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@dartonthemobster
sociopathicuniverse knocked on the door
A man in a bright shirt and dark waistcoat grinned out his door at the newcomer, pushing up the half-rim spectacles that were slipping down his nose. "Ah! And whom do I have the pleasure of coming across this morning?"
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Well, were she to start a fight, it would certainly liven up the evening. Darton loved surprises.
At her last sentence, he broke out laughing. “Ahahaha! Well- heh- pl-pleahahah, please, have some more!” He gestuered at the drinks table, still chuckling. “Unfortunately, there aren’t so many people here as I would have liked, and I’m afraid I’m a bit over-stocked. So, unless I’d lilke to spend the next few days drinking myself under all the tables in the house…”
Well shit. Don’t mind if she does. Her next move was to hold up a claw to excuse herself. Went and retrieved one of those drinks and returned back to him. A little more satisfied. Yep.
"Y’do tours o’ this place? Maybe I can get ideas for my mansion when I’m super rich an’ live in a place that ain’t a warehouse. Hehehe."
She had no such intention to move. But hey, it would get them moving and strike up some new conversation. Charlie was horrible at ‘party talk’.
He bounced on his heels, taking another drink. Mm, he should probably slow down, at least so that he wouldn't be drunk until all the guests were gone. Although, really, if he was a bit tipsy as the last few guests wandered about, what of it? As long as he didn't say anything to get himself in trouble with the law, what was the harm?
"Oh!" he mused for a moment. "I suppose I could take you around a bit, if you like.~ It's quite a large house, though, and a bit empty, so I hope you won't mind if I skip some of the less exciting rooms."
He nodded along. “Perhaps a space-heater of some sort? Rugs? In any case, you seem to live there quite comfortably, for the most part.” Darton offered a smile, then took the rest of his scotch in one go. “And what about your hobbies, my dear?”
"We have a few space heaters. S’a pretty big warehouse though. Gotta kinda strategically place ‘em. Y’know."
Oh man. Don’t call her ‘my dear’. There’s a fifty percent chance you’ll flatter her and the other fifty percent would most likely take it as an insult.
Luckily, this is one of the former times.
"Uh. Well. I mean. I do a lotta sleepin’, I guess? Kinda. Cat-like sometimes. Lotsa naps. Uhm. Hm."
Didn’t really have too many hobbies, now that she thought about it. She was usually pretty.. busy. Or. Sleeping. Woops.
"I drink a lot? ? ? ? ?"
Well, were she to start a fight, it would certainly liven up the evening. Darton loved surprises.
At her last sentence, he broke out laughing. "Ahahaha! Well- heh- pl-pleahahah, please, have some more!" He gestuered at the drinks table, still chuckling. "Unfortunately, there aren't so many people here as I would have liked, and I'm afraid I'm a bit over-stocked. So, unless I'd lilke to spend the next few days drinking myself under all the tables in the house..."
She seemed to enjoy the compliments, preening and posing ever so slightly. How adorable. Must not get compliments very much at home. Still, he was serious - knowing how to fix people up was a valuable, difficult skill to learn.
"I’m sure my parents would have tried to avoid that, yes." Pity. Hobos were always given the least attention when found dead in dumpsters. "Ah! I’ve always wondered if people live in warehouses. Do excuse me," he interrupted himself, "I don’t mean to be rude. It always just seemed a bit exciting. So much room to put things!" Darton seemed oblivious to the irony.
She got compliments pretty sparingly from people who weren’t the two that she lived with. She made sure to take advantage of them when they did roll around. No shame in that, really. Or, at least, that’s what she’d convinced herself of, at this point.
"Well, Doc was livin’ in one long b’fore I came ‘round, I imagine. I sorta jus’ moved myself in. Works though, doesn’ it? S’big an’ we got a good few rooms for whatever. Friend of ours lives in one an’ our kid lives in th’other. An’ some others are for storage an’ shit."
Her nose wrinkled some then.
"Gets real cold in th’winter though. A lotta th’floor’s like concrete an’ stuff. Not really th’best insulation or nothin’. But that’s prob’ly th’only downfall. M’sure you don’ really have that problem here, yeh? Heh."
What with the
lavish decorations and all.
She figured he could at least afford decent heating.
He nodded along. "Perhaps a space-heater of some sort? Rugs? In any case, you seem to live there quite comfortably, for the most part." Darton offered a smile, then took the rest of his scotch in one go. "And what about your hobbies, my dear?"
"Aah! How lovely. I must admit myself to a little knowledge of basic anatomy, for the purposes of my job, but I remain largely ignorant of how to improve them." A little inside joke. He knew what muscles to hit to bring someone down within thirty seconds, knew just where the weak points in the skull were that would break the fastest. But fixing these things? No skill whatsoever.
At the PhD joke, he chuckled amiably. “No, of course not. I’m sure you do an excellent job!” He took another sip of brandy, and wondered briefly if Charlie used the same to clean wounds. Probably a waste of brandy.
"Of course not. I’m sure Cook could make something you’d find appealing, and I’d hate to make a guest uncomfortable." Another little inside joke. "So, how do you find the neighborhood? Being new here, I’m not quite sure what’s around."
"Well, it ain’t so much improvin’ as it is jus’ keepin’ it from breakin’. Or bleedin’. Or whatever. Y’know." She shrugged. Taking the small ego-boost that came with the medical knowledge and his acknowledgement of what she knew. Yeah. That felt good.
"Neighborhood’s not bad. Although I think you managed t’escape th’rampant hobo issue that Doc an’ I have ‘round th’clinic. But it’s in th’warehouse distrct, so I guess that ain’t much of a surprise, issit?"
Gesturing around them, she gave him a smirk.
"Our place pales in comparison, really, but it’s home. As for what’s nearby, th’ony real places I frequent are th’corner store an’ a pizza place that a friend owns. Not so much recently. But every now an’ again. I don’ get out as much as I might appear to."
She seemed to enjoy the compliments, preening and posing ever so slightly. How adorable. Must not get compliments very much at home. Still, he was serious - knowing how to fix people up was a valuable, difficult skill to learn.
"I'm sure my parents would have tried to avoid that, yes." Pity. Hobos were always given the least attention when found dead in dumpsters. "Ah! I've always wondered if people live in warehouses. Do excuse me," he interrupted himself, "I don't mean to be rude. It always just seemed a bit exciting. So much room to put things!" Darton seemed oblivious to the irony.
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"Really?" Darton leaned forward over his brandy. "What were you doing in school that would lend itself to the doctoring profession? If I may ask."
"Oh, my dear, I wouldn’t dream of the opposite! I would, of course, give proper compensation of your choice for your...
"Aah! How lovely. I must admit myself to a little knowledge of basic anatomy, for the purposes of my job, but I remain largely ignorant of how to improve them." A little inside joke. He knew what muscles to hit to bring someone down within thirty seconds, knew just where the weak points in the skull were that would break the fastest. But fixing these things? No skill whatsoever.
At the PhD joke, he chuckled amiably. "No, of course not. I'm sure you do an excellent job!" He took another sip of brandy, and wondered briefly if Charlie used the same to clean wounds. Probably a waste of brandy.
"Of course not. I'm sure Cook could make something you'd find appealing, and I'd hate to make a guest uncomfortable." Another little inside joke. "So, how do you find the neighborhood? Being new here, I'm not quite sure what's around."
"How interesting. Are you a doctor as well, then?" Perhaps in impudent question, but hopefully he could learn a bit. It was always good to know what shady skills were about.
He poured himself a glass of white wine and swirled it delicately by the stem, not looking up. “I suppose so. They seem to be a rough pair. Still, it seems to suit them.”
Finally looking up, Darton caught Armastus’ eye. “Does it bother you? I would hate for you to feel unsafe in your own home.” He smiled. His own little joke. Disrupting people’s homes, waiting for them in their safe places, watching the looks on people’s faces, was absolutely delightful.
Phineas brought the glass up where he could get a proper scent. Half the enjoyment in wine is that alone. He loosely crossed his arms and propped an elbow in palm.
“I am not a doctor, though I could prove to be quite good with surgery." He was, after all, able to cut, snip, and stitch in various lethal and non-lethal ways. Knew where all the veins and organs little squishy things worth knowing were.
Armastus was not actually a very comfortable person to make eye contact with. He could Front with the best and smile like a dorky Milo Thatch or like a Cheshire Cat, but his slate eyes didn’t always join the party. They never joined the party. Dead as a door nail. Not a small flicker of a soul in there.
“It doesn’t bother me, no. I very rarely feel unsafe in any environment." Partly because he didn’t actually feel anything at all and partly because he tended to be the most dangerous man in any room at any given time. And if he wasn’t THE most dangerous, he was likely to be violent enough to get away. "You seem to have a good occupation. This house is clearly well paid for and taken care of. You even have a servant staff.”
Ahhh, good. A man who knew his way around a blade or a scissors? That could prove to be entertaining. "Hel-lo, what a hobby! You'll have to show me sometime. I've been told I'm fairly good with blunt instruments, but I'm afraid I'm a bit terrible with the pointy ones." So, he was testing the waters. What of it? Blunt instruments - that could mean anything, really. Cooking, maybe. Or construction. Let's see if the joke was picked up.
Phineas' eyes were the opposite of Darton's, whose were always sparkling with the fires of curiosity. When those fires went out - when he was bored, when things were dull, when life wasn't worth living anymore without new things to discover - he became was useless. How interesting. Perhaps it meant something, if Darton cared to notice. He didn't.
A man who didn't feel unsafe, who wasn't a doctor but knew how to do surgery, a man who knew how to look like he was part of the social circle - taking a drink when offered - but didn't partake of it? Possibly an outsider, someone who lived in the dangerous parts of the world. He sounded like James Bond, frankly. Some sort of secret agent, or maybe someone like himself. Someone who lived on the interesting side of the law, at any rate, whether the petty labels of villain or hero applied.
"Oh, I suppose. I like it, at any rate." He bounced gently on the balls of his feet. "Keeps me fit, keeps me interested. I'm afraid I really can't speak for the purchase of the house, though; it was inherited. I only pay for the upkeep." He swirled the wine and took a sip.
He leaned in conspiratorially. “Perhaps we can get Cook to break out the fondue and make us something sweet.” Darton winked and grinned.
Ah, yes. This doctor she was-wasn’t-was enamoured with. “Charming.” He smiled, though he wasn’t particularly interested. “Does it interest you?
"My work includes… Scuffles, from time to time. I hope you wouldn’t be against my dropping by, were I in need of such assistance?"
"Int’rests me ‘nuff. Got some practice in that sorta stuff while I was still in school, so it ain’t totally outta left field."
"If y’were t’provide me with some form o’ payment fittin’ o said assistance? Probably." A little bit of a coy grin appeared on those features. Sharp teeth peering from between lips as she set her hands behind her back and straightened up. Business talk was worth being a bit more serious.
"I take cash or barter. Willin’ t’trade for stuff I might find useful. Medical supplies, food, or alcohol are th’three best ones. Although I’d be interested in other things."
"Really?" Darton leaned forward over his brandy. "What were you doing in school that would lend itself to the doctoring profession? If I may ask."
"Oh, my dear, I wouldn't dream of the opposite! I would, of course, give proper compensation of your choice for your services. Such is the way of the world, hm?" He chuckled. "Though for food, I must admit the only service you need do is join me for dinner. I'm partial to guests, as it does get lonely here."
Darton chuckled. Not many people felt quite at home in his house. He liked it that way. Keeping people off-balance led to excelent slips of the tongue, intriguing power-plays. “You’ll have to come over sometime, then. Feel free to stop by.”
He sipped his scotch and watched her look around, taking in the vast hardwood hall and its pictures and hangings. “Invite some friends. I’ll hold a banquet. It would be nice to get to know a few more people.”
A woman in a maid’s outfit stopped at the table nearby, carrying a tray of pastries to replace those that had been eaten. She arranged them neatly on their tiered display, then checked for empty alcohol bottles. There weren’t any. She left again.
"So tell me," Darton continued, "how did you find yourself in medicine?"
"So long as I don’ gotta dress super formal, I’ll be there. For th’free food, if nothin’ else," she said with a small grin. Never one to really be shy about the fact that she was a food junkie. Huehuehue.
The question had her ears twitching.
"Uh… A certain doctor kinda. Wrapped me up in his world hehehe. Figured if I was livin’ with him, I might as well do what he does." Didn’t know if this guy was aware of Doc Worth. But eh. Not that she was ASHAMED of said doctor-partner-husband. Just. Probably not wanting to ASSAULT something with that odd of information so quickly.
He leaned in conspiratorially. "Perhaps we can get Cook to break out the fondue and make us something sweet." Darton winked and grinned.
Ah, yes. This doctor she was-wasn't-was enamoured with. "Charming." He smiled, though he wasn't particularly interested. "Does it interest you?
"My work includes... Scuffles, from time to time. I hope you wouldn't be against my dropping by, were I in need of such assistance?"
He offered a cozy smile, watching her accept the praise . It seemed he’d found a weakness. How fun.~
"Ah, well. I’m glad it works out for you." Hopefully he would never experience the sensation himself. Darton wondered vaguely if they could be cut or filed, but dismissed the thought. "I hope you find yourself comfortable here?" Around him, the party hummed and swelled, and the fire in the grate crackled with a mixture of menace and joy.
Admittedly, it was a pretty obvious flaw in her otherwise relatively impenetrable outer shell, but there it was. And there wasn’t much she could do about it.
"Comfortable enough, yeah. Guess m’jus’ not all that used t’such uh.." She gestured around them. Hard to come up with a right term, but eventually she settled on one.
”- grandeur settings??”
Yeah that worked.
"But hey, I can definitely see th’appeal. Heh." Of course, who couldn’t see the appeal when the proof that money sometimes held a pretty wonderful advantage? And that was living like royalty. Ahh.. Maybe one day.
Darton chuckled. Not many people felt quite at home in his house. He liked it that way. Keeping people off-balance led to excelent slips of the tongue, intriguing power-plays. "You'll have to come over sometime, then. Feel free to stop by."
He sipped his scotch and watched her look around, taking in the vast hardwood hall and its pictures and hangings. "Invite some friends. I'll hold a banquet. It would be nice to get to know a few more people."
A woman in a maid's outfit stopped at the table nearby, carrying a tray of pastries to replace those that had been eaten. She arranged them neatly on their tiered display, then checked for empty alcohol bottles. There weren't any. She left again.
"So tell me," Darton continued, "how did you find yourself in medicine?"
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We’re gonna play a new game called Top 10 TV shows, because there’s one for films. Write down your top shows and then tag at least 10 friends to do the same.
I was tagged by thepiemakerstouch!
(in no particular order)
Pushing Daisies
Hannibal
Avatar: The Last Airbender
Phineas and Ferb
Gravity Falls
Poirot (David Suchet version, of course)
Almost Human
Sanctuary
Phineas and Ferb
Ouran High School Host Club
I tag: thegirlfromnapoli, stickitinmyvein, spxctre, cdwalker, averyrook
And any of my followers who want to do this (don’t forget to tag me so I can see it!)
A rather hurried knock comes at Ples' door.
Another realtor? Really? The ticking man shook his head; he should just put a sign out on the lawn – Not Interested in Selling. He walked downstairs and opened the door.
Not! Interested, thank you-
He could feel Ples trying to be gentler, trying not to throw him out his door quite so fast. Too late. He was still irritated. “Fine. Draw a map and I’ll ask around, then. Or come if you want. I don’t care.” /Something, anything./ Darton wasn’t actively bleeding out, but he was in much more pain than he would like to be, and did not fancy having to play nice with Tibenoch while the man fretted.
Eyes glazed, he stared up through the open trapdoor. “That noise. It’s… Amazing.”
A map? Ples used to make maps. Of course, why hadn’t he thought of that?
I. I can make you a map…
A bad idea, indeed. Ples’ conditions tended to prioritize details. This would be the best map Darton would ever receive, but the fact that time was a major factor in the mobster’s health status was slowly fading into Ples’ mental background. Darton was going to need help to untangle that crossed wire.
The Other Man didn’t have Ples’ laundry list of problems. He had plenty of his own, but he was far more outcome-oriented. With a mental shove, Ples was knocked out of the driver’s seat.
Hullo, hullo. I think it would be best if we drove. You do not look healthy at all! We’ve not the time to dally with maps.
And driving a car? It had been many, many years since Tiben even had the opportunity to drive a car. What fun!
Perhaps you mean the clocks? He keeps many.
Map, no map. Don't drive, drive. Make up your mind. But Ples' voice was different, and Darton turned to eye him, conscious enough now to catch the switch. Not that he knew what it was, just that something was different. "You were just saying you didn't want to drive. Make up your mind. And he keeps clocks?"
A rather hurried knock comes at Ples' door.
Another realtor? Really? The ticking man shook his head; he should just put a sign out on the lawn – Not Interested in Selling. He walked downstairs and opened the door.
Not! Interested, thank you-
"I-" He paused, gaping slightly. You called my bluff. You cheeky devil. Darton started chuckling, the laugh growing into a full, curling, wincing laugh. “I think I’d rather get to a doctor, first,” he finally gasped. “I don’t suppose you’d know any that might not ask too many questions?” The man had sewed him up without too many questions, true, but he didn’t expect Ples to be that knowledgeable on back-alley doctors.
Alright, stair time. He dropped the few inches off the table onto his good leg. The second step nearly brought him down, but he caught himself on the table with a grunt. “A little help, if you wouldn’t mind? I think most of the blood is dried by now,” he added, glancing down at his shirt.
Mostly dried? That was hardly ideal. But, bottom line, Ples didn’t want to attract trouble, so Darton had to go. Ples set the door, trotted down the stairs, and grabbed the hobbling man’s arm, forcing him up.
Ah, a d-doctor?
What was this? Darton didn’t trust Ples’ slap-up job with the random assortment of filthy tools he had strewn about the basement? Dok would have done it, but he was at an actual medical establishment just now. On the record.
There was another one, though. Lesser people would have pegged him for a copy or a double, but Ples’ attitude towards Dok made him stand out among Doc Worths. There was Dok, and then there was…
…his rune dealer.
I might.
Ples pursed his lips. He didn’t like driving the Cadillac to Worth’s neighborhood. It was an obvious symbol of status and that usually meant Ples would be targeted by pickpockets, thugs, and other criminals.
…you can’t stand?
Ples heaved him up with a rough hand, and Darton scowled as the man half-pulled him through the basement. “I can walk,” he said, rather shortly. Ples’ lack of courtesy was beginning to irk him. “Slowly. I said stairs might be a problem.” Well, he certainly hoped he could walk. It would be terribly embarrassing to be proven wrong now. “Just give me an address and I’ll get there myself.”
Honestly, he was surprised Ples knew a shady doctor. Although, considering his actions last night… Perhaps Ples wasn’t as straight-laced as he seemed. Hm. He’d have to look further into this.
From the open trapdoor, Darton could hear a cacophony of tikks and takks. His eyebrow furrowed, confused. “What’s that?”
That. Th-that might be a problem…
Ples steadied himself and forced his body to slow down - someone else’s needs had to be attended. It was an odd thing.
I-it’s not an address, per se. It’s…more of a. An area. N-no, that’s not right. There is no location. Oh-
He shook his head.
I’m, I-I’m not explaining this correctly…
But maybe it didn’t matter just now.
What’s what?
He could feel Ples trying to be gentler, trying not to throw him out his door quite so fast. Too late. He was still irritated. "Fine. Draw a map and I'll ask around, then. Or come if you want. I don't care." /Something, anything./ Darton wasn't actively bleeding out, but he was in much more pain than he would like to be, and did not fancy having to play nice with Tibenoch while the man fretted.
Eyes glazed, he stared up through the open trapdoor. "That noise. It's... Amazing."
A rather hurried knock comes at Ples' door.
Another realtor? Really? The ticking man shook his head; he should just put a sign out on the lawn – Not Interested in Selling. He walked downstairs and opened the door.
Not! Interested, thank you-
"I-" He paused, gaping slightly. You called my bluff. You cheeky devil. Darton started chuckling, the laugh growing into a full, curling, wincing laugh. “I think I’d rather get to a doctor, first,” he finally gasped. “I don’t suppose you’d know any that might not ask too many questions?” The man had sewed him up without too many questions, true, but he didn’t expect Ples to be that knowledgeable on back-alley doctors.
Alright, stair time. He dropped the few inches off the table onto his good leg. The second step nearly brought him down, but he caught himself on the table with a grunt. “A little help, if you wouldn’t mind? I think most of the blood is dried by now,” he added, glancing down at his shirt.
Mostly dried? That was hardly ideal. But, bottom line, Ples didn’t want to attract trouble, so Darton had to go. Ples set the door, trotted down the stairs, and grabbed the hobbling man’s arm, forcing him up.
Ah, a d-doctor?
What was this? Darton didn’t trust Ples’ slap-up job with the random assortment of filthy tools he had strewn about the basement? Dok would have done it, but he was at an actual medical establishment just now. On the record.
There was another one, though. Lesser people would have pegged him for a copy or a double, but Ples’ attitude towards Dok made him stand out among Doc Worths. There was Dok, and then there was…
…his rune dealer.
I might.
Ples pursed his lips. He didn’t like driving the Cadillac to Worth’s neighborhood. It was an obvious symbol of status and that usually meant Ples would be targeted by pickpockets, thugs, and other criminals.
…you can’t stand?
Ples heaved him up with a rough hand, and Darton scowled as the man half-pulled him through the basement. "I can walk," he said, rather shortly. Ples' lack of courtesy was beginning to irk him. "Slowly. I said stairs might be a problem." Well, he certainly hoped he could walk. It would be terribly embarrassing to be proven wrong now. "Just give me an address and I'll get there myself."
Honestly, he was surprised Ples knew a shady doctor. Although, considering his actions last night... Perhaps Ples wasn't as straight-laced as he seemed. Hm. He'd have to look further into this.
From the open trapdoor, Darton could hear a cacophony of tikks and takks. His eyebrow furrowed, confused. "What's that?"
Take Me Home
Luke Darton was quite done with activities for today, thank you very much. He had two wounds that kept seeping blood, a shirt and vest plastered onto him with the dried version of same, and no weapons left but an empty pistol and a makeshift shiv, if it came to that. Not that he was anticipating trouble, but all the same.
At the moment, he was merely shuffling down the sidewalk, looking rather lost. "Excuse me, but would you happen to know where the nearest doctor is?"
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LOOK AT MAH BABY
LOOK WHAT PRINCECANARY DID
WHAT A CUTIE
A commission of my mobster hitman OC Darton, done by the fabulous person who created Gentlemantown, and I couldn’t be happier. Thank you so much!! Y’all should commission this beautiful artist because they are fantastic alright aaaaa I can’t deal with this right now it’s so great *fans self*
I look fabulous.~
A rather hurried knock comes at Ples' door.
Another realtor? Really? The ticking man shook his head; he should just put a sign out on the lawn – Not Interested in Selling. He walked downstairs and opened the door.
Not! Interested, thank you-
Pushy, pushy. He had thought Ples was more or less a pushover. Suppose he’d better be refining his ideas of the man. Luke stayed on the edge of the table as Ples worked on the door, loathe to stand before he had to. Even being upright was tiring. He could feel the bruises all over his body.
"Whatever sent me to your door? Just a car accident, honestly. Nothing to worry about." Not a very good lie, as car accidents didn’t put bullets in people. Nevertheless, it wasn’t like Ples didn’t know he was lying, or that he wasn’t about to admit what had really happened.
Ples lifted a grizzled eyebrow at Darton’s explanation. If Tiben had decided to be helpful, he would have brought it to Ples’ attention that Darton, under the influence of great pain, had given a bunch of other explanations - none of which meshed with the overall narrative.
But he kept quiet.
And Ples wasn’t as dumb as he made himself look (most of the time).
Indeed. And where is your car? I think it would be most advantageous if we were to call a towing service.
He locked the door open.
And get you a ride to the nearest car repair garage.
Sure, he could run with the explanation.
"I-" He paused, gaping slightly. You called my bluff. You cheeky devil. Darton started chuckling, the laugh growing into a full, curling, wincing laugh. "I think I'd rather get to a doctor, first," he finally gasped. "I don't suppose you'd know any that might not ask too many questions?" The man had sewed him up without too many questions, true, but he didn't expect Ples to be that knowledgeable on back-alley doctors.
Alright, stair time. He dropped the few inches off the table onto his good leg. The second step nearly brought him down, but he caught himself on the table with a grunt. "A little help, if you wouldn't mind? I think most of the blood is dried by now," he added, glancing down at his shirt.
