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X-treme Wrestling Federation » Warfare Boards » Warfare RP Board
The dark pt 1
Author Message
Griffin MacAlister Offline
Oi!



XWF FanBase:
Drug addicts, rebels, weirdos

(the villain you love to hate; has cult following; may deal drugs on side)


#1
03-29-2018, 10:11 AM

Midnight. The transition time period of one day to the next and my time to shine. It's amazing to think of all the crap that I get done before 5am, compared to the rest of the day. I thrive at this bewitching hour. Shroud in the cover of darkness, I find sanctuary. The quiet, calm soothes my soul and beneath the star covered obsidian canvas, I am comforted. There's discretion in the dark. Freedom. A constant blind eye from those that would otherwise shriek at the truth in the daylight. No one notices you at this time of night. Not really. And the ones that do... well, they're more than likely as guilty as you are. Or worse.

I am not a good man. I know this and tonight will prove to be no different. Though, I don't ever plan to ascertain fragments of my life for redemption, I am aware of my deeds and realize how they define me. When you see me in the street at this hour, chances are, I've either done something terrible or I'm about to. Blood stains on my hands wash off but the acts remain. Do not engage me. Turn. Walk away. It's better that way. We sinners don't need a common ground to bond on. Our paths are our own and that's how it should remain. Besides, we can always find time to lie to each other during the harsh false truth of the day. For now, I shall take solace in the shadows and await my moment of action. Another chit... another step closer to hell. I deserve no less.

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Griffin MacAlister; a scruffy looking fellow with scraggly, chin length, dark brown hair and surprisingly pale blue eyes, that sat deep in their sockets and came with the most intense stare, crouches on a fire escape platform that overlooks a darkened alleyway. Beneath him, nothing moves except an occasional rat scurrying through the garbage. Though, in this lighting, it's rather hard to tell what's going on. Still, his gaze seemed to be focused down below as he silently watches and appears to wait. After several minutes, a figure can be seen at the opening of the alley. The figure is that of a woman, carrying a bright red handbag, she wears a black cape style coat and sports a hair style that dates back to the forties. She's slender, with striking emerald eyes and lips of vermilion, Griffin observes her as she walks to the back door of a building just slightly beyond his place on the fire escape. Her attention drawn to the interior of her purse, she fumbles for a key and doesn't notice when he quietly drops down from above. Swift, silent and deadly, he moves in and within seconds, he's behind her. There wasn't even time to scream.

A line of crimson was drawn across the woman's thin neck with a butterfly knife. Wielded by Griffin, he steps back as she stumbled and swayed to the side, hitherto her collapse. Desperate hands, flailing to her neck in an attempt to stop the bleeding, she looked upwards to him, with horrified accusation. Her mind's final dazzling seconds, piecing together the whats and the whys. She choked, gagging on her own blood as she failed to form the appropriate words in order to utter the answer that she would die, simply knowing. The light fades fast, even in the eyes of the enlightened. Griffin reached over and plucked the lady's red handbag from the pavement. Rifling through it quickly, he first retrieved what appeared to be a thumb drive and then he took her wallet, which went straight into the nearest dumpster, right after he removed the cash. Griffin pocketed the thumb drive and tossed the money onto the first bum that he passed, sleeping in the street. In the distance he heard sirens but knew, for the moment, they weren't for him. The woman's body wouldn't be discovered until first morning's light and shoddy police work would surmise that her death was due to a robbery gone awry. He didn't worry about the what ifs. He knew they wouldn't be there and was safe in the certainty of the masses' stupidity. Another night, another successful mission completed. Almost.

Walking briskly, Griffin progressed along the deserted avenue, passing pitch black apartment windows and businesses, that were long since shut down for the evening till he reached the bright, blaring florescent lights of a diner. Open twenty-four hours, The Greasy Spoon was a haven for hellseekers. Ripe with the certain kind of element that would make most uneasy, Griffin passed through the door without distress and continued towards the back of the establishment. Here, there was a payphone and two of the most disgusting bathrooms known to man. Clearly marked to distinguish what sex they were meant for, it was a real toss up on which was worse. Griffin picked up the phone and dialed quickly. Waiting for the rings to stop, someone answered but said nothing as he swiftly stated.
"The spoon. Men's room. It's done."

From there he hung up the phoe and proceeded into the men's room. Side stepping to avoid a pool of vomit... as well as other various puddles of unidentifiable substances, he walked to the first drain that he saw and bent over. With the same blade that he used on the woman's throat, he loosened the grate over the drain and removed it. Slipping the thumb drive from his pocket, he dropped it into the open culvert, watching as it fell and clinked at the pipe's bend, he replaced the cover. Now he was finished.

Griffin rose to his feet and exited the men's room, right as a drunk guy stumbled in through the door and face planted the tiles. Oh good, that guy was more than likely going to add to the growing lake of sick. Yay! From the look of things, there would be more puke than floor before anyone tidied up or bothered to clean. Plenty of time between then and whenever the interested party decided to procure the device Griffin left behind. This wondrous atmosphere simply added to the charm and if they didn't like it, then maybe next time, they won't give him such short notice when they needed something done. It was a small victory, envisioning them wading through puke to get what they were after and it drew a smirk to Griffin's face as he pressed onward into the night. Life was all about the small victories. Finding happiness in the misery. That silver lining in the dark bowels of existence. Griffin fired up a cigarette and started the journey home. Tonight was an early night. He might actually be in bed before sunrise.

[Image: Teg4zqi.jpg]

Title History
3x X-Treme Champion
1x (and 1st ever) North Korean Champion (Now the Television Title/X-Bux Championship)
1x Tag Team Champion (Longest reigning tag team champion @273 days. 231 w/Sebastian Duke and 42 solo)
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Finn Kühn (03-29-2018), Jon Willis (03-30-2018), Peter Fn Gilmour (03-29-2018), Vincent Lane (04-07-2018)




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