09-10-2017, 05:33 PM
(This post was last modified: 09-10-2017, 05:37 PM by charlie luciano.)
"Hey!"
Charlie's head immediately whipped around, his features completely stunned. Fuck! Someone else was there, and he was pretty sure that it wasn't the call of one of his crew members. He didn't recognize the voice. Had they been spotted? Well, his question was answered when the Italian was sent backward onto his back in a sudden shove. Charlie grunted as he landed, now face-to-face with another individual. As the other demanded an answer from him, Charlie tried to control his breathing as he observed this stranger's facial features. Brown eyes, brown hair, a face decorated with scars. This wasn't the Northerner that he had interrogated, obviously. He was much stronger and Jesus, he was as tall as a tower. Even Charlie was dwarfed by him, which only further frustrated him. Finally, the New Yorker would answer in a deep, thick accent, "Luciano," He let a soft pant escape his mouth, as he was still trying to regain the wind that had been knocked out of him. "Lucky Luciano." That was the first time that he had revealed his nickname to anybody, including his own comrades, who had just witnessed the sudden attack. And speaking of which, he had to get this motherfucker off of him.
Before he could do anything though, Margaux had come along to try and create some distance between the two men. Oh, Jesus. Charlie didn't want her to get involved in this; this guy was violent as it was. They didn't need a casualty, especially if it was Margaux, someone who he had admittedly formed something of a friendship with. "You- stay outta' this." Charlie told Margaux in a commanding tone, his brown eyes sharpened with intensity. He didn't expect her to argue with him, because this was his goddamned mission and she was expected to do what he told her. Besides, he was only looking out for her safety and the safety of the other Badlanders. He'd get his ass skinned if anything happened to his comrades, or even worse, they'd all be slaughtered. "Get the shit 'n go."
He turned to Dylan, who was ready to back him up. What would this guy do now? Would his brains get blown out right in front of them all? Charlie had heard another voice call his attacker by the name of "Wolf". So, this was his name? Well, he was about to beat the shit out-
He flinched as a gunshot rang through the walls of the building.
What in the fuck was that? Charlie's gaze darted towards the source of the sound, and holding the gun was... oh. The white-haired British fuck. His mind went back to him immediately. Even though they had arrived late on the raid, Charlie had still expected his orders to be followed. Had he deliberately disobeyed him? "Fucker!" Charlie shouted, staring daggers at Cecil. He attempted to suddenly shove Wolfbite off of him and get to his feet. If he succeeded, he ran for Cecil and aimed to tackle him to the ground in a fit of anger. Fucking punk, how dare he expose them? How dare he shoot at Dylan? This was his goddamned fault!
Charlie's head immediately whipped around, his features completely stunned. Fuck! Someone else was there, and he was pretty sure that it wasn't the call of one of his crew members. He didn't recognize the voice. Had they been spotted? Well, his question was answered when the Italian was sent backward onto his back in a sudden shove. Charlie grunted as he landed, now face-to-face with another individual. As the other demanded an answer from him, Charlie tried to control his breathing as he observed this stranger's facial features. Brown eyes, brown hair, a face decorated with scars. This wasn't the Northerner that he had interrogated, obviously. He was much stronger and Jesus, he was as tall as a tower. Even Charlie was dwarfed by him, which only further frustrated him. Finally, the New Yorker would answer in a deep, thick accent, "Luciano," He let a soft pant escape his mouth, as he was still trying to regain the wind that had been knocked out of him. "Lucky Luciano." That was the first time that he had revealed his nickname to anybody, including his own comrades, who had just witnessed the sudden attack. And speaking of which, he had to get this motherfucker off of him.
Before he could do anything though, Margaux had come along to try and create some distance between the two men. Oh, Jesus. Charlie didn't want her to get involved in this; this guy was violent as it was. They didn't need a casualty, especially if it was Margaux, someone who he had admittedly formed something of a friendship with. "You- stay outta' this." Charlie told Margaux in a commanding tone, his brown eyes sharpened with intensity. He didn't expect her to argue with him, because this was his goddamned mission and she was expected to do what he told her. Besides, he was only looking out for her safety and the safety of the other Badlanders. He'd get his ass skinned if anything happened to his comrades, or even worse, they'd all be slaughtered. "Get the shit 'n go."
He turned to Dylan, who was ready to back him up. What would this guy do now? Would his brains get blown out right in front of them all? Charlie had heard another voice call his attacker by the name of "Wolf". So, this was his name? Well, he was about to beat the shit out-
He flinched as a gunshot rang through the walls of the building.
What in the fuck was that? Charlie's gaze darted towards the source of the sound, and holding the gun was... oh. The white-haired British fuck. His mind went back to him immediately. Even though they had arrived late on the raid, Charlie had still expected his orders to be followed. Had he deliberately disobeyed him? "Fucker!" Charlie shouted, staring daggers at Cecil. He attempted to suddenly shove Wolfbite off of him and get to his feet. If he succeeded, he ran for Cecil and aimed to tackle him to the ground in a fit of anger. Fucking punk, how dare he expose them? How dare he shoot at Dylan? This was his goddamned fault!
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THERE'S NO RETURN FROM WHERE I'VE BEEN
❝ TRIED TO PRETEND THAT I'M AROUND . . . ❞
————————— BIOGRAPHY / FORMER BOSS OF THE BADLANDS