[center][url=http://fontmeme.com/grunge-fonts/][img]http://fontmeme.com/embed.php?text=Fenrir&name=ZOMBILAR.ttf&size=90&style_color=997356[/img][/url]
[img]http://38.media.tumblr.com/78adbc7d5be6c9635f2bd0edb49f7c72/tumblr_inline_mfyyju6qOF1rbe4y7.gif[/img]
[b][u]Location:[/u][/b]Wolfgang's Mansion in Ireland
[b][u]Interaction:[/u][/b]Guy he kidnapped and a married woman[/center]

[color=gray]It was his favorite room in the house. 

Walls thick as thighs and soundproof, with red paint slathered onto the walls (some parts still drying) and round suspicious holes and cracks. An assortment of tools hung on the wall, shiny and glistening under the dull yellow flickering light. Chains were suspended chaotically from the ceiling, tangled together and looping around chairs and other such innocuous items. In the middle of this room, there was a chair with a man sat in it, his legs wrapped to the legs of the chair and his arms twisted behind his back. A starchy, itchy burlap sack was shoved over his head, with string tightening it around his throat. His distant, muffled screams could be heard, expletives pouring from his mouth, only accompanied by footsteps coming down the stairs.

[color=moccasin]“Are you ready to talk yet, Mayer?”[/color] Wolfgang Reinhardt, notorious criminal extraordinaire, said as his boots thumped onto the dusty, wooden stairs. His fingerless gloved hand scooped instant macaroni and cheese into his mouth, engulfing the tines wholly in order to scrape the last bit of goopy cheese with his tongue. His other hand dangled by his side, knuckles gripping on a lavish leather wallet that most certainly [i]wasn’t[/i] his.

Almost anticlimactically, Wolfgang’s foot slammed onto the cellar ground, dust stirring around the boot until it settles by the sole. A devilish smirk came across his face as he grasped a chair by the stairs and dragged it to be in front of the bagged man. He threw himself into the chair, slouching casually and smacking his boot onto the other man’s leg, using it as a footrest. Wolfgang inhaled the rest of the microwave meal, letting out a satisfied sigh when he was done and tossing the plastic bowl to the side.

Wolfgang smiled cockily, gesturing with his fingers vaguely between the two (despite the other man unable to see the gesture), [color=moccasin]“Why is there such awkward silence between us, Mayer? I thought we were friends - hell, I thought we were best friends considering the favors I’ve done you. Why such the cold treatment?” [/color]

Wolfgang frowned in a faux pout, his stubbly handsome face conforming perfectly. Then, as if tired of such fake charades, the expression dropped from his face, only to be replaced by a terrifying cold impassiveness that could only mean trouble. Wolfgang sat up slightly, his fingers pinching the burlap sack and ripping it from the man’s head. With the bag removed, it was easy to see the elderly man’s face with his salt-and-pepper hair and slight facial wrinkles. Blood drooled from his mouth and bruises littered his temple and cheek, purple and black in color. In his mouth was a red clothe, stifling any protests that might have been made.

Wolfgang sighed again, this time out of agitation, his eyes rolling to the side at the whole unnecessary process. [color=moccasin]“Will you tell me where my money is, Mayer?”[/color]

Mayer offered only strangled muffles, products of shouts and screams. Wolfgang slipped the red clothe from his mouth, throwing it onto the ground where dirt and hair immediately clung to it. Despite his mouth being freed, he remained silent, his eyes assessing Wolfgang while his lips held onto the secretive location, unwilling to give it up to the beast before him. 

Wolfgang leant back, his spine hitting the back of the chair with a dull thud and his shoulders slumped in causality, though he felt nothing but. [color=moccasin]“I’m disappointed in you, Mayer.”[/color]

Wolfgang began to reach for the red clothe when Mayer felt his lips loosen, his mind crazed.

[color=white]“Eat shit!”[/color] He hissed at Wolfgang, before propelling a droplet of his spit which landed on Wolfgang’s cheek. 

Wolfgang swiped the disgusting liquid from his stubbly cheek, wiping his hand on the gag he used. Then, without warning, Wolfgang surged forward, his hand snatching Mayer’s bottom lip between his fingers and stretching it far from his gums. When it seemed he couldn’t stretch it any further, he let it go, sauntering backwards away from his victim and towards the wall that held his favorite devices. However, just as tan fingers began to glide against metallic sheens and shining points, the sound of a doorbell jolted him. 

Wolfgang crossed the room, absent-mindedly stuffing the dusty gag into Mayer’s mouth, and jogged up the stairs, taking two at a time. [s]His sons[/s] His dogs barked at the sound from their perch at the expensive couch, though they didn’t bother to get up at all. Wolfgang opened the door, only to see a woman dressed luxuriously head to toe. She smiled innocently at him, her lips curving seductively as she fixed the sun hat on her head (Wolfgang glanced into the sky curiously, only to see it cloudy and brewing up a storm).

[color=white]“Hello, I’m Siobhan.”[/color] The blonde woman introduced, offering her hand to which Wolfgang shook lightly. [color=white]“I called on the phone yesterday, about you training my new dog. You said to come by sometime?”[/color]

Wolfgang’s features relaxed, his mind recalling her from a week ago. [color=moccasin]“Oh, yes, of course, Mrs. Berne.”[/color] He forced a casual laugh, [color=moccasin]“I’m sorry, you caught me at a bad time. Is it possible you could come by – let’s see – next Tuesday?”[/color]

The woman seemed off-put, especially since she had come through all the trouble to come to his home, but nodded graciously anyways and gave a demure smile. [color=white]“Of course, Mr. Reinhardt. I’ll see you then.”[/color]

[color=moccasin]“See you then.”[/color]

Wolfgang walked back to the door leading to the basement, eyeing his [s]sons[/s] dogs when they quirked they scratched at the door. He distantly wondered if they were worried about the blood, but shook it off since they never acted so when others were dying in his basement. Wolfgang pried the door open and entered, expecting to have to walk down the stairs rather than down a lavish hallway.

He recognized the place as Asgard and, while walking towards the table in which other gods were sitting, Fenrir was angered by the thought that Odin [i]dared[/i] to summon him. He took any seat that would do, barely glancing over to see Hel and his damned father, Loki. When Tyr stood at the front, Fenrir snickered at the sight of his nub, thoughts roaming back to when he swallowed the hand whole (it had a horrible taste, but the satisfaction had outweighed that). But then the news of Odin’s death was brought and Fenrir froze in confusion.

It had always been his destiny to kill Odin – it was always his ambition, the thing that kept him going on, really. And that was taken away from him. How was he supposed to feel about that? Angry, devastated, upset? Odin’s stone body was revealed with a flourish and Fenrir settled on one, single emotion: hysteria. A laugh bloomed in his chest – a real, god-given laugh – and Fenrir’s laugh began to echo around the room. His fist slammed on the table in hilarity, his chest hurting with his laughing – it came to a point in which he spilled from his seat and landed on the floor, rolling in laughter, chanting “Odin’s dead! Odin’s dead!” in between.[/color]