rackofbadcds | give it here, don't hold back now give it here, don't say nothing just give it here

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give it here, don't hold back now give it here, don't say nothing just give it here

[It was an uninteresting enough morning to pop into a diner for breakfast and get himself something to eat. The joint had the potential to be familiar. It echoed somewhere you'd expect a certain honey bunny to come out, point a gun in your face, and start screaming at you. So far, that didn't happen. Vic almost wished it would.

He sat with his pancakes quietly, figuring out what the hell he would do today. Things got pretty boring when there wasn't any weird bullshit to at least watch. To Blondie, this was still some kind of bass-ackwards afterlife (still sorely lacking in his brother). He could do whatever the shit he wanted. Hell, maybe he'd smoke 23 packs of cigarettes today. Look at all the fucks he aquired.

... You know what? Maybe he'd find some clothes today. As much as he liked how he looked in the suit, he didn't want to wear it for the rest of his life. After life. Whatever.]

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[Freddy never considered himself a religious sort of man but that didn't mean he didn't lean one way or the other. As far as he knew he was going to hell anyway for killing a woman, failing to have a fellow officer's back, and giving Mr. White his very own Judas kiss. No infinite repetition of Hail Marys could save him. So when he woke up in a place like this he was thrown for a motherfucking loop.

Purgatory, maybe? Why wouldn't God's own weigh station be a fucking diner. At least the food smelled good and not like shit.]

. . . . .

[Shit. Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit. Freddy froze in place by the bar counter when he saw that rockabilly devil may care mugshot hovering over some pancakes scumbags don't deserve even before execution. Maybe he was in hell after all.]

[

At the sound of someone walking in, he looked up.

Then he stared.

Like really fucking hard.

Of everything that went through Vic's head being in ~~RP Land~~ here, one of the things he thought of often was getting back at the asswipe who put him here. The same asswipe who (by Vic's logic) was the reason why everything got bent over and fucked in the ass in the first place. And now it was his lucky goddamn day. He didn't have to imagine beating the kid for days and days until he was dead anymore, because Mr. Orange was here and he could do it right now.

The pause wasn't much of one. You could barely call it tense. He was already going for his gun.]

[Oh come the fuck on no one's set off a goddamn alarm! No one's about to set a man on fire! Did they have to resort to drawing arms? Who the fuck are you kidding, Newendyke. This was Mr. Blonde.]

Dead men can't die twice.

[Yep. Talk. Freddy had always been good at talking. Of course it worked best on Mr. White and Mr. Pink to an extent. Too bad this man was neither. Freddy put his fingers on his own gun--oh shit no wait he emptied that clip out on the man in front of him. Fuuuuck.]

[NOPE.

No reply. Still sitting, he aimed for Freddy's knee and pulled the trigger. Whether or not he was gonna connect was another question. He had been wondering if being dead meant you could still take a bullet. Guess he'd find out.]

[WHY IS THIS HAPPENING.

And fuck if Freddy's going to find out first hand if that bullet'll pass through him or just make him bleed another fucking gallon all over the floor. He ducks behind the counter for cover and hopes to god this is the kind of diner that's packing a shotgun behind the register. Whoops, looks like it's not. Where the fuck is the staff going?!

Another downside; 911 probably doesn't work here, that'd be some long ass distance calling.]

[Gunfire can really rouse a mind from just about anything. Mr. White, Larry "Two Guns" comes up out of a hazy state of mind. When did he decide he needed to eat.

Better yet, when the hell did he decide he'd ever want to stroll into a place that's in the process of getting shot up. Nevermind that. Seeing that fucker Blonde before even seeing Orange there has him with both arms drawn. Full or empty, he'll find out the logistics in a second.]

At it again? You sick sack of shit.

[WELL GAWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWLEE, HI EVERYBODY! THIS IS GONNA TURN INTO SOME SERIOUS KILLING JAR BULLSHIT only good and better acted and Michael Madsen doesn't have that smoker's rasp going on yet. Blonde stands up as cool and casual as he's ever been to follow Orange and get a better shot at him.]

Fuck. Your piece of shit ass is fast when it's not half-dead, ain't it?

[So he finally says mockingly. A slow smile pulls wide on his face. It looked more like he was playing a good joke than he was planning what he was planning. And so far, that was shooting Freddy in both kneecaps, kicking the shit out of him, shoving him in a trunk and driving him somewhere quiet, then kicking the shit out of him some more for a few days.

As far as Vic was concerned, Freddy was gonna get it ten times worse than Nash ever did. He shoots again, this time as a taunt. He purposely misses, but it's still damn close enough.

Then a familiar voice catches his ear. He looks up at White. It falters for half a second, just to process the situation, then the smile comes back strong.]

Gang's halfway here. Hi, White.

[He doesn't hesitate to aim and shoot at White this time. They were both pieces of shit in his eyes now. Orange was just top-tier so far.]

[What a vivid imagination Vic has...Freddy can live without it thanks.] Fuck you, scumbag!

[Freddy yells from his sadly not so threatening or even aggressive hiding place. The second bullet embeds itself in the fucking wall right where he can see it. God he needs to arm himself stat. No shot gun. No goddamn anything--wait.]

Larry?

[Real names. Sorry man. It just stuck with him. Simply knowing the old man's there is both a comfort and a near-piss inducing revelation. The man could just as easily side with Blonde for what he did. Motherfucker does that asshole ever stop shooting shit up?! Freddy can tell the bullets aren't aimed at him this time, which gives him the window of opportunity to put distance between them.]

[Hi? Hi. Motherfucker goes on and blotches the heist on his end--aside from there being a cop among them--and all he's got to say is hi? Without even hesitating, Mr. White pulls the trigger. Hah. Well there's one bullet that's going right toward Blonde.

He hears his own name come on out and there's not too many people who know it. And even fewer with that sort of tone of voice. Mr. White dives into a booth for cover.

Orange is here too. When people say I'll see you in hell, they seldom mean it this way.]

I don't do reunions.

[Thanks man, he had a lot of time to think about it. Which, considering what he did to Marvin Nash on the fly, let him get a lot more creative with the details.

The thing about being a psycho is that you usually don't think you're a psycho. You don't wake up thinking 'hot diggity, I'm gonna be fucking crazy today'. And if you did, there was one of two options: melodramatically wrestle your inner self, or not care. Blonde certainly didn't. Hell, he didn't even acknowledge it. Anything he did was perfectly sound to him. And that's why all his blame for what went wrong were going towards Orange and White. Also bullets. Especially the bullets.

Since at the moment they were all magical (and dead), Vic managed to duck behind what was his nearby seat. Tiny pieces of debris his what was left of his pancakes. He briefly eyed them, before positioning his gun properly.]

Larry, huh?

[That warranted a light laugh. This was turning into a standoff, but Vic didn't plan on it being that way for long. But he just as shit wasn't getting shot to pieces again. He just had to assess things. He was nuts, but he sure as hell wasn't stupid ~~arguably~~. Orange was all he was after right now. So far, he didn't know what White did. He knew Eddie and Joe were dead, but the how's and who's were still a mystery. But if White was going to point a gun at him and get in his was, he was gonna keep shooting back.]

Look, Larry. [Ooh. That's really fun to say like an asshole.] I could give less of a fuck about you. All I want's Orange.

[And that wasn't a negotiation.]

[Was that meant for Blonde or Orange? Oh fuck don't start getting emotional about it, Newendyke, don't be fucking stupid. There's a professional psychopath on one side and a professional sociopath on the other. Anyone else might say the two are of the same stock, Blonde sure didn't hold him while he was fucking dying. Blonde also didn't put a gun to his head. Think fast man, think. A flash of old metal catches his eye, maybe luck's on his side after all, someone's left a small revolver behind. Looks like a woman's gun to be honest but fuck, any port in a storm. It's fully loaded.]

He's a fuckin' loose cannon, man! You saw what he did!

[The implication being Blonde won't hesitate to take White out. There's no other card Orange can play in this position. Fuck Larry's the only guy he's ever seen take two men out in a Mexican stand off. The fact of the matter is, Lawrence Dimick chose to take him out with one shot before getting shot up himself. He's pretty fucking sure anything Blonde would want to do to him is ten times fucking worse. Please don't fucking abandon him, Larry.]

Orange and me, we got business. So you're gonna have to fucking wait if you think I'm gonna step aside.

[Seeing as Orange is here somewhere. Their beef goes far deeper because he held this man's hand and gunned down long standing friends. Vic may have his wretched life's debt and the souls of the poor folks from the jewelry store hanging on over their heads but they don't have Mr. White's unsatisfied dishonor.]

We can do this one of two ways, Blonde. We gun it out [like they do in the pictures] or come to an agreement.

[Has Hell frozen over? Biding his time while hidden White takes a look at what he's packing exactly. There are clips on him. Well, a clip on him. Better think about each target wisely.]

[Orange's bitching would have been commented on if Blonde cared. Actually, most of what he did could be summed up like that: Vic just didn't care. He spared his fucks for the people that actually mattered to him, as well as his own sense of loyalty. Otherwise? He did whatever the hell he wanted.

And right now, he wanted an eye for an eye.

A lot. And f he knew what really happened to Joe and Eddie, it would have been a lot more.

Looking at his gun from where he was keeping cover, he wasn't worried about ammo (for as long as he'd been here he usually kept enough on him, just in case). He planned on showing White exactly how many fucks he gave, but first he wanted to see what the old man was driving at. He leaned back against his hiding place, listening. Alert, but listening.]

Like what.

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behold i am the most inconsistent rp writer in the universe

lolol that's okay....i normally write in present tense for tags 8(b

I don't even know what I do so WE ARE ALL GOOD

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