Name: Jovanna Agasga Location: New York, Saga HQ Attire: Black and green accented Tripp pants, ripped black tank top, black combat boots, green fingerless gloves, various chain accent jewelry. Weapons: Desert Eagle gun (concealed Date/Time: August 7th: Evening Tagging: Open
"Please, please," the boy whimpered; he looked to be somewhere in his late teens or early twenties. The sound of dragging slithered off of the bare walls of the Saga Pack's lair. It was eerie, and then it was covered by some laughter. Two Saga members had a boy between them and dragged him by his arms to the foot of a makeshift chair... or rather throne, made from various piles of junk. Atop that pile sat a woman with a stony faced expression. Her arms were rested on the pipes to be used as arm rests of her make shift throne in a lazy manner and she looked at the boy who lay crumpled on the ground, sniveling. A sneer slowly cracked across her features and she stood up before crouching down and resting her elbow on her bent knee. Her hand came beneath the boy's chin and she tilted his head back roughly to force him to look at her.
"You know who we are, pup?" she asked. Her voice was low and husky, and it sounded sexier than if she were to whisper sweet nothings in his ear. He was terrified.
"Y-yes..." he stammered.
"Tell me then. Who are we?"
"The...Saga Gang," he croaked.
The woman sneered once more and stood up abruptly, letting his head fall back to the concrete. Her hands came together in a joyous clap. "Good job! And do you know who I am?"
"....Jovanna Agasga," he was whispering now.
"Good, good. You're a smart one. But... not very. If you know who we are, and if you know who I am, why did you come on over into the Saga territory, eh?"
"I-I...I... Ah!" he yelped in pain when a boot from one of the men who dragged him in landed on his ribs. A large, scarred hand came down and seized his hair, jerking his head up.
"I, I what? Killer asked you a goddamned question, boy!" the man holding his hair barked.
"Shut up, Davon," Jovanna snarled. "Let the goddamned boy speak."
"I was taking a short cut..." he whimpered finally.
"Oh yeah? Tell me, puppy, you belong to a Pack?"
He was slow to answer, and Davon delivered another harsh kick to his ribs. "Yes! The Kiskin Pack..."
Jovanna looked thoughtful for a moment. "Kiskin, hmm? Interesting. Kiskin's been on my back for a while now. They're pretty close with the Association. Is that right, Nero?" she said slowly, thoughtfully before shooting a look at a thin male perched on a crate near her improvised throne.
"Yuh. That's right... Real close with 'em. That's why they keep going after our scouts," the little punk muttered.
Jovanna rubbed her chin for a moment or so before she looked down to the boy. With a slight smirk, her green eyes snapped to Davon who was still looming over him. "Kill him. Send the Kiskin a message," she said with a chilling matter-of-fact tone. "Put him on the border of the territory and let their damned scouts find him."
"No! No please. I'm begging you... Don't do this," the boy whimpered, curling in on himself. Jovanna flopped back onto her pile-throne and smiled warmly at him before looking to Davon and waving her hand impatiently.
"Get on with it then!" she barked.
And so he did, along with to other wolves that came to his flank. Snarls bounced off of the walls of the barren warehouse, and eventually blood stained the concrete.