The gangster had no intention on doing anything of the sort. Snarling menacingly, he ripped the IV needle out of his arm and shot out of the cot. He hurriedly made for his suit-coat, hanging on the bed-frame, and shuffled towards the door. If not for the numerous amounts of injuries he'd sustained, he might have managed to leave.
Instead, Spades Slick, the king of the shadows in Midnight City, the widely feared leader of the Midnight Crew, found himself collapsing onto the floor, coughing. Wheezing and hacking, he lifted his hand to his face, drawing in sharply when he saw candy-red blood splayed across his palms. He clenched his jaw and formed fists at his side. He stared resolutely at the floor as soft steps came up behind him and a gentle hand rested on his shoulder.
"You need to rest."
He looked back at her cuttingly, "What I need is to get out there and help my fucking crew."
"They'll be fine."
He set his jaw. They would most certainly not be fine. It wasn't just some upstart group of wannabe thugs they were facing out there. It was full-on warfare with The Felt. And to make matters even worse, Crowbar was there. Even the stupidest members of their green-clad lackies were half-way competent with him around to give the orders.
Slick winced as Ms. Paint helped him up, wrenching his arm out of her grasp as soon as they stood. She frowned at him but said nothing, gesturing towards the cot instead and nodding encouragingly as he hobbled towards it. He sat down with a groan, grabbing at his chest. His bandages were wet, likely because he'd torn a few stitches trying to get away.
Ms. Paint tutted and shook her head when she saw, walking over to the nightstand and pulling out fresh rolls of wrapping, "Relax Mr. Slick."
"Relax?" Slick laughed bitingly as she made her way back over to him, "How the hell am I supposed to do that when Droog 'n them other idiots are probably fucking dying out there? How the fuck am I supposed to just lie here and do shit all when my fucking team is being sliced to pieces just a few rooms away from me? How do I do that, huh? You think it's fucking easy to leave them there? I may not give a shit about those assholes on any other day but fuck if I don't care that they might end up dead just 'cause I wasn't there with them."
She pursed her lips and watched him sternly, "Now you listen to me, Slick. They'll be absolutely fine."
Slick snorted derisively and opened his mouth to retort only to yelp in surprise as she pressed a finger to his lips to shush him, "You want to know how I know that?"
Hesitant to speak, Slick watched her keenly for a moment before nodding. She suddenly smiled at him and moved her hand away, instead choosing to sit down beside him on the cot. Slick watched her, dazed, as she placed a reassuring hand on either side of his face and kept her eyes focused directly on him, "I know they'll be fine because they're your crew, Slick. You chose them all for a reason."
She kissed him softly on his forehead and pulled him into a hug, resting his head on her shoulder, "They can handle themselves. After all, as you're so fond of reminding me, you built this city. And who better to use her tricks and twists to their advantage than your crew?"
Slick buried his face into her neck and moved his arms up to hold her. He let out a shudder and fisted his hands in her blouse. Neither of them would ever again mention the curious sounds escaping from Slick's mouth as he left damp spots on her shoulder and, really, neither of them would ever speak of this day again. But as Droog calmly strolled into the room hours later, Boxcars and Deuce in tow, they shared a look which held more in it than words could sufficiently express.
FILL: TEAM [Dirk<>Roxy]
----------
"Just hold still Mr. Slick."
The gangster had no intention on doing anything of the sort. Snarling menacingly, he ripped the IV needle out of his arm and shot out of the cot. He hurriedly made for his suit-coat, hanging on the bed-frame, and shuffled towards the door. If not for the numerous amounts of injuries he'd sustained, he might have managed to leave.
Instead, Spades Slick, the king of the shadows in Midnight City, the widely feared leader of the Midnight Crew, found himself collapsing onto the floor, coughing. Wheezing and hacking, he lifted his hand to his face, drawing in sharply when he saw candy-red blood splayed across his palms. He clenched his jaw and formed fists at his side. He stared resolutely at the floor as soft steps came up behind him and a gentle hand rested on his shoulder.
"You need to rest."
He looked back at her cuttingly, "What I need is to get out there and help my fucking crew."
"They'll be fine."
He set his jaw. They would most certainly not be fine. It wasn't just some upstart group of wannabe thugs they were facing out there. It was full-on warfare with The Felt. And to make matters even worse, Crowbar was there. Even the stupidest members of their green-clad lackies were half-way competent with him around to give the orders.
Slick winced as Ms. Paint helped him up, wrenching his arm out of her grasp as soon as they stood. She frowned at him but said nothing, gesturing towards the cot instead and nodding encouragingly as he hobbled towards it. He sat down with a groan, grabbing at his chest. His bandages were wet, likely because he'd torn a few stitches trying to get away.
Ms. Paint tutted and shook her head when she saw, walking over to the nightstand and pulling out fresh rolls of wrapping, "Relax Mr. Slick."
"Relax?" Slick laughed bitingly as she made her way back over to him, "How the hell am I supposed to do that when Droog 'n them other idiots are probably fucking dying out there? How the fuck am I supposed to just lie here and do shit all when my fucking team is being sliced to pieces just a few rooms away from me? How do I do that, huh? You think it's fucking easy to leave them there? I may not give a shit about those assholes on any other day but fuck if I don't care that they might end up dead just 'cause I wasn't there with them."
She pursed her lips and watched him sternly, "Now you listen to me, Slick. They'll be absolutely fine."
Slick snorted derisively and opened his mouth to retort only to yelp in surprise as she pressed a finger to his lips to shush him, "You want to know how I know that?"
Hesitant to speak, Slick watched her keenly for a moment before nodding. She suddenly smiled at him and moved her hand away, instead choosing to sit down beside him on the cot. Slick watched her, dazed, as she placed a reassuring hand on either side of his face and kept her eyes focused directly on him, "I know they'll be fine because they're your crew, Slick. You chose them all for a reason."
She kissed him softly on his forehead and pulled him into a hug, resting his head on her shoulder, "They can handle themselves. After all, as you're so fond of reminding me, you built this city. And who better to use her tricks and twists to their advantage than your crew?"
Slick buried his face into her neck and moved his arms up to hold her. He let out a shudder and fisted his hands in her blouse. Neither of them would ever again mention the curious sounds escaping from Slick's mouth as he left damp spots on her shoulder and, really, neither of them would ever speak of this day again. But as Droog calmly strolled into the room hours later, Boxcars and Deuce in tow, they shared a look which held more in it than words could sufficiently express.