Post by Wolfy on Jan 3, 2012 17:21:03 GMT -8
Pulling the collar of his suit coat up over his face, Victor limped down the sidewalk of the slum neighborhood. If anyone saw him here, word would get out to either the higher-ups, making them question what a well-off man like himself would be doing there, or word would get out to the troops he was commanding, and they would question his authority or even his sanity. No one went into the slums if they could help it – that was just how things were.
So, why was Victor there? Well, he had a revelation that the Rouge he was buying for a small fortune might not be any better than the Rouge that common people bought off street vendors in the slums. So, with his suit pockets full of Rouge that he’d bought from a high-end supplier, he was going to try a side-by-side comparison.
It didn’t take long to find a seller who was being mobbed by the poor-looking slum-dwellers. Most of those people were begging for the crimson potion, though they had no means to pay for it. “If you can’t pay the price, then get out of line. Step aside,” he said calmly as he brushed aside the people in front of him. Taking his place at the front of the line, he said to the vendor, “I’ll just have one vial, please.” He handed over the few coins that would pay for it.
He nearly gulped it down like an animal the second he got it, because he had gone without it the entire day in preparation for having to vials at one time. But first, he stepped out of line to allow the begging and pleading to continue. Then, he downed the first vial. The taste of cherries ran over his tongue and down his throat. Pausing for a moment, he contemplated the taste and how much better his injured leg felt. He drank down the second. It was exactly the same.
He was fuming. How long had he been on Rouge from those expensive sellers who promised better quality? He was on the verge of going to a phone and calling out his whole army after those businessmen. But first, he called the businessmen themselves to demand an explanation. After a few minutes of shouting into a payphone, they finally gave the excuse that their Rouge wouldn’t give him any negative side-effects that common Rouge would.
Victor glanced back at the vendor, who was still being mobbed by Rouge addicts and frowned. He could be getting hoodwinked, but could he really risk that? He couldn’t afford to be a crazy animal like that. If his commanders saw him become any more unstable, back to the asylum he would go. He wouldn’t stand being locked up like a beast again.
So, growling into the phone, he threatened, “If you’re tricking me, I will find you and you won’t even see what hit you.” Then, he proceeded back toward the Rouge seller to leave. When he tried to pass behind the line, though, he tripped on the uneven sidewalk. A handful of Rouge vials fell from his pocket, onto the cement, making a soft clank as the glass bounced and skidded on the sidewalk.
So, why was Victor there? Well, he had a revelation that the Rouge he was buying for a small fortune might not be any better than the Rouge that common people bought off street vendors in the slums. So, with his suit pockets full of Rouge that he’d bought from a high-end supplier, he was going to try a side-by-side comparison.
It didn’t take long to find a seller who was being mobbed by the poor-looking slum-dwellers. Most of those people were begging for the crimson potion, though they had no means to pay for it. “If you can’t pay the price, then get out of line. Step aside,” he said calmly as he brushed aside the people in front of him. Taking his place at the front of the line, he said to the vendor, “I’ll just have one vial, please.” He handed over the few coins that would pay for it.
He nearly gulped it down like an animal the second he got it, because he had gone without it the entire day in preparation for having to vials at one time. But first, he stepped out of line to allow the begging and pleading to continue. Then, he downed the first vial. The taste of cherries ran over his tongue and down his throat. Pausing for a moment, he contemplated the taste and how much better his injured leg felt. He drank down the second. It was exactly the same.
He was fuming. How long had he been on Rouge from those expensive sellers who promised better quality? He was on the verge of going to a phone and calling out his whole army after those businessmen. But first, he called the businessmen themselves to demand an explanation. After a few minutes of shouting into a payphone, they finally gave the excuse that their Rouge wouldn’t give him any negative side-effects that common Rouge would.
Victor glanced back at the vendor, who was still being mobbed by Rouge addicts and frowned. He could be getting hoodwinked, but could he really risk that? He couldn’t afford to be a crazy animal like that. If his commanders saw him become any more unstable, back to the asylum he would go. He wouldn’t stand being locked up like a beast again.
So, growling into the phone, he threatened, “If you’re tricking me, I will find you and you won’t even see what hit you.” Then, he proceeded back toward the Rouge seller to leave. When he tried to pass behind the line, though, he tripped on the uneven sidewalk. A handful of Rouge vials fell from his pocket, onto the cement, making a soft clank as the glass bounced and skidded on the sidewalk.