05-23-2017, 03:05 PM
"Like, I told you. I got it off some junkie that was passed out in the alley. I don't have anymore, at least until I can find out where he got it from." The man threw up his hands and walked away, exasperated. "Yeah? Well, fuck you too, man." Neil the Goth shouted after him. "Fucking tourists, coming down here trying to live like 'the poors' for a day. Gotta be popular though, right?" The young teen looked over at his silent compatriot, Talkative Jim.
Jim just nodded, dressed in a long black trenchcoat with a backwards baseball cap and a thick hipstery beard. Neil rolled his eyes and started to roll a joint. "Come on Jim, I know you have the rest of the weed in that big ole coat of yours. Pony up, or I will cast upon thee a terrible curse." Jim just made a motion with his hand and lips, that vaguely resembled the act of fellatio. Neil rolled his eyes and lit up the joint, kicking a chunk of concrete across the curb. "Fine, fuck you. I'll just smoke this by myself."
Another couple people passed by, Neil selling and buying small amounts of narcotics, smoking the last of his weed, and generally being a moody little fuck. Jim left for an hour or so and returned with food, which they sat down and ate outside of the abandoned convienience store they always hung out in front of. It was a repetitive existence, but Neil felt that since he lived in a place where your life could be ended at any time by some beefy macho bastard with delusions of grandeur, it was a fine way to spend his time. At least he had chems.
Speaking of which, here was a customer now. A bald guy, oldish, maybe in his early fifties. He was wearing a weird outfit, like a pinstripe suit in grey with a red bowtie. Eh, Neil didn't judge. "Yo pops, you looking to score? I got the new shit, Amaranth, right here. 20 creds a bag."
The old guy nodded and stepped forward, reaching into his pocket. "Glad I found you. Heard a lot anout this spot, and the stuff you got."
CLICK
"Now we're going to have a serious talk about it."
Neil felt something pointy and metallic poking through his genuine imitation leather trenchcoat, his voice cracking as he squealed out a protest. "Hey, wait, you can't-"
WHAP
THUD
"They don't teach you little dumbasses nothing in school these days?" The old guy asked. Without moving the blade from Neil's stomach, he'd caught Jim's wild haymaker in his free fist, twisted his arm around, and kicked Jim into the light pole, laying the poor guy out cold. Neil was inches away from pissing his pants, but the guy just kept talking.
"See, you don't sneak up on a guy holding a knife to your friend, cuz the first hit wouldn't have taken me out. I woulda shown you the color of your insides, then turned and put the blade in his eye. Sloppy work. By the way, name's Charlie. Of the Gentlemen Jacks."
Neil expressed no hint of recognition at the name, but tried to protest. "Look, man, I don't know what you want with me! This isn't anyone's turf, I didn't steal anything!" He stiffened as Charlie dragged the knife across his jacket, cutting a slit in the leather.
"Well nah, technically you didn't steal. But you're selling Amaranth to all your friends, right? Which has mightily pissed off the Boss. Mister Harlan Higgs. And his bite is worse than his bark." The blade came away, and Neil felt the man's palm cuff him a ringing blow upside the temple. Charlie patted down Neil's pockets and fished out the four bags of red powder. "However, you're just a stupid kid. Boss said to go easy on you."
Neil let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding, and returned to his sullen, surly gaze. "Oh, fine. I get it. Can't cut into your business, right? Hmmph." He kicked at a chunk of concrete and blew his hair over his forehead.
Charlie folded the blade back and gave the kid a pat on the shoulder, before walking away. "You can see it like that, kid. Stay on this shit corner until you piss off the wrong guy and get iced. Or you can come down to the Luxor Social Club and get in on the ground floor of something big. Your choice."
Neil looked down at his ripped coat, unconscious friend, and empty pockets.
Tough decision.
Jim just nodded, dressed in a long black trenchcoat with a backwards baseball cap and a thick hipstery beard. Neil rolled his eyes and started to roll a joint. "Come on Jim, I know you have the rest of the weed in that big ole coat of yours. Pony up, or I will cast upon thee a terrible curse." Jim just made a motion with his hand and lips, that vaguely resembled the act of fellatio. Neil rolled his eyes and lit up the joint, kicking a chunk of concrete across the curb. "Fine, fuck you. I'll just smoke this by myself."
Another couple people passed by, Neil selling and buying small amounts of narcotics, smoking the last of his weed, and generally being a moody little fuck. Jim left for an hour or so and returned with food, which they sat down and ate outside of the abandoned convienience store they always hung out in front of. It was a repetitive existence, but Neil felt that since he lived in a place where your life could be ended at any time by some beefy macho bastard with delusions of grandeur, it was a fine way to spend his time. At least he had chems.
Speaking of which, here was a customer now. A bald guy, oldish, maybe in his early fifties. He was wearing a weird outfit, like a pinstripe suit in grey with a red bowtie. Eh, Neil didn't judge. "Yo pops, you looking to score? I got the new shit, Amaranth, right here. 20 creds a bag."
The old guy nodded and stepped forward, reaching into his pocket. "Glad I found you. Heard a lot anout this spot, and the stuff you got."
CLICK
"Now we're going to have a serious talk about it."
Neil felt something pointy and metallic poking through his genuine imitation leather trenchcoat, his voice cracking as he squealed out a protest. "Hey, wait, you can't-"
WHAP
THUD
"They don't teach you little dumbasses nothing in school these days?" The old guy asked. Without moving the blade from Neil's stomach, he'd caught Jim's wild haymaker in his free fist, twisted his arm around, and kicked Jim into the light pole, laying the poor guy out cold. Neil was inches away from pissing his pants, but the guy just kept talking.
"See, you don't sneak up on a guy holding a knife to your friend, cuz the first hit wouldn't have taken me out. I woulda shown you the color of your insides, then turned and put the blade in his eye. Sloppy work. By the way, name's Charlie. Of the Gentlemen Jacks."
Neil expressed no hint of recognition at the name, but tried to protest. "Look, man, I don't know what you want with me! This isn't anyone's turf, I didn't steal anything!" He stiffened as Charlie dragged the knife across his jacket, cutting a slit in the leather.
"Well nah, technically you didn't steal. But you're selling Amaranth to all your friends, right? Which has mightily pissed off the Boss. Mister Harlan Higgs. And his bite is worse than his bark." The blade came away, and Neil felt the man's palm cuff him a ringing blow upside the temple. Charlie patted down Neil's pockets and fished out the four bags of red powder. "However, you're just a stupid kid. Boss said to go easy on you."
Neil let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding, and returned to his sullen, surly gaze. "Oh, fine. I get it. Can't cut into your business, right? Hmmph." He kicked at a chunk of concrete and blew his hair over his forehead.
Charlie folded the blade back and gave the kid a pat on the shoulder, before walking away. "You can see it like that, kid. Stay on this shit corner until you piss off the wrong guy and get iced. Or you can come down to the Luxor Social Club and get in on the ground floor of something big. Your choice."
Neil looked down at his ripped coat, unconscious friend, and empty pockets.
Tough decision.
“I don’t wanna be a product of my environment. I want my environment to be a product of me.”