Into the Crystal Ball, look deep, find your center...
Aug 11, 2020 13:50:48 GMT -6
Jason Anderson The Boss, Chris Styles, and 1 more like this
Post by Druscilla “Prophet” White on Aug 11, 2020 13:50:48 GMT -6
It had been two years since Dru last was able to hug Robi. The two had seen one another on visitation days, but that was from behind a thick layer of bullet proof glass. But today, today was the day Dru had been waiting for what seemed an eternity for. Today was her release day!
Walking down “Freedom Lane” as she exited the prison, the sun beat down on her, she dug through her mesh bag for her sunglasses. It had been 5 years since she last took a breath of fresh air, without prison bars in her view. She looked out over the dull expanse, seeing Robi and her bike, waiting for her. She grinned, but that smile faded when she remembered what she was wearing. She would never, ever live this one down. The expression on the waiting Robi’s face was that of quizzical amusement and disbelief. Her best friend was walking towards her, dressed in the latest, finest of grunge wear. Dru slipped on a thick, black pair of Ray Bans and scowled a bit. “Don’t even look at me.” The woman strode faster to her friend, not wishing to discuss the ensemble. Yet, it beared a discussion. Jnco jeans 36’ Rhinos, a black camisole under a lime green mesh sleeved top, that black leather hooded coat and an old, ratty pair of black Van sneakers, hidden beneath a mountain of that denim fabric.
It seems little Dru had been arrested after a night… it had to have been Halloween, for that outfit. “For the love of Odinn… Are you kidding me?” Robi cackled as she doubled over, her laugh echoing over the silence. Dru growled. “It’s not funny…” she stood in front of Robi, tossing that mesh bag over her shoulder. So Dru was a type of egirl… well that was news to Robi. “Laugh now. I’ll kick your ass later.” She grumbled as she tapped her sneaker at her friend. Robi, wheezing from laughing so hard, tried to stand up, but once she caught a glimpse of her again, doubled back over and fell to her knees. Oh, this was going on the wall.
She grabbed her cell phone from her pocket and took as many photos as she could before Dru, looking like she could kill, began to walk away from her. “Okay, Okay… I’m done.” She cleared her throat. “Swear. I’m done.” Dusting herself off, Robi straddled the bike and waited for Dru to climb on. “I swear to the Goddess if you show anyone that picture, I will sneak into your place, cut and dye your hair and leave you for the bunnies.” She climbed on the back of the bike, slipping her arms around Robi’s waist. “Don’t get fresh.” Robi taunted as she set those horses running. They stormed down the highway, idly chatting along the way. They had much to catch up on, Robi hadn’t seen Dru in over a year. Dru lost her rights to visitation, after a bit of an altercation that almost cost her her release date. She knew she’d catch shit for it later, but for now, they enjoyed being back together.
The duo stopped for lunch, and Robi treated Dru to a small shopping spree, allowing the woman a shred of dignity before she reunited with the Wolves. Lunch was simple, Robi knew of a wonderful creole place and to introduce Dru to Cajun Cuisine, they stopped at The Shack. A few hours later, having thrown away her old life in the form of the sack of embarrassment, Dru walked out of the store in true fashion. Her boots, the classic knee high, spike heeled, paired nicely with a slender, tight pair of grey, distressed jeans and a Jack Daniels tank. She felt a bit more normal. Robi, being the motherly type with a select few, handed Dru a small box, wrapped in black paper. Raising a brow, Dru opened the small box, to see a set of keys. “I promised to make sure you were set.” She looked from the keyring to Robi, a little confused but ultimately excited. “Are you ready to get your things?” Dru nodded, following her to the bike once more. Those Ray Bans were placed back on as she held tight to Robi. Like lightning striking the plains, the two faded into the distance, heading towards Dru’s true birthright.
After their trip to the storage building, where she(Robi) stored her bike, and her chest of goodies, Dru sat in that small 10 by 10 room, larger than her cell by quite a bit, she dug the key out of her pocket to her chest. Robi, waiting beside her bike. Watching Dru reintroduce herself to her life. The click of the lock echoed in the nothingness, the pad lock was removed and set down beside her foot. She took a deep breath; it had been years since she saw her beloveds. And they were part of the reason she had done time.The other part, she kept close to the chest for a reason. Only Robi knew why.
The next items she pulled from the dark depths of the chest, her daggers. She flashed a wicked grin, tucking it in the knee high boot. A lady never went anywhere unprepared. That second blade, she ran her fingers over it. The blade flashed in the fluorescent lighting, it’s etching coming into focus. “Wolves of Óðinn”. Another gift from her adopted sister. This blade held more meaning than just the etching. In a way, it had saved Dru’s life. Robi had saved her life. Robi knew, things weren’t as safe as the world “wanted” the populace to think. Especially for women like them. That blade was soon tucked away in her bag.
Another trinket pulled from the mists, she smiled broadly. Her spell book. She tucked that in her bag, for safekeeping, before diving into that chest once more. Twinned metal flared in the light, reflecting the chromatic hues, softly. Still within her shoulder holster, she pulled one free. “Judge” was etched into the handle of one, “Jury” its twin, remained in the holster. One of the road weathered Chiappa Rhino 60DS’s. Her babies. Dru wasn’t one to spend needlessly, unless you looked into her closet…, but when she did, it was either on her bike, or her Rhino’s. She’d been given these when she turned 16, by the Don she had worked for when she was a kid. Ironically, the reason she turned outlaw, despite her parents pleas. Gun was placed back in the holster, and slid over her shoulder, tucking those beauties close to her sides. Well within reach. She was quick to draw, but she rarely missed. Came with the outlaw life.
Her cut was the next item pulled from the chest, she held it up and wiped a tear from her eye. Robi had done as she swore. Dru ran a finger over the Wolves patch, the top rocker… the bottom. Even the Vice President patch on the chest, the brand new stitching, it was beautiful. At last. She slid on that aged dark leather vest, the creak of the material sent a flood of memories through her. This time, her vest held a true MC patch. She grinned. Tossing her hood back, revealing that long, braided blonde and black hair, she adjusted her shoulders, pulling the vest over her shoulder holster tucking her guns securely at her side, it was like coming home again.
She closed the chest, placing the lock loosely back in place before she stood. Her lithe body moved with the fluidity of a feline predator. Slender frame, carried by those toned legs clad in knee high black leather boots with stiletto heels. The stiletto heels clicked as she moved to the large green tarp. Her hand ran over the material gently, “Did you miss me, Lenore?” her voice was gentle. “We need to get reacquainted, don’t we, love?” She pulled the canvass back slowly, revealing the cherry’d 1945 Harley Flathead. Custom black and mint green paint was pristine. Her breath caught in her chest. She was, truly, a sight to behold. “I missed you.” She placed her hand on the tank, rubbing it softly. This bike had carried Dru across the US, more times than she cared to count. She kept this bike perfect, it held the miles of a true biker, but was just as beautiful as it’s rider.
She was luckily, able to get those precious items into storage before the raid. A Wolf in Sheep’s clothing? Perhaps. “Come on Dru, let’s ride. We’ve got your apartment to set up.” Robi hollered as she mounted her bike. Dru nodded, and as she slid one leg over the Harley, she felt more alive than she had years before. After closing the storage door, the two women looked at each other and their bikes thundered to life. Driving side by side, into the sunset, was never a more beautiful sight to behold. Women. Wild and Free. With the rumbling of motorcycles drowning the clamor of the world.
Time moved on, Dru had taken a job as a Tattoo Specialist and Body Piercer at a local parlor, Valhalla Rising Ink, to pay the bills of a small 3 bedroom apartment. She didn't want to access her offshore accounts, not yet. Robi had set her up with a nice place. Dru owed her, she owed her her life, honestly. She may not have fared as well in prison without Robi. Dru was a lover of the occult, a practicing wiccan, and had an affinity for all things gothic or victorian. As was evident by her apartment's decor. Black curtains, black paint, purple accent lighting, skulls everywhere. She had a wolves pelt rug in her living room, in front of the fireplace. Her artwork was either drawn by her own hand, or found at antique shops. She had very specific tastes. Even her cat, Meowlmir’s cat tower was a gothic style castle, of black and dark purple carpet. Dru was, if anything, a wonderful interior decorator and was absolutely the best party planner the Wolves had. She held that title, as well as her Vice President patch, very proudly. The crown suited her.
A year after she’d been released and settled in Baton Rouge, Robi had come to her, with a small, mewling little black kitten. It wasn’t her birthday, so it was a confusing gift. “Call it a Freedom birthday.” Robi chortled, placing the furry purr machine in Dru’s arms. Those eyes went wide, running her fingers through the kitten's soft fur. “Robi.. I.. wh--... “ She sighed softly, hugging her friend tightly. “Thank you, Prez, thank you.” She smirked, placing a kiss on Robi’s forehead; planting a black kiss print there. Knowing, full well, it would annoy her. Robi snorted and immediately scowled, rubbing the lipstick off her face, “Damn Dru, really?” Dru grinned. “Deal with it. I show love. I’m more than just a pretty face, I do have emotions. I have needs!” that mocking tone meant to show she was kidding. While Dru did love Robi, she knew better than to push her too far. But, she pushed her just far enough. “I’ll name him Hel!” She cuddled the kitty, kissing its little head gently. Mewolmir had lived without a friend since 2017, when Thor passed away at Royal’s house. Dru had been heartbroken, and Robi knew it.
The two were quite the pairing. Different places in the world, but shoved into the same space, it created a bond neither of the two had seen or felt before. It was a type of soulmate, they would defend the other to the death, without asking a question. One struggled hard in her life, raised her kids alone and had done so while running her own MC. The other, a free spirit, rebelling against strict rules and religion, working for mafia Dons, bookies or even cleaning up after a hit. One was a survivor, the other dueled the devil for fun. The yin to the others yang. That is how she earned her nickname, Prophet. She could sense a lie in the most truthful of mouths and she’d call them on it. She was the Judge and Jury.
Dru showed more than enough loyalty and determination as time marched on. She stood toe to toe with many who’d wish to see her kiss the curb. From rival MC’s to wannabe muggers; she lived to tell each tale. That wasn’t to say she left those tiffs unscathed, Dru held her fair share of scars, but she did walk away with some fun stories. And experiences. She held her own when it came to weaponry, and she wasn’t completely inept when it came to fist fighting. But she preferred to utilize other things. She had trained in martial arts for a few years, so she knew how to block attacks and turn the tables on her opponents. Her lust for life, that’s what kept her grounded. And with each passing day, her skills grew and broadened. Soon, she was closing in on Robi when it came to the level of violence and aggression she was capable of. Though, her President still could shock even her with her capacity for mayhem.
Working at Valhalla Rising gave her ample time to work on either her sketching, or her Wicca. It was an amazing place, one of the more popular parlors in Baton Rouge, and the artists portfolios was proof of that. Dru’s had increased exponentially in the short time she’d worked there.
(Flash back)
While she was many things, Dru was first a foremost a devout Wiccan but that next facet of who she was, was her outlaw side. She was born a rebel. She hated the hypocrisy of society and felt an anarchist way of life would settle many of the world's dramatic issues. Political and Social. Next came her sensual side, she enjoyed music. Art. Dance. Theatre. Who said a biker couldn’t be cultured? She ran books, extortion schemes, and was one hell of a forgery expert. The crime families begged for her work. She was laundering money when she was a teenager for the Giovanni family; her life changed then.
She knew her calling would be being a criminal. Little did she know, that choice of a lifestyle would set her on the path to finding her true soul mate. Dru had gone to all the right schools. Prep schools, for once, had a tendency to kick her out, but she did matriculate at 18 but was focused on her illegal craft, so she put off the idea of college.
However, when she was 28, she ended up going to New York University for three years after the Don paid her tuition.
She had worked for the family since she was 15, paying for her college was the least, literally the very least, the Don could do. She spent the better part of her life dodging police, cleaning up others messes, and committing felony after felony. She was considered a felon at the prime young age of 18. But, she had never been caught. She always kept herself 10 steps ahead of the police. For instance, she had many offshore accounts, hidden behind pseudonyms, false corporations, and none traceable.
That was, before she was arrested.
Dru was unstoppable. Top of the world; living in a highrise, paid for by her more than generous boss, Don Giovanni. She had no fears. She was protected. Cops came sniffing around a few times, and either they disappeared, or left empty handed and demoted. She was the Queen of crime by the time she was 31. Until…
Mason McHale. He was handsome, suave, clean cut. A dream, and she should have known better. As she began to court Mason, she never spoke of her duties for Don Giovanni, but it was as if he just knew. He called her beautiful. She opened up to him. They’d courted for a year before she finally told him how she made her money. To her, it was an honest living. She never kept the dirty cash, never touched blood money, but she had done wet works once or twice. The irony, that was not her downfall. Her downfall was the Police Chief’s daughter. One aggravated assault charge changed it all.
Her case was blown wide open, and the second a confidential informant got wind of it, Dru was informed. She booked a flight to Argentina, gathered her belongings but it wasn’t quick enough. Mason came through her door, badge glimmering, gun trained on her. She knew she was fucked. She put her hands up, but nodded to her cat in his carry crate. “At least let me call someone for her…” The Queen had fallen, and she fell hard. Mason handed her his phone, and she dialed the only friend she had left, Royal. Royal would take her supplies to their storage, and take in Meowlmir until other arrangements could be made. How fate's work still fascinates Dru.
The trial was short, she was given prison time, 37 years in prison, or, if she gave up information on her boss… witness protection. Against her nature to rat, she told the police where to shove their deal. That’s what signed the death warrant on her. She would go on trial, facing numerous charges, alone. Now, anyone who was facing the time she was, would have taken the deal, but Dru had a different set of standards. That man had taken care of her when her own family turned their backs on her. She’d take the secrets of the Don and his familia to her death. And if she wasn’t careful, that day might have come sooner than she thought.
The moment those bars slid home, her life changed again. She lost it all. And for a brief moment, she had lost her self-respect. She protected her boss, the man who gave her a home, paid her bills, kept her cat fat and happy. And who had helped her restore that Flathead to its pristine state. Yet, the second he had heard about her arrest, he, too, turned his back on her. She was worthless to him now. She was nothing.
When she had “settled in” Dru went back to her asshole ways. She was getting into fights, almost daily. In the mess hall. The clinic. Even in the commissary line. She’d been to hell and back, either trying to merit her street cred, or possibly get herself killed. No one was really sure, not even Dru.
Time drew on, prison time moved slower than anything. A few new scars, a couple broken bones, Dru had survived two years, before she met the person who would once again change her life. It was shower time, and while Dru was gingerly soaping herself up, making sure the bandages didn’t get too soaked, they jumped her. The crew pinned her down as their chosen spokesperson spat at her and told her why it was happening. Evidently, being a white girl named Druscilla, from Vegas, who acted like her shit didn’t stink was all it took in prison. One of the girls whipped out a shiv, stabbing her in the shoulder and then the world flashed.
Robi slammed into the group, knocking a few of the assaulters away from Dru, before elbowing the leader square in the nose. Blood ran thick. The water turned to a river of red, from multiple sources. Robi kicked the next girl who tried to stab Dru again, knocking her into the tiles, knocking a tooth from her already fucked up mouth. “Fuck this…” Dru whispered as she took that casted hand and began to punch the one who had spat on her. Pain fueled her, anger fed her, Dru was done taking this shit. The woman already had a broken nose, but Dru was hell bent on shattering her face.
In the thick of things, Robi pulled Dru off the woman, before a guard scrambled in. “What the…” the guard was flabbergasted. How had that happened in the literal 5 minutes she was away? Robi pushed Dru behind her, she knew the two-tone haired woman had been in solitary four times already that month. “Looks like they tripped…” Robi quipped as she snagged a towel to wrap Dru up in. “Let’s go.” she muttered under her breath as she rushed the bleeding woman out of the showers. Dru shrugged away from the woman despite the searing pain in her shoulder and arm, she’d seen her in the yard once or twice, but she hadn’t had the pleasure yet. “I got it.” She snapped back, tucking that towel around her, “Don’t fuckin’ touch me.” Dru growled, holding her bloody and busted cast.
She had gone a tad feral in her time here, Robi knew how it was. Without your tribe, your people, one had the unfortunate opportunity to go native. “Hey, lady, chill. I wasn’t touching you. Christ. I saw you needed help. Guess I was wrong.” Robi turned to leave, Dru scowled before growling turned to a sigh. “Hey… thanks.” Her voice was soft, still full of fire, but softer. “Not many would have done what you did." Tucking her wet hair into a bun, she tried to get her shirt on, but the hole in her shoulder, broken cast and still broken arm gave her trouble.
Robi was quick to move, grabbing the woman’s shirt and helping her get into it. “Look. I’m Robi, but everyone calls me Valkyrie.” Now, she held the women's trousers for her to step into. She saw the blows the woman took to the ribs, she had to be in pain. A wince as she lifted her leg, “I’m Druscilla, but if anyone calls me anything, it’s Dru or Prophet.” She cursed a good deal under her breath as she stepped into the pants, slowly pulling them up to her waist. Robi held her steady, allowing Dru to put all the weight she needed to, on her. “Stick with me, kid. Me and mine got you.”
Now, as time went on in prison, Robi’s release date grew nearer and the two grew closer. Their affinity for similar interests kept them occupied and sane. Robi, the Queen of bikers, as Dru nicknamed her, promised her when she was released, she’d make sure her belongings were safe, and she’d even take in that damned cat.
When the day arrived, Robi took a more serious tone to her voice when she woke Dru from her slumber. “Look. When you get out, and you will get out, I will pick you up. I’ll take you to grab your storage key. Got it? I’ll have everything waiting. Even your cut. I need you, you’re my VP. So cut the shit, meet your release date.” Robi was stern, but not overly so. She needed to make sure Dru understood, she really and truly needed her. The two had discussed the formulation of the Wolves of Odinn MC, and she had asked Dru to be her second. “I will, ok? I’ll be there, just promise to make sure Meowlmir is safe. I’ve never left her before now, and she lost Thor last year… I’m not sure she’ll survive this. Royal’s never really taken care of a cat her size, and I know....” Robi raised a finger, “I got her. No worries. She’ll be safe with me and mine till you get out.” They hugged tightly. But today was a sad day, today was Robi’s release day. As the embrace ended, Robi began to fade into the distance…
(Return to current time, in Monterrey, Mexico. Day of Rampage.)
Dru snapped awake. Her chest heaving as she sat up in bed, sweat-covered and anxious. “Christ… that wasn’t how I wanted to begin today…” She whispered, throwing the duvet off her and swinging her legs over that massive california king bed. Fluffy black slippers were found and feet slid within, she stretched a bit and stood. Today was Robi’s returning match. Dru’s first outing as her Valet. She knew her part. Knew what was going to happen, and she was beyond excited. Her outfit was hung on the back of her bathroom door. She skipped to the kitchenette to make coffee, feed the kitties and check her messages. Then, it was time to get ready. The hotel staff wasn’t too thrilled about a crew of bikers, but the manager couldn’t refuse when The Wolves came to town. They may have been noisy, and a bit rowdy but most of them, if not all, weren’t there to destroy the place. They were there to support their President.
The day itself was a blur, for everyone except Robi. That woman remained cool, collected, until it was time for the show. The group psyched themselves up, before the lights dropped out, and that music began. The women took their places, and moved with such grace and dominance. The intimidation that was emitted from them, was enough to send even the strongest man running. Especially what came from Dru and Robi. Those two were forces of nature. Like tornados or hurricanes, the two women could devastate, leaving nothing but carnage and shrapnel in their wake. As was evident by how their strides matched.
Once the rest of the women had exited the arena, and returned to the green room to watch the match; Dru, like a predator, stalked the ring. Watching her charge work the crowd, she grinned. She kept her hood up, mask remaining in place, no one catching but a glimpse of her eyes if she turned to them. Those mysterious eyes. Piercing. Alluring. Dangerous. Dru cheered on Robi, amping the crowd behind them.
Yet, once the tables had turned, and the bell rang a stunned Dru, furious inside, looked to Robi. Valkyrie herself, livid, seeing blood, cursing what had just occurred. Vowing revenge. Vowing destruction. They walked from the arena, the calm before the storm. Neither saying a word, but both knowing well what needed to be done. Dru sneered, those platinum fangs sparkling in the overhead lights as they entered the green room. The plotting had begun, and it would bring the dark side of the Wolves. The pack was ready to play.
(Week after Rampage, back in Baton Rouge.)
Once the Wolves returned home, things had not yet begun to cool down. They all still held the same venom from Monterrey. But that didn’t mean they all hadn’t returned to their normal days. Working. Working out. Shopping. Taking care of their families. It was as if nothing had happened, on the outside. But that’s only one aspect of the Wolves.
Dru was leaving her home, heading in to work that Tuesday, having a few appointments for some ink. She arrived at Valhalla Rising Ink two hours before her first scheduled appointment, and began to set up her station. She samples laid out, for the patron to choose the sizing, rested on her desk. As she waited, she received a text. Checking it, it was her bank, notifying her of a rather large, rather unexpected deposit. The following chime was from a number she remembered vividly, and all it said was “Hello Druscilla.” and her phone went flying to the couch across from her. How had he tracked her down? And why? She hadn’t spilled any details about him or his operation, why was he contacting her now? 6 years later? And where had that money come from?
Swallowing hard, she slowly walked to pick up her phone. Another message chimed in. “I believe this belongs to you.” Her bank app chirped. Another deposit. “Robi isn’t going to believe this shit…” she whispered under her breath as she took a screenshot of the texts, as well as her account. Forwarding that info to her, she blinked a few times. She wasn’t sure about responding to him. At least, if she didn’t, she had some deniability.
A lightbulb went off. She ran to her laptop, in the back room, and flung it open. Nails tapped the keys with breakneck speed as she pulled up those offshore accounts. “Hmm..” None had been drained. None accessed in at least 6 years. Only the interest they’d accrued was showing in the recent activity. Then what was this? A bribe for silence? A threat? Gift? Back pay for her time in prison? She wasn’t about to go back to work for them. She had a new life, a new job, and she loved everything about it. Giovanni would just have to find someone else, otherwise, she’d make sure he never bothered her, or her new family, again.