The Face of a Facade

Drabble

The Face of a Facade

"It has come to the public's attention there is yet another mob organization in New York City. This is seen through several trademark murders by someone the public has now dubbed 'Mozart Murderer'"

Alfred set down the paper at the last sentence before a new paragraph started, huffing and throwing the paper down into the burning fireplace. An irate sigh leaving the head of the Face Mob, Arthur Reed Kirkland.

"Alfred! You knew bloody well I wanted to read that!"

"I know but they gave me a fuckin' nickname! A nickname!" the Jones child shouted.

"Perhaps because you're so messy." Chimed in a soft voice, that melodic sound one called a voice came from a young man, no older than twenty three, leaning back against a couch where an older man had his arm around him.

"Oh hush, Matthew! I know you and Nat are so peeerrrfect and silent but I think that death can be made into art. Death is such a thing that one could easi–"

"You hush, boy." Came the British tinted voice again, the green eyed blonde put his book down and leaned forward, cigarette in his fingers as smoke was blown harshly out of his mouth. "You need to be more careful, lest you get caught and I send your own brother to put you out." Arthur said with narrowed eyes. Alfred let out a growl as he sat down on the arm of the couch.

The older man with longer hair with his arm around Matthew piped up, his soft french accent coloured his words with ease.

"Now, mon chéri, don't get upset, you know it does horrors to your blood pressure." Francis said one leg on the other and leaning back.

"Oh shut up. Alfred. Come here." He ordered him over. The young blond hesitated before walking over, standing in front of him. Arthur slowly stood up, his lanky form standing just shorter than Alfred. "Hold out your hand." Alfred pursed his lips and furrowed his brow but held his hand palm up. His mistake as the palm is far more sensitive to pain than the back of the hand. Arthur inhaled from his cigarette before stubbing it out in Alfred's hand, looking him dead in the eye.

"OW WHAT THE FUCK!?" He yelped, trying to pull back and succeeding only when Arthur let him pull back, an angry red mark on his now curled hand. He hissed and looked at the mark. Arthur calmly threw the stubbed cigarette into the ashtray, sitting back down.

"That should teach you not to be so damn reckless." Arthur spat at the younger who cradled his hand. "Honestly, Jones, if you are to take my place, or even Francis' place you can't be so damn careless!" He said with an exasperated sigh.

The long haired blonde known as Matthew spoke again. "Arthur, don't be so hard on him. Papa is right, it'll raise your blood pressure." He said softly. Alfred was whining about something or other, probably his burn as the other three simply relaxed.