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Nazareth Awakened [Mage: The Awakening] [OOC]
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<blockquote data-quote="Mosier" data-source="post: 6301729" data-attributes="member: 6776381"><p>Orlando sits at a dimly-lit diner, across from a Nazareth cop. The cop wears a badge that proudly reads "R. Corbaley 1411". The place is run-down even by the loose standards of this miserable desert town. Corbaley has a most unfortunate face, through no fault of his genetics. Corbaley had earned his ugliness through too many years of booze, bar fights, and scowling too hard, to look tough. </p><p></p><p>"No more games,<em> <span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><em><span style="font-family: 'arial'"><em>esé</em>,</span>" </em></span></em>Corbaley says with derision. "Hand it over. Now."</p><p></p><p>Orlando stares back, unimpressed by the cop's bravado. "Tough guy, huh? You know, I could give this to any cop in Nazareth. Or, you can say you're sorry, and I'll make sure the <em>right</em> cop gets it."</p><p></p><p>"Bull," Corbaley spits. "You'd go to jail."</p><p></p><p>"Been there," Orlando replies. For a long time, the two engage in a battle of patience, eyes locked. Finally, Corbaley scoffs. </p><p></p><p>"Just what in the hell am I supposed to be sorry for, anyway?"</p><p></p><p>"For insulting my heritage," Orlando says. "White boys aren't allowed to say <em><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="font-family: 'arial'">esé. </span></span></em>Now say you're sorry."</p><p></p><p>"Bull," Corbaley repeats. "Just hand it over."</p><p></p><p>Orlando laughs at Corbaley's discomfort. "You act like this is your first time," Orlando says. "Look at you. You're sweating! I thought you were experienced in this type of thing. You know, stalking women. Stealing mail." He hands over an envelope addressed to Rachel Parker, which Corbaley greedily snatches from his hands. "It's her bank statement. Do whatever you want with it, I don't care."</p><p></p><p>Corbaley tucks the envelope in his jacket and shoots a twisted look at Orlando. "You know you don't deserve her," he says. The tone is strange. He sounds almost desperate. Like a prisoner begging for mercy. </p><p></p><p>"I know I don't."</p><p></p><p><span style="color: #ff0000"><em>He's actually angry, you know.</em></span></p><p></p><p>"So why don't you do us all a favor, and just get outta' here? Stop wasting her time. There's gotta be someone else you can leech off of."</p><p></p><p>Orlando stares blankly in response. </p><p></p><p><em><span style="color: #ff0000">This man just paid a thief to steal a woman's mail, and yet he has contempt for the thief. Delicious hypocrisy.</span></em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em></em>"What the hell are you looking at?" the cop demands. </p><p></p><p>"Er...nothing. Sorry," Orlando mutters in response. </p><p></p><p><span style="color: #ff0000"><em>He chases her desperately. He aches for her. But what will he do if he catches her? He doesn't even know.</em></span></p><p><span style="color: #ff0000"><em></em></span></p><p><span style="color: #ff0000"><em></em></span>"I should go," Orlando says, suddenly realizing he's been blankly staring at Corbaley for an uncomfortably long time. </p><p></p><p>"Yeah, you should." <span style="color: #ff0000"><em>"W</em></span><span style="color: #ff0000"><em>eirdo." </em></span></p><p><span style="color: #ff0000"><em></em></span></p><p><span style="color: #ff0000"><em>He's afraid of you. He's suddenly realized you could end his career. He regrets dealing with you now. He's fantasizing about how to be rid of you. You're dangerous. You're unstable. You're unreliable. You're not afraid of jail, but he is. After all, he's got a career. He's <u>somebody</u>. You're just a worthless piece of crap who just might be spiteful enough to take everyone with you when you go.</em></span></p><p><span style="color: #ff0000"><em></em></span></p><p><span style="color: #ff0000"><em></em></span>Corbaley isn't here anymore. Nobody is. Orlando is in an empty alley, miles from the diner. Why the hell is he in an empty alley, miles from the diner? Why is the sun setting in the middle of the night? </p><p></p><p>Or is it rising?</p><p></p><p><span style="color: #ff0000"><em>You want to know the worst part?</em></span></p><p></p><p>"What?" Orlando replies, suddenly very confused, and very, very afraid. </p><p></p><p><span style="color: #ff0000"><em>He's right.</em></span></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Mosier, post: 6301729, member: 6776381"] Orlando sits at a dimly-lit diner, across from a Nazareth cop. The cop wears a badge that proudly reads "R. Corbaley 1411". The place is run-down even by the loose standards of this miserable desert town. Corbaley has a most unfortunate face, through no fault of his genetics. Corbaley had earned his ugliness through too many years of booze, bar fights, and scowling too hard, to look tough. "No more games,[I] [FONT=Verdana][I][FONT=arial][I]esé[/I],[/FONT]" [/I][/FONT][/I]Corbaley says with derision. "Hand it over. Now." Orlando stares back, unimpressed by the cop's bravado. "Tough guy, huh? You know, I could give this to any cop in Nazareth. Or, you can say you're sorry, and I'll make sure the [I]right[/I] cop gets it." "Bull," Corbaley spits. "You'd go to jail." "Been there," Orlando replies. For a long time, the two engage in a battle of patience, eyes locked. Finally, Corbaley scoffs. "Just what in the hell am I supposed to be sorry for, anyway?" "For insulting my heritage," Orlando says. "White boys aren't allowed to say [I][FONT=Verdana][FONT=arial]esé. [/FONT][/FONT][/I]Now say you're sorry." "Bull," Corbaley repeats. "Just hand it over." Orlando laughs at Corbaley's discomfort. "You act like this is your first time," Orlando says. "Look at you. You're sweating! I thought you were experienced in this type of thing. You know, stalking women. Stealing mail." He hands over an envelope addressed to Rachel Parker, which Corbaley greedily snatches from his hands. "It's her bank statement. Do whatever you want with it, I don't care." Corbaley tucks the envelope in his jacket and shoots a twisted look at Orlando. "You know you don't deserve her," he says. The tone is strange. He sounds almost desperate. Like a prisoner begging for mercy. "I know I don't." [COLOR=#ff0000][I]He's actually angry, you know.[/I][/COLOR] "So why don't you do us all a favor, and just get outta' here? Stop wasting her time. There's gotta be someone else you can leech off of." Orlando stares blankly in response. [I][COLOR=#ff0000]This man just paid a thief to steal a woman's mail, and yet he has contempt for the thief. Delicious hypocrisy.[/COLOR] [/I]"What the hell are you looking at?" the cop demands. "Er...nothing. Sorry," Orlando mutters in response. [COLOR=#ff0000][I]He chases her desperately. He aches for her. But what will he do if he catches her? He doesn't even know. [/I][/COLOR]"I should go," Orlando says, suddenly realizing he's been blankly staring at Corbaley for an uncomfortably long time. "Yeah, you should." [COLOR=#ff0000][I]"W[/I][/COLOR][COLOR=#ff0000][I]eirdo." He's afraid of you. He's suddenly realized you could end his career. He regrets dealing with you now. He's fantasizing about how to be rid of you. You're dangerous. You're unstable. You're unreliable. You're not afraid of jail, but he is. After all, he's got a career. He's [U]somebody[/U]. You're just a worthless piece of crap who just might be spiteful enough to take everyone with you when you go. [/I][/COLOR]Corbaley isn't here anymore. Nobody is. Orlando is in an empty alley, miles from the diner. Why the hell is he in an empty alley, miles from the diner? Why is the sun setting in the middle of the night? Or is it rising? [COLOR=#ff0000][I]You want to know the worst part?[/I][/COLOR] "What?" Orlando replies, suddenly very confused, and very, very afraid. [COLOR=#ff0000][I]He's right.[/I][/COLOR] [/QUOTE]
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