[GAU] Daddy's In Brazil [Lucien] 2/5/2015

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[GAU] Daddy's In Brazil [Lucien] 2/5/2015

Postby admin » Thu Feb 12, 2015 9:51 pm

Grant is playing (EvilSqueegee)
(2/5/2015 6:20:43 PM) (2020986)

“Sorry about your parents. They sound like bad people.”

I lean back in the chair. I don’t sound sincere at all. In fact, I’m a little casual about the whole thing. The man who’s living room I’m sitting in is just taking off his coat when he notices he’s not alone in his own house. He goes for his gun and I just give him a really? look.

He puts the gun down and finishes hanging his coat up on the coathanger.

“What do you care about my parents?” he asks, bluntly.

Funny. He doesn’t want to know who I am. That’s okay, though. After all, you know what they say about what you don’t know. They’re wrong, thank God. But they still say it, and it’s good for business. When business is good, I’m good. And the world ever-so-terribly wants me to be good.

“Mikey -- can I call you that? -- you need to understand something about business. It’s important to make the person you’re trying to sell something to understand that you know them. You need to empathize with them. Give them something they can understand about you, who you are.”

“Stellar job you’re doing,” he sarcastically quips. He heads to the kitchen and grabs a beer.

I raise my eyebrows and bobble my head a little, parodying some interest in his critique while simultaneously mocking it.

“The point, Mikey, is that I’m a businessman. I just need you to know that I mean business. And now that the nice-and-friendly approach has failed...” I stand up, taking a deep breath.

I shoot him in the leg. He screams and crumples to the ground in pain. I clear my throat and give him a moment to compose himself. This is just shameful.

“...You and I can actually start doing business. See?”

He screams again, cursing me. The irony in that makes me smile a little.

“The hell do you want?”

“Oh, hell has nothing to do with it, Mikey. At least, not yet. I’m here for the same reason you are: Parents. Parents who are bad people.”

“What?”

“Sorry, I forget that sometimes people need things spelled out for them. You see, a little birdie told me that your parent’s men have been seen, pretending to be hobos. They were seen in my territory, Mikey. MY TERRITORY.”

I emphasize that last phrase with another shot to his other leg. He screams again.

“I keep my kids in that territory. And unlike your parents, who are also definitely bad people, I like my agreements honored and I like my contracts held to. I suppose there’s some irony to be found… me, of all people, trusting anyone. Still. I had to put my little girl somewhere.”

I shoot his arm. He’s running out of curses to growl through bloody, gritted teeth at this point.

“My boy’s gotta have a sandbox to be young and happy.”

The other arm.

“And so you’re going to deliver a message for me, like a good boy.”

“What? Just tell me and get out of here, you son of a-” Bang.

The last shot splatters his brains across the living room floor. I sigh, disappointedly, and pull an envelope out of my coat.

“I didn’t say you were going to be alive to deliver it. Moron. But thank you for offering.”

I leave the envelope on his corpse, wiping down the gun and laying it on the ground next to him.

I turn on my heels and politely shut the door behind myself.

Feh. Brazillians.
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