ᴛʜᴏᴍᴀsɪɴ on RolePlayer.me - www.roleplayer.me/1391882 ᴛʜᴏᴍᴀsɪɴ
Che la mia ferita sia mortale

Female
27 years old
New Orleans, Louisiana
United States

Last Login:
April 20 2019

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General

roleplay business
i lied, it’s personal

line lxwlife

[ R: 00 | S: 00 | OM: 03 | D: 00 ]

writing tends to lean towards the more raw side, I like descriptive insights and long paragraphs. Writing with me means you can get your basic three paras or a whole damn book. Depends on how I’m vibing off what we’re doing.

Snippet
The last white line vanished with a deep inhale, her red head popped up and threw back from the bathroom counter in blinking awe. Both inked hands gripping the edge tight as she waited for the burn to dissolve into her system. Shoulders twitching as a shake rushed through out her body from head to toes, her blood itching in the veins beneath her skin. Slowly she looked back down and came to face garish reflection in the bathroom mirror. Grey eyes are dimming as they study her face, a mangled mosaic of bruises that she leaned towards to map every detail. The area around her nose had swelled up and a knobby lump grew at the back of her skull where it struck the floor under Nash’s fist. Across the high span of her cheek bone was red and blue jutting out from under her eye. Thin adhesive strips held the small splits on the peak of her cheek and the bridge of her nose together, but not by her hands. Far too carefully placed and done with patience. The pain was stifling, making Thomasin let go of a strangled sigh as her head heavily dropped and braced her weight on her arms. Waiting for it to bleed away so she didn’t have to muscle through it anymore. So it wouldn’t distract her thoughts of the task at hand. Her three minutes to mend her damaged pride. Ginger locks are pulled back and out of the way, her large, gold hoops sat by the sink with chunky rings in the center. She hears Nash’s voice outside just as a warming numbness spread. Pushing away from the counter, she stalks from the bathroom and into the garage. Steel gaze meets her friends’ and while they were dulled of life, the rest of her jittered, revved and ready. Obviously in the depths of some good sh*t when she doesn’t even notice the slow drip of blood falling on her upper lip. She doesn’t say anything at first, not wanting to lose her head space as that predatory stare is turned onto the Prospect now. At her sides, her fingers tick with anticipation. The hair on her neck stands like hackles, his nervousness is like blood in the air. Weakness that she was raised to look down on. Tommie began a slow saunter towards him. “Oh hoo~..” She mocks in fake delight as she watches his eyes narrow and his arms shake out with fists. “Look it that, Warner. Maybe he’s Moonie material after all.”
Sarcasm is strong in her tone. He didn’t deserve to prospect, she had no idea why Nash was even entertaining it when nothing was ever asked of her. The thought crosses her mind just as she c*cks her fist back and fires. Starting it off with a loud pop then she and the other male go into a snarling fury at each other’s throats. And while Thomasin was pure assault, the prospect is still stuck in his she-is-a-woman state of mind, defending and trying to hold out and she was going to make him regret that. Dearly. He tries tearing her to the floor, making her boots skid before her legs finally go and she topples. Before he can get the straddle on her wild bucking, her hands fist both shoulders of his cut and pulls for another headbutt, a trademark lowife move. White explodes in her eyes but her intent is still sharp. Driving her knee into his groin once for affect and then a second for good measure. Panting and sweating, new bruises blooming on her freckled skin, blood from scathed knuckles and reopened lips. Her hands grab his neck and she shoves his head down against the cement floor. Feeling him grunt in his throat as she squeezed. Her eyes detached, tongue pressed to her top teeth as she kept her arms locked and flexed to the point that they shook while he struggles. His slapping hands and desperate grabs make her flinch but not ease up. Watching his face turn red, redder, purple...

Snippet
Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipisicing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat. Duis aute irure dolor in reprehenderit in voluptate velit esse cillum dolore eu fugiat nulla pariatur. Excepteur sint occaecat cupidatat non proident, sunt in culpa qui officia deserunt mollit anim id est laborum. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipisicing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat. Duis aute irure dolor in reprehenderit in voluptate velit esse cillum dolore eu fugiat nulla pariatur. Excepteur sint occaecat cupidatat non proident, sunt in culpa qui officia deserunt mollit anim id est laborum. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipisicing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat. Duis aute irure dolor in reprehenderit in voluptate velit esse cillum dolore eu fugiat nulla pariatur. Excepteur sint occaecat cupidatat non proident, sunt in culpa qui officia deserunt mollit anim id est laborum.

Snippet
Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipisicing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat. Duis aute irure dolor in reprehenderit in voluptate velit esse cillum dolore eu fugiat nulla pariatur. Excepteur sint occaecat cupidatat non proident, sunt in culpa qui officia deserunt mollit anim id est laborum. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipisicing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat. Duis aute irure dolor in reprehenderit in voluptate velit esse cillum dolore eu fugiat nulla pariatur. Excepteur sint occaecat cupidatat non proident, sunt in culpa qui officia deserunt mollit anim id est laborum. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipisicing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat. Duis aute irure dolor in reprehenderit in voluptate velit esse cillum dolore eu fugiat nulla pariatur. Excepteur sint occaecat cupidatat non proident, sunt in culpa qui officia deserunt mollit anim id est laborum.

Copyrights & Disclaimers

Stylesheet: High Times || Graphics: Moi

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rap sheet

Full Name:Thomasin Mary Walker. pronunciation tom-UH-sin. mar-EE. walk-ER. meaning Thomasin Aramaic name meaning twin, probably to embody the boy child Liam always wanted but knew he'd never have. Mary Hebrew for bitterness, beloved, or wished for child, likely her mother's idea. Walker English name meaning to tread || D.O.B. | Age: OCT 23, 1991 | 27 || Title: The Lowlife || Pet Names: Tommie, T, Tom Tom, Cinnamon, Red, Little Bit || ID Number: LAJ00254 || Affiliations: Moonshiners MC prospect || Signature: Large T and some waves || Gender: Female || Gender Role: More masculine than feminine || Deathday: TBA || Birthplace: The Big Easy, Who Dat Nation || Zodiac: Scorpio ♏ || Ethnicity: Acadian-Caucasian || Blood Type: O || Dominant Hand: Left || Face Shape: Oval || Eye Color: Grey || Hair Color: Copper || Hairstyle: Simple || Skin Tone: Ivory || Complexion: Freckled || Make Up: Minimal if ever. || Body Type: Then & angular || Build: Long limbs and torso, narrow with sharp curves. || Height: 5’2” || Weight: 120 || Cup Size: 34 B || Shoe Size: 7 || Birthmarks/Scars: Freckles for days, small scars acquired over time. || Distinguishing Features: Her eyes are like windows to the storm inside. || Health: Fair. || Energy: Enough to get sh*t done. || Memory: Holds grudges in her sleep. || Special Senses: Intuition || Allergies: None || Handicaps: Elementary grade reading level. || Medications: “medication” || Phobias: Small spaces, excessive touching. || Addictions: Menthols, drugs, tattoos, cacti, vegan smoothies. || Mental Disorders: None, but has poor anger management.
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     ᴛʜᴏᴍᴀsɪɴ's Details
Body type:No Answer
Ethnicity:No Answer
Height:0"0'
Characters: Thomasin Mary Walker
Verses: Grunge. Gang. Crime. Drama.
Length: Multi Para, Novella
Genre: Crime, Horror, Psychological, Real Life,
Member Since:April 20, 2018




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   ᴛʜᴏᴍᴀsɪɴ's Blurbs
About me:
Who I'd like to meet:

love status

Baby Daddy

Status: It's Complicated
Sexual Orientation: Bisexual
First Started Dating: 00/00/0000
Official: 00/00/0000
First Kiss: 08/18/2018 | Rougaroux Inn
Song Dedication: Song Title - Artist
Lyrics: "Fa-la-la-la"
Love Songs: Song Title - Artist | Song Title - Artist | Song Title - Artist | Song Title - Artist | Song Title - Artist

comments

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Thomasin Mary Walker

That feeling you get right before a storm hits? Yea, that's her walking in the room.

Still stuntin', how you love that? Got the whole world asking how I does that, Hot girl, hands off, don't touch that. Look at it I bet you wishing you could clutch that; It's just the way you like it, huh?

season one

In early October, Liam Walker’s bitterness was challenged when the nurse dropped a quiet, red headed and freckle faced child into his arms. The man who always wanted a son stared down at the child with a stern face and furrowed brows, but a lump swelling up in his throat. With such a complicated pregnancy, his wife, Rene Walker, was told it’d be best if she had no more children. So there would never be ‘another try’ for the young couple. It was hard for both of them to swallow, but the sudden love was even harder.
Unfortunately, that didn’t entail a healthy upbringing. Liam Walker was a harsh and complicated man that raised his daughter to be the ideal son he always wanted.
To his wife’s dismay, who wanted to call her Juno, he names her Thomasin. She hoped having a child would curb his wayward habits of drifting from bar to bar, not coming home for days or weeks at a time, but it didn’t. He still got into fights. He still got into trouble with the cops. He still didn’t get a real job, he was had no intentions of ever leaving behind the life that was so ingrained into his being. Not when the money was good for it in New Orleans. What burned the young mother even more was his insistence to start bringing their little daughter out to the swamps where he and the rest of the guys handled their dirty dealings and he started teaching her to be look out. It’s not all he teaches her. Liam molds his little girl into a fierce, no limit soldier. He shows her how to properly make a fist, how to smoke, how to load and shoot his shot gun, that blood will always be thicker than water, and above all else; to never cry.
Thomasin is only eight years old when her mother comes into her room late in the night with a black eye and says she’s leaving but she’d be back soon for her too. She never comes back. Thomasin’s convinced her mother abandoned them. Not long after that her father is packing her up and moving to Chicago.

season two

She’s in middle school when her father is called and ordered to come down to the school and pick his daughter up. She’d gotten into her first fist fight and lost when the other, larger child popped her in the nose and busted her upper lip open down the middle. They leave the school and the whole drive back Thomasin can feel her father seething. Because she’d lost. It’s not long afterwards that she began to regularly skip school and let her father wrap more barbed wire around his daughter’s mind. She grows up harsh and mean, known for lashing out without word or warning when faced with adversary without thought of consequences, if any. Most of the time it was with people she began to regularly hang out with or the other men that did business with her father.
With a fifth grade reading level, drop out was always in her future, teachers have been pushing her forward since her final years in middle school and high school was no different. She’s hardly enrolled longer than a year before her father decides to just sign the papers rather than deal with the school pestering to come in for parent-teacher conferences. Liam instead starts taking Thomasin on more dealings where she learns the shady trades that came with liquor bootlegging. That along with checking the still hidden in the bayou and how to maintain them. By the time Thomasin is a teenager she completely idolizes him and would storm through anyone who so much as even looked at him the wrong way. It finally pays off. Liam finally realizes his work is done one night while he sat with his daughter in a mostly dark kitchen and held a bag of frozen veggies to her cheek. Pressing too hard and pronouncing the bruising more than helping. He was crouched in front of her when looked down at his daughter, her face still angry and grey eyes distant. “You did good…” Comes the first and last praise she ever had. Thomasin let herself go soft, a rare sight since she was little, and lean into father. He lets her stay like that for a long time. It will forever be a private moment Thomasin would never forget and always cherish. But she will always be fighting for his approval until the day she dies and without hesitation.

season three

A lot of people hated her father. Rivalries were with other distilleries and the Vieux Carre were common since his loyalties leaned towards the Moonshiners MC. Anything could happen when you headed out alone as she found out when she was fifteen years old and found a man trying to dismantle her father’s stills. She finishes becoming an adult in juvenile hall after beating the man beyond the point of knocking him out cold with a heavy duty, thirty-inch monkey wrench. He was able to ID her but not remember why he was there and Thomasin refused to give up any information on the illegal distillery to protect her father in exchange for a shorter sentence on house arrest. On her eighteenth birthday, she’s released from Juvie and picked up life right where she left off. A little more bitter to the world than before. Liam welcomes his daughter home with open arms. To him, having a daughter released from a sort of prison was just another right of passage to be called his child.
Now twenty-seven her father is finally arrested for his illegal activity and is facing at least fifteen years in prison and maybe more. All the money laundering, tax evasion, accounts of fraud with his multiple schemes from Louisiana and Chicago had finally caught up to him. Thomasin, stressed and wondering what she was going to do now that she was alone. A dangerous thing to be in a town like this one. With her father's enemies looming, she knew she needed a safety line. Cas Langdon, and the old Moonshiner friends, was that line. He welcomes her into the Moonshiner’s MC where she starts to prospect. She is still hesitant and untrusting just as much as Cas is about letting her in, putting herself cautiously into the Moonshiners’ fold. But don’t confuse her with being afraid. Meeting this lanky, little redhead, with intense eyes, anyone will be able to tell that she is a force to be reckoned with.

season four

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipisicing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat. Duis aute irure dolor in reprehenderit in voluptate velit esse cillum dolore eu fugiat nulla pariatur. Excepteur sint occaecat cupidatat non proident, sunt in culpa qui officia deserunt mollit anim id est laborum. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipisicing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat. Duis aute irure dolor in reprehenderit in voluptate velit esse cillum dolore eu fugiat nulla pariatur. Excepteur sint occaecat cupidatat non proident, sunt in culpa qui officia deserunt mollit anim id est laborum. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipisicing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat. Duis aute irure dolor in reprehenderit in voluptate velit esse cillum dolore eu fugiat nulla pariatur. Excepteur sint occaecat cupidatat non proident, sunt in culpa qui officia deserunt mollit anim id est laborum.


connections
Cinnamon and sugary and softly spoken lies, you never know just how you look through other people's eyes.

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ᴛʜᴏᴍᴀsɪɴ's Friends Comments
Displaying 10 of 14 comments (View All | Add Comment)
▀𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐘

Feb 7th 2019 16:04



oh, that dash of french sprinkled into her speech caused that sinister smirk to creep to an even further peak. the slight smoldering vestiges of cigarette let a thin trail ghost beneath olfactory homes, worn and warped sneakers extinguishing it with heel's discretion.  

 

"oh, i feel you," that ember stomping heel initiated a slow zombie strut towards the woman standing opposite, "i put plenty of pretty canaries and their sunny songs to bed for telling stories better left unsaid," the strut came to a halt but a yard's length from flesh chimney.

 

"ain't never been much of a orator myself, y'know? wouldn't have much of a head left if i ever was."

 

▀𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐘

Jan 29th 2019 17:47



obsidian pits mimicked hers all the same, deadpan and desolate gawk meeting hers with an intangible intensity. carcinogenic plume flushed freely from her tiers, his lungs readily inhaled what venomous vestiges managed to haze past dispassionate display just to recycle now near non-existent smoke.
 

"sounds romantic," subdued but certain smirk pulling at lips' corners, "got any cutesy scars to show for it?"


▀𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐘

Jan 28th 2019 16:45


oh, goddamn. those f***ing freckles
have launched my entire brain
on an incessant spiral of 
untold dials and aisles;
got me like a pile of 
stomach bile.

is this what they call lovesick?
I.

Dec 25th 2018 21:49


Cajun Shrimp.

Nov 30th 2018 17:26



Step, step, turn.. step, step.. turn

Pacing. Madison was pacing around the dark house, palms clammy and she thought they were itching. Her heart pounded irregularly, and the blonde was sure she was about to fall over. She started counting each step she took, in an attempt to distract her. She got to forty-seven, but had lost track after that. She was mumbling under her breath, mostly trying to drown out the new found noise in her head that was nearly suffocating her. She was hot, and miserable and somehow had managed to rip everything but her tank top and underwear off. "You can't be here alone... yes.. yes you can.. you're fine.. shut up.. it's fine.." The words flew off her tongue in a way that was almost startling - her own voice causing her even more discomfort.

Clearly, her mental stability had declined - and the scars on her wrists were proof of it. She had an isolated incident in Florida, and apparently, she only talked about a certain reptile and her need for relief, for seven days. Until of course, the medicine the hospital had force fed her kicked in. Her Vacation went to ruins, and she found herself back in Louisiana. The only person who knew of her return being, Thomasin Walker.

The two were close, but not a braid each others hair while gossiping close. Close in a sense that they had an understanding about each other, and respect. The blonde had forgotten about the dozens of messages she had sent just an hour earlier to her; until there was a loud banging on her front door. The sound making her yelp, scrambling to the floor with a loud thud. "No.. Nobody is home!" She screamed back; gulping dryly. "C..come back later!" She nearly begged as she curled into the corner by her kitchen table, knees up with her face buried into them.
bloody sunday.

Nov 27th 2018 07:30


“Hhmm..Right..”  the Irishman chewed on the inside of his cheek as he held the phone a few inches from his ear. The older male voice on the other end speaking louder than he needed to in that familiar thick, raspy Irish accent. One of his own. The man he called Uncle Mick who had taken him under his wing since he first landed on US soil over a decade ago. A new business opportunity with the potential to open many doors. A job that he knew only Fergal possessed the skills to execute. He assured the payout would be the biggest yet. Details to come. All the makings of a cleaner’s wet dream. Or a dirty set up. “I’m yer man.”


A devious grin heard through the phone. “10.. tonight... Not a bloody minute later.”


Click. Dial tone.


Fergal sat on the floor, leaning against the foot of his bed, vascular forearms resting atop bent knees. A deep sigh escaping him, throwing his head back to look up at the ceiling. Despite the sounds of the bustling city outside, his small studio apartment was eerily quiet. Dark and silent. Barren, cold and lonely. Rarely allowing anyone entry, he kept a low profile. Positive that his neighbors assumed an old lady must’ve occupied the unit. It had to be this way. Lifting his head, he stared at the phone in his hand. A twisting in his gut as he replays the conversation over in his head. Agreeing to meet up like was routine. Never did it stir up these doomed feelings. Something.. Didn’t sit right. He licked his lips, the bright screen illuminating his features as he finds her name. Saved simply as Red. Their relationship was simple yet complicated. As much as he hated to admit it, she had become one of the only humans on this sh*t planet that he trusted. He hesitated for a moment. Paranoia setting in. He shook his head, rubbing his nose. It had been about ten whole minutes since he took a bump. At this point, it was no longer about getting high but about staying sane. Level and able to function. Digging his magic bullet from his pants pocket, he quickly snorted a few tiny mounds of the white powder. Sniffing, squeezing and rubbing his sore, raw nostrils as the backdrip set in. He swallowed hard, shaking his head with another few sharp sniffs before continuing the task at hand. He began to text the little freckled psycho:


There are some things that I can’t explain right now.. all you need to know is that I might be in some serious sh*t.. If it goes down… I’m gonna need you. No jokes.. no f***ing bullsh*t. I’m not sure of the exact location.. there are several.. If you don’t hear from me by 10:45 tonight, I need you to drive to the corner of 4th and 11th. The key to the white Dodge will be taped up right above the rear right tire. You’ll feel it. Inside the glove compartment is a gun and a list of locations where they may have taken me. Extra mags under the passenger seat and…  umm.. there should be a knife as well. It won’t be quick.. so you’ll have time.. but f***ing hurry.. 10:45..


He hit send and stood to his feet. Pacing paranoid. Most likely, this was the real deal but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was about to get what was coming to him. It had been a long time and he always knew eventually it would catch up. Karma, the bitch. The one time he chose a woman over loyalty. A woman he wasn’t even sure he truly cared about. Showing up to her house that night after murdering both her parents, f***ing her and planning to kill her while she slept only to have a change of heart at the last minute. A slip up he questioned every single day. Was it really f***ing worth it? You don’t f***ing lie to your family. Liars, snitches and thieves get what’s coming to them. He knows that because it was his job to collect. So though he had his reasons and knew the rules, Fergal couldn’t just lay there and die. It wasn’t who he was. He would fight until his last breath even if it was a losing battle. Which.. If this was what he felt it might be, his chances of survival were slim to none. How selfish of him to put Red in this position? The last thing he wanted was for her to lose her life because of his bullsh*t. “F***..”  he lit a cigarette, thumb moving across the lit screen once more:


Be careful. If there are too many of them and it doesn’t seem like a smart idea, it isn’t.. Don’t be f***ing stupid.. you get the f*** outta there, you f***ing feel me? If we can’t pull this off… if that’s the case… you take care of yourself..



-------------------




Fergal stood at the opposite end of the same street the Dodge sat parked, waiting. Finishing up his cigarette, he tossed it away and immediately lit another one. Dressed in all black, in his favorite jacket as he normally was, blowing the smoke from his lungs into the cool night air. His watch read 9:45 and where he needed to be within the next fifteen minutes would take him a few blocks south to an old brick apartment building bought up and used as a front for a smaller chapter of the Irish mob. A low key part of town mostly surrounded by warehouses. He looked around, making sure he wasn’t being tailed as he began to walk. Trading his smoke for a few bumps of coke, openly indulging as he continued across the street. The gun tucked into his waist felt ever present. Anxious to hold it in his hand and squeeze the trigger. But they were much smarter than that. Once he reached the front of the building, he rang the buzzer that read 4B. No more than two seconds later, the door unlocked. Cracking his head, he calmly made his way up the stairs of the dimly lit hallway. Graffiti along the walls that he didn’t remember ever existing. Has it been that long? A large figure stood in the doorway at the top of the 4th floor. Brock, they called him. The two Irishmen eyed each other for a moment before a nod to signal that it was all good. The taller man moved aside so Fergal can enter but quickly blocked the doorway once he was inside. Adrenaline and dread beginning to course through his veins. The older man he referred to as Uncle Mick sat in a patterned chair, his lips curling into a grin as he looked his watch over. “Three minutes early.. as I knew ya would be. Always such a loyal lad..”


Simultaneously, another man walks into the apartment, closing and locking the door just as two more familiar faces emerge to stand on either size of Mick. Fergal instinctively reaches for his gun but is met by three opposing barrels. One pressed mercilessly to the back of his head, the other two c*cked and aimed. Mick sucks his teeth in disappointment as Ferg puts his hands up. No need for a firefight. Not yet. He’d figure a way out of this. His heart raced at the thought of Red getting caught up in this and right now, he wished he never sent those messages. Brock violently patted the surrendering man down, ripping the gun from his waist and tugging his jacket off. Big hands pushed him forward, the men closing in slowly, guns in hand. “Where is she?” Mick asked.


Fergal slowly shook his head with a shrug, oozing sarcasm. “Gonna have to be more specif-”  before he could finish his sentence, knuckles crash hard into the side of his face. A suckerpunch that he knew was coming. All four men begin to hit him as he does his best to fight back. Every punch he lands is answered by four. It wasn’t his first time in an unfair fight, tackling one of the men, getting a few licks in before the hard steel of a pistol cracked loudly against his skull followed by another blow. Outnumbered and on the ground, met by boots to the stomach, kidneys, neck and face. Grunting in pain, unable to breathe as the wind is knocked from his lungs. He could feel his jaw and eye swelling, his body throbbing. The metallic taste of blood filling his mouth. Slightly dazed from the blows to the head. The men grab him by the arms and lift him, chest rising and falling rapidly as he fights to catch his breath, crimson streams escaping from fresh wounds. Still, he tries to defend himself to no avail. Mick stands up, walking over to him, gripping his bloodied, broken face. “Where the f*** is she, ya lyin’ sack of sh*t?”


Trying to break free of his restraints, spitting blood into Micks face he growls through crimson stained teeth. “F*** you..”  the lovely gesture answered by a series of direct knocks to the face, followed by a few heavy handed smacks. Mick wipes the blood, only smearing it instead, grabbing Fergal’s chin to force him forward. “Yer gonna f***in’ tell me.. and yer gonna watch me men stuff that bitch in every hole over and over.. that’s the last thing ye’ll see before I slit yer f***in’ throat. No matter how long it takes..That.. is a promise.” Mick returned the affection, spitting at him. He straightened himself out, smoothing palms over his designer suit and running his fingers through his salt and pepper hair. As much fight as Fergal had inside of him, he had been reduced to a pile of raw meat in a matter of minutes. The extent of his injuries were uncertain and the only medical attention he’d receive was whatever it took to keep him alive for the real torture. He knew how this worked. This was his specialty. Living by it and dying by it. They’d have to kill him because where she was was where she’d stay. Safe. Far away and hidden. Suddenly, a black sack over his head as the men worked to zip tie his wrists and ankles. A mumbled, exhausted laugh. “Stupid f***s..” spitting blood onto the fabric against his face as he spoke like it hurt to do so. “Wherever yer takin’ me.. I’ve taken hundreds.. this... game we’re playin’... I f***in’ invented it… and I’m gonna kill ya just the same..”  threats he wasn’t too sure he could back up for once in his life. A boot into his back, kicking him down onto his face. His arms bound behind him. Helpless as he endures another beating. Blows to the ribs and stomps wherever they land, screaming obscenities. The ties already threatening to rip his skin from the resistance as he clenched his teeth to muffle the growls of pain.


HeDoesntExist

Sep 24th 2018 10:49


Ever since Hutch had shown up in the little town, things seemed to come fairly easy. He was offered a job at Big Al’s before even applying. The older male had seemed to take a liking to him but, Hutch wasn’t sure why. They’d even talk in Russian to each other at times, which made him miss his family back home, but never enough to actually leave. Vinny had helped him find a place to stay and had shown him Rougaroux Inn, where he’d gotten to know pretty much everyone else for the most part. 


With Vinny gone, Hutch had been picking up the slack at Big Al’s since none of the other “boys” in the place did sh*t without the reptilian’s strong hand and slick ways encouraging them to do so. This made for long days and even longer nights he’d come to find. If he knew when Vinny was coming back, he’d have been counting down the days. Hutch was creeping ever nearer to fist fighting his co-workers just to get them to do something around the place.


It’d seemed like a fairly normal day, besides the fact he’d been working since four in the morning and it was now just past 11pm. He was sleep deprived and sore, the muscles in his arms and back screamed as he moved the large bins from the gator pens back into the shed. If he left them out, the gators would all but devour them throughout the night. 


As he was moving the last metal bin an unfamiliar truck pulled up to the back gate, flashing it’s lights into the darkness. A scowl creased his brow, it was too late for customers and Hutch was tired enough as it was. “F***in’ Vinny, if that ain’t you.” He dropped the barrel, letting it bang loudly against the concrete inside the shed as the headlights of the truck flashed once again. “Alright alright!” He called into the darkness, flipping a switch inside the shed to roll the gate away, allowing the truck inside.


Stretching his tattooed arms above his head, muscles tearing and left shoulder popping loudly into his ear, he walked over to the driver’s side of the truck only to be surprised once again. The redhead he’d had a tumultuous ‘relationship’ with stepped out, giving him a cold stormy look. A laugh trickled it’s way through his lips. Exhaustion hitting him hard and making a mudslide out of his emotions. Her snappy, “Go back inside” tipped the scale and he burst into hearty laughter, shutting the truck door behind her and following her to the back, “You know it’s my job to watch, feed, and clean up after these guys, right? You trying to get me fired?” His tone was angry but his laughter seemed lighthearted, a confusing combination at best.


He watched, amused, as the redhead struggled with the awkwardly shaped sack, hissing and cursing at him between pulls. He’d offer to help but, this was the most fun he’d had in days, and the view wasn’t bad either. Another bout of anger slithered from the redhead’s teeth but was cut off by a pair of hands emerging from the sack she’d been pulling. As if in slow motion, he watched those hands wrapping around her throat. 


The bloodied male stood up next to the truck, lifting Thomasin up off the ground. Adrenaline rushed to Hutch’s brain, his reflexes springing into action. Grabbing a shovel from nearby, he swung at the man, metal making contact with the man’s skull with a sick crack and a lake of blood spraying onto the redhead. Watching the male begin to crumple and lean towards the small female, Hutch jutted himself between them with a shove to the now deceased male. Blue eyes flicked between the leather wearing male on the ground in a growing pool of dark liquid and the tatted female choking for air. Hutch's jumbled mind trying to piece together how things had happened up to the point before the woman had driven to the back of Big Al’s.

He offered Tommy a hand, “Are you alright?” Brows pinched in the center of his forehead, worry as well as confusion stirring in his gut. Before she had time to answer, he left her side and began dragging the man to the shed. 


Once inside, he used the already bloody shovel to hack up the body, pressing the tip against each joint and stomping hard to sever each piece without hacking at it and making unnecessary extra cleanup. Things almost became routine once the body was in pieces, strip off all the clothing and toss it to the side as he would with the paper or plastic the slabs of cow came in, toss the pieces into the meat grinder, separate the meat into the different bins, cover them for the next mornings feedings, and spray down the floor with the pressure washer.

Pulling the only empty AND dry bins out of the shed he dumped the man’s clothes and anything else flammable inside, “Thomasin, I’m gonna need you to strip.” He eyed her bloody clothes, already in the process of pealing off his own sweat and blood stained shirt and jeans, tossing the fabric into the barrel and dousing it all in lighter fluid before throwing in a match. They'd need to shower after all this too.

bloody sunday.

Jun 19th 2018 21:39


-a huge grin on his face- go back then. -he throws his arms behind his head and lays back-  I'm not sellin anymore. So you don't have to worry bout me bothering you. But I still have connections if you need anything. -looks at her- I'm a waste of life, Red. Nothin' new. 
bloody sunday.

Jun 18th 2018 19:09


Nobody gets that privilege, love. -he watches her. Instantly jealous of how amazing she's about to feel-  Eh f*** it.. gimme some.. -takes the bill from her and snorts a few lines, shaking his head and holding it back, rubbing his nose.- 
How you been, f***er? -nudges her shoulder-
bloody sunday.

Jun 17th 2018 23:48


- shakes his head with a grin, plopping the blow on the table and quickly cutting the lines with a razor over his welding glass. His rolled up 100 euro bill in hand, tossing it at her-  little lads first -he teased-
I might shoot up. I'm feelin like I don't wanna feel nothin..
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