The Problem with Criminals... WARNING: Mature Content
Jul 26, 2016 0:58:56 GMT -8
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Post by Tobias Bohannon on Jul 26, 2016 0:58:56 GMT -8
Cruuankkkksghhhghg... Is really the only way to begin to attempt to describe the sound that filled the immediate air as Tony Giovanni deftly relieved a stocky, olive complected man of the cervical portion of his spinal cord... through his neck. Where the adam's apple used to be, was now a twitching, gushing, mushy collaboration of tendons, shredded muscle and shattered bone fragments.
The left-handed fingertips of Tony unraveled from the now dead mans left arm, which allowed for the newfound corpse to crumple like a forlorn soda can. "You try an' have a decent fuckin' conversation..." he muttered under his breath and shook his right hand violently toward the corpse, slinging droplets of blood against the floor, wall, and adding insult to the unfortunate ruined appearance of what was once a finely tailored suit. The problem with criminals, at least in the mortal world, was that a lot of the time the 'slightly better than average' assholes with the most iron in their fist held the reigns. "Mr.xxxxx, ya have, unfortunately, made the wrong decision, however, I do believe you can still be of use.."
It only took a moment or two for Tony to physically rip the head from the recently deceased, his fingers intertwined into the thick, jet black hair that had been matted down with any number of naturally occurring oils and heinous smelling pomades, which, more so than any of the brutality, caused Tony to scowl in disgust of it rubbing along his fingers as he dangled the head before him. "...your pitiful death isn't where our meeting ends, not until I fuckin' say it's over..."
Admittedly...maybe Tony overreacted just a bit, he could have just drained the guy after all, and there would certainly be a whole hell of a lot less blood. But if the head of one of Seattle's smaller criminal networks in the mortal realm was really this dumb, something told him that blood was the one thing his lackeys would probably understand.
WHAM! Tony pushed open the heavy wooden door which separated the secluded break-room from the primary meeting area of the boardroom with a tap of his right heel. His blood-spattered frame strode casually inward and with all of the nonchalant grace with which a bowler releases their bowlingball, hurled the severed head of Mr.xxxxx across the polished surface of the meeting table.
The small group of men who lounged about, waiting for their boss to return, looked up in disbelief and shockingly rose to their feet, though as quickly as voices began to rise, Tony's own was there to cut them off with a seething command of "HUSH!" which he boomed like a command to dogs. "The game's changed. Nobody gets to see Mr.xxxxx anymore. But only we'se..." he said, gesturing a bloodied hand to the general vasinity of the room, "...know why that is. Nobody ever really saw the fuckin' guy before..." he paused, flashing a surprising, and daresay convincingly human smile to the room, "...and there's no reason to change that. The only difference is that now, for all intents and purpose..." he paused, just long enough to gesture to himself with a simple flourish of a fingertip back against his blood-dampened silk necktie, "... I am Mr. xxxxx , Capisce?" Tony's posture shifted ever so slightly, and he flicked both hands out to his sides with a subtle shrug of his shoulders, "Or I can cut all'a you'se fuckin' heads off too, call a couple'a cousins in New York and we fuckin' whack out each and every one of you fuckin' mudda'fucka's families like they was roaches in the fuckin' kitchen..." he offered, through a charming and handsome smile of pearly whites - the kind of smile the Devil would give you while you signed your soul away.
In all honesty, it wasn't really fair, the four other men in the room had just witnessed who they perceived to be the most powerful man in their small, pathetic understanding of the world, beaten to death, his head cut off, and then rolled across the center of what was, a little over an hour ago, the board table where they had their meetings to discuss productivity of their small piece of the Pacific Northwest's criminal underworld. Between Tony's ruthless nature, and the remarkably level headed and casual demeanor after just severing a mans head... it was a lot like trying to argue with an evil, maniacal, killer clown after just watching a movie about one... when you were eight.
"All a you'se..." Tony spoke broadly to the group, "...getta' fuck outta' here, make phonecalls, do what you need'a do to reassure yourself that I'll back up every fuckin' thing I say I could, would, and should ever do. Try and decide if you wanna' fuckin' test me an' whatta' fuck I say, g'head. The names Tony Giovanni, from the East Coast..." Tony's shoulders rolled slowly and he flicked the back of his hand toward them, as if shooing away flies, though his dark eyes darted to one of the four who had stumbled over a chair, and therefor was lagging a bit behind. "You..." he beckoned, with a point of a long index finger, which snapped aloud against the middle one, grabbing his attention. He locked the mans gaze and squinted, ever so slightly before curling his index finger toward his own chest "Follow" he demanded, and as the rest of the group were busy, hurriedly exiting the premises, Tony pivoted on his heel and headed back toward the break room where he had just dismembered the now-expired Mr.xxxxx.
His eyes looked forward, and like a puppy, the selected man followed at his heels. The intense gaze of Tony Giovanni gazed at everything and nothing at the same time as he walked back into the seclusion of the break room. With a devilish upturn to one side of his mouth, a fang began to peek out from beneath the flesh of lips... man was he thirsty.
The left-handed fingertips of Tony unraveled from the now dead mans left arm, which allowed for the newfound corpse to crumple like a forlorn soda can. "You try an' have a decent fuckin' conversation..." he muttered under his breath and shook his right hand violently toward the corpse, slinging droplets of blood against the floor, wall, and adding insult to the unfortunate ruined appearance of what was once a finely tailored suit. The problem with criminals, at least in the mortal world, was that a lot of the time the 'slightly better than average' assholes with the most iron in their fist held the reigns. "Mr.
It only took a moment or two for Tony to physically rip the head from the recently deceased, his fingers intertwined into the thick, jet black hair that had been matted down with any number of naturally occurring oils and heinous smelling pomades, which, more so than any of the brutality, caused Tony to scowl in disgust of it rubbing along his fingers as he dangled the head before him. "...your pitiful death isn't where our meeting ends, not until I fuckin' say it's over..."
Admittedly...maybe Tony overreacted just a bit, he could have just drained the guy after all, and there would certainly be a whole hell of a lot less blood. But if the head of one of Seattle's smaller criminal networks in the mortal realm was really this dumb, something told him that blood was the one thing his lackeys would probably understand.
WHAM! Tony pushed open the heavy wooden door which separated the secluded break-room from the primary meeting area of the boardroom with a tap of his right heel. His blood-spattered frame strode casually inward and with all of the nonchalant grace with which a bowler releases their bowlingball, hurled the severed head of Mr.
The small group of men who lounged about, waiting for their boss to return, looked up in disbelief and shockingly rose to their feet, though as quickly as voices began to rise, Tony's own was there to cut them off with a seething command of "HUSH!" which he boomed like a command to dogs. "The game's changed. Nobody gets to see Mr.
In all honesty, it wasn't really fair, the four other men in the room had just witnessed who they perceived to be the most powerful man in their small, pathetic understanding of the world, beaten to death, his head cut off, and then rolled across the center of what was, a little over an hour ago, the board table where they had their meetings to discuss productivity of their small piece of the Pacific Northwest's criminal underworld. Between Tony's ruthless nature, and the remarkably level headed and casual demeanor after just severing a mans head... it was a lot like trying to argue with an evil, maniacal, killer clown after just watching a movie about one... when you were eight.
"All a you'se..." Tony spoke broadly to the group, "...getta' fuck outta' here, make phonecalls, do what you need'a do to reassure yourself that I'll back up every fuckin' thing I say I could, would, and should ever do. Try and decide if you wanna' fuckin' test me an' whatta' fuck I say, g'head. The names Tony Giovanni, from the East Coast..." Tony's shoulders rolled slowly and he flicked the back of his hand toward them, as if shooing away flies, though his dark eyes darted to one of the four who had stumbled over a chair, and therefor was lagging a bit behind. "You..." he beckoned, with a point of a long index finger, which snapped aloud against the middle one, grabbing his attention. He locked the mans gaze and squinted, ever so slightly before curling his index finger toward his own chest "Follow" he demanded, and as the rest of the group were busy, hurriedly exiting the premises, Tony pivoted on his heel and headed back toward the break room where he had just dismembered the now-expired Mr.
His eyes looked forward, and like a puppy, the selected man followed at his heels. The intense gaze of Tony Giovanni gazed at everything and nothing at the same time as he walked back into the seclusion of the break room. With a devilish upturn to one side of his mouth, a fang began to peek out from beneath the flesh of lips... man was he thirsty.