06-01-2018, 02:43 AM
The reflection of the street lamps and the glare of the night lights danced along my vision with the tempo the music the cab driver played. It had been too long since I had a night on the town and it was driving me mad. Like it was even possible to be madder. There was only one place I thought to go, and that was the only slime bucket in the nasty outer district of Coruscant. You guessed right, Big Daddy Casino and Nightclub.
Judging by how the surroundings were getting much shitter now, we couldn't have to go much more. I can't wait to get out of this death trap; the cabby had a horrible accent that sounded like he was talking underwater and his breath smells like onions, alcohol, and vomit. He very well may be intoxicated while he drove me to the club, so I made my decision I was not going to tip him.
Swerving out of the way of some debris in the road the driver then made a revolting nose, the kind you make when you are sucking all the mucus to the back of your throat.
'We almost their now sweet cheeks.'
Yuck gross, maybe I will kill him after all. Thankfully, I was not in the car much longer before he pulled up in front of Big Daddy's. Promptly exiting the cab, I walked over to the window before giving the bouncer a free show. Bent over I asked, "What do I owe you?"
"You owe me $37.50."
That repulsive stench of death made me dizzy, and I gripped the top of the car to hold steady. "Geez, keep your mouth shut when your talking will ya? Gonna give someone a stroke." Ignoring the man's banter, and with a few quick swipes of my database device I paid the troll and walked into the familiar disco.
I had already had one or two drinks when a hulk of a man walked into the club. His entrance was something that I could not easily ignore as he gave another patron a kiss with his skull that started by some yelling. He was also way over 7 feet tall and could easily be the most prominent man in the room.
A waitress had to help drag the unconscious fool out the club, but not before whining to the man in the trenchcoat, "He's new here Marty, he didn't know." Marty had now settled himself in front of the stage with an empty seat on either side of him.
He wore a trench coat, and his hair was a dirty blonde with a crew cut, a real ugly motherfucker. Marty did not even have the time to light his cigarette before a beautiful blonde little bo peep in fishnets placed a shot in front of him. She then promptly walked away and towards my direction with her voluptuous bouncing tits in all their glory.
"Would you like anything else to drink sugar?"
"Yes, can you get me whatever Marty is drinking please?" With a look of surprise followed by a syrupy honey smile, she pranced back to the bar. Finding a seat to his right, I shot him some of my Harley swagger. "Do you come here often?"
Men who can come into a place like this and wear religious jewelry on of trailer park tank tops are just the kind of people need in my life. His golden cross was the only really out of place thing about this juggernaut. Marty is trying his best to look unamused, but the scars on his face make him look like a grinning asshole.
Based on my expertise analysis our Marty was either an ex-con or an ex-government operative of some kind. The .45 Springfield Armory M191A pistol on his hip told me he was most likely a former con. His weathered and battered face told a story of hardship, and the marks said a lengthy tale of death and violence. With an ugly tightness in his face, he smiled and said, "you can say I am regular, nobody special."
I liked Marty right away, and I can tell that he was the kind of man I didn't have to worry about spiking my drink while I was busy admiring the atmosphere. Goldie locks came back without another second to spare with our beer and our shots. I raised my glass at him just as the music picked up inside the club with some hypnotic beats.
I'll be honest; it's hard keeping up with a beast of a drinker like Marty old pal. In one stripper set, he would have drunk 3 beers and taken six shots like a champ. By the fourth stripper, I had let go of all reservations and was talking stupid to Marty. Saying belligerent nonsense like "Marty, have you ever been in love?" and "Where is the best place to get rid of a body around here?"
A scrawny scarecrow of a man with a hat much too large for his head interrupted our good happy time with a boisterous and overbearing voice. "Marty, my man! Have you placed your bets yet?"
"No, not yet, I am not impressed with the line up this year," Marty said while waving to the waitress for another drink. This place was a crooked palace of criminal activity, and that includes illegal betting.
The scarecrow lets out a dry cackling that sent a mist of saliva on the counter in front of us. Acknowledging me for the first time the cockroach says, "What he means to say is that his lucky boy has not yet joined the game."
"The game, what game, I love to play games," I said spinning around to face the heckler.
He laughed some more before answering, "It's for Dante's Abyss the most bloody battle royal of the year. Not something for gals like you."
In the blink of an eye, I had gotten a few inches from him before the fucker could say another word. "You don't know what kind of gal I am mister," blowing a pink bubble in his face.
Marty let out a chuckle before speaking, "You know, I only place my bet on Uchiha so come find me if he joins otherwise don't bother me again Jeff." The slimeball walked away but not before muttering some obscenities that were not audible over the racket of the music. Marty snickered again and shook his head before telling me that he won big on a random bet he placed on this kid three years back. He refused to bet on anyone else since then and won't gamble at all if Uchiha was not competing.
This game was exciting to me, according to Marty, it's a bunch of meatheads battling to the death for fabulous cash and prizes; like jeopardy but with more blood. The fame that came with it, in particular, was most appealing. With my name up in lights, there was no way the Judge wouldn't notice me. I can see it now, bright lights, big city, me standing on a pile of bodies while the crowd is throwing roses and chanting my name.
By now, even the scent of the malt from the beer was making me spin. The sound of the music was causing my brain to vibrate inside my skull. I don't think I can handle much more of this, not without blacking out. "Hey Marty, how does a girl like me sign up for Desmonds Defense?"
"You don't want to join Dante's Abyss, why would you want to do that?" Marty asked before sliding over a glass of water in my direction. Bless his soul.
"I have nothing better to do right now Marty my friend; I can get off whacking some perps with my bat." I let out a loud burp that followed with an insane laughing fit.
"You got some spunk clown, ill give you that." Marty shrugged his shoulders and reached into the pocket of his trench coat. "If you are going to go play badass then you better have some help, I don't want to see you on your ass first round." He handed me a crumpled brown paper bag with some gizmos inside. "They came with the jacket, the guy who used to own this jacket won't be needing it."
You know two people became best friends when one of them gets presents! I didn't think Marty thought that much of me, it's nice to be on this goons good side. "Why doesn't he need it?"
He laughed and took the last swig of his beer before telling, "He's dead, I shot him in the face." Silence and then the sound crooked laughter from the both of us caused those around us to stop and stare.
Judging by how the surroundings were getting much shitter now, we couldn't have to go much more. I can't wait to get out of this death trap; the cabby had a horrible accent that sounded like he was talking underwater and his breath smells like onions, alcohol, and vomit. He very well may be intoxicated while he drove me to the club, so I made my decision I was not going to tip him.
Swerving out of the way of some debris in the road the driver then made a revolting nose, the kind you make when you are sucking all the mucus to the back of your throat.
'We almost their now sweet cheeks.'
Yuck gross, maybe I will kill him after all. Thankfully, I was not in the car much longer before he pulled up in front of Big Daddy's. Promptly exiting the cab, I walked over to the window before giving the bouncer a free show. Bent over I asked, "What do I owe you?"
"You owe me $37.50."
That repulsive stench of death made me dizzy, and I gripped the top of the car to hold steady. "Geez, keep your mouth shut when your talking will ya? Gonna give someone a stroke." Ignoring the man's banter, and with a few quick swipes of my database device I paid the troll and walked into the familiar disco.
I had already had one or two drinks when a hulk of a man walked into the club. His entrance was something that I could not easily ignore as he gave another patron a kiss with his skull that started by some yelling. He was also way over 7 feet tall and could easily be the most prominent man in the room.
A waitress had to help drag the unconscious fool out the club, but not before whining to the man in the trenchcoat, "He's new here Marty, he didn't know." Marty had now settled himself in front of the stage with an empty seat on either side of him.
He wore a trench coat, and his hair was a dirty blonde with a crew cut, a real ugly motherfucker. Marty did not even have the time to light his cigarette before a beautiful blonde little bo peep in fishnets placed a shot in front of him. She then promptly walked away and towards my direction with her voluptuous bouncing tits in all their glory.
"Would you like anything else to drink sugar?"
"Yes, can you get me whatever Marty is drinking please?" With a look of surprise followed by a syrupy honey smile, she pranced back to the bar. Finding a seat to his right, I shot him some of my Harley swagger. "Do you come here often?"
Men who can come into a place like this and wear religious jewelry on of trailer park tank tops are just the kind of people need in my life. His golden cross was the only really out of place thing about this juggernaut. Marty is trying his best to look unamused, but the scars on his face make him look like a grinning asshole.
Based on my expertise analysis our Marty was either an ex-con or an ex-government operative of some kind. The .45 Springfield Armory M191A pistol on his hip told me he was most likely a former con. His weathered and battered face told a story of hardship, and the marks said a lengthy tale of death and violence. With an ugly tightness in his face, he smiled and said, "you can say I am regular, nobody special."
I liked Marty right away, and I can tell that he was the kind of man I didn't have to worry about spiking my drink while I was busy admiring the atmosphere. Goldie locks came back without another second to spare with our beer and our shots. I raised my glass at him just as the music picked up inside the club with some hypnotic beats.
I'll be honest; it's hard keeping up with a beast of a drinker like Marty old pal. In one stripper set, he would have drunk 3 beers and taken six shots like a champ. By the fourth stripper, I had let go of all reservations and was talking stupid to Marty. Saying belligerent nonsense like "Marty, have you ever been in love?" and "Where is the best place to get rid of a body around here?"
A scrawny scarecrow of a man with a hat much too large for his head interrupted our good happy time with a boisterous and overbearing voice. "Marty, my man! Have you placed your bets yet?"
"No, not yet, I am not impressed with the line up this year," Marty said while waving to the waitress for another drink. This place was a crooked palace of criminal activity, and that includes illegal betting.
The scarecrow lets out a dry cackling that sent a mist of saliva on the counter in front of us. Acknowledging me for the first time the cockroach says, "What he means to say is that his lucky boy has not yet joined the game."
"The game, what game, I love to play games," I said spinning around to face the heckler.
He laughed some more before answering, "It's for Dante's Abyss the most bloody battle royal of the year. Not something for gals like you."
In the blink of an eye, I had gotten a few inches from him before the fucker could say another word. "You don't know what kind of gal I am mister," blowing a pink bubble in his face.
Marty let out a chuckle before speaking, "You know, I only place my bet on Uchiha so come find me if he joins otherwise don't bother me again Jeff." The slimeball walked away but not before muttering some obscenities that were not audible over the racket of the music. Marty snickered again and shook his head before telling me that he won big on a random bet he placed on this kid three years back. He refused to bet on anyone else since then and won't gamble at all if Uchiha was not competing.
This game was exciting to me, according to Marty, it's a bunch of meatheads battling to the death for fabulous cash and prizes; like jeopardy but with more blood. The fame that came with it, in particular, was most appealing. With my name up in lights, there was no way the Judge wouldn't notice me. I can see it now, bright lights, big city, me standing on a pile of bodies while the crowd is throwing roses and chanting my name.
By now, even the scent of the malt from the beer was making me spin. The sound of the music was causing my brain to vibrate inside my skull. I don't think I can handle much more of this, not without blacking out. "Hey Marty, how does a girl like me sign up for Desmonds Defense?"
"You don't want to join Dante's Abyss, why would you want to do that?" Marty asked before sliding over a glass of water in my direction. Bless his soul.
"I have nothing better to do right now Marty my friend; I can get off whacking some perps with my bat." I let out a loud burp that followed with an insane laughing fit.
"You got some spunk clown, ill give you that." Marty shrugged his shoulders and reached into the pocket of his trench coat. "If you are going to go play badass then you better have some help, I don't want to see you on your ass first round." He handed me a crumpled brown paper bag with some gizmos inside. "They came with the jacket, the guy who used to own this jacket won't be needing it."
You know two people became best friends when one of them gets presents! I didn't think Marty thought that much of me, it's nice to be on this goons good side. "Why doesn't he need it?"
He laughed and took the last swig of his beer before telling, "He's dead, I shot him in the face." Silence and then the sound crooked laughter from the both of us caused those around us to stop and stare.
![[Image: harley-quinn-arkham-city-gif-7.gif]](http://www.cytokineindustries.com/chevereto/images/2018/06/05/harley-quinn-arkham-city-gif-7.gif)