Thread: Monster [ Burke x Arianna  ]

The thundering club music died away to a dull ache inside the VIP room, quiet, paranoid conversations in circular booths rivaling the rumble. A man in black jeans, a baby blue white-pinstriped dress shirt, a black leather jacket, wraparound black sunglasses and three heavy gold chains with a plethora of rings to boot stood texting on his cellphone. Beside him stood a dirtier, shorter man in a leather vest and dirty jeans, a white wifebeater with shoulder-length wavy black hair, tattooed from his neck to his wrists. The cleaner, more affluent gentleman had blond hair. The booth nearest them was full of young women in tight fitting, colorful clothing, posturing in heavy makeup, whispering amongst themselves with subdued and vibrant energy. That's him over there, huh? Said the shorter man in the leather vest. You know him? Him? The blond man glanced up, peering at the two towering bouncers standing over the next door toward the back of the room with keen awareness and overt disregard. Pimp Lucious don't fuck with him. You said he called you all the time. The smaller man said indignantly, as though lied to. I said I work for him. That man, in there? The blond, moneyed individual didn't look up from his cellphone this time. He's not really the kind you invite over for a motherfucking barbecue. Pimp Lucious has his own things to take care of. The blond, notably Caucasian, went on If that motherfucker wanna walk that stroll, and spend that money, Pimp Lucious is all right widdit . But a Pimp is a Pimp and a John is a John, and it don't do to mix. I'm gonna go up and ask. I should ask, right? Asked the man with the tattooed hands. You need to do something . Pimp Lucious continued, snapping his phone closed and adressing his women. And you not the only one. He was loud enough to be heard by the door, and certainly loud enough to be heard by the women at his table. Slowly, with an exchange of looks, they shuffled out of the booth. The man in the leather vest approached two behemoth bouncers, both easily over six feet and five inches, the pair of them in uniform black dress pants and tight black t-shirts. The Vest spoke up Hey man. I got a message for The Boss. One of said bouncers had a big shiny bald head, and was clearly the meaner and more animated of the two. His partner was an inch or so shorter with a buzz cut, two short scars running from mid-cheek, one interrupting the corner of his mouth on both lips, the other reaching out to his chin. The bald bouncer simply replied, What is it? The Vest hesitated. Is... is the boss in there? The bouncer stood firm. Tell me the message. The Vest hesitated further. I was told to tell him personally. The bouncer, who did not seem more upset than he had initially, nevertheless brimmed with contempt and cruel intentions. He's not gonna see you. Give me the message right now. Hey man, you're not The Boss. I can't tell you what I'm not supposed to tell you. He tried smiling, bluffing, acting friendly... His feet left the ground all at once, and the bald bouncer peered into the depths of his humanity. If you don't, you're gonna get hurt by me, hurt by whoever sent you, and The Boss is gonna send someone after you for not doing what the fuck I told you to. A growl curled around the words, a unique thing, his voice carrying two entirely different notes this narrator might say both struck the same chord, however, at the risk of being circular. There's been another one. That's it? Yeah. Another one. Like, tonight. He'll know. The man with the tattoos came down to his feet and stepped away, waiting for further instruction, and then whirling to push through the advancing crowd of prostitutes. When the first one approached, the bouncer gave her the same look he'd given the man in the vest, with the same expression, and the same tone. He hadn't changed a bit, just was this way It's thirty dollars to get in, and a blowjob for me later. He said flatly, and the girl's mouth opened in protest. You want me to pay you to get a blowjob? She was pretty, but was possessed of that look women get after a few years of this job. You're gonna make hundreds in there. Take it or leave it. The Bald Man replied evenly, eyes fiery for no reason at all, perfectly happy to overlook her and move on to the next. Pimp Lucious was already being addressed over the discrepancy. Pimp Lucious don't make hoes do nothin. They do it cause it's what they gotta do. Is this somethin you gotta do, bitch? He asked, with raised eyebrows to a brunette at the back of the line. She crossed her arms, pouting with a defeated look. I'm not gonna tell you what to do. I'm not gonna go over there and lean over your shoulder. Tell you when to lick balls and when to suck a dick, bitch. Go'on. His cellphone was out again, and thus the wall came down. The small appraising crowd of women, five or so, turned back to the boucner and withdrew money from various places on their person. One by one, they filtered through the door, said bouncer remembering faces but noticeably despondent about their clothing or personality. It was obvious that none of these people knew each other.