The Second Warning [Glimpse]
Dec 24, 2020 12:22:55 GMT -8
Krakenbox, Riley Sorsa, and 1 more like this
Post by Linden on Dec 24, 2020 12:22:55 GMT -8
(Content warning: vague mention of rohypnol/sexually predatory behavior)
They left work and he was still there.
Arms wide, backing away from a young woman as her friend chewed him out; laughing, shaking his head. Just a big mistake, a misunderstanding, damn were people wound tight these days. He made a show of being the wounded party and retreated, idling by the mouth of the alleyway. Chewing on his bottom lip, he unlocked a phone and began to scroll.
Their elbow resting casually atop the dumpster, Linden could see someone had already taken pity on him. The blood, from a cut where the highball glass had broken on his brow, was gone and a bandaid pulled his eyebrow into an expression of skepticism. Baby wipes and bandages, probably offered from the purses and bags of people he would’ve targeted in an instant. It was rare but not unheard of for people to be kicked out and then try to work the street outside and down the block, harassing drunk folks leaving the bar for money, a fight, a fuck. Whatever.
The Ogre spit. There wasn’t any proof: they couldn’t send the drink (spilled) or the glass (thoroughly broken) to be tested, and no one was stepping forward to point the finger despite the whispers. But Linden had been watching, and whether or not they could prove anything in the eyes of the law, they knew vermin when they saw it. He wasn’t going to be given the chance to get comfortable in their bar, with their people. What little mundane community they’d managed to build.
They took their time about it. Too close to Salt Bar would be suspicious, and he didn’t disappoint: roaming from street to street, turned away from more bars than let him in. It was in the third bar he turned and finally caught sight of the big bouncer from earlier, the one that had hauled him out by the back of his neck. The dance floor split for a moment, groups and bodies parting in a river that let him see right across to their intent, level gaze. No drink in their hand, no eye for anyone else. Waiting.
He knew it was on, after that. If anything the chase made Linden more at peace, long strides eating the distance between them as they both moved toward the inevitable. Banking on a better understanding of back alleyways and the passages that connected buildings, he ran himself into a corner more neatly than the Ogre could’ve hoped. They paused, a short distance away, and dug in their pocket. Eyes trapping his, they pulled on a pair of plain black leather gloves with telling efficiency.
His skull creaked beneath Linden’s hand as excuses poured out of his mouth, placations, assurances, whatever he thought they wanted to hear. It stopped as they pressed their palm down harder, driving his jaw into the beaten concrete of the building they had ended up behind. In the relative quiet that followed, they leaned in and relayed a warning; the second warning, as they made sure to let him know. There would be no third. After bashing his head into the wall to drive the idea home, they let go and he dropped. Dazed, on his hands and knees, he didn’t react when they knelt before him, gently grasping his dominant hand.
”Do you understand?”
The question sounded almost patient until the sharp crack of a finger brought his whimper to a yell.
”I need to hear you say it.”
There was a calm fury in them that made him squirm, desperately trying to escape from the grip that tightened on his hand. But by the third finger, he had given his word- hard to do past a broken jaw.
Linden took a long moment after, holding his broken fingers and staring down at his shaking body. What they wanted to do was reach inside his belly and pull his guts out like eels, clench them in a gauntlet and rip. He was a small, hollow man, and they could help him be exactly what he was, no pretenses.
But, for now, they could let this be enough. Giving his fingers one last squeeze, the Ogre stood and tipped him over with their boot. Even in a city like this someone would still come to check on those yells, eventually. They were off, winding their way down a different path and without much care to where they ended up, as long as it was far from him. The gloves were tossed into a dumpster some distance away and off Linden went, grim satisfaction in the set of their mouth.
They left work and he was still there.
Arms wide, backing away from a young woman as her friend chewed him out; laughing, shaking his head. Just a big mistake, a misunderstanding, damn were people wound tight these days. He made a show of being the wounded party and retreated, idling by the mouth of the alleyway. Chewing on his bottom lip, he unlocked a phone and began to scroll.
Their elbow resting casually atop the dumpster, Linden could see someone had already taken pity on him. The blood, from a cut where the highball glass had broken on his brow, was gone and a bandaid pulled his eyebrow into an expression of skepticism. Baby wipes and bandages, probably offered from the purses and bags of people he would’ve targeted in an instant. It was rare but not unheard of for people to be kicked out and then try to work the street outside and down the block, harassing drunk folks leaving the bar for money, a fight, a fuck. Whatever.
The Ogre spit. There wasn’t any proof: they couldn’t send the drink (spilled) or the glass (thoroughly broken) to be tested, and no one was stepping forward to point the finger despite the whispers. But Linden had been watching, and whether or not they could prove anything in the eyes of the law, they knew vermin when they saw it. He wasn’t going to be given the chance to get comfortable in their bar, with their people. What little mundane community they’d managed to build.
They took their time about it. Too close to Salt Bar would be suspicious, and he didn’t disappoint: roaming from street to street, turned away from more bars than let him in. It was in the third bar he turned and finally caught sight of the big bouncer from earlier, the one that had hauled him out by the back of his neck. The dance floor split for a moment, groups and bodies parting in a river that let him see right across to their intent, level gaze. No drink in their hand, no eye for anyone else. Waiting.
He knew it was on, after that. If anything the chase made Linden more at peace, long strides eating the distance between them as they both moved toward the inevitable. Banking on a better understanding of back alleyways and the passages that connected buildings, he ran himself into a corner more neatly than the Ogre could’ve hoped. They paused, a short distance away, and dug in their pocket. Eyes trapping his, they pulled on a pair of plain black leather gloves with telling efficiency.
His skull creaked beneath Linden’s hand as excuses poured out of his mouth, placations, assurances, whatever he thought they wanted to hear. It stopped as they pressed their palm down harder, driving his jaw into the beaten concrete of the building they had ended up behind. In the relative quiet that followed, they leaned in and relayed a warning; the second warning, as they made sure to let him know. There would be no third. After bashing his head into the wall to drive the idea home, they let go and he dropped. Dazed, on his hands and knees, he didn’t react when they knelt before him, gently grasping his dominant hand.
”Do you understand?”
The question sounded almost patient until the sharp crack of a finger brought his whimper to a yell.
”I need to hear you say it.”
There was a calm fury in them that made him squirm, desperately trying to escape from the grip that tightened on his hand. But by the third finger, he had given his word- hard to do past a broken jaw.
Linden took a long moment after, holding his broken fingers and staring down at his shaking body. What they wanted to do was reach inside his belly and pull his guts out like eels, clench them in a gauntlet and rip. He was a small, hollow man, and they could help him be exactly what he was, no pretenses.
But, for now, they could let this be enough. Giving his fingers one last squeeze, the Ogre stood and tipped him over with their boot. Even in a city like this someone would still come to check on those yells, eventually. They were off, winding their way down a different path and without much care to where they ended up, as long as it was far from him. The gloves were tossed into a dumpster some distance away and off Linden went, grim satisfaction in the set of their mouth.