The Men in the Dark

The men sat by a crudely lit table, half-standing with its incredible lean. Although the scenery seeping in through the cracks of splitting wood revealed signs of life and light, the inside of this room was a detail-less dark-- almost black. The only signs of life within this tiny seclusion were the creaking of the struggling legs as one of the men burdened the weight of his heavy arm upon the higher side of the table, and the dismal candle flame in the center, from which trickled a steady stream of oil, oozing over the rotting wood.

Breaking the silence, a click and a spark gave the brief semblance of a face. Probably. Two eyes, sunken shadows, hovered over a sharp nose, black from soot, decay, or the like. His ash-gray curls gleamed violently with grime and other garbage in the sickly orange light, behind which a pair of hidden lips held a crooked cigarette tightly.

"Another one?" asked the man sitting across from him, "We just got those things from that lucky break and you're gonna use them all up now. You gotta space out those things, Jon. I'm not gonna give you one 'a mine just cause you ask nicely, y'know?" There was a loud snapping sound within his mouth as he took off his large hat and fanned away the dark smoke that had been blown in his direction. Under the candle's glow, his glare was silent, sharp, and cold, but quickly hidden away once more by the large folded rim of his hat.

Jon laughed. " 'ts the pointa havin' these things if I can't e'en choose when I wann' use 'em, eh?" Billows of smoke erupted between his laughs. Looking up with a forceful exhale, Jon mindlessly gauged the distance using the dim daylight above. "Besides, our boy's gonn' be doin' the runnin' jobs for us, ain't he? How old's the lil' devil now… 'zit nine? The big ten?" His laughter became a coarse cough that reverberated through the table as he pounded his chest as if it were a finicky machine, then back to a yet louder laugh, "Hell if I know." he said raspily between laugh-coughs, which had intensified to the point of him using the fragile table as a ground.

The man sitting across kicked a foot over the lower end near himself to stabilize the struggling table. "Whatever it is, there ain't no doubt the kid's a growing boy." said the man, sliding his thumb across the bottom of his hat's rim slowly, "I can swear he's been getting taller on his last few trips."

He paused.

"Might be around time." His words had an edge on them, like that of a blade. He stared at Jon, who only met him back with a wordless smile scented of cigarettes. Then, he turned to the man sitting between them. His hands were on the table; they were so rough and marked by tiny scratches his skin seemed to mimic the old wood itself. "Well then… Lucius?"

Lucius propped his head upon his hand, his other performing a calm but rhythmic tapping. The soft but sure sound drew into the room a powerful silence, and the others waited for a verdict. Half of his face was lightened as his gaze leaned into the fire. He had a wide face, steady eyes like smoky quartz crystals, and long silvering hair that beheld some elegance even if unkempt— although the features were certainly marred by age. Finally, he spoke. "He won't do anything. Therefore, you won't do anything either, Kenton." He said this without looking up from the fire. No one spoke. The room waited for Kenton's objection.

It never came.

Kenton flipped his hat over his face with an agile movement of the head. Leaning back, he muttered, "Fine."

The table threatened to flip over as Jon relieved his terrible weight from it. Kenton quickly shifted his feet in the aftermath to avoid that. "See, Kent? Lil' skinny shit ain't e'er gonn' go against me. You wann' see, I'll show you. When he comes on back."

Kenton looked beneath his hat at Jon, who licked his cracked lips with his fat slug-of-a-tongue while eagerly cracking his knuckles. Now standing, the streams of outside light twisted around the silhouette of his body— revealing that beneath the mess of hair, fat, and miscellanous debris, the man possessed an intensely muscular build.

"Now then," said Jon, "how 'm I gonn' greet that lil' punk today...?"