Damon Gant (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
demon_gent) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
sirenspull_logs2012-03-18 02:33 am
demon_gent) wrote in sirenspull_logs2012-03-18 02:33 am
Entry tags:
Tut-tut, it looks like rain!
Who: Damon Gant and YOU!
When: Sunday morning to the afternoon
Where: Between sector 4 and 5
Summary: With his first day here, Gant is more than ready to start assimilating himself with the rest of society, but hearing that this is an island, he's determined to see the beach, no matter how foul the weather is! Feel free to catch him between train-stops 26. Elmer Stop and 1. Ravenwood Stop, he'll be happy to chat you up along the way. Or even at his last stop walking from the train station past Better Afterlife Mortuary, Cinnagrad Cemetery, McKinley Zoo and towards the Aquarium.
Warnings: Only if you're allergic to happiness
The rain, rain, rain came down, down, down in rushing, rising rivulets... but Damon Gant was quick to the task of keeping dry, dry, dry. After all, his lightning-shock of hair would have deflated under the drizzle, and he couldn't have that, now could he? The old gentleman was in his Sunday's best; his glaring suit of sunset orange that he lived and died in. It was a difficult color to miss, especially amongst the grim transit public. They were either quick to look away so his radiance wouldn't burn into their retinas, or their gaze was fixated on him like moths to a whimsical flame.
Gant had that sort of magnetism to him. Enough that before entering the train station he managed to barter for a ticket and sweet-talked another into giving him their umbrella. Charm and benevolence were Gant's most powerful weapons in strange places he had never been... they weren't too shabby back home either. Without a doubt, Gant had the sort of air that wriggled itself into your heart where he would latch on and never let go. Some even went so far as to symbolically sell their soul to him.
For now there was no need for such a strangle-hold on anyone, Gant was his own man. Free of the fools he left behind, free of the hushed rumors and lies, the doubters and good-for-nothings, the objectors and persecutors, the sentencing, the shackles, the bars, the memory of the long green mile, and the memory of the last deep sleep. He had been executed but knew when he had awoken on this isle not between heaven or hell, but Canada of all the silly places, that his last words to the court held ever so true.
"You see, if I listen carefully, I can hear it right now...
...The sound of a new beginning!"
When: Sunday morning to the afternoon
Where: Between sector 4 and 5
Summary: With his first day here, Gant is more than ready to start assimilating himself with the rest of society, but hearing that this is an island, he's determined to see the beach, no matter how foul the weather is! Feel free to catch him between train-stops 26. Elmer Stop and 1. Ravenwood Stop, he'll be happy to chat you up along the way. Or even at his last stop walking from the train station past Better Afterlife Mortuary, Cinnagrad Cemetery, McKinley Zoo and towards the Aquarium.
Warnings: Only if you're allergic to happiness
The rain, rain, rain came down, down, down in rushing, rising rivulets... but Damon Gant was quick to the task of keeping dry, dry, dry. After all, his lightning-shock of hair would have deflated under the drizzle, and he couldn't have that, now could he? The old gentleman was in his Sunday's best; his glaring suit of sunset orange that he lived and died in. It was a difficult color to miss, especially amongst the grim transit public. They were either quick to look away so his radiance wouldn't burn into their retinas, or their gaze was fixated on him like moths to a whimsical flame.
Gant had that sort of magnetism to him. Enough that before entering the train station he managed to barter for a ticket and sweet-talked another into giving him their umbrella. Charm and benevolence were Gant's most powerful weapons in strange places he had never been... they weren't too shabby back home either. Without a doubt, Gant had the sort of air that wriggled itself into your heart where he would latch on and never let go. Some even went so far as to symbolically sell their soul to him.
For now there was no need for such a strangle-hold on anyone, Gant was his own man. Free of the fools he left behind, free of the hushed rumors and lies, the doubters and good-for-nothings, the objectors and persecutors, the sentencing, the shackles, the bars, the memory of the long green mile, and the memory of the last deep sleep. He had been executed but knew when he had awoken on this isle not between heaven or hell, but Canada of all the silly places, that his last words to the court held ever so true.
"You see, if I listen carefully, I can hear it right now...
...The sound of a new beginning!"
no subject
Jake had gotten used to the ache in his chest around the beach - that he'd been acclimated to within the first couple of months or so. He just wasn't sure if it was the Pull itself or the adrenaline pumping through his veins that was making his heart beat so fast. He was pretty sure it was a mix of both, though with the way he felt so tense around the man in front of him, it was possible it was purely his reaction to being around him, of all people.
And he had caught that little dismissal Gant had given him, and the way he so flippantly ignored his true, proper title, instead referring to him by the title he'd had for the past two years in their world. Officer. Gant had been the one who'd demoted him to Officer in the first place. Officer Marshall, his ass! Jake couldn't help but feel his jaw lock up with anger. After giving him a few more seconds to feel smug about himself, Jake replied rather curtly, "Don't reckon y'heard me the last time. It's Detective Marshall, Mister Gant. I'd like ya t'use my proper title, if it ain't too hard on yer memory to remind yerself."
no subject
"Neither am I about to throw away what I've been granted with some nonentity's blood on my hands." A curl of his lip exposed his sharp eye-tooth, as if he had just walked out of the gates of Hell and hadn't yet shed his horns. The gall that filthy upstart had to think he had to wallow in blood just to get his way.
How Jake was so full-of-himself about that flimsy title of his was almost pathetic enough to make him feel sorry for him. Poor fellow. No lot in life but to strive for a petty banner for him to flag about. Were Gant to roll his eyes they'd have fallen out of his head from the paltriness of it all.
"So quick to unctuously--" He paused, waiting for the wooden cogs to set on fire in Jake's skull, "...That's greasily for you laic folk--to boast about the things you've done with your measly sweat and tears. I hope the little multiple-choice proficiency test you took to reclaim that moniker didn't give you a paper-cut." He derided with a tittering little snicker. He was surprised the hick still knew how to work a pencil, let alone how to fill in the blanks.
no subject
"Sweat and tears means a lot more to some folk than it does to others. That don't mean you should devalue it so quick by callin' it measly. You had to take the test at one point. Ain't sure you remember, it was a long time ago since you were an honest man, but they put a lot more into it than a multiple choice an' a pat on the back." He kept his gaze focused, unwavering, his face relaxed but somehow still deadly serious. "This place is dangerous, they gotta know you can defend yerself and other folks 'round here."
His gaze narrowed just a bit as he continued. "I just want you to know 'zactly what it is you're gettin' into, old timer. This ain't L.A., much as you might want it to be."
no subject
This charlatan would know his place again soon enough.
Let him think he has the upper hand, it would be of no consequence to Gant. He feigned listening to his lecturing and smiled a rather honest smile.
"Well.. You'll just have to keep tabs on me to see, wont you Detective?" The saccharine purr of that title held a promise that whatever it was that he found, it would not come in Jake's favor. But make no mistake, he would be making doubly sure to keep his eyes on him as well. Can't fool a man like him twice.
Gant should have never left that scoundrel alone in that security office.
As the storm began its descent upon the inlands, the winds kicked up with a terrible fury and from the shoreline the pelting of rain fell in thick misting drapes towards them.
Their standoff would have to come to a close here, and just in time too. For they were momentarily shrouded in the blinding highbeams of a roaring black beast. A 1970 Mercedes Grand 600 pulled up, its horn blaring to alert whatever plebeians about that they were not welcome before its grandeur. A capped chauffeur stepped out from the driver's seat and came about to the side facing the cop and gent, and bowed as he opened the back passenger door.
"Mr. Gant." In the pitch dark of the limousine one could see a pair of crossed legs and a cane tapping on the floor rather impatiently.
The ex-Chief grinned, ever so pleased with the timing, "And now's my time to be off and start anew." He drifted past Jake without another glance as he stepped into the purring vehicle, but paused halfway digging underneath the seat to toss something large Jake's way.
"A storm's coming your way, boy, try not to let it rain on your parade. Ta-ta!" He dismissed himself merrily before the car rolled off to depart.
The item in question... was a large blue umbrella.