Snake Eaters
29-01-2006, 23:00
Doug Chambers reached into the fridge, his hand finding its way around days-old mango chutney, a half-drunk carton of orange juice, until it found the six pack of beer stashed away. He smiled as his fingers brushed the familiar chilled metallic cans and the plastic cuffs holding them together. He closed his hand around them and lifted them out of the fridge, being careful not to knock anything… if his wife found out, she’d kill him. But she wasn’t there tonight… just him, and a few friends, watching the match on the set in the corner.
“Hey Doug! Where the hell is our beer, man?” came a shout from the direction of the lounge, where his two friends were sitting on the sofas, partaking of the delicate Chinese cuisine from the local takeaway.
“Shut up, Freddie, I’m getting it!” he yelled back, closing the silver door to the fridge with his foot. He walked back into the lounge, tossing each one of his friends one of the cans he had. They cracked them open, each taking a deep swig before smacking his lips and giving his opinion of the beverage, “Excellent… Perfect… Exquisite”
Doug Chambers settled down to watch the game…Snake City vs. Oured, a classic in rugby terms. The two teams had a fierce rivalry dating back many years. Out of the last sixty games these two had played, it was 30-29 in favour of Snake City, with one game being a close draw of 3 all… that had been an exciting match for all involved, both the players and the spectators in the stands and at home. He could remember him and his son barely able to watch that particular match, it was that nerve-wracking. Still, his son wasn’t here at the moment… he was staying with his grandparents, on the other side of Oured. Being ten years old, they were no doubt sending him crazy with all the sugar they were giving him… Mary’s parents had proven to be a godsend over the years. Mary was away on yet another business trip… some seminar, something about Psychology and its Practical Applications in the Field of Criminology. Doug didn’t have a clue what all that meant, but it had meant a lot to Mary to go, and he had paid for her to travel in style – first class, Snake Airlines. It was a lot, but if it meant that much to her… well, it was worth it.
Doug settled himself down on the sofa next to Freddie, sipping at his beer, and reaching out to take some egg-fried rice, a few pancake rolls and some roast duck. He felt good about this game… the Oured team hadn’t been this strong in years. He had two hundred Snake Dollars on this game, and the odds were in his favour. He started to eat as the game kicked off, the ball sailing deep into the Oured backs, caught on the full by their inside centre, who passed it out to the winger, streaking up the right side. Suddenly, as if from nowhere, the massive, eighteen stone loose head prop of Snake City hit the winger from the side, taking him down. You could almost here the impact from there, and all three men winced in spite of themselves. The first impact of the game, and it had been a bastard.
Outside the House
The Man sat in the car, lights off, engine silent. He looked out of the driver side window at the house on the far side of the street, the light on in the front room of this nice little house in the middle of the Oured suburbs. He glanced down at the photograph he held in his gnarled hand, and then looked back at the house. There was no doubt, this was the place his employer had told him the target would be. The work-up was all in the briefcase; name, details of the family, activities. The Man was meticulous in his preparation for any job, and it helped his flawless record in the private sector… ten years, and he’d never failed. His face was full, with a slight hint of stubble around his cheekbones and square jaw. He wasn’t exactly handsome, he wasn’t the worst looking person you would ever meet. His hair had previously black, but was now every increasingly laced with grey. His eyes were also grey, but they bore no warmth. They were cold, hardened eyes, eyes that took in everything around them and let nothing out in return. He was wearing a black suit, with his shoes slightly shined. His wide-collared white shirt was tucking into his trousers, which were held up by a plain black belt with a silver buckle. The double-breasted jacket was buttoned at the front, covering the silver, and concealing the majority of his chest area. He wore a deep red tie, tied in a perfect Windsor knot, concealing the uppermost button of his shirt. He straightened the tie, and opened the door onto the road, stepping out and closing the door quietly behind him. The car was an older model, a BMW edited to fit Snake Eaters standards with regards to fuel, pollution and safety. It was still in good enough condition not to look conspicuous, but over it’s life the paint had dulled, making it even less conspicuous, even when you were looking for it.
He walked across the street, his feet crunching on the gravel driveway. Inside, the three men could be heard shouting at the TV, “Catch him, you stupid wanker… oh come on! That was an easy catch!” The shouts of men enjoying watching sport… how ironic. The Man walked right up to the door, standing on the clichéd doormat saying ‘WELCOME’ in large, friendly letters. He paused a moment, composing his thoughts, before reaching up to the brass knocker, lifting it, and letting it fall back to impact on the wooden door. There was the sound of a lavatory flushing inside, along with a man calling, “I’ll get it.”
There was the sound of footsteps, muffled by the carpeted floor but still audible to The Man. There was the sound of the latch being turned, and the door opened, revealing a stoutly built man in his mid-thirties. The Man glanced at him, and knew it wasn’t his target. But he was still an obstacle.
“Yes, can we help you?”
The Man reached into his belt, drawing a silenced pistol from his waistband and levelling at the guy in front of him, aiming at his chest. He took a brief second to notice the look of surprise and terror on the man’s face before he tapped the trigger twice, the two rounds burrowing into the chest. Freddie fell to the floor, blood seeping from the two chest wounds. The silencer did it’s job admirably, and the men in the next room had no idea that their friend was as good as dead, “Hey Freddie, who is it?”
When there was no reply, they both walked into the area separating the lounge from the reception area. As Doug emerged from behind the wall, The Man recognised him as the target, and he fired again, another two rounds impacting with soft human flesh, the blood splattering onto the nearby walls. Instantly, The Man shot Vince, the other companion, this time with three rounds, the last of these blowing a hole in his forehead as the nine millimetre slug burrowed into his brain, severing the connections that allowed his body to function. He collapsed without a sound, his blood seeping onto the cream coloured carpet. The Man was still standing over Freddie, and he looked down to see the dying man clinging to his leg. He pointed the barrel of the weapon down, squeezing another round through the back of his head, exiting through the roof of the mouth and slamming into the carpet. He stepped over the still twitching body, walking over to Doug, who was now trying to drag himself away and hide behind something, anything. In the background, the TV still blared… Oured were winning twenty points to ten. Doug stopped trying to escape as this stranger approached him… his vision was blurry, he couldn’t see properly, everything was a mad blur of colour. The stranger crouched next to him, lifting his head off the carpet, and looking him directly in the unfocused eyes. They somehow, through great willpower, managed to focus on his face. He saw the lines of age on the face, but also the flush of youth… but what really got him was those eyes. Cold, and merciless. They looked intently at him, and then flicked up to take a look at the screen, before looking back down. For the first time in the whole incident, The Man spoke. His voice was deep, and resonant, with no trace of an accent, and just a whiff of cologne, “Looks like you won your bet, Mr. Chambers.”
He stood up to his full height, about five foot eleven, and lowered the weapon to point directly at Doug’s forehead. There was a brief pause, and he squeezed the trigger, the blood, brain and bone splattering over the carpet. He looked around, and then stooped to pick up his casings… it didn’t pay to be sloppy just because the hit itself had gone without a hitch. He made sure that everything was collected, and dragged the first body into the house, sealing the doors and windows, and leaving the set on. No one would question it… not yet anyway, and that was all that mattered. He closed the front door behind him when he left, and walked calmly back to the car. He slid into the front seat, turning the key in the ignition and pulling smoothly away. In the house, the lights still burned, and the TV still blared…
OOC: Basically, a crime RP. Who is The Man? That’s up to you guys to find out…
“Hey Doug! Where the hell is our beer, man?” came a shout from the direction of the lounge, where his two friends were sitting on the sofas, partaking of the delicate Chinese cuisine from the local takeaway.
“Shut up, Freddie, I’m getting it!” he yelled back, closing the silver door to the fridge with his foot. He walked back into the lounge, tossing each one of his friends one of the cans he had. They cracked them open, each taking a deep swig before smacking his lips and giving his opinion of the beverage, “Excellent… Perfect… Exquisite”
Doug Chambers settled down to watch the game…Snake City vs. Oured, a classic in rugby terms. The two teams had a fierce rivalry dating back many years. Out of the last sixty games these two had played, it was 30-29 in favour of Snake City, with one game being a close draw of 3 all… that had been an exciting match for all involved, both the players and the spectators in the stands and at home. He could remember him and his son barely able to watch that particular match, it was that nerve-wracking. Still, his son wasn’t here at the moment… he was staying with his grandparents, on the other side of Oured. Being ten years old, they were no doubt sending him crazy with all the sugar they were giving him… Mary’s parents had proven to be a godsend over the years. Mary was away on yet another business trip… some seminar, something about Psychology and its Practical Applications in the Field of Criminology. Doug didn’t have a clue what all that meant, but it had meant a lot to Mary to go, and he had paid for her to travel in style – first class, Snake Airlines. It was a lot, but if it meant that much to her… well, it was worth it.
Doug settled himself down on the sofa next to Freddie, sipping at his beer, and reaching out to take some egg-fried rice, a few pancake rolls and some roast duck. He felt good about this game… the Oured team hadn’t been this strong in years. He had two hundred Snake Dollars on this game, and the odds were in his favour. He started to eat as the game kicked off, the ball sailing deep into the Oured backs, caught on the full by their inside centre, who passed it out to the winger, streaking up the right side. Suddenly, as if from nowhere, the massive, eighteen stone loose head prop of Snake City hit the winger from the side, taking him down. You could almost here the impact from there, and all three men winced in spite of themselves. The first impact of the game, and it had been a bastard.
Outside the House
The Man sat in the car, lights off, engine silent. He looked out of the driver side window at the house on the far side of the street, the light on in the front room of this nice little house in the middle of the Oured suburbs. He glanced down at the photograph he held in his gnarled hand, and then looked back at the house. There was no doubt, this was the place his employer had told him the target would be. The work-up was all in the briefcase; name, details of the family, activities. The Man was meticulous in his preparation for any job, and it helped his flawless record in the private sector… ten years, and he’d never failed. His face was full, with a slight hint of stubble around his cheekbones and square jaw. He wasn’t exactly handsome, he wasn’t the worst looking person you would ever meet. His hair had previously black, but was now every increasingly laced with grey. His eyes were also grey, but they bore no warmth. They were cold, hardened eyes, eyes that took in everything around them and let nothing out in return. He was wearing a black suit, with his shoes slightly shined. His wide-collared white shirt was tucking into his trousers, which were held up by a plain black belt with a silver buckle. The double-breasted jacket was buttoned at the front, covering the silver, and concealing the majority of his chest area. He wore a deep red tie, tied in a perfect Windsor knot, concealing the uppermost button of his shirt. He straightened the tie, and opened the door onto the road, stepping out and closing the door quietly behind him. The car was an older model, a BMW edited to fit Snake Eaters standards with regards to fuel, pollution and safety. It was still in good enough condition not to look conspicuous, but over it’s life the paint had dulled, making it even less conspicuous, even when you were looking for it.
He walked across the street, his feet crunching on the gravel driveway. Inside, the three men could be heard shouting at the TV, “Catch him, you stupid wanker… oh come on! That was an easy catch!” The shouts of men enjoying watching sport… how ironic. The Man walked right up to the door, standing on the clichéd doormat saying ‘WELCOME’ in large, friendly letters. He paused a moment, composing his thoughts, before reaching up to the brass knocker, lifting it, and letting it fall back to impact on the wooden door. There was the sound of a lavatory flushing inside, along with a man calling, “I’ll get it.”
There was the sound of footsteps, muffled by the carpeted floor but still audible to The Man. There was the sound of the latch being turned, and the door opened, revealing a stoutly built man in his mid-thirties. The Man glanced at him, and knew it wasn’t his target. But he was still an obstacle.
“Yes, can we help you?”
The Man reached into his belt, drawing a silenced pistol from his waistband and levelling at the guy in front of him, aiming at his chest. He took a brief second to notice the look of surprise and terror on the man’s face before he tapped the trigger twice, the two rounds burrowing into the chest. Freddie fell to the floor, blood seeping from the two chest wounds. The silencer did it’s job admirably, and the men in the next room had no idea that their friend was as good as dead, “Hey Freddie, who is it?”
When there was no reply, they both walked into the area separating the lounge from the reception area. As Doug emerged from behind the wall, The Man recognised him as the target, and he fired again, another two rounds impacting with soft human flesh, the blood splattering onto the nearby walls. Instantly, The Man shot Vince, the other companion, this time with three rounds, the last of these blowing a hole in his forehead as the nine millimetre slug burrowed into his brain, severing the connections that allowed his body to function. He collapsed without a sound, his blood seeping onto the cream coloured carpet. The Man was still standing over Freddie, and he looked down to see the dying man clinging to his leg. He pointed the barrel of the weapon down, squeezing another round through the back of his head, exiting through the roof of the mouth and slamming into the carpet. He stepped over the still twitching body, walking over to Doug, who was now trying to drag himself away and hide behind something, anything. In the background, the TV still blared… Oured were winning twenty points to ten. Doug stopped trying to escape as this stranger approached him… his vision was blurry, he couldn’t see properly, everything was a mad blur of colour. The stranger crouched next to him, lifting his head off the carpet, and looking him directly in the unfocused eyes. They somehow, through great willpower, managed to focus on his face. He saw the lines of age on the face, but also the flush of youth… but what really got him was those eyes. Cold, and merciless. They looked intently at him, and then flicked up to take a look at the screen, before looking back down. For the first time in the whole incident, The Man spoke. His voice was deep, and resonant, with no trace of an accent, and just a whiff of cologne, “Looks like you won your bet, Mr. Chambers.”
He stood up to his full height, about five foot eleven, and lowered the weapon to point directly at Doug’s forehead. There was a brief pause, and he squeezed the trigger, the blood, brain and bone splattering over the carpet. He looked around, and then stooped to pick up his casings… it didn’t pay to be sloppy just because the hit itself had gone without a hitch. He made sure that everything was collected, and dragged the first body into the house, sealing the doors and windows, and leaving the set on. No one would question it… not yet anyway, and that was all that mattered. He closed the front door behind him when he left, and walked calmly back to the car. He slid into the front seat, turning the key in the ignition and pulling smoothly away. In the house, the lights still burned, and the TV still blared…
OOC: Basically, a crime RP. Who is The Man? That’s up to you guys to find out…