The second installment (the sequel) to Ace of Spades is now out.
Read 'The Hanged Man' once you've finished this one.
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A rascal with a penchant for making friends with the wrong people, you were often regarded as a troublemaker by...
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Ace had only one goal in mind as he walked down that shoddy pavement. With eyes as dark as night and knuckles bright red from a recent encounter with a sorry bastard, he walked and walked... and walked until he was in front of a brightly decorated door; one that positively screamed Pudding. Then with his bloody, bandaged fist raised, he knocked on the door.
He then leaned into the shadows and watched as an elderly couple passed by, his body obscured by the darkness when they passed by, the only indication of his presence being the fire in his eyes and that deadly twinkle of something in his hand.
It was already midnight, just a day after he had that talk with you, but those empty eyes hadn't left him.
What exactly had that girl told you to have caused you to recede so far into the recesses of your mind?
It irked him.
It couldn't have been more than a minute, but when she opened it, he shoved her inside and used his leg to kick the door closed, his cheeks flushed from the cold and his eyes as bitter and as biting as coal. She fell back into a nearby chair and scrambled for leverage, her fingers gripping the handles for balance.
The warm glow of the lamp on a nearby stand gave him an even more menacing look, with the sharpest angles of his face protruding from the harsh glare; and perhaps, the most terrifying feature was that cold gleam from his blazing, black eyes.
"A-Ace?" The girl reeled from the sudden initiation and stood to the side, her hand pressed to her frantic heart. He'd appeared out of nowhere and scared the living wits out of her.
"What are you doing?" She asked once more, the adrenaline of the shock still keeping her on that high. "I mean, don't get me wrong, it's a welcome surprise, but I didn't think I'd be expecting you at midnight."
"I'm not here for a friendly visit," His voice came out low, with a slight smoky timbre to it, the huskiness of the raw emotion inducing a pang of fear within the girl.
He made sure to lock the door before he pulled out a seat and sat down on it, his legs crossed one over the other as his gloved hands folded on his lap. Donned in nothing but a dark trench coat, black turtleneck, and thin black jeans paired with some leather gloves, his outfit practically screamed murder. It was the perfect getup for a midnight getaway.
Gloved hand outstretched, he inspected a cup on her coffee table and swished the liquids, promptly lifting it to his lips when he deemed it consumable.
"Cold."
He drank the rest of the liquid that had already gone cold, crushing the cup in his fist and getting up to toss it in the trash can nearby. Once he was seated again, he gestured to the nearby chair and waited for the other to slide in, all the while twirling the slim knife he had between his fingers.
