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A bloodied and bruised pair of Gang Green grunts stood shoulder to shoulder in the tiny, bunker-like room that belonged to one of the more senior members of Gang Green: Tommy Relish.
 Tommy Relish was a rarity in Gang Green: a man who was in high standing and mutually respected and feared without having to use force to accomplish such a rank. A tall, tan, lanky man with gangly arms and legs attached to a narrow torso, Tommy was hardly an intimidating figure. Indeed, he'd gotten the nickname "Anvil" from how he looked: he had a relatively flat crown beneath thin, short black hair and a large, protruding, hooked nose that gave his profile the appearance of an anvil. His green eyes were set beneath a pair of thin eyebrows that seemed locked into a state that betrayed perpetual worry, though more often than not it was merely deep thought. He had a small mouth, framed with small lips, and a rather overall handsome face that was pleasing in its angularity. Tommy was known for keeping a level head and an even hand when organizing and distributing work for fellow Tribe members. Idle hands are tools of the devil, after all, and Tommy knew that if you let lawless men loose in a lawless land for too long, nothing but trouble came of it.
And that's exactly what Tommy had before him.
"Listen, guys," he began, leaning heavily over the splintering wooden desk that was stained with ink spilled long before it came into the Tommy's possession, "I can't have this sort of behavior in our Tribe. If we're seen jumping for each other's throats on the streets, that gives the red flag to every other Tribe out there that we've got internal conflict. Internal conflict means we're weak, and if we're weak, we're easy to take over, divide, and destroy. Now, I don't know and I don't care who or what started that fight, but it's over and done with as of this moment. Do you understand me?"
Aramis glanced at Mickey, his left eye swollen nearly shut from the repeated blows he received during the fight. Mickey returned the glance, and both reluctantly shrugged in agreement. Maybe later they'd talk it out like men, or maybe later they'd trade blows again, only this time in private so they wouldn't be caught fighting. Whatever the case, agreeing to anything and everything Tommy said was essential to their basic survival. The fight itself was the b*****d child of stupidity and machismo, and both men were equally responsible for their actions no matter how they might try to ignore it. Neither man made an offer to apologize, an action that wasn't lost on Tommy in the least.
"Shake hands," he said, in a voice that was somehow both gentle and authoritative. "You're both going to have water duty tomorrow so you learn to work together without kicking dirt in each other's eyes."
        Aramis, still bearing most of the marks of his scuffle with Mickey, turned his face away from the taller man but extended his hand anyway. Mickey, in turn, kept his gaze to the floor as he reached out to grasp Aramis' hand in his and give it a weak, half-hearted shake. The deed was done. It was nothing more than a symbolic gesture to appease the man in charge, a way to possibly assure that they both wouldn't be kicked out of the Tribe and left to fend for themselves. "All right, good enough," Tommy nodded. "Get outta here and go finish up your shifts. I don't want to see you talking to each other until your shift is done. Got it?"
"Yes, sir," was the unanimous reply. Tommy dismissed the two, and watched as the men let themselves out of his office. Geez. Some days it was like being the father to a hundred teenage boys.
 Bleeding Apocalypse · Wed Nov 04, 2009 @ 10:24pm · 7 Comments |
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