one old bookshop [20/??? artefacts collected]

[sadfreezingbrit_archive]

As the dust settled on a stack of yellowed magazines I remembered why I had learned to love the silence. Silence was all I had left now. Silence and books that were never bought, a telephone that never rang.

Every day I would pour myself a cup of coffee, sit behind the counter and read the paper. Later I would do inventory and I would stop near the grimy mirror in the corner and look for a familiar face that never showed.

I would dutifully wait for a customer or two and at the end of the day I would grab the old broom and sweep the floor. Every day I would wipe the counter and every time I would wash my hands before closing and wonder if I would ever stop smelling the blood.

Then, after every burning sunset, I would lock the store and for my own benefit I would pause for a moment and fake disappointment and surprise at yet another day without sales gone by.

In a city that was bustling with life at every corner my little shop was only a relict; dead and long forgotten. We had that much in common at least.

Outside the noise of the morning traffic slowly died down like a drizzle of summer rain. I grabbed my cup and the paper and sat down behind the counter. Today, I thought, would be just like any other day.

[ OOC: Information on noir!Philip is here. All threads take place before his encounter with Dean, unless somebody wants to play medic. ]

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[sadfreezingbrit.livejournal.com]

Mouth agape I couldn't hear a single sound this time. Did the blood pumping in my ears drown it all out or did his hands choke off the music before it could play?

No matter, I figured. Some details were not important enough for any devil to pick as a hiding spot.

I reached up with the hand I could still move and wrapped my fingers around his arm. Only somewhere along the way did I forget what I'd meant to accomplish. My strength, I noticed, was flowing fast and red across the floor, mocking my earlier vows of tenacity.

It was then that I truly felt how our genre played us like a fiddle sometimes. How else could my inner monologue sport all those fancy details when in truth neither my mind nor my tongue had any inclination of forming even the most basic of words?

"Dhh... nnn..."

When I saw the knife I smiled. We'd always been artists, if given the right tools. Looking back I thanked my mind's haze for obscuring the identity of his next canvas at that moment.

[dashboardlite.livejournal.com]

His grip was weak. Fingers slipping on my arm with the greasy sweat of a traitor. As long as I gave him enough air to scream, that was fine by me. It meant he was still alive. I didn't have it in me to cut him down when I could leave him bent outta shape just like me.

"Hold still," I heard myself say, but there was a disconnect between my voice and my brain. I knew what I was doing, and I knew that I wanted it - more than anything. The scent of blood was thick in the air, made me feel gowed-up like a dope fiend on the big high.

Before I could think, I smiled back and slid the shiv into his left eye with the precision of a master surgeon. Easy flesh that gave and popped in an instant. A simple twitch of the knife was enough pull the bloody mass up and out, and I jerked it from his skull like I was plucking a ripe apple off a tree.

Payback was a bitch, and I enjoyed fucking her.

[sadfreezingbrit.livejournal.com]

I thought I could turn the tables in my favour at the last second, but with one arm cold and stiff and another barely twitching I had to wonder what delusional corner of my brain that little mockery came from.

I thought the bullet wound was bad, that red-hot paralysing pain Dean's fingers pushed through my veins like hot irons. That was before my eye saw its last ever close-up, the shine of the sharp metal tip.

I thought of Hyde Park in winter, a blanket of snow and the dark city at night.

I thought of nothing whatsoever.

[dashboardlite.livejournal.com]

I sat back, flicking the dripping eye from my shiv and taking a gander at the mess I'd left behind. He didn't scream. He didn't do anything. For an instant I thought I'd killed him somehow, made a mistake in my anatomical calculations.

I still hadn't won.

The whole gist behind revenge wasn't just the violence - it was making somebody else feel your pain. If I couldn't do that with one measly turncoat, then I came out with nothing. But I was mulling too much. I got what I came for.

I wiped the knife off on Clarence's shirt before putting it away, and then leaned down to to smack his cheek.

"Hey. Iago. Shake a leg."

[sadfreezingbrit.livejournal.com]

I almost asked him for ten more minutes when I remembered that I didn't just open my eyes on a lazy Sunday morning. And that was before realising that I didn't even open one of my eyes at all.

Back in the days I'd never passed the bottle around before taking a sip or a dozen and I'd sampled plenty of my wares quite generously. But none of that compared, nothing I remembered then or would ever remember felt quite like that briefest of moments after I came to and before I noticed what was missing.

The pain.

Like ripples from a stone in water I felt it coursing through my body, returning in shivers and growing like a noise coming in from the distance. Sirens and bells and screams, all approaching faster and louder and heavier until I thought I'd burst with it.

But even then it only came out a hoarse whine before my pale lips fell shut again.

[dashboardlite.livejournal.com]

I never gave fellas The Broderick nearly as often as I should've, and while this was satisfying and all, it just wasn't enough. The pain was there, sure, and I could tell by the way Clarence flinched that the recovery time would be a long road.

He made a sound like a wounded animal and fell silent again. Long as he was alive and left with the gift I'd given him, I was okay with that, for the time being. Taking a finger almost seemed to be bad sport at this rate, and nobody ever said I didn't play fair when it was called for.

...the percussion section must be playing a Benny Goodman big-band number in Clarence's head, though, judging by the expression on his face.

He wouldn't forget this anytime soon.

I stood and rolled down my sleeves, tightened the tie, and pulled my blazer back on. Hat settled on my head, I lit up a gasper and inhaled deeply, blowing smoke into the air.

"...See you around, Clarence."

I picked the keys up off the floor, swinging them and unlocking the front door. Chucking the bits of metal back at the counter, I tipped my lid and stepped outside.

Othello came along for the ride.