Contentious Crow: Chapter 1

A Crow's Meeting

It hadn't been long since the sun rose again from its nightly rest, letting its bright rays invade the decrepit buildings, where most of were abandoned and provided many homeless refugee during the dangerous time of night. A few cracks were heard as Riley shifted on the venerable wood, his emerald eyes twitching, reluctant to open at the nearing noises coming from outside the building. Despite the lassitude from the previous night, leaving the man with the feeling of being drained, he forced himself to arise and stretch his limbs to see what the commotion was about outside. Scooting closer to the open window at the bottom floor of the house, the man's eyes narrowed at a few men fighting one another; a few men dressed in red, and a few in green. It seemed they were rather equal, and it was hard to determine the possible winner of this match. Seeing you were no threat, you crossed your arms and rested upon the sill as your knees pressed lightly against the bricks that struggled arduously to remain solid.

Only minutes later, the commotion had ended and both parties were severely injured, leaving them to crawl over the pavement and the few bits of grass wurming its way through the cracks. Not to forgot the mention that some were bleeding due to the tools they had used: knives and machetes. It was not uncommon, infact, this occured about daily, and even more when the thugs controlled all of London, only after recent events, leading to Starrick's death, the red-dressed thugs were forced to disbandon and remnants were scattered around, moving from Whitechapel to Lamberth. Riley's lips curved into a smile, emerald eyes glinting as the last one of the greenly clad men gathered an ounce of energy and slithered the throats of the opposing side. After that, the winner scurried away through the alley, leaving the corpses behind. Riley's back arched from the sedentary position, coming to a rise once again to loosen limbs and slip over the window sill to reach the outside world. The blonde man hunched down to gather the purses of the men, stuffing it away inside his long black coat as he perused the area for possible threats, concluding there were none, he looked back at the house he came from. ''Ta-ta'', he added before stuffing his hands into his pockets and moving on.

The streets were swarming with civillians and greenly-dressed men, a gang known as ''The Rooks''. They seemed less venal than the other gang that was hardly a gang anymore, but rumor spoke that the Rooks were a horde of vigilantes, undoing wrong and doing right, as much as they could. Riley for one wasn't craving to get in their way, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to observe them; for one, the man was somewhat curious to who led them. Afterall, a gang usually is founded by one, or more than one member, and seeing what they had achieved thus far was a rather remarkable feat. A low sigh fell from the blonde, continuing as he thought it was time to get some nutrients, scurrying off to a nearby market and buying an apple and a bottle of ale, it would suffice for now, and honestly, this was a preference, something healthy, and something intoxicating enough that would mitigate the mess of thoughts in the man's head. Heading off in a complete different direction in Whitechapel's market, he found himself seated atop of wooden pole near the water, consuming his liquor and devouring the apple to leave it rot in its hollow shell. The breeze was awfully soothing, and contradicted the chaos that overtook the city before, allowing yourself to become less wary. Although as soon as Riley hoped he could close his eyes for a moment, an obstreperous noise hit him- causing him to flicker his emerald eyes open to look around in sudden caution, struggling to keep his balance on the pole. ''Hey, you!'', a voice rang behind him, a hulk of a man, broad shouldered, bald and wearing neutral colors, although even the worst of eyes could determine the clothing looked ragged and poor.

Riley's form shifted, turning around on the pole and narrowing his eyes; compared to the hulk of a man, the blonde evidently wasn't as muscular, although he was not thin, not at all, he actually was muscular, but his body was also made for agillity, excelling in speed. ''Can't a man eat without getting disturbed?'', Riley's tone was annoyed, yet there was a calmth about him that implied he was hardly unsettled, or intimidated by the giant. ''You can eat my fist, you mut, give me your coin and you'll maybe live through this beating''. Riley's eyes rolled as he slipped from the pole, feet subtly landing on the ground, tilting his head to each side to loosen his muscles. ''Well then, I hope you know a good undertaker''. The bald man furrowed his bushy brows, fists clenching and bashing them against eachother in a provocative way: ''Why's that, kid?''. The blonde's shoulderlong hair, bound back in a tail, flowed with the wind as he lowered his gaze, lips pursing as the sides curved into a smile. ''Because I'm not arranging your funeral, 'kid'''. Emerald eyes glinted playfully before a hand slipped into a sidepocket, retrieving a small throwing knife he only exposed after it digged its way into the skull of the giant; the tall man dropped to the ground with a loud thud, murmuring a few words before life passed. ''Bah, bah, always the same thing in this city''. He did not care to search the body this time, for he was sure he was sure he would not find anything. He inhaled deeply through his nose, squatting down as he pressed his lips together momentarily. ''No fun''.

''I could say that looked like fun, friend'', a voice rang, it was playful, yet seductive and it certainly held its appeal- overall, it was one that sounded overly confident, but not too haughty. The voice came closer as you looked over your shoulder, visualizing a man with a black top hat, bound around it was a red strap, the rest of his appearance looked just as striking; bright hazel brown eyes that carry you into the depths of the sea, and lips that looked as soft as they were unpredictable. Two scars, one over his right eyebrow and another over the left jawline, where as a black stubble grew- relevant to the ebony strands that were brushed back with one escaping its way over the man's forehead. Riley's eyes narrowed before looking down and smiling to himself, brushing a hand over his cleanly shaven jaw as he eventually looked back again, seeing the man in the long black coat shift forth and back on his heels. ''I doubt he agrees- although, I suppose it's too late to ask him now''. The other man smirked in obvious amusement of the situation, humor, no matter how light or how morbid, he always found a way to laugh. ''Sadly so. My name is Jacob Frye, and you are?'', Jacob hunched slightly, extending one hand for Riley to take, which he did, after a moment's doubt. He came to his feet with the other man's aid, now known as Jacob, he flashed a toothy smile: ''Riley''. The ebony man's lips curved into an innocent grin as he nodded and patted the man's back with a hand, though their hands were held longer than a normally desired- Jacob's hazel eyes- dotted with green- now descended to their hands before withdrawing his gloved hand and taking the knife from the dead man's head, extending it back to its original owner. ''I believe this is yours, Riley''. The blonde nodded, thoughts in his head prodding him; he knew this name, he very damn well did, but from where? -''Yes, thank you, ''.

Jacob's eyes glazed over Riley's form, eventually piercing the emerald ones of the blonde again as he folded his arms and shook his head. 'No need for the formality, I am not as polite as my sister- perhaps fortunately so. Now- you seem skilled, and I had hoped you could join me''. Clearing his throat and stuffing the knife away inside his own coat, he secured it and looked back with an arched eyebrow, shifting his weight onto his left foot- somewhat increduously looking as to what the possible offer could be. ''I'm really -not- interested in becoming a carpenter''. Jacob stiffled a laugh as he tipped his hat with a hand, afterwards rolling his eyes. ''That's a first- and although I would -love- to sweep you under a certain rug, that is not what I speak of- my offer extends further than that, namely that I would wish for you to join my gang. We have little knife throwers, and they are hardly as skilled as you seem to be''. His heart skipped a beat at the words he progressed from the man, firstly, his cheeks turned a light red from the ambiguous use of words, and additionally to that, he was considering which gang? There was only one-it couldn't be another one, no, this were-..''The Rooks!'' Jacob cut in, as he saw Riley think, flashing his teeth bare as he chuckled. ''So- what may your answer be?''. Not that he wanted to decline, but he hardly thought he was skilled, he seemed to cling to the fact it was a lucky shot. ''Jacob, t' was a lucky throw, that's all''. The name of the man rolled off his lips, though it was soft and teasing, and even Riley himself found it surprising of how smooth it sounded- and he just wanted to keep saying the name, all over again, perpetually, craving to just- ''I know lucky when I see it, and that was not lucky. Although this meeting was rather a lucky one- regardless so, well, is it a yes?''. Riley's eyes lowered a moment after consideration, eventually he nodded. ''Consider it one''.

Because I can, and I really don't find any other guys in the game attractive. Beards like vikings, mutton chops and bald men- no offense.

Also, ''Rook'' means ''Crow''. A black, European crow, and I think with Roth's gift to Jacob ''Jacob, isn't he beautiful?'', I assume Roth was speaking of Jacob, not the Crow, or maybe both. :P Anyway, the crow refers to Jacob, ofcourse.

And damn, stealthy hot assassins. ;3

Also, my Jacob here has NO chest hair. Don't like, don't read. :)