WORST CASE SCENARIO MEME

[cerebel]

1) STUCK IN QUICKSAND: Somebody help! Throw me a rope! Or a vine!

2) CAR CHASE: We're being followed. Time for a quick 180-degree turn, and step on that gas. Watch for pedestrians.

3) UNDERWATER: The car/boat/plane you were on is sinking. Get out now, or you'll drown.

4) BITTEN: Snakes. And it's poisonous, too. Just your luck.

5) SWORDFIGHT: You must defend your honor, or the honor of the one you love. Time to cross blades!

6) LEAP OF FAITH: Time to jump out of a burning building onto a dumpster, or off a bridge onto a river, or from a moving train or car. Don't fail the landing…

7) INJURED: Your companion is injured. Hope you know how to perform a tracheotomy, treat frostbite or set a leg fracture.

8) BABIES: Not what you thought you'd be doing with your Saturday, but here you are, delivering a baby in the back seat of a taxicab.

9) LOST: Adrift at sea, lost in the desert. How do you survive?

10) RUNAWAY TRAIN: The plane/train/car/boat you're in is about to crash. Can you stop it?

11) WAR/RIOT: You're in a war zone or in the middle of a riot, and you have to get home.

12) WILDCARD: Go pick another scenario from a Worst-Case Scenario Survival Handbook, and go nuts.

Comments

Adele LeBlanc | Original Character | OTA

[fleurdesel]

I am all over #2

[thirtyaughtsix]

[It's 10:30 at night, just outside of Paris, when Adenauer decides to test a suspicion he's had for the last few blocks.

He takes a smooth turn onto a small side street, watching his rearview mirror. The GPS he has set to the location of their hotel recalculates and orders him in a terse female voice to make a right on the next street, but he ignores it, continuing straight down the dimly lit road. Sure enough, a pair of headlights emerges about five seconds' breadth behind him. Tailing him.]

Damn. [He can venture a few guesses--the 36, probably. Interpol, maybe. One of the clients he'd inadvertently pissed off in the last month. The latter would be particularly ugly, though he isn't pleased about any of the possibilities. He'll have to lose them.

As the GPS gives another annoyed-sounding order, he detaches the screen from its holder on the windshield, tossing it into Adele's lap.]

Shut that off. We're going on a little pleasure trip.

[And with that, he floors it.]

[fleurdesel]

[She didn't have the weekend off. At least she hadn't had it off two hours ago. Apparently it was terribly easy for a man to walk into a hospital with scrubs on, lie his way to her ER, and con her out of a night's worth of work. She'd had to leave a message with Bartholomew and Remy, and to be honest she has no recollection of doing so. It almost bothers her that it is so easy for Irving to con her into a weekend out of the city. It should bother her he knows her dress size and delivered an evening gown to her. And box of lingerie.

Still, he'd had both, and. Smiled like he did. So she has the weekend off, and they're leaving Paris, and she's in the gown and lingerie and laughing up until he goes oddly quiet. And then she has to ask.]

You...do own this car, yes?

[No answer save for that one little oath. Merde.

She shuts of the GPS as it's given and braces herself against the door, peering back at the car trying to keep up.]

...Please say all you have in the trunk is luggage.

[thirtyaughtsix]

[He takes a sharp left turn, pulling off the side street onto a larger road, heading north of town. The needle on the speedometer passes sixty kilometers an hour, the sedan's engine revving.

Really, that first question of hers shouldn't even be a question. Since when does he buy cars this cheap? Please. The second is perfectly valid, though, and prompts an apologetic smile out of him.]

Sorry. I met with one of my suppliers earlier today--four assault rifles, two handguns and a few grenades. Don't worry, though. I've done this before.

[fleurdesel]

You're driving a stolen car. With unregistered weapons in the back. And this, this is what you were going to use to drive us to-

[She braces against the next turn and sighs.] What was your plan for this weekend, exactly?

[thirtyaughtsix]

One of my clients is hosting a get-together at his house in Reims. I was hoping to make a few deliveries, have dinner, do some dancing...

[The car behind them puts its lights and siren on. The 36 indeed, then. He spots a sign for an upcoming freeway and quickly passes a van going the speed limit, merging into the right lane.]

[fleurdesel]

Oogle other women, make a few deals, then take me to whatever room and unwrap your present to yourself. [She snorts and scrubs a hand through her hair, pulling it back in a knot at her nape.]

This is going to end with me hanging out the window and shooting out their tires. Again. Isn't it?

[thirtyaughtsix]

Not if I can outrun them.

[He smirks and turns onto the ramp, pedal pressed to the floor. Luckily, there aren't too many other cars out at this hour, and he weaves easily around the trucks, making a beeline for the fast lane. He takes it up to 140 km in a matter of moments, watching as the pursuing car tries to keep up.]

[fleurdesel]

If you get us killed, Irving, I want you to know that you are a fantastic idiot, you're terrible in bed, and you're an awful businessman.

[thirtyaughtsix]

[He gives an amused snort.] Really? Ouch. Way to break my heart, darling.

[fleurdesel]

You don't have a heart to break Irving. Just a cavity for a second wallet.

[thirtyaughtsix]

Touché. [He turns his head, spotting some flashing lights coming up on the right--a police car. His pursuers must have already put a call through to the local authorities. He speeds up, passing a sports car, and starts looking for an exit.]

[fleurdesel]

Three miles ahead and on the left; but they will most likely have the next three barricaded. [The GPS was useless, but like any good Parisian the previous owner of this car had a road map of most of Europe. Adele pulls this out and starts checking the highway they are on and the possible escape routs left to them.]

[thirtyaughtsix]

You think so? [Indeed, the next exit speeds past in a glaring red and blue glow. He passes another car, cutting someone off and earning a loud beep for his efforts, keeping his eyes open for Adele's suggested route.

Ah, there it is--a branch taking them back towards town. He pulls onto it, hitting the brakes as the road curves, riding out the oval as though it's a racing track. Once they're back on a straight path, he guns the engine again, two cars still hot on his heels.]

[fleurdesel]

It is what I would do, at least.

[She checks the road on the map with one hand, the other braced against the door-frame.] Get us out of this alive, and without either of us ending up in prison and I will give you a full body massage while you are handcuffed to the bed. I'l even wear whatever lingerie you like.

[thirtyaughtsix]

Really? [He spots an opening and jerks the wheel to the left, crossing three lanes and narrowly missing a truck.] Even the leather corset and fishnets?

[fleurdesel]

Thigh high boots and all. [If anything would convince him to be a little more careful? That would be it.]

[thirtyaughtsix]

Challenge accepted. [He rides in the fast line for a little while, nimbly passing any car that gets in his way. The 36's car manages to stay a second or two behind him while a few other police cars follow some distance away, sirens blaring. Adenauer's gaze darts between the signs and the other cars, and as the road narrows and the concrete divider ends he makes another sharp turn, heading over the median into oncoming traffic.]

[fleurdesel]

...Irving what are you doing?

[He wasn't really going to-

Oh.

Oh God.]

Don't you dare. Irving. I swear if you do what you look like you are going to do I am never sleeping with you aga- MERDE!

[Right she's not watching the road anymore. She's just going to huddle in her seat, count under her breath, and keep her eyes squeezed shut.]

You utter bastard.

[thirtyaughtsix]

Calm down. [Traffic's starting to pick up now that they're closer to town, but he of course is totally unfazed. Or at least sounds like it, anyway. He careens past a rapidly approaching van and starts winding around cars amidst a barrage of horns, leaning forward in his seat, his hands tight on the wheel. The 36's car remains on his tail, but falls behind in the driver's attempts not to get into a head-on collision, and the police cars remain on the correct side of the road, those drivers not being quite insane enough to tail him directly.]

[fleurdesel]

Were I not calm I would be screaming. Am I screaming Adenauer?

[If she were religious, she'd be praying. But she isn't, so she's just. Counting. And not without reason. For every second they're on this side of the road she is going to translate into some form of personal torment for Irving. What it will be and how long it will last depends entirely on how high she counts.]

[thirtyaughtsix]

Well, you were a minute ago. [He skirts another two cars, then, coming upon a brief, empty space of road, reaches out and switches the CD player on.]

Now we don't have to listen to all that beeping. [And he starts absently lipsyncing to the music whilst dodging a truck.]

[fleurdesel]

I was not screaming. You have never heard me scream.

[Yes, that was a dig at his skills in bed.]

That was an expletive. An utterance of surprise, anger, and dismay.

[Was he seriously? ...She didn't have to open her eyes to know he was lipsyncing. She didn't. And with that she adds a twenty to the total she'd had earlier.]

Start singing and I will hurt you once this is over.

[thirtyaughtsix]

There's no need to be violent.

[Said as he narrowly avoids being side-swiped. The 36's car is, amazingly, still intact, though a few others haven't been so lucky--the truck he went around earlier is currently stopped next to two other cars it hit, blocking a lane.]

[fleurdesel]

You know you take a perverse joy in my violence.

[Her eyes are still closed, she's still counting, and trying very hard not to think of all the accidents he's causing. Keeping them from being caught is one thing. Endangering random innocents is another. Why was she involved with him again?]