[Glimpse] Consequences
Mar 16, 2021 17:39:18 GMT -8
Riley Sorsa, Lucas Chevalier, and 2 more like this
Post by Linden on Mar 16, 2021 17:39:18 GMT -8
The world spun, closing like a camera’s aperture; at one end, Linden, and the other a pinprick of light.
Someone had told them once that motion sickness was a miscommunication between the body and the brain, whatever input came in didn’t match what the brain thought should be happening. Like a videogame glitch, bits of the body thrown in all different directions before snapping back together.
It felt like that, and more. Violent, dehumanizing, a force striking them with more intensity than they’d thought possible. They wanted to hurt this man, put their bladed fingers up under his jawline and pull out his tongue. Cut the tendons that held his muscles in place and grind his nose into the ground as he tried to writhe and wriggle away.
They put his teeth through his lips on the first strike and left him spitting splinters instead.
Linden didn’t expect to see him again, but when they did he had a mouth full of new teeth. White, gleaming, perfectly and impersonally straight. He bared the teeth up at the bouncer in a smile, flanked by broad men, and laid out his offer: pay for his silence, or prepare for a lawsuit. Not just against them, but against the Salt Bar for hiring volatile degenerates under the table and letting them loose to enforce as they pleased.
Looking down at him, in his starch-collared shirt and expensive shoes, they wanted more than anything to reach out and strangle him with his thick gold chain until the metal buckled and the links burst. But these men probably had guns, if Linden was reading them right. Getting shot in Las Vegas for taking out one small man who thought he could do anything if he paid enough afterward wasn’t worth it.
Definitely not if it took Salt Bar with it.
Lips pursed, they punched in Archie’s contact info and hung up before it even rang. Again. He had said, if they needed help… No, that wasn’t even it: he had made a pledge. He would show up, unless he decided this was against his personal code, but it wasn’t in his best interest. Performers needed people to attend their events, and so did their managers. Someone with connections and money like this could keep making a fuss, or even expand their vendetta to whoever the Ogre called in for help.
He gave his word.
Slamming two knuckles against their own forehead, Linden gritted their teeth and put the number in one last time, and this time they hit dial.
Someone had told them once that motion sickness was a miscommunication between the body and the brain, whatever input came in didn’t match what the brain thought should be happening. Like a videogame glitch, bits of the body thrown in all different directions before snapping back together.
It felt like that, and more. Violent, dehumanizing, a force striking them with more intensity than they’d thought possible. They wanted to hurt this man, put their bladed fingers up under his jawline and pull out his tongue. Cut the tendons that held his muscles in place and grind his nose into the ground as he tried to writhe and wriggle away.
They put his teeth through his lips on the first strike and left him spitting splinters instead.
***
Linden didn’t expect to see him again, but when they did he had a mouth full of new teeth. White, gleaming, perfectly and impersonally straight. He bared the teeth up at the bouncer in a smile, flanked by broad men, and laid out his offer: pay for his silence, or prepare for a lawsuit. Not just against them, but against the Salt Bar for hiring volatile degenerates under the table and letting them loose to enforce as they pleased.
Looking down at him, in his starch-collared shirt and expensive shoes, they wanted more than anything to reach out and strangle him with his thick gold chain until the metal buckled and the links burst. But these men probably had guns, if Linden was reading them right. Getting shot in Las Vegas for taking out one small man who thought he could do anything if he paid enough afterward wasn’t worth it.
Definitely not if it took Salt Bar with it.
***
Lips pursed, they punched in Archie’s contact info and hung up before it even rang. Again. He had said, if they needed help… No, that wasn’t even it: he had made a pledge. He would show up, unless he decided this was against his personal code, but it wasn’t in his best interest. Performers needed people to attend their events, and so did their managers. Someone with connections and money like this could keep making a fuss, or even expand their vendetta to whoever the Ogre called in for help.
He gave his word.
Slamming two knuckles against their own forehead, Linden gritted their teeth and put the number in one last time, and this time they hit dial.