Thanks to WhisperedxNothingsx for the follow and favorite! You're awesome! :D
raggedymadness (Chapter 50):
WAIT AND THE FLUFF WILL COME. I DIDN'T WANT IT TO BE ALL FLUFF-FILLED, YOU KNOW. THEN IT WOULD BE OVERUSED.
Koschei: *not scared whatsoever* The code is simple to unravel. Sometimes you just have to look at it from a different direction. Also, I've known this girl for what, a MONTH now?! I don't even have feelings for her-
Jessie: *walks into room after being lost*
Koschei: *magically unties himself* *glomps Jessie* YOU'RE NEVER LEAVING MY SIGHT AGAIN. NOW LET'S GO FALL IN LOVE AND MAKE BABIES.
raggedymadness (Chapter 49):
I'm a little dalek,
short and stout-
The Final Shadow (Chapter 49):
Actually, that was a total coincidence.
Guest (Chapter 50):
SPOILER: I've mapped out (NOT written) all the chapter up to chapter 80, so here's to another 50! *toasts with can of pop*
BloodLily16 (Chapter 49):
YAY! *puts on button that says "I updated!"*
FangirlOfThe21st (Guest) (Chapter 50):
SWIGTY SWUCK FUCKING FUCKIY FUCK
SWIGTY SWASTER SAYS THE MASTER
Chapter Fifty One- The Manhattan Mafia
As soon as every mobster in the room laid eyes on The Master, they lowered their weapons, no longer standing at attention. First, it began with a whistle of approval from one of the many men in the warehouse. Oddly, an inexplicably-long dark wood table was in the center of the building. Most of the gangsters sat presentably in a chair, while others perched on top of piles of boxes that were bigger than the men themselves- resembling haystack play areas that commercial farms might have in fall.
The Master watched as the men sitting among the boxes, looking sly and mysterious as alley cats, began to clap or hoot in neutral happiness for The Master. He noticed that most of them had their fedoras dipped more than the others, and made sure that at least half of their face was hidden in the shadows between the large industrial fluorescent lights that hung from the ceiling. The Master thought for a moment, guessing they were the lower levels of the group's pecking order- not very well-known, but did most of the side work and dirty work that the more well-known mobsters didn't want to do themselves. He guessed they were pretty much hitman henchmen.
To his right, the long wood table was almost completely empty, only having a few minor men who could have easily sat with the hitman-henches, but apparently decided not to. He noticed that they were chubbier and looked more important money-wise than the sly, sleek skinny men among the shadows and wooden boxes.
A few more men began to applaud, and by the time The Master's eyes finished glancing at the even larger -and scarier- mobsters at the end of the table. Then, he saw the only chair on either side at the end of the table. He saw a figure sitting in it, but the shadows shrouded him. Not even the fluorescent glow of the warehouse lights dared to shine upon his face.
The figure raised a large, meaty hand, ordering for silence. With that one small movement, the whole group went dead silent. He gave The Master a gesture of 'come over here', and The Master gathered up all of his fake new york swagger and pride, slightly puffing out his chest. He silently put on his fedora again, adjusting it to be like the others'- slightly cocked forward so a shadow covered some of his face. He walked forward, reaching the empty chair that was on the figure's left.
"Well, well, well..." said a gruff voice with a voice that was a mix of Italian and some New York burrow accent. "Look what the cat -or should I say Marty- dragged in. Jackie Masters."
The Master could sense the acidic tone of the man's voice, and noted that it appeared to be said with buried congratulation and surprise- as if this was the closest thing the man could do to express all-around niceness.
"In tha' flesh, boss." said The Master, making sure his fake Brooklyn accent was very prominent. "Sit." said the mob boss. As The Master sat he, could see him more clearly. He was very fat, resembling the stereotypical older mob boss. His hair was black, but graying from the bottom up. Unlike even the top of his hair -which was still a black/gray shade- his eyebrows were pitch black and expressional. His eyes were a cold hazel- like moss in the middle of a snowless winter. He held a cigar between his middle and pointer finger, his ritzy suit not having a single trace of ash on it. The Master guessed that it was very, very expensive.
"Jackie..." the mob boss began, The Master watching the crowd silently shifted in place, eager to hear what he had to say. "You...are one of our best men. When we thought you were gone...well, the whole mob took a beating. Both mentally, emotionally, and physically. People who used to send their hard work to you had to use some no-name slick. There was no heroic Jackie Masters to save his fellow man from being caught. There was a hole larger than any of us ever realized without you." he said, letting a little pride that said, he steepled his finger, a more serious look on his face. "I have a proposition for you..." he began, receiving a nod from The Master.
"Will you come back to the gang?"
"O-of course. Now that the cat's outta 'da bag that I'm still 'live, I wouldn't trade a single day of the crimeless life I led for so long for a day workin' under you, boss."
"Speaking of working underneath- I was meaning to tell you this before your...unfortunate disappearance. Since the gang has been growing at an astonishin'ly fast pace lately, I've decided I needed a second in command, and I want 'dat someone 'ta be you."
"A-are- are 'ya sure, boss?"
"Yes I am, Masters." The man stood up, getting laggardly onto the table, pulling up The Master along with him. He held up The Master's right hand victoriously. "to Big Tony and J.M!" Cried one voice excitedly. With that said, the outbursts kept coming. "Tony!" Cried men on the tip-tips of the boxes. "Big T!" Exclaimed the men sitting at the table. "J.M.!" Exclaimed everyone else.
"J.M.! J.M.! J.M.! J.M.!"
The Master grinned, getting a little too into character. Then, after suddenly paying attention to the crowd's cries.
J.M.
Jackie Masters.
His mind went into panic mode, suddenly remembering someone's cry from the crowd of fleeing citizens as the shooting -the shooting in which he had lost Jessie- happened all around them.
'The Double M! Run!'
'They're still tryn'a find who killed J.M.!'
'They'll shoot you if you even come close! Run before they catch up!'
