high precision
I'm thinking maybe I have to set a cap on my word count, because it's getting ridiculous.
Title: high precision
Theme: sniper (#24)
Claim: Sanji
Words: 1690 (cut down from ~2500 >_>)
Rating: PG
Warnings: Guns… ? Mafiosi with silly names!
Disclaimer(s): Not mine, but I promise to play nice.
The Don cut an intimidating figure swathed in his impeccable whites, suit jacket draped over narrow shoulders, tailored pants perfectly creased, silk vest smooth and neatly buttoned. Splashes of somber color in the black tie looped loosely around his neck, a silk shirt the same blue as his eyes, top buttons left undone to bare sharp collarbones and pale, pale skin.
No one in this line of work should be in the habit of wearing so much white, he grumbled to himself. Even if it’s totally effective in unnerving your enemies. Fuck.
He could still hear the roar of waves outside, the Don having inherited his manor on the beach so that he never had to be far from the sea. The Zoroscia family had their base at the foot of the mountains far inland, and the Luffione at the edge of a dark, dense wood. Despite his own loyalties to the present Don Luffione, he had to admit that warm sand and bright sun trumped haunted forests any day. He was a superstitious man, and he believed fervently in vengeful, restless spirits; the forest was rife with them, the island having been tainted by centuries of bad blood and sin.
There were no spirits here so close to water, but the Don’s smile was enough to make chills run down his spine. When he declined the proffered cigarette, the Don only shrugged and lit one for himself in one practiced motion, easy from long habit.
Inhale, eyelids fluttering closed. “Dearest Usotuya.” Smooth exhale and a sliver of blue ice under gold lashes. “What can I do for you?”
A large mahogany desk stood between him and Don Sanjino, who seated himself in a brown leather chair cracked with age. The wall behind him was made entirely of window glass, and the early evening sun poured in to throw shadow monsters across the floor. Choparini stood to the Don’s right, and not for the first time he wondered how someone so young came to be second-in-command of one of the island’s three greatest families.
“You know why I’m here.” He tried to sound brave, but it didn’t help that he was currently unarmed and that Choparini was blinking at him with big brown eyes, holding a semi-automatic pistol with the safety most definitely off.
“Why is he here, Choparini?”
“Tried to assassinate you, Boss.”
“Oh, yes. I’d almost forgotten about that.”
He felt the heat rise to his cheeks, and his finger ached for a trigger. Forgotten? I almost took your other eye, you arrogant son of a bitch.
It was true. Everyone knew that Don Sanjino had lost his left eye in a late-night knife fight in a dark alley against the current Don Zoroscia, back when they were both young and cheeky enough to ditch their respective escorts to find trouble on their own. Things had never been pleasant between the two families, but after that incident, there was nothing left but festering black hatred and bloodshed with an almost religious fervor.
And yesterday, he had set out to relieve the Don of his other eye, preferably releasing him from the mortal coil at the same time, but just as he had been about to pull the trigger, someone had slammed a foot into his face, and the bullet missed the Don’s head by a quarter of an inch.
He had been doing so well, too. He hadn’t run into anyone while sneaking up to the roof, had managed to set up his equipment unnoticed by the guards who patrolled the manor walls, had had all the time in the world to ready the perfect shot. All his shots were perfect. Except this one, the singular blemish on his otherwise flawless record. He felt the sting to his pride acutely.
In retrospect, he realized that he had been atrociously stupid. That it had been so easy should have been his first and biggest warning. But in his eagerness, he had forgotten about the one they called the Demon, Don Sanjino’s most ruthless and most loyal hitman-slash-bodyguard, who had washed up on shore half-dead and starved a few years ago. No one had managed to lay a finger on the Don since the Demon had come into his employ, and Usotuya was an idiot to think he could carry out an assassination attempt without coming up against him. The Demon had probably waited until the last second to take him out, just to fuck with him. God, he hated mafia families (though the guns were very shiny).
“What’re we going to do about that, Usotuya?”
“You could always just let me go.”
“So you can come back and try to blow my head off another day? Now why would I do that?”
He stared at the Don, his wicked white smile and blue eye, a halo of grey smoke above his blonde head. There was a very real possibility that he could die right here in this room, right now with the setting sun on his face. The Don had only to flick his wrist and Choparini would pump him full of lead.
So he talked, and talking was the thing he was best at, next to sniping. “Don Zoroscia was my next target,” he blurted out, and he watched the Don reflexively reach a hand up to where his left eye would be, watched his smile morph into a scowl. “Obviously,” he continued. “I mean, if I had killed-if I had succeeded here, I would have gone on to blow his head off next. To secure the island for the Luffione family, of course.
“No hard feelings, nothing personal, it’s just how it is, you know. Headshot, your brain splattered all over the place, bits of skull, and I’d win. We’d win, finally. No more blood feuds and raids and shoot-outs. No more of this cancerous family business. Don Luffione would be the only one left, after I’m done, after we bury the rest of you, and he’d have no one else to fight. He’d be bored out of his mind, but everyone would be better off if I succeed.
“There would finally be peace on this stupid rock and dead spirits don’t bother anyone else but me anyway, so even if you all come back to haunt me, at least it’ll be only me, and at least it’ll only be until I die.”
Choparini was blinking at him again, more rapidly than before, and the Don smiled a different smile, one more serene, almost indulgent. He found this smile much more dangerous.
“You’ve got guts, Longnose, taking on two rival families alone.”
“Not really,” he replied honestly. “It just needs to be done, that’s all. And I’m the best there is.”
He swallowed thickly, stared at the Don’s pale, exposed neck, marveled at how easily he could lunge across the table and throttle him, if only his hands weren’t cuffed, if only Choparini didn’t have his pistol trained on him, if only the Don weren’t so deadly-lethal even unarmed.
“I have to say, I rather look forward to your future visits,” murmured the Don, hooded eye and low voice, and he imagined the tone of it to be inviting, a little encouraging. Before he could open his mouth to respond, the Don called out suddenly, “Gino!”
He jumped as the door behind him opened and the Demon stepped into the room, tall and slim in black, dark circles under dark eyes. His face ached in painful memory.
“Yeah, Boss?”
“Please escort our honored guest off the premises. See to it that he comes to no harm. And I do mean that.”
The Demon nodded and stepped aside for him to stumble hastily into the hallway. He didn’t have time to glance back at the Don before the door swung shut behind him.
“Your name’s Gino? It’s not Demon?” he asked without thinking as his handcuffs were being unlocked. His heart battered itself against his ribcage, his breath coming fast and clipped, adrenaline spiking his blood.
The Demon-Gino-didn’t answer, only raised an eyebrow at him as he stuffed the cuffs in the inside pocket of his suit jacket. A long black case was held out to him and he took it without hesitation.
“My rifle? But why?”
“Boss’s orders. If it were up to me, I’d have bashed your head open with it. Let’s go.”
They went, him hurrying after the click of Gino’s footsteps, down the halls and out. At the edge of the Sanjino family grounds, Gino turned to him and said, “Boss wants to wish you good luck.”
“Uh-”
“With killing him. I think he almost wants you to do it.”
The waves were quieter here, and the sun had sunk low on the horizon, their shadows elongated and disfigured. He looked back and saw that the windows of Sanjino manor were dark.
“He’s crazy.”
Gino shrugged. “So are you. Maybe he’s as sick of all this as you are. Maybe he’s tired.”
“It’s been a long time,” he offered, and Gino said nothing. “Well, tell him thanks, I guess? I’ll do my best.” He meant that.
But then Gino stepped in close and growled, full of fire and menace, “You can try all you want, Longnose, but you’re not going to get him.”
“Because you’re going to get me first?”
And Gino grinned at him, wild and truthful and undeniably demonic, his face half in shadow, the contrast stark. He took that as his cue to hightail it out of there, rifle case tucked securely under his arm, black eye throbbing.
He had a feeling he wouldn’t have gotten away at all if the Don hadn’t already given orders to let him escape. He was thankful for that, and made a mental note that Don Sanjino’s death be quick and clean. The Demon would have to go down first, there was no way around it, but he would manage, had to manage. And then afterwards, afterwards he’d try not to get any blood on Don Sanjino’s impeccable white suit. So pristine they could bury him in it.
A challenge. He’ll take it.
Notes: The Sanjino family totally owns an Italian restaurant that serves as a front for all their shady undercover dealings. Tacky checkered tablecloths and everything. Aw yeah.
Title: high precision
Theme: sniper (#24)
Claim: Sanji
Words: 1690 (cut down from ~2500 >_>)
Rating: PG
Warnings: Guns… ? Mafiosi with silly names!
Disclaimer(s): Not mine, but I promise to play nice.
The Don cut an intimidating figure swathed in his impeccable whites, suit jacket draped over narrow shoulders, tailored pants perfectly creased, silk vest smooth and neatly buttoned. Splashes of somber color in the black tie looped loosely around his neck, a silk shirt the same blue as his eyes, top buttons left undone to bare sharp collarbones and pale, pale skin.
No one in this line of work should be in the habit of wearing so much white, he grumbled to himself. Even if it’s totally effective in unnerving your enemies. Fuck.
He could still hear the roar of waves outside, the Don having inherited his manor on the beach so that he never had to be far from the sea. The Zoroscia family had their base at the foot of the mountains far inland, and the Luffione at the edge of a dark, dense wood. Despite his own loyalties to the present Don Luffione, he had to admit that warm sand and bright sun trumped haunted forests any day. He was a superstitious man, and he believed fervently in vengeful, restless spirits; the forest was rife with them, the island having been tainted by centuries of bad blood and sin.
There were no spirits here so close to water, but the Don’s smile was enough to make chills run down his spine. When he declined the proffered cigarette, the Don only shrugged and lit one for himself in one practiced motion, easy from long habit.
Inhale, eyelids fluttering closed. “Dearest Usotuya.” Smooth exhale and a sliver of blue ice under gold lashes. “What can I do for you?”
A large mahogany desk stood between him and Don Sanjino, who seated himself in a brown leather chair cracked with age. The wall behind him was made entirely of window glass, and the early evening sun poured in to throw shadow monsters across the floor. Choparini stood to the Don’s right, and not for the first time he wondered how someone so young came to be second-in-command of one of the island’s three greatest families.
“You know why I’m here.” He tried to sound brave, but it didn’t help that he was currently unarmed and that Choparini was blinking at him with big brown eyes, holding a semi-automatic pistol with the safety most definitely off.
“Why is he here, Choparini?”
“Tried to assassinate you, Boss.”
“Oh, yes. I’d almost forgotten about that.”
He felt the heat rise to his cheeks, and his finger ached for a trigger. Forgotten? I almost took your other eye, you arrogant son of a bitch.
It was true. Everyone knew that Don Sanjino had lost his left eye in a late-night knife fight in a dark alley against the current Don Zoroscia, back when they were both young and cheeky enough to ditch their respective escorts to find trouble on their own. Things had never been pleasant between the two families, but after that incident, there was nothing left but festering black hatred and bloodshed with an almost religious fervor.
And yesterday, he had set out to relieve the Don of his other eye, preferably releasing him from the mortal coil at the same time, but just as he had been about to pull the trigger, someone had slammed a foot into his face, and the bullet missed the Don’s head by a quarter of an inch.
He had been doing so well, too. He hadn’t run into anyone while sneaking up to the roof, had managed to set up his equipment unnoticed by the guards who patrolled the manor walls, had had all the time in the world to ready the perfect shot. All his shots were perfect. Except this one, the singular blemish on his otherwise flawless record. He felt the sting to his pride acutely.
In retrospect, he realized that he had been atrociously stupid. That it had been so easy should have been his first and biggest warning. But in his eagerness, he had forgotten about the one they called the Demon, Don Sanjino’s most ruthless and most loyal hitman-slash-bodyguard, who had washed up on shore half-dead and starved a few years ago. No one had managed to lay a finger on the Don since the Demon had come into his employ, and Usotuya was an idiot to think he could carry out an assassination attempt without coming up against him. The Demon had probably waited until the last second to take him out, just to fuck with him. God, he hated mafia families (though the guns were very shiny).
“What’re we going to do about that, Usotuya?”
“You could always just let me go.”
“So you can come back and try to blow my head off another day? Now why would I do that?”
He stared at the Don, his wicked white smile and blue eye, a halo of grey smoke above his blonde head. There was a very real possibility that he could die right here in this room, right now with the setting sun on his face. The Don had only to flick his wrist and Choparini would pump him full of lead.
So he talked, and talking was the thing he was best at, next to sniping. “Don Zoroscia was my next target,” he blurted out, and he watched the Don reflexively reach a hand up to where his left eye would be, watched his smile morph into a scowl. “Obviously,” he continued. “I mean, if I had killed-if I had succeeded here, I would have gone on to blow his head off next. To secure the island for the Luffione family, of course.
“No hard feelings, nothing personal, it’s just how it is, you know. Headshot, your brain splattered all over the place, bits of skull, and I’d win. We’d win, finally. No more blood feuds and raids and shoot-outs. No more of this cancerous family business. Don Luffione would be the only one left, after I’m done, after we bury the rest of you, and he’d have no one else to fight. He’d be bored out of his mind, but everyone would be better off if I succeed.
“There would finally be peace on this stupid rock and dead spirits don’t bother anyone else but me anyway, so even if you all come back to haunt me, at least it’ll be only me, and at least it’ll only be until I die.”
Choparini was blinking at him again, more rapidly than before, and the Don smiled a different smile, one more serene, almost indulgent. He found this smile much more dangerous.
“You’ve got guts, Longnose, taking on two rival families alone.”
“Not really,” he replied honestly. “It just needs to be done, that’s all. And I’m the best there is.”
He swallowed thickly, stared at the Don’s pale, exposed neck, marveled at how easily he could lunge across the table and throttle him, if only his hands weren’t cuffed, if only Choparini didn’t have his pistol trained on him, if only the Don weren’t so deadly-lethal even unarmed.
“I have to say, I rather look forward to your future visits,” murmured the Don, hooded eye and low voice, and he imagined the tone of it to be inviting, a little encouraging. Before he could open his mouth to respond, the Don called out suddenly, “Gino!”
He jumped as the door behind him opened and the Demon stepped into the room, tall and slim in black, dark circles under dark eyes. His face ached in painful memory.
“Yeah, Boss?”
“Please escort our honored guest off the premises. See to it that he comes to no harm. And I do mean that.”
The Demon nodded and stepped aside for him to stumble hastily into the hallway. He didn’t have time to glance back at the Don before the door swung shut behind him.
“Your name’s Gino? It’s not Demon?” he asked without thinking as his handcuffs were being unlocked. His heart battered itself against his ribcage, his breath coming fast and clipped, adrenaline spiking his blood.
The Demon-Gino-didn’t answer, only raised an eyebrow at him as he stuffed the cuffs in the inside pocket of his suit jacket. A long black case was held out to him and he took it without hesitation.
“My rifle? But why?”
“Boss’s orders. If it were up to me, I’d have bashed your head open with it. Let’s go.”
They went, him hurrying after the click of Gino’s footsteps, down the halls and out. At the edge of the Sanjino family grounds, Gino turned to him and said, “Boss wants to wish you good luck.”
“Uh-”
“With killing him. I think he almost wants you to do it.”
The waves were quieter here, and the sun had sunk low on the horizon, their shadows elongated and disfigured. He looked back and saw that the windows of Sanjino manor were dark.
“He’s crazy.”
Gino shrugged. “So are you. Maybe he’s as sick of all this as you are. Maybe he’s tired.”
“It’s been a long time,” he offered, and Gino said nothing. “Well, tell him thanks, I guess? I’ll do my best.” He meant that.
But then Gino stepped in close and growled, full of fire and menace, “You can try all you want, Longnose, but you’re not going to get him.”
“Because you’re going to get me first?”
And Gino grinned at him, wild and truthful and undeniably demonic, his face half in shadow, the contrast stark. He took that as his cue to hightail it out of there, rifle case tucked securely under his arm, black eye throbbing.
He had a feeling he wouldn’t have gotten away at all if the Don hadn’t already given orders to let him escape. He was thankful for that, and made a mental note that Don Sanjino’s death be quick and clean. The Demon would have to go down first, there was no way around it, but he would manage, had to manage. And then afterwards, afterwards he’d try not to get any blood on Don Sanjino’s impeccable white suit. So pristine they could bury him in it.
A challenge. He’ll take it.
Notes: The Sanjino family totally owns an Italian restaurant that serves as a front for all their shady undercover dealings. Tacky checkered tablecloths and everything. Aw yeah.