you're impure. you've done bad things, been a cruel person, or you've been terribly wrong, and you've seen what the world really is. maybe you're bad, or maybe your road to hell is paved with good intentions. whatever the case is, there's red in your ledger.
they're pure. almost innocent, even. they're kind and open and the very opposite of worldly. maybe they're not always good, no one is, but their heart is clean.
despite these differences, there's something between you. you shouldn't relate, you should be worlds away...
how to play
comment with your character. mention if they're more likely to be pure or impure.
reply to others.
use the rng to determine the direction of your thread or come up with your own direction.
prompts
light || the pure is affecting the impure in a positive way.
dark || the impure is affecting the pure in a negative way.
purposeful || you want to corrupt something so pure.
forgive || they know what you've done and they've forgiven you.
death || something comes up from the dark past and strikes out at the one loved the most. they know it would hurt you to see them in pain - or worse.
life || the smut option. will there be hesitance in "defiling" purity?
cheer || never again did you think that there would be simple joys. picnics, birthdays, gentle holding of hands.
confessions || you have to get them into your life; they're the only good thing you can see.
teach || one party is teaching the other about more worldly pursuits, may or may not be sexual. perhaps they feel guilty for this, perhaps they don't.
end || you can't do this to them anymore. they deserve so much better than you.
She isn't innocent, far from it given how she died and what she did before it. But the place she's found herself in now she doesn't really know the true expanse of it all. Laura still isn't sure she wants to know it either. It isn't her war. She just got in the way and paid a price. It's more than messed up. The whole messed up collection of events leading to that point. Cairo is not the place she wants it to end. Again. Maybe she deserved it for what she'd done to Shadow. Whatever it was, she wants a cigarette. She hates the funeral home, but she's there. Sat outside on one of the tombs.
The Banshees had been right. Death was coming to this house and Sweeney, for whatever credit it would earn him, hadn't run away this time. He'd fucked the old one-eyed cunt - Let him try to win his war without Gungir. He'd gone down fighting and that, somehow, was all that mattered.
He didn't expect to wake back up again from the cold dark of death.
The seven foot tall Irishman sat straight up from Ibis's steel table with a jolting swear, hands slapping to feel across his chest for the hole that should have been left. The house was quiet. Empty.
"IBIS, you fucking bird, where are ya!" Nothing.
Eventually, he wandered out of the parlor, hands patting himself down for and ultimately pulling out a much abused and bent cigarette. The flame in his hands didn't quite make it to the paper's edge - he'd been distracted by the sudden brunette out on the tombs.
Dead wife.
"You come to give me what's mine, dead wife?" he called in asking, not bothering to go her way as he lit his smoke.
She turns at the sound. Fuck. Of course it was him. It had to be him. Her expression is the usual unhidden annoyance at seeing him. Because she'd dared to let herself have some sort of feelings when she saw the blood on the floor. So of course he was asking for that fucking coin again. Throw it at his his fucking head, would that be given willingly enough for him? While still being able to walk away from him. From all of them. Be done with all of it. Or was he. Things had shifted since New Orleans.
She sits on the edge of the tomb, leaning forwards slightly. "Depends what you're asking for." It's easier to sit and verbally swipe at him, "You got another?" She gestures to his cigarette.
He didn't trust the answer an inch from his boots, regardless of how far he might be able to throw her but he knew he wasn't getting his coin back. His luck had a body now, one he was pointedly not going to think about as he pulled his stick from his mouth, letting out a plume of smoke, pretending to think about it.
After a long moment he strode over, making short work of it as he takes a spot next to her, on the other edge of the stony tomb of whatever poor bastard got stuck here. His pack, crumpled from his pocket and with only the slightest hint of blood at its bottom corner, no doubt sucked up from his pants while he was bleeding out on the floor, kicked out a butt that was held out to her with a sidelong look.
"You come back for Shadow Moon then," he gathered as he fished out and dropped the lighter between them. "House felt empty. Everyone's gone."
He might be able to throw her but she'd be right back to beat the shit out of him for throwing her in the first place. Since coming back she's a lot stronger than she looks like she should be so it might not be a fight either one of them should want to get into. Or maybe she does. It might be easier. It's something she's always quick to remind him about.
She shifts enough to reach and pulls it out the packet without saying a word to him. Reaching for the lighter before he can change his mind about it. Wednesday was gone, Shadow didn't want her. Not anymore.
"Everyone except us." There is a depressing thought. How exactly did she get stuck with him? Something she doesn't want to think about. She almost shares about Shadow but finishes lighting up instead. "I didn't think you'd stick around."
It was a consequence he was painfully and all too aware of, even if his pride would forever be bruised by it. Then again, part of him couldn't really blame her. He was a right prick sometimes; he couldn't help himself.
"The dead to keep company with the dead, mm?" Rhetorical question. "Only just crawled off that stupid fuckin gurney Ibis works on."
But he couldn't be too cross. With the dead wife next to him, he could smoke again without burning his fingers a hundred times or losing his smoke to some random whip of sudden rain. The term 'Dead Wife' kept her nice and distant from him and he was keen to keep it that way, despite the creep in his chest.
"You goin' after him?" He didn't know about her budding plan to kill Wednesday, but the 'Him' was Shadow. As it always seemed to fuckin' be.
He was, but she wasn't much better, she could be a real bitch. Which made them quite the interesting pair. But she didn't want to think about that. She didn't want to dwell on things that had happened leading them to sitting there either.
If he doesn't expect an answer it can at least earn the rhetoric a bitter sort of laugh. At this point she's not sure if she actually could have any other sort of laugh now. What was the point? Getting off the gurney was maybe a little less demanding than digging yourself from six feet under. She'd seen him lying there. At least he didn't know about that. The way she'd looked when she was standing there. The way she'd felt. Like she'd been the one stabbed in the chest with that fucking spear.
"No." It may surprise him to hear that. She'd take a guess that he was talking about Shadow. He was still laid out when she was telling Shadow of her next move. She isn't. Not after what he'd said to her. It had actually hurt her in an unexpected way when he'd told her not to call him Puppy any more. "I have somewhere else I need to be." That's close enough to an invitation to join her right? "I'm going to kill Wednesday."
It did surprise him to hear it and one dark red eyebrow arched slightly with a brief sidelong look. All she'd talked about was that hunky piece of chocolate, despite the fact that she died with another man's cock in her mouth.
But it was the pronouncement of the Death of Wednesday that really got his attention, dirty fingers pulling the bend smoke from his lips as he looked over at her and her borrowed, ill-fitting sundress. It was impossible to ignore how she looked in the afternoon light, but he was trying his best anyway.
He could talk about how he'd just currently joined her ranks in the dead - trying to do exactly that before the fuckin' Moon Shadow got in the way, but he wasn't going to.
"How'dja plan on doing that then? Wednesday's been put through more walls then this world have built and destroyed. And I dare say a kick in the cunt won't do him any harm, no balls to be found." A petty and untrue insult, but it made him feel better.
Whose fault was that? It could have ended and no one needed to have known about it. At least until some argument no doubt brought it up at a future date. No, she was in the way for whatever shit Wednesday had planned and had to go. They'd been run off the road. By her present company at that. Fucking everything up for her and setting Wednesday's game in motion with one single action.
She didn't answer him right away. Buying herself time with the focus on her own smoking. Flicking the ash away from him instead of at him as her petty self wanted to as she dwelt upon what he was asking about her plan. She really didn't have much in the way of a plan at all. Except that she knew she still needed some power on her side. Also that the outcome of the plan was that Wednesday would be dead. Hopefully staying dead. His insult made her smile a little, a flicker. There would be trouble if that reaction was mentioned though.
Which brought her full circle back to how do you kill a god? And make them stay that way. No coming back. She made a face at that thought, she hadn't a fucking clue. Yet. She was going to find a way. Or possibly have something bad happen to her trying. She supposed she could have an interesting time finding out Wednesday's limits and what she could do to the old bastard.
She hadn't deserved it. She hadn't deserved the way he'd murdered her and he made no mistakes about it. Wednesday might have ordered him to do it, but the longer he traveled with her, the worse his guilt got. Didn't help that every time he got drunk enough to black out and forget everything, her and that pert ass wandered its way back through his mind.
For more then a few weeks, he'd managed to convince himself that sooner or later she'd fail. Sooner or later that body would rot around her angry little brain and he'd be allowed to do exactly what Odin had suggested - pull the coin from her chest. The more blacktop that passed under them, the less he was sure. 'Course now the Voodoo's potion wasn't for shit - but that wasn't his problem.
A long moment passed, his silence echoing hers as he thought about his position. Now that he'd made his intention clear to Wednesday, it boiled his blood that he'd failed, mind conveniently skipping over why he's back.
"I got his spear, ya know," he replied, looking out over the cemetery, one eye half squinted as he took a puff that threatened to burn the nubs of his fingers. "Gungnir. He's not gonna be waging no wars without her. Hellva weapon though."
"Gotta track 'im down first." Invitation accepted. He remembered now, what he had been. The Sun's Treasure. Lamfada. Long-hand. Sweeney wasn't sure if he would stay remembering, but he wanted to. To keep the echos of what his now tattered pride used to be. To use it to put Wednesday into the ground, once and for all.
"It'll kill him?" Or would the bastard come back. Though there are a few moments just letting her imagination run rampant with the image of ramming a spear into Wednesday's chest. Hopefully with a look of surprise on that usually smug face. That realisation of just what had happened and just who was doing it. There was no denying it would be gloriously fucking satisfying. Though would it be over too quickly? After all the shit he's put her through she wanted a little more than 'over too quickly' for Wednesday.
At that she moved. Standing up so she didn't have to be so close to him. She wrapped one arm around herself, the other holding the nearly finished cigarette. It hadn't helped. It was just a habit. Still. Not as if she was worried it was going to kill her. She wasn't worried about a lot of things any more that she had done previously. There would be one of those gods, old or new, one of those bastards, that called themselves gods or goddesses, it didn't matter whatever name they attached one of them somewhere was probably enjoying her suffering right then. That no matter how she'd tried so hard to feel things in life but couldn't...
"We can try Eagle Point."
She took a final drag then dropped the rest to the ground, stepping on it with the shitty ill fitting borrowed boots. It did free up her other hand so she could lean on it, as if she was thinking, considering what to do next. Instead of trying to distract herself. Derail her thoughts. He wasn't Shadow. But it seemed Shadow didn't want her any more and he was still there. That was the worst of it or maybe it wasn't the worst of it. It ranked pretty highly up there on the scale of shit to deal with.
What she hated most then was that she felt something. For the first time in for-fucking-ever she felt something again, not just what she thought was expected or that she should be doing. Oh, how long had she wanted to feel like that again. Instead of feeling like she was just a dog chasing it's tail pointlessly.
"Might," he readily conceded, dark eyes watching her as she started getting antsy and moved away, eyes unable to not notice the sway of her narrow hips beneath the ill fitting but pretty patterned sundress. He couldn't help but think of what she would look like splayed across one of these tombs as the cursed the dead with their enjoyment of life. Or what was currently passing as it.
Despite the fact that he'd just smoked, Sweeney's hands itched for something to occupy them. Something that was distinctly not her.
"Indiana? Why the hell would he be goin' to Indiana? Fucking wasteland in middle America it is," he declared. Of course, where Wendesday's grand battle was going to take place was a big fuckin' question, but he was sure he could suss it out. If not by brains, then by gut. Wednesday was still his ultimate goal. He knew that now.
Whenever dead wife got antsy, some random and, usually, unfortuitous shit happened to him. Better that he went along with it for now. That and his soul couldn't handle another break from the luck he held so dear, not so soon.
Might. Might. What use was might. But it was better than nothing. Though nothing was all they had right then. She caught him watching her. That became her more pressing problem then. All the thoughts that she was drowning out with much more violent ones, not directed at him but at Wednesday were going to be of little fucking use if he carried on. It was why she wanted at least a little distance between them. She was trying to cling to the last vestiges of her control of the situation. It was a losing battle, though maybe better than the one they were potentially arming up for.
"That." She sighed. "Is where this whole fucking thing started." That's what she'd been considering between the more murderous and those not so thoughts. "But if you have a better idea I'd love to hear it." The last part so fake it hurt even her saying it. The smile so brief it could be easily missed or misinterpreted. She wanted to take a step back closer to him. To see what he would do. To see if he'd do what she wanted him to do to her. She needed something else to distract her.
It was Odin's Spear. If Odin's Spear couldn't kill the one eyed bastard, nothing could, though Sweeney was more then happy to try for a beheading. It worked the first time, be it Wednesday or his uncle that he remembers having beheaded so long ago in the woods.
But they weren't in the woods and he wasn't as strong as he used to be. That stung too, as much as the place in his chest where Gungnir has pierced him.
"Nah." He spit off to the far side of them, squinting at the horizon. "I've got my tricks in trackin' him down, but they don't include company." Mainly because it was a lot of plying and dealing with less savory types, mixed with a few face bashings. Ones that always went better when there was a particular coin in his pocket.
"Sides. No stopping you, is there." He pushed up to his feet, pulling to his full height with a roll of his shoulders and a sigh. "We're gonna havta steal another car aren't we."
No, he didn't sound particularly pleased with that either. Too much work, not enough whiskey. Then again, he wasn't sure there was enough whiskey in the world to quiet his mind.
She shook her head with a slight smile, he hadn't asked her a question but he was getting an answer. "No." She hadn't thought about that. At least not properly. He was right. The best thing would be to steal a car. But the idea of being stuck in a metal box with him for hours while it wasn't exactly unappealing. It was conflicting. Fucking shitty feelings. "Maybe they should." She was stuck with him, or more like he was stuck with her. She could be of some use in a fight.
"You" She pointed at him. "Are going to have to steal another car." She was merely an accomplice to grand theft auto for... well they'd done it a lot now. He should know how it worked. At least she didn't have to carry his ass. Which she would have done if needed. She was not doing this alone. No fucking way. She'd got use to him. And all the shit he brought along with him. "I'll drive."
Her hand twitched. She stopped herself reaching out to him and just looked up at him with her default annoyed scowl at him.
He was surprised she wasn't already walking out of the graveyard towards the main road; he'd learned the importance of introducing an idea to her before she got ones of her own. That Ice Cream truck sucked. Sweeney eyed her sidelong at the gesture, expression holding until she asserted her driving privileges. The protest was clear in the way he half turned, facing her properly as one hand came up to point a finger back at her.
"It's my turn. You wanna drive, you steal the fuckin' car."
But he really didn't want that, so before she could kick him in the nuts hard enough to catapult him into the nearest gas station, he turned and walked away, talking to her over his shoulder.
"Plus, I know where the bird keeps his keys. Should be fitting - you finally in a hearse." The hearse would at least get them to someplace where they could trade up for something that went a little more quickly.
He was lucky she didn't reach to grab his finger and break it. She rolled her eyes and started off after him. Taking a few quicker steps to catch up with him. "Fine. If you wanna drive the whole fucking way, you can drive the whole fucking way." He frustrated her enough that she might just kick him anyway for the hell of it. Not that it would make her feel any better.
"And you." For his little quip about being in a hearse. Technically she's already been in one. So that time she didn't actually remember it and this time she would. It made her think how fucked up her life had got that she could think that and it be an actual reasonable thought. "Do you want me to get in the back and lie down?"
There was a reason he kept her out of arms reach. He might need reminding now and then, but she'd firmly put some fear into him. He liked his fingers in the direction they were currently growing, thank you very much. The drops of blood on his boots were still there, matted into the dust and dirt of the floor he'd been dropped on and Sweeney ignored the glaring rebuke of his livelihood.
"Maybe being bad at dyin' is infectious and you're ta blame," he accused mindlessly as he tromps back into the house and through the dark wood hallways to Ibis's desk. He refused to think too strongly on it. Carefully avoiding the open, blank paged book and the ink next to it, Sweeney started sorting through drawers.
She stood in the doorway, watching for any sign that anyone was approaching. The whole place though was too quiet.
"Now you're..." She stopped talking, there was a noise which demanded her attention. It was a cat sat down the hall watching her. She glanced over her shoulder to him. "You going to take much longer?" She sounded a little impatient. "Did you know there is a cat?" She looked back. There was no cat. "It's okay, it's gone."
Sweeney kept rummaging through the desk til he found what he was looking for - past the bits of paper and trinkets that he could feel power seeping out from, but he only cared about one thing. The Fuckin' Keys.
"There ya are you little bastards." Leaving the drawers open as they were, Sweeney moved to stop behind her, peering in the hallway. "If it wasn't black, we're fine."
Long strides carry him towards the front door with little mind as to whatever else might be in the rooms, eager to get out of this place. It still stank of death.
His death. And he was tired of it clogging up his nose.
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bakerstreet2019-04-29 09:10 pm
Sansa Stark | Game of Thrones | M/F
William Graham, Hannibal
Bedivere | Fate/Grand Order | M/F
Tyrion Lannister | GoT
Mad Sweeney | American Gods
no subject
no subject
He didn't expect to wake back up again from the cold dark of death.
The seven foot tall Irishman sat straight up from Ibis's steel table with a jolting swear, hands slapping to feel across his chest for the hole that should have been left. The house was quiet. Empty.
"IBIS, you fucking bird, where are ya!" Nothing.
Eventually, he wandered out of the parlor, hands patting himself down for and ultimately pulling out a much abused and bent cigarette. The flame in his hands didn't quite make it to the paper's edge - he'd been distracted by the sudden brunette out on the tombs.
Dead wife.
"You come to give me what's mine, dead wife?" he called in asking, not bothering to go her way as he lit his smoke.
no subject
She sits on the edge of the tomb, leaning forwards slightly. "Depends what you're asking for." It's easier to sit and verbally swipe at him, "You got another?" She gestures to his cigarette.
no subject
After a long moment he strode over, making short work of it as he takes a spot next to her, on the other edge of the stony tomb of whatever poor bastard got stuck here. His pack, crumpled from his pocket and with only the slightest hint of blood at its bottom corner, no doubt sucked up from his pants while he was bleeding out on the floor, kicked out a butt that was held out to her with a sidelong look.
"You come back for Shadow Moon then," he gathered as he fished out and dropped the lighter between them. "House felt empty. Everyone's gone."
no subject
She shifts enough to reach and pulls it out the packet without saying a word to him. Reaching for the lighter before he can change his mind about it. Wednesday was gone, Shadow didn't want her. Not anymore.
"Everyone except us." There is a depressing thought. How exactly did she get stuck with him? Something she doesn't want to think about. She almost shares about Shadow but finishes lighting up instead. "I didn't think you'd stick around."
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"The dead to keep company with the dead, mm?" Rhetorical question. "Only just crawled off that stupid fuckin gurney Ibis works on."
But he couldn't be too cross. With the dead wife next to him, he could smoke again without burning his fingers a hundred times or losing his smoke to some random whip of sudden rain. The term 'Dead Wife' kept her nice and distant from him and he was keen to keep it that way, despite the creep in his chest.
"You goin' after him?" He didn't know about her budding plan to kill Wednesday, but the 'Him' was Shadow. As it always seemed to fuckin' be.
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If he doesn't expect an answer it can at least earn the rhetoric a bitter sort of laugh. At this point she's not sure if she actually could have any other sort of laugh now. What was the point? Getting off the gurney was maybe a little less demanding than digging yourself from six feet under. She'd seen him lying there. At least he didn't know about that. The way she'd looked when she was standing there. The way she'd felt. Like she'd been the one stabbed in the chest with that fucking spear.
"No." It may surprise him to hear that. She'd take a guess that he was talking about Shadow. He was still laid out when she was telling Shadow of her next move. She isn't. Not after what he'd said to her. It had actually hurt her in an unexpected way when he'd told her not to call him Puppy any more. "I have somewhere else I need to be." That's close enough to an invitation to join her right? "I'm going to kill Wednesday."
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But it was the pronouncement of the Death of Wednesday that really got his attention, dirty fingers pulling the bend smoke from his lips as he looked over at her and her borrowed, ill-fitting sundress. It was impossible to ignore how she looked in the afternoon light, but he was trying his best anyway.
He could talk about how he'd just currently joined her ranks in the dead - trying to do exactly that before the fuckin' Moon Shadow got in the way, but he wasn't going to.
"How'dja plan on doing that then? Wednesday's been put through more walls then this world have built and destroyed. And I dare say a kick in the cunt won't do him any harm, no balls to be found." A petty and untrue insult, but it made him feel better.
no subject
She didn't answer him right away. Buying herself time with the focus on her own smoking. Flicking the ash away from him instead of at him as her petty self wanted to as she dwelt upon what he was asking about her plan. She really didn't have much in the way of a plan at all. Except that she knew she still needed some power on her side. Also that the outcome of the plan was that Wednesday would be dead. Hopefully staying dead. His insult made her smile a little, a flicker. There would be trouble if that reaction was mentioned though.
Which brought her full circle back to how do you kill a god? And make them stay that way. No coming back. She made a face at that thought, she hadn't a fucking clue. Yet. She was going to find a way. Or possibly have something bad happen to her trying. She supposed she could have an interesting time finding out Wednesday's limits and what she could do to the old bastard.
"I don't know yet. But I will."
no subject
For more then a few weeks, he'd managed to convince himself that sooner or later she'd fail. Sooner or later that body would rot around her angry little brain and he'd be allowed to do exactly what Odin had suggested - pull the coin from her chest. The more blacktop that passed under them, the less he was sure. 'Course now the Voodoo's potion wasn't for shit - but that wasn't his problem.
A long moment passed, his silence echoing hers as he thought about his position. Now that he'd made his intention clear to Wednesday, it boiled his blood that he'd failed, mind conveniently skipping over why he's back.
"I got his spear, ya know," he replied, looking out over the cemetery, one eye half squinted as he took a puff that threatened to burn the nubs of his fingers. "Gungnir. He's not gonna be waging no wars without her. Hellva weapon though."
"Gotta track 'im down first." Invitation accepted. He remembered now, what he had been. The Sun's Treasure. Lamfada. Long-hand. Sweeney wasn't sure if he would stay remembering, but he wanted to. To keep the echos of what his now tattered pride used to be. To use it to put Wednesday into the ground, once and for all.
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At that she moved. Standing up so she didn't have to be so close to him. She wrapped one arm around herself, the other holding the nearly finished cigarette. It hadn't helped. It was just a habit. Still. Not as if she was worried it was going to kill her. She wasn't worried about a lot of things any more that she had done previously. There would be one of those gods, old or new, one of those bastards, that called themselves gods or goddesses, it didn't matter whatever name they attached one of them somewhere was probably enjoying her suffering right then. That no matter how she'd tried so hard to feel things in life but couldn't...
"We can try Eagle Point."
She took a final drag then dropped the rest to the ground, stepping on it with the shitty ill fitting borrowed boots. It did free up her other hand so she could lean on it, as if she was thinking, considering what to do next. Instead of trying to distract herself. Derail her thoughts. He wasn't Shadow. But it seemed Shadow didn't want her any more and he was still there. That was the worst of it or maybe it wasn't the worst of it. It ranked pretty highly up there on the scale of shit to deal with.
What she hated most then was that she felt something. For the first time in for-fucking-ever she felt something again, not just what she thought was expected or that she should be doing. Oh, how long had she wanted to feel like that again. Instead of feeling like she was just a dog chasing it's tail pointlessly.
But she also wanted to punch him in the face.
It was confusing.
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Despite the fact that he'd just smoked, Sweeney's hands itched for something to occupy them. Something that was distinctly not her.
"Indiana? Why the hell would he be goin' to Indiana? Fucking wasteland in middle America it is," he declared. Of course, where Wendesday's grand battle was going to take place was a big fuckin' question, but he was sure he could suss it out. If not by brains, then by gut. Wednesday was still his ultimate goal. He knew that now.
Whenever dead wife got antsy, some random and, usually, unfortuitous shit happened to him. Better that he went along with it for now. That and his soul couldn't handle another break from the luck he held so dear, not so soon.
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"That." She sighed. "Is where this whole fucking thing started." That's what she'd been considering between the more murderous and those not so thoughts. "But if you have a better idea I'd love to hear it." The last part so fake it hurt even her saying it. The smile so brief it could be easily missed or misinterpreted. She wanted to take a step back closer to him. To see what he would do. To see if he'd do what she wanted him to do to her. She needed something else to distract her.
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But they weren't in the woods and he wasn't as strong as he used to be. That stung too, as much as the place in his chest where Gungnir has pierced him.
"Nah." He spit off to the far side of them, squinting at the horizon. "I've got my tricks in trackin' him down, but they don't include company." Mainly because it was a lot of plying and dealing with less savory types, mixed with a few face bashings. Ones that always went better when there was a particular coin in his pocket.
"Sides. No stopping you, is there." He pushed up to his feet, pulling to his full height with a roll of his shoulders and a sigh. "We're gonna havta steal another car aren't we."
No, he didn't sound particularly pleased with that either. Too much work, not enough whiskey. Then again, he wasn't sure there was enough whiskey in the world to quiet his mind.
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"You" She pointed at him. "Are going to have to steal another car." She was merely an accomplice to grand theft auto for... well they'd done it a lot now. He should know how it worked. At least she didn't have to carry his ass. Which she would have done if needed. She was not doing this alone. No fucking way. She'd got use to him. And all the shit he brought along with him. "I'll drive."
Her hand twitched. She stopped herself reaching out to him and just looked up at him with her default annoyed scowl at him.
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"It's my turn. You wanna drive, you steal the fuckin' car."
But he really didn't want that, so before she could kick him in the nuts hard enough to catapult him into the nearest gas station, he turned and walked away, talking to her over his shoulder.
"Plus, I know where the bird keeps his keys. Should be fitting - you finally in a hearse." The hearse would at least get them to someplace where they could trade up for something that went a little more quickly.
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"And you." For his little quip about being in a hearse. Technically she's already been in one. So that time she didn't actually remember it and this time she would. It made her think how fucked up her life had got that she could think that and it be an actual reasonable thought. "Do you want me to get in the back and lie down?"
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"Maybe being bad at dyin' is infectious and you're ta blame," he accused mindlessly as he tromps back into the house and through the dark wood hallways to Ibis's desk. He refused to think too strongly on it. Carefully avoiding the open, blank paged book and the ink next to it, Sweeney started sorting through drawers.
"Keep an eye out, will ya?"
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"Now you're..." She stopped talking, there was a noise which demanded her attention. It was a cat sat down the hall watching her. She glanced over her shoulder to him. "You going to take much longer?" She sounded a little impatient. "Did you know there is a cat?" She looked back. There was no cat. "It's okay, it's gone."
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"There ya are you little bastards." Leaving the drawers open as they were, Sweeney moved to stop behind her, peering in the hallway. "If it wasn't black, we're fine."
Long strides carry him towards the front door with little mind as to whatever else might be in the rooms, eager to get out of this place. It still stank of death.
His death. And he was tired of it clogging up his nose.
kurt hummel. glee. m/m.
Winter Schnee|RWBY
radar o'reilly | m*a*s*h
Athelstan ( Vikings ) m/m