Post by High Tide on Sept 4, 2015 21:14:59 GMT -5
It was a busy week for High Tide.
He had crawled through every back street he could find, no amount of mud, grime, duds, or crime would stop him. No, if this was the way it was going to be, he had to commit fully. If that meant swimming through the mucky waters of backstreet business then fine, so be it. That was what he was prepared and MORE than willing to do.
He felt like an octopus, sending out tentacles, little feelers to see who he could still trust. It was a longer process then he was willing to admit he liked, and he spit on the damp, lush grass in contempt. He had been out of the game too long. Too long had he sat on the edge of naughty and nice with no toe over the line. Maybe it was a sailor thing, not just a pirate thing, but a sailor thing, he thought to himself with a mischievous grin. Toes over the line meant the rest of you was going right of the gangplank with it. That thought was no laughing matter. He had done a fair share of fighting off sharks in his lifetime, and he didn't want to end up another Steve Irwin, not that anyone thought he was a nice man.
Tonight was a night to relax and reflect. Walks usually helped him do that and so he was taking his time; a leisurely stroll through a large, beautiful park at night. There was something about the way the dim light of the streetlights merely sprinkled light onto the park, that really struck a cord with him. It was no doubt some sort of dark beauty, he thought shaking his head, but it was beautiful nonetheless.
What wasn't so beautiful was how low his contacts and trusted sources had dwindled too. Once he had been in command of a chain of people, probably near two hundred at his highest count. Of course this was no business or organization, though the latter he and his closest circle surely were. No it was a scattering across the waters of some of the fiercest, smartest, fastest, most reliable water dwellers. Once his coffers had run deep enough, and his hand had stretched wide. Now? He was lucky to have twenty five confirmed, and he knew his first plan would not go off without any hitches.
He sipped the drink in his hand, not a beer as he had mistakenly told himself was a good idea. No, now his clarity came from his rum attuned mind. The act was criminal, and surely he would get at least a fine should he be caught, but wasn't he just that? A criminal? Wasn't everything he did and most of what he stood for exactly that? Criminal? It was a thought that honestly hadn't occurred to him before, and it actually brought about a pause in his step, something that was unheard of in his state.
He stopped fully, for the question had hit him harder than he thought. How DID he feel about being a criminal. He took another sip of rum from his trusty if slightly rusted, metallic flask for good measure and then smiled his devilish smile. Hadn't he spent his life going against the system? Wasn't that who he was? Of course he could accept that understanding of himself, of course he could be truly okay with it. What else was there if you couldn't accept yourself? His walking continued, a celebratory sip followed.
It occurred to him that criminals rarely ever won the fight, but were damn good at winning the battle. So if his plan to affect Judge, Bubba and Braddock with food poisoning the night of Trauma didn't go off as planned, then so be it. Sure, he wouldn't be sailing home with gold, that glorious Underground Belt, the name ironic enough when he considered his nature, yet he would continue to build up going forward. His contacts, his people as he thought of them in days past, were numbered and thinly spread. Could the plan go off? Possibly, but he doubted he would manage to pull it off with at least one or two, possibly even all three attempts failing. It didn't matter though, he had nothing but time.
Just like this night, where barring the law enforcement making rounds and catching him with his drink, he had nothing but time, and damn it, after the plans he had set in motion he truly thought he deserved a little relaxation. After all, the match was the next night, and if the plan failed, well he would have three men who wanted that belt, in all honesty, more than he did, for the future was his concern, and that was a scary prospect in and of itself. All he could do was sip his rum, enjoy the sound of the lush grass swishing beneath his boots, and hope to hell that his feelers would be more than just feelers.
He had crawled through every back street he could find, no amount of mud, grime, duds, or crime would stop him. No, if this was the way it was going to be, he had to commit fully. If that meant swimming through the mucky waters of backstreet business then fine, so be it. That was what he was prepared and MORE than willing to do.
He felt like an octopus, sending out tentacles, little feelers to see who he could still trust. It was a longer process then he was willing to admit he liked, and he spit on the damp, lush grass in contempt. He had been out of the game too long. Too long had he sat on the edge of naughty and nice with no toe over the line. Maybe it was a sailor thing, not just a pirate thing, but a sailor thing, he thought to himself with a mischievous grin. Toes over the line meant the rest of you was going right of the gangplank with it. That thought was no laughing matter. He had done a fair share of fighting off sharks in his lifetime, and he didn't want to end up another Steve Irwin, not that anyone thought he was a nice man.
Tonight was a night to relax and reflect. Walks usually helped him do that and so he was taking his time; a leisurely stroll through a large, beautiful park at night. There was something about the way the dim light of the streetlights merely sprinkled light onto the park, that really struck a cord with him. It was no doubt some sort of dark beauty, he thought shaking his head, but it was beautiful nonetheless.
What wasn't so beautiful was how low his contacts and trusted sources had dwindled too. Once he had been in command of a chain of people, probably near two hundred at his highest count. Of course this was no business or organization, though the latter he and his closest circle surely were. No it was a scattering across the waters of some of the fiercest, smartest, fastest, most reliable water dwellers. Once his coffers had run deep enough, and his hand had stretched wide. Now? He was lucky to have twenty five confirmed, and he knew his first plan would not go off without any hitches.
He sipped the drink in his hand, not a beer as he had mistakenly told himself was a good idea. No, now his clarity came from his rum attuned mind. The act was criminal, and surely he would get at least a fine should he be caught, but wasn't he just that? A criminal? Wasn't everything he did and most of what he stood for exactly that? Criminal? It was a thought that honestly hadn't occurred to him before, and it actually brought about a pause in his step, something that was unheard of in his state.
He stopped fully, for the question had hit him harder than he thought. How DID he feel about being a criminal. He took another sip of rum from his trusty if slightly rusted, metallic flask for good measure and then smiled his devilish smile. Hadn't he spent his life going against the system? Wasn't that who he was? Of course he could accept that understanding of himself, of course he could be truly okay with it. What else was there if you couldn't accept yourself? His walking continued, a celebratory sip followed.
It occurred to him that criminals rarely ever won the fight, but were damn good at winning the battle. So if his plan to affect Judge, Bubba and Braddock with food poisoning the night of Trauma didn't go off as planned, then so be it. Sure, he wouldn't be sailing home with gold, that glorious Underground Belt, the name ironic enough when he considered his nature, yet he would continue to build up going forward. His contacts, his people as he thought of them in days past, were numbered and thinly spread. Could the plan go off? Possibly, but he doubted he would manage to pull it off with at least one or two, possibly even all three attempts failing. It didn't matter though, he had nothing but time.
Just like this night, where barring the law enforcement making rounds and catching him with his drink, he had nothing but time, and damn it, after the plans he had set in motion he truly thought he deserved a little relaxation. After all, the match was the next night, and if the plan failed, well he would have three men who wanted that belt, in all honesty, more than he did, for the future was his concern, and that was a scary prospect in and of itself. All he could do was sip his rum, enjoy the sound of the lush grass swishing beneath his boots, and hope to hell that his feelers would be more than just feelers.
