House Of The Rising Sun, Part I



Scene Title House of the Rising Sun, Part I
Synopsis The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single phone call.
Date July 28, 2009

Dorchester Towers, Kain's Penthouse

There is a house in New Orleans, they call the Rising Sun.

Dirty yellow light filters through partially closed blinds that shadow the windows of a lavishly decorated penthouse apartment. Somehow set against the backdrop of the lightless penthouse interior, no amount of expensive furnishings can lighten the oppressive mood hanging inside. Seated on the white leather sofa, the dark frame of a man in a midnight blue suit sets awkwardly with his head in his hands, fingers wound through stringy locks of blonde hair.

And it's been the ruin of many a poor boy…

Set across the glass topped table, black and white photographs of buildings, cars and a weathered old man are partially obscured by a tall bottle of Jack Daniels, drained empty save for a quarter inch of alcohol sitting at the bottom. Droplets of the same amber-brown liquid are drizzled across a few of the photos, showing that old man clutching a rolled up wad of hundred dollar bills.

…and God I know I'm one.

The sunlight reflects dully off of the brass casings of bullets haphazardly scattered along the photographs, all the way towards a manilla envelope splayed open beneath them, where photocopied paperwork is marked with a brown ring of whiskey around the base of an empty glass parked atop them. Next to the glass, the chromed barrel of a .45 catches the sun with a bright gleam across its polished length.

My mother was a tailor, sewed my new blue jeans.

Breathing out a heavy sigh, Kain Zarek slowly runs his fingers back through his hair, hunching forward as his fingers find their way to the base of his neck and his chin presses against his knees. Holding that curled up position for just a moment longer, he rises to sit up straight, eyes reddened around the edges and lips pulled down at the corners into a deeply chiseled frown. His body is so tense that his neck muscles stand out in sharp definition against the scraggly scruff growing in under his chin.

My father was a gambling man, down in New Orleans.

One hand slowly reaches inside the pocket of his jacket, fingers fumbling over the rounded frame of his cell phone. His blue eyes fail to pry themselves away from the photographs as he starts to dial, awkwardly pressing too many numbers at once. A hissed sigh comes, the cancel button is clicked, and Kain's eyes dip down to the glowing number pad, tapping the keys one by one.

Now the only thing a gambler needs, is a suitcase and a trunk. And the only time that he's satisfied, is when he's gone and drunk.

Dialing… is printed across the phone's screen, and with a breathy sigh he pushes himself up to his feet and starts to pace across the floor past the table. With eyes closed, Kain halts as the ringing stops, and someone on the other end picks up. "Long time no see…" His black brows furrow together, pale eyes shifting to the side to regard the gun on the table, shining in the thin rays of sunlight coming from between the blinds.

Oh mother, tell your children, not to do what I have done.

"Nah, it ain't like that. Ah'… got a job Ah' gotta' go do," the words come out with some difficulty, tongue wiping across the back of his teeth as he pauses, considering how to explain it. In the end, he just decides not to. "S'down in N'Orleans, Ah'm takin' Manny with me, an' Ah' thought it might be a good idea t'get th' ol' band back together one more time. You in?"

Spend your lives in sin and misery, in the House of the Rising Sun.

Kain's head dips down into a bobbing nod, one the man on the other end of the phone can't readily see. "Yeah, yeah. Ah' understand." His lips purse together, fingers squeezing the phone a little tightly, "Well, if'n you end up findin' a sitter for your Sprout, you let me know. Ah'm not headin' down there right away, but Ah'd sleep a lot easier at night knowin' Ah'd got you an' Manny backin' me up."

Well I got one foot on the platform. The other foot on a train. I'm going back to New Orleans, to wear that ball and chain.

A grimace spreads across Kain's face, something asked on the other end of the phone. He smiles, faintly, just a moment after and looks back at the revolver again. "Far as Ah' know, it's just gonna' be us." His expression fades from his face, pale blue eyes losing that faint whimsy they had for a moment. "Ah' think that's probably for the best though…" When his words trail off, he nods again to something said on the other end of the phone.

Well there is a house in New Orleans, they call the Rising Sun.

"Ah' hear ya." A faint smile tries to creep up, then slowly fades away again, "Oh hey, if you see Mischa out there," he snorts out a laugh, "you flip her off for me, right?" The sound of laughter on the other side of the pone is louder than the other words had been, a good-natured loud and whooping laughter. That, at least in small part, makes Kain smile. "Right, Ah'll be seein' ya, Dixon."

And it's been the ruin of many a poor boy…

One button press ends the call, leaving Kain standing in the middle of his empty penthouse, head hung and stringy blonde hair falling down to either side of his face. The phone quietly slides inside his of his suit jacket pocket, and he turns to look back at all of the photographs laid out on the table. His brows lower, teeth clench together, and one singular sigh is all he can muster as his eyes slowly close.

…and God I know I one.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License