In Between The Lines Of Vice

Chapter 6: Shoulders Of Shrugging

How long was it this time? Huh. Well I tried, I really did. I wrote all of this in a span of 2 hours. Yay!

Sometimes, no matter how much you plan it in your mind and recite it as if it were your own, the words don't come and all your are left to is empty gazes and angered expressions.

It was ironic since it seemed that he could never shut up a couple years ago, still hopeful and young. Then sometimes he had wondered what had changed, and then he remembered that too much. The dealings within his mind were never a great place to be these last couple months, or at all it seemed. Time and alcohol hadn't helped like he hoped that they would, and his disappointment bled into everything around him, making the couch he sat on for most days intoxicated with the fumes of his misery.

The first time he try and actually do something about his seething horror of a life, he got electrocuted, which, if it was compared to the rest of his pitiful existence, seemed consistent. It wasn't as if he was planning these encounters with people who wanted to do him harm, but his aura must of plucked them out of the sewers where they had roamed and followed all of his mistakes.

The woman in front of him though, she didn't look like she had crawled out of a sewer, at least not any in New York. Did it once, never again, but that brought back uneasy memories that had nothing to do about the monsters they had fought of the smell. Things he preferred not to think of the remain sane, though, it was conceived that resorting to alcoholism wasn't working out for him very well.

His tongue still tasted like lead. He hated electrocution, it was his least favorite method of death. He had tested out that theory many times, but unfortunately had never gotten to the death part.

"Don't I get a phone call?" He asked suddenly p, interrupting the freighting lady from listing off the very long list of crime that someone by the name of fucking Denver had completed. She stopped and pursed her lips at that, it was the first time he had talked during the interrogation and frankly, he wanted to see how long it took them to relish that his name was in fact not Denver.

"We are not a sanctioned government program, Mr Dougen," she replied in that same voice that was dead and void of tone, but gravelly, deadly. "You're looking at a long time in jail, at this point, I don't believe a phone call will matter."

He sighed with about as much sarcasm as you can place in a sigh, which apparently, was a lot. "That sucks, I have the number for the rejection hotline memorized. Just wanted one good laugh before all my civil liberties are taken away. "

"No amount of joking is going to solve ours or your problems," she returned stiffly, keeping a calm that many others would have lost by now. "Now if you start talking about something other than wanting delay your obvious jail time, that's closer to helping you.

He laughed humorously. "First off, you underestimate my skill of turning everything in my life into a joke, it's never backfired. Second, given that your a special non-government facility, I would have thought you would have had and actual picture of your target."

That made her pause and consider his words. She looked to the double way mirror sharply, glaring as if to say 'who do I have to kill now?' Then that gaze returned to him.

"Explain." She said shortly, obviously not in the mood for more of his joking idle chatter.

So, in favor of not being killed for his insolence. He reached out a hand and the friendliest grin he could muster. It was hard because it had been a while since that grin was genuine and not used to make him look like a lunatic, but he conjured it across his lips.