Unsettling Differences || potassiumboron and VanillaCola

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    Another dreary day, another hangover. The party last night had not been worth it in Ramsay's eyes. No fights had broken out, no gunfire had been heard, and no one had gotten on their knees for him in any way. He knew he shouldn't have gone to one of the upscale, uptight nightclubs. The snobs that infected the place were enough to put him off, and add to that the police officers snooping around the streets, and Ramsay was left with a disappointing night and a dull morning. Ramsay had wanted a fun night out with a few of his friends, maybe run into a rival gang and start a fight, but none of that had happened last night. The only enjoyment he had gotten out of last night was laughing at the patrons that had waited in the cue for about two hours before being let inside the club. He had been tempted to find the tallest and most impatient man outside and start a fight, but that idea had been shoved to the side once he realised that police were walking around, just waiting for someone to step out of line so they could throw them into jail for the night. They won't get the best of me, Ramsay had told himself, and he had stuck to his word.

    Seated on a park bench not too far from the nightclub, Ramsay took a drag of his cigarette and watched as people walked by. Some had spared him a glance and he threw a glare at them in response, but most didn't care. The average person didn't care about specific names of gangsters – they were more concerned about the collective of 'street crime', the nasty and malevolent entity that roamed the streets at night and attacked pensioners and lonely young women. So none of them paid Ramsay much mind, a fact that he found both amusing and irritating. He wished to be feared, and with the rise of gang crime, perhaps that could soon be reality. It was slowly turning into Ramsay's city, and he couldn't wait to claim the world. But first, he had to deal with his hangover.

    The quietness of the morning was disrupted by the arrival of Will, who took a seat beside Ramsay, a plastic bag in his grasp. Ramsay smiled as his gaze landed on his friend. The two of them had risen up through the ranks of the gang together, had been there for one another at every twist and turn. Will was alright in Ramsay's eyes, and that was saying something. And considering he had what Ramsay believed he had in that bag, then he was definitely high up on Ramsay's friend list for now.

    “Painkillers,” Will said, grabbing the small box out of the bag and holding it out for Ramsay to take. “I got a bottle of water too, in case you needed to wash them down.”

    “Thanks,” Ramsay replied, placing a couple of painkillers into his mouth before grabbing the water. He swallowed the pills down with a quick swig of water, grimacing just a bit at the bitter taste of the painkillers. At least they would do their job, though. “Last night really wasn't worth it.”

    “I don't know, that place served some good drinks.” Typical of Will, always try to look on the bright side.

    “But there was no fighting. I was hoping some of our 'friends' would have shown up so we could have gotten a bit of a scrap in. But nothing.” Ramsay sighed. “And did you see all of those officers hanging around? It's like they're expecting a riot to happen.”

    “Well, you know how the police have been 'cracking down' on street crime. Not cracking down hard enough really though, are they? I mean, you're still running around.” Will chuckled at his own joke, and Ramsay smiled in response.

    “They'll never take me out. If it was me against one of them, they wouldn't have the guts to try me.”

    “Which is why they walk around in twos and threes on nights out.”

    Ramsay was about to make a remark, but someone caught his eye. A young man that Ramsay felt he vaguely recognised was coming down the street, looking as if he was going to head to college or something. He looked young enough to be a college or uni student, and Ramsay narrowed his eyes as he tried to place the young man's face. Was he a friend of a friend, or someone Ramsay had only met in passing? No, he would have been able to remember the name that accompanied this man's looks. Will had followed Ramsay's gaze, though he didn't may near as much attention as Ramsay was.

    When Ramsay failed at placing the young man, he let out an irritated huff and stood up from the bench. “Oi, you,” Ramsay called out at the young man, hoping to catch his attention. “Where do I know you from? Who's your dad?” If this one was gang-related, Ramsay assumed he would have heard of his father. Perhaps he was the son of some rival gang leader. That would make for a much more interesting morning. Waiting for a response, Ramsay watched the young man closely, still trying his hardest to place his face.


  2. As it stood, today had been a great day.

    While there was the glaringly obvious fact he had to attend university and spend time around uneducated, irritating, garbage-fuelled idiots (and that was putting it lightly), it was also a chance to spend time doing what he loved, and hopefully gaining some praise for his work. After all, the boy had always thrived on compliments and praise, and even at twenty years old, that hadn't changed. He was at his happiest when his art was adored, or, even better, his ego was pampered and comforted with some meaningful comments on his newest hairstyle, or the designer clothes he happily donned. Having a mother working in the industry definitely had its perks.

    He also had had a rather interesting breakfast at his favourite cafe -obviously in the upper area of town-, sitting back with his coffee in hand to witness an altercation between the owner and a disappointed customer demanding that the smoked salmon and Eggs Benedict he had ordered be remade to his standards. It was a very upperclass argument, granted, but one that the easily bored and tired Valentino had watched on and silently encouraged with amusement and interest. He wasn't usually a fan of such altercations, thinking them lowly and pathetic, but after a whole night of attending a party with his parents, he was happy to anything that could distract him from his numbing hangover.

    Now, Valentino was never one to find himself drunk. Drunkenness, to him, was simply a feature of no self-control. Though, at the party celebrating his father's achievements in the police force, he had happily guzzled down glass and glass upon champagne, and mistakenly grown far more tipsy on the several portions of alcohol-drenched tiramisu. So now, he was, for only about the second time in his life, suffering quietly with a raging headache, and feeling like Death personified. That was a slight dampener on what had so far been a decent day.

    And then any remnants of positivity; any slither of optimistic outlook he had for his day disintegrated in a mere second at having to enter the rougher areas of town. If it wasn't for his father's insistence that he walk the ten minutes from his apartment to university, Valentino wouldn't have to be subjected to the horrors of the working-class neighbourhood, with its dodgy characters and overwhelmingly grey scenery. The absolute epitome of hell, in Valentino's eyes.

    A disgusted frown easily pulled at his lips, kicking an empty beer can aside with his out-of-place designer shoes, sneering almost immediately at the drops of beer that leapt into the air as a result. Murmuring curses under his breath, the aim was to get through this absolute terror as quickly and as hurriedly as he could. And then he was called and shouted at. Well, this just was typical. This summed up his life completely.

    Turning abruptly on his heel, he stood for a decently long few seconds, unsubtly eyeing up the man who had called at him. Frankly, Valentino didn't know why he had expected anything less in such a pathetic, miserable neighbourhood. This man clearly reflected the surroundings. He was coarse, rude and utterly unaware of the common decencies a man ought to possess. Who on earth shouted 'oi' at someone?! Yet, almost hypocritically, Valentino was quite happily to embark on insult upon insult; one poisonous remark after another. That was hardly stereotypical of gentlemanly behaviour either - his defence? He was entitled to such rude displays. He was the one with the wealth and the status, after all. He wasn't some street urchin; some no-doubt crime mobster who thought it perfectly alright to shout at someone like this.

    "My father? Believe it or not, my father is my mother's husband," he cockily responded, lip tugging upwards into a distasteful frown. There was his assumption confirmed - if the man vaguely knew of his father, then there was no doubt in Valentino's mind that he was encountering a criminal. One who he presumed his father was on the look out for. With the increased frequency of crime, there was potentially dozens of people his father was after... and Valentino easily assumed they were all the archetypal criminal, typified by this man's crassness.

    "I'm not going to pander to your pathetic inquiries," he continued, resembling the unsubtle look of disinterest and superiority. He refused to bow down to what he assumed would be expected fear. He feared nobody, especially not someone like this. "My father is absolutely no business of yours. Now, if you don't mind, I actually have somewhere to be. You know, I have a future to make? Unlike you, I don't fancy dwelling on the streets and thieving like a low-life for my survival. Was this all your feeble little mind wanted of me? Hm?"
    #2 potassiumboron, May 2, 2016
    Last edited: May 2, 2016

  3. Ramsay glared at the young man when he turned on his heel to look at him. He saw the way this one eyed him up, how he almost seemed to turn his nose up in disgust. If it wasn't broad daylight, Ramsay would have stormed over and turned the little boy's nose up to his ear with a quick strike, but he had enough sense in him to know that doing that would get him arrested. And then that would lead to all kinds of cans of worms being opened up, a whole bunch of charges being pressed, and God knows what else those imbeciles down at the station would try to slap on him. Ramsay could smell the entitlement from a mile away. It was sickening, to be quite frank, and he was so eager to pull the kid back down to earth – especially when the brat opened his mouth. That cocky response, that distasteful look on his face...Ramsay needed to do something.

    A laugh escaped Ramsay at the first remark, the sound mixed with amusement and disbelief at the level of superiority he was having to deal with. As the young man continued, Ramsay continued to smirk, small chuckles dripping from his lips at every little comment. When the brat was finished, Ramsay looked over at Will, whose expression was one of pure amusement, mirroring Ramsay's own. “Did you hear that?” Ramsay asked. He stood upright, head tilted up in a mocking snobbish manner. “'Pathetic inquiries'. You low-lives dwelling around on the streets are pathetic.” He was toying with his prey. It was a recognisable trait that Will had learned to watch out for, now well aware of how much Ramsay loved to mock and poke the bear. It was to be expected nowadays, and especially when dealing with someone like this boy.

    Turning back to face the young man, Ramsay's face fell into a scowl, though his eyes still held a hint of mischief. “You didn't answer my questions,” he said, taking a step closer. “All you told me was that your father is your mother's bitch, and that you're a snob with a pole stuck up your arse.” He looked the boy up and down, noting the designer clothes and well-kept appearance. “You're not supposed to be here are you, little rich boy? Looking like that, you either took a wrong turn and got lost, or you came here looking for trouble.”

    “Wait a minute,” Will called out, getting up from the bench. “I recognise him now too. Isn't he that police bloke's son?”

    “What 'police bloke'?” Ramsay questioned, eyebrows knitted together as he looked at Will, then back over to the boy.

    “You know, the one that's been on TV and in the newspapers. Always talking about 'cleaning up the streets' and making the city a 'family-friendly place' again.”

    It all clicked for Ramsay, as evident by the grin that was plastered across his face. “I can see it now!” He exclaimed, leaning a bit closer to the young man. “You've got his punchable face, haven't you? Little piggy eyes. No wonder your dad's your mum's bitch, he's a little uniform-wearing piggy.” His words may have been juvenile, but his tone was biting, aggressiveness manifesting itself in the spit that flew from his mouth as he spoke. “I may be a low-life, but at least I'm not a piglet in a wolf's den.” The impish grin had mostly faded away now, replaced with a more intense expression. Eyes darkened and narrowed, teeth bared between slightly-parted lips. He looked rabid, almost inhuman as he glared at the young man. It was no surprise that Ramsay didn't like the police, and he definitely didn't like those related to the police. God, how he wished they were somewhere more secluded, like an alley or in some empty street. He would have made an example out of this one, would have pulled out the knife hidden under his shirt and spilled some blood, let it soak into those expensive clothes.

    “Why don't you run home to mummy and daddy before I make you squeal.” Taking a step back, Ramsay kept himself under control for the moment. His hand went to the knife that was tucked into his waistband, though he made no move to grab it. He just felt it, like a rock that provided support. It was a reminder that he was in control, that he could deal the killing blow. And whilst Ramsay was keeping himself calm now, there was only so long that that would last. If this kid even dared to provoke Ramsay again, then he would remember everything that the gangster would do to him. As would the streets as rivers of blood poured through them.​


  4. It wasn't like Valentino didn't expect such a remark. He was quite aware that, in his decision to respond so sarcastically and so venomously, that this criminal would retort with viciousness, using the intimidation he had to its full advantage over Valentino who admittedly wasn't used to such brutal talk. And when he realised that the man had figured out just who he was, Valentino realised that he would only be targeted with more of the same undisguised disgust and anger. He was a policeman's son, the chief of police's son, and he was currently conversing with a criminal. There was natural hatred to be had, as natural as a cat and a dog.

    No. None of this really surprised the boy. He was well prepared to such a backlash. What did surprise him was the anger that raged through his body at the responses the other clearly took pleasure in relaying to him. Getting angry probably wasn't the wisest reaction. What would have been wise would be to awkwardly murmur an apology, get laughed at, but at least able to leave the scene without getting beat up or insulted further than was necessary. Though, Valentino wasn't able to walk away, and the insults were a red rag to a bull. They practically invited his retortion, and while he was completely out of his depth, as the man had quite gladly pointed out, what sort of person just stood and let his family and his very being be insulted by someone like this? Someone whose future relied upon criminality and illegality? The very thought of not defending himself against someone of such low, pathetic standing would only haunt him. Perhaps a punch to the face, or worse, was worth it just to defend himself?

    It was far too late to even consider walking away, anyway, because, without even really realising that he was doing as such, vitriolic words spat from his mouth vehemently. Oh well, too late now.

    "I will not be running anywhere, I'll have you know. I'm not scared of you, nor am I in a position of feeling threatened. If anything, I ridicule you and your attempts of intimidation," he responded with as casual a shrug as he could cope with, easing his shoulder blades back with a forced smile upwards at him. He didn't really have anything but his words to rely on. He had no weapons on him (he always thought himself too proud to consider such a thing - and why would he need to when he dwelt in upper class areas for most of his time?), and he could hardly consider fighting. Not only would he be completely outclassed... but he didn't want to risk bruising or injuring his hands. They were his instruments; his tools, essentially, when he was working on art. Without the full use of his hands, his art would suffer, and his mood would deteriorate. If the man was going to hurt him, then he would do so - Valentino would just refuse to land any punches.

    "Honestly, I don't quite think you realise that your snivelling little words aren't frightening to me," he continued in the same apathetic drawl, a brow arched as his tired eyes glanced between the men. He didn't really understand just what was going to happen, but frankly, he didn't care. He had already lost, in a way. Having to simply engage with such utter waste of spaces; such large sacks of working-class scum had already cast him out as the loser in this situation. It did feel like a tarnish on his reputation, to have spent time in the company of despicable men. What a brilliant day this was turning out to be. "So either step back and let me get to university -a place that would refuse your type, may I add-, or you continue your feeble attempts to provoke fear out of me. I don't fear the 'street thug', or whatever version you both claim to be."

  5. This one was still talking. Ramsay honestly couldn't believe the gall that the boy had to continue speaking and insulting him, even with the threats that the gangster had made. Will looked over at his friend, seeming to realise the severity of the situation. The only people who had spoken back to Ramsay after his threats were either stupid grunts or leaders of rival gangs. And this boy was neither of those. Ramsay was fuming. His eyes had gone maniacally wide, his jaw clenched and teeth gritted. The air was suddenly filled with a tension so palpable it could probably be cut through with the switchblade that Ramsay's hand was hovering over. Time seemed to freeze, Ramsay seemed to switch.

    And then he keeled over and let out a bellowing laugh. He might as well have slapped his knee, considering he was laughing like some sort of comedy character, tears in his eyes. “Look at you,” he said between cackles, pointing at the young man. “So scary! So intimidating. Did the piggy teach you all of that?” It took a moment, but Ramsay's laughter eventually died down, and he returned to a more serious stance. His smirk still remained though, completely out of place on a face that would have otherwise looked sinister. “You're too funny, piglet. Oh God, too funny to kill. Maybe not too funny for a bit of a beating, though.” Ramsay closed in, gaze focussed down on the boy. “I hope your university has a good nurse, because you're going to be black and blue by the time you get there.”

    If this was the middle of the night, then Ramsay could do whatever he wanted. But this was the morning, in the middle of the street, and people would be rushing around any time soon. It was time for Will to intervene, and he did so reluctantly, pushing the boy away from Ramsay. Ramsay glared at his friend, then over at the boy. “What the hell are you doing, Will? I was going to teach this little bastard a lesson.”

    “I don't think now's the right time,” Will replied, nodding toward the direction of an old man who disappeared into a nearby shop. “There's people around – witnesses.”

    As much as Ramsay hated to admit it, Will was right. There was no way Ramsay wanted to end up in prison yet, not when he had so much going on. Besides, getting arrested for killing a stupid kid wasn't worth it. There were better ways to go out, much more interesting stories to tell. Ramsay didn't want to be known as the foolish gangster who got jailed for beating up a big-mouthed university student. Looking over at said student, Ramsay smiled.

    “Looks like you're getting off easy today, kid,” he said. However, after a slight pause, Ramsay shoved the boy with all his strength, forcing him to the ground. Glancing around to make sure there were no witnesses, Ramsay crouched down and grabbed the boy by his shirt, using his other hand to retrieve the knife from the waistband of his jeans. He waved it in the student's face, let it travel down to his neck before he quickly hid it from view again. It would have been so easy to just let it sink into his skin, to cut his jugular and be done with it. But the consequences were anything but simple. “Just know that you could have made the worst mistake of your life today, piglet.” Ramsay stood up, staring down at the boy. “Why don't you tell your dad and mummy dearest that Ramsay Dillon just kicked your arse all over the pavement?” He wasn't afraid of telling this one his name. If his dad really was that important 'police bloke', then he would probably know who Ramsay was anyway. And besides, there were no witnesses around to confirm that Ramsay had indeed attacked the kid, so if the family tried anything, they wouldn't have nearly as much evidence as they'd need to hold a case up in court.

    “Go on, run along to your snobby little university. Maybe they can teach you to shut your mouth there.” With that, Ramsay moved away from the kid, planning to let him leave now that the fun was over with for the moment. He still planned on hunting this one down when he could – Ramsay had detected the scent of his blood like a shark did in the ocean, and now it was only a matter of time before he crossed paths with the young man again. Maybe if Ramsay was lucky, they'd meet somewhere more private, with a lot fewer witnesses hanging around. If there was one thing Ramsay loved, it was revenge, and he planned on getting it when the two met next.

  6. It was no surprise that the shove knocked him over. He was rather tall himself, but he wasn't entirely that strong. Again, however, that wasn't the biggest revelation out there. While this man presumably spent a great deal of his time fighting and learning how to defend himself, subsequently strengthening himself in the meantime, Valentino had been handed everything he desired on a silver plate. He didn't need to work hard to get what he needed, and the only fights he had ever gotten into had always been verbal, yet even then, he never entered one expecting to be put on the spot or insulted in return. People generally knew better than to insult him. It only tended to prickle his sense of self-righteousness, and that in itself was something most tried to avoid dragging attention towards.

    As a result, he did fall back easily, refusing for a long few seconds to even raise his eyes to make contact with the bestial criminal. In truth, he couldn't face it. He was a young adult, filled with pretension and with an ego larger than most, but he still felt shame and other emotions he tried to ignore. One of which was embarrassment. He wasn't frightened, or fearful (those emotions rarely made an appearance from deep under the surface, buried far beneath his conceited beliefs and sense of entitlement), but embarrassment? That hit him like a train; instant, hard-hitting and impossible to divert and avoid.

    Breathing hard, his eyes eventually left the nothingness they had been bearing holes into, and focused intensely on Ramsay. He wasn't an idiot. Sure, he wanted to rant and rave further, fully unleash the anger that now bore heavily upon his skull, but in doing so, he really didn't think Ramsay could hold back from hurting him. Daylight or not, another wise comment could end up earning him a swift and subtle kick to the ribs, or a foot smashed down onto his face, and there was no chance he was going to ruin his looks with a broken nose or busted lip. As egotistical as it was, he relied on his looks for a lot of things, and having them ruined by the actions of a filthy commoner? No way was he going to let that occur.

    Rising to his feet, the moment he noticed a scuff mark on his formerly ice-white shoes, and a few loose threads from his brand new chequered shirt, anger released itself onto his expression. His lips curled into furious frowns, and from his mouth there uttered plosive curses (though he had quickly learnt to keep such blasphemies hushed and whispered, knowing they could mistakenly be perceived to be directed at the criminals before him). Honestly? A few kicks to the ribs was preferable, over having his outfit ruined (it was disastrous, in his eyes) before he got to university. This was bound to make him look idiotic, wasn't it? Not being as perfect as he could be...

    "I'll leave, of course I'll leave. But if you think I'm going to be one of those pathetic little victims that runs away whenever I hear an ambiguous noise in the street, you can fuck off," he cursed loudly - that swearing was definitely directed at the man, anyway. "You can keep up this little vendetta against me, if you want to pursue childishness, of course. But I'm not scared of you, Ramsay Dillon. Honestly, what sort of name is that? Clearly, your mother had no idea of the importance of a name. You're so cutely working-class, I'd find it utterly adorable if I didn't pity you so."

    Decidedly leaving his words there before he could worsen his case, he made a swift turn - swift enough to encourage his feet to hurry the hell along the pavement and exit the dreadful area, but not too fast to seem desperate to leave. The last thing he wanted to appear as was frightened. Nervous? Perhaps. Anxious? Possibly. But never frightened. Showing weakness to the enemy encouraged them to continue to brutalise you. Showing indifference irritated them; got them worked up and angry. He learnt that of his father - it was how he cracked the hard criminals into relaying information. Patience, and never letting them know that he was nervous.

    He may have come across like an irritating little pest... but he was proud of himself for not appearing fearful. That was at least a personal triumph.

  7. Ramsay glared at the boy as he continued to talk. Did he not get the message? Shutting his mouth would do him some good – maybe wiring it shut would teach him a thing or two. But unfortunately, he couldn't do that now, not in broad daylight. Maybe he should have given him a subtle and quick punch to the stomach, but he was a little too out of range for such a swift strike. When the brat cursed at him and then had the audacity to insult Ramsay's name and his mother, the gangster was practically frothing at the mouth. Hands curled into fists, he was prepared to charge at the kid as he walked away, not caring that if he would be seen, though Ramsay held himself back for once. Mostly. Grabbing an empty beer bottle off of the ground, he threw it in the young man's direction, putting a good amount of force into his overhand throw. The bottle arched through the sky and fell to the side of the boy, shattering upon impact. Though Ramsay didn't mind about 'missing'. His aim was to scare the kid, not kill him. At least, not kill him yet.

    “Come around here again and there'll be even more trouble,” Ramsay called out, voice taking on a more threatening and deeper tone. He watched as the young man walked away swiftly, Ramsay thinking back on what he had said to him. 'Cutely working-class'? What did that even mean? He had been called 'cute' before – apparently his smile could be adorable to some and chilling to others – but never had he been called 'cutely working-class'. This kid must have been delusional, something Ramsay wouldn't put past him considering how snobbish he was. It amazed him that people like that existed.

    Turning to look at Will, Ramsay grunted and sneered. “We're not letting this go,” he said, determination evident in his voice. “I want to know exactly who that kid is, and I want to know where to find him.”

    “Seriously?” Will questioned, receiving a stern look from Ramsay. He paused, deciding to explain himself so as to hopefully avoid any of Ramsay's fury. “That kid's not worth it. Why are you getting so hung up on him?”

    “I'm not getting 'hung up',” Ramsay spat. “I just want to show him that you don't mess with me. Someone like me getting shit-talked by some rich kid? I need to deal with it before one of Green's bastards finds out and starts spreading rumours. You know how they can be, all about talking.”

    “You'll probably never see that kid again.”

    “Considering he's the son of that important police bloke you mentioned, I imagine I will be seeing him again in some way at some point in time.” Ramsay needed to find out more. He needed names, home addresses, phone numbers, the lot. Ramsay was set on making the next few days of this kid's life hell, and he was going to show him that no one talked back to Ramsay Dillon, no matter who you were or who your dad was. Maybe getting under a cop's skin could be a little rewarding too. The danger appealed to the gangster more than anything, and the idea of really biting into the police had him grinning.

    “Come on, let's go to mine. I want to do some research.” Ramsay gestured for Will to follow as he began to walk back to his home, a flat situated in the centre of the city. It wasn't a long walk, though Ramsay spent all of it thinking about how much he wanted to get back at that rich boy for what he had done and said. For years, no one had gotten under Ramsay's skin as much as that one had, and he would pay for it in due time. But right now, Ramsay needed to find out more, plan a bit. If he wanted to get the upper hand in this battle, then he would have to learn about his enemy. It may have been rather uncharacteristic of Ramsay to be so tactical, but he wanted to win for certain, and he wanted to make sure to spread fear through that little piglet's body.​

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  8. Okay, so he had vowed rather strongly to himself to discard any sense of fear that threatened to prickle in him; encroached upon him with deviance and causing him to appear weak which was hardly the desired appearance he wanted to portray. Fear and weakness, the two going hand-in-hand in Valentino's eyes, were his metaphorical enemy, in truth, there to battle and fight against him and mar his indifferent reputation.

    This in mind, he had managed to struggle through the altercation with that criminal with, what he felt, decorum and his archetypal steeliness. He hadn't let fear show on his expression a single second, he had fought back through vicious tones and intimidating glares. While this had inevitably provoked Ramsay into attacking him back, and not just purely with insults, and currently had him plotting away with a grudge embedded in him, it had been worth it. Getting an eventual beating would simply be worth it just to have had those few moments of enforcing the fact he hadn't been afraid of him, when others in his situation would have trembled and blabbered their apologies.

    Then that damned bottle smashed beside him. That stupid, stupid piece of glass had him having to catch his breath, stopping dead to stare at the green shards strewn across his trainers and the pavement equally. In truth, it wasn't the smashing that had caused his shock; it was instead the sheer fact that the bottle could have hit him. It could have smashed on top of his head, and god knows what damage it could have caused.

    That simple fact almost reiterated everything Ramsay had been trying to get across: he was dangerous and would happily hurt the Scottish student as a result of his back-talking. He had been pushed, so Valentino realised that Ramsay would hurt him if he felt like it... but the glass bottle, with its risk of seriously harming him if it had landed, symbolised Ramsay's seriousness of grievously harming the younger man.

    Hurrying along the street, a little quicker (he also had in mind that he had to get to class), he did have varying thoughts in his head, though the one with the most prominence was his own need to do a little research. He couldn't ask his father, knowing the man would only worry and he needed all the clarity and patience to crack down efficiently on crime. Instead, Valentino had to do his own research, gather together everything he could and, when their paths crossed, he would be ready to deal with whatever Ramsay threw at him... though admittedly, the only thing he could think of was ensuring that his phone was on record. Aside from that? He had to accept the fact he would probably get beaten black and blue with no real chance of defending himself.

    The day, despite its bright start, suddenly darkened and dampened his spirits.

  9. Most of Ramsay's day had been spent researching that kid and his family, and getting into contact with people who could find out more 'locked away' details such as phone numbers and addresses. Being in his position, he could easily find people who would hack and do whatever it took to find such information, and a few phone calls later, he had a lot more knowledge about 'Valentino De Montfort'. In addition to this, he had found out about the boy's father, the police chief who always yapped on about cleaning up the streets. Ramsay had pulled up a few news articles online, all of them containing the police chief harping on about fighting against organised crime and taking down the gangs leaders of the streets. It all made Ramsay scoff – did this man really think he could succeed? Gang leaders were like hydras, cut off one head and three more grew. People were always willing to step up if someone was taken out. It had been how Ramsay got to where he was today.

    “So, now what?” Will asked from the sofa, the man having given up searching for information once Ramsay had begun making calls to some other 'friends'. “You've got all that info on your 'boyfriend', what are you going to do with it?”

    “He's not my 'boyfriend',” Ramsay snapped, looking over at Will from his computer. “I would never get involved with a little bastard like that. And you better not say that outside, I don't want people getting the wrong idea.”

    “Of course,” Will muttered. “So, the information?”

    Ramsay rolled his eyes, and then grabbed the piece of paper that had the various phone numbers, home addresses, email addresses, and whatever else he could get written down on it. It wasn't just Valentino's information, but also his parents'. He looked it over, smirking. Ramsay was more than a little pleased with himself. With all of this information, he could certainly wreak havoc on that kid's life.

    “We're going to use it to show that piglet that you don't mess with us,” Ramsay replied. “I can send a couple of men around to his house, or maybe even I could pay a visit. Might even leave a message for him on his phone.”

    “You know, for someone you're apparently not all 'hung-up' on, you're really taking this too far.” Will got up from the sofa, heading over to Ramsay. “Why are we wasting so much time on this kid? Yeah, he's the son of the police chief, but that's it.”

    It was Ramsay's turn to stand up, the gangster almost jumping out of his seat. He was on the defensive, his eyes narrowed as they zeroed in on Will. “'That's it'? That isn't it. We need to show this police chief that he needs to stop fucking around with us. He needs to keep his nose out of our business and go back to rescuing cats out of trees and helping old ladies cross the street. And what better way to do that then shove our noses into his and his kid's lives?” Looking at Valentino's home address, Ramsay had an idea. “Come on, we're going to this kid's house. I want to finish our little talk.”

    “Eh, you can go ahead,” Will replied, shaking his head. “I've had enough of this for one day. And I need to head back home for dinner.”

    Ramsay let out a frustrated huff. “Fine, leave me to do all of the dirty work. I guess I'll just go on my own to sort this kid out.”

    With that, Ramsay grabbed his coat, shoved the home address into his pocket, and headed out of his house, waiting for Will to follow before locking the front door. He didn't give Will a chance to say anything before he was storming off, eager to get to Valentino's home and show him that you didn't mess with a gangster. Maybe Ramsay should have been worried about heading to police chief's kid's house on his own, considering he wasn't the most squeaky-clean citizen around. But just showing up was bound to intimidate Valentino, wasn't it? With the address in mind, Ramsay hopped into his car and began the drive there, already grinning at the thought of showing up uninvited. Soon enough, he was at Valentino's apartment, which was unsurprisingly located in the affluent part of the city. Parking up just outside of the building, he sneered as he approached the front door of the apartment complex, pulling at the handle only to find it was locked. No surprise there. Looking at the doorbells to the side, Ramsay pressed the one corresponding to Valentino's apartment, and then waited for a response. He could only hope that the kid was in, though considering it was approaching the evening, he imagined that someone would be inside. The gangster was practically jumping up and down with childish excitement, hoping that someone would open up soon.​

  10. In direct contrast, despite his former commitment to making his own plans and gathering together information about the gangster, Valentino had done anything but. Instead, after a rather gruelling day at university by anyone's standards (the stresses of having to complete his art folder were getting to him), and an equally draining lunch with some friends that had ended with a debate amongst them all on some classic literary novel (debating wasn't wise amongst his social group - they all mostly had ideas of superiority, and a disbelief that their opinions could be proven wrong), the only thing he had desired to do upon reaching his apartment was sleep.

    Which, incidentally, was exactly what he had done, and triumphantly so. As soon as he had entered the admittedly and extravagantly extensive home, he set his art supplies away before collapsing into his large bed and slumbering away the hours, only waking up once in the time to stagger out of his designer clothes (to avoid them getting creased and ruined beyond the point of salvation). Once he had, he was content to lay back against the mound of pillows and snore himself back into the land of dreams.

    When asleep, he had often been told he could sleep through an earthquake. Seldom did something succeed in waking him, hence why the buzzer in his apartment to notify him of someone waiting to be granted access into the building hadn't registered, otherwise he would have done so without even checking to see who it was. He hardly expected Ramsay to turn up, after all, and often had friends visiting, so in truth, it was purely bad luck that Ramsay had turned up on a day when Valentino was utterly exhausted... even if Ramsay had played a part in causing such tiredness.

    Although, particularly lucky and fortunate for him, a young girl of around twenty had trailed up, a quizzical glance sent to the man before noticing just whose apartment he was trying to contact. "Are you a friend of Valentino's? The idiot is probably asleep, I'd gladly bet on that. He's constantly napping," the brunette grinned, her sunny disposition and friendliness contradictory to her apparent friend's. While she was sickeningly posh, both in terms of her upperclass accent and her designer fashions (she currently donned a smart grey dress and fancy, glittery shoes), her far more relaxed personality that didn't discriminate against Ramsay, even when noticing that he wasn't from around the affluent area, was only the binary opposite to Valentino. What she did lack, however, was basic common sense - she was naive and, often, Valentino would have to take her under his wing and protect her from making a fool out of herself.

    So his lacking presence did leave her open to such mistakes.

    "Here," she motioned, gripping the door handle to the complex and, holding it down hard, gave the door a few swift kicks which, surprisingly, let the door swing open. "The locks in this place are dodgy. Funny, really, given the people who live here are pretty important... but hey, I wouldn't ever get to see Valentino outside of university if the locks were fixed. That boy is always asleep, so it's impossible to see him if I didn't essentially trespass in-- so, are you a family member of his? He doesn't have many friends, and none whatsoever outside of school... I haven't seen you in our art class..."

    Wandering on into the luxury surroundings, she continued to smile naively up at the practical stranger, neglecting to realise the danger that came with showing him inside and to the lift, content in showing him up to the apartment after believing her own assumptions that he was simply a fellow mutual friend of Valentino's. "You're very gruff," she commented absently, flicking her short hair behind her diamond-studded ears. "Well... a little manly, let's say. Rough. Not that I find it a bad thing. Gosh, no. It's awfully confusing, because Valentino doesn't befriend many outside of our social standing..."

  11. When Valentino didn't answer the buzzer, Ramsay scowled and pressed it a little harder, quickly growing impatient. Peering through the small reinforced glass window in the door, Ramsay wondered if he could perhaps sneak in once someone else walked out, though it didn't seem like anyone would be leaving any time soon. “Damn,” he muttered, restraining himself from punching the wall and bloodying his knuckles. Either the kid wasn't in, or he was ignoring Ramsay. Either way, the gangster was irritated. He had thought now would be a perfect opportunity, but it seemed he was wrong for once. Reaching into his pocket, Ramsay went to grab the note of Valentino's number – if the kid wouldn't open the door, maybe he would answer his phone. Giving the buzzer one last push, he realised a call would have to do.

    However, before he could do that, he sensed someone walking over. Ramsay quickly turned around, his alertness settling down when he saw who it was that was approaching him. Just one look at the brunette and he could tell that she was just as – or maybe even more – posh than Valentino. She had to be a friend of his, one of his upper class buddies. Maybe an opportunity had just opened up. He remained calm as she spoke, telling him that Valentino was most likely asleep. Of course he would be. What else did rich people do all day? It wasn't like they worked in the evenings.

    “Yes, I'm a friend,” Ramsay replied as he stepped aside, allowing the brunette to grab the door handle. He was surprised when she broke in, using a good amount of force to kick the door open. A smirk appeared on his lips as she told him about the dodgy locks. How lacking in common sense did she have to be to tell a complete stranger about the terrible locks on a very expensive apartment complex? Not that Ramsay was complaining. The more information he knew, the better – and it seemed he had found a goldmine in this bimbo. The only issue was that she asked a lot of questions.

    “I'm a family friend,” Ramsay explained. “I work for Valentino's uncle, but the two of us were friends when we were younger. I was in town and thought I'd drop by – though it seems Valentino didn't remember.” He was confident in his lie, sure that the young woman wouldn't be able to see through it. When he spoke with such conviction and smiled with an assuring warmth, it must have been near impossible to detect that not a single word he had said was true. “And you're a friend from university? Valentino never had that many friends growing up either, so I guess not much has changed.”

    Following her into the lift, Ramsay continued to smile, pleased with the fact that he had infiltrated the luxury apartment. He looked over at the young woman, returning her smile with an even bigger one. She was so naïve it almost hurt, but Ramsay had to admit that he loved taking advantage of her lack of common sense. Maybe he could keep her around, just to see if he could get any more information out of her. Heading into Valentino's home, Ramsay was almost sickened by how luxurious and grand everything was. Some people were too privileged for their own good, and it appeared the kid fit into that category all too well.

    Ramsay's smile faltered when the brunette commented on his appearance. He fought to keep his sunny disposition up as he turned to look at her, tilting his head to the side a bit. Stick with the story, Ramsay told himself. “Well, Valentino didn't have much choice back when we were young. It was either befriend me or be a lonely lad for his early years. Whether he still thinks we're friends or not is a different story, especially if he let's our 'social standings' in the way.” Extending a hand toward the young woman, he nodded his head. “I'm Ramsay, by the way. Ramsay Dillon.” After greeting the woman and hopefully shaking her hand if she allowed him to, Ramsay looked around the apartment some more. With no clue where the bedroom was, and wanting to seem as friendly as possible, he came up with an idea. “How about you go and wake Valentino up? He might not recognise me now, and I don't want to scare him.” The gangster chuckled. “Just tell him that his old friend Ramsay is here to see him. He'll remember me.”


  12. "Oh, come on,"
    the girl grinned giddily, happy to simply revel in her own naiveness (not that she was entirely aware just how idiotic she was being) and let him into the lavish apartment. All paid for, of course, by Valentino's parents, namely his mother who was the richer partner in the marriage. "I'm sure that Valentino recognises you! If you were childhood friends, he's bound to realise who you are, Ramsay. I doubt he's forgotten. There's one thing I can say for him, and that's how he doesn't forget faces. He's rather adept at remembering people. Mostly because he gets pissed off, and needs to know who he has to hate when he meets them again."

    Setting her faux fur coat down once inside the home, she, as it was her second home in many ways, moved to the fridge and cracked open a bottle of champagne. Highly expensive, obviously, but there wasn't that big a deal for her, nor for Valentino. Cracking open various bottles of champagne regardless of the time of day or the price tag attached to the drink was never a problem. Life, for them, usually consisted of having fun, and money was simply something neither of them had to concern themselves over.

    "Here, settle back, have a drink," she gushed as she quickly handed him across a smart glass of the fancy drink - if there was one positive aspect to her, it was her sense of friendliness, and desire to have people feel comfortable around her and in the environment she was in. Even to complete strangers who lied blatantly to her face-- not that she realised that either.

    Wandering easily to one of the doors, it was abruptly yanked open before she had a chance to grab the fancy door handle, smiling brightly at Valentino's sleepy expression and bed-head hair. "Well, good afternoon, sleepy head~! Gosh, Val, this is ridiculous, you can't sleep your way through the day."

    "I can and I intend to. How did you get in?" The boy groaned, rubbing his eyes tiredly as he trailed out of his bedroom. Of course, he had absolutely no idea Ramsay was there. For one thing, if he did, he could have alerted the police before making an appearance out of his bedroom. Secondly, if he did have to leave the confines of the room, he would have stepped out in more than just his boxers - he would rather face Hell and Satan himself than willingly be seen by Ramsay in next to nothing. Though that hell became a rather brutal reality, his eyes locking on the criminal's -when they'd adjusted to the light- and furiously finding his lips curl into a scowl.

    Though, aside from absolute fury, a little twinge of fear did strike him. The fact Ramsay had so quickly found him and found a way into his apartment was disturbing, though what else did he expect? The man was a notorious gangster. He was bound to have his ways.

    "...And what do you want?" He murmured surprisingly casually, deciding that coolness was best when his friend was in their company too. Motioning for her to leave to the kitchen to get him something to drink, it was when she had left that he finally allowed his tone to embitter and his expression twist more distinctly, even though his stance was awkward, arms folding over his bare chest in a desire to try and hide himself a tad. "You think you can just wander into my home and threaten me? How utterly predictable."

  13. When the brunette explained that Valentino liked to remember faces in order to know who to hate when he was pissed off, Ramsay couldn't help but smirk. The kid was kind of like him in that sense, always remembering names and faces in order to direct fury in the right direction. Though looking around the apartment, it seemed that that was where the similarities ended. Ramsay watched as the girl went over to the fridge, retrieving a bottle of champagne and cracking it open. This lavish lifestyle was on the verge of making him sick, though he tried not to let his disgust of the wealthy show. Forcing a grin onto his face, Ramsay took the glass of champagne and thanked the girl. She seemed too friendly for his liking, though he didn't say anything. It was better for her to be naïve and friendly than snobbish and rude.

    Taking a seat on the nearby sofa, Ramsay got comfortable, following the girl's lead and making himself at home. He watched as she went over to what he assumed was Valentino's bedroom door, the gangster drinking down his champagne in big gulps. When Valentino came into view, looking less tidy than he had earlier that day, Ramsay smirked and placed his near-empty glass down on a nearby table. Noticing that Valentino was dressed in next to nothing, Ramsay allowed his eyes to rake over the young man's body. He didn't seem to have much noticeable muscle on him, so Ramsay imagined he could take him down easily enough if need be – not that he even doubted that in the first place.

    As soon as Valentino finally took notice of Ramsay, the gangster grinned in his direction, standing up from the couch to greet him. Hearing how cool Valentino sounded, Ramsay quirked an eyebrow up at the boy, the tone unexpected considering he had practically broken into his home. Though once the posh girl was out in the kitchen, away from the two of them for the time being, Ramsay wasn't surprised to hear that sour, embittered tone return. Valentino's defensive stance did nothing but make Ramsay chuckle as he strolled closer, unfazed by the boy's act.

    “Don't be ridiculous Valentino, I didn't come here to threaten you,” he began, shaking his head. That smirk was still pulling at his lips, plastered across his face. “I just came to see how you were doing. Though I've now seen a bit more than that.” He gestured at Valentino's lack of clothing, another small laugh escaping his mouth.

    Stepping even closer, Ramsay glanced over in the direction of the kitchen to make sure that the girl was still out there before looking back at Valentino. “Though I guess this is kind of a threat, isn't it?” He said, voice quieter and lower than before. “I know where you live, and I have a lot more information where that came from. Did you think that this would all be over when you walked away from me this morning? Because if you did, you were wrong. It doesn't end at a little shove and some insults. You fucked up big time, and now you're a bigger target than your dad.”

    Placing a hand on Valentino's bare shoulder, Ramsay patted him a couple of times, still grinning as usual. The hand lingered before slipping down his arm and then away, back to Ramsay's side. Then he stepped away, his 'old friend' act coming back up. “You know what, I'll come back later. I don't want to ruin your time with your university friend. I'm staying at a hotel nearby, I'll drop in again some other time – maybe at the weekend?” Finishing off his champagne, Ramsay headed over to the front door, planning on leaving. Before he opened the door, he put a finger to his lips, gesturing for Valentino to keep quiet. “Just call me if you ever want to chat, I'll be around for a while.” With that, Ramsay opened the front door and left the lavish apartment. It may have been the last time Valentino would see Ramsay that day, but it wouldn't the be the final time he would see him.​


  14. All throughout the other's smug comments; all through his lingering glares and sarcastic smiles, Valentino had simply met it all with his usual cold stare and disgusted scowl. At least, this was a way of maintaining an apathetic and uncaring front. In truth, the attention he was getting from the renowned criminal for evidently getting under his skin, and the dedication Ramsay had gone to to find out where he lived... well, it all made the younger man cringe inwardly. He had clearly made an error of judgement even thinking that he could get away unharmed (whether that be physically, or mentally) from the altercation, and Ramsay's intervention into his happy, privileged and safe little world only proved one thing: that he was hardly going t feel safe no matter where he went.

    One way of getting around that, though, was to simply maintain the air of apathy. If he wasn't seen to care, then that would surely (hopefully) mean Ramsay would realise it was pathetic to keep pursuing a reaction, and that vengeance for Valentino's attitude should be dropped. It would all be a hilarious waste of time, and the two didn't have to come into contact with one another ever again.

    Though, admittedly, the fact he was a policeman's son did mar any chance of escaping the situation unharmed. Just by his father being a big figure with his television stints in front of the media meant Valentino was already hated. Add into the equation that he had been nothing short of an egotistical jerk, and he himself had to admit that he was going to be pursued and hurt regardless of how long it took. His only real chance of escaping it would, of course, be to inform his father, but then again, if Ramsay learnt of that, it would only be a catalyst to hurt Valentino more, wouldn't it?

    In short, it was all a situation he would rather avoid, and a good start to that was lounging the rest of the day away alongside his friend.

    "You never told me you had an old friend like that, Val," said friend commented once wandering back into the living room, setting herself back with the champagne and, with a mischievous smirk, ran her finger along the rim of the smart glass. "He was awfully attractive. Rugged and rough-- totally antithetical to our usual type, but I'm sure you're not that superior that you'd turn your nose up at someone like him--"

    "Don't go there. It's disgusting. He's a friend," he retorted venomously, having to remind himself that Eliza was under the impression that the two were friends, and as such, hiding his utter fury at the suggestion of handsomeness and attraction was difficult. It did him no favours to realise the man had seen him with little on; touched his arm and been that close to him. Then even contemplate him being attractive was too hard to hide, his scowl appearing against his will. "Honestly, the man, however close we were, is a street urchin, totally void of any hope in the world. I, however, am going places. He's so utterly abysmal on the social scale that I can't give you an answer on how attractive you apparently think he is."

    "...Gosh, how completely cruel," she cackled in return, chuckling under her breath at him. She practically encouraged his self-righteousness to continue, as every time he made such comments, her response was to laugh. She found him beyond amusing, and in fact, even if she was far more compelled to treat people with respect, she did share his view. Ramsay was just some wild, reckless man that they would never come into contact with if they could help it. "He seemed nice enough, surprisingly. But you're right, of course you're right. He is a little too low for our standards, I suppose."

    Sighing quietly under his breath, Valentino didn't exactly have it in him to respond any further than a simple smile. Of course, the fact Ramsay had left was a positive, as was the cold glass of champagne he was relying heavily upon at the moment, but at the back of his mind, digging away at his attempts at calmness, was the fear Ramsay could pop up at any moment. He knew where he lived - what else did he need to do but turn up now and then, wear away Valentino's state of mind until he was just some paranoid figure of his former self? Already, paranoia was nudging at him; niggling and drilling away at him, and he realised that. That was the worst thing - he was fully aware of how he was acting already, and aware that this was exactly what Ramsay envisioned to happen. From the get go, the criminal had the upperhand. ​

  15. Outside of Valentino's apartment, Ramsay considered storming back inside, especially when he heard his and his friend's muffled voices and laughter from behind the door. Laughing at me? He thought, eyes narrowing at the mere thought. Though he controlled himself. No point in ruining the act now – perhaps he could get something out of Valentino's girl friend. With that thought, Ramsay left the apartment complex, done terrorising Valentino for the day. Even gangsters needed rest, and Ramsay definitely needed to lie down after the day he had had.

    The weekend had rolled around quicker than expected. Ramsay's life had shifted focus over the past few days, moving from Valentino to some more important issues. People refusing to pay for protection, rival gang members being spotted in Ramsay's territory, and even some altercations with said rival gangs. The piglet had moved to the back of Ramsay's mind, though he was still there, lingering in his thoughts. Ramsay preferred a build-up sometimes, a plan. The pay-off could be more rewarding if he waited, and right then, he didn't have much time to focus on Valentino anyway. With life and rivals trying to screw him over, the gangster had more complications to sort out.

    However, the weekend provided him with an excuse to relax. After the last uneventful time at a high-end club, Ramsay didn't think he would ever go to another one, but the promise of fantastic alcohol was too much for him to turn down at the time. With a terrible week and some cash to spend, he was more than ready to 'dress up' and head out to some club on the wealthier side of town with a couple of his mates. Upon arriving at the expensive club, Ramsay couldn't help but wonder if he would see Valentino – or maybe even the kid's parents – inside. It wasn't too far from Valentino's apartment, and he could imagine that the kid would spend his time and money at such a place. Though he tried not to think too much about Valentino. He was there to wind down and have some nice drinks, not concern himself with some rich kid, as tempting as it was to do so.

    Ramsay and his friends didn't need to wait in line long, the gangster throwing some money in the bouncer's direction in order to be let in ahead of the cue. Once they were inside, the sound of pop and dance music, the clean kind that was radio-friendly and wouldn't make even the most conservative people angry, filtered into Ramsay's ears and scraped at his brain. Despite the infuriating music, the club itself was pretty nice. Modern décor filled the building, giving the club a more chilled yet lively feel. The group moved over to an empty table, one that was thankfully close to the bar and further away from the drunkards on the dancefloor.

    “Hey,” he said to one of his friends, a fellow gangster. “Why don't you go get some drinks?” As Ramsay said this, he looked over to the bar, and then stopped in his tracks when he caught sight of someone familiar. With all of the rival gang altercations as of late, Ramsay had the image of Alexander Fountier seared into his mind. Posh boy Alexander, leader of the rival gang fittingly known as the 'Royal Bloods', was a source of concern for Ramsay. Alexander hadn't gotten to where he was like Ramsay had – no, he had been handed his position, along with the money and influence he had at his helm. He wasn't someone people assumed to be involved in any kind of gang-related warfare, mostly because of his upper-class upbringing and lifestyle, but Alexander had an air of danger about him. And that feeling was emphasised by all of the gangsters he had been sending into Ramsay's territory.

    “There's that bastard,” Ramsay muttered loud enough for only his friends to hear. “We should take him outside.”

    “I don't know,” one friend said, uneasy. “I think I saw other Royals in here. He might have back-up.”

    Ramsay looked back over at Alexander. He hadn't noticed Ramsay, instead looking around the bar area and sipping at his drink as if he didn't have a care in the world. Typical, Ramsay thought, sneering. “We'll get him,” he told his subordinates. “We just need to pick the right moment. Maybe call for back-up of our own.” One way or another, Ramsay was intent on getting his hands on Alexander. Though unbeknownst to Ramsay, Alexander wasn't there to start a fight. He was just looking for the same thing Ramsay had been – a good drink, some time to relax, and maybe even some great company to share the club with. And unlike Ramsay, Alexander was willing to open up to the upper-class, being of that standing himself. His career and lifestyle may have left his designer clothes soaked in blood, but he himself was far beyond the likes of Ramsay and his gang. Alexander had an eye for the finer things, whether that be clothes, clubs, or even people. He could spot an interesting, affluent person from a mile away, and he often knew how to draw them in with little effort. In some respect, he was the brightest light, and those who hovered around him were flies – they would orbit around him, attracted to his glow, and when the time was right, he would burn them in his light.​

    #15 VanillaCola, May 17, 2016
    Last edited by a moderator: May 17, 2016

  16. For Valentino, the night was mapping itself out as one to remember, but hardly for the right reasons. In his eyes anyway, he envisioned the end of the night going disastrously - he would be exhausted, possibly drunk (which he never liked to be, but he couldn't handle his alcohol that well) and forced to share a space with people who had far too higher expectations of themselves. He had been dragged to the very same bar, given it was full of his sort of 'people', but unfortunately as of late, there had been an influx of 'ordinaries' - people who weren't necessarily of a high status. They had money to get into the club, given its expensiveness, but weren't born into money. That in itself irritated the born-rich Valentino.

    It was that very snobbery that did prevent him taking up the offer from some of his university friends, all elitist and often as snobbish as he liked to think he was. However, after a long while of persuasion (mostly them offering to buy his drinks all night - he didn't like spending money if he could help it, preferring others to spoil him), the spoilt teen eventually decided that a night out was probably needed. He wasn't going to enjoy it, knowing he'd just end up irritated constantly, but getting drunk did seem like a necessary process after the awful few days. Full of nervousness and paranoia, he had been jerking awake at any noise in the night, and sleeping with his light on as he had done all through his childhood. He did feel like a child, afraid of the big bad man who wanted to hurt him and punish him. But then, after every moment of fear did come anger.

    Valentino, after all, wasn't just some posh, spoilt brat who chickened out of conflict. Granted, he thought physical conflict utterly below his standards, but he wasn't going to run from it if became inevitable. He defended himself when others of his status would simply prefer to hang over all they had to escape danger. He was happy to fight back if need be... and Ramsay, however much he frightened him and however long he kept up the desire for revenge, was simply going to met with this consistent stubbornness. He did realise he would probably end up being beaten to a pulp at some point in the future, but hey, at least he would stay true to defending himself, as his father had indoctrinated into him from an early age. If he was in the right, he ought to defend himself.

    Yet any altercation with Ramsay could wait another day. At least, in his eyes it could. He hardly expected anyone of Ramsay's calibre in the uptown nightclub. A renowned gangster was hardly going to be wandering about in the socially elitist areas, was he? If he was so appalled by Valentino's pretentiousness, Valentino easily assumed that he was safe to wander into the club with two or three of his close friends and be safe from any company of gangsters.

    "It's pretty busy in here tonight," his friend murmured, silently eyeing the busy club before tugging Valentino through to the bar, the others in their group heading to secure a table. "Val, you have to fight your way through," he continued once reaching the bar and achieving some space, breathing out with a wide smile. "Embrace the nightclub lifestyle. You can't have acres of space, Val."

    "I don't expect to force my way drunkards with imbecility written across their gormless expressions either, Michael. I don't want to be thrust up close to anyone like that. Regardless of how rich they may be, behaving like a lunatic and getting embarrassedly drunk disgusts me," the typically blunt boy muttered in response, hitching himself onto a stool directly beside Alexander and eyeing him at his side quickly. Valentino did pride himself on knowing faces and gauging what a person was like... but his first reactions and thoughts weren't to cast out the man as the head of a rival gang to Ramsay's. Hell, he hardly entertained the thought of Alexander being anything but a man equal to Valentino's status. He was poised, handsome, sat with grace and was bound to speak with decorum. This sort of person was who Valentino was happy to share a nightclub with. Appearances, after all, could be deceiving, and they definitely deceived the young student from the truth of his occupation.

    He wasn't the sort of person to flirt, either. He wasn't a prude - he did like being flirted with and found attractive, but he never did the chasing. However, perhaps it was the thumping music and the adrenaline coursing through his veins, but he was preparing himself to flirt a little, absently smoothing his hair down and straightening his back. "I'll fetch the drinks," he murmured back to his friend, trying to keep himself composed. "You go sit down."

    "But you never do the 'hard work'," came the incredulous reply. "What are you up to--"

    "I'm simply being a good friend. Now go and sit down." Valentino hissed, his signature scowl appearing until watching his exasperated friend struggle through the crowd. Turning back to face forward, he took a small sip on the single cocktail he had ordered before letting his blue eyes flicker back to the gang leader. "Do I know you from somewhere?" He drawled casually, resting his head up on his hand. "You look awfully familiar..."

  17. At the bar, Alexander hadn't taken taken much notice of the young man who had sat next to him. It was a bar, people were bound to take any seat they could, so having someone sit next to you was no surprise. However, he began to eavesdrop on the conversation the two young men were having. Alexander could easily pick up that they were of the same social standing as him, the accents and vocabulary tipping him off. Again, no surprise – the club was high-end, and there were many people from the same class as Alexander occupying the bar. But as Alexander glanced over at the one sitting next to him, he smirked slightly. This one looked more affluent than most in the club, and that was saying something. Rich young men were nothing new to Alexander, considering he had grown up with and knew plenty. But this one seemed to be of more value for whatever reason. His clothes looked expensive, but they also looked more valuable than anything the other club-goers were wearing. The young man was probably wearing some clothes from the top designers in the world, that much Alexander could tell. But his aura also stood out. He had the look of someone who could stand up for themselves, who whilst most likely pampered their whole lives, could still bite back and wasn't afraid to speak up.

    When the young man's friend left, Alexander looked away, focussing on some distant part of the club. If he had judged this situation well, then it wouldn't be long before the one sitting next to him would speak up. The gang leader waited for a moment, pretending to be deep in thought or perhaps just watching someone else. The smirk on Alexander's lips grew when his theory was proven right. Turning his attention the student – he assumed he was a student, since he looked young enough to be so – Alexander tilted his head to the side slightly and appraised the boy seated next to him.

    “I can't say I recognise you, I'm afraid. That doesn't mean you don't know me – my father has a tendency to throw lavish parties and invite every affluent family in the city to them. A lot of people 'know me',” Alexander replied, putting on a friendly yet cool smile. “I'm Alexander Fountier, if the name sounds familiar, I wouldn't be surprised. And apart from being the most interesting person I've seen in the club all night, you are?” Alexander knew how to flirt and capture people's attention. It was as if it had been ingrained into his DNA, and his father often said that his suavity had been passed down through the generations. Alexander had laughed at him then, but thinking about the natural charmers that the two of them were, perhaps there was some kind of truth to it all.

    Meanwhile, Ramsay had been distracted by his friends, who were telling him to forget Alexander for now. The gangster had argued with them, saying that he wasn't going to let him get away so easily, but Ramsay eventually settled down once another friend brought drinks over. “This club better not be like the last posh one I went to,” Ramsay said before sipping on some of his beer. “That one was a complete waste of time: filled with pretentious ponces, expensive alcohol, and no one around to fight.”

    “You ain't going to fight Fountier, are you?” One of Ramsay's subordinates asked.

    “Damn right I am. We just need to isolate him. Actually, fuck it, let's take on any back-up he has around here.”

    Looking back over at where Alexander was sitting, Ramsay was stunned to see Valentino seated beside him, the two of them talking. Ramsay scoffed. Of course those two would get along. But there was no way he was going to let Alexander and Valentino get all friendly with each other. Valentino was Ramsay's target, and there was no way the leader of the Royal Bloods was going to get himself involved with the rich kid. “Scout out the club, find the Royals,” Ramsay told his friends. “I'm going over there to watch Fountier. Either come and tell me where the Royals are, or text me locations.”

    With that, Ramsay grabbed his pint and headed over to the bar, his subordinates spreading out into the club. Pushing through the crowds, Ramsay managed to find a convenient seat at the bar, one which gave him a direct view of Alexander and Valentino without being too close to them. His gaze was focussed on the two of them, and he only wished he could hear what they were talking about. Though judging by that smile on Alexander's face, it must have been something entertaining. Flirting? Ramsay rolled his eyes, not even wanting to think about that. Leave it up to Alexander to flirt with a rich brat like Valentino. Ramsay knew that he had to stop the two of them from getting too close – but first, he needed to test the waters and see what the situation was before he made any moves.

  18. Silently stirring the cocktail stick around the glass, he did take an opportunity to drink the other's features in. Not for any romantic reason - he did find the other handsome, but he was hardly going to go all gooey-eyed over someone. Not only had he just met him, but that wasn't his style. He would chat and enjoy himself, but he didn't do the chasing for anybody, rich or otherwise. No, he was silently examining the other to try and place him. He said he threw parties, and the name did sound somewhat familiar, but for the life of him, any recognition did fail to ignite in him, resulting in the brunette to shrug casually and offer an apologetic smile.

    At least, as apologetic as he could make it - he never really felt apologetic for anyone, and even now, it had to be somewhat forced. Why should he care if he didn't know the other? Clearly, the man wasn't as famous as he liked to pretend he was, if Valentino couldn't place him immediately, right?

    "I'm sorry, but I unfortunately don't. I'm sure I know your name somewhere, and I assume my parents have appeared at one of your parties, but I don't think I have. I have a tendency to avoid parties like wildfire. Affluence aside, parties are hellish to me," he admitted easily, taking a small sip from his drink and casually glancing around, at least to shoot a small glance to his friends to signal that they could just get their own drinks. He had a far better way of spending his time with this Alexander person. Likewise, Valentino had cast him out as someone he probably needed to know. He was obviously in the same social state as he was, and anyone he thought oozed that had to be befriended, or at least made an acquaintance of.

    Luckily, he didn't notice the brazen presence of Ramsay just a few seats away, returning his gaze instead back to the blonde opposite him. "I'm Valentino, anyway. Valentino De Montfort. I suppose you may know my father, most people tend to now he's all over the media with his 'clean, transparent, trustworthy' message. He's the chief of police here," the Scottish student continued casually, running his finger over the glass again. Well, technically, the second glass of his second drink yet, already, his tongue was loosening.

    He was abysmal at keeping his thoughts to himself when tipsy, and the amount of alcohol in one cocktail was enough to loosen his thoughts, let alone the amount of alcohol in his second.

    "You know, the amount of people I assume want me dead purely because of my father would shock you. Of course, I fear nobody. The people who tend to want me dead because of my father are little more than scum, portraying themselves as dangerous because they have a few cronies they call a gang. I pity people like him," he drawled flatly, resting his head up on his hand and rubbing his temples to try and clear an already raging headache, far too tipsy already to notice his generalising comments becoming more and more specific on Ramsay, through use of the pronouns and then, the blatancy of naming him.

    "Ramsay something. Dickinson, or Dixon, or something like that. Honestly, I've never met someone so utterly disgusting in my whole life, and I'm forced to walk through a dreaded council estate every day. I told him as much, told him he's only good for lounging about on the streets, but that man has such a high opinion of himself! 'You've got to fear me, don't you know who I am?'. Ugh. I'd love to see him dead, let me tell you. Beaten to remind him he's nothing compared to me. Stabbed, even. That'd show him."

    That particular statement did epitomise the boy's drunken state in one simple second. It did gain a few wary looks from those sitting at the bar, because he had hardly been quiet, and they didn't exactly expect such vitriol coming from someone as affluent and proper as Valentino. Violent thoughts weren't supposed to surround someone of his social standing, surely, but he wasn't entirely like them, as much as he claimed to be. He didn't fear violence, and he would wish it upon someone he hated vehemently, such as Ramsay. The simple idea of having that gangster beaten to a bloody pulp did bring a flicker of a smile to the rather sadistic boy's face, downing his drink in one to try and at least rid the thoughts.

    He, after all, didn't think he was speaking to Ramsay's rival. Alexander was simply a wealthy man at a bar; not a cold-blooded rival gangster.

    "Sorry," he apologised frankly, waving his hand to dismiss the comment. "I'm drunk. I say awful things when I'm drunk. Gets me into quite a lot of trouble, as you can imagine..."

  19. Upon hearing the young man's name, Alexander immediately recognised him. De Montfort – so he was related to the police chief? It didn't take long for Valentino to confirm that, confessing that he was indeed Chief De Montfort's son. How interesting. It seemed as if Alexander had just stumbled upon a very intriguing discovery. “I definitely recognise that name,” Alexander replied. “Your father is very much known around here, no surprise really. I imagine he has attended some of my father's parties in the past – I know my father likes to keep close to the police.” A light chuckle escaped Alexander at that comment, and he smiled. “And your mother...she's in the fashion business, isn't she? I bet my father must be somewhat acquainted with her as well.” Alexander's father wasn't always one for fashion, but he had his favourite designers and brands that he was loyal to, and Alexander himself often found himself wandering to the expensive, high-quality fashion of the season.

    Listening as Valentino went on, Alexander couldn't help but smirk. So he wasn't a little naïve brat? That was new, especially in this world. Usually, the kids of police chiefs and government officials were spoilt little idiots who ran around throwing their wealth in everyone's faces, drawing all of the attention they could. It was no wonder so many ended up kidnapped, assaulted, stalked, or even killed. Alexander had never encountered one himself, not before Valentino, but his father liked to tell him about the 'good old days' when they could just grab the sons and daughters of politicians off of the street and hold them for ransom. Those kinds of methods weren't for Alexander, especially not these days when security was so high. No, he preferred an 'infiltration' tactic – get into a person's life, find their darkest secrets and biggest weaknesses, and then exploit them. “I'm actually not that surprised if a lot of people want you dead,” he began, taking a sip of the drink that had gone untouched in front of him. “The lowlifes always target us higher-ups, always try to bring us down to their level. You being the son of the chief of police just paints an even bigger target on your back. I know I've had scum try to intimidate me, but it's good to not be afraid. I don't fear them either. They don't deserve my fear.” Whilst Valentino may have been referring to the general criminal population of the city, Alexander couldn't help but feel that he was actually talking about a specific person. His vitriol seemed too direct to just refer to a group – it had to be targeting an individual.

    The mention of 'Ramsay' brought Alexander's full attention to Valentino's tipsy ramblings. He was about to interject, say that he knew exactly who Valentino was talking about, but the young man continued to speak and Alexander allowed his words to flow freely. All of this talk of having Ramsay killed was truly exciting, and Alexander grinned at Valentino's words. He didn't care about the looks that some people were giving the young man, this was all gold in Alexander's eyes, and he only wished for Valentino to continue. Once he had finally finished with his little rant, a low laugh escaped the gang leader. “I know exactly who you're talking about, and I like your style,” he replied. As Valentino apologised, Alexander shook his head. “I'm not accepting an apology, not after all of that. You have a talent for complaining, I love it.”

    Looking around, Alexander finally noticed someone familiar at the other end of the bar. There was the man of the hour, Ramsay Dillon himself, staring right at Alexander and Valentino. Alexander tried to look nonchalant, pretending not to notice, though he imagined that Ramsay was now on high alert. And right he was. Ramsay had heard most of what Valentino had said, the rich kid's loud voice penetrating through the barrier of sound in the club. And he knew just how literally Alexander would take those wishes. He knew that Alexander had seen him, and he knew about the other Royals in the club. But Ramsay wasn't scared. He was ready to take Alexander on in a fight, and any other Royals that thought they were brave enough to face him.

    Turning back to Valentino, Alexander continued to smirk. “Ramsay Dillon – that scum has been a thorn in my family's side for a while now. He likes to think he can intimidate us, and he probably wants something from us. Money, or fame, or whatever it is lowlifes like him want. But he won't get it. If only I could act on your desires. I know I would love to see him beaten into the ground like the dirt he is.” Pulling his phone out of his coat pocket, Alexander began to text the Royals that were currently in the club, letting them know of Ramsay's location. Then, he found his own phone number in his contacts, and wrote it down on a business card that belonged to his father. Passing it over to Valentino, Alexander smiled. “You must call me sometime. You're a very interesting young man, and I'm afraid I may have to leave soon. Business has come up.”

    A couple of minutes later, Ramsay received a text from one of his subordinates, telling him of the two Royals heading his way. Glancing around, he could see either of them, though they soon made themselves known as one of them tapped on his shoulder, the other taking a seat beside him. “Well, well, well. If it isn't Mr. Dillon himself,” the one stood behind him said. “We heard that you were here, and that you've been hunting around clubs that are too tasteful for you.”

    “Did Alex send you?” Ramsay asked, not breaking a sweat. “I've seen your little sugar daddy over there, chatting up the chief of police's son.” He laughed, completely unfazed by the two gangsters flanking him. “You'd think he'd have better taste in men.” The two Royals didn't speak, instead glaring at him. Ramsay shrugged. “I suggest you get out of here. I have two men too, and they're good at kicking rich boys' arses.”

    One of the Royals grabbed him, and Ramsay responded with a swift backhand to his face. The club-goers around them immediately jolted up, all eyes on the brawl that had now broken out. Whilst the two gangsters tried to find strength in numbers, Ramsay found strength in his fists, lashing out on the two Royals with as much force as he could. His men rushed over, joining the fight, and it soon turned into an all-out war. Bar stools were thrown, club-goers were panicking, and security was running over to split the men up. From where he was sat, Alexander watched with a mix of amusement and annoyance on his face. As Ramsay, his men, and the Royals were dragged out of the club by bouncers twice their size, Alexander shook his head and turned to Valentino. “Leave it up to dolts like that to ruin a nice night out,” he said, rolling his eyes. “If you'll excuse me, I have to be going now. But promise to call me soon, I'd love to hear more about your gangster-killing fantasies.” With that, Alexander finished off his drink and left the club, flashing a smile at Valentino as he walked away. It was time to settle things with Ramsay, and get his men to calm down.​


  20. The more time he spent with this man, the more he, slightly to his annoyance, started to like him. Despite being as tipsy as he was, he did realise his apparent 'fantasies' were a little too out there. Simply, he knew how he came across: sadistic and completely and utterly mad. His babbles were burgeoning on the desire of a criminal; a gangster, even, and having spent so many years of his life treating the working class contemptuously, and belittling their pitiful love of violence, the last thing he wanted to do in front of someone he saw as affluent as he himself was was to cast himself out as nothing better than a thug.

    Of course, he knew he was far superior to any pathetic street gangster whose sole purpose in his opinion was to resolve pathetic little grievances and gain a living via petty crime and laughable intimidation techniques. But in his drunken state and with his loose tongue, he didn't really know if he came across as being any better.

    Apparently, however, this Alexander person seemed to encourage such behaviourisms. Little did Valentino realise that he was communicating and conversing with one of the very gangsters he claimed vehemence towards; the gangsters who made his voice drip venomously. Granted, an entirely different class of gangster as far as aesthetics went, but a gangster nonetheless. How they dressed themselves and how much money they inhibited was no real concern of Valentino's. It was simply a cover for the same pathetic existence others of their kind lived.

    However, with Alexander so far remaining under the radar, Valentino eyed the card in hand with a wide grin. If Alexander appeared to respond so positively to such comments, and held the same dislike and detest of Ramsay, then they seemed pretty much fated to get along and to be friends, surely. He had never met someone else who knew Ramsay in person, and to find one person who not only knew him, but hated him, Valentino realised he ought to keep that person close and at least enact upon his desires--

    As soon as that thought hit him, Valentino did admittedly panic. Eyeing the mess and state left after the brawl (not that he realised who was at fault), it reiterated the disgust he knew he ought to have. Violence was uncouth, and the best way to ruin someone he disliked was simply by cutting them out of his life, and bickering about them behind their back. It still wasn't nice, but it didn't actually affect said person. Violence, however, obviously affected someone. It had never even been a slight desire of Valentino's. Even with those he hated passionately, he had never even once been tempted to deal them a punch. So to suddenly envision Ramsay's beaten body, or, even worse, his blown apart head... it did scare him. What possibly scared him more was the constant urge to smile that came with such images. Sadistic? Yes. Wrong? Completely. But would it be enjoyable? Absolutely. He didn't want anyone else to really enact that on Ramsay. He had noticed Alexander's genuine desire to punish Ramsay... but he had a gripe against him. He wanted to consolidate the fact that Ramsay had made a mistake in underestimating him, casting him out as synonymous among a group of affluent students. He wasn't the average kid, he had clearly proved that to Alexander...

    He just needed to get the message across that if he was going to do anything to Ramsay, which didn't seem an impossibility, then he ought to at least involve Valentino somehow. In truth, it never even registered that Alexander could be a gangster. He shared the same desire to hurt the man... but as far as Valentino was concerned, this was simply another posh man who had a need for vengeance. Did that make him a filthy criminal? Of course not...

    Shuffling from the seat at the bar, he easily graced past the chaotic mess to head outside after Alexander, simply to get the message across that he wanted a share in on hurting Ramsay. Until, that was, seeing the brawl continuing outside. Combined with the dark, his drunken state did make it hard to distinguish between the men fighting. They all tended to merge into one big ball of swearing and fists. Though, there was no mistaking that signature voice, with its accent and tone. "Ramsay? Oi, Dillon," he snapped quickly, arms folded and eyes focused entirely on the one figure that he hardly even registered the presence of Alexander, or his cronies. "Typical, this. You're an utter pig, aren't you? Rolling about in the gutters and the mud."
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