Bloodfall: Bad Company

Well, my new car kicks ass. Took it out for a ride on the town last night. Stopped about 4 police pursuits with it. Hell, it was basically one Sylvester Stallone short of a Death Race. But that was yesterday. Today I'm just fucking around in my house, waiting for the sun to crawl under the horizon so I can put on my armor and go for another drive. I didn't bother putting my armor in the shed this time, though. And I have no excuse for it. I'm just a lazyass. As I was pulling out of the chest I stored it in, a knock came on the door. Shit. Well, better see who it is. I open the door, and see and old friend of mine, looking as uninterested as ever.

 

"Ms. Tate? Why you here?"

 

"Okay, Jay, seriously. I've been through this with you a million goddamned times! My name is Linda!"

 

"Sorry Ms. Ta-I mean uh, Linda..."

 

Anyway, here's the thing. Linda Tate is basically my manager for that little sidejob known as my MMA Career. Simply put, she's the kind of person it takes alot to make her laugh. She doesn't fuck around by any extent,it's just getting to business and moving along. But there's something else. You see, she's one of the few people I allow to know just who really am. She doesn't say much of it because I'm basically the reason she's still here, living and all that.

 

"Well, c'mon in."

 

"Fine, but we gotta make this quick, so here's your tickets to Rio."

 

"Rio?"

 

"Yeah, Rio. You have a fight there in about a week, remember?"

 

*HONK*

 

"Oh yeah. I forgot I'm kinda a pro fighter an all. Fuck me, right?"

 

*HONKHONK*

 

"Uh..sure. The point is, you'll have to open your schedule a bit, because I know you're so busy with that."

 

She gestured at the chest against the wall. Ah shit, the arm bit of my armor is sticking out. Well, it's a good thing she already knows about the fun little shenanigans I get into at--

 

*HONKHONK*

 

"Okay that's seriously pissing me off. Who the fuck is that!?"

 

"Uh, it's my stupid boyfriend. Well, ex-boyfriend in a bit. I'm dumping his sorry ass tonight."

 

"Heh. for real?"

 

"Yeah. The guy is a jerk. He's always rude to me, dresses like he thinks he a rapper or some stupid crap, and every time we're out he's always eying other girls."

 

"So a garden variety Douchebag? How did someone like you fall for someone like that?"

 

"He wasn't always like that. When i first met him he was decent and all, but a few months ago he just sorta--"

 

"Linda, the hell you doing? Get your ass outta here, we're gonna be late!"

 

That voice alone pissed me off. Then the guy walks through the doorway into the same room with me. This guy was a textbook toolbag. Hat backwards, wearing hugeass sunglasses in the night, and a leather jacket with the sleeves cut off. I think I saw "swag" etched on one side of his outdated rag of a jacket.

 

"Y'know, you only let yourself in someone's house when you're invited."

 

"Whatever, brah. You done yet, girl?"

 

"Darrel, just wait in the car. I just gotta-"

 

"Hey, I'm not gonna be late to the party because you can't get shit done! Hey, that's a sick knife."

 

Oh goddammit! I left my blade on the shelf when I came home. And now fuckstick here see's it. Better not let that shit get a good look. He might recognize it.

 

"Touch that blade and I snap your fucking neck like a twig."

 

"Jerrick!"

 

"Whoa, we got a badass here. You got a problem, brah?"

 

"Yeah, it's about 5'10 and looks like a member of Vanilla Ice's passe."

 

"Hey, eat a di-"

 

"Darrel, enough! Let's just go to that party, alright?"

 

They both walk out of the room, the asshat glaring me as he leaves. I shoot him a look I usually use while I have the armor on, and I see a bit a fear in his face before he's outta my sight. I tell you waht, people like that only continue to breath because I'm such a nice guy.

 

 

Done