Az's Short Stories

[azruelli]

Because I'm fucking lazy, I'll make the thread before my cicada clock collapses under the weight of five have-fun-working-until-10:30-and-all-the-insomnia-from-the-caffine-because-we-really-don't-carry-anything-else-to-drink nights.
Anyways, Penwrought Assassin tomorrow, maybe early morning, and whenever I get off (on?) my ass and finish the damn thing, maybe Everybody's Shadow, or the first chapter of Estranged Norms.
Apologies to Cinder, I'm kind of semi-stealing your idea.

[azruelli]

Here's the first one, If there's anything that looks like a nasty typo (I don't know, appleworks has been acting up with this document, yesterday it had a link to a maryland website in the middle of a sentence), just lemme know, and yes, I know the story is kind of lame.

Penwrought Assassin

It was a blue summer day with a cool summer breeze blowing through the streets of the suburbs when a Tall, Short-dark haired young man wearing an undersized dark-grey fedora, tipped over his eyes, and a pitch black suit lined with cloudy gray pinstripes spaced alluringly among it and in his right hand, a battered leather suitcase. He eyed the familiar sign placed askewly in the ground in front of an unfamiliar house.
“Frederick.” He mumbled to himself, gazing out from under the tipped fedora.
He tilted his head further upward to get a better look at the unfamiliar pristine-white door.
He knocked.
“Mister Arthur Frederick!”
He paused for a moment, listening intently as a cool breeze rolled by his face, the sound of leaves rustling in the distance. He knocked again, raising the sound of his voice.
“I need to speak to you!”
A short rumble of footsteps, then a clatter, or a crash perhaps, and five gratuitous stomps were all that stood between that sentence and a half-bald, elderly man wearing a oversized t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants standing in the doorway.
The young man eyed him for a moment, “Ah.. yes, can I come in? I’ve some papers for you to sign.. for the lawsuit.” The old man stepped aside to reveal a clear doorway and an ornate rug relaxing on the floor behind the door, and next to it an oak hallway cabinet with a-”Broken flowerpot here, er.. “ the Old Man turned to the Younger man, and stared confusedly for a moment then at the rug, then at the Vase, which had broken into six pieces, remains of a childhood strewn into a neat little pile, a fleeting thought of a field entered the mind of the Old Man for a moment, if only because of the kiddish flower pattern that was shattered. “S’not a pot.. it’s a vase, thought you’d at least know that.” The Young man replied with a simple “Ah.” and motioned towards a table that was barely visible over the Old Man’s shoulders. “Oh, yes, yes, I s’pose you want me to sign the papers, don’t you?” He looked down at the rug, then trundled into the dining room, the Young Man in close pursuit. It was then that the Younger man stepped over to the table and opened up a battered brief case, allowing a cascade of papers to billow out onto the the bare wooden table. It was then that he fished out several papers and piled the rest into a stack and replaced them in the suitcase, slamming it shut with a brief, audible creak of the hinges. He then laid out the papers in a stacking sequence of three, two, and one. “all right, er, Mr. Frederick the-”
“Damnit, boy. Call me Arthur.”
“Right, Arthur, The Stack on your left is your personal information, the middle stack of two is your statement, and the lone paper on the right is your agreement to the court date. Erm, now if you would please look it over to make sure that everything is in order, please.”
The lawyer moved aside to allow Arthur to access the papers, he eyed the rug a moment. It did have a slightly calming aspect to it, he thought to himself. Which on reaction he pulled a pen out of his pocket, the pen was a Dark Blue, and on it a bloodied-looking ruby sword was mounted on the side. Below the sword, where the pen’s end grew wider before narrowing down a ring with two inner-rings was placed. He pressed the innermost ring with his fingernail, it made an audible click. He then looked back at Arthur, who had now moved on to the statement, then back at the pen, which he found far more comforting than the rug.
The Young Lawyer ogled the end of then pen, then extended the tarnished, silver tip with an audible click, Arthur looked up for a moment to see him brandishing the pen like a knife, and then looked back down to the statement for a moment. It was then, that the assassin took two steps forward, parallel to arthur, and jammed the poison covered tip of the pen into the Old Man’s neck. The Assassin plucked it from his neck before the Old Man collapsed to the floor, writhing in pain, eying the shimmering blood covered pen-tip out of the corner of his eye, the Old Man rolled off his side, and let out a solemn “Bastard,” as he felt his body stiffen. He looked up at the Assassin one last time, and weakly groaned, “You’re a god damn bastard, now get out,” before letting his eyes uncontrollably droop shut, the poison flowing through his veins, merging with the plasma, his body, and allowing a painlessly unsatisfying death.

The Assassin closed the door behind him before walking to the Taxi that had brought him here, the pen, now away in his pocket, had been replaced by a crumpled up plane ticket, he inanely hailed the taxi before walking over and opening one of the back-seat doors. He slumped down the seat, dissatisfied, and promptly told the driver to take him to the airport.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Assassin stood outside of the looming headquarters, looking up at the dark monolith, endowed with the letters “IAA” above the front doors, like a pristine white blemish. He looked up, near the top, urging his legs to walk through the front door, past the receptionist who had begun to open his mouth to speak, but halted himself, mouth agape for a moment as the Assassin entered a recently vacated elevator. Harshly pressing the button for floor 42, he stood as the elevator sputtered to life, bringing him to the top.

The Assassin, elegantly waltzed past the guards and into a large office guarded by six windows, each overlooked by a single guard, and in the middle, a ovular desk stood in front of a short man, with semi-blond hair. He looked up from the short stack of papers, expression unchanging from an official looking frown.
“So, I imagine that the assassination has been completed.”
The Assassin sighed after hearing the idiotic question, “Yes, but I have a ques-”
“Before you ask questions, let’s go over the next.. target, shall we?”
He then slid a folder across the desk, the Assassin looked at it for a moment, he contemplated picking it up, but he instead decided to retrieve his pen. It was then that he walked over to the folder, slothily lying on the desk, snapped it open and tapped the inner most circle of the rings again.
He gave a disappointed glare at the papers within:

Tira L. Mraisman -------- 457 Hardwood Ave. Ridgley Maryland ---- Target

Commissioner ---------- Vernon Kelven Gurth

Hired Worker ----------- Franklin Arthur Frederick

“Something wrong?”
The Assassin tapped the button to lower the blade of the pen, “Thank you so much, Vernon, For the patricide,” he spoke with gentle rage as he slowly crossed his name off of the list, the dark green ooze lying in a lengthy puddle. It was then that Vernon looked up, with a look of utter horror on his face, everything moving at half the speed, as he watched the tip of the pen, driven into his hand, letting out one last scream before collapsing to the floor.
Franklin heard the sound of six guns unlocking their saftey’s.
Then he heard the rattle of the SMG’s as the bullets roared towards him.
Then he heard nothing.

[ScienceFairy]

Too tired to think up a good critique, but I think it's nice. But longer, Az, longer! >_>

Also, a few typos. But you has excuse...

[azruelli]

Well, this is the unfixed version of the story, I can post the fixed version tomorrow, if you'd like.

[ScienceFairy]

Sounds like a fine idea to me. Mmm....DoubleFine....Psychonauts....uh...anyways - it sounds like a plan!