[ potassiumboron & tragictrees ] Trouble's Brewing

  • So many newbies lately! Here is a very important PSA about one of our most vital content policies! Read it even if you are an ancient member!
TragicTrees

TragicTrees

Matchmaker of Ants
Original poster
LURKER MEMBER
FOLKLORE MEMBER
Invitation Status
  1. Look for groups
Posting Speed
  1. Multiple posts per day
  2. One post per day
  3. Multiple posts per week
  4. One post per week
Online Availability
Changes all the time but I'm around more often than not
Writing Levels
  1. Intermediate
  2. Adept
  3. Advanced
  4. Adaptable
Preferred Character Gender
  1. Male
  2. Female
  3. Nonbinary
  4. Transgender
Genres
Scifi, Crime/detective, supernatural, apocalyptic, horror, magic realism, mystery, historical, Western(at points)
Malphas was a powerful demon. Many considered him a mighty prince of hell. He didn't really interact directly with anyone, but had 40 legions of demons at his command. He took sacrifices. He tricked people. He was feared, and ruthless, and overall not someone to be messed with. That's how he liked it. Or, it was how he liked it, for a while. Then something changed.

He didn't remember what- it was a long time ago, really, he couldn't be bothered to remember -but he wanted to turn over a new leaf. Do something else with his extremely long existence. Help people. Maybe it would be fulfilling. The only way to know was to try it.

So, he set himself up on earth. Lost the wings, the weird ass eyes, the horns, anything that made him stand out too much. He got an apartment, a job at the police station, the whole shabang. And honestly? It had been working out pretty well. He had resisted any summonings, and refused to really kill or seriously maim anyone.

Then, this dickhead came along.

God, he didn't even know his name, just that he led some sort of goddamn mafia in the city. Mal had been working the case for weeks, and nothing of significants had actually shown up. He could resort to using some sort of ability to help him, but....

Well, he wasn't really feeling inclined to.

So he was stuck doing it the old fashioned way. Good old pen, paper, and detective skills. It was taking a long time, but it would stop him from heading back down the old demonic road of horrors. It sucked, though. God, did it SUCK. He was tempted at points to pull something, but managed to stop himself each time.

Currently, he was hanging out in a bar, in a booth alone, papers spread out on the table. He was trying to make a connection, any connection, to anything he could. Something he could charge the guy with, and maybe a place to catch him at. It was getting him nowhere, though.

He was startled when a hand tapped his shoulder, nearly throwing his pen. He looked up, ready to snap at whoever it was, but it was simply the waitress. He settled down.

"You may want to clean this up, hon." She suggested, arms crossed as she looked down at his set up.

He raised an eyebrow "Why? No one's really sitting here. Not like it's fucking bothering someone."

"Oh, no, it's just a warning. You may have the wrong people seeing what you're up to." After that, she walked away.

She had a point, he supposed. He quickly stacked his papers into a pile, and tried to make it so no edges were sticking out. Then, he could stuff it into his bad with ease.

Maybe.
 
It was probably a good thing that the waitress had stepped in at that moment, because, not even a minute later had those "wrong people" entered the 50s aesthetic diner, the two or three men led in by Taylor. He wasn't particularly shy about showing his face about the town, mostly because, no matter what crime he'd committed, nobody could really pin anything on him. If they did, he blackmailed a policeman to tamper with evidence, or a judge to throw the case out of court, or even go as far as to threaten the jury to offer non-guilty votes.

Put simply, he had the town in the back of his pocket, and his confidence came from knowing that capture and imprisonment was nigh-on impossible.

That morning for the young man hadn't been as smooth or as easy as he liked his mornings to be. He usually woke up in his uptown apartment and sat out on his balcony with a newspaper and a freshly brewed cup of coffee with lashings of cream. This morning, however, he'd had to get it irritatingly early to deal with a traitor among his closest allies; a young man who thought feeding information to rivals was a worthwhile and wise move. Clearly, when it just resulted in Taylor sending a bullet flying through his head, it wasn't that wise at all.

Having to murder someone at 6am was as tiring as one would imagine, and as Taylor sunk to a booth, he made no efforts to hide his groans and cracking of hands to ease the built-up stiffness in them. All he wanted was a quiet breakfast, discuss some plans to open up a new club and restaurant, maybe manage to share some information on the drugs hoard he had coming in from outside the country... and then head off to spend time with his daughter, if his bitch of a mother allowed him to.

That all seemed relatively easy. He liked his plans and his schedules, so, in his head, with it all planned out, it looked to be a stress-free day-- until his eyes drifted across the diner to Malphas.

He knew who he was, after all. Taylor made it his business to know every detective there was in the town, because he knew, at some point or another, they would be investigating him. He felt it was at least decent of him to know who was researching every aspect of his business and personal life; to know who was, essentially, trying to tear him down. Did he like it? Not at all - he viciously detested the police, even the ones he had working for him. And he especially hated this newcomer. Since his arrival, he'd seen Malphas out and about the town, questioning people Taylor had beaten up. He knew those people probably wouldn't talk openly about Taylor, in fear of getting killed, but just the fact Malphas was brazenly going that far was fucking irritating. He could kill him and get the investigations over with, granted... but killing a police officer was easier said than done.

"Do you wanna go, boss? This place fuckin' stinks, anyway. The waitresses aren't hot here. I like a bit of eye candy when I'm eating my breakfast," grunted one of his friends, the dark-eyed man cracking his shoulder blades and making his glares towards Malphas less than subtle-- until being whacked on the arm by Taylor to 'stop being so obvious'. "Sorry, boss-- look, let's hit that new cafe up our way. The gals there are real cute."

"...I like it here. Why would I want to leave?" Taylor began in response, offering another waitress a calm smile as he handed across the menu and his order, before daring to smile over at the demon and go as far as to offer a wave. He was well aware that he was being investigated by him (he had a few sources at the police station to corroborate that), so what better than to make the demon feel uncomfortable about it? If Malphas knew that Taylor knew, then, in the mafia boss' mind, he would be prone more to paranoia, to freaking out, and that was his idea of entertainment. Physical torture was always fun, but playing with someone's mind and watching the consequences play out was sometimes more enjoyable.

"Hey-- Hey you. Watch those papers don't get muddled up. Looks like a lot of important stuff. Don't want that getting in the wrong hands, huh?"
 
The papers were refusing to shove together correctly. The problem would soon be discovered to be the staples, which was fucking bullshit in his opinion, and it was hindering his progress with ditching the place. He had had his drink, he had look at enough of the papers, it was time to blow this popsicle stand. Or it was.

A lot of things were changing quickly, recently.

Because then, the mafia boss looked over, pointing out the papers. This probably would make other people terrified, and rightfully so. However, Mal wasn't really scared- humans were small, annoying things, and he could probably snap one over his knee. Not that he would do that. Unfortunately, he still needed to charge the guy with a crime, and have enough evidence to back it, and even then he wasn't allowed to straight-up murder him. But oh, god, did he wish he could. It would be so much easier. Fucking humans, having a issue with violence.

Pointing out the papers, honestly, pissed him off. The guy made it obvious he fucking knew what Mal was up to, and had made a point to come over for a chat. So, Mal made an exaggerated motion of shoving all the papers into his messenger bag haphazardly, because he wasn't about to listen to anything this asshole said, even if its intent wasn't to warn him about bending his papers and actually just to freak him out.

"How about you go fuck yourself?" Don't murder don't murder don'tmurderdon'tmurderdon'tmurder "I can handle my papers on my own, thanks, because I do this every goddamn day. Was my method of organization really so hurtful to you for you to call me out on it? Jesus christ."
 
"Oh, temper, temper. I'm a member of the public; you're a policeman. I really don't think you should be talking to me so vulgarly, but I suppose you can't help that," drawled the man in return, having shifted in his seat a little to face the other's direction, his leg now resting across his other in a show of his own calmness. He wasn't ever intimidated by figures of authority and especially not be policeman and detectives. None of them could pin any one of his crimes on him, even if everyone realised he was the culprit behind some of the many unsolved crimes in the system.

That said, if he knew that the man he was attempting to wind up and annoy was literally a demon... well, he probably wouldn't be so brave as to tease and prod him so much.

Gratefully accepting his coffee from the overtly nervous waitress (if her shaky hands were anything to go by), he easily ignored the hushed whispers of his accomplices. All they were really doing was annoying the hell out of him. He appreciated their advice to leave the premises, to head somewhere else for breakfast in case Taylor blurted something out in the heat of the moment to effectively incriminate himself, but that lack of faith only pissed him off. What, did they think he was a child who couldn't control what he said? There was a reason he'd avoided getting into trouble - he was smart enough to know what to say and who to say it to.

Ergo, he was comfortable enough to continue to jibe and annoy the detective, knowing that he couldn't really be arrested for that... especially after the tirade of swears Malphas had shot his way. He was hardly an innocent party right now.

"Are you leaving so soon, detective? That's an awful shame," he began, doing his best to keep his eyes locked on the man's face. He was pretty much firmly in the closet when it came to his feelings for men, and it was incredibly difficult to stop his eyes wandering when he came across an attractive man. He wasn't so pathetic that he refused to admit that some policemen were attractive - of course they were. He just wouldn't ever get with one, as a principle-- though he probably wouldn't ever get with a man, full stop. He was far too concerned about his reputation to allow that to happen.

"I mean, don't you want to question me? I hear you've been talking to a few... friends of mine around Hildebran. Why not have the courtesy of talking to me? I don't bite. I can answer any question you want to ask. How about you come sit over here and we can talk over breakfast-- I'll pay, of course. I'm a very generous man."
 
You could kill this guy, it'd be so easy. It'd fix so many problems. Just draw your gun and shoot, no big deal, it's really simple and-

Mal gripped the edge of the table, taking a deep breath, before exhaling. New leaf. He's here to stop all that. He was going to be a GOOD PERSON, he wasn't going to go back to what he had been doing before, no matter how tempting it was, nor how many demons tried to convince him to come back. This was it. He could do this.

On the other hand, though, it would be so simple! And fun, even, just to-

Nope, no, he was ending that train of thought right now. Not today. He'd been doing so well, too. He'd been able to NOT think of murder as a solution every time someone annoyed him, and he was more relaxed. He even liked to think he was getting better with people! That one might've just been in his own head, but still, the progress made him happy.

The progress HAD made him happy. He was quickly regressing every minute this conversation continued. "See, here's the thing about that. You're not going to tell me anything that would land your ass in jail, and I'm not willing to get chummy with you over nothing. So I'll go get breakfast somewhere else, and take my chances." He said, trying to keep his voice level "Don't worry, we'll talk when I'm throwing you in a cell. That sound good?"

If he got in trouble for acting like this by his superiors....well. He'd break out an ability or two to prevent losing his job. No biggie. He felt that this was currently more important.
 
"Why on earth would I be going to jail? I've done nothing wrong. I'm a businessman, I own restaurants and nightclubs. If that's illegal, you'd better get arresting half the city. Why you think I'm some awful criminal is beyond me. I'm a nice, hard-working man. I don't have time to-- well, I wouldn't know. What sorts of things are you and your police buddies accusing me of this time? Do you think I started that fire at the mayor's home? That wasn't me, but you'll try pinning it on me, I'm sure," continued Taylor drily, rolling his eyes at the vitriolic attitude he was shown by the detective.

On one hand, it made a nice difference from the boringly professional detectives he was faced with before Malphas arrived into Hildebran. Those middle-aged, grey, tedious men refused to raise their voices or even talk critically of Taylor. Whether that was because they believed in 'innocent until proven guilty' or simply because they were scared, it was incredibly boring nonetheless. At least Malphas gave him some rapport; some excitement.

That said, he was also a thorn in Taylor's side, and one he wanted to pluck out and crush under his foot. He was always there, nosily prying into Taylor's business in an attempt to tear him down and shove him behind bars. It was commendable that he was trying his best at a losing battle, but god, did he have to be so damn annoying doing it?

"I'm vilified by your lot. One more false accusation and I think I'll consider suing. The emotional stress you're bringing on me is astronomical. I also have a baby daughter, and all of these harmful lies are affecting her. Maybe I ought to sue, have you fired. You're making my life hell," he huffed, pouting for good effect-- though that expression lasted a full two seconds before it melted away into a delighted smile at the sight of his breakfast, full to the brim of greasy bacon, sausages, eggs and hash browns. It was the same meal he ate every single morning for breakfast, without fail, and yet he hardly put on an ounce in weight. He had his fast metabolism to thank for that.
 
Nice, hard-working man, huh? That was sure believable. Mal pinched the bridge of his nose, biting his tongue. He shouldn't take this too far, because unfortunately, being fired wasn't on his list of things to do. He really never thought he'd have to worry about keeping a job.

Actually, if you had told him a few years ago that he'd be attempting to keep a human job and not ruin people's lives, he would've laughed in your face, and then maybe deck you, because the notion was a little ridiculous. Him? A job? Not being violent? Not likely. Sacrifices were his thing, why would he give that up.

But here he was. And there that dick was, with his smug face and his fucking breakfast. He truly hoped that someone had happened to poison it. The guy deserved it.

He got up, placing down some money on the table and grabbing his bag. He was going to be petty. No more 'false' accusations? Fine. Mal would just ignore him as if they were both young, teenage girls in the middle of a fight. No problem. That would stop anything from getting out of hand. Hopefully.

After getting all his things together, he stopped the waitress while she was on her way to take another "Hey, you mind if I take a beer bottle to go? Paying for it, obviously."

She bobbed her head yes, he he sighed as she walked away. It was breakfast time, and he was already going to start drinking. Great. Fan-fucking-tastic.

If he could die easily, he'd be having his funeral within the week for sure.
 
The mature, adult thing to do was realise he wasn't going to get a bite from the other and to just turn back away to his friends, eat his breakfast and begin discussing his latest business venture. Malphas wasn't going to get riled up over anything Taylor had to say, so he was clearly taking the mature route-- but that was hardly Taylor's forte.

He was a businessman first and foremost, most of which revolved around criminality - his latest business venture, for instance, included having people bring in Class A drugs and then sell on for profits, all of which went to Taylor, pretty much. He had to be mature when it came to all of that, and he couldn't act as though he was invincible, and play it all like a game.

But when he wasn't in business, when he was just, say, sat in a bar having breakfast, maturity was lacking. He did things because he wanted to, because he could, and with Malphas being a source of enjoyment right now, he wasn't particularly glad to have him leave.

Teasing him brought some enjoyment into the otherwise stressful morning, and the mature option of just letting him go wasn't appealing.

"You're going already? But c'mon pal, we were just getting on. Don't you want to hear about my new business? The opening of my fabulous new nightclub? Hey, why don't you come on down tonight, you can have drinks on me. You know, you're so obsessed with me, the least I can do is get you free drinks."
 
He was talking, why was he still talking? Couldn't he just eat his fucking breakfast and leave Mal alone? He had to force him to ignore the other, tapping his foot on the ground as he stared pointedly at a particular spot on the wall. He wasn't going to talk to that guy. He wasn't going to do this today. He just needed to stay calm, not say anything, and stay casual. Casual.

Why was casual so hard? God, was he this weak as to having to force himself not to say something back? That was a little pathetic, on his own end. He really needed to work on his self restraint. He was doing well, though, and if the waitress came back soon he'd be able to leave and easily avoid everything all together.

She didn't come back soon. It'd been a few seconds, actually, since the other man had said something, but it felt like forever. So, after getting fed up, he turned, looking at Taylor with a scowl.

"I'm not obsess with you, I'm obsessed with doing my job. I'll pass." He said, trying not to sound too aggressive. The statement wasn't as bad as it COULD be, right? He could've said worse.
 
"If by doing your job, you mean trying to find something illegal I've done, you're going to fail pretty damn hard. I recommend you stop trying to pin all of this shit on me, because it's such a dreadful waste of your time when you could be doing something far more fun and worthwhile," he began as he dabbed his mouth with his tissue, delighting himself in the fact that everything he said or did seemed to get under the other's skin.

Taylor didn't pride himself on being liked -he was well aware more people disliked him than liked him-, given Mal was clearly never going to like him, why not make the most out of annoying him? He wasn't going to win him over anytime soon, so hey, pissing him off for his own enjoyment seemed to be the only viable route to take.

"And you are obsessed with me, but I am handsome and rich and cool. Nobody would blame you. Is that why you're so incessantly determined to have me arrested, so you'd get to see me in court with a nice suit on? If you want me to smarten up and look dapper, all you gotta do is say so. You don't have to go through all this strenuous shit, pal," he continued flatly, tapping his fork against his plate and, when noticing the waitress seemingly in no rush, grinned smugly to himself at the fact his words had the time to properly and effectively sink in. "I don't swing that way, though. You do, but hey, pal, that's cool too. Why don't you come to the bar tonight, it'll be fun. Maybe you can come in with your notebook and interview some of my mates, I'm sure they'll tell 'ya I'm a decent guy. It won't fit your narrative, but whatever, you won't let a silly thing like that stop you."
 
Mal rolled his eyes, taking a moment to role up the sleeves of his plaid shirt "First of all, yes, I'm gay, but don't flatter yourself. You're not that attractive. I'd rather fuck a garbage can." He said dryly "I want to get you arrested because its so painfully obvious that you're doing SOMETHING. So.....yea." That was a lame sentence to end with. He could do better. "Maybe I'll come, who the fuck knows? But maybe I won't. Bye."

It was around that time that the waitress came back, and Mal grabbed his beer, paid her, and walked out, not intending to continue the conversation any further, nor intending to go to the bar at all. Actually, he wanted to just hole up in his apartment and work at his pace.

He wasn't going ANYWHERE tonight.

---

Malphas ended up going to the bar. It wasn't really that he wanted to, but he needed to avoid people it turned out. After a few calls on his phone from Gomory, he needed an excuse to not be at his apartment, as she seemed intent on forcing him to listen to her. Considering he didn't want to, the bar was really the one good excuse he had.

So, he went, looking like a 'history professor with piercings and tattoos', according to one of his coworkers. He didn't go inside, though, not at first. He just loitered around, staring down the building as if it was alive and about to attack him. Which, it might not, but the people inside? He couldn't be too sure about them. Which was why he was re-thinking doing this all together.

Maybe he should just go home. This probably wasn't worth it.
 
The human had no idea whether or not the detective would show up. He handed across the invitation, and if he was a betting man (which he obviously was), he would have predicted Mal turning up at some point. But it was no certainty. The detective would have already realised that while some of the people in the club would be the general public looking for a good night out, the other half would be friends of Taylor's, less than savoury people with a penchant for the illegal and the violent.

So, he decided to simply put it out of his mind. For the remainder of the day, he tended to his business dealings, he made sure the murder from that morning had been properly covered up... and then he played at his father role, taking his daughter to the park, even if she couldn't even walk yet. Just sitting with her and taking the time to relax and clear his head was incredibly -and surprisingly- cathartic.

By the time he arrived at his new club, he was incredibly relaxed as a result of the hours he spent just... well, relaxing. If he was honest, he did forget entirely about Malphas' potential arrival, so the fact he was donning a smart, expensive suit had nothing to do with the detective, and nothing to do with the smug comment he made about his attire earlier that day. He couldn't help being reminded of it the moment he did spot Mal, though, and while the suit was a happy coincidence, he was quite happy to pretend otherwise if it meant teasing the police detective a little more.

Said man stood out like a sore thumb, at least amongst the individuals int he club who weren't squeaky clean. He was a policeman - their enemy, really. Even though a few of Taylor's rivals were also dotted around, they were all muttering amongst themselves the moment they too spotted Mal - obviously, they had no idea he'd been invited, or that Taylor wanted him there.

They soon realised that when the mafia boss got up from the VIP area and wandered through the crowd to find the police detective at the bar, leaning against it with a broad gesture to his own clothes.

"Ta-da~! I did try my best for you, I hope you're appreciative. You know, most women in here haven't got my attention tonight because I've eagerly awaited you. You ought to be thankful you're getting my attention," he began, beckoning his barman and ordering two of the most expensive drinks available, simply to show off. He had the cash - why not spend it? "I do hope you don't feel uncomfortable, pal. There are a few guys in here who you've tried to shove up in prison, aren't there? Guys who, like me, are falsely accused and treating like petty criminals. You've got some balls showing up, I'll give 'ya that."
 
And this was about the point that Mal began to regret everything. Not that he was worried or anything, he just really didn't want to be bothered now. This was an extreme mistake, and Taylor was far too cocky for his tastes. Maybe if Mal bored him, he'd fuck off, and he could go avoid Gomory elsewhere.

"I could give less of a shit, about you, your clothes, and whoever the fuck is here." He grumbled, almost under his breath, tapping his fingers on the counter rhythmically "You act as if I should be worried, but here's the thing: I don't care, christ! Is this the only material you have to annoy me with? Because the fucking repetition is doing the trick, so good job."

He was about to say something else, but his phone started to ring. He took it out of his pocket, before denying the call. This prompted a series of texts from Gomory that he proceeded to completely and utterly ignore.

[ text from: Bad Bitch ] MALPHAS

[ text from: Bad Bitch ] MALPHAS PICK UP YOUR FUCKING PHONE YOU PIECE OF SHIT

[ text from: Bad Bitch ] i swear to satan if you don't pick up the next call im suplexing your sorry ass back into hell

[ text from: Bad Bitch ] youre a prince and YET here i am, acting like your goddamn mother. why the fuck are you not even at your apartment you don't have a social life what the FUCK! answer me!

[ text from: Bad Bitch ] FINE! fine. you know what? okay. be a little bitch. i'll b seeing you later​

She was going to kill him. That was fine, though. He already had one asshole to deal with right now, and that was his limit. He turned back to Taylor "So, are you done pushing me around for fun, or what?"
 
"Why? Do you want to rush off to your boyfriend, detective? I mean, maybe you shouldn't even be here, you know? You should be off arresting criminals, solving crimes, but here you are instead, hanging out with an expensive champagne cocktail in a nightclub. Nothing like shirking work, is there?" He retorted, hiding his curiosity at the influx of texts the other seemed to be receiving. He assumed it was a boyfriend, or at least a close friend, and if so, he did want to find out who that was.

If he killed the person texting, then it was the perfect message to send to Malphas - back the fuck off and stop investigating, or you'll be next. Killing a policeman wasn't the easiest thing to do, but killing the boyfriend or the friend of a policeman? He didn't see a problem with that, and if it got Malphas to a) realise he was digging too deep, and, subsequently, b) back off, then it wasn't necessarily a bad route to head down. It was certainly something that got the cogs of Taylor's brain to start turning, anyway.

Before he could really continue his teasing, he did glance around at the noise arising from the corner table of the dark, typically modern club - a table full to the brim of members of the rival gang who clearly weren't bothered about loudly yelling and intimidating some of Taylor's closest and most trusted allies.

In that moment, in that second, the man's demeanour changed. Thus far with Malphas, he'd been playful. Taunting, yes, but there'd been a joking tone behind it all, mostly because he knew that jokey air would piss the detective off even more than if he was mature and serious.

The second the noises and upheaval arose, it provoked in the man a sudden flash of anger. He was one of the most feared men in all of Hildebran, and there was a reason Malphas was so determined to have him behind bars. To his enemies, like those men sat in the corner, he wasn't sympathetic, kind or remotely nice-- and the fact the rival gang members had even entered his premises had annoyed them. Having them make this amount of noise and intimidating one of his younger brothers, who was renowned for being a little naive and clueless... that just wasn't on. Not at all.

"...I'm gonna have to cut our conversation short, I'm afraid. I have a few idiots to deal with," he chuckled, though the sound was void of any humour. It was strained, which pretty much summed up his smiles too. If it wasn't for the fact Malphas was a detective, he'd have brought out his gun and shot at the drunken fools by now. Taylor was confident and brazen... but he wasn't foolish, and openly shooting at people in front of a man of the law... well, even he couldn't get out of those charges. "Go head off and find that friend that texted you, alright detective? You're obsessed with me, so I'm guessing we'll see each other soon enough, anyway."
 
"I don't have a boyfriend. Or friends." Mal replied, eyes shifting to where Taylor was looking "I think I'll stay. Or are you scared I'm gonna see you kill someone? Don't worry, I won't tell. Maybe."

Now this was interesting. He had a problem interacting with Taylor face-to-face, but he was curious what this was about. He may be turning over a new leaf, but who was he to turn down unnecessary and excessive violence? Drinks and a show sounded pretty fun, to him.

Things like that happened a lot where he was from. Fights weren't uncommon. If he wasn't hiding away, sending messages to tell people what he wanted, he was often out and about, watching Gomory and Aamon tag team pestering some poor person, which would usually end in a fight. They almost always won, but sometimes he was pleasantly surprised and saw Gomory slammed into a wall.

He slipped out his phone again, looking down at it to type.

[ text to: Bad Bitch ] calm tf down im watchin a fight and on a job

[ text from: Bad Bitch ] I don't give a shit about your human job Mal where are you

[ text to: Bad Bitch ] uhhhhh look ill update u l8er bc im busy buhbyeeeeeeeeeeee

[ text from: Bad Bitch ] I hate you

[ text to: Bad Bitch ] <3​

He pocketed it again, before looking back over at the scene. He had his gun if need be. No big deal.
 
Damn.

As eager as he had been to have Malphas in his club, with ample opportunity to prod and poke at the detective making his life hell, he was suddenly eager to have him out of the bar and locking up some drunkard for anti-social behaviour. How the hell was Taylor going to properly show the rival gang members how angry he was without deploying violence? In an ideal world, he'd smash a glass and shove it into someone's neck and sit back with his cocktail to watch them bleed. The only real negative to that would be the mess-- but he wasn't going to be cleaning it up. He had bar staff to do that for him.

But that all appeared unlikely anyway, not when there was a literal detective sitting back observing matters. The fact he was stubbornly staying put made Taylor's hatred for him intensify. He knew what he was doing when he refused to leave. It was a win-win for him, really. Either Taylor lost control, engage in the fight and be arrested for it, or he managed to stay out of it, lose respect and damage his reputation, and be teased for it by Malphas which would, admittedly, make Taylor more likely to lose his composure and make a silly error.

Contemplating the options, the former was easily the most attractive. Might he get arrested? Sure. But there was a chance he wouldn't be, and as long as he kept the violence to a few punches and kicks, and not the murder he so very much wanted to commit, then what could he be charged with by police? Defending his friends against a bunch of drunkards who had been starting trouble all night? Hell, Taylor knew he could twist the story to suit his narrative. He may be a lot of things, but nobody could say he wasn't charming.

Although, any opportunity to really get involved ended the moment gunshots went off. He wasn't stupid enough to join in the action when guns were being waved around and bullets being shot god knows where. Screams inevitably followed, panicked and frantic young adults fleeing as fast as their legs could carry them-- well, all adults besides Taylor's friends and the rival gang. Taylor was the only one who neglected to bring out a weapon, his main focus being on dragging his younger brother out of the line of fire. As violent as Taylor could be, only one of his younger brothers followed after him. His youngest brother, who'd only just turned 18, was barely able to hold a gun without fucking up-- and given how important and how valued family was, Taylor was hardly going to let the boy stand in the middle of a gun fight fiddling in his pocket for his knife.

"You got a car? You're gonna fucking drive us out of this, my boys are handling it. Do you wanna get a bullet in the fucking head? No? Then just fucking go," he hissed suddenly in Malphas' direction, his eyes narrowed and hardened as he barely waited for an answer, already heading to the exit with his brother tugged reluctantly behind him.
 
Gun shots were always a good thing. That was contrary to popular belief, since many people found it frightening, but it was actually exciting.....if you couldn't die from regular bullets. Mal was sure he was the only one in that particular category, considering the current panic from the area around him. He couldn't say it wasn't entertaining, and as long as they weren't enchanted or some other bullshit....he should be fine. But he probably shouldn't take chances with it, just in case.

He was surprised to find Taylor addressing him, though. Something about a ride and a car, and he was about to say 'fuck no', but then he noticed the kid, and he couldn't. And it was awful. So, instead, he pushed his way towards and out of the exit, keeping close to the other two. He wasn't leaving them.

But he wasn't doing this for Taylor.

He made his way to his car, figuring they would follow. Or hoping. But, slowing down would help no one. He unlocked it, and swung himself into the drivers seat.

"And where the fuck, exactly, am I taking you?"
 
"I ain't having you drive me to my house, no fucking way-- and you ain't using this as a way of driving me to the police station, neither. Just get us to that diner we were at this morning, yeah, detective? Or I'm gonna just kill 'ya and drive this vehicle myself. That's a threat, sure, but considering you didn't bother trying to help any civilians to safety in there, I think we can keep my threat between us without going tattle-telling on me," he grunted back at him, having easily kept up with the strides. Hell, he overtook him at one point in his eagerness to just get the fuck away from the club. He did have several inches over Malphas, and he made a mental note to make fun of the other's shorter stature when things had simmered down and he could return back to the playful, teasing rapport he had with him.

Right now, he didn't have the mental capabilities to speak in any way other than an angry, frustrated growl. The teasing wasn't because he liked Malphas. Make no mistake, he detested the man, but the jibes were the best way to annoy him, to get him to make silly detecting errors, and to get the sack. Right now, though, he wasn't really able to hide his hatred... even if the demon was driving them away from the scene-- albeit having had that decision forced upon him.

"We'll have a beer or two, calm the hell down-- put the fucking knife away safe, this prick's a detective. Do you want to go to prison, huh? It isn't a weapon, detective. Is it, Seth? He works with penknives to open up crates down by the docks for the family business. This idiot puts the knife in his pocket and forgets about it, don't 'ya?"

"...Yeah, I totally forget. I get, like, bouts of insomnia--"

"Amnesia."

"Whatever it's called, I'm forgetful-- this really ain't a weapon, it's pretty blunt, actually. From cutting open crates and stuff," agreed Seth, pouncing upon the excuse his older brother opened up for him. It was partially true, actually. Seth did work down the docks, opening up crates of drugs, though he wasn't going to say what those crates were full of, of course. However, he also purposely kept his knife on him as a weapon, as he was told to by his brother. Taylor hardly trusted him with a gun - he'd almost shot off his foot the last time he handled one.

Seth was clearly his older brother's opposite, in many ways, both aesthetically and personality-wise. Rather than the dark features of his brother, Seth possessed cornflour blue eyes, paler skin and a mop of platinum blonde hair he had gelled smartly to the side before the fight, but was now messed up and tangled because of it. Also unlike his brother, and most male figures in his family, he wasn't remotely tough, or handy with a weapon, or even that business-smart. He tried to be. He tried harder than anything to be like that, but he just... wasn't. He was far better suited to a quiet, normal lifestyle with normal friends and working a nice, relaxed job.

Instead, he was involved in his family's business and currently sat in the back of a detective's car because his brother knew, without intervention, Seth would be lying on the ground, dead.

"...You got a real nice car, mister. Like, it smells of vanilla in here--"

"Just fucking stop talking, would 'ya? You're embarrassing-- Malphas, right? Oi, Mal, you got a lighter in this car somewhere? I want a smoke and, wouldn't you know, I just forgot my damn lighter. Fucking shame, really. Smoking always calms me down, see."
 
Mal started the car, rolling his eyes. Man, they talked a lot. It'd be amusing if Taylor wasn't annoying. He liked the brother, though. Seemed like a decent kid, and he had no urge to murder him, so that was something. It was nice to hear the older of the two in his car actually being angry, however, because he got more aggravated when people were prodding and cheerful.

"Okay, a few things." He started, keeping his voice flat "One, I'm already fucking agreeing to drive you, dumbass, and I have no evidence. You stab me? And I will. Let's file what you just said under harassing an officer. Two, according to you, both you and your brother there are civilians, so technically I'm helping two. I'll be fixing that more in a moment. Three, I like the kid, he can have a knife and talk as much as he damn well pleases, I don't care. Four, yea, thanks, it does smell like vanilla. Lastly, no, I don't have a lighter." The list was long, but he was sure he covered anything "Now, hold any other questions or statements til I'm fucking done with this, okay?"

He sighed, pursing his lips. He really didn't want to do what he was about to do. God, he didn't. But he had no choice. He needed to tell someone at the station, but calling directly would be an issue because it would be implying he was there. He really didn't want that right now. So, he had no choice.

He needed to call Gomory.

This was one of the points he was thankful for having the little bluetooth feature in the car. Hands off, secure, and easy to use. Using a free hand, he tapped at the console to put in a number. After that? He hit call, knowing regrets could be had later on.

The call rung for a few moments, before being picked up. A female voice on the other end said "Hello?" questioningly, and a little suspiciously, but Mal wasn't bothered by it.

"Hey, Gommy. Look, I need a favor-" He was cut off. He was expecting it, but he didn't like it any more because of that.

"Malphas?" The woman, Gomory, said incredulously "You're fucking kidding me. You've got to be! You can not be FUCKING serious right now!"

"I am. Now-"

"No! Shut up and get back to your goddamn apartment, you piece of shit, before I find a way to steal Michael's spear, track you down, and fucking stab you through the chest with it! You can not do this to me! I can not believe you're doing all this because someone told you you couldn't, this is the STUPIDEST FUCKING THING-"

He scowled, growing tired of her rambling "Gomory, I have guests."

There was silence on the other end for a few moments, before a aggravated sigh was heard "Aamon is gonna hate this. Alright, what freaks are riding with you, of all people?"

"Taylor Whatever-His-Name and younger brother. Does it matter?"

"Yea. Kinda. That the guy you're basically studying as if he were a human college course? Actually, don't answer that, I don't want to know. What the hell do you need?" She asked, a little more sedated now.

That was a relief. Maybe they could finish this up soon "Call the police, tell them about a gang fight happening in that new nightclub, alright? That's it. Anyway, I've got to go now-"

"Oh, sure, just hang up, Mal."

"-Yea, okay, whatever, I'll see you later. Bye."

He hung up, not really able to take much more. God, he couldn't wait to get everyone out of his car.
 
Throughout the other's cuss-ridden conversation with the person he only knew thus far as 'Gommy', Taylor had uncharacteristically fallen silent. He was known for being obnoxiously loud and was a self-proclaimed extrovert. Even his secondary school teacher had accused him in his report of 'speaking for the sake of speaking', and that had hardly changed to the day. He talked often, not because he had something pressing to say, but simply to fill the silence, and mostly with aimless ramblings that really meant nothing at all.

Except now, he was silent. Eerily silent, so much so that Seth had grown increasingly uncomfortable sitting beside his brother and had made a conscious effort to shift as far away from him as humanly possible. He adored his brother and everything Taylor sacrificed to protect him, and every single opportunity Taylor granted him... but he was also wary of him. He knew from firsthand experience that his brother had an explosive temper that could be ignited out of thin air, and had typically bloody results. He also knew Taylor hated the man currently driving them, that Malphas had caused Taylor endless trouble. For some reason, Taylor's previous conversational tone had ended-- and Seth predicted it probably wasn't for the best.

He did try to dissuade his brother from doing something stupid by babbling away about how nice the stars were at night, and how glad he was to be out of the bar, but clearly, the effort was to no avail.

"...Pull the fuck over, Malphas," grunted the mob boss after a further few tense seconds of that same, dulling silence. Once noticing the empty, abandoned car park just ahead, he decided to make a snap judgement - one that couldn't be taken back once he'd made it. To consolidate that sudden decision, he'd moved for the gun in his pocket and pressed it against the back of Malphas' neck.

Of course he was unaware that the bullet was useless. He had no cause to believe the detective was a demon-- and hell, he didn't even believe in them. He'd been raised as a Christian, aware of Hell and Heaven, but, once he became old enough to make his own decisions and form an opinion, he abandoned the notion of religion and all it encompassed pretty darn quickly. Angels, to him, were as imaginary as demons were.

"I've-- fuck you. I'm done with this charade, alright? I'll sleep much easier when you're fucking dead and burned to a crisp, so pull over, calming get out the damn car and just accept that you've gotten yourself into this situation by relentlessly pissing me off. Fucking hell, I've paid off a tonne of police officers and detectives, why can't you just be greedy, accept cash, and, y'know, spare your own measly life?!"
 
You must log in or register to reply here.
Top Bottom
Back