Between the Raindrops
Sept 30, 2015 19:09:57 GMT -5
Post by Black Adder on Sept 30, 2015 19:09:57 GMT -5
Clouds hang overhead, grey, blotting out the sun and covering the earth in a downpour of rain and depression. In the distance is the periodic flash of lightning; an early fall thunderstorm to ring in the changing of the seasons. And watching the rain with vested interest is Hana Song, standing, back leaning against the frame of her open front door. Rain has splashed onto her arms and into the living quarters proper, but still she stands in the open door, content to let the rain fall where it may.
“Every so often a truly wonderful thing happens,” Hana begins, her back to the camera but her words carrying on her voice, “Wonderful like the crashing of thunder and the subsequent downfall of rain. I love the rain. People get so afraid, so annoyed when it all comes pouring down and I never understood why. Do they not shower? Do they not pour water on their bodies on a regular basis? Why, then, does water from the sky make them so crazy?”
“But of course, I am no weather reporter and this isn’t about the rain. Not really. While rain is wonderful, I speak more to the future. The beloved Terrence Tillman assumed I would brag about how that six person affair went down but tell me, when have I ever bragged? Bragging is what the unconfident do because they are in shock. I do not brag. I make promises, I keep them, and I move on. I, not Crimson, not Valcone, but me, I was the one to pin Terrence, and that is me keeping promises. If you’re still feeling sore about it, Tillman, don’t worry. I’ll find you.”
“Moving on, however, I can almost get excited for what’s to come because after a series of empty threats and various disappointments, finally I am presented with the most enjoyable kind of prey. The one who fights back.”
Hana finally deigns to acknowledge the camera, a wicked smirk playing across her overly done red lips.
“Jan Morgenstern is no doubt many things but chief among them she is a fighter. Some of you might cry foul and claim you’re ALL fighters but that’s just not true; most of you are merely playing pretend like children and would rather worry about hair and appearance like it’s mating season and everyone’s in a constant state of heat. But you, Jan…you’re not like them, are you? Oh no you, like me, understand what we are underneath this skin and muscle and bone. You understand that we’re nothing but animals in a very large savannah.”
“Do you feel it, too? That rush when you feel your weapons of choice connecting with your prey? Do you smile as you see the blood on your heels? Your fists? In your mouth? Or have you sold out? Gone soft? You must’ve to ally yourself with someone, you must’ve if you cry foul over the lifestyle you…USED to participate in.”
“You and I would be kindred spirits if you hadn’t gone soft. You use your hands. I use my feet. You care about winning. I care about notoriety, to say it one way. You’re turning away from what made you dangerous. I embrace it on a regular basis. But both of us excel in one thing. Being deadly. While you opt for the obvious approach, I go for the crafty, the subtle, the finesse. There’s beauty in it, as there will be beauty in our encounter because I demand it.”
“I grow tired of the big talkers, the wannabe divas, the primadonnas, the loser Lotharios, the regular cattle. After a while the usual prey offers up so little fun. You will be fun, Jan. You have to be. Because you’re like me. You can’t hide it. You can’t run away from it. You can’t let some miserable madame tie you down like some house pet to a tree. Creatures such as we, Jan…deserve to be free. When our paths cross, leave your leash with your owner and leave your morals back in the hellhole country you come from.”
“Two things you want, Jan, by your own admission. To fight and to win. Well, I can give you one of those things. You’re crossing into my hunting grounds, my underbrush if you will. And no one leaves the same way they come in. They all leave something behind, be it a grr face, a disappointed child, or a lesson in how to be a killer. In your case, Jan? I’ll be happy to take your blood.”
Without another word Hana turns back to the thunderstorm raging just outside. Kicking off from the doorframe, Hana steps outside, the rain soaking her thoroughly; she gives a look back inside, at the camera, before slamming the door shut behind her.
“Every so often a truly wonderful thing happens,” Hana begins, her back to the camera but her words carrying on her voice, “Wonderful like the crashing of thunder and the subsequent downfall of rain. I love the rain. People get so afraid, so annoyed when it all comes pouring down and I never understood why. Do they not shower? Do they not pour water on their bodies on a regular basis? Why, then, does water from the sky make them so crazy?”
“But of course, I am no weather reporter and this isn’t about the rain. Not really. While rain is wonderful, I speak more to the future. The beloved Terrence Tillman assumed I would brag about how that six person affair went down but tell me, when have I ever bragged? Bragging is what the unconfident do because they are in shock. I do not brag. I make promises, I keep them, and I move on. I, not Crimson, not Valcone, but me, I was the one to pin Terrence, and that is me keeping promises. If you’re still feeling sore about it, Tillman, don’t worry. I’ll find you.”
“Moving on, however, I can almost get excited for what’s to come because after a series of empty threats and various disappointments, finally I am presented with the most enjoyable kind of prey. The one who fights back.”
Hana finally deigns to acknowledge the camera, a wicked smirk playing across her overly done red lips.
“Jan Morgenstern is no doubt many things but chief among them she is a fighter. Some of you might cry foul and claim you’re ALL fighters but that’s just not true; most of you are merely playing pretend like children and would rather worry about hair and appearance like it’s mating season and everyone’s in a constant state of heat. But you, Jan…you’re not like them, are you? Oh no you, like me, understand what we are underneath this skin and muscle and bone. You understand that we’re nothing but animals in a very large savannah.”
“Do you feel it, too? That rush when you feel your weapons of choice connecting with your prey? Do you smile as you see the blood on your heels? Your fists? In your mouth? Or have you sold out? Gone soft? You must’ve to ally yourself with someone, you must’ve if you cry foul over the lifestyle you…USED to participate in.”
“You and I would be kindred spirits if you hadn’t gone soft. You use your hands. I use my feet. You care about winning. I care about notoriety, to say it one way. You’re turning away from what made you dangerous. I embrace it on a regular basis. But both of us excel in one thing. Being deadly. While you opt for the obvious approach, I go for the crafty, the subtle, the finesse. There’s beauty in it, as there will be beauty in our encounter because I demand it.”
“I grow tired of the big talkers, the wannabe divas, the primadonnas, the loser Lotharios, the regular cattle. After a while the usual prey offers up so little fun. You will be fun, Jan. You have to be. Because you’re like me. You can’t hide it. You can’t run away from it. You can’t let some miserable madame tie you down like some house pet to a tree. Creatures such as we, Jan…deserve to be free. When our paths cross, leave your leash with your owner and leave your morals back in the hellhole country you come from.”
“Two things you want, Jan, by your own admission. To fight and to win. Well, I can give you one of those things. You’re crossing into my hunting grounds, my underbrush if you will. And no one leaves the same way they come in. They all leave something behind, be it a grr face, a disappointed child, or a lesson in how to be a killer. In your case, Jan? I’ll be happy to take your blood.”
Without another word Hana turns back to the thunderstorm raging just outside. Kicking off from the doorframe, Hana steps outside, the rain soaking her thoroughly; she gives a look back inside, at the camera, before slamming the door shut behind her.