For Ramiel
May. 22nd, 2003 01:17 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dexfarkinJust because of this.
http://www.livejournal.com/users/moonandserpent/56521.html?mode=reply
Enjoy
http://www.livejournal.com/users/moonandserpent/56521.html?mode=reply
Enjoy
[Error: Irreparable invalid markup ('<lj-cut=text"men>') in entry. Owner must fix manually. Raw contents below.]
Just because of this.
http://www.livejournal.com/users/moonandserpent/56521.html?mode=reply
Enjoy
<lj-cut=text"Men Like Knives">
MEN LIKE KNIVES
The gun barrel is shockingly cold against my forehead, and I think, oh god this is it. I'm going to die. I'm going to die and the fucking Choux Chantilly is going to burn. My body is going to be found crumpled up in the middle of the kitchen, brains on the flouring table, and my last job burnt to hell in the oven.
That is a reason to go on living.
"Any last prayers?"
"That's ironic, Giovanni."
"Irony is very Catholic, Paul." There's this awful clinking noise as the gun barrel moves around forehead and I'm thinking that his silencer isn't set properly and how could the Monseigneur have sent him out with such a shoddy weapon? I suppose things went downhill after I left.
"Care to tell me why?"
"No. You taught me that. Never ask why if you don't know, never explain if you do."
"I also taught you to be efficient. A bullet behind the ear when I was at the stove would have been best. Every minute you wait is another minute you can make a mistake." Shut up, Paul. Talking the killer into being quick is not a good plan. But I know Giovanni. If I've got even the slightest chance of surviving this, it will be with my wits. God, I wish I hadn't drank that bottle of wine earlier.
"Perhaps I want you to suffer."
"Perhaps the church didn't send you."
"They sent me."
"The Monseigneur sent you, not the bishop." Breathe, Paul. "Tell me I'm wrong."
Giovanni was silent, adjusting his heavy cellouse clerical collar with one hand as the other kept the gun firmly against the skin under my right eye.
"I thought you Jesuits were supposed to be brilliant logical thinkers, Giovanni. Christ, how much does the Monseigneur owe to the fucking Corsicans this time?"
"It's not about money."
"It's always about money, the further you go, the more it's true." I rubbed my left eye wearily. "Can I get up, or can you just shoot me and get this over with?"
"Paul--"
"Giovanni, you're screwed. Kill me and you take the fall. Leave me alive and they'll hunt both of us. If you can tell me why, there might be a way out. Remember, solutions. It's all about solutions." Think, you fucking Jesuit bastard! Give me the edge because I don't want to die and the Choux Chantilly is some of the best I've made. I don't want it to burn.
"Telihard Labs. 1996."
Merde.
This wasn't about revenge. The Catholic church is never happy when it's best assassin leaves for the south of France to open a pâtisserie, but not to a terminal level. This was about a 37 rod fuel bundle hidden deep in a Swiss vault, a Corsican mob boss and a girl named Ruth.
Ruth. Sure, I was probably going to get a bullet in the head over it, but I can't say I was ready to regret it. Giovanni prodded with his pistol and at that exact moment, I decided I wasn't going to have to kill him.
Yet.
</lj-cut
http://www.livejournal.com/users/moonandserpent/56521.html?mode=reply
Enjoy
<lj-cut=text"Men Like Knives">
MEN LIKE KNIVES
The gun barrel is shockingly cold against my forehead, and I think, oh god this is it. I'm going to die. I'm going to die and the fucking Choux Chantilly is going to burn. My body is going to be found crumpled up in the middle of the kitchen, brains on the flouring table, and my last job burnt to hell in the oven.
That is a reason to go on living.
"Any last prayers?"
"That's ironic, Giovanni."
"Irony is very Catholic, Paul." There's this awful clinking noise as the gun barrel moves around forehead and I'm thinking that his silencer isn't set properly and how could the Monseigneur have sent him out with such a shoddy weapon? I suppose things went downhill after I left.
"Care to tell me why?"
"No. You taught me that. Never ask why if you don't know, never explain if you do."
"I also taught you to be efficient. A bullet behind the ear when I was at the stove would have been best. Every minute you wait is another minute you can make a mistake." Shut up, Paul. Talking the killer into being quick is not a good plan. But I know Giovanni. If I've got even the slightest chance of surviving this, it will be with my wits. God, I wish I hadn't drank that bottle of wine earlier.
"Perhaps I want you to suffer."
"Perhaps the church didn't send you."
"They sent me."
"The Monseigneur sent you, not the bishop." Breathe, Paul. "Tell me I'm wrong."
Giovanni was silent, adjusting his heavy cellouse clerical collar with one hand as the other kept the gun firmly against the skin under my right eye.
"I thought you Jesuits were supposed to be brilliant logical thinkers, Giovanni. Christ, how much does the Monseigneur owe to the fucking Corsicans this time?"
"It's not about money."
"It's always about money, the further you go, the more it's true." I rubbed my left eye wearily. "Can I get up, or can you just shoot me and get this over with?"
"Paul--"
"Giovanni, you're screwed. Kill me and you take the fall. Leave me alive and they'll hunt both of us. If you can tell me why, there might be a way out. Remember, solutions. It's all about solutions." Think, you fucking Jesuit bastard! Give me the edge because I don't want to die and the Choux Chantilly is some of the best I've made. I don't want it to burn.
"Telihard Labs. 1996."
Merde.
This wasn't about revenge. The Catholic church is never happy when it's best assassin leaves for the south of France to open a pâtisserie, but not to a terminal level. This was about a 37 rod fuel bundle hidden deep in a Swiss vault, a Corsican mob boss and a girl named Ruth.
Ruth. Sure, I was probably going to get a bullet in the head over it, but I can't say I was ready to regret it. Giovanni prodded with his pistol and at that exact moment, I decided I wasn't going to have to kill him.
Yet.
</lj-cut
