And then their was… wait, no. not mine. And then I sew strings through their appendages and manipulated them to do my puppet master like biddings.
So, 'ere we have a sands/ Ajedrez ditty I've started because I have the ability and rights to. Oh, and let me know if I should continue or what.
"Hey Sandy, do you know a single thing about this town you were recommended to as a good hideout by the father of the son you shot in the ass 'cause you were frustrated by the laws of gravity? Huh?...Hey monkey shit, I AM SPEAKING TO YOU!" (Ex) agent Ajedrez swung a boot clad leg over the side of her chair so she was seated against the back, as she was prone to do, bouncing her breasts noticeably. Patience was not one of her better qualities. (Ex) agent Sheldon Sands would know, as he could name most of them on one hand. The delectable mangoes his newfound eyes-gorged-out senses just knew were bouncing around being one of them. Or two of them. Either way, they still all fit on one hand. He sarcastically swiveled his head up as if in rapt attention, as he was prone to do, which would have been quite intimidating and patronizing to Ajedrez, had she been the one on the receiving end. As it was, the tequila bottle around two feet to her right looked sufficiently humiliated.
"Why yes I do, blotchy shadow in the corner! It's a lovely little place where dead women stay dead, the legal system is composed of more legit substance than a variety of families hiring foreigners to do their senile great grandfathers sadistic killings, and the school systems won the annual beauty pageant for the past 18 years! Well, except or a foul up in 92', which was taken care of." Silence. Looots of silence. Damn if being blind didn't ruin his sparkling sense of humor as well. Sarcasm, Sheldon had discovered, really needed facial expressions to use as a target in order to be executed effectively. He never could tell if his sense of humor was being fully appreciated.
"…and when did you become the righteous patron of virtue?"
"I am a man of balance."
"Your body mass is made up of 80 percent tequila. Now grab your coat, and that little kid with the gum you use as a walking cane. I am not going to die being shot by some hotel manager's prostitute for skipping out on the bill." Sheldon sands could hear the Latina storming out of the motel they had used as a hideout from their duel companyies, muttering about fuckwits and evolution in Spanish, until she reached their (some poor fuck who was out of a car's vehicle) new car. She had quite an effective stomp for a little lady. Then again, during the incident when he'd weighed himself in her bathroom, they'd discovered that he was a full six pounds lighter than her, which he now knew better than too speak, or think of.
"Wait up sugar bum! And how, pray tell, did you come back from the bullet I lodged in your intestines, again?" Sands shouted as he collected his better half (the fake arm he'd come to know as Shirley, his lady of deception.) and that kid who either had an affinity for throwing his life away on sadistic runaways, or… maybe an angel. Sands cocked his head to the side in consideration. Huh. Maybe I've pleased some lady saint. He attempted to wink saucily up towards the heavens, but really succeeded only in scrunching the mutilated skin covering his left eye socket.
"You only shot me in the stomach, Sandy. And who the fuck stays dead in this shit hole town?"
and should i continue? well?!