04-03-2022, 11:41 PM
// tw: murder + some gore (not explicit)
He had never thought that he would be entirely fond of a place like this, yet here he was, taking his next great step into initiating himself into the Pitt's ranks. It was a decision he had made due to his honest enjoyment of dwelling in the desert among those who really weren't much of a bother to him. If anything, they were useful to him. People to learn from and learn about, people to assist him. He could get used to this whole "friendship" thing. But he had to earn their trust first. He had to prove his worth and dedication to them.
And with that in mind, the horned jaguar set out into the desert to begin his Nights of Solitude.
The desert was a cruel, uncaring place, but he could adapt to it, take on its personality until it no longer bothered him. Blackjack's Nights of Solitude coincided with a new mission that he was to embark on — an all-too-familiar hit in the desert. The body of his previous kill had been discovered, and with the overwhelming aromas of the various spices in which he and his target had tussled, his scent was thoroughly covered. Evidently, the family of this poor soul took it upon them to retaliate, placing a red dot above the very loner that brought him to the desert in the first place. A twisted situation indeed, but he lived for such tension. Drama is the spice of life.
Blackjack had spent the majority of his lonesome nights plotting, determining the greatest path to the coyote without the assistance of Oscuro, who he had left behind in his treehouse so not to risk forfeiting his Nights of Solitude. These were tiring, sleepless nights roaming the endless dunes of the desert, his paws refusing to give in until the cave was found not far from the Pitt's borders. He kept his distance for one more night, bloodthirsty golden hues fixated on the entrance of the cave, stopping only to refill his waterskin with the clean, cool water from the shaded oasis nearby. "The purest water, maybe the only water, you'll be finding in this desert for miles," his old client had once said. A few weeks into turning into a desert dweller, and he discovered that this was still the case.
The final day of his Nights of Solitude had come quickly, and Blackjack had made his choice to approach the coyote simply by walking into the cave when he had known that the canine would be there. Best case scenario? They exchange a few words and he kills him. Worst case scenario? They exchange a few unpleasant words and he kills him. There was no risk to take; the other was alone.
The coyote was slow to pick up on Blackjack's presence, only realizing with a startled jolt as he had turned around after quite some time of the feline standing at the cave's maw, shifting his focus from the warmth of what appeared to be some kind of pastry to the Pittian. "M-Mr. Venturo!" he stammered, eyes wide. "Good to see ya! Uh, why are you...here?"
Blackjack offered the other a smile. "Can I not catch up with an old friend?" he purred as he stepped further into the cave. "I'm sure you've been busy."
The coyote cocked an eyebrow and huffed. "No, not terribly busy. Any news on the Pitt? I mean, you seem to be in one piece."
"I believe you were right about them. Fitting for a man as myself, not so much for someone like you. I've been doing well."
"Well, Jack — I can call you Jack, right? — you certainly seem well. Still luggin' around that thing of mine, huh?" The coyote pointed a paw to the waterskin slug across Blackjack's shoulder.
"Eh, I've learned my lesson. Dehydration's a real desert killer," Jackie responded with a nonchalant roll of his shoulders.
"Hrmph. Right. Well, some real desert killer's out walking around for me. D'you hear of that? More importantly, are you a fucking idiot or do you just think I'm one? 'Cuz I know damn well you ain't here for my small talk or my pie."
Blackjack frowned, shooting the canine a glance of faux caring. "You think you're...targeted? By me? You're my customer. You're my friend. Why should I hurt you when it is my duty to protect you and eliminate those who pose a danger to you?"
The coyote sighed, his weight shifting from one paw to another as he stared at the floor. "Shit, Jack. I'm just...scared. I dunno. I just woke up one day hearing that someone's making me out to be a dead man." He looked up at the feline, apprehension with a hint of madness all over his expression. "But you'll take care of me, Jack. You wouldn't take my head?"
The jaguar nodded, the exhaustion from this conversation building up thoroughly. He didn't know how much more of this he could handle. "Of course not, friend."
The next few moments were but a blur, beginning with the coyote nodding silently, then the muscles tensing in his body, his lips pulled back in a venomous snarl, then hurling himself at the jaguar with an unhinged scream. Blackjack was prepared, already cautious of this clearly unstable individual, and maintained his stance firmly, pushing the coyote aside and delivering a scratch upon the canine's face. Powerful black paws stretched across the coyote's neck, pushing downward and squeezing harder and harder, every muscle burning like angry hellfire.
"NO! N-NO!" the coyote wailed as Blackjack's grip tightened, his eyes wide and his mouth fully open. Blackjack read nothing but fear in the other's eyes, a sheer betrayal that stabbed even his own heart. He could not bear the sight of it and averted his eyes as he pushed onward until the coyote had fallen silent, the scrambling of the canine's limbs against the cave floor ceasing. His eyes met the other's again, and he shivered, the oxygen in his lungs rushing out and the blood in his body turning cold. Frantically he shut the coyote's eyelids tightly and closed his petrified, twisted mouth so as to no longer feel the guilt he felt now. He didn't remember what the reward for the coyote's head was, and he didn't care. He just wanted to get the fuck out, now.
Blackjack had exited the cave and made his way to the oasis, setting his weary paws into the calm pool of water before him and running a reptilian tongue across his lips. The night sky was perfectly clear, with a vibrant collection of stars winking at the jaguar, first beautiful, then almost mocking, laughing at him, questioning him.
is this what you are
He could no longer bear to look at the night sky, for the moon resembled a wide, horrified, tear-filled eye. He closed his eyes and attempted to fall asleep despite the horrible, judgmental gaze that he felt staring at him and into his very person, though he knew that no one was there.
He had not slept a minute that night.
Morning arrived leisurely to Blackjack's displeasure, whose golden eyes had become bloodshot and tinted with an almost red color. He arose from the oasis he claimed as his shelter and entered the vile cave once more to haul the coyote onto his back before promptly exiting. He did not look at the body once.
In what felt like the blink of an eye he was on the cusp of entering the Pitt's camp, and he prepared himself for his arrival back into the plaza. This is what you are. This is who you are. He was a survivor, make no mistake of that. Stretching his broad shoulders and adjusting the weight of the limp coyote corpse upon his back, Blackjack marched into the plaza, a newfound sense of odd triumph being exuded from him in spite of his more or less exhausted state. He had done it. He was Blooded.
He set the body down and made himself look at it, his teeth gritting, before planting his paws upon the coyote's head and tearing at the flesh, the surrounding ground painted with coyote fur and splotches of crimson until Blackjack produced a shimmering, flat-boned skull, well-suited for what he was expected to bring back from his Blooding. Two digits wrapped around a canine from the skull and tore it out unceremoniously, plucking the sharpest tooth he could have found from it to complete his requirements.
And now all he had to do was wait and never look at this damn body again.
He had never thought that he would be entirely fond of a place like this, yet here he was, taking his next great step into initiating himself into the Pitt's ranks. It was a decision he had made due to his honest enjoyment of dwelling in the desert among those who really weren't much of a bother to him. If anything, they were useful to him. People to learn from and learn about, people to assist him. He could get used to this whole "friendship" thing. But he had to earn their trust first. He had to prove his worth and dedication to them.
And with that in mind, the horned jaguar set out into the desert to begin his Nights of Solitude.
The desert was a cruel, uncaring place, but he could adapt to it, take on its personality until it no longer bothered him. Blackjack's Nights of Solitude coincided with a new mission that he was to embark on — an all-too-familiar hit in the desert. The body of his previous kill had been discovered, and with the overwhelming aromas of the various spices in which he and his target had tussled, his scent was thoroughly covered. Evidently, the family of this poor soul took it upon them to retaliate, placing a red dot above the very loner that brought him to the desert in the first place. A twisted situation indeed, but he lived for such tension. Drama is the spice of life.
Blackjack had spent the majority of his lonesome nights plotting, determining the greatest path to the coyote without the assistance of Oscuro, who he had left behind in his treehouse so not to risk forfeiting his Nights of Solitude. These were tiring, sleepless nights roaming the endless dunes of the desert, his paws refusing to give in until the cave was found not far from the Pitt's borders. He kept his distance for one more night, bloodthirsty golden hues fixated on the entrance of the cave, stopping only to refill his waterskin with the clean, cool water from the shaded oasis nearby. "The purest water, maybe the only water, you'll be finding in this desert for miles," his old client had once said. A few weeks into turning into a desert dweller, and he discovered that this was still the case.
The final day of his Nights of Solitude had come quickly, and Blackjack had made his choice to approach the coyote simply by walking into the cave when he had known that the canine would be there. Best case scenario? They exchange a few words and he kills him. Worst case scenario? They exchange a few unpleasant words and he kills him. There was no risk to take; the other was alone.
The coyote was slow to pick up on Blackjack's presence, only realizing with a startled jolt as he had turned around after quite some time of the feline standing at the cave's maw, shifting his focus from the warmth of what appeared to be some kind of pastry to the Pittian. "M-Mr. Venturo!" he stammered, eyes wide. "Good to see ya! Uh, why are you...here?"
Blackjack offered the other a smile. "Can I not catch up with an old friend?" he purred as he stepped further into the cave. "I'm sure you've been busy."
The coyote cocked an eyebrow and huffed. "No, not terribly busy. Any news on the Pitt? I mean, you seem to be in one piece."
"I believe you were right about them. Fitting for a man as myself, not so much for someone like you. I've been doing well."
"Well, Jack — I can call you Jack, right? — you certainly seem well. Still luggin' around that thing of mine, huh?" The coyote pointed a paw to the waterskin slug across Blackjack's shoulder.
"Eh, I've learned my lesson. Dehydration's a real desert killer," Jackie responded with a nonchalant roll of his shoulders.
"Hrmph. Right. Well, some real desert killer's out walking around for me. D'you hear of that? More importantly, are you a fucking idiot or do you just think I'm one? 'Cuz I know damn well you ain't here for my small talk or my pie."
Blackjack frowned, shooting the canine a glance of faux caring. "You think you're...targeted? By me? You're my customer. You're my friend. Why should I hurt you when it is my duty to protect you and eliminate those who pose a danger to you?"
The coyote sighed, his weight shifting from one paw to another as he stared at the floor. "Shit, Jack. I'm just...scared. I dunno. I just woke up one day hearing that someone's making me out to be a dead man." He looked up at the feline, apprehension with a hint of madness all over his expression. "But you'll take care of me, Jack. You wouldn't take my head?"
The jaguar nodded, the exhaustion from this conversation building up thoroughly. He didn't know how much more of this he could handle. "Of course not, friend."
The next few moments were but a blur, beginning with the coyote nodding silently, then the muscles tensing in his body, his lips pulled back in a venomous snarl, then hurling himself at the jaguar with an unhinged scream. Blackjack was prepared, already cautious of this clearly unstable individual, and maintained his stance firmly, pushing the coyote aside and delivering a scratch upon the canine's face. Powerful black paws stretched across the coyote's neck, pushing downward and squeezing harder and harder, every muscle burning like angry hellfire.
"NO! N-NO!" the coyote wailed as Blackjack's grip tightened, his eyes wide and his mouth fully open. Blackjack read nothing but fear in the other's eyes, a sheer betrayal that stabbed even his own heart. He could not bear the sight of it and averted his eyes as he pushed onward until the coyote had fallen silent, the scrambling of the canine's limbs against the cave floor ceasing. His eyes met the other's again, and he shivered, the oxygen in his lungs rushing out and the blood in his body turning cold. Frantically he shut the coyote's eyelids tightly and closed his petrified, twisted mouth so as to no longer feel the guilt he felt now. He didn't remember what the reward for the coyote's head was, and he didn't care. He just wanted to get the fuck out, now.
Blackjack had exited the cave and made his way to the oasis, setting his weary paws into the calm pool of water before him and running a reptilian tongue across his lips. The night sky was perfectly clear, with a vibrant collection of stars winking at the jaguar, first beautiful, then almost mocking, laughing at him, questioning him.
is this what you are
He could no longer bear to look at the night sky, for the moon resembled a wide, horrified, tear-filled eye. He closed his eyes and attempted to fall asleep despite the horrible, judgmental gaze that he felt staring at him and into his very person, though he knew that no one was there.
He had not slept a minute that night.
Morning arrived leisurely to Blackjack's displeasure, whose golden eyes had become bloodshot and tinted with an almost red color. He arose from the oasis he claimed as his shelter and entered the vile cave once more to haul the coyote onto his back before promptly exiting. He did not look at the body once.
In what felt like the blink of an eye he was on the cusp of entering the Pitt's camp, and he prepared himself for his arrival back into the plaza. This is what you are. This is who you are. He was a survivor, make no mistake of that. Stretching his broad shoulders and adjusting the weight of the limp coyote corpse upon his back, Blackjack marched into the plaza, a newfound sense of odd triumph being exuded from him in spite of his more or less exhausted state. He had done it. He was Blooded.
He set the body down and made himself look at it, his teeth gritting, before planting his paws upon the coyote's head and tearing at the flesh, the surrounding ground painted with coyote fur and splotches of crimson until Blackjack produced a shimmering, flat-boned skull, well-suited for what he was expected to bring back from his Blooding. Two digits wrapped around a canine from the skull and tore it out unceremoniously, plucking the sharpest tooth he could have found from it to complete his requirements.
And now all he had to do was wait and never look at this damn body again.
[glow=#f4c430,2,300]how to rob men blind[/glow] — ♠
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