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Plant Oak
Seth gets up and shakes Marshall's hand before sitting back down, "Nice to meet you, Marshall," Seth pauses, pointing at the man in black behind him, "Who's that?"
"Preston Scott, that's his name." Preston nods, bowing slightly, out of politeness.
Seth nods, "What are you guys doing out here?"
"Looking for something." Marshall puts down a blanket and sits down on it, Preston remains standing.
"What are you two looking for?"
Marshall chuckles, "Well, you and your compatriots actually," Marshall quickly shows both of his hands before they could even do anything, "We aren't here to kill you - you don't have to worry about that."
"What are you here for then?"
Marshall scratches his chin, "We're here to see if we should bet on you or not."
Seth raises an eyebrow, "What?"
"We're apart of an organization that bets on if someone will either get caught within a major crime or not. It's called Dice24."
"So you gamble on who
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Scratching metal, two long knives being brought together and dragged across the flats of each blade. Palach lets out a boisterous laugh as he places the knives down onto a table, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves, making sure they barely touch the backs of his elbows. Palach blows air from his nose, looking over to two men screaming in chairs with a scowl. "You'll tell me yes? Where they go?" Palach's expression becomes friendly, taking gags out from the men's mouths, distancing himself."JESUS FUCKING CHRIST LET ME LEAVE PLEASE!" Tears run down the man's cheeks, "I JUST WANT TO SEE MY FAMILY!""Тупица." Palach snarls, "I will let you leave if you tell me where gold is."The two men, one with a messy ponytail and dark brown hair while the one next to him wears a short beard and short hair, pitch black. The man with black hair stares over at his compatriot, eyes like daggers, "Don't you fucking tell him shit!"The one with dark brown hair squeals, glancin
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"Jesus Christ, look at this." Seth hands a newspaper he had in his hands to Nixon sitting beside him. Nixon's eyes widen, screwing up his nose in disgust."What happened?" Citlali asks, sitting on a tree stump whilst polishing her rifle."Some guy and his family were massacred, wife and child raped then tortured while the husband was apparently skinned alive. There was a witness but for some reason, he can't speak." Seth pauses, 'They don't know what traumas and PTSD is yet so I have to keep quiet about that.' Seth thinks to himself, his expression becoming progressively sourer and sourer. "I..." Seth stops himself, shaking his head, 'They'll just think I'm crazy if I go on.'Nixon tears the newspaper to shreds before putting his hands to his face, "I'm not reading that anymore... I don't want to be mad today." Nixon sneers, standing up and leaving, "I'm going for a walk."Citlali's expression becomes sorrowful, "How could someone do such a thing?"
I Love You Like an Alcoholic Something in the Water
New York, April 1912...Seth, scars running across both of his cheeks, resting comfortably under closed eyes sits in a velvet chair, legs crossed over one another, a black dress suit covering his body. An older man with curly black hair, grey strands appearing here and there, a curled black mustache sitting above his lip. Hands in their pockets, they seat themselves behind a desk, sipping at a glass of whiskey. The older man sighs before placing the glass of whiskey down before him. "So, you're the one that had my gold?" The older man asks, eyebrow arched as he leans over his neatly carved desk.Nixon walks into the room with a casual saunter, grabbing a chair in the back corner of the room and sitting it beside Seth, placing himself down into it. Seth nods, "Yes, I and my compatriot here, including a few others have procured your gold with me."The older man nods, "I should introduce myself - My name is Falcone Russo, you are?""Seth, just Seth."
I Love You Like an Alcoholic Purchase Rope
"Hey! We got a job for you!" A man yells, his form obscured by a shadow in a doorway. He throws a note onto the ground and it slides towards someone else, who of which is curled into a ball in the corner of the room. An older man, cold dead eyes, unkempt, wearing a dirty wifebeater with torn pants. "You gonna do it?""No choice, why give me an option." The unkempt man says, standing up, still situating himself in the corner of the room. His eyes are attracted to the note, reading the two names scrawled upon it. "Seth Alpheus Hunt," and "Nixon Driver." The unkempt man stares at the note for a moment before looking back at the man propped against his room's doorway. "Who are these guys?""We just want them dead, don't ask questions. You'll have Snake come with you, is that alright?""That's fine."The unkempt man lets out a sigh, "Are these the guys who stole that Mafia's gold?"Before the man in the doorway leaves, he stops midway before turning bac
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Bloody spit pooled under Nixon's tongue, spitting it out intermittently as he stares down at the half-dead Palach, knuckles facing the floor whilst palms are pointed towards the ceiling. Blood streams out from Palach's broken nose, knuckles scraped and bloodied, Nixon's face bruised - his top brow cut open, blood staining one half of his face. Nixon goes to grab his gun but stops himself, deciding to leave instead of wasting any more time on Palach.Seth careens into a wall while running back to Nixon, "We need to find a different exit!" Seth screams as he presses his back to the wall beside him. Nixon presses his back against the wall as well, revolver in hand. Seth glances at Nixon for a second before looking back down the hallway he just came through from, "You're looking worse for wear.""That fucking Russian was strong." Nixon sneers as he lowers himself. A crashing could be heard through the wall they've got their shoulders pressed again. Seth jumps away from the
I Love You Like an Alcoholic Seth
Seth Alpheus Hunt.Sapphire eyes and a shit-eating grin. I assumed he was Asian the first time I met him but he said that he was born in Russia. I tried to ask him what his age was but he pled the 5th. Half-shaven, a black curly mess on one side and practically bald on the other.The reason half of his head is shaven though is that there's a massive ass scar going from his left eyebrow to the back of his skull, almost touching his spine.He said the reason for this was, "I had a headache one day so I just decided to... remove it."When I asked him about his life's story, he became ecstatic, clapping his hands together."I was born in a small rural town in Russia, I don't remember much from those times but I do remember my brother treating me to some борщ. I think I was... 4 years young then?" He looked at me in confirmation."What? You expect me to know?" He ignored my question and went on."After 5 years of living in the Motherland,
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Nixon Driver.6'5"Age unknown.Blonde hair, parting in-between, dark green eyes, a long face with the chiseled chin. If it wasn't for the fact that he was a criminal I would say he's my type.He's quite the opposite compared to his partner in crime. Seth was flirtatious to the female inspectors and disrespectful and provocative to the male inspectors, when it came to Nixon, he was respectful and would try to not get on the other inspectors' bad sides.During the actual interrogation, Nixon would prefer to stay quiet and reserved, making sure not to say anything that would dig himself deeper or even kick dirt on anyone else in the interrogation room.Frankly... I'm not sure how we caught them now that I recall upon it.Yesterday, Sunday - January 12th, 1999. At the Tubarão Adormecido hotel, Brazil. Both Nixon Driver and Seth Alpheus Hunt were found guilty and arrested after years of running with a forty-five million dollar boun
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July 5th, 1998.A rundown hotel in the middle of nowhere. Creaking stairs and molding books, nails sticking from the floorboards leading to the basement and dust covering shelves head to toe. Two maids and one person sitting idly at the counter of the hotel.Shelves for keys, locked behind small cupboards. The man at the counter quaintly reading his book, flipping each page, some stained in oil.One of the maids sitting idly on one of the old ripped up couches with a rat in her hands, slowly petting it with a bored expression melted on her face. The other made robotically cleaning what she could by herself, not even breaking a sweat in the hundred-degree weather.The man at the counter sniffs to find a warm smell passing his nostrils."I hope that food is for us." He comments, flipping another page within his book."If you want it, buy it." The maid on the couch responds."We should be getting the food for free, we work here after all
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