08-08-2018, 01:31 AM
An explosive moment of frustration and Elias' boot connected with a soda can, sending it flying past a pigeon. The bird erupted from the ground in a spray of feathers, agrily cooing at him as it departed for higher ground.
A lot of problems would be solved if he could fly. Stupid idea as it was. Instead, he was landlocked thousands of miles from the ocean, trapped as surely as if iron was tied to his bootstraps. The latest shipping company denied his request for a charter. Even with Damien's money footing the bill and Soren's contacts sweetening the pot. Apparently money couldn't buy a suicide mission.
Surely that's what they faced, or so the response said, by sailing southern waters. Those ways were cursed to the point even seasoned sailors couldn't be tempted.
He paused on the street, glaring at a woman that glared back at him, likely for the scene with the pigeon, and summoned his uncle's Wallet. With it, he sent Asha a message.
"It's a no go."
Jaw clenched, he pushed back the curtain of hair and shoved the Wallet into the depths of his coat pocket.
He looked at the stars, so few, drenched by the lights of a city. Would they ever make it out of this God-forsaken city?
The buzz of an incoming message yanked his frown away from the heavens. He quickly pulled the Wallet, but his shoulders dropped when someone else's name flashed the screen.
Damien.
Money can buy anything. I believe in you my friend. Increase the offer another million.
Elias stared into the screen. It's sickly blue light drenching his face in ghostly pallor. He hated Damien. The guy oozed with the kind of fake friendship that dug pits in his stomach, but he had money, and for some reason, wanted to help.
He tapped out a response.
It's your money.
Maybe men really would risk suicide if they were paid enough.
Here was hoping.
A lot of problems would be solved if he could fly. Stupid idea as it was. Instead, he was landlocked thousands of miles from the ocean, trapped as surely as if iron was tied to his bootstraps. The latest shipping company denied his request for a charter. Even with Damien's money footing the bill and Soren's contacts sweetening the pot. Apparently money couldn't buy a suicide mission.
Surely that's what they faced, or so the response said, by sailing southern waters. Those ways were cursed to the point even seasoned sailors couldn't be tempted.
He paused on the street, glaring at a woman that glared back at him, likely for the scene with the pigeon, and summoned his uncle's Wallet. With it, he sent Asha a message.
"It's a no go."
Jaw clenched, he pushed back the curtain of hair and shoved the Wallet into the depths of his coat pocket.
He looked at the stars, so few, drenched by the lights of a city. Would they ever make it out of this God-forsaken city?
The buzz of an incoming message yanked his frown away from the heavens. He quickly pulled the Wallet, but his shoulders dropped when someone else's name flashed the screen.
Damien.
Money can buy anything. I believe in you my friend. Increase the offer another million.
Elias stared into the screen. It's sickly blue light drenching his face in ghostly pallor. He hated Damien. The guy oozed with the kind of fake friendship that dug pits in his stomach, but he had money, and for some reason, wanted to help.
He tapped out a response.
It's your money.
Maybe men really would risk suicide if they were paid enough.
Here was hoping.