{"submission_id":"860","keywords":[{"keyword_id":"2420","keyword_name":"assassin","contributed":"f","submissions_count":"672"},{"keyword_id":"2350","keyword_name":"assassination","contributed":"f","submissions_count":"52"},{"keyword_id":"2422","keyword_name":"avarice","contributed":"f","submissions_count":"13"},{"keyword_id":"2421","keyword_name":"bomb","contributed":"f","submissions_count":"363"},{"keyword_id":"21","keyword_name":"dragon","contributed":"f","submissions_count":"80959"},{"keyword_id":"123","keyword_name":"female","contributed":"f","submissions_count":"519763"},{"keyword_id":"2423","keyword_name":"greed","contributed":"f","submissions_count":"93"},{"keyword_id":"1818","keyword_name":"gun","contributed":"f","submissions_count":"3791"},{"keyword_id":"165","keyword_name":"male","contributed":"f","submissions_count":"639714"}],"hidden":"t","scraps":"f","favorite":"f","favorites_count":"0","create_datetime":"2010-05-27 01:25:08.831929+02","create_datetime_usertime":"27 May 2010 01:25 CEST","last_file_update_datetime":"2010-08-24 01:03:42.817708+02","last_file_update_datetime_usertime":"24 Aug 2010 01:03 CEST","username":"catoninetales","user_id":"146","user_icon_file_name":"166_catoninetales_avalarge.gif","user_icon_url_large":"https://nl.ib.metapix.net/usericons/large/0/166_catoninetales_avalarge.gif","user_icon_url_medium":"https://nl.ib.metapix.net/usericons/medium/0/166_catoninetales_avalarge.gif","user_icon_url_small":"https://nl.ib.metapix.net/usericons/small/0/166_catoninetales_avalarge.gif","file_name":"21035_catoninetales_avarice.doc","file_url_full":"https://nl.ib.metapix.net/files/full/21/21035_catoninetales_avarice.doc","file_url_screen":"https://nl.ib.metapix.net/files/screen/21/21035_catoninetales_avarice.doc","file_url_preview":"https://nl.ib.metapix.net/files/preview/21/21035_catoninetales_avarice.doc","thumbnail_url_huge":"https://nl.ib.metapix.net/thumbnails/huge/21/21035_catoninetales_avarice.jpg","thumbnail_url_large":"https://nl.ib.metapix.net/thumbnails/large/21/21035_catoninetales_avarice.jpg","thumbnail_url_medium":"https://nl.ib.metapix.net/thumbnails/medium/21/21035_catoninetales_avarice.jpg","thumb_huge_x":"200","thumb_huge_y":"200","thumb_large_x":"200","thumb_large_y":"200","thumb_medium_x":"120","thumb_medium_y":"120","files":[{"file_id":"21035","file_name":"21035_catoninetales_avarice.doc","file_url_full":"https://nl.ib.metapix.net/files/full/21/21035_catoninetales_avarice.doc","file_url_screen":"https://nl.ib.metapix.net/files/screen/21/21035_catoninetales_avarice.doc","file_url_preview":"https://nl.ib.metapix.net/files/preview/21/21035_catoninetales_avarice.doc","mimetype":"application/msword","submission_id":"860","user_id":"146","submission_file_order":"0","full_size_x":null,"full_size_y":null,"screen_size_x":null,"screen_size_y":null,"preview_size_x":null,"preview_size_y":null,"initial_file_md5":"cc41e9a02be3a464fe61830abc5ebbc0","full_file_md5":"cc41e9a02be3a464fe61830abc5ebbc0","large_file_md5":"","small_file_md5":"","thumbnail_md5":"c298fdbc5ce037871f74b59ffbc15a4e","deleted":"f","create_datetime":"2010-08-24 01:03:42.817708+02","create_datetime_usertime":"24 Aug 2010 01:03 CEST","thumbnail_url_huge":"https://nl.ib.metapix.net/thumbnails/huge/21/21035_catoninetales_avarice.jpg","thumbnail_url_large":"https://nl.ib.metapix.net/thumbnails/large/21/21035_catoninetales_avarice.jpg","thumbnail_url_medium":"https://nl.ib.metapix.net/thumbnails/medium/21/21035_catoninetales_avarice.jpg","thumb_huge_x":"200","thumb_huge_y":"200","thumb_large_x":"200","thumb_large_y":"200","thumb_medium_x":"120","thumb_medium_y":"120"}],"pools":[],"description":"I'm not too fond of this one anymore.\n\nIt's another of my earlier works. At the time I wrote this story, I was very much occupied with the concepts of sin, virtue, and salvation, as I still am. However, I have since (mostly) moved past the black and white depictions and extremes as in this story.\nStill, the execution of the theme isn't all bad, so I figure I can post it without embarrassing myself.","description_bbcode_parsed":"I'm not too fond of this one anymore.
It's another of my earlier works. At the time I wrote this story, I was very much occupied with the concepts of sin, virtue, and salvation, as I still am. However, I have since (mostly) moved past the black and white depictions and extremes as in this story.
Still, the execution of the theme isn't all bad, so I figure I can post it without embarrassing myself.","writing":"Avarice\n\nDamian carefully braced against the ledge, supporting the weight of the rifle on his elbow. A steady hand was crucial to aiming. The slightest inaccuracy would spoil the shot. As a professional, he would not spoil it.\n\nSteady, Steady.\n\nHe looked at the woman and smiled. For a moment, he watched her closely, paying attention to her every move. His pupils narrowed to slits as he fixed his target across the notch, adjusting his aim to the movement.\n\nSteady, Steady.\n\nNever before had he missed a shot. He would not miss this time, either. A swift motion. A pull of the trigger. A crack of the gun. His target dropped. Perfect shot.\n\nProud of himself, he turned around and smiled at the woman. “Go ahead, darling, pick whatever price you want.” For an infinite moment or an infinitesimal minute she stared him in the eyes, then she grabbed a small but elaborately decorated heart of plush.\n\nLooking closely at it, she smirked. “You know, these are so very kitschy, but still somehow cute.” He took her hand and silently walked with her, away from the shooting gallery. Every few paces, he glanced over at her. She was beautiful. Just the opposite of his wicked appearance, shame for all the dragon race, with his dull black scales riddled by scars and his gnarled broken horns. He was a beast, and she a beauty. Her draconic features were of utmost delicacy, the blue of her eyes was clear and bright, the curve of her horns was perfect, the sheen of her golden scales was flawless, shimmering like diamonds with every move. And her soul was just as beautiful, filled with understanding, compassion and care. She was a treasure, a real treasure. And they belonged together.\n\nSuddenly she stopped and stared at him. “I don’t like it!” His obsidian eyes reflected her as he stared at her in turn. Implacably his gaze remained fixed on her as words raced through his head in a disordered attempt of forming sentences. “But darling, you always liked these little prices, and you even picked that one yourself.”\n\n“That’s... not... what... I... meant!” She hissed the steely cold edge of a razorblade into each word, separating them by lengthy pauses to lend them the weight of a sledge hammer. There was no doubt just what she meant. He was certain she had found out somehow. But she could not have found out. He had taken care she would never know. “Sweetheart...”\n\n“Don’t ‘Sweetheart’ me now!” A ferocious growl underlaid her speech now. “You know what I mean. I see it in your eyes. You’re surprised that I know, but I know. I know everything. And I don’t like it one bit. I know what that ‘agency’ is, I know what you do all those long nights and days out, I know where all that money you earn comes from, and I want you to quit.”\n\n“But... You know we can’t keep our living standard if I quit, right?”\n\n“I don’t care!” She angrily waved her hand at him just as he tried to take it. “And besides, we can. I’ve been promoted recently, and the new position pays enough.” Her eyes narrowed suddenly. “So, it’s either me, or your job.” Without further word or ado she turned on her heel and stalked off.\n\nWordlessly he stared after her.\n\nJoan was sitting in that room, in the dark, waiting, waiting for him. Damian knew she was. No, he did not know, he just suspected it. And he hoped for it. If she were gone, he would be lost. Without her, without all her affection, her caring, her love and compassion, her understanding, there would not be anything to balance the scales of his mind against the weight of sin his job put on him; a job pointless without anybody to delight with the riches he earned.\n\nCould she really abandon him like that? Could she leave him so cold-heartedly, with neither second thought or tear, perhaps not even a goodbye? Would she drop him for his only accomplishment, his only success in life, because she considered it immoral? Would she really prefer ethics to love? Was that not unethical in itself, the way she tried to force a change upon him, the ultimatum she issued?\n\nNo use turning it around and around. He had to quit. She held him firmly in her claws, gentle though they were. And he did not mind one bit. The thought of quitting had crossed his mind before, but he had never found the motivation to. Now he had it, and he should thank her for that, not gripe about it.\n\nSwitching the light on, he found his suspicions confirmed. She had been waiting for him, sitting on the couch dressed only in that light silken night-gown that revealed more than it hid. A smirk played across his muzzle, exposing a hint of his bone-white fangs. Only two circumstances ever brought the appearance of that gown about: Either she wanted him to take the perfect dragon woman it revealed, or taunt him by withholding. The latter case was certainty that night.\n\nHe strolled over to her as casually as he could and sat down in the chair opposite to her. The look she spared him dripped with rhetorical questioning and scornful triumph. She knew she had won. It was a crushing defeat, but one he acknowledged with a smile.\n\n“Joan, dear, I contacted the agency.” No words, just another look. “They’re fine with my retirement.” For some time, she did not speak, did not even blink.\n\n“So, you really do quit?”\n\n“Yes, darling, I do quit. They just require me for one last assignment before they let me go.” Her expression brightened, a smile taking the dark clouds from her countenance, as she stood up. On her way to the bedroom, she brushed lightly against him with a giggle. “Don’t let me wait too long, hun.”\n\nHe followed close behind her, chuckling.\n\nThat night, he knew all the love she could give.\n\nSilently Damian snuck back into the living room. A predatory grin adorned his face. Joan did not know the last assignment had not been forced onto him, and she never would. He had asked for that one last assignment to earn some extra cash before retirement, and that one was incredibly well paid for its low level of challenge.\n\nAnd she would never know how much she helped him with that last assignment, either. Carefully he pulled her notebook from her handbag and flipped it open. Ironic, that his very last assignment was disposing of the head of the company she worked at. Smirking and wondering whether such an unexpected demise would open the lane to further promotion, he leaved through the notebook and sought a favourable opportunity.\n\nAt long last, nearing the end of the notebook, he found a suitable occasion. He stored the information at the back of his mind and the notebook in her handbag, before silently sneaking back to the bedroom and slipping under the blankets with her.\n\nShe would never know.\n\nDamian sat at the edge of a roof and peered into the streets below. The task had been easy, almost laughable. Sparing his watch a glance he noticed it was only a matter of minutes before his last assignment would be completed. He heard the car doors slamming close below. Just seconds now. He peered down at the street again, seeing a black limousine pull away from the upper-class restaurant in the opposite building.\n\nAn eerie light flickered across his black-scaled face, lending his predatory grin a ghastly appearance of utter lunacy as a bright flower of yellow and red flames sprouted from the limousine and lit the street. He looked at his watch again. Just in time, just as planned. His assignments were always perfectly planned, and always flawlessly executed.\n\nStrolling back to the staircase, he mused that any amateur could have finished that task successfully. The company’s usual limousine was out of order for maintenance, so they had used a rented one. After figuring out which company they would rent at and which car they would get, he had just snuck into the storage garage and dropped a small sealed package of plastics explosives complete with set timer into the tank. They rarely checked the tanks, especially not if there was no reason to suspect an attack, and even if they checked, the gasoline would have destroyed any evidence that would have allowed a connection to him. And after blowing up, little trace of the bomb would be left anyway.\n\nFor a moment, he found himself wondering why they had not assigned him a task more suitable for his abilities. The next instant his mind was already at home with his beloved, resting in her arms after receiving the confirmation call and officially being out of the business.\n\nThe flat was dark, cold and empty, completely abandoned. It felt almost barren. Shadows chased one another from corner to corner, while the cold crept along the floor. Silver fingers of moonlight stroked thin trails into the light covering of dust on the shelves. The night scratched at the windowpanes, searching a way in.\n\nThere was nobody else in there. He was alone. There was nobody to greet him warmly, nobody waiting for him. There was no lover embracing him with a smile, no lover who had prepared a cozy bed. No lover. Nobody. He was alone, alone in the forbidding silence and freezing darkness of an empty flat.\n\nCluttered on the dusty shelves were the riches he had amassed. The shelves themselves belonged to that riches, crafted of the finest wood and ornately carved. Sculptures, paintings, carvings, many different works of art were in his possession. On another shelf rare volumes and original manuscripts caught dust. He owned more precious works then the city’s museum.\n\nBut alone in his flat, his possessions had a ghostly appearance to him, unreal and intangible. The paintings lost colour, the sculptures and carvings lost form, books were little more than bound parchment. Worthless trinkets and rubble, all of it. He loved his collection, loved possessing all this objects so many others wanted, but that moment, alone in the hall, his collection did not bring him joy. It was dull and grey.\n\nAfter flipping the lights on, he strolled from room to room. So many open doors, so many open rooms, for him alone. She was not there. Perhaps she was still at work. Promotions usually entailed additional work. But the flat was nonetheless spooky, abandoned as it was by any loving hand. Nothing moved. Nothing...\n\nNothing except the light on the answering machine, signalling a recorded call. The confirmation call? Impossible. The agency never confirmed that fast. They had to assure the subject was dead or mortally wounded, after all. But who else would call that late at night? Perhaps she had called, wanting to let him know she would be late. Perhaps she had called to tell him she loved him. Or perhaps some friends had called to congratulate her for the promotion. Her salary had rocketed to yet unknown heights, to formerly unthinkable heights. Even after his retirement they could not only keep but actually improve their living standard.\n\nFor some moments he stared at the blinking light, his finger hovering right above the play button. His feet had propelled him to the desk on their own accord, and the machine was tempting him to listen to the recorded calls, while a strange itchy feeling crept up his spine, urging him to back away from it.\n\nAs his finger touched the button the sense or premonition not only remained, it intensified. Pictures from his past played through his head. His induction into the military. The evaluation period. The report describing him as ambitious but unscrupulous. His training in demolitions and sharpshooting. His discharge. The long months on the street without shelter or proper food. The strange business approaching him in a back-alley and greeting him by name. Introduction and training in the agency. His first assignments. His climb up the ladder. His eventual request for retirement. And finally a clear image of her smiling face.\n\nThe afterimage faded only very slowly as the machine began its rant. “You have 6 voice messages.” An unnatural pause closed every machine-generated word. A cold beep cut through the still air, announcing the first call.\n\n“Mr Parkins” A long period of uncomfortable silence let the salutation sink in and served as punctuation for it. Not just one period, but three, in a tormented line. “This is McKenna and Partners, the lawyer’s office. We...” The man cleared his throat, a weak attempt at concealing the quiver in his voice. “We are sorry to inform you that your wife has died in a bomb attack on our leading employees. We assure you that all steps necessary to arrest the culprit...”\n\nDamian did not hear the rest of the message, nor any of the other messages, condolences offered by their friends. There was nothing but his own claws he stared at, the black of his scales turning to the colour of blood in his perception. It had been a confirmation call after all, just not the one he had been waiting for.\n\nA click announced the end of the messages. He picked up the phone. Mechanically he dialled three numbers: Nine, one, one.\n\n","writing_bbcode_parsed":"Avarice
Damian carefully braced against the ledge, supporting the weight of the rifle on his elbow. A steady hand was crucial to aiming. The slightest inaccuracy would spoil the shot. As a professional, he would not spoil it.
Steady, Steady.
He looked at the woman and smiled. For a moment, he watched her closely, paying attention to her every move. His pupils narrowed to slits as he fixed his target across the notch, adjusting his aim to the movement.
Steady, Steady.
Never before had he missed a shot. He would not miss this time, either. A swift motion. A pull of the trigger. A crack of the gun. His target dropped. Perfect shot.
Proud of himself, he turned around and smiled at the woman. “Go ahead, darling, pick whatever price you want.” For an infinite moment or an infinitesimal minute she stared him in the eyes, then she grabbed a small but elaborately decorated heart of plush.
Looking closely at it, she smirked. “You know, these are so very kitschy, but still somehow cute.” He took her hand and silently walked with her, away from the shooting gallery. Every few paces, he glanced over at her. She was beautiful. Just the opposite of his wicked appearance, shame for all the dragon race, with his dull black scales riddled by scars and his gnarled broken horns. He was a beast, and she a beauty. Her draconic features were of utmost delicacy, the blue of her eyes was clear and bright, the curve of her horns was perfect, the sheen of her golden scales was flawless, shimmering like diamonds with every move. And her soul was just as beautiful, filled with understanding, compassion and care. She was a treasure, a real treasure. And they belonged together.
Suddenly she stopped and stared at him. “I don’t like it!” His obsidian eyes reflected her as he stared at her in turn. Implacably his gaze remained fixed on her as words raced through his head in a disordered attempt of forming sentences. “But darling, you always liked these little prices, and you even picked that one yourself.”
“That’s... not... what... I... meant!” She hissed the steely cold edge of a razorblade into each word, separating them by lengthy pauses to lend them the weight of a sledge hammer. There was no doubt just what she meant. He was certain she had found out somehow. But she could not have found out. He had taken care she would never know. “Sweetheart...”
“Don’t ‘Sweetheart’ me now!” A ferocious growl underlaid her speech now. “You know what I mean. I see it in your eyes. You’re surprised that I know, but I know. I know everything. And I don’t like it one bit. I know what that ‘agency’ is, I know what you do all those long nights and days out, I know where all that money you earn comes from, and I want you to quit.”
“But... You know we can’t keep our living standard if I quit, right?”
“I don’t care!” She angrily waved her hand at him just as he tried to take it. “And besides, we can. I’ve been promoted recently, and the new position pays enough.” Her eyes narrowed suddenly. “So, it’s either me, or your job.” Without further word or ado she turned on her heel and stalked off.
Wordlessly he stared after her.
Joan was sitting in that room, in the dark, waiting, waiting for him. Damian knew she was. No, he did not know, he just suspected it. And he hoped for it. If she were gone, he would be lost. Without her, without all her affection, her caring, her love and compassion, her understanding, there would not be anything to balance the scales of his mind against the weight of sin his job put on him; a job pointless without anybody to delight with the riches he earned.
Could she really abandon him like that? Could she leave him so cold-heartedly, with neither second thought or tear, perhaps not even a goodbye? Would she drop him for his only accomplishment, his only success in life, because she considered it immoral? Would she really prefer ethics to love? Was that not unethical in itself, the way she tried to force a change upon him, the ultimatum she issued?
No use turning it around and around. He had to quit. She held him firmly in her claws, gentle though they were. And he did not mind one bit. The thought of quitting had crossed his mind before, but he had never found the motivation to. Now he had it, and he should thank her for that, not gripe about it.
Switching the light on, he found his suspicions confirmed. She had been waiting for him, sitting on the couch dressed only in that light silken night-gown that revealed more than it hid. A smirk played across his muzzle, exposing a hint of his bone-white fangs. Only two circumstances ever brought the appearance of that gown about: Either she wanted him to take the perfect dragon woman it revealed, or taunt him by withholding. The latter case was certainty that night.
He strolled over to her as casually as he could and sat down in the chair opposite to her. The look she spared him dripped with rhetorical questioning and scornful triumph. She knew she had won. It was a crushing defeat, but one he acknowledged with a smile.
“Joan, dear, I contacted the agency.” No words, just another look. “They’re fine with my retirement.” For some time, she did not speak, did not even blink.
“So, you really do quit?”
“Yes, darling, I do quit. They just require me for one last assignment before they let me go.” Her expression brightened, a smile taking the dark clouds from her countenance, as she stood up. On her way to the bedroom, she brushed lightly against him with a giggle. “Don’t let me wait too long, hun.”
He followed close behind her, chuckling.
That night, he knew all the love she could give.
Silently Damian snuck back into the living room. A predatory grin adorned his face. Joan did not know the last assignment had not been forced onto him, and she never would. He had asked for that one last assignment to earn some extra cash before retirement, and that one was incredibly well paid for its low level of challenge.
And she would never know how much she helped him with that last assignment, either. Carefully he pulled her notebook from her handbag and flipped it open. Ironic, that his very last assignment was disposing of the head of the company she worked at. Smirking and wondering whether such an unexpected demise would open the lane to further promotion, he leaved through the notebook and sought a favourable opportunity.
At long last, nearing the end of the notebook, he found a suitable occasion. He stored the information at the back of his mind and the notebook in her handbag, before silently sneaking back to the bedroom and slipping under the blankets with her.
She would never know.
Damian sat at the edge of a roof and peered into the streets below. The task had been easy, almost laughable. Sparing his watch a glance he noticed it was only a matter of minutes before his last assignment would be completed. He heard the car doors slamming close below. Just seconds now. He peered down at the street again, seeing a black limousine pull away from the upper-class restaurant in the opposite building.
An eerie light flickered across his black-scaled face, lending his predatory grin a ghastly appearance of utter lunacy as a bright flower of yellow and red flames sprouted from the limousine and lit the street. He looked at his watch again. Just in time, just as planned. His assignments were always perfectly planned, and always flawlessly executed.
Strolling back to the staircase, he mused that any amateur could have finished that task successfully. The company’s usual limousine was out of order for maintenance, so they had used a rented one. After figuring out which company they would rent at and which car they would get, he had just snuck into the storage garage and dropped a small sealed package of plastics explosives complete with set timer into the tank. They rarely checked the tanks, especially not if there was no reason to suspect an attack, and even if they checked, the gasoline would have destroyed any evidence that would have allowed a connection to him. And after blowing up, little trace of the bomb would be left anyway.
For a moment, he found himself wondering why they had not assigned him a task more suitable for his abilities. The next instant his mind was already at home with his beloved, resting in her arms after receiving the confirmation call and officially being out of the business.
The flat was dark, cold and empty, completely abandoned. It felt almost barren. Shadows chased one another from corner to corner, while the cold crept along the floor. Silver fingers of moonlight stroked thin trails into the light covering of dust on the shelves. The night scratched at the windowpanes, searching a way in.
There was nobody else in there. He was alone. There was nobody to greet him warmly, nobody waiting for him. There was no lover embracing him with a smile, no lover who had prepared a cozy bed. No lover. Nobody. He was alone, alone in the forbidding silence and freezing darkness of an empty flat.
Cluttered on the dusty shelves were the riches he had amassed. The shelves themselves belonged to that riches, crafted of the finest wood and ornately carved. Sculptures, paintings, carvings, many different works of art were in his possession. On another shelf rare volumes and original manuscripts caught dust. He owned more precious works then the city’s museum.
But alone in his flat, his possessions had a ghostly appearance to him, unreal and intangible. The paintings lost colour, the sculptures and carvings lost form, books were little more than bound parchment. Worthless trinkets and rubble, all of it. He loved his collection, loved possessing all this objects so many others wanted, but that moment, alone in the hall, his collection did not bring him joy. It was dull and grey.
After flipping the lights on, he strolled from room to room. So many open doors, so many open rooms, for him alone. She was not there. Perhaps she was still at work. Promotions usually entailed additional work. But the flat was nonetheless spooky, abandoned as it was by any loving hand. Nothing moved. Nothing...
Nothing except the light on the answering machine, signalling a recorded call. The confirmation call? Impossible. The agency never confirmed that fast. They had to assure the subject was dead or mortally wounded, after all. But who else would call that late at night? Perhaps she had called, wanting to let him know she would be late. Perhaps she had called to tell him she loved him. Or perhaps some friends had called to congratulate her for the promotion. Her salary had rocketed to yet unknown heights, to formerly unthinkable heights. Even after his retirement they could not only keep but actually improve their living standard.
For some moments he stared at the blinking light, his finger hovering right above the play button. His feet had propelled him to the desk on their own accord, and the machine was tempting him to listen to the recorded calls, while a strange itchy feeling crept up his spine, urging him to back away from it.
As his finger touched the button the sense or premonition not only remained, it intensified. Pictures from his past played through his head. His induction into the military. The evaluation period. The report describing him as ambitious but unscrupulous. His training in demolitions and sharpshooting. His discharge. The long months on the street without shelter or proper food. The strange business approaching him in a back-alley and greeting him by name. Introduction and training in the agency. His first assignments. His climb up the ladder. His eventual request for retirement. And finally a clear image of her smiling face.
The afterimage faded only very slowly as the machine began its rant. “You have 6 voice messages.” An unnatural pause closed every machine-generated word. A cold beep cut through the still air, announcing the first call.
“Mr Parkins” A long period of uncomfortable silence let the salutation sink in and served as punctuation for it. Not just one period, but three, in a tormented line. “This is McKenna and Partners, the lawyer’s office. We...” The man cleared his throat, a weak attempt at concealing the quiver in his voice. “We are sorry to inform you that your wife has died in a bomb attack on our leading employees. We assure you that all steps necessary to arrest the culprit...”
Damian did not hear the rest of the message, nor any of the other messages, condolences offered by their friends. There was nothing but his own claws he stared at, the black of his scales turning to the colour of blood in his perception. It had been a confirmation call after all, just not the one he had been waiting for.
A click announced the end of the messages. He picked up the phone. Mechanically he dialled three numbers: Nine, one, one.
","pools_count":0,"title":"Avarice","deleted":"f","public":"t","mimetype":"application/msword","pagecount":"1","rating_id":"2","rating_name":"Adult","ratings":[{"content_tag_id":"3","name":"Violence","description":"Mild violence","rating_id":"1"},{"content_tag_id":"5","name":"Strong Violence","description":"Strong violence, blood, serious injury or death","rating_id":"2"}],"submission_type_id":"12","type_name":"Writing - Document","guest_block":"t","friends_only":"f","comments_count":"1","views":"62","sales_description":null,"forsale":"f","digitalsales":"f","printsales":"f","digital_price":""}