three | line drive monster [unfiltered]

[strike_you_out]

[The phone is picked up, a call is placed. The voice on the line is, at first, dangerously calm—]

To the one who stole what's mine...

[—only to become a sharply hissed whisper]

I will find you.

[After being droned, humiliated, and murdered (and ultimately dissected by his attackers), this is what tips him into a rage: his missing bat.]

Comments

[strike-you-out.livejournal.com]

He was under the impression the world was ending.

[Pointedly not addressing the second part of her remark.]

[deaths-heritor.livejournal.com]

I suppose his world certainly ended soon enough. This concerns the hallucinogenic gas craze a week or so ago?

[strike-you-out.livejournal.com]

[Yeah, yeah, he knows.

AND HE DOESN'T CARE.

Once again he smashes the pillow against your face, briefly this time, for a count of 6. Truth be told, he's less concerned with getting an answer as he is with getting a point across. Point being: you will never be safe! Not even in your own bed!]


Tell me!

[godisachild.livejournal.com]

[Yeah, that does it. Even though he's whispering, his voice is somehow a scream.]

Closet.

[strike-you-out.livejournal.com]

It might.

[strike-you-out.livejournal.com]

[His attention shifts immediately to the closet door across the room, then back to his frightened hostage. You better not be bullshitting him, Pokey, or this "visit" might not be the last.

Finally, he jumps up and crosses the room to open the door to the closet. Seriously, if he doesn't that bat in there... Pray.]

[godisachild.livejournal.com]

[Pokey's not so much the praying type of person as the "cower against the back of my bed type of person", gaze never leaving you as you go over there, Slugger.

Yeah, it's there, propped up against the wall.]

[strike-you-out.livejournal.com]

[Lo and behold, he does find it there. The bat now restored to its rightful place upon his shoulder, he turns to Pokey with a nod, thankful for the honesty.

But before he leaves, there is still one more thing...]

Lil' Slugger. It's what I'm called.

Your turn.

[godisachild.livejournal.com]

[Staring. Just staring.]

W-What...?

[strike-you-out.livejournal.com]

What's your name. [Dumbass.]

[godisachild.livejournal.com]

Pokey. Pokey Minch.

[Yeah, stupid with TERROR.]

[strike-you-out.livejournal.com]

[Well, now that he's got what he came for... he turns, ready to leave.]

I'll give it back. When Mayfield gives me back mine.

[godisachild.livejournal.com]

[That's...that's kind of pointless, but alright. Pokey'll just give a little "mmhm" noise and nod, quite happy to have you finally get to leaving.]

[strike-you-out.livejournal.com]

[Pointless to you, but to him being without a bat is like being a reaper without a scythe. Anyway...]

Sleep tight, Pokey Minch.


[If it sounds like 'Pokey Minchi', blame his accent. Grinning, he vanishes right through the door.]

[deaths-heritor.livejournal.com]

[Susan, of course, understands that as yes.]

Reserve your pity murders for those who truly desire death, Slugger. Hallucinations are a different thing.

[strike-you-out.livejournal.com]

[Slugger comprehends the difference; however...]

An illusion to one is another's reality.


[If Susan begins to feel that perhaps this is less of an argument than it is his way of gauging her thought process, it wouldn't be without reason.]

[deaths-heritor.livejournal.com]

A temporary reality. By that logic, you ought to kill me every time I have a nightmare.

[strike-you-out.livejournal.com]

[smirk] Depends on how hard it is to wake you up.

[Joking? Serious? Wouldn't you like to know...]

[deaths-heritor.livejournal.com]

I'll keep that in mind the next time I have to drag you out of bed for school.

[strike-you-out.livejournal.com]

[suddenly indignant]

"Player 2" isn't exactly innocent himself.

[deaths-heritor.livejournal.com]

Two wrongs don't make a right. But in the spirit of ignoring trite idioms, feel free to elaborate.

[strike-you-out.livejournal.com]

[He'll remember to spout trite idioms at Susan the next time she and Teatime get into a death match.]

You know him. White hair, blue skin. [also, arrogant douche-face]

[deaths-heritor.livejournal.com]

. . . Pokey Minch?

To be perfectly honest with you, the greatest offense I can imagine him capable of is to have an asthma attack in your face.

[strike-you-out.livejournal.com]

I thought you were less gullible, Miss Susan.

[Tsk. She must've missed the time when Pokey went parading down the streets in that eyeball juggernaut.]

[deaths-heritor.livejournal.com]

[She probably did aka I did dammit I didn't even notice]

Aside from being a brat, of course, but that never killed anyone.