03-16-2012, 05:35 PM
(This post was last modified: 03-20-2012, 05:03 PM by ImagenAshyun.)
((One-shot short story about how Arnaldo obtained his "Toad" rank. Completed.))
![[Image: redglove.gif]](http://img841.imageshack.us/img841/34/redglove.gif)
It happened two years ago, the night before Winter's Veil. The paladin was on leave from the Northrend campaigns and allowed to come home to see his family. To his wife and children. To a cozy cabin by the sea. Little did he know was that he was being watched by another. One dressed in white.
It was snowing. The skies were gray, but smiles were abundant. Arnaldo, though, was not smiling.
He stayed behind a tree, covered in light armor lined with white fur. A scoped rifle was held in hand as he observed with undead eyes. He didn't want to do this. But Boss's orders.
Seated on the paladin's arms was a young boy. Four years old. He reached high for mistletoe that hung from a tree branch only meters away from the home. Despite being on his father’s shoulders, he still couldn’t reach for the parasitic plant. His arms were just out of reach.
“I can reach it, Papa!” the boy declared with sadness. “I’m still too small!”
Arnaldo could feel the boy’ sorrow, and so can the father. Stefano Ricci. Arnaldo has him on sight. He has a folded piece of paper in his pocket, but he doesn’t need to read it now. He knows what he is supposed to do.
“No worries,” the father says with a smile. Snow fell as flakes of white on his mustard-like blond hair as the messy strands cover his eyes. He reaches to wipe some flakes on his reddening nose before doing the same on his son after he lowered him to his arms. ““I can help you reach it higher.”
“How, Papa?”
“I want you to be brave, okay? What I’m going to do is let you fly high enough to grab the mistletoe. Can you do that for me, Nico?”
The boy smiled and nodded. Arnaldo felt his arm sank. He remembered doing something similar with his own son. Velio. He lost before the razing of Lordaeron and hasn’t seen him since. They were separated still. He needs to find him.
“I’m ready, Papa!” Nico giggles. Arnaldo clutched his eyes shut. He didn’t see Nico. He saw Velio.
“Count to three!” Stefano says as he readies himself to throw Nico up, high enough to catch the mistletoe only inches out of the child’s reach. “One!”
“Two!”
“Three!” The father throws the boy up, the child soaring in the air inches from his father’s arms. The child reached for the mistletoe, little fingers wrapping around several leaves of the plant. The stems rip and sever, and the boy drops back to his father’s hands. Nico laughed with glee from the few moments he flew. His father laughed with him, happy to be with his son during such a happy holiday.
Arnaldo wasn’t laughing. In fact, he was in near tears.
Father and son turned around to go back to the mother and brother. The elder son was near the cabin door, rolling a very large ball of snow. A far larger one, big enough for a grown man to struggle carrying, was set and ready for a torso to lay upon. The bigger boy lowered himself to push up the second ball atop of the first, but he was already wobbling on his feet before it can be set up. Mama came forth, but she too struggled. The ball was much bigger for the much smaller woman.
“Now, now, you don’t have to do that,” Stefano says as he reaches for the ball. “You gotta put your knees to work! Bench over, push and--nevermind, it’s too heavy. Dante! Why is this so heavy?!”
“I wanted to make a really big snowman,” Dante says, grinning at his father. “Clearly, it’s not big enough.”
“This thing is a mountain! Look at this! It’s almost up to my chest! I can even climb it to the top!” Of course, Papa was just joshing about, though the ball surely was big enough to reach his chest. Nevertheless, he lowers himself to his knees and feigns climbing up while maintaining the height of a gnome. He reaches the top, then lowers his belly to lay across the snowball. He shouts with a fake echo, his voice hollowed to emulate an empty mountain top. “Hello, down there!”
“Hi, Papa!” Nico plays along.
“It’s so high up here! I’m getting a nosebleed! I’m gonna need a flag and claim this mountain for myself!”
Dante grins. He takes this opportunity to engage in play as he climbs the ball himself before seating on his father’s back. Stefano grunts as the boy sat atop of him before Dante waves at his brother to do the same. Nico climbs to join his elder brother, and the two boys sit on their father’s back.
“Mama! Help! I’m being overcome by mountain yetis!” Papa calls. He reaches his arms out to his wife, crying and pleading in play. “Be my hero! Help me!”
The wife grins. A tiny woman herself, she simply joins her sons in the game and climbs the snowball. She scoots herself over her husband rear end and sits on him, pressing his hips onto the ball.
“Oh, Light!” Stefano cries out. “I’m going to be killed by monsters! Help me, help me! I am overcome!” He flops onto the ball, playing dead.
Nico blinks. “Mama, I think you killed him.”
“That’s the point,” Mama says with a giggle. “We’re yetis after all. Let’s eat him!”
“Yay!”
Arnaldo crept closer as he watched the family played. The wife and children slide off the father as they pull him off the snowball. They played pretending, clutching his coat and tugging it about, like creatures ripping flesh. As they did, Stefano couldn’t help but squirm, apparently ticklish. The wife and elder boy turn aggressive as the stuck their fingers to his belly and underarms, forcing him to squirm harder in laughter.
“Stop! Stop! I’m alive! No!” Stefano cries out, tears streaming down his hair-covered face from laughter. The family step back, laughing with him as he gasps to catch his breath.
Nico remembers why he flew just moments before. He rushes over to the side and lowers himself to pick up the dropped mistletoe. He approaches his mother to hold it up. “Look, Mama! Look what we got you!”
“Oh, mistletoe!” Mama says with a smile as she takes it. “I wonder who it’s for.” She turns to grin at her husband. “For the party? Or me?”
“Works both ways!” Papa says as he stands up, brushing the snow off his coat.
Nico looks at Dante, confused. “Uh… what’s it for?”
Stefano looks at his wife, then to Dante. He grins wickedly as the older son shakes his head. “Don’t do it!”
“Do what?” Nico asks.
“I’m going to show you what we got the mistletoe for,” Papa says with a smile.
Arnaldo shook as he watched. Stefano demonstrates the purpose of the mistletoe as he held it over his and his wife’s heads. Lips pucker then touch tenderly as they locked, heads tilted as their faces locked. The boys, watching the affectionate display before them, start yelling in disgust. Nico even flailed. “Ewwww!”
Husband and wife laughed to see their sons react so childishly. Arnaldo himself, however, broke down from behind the tree, though the laughter from the family drowned out his sobs.
“Okay, playtime is over,” Mama says as she teasingly pushes her husband aside. “It’s almost dinnertime, and I couldn’t get a fire working. We need more firewood.”
“Do we?” Stefano asks as he turns to her.
“Do I have to repeat?”
“Only if you decide to be a nag again.”
“Oh, stop it.” She smiles. “Just go get it, and we’ll have stew tonight.”
“Can I go with Papa?” Nico asks as he clutches Stefano’s coat. “I wanna pick up firewood too!”
“Actually, I want you both to come inside,” Mama says as she looks up. The snowfall was becoming heavier as the skies are becoming darker. “The snow’s getting heavy. You two might get sick.”
“I won’t be gone too long,” Stefano says as he ruffles Nico’s hair. “We’ll keep playing inside once I’m done.” He picks up his coat’s hood and places it over his head. “Besides, Mama needs your help more than I do. Why don’t you help her in the kitchen?”
“Okay!” Nico says jovially. He rushes in after Mama opens the door for the children to enter.
Dante, however, lingered behind. He turns to his father as mist gathers from his breath. “Are you sure you don’t need help?”
“Nah.” Stefano turns around as he lowers himself to pick up a lantern. “I’ll only bring back what I can carry. I’ll just gather more tomorrow.”
“Stay safe, Papa.”
“I will.”
The shed wasn’t very far, but the wood blocks inside were so little. It was enough for a small fire, but it wouldn’t be hot enough to boil a pot. Stefano sighed. “And it had to start snowing tonight.” He reaches for an axe and holds it over his shoulder. He started heading out to the woods. Arnaldo stayed close behind.
The chopping stump wasn’t very far either, but it was surely far enough to prevent damage to the home should it topple over completely. Larger lumbar was set aside, most of it unchopped. Stefano began regretting not finishing his work before the snow came in, and so, he began his work despite his internal grumbling. He brushes the snow off the stump before placing blocks atop of it. Chop Only enough blocks to heat up a fire. Still, they were too large to fit in a heating stove. He prepares to chop them smaller.
Arnaldo remained hidden behind a tree. This was the perfect time to make his move. He sighs as he reaches for the paper in his pocket. His eye sockets glow as his eyelids lower, bony hands trembling as flakes gather onto the letter. He hates his job. He especially hates this assignment.
Arnaldo really hates his job.
He keeps his eyes glued onto Stefano. He hates his job. He hates Stefano. A Happy man. A happy family man. A happy Lordaeronian family man. Arnaldo can feel his bitterness and hatred welling up inside, of his memories of the Scourge, of his memories among the Forsaken. His memories of his lost child. His memories that he can no longer relive. He thought about Nico’s laughter, or Dante’s game. The kiss under the mistletoe. The promise of stew tonight.
Arnaldo cannot have any of it. And now, Stefano shall not.
He leans further out from behind the tree, rifle aimed. He closes on eye to peer through the scope, the crosshair moved to target Stefano’s mustard head. The living man paused to take a break, rubbing his arms as he was enduring the cold. Arnaldo readied to squeeze the trigger. He was ready to finish his assignment.
….He couldn’t do it.
Stew. Snowmen. Mistletoe. Kisses. Arnaldo can’t think of a time he used to have that. His past life was nowhere as happy. No. There was mead, rum, whiskey, and beer. Playing cards and dice. Women on the streets. Starving children. Stefano was an upright man of the Light while Arnaldo was street scum who couldn’t even keep his SI:7 position as a stable job. Arnaldo deserved this to happen to him. Stefano didn’t, nor does he now. The Forsaken lowered his rifle, head lowered to his hands as he tried to keep back sobs. He crouched, knees bent, back lowered as he found himself crying once again. He slumped to his rear end, still looking down as his mind wandered. To Viola. To Velio. Children he neglected to pursue vice. He brought upon the separation himself. But the man who was chopping firewood did not.
“If you wish to attain a rank, then you must fulfill this assignment. If you decline, then you will be sent back to the Iron Mines. I am sure you would appreciate more mobility and freedom if you wish for us to find Velio.”
……
Arnaldo stood up. He lifted his face to the sky, snow falling onto his rotting face. He breathed deeply, chest heaving despite those undead lungs not needing air. He calmed himself. The hatred disappeared. He shouldn’t do this out of hatred. He ought to do this for his son.
For one father to find his son, he must separate another from his own.
Stefano was readying himself to bring the prepared firewood, wobbling a bit as he tried to balance the weight placed in his arms. Arnaldo then raised his rifle, the crosshair placed upon that blond head and the trigger pulled.
Blam.
A trail of red was left behind as Arnaldo dragged Stefano’s body away. The now dead man was far larger, and much heavier, than the skin-and-bones Forsaken. The snowfall, thankfully, covered his tracks. It felt like forever, but Arnaldo managed to reach the shore.
A boat awaited for him. It’s time for him to complete his assignment.
The Undead lifted the corpse the best he could, trying to ignore the blood staining his white coat. Water and ice splashed about as he places Stefano’s body into the boat. Arnaldo then looked down to see the man’s usually hidden face. Jade eyes. They were gaping open, perhaps in shock of the bullet to his head. His blond hair is red now. Those jade orbs frozen open.
Arnaldo can’t keep looking at him like this. He simply moves the bangs over his face.
He boards. He turns his back to a gnomish motor, struggling to get it started. The cold, however, was too much. It wouldn’t even sputter. Arnaldo sat in frustration, burying his head into his face. He grumbles, growls, and moans. He looks up to the sky once again before he lowers himself to a corner of the boat. Rum. One of his very best friends. He grips the bottle and pulls the cork before he lifts the neck to his lips. He closes his eyes as he feels the cold drink pour down his throat, down to his stomach. He anticipated warmth. He anticipated a buzz.
It didn’t come. The undead do not drink.
Arnaldo growls once more as he stood from the boat to throw the bottle out to sea. Angry again. He watches it soar through the air before it splashes. The boat rocked a bit, so he was forced to seat himself again. Foolish. He didn’t need to do that. Arnaldo was fully aware of this, however. Old habits break hard, even as an undead.
What am I doing here?
He takes one last look at the corpse, then to the motor. He tries to get it started again. Put. Put. Put. Vroooooom. The motor roars to life. Water splashes from behind as the boat readies to move forward. Arnaldo nearly shook from the sudden movement, though he stabilizes himself quickly. He pulls onto the levers to direct the boat to its right direction. It’s time to meet the Red Glove.
Arnaldo hates his job… but nobody ever leaves The Red Glove. Allegra did. And now, her husband pays the price.
((Since this is done, feel free to post feedback))
It happened two years ago, the night before Winter's Veil. The paladin was on leave from the Northrend campaigns and allowed to come home to see his family. To his wife and children. To a cozy cabin by the sea. Little did he know was that he was being watched by another. One dressed in white.
It was snowing. The skies were gray, but smiles were abundant. Arnaldo, though, was not smiling.
He stayed behind a tree, covered in light armor lined with white fur. A scoped rifle was held in hand as he observed with undead eyes. He didn't want to do this. But Boss's orders.
Seated on the paladin's arms was a young boy. Four years old. He reached high for mistletoe that hung from a tree branch only meters away from the home. Despite being on his father’s shoulders, he still couldn’t reach for the parasitic plant. His arms were just out of reach.
“I can reach it, Papa!” the boy declared with sadness. “I’m still too small!”
Arnaldo could feel the boy’ sorrow, and so can the father. Stefano Ricci. Arnaldo has him on sight. He has a folded piece of paper in his pocket, but he doesn’t need to read it now. He knows what he is supposed to do.
“No worries,” the father says with a smile. Snow fell as flakes of white on his mustard-like blond hair as the messy strands cover his eyes. He reaches to wipe some flakes on his reddening nose before doing the same on his son after he lowered him to his arms. ““I can help you reach it higher.”
“How, Papa?”
“I want you to be brave, okay? What I’m going to do is let you fly high enough to grab the mistletoe. Can you do that for me, Nico?”
The boy smiled and nodded. Arnaldo felt his arm sank. He remembered doing something similar with his own son. Velio. He lost before the razing of Lordaeron and hasn’t seen him since. They were separated still. He needs to find him.
“I’m ready, Papa!” Nico giggles. Arnaldo clutched his eyes shut. He didn’t see Nico. He saw Velio.
“Count to three!” Stefano says as he readies himself to throw Nico up, high enough to catch the mistletoe only inches out of the child’s reach. “One!”
“Two!”
“Three!” The father throws the boy up, the child soaring in the air inches from his father’s arms. The child reached for the mistletoe, little fingers wrapping around several leaves of the plant. The stems rip and sever, and the boy drops back to his father’s hands. Nico laughed with glee from the few moments he flew. His father laughed with him, happy to be with his son during such a happy holiday.
Arnaldo wasn’t laughing. In fact, he was in near tears.
Father and son turned around to go back to the mother and brother. The elder son was near the cabin door, rolling a very large ball of snow. A far larger one, big enough for a grown man to struggle carrying, was set and ready for a torso to lay upon. The bigger boy lowered himself to push up the second ball atop of the first, but he was already wobbling on his feet before it can be set up. Mama came forth, but she too struggled. The ball was much bigger for the much smaller woman.
“Now, now, you don’t have to do that,” Stefano says as he reaches for the ball. “You gotta put your knees to work! Bench over, push and--nevermind, it’s too heavy. Dante! Why is this so heavy?!”
“I wanted to make a really big snowman,” Dante says, grinning at his father. “Clearly, it’s not big enough.”
“This thing is a mountain! Look at this! It’s almost up to my chest! I can even climb it to the top!” Of course, Papa was just joshing about, though the ball surely was big enough to reach his chest. Nevertheless, he lowers himself to his knees and feigns climbing up while maintaining the height of a gnome. He reaches the top, then lowers his belly to lay across the snowball. He shouts with a fake echo, his voice hollowed to emulate an empty mountain top. “Hello, down there!”
“Hi, Papa!” Nico plays along.
“It’s so high up here! I’m getting a nosebleed! I’m gonna need a flag and claim this mountain for myself!”
Dante grins. He takes this opportunity to engage in play as he climbs the ball himself before seating on his father’s back. Stefano grunts as the boy sat atop of him before Dante waves at his brother to do the same. Nico climbs to join his elder brother, and the two boys sit on their father’s back.
“Mama! Help! I’m being overcome by mountain yetis!” Papa calls. He reaches his arms out to his wife, crying and pleading in play. “Be my hero! Help me!”
The wife grins. A tiny woman herself, she simply joins her sons in the game and climbs the snowball. She scoots herself over her husband rear end and sits on him, pressing his hips onto the ball.
“Oh, Light!” Stefano cries out. “I’m going to be killed by monsters! Help me, help me! I am overcome!” He flops onto the ball, playing dead.
Nico blinks. “Mama, I think you killed him.”
“That’s the point,” Mama says with a giggle. “We’re yetis after all. Let’s eat him!”
“Yay!”
Arnaldo crept closer as he watched the family played. The wife and children slide off the father as they pull him off the snowball. They played pretending, clutching his coat and tugging it about, like creatures ripping flesh. As they did, Stefano couldn’t help but squirm, apparently ticklish. The wife and elder boy turn aggressive as the stuck their fingers to his belly and underarms, forcing him to squirm harder in laughter.
“Stop! Stop! I’m alive! No!” Stefano cries out, tears streaming down his hair-covered face from laughter. The family step back, laughing with him as he gasps to catch his breath.
Nico remembers why he flew just moments before. He rushes over to the side and lowers himself to pick up the dropped mistletoe. He approaches his mother to hold it up. “Look, Mama! Look what we got you!”
“Oh, mistletoe!” Mama says with a smile as she takes it. “I wonder who it’s for.” She turns to grin at her husband. “For the party? Or me?”
“Works both ways!” Papa says as he stands up, brushing the snow off his coat.
Nico looks at Dante, confused. “Uh… what’s it for?”
Stefano looks at his wife, then to Dante. He grins wickedly as the older son shakes his head. “Don’t do it!”
“Do what?” Nico asks.
“I’m going to show you what we got the mistletoe for,” Papa says with a smile.
Arnaldo shook as he watched. Stefano demonstrates the purpose of the mistletoe as he held it over his and his wife’s heads. Lips pucker then touch tenderly as they locked, heads tilted as their faces locked. The boys, watching the affectionate display before them, start yelling in disgust. Nico even flailed. “Ewwww!”
Husband and wife laughed to see their sons react so childishly. Arnaldo himself, however, broke down from behind the tree, though the laughter from the family drowned out his sobs.
“Okay, playtime is over,” Mama says as she teasingly pushes her husband aside. “It’s almost dinnertime, and I couldn’t get a fire working. We need more firewood.”
“Do we?” Stefano asks as he turns to her.
“Do I have to repeat?”
“Only if you decide to be a nag again.”
“Oh, stop it.” She smiles. “Just go get it, and we’ll have stew tonight.”
“Can I go with Papa?” Nico asks as he clutches Stefano’s coat. “I wanna pick up firewood too!”
“Actually, I want you both to come inside,” Mama says as she looks up. The snowfall was becoming heavier as the skies are becoming darker. “The snow’s getting heavy. You two might get sick.”
“I won’t be gone too long,” Stefano says as he ruffles Nico’s hair. “We’ll keep playing inside once I’m done.” He picks up his coat’s hood and places it over his head. “Besides, Mama needs your help more than I do. Why don’t you help her in the kitchen?”
“Okay!” Nico says jovially. He rushes in after Mama opens the door for the children to enter.
Dante, however, lingered behind. He turns to his father as mist gathers from his breath. “Are you sure you don’t need help?”
“Nah.” Stefano turns around as he lowers himself to pick up a lantern. “I’ll only bring back what I can carry. I’ll just gather more tomorrow.”
“Stay safe, Papa.”
“I will.”
The shed wasn’t very far, but the wood blocks inside were so little. It was enough for a small fire, but it wouldn’t be hot enough to boil a pot. Stefano sighed. “And it had to start snowing tonight.” He reaches for an axe and holds it over his shoulder. He started heading out to the woods. Arnaldo stayed close behind.
The chopping stump wasn’t very far either, but it was surely far enough to prevent damage to the home should it topple over completely. Larger lumbar was set aside, most of it unchopped. Stefano began regretting not finishing his work before the snow came in, and so, he began his work despite his internal grumbling. He brushes the snow off the stump before placing blocks atop of it. Chop Only enough blocks to heat up a fire. Still, they were too large to fit in a heating stove. He prepares to chop them smaller.
Arnaldo remained hidden behind a tree. This was the perfect time to make his move. He sighs as he reaches for the paper in his pocket. His eye sockets glow as his eyelids lower, bony hands trembling as flakes gather onto the letter. He hates his job. He especially hates this assignment.
The Peacock Wrote:To Mr. Gallo: This is the Peacock.
If you wish to attain a rank, then you must fulfill this assignment. If you decline, then you will be sent back to the Iron Mines. I am sure you would appreciate more mobility and freedom if you wish for us to find Velio.
We have found the Rat, Allegra Costa, residing along Southshore. She’s married now, to a Lordaeron paladin named Stefano Ricci. They have two sons, Dante, 6, and Nico, 4. She is a subordinate under the Mouse, and we feel she knows where she and the Serpent are located. In order to extract information from her, we must hold her husband in for ransom while our snipers keep watch of the children. However, we’ve also learned her husband is a paladin for the Argent Crusade. Approaching him directly is unwise. We recommend you kill him on sight then bring his body to me so we can keep him for ourselves. I will resurrect him.
We’ve provided you a map that gives you the location of their home. Ricci is expected to go on holiday leave two day before Winter’s Veil. Catch him during this time, and make sure he is separated from his family before you make your move.
We expect you to bring his body in within this week.
Arnaldo really hates his job.
He keeps his eyes glued onto Stefano. He hates his job. He hates Stefano. A Happy man. A happy family man. A happy Lordaeronian family man. Arnaldo can feel his bitterness and hatred welling up inside, of his memories of the Scourge, of his memories among the Forsaken. His memories of his lost child. His memories that he can no longer relive. He thought about Nico’s laughter, or Dante’s game. The kiss under the mistletoe. The promise of stew tonight.
Arnaldo cannot have any of it. And now, Stefano shall not.
He leans further out from behind the tree, rifle aimed. He closes on eye to peer through the scope, the crosshair moved to target Stefano’s mustard head. The living man paused to take a break, rubbing his arms as he was enduring the cold. Arnaldo readied to squeeze the trigger. He was ready to finish his assignment.
….He couldn’t do it.
Stew. Snowmen. Mistletoe. Kisses. Arnaldo can’t think of a time he used to have that. His past life was nowhere as happy. No. There was mead, rum, whiskey, and beer. Playing cards and dice. Women on the streets. Starving children. Stefano was an upright man of the Light while Arnaldo was street scum who couldn’t even keep his SI:7 position as a stable job. Arnaldo deserved this to happen to him. Stefano didn’t, nor does he now. The Forsaken lowered his rifle, head lowered to his hands as he tried to keep back sobs. He crouched, knees bent, back lowered as he found himself crying once again. He slumped to his rear end, still looking down as his mind wandered. To Viola. To Velio. Children he neglected to pursue vice. He brought upon the separation himself. But the man who was chopping firewood did not.
“If you wish to attain a rank, then you must fulfill this assignment. If you decline, then you will be sent back to the Iron Mines. I am sure you would appreciate more mobility and freedom if you wish for us to find Velio.”
……
Arnaldo stood up. He lifted his face to the sky, snow falling onto his rotting face. He breathed deeply, chest heaving despite those undead lungs not needing air. He calmed himself. The hatred disappeared. He shouldn’t do this out of hatred. He ought to do this for his son.
For one father to find his son, he must separate another from his own.
Stefano was readying himself to bring the prepared firewood, wobbling a bit as he tried to balance the weight placed in his arms. Arnaldo then raised his rifle, the crosshair placed upon that blond head and the trigger pulled.
Blam.
A trail of red was left behind as Arnaldo dragged Stefano’s body away. The now dead man was far larger, and much heavier, than the skin-and-bones Forsaken. The snowfall, thankfully, covered his tracks. It felt like forever, but Arnaldo managed to reach the shore.
A boat awaited for him. It’s time for him to complete his assignment.
The Undead lifted the corpse the best he could, trying to ignore the blood staining his white coat. Water and ice splashed about as he places Stefano’s body into the boat. Arnaldo then looked down to see the man’s usually hidden face. Jade eyes. They were gaping open, perhaps in shock of the bullet to his head. His blond hair is red now. Those jade orbs frozen open.
Arnaldo can’t keep looking at him like this. He simply moves the bangs over his face.
He boards. He turns his back to a gnomish motor, struggling to get it started. The cold, however, was too much. It wouldn’t even sputter. Arnaldo sat in frustration, burying his head into his face. He grumbles, growls, and moans. He looks up to the sky once again before he lowers himself to a corner of the boat. Rum. One of his very best friends. He grips the bottle and pulls the cork before he lifts the neck to his lips. He closes his eyes as he feels the cold drink pour down his throat, down to his stomach. He anticipated warmth. He anticipated a buzz.
It didn’t come. The undead do not drink.
Arnaldo growls once more as he stood from the boat to throw the bottle out to sea. Angry again. He watches it soar through the air before it splashes. The boat rocked a bit, so he was forced to seat himself again. Foolish. He didn’t need to do that. Arnaldo was fully aware of this, however. Old habits break hard, even as an undead.
What am I doing here?
He takes one last look at the corpse, then to the motor. He tries to get it started again. Put. Put. Put. Vroooooom. The motor roars to life. Water splashes from behind as the boat readies to move forward. Arnaldo nearly shook from the sudden movement, though he stabilizes himself quickly. He pulls onto the levers to direct the boat to its right direction. It’s time to meet the Red Glove.
Arnaldo hates his job… but nobody ever leaves The Red Glove. Allegra did. And now, her husband pays the price.
-Fin-
((Since this is done, feel free to post feedback))
![[Image: 3HQ8ifr.gif]](http://i.imgur.com/3HQ8ifr.gif)