Chapter Text
Alfie Solomons was many things. Ask his workers and they would say a harsh boss (a rather tame description, but most of them liked having a full set of teeth and were willing to tell a few white lies to keep it that way). Ask his business partners and they would say that the man, despite his often-hidden intellect, was more or less insane. Ask the man himself and you would probably be greeted with a 5 – 10-minute long rant, complete with religious references and a vague threat against your life. One thing all three parties would agree on; however, is that Alfie Solomons had one hell of a temper. So, when a warning ran through the bakery of “Watch yourself, Solomons’ pissed”, even the newest member would know to keep a distance, because Alfie Solomons, by default, was pissed, a warning meant he was re-open- the- old-air-raid-shelters-and-evacuate-Camden-Town pissed.
There were often three reasons for Alfie Solomons reaching this magnitude of sheer anger. The most common reason was often in regard to trouble with the Italians. A man could have been killed on a job, Sabini could have wrote some form of insulting letter or simply the loss of some territory in London: if it could be linked to the Italians, it put Alfie in a foul mood. The second reason was usually some form of dodgy business deal. Some upper-class, wannabe gangster or cocky, young bastard would waltz into Solomons office and, more often than not, leave with a much more damaged face than when they went in. Alfie didn’t like insults and took them personally, banter was something reserved for those he liked, which was a select few, consisting mostly of dogs. Finally, something could be going on within his own business to put him in such a mood. Lazy workers, bad quality rum, slow production line, if you could think it, it would piss Alfie off.
That was why today was so confusing, none of these things had happened. There had been no new business partners swaggering into the bakery, no sign of Sabini and the rest of the Italians making a move and the business itself was going well. No one knew what had gotten Alfie all angry, and no one was particularly bothered to find out. Anyone, who had the balls to was welcome to try. There was always a doctor on hand anyhow.
No, none of these things had been the trigger of Alfie’s bad mood. On this particular day, Alfie was pissed because some fuckin’ yank, claiming to be a journalist, had shown up out of nowhere, in the middle of his office, at 3:38am.
The thing that annoyed Alfie most of all, and, if he was being honest with himself, scared him a little, was that the man’s shocking resemblance to himself.
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Eddie Brock stared at the ceiling of the run-down small room he was being held in and, not for the first time that day, wondered why me? Last he remembered, he was about to tuck in to a 10pm feast of tater tots and chocolate, when all of a sudden, he was stood in some dude’s office at 3 in the morning, trying to explain who he was to the most murderous looking man he’d ever seen. Eddie had interviewed Cletus Cassidy for Christ’s Sake, a known psychopath, so when Eddie said this guy was scary. This guy was scary.
Feeling around in his own head, Eddie looked for any sign of Venom. The parasite had been quiet since he arrived at wherever the hell this was, and it had started to worry him. Thankfully, after about 3 hours, Eddie began to feel that familiar presence in the top left of his brain. V was there, but he was weak, like when he and Eddie had gone on that business trip and he hadn’t been able to eat in almost 2 weeks. Meaning he couldn’t eat people, Eddie tried to sustain him on his usual tater tot diet, but it hadn’t been enough. He was too weak to even talk, which was a shame since Eddie could have done with the company.
Whoever the guy was, he’d given Eddie a good beating before storming off after being called upstairs. Due to glorious healing factor of one symbiote, most of the wound had been reduced to small scratches and bruises, and a small, sick part of Eddie was looking forward to seeing the man’s face when he saw what his handiwork had amounted to, sweet Fuck All (in Hindsight, that was probably a bit of V too). However, Eddie couldn’t deny that he was intrigued by the man, like, they looked the same. They could have passed as identical twins. The biggest glaring difference was that the man’s full beard put Eddie’s measly little stubble to shame.
“Might ask how he grows it that long” Eddie pondered out loud, mostly for his own benefit, “I mean if he looks that good with a beard, I probably would…”
Eddie was abruptly pulled out of his musings by the door of the room bursting open. The man himself practically filled the frame (“dude looks like a goddamn bear”) and Eddie could literally see the veins in his head and neck popping out in anger.
“Speak of the Devil…” Eddie muttered.