Plus, here are some songs I made for someone:
Enkzy-Stinky is an Aussie.
Enkzy-Stinky cannot potty.
Enkzy-Stinky isn't stinky, is he?
Up and Down What-The-Fuck
In and Out of RPs
Compliment Delivery Truck
Drops off to Enkzy
The Rest of Blake's Intro
The first of his tablemates finally pried himself away from the kitchen
and saluted Blæc with a smile, dropping onto the seat to his right.
Surprisingly enough, despite the bright orange, flyaway strands on this
man’s head, his skin still appeared paler, if only by the illusion
caused by freckles and pinkiness. He was just a bit shorter than Blæc
and even thinner than him, causing a lanky look, but he was an excellent
chef, Blæc’s closest tie and very good at getting people to talk. He
knew that, while torture is affective sometimes, it was better to
negotiate with the other person for an answer. If he had to resort to
other means, it had to be nonpermanent, which he was more than happy to
oblige Blæc on. At least the tortured had the false comfort that a man
that always wore sports or beach clothing was trying to intimidate them.
That coupled with his appearance avoided any chance of dread from the
victim, in mannerisms and speech as well. He portrayed the
stereotypical manifestation of exactly who he was, a mischievous,
playful scoundrel. His features were small and fine overall; even his
ears had a bent on the shell that caused it to look pointed from certain
angles. Blæc never knew why, but Mother had not put up much of a fight
over their relationship so far; rather, she stepped out of the way, not
that he was truly buddy-buddy with Iudicael Parris. Something in the
round, light green eyes or in the thin-lipped smile Blæc recognized, but
he just could not pinpoint what it was and, because of that, he was
uneasy about him, no matter how the other worked to appease. That was
more than he could say about the next man.
Isidoro Thomas, who had been very reluctant to reveal his surname for a
long time, stepped into the building, stopping in the doorway and
rolling his head around, scanning. He was not searching for his seat;
he knew where, but he checked for anything out of place. Since he
worked with Blæc and Mother only for the shadier side of things, his
concerns never focused on miniscule tasks like lasagna, et cetera. He
made that point very clear whenever Blæc had asked for anything during
his younger years, especially since he had a caretaker who was paid for
it and to perform specific tasks for Mother. It always made Blæc and
Mother laugh though, to see this large Spanish man, who was so very
skilled at weapons and dealings, putting on a pink, frilly apron to
prepare a grilled cheese sandwich for anyone. Needless to say, Isidoro
did not find it funny and brought a frown to his harsh face whenever
mentioned, but that just made it more comical.
In the back of his mind, Blæc heard the sound of his Mother’s laugh, a
gentle ringing. That thing that once made him swell with pride to bring
her joy now made his stomach twist in agitation. Blæc settled his
stomach with another calming breath and Iudicael glanced over with a
knowing smile. “Chill out. He is not even here yet. Wait for the
other two before you work yourself up,” the redhead soothed teasingly,
bringing a faint smile to Blæc’s face.
Isidoro walked over to the table, calling and stating quick all-clear on
his cell before shutting it off, and plotted himself at the very edge
far from Blæc and Iudicael, leaning forward in anticipation and coiled
energy. His only relaxing move, which was probably knowingly done to
avoid attention from the crowds, was placing one thickly muscled arm on
the table. It helped little, as did his clean-cut clothing; Isidoro had
a worse time chilling out on the job than Blæc and he had been doing
this from a child well before he had grown over six-foot and into his
shoulders. He would have been better assisted if a smile just adorned
his large, but grave, lips to plump high-cheekbones and crinkle his
brown eyes until they sparkled. Even unfurrowing his already low brow
chanced a glimpse of a calm and easy nature, no matter how incorrect.
However, no such luck and it was just as useless to mention table
manners with him so intent on the door for their last date.
They all watched as a hot orange Koenigsegg CCX drove up and parked in
one of the reserved parking spaces, a foreign care from a Nordic
country. Mother was doing quite well by Njáll Whinery for using his
body and she had had to go to Sweden to get him, so he would be
expensive, of course, which meant wasted money for Blæc. Njáll’s
professionally styled, honey blond hair popped out from inside the low
vehicle with a smile on his face that acknowledged to any onlooker that
this was indeed his ride. From this distance, they could see those blue
eyes glowing in pride, expanding into the white. Blæc wondered if that
could be willed or was another benefit to Mother’s intrusion. He had
on a dark blue, designer suit, too, not that Blæc could argue with him,
wearing one himself; labels meant a lot to those he dealt with, though
he admitted to doing the same to see who he was dealing with.
Njáll strolled on in through the front door and Isidoro rose up,
welcoming the other man to take the spot next to Blæc before he finally
scooted his bottom completely on the chair like a normal diner. A
waitress-slah-chef came over to the four men, Léonie Abelló, and took
their order. As a true Italian chef, she had the looks, the language
and the line, giving off an aura that normally warded off any nonsense.
She nodded in excusal to them when finished and a waitress arrived
seconds later with their glasses. Before more caustic greetings were
extended, Iudicael spoke up, “Hello, Isidoro, Njáll. Glad you could
join us. No issues getting here I hope.”
Isidoro raised an eyebrow at him and Njáll leaned back with a leisurely
exhale, presenting his vehicle with a flat offered hand with a trenchant
reponse, “What do you think? I got this vehicle today.”
Blæc glowered with a narrowing of his eyes, “I noticed. You did not have that yesterday.”
“That’s not the only thing I have ridden today either,” the Swede hinted with a smug expression at each man.
"Did Mother get lucky or you?" Blæc said flatly, wishing to deflate the other.
The blond shrugged, "Either way I felt the aftershocks."
“I’m sure. Tell me, any flu-like symptoms or warts in odd places yet?”
“I could as the same of you, since you were her first.”
Blæc pierced his eyes at the other. Mother just might pull something
like that, wouldn’t she? It was certainly not beyond her. He was
jostled out of his thoughts as Isidoro threw down his fork and glared at
the two of them, “I will be eating here shortly. I would like to keep
my appetite.”
Blæc bowed his head curtly and raised a brief hand for clemency, “Pardon
me,” sitting back. “When will mother wake today?” he questioned Njáll.
“I am still inside my eight hours,” the other shrugged. “She is trying to compensate for your schedule, so ten, ten-thirty.”
“Good, I will be asleep.”
“You and me both.”
"You and I both know that being in the back of her mind is nothing like being asleep."
"What would you call it?" Njáll challenged, proping an arm onto the back of their booth.
"It is called subconscious for a reason, not unconscious and, frankly,
she is a fate worse than death. I am pretty sure that is why Hell is
not a fiery pit and is truly a second death. God cannot be that cruel."
Blæc’s table, supplied with food, quieted as they ate with the
occasional word here and there about the cuisine or other business, kept
in code in case of bugs. Normally, they were alerted to such warrants
and they regularly checked everywhere, even in the dining area, but they
still dealt with vigilance. Mother’s arrogance sometimes got the
better of her, but Blæc would not stand for it, his fear becoming of
good use. Isidoro, too, assisted, though on the side of caution as a
form of aggressive fight rather than anxious flight. Njáll chatted more
than the rest with Iudicael as a close second, instigating talk from
Blæc and failing on part of Isidoro, but his attention was suddenly
drawn elsewhere.
Iudicael’s pale eyes pulled slowly around the room, a gradual glance
similar to Isidoro’s, but more casual and comfortable in his own
wellbeing. They held upon their two newest visitors, and scrolled back
towards Njáll and Blæc, watching as Njáll’s eyes go from that rich hue
to an icier gray. Njáll’s head came up knowingly and locked his orbs on
Iudicael. It was not any surprise that Njáll listened in on their
thoughts; he was a psychic and, of course, Mother was fully aware of his
mind by their link. He smiled pleasantly, nothing like any expression
he normally portrayed, and, as he spoke, Blæc straightened in his seat.
“Iudicael, be a dear and invite…Alexa and Vincent to our table.”
“Mother?” Blæc asked suspiciously as he turned toward the Swede, a hand
gripping the back of the seat hard enough to turns his fingers whiter.
There had not been any in-person interaction between them for a couple
of months and several weeks before their last conversation. Absence had
not made the heart grow fonder and it was far too soon to break this
record. “What happened to Njáll’s eight hours?” he questioned daringly,
a frown edging its way onto his face. Hell, he was not even to the
point of asking her what she planned.
The other smiled at him with twinkling eyes and she replied, “He is
on-call. Now I believe that they are on a date, so please come closer
to me.” Blæc narrowed his eyes to show opposition, but Mother dismissed
him as she turned to Isidoro. The Spaniard nodded and scooted to the
edge for her to bring Njáll’s bottom over. “Thank you, Mr. Thomas,” she
stated politely as she moved their blond delicately over. “Oh, and,
Iudicael,” she paused, glancing at him, “I want the girl across from me,
so that I can see her better.”
“Just made sure they are at least on the end, so that they can escape,
if need be,” Blæc added and they certainly would need it. “What are you
up to?” he interrogated firmly, still in his spot. A corner of Njáll’s
mouth rose a little more and she patted the seat next to her. Blæc
stuck out his chin in final defiance, but thought about it in that brief
moment before sighing and making his way. “Now, what is it?” he
reiterated, turning on her again. He would not let her avoid answering
or she would try again in the future more assertively.
Mother nodded and cleared her throat as she placed a napkin on her lap,
“Of course you want them on the periphery.” Pleased with the fold and
encouraged to answer by Blæc’s intense gaze, she exhaled, “You always
ask for more interface. Well, here it is. Mommy concedes. You have
Iudicael, those twins and now these two.”
“Yeah, but what do you get out of this?” he spied incisively.
“A son’s smile and love is not satisfactory?”
Blæc’s face fell flat in doubt, and their redhead shook that colorful
head with a small, laughing smile as he stood and then nodded, “Be back
shortly.” He straightened his clothing, despite its very lackadaisical
qualities, and moseyed over to their table at an angle and pace
preventive of surprising them. “Madam, mister,” he greeted
professionally and with a big ol’ smile that lit up the very air about
his face, “the owners of our restaurant has noticed that you are not one
of our regulars and would like to invite you as guests of honor to
their table. Your presence is appreciated and food is on the house, if
you will just follow me.” He gestured with a swing of his arm toward
his group, backing up to place his other hand atop Alexa’s chair.
Regardless of not wearing a uniform, it could be overlooked by such an
inauguration.
Refreshing Feed...
