There is an article about the word count distribution . Lots of charts and statistics on the writing in the Wheel of Time. If anyone ins interested:

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/blog/sci-...heel-time/

Something crunched under Mara's foot. She curiously peered down at her bare feet and found the reason. A large vinyl banner, smeared with mud and trampled by dozens of feet, lay discarded. She kicked at one corner, flopping it open and read what once advertised a craft fair. A pair of knitting needles crossed on each corner. A basket and vase were outlined on the center. A big script read 2025. An old sign then. Or maybe it was new, and it was she who moved through time. She wasn't quite sure.

The darting of a black shadow pulled her gaze upward to the myriad booths and wooden stalls, their interiors all skewed and broken. Shards of pottery littered the paths. Signs dangled from their perches. Chairs upturned. Tables knocked over. Mara stalked to one such booth and picked up a necklace snapped in half. More pieces of metal glinted in the dirt nearby.

Something horrible happened here, she thought idly, and put a hand to her eyes to shade them as she scanned the scene. The sky was lit, despite the lack of sunshine, yet the gesture seemed to help her focus. A black shadow darted behind a booth. Momentarily, she thought it was a rabbit, but when the voice beckoned her to follow, a sly smile tugged at the corners of her mouth and she padded off in suit. Quietly, she thought to herself. They were suppose to be quiet.

She rounded the back of a stall and came upon a pickup abandoned in the grass. Come mistress, the whisper touched her mind, and she padded carefully around the bed. The passenger side door was ajar.

Her eyes flared wide when she saw her pet squat low in front of the door, nuzzling at the fingers of a dangling arm. The black pet peered up, it's eyes glowing like bright moons within the svelte of its fur. She came close, knelt at its side and put a hand on its head, pushing it slightly aside. It complied with a grizzly nuzzle on her own hand, but she didn't fear it's jaw snapping down on her bones as it had been chewing on the hand. She pushed the door open farther, peering inside the cab. Only for the arm to land in a thud at her feet.The torn fringes of a blue sleeve was ripped at the shoulder.

Her pet pounced on the arm, snapping and snarling at the meat it devoured. She jumped from the way and deep lines dug into the edges of her mouth. A scream in the distance snapped her head upward. She left the pet behind to its meal and stalked in search of the owner.

Three steps and it seemed she had paced three hundred. She walked beneath the limbs of a great tree in the center of the fair grounds. The vehicles of food trucks flickered in and out of view. Her dark, tilted eyes studied the logo of one aqua-colored food truck bearing the image of a squid before it disappeared from sight.

The scream did not return. So Mara stalked the area, ears tuned for any noise. At her feet the black fuzz of a pet appeared half a step behind. Then another joined its brother. Then a third. They followed her, all listening for the noise, all eager for another meal.

A creak pulled her ears toward a booth with a sign of a squid on high. Her eyes narrowed to slits as she crouched low in the hunt. The hunger twisted her stomach now. She salivated and padded softly forward. Together with her three black pets, they were a fog of death slowly rolling into the stall.

Soft. So soft. They padded with all the stalking of a wolf on the hunt. Though something about thinking of wolves made her want to snarl, she kept the growl within. Then, she froze. There. They heard it. Panting. The deep, rapid breathing of a terrified soul.

Her lips parted in a wide smile. Her pets broke from her feet, rounding the flaps of the canvas-walled tent. Their screamer huddled behind the tablecloth of the table. Handmade chopsticks were lined across the top. The claw of Mara's hand slowly reached for the nearest one and pulled it into her grasp and held it against her ear like a knife.

The panting drew in a sharp breath and went silent. Their screamer held their breath, but it was too late. They knew where she was.

Mara's lids slid low as she crouched. Every sense surrounding her enveloped her mind, even as it stretched out. Smells of rancid oil and blood mixed with dirt swirled her nose. The absolute absence of noise, of being utterly alone in this sunless world prickled her ears to every single decibel. Her blood ran cold. Her mouth watered. She was hungry and something nearby would feed her.

In fact, it already was. Fear, she hungered for fear. Delectable, filling. She lapped up the fear of the one behind the table like a leech sucking out blood. Her pets sensed it too.

Then, the screamer could hold their breath no longer. They took a barely audible breath in, but the shaking in their lungs was deafening.

Mara and her three pets lept and devoured it until there was nothing left.

***

Daiyu opened her eyes and peered at the empty ceiling over her bed. She smiled at the shadows, turned over in her bed and nuzzled the blankets high to her chin. When she fell into a peaceful sleep, she knew she felt the best she had in years. She couldn't wait to tell her doctor tomorrow. Meanwhile, the idea for her next novel was born, a horror thriller taking place far in the future: 2100, in a world where monsters erupted from the darkness 75 years previously, ones that fed on fear.


Edited by Daiyu, Feb 18 2018, 08:31 PM.

The room was dimly lit, soft music played in the background, and a hint of stale incense hung on the air, overpowered by the scent of sweat.

“It’s okay. Just breathe like we practiced. You’ll get through this.”
A woman sat on the edge of the bed, smiling down at a young woman propped against a wall of colorful pillows. Her pink and pretty face was screwed up, her eyes shut, and she was very obviously holding her breath. Her stomach protruded in front of her and her heals dug into the bedding, pushing her back into the pillows. In her pain, the young woman held both of the other woman’s hands so tightly in hers, the fingers were white with lack of circulation. No complaint escaped Melany Torrones’ lips. This was what she was here for.

Perspiration made the short black curls stick around the face of the midwife, the central air having been turned off in the birthing room and the southern night had stubbornly retained the heat of the day. She blew in her charge’s face to remind her to breathe, her own breath minty and pleasant.

“Keep breathing.”
she reminded and the patient dutifully took breaths in little puffs, her concentration distracting her from the contraction, if not actually doing anything to really reduce the pain.

A soft chime sounded, and Melany extricated one of her hands with a reassuring smile as the contraction waned. She tapped an intercom button hidden under the edge of the bedside table. It must be pretty important if Anabel was interrupting her during a birth.

“My lady, there is … someone here that needs your immediate attention.”
Melany’s lips came together and thinned. She would have to remind Anabel to lay off the honorifics. It was one thing to feed the press the Lady Moon persona, it was another to actually start believing it.

“Send Lacey in to spell me, please. I will meet the … guest in my study. Please offer refreshment.”


Melany had a good idea who it was and why he was there.

When Lacey entered the room, the young woman was quiet and taking advantage between contractions to close her eyes and catch her breath. Melany leaned over and whispered something in her ear that made her smile slightly.

“Lacey, this is Cyan. And her baby will be here pretty soon.”
Lacey moved past Melany to sit on the edge of the bed and picked up a washcloth sitting in a bowl of ice water, and squeezing the excess water from it, began to wipe the exhausted young woman’s face.

Melany squeezed Cyan’s hand and said she would be back before the baby came. Melany looked meaningfully at her replacement and Lacey nodded. She would call Melany should birth look immanent. She made it a point to be present at every single birth of the many women who came to her for help.

Melany stopped in her rooms on the way to her study. She quickly washed the sweat from her face and ran water through her curls. She pulled off her sweat drenched t-shirt and put on a fresh one. The rest of the manor was not as warm as the birthing rooms were by necessity, but trying to keep costs down, they didn’t keep it very cool, either. Just enough to take the humidity out of the air.

Entering her study she smiled. Her guess had been right. The young man that stood looking out the window behind her desk had light brown hair, neatly trimmed and was clean shaven. Her turned as she entered and the smile on his face was answered in her own. She moved to give him a chaste hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“Joshua. So nice to see you. Won’t you sit down?”
Joshua returned the platitudes and took the seat she offered him. They exchanged heartfelt niceties for a few minutes and inquired about each other’s lives since last they’d met, but Melany knew that Jet’s PA was here on his business, not to catch up with a high school sweetheart.

“So Josh, why don’t you tell me why you’re here. I have a young pregnant woman in one of the birthing rooms ready to pop – I’ll need to get back to her shortly."
Josh smiled, glad she understood the purpose of his visit and got straight to the point.

“Jet is going to Moscow. With Beto. He wanted me to show you this.”
Josh pulled a folded sheet of paper from his pocket and handed it across the desk. Melany took it from him eagerly. She appreciated the fact that Jet never compromised her position by maintaining the farce that they were at odds, and craved the few personal communications they were able to send to each other via people like Josh Ledger. Mutual friends from their youth, the press could conjecture, but never prove that the wild young musician and the spiritual leader of the Luna Evangelical Church of the Goddess actually still spoke and still loved each other. Melany knew it had stung Jet when she had expressed a need to distance herself from him when she chose this route and he chose his. She couldn’t afford for the sins of the brother to rub off on her.

Melany unfolded the paper and frowned. It took her a minute to realize what she held was a copy of a letter from … yet another woman in need. She sighed and took a breath, looking up at Josh before reading the short missive. As she read, her beautiful dark eyes opened to their full potential and this time there was a question as she glanced at Josh.

“Jet wants you to make your way to Moscow. He wants to help this girl, but isn’t sure how.”


Melany looked back down at the note. Jet knew exactly how to get her to do what he wanted. He knew she would be hard put to say no to a woman in need. Especially if the woman was family. And someone Melany had cared for a great deal in their youth. Leaving that child behind in China was probably one of the reasons she had started this church. A church to help young women in need.

But before she even had time to think about the implications or the logistics, the intercom chimed and she hit the button. “Yes?”
Lacey’s voice came over the intercom, sounding calm to the casual observer, but Melany sensed the stress she was feeling.

“Mel, this baby is coming quick. You’d better get back right now.”


“I’ll be right there.”
and tossed back over her shoulder, "This conversation is not over."
. Without looking back, she folded the paper up and tucked it in her back pocket as she left the room at a trot.
Edited by Jet, Feb 16 2018, 12:05 AM.

I was told I should do a send off post for Aria...

I rather liked her head rolling to the ground being a final moment but here ya go.

Aria had a good run, but it was time to end. Dane always was going to be the death of her!

Having word spread among the Accepted ahead of time, Lythia found herself taking corridors she'd not seen in years. Many years. The farther she diverted from the main hallways traversing the first floor of the Tower the farther back in time Lythia felt she went. She didn't glide, not like the floating visions of noble beauties poufed and coiled for court. Yet compared to the gangly, awkward pale version of herself Lythia was at sixteen, she was the Aes Sedai of her dreams. Good-fitting soft wools, gleaming waves of hair streaming down her back, sturdy boots. Lythia would change nothing to her appearance riding to battle as she would attending a summons to the Amyrlin Seat. Although, she would trade the small knife at her belt for her shawl for Mother; and perhaps secure her hair for war.

There was a time early in her years in the Shawl, when the color of rainbow hems still swirled her daily thoughts, that Lythia scoffed at the idea of a Sister too busy to pass her valuable knowledge onto the Accepted. The kiss of death. Long years later, the start of her path in the Shawl was a point far out of sight.

By the time she crossed into the common court within the Accepted tower she was greeted by almost as many gawks as she was curtsies. She'd not taught novices since before she'd bonded Blake, a man who'd shared her duty to the Light for over ten years. She'd taught aspirants to the Green here and there, however. But those impactful lessons were short and swift. Addressing as many eager faces as which turned to her now...? Well, she nodded her acknowledgement of a few greetings before simply taking her place in the center of them all when the white dresses parted.

A quiet descended as Lythia Sedai began to provide some answers. "I will not soften the blow. We all know the Last Battle comes."
Her hands clasped lightly before her, she raised her voice without the use of the Power, even as she scanned unfamiliar faces peering down from the levels of galleries extended upward. However she was curious to know the reception of her forceful proclamation of the obvious. One of the few aspirants declaring allegiance to the Green Ajah that she actually recognized nodded in agreement, but for every nod, she saw frowns and in one case, a girl actually shook her head sadly and looked at her feet.

"As Accepted you have some freedom to direct your own studies. But what can you do to prepare for the Last Battle? Really do? This is the White Tower, and you women striving to be Aes Sedai, not the Borderlands and you plate and mail infantry. Every Ajah will have its role,"
she spoke as a true believer of that statement, moreso than the confidence of the Three Oaths gave her speech, but a passion glinted, like a shot in the dark, across her eyes and Lythia raised her voice proudly, "but I am a Green. If you wish to prepare in the way I will lead you to prepare, submit your name."


Without taking questions and without providing further details, she scanned the responses - the gaped mouths, the confused expressions, the rise of whispers winging about - then, pleased, Lythia departed. She was a busy woman, after all, and as such arranged for another Ajah-Sister, Delanna, delegated to take her place.

It was the stout, but surprisingly soft spoken Cairhienin Delanna that explained to the many questions that this was not an aspirancy but an opportunity for some extreme-sort of lessons. She would not entertain the idea of giving details except that once begun, and short of life-threatening injury, loss of limb, or burning out, the Accepted must see her commitment through to the end.

The "Games" as Delanna called them with a haunted sort of smirk, would begin immediately.

Ivan stayed with ma and pop and things seemed to settle down a bit. Not that the lead ball in his stomach would go away any time soon. Not by a long shot. That bitch had him by the short hairs. And had his pops, too. And so many others.

And yet strangely, for all of that, for the magnitude of what was before him....well, just being home had settled him. Made him scared, sure. The stakes were real- serious.

But they were worth fighting for. He remembered that bitch, the casual way she spoke of shooting his dad. Just to teach him a lesson. That....the normal way she spoke of it- almost orphaning his kids, widowing his wife- and the complete lack of care....more than anything else, Ivan understood now the reality of evil. The complete and utter lack of concern and empathy.

She was a dog. And somehow he would put her down.

But he needed help. He was at the bottom. Chained. But he would not give up. He couldn't afford to.

It was the lifeline he held on to. The branch that kept him afloat as he was drowning. But he wouldn't let go. The feel of his father's arms around him, the strength of his mother's hugs, the little ones.

It was on his shoulders.

But he wouldn't do it alone.

He trusted two people.

He dialed as he drove. "Hey, Alex. This is Ivan. Listen, I was wondering if we could get together tonight. Been a rough day. Looking to spend some time with a friend."
Not quite the words for a booty call. They had never agreed on anything. Never even talked about it, the friends with benefits thing that they had. But if he was being listened to, he wanted them to think he was doing just that.

"I'm finishing up with last bit of notes at the clinic. You can pick me up here, we can grab coffee or a drink if it's been that kinda day."


He frowned. "Drinks sound good. Any place you recommend?"


"Pick me up. I know a discrete place with decent food too."


He smiled. He let his voice get a little husky, as if it were clear what he wanted. In truth, he could have used that intimacy right now too. That kind of thing sometimes really helped a person clear their head. But that wasn't his priority. "Awesome. Be there soon."


He drove the streets, not really paying attention. Occasionally he'd pass a squad car. Always before he felt a feeling of camaraderie when he saw that. His brothers out, keeping things safe. Sure there were the thugs- the ones with power trip issues he knew of- but those were the exceptions, he thought, not the rule.

Now, it was all different. As he passed, if he saw one of them turn their head, he imagined they were making a report of him. They couldn't see him through the dark windows, he knew it. And not like his ride was all that special.

Not like paranoia was logical. Or maybe it was. For this thing to be that big, they had to be a lot- either oblivious and idealistic (like him.) Dirty or power hungry. Or forced (him again.) And how many of what type? He found himself rethinking all the people he worked with. The way they handled interrogations. Questions. Perps. Witnesses. The way they joked about a busted head. Or seemed callous. Number of tickets they wrote. Jay walkers busted. Was that a glance out of the corner of their eye when they saw him? Had what they had been about to say changed?

All of it, all of it was suspect now. Maybe the majority were bad. Or enough.

And Brandon. Sitting at the top. No. Don't go there. Not now. He would get too angry.

He pulled up and waited for her, texting here he was outside. When she came out, he honked and got out, not minding the cold. Her clothes were nothing fancy. Professional. Didn't really emphasize her assets, which made sense. Don't want some guy who's detoxing to have his eyes fall down her blouse.

He smiled, though he was sure she sensed (and heard in his voice) his sense of...whatever it was. He was trying though, if for nothing else than they might be watching. He gave her a brief hug and a peck on the cheek."Hey, thanks for coming. Hop in,"
and went around to help her in.

Back in the car, "Just tell me where to go."


She gave directions. But he knew she knew. "You feel off, Ivan. What's wrong?"


He sighed. Now that the moment of truth was here, he wasn't sure where to start.

"Just stressed. Let's get to the bar. Have a couple shots."
He smiled, tried to be the usual Ivan.

When they got there- Chesterfields- he opened his door. He looked at his wallet. "Ahh damnit. Battery is dying."
and then left his wallet under the front seat. He had cash. He touched his lips and nodded to her to do the same. Maybe they could monitor. Maybe. Prolly not but he didn't want to take the chance.

[[with Alex]]
Edited by Ivan Sarkozy, Feb 13 2018, 02:21 PM.

Walking the streets of Moscow had been a past time. Now she used her knowledge walking with a purpose. She missed the maps and the software, but she didn't need it. She could avoid people better without the technology of it all anyway.

The Red Light district was the home of a great many things. It brought on memories of happier times which brought on crushing pain that Aria holed away in the emptiness of the void she'd made home so long ago and now took up once again. Feeling nothing was better than the crushing pain of losing Dane. Lucas hadn't hit her as hard.

And Aria didn't take a look at the reason. She didn't care. She was done letting the Atharim and monsters take things from her. But first she had to test the weapon on a god. She had a plethora of gods on her list but she needed an isolated one - the red district had several likely targets, Aria chose a sickly kid who was friends with Mia. It seemed that the camps held a few of them. But they would be easy to take out. Aria wasn't sure why these gods still lived - yet they did.

Aria made her way to one of these camps where she had found Stone's daughter. Mia had lost her life much the same way despite her inability to wield the power of the gods. Aria was about to do the same thing.

Kiriena hummed quietly to herself as she tended to the plants in her greenhouse. The greenhouse was a small one behind her shop. She had a buzzer set in that alerted her if anyone entered the store. It was late enough in the evening that she had sent Tasha home.

With the upcoming fundraiser for Africa, she had a lot of people coming in for corsages and boutonnieres. That was keeping her and her two employees busy. She was really hoping that they would want arrangements for the tables at the event. Kiriena imagined that the colors would enliven the event as well.

Kiriena's hum turned into a song as she moved to a group of white roses. This particular group looked very beautiful today. She was interrupted by a ringing phone. Kiriena smiled and grabbed a hand towel and wiped the dirt off of her hands before picking up the phone.

"Good evening, Kiriena's Flowers, can I help you?"

Kiriena Blum

Age: 25
Origin: Moscow
Occupation: Gardener, Botanist, and Flower Shop Owner

Psychological Description:
Seldom is Kiriena seen without a smile on her face. She is always cheerful and kind; however she is willing to stand up for herself if people take advantage of her kindness. She is motivated not by greed or money, but just wants to help make the world a more beautiful place.

Physical Description:
Kiriena stands 5'6" tall. She has short red hair and green eyes. It isn't strange to find her with dirt on her hands or face from working with soil.

Powers and Supernatural Powers:
Kiriena is a singer and has the innate ability to encourage and direct the growth of plants. It is more than just a green thumb, and she has no knowledge that she has a supernatural ability to work with plants.

Biography:
Kiriena was born on February 10, 2020 in a small town in Germany. As a young girl she was always fascinated with plant life and spent her time outside with her mother and grandmother planting and tending gardens. They quickly realized she had a natural talent for gardening and encouraged Kiriena to keep gardening. At age 10, Kiriena's father was offered a job that required him to move to Moscow, and so she left Germany to start a new life in Moscow.

Kiriena's skill and interest in plants and gardening did nothing but increase as she grew older. She began going to fairs to show off some of her plants and often won awards for them. The colors of her plants often seemed more vibrant than others and stood out in a crowd. In middle and high school, she took science classes to increase her knowledge and upon graduating, she attended the University of Moscow and received a master's degree in botany.

Besides gardening and botany, Kiriena enjoys singing and art. She enjoys anything that makes the world more beautiful. She likes spending time in nature, and spending time with friends. Kiriena enjoys being social, and when she is not tending her garden or at her shop, she likes to have a night on the town.

In 2044, Kiriena, with the help of her parents, started a flower shop, Kiriena's Flowers, in the Izmailovsky Market. Already her shop is starting to gain a reputation. It is known that her flowers seem more colorful. When in season, she also sells some vegetables from her garden. People have also commented that they seem to have a better taste. As a result, she does have a couple employees who help her maintain the shop. Her focus is usually on maintaining her plants, but she enjoys working with people as well. It is not a strange occurrence for costumers to come in and hear her singing as she tends to the plants. Kiriena is unaware that her abilities as a singer have also played a role in why her plants seem to grow better. She attributes the high quality of her plants to her knowledge and hard work in taking care of them.

Pervaya Iiniya Securities offered unique services to their more favoured (and richer) clients. Beyond mere body guards and security specialists, some schools of thought might have seen them better registered under the hazy cloud of 'private army.' A hard sell when they employed only thirty-some specialists, but they had always been known for the quality of their personnel, not their quantity of them, like some other security companies.

John White was one of their more unusual staffers. Despite the hefty paychecks offered with a Pervaya Iiniya Security contract, he had proven long ago that he didn't do the work for the money. Although a professional in all senses of the term that could apply, he didn't do it for the joy or thrill of protecting people, either. Sure, he'd take bodyguard jobs, or security assessment contracts, but those were more often at the direct behest of his employers, as 'personal favours.'

Mr White was on the books for the 'other' jobs the company took. When the most powerful people in the CCD wanted something done 'off the books,' Mr White came in. And every one of those jobs landed his employers both hefty pay checks, and more importantly very powerful allies. Allies kept close thanks to the evidence of the jobs the company had done on their behalf.

Rescuing kidnapped daughters, fouling assassinations, 'encouraging' gangs to shift their illegal activities to new venues. Sometimes just straight up killing folks that, honestly, probably deserved it.

That was what Mr White enjoyed about his day job. And since his night job had been so quiet of late, hunting monsters hadn't been taking up much of his time.

“FUCK!”
Gun shots rang out through the old complex, and Dimitri Borisov couldn't move. He was covered in blood and worse; his hair was thick with it, and he couldn't bring himself to try and pick the sharp bits of bone, coated in rubbery flesh, from his curly black hair anymore. None of it was his own blood, at least, and he kept trying to tell himself that.

Over the past fifteen minutes, he had seen six of his friends die. He still wasn't sure who the hell was killing them, but he was terrifyingly certain that it was just one man.

He sat behind a concrete pillar, and Aleksandr was laying beside him. Dimitri still wasn't sure why he had dragged Aleksandr so far; his face was gone, just a pulped cavity, which was where much of the gore in Dimitri's hair had come from, actually. But it had seemed like the right thing to do at the time, wasn't it?

He wasn't a coward. He'd tried to save Aleksandr. Aleksandr was the boss's muscle. The one the boss sent when some shit-brained addict or another didn't want to pay up. Or when some fool parent came snooping with their damn petitions and demands that they stop selling drugs, or causing trouble.

So he tried to save Aleksandr. Which would make the boss happy, right?

The gunfire had given way to muffled screams. Someone was begging, blurting names and addresses, but from the pain in their voice, it wasn't working well. And then there were no more words, and then no more screaming. And then everything was quiet.

One of two things had happened. Either the attacker was dead...Dimitri glanced at Aleksandr and then doubled over, throwing up on his own pants. Or more likely, everyone else was dead, and he was the only one left.

Everything was quiet. He listened as best he could, but couldn't hear anything beyond his own half-panicked breathing and beating heart. A moment of hesitation, then he slowly slid to his feet, awkwardly trying to brush most of his dinner out of his lap, then froze. Foot steps. Calm, slow. The sound of metal grinding against metal, a click. Probably reloading a weapon.

Dimitri slowly sunk down to the floor, trying to be as quiet as he could...and then his phone rang. A catchy synth-revival ringtone. Loud, obnoxious. More importantly, loud. And he just started crying, a deep, body-wracking weeping as he curled up on himself and fell to the floor.

The foot steps continued drawing closer; no faster, no slower. And then they stopped on the other side of Dimitri's pillar. And then a hand grabbed his gore-soaked hair and dragged him out. He grabbed at the arm, trying to keep his own body weight off his hair, but he didn't struggle. There was no point.

“Probably your boss calling. Check.”


The voice was so damnably cold. No anger, no joy for what had happened. Nothing. Just a statement. He didn't look up, and when the hand let go of his hair he curled up on the ground and dug out his phone from his pocket, holding it up towards the monster that had killed all his friends.

“Check it. Who is calling?”


A hint of fading patience in the tone, a brief flash of heat. He sobbed quietly, then brought the phone around to look at the screen. “It's...it's the boss...oh god, please don't...”


A still-warm barrel tapped against his cheek. “Answer it.”

He shook, curled in tighter on himself, then fumbled to take the call, pressing the phone to his ear, “...boss?”


“What the fuck is going on over there, Dimitri?! Dmitri called, freaking out that you were being attacked...”


“They're all dead...boss? Everyone's dead...he's right here. Oh god...I tried to save Aleksandrov...”


“The fuck? The hell are you talking about Dimitri? Calm the fuck down and get your head out of your ass!”


“You should let your boss know that that Dmitri and I had a nice talk. You probably heard some of it from over here.”
The monster nudged Dimitri with one booted foot, and Dimitri yelped and curled up tighter.

“Fuck me! Is that true, Dimitri?! Did Dmitri talk?!”


“Yeah boss...yeah, he...oh god he wouldn't stop screaming, boss...”


“Tell your boss. Quality control is slipping. Don't much give a fuck if you guys are peddling, but your boys peddled some poor quality shit to the wrong people. Consequences for cutting corners. Boss-man is a professional business man though. This shit won't happen again if he gets his shit together.”


“Tell that fucker that I don't take...”


“Tell him if he doesn't sort this shit out, I'll be visiting that fancy private school his girls go to.”


Dimitri sobbed again; he didn't want to be in the middle of this conversation. He didn't get paid enough for this shit. He didn't care about whatever the fuck they were going on about; he just wanted to get out of there alive.

The phone was quiet for a moment, and then the boss spoke up again, much quieter then before. “Right. Quality is slipping. Won't happen again.”


Dimitri nodded and sputtered out his boss' words, and the monster simply nudged Dimitri with his foot again. “Good job. Better off just shaving your head. Bitch to get brain out of hair like yours.”


And then he walked away, and Dimitri just lay there weeping, a puddle spreading beneath him from wetting his own pants. The boss had hung up when it became obvious the conversation was over.

Continued in Not Terrible


Edited by Hood, Feb 9 2018, 10:09 PM.