Yesterday, 05:41 AM
Mik loved the cold. Not like the freeze your balls off, can't ever get warm no matter how many layers you wear cold. Nah. That was for losers- those who decided they wanted to prove how resilient they were.
Way he figured it, proving yourself meant being comfortable when it was cold. I mean how hard was it to freeze to death, right? Ooooo....look how manly I am, jumping into ice so my balls retract up into my throat and my dick inverts istelf into a right nice vagina.
Nah. He was good- he and his dick.- in a nice black wool coat and soft scarf to keep all the cold from sneaking down his chest. The cold on his face, searing his nostrils, in his lungs, the bite....fuck, but that was nice. Cold from the inside out, that was the good bit.
So he waited at the entrance of The Radiance for a while, letting himself enjoy the shift in season. Truth was, he was there to watch. And to learn. And to hang out his shingle. Let people see him.
The powerbrokers in Moscow had images to maintain. Protocol to keep. Honor to defend.
The irony, of course, was that for all the power and influence they amassed, the less free they were to act. Father Guido couldn't exactly make a deal with Pater Giorgos without looking weak and all that. And God forbid some moron underling get pissed at some chump at a bar and pistol whip him so that one eye ran milky- only to find out he was somebody's brother's nephew's cousin's boyfriend. And suddenly you were in a vendetta that the whole family had to defend.
Back before Pops had died, he listened to the stories. And as fun as they were, it amazed him at how stupid people were. Or rather, how stupidly they were forced to act because of pride or some such.
So Mik had found his path, walking the between way- above and below, left and right, sideways and upside down.
And not surprisingly, he did well. He wss trusted in a way few really knew. Facilitating more than a few meetings, smoothing over brushes and problems, helping grease everyone involved....we'll hey.
The Lady had shined on him, so far. Would it last? Probably not. But knowing that just made him enjoy it more. And killing and fucking, laughing and drinking along the way, well, at the end of the day, could you really expect more from a universe that did not truly give a fuck about you?
So anyway, Mik enjoyed the cold as he noted the entrances of the underworld greats, one by one. He showed none of his laughter to them. Image, right? It was all just PR. They postured and preened for their audience.- each other.
Until finally his balls complained a little. Or maybe his dick. Both were feeling numb. And if he listened to anything it was his dick and balls. When they said enough, well fuck but it was enough.
He slipped through the door and followed one of the gents in a dark silk suit. Guy at the door looked at him, brief smirk on his face. Mik winked. Gregor was his boy- and gave him a cursory pat down.
Others would notice- but probably all assume he was representing one group or another. And with no one knowing, they might just chat him up to let him know the way things stood with Stoya or the Yakuza or whomever.
The ante-room was impressive. I mean how could it not be. And Kane? Jesus, but he was beautiful, in a cold austere kind of way. Mik wasn't sure he'd actually want to fuck him- the guy seemed to walk as if he had something up his ass- and not in a good way. Partners needed to be relaxed.
Still, he could enjoy the view.
But he also noted Ryker. Been a while. That guy definitely had a sense of humor. Good for a drink or two anyway. Now only if Oriena showed up. He couldn't help but look around. Now that would be fun. He definitely wanted another crack at her. Pouty, angry, chaotic. Talk about The Lady made flesh.
She might kill him. But if that was the price, we'll, he'd count it a bargain. Crazy chicks were the best fucks by far.
He raised the glass of champagne he'd swiped from some chumps' place to Ryker and saluted. Tonight might just turn out to be more than just his job.
Way he figured it, proving yourself meant being comfortable when it was cold. I mean how hard was it to freeze to death, right? Ooooo....look how manly I am, jumping into ice so my balls retract up into my throat and my dick inverts istelf into a right nice vagina.
Nah. He was good- he and his dick.- in a nice black wool coat and soft scarf to keep all the cold from sneaking down his chest. The cold on his face, searing his nostrils, in his lungs, the bite....fuck, but that was nice. Cold from the inside out, that was the good bit.
So he waited at the entrance of The Radiance for a while, letting himself enjoy the shift in season. Truth was, he was there to watch. And to learn. And to hang out his shingle. Let people see him.
The powerbrokers in Moscow had images to maintain. Protocol to keep. Honor to defend.
The irony, of course, was that for all the power and influence they amassed, the less free they were to act. Father Guido couldn't exactly make a deal with Pater Giorgos without looking weak and all that. And God forbid some moron underling get pissed at some chump at a bar and pistol whip him so that one eye ran milky- only to find out he was somebody's brother's nephew's cousin's boyfriend. And suddenly you were in a vendetta that the whole family had to defend.
Back before Pops had died, he listened to the stories. And as fun as they were, it amazed him at how stupid people were. Or rather, how stupidly they were forced to act because of pride or some such.
So Mik had found his path, walking the between way- above and below, left and right, sideways and upside down.
And not surprisingly, he did well. He wss trusted in a way few really knew. Facilitating more than a few meetings, smoothing over brushes and problems, helping grease everyone involved....we'll hey.
The Lady had shined on him, so far. Would it last? Probably not. But knowing that just made him enjoy it more. And killing and fucking, laughing and drinking along the way, well, at the end of the day, could you really expect more from a universe that did not truly give a fuck about you?
So anyway, Mik enjoyed the cold as he noted the entrances of the underworld greats, one by one. He showed none of his laughter to them. Image, right? It was all just PR. They postured and preened for their audience.- each other.
Until finally his balls complained a little. Or maybe his dick. Both were feeling numb. And if he listened to anything it was his dick and balls. When they said enough, well fuck but it was enough.
He slipped through the door and followed one of the gents in a dark silk suit. Guy at the door looked at him, brief smirk on his face. Mik winked. Gregor was his boy- and gave him a cursory pat down.
Others would notice- but probably all assume he was representing one group or another. And with no one knowing, they might just chat him up to let him know the way things stood with Stoya or the Yakuza or whomever.
The ante-room was impressive. I mean how could it not be. And Kane? Jesus, but he was beautiful, in a cold austere kind of way. Mik wasn't sure he'd actually want to fuck him- the guy seemed to walk as if he had something up his ass- and not in a good way. Partners needed to be relaxed.
Still, he could enjoy the view.
But he also noted Ryker. Been a while. That guy definitely had a sense of humor. Good for a drink or two anyway. Now only if Oriena showed up. He couldn't help but look around. Now that would be fun. He definitely wanted another crack at her. Pouty, angry, chaotic. Talk about The Lady made flesh.
She might kill him. But if that was the price, we'll, he'd count it a bargain. Crazy chicks were the best fucks by far.
He raised the glass of champagne he'd swiped from some chumps' place to Ryker and saluted. Tonight might just turn out to be more than just his job.
"Good and ill.
We're like the wind,
we blows both ways."
- Mad Sweeney, American Gods
- Mad Sweeney, American Gods