That'll be all. Drogon's tone was dismissive as he shooed away the waiter, his eyes cold and apathetic even as the young man smiled at him. The waiter turned awkwardly, seeming offended. Drogon didn't care though. He rarely cared anymore. Drogon was happy for the solitude. His life had been so filled with drama, so overflowing with unwarranted company. He found himself becoming more and more opposed to the nature of humanity given how useless and mundane it all seemed. What he wanted was freedom - to be unapologetic and uncensored. It was just in the way it had all worked out. Everyone had their role to play and Drogon's mask was that of a criminal. He had been held behind bars, chased by the authorities in more than one country and never at peace. He often jested that he was this way as a result of the societal structure, of societal evolution. In reality, he just was rebellious at heart.
The steaming cup of fresh, hot coffee smelled full-bodied and rich as its enticing aroma filled his nostrils. He eyed it, unsure if it had been the right decision to order a caffeine-laden this late at night. He moved the saucer close to him, peering down into the mocha-colored abyss inside the porcelain cup.
Lost in thought, he barely noticed that the man he'd been waiting for had finally arrived and was already seated across from him. He cleared his throat, but Drogon only gave him a slight nod to acknowledge his presence. Well? Drogon lifted the cup to his lips and sipped, testing the heat of the coffee on the tip of his tongue before accepting its temperature and enjoying a full gulp.
The overweight, balding man shifted nervously in his seat. I-I'm n-n-not sure I can get you what you... w-wanted... He used his right index finger to push his thick-rimmed glasses up the broad bridge of his nose. What you-re asking f-for... it's illegal, Mr. Drake. He seemed proud of himself for having spoken his piece, relieved to be rid of the bad news, yet anxious for what sort of reaction said news would enact.
Drogon's smile was slow and methodical. Clearly the grin was not meant in good-humor, but rather given as a warning. He shook his head, his intense blue eyes rising from under the hood of his lids to regard the scum across from him with an icy stare. No, no. Never call me that. He raised his head, his nose slightly upturned so that his gaze was tilted downward as though to remind the smarmy lawyer who was the alpha here. Now, what do you mean you can't get me what I wanted. He took another long drink from his coffee. Perhaps you need a reality check. What I asked of you to do was to succeed. Not try and fail. It was not an option. Drogon's voice deepened, the sadistic smile gone and replaced with stone. It was a demand.
The lawyer was sweating, his cheeks flushing and his eyes darting nervous glances at the door. The sumptuous restaurant was abuzz with energy. Drogon had chosen an overtly public location, partially to enjoy the atmosphere and partially as a strategy. The lawyer was surrounded by people, some of which would most likely be inclined to assist him if they felt he was in trouble. At the same time, however, Drogon knew this man feared him, feared what he was capable of. The more people that were around, the more alone the man would feel. And Drogon wanted him to feel forsaken by everyone, to know that his life rested in Drogon's unreliable hands. It was the price this man of the law paid for having dealings with a devil.
You're going to make this deal happen. If you don't, I'll slice you from pelvis to throat and burn your innards before your eyes. Drogon's voice was nonchalant. The man's eyes widened in terror, but he had the good sense to nod emphatically. You have two days.
The lawyer parted his lips to speak, but a jumble of stuttered, incoherent gibberish poured out. But... that's impossible! He was panicking, which Drogon found amusing. Please, sir... T-that's completely unrealistic.
Drogon shrugged. You're lucky I'm even granting you that much time. My last lawyer had 24 hours. I'm giving you 48. You should be thanking me for my generosity.
The well-dressed man was entirely distressed. P-p-please. he whispered.
You're pathetic, you know that? Drogon snorted a short, abrasive laugh. Do it, or I will systematically destroy your life. I'll take all that I have given. And then I will take your job. And your loved ones. And when you have endured more misery than you every though possible to bear, I will take your life. Slowly. Very slowly. Drogon could feel the beginnings of his temper rising inside of him. Do I make myself clear, or would you prefer I go into more detail?
The sickly looking man was defeated, and his previously vigorous nod had turned into an almost nonexistent shake. I u-understand, Mr. Dra... sir. I will do as you wish. May I go now?
Drogon's smile returned, pleasant in its appearance. Of course. I was rather hoping you would. You can't move your *** on a task when you're sitting on it. Drogon stood, giving unspoken permission for his companion to do the same, extending his arm for a handshake. As the lawyer met Drogon's grip, Drogon powerfully pulled the man close, so that his mouth was near his sweat-dappled ear. Don't forget what I said. He pulled back once more, Two. Days. He released the man's hand and sat down, watching him depart in hurried silence. Drogon returned to his coffee and began to once again relax back into his thoughts.
The steaming cup of fresh, hot coffee smelled full-bodied and rich as its enticing aroma filled his nostrils. He eyed it, unsure if it had been the right decision to order a caffeine-laden this late at night. He moved the saucer close to him, peering down into the mocha-colored abyss inside the porcelain cup.
Lost in thought, he barely noticed that the man he'd been waiting for had finally arrived and was already seated across from him. He cleared his throat, but Drogon only gave him a slight nod to acknowledge his presence. Well? Drogon lifted the cup to his lips and sipped, testing the heat of the coffee on the tip of his tongue before accepting its temperature and enjoying a full gulp.
The overweight, balding man shifted nervously in his seat. I-I'm n-n-not sure I can get you what you... w-wanted... He used his right index finger to push his thick-rimmed glasses up the broad bridge of his nose. What you-re asking f-for... it's illegal, Mr. Drake. He seemed proud of himself for having spoken his piece, relieved to be rid of the bad news, yet anxious for what sort of reaction said news would enact.
Drogon's smile was slow and methodical. Clearly the grin was not meant in good-humor, but rather given as a warning. He shook his head, his intense blue eyes rising from under the hood of his lids to regard the scum across from him with an icy stare. No, no. Never call me that. He raised his head, his nose slightly upturned so that his gaze was tilted downward as though to remind the smarmy lawyer who was the alpha here. Now, what do you mean you can't get me what I wanted. He took another long drink from his coffee. Perhaps you need a reality check. What I asked of you to do was to succeed. Not try and fail. It was not an option. Drogon's voice deepened, the sadistic smile gone and replaced with stone. It was a demand.
The lawyer was sweating, his cheeks flushing and his eyes darting nervous glances at the door. The sumptuous restaurant was abuzz with energy. Drogon had chosen an overtly public location, partially to enjoy the atmosphere and partially as a strategy. The lawyer was surrounded by people, some of which would most likely be inclined to assist him if they felt he was in trouble. At the same time, however, Drogon knew this man feared him, feared what he was capable of. The more people that were around, the more alone the man would feel. And Drogon wanted him to feel forsaken by everyone, to know that his life rested in Drogon's unreliable hands. It was the price this man of the law paid for having dealings with a devil.
You're going to make this deal happen. If you don't, I'll slice you from pelvis to throat and burn your innards before your eyes. Drogon's voice was nonchalant. The man's eyes widened in terror, but he had the good sense to nod emphatically. You have two days.
The lawyer parted his lips to speak, but a jumble of stuttered, incoherent gibberish poured out. But... that's impossible! He was panicking, which Drogon found amusing. Please, sir... T-that's completely unrealistic.
Drogon shrugged. You're lucky I'm even granting you that much time. My last lawyer had 24 hours. I'm giving you 48. You should be thanking me for my generosity.
The well-dressed man was entirely distressed. P-p-please. he whispered.
You're pathetic, you know that? Drogon snorted a short, abrasive laugh. Do it, or I will systematically destroy your life. I'll take all that I have given. And then I will take your job. And your loved ones. And when you have endured more misery than you every though possible to bear, I will take your life. Slowly. Very slowly. Drogon could feel the beginnings of his temper rising inside of him. Do I make myself clear, or would you prefer I go into more detail?
The sickly looking man was defeated, and his previously vigorous nod had turned into an almost nonexistent shake. I u-understand, Mr. Dra... sir. I will do as you wish. May I go now?
Drogon's smile returned, pleasant in its appearance. Of course. I was rather hoping you would. You can't move your *** on a task when you're sitting on it. Drogon stood, giving unspoken permission for his companion to do the same, extending his arm for a handshake. As the lawyer met Drogon's grip, Drogon powerfully pulled the man close, so that his mouth was near his sweat-dappled ear. Don't forget what I said. He pulled back once more, Two. Days. He released the man's hand and sat down, watching him depart in hurried silence. Drogon returned to his coffee and began to once again relax back into his thoughts.
