Birds of a Feather

In a clean, imposing lobby sat a lone man dressed in white. He was so pale his clothes almost blended into his flesh; indeed, earlier he had been almost invisible against the lobby's pristine white walls as he had walked inside. He chewed something, perhaps tobacco, as he stared at the magazine with a bored expression. How he wished his client would get here already.

He toyed with his many ear piercings, glancing around the room; no one had the blue pin on his lapel that his client was supposed to be wearing. How annoying; he despised client tardiness. This bastard had better pay well.

Brushing his long, pale bangs out of his face, he went back to reading some bullshit article about European cuisine. As if he gave a shit.

Luckily, a man wearing a blue pin entered the room just seconds later. He looked incredibly nervous, probably due to the fact that he had just hired two assassins who he knew wouldn't be happy to be told they were working together.

Unluckily for the man in white, a man in black found the client first. He approached him, towering over him due to his height, and smiled.

"Hello, Mister client." He smiled widely. "It seems I'm not the only one who has been hired for this job. How many others? One? Five?"

The client gasped.

"P-please, hear me out..."

"Oh," The man just smiled wider. "I plan to. But I do not like people who deceive me."

The poor, nervous man just began to sweat profusely.

Seeing the man with the blue pin on his lapel, the man in white spat his gum into the magazine and strode quickly across the room. His legs where short, but he was fast; within seconds, he was standing in between his client and the imposing man in black.

"Is there a problem here?" he asked in a boy's voice, for he was only a teenager. "I'm afraid this man and I have some business together--if you don't leave, I will make you leave. Это понятно?"

"I'm sorry, is this man your client, too?" Crow asked sweetly. "Well, let him just explain about how he hired, oh, how many people was it again...? Five...?"

"Just two!" The client insisted, pouring sweat at this point. "I only hired you two!"

Only mildly disgusted by the man's glandular problem, Crow took a small step back.

The boy in white examined the man in black, feeling his anger boil over at the words. After a moment, he turned back to his client.

"Listen, sir, I don't know who or what you think I am, but you hired the wrong kind of entertainment." He inconspicuously pressed against the man's side, a gun held to his liver from under his jacket. "I was told this was a hit, not a bachelor party. Are you fucking with me? I don't think you want to, сука."

He completely ignored the other man; he was, after all, obviously a whore of some kind. His clothes were trendy in the most obnoxious way, and he wore his hair in some kind of retarded partially shaved ponytail--what kind of asshole did that? And the completely black outfit, what a fucking poser. There was probably no meaning behind it other than he wanted to look "edgy" for his johns.

How he hated prostitutes. They didn't respect the concept of love--they just sold their bodies willingly. They were more than sexual whores--they were spiritual whores. The people who would rot in hell first. He was sure of it.

Crow rolled his eyes.

"Excuse the tact of the young assassino, shall we adjourn to your room so we can discuss this matter in private?" Crow offered, crossing his arms over his chest.

He glanced at the man in white, obviously highly amused by his outburst. He wished he spoke Russian, because it would be amusing to know what he was saying. Unfortunately, Russian was something he had never learned. Now he was regretting it.

Their sweaty client nodded, swallowing roughly. "P-please, let us discuss this somewhere else..."

"No," he growled, pressing the gun into the man's side again. "I will not be part of such filthy lechery--I am an assassin. Now tell me--did you hire me to kill someone, or should I just kill you? Shame to see your guts on such nice, white floors."

Of course, he had no real intention of killing the man, as much as he wanted to. It was far too messy; this lobby was swarming with witnesses. He wanted a name as an assassin, not a criminal. Besides, he wasn't about to stain his nice white clothes.

"O-of course that's what I did! I hired both of you to kill someone!" He whispered hoarsely. He coughed into his hands, looking frightfully close to tears.

Crow just sighed, tapping his foot impatiently.

"Mister, if you don't mind, I would like to get the details for my mission, and you are impeding that. If you do not wish to take the offer, then leave." He said, to the man in white. He was growing tired of this charade. "I'm far too busy to let you play with my client."

"Lead the way," he said to the client, only acknowledging the man in black by inconspicuously stepping on his foot and elbowing him in the gut. That'd teach him to sell his body--what a sinning piece of filth.

Crow sighed to himself. This was going to suck. Either way, he followed his client up to the room, immediately sitting down on one of the chairs and raising his legs onto the table. It felt good to sit down again.

"Talk." He demanded, as the client shut the door. "I'm sick of waiting."

"You think you're sick of waiting," snarled the boy in white. "Get on with it, client--I don't have a patient trigger-finger. If I take out the whore, it'll be a clean job."

Though there was more than one chair, he didn't sit down. He refused to sit near such filth, after all.

The client explained the situation. It was a simple, straight forward assassination job. The target needed to die, as he was stopping their client from advancing at his job. He refused to give him a raise, because then his job would be at stake. So, their client wanted him dead.

Of course, he had military training. Marines, to be precise. Which made the job slightly more high profile than it was.

"Great." Crow replied, standing up. "Now, tell me the details of his life. I want to know everything. His hobbies, his family. Ooh, his love life. Give me any details you got."

The boy in white stood up, disabling the safety on his gun.

"I'll see you суки later--I have a job to do. I want my payment in cash." He made his way to the door, "accidentally" bumping into Crow's shoulder as he walked.

Crow waved to him, not caring if he noticed or not.

-x-

The job was done. It had been simple and easy. Much, much less frustrating than he had expected, too. The man was an old marine, meaning he was out of practice. He had been easy to kill. It would look like a suicide and everything.

He stood a few feet away, examining his work. This was one of his best, he decided.

The boy in white sprung out from under the desk, tackling Crow.

"That was my kill!" he his, swinging at his face. "How dare a whore like you get in in my way!"

Crow, who had actually not noticed he had been there, was artful in quite easily flipping him over and pinning him down.

"Now, now, where have you been hiding?" He asked, grinning widely. "You must have been in here long enough to hear all of my little fun with our target, hmmm? Why didn't you come out? We could have had fun together."

He licked his lips, leaning closer to the younger man.

"You seem to think I'm some sort of whore, but I guess I can't help being this sexy, can I? I can't deny that I enjoy sex, either, so perhaps you're right, on that account."

He struggled to move his arms, glaring at Crow.

"People like you disgust me!" he spat. "Relationships are sacred--between two people and the Lord! Sex should be the same.

"No one of your sinful filth steals a fucking kill from me. I'm going to take it back in your blood, just watch me." He struggled ans squirmed, trying to hurt Crow in any way possible--unfortunately, Crow was much bigger.

He burst out laughing. It wasn't like he meant to be rude, but seriously? Between two people and the Lord? What was this kid's problem?

"You do know you kill people for a living, right?" He asked, honestly curious as to what his justification for it would be. "Because I'm pretty sure it's like, in the bible that you shouldn't kill. I wouldn't know, though, I'm an atheist. Shit doesn't matter to me."

He watched him struggle, grinning.

"Maybe I should taint your poor, little Christian soul right here and now...~"

"I kill for survival," he snarled. "I repent daily--my parents would understand. God would understand. And you can't taint me--spiritual filth doesn't rub off on the worthy. I'd like to see you try!"

He continued to struggle; with relief, he realized he could almost move his right arm.

"For example, I know God won't hate me for ridding the world of someone like you--I don't even know your name, and I already hate you."

"Oh, yes, my name is Crow." He replied happily. "Il Corvo, in Italian. I don't know the Russian word for it, so do excuse that."

He leaned over Seagull, tightening up his grip again.

"And I think I can taint you, so easily, too." He leaned over him, running his tongue across his face. "I've never met someone who was repulsed by me for very long."

Seagull panicked and spat in Crow's face. This was sickening; he hadn't thought this bastard meant he was going to taint him like this. He was so completely bewildered that it took him an entire minute to realize that his inconvenient erection was now poking into the whore's stomach.

Fucking. Peachy.

"See?" He boasted, using his own sleeve to wipe the spit from his face. "I told you. Now, let me help you with that."

He grabbed both of Seagull's wrists and pinned them above his head, using his free hand to reach into his pants. He smiled slightly, feeling Seagull up.

He managed to kick Crow, but not with much force; his face was quickly turning red. He groaned loudly with frustration.

"I will kill you!" he snarled through gritted teeth. "I will paint an entire room with your blood!"

"Fighting with an erection is quite difficult." He replied, nodding quietly as he went about the business of stroking Seagull calmly with his freehand. "I've tried, it's no fun. Just relax and enjoy yourself."

He grinned widely, showing off his wickedly white teeth.

"I'll rip out...every last bone...squish your eyes...while you're living..." He spoke slowly, trying to get the words out without making noise; it was difficult. He could feel a bead of sweat sliding down his forehead.

"...You're so...stupid," he said, attempting to laugh. "This isn't even...legal...me, I mean..."