JW. Blood Of The Raven King.

Joker || Fracture

Readers Please Note: Joker || Fracture may contain spoilers for the film. Read at your own discretion.

|| FOUR ||

Three months, two weeks and four days.

Arthur had been keeping a log of the passing time in the staff sign-in book where he was taught to autograph his name and the date for every morning as he clocked in and every evening before clocking out. The theatre director, the enigmatic and somewhat eccentric Lauretta Styl proved to be a regimented woman who ran her staff both cast and crew strictly, but fairly.  With the exception of the performance personnel, theatre crew were worked on a two week rotating roster over a nine hour day. Staff began at either 7AM, 9AM or 11AM and worked through to 4PM, 6PM or 8PM respectively. They were afforded an hour’s lunch break, unpaid and two coffee breaks spaced evenly throughout their shifts ensuring the floors were never kept unmanned and always evenly staffed.

Arthur’s first fortnight in the theatre saw him on the 9AM shift and he was mindful to take an early bus into town to avoid being late. The weekend leading up his first Monday on duty found him to be a veritable ball of kinetic excitement. He could hardly sit still his anticipation was so great.  That evening after the interview, found him bolting home on jubilant footfalls. A new sense of purpose filled him. Opportunity did wonders for a man’s self-confidence. Divesting himself of keys and coat, he called for his mother who was reading in the warm lamplight of the living room. She fixed her son with a cursory glance and nodded approvingly. He furnished her with every detail he could recall, bustling into the kitchen, intent on cooking a celebratory dinner. He’d make pasta sauce from scratch tonight!

“This is why I named you, Happy.” Penny murmured fondly as she sat upon a stool at their kitchen counter drinking sweet, hot tea and watching her son chop onions and sing to himself contentedly.

“Are they going to pay your better at this new job?”

“I dunno, Ma. It’s not right to ask about money during the interview. I’m sure it’ll be okay. We’ve always gotten by before even when things were tight. You should see this place, Ma, really. They have these beautiful purple curtains and gold fittings on the ceilings. They’re so high! You’d strain your neck looking up. And the stage is beautiful. The lady who runs the place, Lauretta, she said one day I might be able to perform on it, with my comedy act.”

“You’ll have to write some better jokes then. Something funny.” Penny replied absently. A shockingly loud clatter jolted her abruptly upright. Her son dropped the cooking knife he was handling to the sink.

“Jesus, Happy, do you have to be so clumsy? And loud? And did you check the letter box on your way up? I’m waiting for a letter.”

“They are funny.” Arthur murmured indistinctly beneath his breath. His voice quiet and his gaze unfocused upon the middle-distance. His elation deflating as suddenly as it had swelled. Penny’s ears were sharp though.

“What?”

“I said no, Ma. There wasn’t any letters today. There never is.”

“Oh… Well, I’m going to watch some television for a while, leave you to cook in peace.”

He waited for a few moments. Listening to the shuffling slippered foot-falls of his mother as she groaned, rising from her seat and padding away.

Through the kitchen window and across the street, Arthur’s sight fell upon his neighbor’s drab, old brick building. His kitchen window regrettably afforded a view of the neighbor’s living room on occasion when the curtains weren’t drawn.

The tenants were never of any interest to him directly. There was something impolite about looking into their living room. For his sake as much as theirs he sought to avert his gaze or draw the kitchen curtains whilst he cooked.

What drew his attention on this night was their great ginger tom cat with white paws and striking yellow eyes. The animal wore a red collar with a tiny silver bell around its neck and perched regally atop the window sill, watching him. Seemingly never moving. He’d lept upon the peeling sill at some point during the conversation with his mother and proceeded to lick at his left paw watching Arthur with feline interest all the while. He wondered at the cat’s name.

Come Monday morning, Arthur made sure he was at the stage door early. Martha answered his knock and offered him a polite compliment over his neat attire for which he was grateful. He’d spent the night before agonizing over the state of his wardrobe, ensuring his shirt was ironed and his shoes were polished. He wished he had a better bag rather than his worn brown leather satchel. It would do however. He made certain he had copies of his resume and ID in his wallet. Money was tight this week, he’d have to eat when he got home. Just as well, he couldn’t stomach anything right now. He was far too nervous. 

“Pleased to have you, dear. Follow me to the break room. There are lockers were you can put your belongings and the coffee and tea is complimentary. You can help yourself before your shift starts. We take turns bringing in fresh milk. I’ll mark your name on the roster pinned to the fridge door. Mind you don’t forget it when it’s your turn hmm?” Martha began briskly as she lead Arthur around the box office, up a stair well, into a corridor and out into a large and airy breakout room with unfurnished windows that looked down into the bustling city below. The stage manager checked her watch and continued.

“Now, be mindful of the time. Laura’s called a meeting downstairs in front of the stage at 9am sharp. Take care you’re not late. She’s very particular about punctuality and famous for keeping us honest about it. I expect she’ll be wanting to introduce you to your crew mates formally and assign you some duties, you follow?”

Arthur nodded his head yes. He’d been listening intently as he followed Martha and her rapid footsteps to a row of tidy grey and white lockers that were set against the wall on the opposite end of the room. To Arthur’s surprise, number 11 had been assigned to him, his name written neatly upon a white label in black marker pressed upon the locker door. 

“This one’s for you, Arthur. You’ll need to bring your own padlock but I’ll loan you this one for today.” Said Martha producing a small mail lock and its key from her jacket pocket. Arthur took the lock in hand, nodding his thanks. Martha continued her preamble intently,

“Now, if you bring your lunch, make sure you label it clearly when you put it in the fridge, food will mysteriously disappear otherwise. And where possible, don’t keep clothes or shoes in your locker over the weekend. Take them home to be aired and laundered save you copping unwanted flack.” 

“Sure. I mean, of course, Mrs?”

“Martha, is perfectly alright, dear. You’ll find most staff will tolerate a first name. But be mindful, some of the actors are sensitive whilst performing or rehearsing. It’s best to keep out of their way. And for heaven’s sake don’t let yourself be caught near the women’s dressing rooms unless you’re expressly asked or you’ll catch hell for it, clear?”

“Crystal clear, Martha. Thank you. For everything, really.” Replied Arthur quietly. His gratitude welling in his eyes. He offered a docile, slightly lop-sided smile.

“Well, see if you make it through the first fortnight before giving me any thanks. Stage front in fifteen dear, yes? Ciao for now.”

And just so, Martha bustled away on a brisk footfalls, adjusting a pen in her tightly rolled bun, leaving Arthur to his own devices in the empty break room. A number of round timber tables and chairs waited quietly giving the room the impression of an unoccupied café.

With little left to do, Arthur set about putting his satchel away in his new locker, helping himself to some instant coffee and lighting up another cigarette to pass the time. Once the clock above the door read five to nine, he was quick to leave the large breakroom behind, retracting his steps downstairs until he came to the open theatre doors where a congregation of some fifteen people were standing at the foot of the stage.

Martha was among them, speaking hurriedly with Lauretta who seemed to acknowledge what was being said and taking notes on a clip board.

Oh, she was splendid today. Dressed in fitted, black high-waisted slacks and a peach blouse. Her sleeves rolled back and her hair gathered in a French braid. Around her stood an array of staff dressed in various states of uniformed workwear. Arthur gathered his wits and strode in what he hoped was a confident fashion to Lauretta’s shoulder.

She turned fixing him with a dazzling smile.

“And here he is. Alright, everyone!” The theatre director clapped her hands sharply, the crowd quieted and listened.

“For months now you’ve told me this production has taken a toll on each of you. I thank you for patience. As it stands, I’d like to introduce you all to our latest crew member, progressive comedian and practiced harlequin, formally of Ha Ha’s Entertainment, Mr. Arthur Fleck.”

All at once a dozen smiling faces broke into hoots and hollers. A round of applause was had and Arthur offered a heartfelt smile. A little shy beneath the heat of so much fresh attention.

“Hey, welcome aboard buddy!” Called a particularly sharp dressed young man. African American, lanky of limb and distinctly possessing the style of a pop-star.

“You’re gonna love it here. Hey, you wanna see your future? Look at that guy over there. That’s Greg, he’s what we all gotta look forward to lookin’ like, even the ladies, yeaooow!”  

This seemed to draw laughs from the gathering, even from the unfortunate Greg who was weighty, balding and sucking on a partially lit Cuban cigar. He waved off the sly remark with good humor.

“Enough from you Freddie, you’ll give Arthur the wrong impression.” Lauretta corrected playfully before continuing.

“Now, Arthur will join us as a stage hand over the next two weeks, shadowing Freddie and Fay respectively. I ask you all mind your manners and be patient whilst he learns the ropes. Stagecraft takes time to come into, but if we can work collaboratively we’ll find opening week to our musical runs a great deal smoother.”

The next twenty minutes were spent exchanging handshakes whilst Lauretta introduced Arthur to each of the theatre staff individually. Freddie was finally introduced as the theatre manager, holder of all the keys. Whilst Fay, a sharp eyed, pretty brunette advised she was the stage assistant and understudy to Martha.

“Together, we’re your ‘A’ team, my man.  Get ready, because we’re gonna work you to the bone.” Freddie began, shaking Arthur’s hand with a dazzling smile. Arthur could not help but feel this young man reminded him strongly of the pop star, Prince. He moved with musical grace and had a habit of adding a “yeeoow” to the end of his sentences when making a humorous quip.

“Don’t let him scare you off, Arthur, can we call you Art, or Artie? And what size shirt do you wear? We’ll have to work out some uniform shirts for you now that you’re part of the crew.” Fay announced, gesturing for Freddie to give them some space. Arthur could not help but smile radiantly. His other employers and colleagues were never so welcoming.

“Artie is fine,” He replied finally, “and I wear a medium dress shirt, if that helps any.”

Fay made a note in her log book signaling a thumbs up as Lauretta once again clapped sharply and drew the attention of her team. For the next few minutes she took feedback about the state of the up-coming production, making notes and giving a great deal many directions. Arthur stood by, smiling and noting how pretty her small drop pearl earrings were and the way the rest of the team seemed content if not a little stressed. She addressed each problem and complaint individually and earnestly. The team seemed at their ease around her. In time the crew dispersed to their individual tasks in groups of twos and threes.

“Freddie, I’m going to borrow Arthur a minute. I’ll send him backstage with you shortly.”

“You got it boss lady!” Freddie exclaimed, turning smoothly and strutting away in time with a melody in his head.

The theatre crew finally out of ear-shot, Lauretta turned to Arthur with her characteristic warm smile.

“So, how are we holding up, so far? All good?”

“Oh, yeah! I haven’t done anything for you yet. I’ll work very hard though.” Arthur replied sincerely.

“It’s not about working hard so much as it is about working smart. Relying on your team mates to support you and more than anything, not taking anything personally. You’ll see staff lose their temper more than once and sometimes it may appear directed toward you. It shouldn’t be. But if it is, remember, you’re in your rights to just shake it off and move onto the next task. We’re something of a family here, Arthur. Working a forty hour week means you’ll spend more time with us than you will your own flesh and blood. It’s important that you’re at your ease, even when you’re not. No matter what state you’re in or how busy we all look, I am here to listen to you.”

This sentiment seemed to bring some profound change to Arthur’s features. His smile slipped and his eyes began to sting. He looked away a moment, fumbling for his cigarettes as he whispered,

“Thank you. Really.”

“Of course.” She replied, reaching out her hand to caress his arm gently. Arthur’s smile returned, he lit up, breathed in deeply and exhaled sharply.

“Now, Arthur, I hope you don’t think this too forward of me, but, about your condition. I was giving it some thought over the weekend and I wanted to get your impression. Would you prefer I have a quiet word with the staff just to alert them or would you rather speak to them of your own accord during the breaks and such? What would make you most comfortable?”

Arthur coughed sharply, his eyes widening in disbelief.

“Oh, please, I’m sorry, I hope you don’t think I’m being rude?” Lauretta continued, concerned she’d said something off-key.

“No, no, not at all. I just got on with my cards in the past. I prefer to not draw attention to it if that’s okay with you, ma’am?” Arthur responded quietly.

“Of course, by all means. I just thought, if everyone was on the same page from the get go, it would make it easier for you. If people know what to expect.” Arthur’s eyes seemed to harden as he nodded, taking another pull of his cigarette and blowing the smoke sharply out of the corner of his mouth. Lauretta couldn’t help but feel she’d somehow overstepped herself.

“We just want you to feel comfortable, that’s all. If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to find me. I’m almost always upstairs in the office. Have a great day ahead Arthur, I’ll see you at lunch.”

“Thank you, Lauretta. I appreciate it.” Arthur returned.

“Laura’s fine.”

“Laura then.” Answered Arthur with a smile.

The remainder of the day seemed to fly. Arthur diligently shadowed Freddie with a myriad of tasks. He was given a new pen, note book and clip board where he scribbled a range of instructions as he was toured around the theatre. After morning coffee break, Fay rushed to find him before he left the break room with a new walkie-talkie and a microphone head set in hand.

“Here you go honey, you’re on channel eighteen with stage hands. Push this button to call all crew and flick this switch to mute your mic. Try keep radio noise to a minimum during rehearsals. Actors lose their shit when they’re in the zone.” She punctuated the last word by gesturing inverted commas into the air, earning a laugh from Arthur who stifled himself by coughing. He wasn’t about to risk an attack in front of everyone in on his first day. He’d control this. He had to. Instead he thanked her and clipped the walkie-talkie to his belt whilst Fay rushed off taking an apple from the fruit bowl on the counter on her way out.

The evening came too soon. Arthur’s head was swimming with instructions. He’d managed to make notes of his latest directions and did a great deal of shifting, pushing and carrying of stage equipment on Freddie’s direction. The two men seemed to get on well and Freddie showed a sincere interest in asking a great deal many questions about Arthur’s personal interests that he took great pleasure in answering. Arthur was relieved come the end of the day. He’d found a friend in Freddie and Fay and looked forward to telling his mother all about it.

Come six o’clock, Lauretta found her way to the break room where she shook hands with the staff preparing to leave for the day, wishing them all the best and thanking them for their hard work. The same courtesy was applied to Arthur whom she lingered near a moment, whilst he made to take his satchel from his locker.

“Thank you, Arthur, for all your hard work today. I know there’s an awful lot to take in so quickly but your crew mates have nothing but praise for you. I’m thankful to have you in our team.”

“I’m grateful to be given the chance, honestly. It’s been a pleasure today. Are my papers okay?” Arthur replied with a questioning smile.

“Yes, they’re well in order. You can expect to pick up your first pay-cheque from my office next week. Now, go home and get some rest. Let’s see you back on deck bright and early tomorrow. Fay will have arranged some new crew shirts for you by the time you arrive.”

This was his chance. Arthur stepped forward,

“Laura, before I go, could you hold this for me?” He produced from his pocket an oversized match box and handed it to the director. She took it slowly with some trepidation.

“Arthur, this is not one of those prank boxes where if I open it I’ll be hit in the face with something, will I?”

“Haha! No, nothing like that, open it, go on.” Arthur urged, his eyes shining intently.

“Uh, okay.” Deft slender fingers gently pushed the large matchbox open to reveal within its depths a tiny pink rose bud.

“Oh how pretty!” She exclaimed lifting the flower gently and holding it to the light. Arthur furrowed his brows and clicked his tongue in exaggerated annoyance.

“Tsk, that’s not right at all. These boxes can be so unpredictable. Are you sure there’s nothing else in there?”

Perplexed, Lauretta opened out the match box fully affirming to Arthur that it was indeed empty

“May I?” He asked gently, taking the little rose bud from the lady’s fingers and shutting it back into the confines of the match box.

“Now, maybe if you blow on it, like a birthday candle?” Enchanted, Lauretta played along taking the box back into her waiting hands and blowing against it gently.

“Now try.” Arthur prompted. Nodding, the theatre director slid the match box open for a second time gasping with childlike surprise when within, where the tiny rose bud once lay was her light blue handkerchief folded into a neat little square.  With a gasp she lifted the cloth free of the matchbox looking up with stunned joy. The little rose bud was nowhere to be seen.

“Arthur! That’s remarkable! What a charming trick!” She gasped exuberantly.

“I’m glad you like it.” He breathed, deeply relieved and gently taking the box from her hand.

“Really Arthur, give yourself a little time to settle into your new role, then we’re going to have to talk about organizing some sort of show time on the side for you. How does that sound?”

“Oh! Wonderful, truly! Thank you!” Arthur exclaimed brightly.  

He left work that day and took the bus home in high spirits. He may have had little to offer, but his determination to succeed was great. He was tired now. Tired from a day’s solid physical and mental labor. He hoped to shower and maybe eat something. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so hard to sleep tonight. He began to plan his next visit to Pogo’s that weekend on the bus ride home. He still wasn’t able to get a seat. But it didn’t matter so much now. He’d have a lot to tell his mother when he got home.

He’d made Lauretta smile.

Fracture 1 | Fracture 2 | Fracture 3

Small Fortunes Presents: The Witcher - End of The World

Come all ye who would listen, gather round the fireside and pay vigil to this tale of the Witcher...

Where do the Gods go when there are none left to remember their names?

Forever on The Witcher's Path, Geralt of Rivia journeys across The Continent bound for the great Western kingdom of Cidarus. Onward he travels the endless wilderness;  through breathtaking mountain side and seemingly endless valley. Beset by the majesty of the deep forest, he becomes  unwillingly ensnared by an ancient arcane magic. Yonder, lies the great Gate of Abnok and the vast, haunted city beyond - Yune: The End of the World.

Seduced by its mindless pull, Geralt finds himself dangerously unprepared for the tragedy that awaits. Alone, tormented and hopelessly lost;  the crushing power that resonates the land starts to slowly strip the Witcher of his reason.

A chance encounter by the hand of Destiny thrusts the White Wolf deep within the ancient forest. There resides a crumbling temple to an eerie, forgotten God...

Witcher Fans: Join the Adventure!

Download the FREE PDF e-book NOW!

This short story is presented in honour of @acollectionof-lizs-thoughts & @champagne-with-words​

Be kind to the author! This short story is published for entertainment purposes only as a not-for-profit, fan-based production. You may download a copy and share it with your friends and family, but do not attempt to modify or sell it in any way.

If you wish to share the work on your personal site or blog, please add a link back to Small Fortunes and credit the original author ‎Andrzej Sapkowski, whom without his great creations, this fan work would not be possible!

John Wick: Rebellion

When you left me, I left I this world.

Buried under cement and stone.

They dragged me back into this moment.

And forced my hand to be disowned.

Now I am again risen.

Vengeance is once more my name.

I am the Bird of Hermes.

Eating my wings to make me tame.

|{ @f0rtis-fortuna-adiuvat - @lalienna-dementriento A Gift to you my Faithful Friends. I give to you, Excommunicato - John Wick. }|

It hurt to leave her...

Her body in his arms. He cried tears into her hair, needing her touch. Feeling somewhat whole again because she refused to let go of him as much as he refused to let go of her. They were fated together. Bound by destinies than entwined. He couldn't resist her if he tried.

Why did he fight with her so desperately? Why did he separate himself when he needed her like the air he breathed? How long had he slept alone in his bed, his hand feeling for the warmth of her body that wasn't there. Wouldn't come.

And a thousand times he thought to himself; 'I should go see her. I should tell her I'm sorry. For hurting her. For cutting her.'

He thought it yes, but then he thought of the sin. The betrayal. That woman... Devina... He could have done it if he wanted to. Put a contract on her head. A million pounds sterling for the first man in England that executed Devina Dentent. And her fucking husband. She'd committed two fold adultery. Once against her husband. And once against his Mistress. And she was his Mistress still. He toyed with the idea of making her his fiancé. Gianna had told him to, soon after her initiation To make an honest woman of Lalienna. What if he had? What if he's proposed on his knee to her, given her the ring, begged her hand in marriage just a few weeks sooner? Would she still have betrayed him?

He didn't want to know.

He just didn't want to know.

It was best to keep things in the shallow end. Because he'd never quite learned how to swim.

And he saw the smoke when he left that morning before this mess ever came to pass. When he kissed her as he rose from their bed and sighed his love in her ear.

Something deep in him begged him to turn around. Leave the airport. Go back and get her. He was rushing things with the Austrians. This could wait couldn't it? He'd not even taken her home to Rome yet. Why was he so obsessed with securing her international passage across the border lines of different countries?

Because he wanted to establish a safe haven for her. There was no Continental in Vienna. Not yet.  But he wanted her secure in a safe country. Where she could escape the world. Her own villa, her own car. She wanted a dog. He liked dogs, he wanted her to have one. He wanted to personally go to the shelter and pick a tender pup that she could raise and love. Because she was a child still. And children needed puppies. Something to look after and grow with. To learn responsibility and love and loyalty.

Loyalty.

She had it in droves... But she drank... She got bored. An old friend from the Tower. An old lover, in spite of his best intentions, for the sake of playing nice as a guest to Athena's land. He hated those women for what they'd done to her. He hated her father. He hated her mother. He hated everything and everyone around her right now, including his High Guard that protected her like savage, snapping dogs. Because that's what he'd trained them to do. That's what Gianna wanted. That's what Lorenzo demanded.

He hated leaving her.

He promised as Christov picked up his fallen coat and bags, that he would come back. That he'd make this right. Again.

He'd fucked it up gloriously.

He always managed to fuck it up and there she was with her tender eyes and powerful embrace telling him it was alright. Because it was flesh for flesh. Blood for blood. He never did call that contract open on Devina.

He knew deep down he never would because a woman that she bedded obviously meant something, even if it was in one drunken fit of passion.

He couldn't understand it though. He'd never done these sorts of things. Cheating on lovers. It was against his ethics. Even in all his whoring, he didn't cheat of them if he was in a serious relationship. If it wasn't working, he broke it off clean and spent the night in another woman's bed. That's why he stayed single. Unattached. Evading his father's demands he marry and clean up his life and stop acting like a spoilt brat. And fucking woman like a whore. He was a disgrace.

 But Marissa changed him. For the better he thought. He wanted to marry her too. He actually bought Marissa the ring. He gave it to her.. in front of Gianna, in front of Lorenzo. Down on one knee he looked Marissa in the eye and begged her hand in marriage. To prove a point to himself more than anything. That he could do this. He could survive without a hundred flowers so long as he had one that would control him. And he craved that. To be controlled.

It didn't turn out the way he wanted it to.

None of this turned out the way he wanted it.

 So he bowed his head, shook Hector's hand and wiped at his tears, flustered and feeling extremely insignificant. Entirely small. He needed a drink. He needed to lay down a few hours. He needed to be with Lalienna and just hold her to him.

Why did the world make so much sense in the cold light of the day?

Why did it hurt so much when Christov pulled him away?

"Come on, Tino... You need to give the lady some space. You heard her, she's forgiven you. It's over now. You're both going to be okay. But you have a flight to catch. You worked hard last month trying to secure her papers, if you don't get her residency tied up you're going to piss all that hard work away. "

 He left the Continental under a single Guard. He couldn't face the others anymore. Ares, Hector, Marcus, Curtis, Tony. He felt as if he was the brunt of some big joke and no one was going to make any moves to let him in on it. He got this feeling, as Hector had said Lalienna wasn't permitted to drink... that something was going on outside his knowledge. They were professionals after all. Discreet. They knew things. And they knew how to keep him out of the loop.

He was quiet most of the drive up to the London Air Port.

"Thank you." He conceded at last.  

"Oh yeah? What for?" Chistov asked, not turning to face him. Keeping his eyes on the road.

"For helping me see the light. After so long. I was beginning to lose sense of myself."

"You never could see the forest from the trees, Tino. That's why you have a family like us. Many pairs of eyes decipher the puzzle one cannot see."

"Wise words, my friend." Santino returned. Settling back into his seat and lighting a smoke. Blowing the plume out the car window.

"I'm not sorry though. For what I said to you. About you being a pig sometimes. With girls. Why'd you cut her man? I mean really? What did you think you'd get out of it? Watching her cry? Watching her bleed? Fuck...man, seriously. I mean... What if she was carrying your baby? Would you have still fucked her up like that?"

 Santino leaned back into his seat. Covering his face with his hands. Dragging on his cigarette nervously as if the harder he smoked it the faster the answers would come.  

"No... I don't think so... I'm not that deranged. I-I don't know, please, Chris, stop pushing me. I can't take anymore. You and the crew have been at me like this for years."

"Marssia?"

"Yes, fucking Marissa! I'm sorry... I'm sorry. I told you I meant it, I'm sorry. I told her I was sorry. She still walked out on me, there was nothing more I could do to stop her. She didn't want the ring, she threw it in my face. God! Won't you ever let me live that chapter of my fucking life down?" Santino begged. The tears he was choking back on started to threaten again.

Christov was quiet for a moment. They were in the Air Port car park now, in the International Terminal. He was moments away from pulling up at the drop-off rank. He spoke again though, as they slowed in the traffic. Giving other cars way.

"She left you.. because you broke your own promise, Tino. You didn't use your head. You didn't apply the breaks even though you knew you should have. You can't do that to girls, amigo mio. You just can't. That wasn't safe, sane or consensual. You tied her up. You cut the pads off her fingers, off her toes. You whipped her like she was cattle in a field. You bled her, tortured her. Then you raped her. Even when she told you she was carrying your baby... She would have given her life if it meant to please you. She let you do those wicked things to her willingly. Because you got dark... you got depraved. She lost the child because of you, Tino. It wasn't the blood, it wasn't the sex, the knives, the whippings. It was you. She couldn't stand a world where someone as violent and twisted as that would actually be a father."

"There's no proof the baby was mine. That night, I caught her with another man in my bed. I was going to marry her.... I was going to marry her.... and she was fucking another guy. FUCK!!" He couldn't breathe. His vision was blurring. He felt the bile rise to the back of his throat and swallowed thickly. Ashamed of himself. He thought he'd buried these emotions and memories under concrete four years ago. Why was Christov tormenting him like this?

 "It was your baby dude... The other guy... Before we killed him. He confessed... To everything. That he was having a tryst with her, yes. But he always wore protection. He never came inside her. But you did... She miscarried the child after the beating you gave her. It was only six weeks old but it was still a baby, Tino. Your baby. Isn't that what all guys want eventually? To be fathers?"

 "No." He said at last. Getting out of the car as they pulled up to the curb. He picked up his coat and leather bags from the boot. He looked Chris over one last time. He was going to Vienna alone. He didn't need a guard with him. There was no danger. He was a danger to himself more than anything else.

"You saw that man today... Marquis... That man was her Lalienna's father. He wasn't ready to take responsibility for his daughter. He left her in the hands of a drunken addict so he wouldn't have to believe the child was real. Maybe he had his reasons for walking out on them. Even if they were degenerate and selfish. Everything in this life happens for a reason. I wasn't ready for marriage. I wasn't ready for children. I wasn't ready for Marissa Conti. Marissa Conti wasn't ready for me. But times have changed, Christov.... I've changed. I've come further than you give me credit for. I took responsibility for my actions today."

"Because we backed you into a corner, Tino. Otherwise you would have dragged this stalemate out and until she was driven insane. And would have sat back and enjoyed it. Because that's the kind of man you are today."

"You're wrong, Chris. I won't accept it. This half informed judgment you're piling upon me. Don't make a mountain out of a molehill. Lalienna betrayed me with another woman. That's the fact here. She got drunk, she knew the consequences, and rather than call me and tell me she was in the mood... she took her friend to my bed... and fucked her. And she wouldn't have told me about it either if it wasn't for the photos she'd sent me where I saw the bite marks on her neck. If I didn't come home... If I didn't punish her the way I did... She would have kept doing it, behind my back. Even if I did buy her that ring. And first it's a girl from the Tower. Then it's another old friend with history.... Then it's John fucking Wick. And where would that leave me? On the side-lines, with a wife that's an adulteress. Following her lusts like I used to. I bled Lalienna because I saw myself reflected in her eyes. I cut my initial into her throat to remind myself I was wrong. Even though I was insane with rage. And I'll remember my sin now every time I kiss her neck. That I wasn't the first one to love her. I won't be the last."

 "You really love her, eh?" Chris asked quietly.

"Yeah. I love her. But I'm not ready to be a father either. Not until I have time to work myself out." Santino admitted. Defeated, broken down.

 "Then get your shit done fast... come back. Pick her up and take her to Rome. That's where she needs to be now. Away from these distractions. Away from temptations and indiscretions. She did what she did because she's afraid of losing you. Your her Papi now. So act like it. If you can't be a father, at least be a man." Chrisov admonished.

 "I'm trying." Was all he said. He turned away. With his coat and his bags. He entered the international terminal and waited in the lounge until the next flight could take him back to Vienna. Where he had every intention of buying Lalienna a house... and a car. Where she had a new alliance with people that would protect her if she ever decided to walk out on him. Because he wouldn't...couldn't repeat the trauma of Marissa Conti.

He understood then, what Marquis had said... to his own daughter 21 years later.

That he wasn't ready to be a father.

Tears formed in her jade eyes, lip quivering slightly. She held back a sob, taking a breath.

“You…you never wanted me?” It felt as though her heart was breaking. Literally. The strings of her cardiac muscles were snapping, leaving her in the worst pain she’s ever felt… and she’s felt a lot of shit. She’s been through the worst, through hell. But this…this was worse. She couldn’t catch her breath. Her lungs wouldn’t produce the oxygen needed to stay alive. God, make it stop. Stop it! She couldn’t handle it. She clutched her heart, squeezing the fabric of her shirt in her fists. Her eyes broke. They relayed how she felt. So so so so ruined. So torn. So…worthless. Thrown away.

————

@f0rtis-fortuna-adiuvat // here is your angst. Do with it what you will. ;) have fun, my angel of sadness.

Summary:

The chemical processes of love are transformative and comparatively terminal. Can you forgive the beast that eats you alive whilst you look him in the eyes?

Special Agent Will Graham finds himself acquitted of criminal charges whilst The Chesapeake Ripper is still at large. In the midst of this cruel battle of minds, Dr. Hannibal Lecter receives a letter from an old friend. A decade of history between them sets the foundations for a devastating web of manipulation, seduction and murder.

Join the dinner table. This original novella invites the audience to experience a sumptuous and brutal cascade of erotica and violence.

A behind-the-scenes look at Keanu Reeves’s GQ cover

I gladly request a second part to your John wick fic! That was absolutely brilliant. There’s no word to describe my feelings for how shocked I am. It truly brought a tremble to my hands. ;)

Thank you for your kind words, dear reader.

At the time of it’s production: ‘John Wick: Altum V’ was originally written as a stand alone short story. However, considering it has received such warm and positive review: it’s sequential continuation may be published exclusively to this blog very shortly. We warmly invite you to check back often for updates and thank you earnestly for your support. 

If you have a specific prompt or concept that you would like revealed in the Wick underworld, we invite you to share it with us using the Ask function. 

Yours Truly,

 L. G. Spider

The title Darth symbolises transformation. When I took Darth as my title, I put away my childhood name. What does it matter that I was once a miner or a soldier? The only thing that matters is what I will achieve.

I restored the title of Darth to the Rule of Two so that only the worthy may hold it from this time, until the end of time,