Joseph Tropiano (luckandchance) wrote in low_tide, @ 2010-02-18 19:36:00 |
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Current mood: | pissed off |
Time Is A Waiting Game
Time had a funny way of lasting forever, especially when you were waiting for something. Joseph had waited for hours to hear news of Victor, his blood on his hands, beneath his nails, and all that waiting had been for nothing.
The kid was dead, his injuries too severe, there was nothing the doctor could have done for him.
Not that the explanation had done anything to stop Joseph from slamming the doctor into the nearest wall, breathing heavily and murmuring slurs in a language more accustomed to discussing business or seducing women into his bed.
It had taken all of Joseph’s self control to untangle his fingers from their death grip on the other man, tossing him to the side and telling him to get out. What good was a useless doctor to him?
The doctor didn’t wait around and was out of there in seconds, leaving Joseph prowling the hall outside of the room where the doctor had been working on Victor. “Take care of this,” he muttered to the larger man stood off to one side. “I don’t want his mother to see him like this.”
There was a nod before the larger man disappeared into the room and went to work, as requested by Joseph. Joseph spun on his heel and put his fist through a nearby window, feeling shards of glass beneath and across his skin, making him bleed. Easy enough to ignore, especially as he had other places to be and other people to see.
Joseph stalked out of the small corridor and out onto a street, lighting a cigarette with a bloody hand, fingers curling around the filter. He noted the scrambling doctor in his peripheral vision, but spared him no mind, he wasn’t worth the effort. Joseph merely exhaled smoke and turned on his heel, losing himself in a crowd, mind whirring and every inch of him was set on revenge.
He’d get it one way or another and God, he hoped it would be bloody.