Velvet Acid Revolver - Chapter 1

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Velvet Acid Revolver

by Inoue-Shouko

Libraries: Adventure, Alternate Universe, Dragon Ball Z, Drama, Romance

Published on / 1 Chapter(s) / 0 Review(s)

Updated on

Vegeta is a famous vigilante in New York City. Uh-oh....

VAR

Disclaimer: Although I hope and I dream endlessly, I do not own DBZ. Vegeta! Someday, you’ll be mine yet!!!!!!!

Vegeta: -_- ;

Velvet Acid revolver is a pretty dark story- and it just gets worse later on, which is why its rating is high. If you are uncomfortable with violence of any sort, you may wish to turn back now. Otherwise, read and enjoy my Vigilante Vegeta in Velvet Acid Revolver!!

 

Velvet Acid Revolver

Prologue:

            Mario Vermicelli* was unhappy.

            Exceptionally unhappy.

            That fact, though, is quite understandable, for how joyous and over zealous can you be with five bullets lodged in your chest and you’ve been gutted like a fish?

            Hey lay there, soaked and smeared in his own blood, blood that was being diluted and quickly forgotten. His breaths became labored and shallow, proof that his sallow, unbecoming end was near… suffering with his pride as well as with his leaden body.

            To be struck down by that conniving bitch was enough- but that wasn’t the worst of it… oh, no…

            It was those unsettling eyes, eyes gleaming like gunmetal… The eyes of The Owl

            That was the unpleasant memory that he carried with him as the mobster succumbed to death- and hell.

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Chapter I: Holy Angel and Holy Cross

 

            Miss Cecilia Variadas, a sultry Hispanic temptress strutted around onstage, bedecked in a sunny glory that blazed through the night, caused by her extravagant yellow dress and canary yellow feathered headdress. Emerging from the ghettos simply to end up performing in the odd bar or cabaret, she felt slightly perverse in that she was the headline act of tonight’s show at the Cabana del Soul , for the first and only time in this crappy part of town. It was her idea that the audience should soak it up and enjoy it- because tonight, she would be out of this hellhole.

            Oddly enough, tonight her audience was quite uniform- they were all the local mobsters. They were meeting together tonight to divvy up the money that they had garnered over the last three months, money earned from the coca their sons sold to schoolchildren and the fatcats that they themselves had pumped full of lead. There was a wicked, foreboding air that hung around the Cabana that night, which caused most of the staff to be on edge. Everybody was scared stiff-

            Except for “Miss Canary” Cecilia Variadas herself. Besides earning some cash from this deplorable act, she had one other intention to fulfill tonight, one far more intimate and far more personal.

            That’s when she started to turn on the charm- and began to flirt with the men.

            Mario Vermicelli was the most intimidating and pronounced of all the mobsters in attendance. He had a long, shiny pink scar that ran from his high eyebrow all the way down to his square jaw. His skin was a very dark olive, pitted and wrinkled, covered by clusters of little scars. His eyes held a piercing hawk’s gaze that frightened all of his lackeys into submission.

            Other than his looks, there was one other thing that distinguished him among his domineering partners in crime- his rap sheet.

            He didn’t have one.

            That wasn’t to say that he did nothing- to say that would be a terrible mistake. He just never got caught. He didn’t get caught for the pipe bomb that he stuck in the tailpipe of his former boss’ Mercedes. He didn’t get caught when he sliced up a pretty woman in the park with a pocket knife.

            He had torn her to pieces and no one had ever known…

            At the current moment, his hawk-like gaze was fixed solely upon the shapely Miss Variadas upon the stage, his roving eyes tracing her every curve…

            He decided that he would have her, despite any opposition she made. She really didn’t have a choice- the sleek Glock hidden in his pocket ensured that.

            Miss Cecilia Variadas was a very beautiful girl, in an exotic way. She carried herself, her gait exerting nothing but grace and self-confidence- which was rather puzzling, considered that she had grown up and been hardened in the streets. 

            When she landed a job six months ago as a performing dancer, she found some sense of dignity in the fact that she no longer had to sell her body for her income. Her newfound “profession” as a new outlet in which she could expunge her demons….

            But by no means did that mean that she was an upstanding citizen.

            She was nobody’s fucking fallen angel.

            She wasn’t going to be pitied by anybody.

            She belonged to no man.

            In fact, that was the very reason she was lying low in the slums. At her last performance, a complete and total greaseball of a cop had tried to grope her. He tried to feel her up- and tried even to rape her… His drunken advances prompted her to slit his throat with a box-cutter.

            At the time, she just left his body there, thinking,

            Well, if he dies, then I guess that’s just too damned bad.

            She wasn’t sure whether or not they were on her trail, but she wasn’t pulling any punches. She had used her real name in tonight’s performance ads, and if police caught a whiff of her scent, they’d be descending upon her like flies.

            Finishing off her dance routine, she bowed and hustled off stage, intent on packing her stuff and getting the hell out of dodge before something bad went down (which she was fairly sure would happen) She bolted to her dressing room as if she had wings on her silver stilettos.

            Plucking the ridiculous yellow headdress from her head and flinging it into a forlorn corner, she pulled on a raincoat . Just before she turned the doorknob, she stopped and tucked her handy box-cutter in her skirt.

            You never know when you might need it, she thought with sick amusement.

           

            Stepping out into the alleyway, the rain that had poured all day had gotten far worse, as if it was a deluge from the overflowing floodgates of Heaven. Visibility was terrible, so she would have to take her time through the alleyway.

            Unbeknownst to her, though, a pair of gleaming grey eyes glittered with the moonlight, fixed upon her… and him.

            “Hello there, Miss Variadas. Come over here… I think I might have a little surprise for you.” Said a suddenly revealed Mario, pointing the Glock level at her head.

            Stifling a small growl, Cecilia was forced to obey, walking slowly over to him.

“I hate insufferable fuckers like you.” She ground out between tight lips.

“Oh, you’ll learn to love me. You have to. You have no say.”

“You’re right… Your lips, I…I…”

“You what?”

I’D LIKE TO CUT THEM OFF!” she roared and let the box-cutter fly, slicing neatly through the middle of his face, gouging out an eye and biting deep into his lips. Flinging her away from him in a haste for safety, he fumbled and dropped the gun.

“You… you bitch! I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you, you whore!” he roared from his spouting, dead lips. He picked up the glock and aimed it at her heart-

His chest suddenly exploded in blood. Cecilia heard the report of the gun each time a bullet punched through his flesh. One, two, three, four, five!

His shuddering body fell to the ground, twitching and convulsing. Cecilia turned to bolt-

When she heard the click of two pistols behind her.

“Turn around, Cecilia,” said a gruff, dangerous voice. “It’s time you face the music for what you have done.”  

She saw him- and knew who it was instantly. His eyes were a deep gunmetal grey, almost black, capable of turning blood to ice in their veins. His hair had a disturbing upsweep, and his great widow’s peak added to the haunting ambience. His face and his glare were just as dangerous as the twin Colt .45’s he had pointed at her face. The pistols were engraved- one emblazoned with Holy Angel and the other with Holy Cross.

Ergo, he was the one and only Night Owl of New York City, the wicked and ruthless vigilante. And he was here, pointing guns in her face and telling her that she was going to die.

“I think you’ve got the wrong person,” she smoothly lied, trying to seduce him so he’d let down his guard. “I haven’t caused anybody any-“

“That’s bullshit and you know it.”

“Why are you here? Who sent you?”

His serious face turned to an evil smirk which froze the blood inn her veins. “What does that matter? You’re not walking away from this. You’ve killed many men, Miss Variadas, and I can stand your sticky, sable-stained hands in my city no longer.”

Turning to bolt, his colts flashed twice, pumping two solig bullets into her brain with a dull thunk.

And with that, Vegeta crept back into the darkness of the night.

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Inoue-Shouko: Haha! What’d you guys think about that!

Vegeta: Control yourself woman, it wasn’t that good.

Inoue-Shouko: Why you…!!!!!!!!!

 

^_^;   eheh.. I’m shameless. I don’t care if you flame, just make them constructive. Woe betide you if you are flaming for no reason! I’m serious about that, too!

 

 

             

           

           

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