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[i]Donny's eyes widened and the cigarette dropped from his sagging mouth. He slowly licked his lips, left hand twitching out from the safety of its pocket. Between his gloved fingers was a folded note. He held it up before his face and opened it. He remembered quickly copying down the information, he actually remembered it. A look of confusion so strong that it resembled severe disgust warped Donny's features. He read the note over again, and yet again after that. He felt something like a heavy vice clinching his aorta. Despite himself, Donny's eyes drooped back into their usual position as he allowed himself a dry smirk. How long had it been? He could scarcely remember when he had last felt genuine fear uncoiling its cold, scaly length within him. Under his breath, barely audible, he murmured a greeting.[/i] 

"Hello, old friend." 

[i]Donny paused, huffed, and repeated himself. This time he forced his accent.[/i] 

"Hello ol' frahnd..."

[i]Of all the weapons he hid, of all the violence humankind implemented, Donny knew which one was deadliest. Fear, fear, fear. It was fuel for war, fuel for ambition. Donny could feel it like a broiling energy, energy that sharpened his mind and cleared out his senses. A cold shower had nothing on this. Everything went into crystal focus. He turned to where Luca had landed, crooking a finger at the boy and calling him over.[/i] "Son, c'movah heeyuh. Ah wanna ask yuh few things."

[i]Donny disliked being treated as a plaything. He offered his services and fulfilled them to the best of his ability, but he always expected his employers to meet certain standards. Right now, he was being used for purposes that had not been in his contract. Platter was trying to double-skunk him. Had Platter merely allowed for the extra details and paid the additional fee required for waging a supernatural battle, Donny would have gladly participated after having done enough research to comfortably handle the job. But no, Platter had taken Donny for a fool, and so were the entities behind this whole fiasco. Even Luca's apparent manager was fucking around, withholding vital information. Donny prided himself on being an out-of-the-box intellectual, one who was able to explore all avenues of possibility. Flexibility and the power to adapt were vital when death was your profession, and at this moment in time, Donny felt particularly lethal. He preferred not to act out of anger. He accepted irritation, but anger was one of the core emotions that drove fools to their doom. Donny preferred to take care of situations such as these in the name of self preservation. If in the world there were things that compromised his job and existence, they had to be dealt with. Luca's manager, Platter, the entities, perhaps the entire town was treating him like a plaything. The thought crossed Donny's mind that he was likely being egotistical, assuming that he could have any sort of influence on the supposedly formidable powers conglomerating in this place. Then again, if he was so insubstantial why then would one side desire his aid? Furthermore, if one does not shoot for stars, how will one ever make it to space? No. That wasn't a Donny-ism. More like a quote you'd find on a cheap middle school poster. Aim small, miss small. Much better. Donny remembered one of the spaghetti Westerns he liked. Everyone had their hand of cards, had laid their money down. Donny's hand was a losing one, and so there was only one thing for it if he didn't want to lose on a bluff. Shove his fears down, kick the table over, and pull out his shooting iron. In the Wild West, the gun determined who won and who lost, who had the final say. Perhaps Donny's Magnum couldn't handle this particular game of poker, but he felt he could utilize something far more powerful with the help of Senior "Astroboy".[/i]