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| 30 Jul 2015 01:07 AM |
CS-
Real Name- Vito is his real name and he has not said his own last name aloud in years. It should be noted, as should be expected of someone with his erratic disposition, he calls himself many different names (whenever it be to help cover his own tracks or simply just because is unknown).
Physical Appearance- Fairly average in height and weight, at around 5'11 and 180 with a more athletic build, seemingly able to hold his own but not intimidating in size. His eyes look akin to ice, and his gaze cold as the color's comparison, which seems to fit well with his pale, snowy skin. His hair is stark in contrast, a raven black, slicked back and medium in length. Vito has thin, pale lips and a narrow nose, crooked from past breaks and obvious at first glance. He lacks facial hair, with not much more then a slight stubble on his fairly broad and sharp jaw, with a deep scar running along the left side diagonally across his cheek reaching nearly to his ear. Other scars and past wounds line his body, some evidently self-inflicted and the rest the cause of others.
Clothing (This isn't your all-black outfit, something you'd wear into public to disguise yourself)- Typically wearing a white or crimson button up, with an open collar and rolled sleeves to nearly the shoulders, Vito is almost always seen donning his 'signiture' black leather jacket which looks somewhat worn. He wears usually light blue denim jeans and pointed boots, also black. A thick gold chain rests around his neck, and he likes to wear reflective aviators at times.
If the occasion calls for it, he has been known to 'dress up'. Trading his leather jacket for an open black suit jacket, he wears the same shirts though with rolled down sleeves and matching black suit pants to accompany the jacket. Shiny black oxfords would be his first choice in footwear for such times.
Age (Optional)- Seemingly mid to late twenties.
Items (Not weapons, you start off with a knife) (Optional)- He carries a black, italian stiletto (not to mention considers himself a 'knife enthusiast'), a wallet, lighter and a pack of smokes.
Other- The feds hate ME
Joey
You arrive at a dark and moody restaurant, clearly disgusted that this was your meeting place. Your next contractor, a chubby man, sat down on his chair and ordered a small meal. "I'm going to be here for a while, that's why we are meeting here." He said, crossing his legs and twiddling his thumbs. "I see you have two successful kills under your belt, and they are all slightly local celebrities, that's why I have requested you to kill this man." the contractor slammed a photograph of a smiling man with black hair, neatly combed hear, a deep tan and circular glasses on the table. He looked like the typical businessman. You took it and observed it carefully. "Stephan Xiaolin, a business executive that hasn't given me my money back after he asked for a loan. Oh, and if you could, before you brutally kill him could you say that the loan shark called?"
Things escalated quickly, and the contractor stated that Stephan lives in a rather big house in Dakota Street, house number 36. He has also stated that, if you could, steal his wallet and give him it. He tells you to be careful though- buy a cheap pay as you go phone and dump it and buy another one every so often, this lowers the chance of police tracking you down if you use your actual phone. Also, with that he noted that you always do your killings with gloves. It won't leave DNA behind and you won't be identified.
Current cash on hand- $1000 Current time- 13:37 Current quest- Contract one Current reputation- Feared, slightly known. |
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| 30 Jul 2015 01:08 AM |
| LAWL, I ACCIDENTALY COPIEED THE CONTRACTOR's NAME IN, JOEY, AHAHHAHCDHYUDVDUGVWCCOUGH |
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| 30 Jul 2015 01:39 AM |
[the more you know *music plays*]
Across the table a man sat, arm draped over the back of the booth seat leisurely with a halfway burnt out smoke resting between his lips. He was calm and relaxed, yet a certain darkness surrounded him and one could only compare him to a feral panther; ready to pounce and hungry. Always hungry.
His eyes were hidden behind a pair of aviators, and the fat man could see only himself in their reflection. They shrouded the hateful glint that lurked beneath them, the bloated whale of a 'businessman' was attempting to explain how he should work.
"Now Mister," His voice was hard and gravelly, as he slowly removed the cig.arette from his mouth, "Joey is it? I consider it an insult that you think I would not wear gloves and use a phone that cannot be traced back to me. And I don't take kindly to insults." The words the man spoke were cold and a hint of cruelty may have been underlying in his tone.
Slowly he removed the shades that were perched on his face, revealing the lifeless and hate-filled eyes only a madman would look through, "You know Mr. Joey, I consider myself a lucky man. You mentioned two of my earlier 'hits' so to say, though I can assure you that was not the only blood I have spilled. Few men can say that their hobby is also their career, it's almost a miracle, would you not agree?" He did not wait for an answer, "The man will not see the sunrise.. That, that is mere fact Mr. Joey."
Stamping out his finished butt on the table itself, he collected the pictures and contract money putting it, along with his sunglasses into a pocket on the inside of his semi-opened jacket. "It was a.." His tongue flicked out like a snake, wetting his lips as he smiled crookedly, "Pleasure, to have ourselves acquainted."
With that, he got up and walked slowly to and out of the meeting place, hands stuffed lazily into his jacket pockets. |
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| 30 Jul 2015 01:47 AM |
(America= China confirmed? Smoking in restaraunts!1!1!1)
"Whatever," Joey said, reclining. "I'll be happy with my damned money back, and you'll be happy with your damned money. And don't forget the wallet." he repeated. The server was confused. "Just put the damn tray down! Can't you see I'm hungry?" That was the last loathsome sentence you heard from him as daylight shrouds you. Thankful of your shades.
+$1050. Current money- $2050.
(Harold Christ, you are too good for my poor snowbody.) |
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| 30 Jul 2015 02:04 AM |
The man scowled as he left, the money was a mere byproduct of his own glorious sadism. He did not like the fat mans tone of voice nor his obesity, a wave of hatred washed over him and his mind wandered to watching the fat man's entrails flop out of his overinflated 'gut'. The scene was comparable to a slowly deflating balloon and the comparison brought a short-felt amusement to his mind.
He indulged in his humor as he climbed into his jet black 1969 Mustang, a car typically depicted as a bright red and the vision of it was a famous one yet he was always in preference of the black one. It held a certain elegance to it, like a groomed wolf might. Vicious yet almost holding a certain beauty to it.
His thoughts drifted back to his contractor, the fat man, as he drove towards his destination of the to-be victim's home. His earlier anger had faded, as every man hungers for something. Some gluttons, others greedy. Him? Well he knew what he had appetite for. This thought also brought him a quick passing amusement. |
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| 30 Jul 2015 02:12 AM |
| You soon drive up to Dakota Street, full of two storied houses with attics. Stephan's house looked similar to everyone else's. Let's go take a good observation, shall we? |
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| 30 Jul 2015 02:19 AM |
| The man, named Vito, though he uses even that name so rarely he has grown accustomed to referring to himself in third person quickly peered through multiple windows on the look out for entrances and people of residence. Sometimes it may seem illogical to consider talk to yourself in the third person and not direct first person. Though as far as he was concerned, he was a 'he' and the other cretin merely were 'its'. |
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| 30 Jul 2015 02:25 AM |
(Ok. Let us proceed with the third person talk)
The house had a tiny front lawn, a big window on the front, what looks like a back yard due to the two parallel passages on the side and the side windows seem to be able to be opened, same with the small windows on the top floor.
(Gtg.) |
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| 30 Jul 2015 02:32 AM |
| The man looked yet again through the windows, looking inside to see if his target or any unfortunate individuals were currently occupying the residence. |
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| 30 Jul 2015 07:22 AM |
| Unfortunately, no life form could be detected in the household. Stephan's probably at work, and the loathsome contractor forgot to state his job location... not as if he knew it at the first place. Or could he? Blame Joey. |
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| 30 Jul 2015 09:23 AM |
The slick haired killer slowly opened an unlocked window and crept silently into the home. He slowly opened and closed each of his black leather-clad hands, the quiet crackling was a sound he considered pleasant, though he could not for sure say why. He slowly shut the window he previously entered through
Keeping his ears alert for sounds of movement or other sounds, he made his way through the house needing to make sure it was empty. |
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| 30 Jul 2015 09:27 AM |
| Someone was dumb enough to leave an unlocked window during their absence- how stupid. The bottom floor is quite open and no doors to rooms except for the downstairs toilet. A staircase leads upstairs. No sound other than the silent taps of your feet on wood could be heard. |
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| 30 Jul 2015 01:01 PM |
Sitting himself in a chair that faced a front window where he could see any vehicles or people arriving he simply waited. Waited for the fun to begin.
The thought made him almost jittery with anticipation. |
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| 30 Jul 2015 09:21 PM |
You waited for a long time. 14:20. No one has came home yet. |
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| 30 Jul 2015 09:49 PM |
A predator would wait the longest of time for it's opportunity to kill it's prey, as would he. The man decided he should collect the 'necessary' tools around the house for his future entertainment as it was simple logic the way he seen it.
Such a wait deserved something more to look forward to.
He roamed the house swiftly, collecting assorted knives, power tools and other such construction items, along with lengths of wires and rope if it were at all possible. |
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| 30 Jul 2015 10:09 PM |
| You do all that, gathering them all somewhere. You may need a toolbox or something soon if necessary. |
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| 31 Jul 2015 12:00 AM |
They were only for the nights activities, he would buy better tools more to his liking after he finished here.
After gathering the tools, he set them up in the basement, presuming they had one, if not one of the upstairs rooms. Finishing this, he kept a long and thick cord of wire that would not easily be broken with him as he went back to the same chair he was sitting in.
His face was dull and expressionless as he stared out the window. Waiting. Watching. |
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| 31 Jul 2015 12:23 AM |
| 14:49. You hear the doorknob rattling. Someone was entering. It took him ages though, and he still hasn't entered. Suddenly, the door was kicked open. A man with a balaclava rushed in and pointed an Anaconda revolver at you. "FREEZE, BURGLARY!" he exclaimed, putting a hand under the barrel. "DROP EVERYTHING YOU'RE HOLDING, GIT!" |
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| 31 Jul 2015 03:24 AM |
The man smiled coolly, an amusing glint in his eye as his gaze flickered from the intruder to his gun and back to said burglar. A hint of irritation crept into his mind for a moment, as he realized smiling, even as maliciously as he did, made his facial muscles strain.
"Take what you want, I don't live here." He shrugged, returning his gaze to the window, "I have my own.. 'business' with the resident." As far as one could tell the slick killer seated before the armed robber held nor possessed nothing. |
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| 31 Jul 2015 09:24 AM |
| "Don't talk that bulls__t to me!" he said, flicking the drum of his revolver, "show me your wallet!" the burglar wasn't going to lower his gun without a knife through his throat. The prospect of plunging a knife deep into his throat could be possible. The burglar got impatient and raised the gun to face your head. "Wipe that dumb smile off your face." |
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| 31 Jul 2015 01:56 PM |
"If you would like to see why I am here, I've set up my work area in the basement. It might.. change the tone you are using." He spoke with a soft evil, as he took a smoke slowly out of his pocket and put it into his mouth.
While he got his lighter out, he slipped his weapon into his sleeve. Lighting the end up, the man inhaled deeply as he calculated the distance between himself and the man who was starting to really make him angry. |
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| 01 Aug 2015 12:20 AM |
(Okay. Maybe third person is a little too confusing.)
The supposed burglar is standing two and a half metres away from you- however, his arm stretching out with the gun is at least one and 3/4s in metric away. The burglar's index is touching the trigger, any sudden movement and it's bye bye. "You think I'm stupid enough to fall into that trap?" |
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| 03 Aug 2015 03:19 PM |
[im not much for 1st person]
"The trap is for the owner." Vito replied, growing more irritant, "Do you know what I do for a living?"
Pausing, he smiled for a second or two, the type of grin that could make your blood run cold, "I kill people!" He shouted, slightly too exuberantly though he considered himself 'passionate' about it, "It's a wonderful thing, but I am only here for the home owner. There is simply no requirement for us to quarrel, you want his money and I want his blood. We all want something, ya' dig?" |
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| 03 Aug 2015 11:46 PM |
"Well then it's more loot for me!" the burglar said as he lunged.
(I'm lazy today (I've been lazy for a week), apologies) |
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| 03 Aug 2015 11:59 PM |
The man laughed incredulously, the burglar moved in to attack HIM. He lunged towards the contract killer, and gave up his range with his gun. A gun!
Immediately lunging forward as well, he sidestepped to avoid a possible itchy trigger finger and brought his unarmed hand in a sideways swipe at the gun arm attempting to grab and pull the man towards him quicker. All the while still laughing, now almost maniacally.
With his armed hand, he expertly shot the blade out of his sleeve and caught it by the bottom half of the handle. Moving his hand up, he pressed the button of the stiletto and listened to the satisfying pop as the gleaming blade shot out.
Whenever or not he had been able to grab his arm completely did not matter, as he continued forward jamming the blade forward, aiming for the lower side of his abdomen near the ribs. His goal was not to kill. Not yet. |
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