bakerstreet

I think I know exactly what I'm talkin' about. Your face just told me what your mouth won't say.

[Feeling like he's got the upper hand again, Striker pushes past him, his shoulder roughly grazing him as he passes. He keeps a sharp eye trained on Blitzo all the while, tail lashing as he takes a few steps.]

Doesn't matter. I already knew. Everyone does. Everyone... but you.

[Once at a slightly more comfortable distance and at a better vantage point, he pauses.]

And before you go opening that damn thing again, I've had several for my ends. There's a reason my face is plastered all over the Pride Ring and I'm wanted dead. You think anyone would give a shit if I was killin' off poor imps and low class marks? I take on high profile hits. And, yeah, business is slow sometimes. But there's always gonna be some rich asshole out there lookin' to settle a petty squabble.

[Blitzø was fairly fucking certain he could shoot him. He didn’t know if the bullet would actually connect – Striker was a slippery asshole – but he could sure try. The fight would be refreshing, something to let the sudden, biting rage out, something that coiled at the base of his neck, waiting, wanting.

His teeth clenched tighter, fingers twitching but not going for anything yet. Striker was probably waiting for him to lash out – the bait was obvious.]

Yeah, well, go ahead and make assumptions on shit you don’t know anything about. Are you going to psycho-analyze mine and Fizz’s history, too?

[Fuck it, he followed after him, not letting that space between them grow.] Yeah, I just thought those signs were because you were so fucking annoying. But hey, wonder if I can help them out with their wanted signs.

[That distance closes fast when Striker turns sharply and steps right into him.]

Oh, you're gonna kill me, huh? That way every pompous overlord can rest easy at night in their mansion knowing nothin'll ever change all thanks to you? Bet they'll be real grateful. You might even earn yourself a pat on the head and a handful of pocket change.

[His tail whips around behind him so hard it catches a table and overturns it with a tremendous clatter.]

What, did I cause trouble in paradise, Blitzy? Maybe if you kill me, your boyfriend will forget all about what I did to him and your narcissistic ass can go back to being his favorite little imp again, like nothing ever happened.

[His teeth are bared, his face taking on a wolfish look. The greenish rings in his eyes dilate and there's a feral hatred in his eyes that makes him look absolutely unstable. Clearly, this man ain't well but he's still more than capable of spitting out bitter truths in Blitzo's face like verbal acid.]

Did you ever think that what I did was the best thing that could've ever happened to him? Maybe now that he knows he's killable, he'll wake the fuck up and think twice about treating imps like his toys. Maybe now he'll show some mother fuckin' gratitude for the imp services he depends on for survival. You ever think about that?!

[He stabs a sharp finger into Blitz's chest then, like it's a knife he means to drive straight through his heart.]

Maybe he'll start seeing you as something closer to equal and not just some bodyguard fuck servant!

[He had grown roots, refusing the move backwards as Striker stormed over to him. This fucker believed this bullshit, didn’t he? He believed every single word that spat from his enraged lips, and the worst part was that he wasn’t too far wrong.

Still completely and utterly wrong, but ...like adjacent. The next lane over.

The spines on Blitzø’s back rose slightly as he growled, a low hissing, ticking noise that rattled in the back of his throat. He just wanted to rend.]

Oh, is this the part where I should fucking thank you? [His hand smacked Striker’s out of the way, fighting the urge to lean down and bite it like a feral raccoon.] You don’t know the first fucking thing about how he sees me!

[Or maybe he did and that was what pissed Blitzø off more.]

And you’re so fucking obsessed with the fucking Goetia that you seriously forget that I have other reasons to want to take you out. I don’t particularly like my employees getting hurt or my f...friend [That was still new after fifteen years.] getting kidnapped.

But hey, boring me with your speech can be another reason, too. Let’s just get a tally going.

[For a fleeting second he almost looks confused. ~~Friends? What are those?~~ He was raging so hard about the royal, he forgot all about the collateral imp damage along the way. With the shift of subject, he growls under his breath and slowly recedes out of Blitz's personal space. The feral hatred in his eyes shifts back to regular hatred and after a moment of staring Blitz down, he turns partly away and crosses his arms like he suddenly doesn't want all the eye contact.]

Your friends need to watch whose business they meddle in. They're lucky I didn't kill 'em when I first had the chance. [Then, with just the slightest smirk.] They put up a fun fight though, I'll give 'em that...

[Fun until they almost managed to impale him through the chest with his own glorified hat rack. Little fuckers.]

I consider that score settled. Next time they get in my way, I won't be playin'. As for the clown, he's a disgrace after your own heart. But if being some Deadly Sin's pet is what he wants then he deserves whatever he gets. Not my fault you had personal ties with two of my marks.

[Here, Striker turns to level Blitz with a hard glare and a warning.]

You better not have some fucked up childhood history with my next one, or honest to fuck, I will behead you.

[~~Friends, you know. The people who you borrowed rides from when you were drunk or helped you move or sometimes snuck through their window and watched them bone. You know. Friends.~~ ]

There’s a reason they’re my best. [And only, aside from Loona, who was equally as talented. If she had been there – if he had been there – maybe Stolas wouldn’t have been hurt, stuck in a hospital and still sporting the scar. Familiar guilt coiled in his gut, but he shoved it down and away as Striker started to bitch about Fizz. Yeah, he felt a little awkward about that, too, because...it wasn’t like he hadn’t called Fizz the same thing when they weren’t exactly on speaking terms.

But that was then. This...this was fucking now.]

What can I say? I’m popular and beloved.

[He flipped him off with both hands.] Any chance I get on who your next one is so I can let you know if I banged them or not? Spoiler alert: I proooobably did.

[~~....side_eye_puppet.jpg~~]

[His upper lip twitches like he wants to bite those fingers clean off. But then he looks away with fading interest while his tail snaps up and backhands the backs of Blitz's hands. He is absolutely not the bigger man here, go die immediately, Blitz.]

No spoilers needed. Wouldn't be surprised if you've fucked your way through half of Hell's population.

[~~This is why you should have friends, Striker.~~

He waved his hands after they were smacked, scowling. What a dick. His tail smacked the assassin's, almost to the imp equivalent of a slap fight.]

At least a third, but I'm hoping to hit half by the time the holidays come around. You should try it sometime; getting laid makes people way, way less shitty. There's hope for you yet.

[When struck, his tail makes a sound like a slapped rattle before it retreats. Striker narrows his eyes skeptically at the highly suspect advice.]

Oh yeah? Hasn't made you any less shitty.

[A smirk. Walked right into that one, didn'tcha, Blitz.]

Unlike you, I don't go jumping into bed with just anyone.

[It's not the cowboy way.]

[Yeah, retreat. Let him have this victory. One point for Blitzø.]

Yeah, it requires more booze than I've been able to find to make me less shitty. [Gotta try harder than that, Striker.] The difference between us is that I embrace my shittiness, but you're still scared of it.

[He stuck out his tongue. Fine. Fuck it, they weren't going to physically fight? Then he'd be a petty bitch.]

Awww, do you gotta romance them first? Flowers and wine and dine and fuck them on the back of the horse that is way too good for you and one day I'll steal?

Hey.

[He's in Blitz's face again in an instant, his voice low and menacing.]

You leave my horse outta this, Shitzo.

[Once again, he dodges and dances around every point Blitzo makes — he's very acrobatic like that — but this time it's for a legit reason. Say what you want about him but don't you say shit about Bombproof. He'll kill for that horse.]

You touch him, you die. [Striker breathes a reptilian growl and turns an eye toward Blitzo.] Got it?

[Oooohhh, someone has a sensitive spot. Well, that's nice to know.

He smiled, not backing down and noticing everything else that this bastard didn't answer. Hm. Nothing to see here, nope.]

Look, I get it. If that was my horse, I'd spend all day brushing him and feeding him apples. Shit, maybe if you ask real nice, I'll even show you the fanart I drew of him and I.

[His tail waved behind him slowly, unthreatened by it all. Now it's on to just how annoying he could be in one interaction, an act he was way, way too good at.]

Just one little ride? I'll bring him right back.

Fuck off—!

[Hold up. What?]

Wait. ...Did you just say you drew fanart?

[The fuck? Fucking absolute NERD. But also SHOW HIM.]

Bet it's just a bunch of shitty stick figures. Guess it's the closest you'll ever get to havin' a real horse.

Hey, hey, HEY! My art is not stick figures, asshole! There is depth and color and space! Respect the fucking process!

[Don't judge his hobby of horse drawing. Did Striker ever draw fanart of Bombproof? If not, clearly Blitzø deserved him more than Striker did.]

And fuck you; we had a shit ton of horses at the circus. [Well, his mom did. She rode them like the pro she was... But Striker wasn't allowed to know that. Satan's teat, even Stolas wasn't allowed to know that.] You think you're the only fucker good enough to have one?

I'll believe it when I see it.

[Better pony up with that pony art, Blitzo, if you wanna prove him wrong. Striker is vaguely aware of Blitzo's childhood circus history only because Blitz and Fizz are the loudest fuckers in Hell and he overheard most of what they were talking about in Crimson's Cage of Reconciliation (even when he was trying his best not to hear 'em).

Secretly, he finds it a little ironic and off-putting that he and Blitz share something in common, but like hell is he gonna tell him about his days as a kid in the rodeo circus. No one but Bombproof knows about that and he means to keep it that way.]

You ever ride any or were you just a clown?

[That wasn’t asking nicely, asshole.

But he mumbled two or six curses under his breath and pulled up his cellphone wallpaper, swiping to the side so he could the picture of him and Bombproof/”Bombroof” in all its glory. Then he started to place and order for Bee Eats, because why not?]

Told you, Picasso.

[He pronounced it a little wrong with the accent on the worst syllable, but close enough.

There was a pause at the question; it was personal and giving him any information felt dangerous, even if most of them were ghosts now.

He thought of when he was little, him and Barbie punching each other to get to be the first to ride. Mom telling them that if they kept fighting no one would ride. Him sticking out his tongue at Barbie as they were both pulled up on the back of a horse, their mom behind them, holding the reins on either side of their small kid bodies. ]

It was a family circus, so I rode sometimes with them. A guy can have more than one job.

[Horses. The great unifier.]

Why did you start riding?

[Hands on his hips, Striker bends forward to take a quick gander at the screen. It's not a stick figure but it's sort of on par with what he was imagining and the corners of his mouth curl in amusement.]

Yeah, a real Pick-Ass-O. [He mimics Blitz's mispronunciation.] If he drew like a teenage girl.

[He straightens then, eyeing Blitz and his new line of questioning with some skepticism, a bit standoffish. He answers though because who doesn't want to talk about horses?]

Family business. I've always rode for one reason or another, ever since I could walk and talk.

[And even before he could do those things, he'd cry until his daddy picked him up and gave him a ride on one. It must've worked pretty well because he still remembers it. One of his earliest memories for sure.

He turns his head and raises a dark eyebrow at Blitz, eyes narrowing.] What, are you tryin' to be my friend or somethin'? Better quit while you're ahead.

[HEY! It’s beautiful! He had it framed up on his wall at home, one of the only ones without his face crossed out.]

Oh, fuck off. I didn’t hear about you having your fine art up in a gallery somewhere, but I’m all eyes if you want to show me some.

[Art was all about heart, anyway! Ugh. It was stylized.

Instead, he’d much rather talk about horses. They had that in common at least, so hey...there was that. Weird. Wasn’t sure he liked having anything in common. Huh.

Oh well. He was still going to steal his horse when the time was right, but that was a future Blitzø plan.

There was a flat look.] Rather dip my own tail in hot sauce and eat it before being your friend, don’t worry. One question about horses doesn’t mean I want to fuck you, but I get why that would be confusing. Horses are a sexy subject.

Are you challengin' me to an art fight?

[Because challenge fucking ACCEPTED. His confident grin soon fades and his expression sours at Blitz's accusation. Seriously though, why is it always gotta be a sex thing?]

That's some mighty wishful thinking you got there. Sorry to disappoint but the only way I'd fuck you is in your wildest dreams. Just do me a favor and don't show me if you draw it.

You mean, are you losing to me in an art fight? Because fuck yeah.

[Get him a white board and some markers; he'll have an entire horse being born in a clam drawn in no time.

Also, hey.]

My fuck dreams have good enough taste to star anyone other than you. [Except for that one time but it was a whole orgy thing and everyone was sort of invited to that. Does. Not. Count.] You're not even the type I'd go for.

We'll see about that, Pick-Ass-o. You just say when.

[Pencils at dawn, bitch. It's on.]

Aw, that's too bad. [He smirks, smolders even.] And here I was all hot and ready to let you ride it hard and put it away wet. [A shrug.] Oh, well.

[Sex jokes are only acceptable when used for mocking Blitzo. Also horse talk sounds dirty anyway...]

You scared to do it right now? Because I’m not, bitch.

[Get this imp a pad of paper and a pen. Fuck dawn; let’s do this shit now.

Except for- okay, he’d had worst propositions. Too bad for the whole hating-each-other thing, otherwise they could make some beautifully violent music together.

Especially when talking about horses.

But fuck, if Blitzø wasn’t going to call his bluff.]

Well, shit, I mean I’ve got nothing better do right now, and if you’re willing to play nice with daddy, I guess I could go for a quickie.

[Yeah, let him call you out this round of chicken. ]

[Well, that backfired immediately! Amazing how fast Striker's face goes from smoldering grin to irked-beyond-comprehension-scowl. Also, 'Daddy'?? What the actual fuck, Blitz!? He narrows his eyes.]

You disgust me.

[Then he stands across from Blitz with shoulders squared, head low and feet apart like the two of them are about to engage in a wild west style gun duel.]

Fine, you wanna do this now? There's your canvas. [A nod toward the wall. It's white enough, it'll have to do.] You better have your own pen, asshole.

[Striker draws his Sharpie that he uses from signing contracts, holds it in front of him and uncaps it like he's drawing a samurai sword.]

That makes two of us.

[Whether he was talking about himself or Striker was anyone’s guess. Let’s not get into that deep shit right now. After all, there was more important shit to deal with.

Let’s get this art duel under way.

Blitzø pulled out his own pen – not a Sharpie, who the fuck signs contracts with a Sharpie ?– and clicked it open.]

Oh, I was born fucking ready. One. Two. Three. Fucking go!

[And the sketches were on.]

[That retort earns him a confused glance from Striker. No time to give it much thought, though. He's got a competition to win.]

You got 15 minutes. I ain't spending any more time than that with your dumbass.

[Moving over to his section of the wall, he eyes the empty 'canvas' before him as he envisions what he's going to sketch, then he gets to work with quick, confident pen strokes. He's actually pretty focused on what he's doing, only sparing Blitz a quick glance or two from the corner of his eye to make sure he's staying over on his side of the wall. They're both parallel to each other so neither one of them can see what the other is drawing until it's over.]

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