Post by Tiff on Jun 14, 2009 1:19:01 GMT -6
Well it rains and it pours when you're out on your own...
It was cold. The chill autumn air had nothing to stop it from touching Slade’s bare arms. This was unusual, for the Crypt leader was almost always seen covered from head to toe in a black and blue suit, but in this rare moment Slade wore nothing but a black tank top and gray sweats over his thin, but muscled frame. Today was different; in only a few short hours Slade knew he would be facing the Blood, the cocky, stuck-up gang that would only look upon the Crypt through fancy masquerade costumes. Normally this would not eat at Slade’s nerves, for these “peaceful” meetings were held once a month in order to keep the gangs satisfied with one another, to make sure that neither of them were overstepping their boundaries; but this meeting was sure to be a tense one.
Although there are no laws stating that the Blood has a monopoly on weed slinging, the gang certainly upholds the belief that any drug sold in Summerdale is to be sold by them. Well, seeing many flaws in this logic Slade sought to change that, and when he got his hands on weed plant, he decided to grow and distribute it to his side of town, the West side. Everything was going well until one of the users was found dead, throat slit, in his slummy apartment with the Blood red ribbon tied to his finger. The Blood had killed in his territory, and Slade was none too happy about it. Sure, he may have been selling the stiff some weed, but they had crossed into Crypt land. There was going to be tension at this meeting, that was guaranteed.
Slade’s thin, pale fingers pushed through his unruly long black hair as his blue eyes stared up at the black sky above. Slade was the only one who had access to the roof of The Gym, and he often used this solitary place to gather his thoughts and relax before meetings or after particularly stressful days. A soft sigh expelled itself from the leader’s chest as he gazed up at the millions of stars floating in space billions of miles away. As Slade looked towards the sky his mind began to wander, remembering moments of his past. A quick shooting star whizzed by overhead, it’s trail of light flashing over the darkness for a few seconds before fading away into oblivion. Instead of making a wish, Slade grimaced to himself, his thin lips curling up towards his nose in a menacing fashion. The night before his father was shot Slade had wished upon a shooting star, in an age when he was still naïve, before the world had grotesquely displayed its horrors before his sapphire irises, Slade had wished that his mother would live, that somehow the cancer that dwelled within her body, spreading like wildfire over her flesh, would disappear and he could still have his family. But of course the star didn’t listen, it flew over him, ignoring the unimportant street rat that hadn’t eaten in two days. The world, the stars, life, was complete bullshit and the only thing making life worth living was the company of the Crypts.
Give me a shot to remember...
“Fuck you!” Slade yelled, his deep voice quavered with malice as his icy gaze followed the shooting star. For now Slade had to remember things that he had always tried to forget. His mother’s sickly face appeared from the depths of his memories, burning itself into his eyelids, the deafening crash of his front door thudded in Slade’s ears as he remembered the thugs entering his house, the shiny silver barrel flashed into his mind as it fired a bullet right into his father’s skull, causing blood to splatter all over the dingy apartment. Slade hated fucking shooting stars, they always made him remember the ghosts of his past.
Not wishing to see anymore Slade got up and walked towards the door that lead back into a deserted corner of the rafters. With a few swift movements of his left and right hands Slade unlocked, opened, closed, and locked the door to the roof and found himself climbing down the old staircase that lead to his section of the rafters. Slade growled as his lean thighs lead him into his small room, the attempt to cool off his nerves had backfired, leaving the leader’s brain wracked with emotion, the last thing Slade needed at this moment.
Blue eyes flashed towards the second-hand bought clock hanging on the particleboard wall of Slade’s tiny room. “Shit,” it was 9:00 pm, he only had two hours to get the gang to neutral territory and prepare for the shitty meeting. There were only two things Slade could think of doing to calm his nerves: one, fuck some chick, or two, do some hardcore working out. Slade walked out of his room, his eyes flashed down the empty rafters, and due to the lack of available chicks, Slade was forced to go with option number two. As quickly as he could Slade jogged towards the workout room, joined by a few other Crypts, and sat himself down on a press bench.
The dum bell had 50lbs on either end, it wasn’t much for Slade, but he had to start off somewhere. Quickly, the leader grabbed for the metal bar and did 3 sets of 10 in about a minute. As he began his second group of sets, beads of cool sweat formed across Slade’s forehead and one by one accumulated and dropped to the floor or soaked into Slade’s dark hair. The vigorous physical strain slowly took Slade’s mind off of the past and the near future, forcing him to focus on the present, to think only about the way his muscles burned with every rep and the sound of his breath blowing in and out of his lips like the sound of air zooming past a hitchhiker as yet another driver ignores his outstretched thumb.
Within the next thirty minutes Slade continued to work out, doing his rounds on the various machines he had available in the workout room. After thirty minutes had passed Slade knew he had to get ready, “You all have an hour before you must meet me in the common room, masks in hand, and fully prepared,” Slade announced to the others in the workout room and left to the showers. The other Crypts knew that this meeting was not going to go smoothly, but as usual Slade knew he had to talk to them before heading off of to neutral territory and make sure that they understood fully what they were to, and no to do in the meeting.
Without caring who saw him Slade stripped when he reached the showers and climbed into the stall, leaving his sweaty clothes outside so that everyone would know someone occupied this shower. Slade then turned the water knob and felt the lukewarm water splash onto his chest. “Ahhh,” a quiet sigh escaped Slade as he let the water run over his entire muscled figure. It didn’t matter that the water wasn’t steaming; it still felt amazing as it rushed through Slade’s hair and over his alabaster skin. The leader let the water soak in for a few seconds before grabbing a soap bar and lathering the cleansing chemicals all over his body. Far too soon Slade was done washing himself and forced his left hand to turn the water knob all the way to the right and cut off the stream of liquid. Stealthy feet walked out of the shower and towards the clean towel basket, Slade grabbed a fuzzy piece of fabric and went back into the stall to dry himself. Slade may not care who saw him naked, but he didn’t want to be a complete slut, plus he didn’t really have time for a quickie right now, he had a meeting to get ready for.
The sharpest lives are the deadliest to lead...
Once back in his room Slade prepared himself for the meeting. He strapped weaponry to his bare body, a knife around his calf and a small dagger around his arm. Then came the first layer, consisting of a dark blue tank, over which he strapped a revolver to his chest, and then took a lighter blue over shit over top of that to conceal his gun, and then lastly his black suite, in which other surprises were hidden in case anyone needed to be reminded of who he was. Slade only had a few extra weapons on his person tonight, because he knew he must factor in all possible outcomes to tonight’s meeting with the Blood, including an all out fight, where he would need all the weaponry attached to his body.
Along with weaponry and clothing, Slade hooked in his crescent earring into his right earlobe. This was something Slade never left The Gym without, when he was in neutral territory, and not in a meeting, he would slip it into his pocket, otherwise it would always adorn his earlobe. His earring was almost like a part of Slade’s soul, Flame had given it to him before he was killed and Slade had treasured it ever since. Flame had been his mentor, showing him the ways of the Crypts when Slade was just a young member, and in a way Slade had looked up to him like a father. So, the only thing he had left of the man Slade protected with his life. The black-haired boy was usually very fair in his judgment, but if anyone tried to mess with his crescent, Slade would personally kill the culprit.
With a half hour left until meeting the rest of the gang before heading to their appointment with the Blood, Slade decided to get some coffee into his stomach. Lord knows he needed the caffeine. Slade grabbed his full headed wolf mask from a box under his cot, placed it safely into his pocket, and walked towards the makeshift kitchen, the heals of his slightly dressy shoes thudding against the flooring as he walked.
So you can leave like the sane abandoned me.
((Lyrics: The Sharpest Lives by My Chemical Romance))
