AlanB
The Help
- Location
- Canada
No matter how bright the sun was in Altis, random members of the crowd on the tarmac could be seen dropping their sunglasses to watch the white hair bob lightly up and down through it. It was so strange and uncommon, especially with how bright it was. They wanted to see if pink eyes accompanied it, but as the man's face would come into view, they would notice bright orange sunglasses adorning a grinning face. Looking at all of them as if he was challenging them. Almost everyone in the crowd went about their business when they saw the state of his suit - was that dried blood on his collar? As he moved, it would seem he simply melted through the crowd - he moved swiftly and slipped in between people as if they weren't there. Three men followed him, however, their eyes burrowed into the back of his head.
The attendant froze for a moment as she looked up from her paperwork to confront the creature shadowing her - she, like many, were caught off guard by the bright white hair but this time, the florescent sunglasses were on the top of his head. He leaned in close, and the first smell that hit her was oil, but it quickly faded into a light cologne. When he spoke to her, finally, his voice was soft and foreign - she noted that he pronounced "about" oddly.
"Alan Brenan, miss. I've got about one million pounds to my name that should've been transferred from Denmark."
The attendant blinked slightly, forgetting where she was for a moment before suddenly snapping out of it with a small apology, returning to her papers and pounding her keyboard furiously, embarrassed by being caught off guard. She double checked the numbers that came up on the screen, and with a confused apology, turned the monitor to him. The letters that screamed at the albino were "BOUNCED". His grin died entirely and he checked himself before revealing his anger, straightening up and brushing imaginary dust off of his worn suit. He nodded slightly, walking out with a measly one hundred thousand pounds in his wallet that Jason had given to him prior to the disbandment of the Royal Danish PMC. He noticed the faces of three individuals he had seen at the tarmac but put no thought to it - the sun was hot and he just wanted to get to Athira.
The sun was sweltering the albino's attitude as he walked towards the nearby city of Athira to try and get some sort of job and earn enough to get out of this hell hole. What he sincerely needed was a stiff drink, but the attendant squeaked to him that Altis was a rather dry province, only having one bar in Kavala, the western main city of Altis.
"Oy, freak!"
That was exactly what the albino didn't need. He stopped, turning his head only slightly to set his peripherals on the challenger. There were three people. The main one had a bat in hand, and seemed to be dressed the nicest of the raggedy bunch. The glare that followed would've scared them off if they didn't each have a weapon.
"Walkin' in to Athira like you be ownin' the place is how you get yerself turfed. There are bigger fish than you, freak."
The freak in name turned around, removing his sunglasses and slipping them in his ragged suitcase. Exposed to the sun, the pigment-absent eyes went bright and the pupils narrowed, creating an all to intimidating picture that checked the advances of the cronies surrounding the challenger, but were ushered on by an equally threatening glare from their boss. They kept on forward, readying their weapons. He recognized them as the three that had been following him, and he rummaged in his suitcase a little bit longer until...
BANG.
A newly made hole in the ground smoked profusely, and smoking ever so slightly was the barrel of a 4-five in the hands of the albino, who tilted his head ever so slightly at the three cronies. His eyes widened, exposing a slight madness working its magic underneath. The pistol only had one round left, but that was not for them to decipher. They paused, much akin to a deer in headlights, their instinct of fight of flight battling itself and causing a slight pause. Only moments ago, they had the upper hand, but this changed everything. But if they ran, their boss would -- Oh, he's gone.
Like that, the albino had scared off three criminals looking to mark territory on a weary and pissed off albino. He continued his venture, slipping the pistol back into his suitcase and replacing his sunglasses. He arrived in the city and asked around and was shown to a peach orchard - a local farmer needed a couple batches and would pay fair wages for fair work. He rented himself a pick-up and off he set to make meagre money - he was more in it to start his networking. Of course, he would not network long.
A black pick-up rolled up to him as he was slaving away at the peach orchard. Three men leaped out of the back and the albino's own fight or flight worked just fine - he huffed it to his truck and jumped through the open window into the driver's seat, taking off with a squeal of the tires. He looked back to see that the offroad was very close behind - he could hear hoot and holler behind him and he rammed his foot deeply into the gas pedal. The sun was bright, god was it ever...
PTSHHH~
The fucking tyres. He slid his hand into his suitcase and wrapped his pale hands around the grip and got out, taking a stance and aiming it straight at the oncoming truck. He levelled it straight at the face of the driver, who realized his circumstance and questioned the albino's ability to hit him, an ability that became easier with each metre that they approached. Taking this into heart, he swerved at the right time and the albino's gun rang out and took out the passenger instead. The driver felt oddly relieved, despite the passenger being his brother in arms. He slid the truck in front of the albino and the same three from earlier leaped out with their bats and went on the offensive.
Now, the albino was no push-over, but he had not slept since he had arrived and he had been slaving away for hours at the orchard in the sun. On a good day, he could've taken three untrained thugs with bats. Not so without getting hurt, but he'd hurt them sufficiently enough for them to quit their attempts. The first overzealous thug was knocked out, but the remainder smartened up and approached cautiously, pushing him back into his useless truck. He gripped the barrel of his pistol tightly, waiting for an opening to lash out and bury the grip into someone's skull.
None came. Pain did, though. Bats to the face, belly, groin - that general mistreatment. Next came a burlap sack over his head and tight ropes binding his wrists. Oh, and a very uncomfortable seat in the back of their pickup. The metal was wet with mud from boots and what he gandered was some of his own blood and the blood of the corpse he had felt beside him. The irony in sharing a blood puddle with the man he'd just killed dawned on him and he reprimanded himself quietly.
"That's what 'e gets fer fuckin' with the Miners."
"Shut up, sod, they ain't even let you in."
"They will when I show 'em this freak."
The burlap sack went up for a moment, but two fingers pressed deeply into his eye sockets deterred their opening. He heard some laughing, a small pop and suddenly his face was being smeared in something that smelled very meaty. That was definitely a strange practice and he did not dare begin to think of what it could be. Instead, he gathered his strength and, turning his head, kicked himself upwards, sending his skull into the area the first voice came from, and was pleased to hear a crunch followed by a guttural scream. The albino stood up, and what he did next will ensure the thugs never take for granted the bravery of pissed off albinos. And bind feet.
"This is my stop!"
This albino had spent his youth leaping off of trains to avoid consequence. He knew how to tuck and roll. He just never had to do it with what he gandered was a concussion, broken ribs and a swollen face. When he did leap, he swore profusely, and before he had gotten to the letter E in the alphabet, he was submerged painfully in water. The burlap sack slipped off and he kicked to the surface. Air felt good, and he looked over to the place he had jumped from to see that it was a slight lip over a basin of water. He didn't want to hear the squealing of tires. He simply ran. Ran faster than a man should with the pain he had ripping into him from his legs.
"This is not Canada."
The attendant froze for a moment as she looked up from her paperwork to confront the creature shadowing her - she, like many, were caught off guard by the bright white hair but this time, the florescent sunglasses were on the top of his head. He leaned in close, and the first smell that hit her was oil, but it quickly faded into a light cologne. When he spoke to her, finally, his voice was soft and foreign - she noted that he pronounced "about" oddly.
"Alan Brenan, miss. I've got about one million pounds to my name that should've been transferred from Denmark."
The attendant blinked slightly, forgetting where she was for a moment before suddenly snapping out of it with a small apology, returning to her papers and pounding her keyboard furiously, embarrassed by being caught off guard. She double checked the numbers that came up on the screen, and with a confused apology, turned the monitor to him. The letters that screamed at the albino were "BOUNCED". His grin died entirely and he checked himself before revealing his anger, straightening up and brushing imaginary dust off of his worn suit. He nodded slightly, walking out with a measly one hundred thousand pounds in his wallet that Jason had given to him prior to the disbandment of the Royal Danish PMC. He noticed the faces of three individuals he had seen at the tarmac but put no thought to it - the sun was hot and he just wanted to get to Athira.
The sun was sweltering the albino's attitude as he walked towards the nearby city of Athira to try and get some sort of job and earn enough to get out of this hell hole. What he sincerely needed was a stiff drink, but the attendant squeaked to him that Altis was a rather dry province, only having one bar in Kavala, the western main city of Altis.
"Oy, freak!"
That was exactly what the albino didn't need. He stopped, turning his head only slightly to set his peripherals on the challenger. There were three people. The main one had a bat in hand, and seemed to be dressed the nicest of the raggedy bunch. The glare that followed would've scared them off if they didn't each have a weapon.
"Walkin' in to Athira like you be ownin' the place is how you get yerself turfed. There are bigger fish than you, freak."
The freak in name turned around, removing his sunglasses and slipping them in his ragged suitcase. Exposed to the sun, the pigment-absent eyes went bright and the pupils narrowed, creating an all to intimidating picture that checked the advances of the cronies surrounding the challenger, but were ushered on by an equally threatening glare from their boss. They kept on forward, readying their weapons. He recognized them as the three that had been following him, and he rummaged in his suitcase a little bit longer until...
BANG.
A newly made hole in the ground smoked profusely, and smoking ever so slightly was the barrel of a 4-five in the hands of the albino, who tilted his head ever so slightly at the three cronies. His eyes widened, exposing a slight madness working its magic underneath. The pistol only had one round left, but that was not for them to decipher. They paused, much akin to a deer in headlights, their instinct of fight of flight battling itself and causing a slight pause. Only moments ago, they had the upper hand, but this changed everything. But if they ran, their boss would -- Oh, he's gone.
Like that, the albino had scared off three criminals looking to mark territory on a weary and pissed off albino. He continued his venture, slipping the pistol back into his suitcase and replacing his sunglasses. He arrived in the city and asked around and was shown to a peach orchard - a local farmer needed a couple batches and would pay fair wages for fair work. He rented himself a pick-up and off he set to make meagre money - he was more in it to start his networking. Of course, he would not network long.
A black pick-up rolled up to him as he was slaving away at the peach orchard. Three men leaped out of the back and the albino's own fight or flight worked just fine - he huffed it to his truck and jumped through the open window into the driver's seat, taking off with a squeal of the tires. He looked back to see that the offroad was very close behind - he could hear hoot and holler behind him and he rammed his foot deeply into the gas pedal. The sun was bright, god was it ever...
PTSHHH~
The fucking tyres. He slid his hand into his suitcase and wrapped his pale hands around the grip and got out, taking a stance and aiming it straight at the oncoming truck. He levelled it straight at the face of the driver, who realized his circumstance and questioned the albino's ability to hit him, an ability that became easier with each metre that they approached. Taking this into heart, he swerved at the right time and the albino's gun rang out and took out the passenger instead. The driver felt oddly relieved, despite the passenger being his brother in arms. He slid the truck in front of the albino and the same three from earlier leaped out with their bats and went on the offensive.
Now, the albino was no push-over, but he had not slept since he had arrived and he had been slaving away for hours at the orchard in the sun. On a good day, he could've taken three untrained thugs with bats. Not so without getting hurt, but he'd hurt them sufficiently enough for them to quit their attempts. The first overzealous thug was knocked out, but the remainder smartened up and approached cautiously, pushing him back into his useless truck. He gripped the barrel of his pistol tightly, waiting for an opening to lash out and bury the grip into someone's skull.
None came. Pain did, though. Bats to the face, belly, groin - that general mistreatment. Next came a burlap sack over his head and tight ropes binding his wrists. Oh, and a very uncomfortable seat in the back of their pickup. The metal was wet with mud from boots and what he gandered was some of his own blood and the blood of the corpse he had felt beside him. The irony in sharing a blood puddle with the man he'd just killed dawned on him and he reprimanded himself quietly.
"That's what 'e gets fer fuckin' with the Miners."
"Shut up, sod, they ain't even let you in."
"They will when I show 'em this freak."
The burlap sack went up for a moment, but two fingers pressed deeply into his eye sockets deterred their opening. He heard some laughing, a small pop and suddenly his face was being smeared in something that smelled very meaty. That was definitely a strange practice and he did not dare begin to think of what it could be. Instead, he gathered his strength and, turning his head, kicked himself upwards, sending his skull into the area the first voice came from, and was pleased to hear a crunch followed by a guttural scream. The albino stood up, and what he did next will ensure the thugs never take for granted the bravery of pissed off albinos. And bind feet.
"This is my stop!"
This albino had spent his youth leaping off of trains to avoid consequence. He knew how to tuck and roll. He just never had to do it with what he gandered was a concussion, broken ribs and a swollen face. When he did leap, he swore profusely, and before he had gotten to the letter E in the alphabet, he was submerged painfully in water. The burlap sack slipped off and he kicked to the surface. Air felt good, and he looked over to the place he had jumped from to see that it was a slight lip over a basin of water. He didn't want to hear the squealing of tires. He simply ran. Ran faster than a man should with the pain he had ripping into him from his legs.
"This is not Canada."
To be continued~ c:
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