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La Envidia Mata RP
Topic Started: Apr 6 2010, 11:02 PM (40 Views)
The Corporation
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A lot of things were being burned lately. In addition to Tobias Devereux, Limp, Ronnie Long and Nathan Paradine that had a famously “hot” start, people are burning their old selves in hopes that they can shed some of the dreaded mold they have found themselves mercilessly trapped in. Now they're slithering around with a fresh coat of reptilian scales, leaving their dry cracked shells to fly away into the wind, swoop into La Envidia Mata's chimney, and collect in the pile of ashes.

La Envidia Mata watches as the miserable broom sweeps the ashes into the metal pan. Poor Pablo kneels in front of the fireplace to make sure he sweeps every last particle, keeping one eye on the task, the other on La Envidia Mata.

La Envidia Mata watches carefully as Pablo's distinguishably youthful Hispanic hands work over the black dust with a passion unparalleled by any of the others. La Envidia Mata notices something so sexual about Pablo's stance, his crouching and sweeping, his teenage hips gyrating, his pelvis thrusting with each successive stroke.

“It must be perfect for our meeting tonight.” La Envidia Mata says.

Pablo rises from the ash with a youthful stretch, and absconds with the darkness into the hallway.

If this were another year, Pablo might have very well slept in La Envidia Mata's room, at the foot of the bed on the floor. But La Envidia Mata has little interest in entertaining his servants now, though there is some urge that pokes at La Envidia Mata, perhaps in the loins, perhaps in his heart, that notices the commitment to Nothing that Pablo exhibits.

“Oh Pablo...” La Envidia Mata calls. Pablo quietly returns to the entry of the study, his head lowered in reverence.

“Yes sir?”

“Have you seen Mr. David Mata today?”

An awkward silence cuts through the room, dividing the two men. La Envidia Mata assumed frottage. It was not above David, he thought.

“No sir.” Pablo answers, lowering his head, and voice, in shame.

“You know Pablo...” La Envidia Mata begins, striding eerily across the room, running his fingers across the table, checking it for dust. “I saw you go into Mr. David Mata's room last night.”

“Yes sir.”

“What ever for?”

“Mr. David Mata... He asked for his pillow fluffed.”

Pablo's tan legs, plump calves, rub together in anxiety. His knees were buttery brown, and that very thought reminded La Envidia Mata of Limp.

“A pillow fluffing?” La Envidia Mata asks.

“Si.”

“And a pillow fluffing took an hour and a half?”

The sullen expression on Pablo's face stretches downward to the floor, the curves of his tight tanned lips withering in shame. La Envidia Mata places the back of his black leather hand to the side of Pablo's flawless bronze cheek.

“So soft.” La Envidia Mata says, leaning in and breathing his suffocating darkness into Pablo's mouth. Pablo reaches his hand up and pulls La Envidia Mata's hand away.

La Envidia Mata grabs Pablo's arms and shoves him against the wall. Pablo tries to break free, but to no avail. He is caught in the clutches of the demon, struggling with every ounce of strength to shatter the vice grip.

“I know what you've been doing...” La Envidia Mata says. “And David Mata is to have absolutely Nothing. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes.” Pablo responds meekly, struggling to muster a response.

La Envidia Mata releases Pablo's arms, and Pablo adjusts his clothes. Pablo sprints down the hallway at speed, looking back at La Envidia Mata before closing the door to the kitchen.

“Why did I laugh tonight?”

La Envidia Mata turns to see David Mata standing in front of him, a lit cigar in his left hand, a white bandage wrapped around his forehead, wearing a black gangster hat. David takes a long puff of his cigar, then blows the staunch smoke into the already miserably polluted air.

“Why did I laugh tonight? No voice will tell.”

The riddle fractures the part of La Envidia Mata's brain that makes any sense, and he begins pacing with a light head and weak legs around the table to the opposite side of the room, hoping to achieve some sort of balance.

John Keats. How clever for him to quote a man with such melancholy, La Envidia Mata thinks.

“No God, no Demon of severe response, deigns to reply from Heaven or from Hell.” David says, taking a seat in the black leather armoir, crossing one doleful leg over the other.

“Why look to Heaven or Hell? Your God and Demon rests before your very eyes, and within.” La Envidia Mata says, his eyes blurry, but focusing on a grotesque painting of a calvalryman with a knife through his throat, a maroon splatter upon the tan and dry cracked ground.

“Then to my human heart I turn at once. Heart! Thou and I are here sad and alone; I say, why did I laugh! Oh mortal pain! Oh Darkness! Darkness! ever must I moan, to question Heaven and Hell and Heart in vain.”

“But not in vain.” La Envidia Mata replies. “I know the reason why you laugh.”

“Why did I laugh?”

“Because you have finally found the meaning of life.”

A morose expression came over David's face, followed by a long puff of his cigar. He holds the cigar up in the air, pointing at the swirls of smoke.

“Verse, Fame, and Beauty are intense indeed, but Death intenser--Death is Life's high meed.”

“Because what is the meaning of existence?” La Envidia Mata asks.

“Nothing.” David replies.

La Envidia Mata turns from the painting and back at David, only to find David is holding a small revolver pointed at La Envidia Mata. La Envidia Mata drops to the floor, as David fires the gun. The bullet hits right between the eyes of the cavalryman in the painting.

David drops the gun on the floor and kicks it over to La Envidia Mata.

“Your turn.”

La Envidia Mata grabs the gun, and in a fury points it at David's chest.

“Go ahead.” David says, taking another puff of the cigar.

But La Envidia Mata cannot do it. He doesn't want to waste his bullet on nothing.

La Envidia Mata tosses the gun to the side, staring David Mata deep into the eyes.

“Suit yourself.” David says, digging into his coat pocket and retrieving another small revolver. He points it at La Envidia Mata again, but La Envidia Mata rushes forward and kicks it out of his hand. David slumps down in the chair.

If there were a priest around, perhaps an exorcism would have been in order for David. But then again, La Envidia Mata would not have approved.

“Envidia Mata.”

La Envidia Mata turns around to see Pablo, his shirt now missing, his hand holding a cellphone.

“Come here, Pablo.”

Pablo enters the room, and over to La Envidia Mata. He hands La Envidia Mata the phone. La Envidia Mata stares at Pablo.

“Take Mr. David Mata back to his room. He needs some rest.”

Pablo shakes his head in agreement as La Envidia Mata holds the phone up to his ear.

“Yes?”

“I have the duck. Where do you want her?”

“Return her.”

“Are you nuts?”

“He took the bait.”

Duck happened to be the code name of Sabby. She was of particular interest to La Envidia Mata this week due to her highly shameful bloodline.

It is unclear who gave the orders, or who came up with the plan, but it was certainly La Envidia Mata who was responsable for carrying it out. Manuel needed more money, to be able to compete, to regain full control of his company. La Envidia Mata mused over ways he could crawl under the skin of his opponents. So La Envidia Mata devised a plan that would serve both interests: He ordered the kidnapping of Angel The Malignant's sister in return for $150,000 in ransom money.

La Envidia Mata was a son of a b*tch, and he knew it. Angel The Malignant had already pledged the money into Manuel's bid, and La Envidia Mata ordered the almost safe return of Angel The Malignant's sister.

“She is to be unharmed... except for the pinky finger of her left hand. I want you to prick it for her blood.”

“Her blood?”

“Bring the blood to me.”

Perhaps some would say La Envidia Mata was looking for the blood of a virgin to cast another one of his gloomy spells upon the world. Others would question the logic of any female in the Angel The Malignant family being a virgin.

Whatever the case may be, he had successfully bullied Angel The Malignant into appeasing Manuel A. Diaria, and at the same time he will be receiving what he wanted from the deal.

“Don't forget to read her a passage from the bible.”

“Which one?”

“A particularly optimistic one.” La Envidia Mata says smiling, burning with godlessness, closing the flip phone and fluttering off into the darkness.

---Nothing.---
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