at the top of my lungs, in my arms (Emm's first death) prt 1

WARNIN'--contains swears and.. stuff.

I haven't really posted much about her life before this point, so here's a summary to read so you won't be too confused :v

Emmy was born in the early 1900's in France. Her dad moved the family to America when his construction business was called on to help build in New York.
The family was very well off, but little Emm wanted to play baseball in the streets rather than playing the piano and reciting poetry. How predictable, right?
She meets this kid John and his dad who is the head police commissioner (or.. whatever. he's the big boss, basically) and blah blah they grow up together and when Emm's parents send her away to an all girl's boarding school, John is sad. BLAH BLAH time passes and when she graduates and comes back during Prohibition, John and his dad are all "omg Emmy, you grew up to be so pretteh."
John's dad is secretly a bootlegger and when he sees how pretteh Emmerz is, he recruits her to be their "persuader."

Basically, John's dad wanted to expand his bootlegging empire, and a few mobsters wanted to join him since he could easily cover up any criminal activity with his daytime job, but all of them kind of needed persuasion, so that's where Emm would come in.
She'd meet them at a bar, show a little skin, promise them things, anything to get them to join the gang. There was never any sex involved; Emm drew the line there.

BUT of course one day she crossed that line and got into this mobster's car. John was naturally upset and he kicked her out of the gang.

SO now you're caught up. Now you can read my crap :/
(I think it sounds a little goofy because I've been working on this off and on from like.. the fall)

If any word confuses you, just go here and look it up with control F.

Here's a few!
dogs=feet
dead soldier=empty beer bottle
shiv=knife
A=epic car

--- - --- - --- - --- - --- - --- -

It was another one of those damn nights: a fat moon stuck in the velvet sky, thin clouds swooshing all around and messing up all that glorious moonlight that made the creek look like silver from a cup. Emele had been standing and staring at the creek for a while now, and her dogs were really starting to kill her. Had she known she was going to stand in the mud in high-heels for a coon’s age, she would have worn different shoes. But this was important. She had to look her best.

This was a big deal and she wasn’t going to fuck it up again.

John’s face when she’d gotten back from the last deal had never left her mind, neither had his words. The memory made her wince. His hand against her face, the crack as she fell back into the coat rack. John’s tears falling on the wooden floor.
She’d already hurt after what that man had done to her: what had to be done to get that fuckin’ deal sealed and over with.

But this one.. this one was going to make Johnny smile again. She’d gotten a note from The Mannequin; biggest Sugar Daddy in the city. He wanted to rent out some of his girls to bootleg for them, so long as he got a small cut of the profit and his girls got their protection while on their runs.

She hadn’t told anybody about it. John would worry.

So there she was in her best glad rags standing by a stinky creek in the middle of the night, shivering and waiting.

The creek was in between two apartments, both equally overpopulated with loud people. Emm knew that the owner of the struggle buggy lived in one of them.

The man..

It had been an easy and needed sacrifice; she’d spoken with the man’s wife and she’d told her how their marriage was failing, she worried about their son—there’d been a gun in his room and some weird cigarettes. Emm’s guys had been thinking of employing the kid; he had that killing instinct, but none of them really liked the way he looked at people.
Kid had those shifty eyes.

Somebody in one of the apartments shouted and her hand went instantly to a dead soldier on the ground. She had to stop and stare at it, then laughed as she dropped it and pulled out the shiv in her pocket.
A girl couldn’t be too careful, you know.

Just then she got a good reason to have that in her pocket.
Bang.

One of the windows shot up with light. She swore she saw red against the window as it shattered into sparkling triangles. They almost looked like falling stars.
Make a wish, girl.

A woman began screaming, then another. Shouts.
“Damn, somebody sure got bumped off!” Emm hissed to herself, tightening her grip on her shiv and looking away from the broken window while ignoring the sounds.

Her mind wandered back.. back to France.

She was getting her picture taken for her parents to frame, for them to remember the innocence of their daughter in petticoats and lace. She’d been four and the lace was making her itch something horrible.
The man under the dark sheet kept on giving her orders. Stop moving, kid, you’re gunna mess up the picture, don’t you want your mommy and daddy to have a nice picture?
But she’d kept on squirming and hot tears warbled on her cheeks, her lips began to pucker and her shoulders shivered a little. The man cursed and pulled out something yellow.

A wooden duck!

“Are you Emele?”
The voice startled her half out of her wits, naturally, but of course it was The Mannequin! He finally decided to show up, that bum. Ah, don’t be too hard on him; he’s got a helluva time with those girls.

It took her half a second to turn herself around, but she stared at that face for an eternity.

This wasn’t The Mannequin.

It was that kid.

His slicked back hair was falling around his face in knotted tangles. Some strands looked shiny and as a cloud trickled away from the moon she saw that his face was splattered with
Ohmygodhekilledhim
Blood, but not only that; there were
ohLordthat’shisdaddy’sskullonhisface
little globs of white bone and some other stuff she knew only too well what it was.

He’d killed his daddy.
Emm’s hands went to her pocket for the shiv.
Oh sweet baby Jesus I’m not packing. Why the fuck am I not packing?
But the only thing she felt was the inside of her woolen pockets. In that second she must’ve given him a pretty dumb, desperate look as the barrel of his still smoking pistol poked itself from out of his jacket at her.

“This is for sleeping with my dad.”

Smile for the birdy, kid.
The man pulled on the duck’s legs and it went

Bang bang.

--- - --- - --- - --- - --- - --- -

About half a block away, Jonathon was slipping up and down the street in his dad’s A, headlights inspecting every dark corner. His mouth was full of black oaths and a Lucky Strike that filled the car with a thin pungent smoke.
He knew he shouldn’t have believed her when she said she was going to the deli. Nobody “just” goes to the deli in their Sunday best.

“Dumb broad..” John snarled as he turned sharply to the main road. He was about to turn left when there was a muffled crack. He pulled the car to a shrieking stop halfway on the sidewalk and clambered out the window instead of the door.
Dead silence, now.

“Musta been my fuckin' imagination.” He breathed in frustration, reaching for the door.

But then, smart as a rock to the head: there it was. Gunfire.

Something in his chest fluttered and he slammed the door behind him and sprinted like hell.

--- - --- - --- - --- - --- - --- -

CLARIFICATION TIME, KIDDIES!
Why did that boy shoot Emmeh?
That was the mobster's kid that Emm slept with. I guess the mobster guy went all emo on his family and told them he'd slept with a flapper. Mommy went emo and his kid (who is probably crazy) shot him.

Part two is being worked on while I'm baking sugar cookies P: