For Prince Harrington, whose request was: "I would like you to write something with Johnny and Derby. I don't care what happens in there I just want something with them in it." Well, here you go! I hope you enjoy.
IN THAT MOMENT.
He looks pathetic.
Absolutely pathetic, just standing there in the deserted hallway, staring with blank eyes at the photographs in his hand. From my spot on the floor above, leaning slightly on the railing, I snort as Johnny Vincent crushes the pictures, the evidence, the proof, that his queen Lola had cheated on him for who knows how many goddamn times already. Predictable for the greaser's first reaction to be anger. I could practically see his shoulders shaking, his hands curling into fists, a vein popping in his head, every inch of his body just itching to destroy whoever had stolen Lola away from him. Pity the unlucky loser who happens to come upon him first.
Or perhaps not.
It's that second-in-command of his, Peanut, who finds him, just a few moments after the photographs had been teared apart into little tiny shreds and pieces. I find myself frowning as I look down at them, but quickly stop. Wrinkles do not befit a Harrington. The scene happening below is most certainly not worth any creases. Whatever Peanut is saying to Johnny Vincent is working. His shoulders are still, his hands are uncurled, and he is smiling. They are breathing in unison. And my frown is back.
I find myself making my way towards them.
And the moment Johnny Vincent sees me, his anger is back full force. That is the way I want him. Easily provoked, wild, passionate. That is the way I want Johnny Vincent, with his shoulders shaking, his fists at his sides, and practically seething without restraint.
"Need a leash, Vincent?" I say, and he shudders. No doubt it's due to that seductive, purring tone I threw in with my accent. Although really, British accents are always seductive and purring, aren't they? I suppose what I really threw in to my 'offer' was a little Harrington charm. Peanut looks a little suspicious, his hand is on his leader's arm, a gesture that manages to restrain Johnny Vincent for the moment.
"I'm fine, Harrington," Johnny spits out. ( As if I'd asked him "Are you alright?" And maybe I had, in my own way. ) "Maybe ya should be thinkin' about gettin' your pal Gord one, though. Teach him to stay away from Lola. This is the second damn time he's--"
I interrupt him, waving a hand as if the topic were of no importance, "I'll have a chat with him."
This seems to surprise both the greasers. They are at a loss for words for a few moments, and I wait patiently for some kind of response.
"Right. Uh. Just make 'im back off and I'll have my boys lay off the egging for a few weeks." Ah, so that's what the other preps had been complaining about for the past week. I, myself, had had no problems with any egging at all, so I hadn't bothered with trying to get revenge with the others.
I nod and turn to leave ( pausing for a brief moment at the top of the stairs, like I expected for Johnny Vincent to say, "Wait, Harrington!" and I would slowly look back at him and raise my eyebrow and he would stutter something out before exiting and I would delude myself into thinking he had said, "Thank you." ) but it seems that our little encounter is really over. The frown is back because I can hear Peanut's voice mumbling something as their footsteps fade away and the closing of a door echoes in my ears.
In that moment, I am absolutely pathetic.