Whitney Frost (thegoldenmask) wrote in oh_marvelous, @ 2012-09-21 21:06:00 |
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Entry tags: | z: om1: !complete, z: om1: affiliation: maggia, z: om1: location: new york, z: om1: past character: frank castle, z: om1: past character: whitney frost |
I'm bulletproof, nothing to lose. Fire away, fire away.
Characters: Madame Masque and the Punisher
Setting: Streets of New York
Content: Violence
Summary: Big M is back in New York and leaving her mark. Frank Castle hates the mafia. Let's see how this turns.
In a dark little warehouse on the East River four men and a masked woman stood in tense silence, lit from above by a single lonely bulb that cast most of the room into shadows. This was just like something out of an old gangster film, the woman thought, and smiled behind her mask. Only these weren't actors and those weren't prop guns they were packing. Perfect. The scene could have been trite if not for the palpable strain of danger in the room, something pulled too taut and ready to snap. Already she was imagining it, the crack of a gunshot, the metallic taste of blood in the air. This was just what she needed to get back in the swing of things, a good old fashioned take down. There was a lot of house cleaning to do in the family now, things had become more lax than the woman liked. The tableau in the warehouse was only the beginning.
"You've been skimming," someone said, bringing the woman out of her reverie and back to her little play. She was flanked by two of her own people, handsome men in their thirties wearing designer suits and holstered pistols. It was one of them who had spoken, directing his accusation to the two other men who stood shoulder to shoulder a few feet away. Burly and hairy, dressed in track suits and draped with too much gold jewelry. Cheap. The air was heavy with the musk of overpowering cologne, alcohol and fear sweat. Another stereotype- the quintessential Russian mobsters. You could never trust a Russian.
"We were not, I promise you, man," Boris, the one in charge, answered. He spoke to the Nefaria who had addressed him, but his gaze kept flickering to the golden masked woman with the dark hair who had not moved or spoken since she'd entered the room. He knew her, they both did, but it was hard to believe what they were seeing. She'd retired some said, disappeared, become a legend among the Maggia families. A bogeyman; the Girl with the Golden Mask. If she was here, then Boris was in more trouble than he'd thought.
Bored already, the woman wasn't prepared to listen to what was sure to be a wildly pathetic string of lies and pleas. She took matters into her own hands. Pulling a magnum holstered at her belt she fired a single shot right through Boris' skull. The bullet exploded out of the back of his head, splattering the wall behind him, and the man beside him, with gore. Delightful, just like a movie. And there was that tang of blood.
"Tell Yelizarov our contract is null and void," she said to the remaining man who stood stunned, face splotched with his boss' brain matter. That took care of that and now she wouldn't be stuck here for hours late for her dinner reservation. One little mess handled, there were still a dozen others to attend to. She exited the warehouse with her men in tow and they approached a waiting car. At her gesture, one of her men popped the trunk so that she could pull out something large and bulky- an M72 LAW. The woman hoisted it on her shoulder, took aim, and fired at the warehouse they'd just been in, watching the explosion with satisfaction.
"I think he'll get the message," she remarked and turned away from the smoldering wreckage with the grenade launcher still over her shoulder and a smirk behind her mask. It was nice to be back in New York.