𝕽ₒ𝔪͜͡ᵃℵ ☠︎︎ ℌ𝑜͜͡𝓁𝔦𝑑ᵃ𝚈.
@REDRUMDOMINUS
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ͜ ˖ ̣̣̣⋆⠀˚ ‧⠀ ꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶⠀ ☣︎ ⠀︶꒦꒷︶꒦꒷⠀ ‧ ˚⠀⋆˖̣̣̣ ͜ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ₜₕₑ ⠀ 𝐌𝙰𝚂𝙺⠀ destroys⠀ ₒₙₑ⠀ 𝖎𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭𝖎𝐭𝐲 ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ creating⠀ 𝐚nother⠀ 𓄧⠀ ᵍʳᵉᵃᵗᵉʳ⠀ 𝖕o𝔴͜͡er.
⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ this is ᵐʸ 🄲🄸🅃🅈 ┈⋆ ⠀⠀⠀ :¨ ·.· ¨: so 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑒 to 𝐩𝐚𝐲 ⠀⠀⠀ `· . ☠︎︎ ₜₕₑ 𝐏𝚁𝔦͜͡𝙲𝙴. —̳͟͞𖦏 ⠀
⠀ ⠀⠀⠀𝑰 ⠀ 𝙾𝚆𝙽 ⠀ 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂 ⠀⠀⠀𝙲𝙸𝚃𝚈. ⠀ 𝙸𝚃'𝚂 ⠀ 𝙼𝚈 ⠀⠀⠀𝙱𝙻𝙾𝙾𝙳𝚈 𝙻𝙴𝙶𝙰𝙲𝚈. ⠀
︎ ︎ That was an accident, in his defense. ︎
“Too bad… blood is always tastier when the subject is still alive.”
︎ ︎ “I’m always a goddamn sight to see.” Wait. Shittttt. He’s dead. Oh, well. “Welp, shittttt!” ︎
“At least you make a pretty sight of those who challenge you,” she raised an eyebrow, looking at the man who had suffocated.
︎ ︎ “A fuckin golden one for sure.” ︎
“Ain’t you a ray of sunshine today?@
︎ ︎ “I’m fuckin’ bored this morning, that’s why. If you wanna go, there’s the damn door. I’m not holding you hostage.” Grumbling. There goes his mood shift. There’s no poison. He prefers to be more hands on with his lethality rates. Poison is a cowards way out. ︎
— like poison, but he wasn't sure if that was a good sign or not. Becoming indebted to a man like Roman felt like its own kind of terminal prognosis. "Why haven't you kicked me out? Why not just give me the money and send me crawling away?"
︎ ︎ Nobody wants to get beat by Roman. He’s got a mean right hook & it’s unforgiving. He’ll take word of mouth & he’s confident that he other won’t double cross him. “Here comes our water. We got that fancy shit here.” Taking one from the assistant. ︎
Wesker nodded and grit his teeth to keep from whimpering. He saw a guy in Blackgate get hit so hard that he shit himself on the spot. They called him 𝘙𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘦 𝘙𝘶𝘯𝘴 after that. Wesker didn't want to turn out like Ronnie. Ronnie was dead. "I wouldn't do that. No chance."
︎ ︎ “No. Cause if you double cross me, I’ll hunt you down & beat the livin’ shit outta you.” Seems pretty clear cut to him. Don’t you think? “Besides, I’ll have eyes on you. I never let an investment get too far.” ︎
"It's just, uh—just my natural—nevermind." 𝙲𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚗, 𝙰𝚛𝚗! 𝚈𝚘𝚞'𝚛𝚎 𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚞𝚜 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎. 𝙳𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚒𝚗' 𝚝𝚘? He straightened his back and took a deep breath. "Do I need to... sign something?"
︎ ︎ “Are you fuckin’ kidding me?!” Reaching over and grabbing one of his bodyguards by the tie and yanking it up. “If you can’t do your goddamn job right, you don’t deserve to breathe!” Casually taking a drink of coffee as the guy suffocates. “It’s too damn early!!!” ︎
︎ ︎ 𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚏𝚒𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚢 ┈͜ ⠀ ⠙⠲ 𐚁 ⠀… ℬ𝓁𝒶𝒸𝓀 ☠︎︎ 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚔 . ︎ ︎
︎ ︎ The assistant goes to get them both water. “Ya good? Sweatin’ up a storm there. Fucking hell. Don’t ruin my damn seat with your sweats.” A suspicious glare. “Why so nervous? It’s not like I’m gonna shoot you in the head.” ︎
"Business transaction." He repeated quietly. Arnold had always been the weaker businessman. Was that why he couldn't stop sweating? The words were sticking in his dry mouth. "Water, water—" 𝚂𝚙𝚒𝚝 𝚒𝚝 𝚘𝚞𝚝, 𝚢𝚊 𝚐𝚎𝚎𝚣𝚎𝚛! "A water would be fine. Thank you."
︎ ︎ “Exactly. Just think of it as a business transaction.” Gesturing at his personal assistant. “Get my friend here a drink. They’re probably thirsty. Stop just standing there and being useless. “What do you want? A cucumber water? Energy drink?” ︎
𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗' 𝚒𝚍𝚒𝚘𝚝. Wesker swallowed. Loudly. He blinked a few times, trying to clear the fog of 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 voice from his head. "Oh, erm... the children, right. Sure." He forced a trembling smile. "What's a favor between friends, right?"
︎ ︎ “Don’t thank me yet. That’s a lotta dough. You’ll be indebted to me for a favor. Nothing in life is free. Sure you don’t mind. After all, it’s for the children.” He holds the check right, waiting for a response. ︎
"Yes, yes. They'll print your name, I know they will." They'd print anyone's name except for Wesker's. Something about a man whose reputation was built around a doll— "Thank you! Wow, thank you."
︎ ︎ “That’s it? For Christ Sake, it’s for children. Make sure they print my damn name in the papers. It’ll make me look good. For business” Writing a check out. Filling out ten thousand dollars on the line. ︎
"Is there—" Arnold thought better than to ask about the other man's angle. Who cared if it was for genuine charity or not? For the time being, Wesker got to feel like he actually managed to do some good. "The highest contributor right now has donated a thousand dollars."
︎ ︎ The man was cold blood but not entirely heartless. “How much? I’ll write a check. If I pick out you pocketed the cash, I’ll beat ya from within an inch of your life.” ︎
"The kids—" The man he was talking to didn't give a shit about the children of Gotham, did he? "—well, this particular drive is run by the Vreelands." Socialites. Investors. "If a donation turned out to be particularly dangerous, there could be ways to use that as leverage."
︎ ︎ Brow quirks. “Why you askin’? Did you want me to make a donation? Not like it isn’t beyond my means. What’s in it for me?” After all, he always has something to gain in return. That’s just how it works for him. ︎
His brow twitched. 𝘈 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘥𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘴. For a moment, Arnold could hear the voice of his old friend raging in the back of his skull. But that wasn't real. "Yes," he lied. Better to make an excuse for bringing it up at all. "Did—did you want to make a donation?"
︎ ︎ He knows you heard him! ︎
must’ve been the wind.
︎ ︎ “Nah. Just wonderin’. Ya got a thing with dolls and shit so I figured it’d make sense.” Folding the pages and reviewing the next one. “You going?” He doesn’t have a clue about the ban or his treatment plan. ︎
Arnold's eyes went wide. He was banned from the toy drive after they caught him torturing donated dolls behind the scenes. The last thing he needed was a violation of his outpatient agreement going public. "Why? Do they mention me by name?"