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Question.

How can one be villainous if all they do is follow marching orders of preteens? The answer is not very.

So I'm looking to cause some havoc with Sledge. Anyone interested?

This is a waste of time, Sledge thought to himself as he waited by the closed door. The child was crying too loud to hear him it seemed, a nd while he was waiting his duffle bag was digging more and more into his shoulder. He should just turn around and head back up to his apartment. There was the groceries to think of as well. Not that anything was right on the brink of spoiling. David was just hungry and a bag of food balancing in his arms was tempting. You should never go shopping hungry, but you shouldn’t be checking in on an apartment one floor down either.

At last there was the sounds of something other than crying. ”Hello? Who’s there?” There was a little kid in there, and the lack of an adult response was raising questions in Sledge’s mind. Shouldn’t this kid be heading off to school right about now? Three words was hardly enough to be able to tell if the kid was sick, especially if they had been crying. “Me name’s David. I live one floor up,” he said to the door. At least the child was smart enough to not open the door to a stranger. That should satisfy his concern. If kid wasn’t going to get caught up by a stranger than it shouldn’t be in danger. Nice and safe inside the apartment, no need to worry about anything hurting them from the outside.

But there were dangers on the inside he knew as well. Without the knowledge of how old the child on the other side of the door was, Sledge couldn’t tell if they were able to provide themselves with food. His nap would most certainly be interrupted if this kid were to set fire to their apartment. Nobody enjoys evacuating a building. Fast food was an option. New York was filled with plenty of delivery options for almost any type of food that you could possibly want. However if this kid hadn’t been left any money the delivery option went flying out the window. “All right in there?” he asked.

He was hoping that the child would say that everything was fine. Already Sledge had to deal with more preteens than he wanted. The young crowd stunted his business. David wasn’t that big a fan of having to defer to a boss. That was why he had always assumed the leadership of his gangs. Not being the one calling the shots was maddening, often because he knew better than his mates. “Your parents leave you food and all?” he asked. Food was the important thing David thought. Growing up there had been days of empty bellies that he had to deal with while his parents were busy at work. If the kid had food the risk of the apartment building burning down was lessened.

“Here I am, living in my metal thing,” Sledgehammer sang to himself as he hoisted his duffle bag higher up onto his shoulder and tried to balance the bag of groceries that he had picked up before returning to his apartment. New York City was plenty busy for the conman, and he quite enjoyed it. However business had called him down to New Jersey for a few days. The beaches were lovely he supposed, though after his crossing the ocean Sledge wasn’t too fond of the big blue wet thing. If the risk of allergic reaction wasn’t bad enough, he had faced more chavs with skin orange from tanning than he wished to meet in his lifetime. There was also talk about this Snooki person, who, upon Sledge seeing an image of, couldn’t possibly be human. She had to be a mutant who hypnotized the masses through the oversized hair.

Coming back to his apartment felt good. No heavily seafood laden menus at every single restaurant. Sane drivers, excellent shopping opportunities, and millions of mindless, featherless pigeons. His family had never really gone on a vacation, so this felt almost as though he had been taking a little holiday. A chaotic, working holiday that he was ready to take a break from. His own bed was sounding appealing. While Sledge could easily stay up for a few days in a row when he crashed, he would sleep for days upon days. It was comfortable in his bed. He liked it there. Once he made himself something to eat maybe he would catch a nap.

“Hm hm am… living in a metal thing,” he continued to sing and hum, trying to get the stupid little song out of his head. There was another flight to go up before he reached his floor. With his free hand he started to fish out his key. The complex was pretty quiet today. It might have been that time of day where people were heading off for work or school. One such person was heading down the stairs and Sledge had to step out of the stairway and into the floor below his. With the duffle bag and the groceries he was just going to get either trampled over or be a road block. While David didn’t care to get an actual job he wasn’t going to keep someone from doing theirs.

On this floor things were particularly quiet, minus the sounds of a young child crying. School could be rather dreadful he had to admit, but Sledge was under the impression that it wasn’t nearly as rough in the States. While he waited for the traffic in the stairway to clear up David stood around like an idiot, listening to the child bawl. There was no sound of a parent trying to comfort the crying child, no shouts to shush up. Nothing but an escalating wail. He looked up and down the hall, trying to tell if there was anyone whom the child might belong to, but nobody approached.

His parents had tried to impress upon him the importance of being a good neighbor. If they had a spar moment his mum and da checked in on those nearby, offering what little food could be spared or helping out around the house. If nothing else they would have a cup of tea and chat. To hell with that, he thought. But the problem was that Sledge couldn’t just walk away from a crying kid. He headed down the hallway, listening as the cries grew louder when he approached. David knocked on the door.

Sledgehammer's eyes glossed over as he twisted his glass around in his hand. This was the first birthday without any well wishing. Charlie hadn't been entirely close, but he at least said happy birthday. He missed his gangs, where he was king. A little respect went a long way, and even more was excellent. All that respect was probably to blame for his bruised ego. You get swelled head and it is going to have to burst. But no. There was a difference between arrogance and acknowledging your strong suits. A successful life of crime was definitely one of David's strong suits.

A menu that gains the ability of flight is something you would usually notice. Surely everyone in the bar had noticed it. All except for the sulking Brit who's drink served as a landing pad. The menu continued to go unnoticed until Sledge started to lift his glass for another drink. "What the hell?" he asked, staring at the obstruction. He extricated the thing and set it aside, keeping it away from his fedora.

How much had he drunk already? After thinking about it Sledge realized that if he could still count how many scotches he had, he wasn't drunk enough yet to forget about sticking a menu in his drink. The bar wasn't as lively as some of the pubs back home, but by no means was it a funeral home. Someone sticking a menu in his scotch was something that could possibly happen. It just had not seemed like it would happen when nobody had been particularly near him. Maybe it was the negative aura David excluded from his stool. Hold on a tick, there was someone nearby now. "I think this belongs to you," he said, picking the menu back up again and offering it to the newcomer.

C: Conspire
Age 18

Briggs pulled himself deeper into the warmth his jacket provided. It was a dry winter, free of great amounts of snowfall, but what it lacked in blizzards it more than made up for with biting cold. This sort of deal always seemed to be struck up in an out of the way street corner, a place where the only signs of heat came from streams of smoke dribbling up and out of those chimny sort of things. Heaven forbid that David do this in the cozy stores where the scam always started.

David, for his part, didn't seem to notice the cold while the pigeon fumbled with his billfold, grumbling under his breath. The teen wore a thin jacket, the sort meant for a windy summer day rather than the dead of winter, unzipped and a jumper that was starting to pile. His Mum would have slaughtered him if he had gone out without a hat or gloves, thankfully she never noticed his gloves were missing the fingers. A long scarf hung loosely around his neck. "Price's gone up," he said to the poor sap. A paper bag was securly tucked between his feet, holding this season's must have. "Cost you a hundred."

Briggs knew that had the shops been able to hold on to their goods it would cost their mark only about thirty quid. Thirty quid for some flashing lights and annoyingly high pitched animated voices. Their supplier had asked for seventy percent of the profits. David had made a suggestion as to where that offer might go, and what sort of actions it could do once it was there. He had other suppliers that he could seek out, and it was only as a favour that he had returned to him that year. Seventy dropped to sixty five. Haggling continued until David had gotten him down to fourty five.

"That's extortion," the mark complained. David shrugged his shoulders. Of course it was extortion, the man knew that before he arrived. If he was going to complain and walk away it was no skin off of his nose. He had plenty of goods to go around and the demand was high.

"How badly do you need it?" he asked the mark, picking up his bag. More hushed protests before the money was handed over. Without handing over the bag David counted the money, confirming it was there. "Merry Christmas then."

Briggs and Sledge started to walk away, the larger man feeling a cold that wasn't just from the weather. It didn't feel right dangling toys out for sale at a higher marked price. "You're a regular Grinch ain't you?" he asked. David stared blankly. He had no clue what a Grinch was, the same as he didn't know the Smurfs or Donna Noble. That program had never been seen in his house before. There was no telly.

"Normal holiday spirit," he defended himself, "Just a Saint Nick."

"You're blinking too much, back peddling on what you say, eyes shifting up and to the right, grinning like the cat that ate the canary," Sledge started listing off each tell that the amateur had shown. Get caught doing any one of those things in his gang and you were raked over the coals. Sledge took his cons very seriously and expected those he worked with to do the same. It wasn't a job in the traditional sense. There was no steady paycheck, no medical or dental benefits (quite the opposite really, Sledge had had to have more stitches than he was able to count), and it certainly wasn't something you spoke about at church. They still were professionals though, and professionals do not make sloppy mistakes like that. Mistakes landed you in jail. "You denied being a conman by saying common man. I know a lie when I see one."

The mention of pizza as a meal to chat over didn't particularly appeal to the Brit, even if he did believe negotiations went better over a full stomach. He hadn't been in the States long enough to find a home for himself, only places where he could spend a night, on a couch if necessary. Take out food was becoming a staple part of his diet and it left him with a heavy feeling in his gut. When Graves repeated his desire for a life free of crime, Sledge was was grateful for the chance to get away from the greasy food, even if he doubted the man could live such a life.

A cheque was handed to him and Sledge eyed both it and the one who filled it out skeptically. Who carries cheque around these days anyways? "I'm sure you'll understand, but I don't take cheques from those on my side of the law, no matter how honest of a life they claim they want. Cash only, up front, and I count it."