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Mata Lećo; Private
Topic Started: Jan 23 2014, 10:44 PM (1,460 Views)
Outfoxd
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[ *  *  *  *  * ]
((Paulo Abbate continued from What Now?))

He had drive, motivation, but little in the way of direction. Paulo wandered in a fog, sure of a goal but moving for want of a place to accomplish the goal. They had said that Max had bit it near where Rosemary had went, but he wasn't entirely sure where that was.

His trajectory took him through town, to the overpass. Somewhere in his haze he must have decided having a higher vantage point would be an advantage.

But when he got there, he found himself as scarce on direction as before. He could see parts of the island, sure. But nothing worth a fuck.

Paulo leaned on the guardrail flanking one side of the dilapidated bridge, shaking his head.

"Well..." He said, but the sound of his own voice shocked him into silence.

Anger was hard to deal with when there wasn't an object to focus it on. This anger, sans Max, was inelegant, nebulous, confusing. Beyond the boy's grasp, save the inkling he wanted to hit something and didn't have anybody to hit. So Paulo did his best to stifle it while he took up real estate on the bridge, trying and failing to decide what to do.
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Outfoxd
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Oh shit

The 2X4, Paulo's only ally since leaving the two girls behind, had been resting on the guardrail next to him. When the of somone who probably had lost just about all of their shit rang out clearly further down the bridge, the piece of lumber was in his hand as he whirled to face whoever it was, intent on bashing him into fucking powder.

He didn't know the kid that was walking up. Paulo might have tried to sell him on his testicular fortitude at one time or another. It all ran together at this point. Everything did, given the situation. But in any case, he made Paulo nervous. And when Paulo got nervous, Paulo got angry.

"Stay the fuck back, man!" He said, pointing at the kid with the 2X4. He took a step back, setting his weight.
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Outfoxd
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Paulo had developed a little bit since seeing people die in front of him. But there's only so much a few days can breed out of a kid with a chip on his shoulder. This, coupled with Paulo's less than optimal state, is what led to his next move.

His chest puffed out, and a little of the "bad motherfucker" that used to wander the halls out of Aurora High school came back. The 2X4 fell as his ego rose.

"Thats right. Go your motherfucking way. Don't wanna fuck with me right now, homeboy."
Edited by Outfoxd, Aug 20 2014, 03:14 PM.
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Paulo had started to turn when his territorial dance seemed to be respected. But then the kid talked again.

Normal circumstances, if this was an Aurora hallway, if everything was normal and Paulo was just heading to class (or planning to skip class) he would have kept walking, his alpha-male satisfied.

But he had been through some shit. And shit had a way of sticking.

Paulo turned back.

"Fuck did you say, puto?" He said. He moved closer to the boy, within striking range. He stuck a hand out, and jabbed his finger right into his sternum. It would the first of many mistakes that would cost Paulo his life.
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Paulo yanked his hand back, teeth clenched. At some point he had lost his weapon. But he still had hands.

The right hand, the one that Ian hadn't grabbed, went sailing through the air, on a violent trajectory.

Paulo opened his mouth to say something, but only snarled.

Terminal velocity had been achieved.

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Kid was playing with fire, grabbing Paulo, and the half-brazilian boy knew it. He would have grinned if he wasn't so fucking mad.

To anyone watching, it was two boys falling clumsily to the ground. In Paulo's mind he was a UFC champion, working a perfect outside trip. As it stood he barely got an ankle behind Ian's leg. The only reason they fell was because both boys failed to retain anything even resembling balance.

Paulo landed in what might have charitably been called a half-guard. Paulo couldn't even think of any sweet submissions or guard passes or whatever he spent his evenings watching on youtube, so absolute was his emotional state. So he settled for hugging Ian's body with his left arm and throwing arcing, short punches into his ribs.

Each punch made him feel like more of a man. Like he was worth something. He hoped his dad was watching.
Edited by Outfoxd, Aug 20 2014, 03:16 PM.
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Paulo rolled off. He took a little time crawling to his feet. The exchange had taken a toll on his less-than-stellar cardio. That was cool, though. Paulo saw as he looked back at Ian, slumped against the guardrail, that he was easy pickings.

Here was a problem Paulo could solve. Here was someone he could deal with. Becca had died when he was away. Someone else had died in front of him because of a collar. A fucking collar.

But Ian here? Paulo could beat his ass for a little bit longer and feel better. Regain some of the control that had slipped so readily from him.

Paulo growled and lunged, intending to drive Ian further into the guardrail with his body weight.

Edited by Outfoxd, Feb 1 2014, 11:05 AM.
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There was Ian. And then there was no Ian. There was purpose, and then there was nothing. Nothing but hundreds of feet to the ground.

Paulo was thrown over the edge of the bridge so suddenly he didn't have time to scream.

For a life that had been predicated on bluster and dramatics, the end came with relative silence. There was only a thud and a crack as the boy landed.

Paulo Abbate: Deceased
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