#ft. Reggie Kray

[froggingthyme]

hello all!! I’d like to introduce you to my ERB inspired series - Uber Rap Battles of Randomness! (yeah, cuz who doesn’t have an ERB related series at this point?) anways, this is just a lighthearted rap battle series that I write in my free time, if you’d like to know more about any of the battles, feel free to ask!

WAVE 3

Butters Stotch vs Jesse Pinkman

Mr Butlertron & Scudworth vs Bill & Ted

Tak vs Gordon Ramsay

John F. Kennedy vs Scout

Jonah Hill vs Michael Cera (ft. Christopher Mintz-Plasse)

Alex Hirsch vs Bill Cipher

Simon Pegg vs Salt & Pepper (ft. Sheldon J. Plankton)

Charles Calvin vs Chris Baxter

The Solar System Battle Royale

Scott Pilgrim vs The World (ft. Taylor Swift, Jack Spicer, Bam Margera, Casey Kasem, Pearl, Reggie & Ronnie Kray & Loki)

[ronmanmob]

Betrayal, my brother - a modern!verse short

‘I’d’ve neva known.’

‘Known? Abaht wha’?

Sensing she’d mis-stepped, young Frances hid in the lemonade her boyfriend’s curiously grinning brother Ronnie had ferried over from the bar for her. Reggie was leaning against the mahogany top having a beer, and Ron, sensing the loneliness creeping in on the new lass’s edges, thought he’d make a go of making nice with her despite how her newness had jolted his world off its axis some. He didn’t find her unpleasant, after all. She was a small thing, dainty and flighty as a church mouse, but she’d also seemed polite when they’d crossed paths before today and Ron appreciated that about her. So over he’d come with his lemonade - ‘Ere y’are luv, on th’ouse’ - and a listening ear, intent on learning some more about his brother’s girlfriend so he could work down the walls his uniquely suspicious brain had thrown up when her closeness to Reggie’d been thrown at him. They’d made it a kindly ten minutes, Ron listening contentedly as she spoke about her college course, her plans, how she couldn’t drive but wanted to learn, before she’d left-fielded him with-

‘I’d’ve neva known.’

‘Known? Abaht wha’?

Head tipped and wondering, Ron watched young Frances seem to shrink into her glass. She glanced over at Reggie, then down to the table, then out the window; anywhere but at him. And then, resigned and scared and in a whisper-

‘Y’schiza-’

The change in Ron’s demeanour stopped her dead. He didn’t move, didn’t even seem to be breathing, but the lash of tension that went through him, how his face drained of colour, went slack then fixed in a gape as he gawked at her - it pinned her to the air. Unbidden, Reggie’s words on his brother came back to her-

Our Ron’s alrigh, jus’ needs i’s pills. F’th skizafrenia, y’know? Oh y’didn’t? Well, y’need tah. ‘Ee’s a good lad, jus’ goes a bit scatty wivaht ‘is tabs. S’why ‘ee don’t got much expression abaht ‘im, d’yah notice tha? No? Huh. Well, like I say. Jus’ keep in mind there’s some days ‘ee’ll be right as rain ‘n some ‘ee’ll be like a different person ‘n when ‘ee is ‘ee can be fuckin’ evil wiv it.

-and they were chased by adrenaline and fear. Exits. She needed an exit, needed to escape from Ron’s black-eyed, dead-faced staring before he--

‘Frances’

The woman caught a little shriek behind her hand; jolted back from the table like  she thought Ron was about to strike her. But he wasn’t. He’d sat forward and rested an elbow on the table while she’d been recalling Reggie’s flippant warnings. And he was staring, so hard at her. Her response was strangled.

‘Hm?’

And Ron’s? Ron’s unnerved her with its calm. ‘Was wha’ y’meant’ he asked. ‘Tha’ f’all I mus’ struggle wiv wha’ y’said I ‘av, y’can tell m’livin’ me best life? Doin’ well f’meself?’

Frances couldn’t rightly speak then, but she nodded quickly. Oh how much better he’d worded that; how much grace he had to have understood-

‘B’cause wha’ I ‘eard’ Ron went on. ‘Was you ain’t normal. N I know you ain’t. Bu’ y’look it. Y’act it. So well done, from normal me-’ He pointed at Frances, speaking as her. ‘T’mental you.’ A gesture to himself now, as all hope for empathy died in the young woman’s eyes. The silence that fell then was painful, felt endless. Frances didn’t notice when Ron took hold of her lemonade glass.

‘It Reggie ‘oo told yah?’ he asked gruffly.

Again, mute with fear, Frances could but nod.

And Ronnie? Prickling with adrenaline and paranoid down to his bone marrow now over what else his brother might’ve let slip in pillow talk, Ronnie stood from the table he and Frances had shared. He clocked the last orders bell on his way past it and, as his patrons turned in confusion towards it, lobbed that lemonade glass at the back of his brother’s untrustworthy, gossiping, traitor cunt skull. It shattered on impact, pitched Reg forward and turned him in defence in the same moment Ron collided with him, full pelt. He manhandled him, uncaring about how the moment looked to his patrons, or about how they scattered and rushed to the exit. He clutched Reggie as tightly as his broad, boxers hands allowed and dragged him through the door between bar and back of house. That door slammed shut behind them, and then rattled on its hinges as Ron heaved his twin’s full weight against it, held him up with an armbar across the neck and bellowed into his face til his voice was hoarse and his brother half-conscious.

Reggie’d go on, later, weeks later, to brush of the affair. 

He couldn’t grasp - even as Ron roared into his face that he’d betrayed him to his core, that he’d destroyed any chance Ron and Frances had at a positive relationship because by telling her what he had he’d changed how Ron perceived her - how badly he’d misjudged the situation. But that misjudgement’s echo never would dim.

[ronmanmob]

The Bakery - a modern!verse short

‘Yer missin’ aht, lad.’

That was Reggie talking, musing through bites of crusty roll and delicious filling about his twin’s sudden turn against having a bite to eat himself while they’d been at the counter of the little East End bakery they now stood outside of. They’d move on in a tick or two, once Reg was done fuelling up and Ron had let up on the window shopping. He was intent on it now, Reg noted; pawing over the pastries, pies, cakes, and ready-made sarnies on display with as much intensity as he usually did the morning crossword. And yet, when they were on the in, up had gone his nose at the very notion.

‘Sure y’don’t want a bite?’

Paper bag and sarnie were offered up gamely, but Ron just waved it off – too intent on the window, the display beyond it and, once he’d clocked it, his reflection in it to give Reg’s morning treat the courtesy of even a sideways glance. Ignoring how his stomach growled, Kray the Younger contented himself to window shopping at intervals; to straightening his tie and his jacket, and to making sure his hair remained as neat as it had been when he’d first combed it this morning. His brother didn’t know it, couldn’t tell for looking at him, but the world was a smidge noisier than it normally was by Ron’s reckoning. It’d been made so by the unfamiliar face behind the counter in the bakery who, though polite and kindly and through no conscious fault of her own, had derailed the little plan Ronnie’d had in mind for procuring a treat for his morning and had, by doing that, frayed his edges some; cranked the volume slightly. So it was, in the aftermath, Ron fixed on the window and what it showed him – the treats, the neat and tidy look of himself, the-

Blue eyes looking back at him through the pane of clear glass.

Noise escaped Ron without so much as a by your leave-

‘□���♒︎ ●︎□︎□︎🙵 ♓︎⧫︎'⬧︎ ❍︎□︎■︎♓︎♍︎♋︎’

-an observation that his brother heard but couldn’t understand for dust. 

‘Y’alright, Ron?’ Reg asked through a bite of his sarnie, both used and not to hearing Ron sound something like a skipping record and a VHS tape run backwards from time to time. There weren’t no one else around to hear him at the minute, so Reg didn’t think on evacuation plans to spare the public his brother’s brief dip into syllables and question marks. He just cocked his head at him instead, watched his face seem to slacken slightly, his brows raise, and lips twitch up lopsidedly at the corners.

‘Ron?’

Ron didn’t even hear him speak. There was an Angel beyond the glass, looking out at him; an Angel he knew by name and who he’d hoped to see when he’d been in the bakery a few minutes back now. It was from her he’d have happily ordered; her selections he trusted; her offerings that didn’t sit wrong with his Committee; didn’t turn to worms and poison the second he took a bite. She was safe to him in that sense, and that – Well, that was worth more than all the money in London to Ron. And she was here too; safe and here too, right now, beyond the glass. She was looking out at him, her hair pulled neatly back, eyes shining with affection and when she saw his face, his expression shift just like Reggie had, the sun may as well have risen in her smile it was that warm. It made Ron’s breath hitch to witness, drew his shoulders back, flashed his teeth briefly as he mimicked her and then…in a flurry…she was away and moving and coming outside with a wrapped package in hand.

‘Morning gentlemen’ she greeted politely, though barely glanced at Reggie as she passed him by and approached his brother, unveiling the package’s contents as she did. ‘I picked this out for you special’ she said, presenting her prezzie proudly to Ron who, for his part, hadn’t quite managed to look away from her face yet; that same soft expression on his. As she spoke on though-

‘Turkey with stuffing I made up this morning. If you feel-’

-and raised the package up a little for him to take, what she was asking of him processed. The paper-wrapped gift was accepted two-handed. 

‘...⬧︎⧫︎♓︎●︎●︎ ⬥︎♋︎❒︎❍︎’ he mustered.

The Angel’s smile was beatific. ‘Still warm’ she said, leaning in a wisp to add – ‘And double-full, just like you like it’ – before departing with a little wink and making her way back inside the bakery. Ron stared after her for a full ten seconds before coming back to himself and tucking in with gusto; a burble of syllables that Reggie half understood escaping through a rough, rattly laugh as he did –

‘LookathisfuckinfingChristaliveshe’ssummatelseIjus-‘

Reggie didn’t have much to say to that.

But he did smirkingly point out, ‘She don’t double-fill mine.’

[ronmanmob]

👀

Private Words Meme

'Oo's th'totty?'

That was Reggie's voice, pitched low enough over close proximity that only his twin brother caught what he'd said. They were secluded slightly, between the front and back of house in Ronnie's East End slice of Heaven pub; so much so that when his brother nodded towards the person that'd caught his eye, Ron had to crane his neck round for a looksee. Recognition of the lady leant up against the bar caught him instantly; stilled him for a beat. Then-

'Tha's Kit-'

Reggie scoffed quietly; rolled his eyes. 'Ow'd y'know every second woman-'

'Ow?' Ron parroted. 'I know me patrons, Reg.'

'All th'fuckin' fit ones, right?'

That sounded like nettles taste if Ron's expression was any gauge. 'No-'

Reg waved off the denial. 'Don't mattah.' He primped a little - straightened his cuffs, his collar, dusted at his waistcoat, checked the shine on his shoes. 'Y'know 'er well then?'

A night at the Ritz floated back to Ron in memory. 'Well as anyone' he proffered, unwilling to spread round business Kit'd never consented to him spreading round. She hadn't not consented, mind, but if nothing else Ronnie knew the want for privacy like he did the back of his hand. Without a firm yes, the answer was no.

Unperturbed, Reggie pressed on. 'She got a fella?' Another primping spate came on; the knot in his tie gently tugged and properly placed. 'Not like it mattahs, bu i's good t'know from th'off.'

The glare Ron levelled at his twin was withering, and he departed his company in favour of the behind-the-bar space without a backwards glance. On his way through he palmed a small chocolate flake from the jar usually reserved for topping mugs of hot cocoa, and set it on a paper saucer beside Kit. He was off serving another patron before she could much react, but it warmed him to see her smile and pink just a wisp at the cheeks when, as their eyes met, he winked at her.

[ronmanmob]

Love in Gangland - a modern!verse short

‘-Ang on a minute.’

That was wise Charlie’s voice picking up where Ronnie’d left off. His youngest brother had just finished explaining to a curious new face why wedding into the police force wouldn’t be in their best interests - even with a view to taking down operations against The Firm - and was mid-way through a deep gulp of Gin & Tonic when a mention doing similar into-

‘Th’Blinders?’

-came down the pipe. Charlie knew of that group. Hell, all of English gangland did, like it likewise knew the name Kray. Lighting himself another cigarette, Kray the Eldest held court with his siblings.

‘They’re them Birmin’am people. ‘Ead’s Shelby. Tom Shelby.’

‘Ee got a second?’ Reg queried.

‘Don’t mattah.’ That was Ron cutting in. ‘We f’ree, we’re top tree in th’Firm. S’only top dogs ‘oo wed top dogs.’

Charlie then, gesturing to Reg. He chuckled softly as he spoke. ‘We’re bowf married though mate, so tha’d leave you stuck wiv ‘im.’

‘Nevah know-’ Reggie chortled into his whiskey. ‘Ee might be yer type, Ron.’ Kray the Younger’s lips tugged into a snaggly grin. ‘Got a picture ‘ov ‘im?’

Luckily, Charlie did. He slid the offering out of his manila work folder and sat it between them on the table. Reg conjured up a sneer; made an offhand comment about the man’s hair cut and ducked back into his Laphroaig. Ronnie though…Ronnie wouldn’t blame a person for becoming a wisp transfixed on the man in the image.

‘Man ‘oo took this died second meetin’ wiv ‘em’ Charlie commented, shaking his head over the whole affair. ‘Ee weren’t one ‘ov ours, bu’ y’know ‘ow th’grapevine goes. Any bit’a foddah’ll make its way souf t’London, then East, t’us.’ He tapped the picture’s top corner for emphasis. ‘Tha’s Shelby. Don’t know fuck all abaht second-in-lines.’

‘Don’t need to’ Ron murmured, appraising the picture still. He took a breath, held it a moment, then let it out in a puff. ‘Ee’s a stunnah ain’t ‘ee.’

Reggie snorted. ‘Not my cuppa, fanks lad.’

‘Not mine eivah’ Charlie snuffled. ‘Bu’ t’each ‘is own.’ He circled back to the point in question then. ‘Y’d ‘av ‘im then Ron?’

‘Might do’ Kray the Younger nodded. ‘Wouldn’t mind showin’ ‘im London. Treat ‘im nice, y’know? Fancy car t’pick us up. Best restaurant. Suite at th’Ritz.’

‘Why th’Ritz?’ Charlie wondered.

‘S’expensive ain’t it’ Ron explained. ‘Plush ‘n-’ most importantly, ‘-ahta East London.’ And thus nowhere near the family seat of power, the family home, the family. Period. ‘So I’d take ‘im there wouldn’t I’ Ronnie went on, expounding happily about this never going to happen date between himself and the head of the Shelby clan. ‘Wine ‘n dine, up t’th room - Presidential Suite too. Nice baf t’gevvah maybe, or a showah, champagne, couple’a kisses ‘n while tha’s ‘appenin’-’

Neither Charlie nor Reg missed how Ron’s expression, once engaged and thoughtful on the picture, had closed down in the space of those last four words.

‘-Ee goes fer a knife ‘ee’s ‘ad in ‘is coat pocket all along. ‘N I bite f’rew ‘is lips ‘as ‘ee swings fer me guts, grab ‘is wrist, break ‘is arm, then ‘is legs ‘n–’ He paused a moment, pushed the picture back towards Charlie who, without needing to look, slipped it back into his work folder.

‘Gangstahs’ Ron went on levelly. ‘Are gangstahs to each ovvah, always. No mattah ‘ow beau’iful y’might fink annovah one is, ‘ow well y’dance rahnd each ovvah t’keep peace enough f’business t’run, they’re always a gangstah first. Y’nevah get past tha’ layer t’th ones beneaf. I–’ His expression pinched a moment. ‘I’d not want t’marry one, bein’ one m’self. I couldn’t. They ain’t people t’me - gangstahs ‘oo ain’t named or workin’ for th’name Kray. They’re weaponry wiv false smiles ‘n dead eyes.’