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."

tagged: #stickitinmyvein

stickitinmyvein:

dartonthemobster:

Darton tutted, with that air of fatherly false disapproval. “Perhaps you shall have to go again, then. If I am available, I may accompany you; Europe is lovely in spring.”

A good grip. Firm, but not domineering. Either this man was truthful and open, or had practiced his grip. “Nicky,” the hitman grinned. “What a lovely name. “I knew a Nicky in college. Medical student. Always very anxious, wound up over everything.” He grinned to himself for a moment before bringing himself back to the present. “Who’s this friend of a friend you’re looking for, then?”

A rather finicky-looking man trotted over, tiny fashionable pencil tucked into the corner of a tiny, fashionable mouth and gelled-back undercut shining gently in the lamplight. He plucked the pen into thin, delicate hands and chewed on his lip a moment before speaking in a nasal, sliding voice. “Anything you boys want?” Darton looked to Nathaniel, to see if he wanted to peruse the cardboard menu by the wall before making a selection.

"Is it? A second visit is definitely in the works." Regarding the company though, Nathaniel could only laugh. It’d be a little strange to take a hitman on honeymoon, but perhaps that was what married life with a mobster would entail. It was an amusing notion.

"A Heineken." Nathaniel answered the server who appeared suddenly at their table, giving him a quick once-over. Interesting, but quickly deemed nonthreatening and just as quickly put from mind. He waited out the other man’s order, and until they were alone again, before returning to the previous conversation.

"He’s an independent contractor who did some work once for my boyfriend’s uncle. My boyfriend’s doing a short bid up at Sing-Sing, and thought it’d be a good idea to keep a handyman on-site, or maybe on-call."

"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?"

Murderbynecessity started following you

murderbynecessity:

dartonthemobster:

Mm? Is something the matter?

*grins* Tea. Yes? *gestures in the direction of his house*

Nah. Just remembering.

Okay. [Now, she’s being rather more casual than needed to hide the usual paranoia. She walked up to that house without a care in the world on her shoulders, but she was fuckin’ paying attention for danger. Being retired didn’t mean other people cared.]

Darton bounced along beside her, seeming equally, if not even more, care-free than she was. Occasionally, he hummed a snatch of music, before it got away and he fell silent again.
Once they reached the house, he opened the door grandly, revealing a grand hall and spacious lobby-space. Two sets of stairs led up either side of the room to an upper level, and both levels had multiple doors leading off into other rooms. Darton gestured at one of the chairs in front of the empty fireplace on the opposite side of the room. “Please, excuse me; I’m going to get tea. Any particular kind?”

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-

With the combination of unknown drugs, blood loss, injuries, and lack of sunlight, when Darton sluggishly pulled himself back to the land of consciousness, he had absolutely no idea what time it was or how long he had been out. A woozy, systematic check of his limbs and torso revealed him to be unbound, beyond a sheet laid over him. Was he a shrouded corpse?

The room he was in was completely dark, but he vaguely remembered a trapdoor somewhere in the ceiling. Should he find it? “Aunnh-” An attempt to roll off the table he was currently using as a bed told him that any ideas of climbing stairs should be locked away in a safe and then thrown off a cliff into the ocean. His head was spinning, and everything was sore.

And maybe, since some time had gone by, it would be a good idea to check on the…guest in the basement.

The ticking man lifted his rug and then the door, making his way down. He approached the table, curious as to the state of Darton’s health. He pushed his glasses farther up his nose and leaned over the groaning man.

Hallo?

The light in the ceiling appeared again, and a spindly matchstick figure descended the stairs in a swath of light. Not that this man was, by any extent, a savior. Darton was not currently bleeding anymore, but he was sure Ples hadn’t done him any favors in his ministrations. “Hello there,” he mumbled, blinking grumpily away from the light. “Nice of you to join me. How long has it been?”

Mmm…a good number of hours. Eight of them. Plus thirty-seven minutes and 16 seconds. Are you back with us now?

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.”

stickitinmyvein:

dartonthemobster:

How interesting. Darton smiled widely. “Ah! Quite widely travelled, then. Have you enjoyed Europe? I find it refreshing. Very different social atmosphere than America.” America was hurried, spoiled, angry. Europe sprawled, ranging from pleasured laziness to finicky quick walks, from a love of giving false directions to a friendly invitation inside for coffee. “Thank you! Very kind of you. Ah- Luke Darton. My apologies.” He put out a hand to shake, pausing only slightly in his step.

They arrived at The Fix, a middle-class bar that opted to ake itself look fancier with quiet piped music and faux-marble that shined under modern-styled lights, rather than the close, dark atmosphere and pounding music of other bars. Luke took his cues, glancing at Nathaniel’s face to see if he should hold the door, or let the boy guide him to somewhere more ‘suited’ to creatures of the night like themselves.

Nathaniel chuckled sheepishly, flashing the other man a look that spoke more of the same. “I’m sorry to say I didn’t actually travel much. Mostly I stayed within the walls of my boarding school.” It was only once he was enrolled in NYU and working on his Bachelor’s that he’d come to regret his reclusive phase. College had surrounded him with people who’d traveled the continent so much more than him, their varied experiences fascinating him. He held out hope for his honeymoon after med-school. He’d get a proper taste then.

Luke’s offered hand was gripped lightly and shaken. As for a name? Well, that came with a pause and an obvious turning of internal wheels as Nathaniel tried to settle on an alias, or whether one should be used at all. “Nathaniel— Nicky, these days.” Soon to be Brewster, but it was a bit soon to bring that up. In the meantime the bar was appraised and stepped into, a corner booth appealing and soon settled into.

Darton tutted, with that air of fatherly false disapproval. “Perhaps you shall have to go again, then. If I am available, I may accompany you; Europe is lovely in spring.”

A good grip. Firm, but not domineering. Either this man was truthful and open, or had practiced his grip. “Nicky,” the hitman grinned. “What a lovely name. “I knew a Nicky in college. Medical student. Always very anxious, wound up over everything.” He grinned to himself for a moment before bringing himself back to the present. “Who’s this friend of a friend you’re looking for, then?”

A rather finicky-looking man trotted over, tiny fashionable pencil tucked into the corner of a tiny, fashionable mouth and gelled-back undercut shining gently in the lamplight. He plucked the pen into thin, delicate hands and chewed on his lip a moment before speaking in a nasal, sliding voice. “Anything you boys want?” Darton looked to Nathaniel, to see if he wanted to peruse the cardboard menu by the wall before making a selection.

Murderbynecessity started following you

murderbynecessity:

dartonthemobster:

Ah, we might have met before! I did live here briefly, but had to leave again. Work-related. You understand. Still! Good to meet you again, Ms. Devang! Would you care to stop in for coffee? I have tea, of course, if you prefer. A little early for alcohol, but I can offer that as well.

[Sssnapped her fingers once loudly because it fuckin’ SMACKED back out of a shelf somewhere in her brain—the memory of him had. Jesus fuckin’ balls.]

Yyyyo, Darton. Okay.

…Eh? Tea?

Mm? Is something the matter?

*grins* Tea. Yes? *gestures in the direction of his house*

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-

With the combination of unknown drugs, blood loss, injuries, and lack of sunlight, when Darton sluggishly pulled himself back to the land of consciousness, he had absolutely no idea what time it was or how long he had been out. A woozy, systematic check of his limbs and torso revealed him to be unbound, beyond a sheet laid over him. Was he a shrouded corpse?

The room he was in was completely dark, but he vaguely remembered a trapdoor somewhere in the ceiling. Should he find it? “Aunnh-” An attempt to roll off the table he was currently using as a bed told him that any ideas of climbing stairs should be locked away in a safe and then thrown off a cliff into the ocean. His head was spinning, and everything was sore.

And maybe, since some time had gone by, it would be a good idea to check on the…guest in the basement.

The ticking man lifted his rug and then the door, making his way down. He approached the table, curious as to the state of Darton’s health. He pushed his glasses farther up his nose and leaned over the groaning man.

Hallo?

The light in the ceiling appeared again, and a spindly matchstick figure descended the stairs in a swath of light. Not that this man was, by any extent, a savior. Darton was not currently bleeding anymore, but he was sure Ples hadn’t done him any favors in his ministrations. “Hello there,” he mumbled, blinking grumpily away from the light. “Nice of you to join me. How long has it been?”

Murderbynecessity started following you

murderbynecessity:

dartonthemobster:

Quite debatable, if you can’t figure it out. *chuckles* A pleasure to meet you. My name is Luke Darton. *puts out a hand to shake*

It’s about as reliable as a broken clock.

[Took the hand in one of her own for a quick firm shake.]

Devang.

[Tended to be all the name she needed to give. People familiar with the name’s attachments or not. That’s the name she always used. Even with loved ones—Which got a brief skip beat pause of thought from her. Quickly discarded as swiftly.]

Darton. Sounds familiar. Can’t put a finger on why.

Ah, we might have met before! I did live here briefly, but had to leave again. Work-related. You understand. Still! Good to meet you again, Ms. Devang! Would you care to stop in for coffee? I have tea, of course, if you prefer. A little early for alcohol, but I can offer that as well.

Murderbynecessity started following you

murderbynecessity replied to your post

With my legs. And my feet. Mostly those two things. Possibly my brain. Debatable.

Quite debatable, if you can’t figure it out. *chuckles* A pleasure to meet you. My name is Luke Darton. *puts out a hand to shake*

dartonthemobster:

Darton began strolling leisurely toward a nearby bar he favored for its particularly good mixed drinks. “Oh, I just returned to town. I had business elsewhere for a while. Remaking acquaintances, myself.” He sighed contentedly, and a faint plume of condensation drifted…

How interesting. Darton smiled widely. “Ah! Quite widely travelled, then. Have you enjoyed Europe? I find it refreshing. Very different social atmosphere than America.” America was hurried, spoiled, angry. Europe sprawled, ranging from pleasured laziness to finicky quick walks, from a love of giving false directions to a friendly invitation inside for coffee. “Thank you! Very kind of you. Ah- Luke Darton. My apologies.” He put out a hand to shake, pausing only slightly in his step.

They arrived at The Fix, a middle-class bar that opted to ake itself look fancier with quiet piped music and faux-marble that shined under modern-styled lights, rather than the close, dark atmosphere and pounding music of other bars. Luke took his cues, glancing at Nathaniel’s face to see if he should hold the door, or let the boy guide him to somewhere more ‘suited’ to creatures of the night like themselves.