Its Risky Business
Montparnasse woke up groggy late in the evening. Once people had left from the night before he took it upon himself to go out for celebratory drinks. However, some people shouldn't drink and what a fucking headache. Slipping on the same jacket he's always worn and lighting the ever present cigarette while doing his hair was a missed routine. He decided the best idea for a hangover was to fix it by going out and drinking more.
A slow step with no beat and hands in his pockets kept him balanced. He missed the familiar scent of liquor and bad decisions that came with drinking. Montparnasse was feeling cocky enough to cause havoc in upper Paris asides from feeding poison to the slum rats of the lower.
The feeling of adrenaline in his stomach Montparnasse wasn't sure if he just wanted to get laid or if he wanted to kill a man down. Maybe both? Maybe neither? He wasn't exactly sure. All he knew was he wanted to stick something somewhere and make them scream.
Montparnasse laughed at his train of thought and let his head fall backwards, "I can hear the motherfucking choir" He yelled. The truth was, he didn't care where he was walking anymore, just as soon as he seen his target it was time to pounce. He wondered how many people he'd actually killed at this point, the blood stains under his finger nails had become permanent and his usual bragging of 'Three men before the age of twenty' had been long forgotten by a trail of destructive carnage. After all, was there any other kind?