Title: A Day in the Life of David King
Author:
Rating: PG-13 for language that everyones heard (in English, at least)
Notes: ……………….AHHH about time, right? It's been longer than my memory span since I last updated this story oo; I had planned to work on it all summer…but some lady cough kidnapped me, took me hostage, and forced me to RP with her.
…or maybe she was the victim, mwahah.
LaVixen, don't kill me for sharing too soon. I just couldn't keep my patience,
I don't know if it's any good because it's been so long. But I tried, and I hope you enjoy, as well as remember. XD
Review and tell me! It keeps me around longer – perhaps long enough to put an end to this story I've had so much fun with.
----
It was going to be an annoying day.
The sun was starting to set. David could see it past his shoulder, his smoky shadow beginning to stretch behind him, the direct sun's rays slapping his face from the front.
Below each rise of dusty, dirty brown boots, wispy shapes grew when a sole was raised, disappearing when it came down as he walked. Gravel that had found its way on the street crunched beneath his weight - one of the few sounds above the fluttering wings as birds, alarmed, lifted themselves from the trees he passed. In fright, they flew from their nests and perches where they would surely return shy of the coming night.
Surely.
The leaves seemed to rain down, drained of green to become rusty reds, outrageous oranges and yearly yellow, waving their hello to the plumber who held his hands pushed deep into dirty colored pockets of his coveralls. Though they weren't black, they seemed to catch the heat from the sun and hold it close to him, causing sweat to form and stick the tight white undershirt beneath the beige to his copper skin. David didn't doubt that if his hair was down, as deep and rich as it was, that the thick strands would stick to the back of his neck with the salty dampness.
Fall had made its call, coming slowly but surely, the summer determined to stay despite the artistic scenery of autumn. It seemed all the same to David. He wasn't personally waiting for winter. As a plumber, David somewhat detested it. During snow seasons and the vice of ice, pipes cracked. His paycheck grew. His patience did not.
The streets were swept with leaves. In a yard, children were creating a hill of them, their mothers leaning from an open window sill to watch and smile as, one after another, small bodies attacked. With a burst of orange, yellow, and raving reds, tufts of color leapt over four-foot high held heads. Laughter erupted in the autumn air. At least someone was enjoying themselves.
David, on the other hand.... He was far too busy even when he was not doing business - thanks to his loyal...and very lifeless truck. He found himself walking faster, wondering what he was going to do and why that damn truck had decided to die that day.
Well, it was bound to happen someday.
David was not a mechanic...at least when focused on his Ford. It was old, had run like gold up until twenty minutes ago. Hell, its engine was probably growing mold. The most he knew what to do on the red slab of metal alloy on wheels was kick it. And check the dipstick.
...It never failed to amuse him how some things stuck to his mind like glue. Dipstick. Hah.
Yeah, you're just a genius...dip shit.
He was a plumber. He knew more about toilets and PVC, polyvinyl chloride pipes than he did parts of a truck. He knew it had a trunk...and well...wheels. Tires. So he knew two things! AHAH! And they rolled, just like he did with the roll he was on...
...Or not.
Fucking truck!
He might have not been complaining if his dusty brown boots weren't so damn worn to death. David wondered when the soles that had begun to break between some stitches would drop from his feet and expose his socks covered in pecking chickens.
That was certainly a secret not known by most about David King. He collected socks.... Had a kind of...well, whatever it was wasn't a kink. It was possible that he could file it away near his nose fetish folder.
Wait, what was he, a secretary? He was a plumber. He'd probably stuff it down a pipe. Would it be like the ones the Raccoon City bank had? Put in the pill, watch as it was sucked up through the tube...
That wasn't much like a plumber either. He'd flush it down a toilet, and if it became clogged, he could use a standard plunger to try and loosen it up. Possibly, he could pour a chemical agent that could--
David sighed at a stop sign, waiting for the electric emerald hand to wave him across. It really was a wonder how he could have changed so much since the big city. Now, in Raccoon, he was a law abider. Laid low. Why?
Well...it wasn't because of one certain, ass grabbing, groping cop.
Red turned to green in a flash as the few cars heading in the same direction followed David when he continued to roam. Leaves crunched beneath brown boots that left colorful crumbs behind.
It was infinitely better than trails of blood.
The plumber shook himself from memories that were difficult to forget at certain times, chasing him like his own onyx shadow. During others, David could convince himself that he'd become a better man. Sure, he still had his folding knife in his tool belt, kept there in a certain religious fashion but it had uses other than an attacking tool or defensive device...
Yeah, like sticking a pig that puts his hands in all the wrong places.
A voice smoother than the usual gravelly groan pointed out sarcastically, not in all places.
David placed one hand in the free hanging hair of his ponytail and pulled perhaps too tight, the twinge of discomfort drawing him from his mind that only ran in all the wrong directions on its own. David only knew his own when he saw the sign, pointing towards the subway station not twenty feet away. Soon, it was halved to ten, and then to four before his foot landed on the step only beginning the gradual gray drop downwards.
Fluorescent lights flickered left and right, reflecting dully against cement walls covered in half-hanging posters that were, like the tape holding them up, past their prime. Two, perhaps three, seemed fresh. Others had fallen free to splay across the ground. David simply stepped over the big-breasted, bikini-wearing blond with teeth that glowed with radioactive radiance.
Yeah, Raccoon was trashy. It smelled funny too. A rat ran from beneath David's one lifted foot, causing him to stumble slightly with a sharp curse in his first tongue - Italian.
Hell, he hated humans. Few knew one of his sweet spots was for animals.
And maybe a certain cop, too.
But certainly not the blue-capped, glowing vibrant-haired African American across from him, fifteen feet away or so, standing besides the ticket booth.
If David remembered correctly, the man's name was Jim. Hell, how could he forget him? The plumber had run across the subway ticket seller at the bar a couple of times, outside of his small boxed cage the hyper-talkative man belonged in with an inch of glass separating him from the sane world, or not so sane...
On his favored stool, David had seen that blonde head bob his way - more like a pigeon than a person - and had not been delighted one bit when it wasn't Cindy. No, at least all she did was smile and giggle. Jim Chapman grinned and never shut up.
Even when he sat at a barrel by the door did David hear the ebony worker yap off his yellow head. But when said subway worker had been scared from his spot by some unusual looking biker buffs...well, it became up, close and personal for the plumber.
David hasn't bothered to put his beer down. Nope, he used it to hide from that piss-colored head of hair. Maybe if he had a couple more pitchers of Jagermeister, he could have stood the over-talkative twenty-year old. Unfortunately, he hadn't been close to meeting fairies beneath his bar stool which he sat at, much like a fossil, hunched over himself protectively at first sign of another's presence.
In the time it took Jim to sit down next to him, he'd already spewed thirty sentences worth of words, or so it seemed.
"I can't believe those fuckas, struttin' in here like they own the fuckin' city. What the fuck man? That one's wearin' a red bandana. I bet he's for a brain like a mashed banana, but look at that lady. Hot damn, she is FINE!"
Obliviously Jim was easily distracted by a C-cup or D-cup set of breasts. David, on the other hand, didn't care. And apparently, the black man had an ego large enough for the both of them. Was he just confident as hell or just crazy? Half-and-half? Who knew?
Will must have, as David saw the look he was given from the glass-drying bartender behind the wooden table separating them in a rough square shape. It was as if brown said, 'You'd better have another,' as soon as Jim announced, "I'm gonna get me some of that ass!"
At the time David had been down right tempted to woo the woman just to see Jim shit himself with rage and make his brown face boiling red. But he wasn't even attracted - not so much as amused with the idea and his own imagination. All he wanted was some alcohol.
David ignored Jim, trying to be oblivious to whatever the black man was doing. Most likely, it was something he didn't care to know about. In the end, he was forced to when Will was reaching to him in hopes of refilling David's drink, when suddenly, fingers slapped and spread a newspaper into the path. Out came the pencil in the cramped space. David saw no reason for one man to take up three seats worth of the room all around them.
Six seconds later, David was lifting his half-empty glass of everclear, telling himself to stop. Or did he really want to spend the next morning over the toilet? Hell, David figured it was his destiny and that he would, anyway. Even if one of the two didn't involve his guts swimming around in a porcelain pool.
David considered punching the mans little, dim lights out when Jim began to barrage him with questions, pencil balanced against his pink, lower lip. Like hell he knew what an eight-letter word for entertainment was. Knockout worked well for David. He wondered if the other man would understand.
Then again, David knew that if he spoke or said anything, even gave the ebony grinning subway worker an even subtle section of conversation or even the hope to have one with him, it would bring doom to them both.
No, David would rather just punch him, put a punctuation to the never ending string of stupid, outward spoken thoughts that failed to fill Jim's friendly, but so annoying attention.
Except...when David bought his ticket and got on what he hoped was the right train, Jim was the one punching him.
"Hey brutha, haven't seen you at the bar for a while. You wanna hang sometime?"
David's deadly, silent silver stare screamed, No.
Uh-ho...Did Jim actually think they were anything more than acquaintances? David hoped to hell he didn't.
I knew I should have let him get his little scrawny ass kicked to death. Then I wouldn't have to deal with him.
The figurative finger hit the rewind button once again to begin back in the bar, when David had his two middle digits raised to the employee after a half-an-hour spree of social anxiety. Most of it was easily ignored, but when the back man had called him a Mexican...
"I thought you bruthas drank tequilas and margaritas in Mexico."
David sure felt like he had. Tequila had a way of hitting the plumbers nerves in all the possible wrong ways, all aimed at pissing him off. No, the piss-haired human had to do it instead. Human? Hah! David didn't remember anything about their anatomy being fifty- percent mouth.
David had less than ten, perhaps lower than five percent. But he used twenty percent of each hand to raise both middle fingers after setting his drink down from said small mouth.
That was when Jim held up both palms of defeat towards David before moving after that not-so-small womanly figure walking her way past them to slow and stand by the bar. To David, it was obvious that she was waiting for someone. Certainly not the young, yellow-haired man strutting his way over like a cock.
…tail wiener, hah.
Apparently, the big-breasted blonde with more hair spray than actual hair had a boyfriend whom had to fend off the confident, arrogant, feisty black man after he returned only a second later from the bathroom.
And apparently, said boyfriend did not want to share.
About as large as a boulder, with more muscles between broad shoulders than a brain in his skull, the six-foot something man with thick sausage fingers and a lazy eyelid didn't wait to ask questions or hear a word from his lady. Compared to the half-like human, Jim was as measly as a quail, who could wail in a similar way to that of a woman when suddenly – and by surprise, as all he had seen in awe was breasts as big as his head – he was shoved.
David didn't think anything of it when he attacked, black subway worker was suddenly bent back against a neighboring stool, appearing as malleable a wet noodle. It was surprising that the ebony man hadn't made any of his own stool while wearing an expression of having shit himself.
Attached to the bar, the stool barely budged beneath a body as Jim slammed into it, nearly ending up splayed and laid back on the polished wood. Where was Will, anyway? No where around to refill David's third finished drink, as he patiently waited for his forth, wondering why he didn't just ask for a pitcher instead of individual glasses.
All around him, Jim was smacked around like he'd been rolled into a boneless ball to be placed in a pinball machine. Ping ping, surely he was seeing stars and flashing lights with each burley shove of huge hands. Again, David thought nothing of it, numb to everything but his everclear…until a body, thrown against him, spilled his half-full, half-empty drink.
David King would have gone for the kill if it had been tequila.
He'd made short work of the large man. Quite simply, he lifted himself into the standing position and rolled his wrist, just once. And as easily, gave the back of that black shirt a twist, along with a tug to capture that big lug closer, disgusted by the dirty, dank back of a neck beaded with sulfuric sweat. David had effectively ceased the chase for blood, distracting the danger to Jim, feeling fury turn to aim at him. And just like that, after the man spun, David ended the fun.
A jab to the face, that right fist returned to David's pocket as casually, he dropped a couple of bills onto the bar top as behind him, that thick, brick of a body dropped like a rock. Then he'd quietly stepped over the dead-to-the-world man towards the door of the bar, not too far away. At least, not to make his escape alone before a set of sneakers hurried after him.
Like a loyal lab, Jim had followed the antisocial plumber past the many laughing, male faces and the interested attentions, as well as intentions of the women without David having any of his own for anything but going home. Alone. Again.
If David had remembered the definition for that important word, it was something like alone…an adjective, meaning something along the lines of lacking accompaniment or companionship; isolated, solitary.
In his own words, the plumber had summed it up in too for the subway worker, starting towards his red Ford truck sitting slumped to one side of the street.
Snarling, he'd snapped, "Fuck off."
Well…it had worked.
But now, standing before the subway worker with forever smiling eyes that looked so much like a mug brimmed with dark coffee, David doubted he could grunt much more from the feel of his fingers fumbling with his old wallet before handing over the money to get his ticket.
Jim took the initiative to start a single-sided conversation for the second time.
"Yo! How you doin' plumbah man? You punch some punks shit pool out of their nostrils lately? Eh?"
David simply turned his back to the ebony man, not knowing what direction he needed to go, but not quite caring, so long as it wasn't standing there, or in earshot to listen to Jim, who yelled behind him.
All the tunnels looked the same, as did the businessmen and women who walked into, and as though they could shove through his body, making David's blood boil. But he held on, reasoning with himself. Hell, he'd been raised in New York, which Raccoon was nothing like. Obviously.
Obliviously, David had passed his place twice, though there was no expressing on his face showing the exhaustion he felt. The ghost of the Ford was going for his guts with a javelin, jousting to find the right way to annoying him as he leaned against a colorless washed concrete wall. Why was waiting so stressful for him?
…Well, David bet a great deal of it had something to do with Jim. Christ, was the man a stalker, chasing him?
David sighed in relief when he stopped to check some red heads ticket, patrolling like a policeman who was less pig and more chicken than man. The plumber simply stayed in his place, as though he could trick himself into being invisible, though only the blind missed the stoic face chiseled to near perfection, naked to the cold air that caressed copper. It was always so cold.
How many tickets had Jim sold? Hopefully enough to forget him, when all either of them could do was swim in the rather generous grouping of people waiting not-so-patiently for their trip that would take the anxious men and women across town and to places they'd much rather be.
Still, David took his time to see the mother gathering her four children close besides a man who struck a match and lit his cigarette. Half of him was horrified that he'd see a drunken cop stumbling around, fumbling for some unsuspecting ass. Instead, he saw two security guards that David desperately hoped kept their hands to themselves like Kevin should have.
…You know, depending on a person's interpretation that could be even more disgusting.
Especially when said security guards were both tall and fat…or short and fat. At least both were familiar. The white man was Bob and the black, Mark. It made David almost as ill as one of the two men looked as he hurriedly shook the image that tried to shove its way into his mind and glove all of his attention towards it before he willed it away. Then he killed it with a figurative fork.
It looked like Bob was going to make his mark by spilling his guts all over. He appeared to be sick, and much paler than usual, almost pathetically waddling around as though he was beneath his own weight. David could almost hear his stomach sloshing. Obviously, he wasn't the only one who needed to get home, and fast.
Public transportation could have been quicker if they were all to sit on the back of a snail shell and hit the road on it.
The plumber was more than pleased when the train finally arrived so many minutes after watching that seemingly sharking man move closer and closer, with only a few bodies between him and the squeaky sneaker shoes Jim wore. People began to pour inside the hollow silver snake. David followed to hide, pushing past people to lean against the side nearest from the door with both bare copper arms woven together, resting against his white and dirty beige colored clothes.
Silver closed behind onyx bangs as though he was trying to sleep. Really, all David did was sweep aside the attention people gave him, either by passing glance or from those who were friendly. There was always someone willing to invade someone's private space that, for David, had a twenty-foot radius on a good day. Which was not today.
David was wrong, though not about the last ten or so hours. No, he knew too well that there had been…well…like a hard drop to his ass.
And a set of squeezing hands.
He shook himself and snorted silently, continuing on with the previous train of thought without the interruption that lacked any intention. Yeah, the day had been bad. He hadn't known then, nor had anyone, how worse it was going to get. It wasn't that he thought it would renew itself anytime soon.
No, he was simply wrong about the face that stared at him from the floor when he let his eyes open, just a sliver.
Human? It had a head. But it was silver, almost matching his eyes that opened just slightly. Man turned moth, David couldn't deny that he wasn't attracted to shiny objects, nor ones with worth like the coin had. But just how much?
Unknown to David, it was more to Jim than it was to him.
Between gloved forefinger and thumb, David gripped it, spun to see both sides. He didn't recognize the face, or the fact that it was almost perfectly polished save for a smudge of dirt from being dropped on the floor.
David didn't hear the door open at the front of the car, nor did he care until suddenly, that yellow-hair was before him, yanking bronze arms away from his study of the coin, forcing him to take in a very happy young man.
...Until Jim saw what was held in his hand.
"Hey man!" Jim was nearly yelling at him. But for what? Was he angry or anxious? David just felt annoyed. "You found my coin!"
The man with the deeper voice between the two of them, also easily the tallest said, "Finders keepers."
Really, David didn't care about a damn coin. And really, he disliked fighting with someone as weak as a squid. Finally, he really just liked seeing that face as it turned slightly red after a long day at work. He just waited for steam to spout from the sides of Jim's head.
David smirked slowly, shaking brown hands off of his bronze arms before rolling his eyes rather arrogantly. The ebony man only eight inches away seemed to be angered by the display, driving his hands against David's arm again so he could snatch for the coin with his fingers.
The plumber had the moment to notice that the mans cuticles were over grown before he dodged it, even though the other male had him backed up against the wall of the subway train. Or did he? Hell no, David did it himself. He could break through the thin man if he had to.
So David was irritated with Jim nearing the point to being irate because of him, only backing up to try for the silver again that glittered just slightly before being covered in brown suede grip.
The plumber pushed the subway worker back enough to sneer. "Say please."
Okay, so the subway worker had a definition of his own. Instead of please, he said something that wasn't as short.
"Give me the fucking coin!"
What made the shorter man madder? The stoic expression on that face, or the rebellion that made that hand hold Jim's lucky coin just out of reach as he hopped like some paper trained animal towards a treat?
As though they shared the same train of thought (which seemed ironic to think of it as such, since they traveled a subway), the plumber asked the pouting one of the two, "What did you do to earn it?"
Jim was tempted to tell him, "I'm gonna beat your punk bitch ass and get it back." Because he wanted to live a little longer and get some ass of his own, he wisely kept his wide mouth shut.
He knew that if he did say it, that David, being the sarcastic bastard he was, would reply with something like "You have an ass, can't you see? Your head is up it."
Instead, he said, "I got a plumbah brutha laid."
Lord knew, Jim believed, David direly needed it. At any other time, David might have agreed. But now, with one bent brow and the other brought down to be cocked, silver locked on coffee brown before both smoothed, slightly amused. "What in the hell are you talking about?"
Jim snorted at David before snarling as jealousy began to snap its jaws at his heels again. "You beat up that bitches boyfriend and had her fine ass!"
...I did?
Blinking, David felt perfectly puzzled. Then he remembered that Jim wasn't the sharpest crayon in the box, nor the brightest. In fact, he wasn't just dull. He was snapped in half...or would be, if the man with the yellow hair continued to use his mouth to yap much like an annoying Chihuahua.
When David opened his own mouth to say something sarcastic or to scoff, Jim cut him off, using as much manners as a cod. "You're a fuckin' thief, you know that?! Yeah, I bet you do! First you steal my chance with a bitchin' fine chick, then you take my coin! That's passing the line, you--"
David's voice wasn't powerful. For as deep and scratchy as it was, it seemed surprisingly soft, being more eroded than smooth like a shoreline. "What fucking ever, you had as much of a chance as I did with her!"
Not that he'd ever wanted one. And was that the worst ever insult he'd ever given himself? David believed that it was, after he thought about it a millisecond later instead of sooner.
Meanwhile, the shorter man still reached for the coin that was flashing his near red expression, showing his reflection to a third of the train. Some people snickered while others just watch or ignored them completely - a skill that David wished he had while he was around Jim. He could hear the rustling of clothes more than feel the strength of the mans hands that slapped at him.
In fact, all he felt was...well...like he was a big bully teasing a little kid with his lost lunch money. It was pathetic, since the plumber had done things so much more mature and painful for others in his past.
Within the boundaries of his head, a single word was whispered: Murderer.
As though Jim now shared his same thought, he cried in his frustration, "Someone call the fucking cops!"
The plumber was soon aware that he wasn't the tallest or the smallest on the playground. Two other people approached the hopping Jim and him, pushing between bronze and black bodies, one that seemed weary with panic.
Possessive little prick.
One of the newcomers - who wasn't so new, after all, considering his age - looked worse than Jim. Besides him, a man not much younger yanked the yellow-haired boy back with a yelp for help before breathing out in exasperation, "What's your problem, Jim?"
Silver saw a gray coat, white hair, and very, very white skin. Was it Kevin? ...Well, maybe it could have been, if trgthey suddenly stood forty years in the future.
David felt devoured by the second shadow which was so big, like the mans body that stood tall like a soldier though the subway train rocked slightly from side to side on the tracks as it sped through the darkness underground. The hand that snatched the back of Jim's jacket and latched like a lock was just as steady as apparently, the "black bruthas" stuck together. Literally.
Force had to be used to keep those fingers from fighting for the coin that David still clutched. The plumber was slightly touched at the affection Jim showed...for an inanimate object.
Well, it does have a face you can love.
A voice so much deeper than David's ask the more mature and collected man, instead of the one trying to collect his coin. "What's the problem, plumbah?"
African American, indeed. Mark wasn't just the color of milk chocolate. He was dark.
Thank god Bob didn't speak the same street jargon as Jim or Mark. Would that have made him white?
…I'd rather not think of any of them as edible, thanks.
Sometimes, David disgusted himself.
Guh!
Bob looked as ill, if not worse that David suddenly felt. He looked like hell on a half shell. Surely he'd gurgle and spill his gut if he tried to talk. David didn't care to discover if he was right or not, shifting a boot further away. Just in case.
Jim was stabbing a finger at David the second his attention returned. Silver eyes rolled at the ebony man who couldn't understand a flea from a flower.
"This guy is a fuckin' thief, brutha! Call the cops!"
David had the second to think, NO! and nearly did so. Instead he scoffed quietly, glancing at the metallic, quaking ground as the tallest man of the four looked at him for an answer.
He'd seen Mark too, many times at the bar. Hell, who hadn't? He practically ate his evening meal there most, if not every night.
And you know that how, hmm?
David raised his eyes again, rolling them once more towards Jim before he smirked slightly. "He's got an obsession with money, obviously."
Mark handed Jim the coin, looking at the passive plumber without even narrowing his eyes. Then he turned to Jim again, motioning with an arm towards him. "This boy wouldn't hurt a butterfly."
David almost had to laugh as he thought, If only they knew…
He brushed aside onyx bangs, letting them fall forward to hide nearly half of his face, feeling the loose silky strands brush the sides of his nose before he leaned his head back again against the wall behind him. He looked at both black men like he was bored. And he was, if not mildly amused by the twenty-something year old man who acted more like a boy who'd been hit with a basketball between his legs. David didn't remember being the one to have aimed it. At least not purposely.
Mark watched Jim as if waiting for the slim man to continue the attack before he released thin arm from his huge hand, not even realizing that he'd taken it hostage in the first place. It seemed safe to let Jim loose. And it had been, always. Perhaps the plumber was more capable of hurting that butterfly when compared to the childish subway worker.
Instead of bringing pain to the bronze plumber - if that was, at all, possible – Jim began polishing his beloved quarter - or whatever it was - as if it had the softest skin belonging to an infant. Why in the hell was it so important?
Meanwhile, Mark thought David looked like he was suffering from a silent migraine. Indeed, he was. If he'd said anything, Jim would have told the man to get some Midol. According to his attitude, David must have been on his male mental menstrual cycle. He could act like an asshole if he wanted to. Sometimes, he didn't even have to try or have a reason why.
Mark assumed the plumber wasn't the only one, and that he wished he were alone. David would have agreed. The train trip seemed to take forever.
Of course it had to, just because he was impatient. When that African American man was reminded of his anger again, or just simply remembered, David knew that time would only seem slower. Again, Jim turned towards him as he rolled the coin from his palm, placing it into his pockets before he returned brown eyes to others, dulled by boredom.
"So, did you take any of my other shit? Huh?"
David snorted, admitting with a growl, "You couldn't pay me to touch your shit."
Both Mark and Bob shuddered, but for differing reasons. The darker of the two looked disgusted at the idea when his mind drew a nice illustration for him to see. Bob wobbled like he was being rocked back and forth by the motion of a rolling ocean. David was sure to step a little further away from him, reluctantly ending up not eight inches to the right from his main annoyance.
Jim was glaring at him as David stood, arms still crossed against his chest, staring ahead stoically. He seemed like the standing dead.
"PSH!" Jim had been so loud that he caused himself to jump before shrugging his shoulders as he settled down. "You're a plumber, of course you would, you money hog!"
David raised a brow, loosening the twine of his arms to reach for the tools laying in the leather pouch at his side as he watched the man jump in fear. His expression worsened when David grinned wolfishly, wrapping his gloved grip around a wrench as if he was waiting for Jim to say something sarcastic to him. Everyone knew Jim would, eventually. Eight seconds later, the silence was snapped by Jim's high voice.
"Don't take your insane shit out on me, plumbah!"
David reminded him, "I keep my shit to myself, thanks, unlike someone." Shocking silver pinpointed the person he spoke of, no more than six inches away and angry still.
Jim came shy of cutting the distance between David and himself in half when he took a single step forward, scrawny arms shaking in strain, which made the plumber wonder...would he really try to hit him?
Yeah, with his nauseous stench of breath in my face. Fuh.
"You got a problem with my shit, plumbah?"
Mark was grinning, sitting back as a spectator. Bob frowned like his lungs were either full liquid lead that was frothy, foamy, bubbling and boiling in his coiling generous gut. David's eyes were nearly the same shade of silver foil, watching when Jim's fingers began to curl together. They formed fists when David said, "No, Just your face. But for you, Jim, it's all the same."
Jim's movements were as swift as a snail - silent but not at all deadly - and just as slow to David who dodged easily and expertly. There was a metallic clang as knuckles knocked into the wall. Jim's arms warped more than the aluminum did against the impact. It seemed as though the attack had backfired, though it undoubtedly hurt him less than it would have if he'd laid a single finger on the predatory plumber.
The concussion of hand and hardness caused the young black mans skin below his short curly, yellow hair to turn blood red as the roar of pain trickled down his arms, stroking his spine, to end in his mind with a sharp throb as though the bones had been broken.
David wondered if the man had learned his lesson as Jim leaned back from him, holding his hand that burned bright red and hot. He held it close to his head and blew on it, stroking the spasming skin while wearing a deep grooved grimace. Both David and the older black man grinned when the plumber growled, "Now that I've thought about it, Jim..."
Jim snarled at him - or at least tried. It sounded much like a kitten whose milk had been stolen by an adult.
Ignoring him, the taller of the two, yet second of the four let the words pour from his arrogant lips with the movement of a miracle tongue. "Jim, you don't have anything. You don't have shit." David let himself laugh darkly. "You don't even have a woman? And guess who did?"
The plumber didn't have to say it aloud, because it was impossible to admit something that wasn't truthful to him. Instead, he just jerked a thumb for Jim to see, right up towards himself before it bumped his chest besides his glittering white gold, yellow, and copper pendant.
That hand was held out again, fingers spread while his palm was displayed before bronze digits wiggled towards David expectantly. Aloud, he explained the motion. "Maybe that coin belongs to me."
Jim gripped the coin against his chest when he growled, as though it was his bare heart. Then his fingers faltered when Mark worked him further, as though the young man was made of malleable metal. Aluminum, perhaps? Easily dented, the ebony mans defensive stance dropped when the Vietnam veteran chuckled.
"Give it up, boy, unless you never want to become a real man. This plumbah did you a favor. Unless you're gonna give him your ass – which no one wants," Mark nearly turned green at the thought, faltering before he shuddered. Simply he said, "Just hand it over, Jim."
Both eyes were big in excitement – but not in a good way. Like a guppy, Jim looked back and forth as his mouth gulped for speech and air, opening and shutting again and again without words. His sight seemed wet with tears.
Thin fingers trembled, causing the copper-skinned man with the darkest, thickest, richest and most dense dark hair that hung down his back feel himself frown…but not on the outside. Never there.
Jim was looking at him like he'd skinned, then cooked his favorite cat.
Still, how couldn't he? The thought of what to do continued to fill his mind, unwilling to be left behind in some dark corner. So, when Jim handed the coin to David in reluctant defeat, David made sure to rub it against his opaque undershirt again to polish it besides his pendant. He wore an arrogant grin with his lips lifted to expose straight and white teeth, wondering if he resembled a shark. He sure felt like one.
Jim was looking at him now like he'd burned his family alive. Jesus, the guy wasn't just pathetic. His expression also showed all. There was just something about Jim that told David that guys like him just weren't meant to grow up.
In fact, the subway worker looked closer to throwing up as David tilted an imaginary hat towards him, expression entirely egotistic – though only for display. His tone was also tyrannical as he smirked and said, "Thanks."
Jim looked ready to jump forward and make his own for the entire train that had begun to slow, as David's brown boots took the step, aiming to walk besides the black man. They were close enough that their shoulders could and would brushed together as the plumber walked past pompously.
But just before they did, David slapped one gloved hand hard against Jim's jacketed front, not bothering to do so much as glance at that face when he let his grip slip so that the silver slid down. Jim's instinctively cupping hands caught the coin with a face full of shock from either the enlightenment, or the threat of attack again.
David continued to walk towards the doors that had just started to slide open, forced to stop for families, friends, and businessmen with women to swim from the steel sardine can. He could hear the echo of the trains brakes when they'd gave their squeal, punctuating the end to the run-on sentence that felt like it had lasted a lifetime.
In fact, it had been just a little faster than that, with the amusement of Jim who snapped after him, "Hey!!"
Ignoring the sounds of the ocean, which he tried to swim through with waves created of limbs, clothes, and suitcases, David continued to walk from the train. Above the constant buzz of sound and the blur of motion, Jim was as good as gone…or would have been, if the man hadn't spent each year since he was eighteen surrounded in everything that made up the lifestyle of the subway systems.
David could hear the sprinting sneakers that scuffed the cement ground as his own chocolate colored soles stroked the steps. Instead of descending, David felt himself rise, not at all surprised when a happy dog chased him. That annoying animal had yellow-hair and yapped almost like a dog.
"What the fuh, man?!"
Well. There went his hearing.
Rolling his eyes, David shouldered past a man who was practically screaming into a cell phone.
Can you hear me now? David was tempted to say, but he'd been able to answer himself. Apparently not.
Jim didn't seem to hear him, or to even want to when the plumber ordered him. "Jim, go back and do your job."
When Jim grabbed him, David growled. He was the wolf of the two, teeth bared. He was close to snapping them as he said, "Hands off, 'homie', I don't want your fucking coin."
As if he'd taken offense – David knew it was very possible – the shorter man raised a fist. Again. "What's wrong with my coin?!"
Simply put, the plumber said, "It's been in your pants. That's no mans…or womans land."
Again, David dared Jim to hit him. And again, he would dodge. But Jim didn't.
Jim glared at him when that silent silver stoic stare met his own milk chocolate eyes, as cold as ice. Then let go, throwing his hands up to snort at the plumber, "PSH. I don't want your hands in my pants anyway!"
David would not think about it. He would not. Nope. Instead, he focused on his own footsteps, forcing themselves forward from the crowds were fewer people dotted David's path. There was no pushing besides the mental images from his mind and that voice, laughing, that followed David when feet did not.
He didn't have to question who the voice belonged to when it called out, "You cocky bastard!"
It wasn't question, but the plumber answered anyway, simply when, with his walking pace, he was free. He had hit the top
"You bet."
So much like he always had in both present and past, David didn't turn around to see behind him. He didn't have a reason to, which was why, when he sky, he didn't stop.
TBC..