Post by C. Mass on Oct 7, 2006 22:41:59 GMT -5
The large man flung open the door to the men's room. As the door collided with the wall with deafening thud, the other occupant quickly rushed out, very startled. He his coat was soaked from the earlier rain, and he smelled strongly of vodka. Stumbling to the first stall he began to unbutton his heavy coat, and, and grabbed several paper towels. Entering the stall, he turned and hung his coat on the hook reveal three well sized stab wounds in his right shoulder. He looked at the wound, and grinned, half-drunk.
Mass: "Damn, that hurts. I'll get him back for that, but it was well worth every minute. With this, I'll be nearly unstoppable."
He sat down, and slowly began to remove the bandages he haphazardly dressed the wound with earlier. As the bloody cotton gauze piled onto the floor, the hole began to slowly ooze blood again. He grimaced with the pain and reached into his coat pocket pulling out a roll of gauze, and a small flask. Placing the gauze on his lap, Mass unscrewed the bottle and doused the wound. It hurt. A lot. He let out a deep guttural groan, and the lights began to flicker in the restroom. Quickly, he downed the rest of the vodka, and threw the flask on the floor. Mass carefully placed fresh gauze on the holes and wrapped it again. Looking at the "train wreck", he chuckled.
Mass: "Well, that's gonna have to do for now."
He stood again, using the wall as support, and grabbed his coat. The door opened and he stopped. He had been worried that, that "animal" might follow him, and try to settle the score. He moved the hair out of his eyes, and listened closely. The man was speaking softly, maybe to a child. Not him, Mass assured himself. He slowly put on the coat, and exited the restroom. He looked round for a pay phone. Spotting one, he stumbled to it, trying to gain his composure. Mass picked up the phone and entered a calling card number. When the card company connected, he dialed a number.
Phone: "Hello?"
Mass: "Hey, it's me. I'm comin' home."
Phone: "Good. How did it go? Did it work? Did you get the-"
Mass: "Listen, I don't wanna talk much on the phone. The money's been wired to my account. Have someone ready to pick-"
Loudspeaker: "Now boarding, Flight 227. Moscow International."
Mass: "Listen my planes boardin', gotta go."
Without another word he slammed the phone onto the receiver, and started off toward his terminal. When he approached the security checked he glanced at the metal detector and sighed.
Mass: "I hate this part."
Approaching the guards, they motioned him through the machine. *BUZZ*
Guard: "I'm sorry sir, you'll have to go through again."
Looking down, he walked back through, and stopped. He kept his face looking at the floor. As he walked through again, the electricity swirled in his eyes, hidden by his hair. The machine did not go off. Smiling, the guards apologized, and pointed on his way. Out of earshot, he looked up, snapped and the machine short circuited. He chuckled to himself and boarded his flight.
Mass: "Damn, that hurts. I'll get him back for that, but it was well worth every minute. With this, I'll be nearly unstoppable."
He sat down, and slowly began to remove the bandages he haphazardly dressed the wound with earlier. As the bloody cotton gauze piled onto the floor, the hole began to slowly ooze blood again. He grimaced with the pain and reached into his coat pocket pulling out a roll of gauze, and a small flask. Placing the gauze on his lap, Mass unscrewed the bottle and doused the wound. It hurt. A lot. He let out a deep guttural groan, and the lights began to flicker in the restroom. Quickly, he downed the rest of the vodka, and threw the flask on the floor. Mass carefully placed fresh gauze on the holes and wrapped it again. Looking at the "train wreck", he chuckled.
Mass: "Well, that's gonna have to do for now."
He stood again, using the wall as support, and grabbed his coat. The door opened and he stopped. He had been worried that, that "animal" might follow him, and try to settle the score. He moved the hair out of his eyes, and listened closely. The man was speaking softly, maybe to a child. Not him, Mass assured himself. He slowly put on the coat, and exited the restroom. He looked round for a pay phone. Spotting one, he stumbled to it, trying to gain his composure. Mass picked up the phone and entered a calling card number. When the card company connected, he dialed a number.
Phone: "Hello?"
Mass: "Hey, it's me. I'm comin' home."
Phone: "Good. How did it go? Did it work? Did you get the-"
Mass: "Listen, I don't wanna talk much on the phone. The money's been wired to my account. Have someone ready to pick-"
Loudspeaker: "Now boarding, Flight 227. Moscow International."
Mass: "Listen my planes boardin', gotta go."
Without another word he slammed the phone onto the receiver, and started off toward his terminal. When he approached the security checked he glanced at the metal detector and sighed.
Mass: "I hate this part."
Approaching the guards, they motioned him through the machine. *BUZZ*
Guard: "I'm sorry sir, you'll have to go through again."
Looking down, he walked back through, and stopped. He kept his face looking at the floor. As he walked through again, the electricity swirled in his eyes, hidden by his hair. The machine did not go off. Smiling, the guards apologized, and pointed on his way. Out of earshot, he looked up, snapped and the machine short circuited. He chuckled to himself and boarded his flight.