Slumming Is All The Rage [Finished]

[Esque DaggerHair]

"And a little extra to keep him busy." The teen crooned, fluttering her lashes sweetly as she handed over the wad of bills to the Black Stick.
The Black Stick leered and copped a feel at the skirt covered ass before tipping his hat and strolling off, whistling while twirling his Stick. Money's money.
Grimacing and rubbing at her arms to shake off the feeling of his touch, she takes the last steps from Roosevelt Prepatory School out to her limo. Giving Pete a tight lipped smile, she slides into the back and settles back in her seat as she throws her backpack to the floor, "Take the Slums, Pete, I want to see if they've cleaned up the pile." The girl instructed, sinful glee coloring her words.
It was all the rage, these days, to watch the carnage in the Slums while protected by Black Sticks and Bodyguards. And she loved being in with the rage. Who didn't?
With a grunt and a twitch of his foot, the car was off. Stupid kids, always putting themselves in danger... But it paid the bills.

Woop, woop!

Turning her head to watch the cruiser's approach, Esque glanced out her window to the shanty town of cardboard boxes, and beamed. Right on schedule.
Pete stopped the limo and began to roll down his window - right hand reaching for the wad of cash kept in the glove box for just such occasions - when Esque bolted out the door, running in her top of the line black Mary Janes, and laughing all the way.
Finally! Everyone at school was bragging about their slumming, well, she'd show them! She'd go all the way into the cardboard city and take pictures of the boxes and their insides. She'd be the queen of the school.

Adjusting the strap of her snappy black purse, the high school Junior wriggles her hips and pulls her camera from her bag. A strand of blue hair fell across her face, and she shoved in back behind her ear casually, the medium blue clashing violently with her carrot orange and curly locks. "Let's seee... This looks like a good place to start!" The Fat Catress cooed, pulling a ruler from her bag to lift up the plastic sheeting over the opening of the box and snap a photo of the naked bum within.
"Eww!" She squealed, laughing as the flash exposed the Scum's penis. Twirling away, the sharply dressed teen skips off to another box, ignoring the grumbles of her surroundings. They couldn't touch her, she had a bodyguard!
Flashes illuminated various boxes as she made her own little portfolio of how disgusting it was to be Lower Class.
"Ooh..." Staring at the biggest box in the field, she strolls over, and crouches down in front of it. Ragged cloth covered this one, marking it as different. Beaming, she sweeps the cover aside, snaps a photo, and halts in her tracks, wide eyed.
"...Wow..."

[Rottanger Howell]

He'd waterproofed the inside of his box with a bunch of plastic bags. It kept it from getting too moldy and smelling really funny on the inside. He's also stabilized it with sticks in the corners, and some bricks he'd found. It was an old refrigerator box. Lately? He'd been planning something bigger than this box--He wanted to make a full-fledged house out of the dump. There were enough cars to have multiple rooms. The only problem with his plan? There were bigger and stronger men that lived inside of the cars.

Last week, he tried to kick one of their asses and got punched so hard that he still had a shiner.

And, not only were these men strong, they were crazy. If he tried to reason with them about making a big community dump-house? They started getting all schitzy and asking what the hell he was talking about, or if he was plotting on them, or if he had a dollar for them to get a new pair of shoes.

He was talking about making a community dump-house. He wasn't plotting on them. And he didin't have a dollar. But no matter how many times he answered these questions, all of the crazy fucking homeless people and the damned weird voo doo kids didn't respond in a socially acceptable way. Eventually, Rottanger gave up and just dreamed of the day when he'd be able to move into the Ritz.

That was the first step to getting somewhere. But the owner of the Ritz still had something against him for the time he'd accidentally burnt one of the rooms up, because he'd fallen asleep with a cigarette in his mouth. It was whatever, though. He'd eventually get somewhere. Right?

Ruddiger lifted his bottle of Jack up to his mouth, and took a shot of it. Coughed. Snorted. Heaved. And then took another shot.

Light came into his box from where the curtain was. His immediate instinct was to grab his pocket knife and point it at the invader... who started snapping pictures like the paparazzi.

Wow? WOW? He found the word condescending, and found the way that she looked at him even moreso. Ruddiger shoved his body forward, and started storming out of his box.

"Is it common practice, where you're from to just invade people's homes?" And what the hell was she doing in the slums, anyway? She looked like she belonged way uptown. Way WAY uptown. In the rich district. He hated her for it, already. "Or are we not people, here?" Knife still clutched in one hand, he took another big swig from his bottle. The six foot three man's body swayed a little bit with the effects of his alcohol abuse.

[Esque DaggerHair]

"Eep!" Leaping backwards as the mammoth stormed out of the box with a bottle of some type of alcohol in one hand - stolen she's sure - and a knife in the other, the Fat Catress fumbles in her purse for the pepper spray as she edges away from the behemoth.

"Is it common practice, where you're from to just invade people's homes? ...Or are we not people, here?" He leered at her, swaying drunkenly with his hostile looming. Another gulp from the bottle... Maybe she shouldn't have come without Pete. Maybe this was a bad idea...

Straightening up, assured of her safety despite Pete's absence, she arches a carrot orange brow and languidly rolls her gaze across the rows of cardboard boxes, and crosses her arms over her chest - camera in one hand, the other clenched around something cylindrical. "You call these homes? Scorn dripped freely from her pretty little lips, left foot tapping with impatience for this encounter to be over and done with already, "Daddy burns bigger boxes than these, and they're definitely not made of soggy, rotting, cardboard."

Giving an over emphasized shudder, the teen laughs a bit mockingly, "What's the matter, you too lazy to do your fair share? Goodman too 'hoitey toity' for you? Just because you're against the system doesn't mean you shouldn't work for it." Flinging her hair back over her shoulder with a flick of her wrist, she smirks, full to the brim of her righteous belief in her victory regarding the situation.

Obviously he was in the wrong, and it was his fault he was here. She was just sight seeing is all - what's wrong with a little tourism?

[Rottanger Howell]

He didn't think anything about the knife that he was still holding, or the bottle, as she began speaking about Bobby Goodman in her sarcastic, uppity tone--she dangled her beliefs, viewpoints, assholic little words, in his face. If it was bait to get him enraged, well... That fish bit. And it bit hard.

"I DO call these homes. They're not the best thing that's out there, but it's definitely the best that we can do under Bob Goodman, who kicks people out of the working force any time somebody has a view that he doesn't like, and who has people shot down in the streets for the most miniscule offenses. Don't go giving me your Pepperjack SHIT. You can take that 'HOT CHEESE' bull and run back to fucking Uppercrustville, little sister. We don't take too kindly to little asshole brats like you coming into our territory and thinking they own the place. You don't own SHIT here. My advice to you is to get gone. And to get gone fast." He considered the knife in his hand, after he'd ranted, and then gripped it more tightly. Sloshed some of the alcohol down all over her pretty little, black shoes. The liquid quickly started collecting the rising dirt in the dump, and it started turning into mud. "Because I'm getting awfully fucking hungry, and all of these skinny homeless pricks are made of real tough meat."

A forced, twitching smile dragged out across his face as his shoulders squared up and he lurched forward: A stance that gave his boots a firm grip on the ground, and maximum striking power if he felt inclined to strike. Predatory.

[Esque DaggerHair]

Esque skipped back a step with a sneer, mostly to avoid the mud on her pretty little shoes, "Waaah, waaah, I need an opinion. Puh-leeze. Freedom of speech is, like, so last century." Now she was baiting him, wicked, mocking, laughter glowing in her sapphire orbs.

A thought seemed to strike her, and she laughed, that same grating sound of the self confident asshat. "Hungry, he says, hungry." Flipping the cap off her pepper spray - special blend for the Fat Cats and Catresses, extra strength, enough to bring down even a Voo Doo Wannabe in a Magick high - and depressing the nozzle to blast pressurized not quite acid in his bloodshot eyes, "How about a little seasonings first?"

Oh she was a riot, so witty, and pretty, and rich.

While they were making quite the ruckus, the Catress paid her environment very little heed as she aimed a kick at the raving alcoholics groin with her steel capped shoes. Function and fashion all in one.

Besides, Pete would be coming soon to get her out of this hell hole, she should enjoy herself while she could, right? Right.

[Rottanger Howell]

He really couldn't stand the snotty tone of her voice, or the pitch of it, for that matter. Everything about her rubbed him in the wrong way, and he really was hungry. Very, actually. The prospect of eating this girl didn't sound too far fetched, there for about five seconds. The five seconds it took to think up her 'clever' remark, and then whisp a little can of pepper spray out of her purse. It hit him in the eyes, and he immediately started screaming. The knife dropped, but not the booze. He'd never, ever drop the booze.

Funny, that. Dropping the protection, but clinging to the alcohol for dear life.

His eyes squinted open just enough for him to see her foot coming toward his groin. Maybe it was a sixth sense he didn't know about: The ability to protect his baby-maker, even while immobilized by a stunning shot of pepper spray. His hand whipped out faster than it should have, and caught her by her ankle. Free hand started wiping at his face, trying to disloge some of the spray. It only rubbed the spray in, and made his eyes, temples, and cheekbones burn that much more from abrasive contact, and gritty dirty on his palm.

"You fucking bitch," his whole body was shaking, now, and he was laughing a cracked, maniacal laugh. Disturbed and distorted, and he started dragging her toward himself. He was going to strangle her, and hide her body in his box.

[Pete Defanowitz]

"Fuck. Shit. God. Damn. Why the hell are they pulling me over?" He cursed under his breath. Well. The first part of the cursing was done under his breath. The 'why the hell...' was screamed pretty loud. Because he was screaming at her. He was screaming at her, because, somehow, he knew that's who this had to do with. "What the fuck did you do, now?!" And then a police officer was knocking on his tinted window, and Pete was rolling it down to conversate with him.

"Is there a problem, officer?"

"No problem. It's just a standard check. You know. Seeing if there's..." Pete started leaning toward the glove box. Standard checks typically meant that an officer was going to peg you with something, unless you forked out a little bit of money. Pete knew this guy. He'd been on the force with him, just last year. And they'd never liked one another. Ever.

Esque bolted from the back seat and took off running down the sidewalk. Pete hadn't even heard the back door open up, but he definitely heard her feet pounding. "WHERE THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU'RE GOING?" Rudy was yowling in the passengers' seat, and Pete was crawling toward the passengers' side door to jump out and run after her.

Officer Swanson grabbed him by the shoulder, and tugged him back into the drivers' seat. "Where do you think you're going? We aren't done with our standard check." Pete's shoulders got all tight, and he started twitching a little bit.

"Alright, Swanson, what do you want?"

"Like I said. Standard check. I think I smell a gas leak. Gas leaks are a road hazard. You might want to check on that. I'm going to have to suspend your license until--"

"How much?"

"Seventy dollars."

That's all he had. That's all he had in the glove box. Seventy dollars. He'd never heard something so ludicrous in his entire life. He got the feeling that Esque had planned this. What with that being the exact amount of money he had. Pete practically threw the little wad of cash at Swanson. "Get the fuck out of my face, Swanson."

"Gladly. By the way. You might want to get that headlight checked, too."

Swanson started swaggering away, counting all of the little bills in his hand.

Pete never should've asked, but he did. "What headlight?"

Swanson's stick was out of its holster before Pete even finished the question, and he slammed the heavy plastic down against the limo's left headlight. "That one." Swanson grinned from ear to ear. "Have a nice day, Pete."

"FUCKING GREAT!" Rudy kept on yowling as Pete peeled out down the street. The force of the car jerking caused the back door to slam shut. Smoke wailed up behind the limo as he busted a 'U' and headed in the direction he'd seen Esque running.

***

He hadn't slowed down. Not once. And when people started shaking their fists at him from their own cars, and Black Sticks waved their sticks at him, he just flipped them the bird and kept on roaring down the roads. He knew where she was going. She'd been begging him to go there, for weeks. And he always said 'no'. She was going to see all the fucking hobos down at the slums.

Pete growled, white-knuckling the steering wheel. Rudy was happily wagging his tail, like nothing was wrong.

Pete didn't even slow down when he spotted Esque, with some man holding onto her leg.

He kept on driving.

At the last second, he slammed on the brakes. The vehicle squealed and roared, and whined, and then pounded into the side of the kneeling man's body, sending him flying forward. It wasn't hard enough to kill the guy, but he was sure a leg or arm would be broken.

[Esque DaggerHair]

Esque shrieked as the stinky bum swore at her and grabbed her ankle, and her arms began to pinwheel to keep her balance as he tugged her closer. Ew. Ew. Ew. Ew. RAPE!

And there was Pete, coming to her rescue. . . Except he wasn't stopping, and his left headlight was broken. Shit.

Shrieking again as the limo screamed towards them, just barely braking, the impact with the rapist forces him to loosen his grip on her ankle and she goes flying as well. Only... upwards, and landing on the hood of the car. Ow.

"What the fuck?! You almost HIT me!"

She screamed at him as she lay there, on the hood, upper body pressed up against the windshield.

Pete bared his teeth in a snarl, and swung his right hand towards the back door, "Get. In. The. Car. NOW!"

Blinking, wide eyed, she shrinks back a bit before scowling and rolling off the hood to limp a bit towards her door, muttering obscenities under her breath. As she passes by his door, the window rolls down so fast it's practically a blur, his hand shooting out, fisting in her shirt, "You ever try that shit again and I'll leave you to the Scum you fucking brat." Rage colored every syllable of Pete's words and he shook her a little before releasing her, "Now get in the fucking car, sit down, and shut up until you get home or I swear to fuck I'm going to slap you."

Cringing, she makes a face and yanks open the door, ignoring her surroundings and especially the bum Pete just ran over as she throws herself into the seat, sulking.

"At least I got some nice pictures..."

[OOC: Joint post of awesome.]

[Rottanger Howell]

So engrossed was he in strangling the little bitch, that he'd completely missed the fact there was a giant black limo hurtling at him at a good thirty miles per hour. Maybe even more. He was just about to drag her down onto the gravel, and then get on top of her for a good choking scene, when the car slammed into his body so hard that it sent him reeling. Something in his body cracked. An arm? A leg? A finger? Maybe all three.

The wind knocked out of him, and he gasped for breath. The car was howling away before he could even get up off of the ground. And when he finally did manage the strength and oxygen supply to get up, he realized that all of the alcohol that was in his bottle had spilled out over the ground... soaked up into the dirt, and down deep into the radioactive earth.

He didn't know whether to laugh, cry, or scream.

Rottanger did the latter, and threw the bottle in the direction that the crazy driver had driven off in. "YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!" He started stomping, and holding his hurt arm. "FUCKING ASSHOLE." It was the only expression he could get out. Sinking deep down into his core, like the spilled alcohol seeped down into the ground, was the promise of revenge. Dark, angry green eyes narrowed. "Fucking asshole."