Post by LIV PETROVA on Apr 5, 2012 23:18:58 GMT -5
| [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 415px; border: #222222 2px solid; background-color: #0B0809; background-image: url();] [atrb=width,4] Her target was right there in sight. She kept him in view as she walked through the carnival, heels clicking on the pavement, sometimes muted by random bits of grass. She looked elegant in her trench coat and skinny leather pants and pumps. Her hair was up in a chic ponytail, golden loose curls and her bright blue orbs seem just a tad bit colder thanks to the shock of black mascara outlining her thick lashes and the bloody maroon tone of her lips that make her seem seductively deadly. She always dressed like this: full black or dark tones; whenever she had work to do. It helped her blend into the crowd, to go unnoticed despite her 5'9 height and even more so in heels. Whenever she was out with the few superficial friends she'd made in the town under the false name of Jasmine, she dressed colorful and in pastels, was bubbly and into fashion. If they knew the real her who was cold and calculating, hard to look at without getting shivers down your spine, remorseless and deadly, they would think they were looking at someone entirely different, peaking to her long lost twin or something along those lines but no. She was Liv Petrova right now. She wasn't Jasmine Lee, everyone's favorite bubbly receptionist at The Ritz. She wasn't from the Russian part of Staten Island and she didn't have five older brother who would destroy anyone who dared to disrespect her and her "innocence". She wasn't the sweet good girl who probably could be kinky if you could manage to get in her pants. Liv Petrova was an entirely different breed of woman and she enjoyed and took pride in reveling in the fact she was her own person despite having to put up an act in order to get her job done correctly. Her target was the man in the blue blazer and khaki pants: Arnold Waterford. He was part of an elite society of men from Harvard, Yale, and Columbia - The Trinity - and in their elite group, they have the tendency of making more than their fair share of money through some very illegal activities. She was hunting him down after being hired by his other fellow "society mates" after ratting them out to the police about their drug-related....issues. Though Liv wasn't one to serve justice on a silver platter, she did have a particular fondness with revenge. Though she had yet to devise a very solid plan to avenge her older brother's death, she was following his last wishes by getting out of the Russian Mafia even if it meant putting a bull's eye on the back of her head for the rest of her existence which, at this rate, would be longer than she cared for. She missed Sasha, terribly so, and wished he hadn't gone after their parents' killers alone-wished he would have just told her so she could help him but he went and got himself killed, though at times she couldn't believe it. No one could even catch Sasha-minus her since they were the same breed-but someone managed to kill him...someone he must have underestimated. Her thoughts weren't on Sasha though as she pulled out a cigarette while she approached him as he neared a hot dog stand, "Hi, sorry to bother you," she changed her accent, forcing out a Staten Island one that was far different from her usual Bulgarian-Russian one, "but do you have a lighter? I must have lost mine somewhere or something," Arnold seemed happy to oblige and as she took a drag from her cigarette, she made sure not to inhale it into her chest as she blew the smoke out into his face and smiled sweetly, "Thank you so much," he already seemed to be getting drowsy as he smiled and nodded like a puppy happy for attention but too tired to keep up the energy, "Are you okay?" the hot dog man wasn't paying attention, which was expected, and as Arnold seemed to slouch slightly, he grabbed a hold of him, a small knife inside her sleeve puncturing him in the ribs and deep enough to reach his heart. He wouldn't feel it thanks to the smoke but he would in a bit....when the hot dog man started helping her. It was then Arnold seemed to realize he was stabbed and immediately, the blame went to the hot dog man. She slipped out of there when a big crowd walked by and soon enough, she was ripping the filter where her lips touched the cigarette and tossing the rest of it into the trash as she seemed out of their sight and putting the filter into her pocket. She continued walking with the crowd. Job done easily. She still had two others, part of his posse, to take out which wouldn't be as easy but not entirely mind boggling. This guy had a wife and kids. It was the only reason she'd done it in such a sneaky format. Plus-it was crowded and he was always around people. As she walked, she pulled her actual pair of cigarettes, not the rigged ones, out of her pocket and took a drag from a lit one, blowing the smoke in the air. It would be on the news later-Arnold's death. He would die before the ambulance arrived. After all, her knife had been laced with the beautiful poison of cyanide and the smoke she blew into his face? just something to make him sleepy so he wouldn't feel the initial attack. Reaching a cotton candy stand, she stopped,wondering what on earth cotton candy even was and then went over to buy some. Why not? Might as well celebrate. One man's death was another woman's paycheck. |
created by steph! steal and you die!
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