction. My art blood shed. My purpose murder. And you believe that you can just sit here and talk as if I can walk out of here tomorrow morning. Please. Spare me the headache and take me out of my misery right now." He snickered. "Course.. Never did play a pretty number on Sky Corp. main building. Boy... I bet that baby would burn up real nice."
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