Cleaning the Mess

Cleaning the Mess

"So, Damien. I've heard stories about your success in the psychology field. How is it that you're able to point out things from people by just looking at them?"

A man, mid 30s had asked, a wine glass at hand and envy splattered all over his face. Damien grinned at that, but ignored it altogether. Why lower himself to an ignorant snob, just because the man felt his masculinity taken away by Damien's presence? It was two territorial wolves claiming dominance over the women present, difference was, Damien was not interested on the women at all - he was just here to be polite.

"Well, studying human behavior is not that complicated. It's but a chain of predictable moves one can instinctively point out. We could start by emphasizing on t--"

With a tap on the shoulder his conversation was brought to a halt by one of his guards. It did annoyed him the interruption, so the person had a very limited amount of time to explain himself - which he did. Leaning close to Damien's ear, the guard announced something he had been expecting.

"We found him."

That was everything he needed to hear. Finally. All Damien did was nod, and turning back to his small little audience he directed a smile. "I'm truly sorry for such abrupt pause, but could I be excused for a moment? Once I'm back we can continue. If that's what you all wish, of course." The male explained, his eyes glancing at every guest until they landed on a woman a tad younger than him - who he obviously noticed staring at him the entire time. He winked just to purposely mock the man before him and simply turned around, once done that, his expression immediately changed from charismatic to dead serious.

"It better be the right man or I'll make sure you two take his place." Was all he whispered to both guards as he left with them upstairs.

Walking now through the hall, Damien extended his left hand to the side without even turning his head. "Gloves." He requested, to which the guard immediately respond by placing black, leather gloves on the hand. For someone to work with the man, they needed to be agile and prepared. Always carrying his essentials for when he asks for them. If not, you better say goodbye to the job - and basically your life. He was not to let anyone out once they've joined, so failing to do your job would cost your life, and everyone knew this the moment they requested to work for Damien.

 He began to place them on as he got closer to his office's door, and once he had finished he was standing before it, turning both knobs and swinging both doors open, which were immediately closed by his guards the moment he stepped inside.  

The desk seen as you entered was unoccupied, yet to the left of the spacious room was 2 more of his guards, watching over a strapped man on a chair. Upon looking at his face he knew who it was - so they did caught the right man after all.

You see, Damien had some merchandise arriving that belonged to his acquaintance. But the package never arrived at his doorstep. It was his personal guard's responsibility, yet he assigned another person to take care of it - and that person was the man tied up. So here Damien was, cleaning up another person's mess and making sure his soldiers never forget who they work for. He made sure the culprit was found in less than a day, and now it was time to fix the mistakes.

"Renard! It's so good to see you!"

There he was, that fake charismatic behavior of his. Empathizing the word good as he began to walk towards the male.

"Was your trip good? I hope it wasn't bumpy. Are you thirsty? Want a glass of water; wine; soda? Hungry maybe?"

But of course he only received a fearful stare, the man's mouth was covered with duck tape. Damien sighed rather annoyed as he was now in front of Renard, his eyes glancing behind him at his soldiers.

"So I want to know how the fuck do you expect me to have a conversation when the man's mouth is covered in duck tape!"

He scolded, yet the soldiers didn't flinch at the raise of tone, already used to it.

"Well? What are you waiting for? It's not like he can be heard from here. Take it off, NOW!" And with that they immediately reacted, one of them ripping off the tape from Renard's mouth, forcing the man to wince in pain by the sting of the action. His charcoal eyes staring up at a smirking Damien.

"Sorry about that, I hired a bunch of fucking morons." The man had indicated, his eyes glancing around to make his point across before he looked at Renard again. "But enough about me! Let's center on you. I'm sure you're wondering why you're here, we'll that's very easy to answer. You see, I have to ask you a simple question that I know you have the answer to. Once that's done you can pretty much go home. No hard feelings, like nothing ever happened. Sounds good to you? Alright good. Please, have a seat--oh no wait, you're already sitting down sorry, I'm the one who has to sit."

Oh yes, he was quite the talkative, sarcastic asshole. So grabbing a chair and making himself confortable in front of Renard, Damien began to explain.

"Alright, look. Yesterday I had a package being delivered for one of my contracts, yet it never reached my hands. I heard you were in charge of it, so my question is. Where is my merchandise?"

He made it sound so simple, and yet Renard didn't answer. He just stared at Damien with anger fueling in his eyes. Perhaps he was not aware who exactly he messed with. Damien sighed rather disappointed, his tongue clicking while he gave a tap on his own thigh, and soon after he stood once again.

"Silence treatment, huh? Well that's alright. I'm also good at sign language if that's the case. Do you know sign language?"

And just like that, with no warning or explanation, Damien had swung straight at Renard's face. His fist colliding with the man's jawbone. The other cried in pain as Damien fixed his blazer sharply. "Oh, was I too expressive? Sorry, I tend to get excited when talking." He watched how Renard fixed himself a bit on the chair, as if trying to seem intimidating and hard to break down - oh boy, you have no idea who you're mocking. Damien scoffed at his petty attempt to look menacing and lowering himself at Renard's level, the man took hold of the victim's chin, locking eyes together.

"I'm gonna repeat myself again, I feel I didn't speak loud enough earlier so I'm gonna give you another chance. Where. Is. My. Merchandise?"

But once again he didn't receive an answer, just ragged breathing. Standing up straight, he fixed himself before hitting Renard once again, this time it was a punch at the stomach, directly at the diaphragm. He left Renard out of breath, the man's fingers curling and gripping tightly the chair.

"I'm gonna say this one more fucking time. Where is my merchandise?!" He yelled.

"I don't know!" Finally, Renard had cried out.

"Oh, you don't know? Then you better start remembering!"


It wasn't as hard as it looked, wyping the fluids off from the leather gloves with a cloth, he made sure they were as new before he turned away; his body now walking away from a bruised, bloodied Renard.

 "Clean the mess." He ordered before throwing the now dirty cloth at one of the soldiers lazily, his hand taking the piece of paper being held by his personal guard. "Good."

Soon the doors swung open gently, forcing Damien to avert his eyes in said direction. It was his son, Lance - right on time. Walking now towards his son, Damien held the folded paper for him to take, which he did. "I need you to go pick up my package at this location. There's no one who does their job as perfect and I trust more than you. Notify me when you find it." Lance nodded at the request, receiving a soft pat on the shoulder blade and neck.

 "Prends soin de toi, mon fils." Damien told before turning away to look at his men, the doors closing behind him as Lance left. "You two, finish cleaning, and you two, with me. There are still guests in the house -"

"-and we need to make sure they are well attended."


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