What Yonder Light Breaks
May 6, 2015 12:06:24 GMT -8
via mobile
Barnaby Cuthbert, Klaus von Klempt, and 1 more like this
Post by Romio Julian Rosselini on May 6, 2015 12:06:24 GMT -8
We join our protagonist, dear readers, in the bowels of his "club", wherein he is involved in a discussion of some frankness with one of his employees, a slender strawberry blonde young woman named Cara.
Cara sat on the uncomfortably cold metal chair in the dark room, which was pitifully illuminated by one naked lamp over against the wall.
The lamp clearly felt as naked and exposed as Cara currently did. In front of her was a worn old oak desk, chipped and beaten over many years, and on this desk sat Romio Rosselini. He regarded her with a dour expression, and the index finger of his right hand balanced on his knee like a spike waiting to be driven into a board by a hammer.
"Cara, dahlin', you ain't listenin' to the words Ah'm sayin,'" Romio continued in his fashion, accent like oil on a knife blade. "There's rules, an' you ain't been followin' the rules. What ahm I to do'bout that?"
Cara felt the warmth of embarrassment creep into her face even while the cold of fear gnarled in her stomach like coiled barbed wire.
"I'm sorry, Romio" she squeaked, tension making her voice quaver."The guy asked for more, I though it would be ok to-"
Romio lifted a hand to cut her off. That index finger pointed at the ceiling, a dagger poised to strike.
"I ain't talkin' bout that, Cara. Who gives a fuck 'bout that? Ah'm talkin' bout withholdin'..." HE paused and waited, eyes trained on her face, waiting for the tension to become panic. There it was.
Cara grew cold and her first thought was 'how the hell does he know'? but then she started jumping to conclusions. Obviously one of the other girls was a rat: Mary, Bambi, Cindy.. could be anyone, really. Her eyes snapped to his, and she tried to will her bottom lip to stop trembling. It went on, ignorant of her commands.
"Romio, I don't know what yo-" His hand came up again, and his eyes flashed.
"Cara...we got a good t'ing startin' here, aight? And a bid'ness venture like this, it always got to have problems. People always jumpin' in, stickin' their hands in places they shouldn't..like the till." He frowned and popped his lips in the air a couple of times, but his eyes never left hers.
"Now, I pay you girls plenty of money to do what you do, yes? " HIs voice became a scolding, like he was admonishing a pet for peeing on the carpet.
Her head dropped instinctively in reaction. "Y-yes, Romio, and I-"
"And I give you girls a place to stay, and clothes, and you always know whatever happens, I'll protect you, yes?"
Her eyes dropped lower still. "Yes, Romio. "
There was a long pregnant pause while he stopped talking, and she was too afraid to look back up at him, so she kept her eyes trained on a crack on the floor.
"Cara?" Romio asked, his voice starting to sound annoyed.
"Y-yes?" She stammered, looking back up at him. Oh god, he was pissed.
"Cara, where's my thank you? Ah? Where's the 'gee, thank you Romio, you been so good ta me'? "
Her lips moved stiffly on their own. "Thank you Romio, you bee-"
His eyes locked with hers as his hand came up again and brushed her words aside. The skeletal fingers of his will reached out into her brain and gripped it with a viselike cold. "Cara, I'm gonna call you Adalyn for a little while."
She nodded dumbly, unable to look away, unable to think. " Adalyn...why you always breakin' my heart?"
Her lips started to move, but he intervened. "Adalyn, you see that bowl of water on my desk? I want you to put your face in it, just for a few seconds. Close your eyes and put your face in it."
She stood up, moving to the desk, and he stepped aside to allow her access. 'Adalyn' bent down and splashed her face into the bowl, instantly screaming as the acid burned her skin horribly, clutching at her face as she stumbled away in burning agony. Her screams were comlpetely swallowed up by the thick walls of the basement, and the thumping grind of the strip club's music above her, deafening anyone and everyone to her plight.
She collapsed to the dirty concrete floor, her ruined face cracking and bleeding, the skin of her fingers burning from where she had clutched her skin. Above her, Romio shook his head, his own face gaunt. He looked vaguely sad, as if bothered by a distant memory.
"Why you always gotta hurt me?" He whispered, as the woman below him sobbed and screamed and writhed.
"Why you gotta make me hurt *you*?"
And that, dear readers, is where we leave our protagonist...
Cara sat on the uncomfortably cold metal chair in the dark room, which was pitifully illuminated by one naked lamp over against the wall.
The lamp clearly felt as naked and exposed as Cara currently did. In front of her was a worn old oak desk, chipped and beaten over many years, and on this desk sat Romio Rosselini. He regarded her with a dour expression, and the index finger of his right hand balanced on his knee like a spike waiting to be driven into a board by a hammer.
"Cara, dahlin', you ain't listenin' to the words Ah'm sayin,'" Romio continued in his fashion, accent like oil on a knife blade. "There's rules, an' you ain't been followin' the rules. What ahm I to do'bout that?"
Cara felt the warmth of embarrassment creep into her face even while the cold of fear gnarled in her stomach like coiled barbed wire.
"I'm sorry, Romio" she squeaked, tension making her voice quaver."The guy asked for more, I though it would be ok to-"
Romio lifted a hand to cut her off. That index finger pointed at the ceiling, a dagger poised to strike.
"I ain't talkin' bout that, Cara. Who gives a fuck 'bout that? Ah'm talkin' bout withholdin'..." HE paused and waited, eyes trained on her face, waiting for the tension to become panic. There it was.
Cara grew cold and her first thought was 'how the hell does he know'? but then she started jumping to conclusions. Obviously one of the other girls was a rat: Mary, Bambi, Cindy.. could be anyone, really. Her eyes snapped to his, and she tried to will her bottom lip to stop trembling. It went on, ignorant of her commands.
"Romio, I don't know what yo-" His hand came up again, and his eyes flashed.
"Cara...we got a good t'ing startin' here, aight? And a bid'ness venture like this, it always got to have problems. People always jumpin' in, stickin' their hands in places they shouldn't..like the till." He frowned and popped his lips in the air a couple of times, but his eyes never left hers.
"Now, I pay you girls plenty of money to do what you do, yes? " HIs voice became a scolding, like he was admonishing a pet for peeing on the carpet.
Her head dropped instinctively in reaction. "Y-yes, Romio, and I-"
"And I give you girls a place to stay, and clothes, and you always know whatever happens, I'll protect you, yes?"
Her eyes dropped lower still. "Yes, Romio. "
There was a long pregnant pause while he stopped talking, and she was too afraid to look back up at him, so she kept her eyes trained on a crack on the floor.
"Cara?" Romio asked, his voice starting to sound annoyed.
"Y-yes?" She stammered, looking back up at him. Oh god, he was pissed.
"Cara, where's my thank you? Ah? Where's the 'gee, thank you Romio, you been so good ta me'? "
Her lips moved stiffly on their own. "Thank you Romio, you bee-"
His eyes locked with hers as his hand came up again and brushed her words aside. The skeletal fingers of his will reached out into her brain and gripped it with a viselike cold. "Cara, I'm gonna call you Adalyn for a little while."
She nodded dumbly, unable to look away, unable to think. " Adalyn...why you always breakin' my heart?"
Her lips started to move, but he intervened. "Adalyn, you see that bowl of water on my desk? I want you to put your face in it, just for a few seconds. Close your eyes and put your face in it."
She stood up, moving to the desk, and he stepped aside to allow her access. 'Adalyn' bent down and splashed her face into the bowl, instantly screaming as the acid burned her skin horribly, clutching at her face as she stumbled away in burning agony. Her screams were comlpetely swallowed up by the thick walls of the basement, and the thumping grind of the strip club's music above her, deafening anyone and everyone to her plight.
She collapsed to the dirty concrete floor, her ruined face cracking and bleeding, the skin of her fingers burning from where she had clutched her skin. Above her, Romio shook his head, his own face gaunt. He looked vaguely sad, as if bothered by a distant memory.
"Why you always gotta hurt me?" He whispered, as the woman below him sobbed and screamed and writhed.
"Why you gotta make me hurt *you*?"
And that, dear readers, is where we leave our protagonist...
