![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jack_babalonContinued from Part 3: Waiting so long.
"What a shithole" he thinks outloud looking around.
The place is crawling wall to wall with psychic vampires. The drama drifts across the air thick as a fart and twice as deadly. He can feel it seeping through his mood with that unique stink of rotting friendships and rumors that have been left out too long. He tries to kill the smell with a cigarette. It doesn't work but it improves his disposition a little. He keeps a few feet behind his guide Antonio, as they make their way to Sam's office, carefully drifting along the outer shore of the dance floor. At one point they have to wait as an improvised chariot race goes down. Adam cranes his head over the waves of stoned stoic faces. He manages to catch two black vinyl clad doms riding seperate wheelchairs that are tethered to the collars of a pair of men who are horribly naked and racing on all fours. The Doms crack whips across their backs and occasionally, in a brief Ben Hur on Acid moment, each other. They pass by Adam and Antonio. No one claps. No one notices. The DJ switches songs. The crowd goes back to their aggro ballet. Antonio continues and Adam follows. They come to a side hallway tucked between the VIP lounge and the main bar. Two steriod queens with arms inked in tribal weaves stand guard wearing rubber masks that give the one on the right a Rooster head and the one on the lefta pigs. Adam rolls his eyes. His Bullshit alarms are ringing. Adam's been long diagnosed as being 'Art School Intolerant'. He's not done with the smoke in his mouth and already he needs another one. Cock & Pig step out of the way to let Antonio through. Adam follows and snickers off their attempt to eyeball fuck him as he passes.
"What a shithole" he repeats to himself with a shake of his head.
Inside the office less than two minutes and Adam knows the score. The stained wood desk, the lights dimmed low to a soft orange, the strictly amateur mural of the biblical battle of Ebenezer(that even Adam's surprised he recognizes)on the wall and the poorly aged pretty boy sighing intermitently on a very one sided cellphone call... yeah, you don't need much math to add it all up: Telegram Sam was little more than just another asshole with a club and a grudge. Adam looks over his shoulder at Antonio at gives him a 'what-the-fuck' shrug. Antonio answers with an 'It-is-what-it-is' counter-shrug.
"Sorry about that" Sam gives Adam the briefest of glances snaping his call shut and taking a seat on the other end of the desk, "You must be Ronnie's friend... Adam, right?"
"Yep... and you must be 'Telegram Sam'"
Now Sam really notices Adam, he tries to look vaguely curious instead of mildly annoyed. Adam can see the effort. He can also see the connection behind the name now. Call it fifteen years back and the sharp angles of his face would've looked regal rather than skeletal, the sunken eyes with dark rings around them might've sparkled with a wit long since soured with cyncism, the zero body fats always a plus, throw in the cropped peroxide blond hair, mix liberally with a snarky attitude and a dash of Scene royalty and he could've passed for Peter Murphy Lite.
"Heh... well it's been quite awhile since anyone's called me that" Sam says diplomatically, forcing a cool smile and taking a seat across from Adam.
"Hey don't get me wrong now. I used to love all that Bauhaus shit... well... when I was a kid at least. How'dat one song go again: 'White on white/ transvestite light'..." Adam chuckles softly not noticing or caring that no one else is. Adam points towards Antonio with his chin, "So who's he supposed to be then... The Thin White Duke?"
Antonio leans forward menacingly but is cut short by the slightest wave of Sam's hand. Sam looks at Adam with an excited uncertainity: "Wow..." Sam actually laughs now, "you certainly are an exuberant one aren't you ... Adam, was it?"
"Mr.Last'll do ..." Adam's bored of this shit already. He's coming down hard and mentally replaying going down on Sarah. He reaches down, yanks up the red back pack and drops it on the tabletop, "look man, i'm sure you got shit you wanna be getting back to... I know I do."
"Terse" Sam smiles pulling the bag towards himself across the table, "but to the point. You don't like to waste time do you, Mr.Last."
"I do... but only when it's not mine."
Polite laughter. Low hum of the soundsystem muffled by the walls. Sam opens the bag. Looks in. Looks back up at Adam and looks in again. Repeat as needed.
"Somethin' wrong?" Adam asks cautiously. Sure he dipped into the bags and might've cut himself a little more than he should've but nothing that'd be noticable... least with a passing glance.
"You tell me..." Sam spills the contents of the bag out. A little over a dozen rolls of toliet paper spill across the desk. Nothing else.
Adam stops smirking. No one says anything for a full minute. It has the absurdity of an anxiety dream. Any moment, Adam figures and he'll look down and see he's naked.
"Is this some kind of a joke?" Sam asks throwing the bag at Adam lightly across the table. "If it is i'm afraid I don't get it..."
Adam looks in the bag knowing full well he'll find nothing there before he opens it. He plays it cool and quickly plays it back in his head. He had it all there... just a few minutes ago when he and... Sarah!
((... she grabs a fistful of his hair. He looks up from between her thighs, mouth glazed with her orgasm and she has a powder burn grin looking down at him, no... beyond him... she leans down and mouths a word to him but he can't hear it now in his memory but there's a noise ringing in the back of his skull...))
"Motherfucker!!!" Adam bolts out of his seat. He's grabbed immediately by the shoulder as Antonio forces him back down. He barely notices. He realizes now what happened. Glamor. Old school charm and bedazzle. She's in the "Game" and he was too cunt hungry to notice...
"Excuse me" Sam says leaning across the desk. Adam snaps out of his calculations, "Would you like to explain to me what's going on? Because as far as I know and don't know, Ronnie's money was processed to the account as per our arrangement..."
Adam smiles like a sheep in wolves clothing and squirms out of Antonio's grip. "Glamor huh?" He thinks to himself, "...well Baby I clean up nice myself...". He clears his throat. He remembers his training in the WORD. A minature sun opens up in his chest. Anahata, the heart chakra begins turning, gets stuck on some tar in the lungs but resumes only quicker now, a golden pinwheel spinning faster and faster, a silver column of light travels up to the throat in a stream of breath... sixteen petals spread out in spokes across the Vishuddha chakra of the throat... purifies the vibrations of the voice and the WORD crackles in his mouth with electricity.
"Psshh... What're talkin' 'bout man? That shits all there... SEE! We just did a few lines together... just to make sure... you're satisfied... it's some of the best you've had in ages in fact. Now our business is concluded... and you'll forget I was here in about five minutes... so without further ado... "
Sam leans back into his chair nodding slowly. He picks up one of the rolls and examines it carefully and puts it back down. Antonio staggers back trying to shake the WORD out of his ear without knowing why. Strong willed type apparently but he still bought. Had no choice really. Adam stands up, picks up his bookbag and heads for the exit.
Sam smiles, gives a little smile and watches Adam get to the door before -"Antonio... i'm not quite done with Mr.Last yet"
Adam turns around and can see Sam resting his chin on an open palm. One look tells him that the spell didn't take. No, it worked, even now Antonio's a bit confused about Sam's orders. Still a huge hand wraps around Adams neck and he is slammed into the table face first and held there.
"What was that?" Sam chuckles.
"Ummm.... just a suggestion?"
"And you really think you're the first magickian i've met Adam?" he says, standing up and walking over to the mural. "You're not even the first to try that particular trick on me... by the way you're a little sloppy there, you might want to cut down on the blow... which is probably why you didn't notice me when you came in."
"What're talking about?" Adam answers with half his face being squeezed into the desk. Sam turns around in his swivel chair and is replaced by someone, something else: A figure sits in front of him, translucent skin illuminating raw muscles lit up in fluctuating orgone spectrums. Adam thinks immediately of an Alex Grey painting but then thinks something much worse... an Angel!
"Now then Mr.Last... I believe you owe me an explanation."
"What a shithole" he thinks outloud looking around.
The place is crawling wall to wall with psychic vampires. The drama drifts across the air thick as a fart and twice as deadly. He can feel it seeping through his mood with that unique stink of rotting friendships and rumors that have been left out too long. He tries to kill the smell with a cigarette. It doesn't work but it improves his disposition a little. He keeps a few feet behind his guide Antonio, as they make their way to Sam's office, carefully drifting along the outer shore of the dance floor. At one point they have to wait as an improvised chariot race goes down. Adam cranes his head over the waves of stoned stoic faces. He manages to catch two black vinyl clad doms riding seperate wheelchairs that are tethered to the collars of a pair of men who are horribly naked and racing on all fours. The Doms crack whips across their backs and occasionally, in a brief Ben Hur on Acid moment, each other. They pass by Adam and Antonio. No one claps. No one notices. The DJ switches songs. The crowd goes back to their aggro ballet. Antonio continues and Adam follows. They come to a side hallway tucked between the VIP lounge and the main bar. Two steriod queens with arms inked in tribal weaves stand guard wearing rubber masks that give the one on the right a Rooster head and the one on the lefta pigs. Adam rolls his eyes. His Bullshit alarms are ringing. Adam's been long diagnosed as being 'Art School Intolerant'. He's not done with the smoke in his mouth and already he needs another one. Cock & Pig step out of the way to let Antonio through. Adam follows and snickers off their attempt to eyeball fuck him as he passes.
"What a shithole" he repeats to himself with a shake of his head.
Inside the office less than two minutes and Adam knows the score. The stained wood desk, the lights dimmed low to a soft orange, the strictly amateur mural of the biblical battle of Ebenezer(that even Adam's surprised he recognizes)on the wall and the poorly aged pretty boy sighing intermitently on a very one sided cellphone call... yeah, you don't need much math to add it all up: Telegram Sam was little more than just another asshole with a club and a grudge. Adam looks over his shoulder at Antonio at gives him a 'what-the-fuck' shrug. Antonio answers with an 'It-is-what-it-is' counter-shrug.
"Sorry about that" Sam gives Adam the briefest of glances snaping his call shut and taking a seat on the other end of the desk, "You must be Ronnie's friend... Adam, right?"
"Yep... and you must be 'Telegram Sam'"
Now Sam really notices Adam, he tries to look vaguely curious instead of mildly annoyed. Adam can see the effort. He can also see the connection behind the name now. Call it fifteen years back and the sharp angles of his face would've looked regal rather than skeletal, the sunken eyes with dark rings around them might've sparkled with a wit long since soured with cyncism, the zero body fats always a plus, throw in the cropped peroxide blond hair, mix liberally with a snarky attitude and a dash of Scene royalty and he could've passed for Peter Murphy Lite.
"Heh... well it's been quite awhile since anyone's called me that" Sam says diplomatically, forcing a cool smile and taking a seat across from Adam.
"Hey don't get me wrong now. I used to love all that Bauhaus shit... well... when I was a kid at least. How'dat one song go again: 'White on white/ transvestite light'..." Adam chuckles softly not noticing or caring that no one else is. Adam points towards Antonio with his chin, "So who's he supposed to be then... The Thin White Duke?"
Antonio leans forward menacingly but is cut short by the slightest wave of Sam's hand. Sam looks at Adam with an excited uncertainity: "Wow..." Sam actually laughs now, "you certainly are an exuberant one aren't you ... Adam, was it?"
"Mr.Last'll do ..." Adam's bored of this shit already. He's coming down hard and mentally replaying going down on Sarah. He reaches down, yanks up the red back pack and drops it on the tabletop, "look man, i'm sure you got shit you wanna be getting back to... I know I do."
"Terse" Sam smiles pulling the bag towards himself across the table, "but to the point. You don't like to waste time do you, Mr.Last."
"I do... but only when it's not mine."
Polite laughter. Low hum of the soundsystem muffled by the walls. Sam opens the bag. Looks in. Looks back up at Adam and looks in again. Repeat as needed.
"Somethin' wrong?" Adam asks cautiously. Sure he dipped into the bags and might've cut himself a little more than he should've but nothing that'd be noticable... least with a passing glance.
"You tell me..." Sam spills the contents of the bag out. A little over a dozen rolls of toliet paper spill across the desk. Nothing else.
Adam stops smirking. No one says anything for a full minute. It has the absurdity of an anxiety dream. Any moment, Adam figures and he'll look down and see he's naked.
"Is this some kind of a joke?" Sam asks throwing the bag at Adam lightly across the table. "If it is i'm afraid I don't get it..."
Adam looks in the bag knowing full well he'll find nothing there before he opens it. He plays it cool and quickly plays it back in his head. He had it all there... just a few minutes ago when he and... Sarah!
((... she grabs a fistful of his hair. He looks up from between her thighs, mouth glazed with her orgasm and she has a powder burn grin looking down at him, no... beyond him... she leans down and mouths a word to him but he can't hear it now in his memory but there's a noise ringing in the back of his skull...))
"Motherfucker!!!" Adam bolts out of his seat. He's grabbed immediately by the shoulder as Antonio forces him back down. He barely notices. He realizes now what happened. Glamor. Old school charm and bedazzle. She's in the "Game" and he was too cunt hungry to notice...
"Excuse me" Sam says leaning across the desk. Adam snaps out of his calculations, "Would you like to explain to me what's going on? Because as far as I know and don't know, Ronnie's money was processed to the account as per our arrangement..."
Adam smiles like a sheep in wolves clothing and squirms out of Antonio's grip. "Glamor huh?" He thinks to himself, "...well Baby I clean up nice myself...". He clears his throat. He remembers his training in the WORD. A minature sun opens up in his chest. Anahata, the heart chakra begins turning, gets stuck on some tar in the lungs but resumes only quicker now, a golden pinwheel spinning faster and faster, a silver column of light travels up to the throat in a stream of breath... sixteen petals spread out in spokes across the Vishuddha chakra of the throat... purifies the vibrations of the voice and the WORD crackles in his mouth with electricity.
"Psshh... What're talkin' 'bout man? That shits all there... SEE! We just did a few lines together... just to make sure... you're satisfied... it's some of the best you've had in ages in fact. Now our business is concluded... and you'll forget I was here in about five minutes... so without further ado... "
Sam leans back into his chair nodding slowly. He picks up one of the rolls and examines it carefully and puts it back down. Antonio staggers back trying to shake the WORD out of his ear without knowing why. Strong willed type apparently but he still bought. Had no choice really. Adam stands up, picks up his bookbag and heads for the exit.
Sam smiles, gives a little smile and watches Adam get to the door before -"Antonio... i'm not quite done with Mr.Last yet"
Adam turns around and can see Sam resting his chin on an open palm. One look tells him that the spell didn't take. No, it worked, even now Antonio's a bit confused about Sam's orders. Still a huge hand wraps around Adams neck and he is slammed into the table face first and held there.
"What was that?" Sam chuckles.
"Ummm.... just a suggestion?"
"And you really think you're the first magickian i've met Adam?" he says, standing up and walking over to the mural. "You're not even the first to try that particular trick on me... by the way you're a little sloppy there, you might want to cut down on the blow... which is probably why you didn't notice me when you came in."
"What're talking about?" Adam answers with half his face being squeezed into the desk. Sam turns around in his swivel chair and is replaced by someone, something else: A figure sits in front of him, translucent skin illuminating raw muscles lit up in fluctuating orgone spectrums. Adam thinks immediately of an Alex Grey painting but then thinks something much worse... an Angel!
"Now then Mr.Last... I believe you owe me an explanation."
