When he arrived back at the crumbling Sylvador mansion he felt surreal. He felt like his feet weren't quite attached to his body and his head was in the clouds. The boys on the first floor greeted him respectfully and he lifted a hand, truly brooding. The look on his face was enough to keep people at a distance.
Something they normally did anyway, considering who he was.
He couldn't be bothered with it especially tonight when his head was spinning.
What did he just do? He stalked up the last stairwell to his room. He rapidly undressed and sat in his hammock clad in black underwear and nothing else. His hands supported his head as he glared at the floorboards. If he was successful in this job he would have enough money he could walk away, he could finally do whatever he pleased. He stood up and began dressing in his usual attire. He pulled on a soft black tshirt, his vest with his throwing knives attached on the inside, and a pair of well fitting pants. His hair was a mess from his hands and his own frustration, and he left the room a mess as he exited. He was heading down the second stairwell when he almost came crashing straight into the devil himself.
"Hello father."
The elderly man sneered and pushed him aside with his cane, "Watch where your going," he stopped on a stair above him, "You are a true dissapointment. Rat tells me you failed your job. Fail again and you'll be out on the streets. The only profession open to you the whore houses off 19th street."
"Father, I have NEVER asked you for anything, and its been years since I failed a mark"
He took a deep breath and looked his father in his coal black gaze, "Throw this job out. Give me another. I will take anything else."
The old man glared at him his face unmoving as stone.
"No." He said plainly. His tone turned threatening.
"You will do this job within one week or you will be disowned. Payment will be due in two more or you can slice the bitches throat and leave her on her father's doorstep. We don't throw at jobs, we work them, or i find somone who can."
He gripped his emerald walking stick with anger and glared at Scar until he felt an inch tall.
"You could always leave, no longer with any ties or respect from my gang. No father. No home. Since when do you think that you have any say in the matter anyway?"
The unanswered question sat between them as clear as day. Never, Scar was just a possession until he took over. Or didn't.
Snakeyes smiled at the resignation of Scars face as he stepped aside for his father to pass. He turned to ascend the stairs.
Scar knew his father meant what he said, and more. Nobody would hire him for work or take him in. Snakeyes would make sure of it. Perhaps he would do it anyway. Nobody knew Scarface had been saving up to leave.
If Scar ever did try to strike out on his own, his father would treat him like anyone else, a team of assassins like himself would be sent to deal with him properly. That was if the old man didn't want to fry his mind as he was somtimes known to do.
It wasn't uncommon for low level sorcerers to melt a man's mind into putty, but since the new Lord of Reavador City had taken office, it was less common. Nowadays most sorcerers saved that particular number for self defense. Although, somone like his father who wasn't accustomed to following rules, had nothing to worry about from the city. He was only a low level sorcerer, but he was untouchable, at least with the local red collared patrols of the city. Not that the people under him were any safer if caught, but Sankeyes wasn't one to care what happened to others.
Scar turned and made his way down the stairs with a scowl on his face.
He looked up to find Rat watching them. He had a small twinge of pity on his face, but they had long since quit confiding in each other. No doubt he had seen the entire discussion.
They nodded at each other and next thing he knew he was on 7th street and Oakfield. He had walked until his breath was ragged and his body felt light again. The air was getting a bit brisk. In front of him was a homely little cottage. He had originally bought the place as a hideout for the gang in between jobs, but over the past few years it was a home away from home. The roof was new and the cobblestone had been replaced in the last two years. He didnt know why but lately the more jobs his father gave him the more he found himself here fixing up the place. The cottage was smack dab between the City of Reavador and the marketplace, but remote and privately situated in the dense areas of the forest. Well away from the road. Slowly, over the years instead of investing his cash in the walls and floorboards of the Sylvador mansion he had begun to buy the land around the place. He told himself that one day it would pay him back, when he sold it ofcourse, but part of him loved the little place. He patted the tree that shaded the front of the house and found the little knot that held the small iron piece that opened the door. He walked over the cobblestone path he had put in last month and stomped his shoes out on the step in front of the door.
The place opened to a large area of hardwood floor. A frequently used little fireplace and metal stove sat over a cobblestone hallway. In the winter he spent alot of time here in front of the hearth. An arched wall was in the back left wall and he pulled away the thick fabric curtain to reveal a bed of considerable size. Large grey, black, and silver pelts covered the stuffed mattress and a beautiful porcelain wash basin sat on a carved washbasin he had made a couple summers ago. He had carved and assembled it piece by piece. All the guys had given him shit for taking up wheedling his twentieth summer and even more so when they found out what he made. It was around that time that he'd stopped allowing them free roam of the cottage and became stone faced and silent.The guys feared and respected him now that he was truly dangerous. Ghost was really his only real friend in the place. Rat had once been his friend. Sadly, the boy that Scar had known, had turned into a man, and they'd become like strangers. Rat, was his greatest competitor for next king pin, and a respectable one at that.
He remembered the night their friendship had changed. It was over a girl. A girl that in a week would be dead. The relationship between them had progressed from there into somthing restrained and uncomfortable. He blinked at how stupid it all was. The girl had only been a trashy dancer at a big city in Ceavainia. A city where the poor played with magic in the streets to earn money, and big businesses created oddities for anyone with enough coin. He remembered a noble in Ceavainia who had glass saddles and full wooden carriages that were carved so intricately and finely that you hardly wanted to ride them they were so beautiful. If you wanted somthing custom you would find it in Ceavania, but Savaria was no custom dancer she was the same as all of them, drugged out and looking for money. She played a game between him and Rat. One that neither of them had won.
She had blown up their friendship and died from a drug overdose in the same week. He remembered them that night. The night that she had reveled in their new knowledge.
The night she had told them she was sleeping with both of them at one point. She had rubbed it in Rats face even though Scar had known for months.
Months before, when he discovered it, he had dumped her. Savaria had been bitter. Afterward she had crawled into his bed in the middle of the nights. Ofcourse he had sent her away hoping Rat would never find out. Hoping it would never cause a problem between them. She wanted them both to want her and when Scar didn't, she became conniving.
Then one night she had lied to Rat, and it had led them out on the streets brawling with each other in the rain. They both took it too far. He smiled as he pressed a hand to a deep bullet graze on his side. Rat had a matching mark on his arm. They were both expert marksman, assassins on a regular basis, neither were trying to kill the other, but he remembered the quite, and the surprised faces of the crew as every member watched them go from brawling to drawing and firing. A forlorn look came across his face as he remembered later that night. They were both on the second floor dripping wet holding their bloody injuries and yelling at each other.
"Why not just give this life up. You're better than this. You always have been," Rat had told him.
"Why? So you can have the gang, have Savaria, have it all? Was it worth it?" He remembered glaring at him and taking a step forward and pointed at his chest ,"You know she came to my room a couple times. Hell! More than a couple. I had to drag her off of me, and let me tell you ,it was hard work. That one had a heat between her legs that could never be satisfied, and it wasn't just me. The only difference between me and the other guys was that I didnt sleep with her once I knew she was your girl. "
Rat had yelled at him, "Your a liar! She wouldn't. She was loyal to me!"
"You know it's TRUE! I can see it in your eyes." He had growled back, walking away and up the last flight of stairs, turning only to say, "Just remember you drew first. YOU fired the first shot."
A week later they had gotten news from another dancer that Savaria had died. A needle had been in her arm when they found her.
Scar hadn't dated or made friends since.
He shook off his trance and stepped into the bathing area. He had gotten a large Ceavainian tub with a hatch that dumped the water through a tube system and out into the stones outside the house. He gripped the edge of the bath as he remembered violet grey eyes under long lashes. He had risked everything today, another woman was twisting his path. If Rat had seen him with her, his father would kill him, and everything he worked for would belong to a dead man. No matter how beautiful she was he would have to kidnap her. He held on to picture in his head of her smiling at him. Two days from now he'd be her enemy, and she would surely hate him anyway.
Not that it mattered. Scar didn't keep people close, It made his job easier.