Wrestling the Kraken

Dante

Dante

Dante signed the bill for his stay at the hotel, his bags packed at his side. A taxi was waiting for him outside and the bellman arrived to pick up his luggage. With a nod to the bellman, he pulled out some cash and handed it to the clerk. "For the damages." He said and followed the bellman out.

"Damages?" The clerk repeated, still holding the cash in his hand.

The taxi ride was long. The height of mid-morning traffic in the area. He supposed he should have waited for a better time, but he was ready to get away. Not far, but far enough.

Vivanne stayed back at the hotel, guarded in case any assailant tried again. She hated him for leaving and knew his father would be out for blood, when he recovered.

It wasn't his concern. He wasn't her guard dog or defender and frankly, didn't care what happened to her. They dated once, but love was never something he held for her. Her choices, after that, were her own and she had made some bad ones.

Looking out the window, he tried to see the hidden. Was there anyone lurking, following him? There were quite a bit actually. All bright yellow taxis, filled with their own charges.

After a while, they reached a break in traffic, allowing them to go faster. This city was never the most alluring or even the safest for that matter- he had suffered more loss here than in any of the others- but the hotel had been situated near the financial district. The finest Fox Hollow had to offer was located nearby.

Now as he peered out the window, he could see the city deteriorating, with every street they drove past. The more broken the buildings looked, the more at home he felt. This was real. The wild. Where everyone acted out their primal urges and didn't bother to hide behind a mask or vail. It was survival of the fittest and if you could survive, then that said something of what you were made of.

The world he left behind was a facade of smiles and handshakes, while secretly formulating plots to stab one in the back and take it all. The world he was entering would stab you in the chest, face to face. No mask needed to befall an enemy or even a friend. In these parts, you are who you are. A mask in and of itself, because how well can you truly know a person?

Arriving at his new home, he stepped out of the taxi. The driver placed his bags on the street and drove off. He was alone. Then again, being alone was a suit he wore daily, ever since Lily. Now, he faced a challenge. One where the outcome was unforeseen; hidden in the depths of the murky waters that lined the streets. He would have to set roots for the first time.

The bottom floor of the building held a restaurant. Convenient. And the previous tenant that occupied his room had been in a rush to leave. Rent was a steal.

Passing Vito's restaurant, he headed upstairs to his new room. With his new key in hand, he opened the door, taking in the view. A small room. Chipped paint. Loud ceiling fan.

He entered, setting his bags off to the side, along with his keys. He walked around, surveying the room. A musty bed, a desk, a small television set. Ants trailing in the bathroom. He stood in the middle of the room, with his hands in his pockets, face glazed. He was home.