Not necessarily because of how it looked, though the aesthetic of discolored bricks threatening to topple over was far from pleasing. No, it was because of how it stunk. His acute senses meant that he got to experience the Slums for something far deeper than normal. As he swept through the streets that glistened with rain, black cloak matted down against his bare torso, he found he had to hold his breath, for every inhale meant a torrent of a smell akin to an Infected's nest. Then again, the Inner Citadel wasn't that much more pleasant to be in, and Atlas found a burgeoning respect for the Slums- it did not try to hide what it was through a masquerade of lies.
He was hardly here to stick his nose up at the surroundings. A lot of Spades who were unable to find quarter in the Crossroads, or were not yet fully inducted into the gang, lived here. The Slums, particularly the residential district, was a treasure trove of resources for the Spades- in clientele and in potential inductees. He had passed a homeless teenager, propped up against the side of a windowless building, with eyes that would have outshone any drug bunny. He made a note to send some Spades into the area, before the Hearts could swoop her up for their own salacious purposes.
He found his quarry, a place marked out by his scouts and his own observation. Tucked high above street level, Atlas opted to scale the buildings rather than take the traditional pathways. He was shadowed by night, and despite the walls and crevices that were slick with rain, the Infected easily found his way to the window of Zander's home, all but a figure of black against black to the naked eye.
With soundless feet, he deftly slunk and crouched to the floor of the bedroom. The room was bathed in darkness and silence, if only for the slight rise and fall of the sheets occupied by a slumbering figure. The pale creature closed the distance, standing and observing the peaceful face drawn in sleep. He brought his hand up, a motion so silky the air seemed to remain undisturbed around it, and, with one long and pointed fingernail, traced the man's jawline ever so slightly. If it was not the touch of that claw, or droplets of rainwater that tumbled from his wet cloak, then it was the comment he whispered, "My, you're even more impressive in person."
Zander had fallen asleep listening to the pitter-patter of the rain outside his window, alone in the bedroom he'd been allowed to have for himself now that he was older. Normally it didn't even matter — his siblings would usually climb into bed with him anyway, and he didn't have any complaints. He was used to sleeping with family at this point, and he knew his younger siblings still sometimes suffered from nightmares. But tonight was a rare exception as he was able to stretch himself out across his bed and fall asleep in peace. Window left ajar just enough for a cool breeze to blow through and break the otherwise unbearable heat — they were high up enough that no one would be able to get in anyway.
Or so he thought.
The dripping of water on his face was what first woke Zander from his slumber, even if at first he was still caught in that fine line between asleep and awake. He halfheartedly lifted a hand to wipe at his face where the water was trickling down, expecting it to be from his dream more than anything. But the harder press of something against his face finally pulled him from the dream world completely, and dark eyes snapped open just in time for his mind to register someone speaking to him.
He hears the man's words, but they don't quite register — he's instead too caught in the momentary panic of a stranger in his room to really care what the man was saying. All he knew was that he'd never seen the face before him — even if the shadows from the night hid most of the man's features — and Zander's body exploded in a surge of energy as he threw himself away from the other man. Back collided with the wall that his bed was pressed up against, and he blinks a couple of times as he realizes he's drawn both of his hands up protectively in front of his face. Fear slithers down his back — not for himself, but for his family asleep.
"What the fuck!?" is the first thing the young drug runner blurts out. Eloquent, indeed. He's still too momentarily stunned to really have a full grasp on the situation, but his look of surprise quickly morphs to one of anger as he straights himself up.
"The fuck do you think yer doing man!? Get outta my fucking house!" he both yells and whispers the words simultaneously, his demand filled with a passion that was somewhat dumbed down due to him not wanting to wake his family. Like a cornered animal, Zander's body spring into action and he haphazardly throws himself forwards now, a hand curling into a fist before it's thrown in the man's direction. Zander attempts to sock the stranger in the fact, and hopefully get control over the situation.
Atlas allowed it. The surprised exclamation, the torrent of (loud) words that would wake anyone behind those thin walls. The fist, thrust in his direction, with all the force of a scared body behind it. It connected with his cheek, the impact sending his snapping back in a manner that suggested it had done its intended job, if only that was the only part of his body that moved. His arms, his legs, they remained hauntingly still and sure, retaining that strong, domineering stance as Atlas unhurriedly turned his head back and laughed, low and dark enough that it befit the long shadows spread across the room.
"When they said you were spirited, I didn't quite believe it." What was supposed to pain, blossoming from a bruised cheekbone, was a space fearsomely clear of any indication that the man was punched. Just smooth, white space, with shadows cresting from the fine lines of his facial structure. He lifts a hand again, the point of his claw rested on a spot on Zander's chest bare of any fabric, his touch light, dangerously so, the toying clear behind it. "You. You're going to be fun."
He heard shuffling. Voices. Steps echoing down the hall, every creak and bend of the floor audible. A light, flickering on somewhere. Atlas took one look at the door, as if deciding how to react in that split seconds, and returned his gaze to Zander. It was steady, calm at the intrusion and confident in its power over the situation.
"A family man. How special." He retracted his claw, and leaned forward, just slightly, so that the whisper in voice could be caught by the other, so his breath just barely brushed the drug runner's cheek, light as a mother's touch. "Tell them you're fine. That you had a bad dream. I would hate for anything to happen to them." The end of his sentence punctuated by the concerned voices and knocks on the other side of the door.
Zander's more creeped out by the man's reaction to getting punched in the face than he is to the fact the man's in his room to begin with. He draws back and makes a face as the stranger just sits there and takes the blow to his face, head snapping back with an audible crack! — only for him to continue on as though nothing had just transpired between them. There's an untapped fury that boils beneath the surface of Zander's skin, and at the stranger's calm comment about him being spirited, he draws a hand back as though ready to land yet another punch on that sharp jaw.
Whatever he was planning to do is quickly thrown out the window when the man lifts a lone finger to once more caress a bare part of his body — this time his chest — and comment that he was going to be fun.
Fuck that noise!
"Wha— Get off'a me man! What's wrong with you!?" he snarls at the stranger as he bats the hand away from him with a panicked motion. At that very moment, all Zander knows is that he wants this man away from him, even if he had to throw him out the bedroom window himself.
The young man practically holds his breath when, in the moment of silence between the two of them, he can hear movement from down the hall. Considering their home was small and confined in order to fit between the streets of the slums, it was very easy to hear just about everything that went on in the house. He doesn't expect anyone to be up at this hour, and yet the shimmer of light underneath his door makes it clear someone is awake. It takes all of only a couple seconds before the stranger suddenly speaks and draws Zander's attention back to him once more, and wide eyes give away the fact Zander finally realizes the true danger of the situation he was currently in.
He didn't fear for his own safety. He feared for his family's safety. For his mom, his stepfather, and his siblings that he loved so much. He blinks, but doesn't move when the man leans in enough to whisper his threat, and it lingers long enough for Zander to go through a flood of emotions: fear, worry, anger. How dare this stranger threaten his family! Zander's eyes scream that he wants to kill the man kneeling next to his bed, but a knock at his door has his head snapping up so his gaze can train itself to the door, listening to his mom's worried voice on the other side.
"I-I'm fine! Sorry I woke you! I'm just, y'know—" he's flustered, his cheeks growing slightly hot as he says the only thing he can think of that would have his parents backpedal away from his bedroom door as fast as possible: "Y-y'know! I'm... I'm a man, I got urges!"
Silence. Then—
"Okay... Well, try to keep it down next time." His step-father's voice, laced with amusement. Zander's about ready to chuck a pillow at the door in frustration, but realizes at the last second he still had another problem to deal with. The stranger. His head whips back around to face the man, anger still very evident in his eyes.
"How dare you threaten my family?" he hisses in a whisper. "Who the fuck even are you, barging into my room at night?"
At Zander's fabricated excuse, Atlas cocked an eyebrow, eyes of inquiry thrown in Zander's direction. He found the hotness sprinkled on the drug runner's cream cheeks, the nervousness and anger that unsettled his voice, deliciously amusing, an act that just made Atlas want to reach his clawed hand out and cup the other's jaw in an odd sense of endearment.
His family's voice ebbed into the background. Atlas listened, ears intent, until the steps fully faded away and the quiet of night blanketed the room once more. Zander rounded on the Ace, but the man merely leaned nonchalantly on the bed post beside him, pearly hand cupped over the knob of it. He tskked, with a shake of his head.
"Why must you be so serious? Can't you see we're just having a bit of fun?" his voice was taunting, with the full knowledge that his threats were legitimate and he would not hesitate to slaughter each and every one of them in the house, meant to anger and get further under the boy's skin.
He pushed himself off and crossed his arms before him. His gray eyes caught what little moonlight filtered through the haze of the dark, indigo midnight, giving them a menacing quality in their starkness in the long shadows that stretched over them. One could see the hint of a smile in his continued toying of the young man.
"Well, if you must know. My name is Atlas, and the Spades are mine," He tilted his chin just slightly, so he could observe Zander with piercing eyes, adding suggestively "..all of them."
He then took a few paces as he spoke, his stare never leaving Zander, "And just in case you're curious, yes, I make this visit to every young and hopeful Spade when I believe they will make far within the gang. For you deserve to know what your leader looks like."
He stopped, then, just beside Zander, so his right shoulder was just against the wall the back his bed leaned against and that, if he leaned forward just so, he could graze Zander's earlobe with his lips. "And what would happen if you betrayed us."
He then brought a hand up and spread it over the wall. He leaned his ear beside his open fingers, as if eavesdropping on the room beside them. Zander probably couldn't sense it with his human ears, but Atlas' sensitive hearing detected the gentle and deep breaths of sleep. "Your family sleeps so peacefully. It's funny, how many join us just to support their loved ones. Touching, really."
Fun!? Zander wants to yell at the top of his lungs at the man that breaking into his room at night, acting like some kind of creepy stalker and then threatening his family was most definitely not fun. But he's smart enough to keep his yap shut in this instance, the threat of something being done to his family in retaliation still fresh in his mind. His eyes throw daggers at the chalky man, annoyed at how arrogant he was being considering the situation. It was funny almost — Zander was nothing more than a chihuahua barking at a rottweiler, yet still he held his ground with enough arrogance to inflate his own ego.
Finally the man reveals who he is, and it takes a couple seconds for Zander to register the words before he blinks and gulps. Oh. This was his boss, was it? He heard other low rank thugs in the gang talking about the leader before, but he always brushed it off as information he didn't need to know. Why would such a high ranking person in the gang ever talk to him? He was content running around in the gutters, not making a name for himself other than the go-to person in the gang to use for drug running.
All bravado and fury seems to ebb from Zander's body, even if he's still clearly very on edge with having a stranger in his house. His eyes never leave Atlas's face — even if he can't see very well in the darkness of his room, thanks Stronghold — and leans back slightly when Atlas draws close to him again. He huffs a little at the comment about what would happen if he were ever to betray them. Why would he ever do that? They gave him the money he needs to take care of his family, and therefore he worked for them. Nothing more, nothing less.
"Well ya don't gotta worry 'bout that..." he mumbles quietly, still clearly flustered with the whole situation. Zander's eyes narrow slightly when Atlas leans against his wall, once more bringing up his family.
"Listen man, I don't know who you are— well, I mean, I do now but— That's besides the point! Leave my family outta this! I run drugs for you, and you pay me. That's all there is to it, yeah? You don't gotta worry about a thing with me betraying you or whatever so no need for ya to keep bringing up my family," he practically growls out, clearly not yet cowed by the fact he shouldn't be speaking in such a tone to the Ace of his gang.
"Why'd you even come here at this time? You coulda just asked for me in the morning. So weird..." the last few words are mumbled out, as if not meant for Atlas's ears to hear.
Again, that humorless laugh rumbled, like it had replaced the sound of a long exhale. He stood, six feet of a sinewy, white form that glowed subtly in the dark, shoulders and arms draped in black."You say that now."
He tilted his head, an almost curious expression shadowing his face, though his eyes remained cruel. "But what would happen if, say, the Hearts offered you all the money you'd need to not only pay rent for this pathetic little hovel but to buy the whole complex? And all you had to do was bat those pretty lashes and convince a few, desperate drug bunnies to offer themselves to that slaughterhouse? What then?"
It wasn't an allegory formed off the top of his head but a real situation that had been committed by one of the lower cards. Atlas had found out through a few loyal informants, and he could remember their tendons stretch like sticky candy as they were quartered and decapitated. The air smelled so sweetly of blood, and Atlas could hardly control his bloodlust then, dismissing all witnesses so he could feast on that meaty, leaking torso.
The thought threatened to tease his fangs out, and he felt himself salivate. He could not help but wonder what the specimen before him tasted like, young and robust and alive, so much so that he could smell the respiration, salty and savory as it clung to the other man.
Atlas reached forward, intending to place the tip of a fingernail on Zander's chin, though with a speed that allowed Zander to shy away or reject the touch if he wanted. "I know I would take the deal if I were you. Betray the Spades, because all I do is drug run, and they wouldn't miss a few bunnies. Leave their poor Ace injured and upset and wondering on whatever he did wrong."
Instead of pushing that touch further, he retracted his arm and turned his body, so he no longer looked at Zander, but at the rain that pelted down outside. "That's what happens when that's 'all there is to it. You're keen, Zander. A fighter. You know I don't do this because I want to, but because I must."
A brazen lie, as Atlas thrived off the scent of fear, but by his voice one would not tell otherwise, for clinging to it was a tone of apology and even sadness. "You make a lot of assumptions, kid. Living by assumptions alone is foolish."
"Slaughterhouse?" Zander repeats the word with a frown, not quite sure how the man was expecting him to respond to that. Zander was still pretty naive to the world of the Jabberwockies — he was content to be a lowly drug runner, and nothing more. Truth be told he wasn't an anarchist or anything of that type, so he didn't look to go digging further into the gang's business. As long as he had an easy job that paid money to his family, he was okay with that. And that's exactly what the Spades offered him. Regardless, even if he doesn't know the darker meaning to Atlas's words, he still shakes his head with a frown.
"Nah man, I ain't even know what you're talking about, but I'm not looking for trouble or to get anyone hurt. Just need money is all," he whispers, the frown remaining on his face even as he finishes speaking. He flinches when the man suddenly moved towards him again, a lone finger pressed against his chin being enough to distract Zander once again from the annoyance at having a stranger in his bedroom like this. Atlas begins to speaking as though he were Zander, trying to paint a picture of why the lowly Jabberwocky should take this hypothetical deal. But it still didn't make sense to him.
Running drugs was easy, and felt like very little could go wrong in terms of the Military potentially capturing him. Why would he want to risk that? Especially when his family would be the ones suffering for it.
But then Atlas is suddenly gone, facing the window with the lull of the rain splattering against a window pane filling the silence. He begins to speak once more, and through it all Zander just keeps shaking his head with one of his hands pressed against the side of his head. It was still nighttime, after all, and his tired mind was having a hard time digesting everything the man said. Some stuff sounded like a compliment — others, like a threat.
"You act like I'm some dumb bitch that would sell out for some extra money. Man, I ain't no snitch. Like I said, ya don't gotta worry about that," he finally sighs out once he realizes Atlas had finished talking. "You say I'm living on assumptions... What exactly? Am I supposed to be scared of you or something, that if I toe the wrong line yer gonna come get me? Why do you assume I'd just up and betray the gang at the drop of a hat, hm? Sounds more like you're the one living by assumptions," he continues, his last sentence falling into more of a mumble than anything.
The man- boy, moreso, as Atlas had more years on most citizens of the Stronghold- had guts, Atlas would admit that, as he looked nonchalantly at his claws, knuckles curled towards his chest during Zander's tirade. The Ace was tiring of this back and forth, and it seemed the warning had solidified its purpose, if it had received backlash as well. Point spoken and understood- betray the Spades at the risk of you and your loved ones.
Why didn't any of these humans see that emotional connection was only a weakness? The strings guiding each lonely, crooked puppet in their lonely, crooked play? The Spades Ace would never fall to that- he was determined to remain the master, not the marionette.
Atlas flashed his gaze back at Zander. Where there was amusement, perhaps even a growing fondness for the other, mostly in his entertainment value, was displeasure and aggravation. The rain drummed against the side of the house, an almost meditative melody.
"There are things you don't understand about this world, kid," the Ace drawled. "One day, you'll think the only option you have is betrayal." He placed a white hand on the windowsill, now slick with rain. His claws curled around the bottom frame, and he paused there.
"Then you'll see just how much you're worth to me."
He slipped out then, his cloak shielding his pale body, so he became one with the darkness of night. It was clear, then, that Atlas had nothing left to say, even little purpose left. Here, it stunk with the wails of frail, dying people, cries that Atlas could find no satisfaction in hearing. He had seen the drug runner tremble, revealed that he knew where the man and his family lived and had seen the most tender parts of his life. Zander was free to mull over that information as he wished.
Like a chihuahua standing up against a doberman, barking its head off, eventually Zander seemed to annoy the other enough that he sought to make his exit from the room. Still not really sure what the whole purpose of the invasion was — other than being a creep — the young Jabberwockies drug runner frowns as he watches the pale man slip back out the way he'd probably entered in the first place. Back out into the rain, still cascading against the poorly windows and dragging a cool draft inside.
"Freak," Zander mutters under his breath as he remains sitting in his bed, eyes trained to where Atlas had left. His body still feels full of adrenaline, of rage, and he doubts he'll be able to get back to sleep again. Besides... The threat of violence against his family still rings clear in his ears, and it's perhaps those threats that finally drag him out of bed and out into the hall, which was now quiet and dark as his parents must have gone back to bed. Zander slips into his younger siblings' room, his gaze softening as he picks out their figures cuddled together in their bed. He watches them sleep for a bit before he finally creeps further into the room and joins them in the bed, hugging them close for comfort. Except for a few sleepy murmurs of protest — quietened once they realized who was providing them safety — his siblings remain asleep, and their soft snores eventually lull him to sleep as well. Who knows how much he'll remember come morning.
fancy seeing you here
Posted 08-05-2021, 11:03 AM
