Our Thing

The final strains of the requiem.

Sat, 03 Feb 2007 07:35:19 GMT

The blade of the axe bit into his flesh. He felt his body falter even as he moved his blood to the wound. He fell to the ground just in time to see his fellow combatants move to attack the Haunt that felled him.

He stared up at the sky, unable to move. The moon hung low, a cold contrast to the sharp angles of the city lights. The combatants flew back and forth over him, weapons ringing...

...he saw the flash of steel...

...he felt no pain as the axe tore through his neck. Time slowed and the world around him was a blur of sounds and images. The very essence of his life, the people and places swam before him in and endless sea...

Playing on the linoleum floor of the kitchen, his mother humming softly while she made dinner.
The familia gathered in a backyard in Queens.
His mother sobbing when his father died.
Sickness in the pit of his stomach when he made his bones.
The prick of the needle and the smell of smoke as he became a made man.
Icy terror of the first time he died.
The maddening thirst.
The insight of Eric Riven.
Grace's smokey, slinky, strut.
Shane shrouded in black and insanity.
Simon's self-imposed black scars, the burden of a soldier.
The easy conversations with Alim.
Giselle's sultry advance.
The thunder of the chopper Vinnie had made him.
Bella's silent nod of approval.
Ethan Cray's good-natured curiosity.
The sweet smell of Aleksandyr's pipe. Wisdom.
Martinez' Spanish beaches. Humor.
Cassie's good-natured flirtations.
Julian's wry smile.
Josephine looking bored, playing it coy. Pride.
Felipe's apprehension, his warm reception. Dignity.
The easy camaraderie of Lorenzo, his approval. Family.
Audra's eyes on fire with anger, and sparkling with laughter. Friendship.
Ethan's blank look of singular determination, his kind moments of fatherly wisdom. Guidance.
The smell of rosewater and Marie's delicate hand in his. Love.

He marveled at the skyscraper stars of the city he loved.
He warmed at the thought of his adopted home.

He felt a great swell of pride.

He felt sorrow.

Honor.

And finally, joy.

Darkness fell and thus ended the Requiem of Niccolo Gabriel Dante.

A Fine Line

Mon, 15 Jan 2007 09:52:03 GMT

As Nick Dante sat in his office late Sunday night he worked to calculate his profit from the action he'd taken on the weekends NFL playoff games, sitting across the desk from him was the retired military guy that did his collections. Even though the take had been good, Nick couldn't concentrate. His thoughts kept drifting to a problem he'd been troubled by for months, and then to a potential solution that had presented itself, and then to the delightful form that solution had taken. It was, at it's core, a very simple thing: he just wanted some female companionship. Despite the simplicity of the predicament it was the particulars of the issue that caused a problem.

For starters, he didn't want a girlfriend. He didn't have time for one, and the kind of expectations that go along with a girlfriend were just unrealistic in his world. That much he already knew.

He also didn't want a slut. A one-nighter was one thing, those happen, but if it's good he'd want more. If it's good enough to want more then she also had to have a personality worth being around, otherwise the whole situation got real boring, real quick.

"What I need is a goomah."

"A what?" The sergeant asked, looking up from his newspaper to give Nick the kind of vacant stare typically found only among livestock.

"A goomah," Nick explained, "from the Italian 'compare,' is like... uh, ya know... a girl on the side."

"But Nick, you haven't got a girl in the middle..."

"That's not the point, a goomah is just someone you can pal around with, ya know? Ya fuck her when you want, you keep her set up a little bit, maybe you take 'er out as arm candy sometimes, go to a club. It's not serious, ya know? There's no expectations."

"So... why not just find a girl you like and give 'er the, uh, evil eye?"

"Nah, it never works out."

It was a valid suggestion, and truth be told, Nick had tried it. But there's nothing fun about that, there's no challenge, nothing to keep it interesting. He'd tried it without the gift of his blood too, but that was an even bigger headache. She calls up during the day and wants to go to lunch, but he never picks up. She wants to know why he never eats in front of her, so he does... then has to go deal with that. Eventually she starts asking too many of the wrong questions and he has to set her mind straight and be done with her, because if 20 questions hasn't made him sick of her, fixing her memory meant she was tainted.... and after that it was no good.

It just never works out.

He needed another kindred. Someone he could like socially as well as sexually, but not someone who would be any real threat. She had to be low-maintenance enough to not be a pain in the ass, but classy enough he could take her out once in a while. She had to be sexy, but not crazy... which is harder to find than one might think.

He had even thought about finding some promising young thing and embracing her, but that was like having a kid... a kid with superpowers. And if he didn't have the time and patience for a mortal girl, he certainly didn't have time for a kid. Instead he had to find a dance partner who'd already been invited to the ball.

He'd considered the all the likely candidates over and over, none of them would do. They were either undesirable, too dangerous, too high-maintenance, or some combination thereof.

For example, the Princess was so desirable that she could afford to be high-maintenance and not scare him off. She was every bit the blue-blood heiress, she even dressed the part, which had its own appeal. She was too dangerous though, she's the kind of woman that can use up a man, throw him away, and call him back to her... all the while making him think it was his idea. On top of that they were bonded by oath and house, it was too much like mixing business and something that wasn't business. Still, it was tempting, but he knew better.

The fact was he might've gone on for a very long time without any solution, but Saturday night he'd met an ideal candidate. Now it was just time to convince her.

Past, Present, and Future.

Thu, 11 Jan 2007 18:29:24 GMT

The gathering was a stunning success, his poker was not. The truth was he didn't really play much; he was around it a lot, but when you're the house... you can't lose. Literally, you just collect your percentage of the action and glad-hand anyone that's important enough to deserve it. Still, the doctor was right, as usual; winning at one's own event would be tacky. It was beneath him to get worked up over it, but it required him to sacrifice, the money wasn't a concern, it wasn't even his, but the pride. Swallowing pride was something he was becoming more and more accustom to, that didn't make it any more pleasant, if anything it made it worse. Especially with that petulant little Haunt sitting to his left, at least the arrogant little shit went out next.

Still, at least going out early meant that he had a chance to spend a little time socializing with his vassal. She looked absolutely stellar, his decision to keep their relationship strictly business was becoming more and more difficult to reconcile under the pressure of her charms. If there were to be a dalliance that wasn't the time or the place for it though. He had to commend her, she was a very gracious host, and he knew that it was difficult for her to fetch drinks like a servant, but she pulled through nicely. He hoped that her adjustment to the house would be as smooth, but he doubted that would be the case.

He was in the place he always did his best thinking: the car. His thoughts were a jumble and he needed to sort them out before he addressed his capos.

"Not surprising, trust doesn't happen overnight. But a deadbolt? Who's she kidding? These women constantly underestimating me. Break it, pick it, change her mind...

"And HER, 'I'm making sure Simon puts you near him.' What was that? Babysitter? No argument, he's capable, good leader. He'll let me get my hands dirty. Still underestimating me.

"Just like all the others, did she think I wouldn't find out? Runs her mouth... but why? Why. What does she gain from it? Underestimating me, overestimating her loyalty. Too much trust, too much faith.

"Like Michael said to Fredo, 'Don't ever take sides against the family'. Don't even need to be a wiseguy to grasp that one."

He had one positive thought before stepping out of the car: "I will go to New York and I will prove myself to all of them. I will show them what Bull Pit Dante does. Grand-Pere, il zio, the Warminister, the princess, the doctor, the baroness, the mademoiselle... everyone. Whether they underestimate me or not."

He pushed the thoughts from his mind as he entered the warehouse.

"That is weeks from now. Now, it's time to begin pushing, time to make things move."

It's a Dog-Eat-Dog World

Mon, 04 Dec 2006 05:56:50 GMT

If you wish to keep an attack dog there are a number of measures that must be observed. Never confuse an attack dog for a pet. An attack dog is nothing if not mean, which is not a desirable trait if you’re looking for “man’s best friend.” Furthermore, don’t confuse an attack dog with a guard dog. A guard dog is trained to frighten intruders; to protect his master. An attack dog is bred and trained to wound, mangle, and mutilate an adversary. A good attack dog is one that will let go when ordered.

Whatever else you do, don’t forget that your attack dog must be let off his chain and allowed to indulge his violent tendencies; otherwise he’s liable to bark at anything that looks menacing. If left too long, even the best attack dog may attack at the wrong time. It is important to realize that this is natural. An animal bred and trained for a single purpose ought not to be chastised for doing what comes naturally.

Such is the case with Nick “Bull Pit” Dante. He’s not been let off the leash for some time and he’s starting to get temperamental. The attack dog had barked and been slapped on the nose. Perhaps next time he would forego the barking in favor of simply biting. He was like Jules Winfield in Pulp Fiction: "I'm a mushroom-cloud-layin' motherfucker, motherfucker! ... I'm SUPERFLY T.N.T, I'm the GUNS OF THE NAVARONE."

There was already one taunting him, albeit through another, but the young Haunt had better hope that Nick’s upcoming “vacation” yielded some opportunity to get some of his pent up aggression out. Perhaps Lorenzo would offer him some indulgence at 3rd Ward. He’d felt terrible after his last visit, to not have been able to enjoy all of his hosts hospitality was a shame.

Though it was probably a horrible thing to wish, particularly in his grandfather’s city, Nick was desperately hoping that the report of the VII last night was accurate, because it would mean that he might get to cut some of those anti-social motherfuckers to shit, he might even get some sort of commendation for it. Maybe he could even talk someone into sending him up to Albany to see about the Brood…

One way or another Bull Pit Dante is about ready to bite and unless someone gives him a proper target it might get ugly.

Mostly Harmless?

Tue, 29 Aug 2006 06:13:22 GMT

"It wasn't a lie," Nick said out loud while driving in the rented Cadillac. "I just didn't tell them everything."

In his mind he knew that they knew he wasn't telling them everything, but as he'd told himself over and over: it was none of their damn business, anyway.

Not that it mattered. People have a way of deciding what is and is not relevant to them, regardless of the facts.

They talked business, he felt good about that. Then they talked personal, and he felt pretty good about that, too. She was so intrigued by the whole game, she was so innocent in that moment, he had a hard time believing that she was the cold, calculating monster.

"Not that she isn't capable of some serious shit," he said again, out loud, to the empty car. "I just think she's more reasonable than all that."

He thought of The Silence of the Lambs, when Agent Starling was explaining why Hannibal Lecter wouldn't come after her... "He won't. I can't explain it... he - he would consider that rude."

It was something like that.

In the end he concluded that Marie is, in fact, mostly harmless. It was everyone else who was watching them that he had to be concerned about.

Business or Pleasure?

Tue, 29 Aug 2006 05:44:11 GMT

He had to admit, he was a little relieved. She'd returned to Florida, her high opinion of him unchanged. He hoped.

He also had to admit to himself that it was nerve-wracking setting a good example all the time. Particularly when he couldn't stop thinking what she might look like naked. It was a good thought, but not conducive to the professional relationship he wanted to establish. She had to love him a lot and fear him a little, so far he felt as though he'd established neither.

"Let her come to me." He repeated the phrase in his mind over and over, it became his mantra regarding his new vassal. "If she wants more she will pursue it. Do not push. Let her come to me." She had to want him, not simply accept his advances because she was bound to do so. She had to want more for herself. This policy served him well, not only with regard to their personal relationship, but their professional one as well. She would learn at her own pace, she was a natural Invictus to begin with, she just lacks the formal training to make it complete. She is as Unconquered as they come. In all actuality, her noble bearing makes her even more natural than he was... or is.

This thought did not make Nick comfortable, which is precisely why he had to find something to hold over her. Her sexuality was an appealing device, and in the end, it's just business. For once, he wasn't lying to himself.

Wed, 05 Jul 2006 05:03:46 GMT

It had been 2 hours staring at legal documents and none of them were making any more sense than they were when he started. His was not a legal mind, Nick preferred to do things his way, but that wasn't an option this time. He had to do it all legal before he could get into illegal activities properly. In his old life all of this would be handled by a consigliere, Nick couldn't afford one of those yet... but soon.

Nick had spent a lot of time thinking about his old life this past week, and the gathering Saturday night did little to stop it. Back then... and by that he meant only a year ago, he was an up-and-comer, a young wiseguy who had only 2 years prior been embraced in a very different way. He'd "made his bones", they'd taken his blood... now that he thought about it, it really wasn't so different, just instead of drinking theirs he'd recited an oath and burned a saint. He was a made guy. He was a member of la cosa nostra, "this thing of ours", the criminal aristocracy. Now he was a member of the Invictus, the Unconquered, the Kindred aristocracy.

Both groups were steeped in tradition and secrecy. Both demanded loyalty, sacrifice, and blood. There were oaths and fealty, favors and boons, friends and enemies.

Things weren't really so different. This thought made him feel much better.

Also pleasing was the fact that he was fast becoming a proper capo di tutti capo, a Boss. True, his criminal empire was lacking in size and scope, but business was picking up, and with the successful formation of Divina Comedia, Inc he was soon to be Niccolo Dante, CEO. And to think, in his old life he was just muscle. A heavy, a tough, a thug, a guy who could lean on someone if they got clever. Now he was going to have people to do the leaning for him. He liked to recite the monologue from Goodfellas, with his name thrown in for fun: "Now the guy's got Nickie as a partner. Any problems, he goes to Nickie. Trouble with the bill? He can go to Nickie. Trouble with the cops, deliveries, Tommy, he can call Nickie. But now the guy's gotta come up with Nickie's money every week no matter what. Business bad? Fuck you, pay me. Oh, you had a fire? Fuck you, pay me. Place got hit by lightning huh? Fuck you, pay me."

This sort of thing made him smile whenever he got too stressed out about the women in his life. The good news was he hadn't dug the hole any deeper, the bad news was he was no closer to getting out of the hole he was already in. Thankfully Mademoiselle was occupied with whatever it was that occupied someone whose reality included a lot of things he couldn't see. And the Baroness was so delighted at the adulation heaped upon her by her fellows, particularly her new vassal, that she wasn't concerned with him, for the moment.

Speaking of that new vassal, the Kid was good, Nick was reasonably certain he was a bit of a phony, and he was easily manipulated, but at least he seemed loyal. A capable warrior perhaps, the kid had Nick's back when the "battle-hardened Soldier" had his little temper-tantrum. Nick was the first one to reach Soldier following his undignified verbal, Nick squared up to him, reminding him of the last time he lost control of his Beast and Nick put him down. Before Nick could even open his mouth the Kid was right behind him, ready to pop claws and go to war for the First Estate. Approximately 3 seconds later the Scourge appeared behind the Soldier. For a moment it felt like being in the old neighborhood again, three guys ready to jump some dumb motherfucker if he got out of line. So for now anyway the Kid was all good in Nick's book.

What was more, Nick had decided that it had come time to really step it up, he had too many scams and not enough trustworthy people to run them, time to start seeking out some more help. The Sergeant had been a nice find, and if the Savage could be tamed he'd make an attack dog the likes of which had never been seen, but Nick knew he'd need a Kindred to work with who could handle business. He'd have to keep his eye out for a likely candidate.

But for now, back to legal-ese and loan applications. He should have just asked the Family for the money.

Further Complications

Wed, 28 Jun 2006 03:08:05 GMT

As he drove home Niccolo Dante struggled to understand what had just happened. There was a lot of yelling and angry words, and in his best Robert DeNiro voice, he mused out loud to the empty car, "...things were said."

It had all been real, but somehow he couldn't believe it. Like it had happened in a nightmare. No, not a nightmare, nightmares always have vivid details... this just seemed foggy and distant; intangible. Despite the fact that it had ended not 20 minutes ago it seemed like it couldn't have existed, and it wasn't like when Colburn had tried to poke around with his memory either... finally it dawned on him: he simply couldn't believe what had just taken place. The shock was so great that the details of the event were hazy; it was like the first time he'd gotten shot.

He knew something was rotten in Denmark, the whole series of events just didn't sit right with him, and if there was one dog-like quality about "Bull Pit" Dante, it was his slavish devotion to his own instincts... and hey, they'd gotten him this far.

Though, thinking about it now, instinct is precisely what gotten him into this mess in the first place; the ability to smell out power, and prey. It wasn't until tonight that he realized that those two things were mutually exclusive. He knew she had power, so did that make him the prey? That was the thing with these women, both of them really, they look and act all helpless with their social graces and their french, but they're just using the tools they have, and when it comes down to it, they're more likely to get a guy whacked than anyone. At least most of the men around here have the decency to look you in the eye while they stab you in the back. Between these two women one was doing her best to break his heart and the other was probably going to get him killed, and he didn't know which one he loved more for it. That was the worst part, he could see disaster coming but wasn't doing anything about it. Love was a lot like suicide that way.

Not that he was in love. Maybe halfway.

He kept thinking what Holden Caulfield said in Catcher in the Rye: "That's the thing about girls. Every time they do something pretty, even if they're not much to look at, or even if they're sort of stupid, you fall half in love with them, and then you never know where the hell you are. Girls. Jesus Christ. They can drive you crazy. They really can."

Amen Holden, amen.

He considered this as he trudged up to his bedroom, as he changed out of his shirt and slacks, and put on a track suit. It was a nice one, Adidas, just like all the wiseguys back home wear. He suddenly missed this thing of ours, it wasn't perfect, and in a lot of ways it wasn't as good, but at least he understood that life. It wasn't like the movies; Goodfellas, Casino, Godfather... all great movies, not accurate, but still great. He'd tried watching that Interview With the Vampire, but he thought Lestat, who was supposed to be some badass, kinda acted like a fairy.

Movies aside though, the old life was much simpler. This is what he concluded as the sun broke the horizon and he fell unconscious on his bed.

The City that Never Sleeps

Fri, 03 Feb 2006 02:36:13 GMT

Niccolo Dante strolled out of the airport and took a deep breath of the late night air. He was feeling good about the meeting he'd just come from and felt that tonight would be a good night to visit some old friends.

"That went well," he said out loud to himself while scanning the lane outside the baggage claims for his ride. He waited a few minutes for Lou, the driver from the car service he always used, to pull up in the black Town Car. After depositing a garment bag in the trunk, he climbed in and almost gave the address to his mother's house in the Bronx before he realized it was almost 1 AM and his mother would be sound asleep by now. Instead, he gave the address of the lounge where his old crew used to hang out. It wasn't very likely that they'd moved on to a new location since they'd been sitting around that place for as long as he could remember.

As the cab twisted its way to the lower east side of Manhattan, Nick tried to mentally prepare to see the "family" for the first time in about 9 months. He worked out that they'd probably be glad to see him at first and then they'd be pissed he hadn't told them what was up. If it came to violence, he wasn't sure he'd make it out, but he knew he'd take at least a few of them down with him.

"I hope that doesn’t happen," Nick said to himself. The truth was if anyone had a right to be upset it was him. He'd been sent to do an impossible job, nobody knew it, but it was true. For now he'd have to act like he'd been set up, that didn't appeal to him in the slightest; a heavy who can't get the drop isn't much use and useless people didn't last very long in this business. He could be sure of a few things. They definitely weren't expecting him; these guys didn't want to whack him so they'd give him a running start if they could. And they had absolutely no idea what he'd become. At this point it was a calculated risk, he knew it wouldn't be as easy as just walking in and acting like nothing had happened, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to try it.

As the car rolled to a stop he gave one last check over his appearance and climbed out.

"You mind waiting Lou?"

"No pro'lem," the driver responded.

The place hadn’t changed since he left. Hell, the place hadn't changed since 1978 – mahogany, wood-grain, Formica tables surrounded by bright red, pleather booths. The dim lighting and smoky haze prevented anyone from looking too closely at the carpet stained grey from shoes, booze, and thousands of cigarette ashes. The clientele hadn't changed either; neighborhood drunks and 3rd shift workers stopping off for a cocktail before going home. At some point in the past this was a classy joint. That wasn't the case anymore.

As Nick entered, the bartender spotted him and immediately headed back to the "VIP Area" to let someone know who'd just arrived.

"Apparently they noticed I was gone," he thought as he headed straight for the stairs that would take him up to the room.

As he pushed through the door, about 5 seconds behind the bartender, he saw everyone standing, reaching for their guns…

"Ho! Guys! Is that how you treat an old friend?" he said walking into the room with his hands in the air. They all froze – the sort of deer-in-the-headlights effect that made him smile. "Listen I'm not here for any trouble," he paused, waiting for his words to sink in. "If I was, I wouldn't of walked through the front door, right?"

The guys in front of him relaxed. It made sense to them. And within 5 minutes, they had all greeted each other properly and Nick was getting yelled at for not calling. And 5 minutes after that, they were all sitting down again as Nick regaled them with his tale over a drink.

"…so long story short, I track this woman all the way out there, just to find out she didn't even do anything wrong. I mean, she screwed up, but it was an honest mistake. Meanwhile, I'm out there so long, I got myself set up; ya know, I mean, I gotta earn. But get this. I'm makin' more our there than I was here! And I ain't even told ya's the best part. There's nobody out there like us. I mean they got their own little crooks, but not professionals. I'm tellin' ya, pretty soon I'mma be callin' yous guys to come help me run this thing."

"See that's the thing Nickie… um… we ain't even supposed to talk to ya's." Johnny Bucco said. Johnny was the Capo or Captain of the crew, he reported directly to Carmine D'Angelo, under-boss of the Genovese crime family, one of the original Five Families of the New York mafia. "Carmine wanted to see you when you got back to town. He's a busy man, but I think I can arrange a sit-down tomorrow night because he considers this top priority."

"I thought that might be the case. That's fine with me, we'll have a sit-down and I'll tell him that I've explored some new territory that here-to-for was unclaimed. Now it's under us and I'll take the liberty of handling it." He said in a matter-of-fact tone that indicated he'd already decided what was going to happen. Now it was just a matter of making sure everyone else saw it his way. "Don't worry, John. You'll still get your envelope."

John smiled, "Hey, you're gonna have to talk to Carmine about business, but before you go in there, you gotta know something about that job… and the ramifications."

OOC: Continued: http://akjetter.livejournal.com/7085.html

Out of Synch

Tue, 10 Jan 2006 18:58:03 GMT

“I should get out of bed,” Nick said out loud to no one, “make hay while the sun shines.” He laughed to himself at his own joke and made a mental note to make the same joke the next time Audra was taking her sweet time getting ready, trying on eleven different outfits only to settle on the one she’d started with.

* * * * *

“Enter, Mr. Dante” came the familiar voice from the other side of the door. Nick swung the door open to Dr. Colburns home office and found his sire seated at his desk, no doubt filling out some important doctor-related paperwork or perusing one of several medical journals that were delivered to the house each week.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, sir, I just needed ask… um… is my tie on straight?” He felt sheepish asking the question, but better to feel silly now than run into anyone he knew looking shabby. Ordinarily Audra would just give him a quick once-over to make sure he looked his best, no brown shoes with a black belt, no untucked shirt-tails, and last of all she always straightened his tie. To some this might seem like a fairly intimate gesture, but when one can’t see oneself in the mirror, a trusted friend is almost a necessity. “Now, how’s my hair?”

* * * * *

On his way to the garage Nick stopped in the kitchen and absent-mindedly opened the refrigerator. He peered inside for a full three seconds before shaking his head, rolling his eyes at himself, and mumbling something about “old habits”... Nick was instantly glad she hadn’t seen that. “What do I care?” He chided himself under his breath as he slammed the door shut again.

When he reached the garage he leaned his katana against the doorframe and hefted one of the giant bags of dog food into the breezeway and proceeded to fill the large stainless steel bowls that the dogs ate from. In the back of his mind he acknowledged that he wouldn’t have been preoccupied enough to open the fridge if she were here in the first place. His thoughts lingered on the awkward pause at the end of their conversation last night. He’d insisted she call when she arrived at the family house in New York.

“I’ll be fine…” she argued.
“I’m sure you will too, but…” he cast about in his mind for an excuse “but Dr. Colburn would feel better knowing you’d arrived safely.”
“Fine, if it would make Dr. Colburn feel better…” she trailed off, but gave a knowing glance, indicating she didn’t think the doctor had anything to do with the request.
They sat in silence for a moment before they both started speaking at once.
“Well, have a good tr-…“
“Don’t forget to feed the dogs…” she reminded him, reaching for the door handle. He nodded as she climbed out of the Town Car. “See you Friday,” she said, swinging the door shut behind her and walking towards the waiting LearJet.
“Don’t forget to c-…” he said, the last word drown out by the sound of the door crunching shut.

* * * * *

Nick started the car and pulled out of the garage, reaching below the driver’s seat he pushed the Glock 9mm aside and withdrew a small booklet of CD’s. He selected one and inserted it, turning up the volume on the cars stereo. Within a few minutes he had pushed the conversation out of his mind and was singing at the top of his lungs.

“SINCE YOU BEEN GOOOOOOOOOONE…
“I CAN BREEEEAAAATHE FOR THE FIIIIIIRST TI-IME!
“I’M SO MOOOOVIN’ OOOOOOOOOON, YEAH YEAH!
“THANKS TO YOOOUUUU, NOW I GEEEET, I GET WHAT I WA-AANT!”

* * * * *

As he pulled into the parking space behind Giphantie, Nick was never more glad that he’d insisted on the extra-dark tinted windows, Kelly Clarkson didn’t fit with his tough-guy image. It wouldn’t do to have people disrespecting him just because he liked pop-princess music. Once inside the gallery he casually inspected the repairs to the building, but his mind was thinking over the phone call he’d received last night. He could tell she was with someone else because she was just slightly less casual that he was accustomed to her being… it was polite and brief… there must’ve been someone from the family nearby. That must be it. “She didn’t want to sound over-friendly in front of family,” he told himself as he finished checking out the new tile in the restroom.

After locking up and stopping off to visit a few clients he pondered what to do with the rest of the night.
“Time to get some tail,” he said to himself. It was one of the last nights the students had to party before classes started up again and a couple 8-balls should be plenty to get him in.

* * * * *

Nick would never ask Audra to crash a Delta Zeta party with him, so he was eager to get out and socialize while she was in New York, especially with the ladies of “Easy D-Z”. But after 45 minutes of listening to sorority girls drone on about majoring in fashion design, handbags, formals, and a host of other trivial topics, he’d had enough. He dominated the one that looked the most drunk, she took him to her room where he fed before giving her a memory about amazing sex and a decision to “re-evaluate her major”.

He slipped out of the party and drove home still sporting what most people would call a pleasant buzz, it only made him irritated. He changed into a training gui and spent two hours beating the hell out of the training dummy in the sparring room before he could bring himself to admit that he liked it better when she was around. He went down to the theater room and fell asleep watching the Criterion edition of Seven Samurai he’d received for Christmas, from Audra.