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Room 429, Sunday Morning
Oct. 12th, 2008 02:27 amRone, the twin of the ill-fated and rather dim, rather wealthy, and stunningly attractive Reno, had spent Saturday in his newly acquired room, rifling through all of his ill-gotten gains. The body of his late brother had been tied up (simply because one could never be too careful) and locked in the closet, where Rone wouldn't have to lay eyes on it until he could find the opportunity to properly dispose of the very clearly, certainly, obviously, and indisputably dead thing.
He didn't mind losing the closet space, really. His twin brother kept very little in his enormous walk-in closet, aside from a few Armani suits and the food for Reno's rarest-of-the-rare prized pedigree Amazon black-footed angora siamese polydactyl scentless albino vegan afghan show-ferret, of course. And Rone had little interest in such trivial things.
No, no, Rone's attention had been on far more important fare. Reno's diary, left on the nightstand with the key conveniently set beside it for purposes of quickening along the scene, had proven to be interesting reading last night. He had learned a great deal about the family that he had never known and about the life that he was now going to assume for his own.
His foolish brother's diary had become his bible, and a red sharpie marker had taken care of the little matter of mimicking the two red birthmarks on his brother's cheeks, which were the only features that, at a glance or a glimpse or even a good, long look, set the two of them apart.
Armed with Reno's entire life story scrawled in flowery calligraphy in a little black book, Rone's plot to have his revenge and to take the family fortune for himself was finally underway. Reno's wallet was in his pocket, and he'd painstakingly perfected the art of forging his twin brother's signature overnight. All that remained now was the process of insinuating himself into every aspect of the life that his brother had once known.
Just as soon as he'd had himself a nice, long, melodramatic laugh, naturally.
[Door is closed, but the post is open, if you'd like to pop in. I'm headed to bed right away, but I'll be around to catch pings in the morning!]
He didn't mind losing the closet space, really. His twin brother kept very little in his enormous walk-in closet, aside from a few Armani suits and the food for Reno's rarest-of-the-rare prized pedigree Amazon black-footed angora siamese polydactyl scentless albino vegan afghan show-ferret, of course. And Rone had little interest in such trivial things.
No, no, Rone's attention had been on far more important fare. Reno's diary, left on the nightstand with the key conveniently set beside it for purposes of quickening along the scene, had proven to be interesting reading last night. He had learned a great deal about the family that he had never known and about the life that he was now going to assume for his own.
His foolish brother's diary had become his bible, and a red sharpie marker had taken care of the little matter of mimicking the two red birthmarks on his brother's cheeks, which were the only features that, at a glance or a glimpse or even a good, long look, set the two of them apart.
Armed with Reno's entire life story scrawled in flowery calligraphy in a little black book, Rone's plot to have his revenge and to take the family fortune for himself was finally underway. Reno's wallet was in his pocket, and he'd painstakingly perfected the art of forging his twin brother's signature overnight. All that remained now was the process of insinuating himself into every aspect of the life that his brother had once known.
Just as soon as he'd had himself a nice, long, melodramatic laugh, naturally.
[Door is closed, but the post is open, if you'd like to pop in. I'm headed to bed right away, but I'll be around to catch pings in the morning!]
