+- X-treme Wrestling Federation (https://xwf99.com)
+-- Forum: RP Archive (https://xwf99.com/forumdisplay.php?fid=113)
+--- Forum: Archives (https://xwf99.com/forumdisplay.php?fid=13)
+---- Forum: "Anarchy Special" RP Board (https://xwf99.com/forumdisplay.php?fid=10)
+---- Thread: But Now I See (/showthread.php?tid=15314)
But Now I See - #MemeQueen Luca Torchwick - 09-14-2014
The apartment seemed so much quieter with both Ron and Julia missing. It felt emptier too. So much emptier.
Luca, thoroughly worn out and tired of the wild activities that his camerawoman had planned for him in the name of training throughout the day, almost collapsed by the time he made it to the door that led into his dirty, unkempt apartment. As he slid his hand into his pocket to fish out his keys, he started to feel a sense of dread come over him about going in. Not in that he felt there was any kind of danger waiting for him on the other side of the door, but in that he dreaded another night of following the same routine that had swallowed countless days prior. Another night of shooting cocaine up his nose and washing down his nosebleeds with whiskey. Another night of the same old self destructive routine. He knew that the second he stumbled over the threshold, that the cycle would repeat itself as it had so many other times before it and yet, he felt almost powerless to resist. Finally grabbing onto the ever so elusive set of keys, he pulled the hole ring out of his pocket and sorted through them before finally coming up with the one to his apartment. With a deep breath, he slid the key into the lock and turned it, before pushing open the door and stepping inside. The mess greeted him with as much warmth as it always had; the worn and cigarette burned carpet stared up at him pained, begging to be put out of its misery. Rubbing his eyes and pushing the door shut behind him, he shuffled across the carpet, leaning against the wall on his left hand side all the way down to the bathroom at the end of the hallway.
As he stepped into the bathroom, he hit the lights and recoiled as his eyes raced to adjust to the sudden level of brightness. He blinked hard and kept his eyelids shut as tight as he could for a few seconds, falling against the wall and grabbing onto the doorframe to keep himself standing. A surge of pain flooded through his head, crashing hard against his temples and the front of his skull. With his free hand, he cradled his head, muttering under his breath to no one. He fell down to a squat as the sudden headache continued to rage with the intensity of a wildfire torching the gnarled forest of his remaining brain cells. After a few seconds in this position, he moved his hand from the front of his head to up atop his hair, pressing it downwards into his scalp. With a sigh, he ran his hand through his hair and pulled himself up off the floor before pushing himself away from the wall and closer to the sink and the mirror that hung above it. Sitting on the rim of the sink was a small, white, plastic cup which he grabbed and with his other hand, he turned on the faucet. He watched as the water filled the cup to the point of overflow before twisting the handle back into place and downing the contents of the cup in one gulp before setting it back down on the rim. As he turned his attention from the spot that he left the cup, he caught a glimpse of his own reflection in the mirror for a split second. That was a sight he was looking to avoid, as he immediately looked away though he started to wrap his hands around the bowl of the sink.
After a few seconds of hesitation, he caved. Once again, he allowed himself to peek into the mirror, to look back at his own nervous reflection, anxious about who he'd find staring back at him. He studied himself for what felt like an eternity. Every feature his aged-beyond-its-years face could offer, he scrutinized. Silently, he cursed himself for ever getting to the point of looking so tawdry, as the man on the other side of mirror appeared to be mocking him with his mere presence. A ball formed in the back of Luca's throat as he continued to look, unblinking at himself. Still not in any admiring sort of way, just careful examination with a semi disappointed look on his face. Every flaw of his blown up until it was a thousand times its original size in magnitude. The red ring around his nostril where blood was still caked and not washed away suddenly became a roaring river of crimson that washed over his entire face and stained him red throughout. Baptized him in blood. He gritted his teeth as he kept up the stare, which was soon taking more and more of his strength to accomplish. His eyelids twitched as continued to resist his urges to blink.
He couldn't escape that for too long however, as almost as if acted upon by an outside force, his eyes fall closed for a second. Only a second. For Luca however, it felt like an eternity for the second he let his eyes fall shut, he caught a glimpse of the last thing he wanted to see right now. Even more so than his own reflection. For in that one singular second, he saw Victoria.
Beautiful Victoria.
Bruised Victoria. Laid up in a hospital bed with bruises and contusions up and down her arms. Face black, blue, and swollen to the point of being unrecognizable. Cuts and gashes all over her. Unconscious. All as Luca's words echoed through his head: "I promise that I won't let anyone hurt you like this again."
Bloody Victoria. Laying atop him with a bullet in her head, leaking that blood onto him. Smoking gun still in his hand.
He opened his eyes again with a gasp and to see that a tear had begun to roll down his cheek. Snarling, he wiped it away in a flash before smearing the unwanted display of emotion against his pants. Sighing, he ripped his eyes from the mirror and towards the bathroom door. Through the darkness he kept his eyes focused on a cupboard hanging over his kitchen sink, where his stash was. Breathing hard, he took his first few steps towards the stash before catching himself in the doorway. With both hands gripping onto the doorframe, he let the full weight of his guilt crash into him and bring him down to his knees. He didn't even bother getting up. Instead, he pulled his hands away from the door frame and pressed his palms together, looking upwards at the ceiling.
"Look, I know you and I haven't really seen eye to eye on a lotta things," he said, voice wavering. "But I gotta ask you something. Give me the strength to make it through tonight without using. Just this night. Please."
I love when everything falls into place.
The drive back to the compound wasn't a very long or eventful one, as Omar was much too busy being frightened to really make much in the way of conversation. Well, that and the rag he had stuffed in his mouth. That might have played a part in his silence. Oh well, it didn't matter. All that really mattered was that we had successfully captured Guzman before he and the rest of the Organization could identify any of us. And none of it would be possible without Edmund and Benny; our aptly named Blades of Judgment.
As I pulled the van into the garage of the Compound, which in reality was just the house that we all lived at, The Blades immediately hopped into action. Grabbing Guzman by his arms and pulling him up to his feet. I pushed open my door and got out, circling around the van until I got to the back and pulled open both double doors, backing up as the pair dragged our Guest of Honor through the practically barren garage and into the house. I couldn't help it however, and stuck around long after they all disappeared into building, just making sure all the doors were locked. Not that we'd have to worry about that with this van in the garage, but attention to detail is something the Lord's very particular about. Only after I was 100% sure everything was to His liking, did I make my way through the door leading into the house and through the labyrinth like main floor of the house until I found myself in the dining room.
The dining room was certainly dressed for the occasion. Leave it to the Scribe to make sure everything was absolutely right, down to the last detail. Long, burgundy curtains covered the windows and the long table in the center of the room was dressed in cloth identical to the curtains in color. At the head of the table sat an almost throne like chair and on the other end of the room a noose hung from the ceiling. The Blades were already in the room, holding a thrashing Omar in place.
I smiled. It was certainly going to be a great ceremony. I could feel it earlier today while we planned but now, seeing it come to fruition like this? I'm positively blown away.
"What the fuck is all this shit?!"
And then there was the ruckus to cheapen it slightly. No matter. Soon he'd take his place and play his part as the tribute. All according to plan.
"Is the food almost ready?" Edmund asked as he dug his nails deeper into Omar's shoulder while Benny shoved the rag back into his mouth assuring us a few moments of peace and quiet.
"Yes. Though we aren't starting until everyone's here."
That was The Scribe. And as he made his way into the room, through the door that connected this one to the kitchen, he caught a look at Omar before sneering.
"Doesn't look like an Omar to me."
"I see that."
Just then, I heard a set of footsteps clanging against the floor in the hallway, growing louder and louder with each step. Turning around, a smile grew across my face when I saw just who was waiting in the doorway.
"Are we almost set?"
"Yes, sir."
"Set him up."
I didn't think twice before shooting a glance over to the Blades, who sprung right into action, dragging Omar over to the noose. Underneath it sat a stool, which they lifted him up onto before fastening the rope around his neck. Again, I allowed myself to smile as I caught the absolutely thrilled look on the face of Andrew French, The Messiah. The speaker of the Lord. The man who made me all I am today. His approval is second only to the Lord's and right now, I have both. I'm on top of the world. So on top in fact, that I didn't even notice The Scribe beginning to set the table. No, instead I kept my eyes fixed on the clock, counting down the seconds until the final member's arrival. Of course I could never predict when that would be. Punctuality is not one of their strong suits. Though the sound of the front door slowly swinging open was definitely a good sign. Andrew, looking down at his watch, let out a frustrated sigh as the sound of running footsteps echoed through the first floor. Subtlety, another less than strong suit.
Finally however, the footsteps stopped and in the doorway stood the final member: The Virgin.
"Didn't miss anything, did I?"
"Not at all dear, we were just about to begin."