Vicious - Tumblr Posts
And some more =)
Not an often guest in this public - Vicious! As we see here, in the Red Dragon crime sindicate there is not so much time for sleeping =[
And the final part of my BebopTober arts. Yes, it is December, but who cares...
Ok so like what’s the name of the thing in songs were the artist starts yelling like in ‘vicious’ by Sabrina carpenter it’s like “YOU DONT FEEL REMORSE YOU DONT FEEL REGRET CUZ YOU DONT THINK YOU HURT ME IF YOU YOU WISHED ME THE BEST I SHOULDVE KNOWN ALL ALONG I WAS ONLY THE NEXT ONE TO TAKE YOUR LOVE SONGS AS A PROMISE” or in ‘jigsaw’ by Conan gray “ALL DID JUST TO MAKE YOU HAPPY STILL YOU DONT EVEN F*UCKING LIKE ME”
Like please someone tell me
Whoops already fell behind on posting here 🤷♀️
Here's the prompt from Day 2: Summer Nights
***
[Spoken:]
[Boy:] On a hot summer night...Would you offer your throat to the wolf with the red roses?
[Girl:] Will he offer me his mouth?
[Boy:] Yes
[Girl:] Will he offer me his teeth?
[Boy:] Yes
[Girl:] Will he offer me his jaws?
[Boy:] Yes
[Girl:] Will he offer me his hunger?
[Boy:] Yes
[Girl:] Again, will he offer me his hunger?
[Boy:] Yes
[Girl:]And will he starve without me?
[Boy:] Yes
[Girl:] And does he love me?
[Boy:] Yes
[Girl:] Yes
[Boy:] On a hot summer night…Would you offer your throat to the wolf with the red roses?
[Girl:] Yes
[Boy:] I bet you say that to all the boys
The drums crashed and sent the song into a straight jam as Spike and Julia, laughing and falling over each other, began to dance wildly on the stage. The music drowned out the cheers and jeers of the crowd and everything dwindled around them until there was only the two of them. Spike, clad in jeans and a plain button up shirt and tie, dropping down onto his knees on the stage as he stalked towards Julia, in her dark leather pants and short white dress-turned-shirt with a belt cinched at her natural waist, as she baited him by shimmying her entire body.
Their jackets were long forgotten in the booth where Vicious still sat, nursing a bourbon and smiling his Mona Lisa smile at his associates. Their antics were the highlight of the night for many of the patrons of Renee's Respite. Not quite a property of the Dragons but not exactly clean of association with the syndicate either, it was one of a handful of bars where the fledglings were welcome as long as things didn't get too out of hand.
Naturally, Spike and Vicious had been kicked out of this place a time or two for getting into brawls. Not the way Vicious preferred to fight, but Spike was a fan of letting off some steam with his fists and feet, and Vicious would always back him up. Besides, technically the last time they'd been made to leave had been Vicious's fault. The issue had been another patron - not a regular - who simply wouldn't say the bar's name right no matter how many times Vicious had corrected him. Reh-spit, not re-spite. Eventually he'd had to remove the man's tongue when it became clear he'd never say it properly.
[Sung:]
It was a hot summer night
And the beach was burning
There was fog crawling over the sand
When I listen to your heart
I hear the whole world turning
I see the shooting stars falling
Through your trembling hands
Meanwhile on the stage Spike was singing along word for word with the karaoke song, gesturing out over the crowd as if to build the scene of the lyrics. Julia obligingly raised her hands in front of her and towards the heavens, shaking ever so slightly, her eyes wide and full of delight as she pretended to gaze at the sky.
You were licking your lips
And your lipstick shining
I was dying just to ask for a taste
We were lying together in a silver lining
By the the light of the moons
You know there's not another moment
Not another moment
Not another moment to waste
Acting out the song, Julia stepped into Spike's personal space as he rose up from the crouch he'd been in to lean heavily over her. As if in a call-and-answer, he then tilted back as she pressed forward to lean over him in turn. The crowd hooted and hollered as they strutted across the stage with not an inch of space between their heaving chests.
You hold me so close that my knees grow weak
But my soul is flying high above the ground
I'm trying to speak but no matter what I do
I just can't seem to make any sound
Julia ran her hands up Spike's arms to cradle his face between her palms and Spike lifted his own hands to cover hers as he continued to sing, first to her and then he turned slightly to shift his focus on the crowd as if singing now to the audience.
And then you took the words right out of my mouth
Oh it must have been while you were kissing me
You took the words right out of my mouth
And I swear it's true
I was just about to say I love you
And then you took the words right out of my mouth
Oh it must have been while you were kissing me
You took the words right out of my mouth
And I swear it's true
I was just about to say I love you
By now some of the other patrons had begun to sing along. Vicious shook his head in amusement and raised his tumbler of liquor to quietly toast his partners as they ate up the attention they were getting. Julia was grinning ear to ear, not nearly as breathless as Spike who was both singing and dancing.
Now my body is shaking like a wave on the water
And I guess that I'm beginning to grin
Oh we're finally alone and we can do what we want
The night is young
Ain't no-one gonna know where you
No-one gonna know where you
No-one's gonna know where you've been
You were licking your lips
And your lipstick shining
I was dying just to ask for a taste
We were lying together in a silver lining
By the the light of the moons
You know there's not another moment to waste
Letting his body quake and his lips spread into a smirk to rival the one on Julia's face, Spike dropped back to his knees and then rose up as he sang, hands tracing up Julia's leather clad calves, thighs… his hands gripped her hips briefly, squeezing and eliciting a sharp laugh.
Vicious knew Spike would pay for that later. Julia hated to be tickled.
And then Spike was kissing along her neck in between words of the song, still swaying against her as Julia danced her way backwards toward the brick wall behind them. Teasingly, she grabbed his tie and yanked his face to hers, taking him in a dominating kiss before releasing him so she could spin him around and shove him away all in the same smooth move.
And then you took the words right out of my mouth
Oh it must have been while you were kissing me
You took the words right out of my mouth
And I swear it's true
I was just about to say I love you
And then you took the words right out of my mouth
Oh it must have been while you were kissing me
You took the words right out of my mouth
And I swear it's true
I was just about to say I love you
Once again breaking the fourth wall, Spike sang to the onlookers. Julia crept up behind him, hands reaching around his ribcage to grasp him in a sort of hug as her chin came to rest on his shoulder while the song drew to a finish. Then Spike and Julia both collapsed to the stage floor together, laughing uproariously, as the crowd thundered with appreciative cat calls and stomping feet to indicate the intensity of their approval.
Tripping over themselves as they made their way back to Vicious, Julia slipped into the space beside him as Spike settled in across from the white-haired man. Draping herself half onto his lap, Julia snuck the bourbon from his grip and tipped it back to drain the remaining contents while Spike, still breathing heavy, pulled his pack of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket.
Grabbing the smokes from the green-haired enforcer, quick as a snake, Vicious drew out his own lighter to bring one of the cigarettes to life before passing it off to his winded comrade. Spike gave him a wink and half a grin as he accepted the lit smoke graciously.
"Those things will kill you one day," Vicious said then, letting a hand creep up Julia's thigh to splay possessively upon her upper leg.
Exhaling a noxious cloud, Spike shrugged. "You feel this to be true and yet you help me on my way to the grave,"
"Vice is nice, and sin is in." Julia interjected then, flashing a toothy smile at both men. "Let's blow this joint, the scene is dead."
Vicious raised an eyebrow inquiringly. "And you've some better idea of how we ought to spend our time?"
"Our incredibly valuable time," Spike threw in. "We're highly important men, you know."
She scoffed. "You boys? Surely you jest." Drumming her fingertips on the tabletop, she frowned prettily as she thought. "Oh! I've got it! Let's go crash the soirée at the governor's mansion. We'll find out real quick who Mao's favorite is when he's gotta come bail us out."
"Of the three of us, only Vicious comes close to meeting that dress code," Spike demurred, waving a hand negligently at the man himself, clad in a pale three piece suit with a lilac colored silk scarf upon his shoulders.
Julia grinned fiercely. "Aww you don't think you can make it past the gate, hey? Shame, shame… what kind of syndicate man can't access places he should not be?" She touched her own chest fleetingly, adding innuendo to her taunt.
Spike rolled his eyes over to Vicious who shrugged elegantly.
"Nothing quite like pissing off the Elders," Spike muttered then, giving in to the inevitable.
Snatching the still burning cigarette out of Spike's mouth, Julia slid from the booth and hooked her jacket on her free hand. Stepping a few feet away towards the exit, she turned back to give them a hard stare as she puffed on the cigarette and set a hand jauntily on her hip. "Well?"
Sharing a look which communicated their situation as 'damned if you do, damned if you don't,' the pair moved as one to follow.
Blade
Not to break and not bend.
Not bend and sharply cut.
Vicious had given much to acquire the Juuchi Yosamu. A sword of fable, of legend. Created by the master swordsmith Muramasa long ago on the ruined planet known as Earth and capable of cutting the very air which blew on it. It would cleave whatever it struck with merciless precision. A blade which desired blood.
It had called to him. Sung out for a soul strong enough to wield it.
He had answered that call and felt a part of himself revitalized once he held it in his hands.
And after he had obtained it, he went back along the path that had led him to the katana of legend and had slayed each and every voice that had whispered of where to step next in his search. All the lives that had retained even a scrap of knowledge about the fabled sword fell victim to its swift and sure razor sharp edge.
He had even ensured the loyalty of the blade by drawing it over his own chest and heart.
Feeding it with his own lifeblood. Letting it taste his power. Binding them irrevocably together.
It would lead him to the highest ranks of the Syndicate. It would keep his pursuit of conquest honorable. It would guide his hand to take all necessary lives that stood in his way. It would purge the Red Dragons of pusillanimity, of souls who would hesitate or waver or doubt. Cowardice would not be tolerated. But there was a deeper vulnerability to rout. Compassion was the true killer and he would root it out from the syndicate before leading the Dragons to lay waste to all those who threatened or conspired or foolishly thought compromise would benefit their cause somehow. The Red Dragons would rule not just Tharsis but all of Mars.
The Juuchi Yosamu would bathe in blood. And then…
Someday, it would have its chance to be used against the only other beast that had ever impressed Vicious. The only other creature that Vicious had ever deigned to consider a rival, a fellow protege of ever-weakening Mao Yenrai, a brother-in-arms and ambition.
Despite years of being considered dead - though how anyone could be deceived into believing that was frankly beyond him - the name Spike Spiegel still commanded loyalty in the ranks. Rumors rose and fell behind closed doors and in hazy pool halls… the idea that he might return, might come cannonballing back to take up the mantle he’d spurned…
The idea was absurd. The man who had once stood firm at Vicious’s back and had served relentlessly and without remorse… that man had died. Vicious had seen it happening before his very eyes. Whoever operated the corpse of Spike Spiegel now was a man of insufficient cruelty. A man with vulnerabilities.
His blade would cut those portions of rot right out of Spike’s body. He would gut him and let the infection of emotion bleed out along with every last gasp of life within the husk that he was.
collar / touch aversion / Leave me alone (you’re the lump in my throat and the knot in my chest)
The first few weeks on Titan had been hell. Coming down off a supremely magnificent Red Eye high that he'd managed to stretch out for days - something unheard of and very much frowned upon even by the addicts who jonesed for the drug the most - had been rough. He'd been quite literally out of his mind. Unfit for any sort of company. There were scratches up and down his arms and legs, he'd nearly bitten through his tongue, and he'd lost a significant amount of weight.
Apparently he'd been so wildly out of control - deranged, in fact - that they'd resorted to chaining him up like an animal.
The thought brought him dark amusement. He'd always told Spike that they were beasts. Killer hounds on Syndicate leashes. A hound was hardly a frightening animal though. He preferred to liken himself to a viper. Forget Adam and never mind Eve, the snake was the true hero of the tale of Eden. The controlling power, with cunning and stealth, with wicked fangs to sink into the unsuspecting flesh of prey. The Syndicate named themselves Dragons as if a fictitious beast were more frightening than creatures actually in existence. Fools. Fools for more serious reasons than something that trivial though.
They didn't approve of his fixation on strength and shows of might. They didn't approve of his desire to use terror as an intimidation tactic. They certainly didn't approve of his use of Red Eye. Unlike most who took the drug, he had always been able to will himself into a state of cool-headed self-discipline. He'd had the uncanny ability to subdue the fervor that it awoke in nearly everyone else. It had made him more lethal by far than he'd ever been before, and that was saying something considering the body count he and Spike had racked up over the years.
Chained and collared, he was sent to Titan to languish. Sent to Titan to be tormented by the mad scientists who were truly governing the goings-on of the sad, dusty little moon. He knew the dark reality of this place. The Elders had sent him to get clean, to curtail his shaping of the newer members of the Syndicate, and to take advantage of the despair of the men and women trapped on this rock. The military had and would always be a fine source of customers when it came to drugs that numbed, drugs that distracted, drugs that gave people increased speed and endurance. It was a place he could have thrived, but that was not the intent.
He had torn himself to shreds originally. On the ship that brought him to Titan, he had frothed at the mouth and drawn blood everywhere he could reach. By the time they reached Titan he had been strapped down by more restraints than were necessary. On the moon itself he was freed except for the collar. They kept him in a tiny cell where he could not stretch out and they plagued him with constant pain. Whips, brass knuckles, the collar itself revealed to be able to shock quite powerfully, and of course their fists and boots. None had any of the fighting skill of Spike, of course, which meant he could have bested any or all of his jailors if they'd given him half a chance. But their job was to break him. Physically, mentally if possibly, spiritually if he gave a shit about that type of thing.
He refused to bow to their cruelty. His own ran deeper, pulsed stronger. They were ants in comparison. And eventually the predetermined stretch of time the Van had allotted for his punishment came to an end. He was released out into the general populace for the more important mission of converting soldiers to addicts. Behind the scenes, of course, and with the mission of finding a fall guy to ensure the Syndicate was kept as far removed from responsibility as possible. It was child's play, of course, and then he was called back.
It wasn't until he returned to Mars, returned to Tharsis and to Julia, that he realized something had gone wrong.
They'd always enjoyed quite a few games in the bedroom. Julia loved to dominate. She'd often employ handcuffs, blindfolds, collars and ball gags and other ways to keep him from bringing them both to climax too soon. She got off on being in charge and he had always been exhilarated by the sheer heights of desire he could drive her to while being unable to move as freely as he'd like.
But he flinched when she brought her hands to his bare skin. Not a large reaction but not something either of them could deny having seen. To her credit, she didn't acknowledge the involuntary action beyond the blink of surprise she'd been unable to hide.
And then he discovered a deadness inside himself. Oh, he'd never been emotionally stimulated to much degree... had never been able to sympathize with the people who he was sent to hurt or kill. There had always been a piece of humanity missing from his soul and it had never bothered him in the least. If anything, it made it far easier to be who he was and do what he did. He'd seen the flashes of weakness in Spike from time to time and had counted himself lucky to not have to contend with those turbulent emotions. He experienced delight and disgust and plenty of other things, he had no need to experience the hassle of a conscience.
But there was a new emptiness within him now. He had thought himself immune to the brutality he had gone through on Titan but apparently not.
There was no more appetite within him for anything sexual. No pride in making Julia scream. No urge to find completion for himself.
Beyond that, he was now uncomfortable with physical contact of any sort. Her soft hands on his skin prickled like sandpaper and he was surprised that her palms didn't leave trails of blood to show where they'd lain on his body. Touch aversion, due to the near-constant contact he'd been made to endure by those plebeians?
How pathetic.
It ignited a fury within him. How ironic that they had been so worried about the madness a man could be driven to under the influence of Red Eye when the true danger had turned out to be their attempt to subjugate him. He found himself increasingly unsettled by his own inability to suppress his rage, and by his body's refusal to feel lust.
He knew it baffled Julia. Their animalistic union had once been a nightly occurrence whenever he wasn't on a mission. And now? He couldn't even stand to see her.
He had sat up in bed while she slept, discontent, and found he was unable to feel even the faintest stirring of longing for her. It was a slice of himself that he was not prepared to let go of yet. The thirst for this woman had been a source of such carnal pleasure for years... and now, to have to give up physical coupling just because there was no urge whatsoever? It was not by his choice and that made him bitterly upset.
Days passed in a haze of mounting frustration. Spike had been gone on another assignment and the Van had refused to put Vicious himself back to work yet.
She came to him in the darkness of the night, likely assuming that their first few attempts at joining together again had gone awry solely because he'd been gone for a while. She came to him gently at first, then tried to be commanding. He burned with the need to meet her demands, with the desire to be in charge of his own body's cravings. He was trembling, seething, at the block that existed between his previous hunger and his current... absolute lack. It went beyond a void because he could still not stand to have her touch him.
"Leave me alone!" He erupted at her when she approached him, nude and brandishing a crop.
Her eyes had flashed at him. She licked her lips once, not in a sensual manner but to give herself a moment of recovery.
"Why?" She implored.
(you’re the lump in my throat and the knot in my chest)
But he did not say these thoughts aloud. He chose to chastise her instead.
He sneered at her. "I do not need to offer you any explanation. I do not need you at all. Our time together is over. Find someone else to be your plaything as you seduce and bribe and cajole your way to the top. I will not suffer your presence in my company any longer."
Once they'd had similar goals. To carve a path to the Van itself and wrest authority of the Syndicate for themselves. They had designs in mind, subterfuge and blackmail and backstabbing. It wouldn't do to blaze a trail there while leaving ruin in your wake - the route Spike would no doubt take if he'd any mind for the future and for assuming control. Spike, for all his capabilities and cleverness, was not inspired to take responsibility of his own life let alone a powerful crime syndicate like the Red Dragons. Spike had always preferred being directed where to attack. He was a hurricane force that would do well as Vicious's second in command, rampaging wherever Vicious chose to send him. Julia, with all her beauty and cunning, would be invaluable as a way to infiltrate other syndicates. Her ability to steal into a room and draw attention was impressive, but moreso was her knack at operating behind the scenes and pulling people in this direction or that as if they were puppets to which she held the strings.
The dream didn't have to die. He could still usurp the Syndicate with Spike as his trusty and deadly right hand. Perhaps there could even be room for Julia at the top in that far away future. He had no intention of rushing this process, after all. Time would help deteriorate the grip of the Van on the other members, and time would give him the chance to assume their loyalty instead.
First, he had to cut himself off from the open wound that was his former relationship with Julia. He could not afford to indulge in the outrage that rose up every time he considered what had been taken from him. He had to accept the changes wrought and move forward coldly and callously. Every act the Van took was leading them further from the ruling force they had once been, and bringing Vicious closer to unleash a new wave of savagery upon this forsaken city.
He would rule it all one day, or else see it razed to the very dust.
blindfold / tortured for information / hit them harder (I tend to deflect when I’m feeling threatened)
alternate take on Ballad of Fallen Angels
TW: torture, abuse
At first she was grateful for the blindfold. It kept her from having to see the harrowing visage of the pale haired man who had sat beside her in the opera and named himself Vicious.
It did not keep her mind from resurrecting the image burnt into her mind of the sallow faced man on her other side with the garish crimson splatter all across his slit neck and up to his cheeks. The force of the cut that would have unleashed such a spray back upon the victim made her shiver.
Her mind was racing. It was not the first time she'd been bound and gagged, although they hadn't bothered to gag her. Her own horror kept her tongue still as she did her best to pay attention to the sounds she could hear and the things she could feel. They led her into a zip craft and let her trip over the entrance. No one moved to help her rise and, with her hands tied behind her back with a rough bit of rope, she could only roll from the way she'd landed - on her knees and chin, scraping both on the carpet of the craft - to a position on her side.
No one spoke as the vehicle brought them on a short flight and then came down to land. It was impossible to gauge what direction they'd gone but at least she knew she was still on Mars and likely still in Tharsis.
Someone kicked her to roll her towards the door and abruptly she was dropping the foot or so to the ground. Cold concrete met her exposed skin and she shivered anew. The ground was damp and the air smelled... like dirt and mold and old wood left to rot. They had to be somewhere abandoned. A warehouse perhaps? The caw of birds made her think perhaps it was a cabin far from the city proper.
She was grabbed by the shoulders and hoisted to her feet and then the butt of a gun hit the small of her back, making her cringe but also making her advance under her own power. Taking tentative, shuffling steps she moved in the direction that the guards at either side were leading her. She had no idea how many people were in this silent procession, no idea how many opponents she would have to face off against to break herself free.
This was not the first time she'd been bound and hustled off somewhere secretive, but it was by far the most frightening time so far. In every other instance, she'd had something in her favor. There was nothing she could count on now. She'd foolishly left the bracelet that could summon her RedTail because it hadn't gone with the gloves she'd donned for the outfit she wore to the opera house. How ridiculous she felt now! Everything about what happened to her screamed of a trap, but she'd gone in blindly because she hadn't detected any risk to going after a syndicate bounty. Idiotic, in retrospect. Syndicates handled their own business privately. The woolongs he was worth had been enticing enough that she'd conveniently ignored that simple fact.
And now she was being led into somewhere cavernous. So not a cabin. But also not a natural cave, no, merely a place so large and empty that she could hear the echoes of her own footfalls along with the steady steps of at least five other men. Too many to take out without the use of her hands or at least without visual knowledge of where they were stationed in relation to herself.
The open handed slap was so unexpected that she went sprawling in the direction the momentum of the movement sent her. Careening into something long and hard and wood. Her right shoulder protested the sudden impact as it took the brunt of her fall onto the... bench? The wood groaned as someone heaved it, either by a strong kick or with their arms, and sent her rolling over the back rest as the piece of furniture was tipped onto its side. And then she was being picked up by the shoulders again.
She kicked out angrily, hoping that her sharp-toed shoes would meet suit-clad legs. If not the toe, then the heel would suffice. But her foot only swung in the air and not nearly as wide of an attack as she'd like to have unleashed given the constriction of the dress she wore. Another foolish move. But she had been trying to broadcast a very specific appearance! It was the whole reason she'd gone to the rental shop and thrift store. The jewelry she'd simply swiped when the attendant at the thrift shop had been busy with another customer, but the dress she'd actually put a deposit down to rent because she assumed she'd be able to return it within a few hours and get her money back.
Obviously that was not gonna happen.
She was manhandled over to a pillar or pole of some sort, stone or marble perhaps but chipped. This gave her a flash of hope. The rope, which had been bound so tightly around her wrists that she hadn't had feeling in her fingers for a bit now, could be frayed if she was able to access a sharp enough section of the crumbling structure that she was being pressed against. But the hope died as one of the men cut the bond keeping her hands joined and wrenched her arms apart so they could be affixed to something higher up on the pillar. Her arms were tied up over her head now, just high enough where she had to stand on her tip toes to keep pressure off her chafed wrists. She was arrayed in a martyr position and felt her heartbeat quicken at the symbolism implied.
"Where is Spike Spiegel?" One of the men asked.
Faye decided to play dumb. "Who?"
Pain exploded in her cheek as the man - or perhaps a different man - hit her on the opposite side of where she'd been slapped not long ago.
"Don't be coy, Miss Valentine. Give us the answers we seek and this can all be over."
She smiled grimly. "I certainly wish I could help you gentlemen," She said placatingly. "Unfortunately, I just don't know-"
Her words cut off as a punch landed just above her stomach, knocking her breath from her body. Another blow landed before she could even try to say anything else.
"Hit her harder," A cold voice intoned.
The barrage continued until she lost count of how many times she'd been hit. She would be bruised for days after this, assuming she survived. As it stood, she was beginning to doubt the odds. That ace of spades card she'd picked up before leaving the ship suddenly took on a very personal ominous tone.
"Well, Miss Valentine? Have you anything to offer us now?"
She gave a racking laugh and spat some blood onto the floor or hopefully onto one of their shoes or pants. The bastard that had punched her face had managed to split her lip and the coppery tang of blood in her mouth was a stark reminder that she was on her own in life. Why was she being deceitful anyway? To protect Spike? Clearly the trap had been meant for him. No wonder he'd been acting so odd on the ship.
"Sorry, boys" She wheezed. "I'd love to be more helpful... the truth is I just don't know. He left before I did. Probably sensed you assholes lurking in the periphery, you know? He's pretty astute and you lot seem... more brutish than clever, that's for sure." What was she doing? Well, being honest for one thing which was never smart when you could lie or mislead. But to antagonize them further? She did tend to deflect when feeling threatened but this was not the way to deflect. If anything it was an invitation to further harassment.
Suddenly there was a man in front of her, she could sense his presence from the slight breeze of wind from his movement and from the cologne that was suddenly choking her as much as the punches had left her breathless. Hands gripped her dress between her knees and ripped the fabric in one powerful move. And then she became aware of two other men, one on each side of her, as they grappled with her wildly kicking legs. Once freed from the fabric, and terrified at the implication of the destruction of her garb, she had begun kicking with everything in her. She managed to connect half a dozen times at least before the men were able to pin her legs to the pillar and begin wrapping rope around her ankles to hold her legs splayed open.
Her breath came in desperate pants as she strove to maintain a semblance of calm when everything inside of her was screaming in panic.
An icy hand trailed up from her right knee, skittering close to the lacy underwear she'd donned to complete the fashionista image - despite never intending anyone to be aware of the parts hidden from the eye - and roamed up over her ribs. The places where punches had landed were aching and this callous hand was pressing the pain harder into her body with every portion of her that he touched.
"This will do." It was the cold voice again. Vicious himself. She could practically hear the self-satisfied grin in his next words. "We're well aware of the location of Mr. Spiegel," he told her. "Thanks to you, and your demanding nature, we were able to glean all we needed from your zip craft. I did not feel like meeting an old friend there, on some rusty fish-rank vessel moored in the harbor. No, no. The stage is set nicely for a reunion here, under the watchful eyes of the angels and God that do not and have never existed. Why go to Spike when I could invite him to meet me at the place of my choosing? Yes, far better this way. And you, my dear,"
Her skin crawled as he brought his hand to trail from her temple down to her chin.
He chuckled darkly. "You, my dear, will be the impetus that brings him here." A pause. "Remove her blindfold. I want him to see the fear in her eyes."
floral bouquet / psychological / I'm not as stupid as you think I am (I’ll take one final step, all you have to do is make me)
Things have been different lately.
Did he start this or did she or was it beyond either of them entirely?
He chose to collapse at her feet. That much of it is on him at least.
But she chose to nurse him back to health. To offer him that heartbreaking smile. To let him see the soft side that he'd only caught in glimpses before when they and Vicious had been able to hit the town between assignments. Even then she hadn't revealed her vulnerable side, just the side of herself that was wild and carefree and impulsive. She was a woman of so many faces, of so many roles. The femme fatale, serious and sultry and sensuous. The enchanting vixen barely out of her teens, playful and giddy and sporting an inappropriate love of pranks and trickery. The homely nurse, radiating comfort and whose touch alone seemed to heal. The daredevil speed demon whose skill on the streets was unparalleled. The fastidious syndicate sniper, the wicked pool shark, the aloof and alluring angel with a smile like sin...
For so long he'd been content to admire from afar. To hustle arrogant assholes at her side. To take to the streets like any unencumbered young folk, making her laugh and coaxing half a smirk from Vicious even. They'd been unbeatable as a triad. Julia and Vicious, the power couple. Spike and Vicious, the ruthless team of upstarts rising through the ranks of the syndicate with brutal ease. They were young, they were bold, they were determined to own the world one day.
Then Vicious started getting into Red Eye and Julia kept disappearing on mysterious missions and Spike himself was shunted off to Earth and the TJ and then the Asteroid Field. His own claim to fame, aside from being a sharpshooter and a thug, was his unmatched ability to pilot zip craft. He was utilized as a runner for Red Eye again and again and again. His artificial eye gave him an incredible edge and the syndicate always liked to use every advantage they had. When he was in Tharsis, he and Vicious were teamed up like always but he felt like the Van was no longer doing it due to their strength as a unit but rather so Spike could keep an eye on Vicious. Yet the other man handled the drug like it was water. Spike himself was no stranger to the enhancement effects of Red Eye and could understand well the siren song of the drug... if it hadn't cost him an eye, there was no telling how deep he could have fallen, but Vicious never seemed out of sorts while on it.
So it came as a surprise when the Van made the decision to send him to Titan. Spike was unhappy about this. Vicious, while a terror to his enemies, had always been a savior to Spike. The other man had rescued him from the Red Eye binge that had left him half-blind in the midst of White Tiger territory and embroiled in a battle far beyond his ability to win or even escape alive. He would have been dead for sure if Vicious hadn't discovered Spike's overdose and tracked him down. He had left a swath of ruin in his wake, so it's not like it was difficult for Vicious to follow along after, but the fact that he had was the important bit. The syndicate would have no doubt been indifferent to his fate - even as one of Mao's favorites, he was just an enforcer back then. The Van had never been bothered by the loss of brute strength here and there. If anything, their concern would have been more on the damage he caused before self-destruction... could it be used in their favor? Would it reflect negatively on their negotiations with anyone else?
Vicious had taken it into his own hands to rescue him. Had cut down all the opponents Spike had left standing. Had scooped him up, screaming and writhing, blood pouring down his face and from countless wounds. And somehow he'd even managed to argue that Spike deserved medical care. Had managed to either bribe or intimidate or persuade the Van to put Spike under their doctor's care and get some experimental surgery to save his vision. Or, to replace what was lost rather.
For that, Spike would have followed him anywhere. He had a life still thanks to Vicious. And then for the Van to send the other man away just because they were worried about his use of Red Eye when he'd never been crazed on the stuff? It didn't sit well with Spike. He ended up plunging off the deep end again without Vicious to keep him in check. He pushed his limits and rampaged and when he was faltering, failing, falling down down down... he chose to go to Julia.
He needed a voice of reason. Someone to guide him. Someone to recognize that his soul was salvageable. He needed a caretaker. He was a beast without a master.
And Vicious was gone and she was alone and Spike was out of his mind to do what he did next.
Or did she initiate it?
It was hard to say, hard to remember. He'd been coming off another Red Eye binge but determined to stay off the damn drug this time. It had taken part of his sight and had nearly taken his life twice now... he was a fool to go back to it but he'd been adrift and underutilized by the syndicate and needed to keep his edge somehow.
And when she was removing his bandages somehow she came to be in his lap and then they were kissing and it was amazing. It was like the universe was unfolding before his very eyes. Stars exploding, breathless passion, the need to feel awake and alive and desired. It was a mistake, of course, but it was the best mistake he'd ever made. She made him feel invincible again. Made him feel like there was something to see in the next day if he could just get there.
It was a passionate affair that only tapered off when Vicious returned. He'd always known he would give her up for his oldest friend. Always knew he'd respect that the other man came first. Julia had been his, or he had been hers... either way, Spike had never expected a chance with the voluptuous blonde. And even while she'd gone back to Vicious... she toyed with Spike as well. It felt almost like psychological torture, the way she would glance over her shoulder with those come-hither eyes while she followed Vicious out of a room. The way she'd press against him at the pool hall under the guise of slipping past to make her shot. The way she'd leave rose petals on his pillow whenever he was gone from his apartment on assignment.
Roses were their thing. Vicious had never bothered with flowers - didn't understand why anyone would want a dying plant, no matter how pleasant the blooms smelled. And so Julia had always gotten herself bouquets. It gave her apartment a certain charm that was irresistible. And, because she had so frequently treated herself to those lovely arrangements, it was not at all suspicious whenever Spike was able to sneak in and leave a rose bouquet for her. He knew their scent was her favorite - she had lotions and perfumes of rose, after all. And the sentiment behind the flower was one Spike could get behind. A way to let her know the truth of his heart though he'd never said the words themselves.
It wasn't long after Vicious got back that things seemed to fall apart. Julia became closed off and withdrawn. Vicious himself was colder than before and took great pleasure in the cruelty he could inflict on their missions, something that was making Spike uncomfortable these days. He'd had a chance to embrace something meaningful and could suddenly see the beauty of affection in other aspects of the world. Could identify and empathize with the other unfortunate souls struggling to survive here in Tharsis. The city was harsh, crime was everywhere, and blood stained the streets where the syndicates clashed. Innocent lives got caught up in the crossfire too often for Spike to be able to shrug it off.
Spike continued to bring Julia roses, slowly drawing her back out of the shell she'd become. There was a sadness to her eyes that he couldn't seem to touch no matter how ardently he made love to her. His jokes no longer made her giggle. It was like a shadow had fallen over them and it filled him with a sense of forboding.
Vicious was waiting on the fire escape when they came back from the pool hall one night. He and Julia had supposedly broken up but there was something dangerous in his gaze as he watched them approach. He and Spike had bid her goodnight and walked off together, side by side and yet somehow worlds apart. There was a chasm between them and Spike wasn't sure how to bridge that gulf. The silence as they strode down the street made him wary but also drove him to speak.
"There's nothing between us," He said, trying to make the words true even as his heart twisted at his blatant lie.
Vicious snorted. "I'm not as stupid as you think I am." There was a long pause before he spoke again. "Be careful when you're with that woman." He cautioned at last, making Spike frown. And then he turned abruptly and moved off down a side street, leaving Spike standing bewildered under the flickering streetlight at a crossroads in the town and in his own life.
It had been weeks since the cathedral. Long, itchy, tedious weeks of healing and slowly returning to his Jeet Kune Do sessions. For a man of action, this period of convalescence was nearly intolerable. Of course, Jet had snarkily pointed out how the alternative was either to not do stupid shit or to wind up dead instead. He'd also blathered on quite a bit about learning lessons but Spike had tuned him out.
There were times when a thing simply had to be done. Whether it was a good idea or a dangerous risk was immaterial. There was no lesson to be gleaned from his recent brush with death... there was only a hard warning to take to heart.
Vicious knew for certain that Spike was alive still. And, for whatever reason, was choosing not to chase him down. Oh, there was a slim chance that Vicious had been killed in the grenade blast but Spike strongly doubted that. Life wasn't that convenient. No, Spike was not about to trust that the other man was dead and gone.
Why he hadn't bothered to attack the Bebop while Spike was healing... well, that was fairly obvious too once he'd thought about it. There were clearly more pressing issues for Vicious to attend to. He'd gotten the answer he had sought - confirmation of Spike's continued existence - and now he was content to go back to his quest to rise in rank of the syndicate. Vicious had always been drawn to power, to control.
In a way, he now had power over Spike himself.
At any time he could decide to track him down and take him out. It was purely at Vicious's whim that Spike was still breathing now.
It was irritating at best but Spike wasn't prepared to wage an assault on the other man just to ensure the specter of death was no longer hanging over his head. Somewhat reassuringly, there was no point in worrying about a missile being launched at the Bebop, no concern in a surprise attack that would lay waste to the ship and its crew.
Vicious craved the intimacy of face-to-face contact with his victims. He had always enjoyed a more personal touch on missions whereas Spike had liked to go in like a wrecking ball, grenades tossed left and right and center, bullets spraying any and all targets. He didn't much care to see the light leaving someone's eyes but Vicious had always found it exhilarating.
So, while life had become decidedly uneasy, knowing that somewhere out there Vicious was merely biding his time and waiting for just the right moment to enact a showdown... it's not exactly as if it changed much about things for Spike. Though he had been considered dead by the syndicate, there had always been the risk of discovery and execution.
The fact that no one else from the Red Dragons had come knocking on the door with guns cocked meant that Vicious had kept the newfound knowledge of Spike's survival to himself. A gift, of sorts. It was more for Vicious's own pleasure, Spike was sure, but it was still something to be grateful for.
And in a way, Spike was also oddly excited about the prospect of facing off against his former partner and friend. They'd always been rather evenly matched despite the disparity in their preferred fighting styles and choice of weapons. The only reason Spike had been able to escape the syndicate in a hail of bullets before was because Vicious had not been with him. Spike had undertaken an unnecessary assault against the White Tigers, a suicidal solo mission, and had ensured that the bloodbath was so complete that no one would think he survived.
If Vicious had accompanied him... or, if Vicious had turned against him...
But it had been Spike on his own, slipping loose of the syndicate noose, and neatly avoiding a confrontation with the one man he had considered an equal.
If life went accordingly... they would meet again. And they would have another chance to finally settle the score between them. Resolution. That would be something to be grateful for as well, regardless of how it all ended.
The reek of burnt flesh and smoldering corpses was heavy in the air despite the rain pouring down from unfeeling skies. There were easily a dozen bodies strewn amongst the rubble from what was undoubtedly caused by grenades, and half a dozen lay dead from bullet wounds beyond the destruction wrought by explosives.
Well, never let it be said that Spike Spiegel wasn't dramatic.
Vicious refrained from sighing as one of the syndicate brats that had tagged along on his mission became noisily sick at either the rank odor or the sight of dismembered White Tiger soldiers.
He had been ordered to investigate the disturbance at St. Jude's Cathedral and had gone to do so despite being well aware that he would not be able to recover Spike's body. The other man had done a bang-up job of ensuring that the battlefield bore no traces of anyone's survival, though Vicious could not believe that Spike had perished in the skirmish.
Odds had been against him, of course, but it's not like Spike had been required to attend to the infestation of White Tiger lackeys at this mournful edge of Red Dragon territory. Most would assume that he had gone out seeking notoriety because that is what they themselves were after. The Van would believe whatever Vicious told them about the matter since they didn't much know or care about Spike's character - he was merely one of countless pawns in their endless games of power over Tharsis.
Julia... well. Her reaction would be curious to behold. He had given her an assignment to end Spike's life - certainly not at the behest of the clueless Van - and it would be very telling to observe her response to his apparent death. Did she still plan to escape on her own now that he was gone? Had she ever truly wanted to leave? Would she be just as disbelieving of his fate? Had it all been part of the deception designed to hide them from the syndicate's watchful eyes and vengeful retaliation?
Deserters were not tolerated, after all. Spike and Vicious had eliminated a fair number of that type of doomed bastard over the years. They knew better than most what torture and demise awaited anyone who foolishly thought that they could elude capture.
The cormorant's talons dug into Vicious's shoulder for a heartbeat before the bird launched itself into the dreary sky with a horrible caw. Out of the corner of his eye, Vicious saw a different Red Dragon upstart flinch at the abrupt motion. It took everything in him to not draw his blade to end the lives of these inept oafs who had followed him to the ruins here. Their presence had not been necessary, the danger that had dwelt within these shattered stone walls and burial mounds had obviously been eliminated hours prior, yet they had been instructed to tag along anyway.
Perhaps the Van had less faith in the accuracy of Vicious's reconnaissance than he originally believed. It would not do to underestimate them, regardless of how weak-natured they were becoming as the years rolled on. That he had once revered those cantankerous fools... well, the past was the past and he was a wiser man now.
"Search the debris. Let me know when you find the eye." Vicious ordered. It was a futile mission - like seeking a needle in a haystack - and all the more impossible given that Spike's remains were most assuredly not present. But it gave him a perverse pleasure to send these spineless brats out into the massacre, a place they clearly found disturbing and would likely haunt their waking hours as much as their dreams. Good. Perhaps it would toughen them up a tad.
As for himself... it was time to track down Julia. Time to see what she knew, what she suspected, what she intended to do now...
Glancing boredly over the devastation one more time, eyes not taking in the brutality but rather sharply investigating the outskirts of the cemetery in case Spike was lurking nearby to oversee what sort of effect his supposed last stand had on his compatriots, Vicious was soon satisfied that there were no witnesses about.
A pity, that. He had been looking forward to letting his blade taste blood.
St Jude - the patron Saint of the hopeless and the despaired; also of desperate cases and lost causes; also of the impossible, of intentions that seem hopeless
@febuwhump prompt: obedience
***
Shame coursed through his veins, but damaged pride made him cry out in self defense.
"We are upholding the law of the Dragon! We are no betrayers, sensei. We are loyal men!"
"Your loyalty is not in question, Spike. It is your obedience we demand. These territorial disputes with the White Tigers and the Blue Snakes and the Golden Eagles! These - these... Pissing contests you and Vicious persist in participating in!" Mao's anger was sharp but even more cutting was the disappointment shining in his eyes.
Vicious, standing rigidly at Spike's side, kept his eyes fastened to a spot just over Mao's head. For his part, Spike could not look away from his mentor's stern face.
Embarrassment made his skin hot. To be held in such disregard... To be admonished as if they were children... Worse still, to have let down the man who had taken them in and given them a place in the Syndicate...
Mao sighed heavily. "You boys are far too brash, too bold, too disruptive. There was a reason you were removed from the Dragon's Teeth. You cannot be trusted to moderate your behavior or to adhere to the orders you are given."
"Sir, you don't understand - they started it this time! We caught them crossing into our turf by the harbor. They were setting up shop in one of the warehouses down there! We had to push back before they got the idea that this kind of thing is acceptable!" Spike protested.
Mao stared at him. "Why were either of you down there in the first place? You had no assignment in that area. There are no bars to cool your heels down on that wharf. Your... impetuous behavior was uncalled for and has set back the treaty talks that had begun between us and the Eagles. Worse, your attack on their men resulted in the death of one of their Capo's sons. They are demanding blood for blood."
Spike pursed his lips and shifted his glare to the floor. Vicious continued to stand silent beside him. Of course, Vicious never had much to say in their defense. He felt their actions spoke loudly enough and insisted that their words would only fall on deaf ears. Spike was beginning to realize the truth of that assumption.
"You cannot...seize opportunity... the way that you have. Neither of you are at a level to be trusted with making decisions for the Van. The Elders demand obedience even if you choose to not offer them respect. I will say yet again that I am ashamed at your wild behavior. It reflects poorly on more than just the two of you. It lowers me in their eyes as well. This type of thing cannot continue. Dragons do not truly exist so let us compare you to canines instead. You are curs, not men. You are to be on a leash of our control and to obey our commands. You bite who we say to bite, no others. If a dog cannot be trusted to obey, the dog is to be put down. Do not delude yourselves into thinking that the Van requires your skill set so much that this will save you from a death sentence."
Spike could hear Vicious grinding his teeth. He felt like doing the same.
There were so many arbitrary rules to follow in the Syndicate... So many hoops to jump through to keep the Elders happy... So many commands that made Spike's skin crawl. He craved the violence of taking down their enemies, fighting hand-to-hand or storming in with guns blazing. To be engulfed in the heat of battle with no time for second guessing your moves and to have only yourself, your weapons, and your bloodthirsty teammates standing between you and a painful death. He reveled in the thrill of beating someone in a fair fight and he took pride in the destruction he could cause with explosives.
He and Vicious were men of action. They were fierce and formidable and fought like devils. They deserved to be the Dragon's Claws, striking out and rending flesh! They were not made to act as the Dragon's Teeth, standing around like invisible shadows behind the puppet masters, quietly waiting for a chance to showcase their talents at keeping their lords alive. That had been belittling, to serve in such a boring capacity.
But now... To be told they weren't allowed to defend their own territory? To be made to sit idly by as rival syndicates encroached upon the streets that they controlled? It was galling. It was ludicrous. It was a mark of feebleminded frightened men.
They were Red Dragons. They had to prove their power, draw first blood, and demand respect.
Acting as delivery boys - as had been their missions lately - was embarrassing and annoying. It was pathetic work, something fit for children, not for some of the toughest men the Elders had at their beck and call.
"Sir," Spike tried again, speaking through gritted teeth. "Respectfully, we would like to be reassigned. We are being wasted as errand boys. It is degrading."
Mao's hard eyed stare made him gulp. Vicious shifted uncomfortably next to him when Mao glanced in his direction.
"You think you are important enough to make demands? You think you are worthy enough to have more responsibility? You arrogant children..."
Spike seethed at the censure from their mentor. It had hurt when he felt like they had let Mao down, especially since they had anticipated being rewarded for quelling that invasive maneuver the Eagles had tried to pull. He hadn't exactly expected rewards but this was absurd.
Outrage roiled in his belly, rising up his esophagus like heartburn. He was hard-pressed not to make matters worse for himself by adding anything else to the one-sided conversation.
Mao, clearly still vexed, gave a sigh and shrugged. "Well, fortunately for the pair of you, the Van has indeed decided that you are to be pulled from your current jobs. They were not impressed by your success rate anymore than they were pleased by your assault against the Eagles. In fact, it was decided that the pair of you shall be our offering to appease their bloodlust."
Vicious opened his mouth but said nothing. Spike physically recoiled.
"Don't look so offended, boys. It's hardly what you're thinking. In fact, it's exactly what you desire. We are sending you over there as a sort of Trojan horse if you will. They think you are a sacrifice. They do not realize that allowing you into their headquarters will mean offering their own necks to be cut. We intend for you to turn the Eagles' Nest into a slaughterhouse."
At that, Spike and Vicious glanced at one another. Smiles began to creep across their faces, hardly daring to believe their luck.
"You are to head to their neighborhood this very afternoon. Act contrite, express our condolences. They will likely bring you to the Capos themselves so you can go through with this sham of a trial they are insistent upon. This will place you near enough to the heart that you can stab it with ease. Be thorough." Mao advised. "Now, I have business to attend to. See yourselves out, if you please."
Names
The two boys, as disparate in appearance as possible, stood facing one another with their thin chests heaving and a nasty mixture of snot and blood dripping down their faces. Neither was willing to show their pain or their exhaustion in front of the rest of the kids and the exacting trainer who had separated the brawlers just a bit ago.
The boy on the trainer's right hand side had a mop of messy dark hair that was impossibly snarled and tangled. Bits of detritus from the outside world stood out brightly... the majority of an autumn leaf, a smear of mustard, and a few other solids or liquids or goops that no one cared to identify. His brown eyes were nearly squinted shut - well, one was almost swollen shut already - but still full of anger directed at the other boy. There was dirt and dust and splatters of blood on the ragged too-big shirt that the youth had clearly appropriated from someone else's closet. The pants were threadbare and equally stained and barely reached to cover his scrawny shins. The shoes, a size too small, had holes where the big toe and pinky toes could peek out of, but he still stood confidently toe-to-toe with his opponent.
The other boy, on the trainer's left, was a study in contradiction. Sleek silver hair now fell in tangles against his narrow cheekbones and one clump covered a pale eye that was bruising up darkly. It was hard to discern what color the boy's eyes were... bluish one moment, grey the next... but very much shooting arrows of animosity towards the boy who had left him so disheveled. The boy's wardrobe consisted of an outfit more suited for a prim and proper businessman, though the way it fit him indicated it was bespoke. The suit jacket was torn, one sleeve hanging almost completely down the boy's left arm, and marred with just as many blood droplets as the other boy's scraps of clothing. The pant legs, once pressed, were now rumpled beyond redemption and his pristine polished shoes were scuffed to the point where they looked as grey as his complexion.
"Leave off or you both get the boot." The trainer growled. "Drop and give me twenty push ups. Then run the perimeter of this room forty laps. Then climb that rope in the corner. Twice." He glared around at the other gathered youth. "The rest of you, piss off to the weight room. Whoever can spit on these two from up there," a lazy wave indicated the area where the weight room was open to overlooking the gym, "will get a five second head start on dinner. MOVE. NOW."
Later, the pair of fighters lay on the floor of the gym, panting. The jeers and spittle of their fellow recruits had been absent for long minutes now as the others had rushed off for the chance of food. There would be no meal for these two, something they knew instinctively despite no one informing them of this risk. Eventually they climbed to their feet and began the long walk towards the dormitories where recruits were housed. Kids their age were kept in the basement, which was accessible only through a cellar entrance at the end of a dark path through the limited green grounds of the housing sector they were in. A handful of scraggly trees had managed to push up through the dry cracked earth and there were a few patches of yellowed grass that was damp now from rain earlier in the day. The dry snap was ending, though not soon enough for the grass here.
"Well," the dark haired boy said slowly, chewing on his words thoughtfully before continuing to give his reply to the other kid on the question of his name. "My ma always said I was a thorn in her side. So I'm gonna be Thorn. I'll rip people up!"
The silver-haired boy scowled. "Don't be stupid. You can't give yourself a nickname! Thorn is a dumb name anyway. Might as well call you Rose. Rosy Spiegel." He hmmmed for a bit and then snapped his fingers. "I've got it. You can be Spike. It's sorta tough, like a pitbull's name. And I'll be... Calamity. No, wait... Ruthless! Merciless!"
A snort came from the other boy. "Now who's being dumb trying to give himself a name?" They carried on quietly for a few steps as the dark hair boy mulled over the matter of names. Spike. He rolled it around on his tongue in my mind. Kinda sharp. Kinda edgy. Kinda punk. He decided he liked it. Glancing now and again at his companion, he wondered at the ideas the other boy had thrown out. He clearly held himself to high standards and craved some sort of dangerous intensity. His home life prior to this was something Spike couldn't fathom but it seemed to have left some bitter marks on the other boy.
Spike watched as the boy carefully and deliberately brought his shoe down on a worm that had emerged into the wetness of the night. He crushed the creature with a callous air that gave Spike an idea.
"No, I know the name for you. Vicious."
The boys shared a devilish grin.
"No one will mess with us with names like these." Vicious declared.
Spike nodded in agreement. "Tomorrow, we show them who we are. Tomorrow, we get to eat!"
MAKE ME CHOOSE. @halscavendish asked: tsoa or vicious?
these words people threw around—humans, monsters, heroes, villains—to victor it was all just a matter of semantics.
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