gentle arrogance ; a practiced twist of lips in amusement && the woman watches him with certainty before she speaks . a spoken WARNING that does so little to inspire , a flex of her fingers && she’s leaning f o r w a r d s . ❝ or what ?? ❞ it is reckless && she feels vague concern churn within her stomach ; but for a single moment she does not care , for what does she have to fear now ?? a woman built upon TARNISHED shores , toppled from her kingdom with blood on her hands && face , no she does not FEAR much these days . ❝ you do not hold COMMAND over me , do not think yourself possible . ❞
he cracks a smile, feather-there, eyes on what he’s doing. the forestock is pulled back firmly, ejecting an empty shell from its chamber. he breaks open the firearm, reloading the chamber, keeping totally at ease despite the climbing unpredictability and erraticism of the situation. her words encourage the part of lips, the break of a sported exhale. cute. the barrel snaps shut with a powerful, almost bloodthirsty, click.
‘ or i unload this remington the way it was meant to be unloaded. now i don’t know about you, but a simple warning doesn’t quite resonate as a command t’me. but hey, then again, what do i know? people don’t find it easy tellin’ me what to do. ’ pretty sure it’s a different case for her. and despite such polite, threatening statements, my voice lacks malice. should be a clear enough indicator that she’s the obstacle, not the target.
❝ both ! ——— you can’t chicken out on me by the way since i told you all my embarrassing stuff ! ❞ &&. though she doesn’t know his name , a friend to all ! she prided herself on that .
he thinks back to that stamp collection he once started. doesn’t really count, one of the dogs swallowed about a third. they never did find out which one did it. the coins ended up having holes drilled into them for his sisters and their weird … crafts. damn, he’s only just beginning to realize how unimaginative he can be.
‘ uh, jackets … and love. ’ a man has many weaknesses. some just sound stupider than others. chicken soup and bobby darin. if you can make a soup as mean as my mother or charm like darin, i’m yours.
inaudible mumbling under his breath. ‘I should be home, I could be sleeping…..’That was a laugh in it’s own right. Did he ever TRULY sleep anymore? Even so, a disturbance at the local bar wasn’t his ideal Friday night activity. He’d never seen the man before, bold enough to raise his voice and demand the chief of police to leave. ‘ You wanna fuckin’ run that by me again? ’
it’s murkwell and someone wants him dead. someone else
— doesn’t. he doesn’t have time for this. they don’t have time for this. it’s on. it’s one linear and violent ministration. stand up. walk over. push him. there’s no chance for eye contact. no chance to make a connection. and this? this he can’t prevent. strong hand, effortless in experience, shoving the officer back, not even watching him stumble from his stool, whipping him around. there isn’t one moment, one second where they stop, palm against back continuously guiding him with intent through the back door. the back alley is dank, a steam rising from the vent.
‘ you deaf or what? listen you
— ’ and then it goes off. glass bursting into the air, everything’s white. an explosion hitting the back of my jacket. fuck, is this worth the damage to my jacket? my ears are ringing, no doubt his too. covering them doesn’t do much, i don’t know why i do it. reflex, right? i’m human. sometimes i find i’m having to remind myself of that. but i know it’s not big enough to tear through the bodies of the drunks inside. the bartender, though … poor bastard. we’re all gonna be feelin’ this in the morning. some more than others. luckily, we’re the former, but then, luck’s got nothin’ to do with it, so we keep pushing forward.
earl’s shoulders are hunched, protecting his neck instinctively. he looks back, hears screaming through the decimation. typical. after all these years, he plays his cards by that tune. a span of forty seconds has passed between him making a move and being interrupted, a further five to check any damage, scope the scene going up in flames. the kind of person this guy is, denvers, his enforcer can predict his next move before he even has enough time to get over the blur of events. one minute. a second more and he’s going to be pushing past, wanting in. nothing more can be risked, it was a close enough call as it was.
come on. i look back and our eyes finally meet. i can catch him out before he realizes what that thought processing in his head is.
the expression on nashburn’s face has barely shifted passed hard-pressed. hand clamps down on bicep, ushers him gracelessly through the bombsite of garbage and glass, towards the waiting vehicle. an inconspicuous suv: he’s done his research, always does. and it’s always something that crop up with him, transportation, no-one really knows how he gets them so quickly. face turns to the left, he squints through the blaze of smoke and nightly darkness, not needing to look as he opens up the passenger’s side and all but forces patrick in. the engine’s been running (wasn’t planning on hanging around for long) and as soon as he’s in, they’re out of there.
