Don't Shoot The Messenger

[thatsmyjonson]

Most days, Dane hated his job. He would never tell anyone that, but he really hated it. Even the handsome paycheck and prestige of being one of the staff members at one of the most elite clubs in the city could make up for the actual tasks of the job. More specifically, it couldn't make up for his boss. James Carmichael was a snake of a man who practically ruled any underground operation in the city. Somehow, he'd earned the nickname Osiris, though calling him that to his face was said to be a death sentence. Dane hated the days when he was stuck in the club pretending to be the world's scrawniest bouncer. He hated knowing his boss might be watching, or having to deal with his creepy assistant Dimitri. But what he hated more was actually being called into the boss's office. He had the scars to prove why that was to be avoided.

The one thing Dane did not hate was what his actual job was. He was Osiris' primary messenger, because no one else in the club could be quite so effective. He knew how to get someone's attention and could get out before he got hurt. He was sure there were quite a few police reports with his description and the tag of "vandal" attached to him, as these messages usually involved a lot of broken windows and smashed property. Usually once he was caught by the owners of said property, he'd merely state that Osiris sends his regards, and hopped out of there.

Today was one of those good days, with a message to deliver. He had an address, a name, and instructions to get inside but otherwise it was standard. He didn't even know anything about the target, other than her name was Lady Rosetide and Osiris had some beef with her. But he had a beef with half the city, so that wasn't anything special. He didn't even know if it was her home, her base of operations, or just a place she could be found.

Strolling up to the door with a hefty crowbar resting on his shoulder, he calmly rapped his knuckles on the door. If there was no answer, he had a means to get inside.

Comments

[ladyrosetide]

Pathetic. That sort of response is pathetic, and Adrianna's disdain for the cry is well mapped on her face. She practically begs through one look to send a bullet straight through this guy's skull; if she were less celebratory, she might've allowed it.

Still. He came here for a reason, however stupid his moves so far have been. With an incline of the head which makes her second scowl, then make to shove Dane into a back room, she sighs. It's going to be one of those nights, isn't it?

Two glasses in hand, she slips into the back room, past the storage room, and into a small office. It's nothing fancy, which is to be expected since this isn't her primary haunt, but it's enough. A glass of whiskey's thunking against the desk she's soon circling. After that, she's reclining in the chair, kicking her feet up on the desk as she sips her own drink, watching him. Adrianna stays for as long as it takes to get Dane settled and behaving.

"So a crowbar, huh?"

[thatsmyjonson]

I'm going to die I'm going to die I'm going to die this is it this is how i die murdered in a cheap strip club is how i die. The thoughts ran on rapid repeat as Dane was led into the back room. He tried to twist it into a joke, something sarcastic, to just break the loop. But panic gripped him far too tightly to wriggle free so easily.

Only when he's seated does the set up of the backroom make any sense to his fear-strangled brain. Of course. An office in the back of a club. Full circle. It's how the job started, it's how his life would end. He tried to find an exit, his eyes sweeping quickly around the space. But if they had guns and he had nothing, how could he get anywhere without being shot a thousand times?

To the question, he just nodded dumbly. "I uh..." his tongue felt heavy and clumsy compared to the speed of his thoughts. "I'm not s'posed to hurt anyone. 'Least not kill 'em or anything." He fumbled his words horribly, slurring them together, trying to talk faster than he was capable. "Just send the message. Boss can't collect if people're dead--" he cleared his throat, lowering his gaze to her desk. "Just...just a messenger...ma'am..." What was he even supposed to say?