Pinkie's Part: I'm a terrible author- I've become one with the plot bunnies, and I apologize for the lack of updates for Sense of Familiarity, and Monochromatic Sun. If you're a new viewer, whilst you wait for an update here; let those and other stories I've spun, entertain you n.n Drop a review on your way out- this is a trial fic; we'll see how you all respond to it!

ja ne,

Pinkie Out

xx

Chapter: Woven in Shadow

In the grey dusk, shadows loomed over shady figures. The constant sway of hot breath in the night air was accompanied by hushed syllables- ones that fell from tight-lipped mouths; these were but whispers in the dead of night. The cobblestone streets were flithy, lined solely with the disappointment of many parents- as well as the shattered dreams of those who spent too much time in the speakeasies.

The alley was dark and damp, and a few bodies were slumped up against the outer walls of the building in a drunken stupor- too much of that giggle water had them all tuckered out. It wasn't odd to see these types of things, especially when you were the big cheese-needing a much deserved rest having pushed papers all day and dealing with too much even more often than they could handle.

A tall, lithe form was pressed comfortably against the threshold of the backdoor to the establishment. His white shirt tucked in behind a black suit and a fedora was placed immaculately atop his inky hair. Aside from this moment however-

Hat in hand and other palm pressed flat against the base of his neck, his slicked back hair awry as small clouds of tobacco smoke left his parted pout. He manuvered the cancer stick to the other side of his mouth, using just his tongue- eyes closing in content as he inhaled deeply and then blew out silently.

He plucked the cigarette from his lips and snuffed it out on the brick nearest him, before flicking it away. The disipating cherry red butt flashing listlessly before drowing in a murky puddle someways away.

(I pray that we would meet, some day some place, some where-

Then Heaven sent me down an angel- to answer my prayer.)

The soft tune came from within the speak easy, and the man released a heavy sigh. His leather soled shoes left soft taps on the cobblestones as he made his way back into the establishment. The smoke that covered his sight was annoying; but he fought to keep his eyes open, the familiar sting was welcoming. The sway of bodies was in a drunken dance as the jazz music filled his ears. He closed his eyes breifly, before scanning the room for a familar face. He was slightly disappointed- when his line of sight settled on his next target. A cocky smirk lit up his face as he replaced his fedora atop his head and made his way through the smoke screen and sweat slicked bodies.

He shifted in shadows, with an unrivaled predatory grace, as he came upon the person in his sights. His gaze lingered momentarily on the person's back, before he silently brought one hand to his breast pocket. A glimmer was seen in a flash, before he leaned. His unoccupied hand rested on the shoulder before him, before sliding on the edge of the loveseat, before grabbing a small pillow. He pressed the pillow to the back of the loveseat, directly in line with the man's back.

His breath ghosted across the person's neck, as he whispered his statement of goodbye- the cylinder clicked and the gunpowder caught fire. The muffled gunshot, unheard as the man slumped forward, eyes open and suprised.

The assailant pulled the leaning form backwards, closing the eyes and settling the other in a position that was closely resembled to sleep. He slipped the bullet casing into his pocket, and strode away from the scene.

Walk, never run- was his motto, as he was reaquainted with the damp air of the outdoors. He pulled a cigarette from the elegant case in his suit pocket, before igniting the end and inhaling deeply. He flicked his fedora upwards, and smirked at the moon.

His near silent footsteps clicked on the cobblestone streets, as his eyes scanned the area for a telephone booth. As he ventured towards one, he fingered the edge of the nickel in his trousers' pocket. He opened the accordion door and enclosed himself inside. He scanned the area, making sure that no one was within hearing distance, as he picked up the receiver, slid the coin into the slot and waited for the dial tone.

Upon the third click- a voice answered groggily. Upon the sound of that voice, a wiked smirk graced those sinful lips, a single word left that mouth; and a sent a chill up the associate's spine.

"Ciao."