Whitehood is now admin of the server
“You belong in jail, that’s where you belong,” he said sharply. “Why’s it so dark in here, boys?” he continued after a momentary pause. The smashing sound of mechanical keys accompanied the speaker. “I hope you don’t mind me intruding upon your conversation,” said Whitehood smugly, chuckling softly with self-satisfaction, “but I could not help myself overhearing some interesting, albeit illegal, talk.”
“Jammy lad,” said Aleku affectionately, elongating the name which sent shivers down Rod’s spine.
They both saw at once a familiar, handsome figure emerge on the screen. For the first time in many years, both the businessman and the student laid eyes upon a friend who was more like a brother to them – although only the young man would admit this openly, for the businessman was always too proud to repeat this fact to anyone. Even now, the warm greetings shown by the Eastern European was simply the result of the limitations opened up by his drunkenness; it is a known fact, known by many the world over in fact, that the drunkenness of the Slavic soul far exceeds the natural limits set by mother nature, assuming at least that there are no physiological differences between the European bodies. A belief which, if held in this day and age, would indeed catapult one into the realm of pseudoscience; a belief which, if at all held by one or two of these men in highschool, would have surely been dead and buried by the time of this meeting...One only has to go on a night out with a man from an Eastern European country, or a man with at least some direct connection to Eastern Europe in his blood, to really see the extent to which the typical Eastern European can drink. One liberally inclined, like the one we are about to be introduced to, might well argue that it is prejudiced to generalise a habit to a particular racial demographic, to a particular geographical segment of the population, to a particular person with shared characteristics – and in many instances it would be correct not to ascribe particular habits to a peoples of the same skin colour or gender or religion...But in some instances, as life experience might reveal to one who was previously brought up such a tradition as this one, whereby one is taught that all people are the same and to be treated the same, and yet should be respected in their differences and that some are to be accommodated for their very differences (isn’t it confusing?)
He was about twenty-eight years old, with a shark jawline, shark features, shark eyes, shark mouth and teeth, high cheekbones and gorgeous, black hair draping onto his heavily defined shoulders like a lion’s mane. His silky, glossy hair was buoyant like a little child, flittering about his collarbone as though an 18” Mole Fan was constantly adorning him off screen like a film star; his hair seemed to be very little touched by the white light of his monitor, for one’s eyes were completely absorbed into it like a blackhole, and one could be forgiven for thinking himself or herself (or themself) blind; but Rod knew that he was not blind, having very clearly seen the young woman’s shadowy figure earlier. His face was deliriously beautiful, so handsome was he that Rod at that very moment questioned his body’s impulsive movements; Rod looked at him with intense interest, and it did not take him much to gather that his wealthy friend was also doing the same, for both men were breathlessly silent, and not even the previous creaking sound of Aleku bed was heard for that complete duration. Jam’s face was so perfectly proportioned that it was as if Michealangelo himself had sculped his skull. His face, if it had to be described in such a poor form for depicting beauty as the written word, resembled a Saudi prince. A purple and blue psychadelic silk shirt adorned his visible, muscular upper body; his thick, heavy muscles popped in the places that are attractive on a man; his shoulders, his chest, his biceps, all of which almost burst out of their fabric constraints. A giant, golden stud in his left earlobe stole most of the attention away from his other attractive features like a shy little girl hiding behind the thick and heavy curtains of a theatrical stage; this would have been considered by his audience an ostentatious display of wealth had it not been for the brilliance of his other features, which both men were forced to restrain their own eyes from envying. And if that was not enough, around his thick and muscular neck was a thick, heavy Bvlgari 18 karat yellow golden chain, each link demonstrating a glamourous, shimmering diamond, amounting approximately to 50 karats in total if one were to weigh each piece of jewelry individually. When the policeman raised his wrist, he cleverly revealed to the audience, through a nonchalant demeaner, a Bvlgari 18k Two Tone Parentisi Diamond Ruby Watch, whereby each slice of wristband alternated between slivering gold and silvery diamond, and whose watch face was like a beehive of crystal.
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“I much prefer the Swiss myself,” remarked Aleku, breaking the tension abruptly. “39mm, platinum, polished finish; simply and elegant. It has a sapphire case back and a classic dial. It is like me: humble on the outside while disgustingly rich on the inside.”
“Do you not know that the law is the law; and that the law is the same whether one inhabits the physical or the virtual space?” said Jam, ignoring the slimy businessman’s attempts at conversation. “I have the power to arrest the both of you with the power vested onto me by the will of the crown court. Now then,” he continued, “I have heard that you both want popularity, especially you, Rod. I want to remind you that you do not deserve such a thing as that. Not at all do you deserve a thing like that. Not at all. Do you hear me, you particular, spineless coward? You should not even think about such a concept except that you do not deserve it at all.”
“Oh, this is going to be good. You must wait while I vacate the room,” cried Aleku, “I always like to be fully clothed when I’m simply observing an argument between good friends. I get terribly distracted.”
“That depends almost completely on whether Rod admits to his mistakes, Aleku,” replied Jam.
“Oh, I haven’t had a ‘strugglesesh’ in years, and I don’t want to miss this one, especially between such long-term childhood friends as you pair,” answered the businessman, snorting and coughing deliriously. When none answered back, he laughed incredulously for a long moment, and coughed one last time a dry, sort of bloody cough. “Do not tell me you guys have forgotten what a ‘strugglesesh’ is?”
“It was always between you two, like two bickering adults, and I stuck in the middle like the only, neglected child,” said Jam with a slight pain in his voice, as though the mere utterance of this statement brought up traumatic memories he had long suppressed.
“You are so very correct, Jam,” said Aleku, coughing again, followed by the sound of his teeth crunching the tobacco leaf of his cigar. “There were many times we’d call and Rod would immediately devolve into arguing some minute point. It almost drove me to murder many times as a matter of fact, and, unfortunately, has driven me there completely once or twice.”
“Once or twice?” repeated Jam incredulously.
“Admittedly after I landed my first publishing deal, made my first million, and met my first wife – all after I had ditched him for good, I’m afraid.”
Rod looked at his once-closest companion. Yes, he was to him enthrallingly attractive, with his finely penciled jawline, his honest shapely eyes, his chocolate-brown locks. There was something about his face that made him see that the confrontational man was honest in his conviction, yet somehow ignoble in his intention. All the qualities of a philosopher were there, as well as all the qualities of a sophist. One understood, on a visceral as well as an intellectual level, that this man not only had demons, but was still outrunning them. No wonder he was so bitter and antagonistic: in Rod, he saw himself. It was though Rod was holding a mirror up to him.
“...Jam,” muttered Rod, his heart beating rapidly. “Why have you always been against me? Even when I was the victim of a heartbreak you tore me asunder with your venomous accusations. Do you not have a heart?”
“Get my name out of your fucking mouth you dog,” spat the policeman vehemently. “You know what you did,” his voice suddenly croaked, betraying an underlying passion that was not present when he initially joined the call, and breaking the calm and silent composure he had no doubt honed over the many years since highschool. “You are a disgrace to this country and it is only a matter of divine luck that you have not been sentenced yet.”
“What? Where is this coming from? What the fuck?” asked Rod, bewildered. “Why are you attacking me? What have I done to you? You have always had it out for me, Jam.”
“Oh, here comes the victimisation – typical of a narcassist like yourself. You are a disgrace. I want to crush you. That would bring me great pleasure.”