tagged: #tiktiktikboom
Anonymous whispered: A rather hurried knock comes at Ples' door.

tiktiktikboom:

dartonthemobster:

tiktiktikboom:

dartonthemobster:

tiktiktikboom:

Another realtor? Really? The ticking man shook his head; he should just put a sign out on the lawn – Not Interested in Selling. He walked downstairs and opened the door.

Not! Interested, thank you-

"I-" He paused, gaping slightly. You called my bluff. You cheeky devil. Darton started chuckling, the laugh growing into a full, curling, wincing laugh. “I think I’d rather get to a doctor, first,” he finally gasped. “I don’t suppose you’d know any that might not ask too many questions?” The man had sewed him up without too many questions, true, but he didn’t expect Ples to be that knowledgeable on back-alley doctors.

Alright, stair time. He dropped the few inches off the table onto his good leg. The second step nearly brought him down, but he caught himself on the table with a grunt. “A little help, if you wouldn’t mind? I think most of the blood is dried by now,” he added, glancing down at his shirt.

Mostly dried? That was hardly ideal. But, bottom line, Ples didn’t want to attract trouble, so Darton had to go. Ples set the door, trotted down the stairs, and grabbed the hobbling man’s arm, forcing him up.  

Ah, a d-doctor?

What was this? Darton didn’t trust Ples’ slap-up job with the random assortment of filthy tools he had strewn about the basement? Dok would have done it, but he was at an actual medical establishment just now. On the record.

There was another one, though. Lesser people would have pegged him for a copy or a double, but Ples’ attitude towards Dok made him stand out among Doc Worths. There was Dok, and then there was…

…his rune dealer.

I might.

Ples pursed his lips. He didn’t like driving the Cadillac to Worth’s neighborhood. It was an obvious symbol of status and that usually meant Ples would be targeted by pickpockets, thugs, and other criminals.

…you can’t stand?

Ples heaved him up with a rough hand, and Darton scowled as the man half-pulled him through the basement. “I can walk,” he said, rather shortly. Ples’ lack of courtesy was beginning to irk him. “Slowly. I said stairs might be a problem.” Well, he certainly hoped he could walk. It would be terribly embarrassing to be proven wrong now. “Just give me an address and I’ll get there myself.”

Honestly, he was surprised Ples knew a shady doctor. Although, considering his actions last night… Perhaps Ples wasn’t as straight-laced as he seemed. Hm. He’d have to look further into this.

From the open trapdoor, Darton could hear a cacophony of tikks and takks. His eyebrow furrowed, confused. “What’s that?”

That. Th-that might be a problem…

Ples steadied himself and forced his body to slow down - someone else’s needs had to be attended. It was an odd thing.

I-it’s not an address, per se. It’s…more of a. An area. N-no, that’s not right. There is no location. Oh-

He shook his head.

I’m, I-I’m not explaining this correctly…

But maybe it didn’t matter just now.

What’s what?

He could feel Ples trying to be gentler, trying not to throw him out his door quite so fast. Too late. He was still irritated. “Fine. Draw a map and I’ll ask around, then. Or come if you want. I don’t care.” /Something, anything./ Darton wasn’t actively bleeding out, but he was in much more pain than he would like to be, and did not fancy having to play nice with Tibenoch while the man fretted.

Eyes glazed, he stared up through the open trapdoor. “That noise. It’s… Amazing.”

Anonymous whispered: A rather hurried knock comes at Ples' door.

tiktiktikboom:

dartonthemobster:

tiktiktikboom:

Another realtor? Really? The ticking man shook his head; he should just put a sign out on the lawn – Not Interested in Selling. He walked downstairs and opened the door.

Not! Interested, thank you-

"I-" He paused, gaping slightly. You called my bluff. You cheeky devil. Darton started chuckling, the laugh growing into a full, curling, wincing laugh. “I think I’d rather get to a doctor, first,” he finally gasped. “I don’t suppose you’d know any that might not ask too many questions?” The man had sewed him up without too many questions, true, but he didn’t expect Ples to be that knowledgeable on back-alley doctors.

Alright, stair time. He dropped the few inches off the table onto his good leg. The second step nearly brought him down, but he caught himself on the table with a grunt. “A little help, if you wouldn’t mind? I think most of the blood is dried by now,” he added, glancing down at his shirt.

Mostly dried? That was hardly ideal. But, bottom line, Ples didn’t want to attract trouble, so Darton had to go. Ples set the door, trotted down the stairs, and grabbed the hobbling man’s arm, forcing him up.  

Ah, a d-doctor?

What was this? Darton didn’t trust Ples’ slap-up job with the random assortment of filthy tools he had strewn about the basement? Dok would have done it, but he was at an actual medical establishment just now. On the record.

There was another one, though. Lesser people would have pegged him for a copy or a double, but Ples’ attitude towards Dok made him stand out among Doc Worths. There was Dok, and then there was…

…his rune dealer.

I might.

Ples pursed his lips. He didn’t like driving the Cadillac to Worth’s neighborhood. It was an obvious symbol of status and that usually meant Ples would be targeted by pickpockets, thugs, and other criminals.

…you can’t stand?

Ples heaved him up with a rough hand, and Darton scowled as the man half-pulled him through the basement. “I can walk,” he said, rather shortly. Ples’ lack of courtesy was beginning to irk him. “Slowly. I said stairs might be a problem.” Well, he certainly hoped he could walk. It would be terribly embarrassing to be proven wrong now. “Just give me an address and I’ll get there myself.”

Honestly, he was surprised Ples knew a shady doctor. Although, considering his actions last night… Perhaps Ples wasn’t as straight-laced as he seemed. Hm. He’d have to look further into this.

From the open trapdoor, Darton could hear a cacophony of tikks and takks. His eyebrow furrowed, confused. “What’s that?”

tagged: #open RP
Take Me Home

Luke Darton was quite done with activities for today, thank you very much. He had two wounds that kept seeping blood, a shirt and vest plastered onto him with the dried version of same, and no weapons left but an empty pistol and a makeshift shiv, if it came to that. Not that he was anticipating trouble, but all the same.

At the moment, he was merely shuffling down the sidewalk, looking rather lost. ”Excuse me, but would you happen to know where the nearest doctor is?”

peabodysfedora:

LOOK AT MAH BABY

LOOK WHAT PRINCECANARY DID

WHAT A CUTIE

A commission of my mobster hitman OC Darton, done by the fabulous person who created Gentlemantown, and I couldn’t be happier. Thank you so much!! Y’all should commission this beautiful artist because they are fantastic alright aaaaa I can’t deal with this right now it’s so great *fans self*

I look fabulous.~

tagged: #tiktiktikboom
Anonymous whispered: A rather hurried knock comes at Ples' door.

tiktiktikboom:

dartonthemobster:

tiktiktikboom:

Another realtor? Really? The ticking man shook his head; he should just put a sign out on the lawn – Not Interested in Selling. He walked downstairs and opened the door.

Not! Interested, thank you-

Pushy, pushy. He had thought Ples was more or less a pushover. Suppose he’d better be refining his ideas of the man. Luke stayed on the edge of the table as Ples worked on the door, loathe to stand before he had to. Even being upright was tiring. He could feel the bruises all over his body.

"Whatever sent me to your door? Just a car accident, honestly. Nothing to worry about." Not a very good lie, as car accidents didn’t put bullets in people. Nevertheless, it wasn’t like Ples didn’t know he was lying, or that he wasn’t about to admit what had really happened.

Ples lifted a grizzled eyebrow at Darton’s explanation. If Tiben had decided to be helpful, he would have brought it to Ples’ attention that Darton, under the influence of great pain, had given a bunch of other explanations - none of which meshed with the overall narrative.

But he kept quiet.

And Ples wasn’t as dumb as he made himself look (most of the time).

Indeed. And where is your car? I think it would be most advantageous if we were to call a towing service.

He locked the door open.

And get you a ride to the nearest car repair garage.

Sure, he could run with the explanation.

"I-" He paused, gaping slightly. You called my bluff. You cheeky devil. Darton started chuckling, the laugh growing into a full, curling, wincing laugh. “I think I’d rather get to a doctor, first,” he finally gasped. “I don’t suppose you’d know any that might not ask too many questions?” The man had sewed him up without too many questions, true, but he didn’t expect Ples to be that knowledgeable on back-alley doctors.

Alright, stair time. He dropped the few inches off the table onto his good leg. The second step nearly brought him down, but he caught himself on the table with a grunt. “A little help, if you wouldn’t mind? I think most of the blood is dried by now,” he added, glancing down at his shirt.

dartonthemobster seeks your assistance

thegirlfromnapoli:

dartonthemobster:

Darton chuckled, half embarrassed. “I suppose I’m not used to the heat yet, hm? I’ll let you choose the restaurant; I’ve no idea what’s around.” Probably Italian food. He chuckled at his own little joke, not bothering to explain.

"Well, it has certainly provided me with a job. And what work is it that you do?" He bounced along beside her, arms still linked, and more watching her face while she answered than the road. He wasn’t the one leading, anyway.

  Camilla hadn’t felt this much at ease since she started her “career”. It had been always stressful, but today it wasn’t; maybe it was because she was more confident than before, or maybe because today was a nice day.  Her curly hair bounced lightly as a cool breeze drifted. Thank God. Camilla enjoyed the heat, but she had to constantly remind herself to stay cool.

  “I’d love to talk to you about it. But here we are,” Camilla chirped, taking a left to approach a small but stylish restaurant. “Once we’re seated, I’ll tell you about my work, and you can tell me about yours.” 

"Ah, excellent!" They entered a small, tasteful restaurant; the entire thing was visible from the doorway. Still, most of the tables were filled: couples with wine, parents chiding children for bouncing in their seats, a few singular patrons with notebooks or computers open.

A server approached, wearing a large, genuine smile. “Welcome! May I offer you a seat today?” At their agreement, she pulled a pair of menus from near the door and led Camilla and Darton to a table in the front corner of the shop, where a breeze filtered through one open window and out another.

tagged: #tiktiktikboom
Anonymous whispered: A rather hurried knock comes at Ples' door.

tiktiktikboom:

dartonthemobster:

tiktiktikboom:

Another realtor? Really? The ticking man shook his head; he should just put a sign out on the lawn – Not Interested in Selling. He walked downstairs and opened the door.

Not! Interested, thank you-

He chuckled. Ahh, so it seemed Tibby could be fun to play with, after all! “You are an interesting man, Mr. Tibenoch. I think I might be able to, but I would appreciate it if you would call a taxi.”

His self-searching had told him his inventory consisted of a small handgun (very light - probably only a couple bullets left) and a small lockpick-slash-shiv. His crowbar was probably still in the streets somewhere. With a grunt, he rolled on his side, slowly pushing himself upright until he was sitting on the edge of the table. “Stairs might be a problem.”

Ples did not reply. If he had caught Darton’s attention, he did not want to keep it, so he made no indication one way or the other.

Try your best.

The heavy door had to be propped open. As Ples set himself to the task, he asked Darton:

Tell me, is whatever sent you to my door going to come back looking for you?

Pushy, pushy. He had thought Ples was more or less a pushover. Suppose he’d better be refining his ideas of the man. Luke stayed on the edge of the table as Ples worked on the door, loathe to stand before he had to. Even being upright was tiring. He could feel the bruises all over his body.

"Whatever sent me to your door? Just a car accident, honestly. Nothing to worry about." Not a very good lie, as car accidents didn’t put bullets in people. Nevertheless, it wasn’t like Ples didn’t know he was lying, or that he wasn’t about to admit what had really happened.

tagged: #tiktiktikboom
Anonymous whispered: A rather hurried knock comes at Ples' door.

tiktiktikboom:

dartonthemobster:

tiktiktikboom:

Another realtor? Really? The ticking man shook his head; he should just put a sign out on the lawn – Not Interested in Selling. He walked downstairs and opened the door.

Not! Interested, thank you-

Luke squinted and groaned at the light, turning away. It was a welcome change from the dark, but having it blasting into his eyes from a bare bulb was not: it made the scene all the more trapped-in-a-dungeon-ey. After a moment, his eyes adjusted enough for him to look blearily back up at Ples. “Well, I thank you for it, even if you were a bloody bastard about it.” His tone wasn’t accusatory, simply a bit miffed, and more tired than anything.

Would Ples want him out right away? Would he mother-hen over him? Would the people who had been following him show up here? Did he even still have any weapons on him? His uninjured arm began patting down his side, looking for a crowbar down his trousers, a pistol in his waistband, something.

Ples pushed his glasses up his pointed nose.

Yes, well. Be grateful I was merely that.

The ticking man was not accustomed to emergency surgeries or guests. Ideally, Darton would be on his way out. Besides, if a man shows up on another man’s doorstep, bloody and beaten all to hell, it was reasonable to guess that the police (or someone far worse) was also on his way to Ples’ doorstep, and he certainly didn’t want the attention.

Can you stand?

He chuckled. Ahh, so it seemed Tibby could be fun to play with, after all! “You are an interesting man, Mr. Tibenoch. I think I might be able to, but I would appreciate it if you would call a taxi.”

His self-searching had told him his inventory consisted of a small handgun (very light - probably only a couple bullets left) and a small lockpick-slash-shiv. His crowbar was probably still in the streets somewhere. With a grunt, he rolled on his side, slowly pushing himself upright until he was sitting on the edge of the table. “Stairs might be a problem.”

stickitinmyvein:

dartonthemobster:

"Rum and scotch." Darton smiled blandly at the waiter, who slunk off.

"Really? Sing-Sing?" His eyebrows rose, and the corners of his mouth twitched, impressed. "He must be very good at his job to find his way there. How do you hope to find your contractor?" A smarmy grin settled across his mouth. Both of them knew they weren’t talking plumbing for prison wardens, and Darton thought he might know who this contractor might be, but it was fun to watch people squirm when Luke played dumb. "How would he know you, if he only ever met your partner’s uncle?"

"I suppose that’s where the business gets interesting." Nathaniel surrendered with a falsely helpless smile and a minute shrug of his shoulders. "I mean, what can you do but go out and talk to some people? Hopefully the story rings a bell and the plumber makes it known whether he wants the job or not."

"I mean," he continued optimistically, truly doubting his ability to play in this league. "If the worst that comes of the night is no plumber and a drink with a new friend…? S’not so bad at all, right?" It would have been handy to have a bottle to sip from right then, but a quick glance around showed their waiter to be missing in action, likely running for other drink orders, or the like. Great. It left him wanting to squirm in his seat, wondering if he was just talking some random man’s ear off about plumbers.

"I suppose," Darton mused. "Have you tried the phone book?"

The kid was gesticulating rather desperately, trying so hard to make the point under his words. It was fun to watch. Still, Darton thought about whether he should answer his summons. To help pull someone out of Sing-Sing? That was dangerous. He had never been caught with his hands in the cookie jar - not enough for police to slap cuffs on them, at least. Breaking into prison was not exactly the best way to stay out of prison. He would have to know more details.

"Well, I would be thrilled to be called a new friend to someone as interesting as yourself! How kind of you. But what is it this plumber of yours needs to get done? A little digging in the sprinkler system, or would he need to go inside the walls to find the blockage?"

The waiter finally wound his way over, quickly setting drinks in front of each man. Darton smiled at him as he left, and didn’t touch his drink.

Anonymous whispered: A rather hurried knock comes at Ples' door.

tiktiktikboom:

dartonthemobster:

tiktiktikboom:

Another realtor? Really? The ticking man shook his head; he should just put a sign out on the lawn – Not Interested in Selling. He walked downstairs and opened the door.

Not! Interested, thank you-

Only eight? Must be why he still felt terrible. “That’s quite specific of you,” he mumbled. “Well, Ples, I must say I’m impressed with your work.” It hadn’t been a great job, but Ples’d managed to stitch him shut, remove a bullet, and clean him up. “I hope it wasn’t too much trouble. You seemed to get into the swing of it about halfway through, if I remember correctly.”

These things are important…

Ples threw a hand up in the air and waved it around until he found the beaded cord. He pulled it and a single, naked bulb provided harsh white light to the basement.

Since the light allowed him the opportunity, Ples scrutinized his handiwork and found that Darton, though beat up, was in a better condition than when he left.

Hm. Strange.

The cuts had been cleaned. Cleaned properly. Not just gone through the motions of cleaning, but actually disinfecting the wounds. Ples grit his teeth. That meddling-

Darton’s assertion that he got better halfway through the medical treatments confirmed Ples’ suspicions.

Ah, I really don’t know…I am not a doctor. But, you are alive, in any case.

Luke squinted and groaned at the light, turning away. It was a welcome change from the dark, but having it blasting into his eyes from a bare bulb was not: it made the scene all the more trapped-in-a-dungeon-ey. After a moment, his eyes adjusted enough for him to look blearily back up at Ples. “Well, I thank you for it, even if you were a bloody bastard about it.” His tone wasn’t accusatory, simply a bit miffed, and more tired than anything.

Would Ples want him out right away? Would he mother-hen over him? Would the people who had been following him show up here? Did he even still have any weapons on him? His uninjured arm began patting down his side, looking for a crowbar down his trousers, a pistol in his waistband, something.

dartonthemobster seeks your assistance

thegirlfromnapoli:

dartonthemobster:


He threaded his arm through hers, and matched her first step, letting her lead the way. “Napoli! I’m afraid I’ve never been. Perhaps this trip.” Around him, waves of heat reigned down on the city and its bustling, loud inhabitants. Darton was already dressed-down in a shirt and vest, sleeves rolled up and tie left off, but considered going with a polo tomorrow, if only because he was still sweltering. “What brings you to Rome, then?”

  Her body temperature was use to the hot weather Italy always brought in bouts; the warmth reminded her that she was alive and healthy, as long as she drank healthy amounts of cold water. Camilla thrived in the heat, while her companion sweated. “Perhaps, but first things first! We need to get to some shade before we see something die from heatstroke. How about a restaurant with air-conditioning? My treat.”

  Camilla chuckled at his question. “I moved here a few years ago. I love Napoli dearly, but Rome gives me more advantages in my line of work.”

Darton chuckled, half embarrassed. “I suppose I’m not used to the heat yet, hm? I’ll let you choose the restaurant; I’ve no idea what’s around.” Probably Italian food. He chuckled at his own little joke, not bothering to explain.

"Well, it has certainly provided me with a job. And what work is it that you do?" He bounced along beside her, arms still linked, and more watching her face while she answered than the road. He wasn’t the one leading, anyway.

Combo Kill

killerclay:

dartonthemobster:

Darton bounced his leg, tapping idly on the wood of the table as he waited for his case partner to show up. The client had met him in person and explained the job; Darton had accepted. At this point, the client had given him a dossier: a short bio of the target, details his residence and workplace, and a list of any details that may be necessary or useful. And the price. It was a good price. That didn’t really matter to Darton. It was the thrill he enjoyed, not the number of zeroes behind the price point.

He was, apparently, to work with another mercenary on this case - one he’d not met before. That was fine with Darton; he could get alone with nearly anyone, at least long enough to perform a hit. Presumably they were both hitpersons who could put professional duties above personal details long enough to shoot a gun.

Darton had reserved a table in a good restaurant, in the same city as the client. He had given the client the reservation to give to Luke’s partner, and now here he was, waiting (semi-)patiently for both dinner and a discussion of both the private and illegal variety.

Work came whenever it itself deemed appropriate; his methods were far from conventional, especially considering his own desires were usually held first and foremost in any situation. It was far from uncommon for him to backstab and betray any that decided to pair up with him, leaving Clay to only have a scattered list of jobs to be done. Still, his methods usually had him lining up well-paying hits, enough to suffice a comfortable-enough life. This time, however, was something different; the life tended to fall upon similar lines, and thus difference was almost always refreshing.

He’d been given the details; minor things, an easy enough task. He’d also been told who he’d have to work with, who he’d have to split the earnings and the kill with. If that wasn’t irksome enough, he hadn’t the faintest idea who he was working with, someone who’s name had never fallen upon his ears. He didn’t know their style, didn’t know their abilities, and having to wait didn’t sit well with him. Still, variety was something he couldn’t pass up on, especially when a delicious death would soon be served. He dressed quickly, in one of his better outfits, finding the restaurant with little difficulty. The more difficult part, however, was finding his so-called ‘partner’.

Clay sat himself down without a word, after a waitress had directed him to the table. He’d never have thought otherwise, especially having no idea of this man, other than his name. “Do not waste my time,” he began after a moment, blue eyes fixed upon Darton, “and realize that I could just as easily finish you off, along with the target.”

Darton was all smiles, despite Clay’s sour attitude. “Ah, good evening! Glad you could make it!” He half-rose, putting his hand across the table to shake. “Luke Darton, good to meet you. Excited to work together. Please-” he motioned at the menu in front of Clay, a slim, leatherbound thing that practically screamed expensive- “My treat.”

He looked down, flipping back and forth between the two cardstock pages of his menu. “Do you discuss work over meals, or would you prefer to wait until afterward?”

dartonthemobster seeks your assistance

thegirlfromnapoli:

dartonthemobster:


"Well, if you’re offering more, I could use a walk around the city. It’s been a few years since I was here." He bent, pecking her on the back of the hand to finish off the shake and coming up with a cheeky grin. "Do you live here, Miss Camilla?"

  “It would be a pleasure. I’ve got all the time in the world, and I don’t get that often.” Smiling at the kiss on her hand, Camilla offered her arm so they could walk arm in arm.

  “Born and raised in the city of Napoli, my friend!” she answered happily, teeth flashing in a grin of her own.

He threaded his arm through hers, and matched her first step, letting her lead the way. “Napoli! I’m afraid I’ve never been. Perhaps this trip.” Around him, waves of heat reigned down on the city and its bustling, loud inhabitants. Darton was already dressed-down in a shirt and vest, sleeves rolled up and tie left off, but considered going with a polo tomorrow, if only because he was still sweltering. “What brings you to Rome, then?”

dartonthemobster seeks your assistance

thegirlfromnapoli:

dartonthemobster:

 

"Good evening, good evening! No,I’m afraid I’m not in need of anything but perhaps your name, Miss…?" Darton smiled widely, offering a hand.

image

"Just my name? Camilla," she replied with a smile, accepting his handshake genuinely. "Pleased to meet you. Welcome to Rome."

image

"Well, if you’re offering more, I could use a walk around the city. It’s been a few years since I was here." He bent, pecking her on the back of the hand to finish off the shake and coming up with a cheeky grin. "Do you live here, Miss Camilla?"

Lovevengeanceandmotoroil and Murderbynecessity started following you

lovevengeanceandmotoroil:

dartonthemobster:

Good evening to you! How do you come to be out and about in the city at this time of night?

"There’s always interesting things happening in the dark of night." The ex-racer mutters, tone influenced by the barest hints of Brooklyn and the Southern states. Calloused fingers flicks on his lighter, the cigarette hanging from his lips burning bright orange embers after the lighter fizzles out.  

"True, true." The hint of a falsified smile curled his lips for a moment. Darton was not overly fond of cigarettes, but in his line of work, he saw them enough to refrain from asking against them. "Generally there’s something particular that catches one’s interest, though. For instance, I like the people. Always interesting people out at night."