Participants:
| Scene Title | Die Trying |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Kain decides to take the money he lost in the cagefights out of Ethan's hide. If only he knew about what really happened to his car… |
| Date | February 12, 2009 |
After the bomb, Staten Island grew to become a haven for undesirables. If the Island is their home, then the Rookery is their playplace. Equal parts gritty and decadent, it boasts dark alleys, bright lights, and every pleasure that one could imagine. Provided you know where to ask, of course.
Some areas have fared better than the rest of the island; some have fared far worse. For each well-tended brothel or gaming house, there's at least one creaky, crumbling structure left over from the days of pre-bomb suburban glory.
The population is considered universally distasteful, even by much of the rest of Staten Island. Criminals, refugees, victims of radiation poisoning… Those who have nowhere else to go often end up here. The most common method of getting out is to have your body dropped in the river, followed closely by being left wherever it is you got killed.
Good luck.
The Rookery is a dirty, dangerous shithole.
In all truths it's like Jersey City, minus the radiation and sprinkled with hookers.
And Ethan Holden really fucking hates Jersey.
Outside of the Pancratium, the frigid wind blowing off of the water just adds to that level of personal revulsion and detest. it's a madhouse inside, no sense in standing around a crowd of pissed off cagefight gamblers waiting for Sylar to get sent out after his victory. A few disgruntled gamblers aren't sticking around for round two, filtering out through the exit Ethan stands near, in the dirty yellow glow of one of the few working streetlights near the old building. "J'oo see what e'did to 'is 'ead?" Seems Ethan isn't the only English transplant in Staten Island, evidenced by the slurred voice of a drunken man leaving the Pancratium.
"Yeah, fuckin' scary. My money's on eyebrows next time." A young man in a black toke hat at his side says, the limp in his walk and the slouch of his posture clearly an attempt to be gangster in a place where real gangsters dwell.
"Hey there high roller." Speaking of Gangsters, "You done gone and had yourself a lucky night tonight." Lighting a cigarette as he walks, Kain Zarek quietly slips out from one of the side exits of the building, black dress shoes scuffing the cracked pavement under his feet as he flicks the top of his zippo closed. Blue eyes flick up from the cigarette's glowing tip to Ethan. "You bet on the newbie, huh?" The metal cigarette case is held out towards Ethan in quiet offering.
You have to find out who's in charge. The man practically sneering at you with his lackey in the suit while he barks orders has a good chance of being high up. Especially when an old woman could notice the guy following her. So you set traps. Ethan has been doing it all his life. Shoving off from where he was resting once Kain gets closer, the Wolf just starts to take off. His hands in his pockets.
Kain speaks, and Ethan turns his back to him, making his departure away from the man. The cigarettes completely ignored. The Wolf moves away, come on fishie…
A pucker crosses Kain's lips as he looks down to the cigarette case, slowly returning it to the pocket of his jacket. He exhales smoke out of his nostrils in two thin lines, then starts walking after Ethan, one hand tucked into the pocket of his slacks as he does, guess he doesn't want a smoke. As he follows Ethan away from the Pancratium, they pass by a few still-abandoned businesses on the wide open and untended street, the blown out windows and abandoned cars lining the street adding to the desolate ambience, despite the glow of neon not too far away.
"I want to meet 'im." Ethan finally says, after they've gotten away from most of the dispersing crowd. "'ave a talk with 'im." Ethan intones, over his shoulder. "Can y'make it 'appen or not?" He mutters gruffly, returning his eyes to the path ahead of them. His jaw set firm, and his hands remain comfortably in his pockets.
Kain stops as the cockney accent comes one, one dark brow raising. "Meet…" The word drawls out too long, too speculative, "You talkin' 'bout Logan?" The corner of Kain's mouth creeps up into a smile, "Or are you after Big Man Truman?" After asking that question, Kain draws in a sucking breath holding it for a short time before very slowly pushing a thick fog of smoke out from his mouth, one finger tapping a crumbling head of ash off of the tip of his cigarette.
"Ah' might be able t'work somethin' out there, Ah might indeed." Brows raising, Kain looks further down the street, past Ethan, towards the glow of neon, then back again. The Wolf's been around the block enough times to know when he's walked right into a hornet's nest, and the peripheral movement of every thug and low-life that comes scrambling out of the woodwork of the broken buildings like termites.
"Ah' think there might be some opportunities. If'n that was who you were talkin' bout."
Logan and Truman. Two more names that he didn't have before. "Tell me about them." He rumbles, his pace slowing. "I also want to speak to the boy. The boy that just took away a good bit of your lapdance change." The man says with venom as he slowly turns to face the other man, Ethan's hands remain in his pockets.
"And whot is your name?" The Wolf asks, arching a brow at the other man. Taking a step closer. He won't dignify them by looking at them but yes, he knows they're there. "And let's cut the shit, are you gonna try to mug me or whot the fuck do you want? I'm well aware you aren't 'ere for fucking smalltalk. Get on with it, boy."
Kain's shoulders roll slightly at the question, one hand moving to pluck the cigarette from his lips, gesturing towards Ethan with it. "S'funny you should mention funnybrows there." Kain's eyes wander around the street, then go back to Ethan. "Ah' ain't gonna' mug you, Prince Charles. Ah'm not that kinda' man." He brings the cigarette back up to his lips, drawing in a lung full of ash before letting it slowly waft out of his mouth again, "Before Ah' go on about who Ah' am an' who the bosses are," he points two fingers towards Ethan, "You really wanna' have words with Tavisha?"
Sylar has a girlname?
Tavisha. "'is name is Tavisha? Whot kind of name is that? Where the fuck is 'e from? Now listen Jethro, I've been looking at you for five minutes and I know what kind of man you are better than you do.So just spit it out. Why are you followin' me?" Ethan growls, watching him stoically. He hasn't asked his name yet, but there have been rumors of a British guy, raising hell around the Rookery trying to find out about people yanked out of the water. Ethan Holden.
Kain tilts his head to the side, brows raising slowly as he holds his cigarette pinched between two fingers. "You got me," he says with a roll of his shoulders, "Ah'm just an ol' country bumpkin done gone got himself lost in the big ole' city." Blue eyes lift up towards Ethan as a wicked smile crosses Kain's lips. "Ah'm followin' you, Prince, because Ah'm gonna make sure you and Funnybrows get nice an' acquainted."
When he throws the cigarette to the ground, it is followed by the quiet thwip of taser darts coming from the empty windows of the broken buildings, one striking Ethan in the leg, the other pair of darts split by the angle of approach, one piercing his shoulder and the other his neck. As the crackling snap of electricity is sent coursing through the Wolf, Kain takes a few, slow and swaggering steps over as the man crumples to the ground.
"Mah name's Kain Zarek…" Tucking both hands into the pockets of his slacks, Kain leans forward over Ethan's prone form, settling one foot on his chest, "An Ah'm gonna' make sure you earn back every pretty penny you took from me t'night." Dark brows rise up as Kain's lips spread further into a too-white smile, "Or, well," his foot steps down on the cigarette, rubbing it back and forth on the pavement. "Die tryin' I guess."
"After — I get out of this." Comes the hard to come by words, practically squeezing out of his mouth as he lays on the ground. His hands twitching. "I'm going to hurt — you very badly, Zarek." He's in pain, his body writhing as the tasers do their work. But he forces his voice to sound calm and collected as if he were on his feet. The words are a promise. But he can't be too picky…
This is what he wanted, after all.
 February 12th: Making A Name |
Previously in this storyline… Next in this storyline… |
 February 12th: Fight To Win |