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

[gonnabite]

[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.]

Comments

[whitetwoguns]

[Sweet cigarette between his lips. Now is a good time. Larry is moving closer now too. He's attempting to make it like a casual stroll. Man, coffee would have been great. Black and piping hot right on out of the pot except someone's gone and scared the fuck out of everyone else in the diner.

That'd be them.

Fuck it. White keeps his gun on Blonde once more as he's perched having his breakfast.]

Stupid sure is catching around here.

[Don't think that Orange is off of the hook. There's a gun on him too. He can smell those pancakes. Mmm. Someone knew what they were doing...because Larry's not so sure.]

[gonnabite]

[Blame the lack of coffee on Orange's (who, for the record, Blonde also thought was alright until he got killed) backstabbing ass for getting the balls to show up in the first place.

Also.

Guys.

Guys.

He kind of notices what you're doing.

The click of his gun happens as he nonchalatantly holds it up against the table, pointed at White.]

No cute stuff, I said.

[orangetoughguy]

[Wut. Larry. Wut. Was that sarcasm...Freddy still likes you, you know, don't make his wagging tail droop any lower from the awful transgressions he's already committed. And for the record, regardless of how on the level they were with each other prior to these various incidents, Orange is fully confident he's the better man because he's not a fucking psycho gosh. He's still a bit conniving though. Case in point:]

Larry get down!

[Up he goes right above the counter to open fire on Blonde. He's got less than ten bullets to his name this time so Freddy has to make them count.]

[whitetwoguns]

[Cute? That is cute? Consider the motherfucking source. He is intent to lay one right in his face for comments like that. This won't be the last time he has a gun pointed at him. White can divide his attention enough between Blonde and Orange.

The younger of the bunch gets the drop on em. Again. Larry throws himself under a table, knocking a chair or two askew.]

[gonnabite]

[White, what are you talking about. You're a goddamn hugga wugga boo boo teddy bear--WHOAH HEY fuck no.

FUCK no.

He wasn't letting this shortstop piece of shit get him again. As soon as he saw the gun come up, he leapt out of his seat and on the floor. By some goddamn miracle he hadn't been hit. He must have been fast enough, and lucky.]

Nice try, you fuck!

[Gun still in his hand he doesn't waste time shooting back at Orange. He still didn't aim for the vitals. For a dead guy Vic's aim was still damn good, and he didn't want Freddy dead yet. Dead again. Wait, I confused myself.

WHATEVER Blonde scrambles back to his feet and gets to cover behind a square pillar, shooting all the way there. In the mean time the radio, which had been playing commercials up til now, suddenly decided it was Quentin Tarantino-style fight time because a familiar song started playing.]

[orangetoughguy]

Get outta here!!

[Freddy yells at Larry, hand on the hammer to keep firing the goddamn thing. He's at a disadvantage, working a fucking revolver in this fight, but he's already betrayed the old man once. It's the least the kid can do. And anyway it gives him an excuse to fucking go all out on Blonde, Freddy doesn't pay one fucking ounce of attention at the bullets flying his way. He doesn't even feel that shit despite the flash of fire and debris splintering as he advances on the much taller man.]

[whitetwoguns]

[Run? Now? He should. He could have run from the beginning and he didn't. The continual bang bang going on would be the perfect reason as to why he's choosing to stick to the spot. Except that's not it. White could have left the kid after the first free for all. He didn't. He could have just left him at the rendezvous and he didn't.

Even knowing what he knows, he wants to see this shit to the bloody end. In death or whatevers gonna come, he doesn't want it to involve Mr. Blonde. They've got to take him out.

Larry props himself up enough on the table to fire toward the pillar. It's not a good place to be by this table. Not one little bit. He tries to worm to a booth and...

Holy fuck. Did that? Yup. Just got shot. Except how is this possible. Nothing doing. Is that blood? Maybe. It doesn't feel like a wound, it doesn't feel much like anything. Encouraged (and scared shitless) he keeps on going until...

Click. Click. Click.]

Shit.

[Ducking on into a booth again, farther back.]

[gonnabite]

[Blonde was already out of ammo. Weird. He did the math, he should have had a couple more shots to go. At least he had a couple more clips in his jacket pocket. White and Orange were both ganging up on him now, and he was going to need it. It didn't suprise him. He wasn't always there when White was caring for Orange after the heist, but before he could tell they were getting pretty buddy-buddy. In their own way. Vic couldn't always hang around long for anything that wasn't important, as the rest of his time got spent getting Scagnetti off his back. But even then he could still figure. White was worse of a moron than Vic thought. Fuck his closure. Orange was getting what was coming to him, and if Vic had to gun down White to do it? He wouldn't think twice. He just had to pay attention to both of them.

He jammed his first fresh clip in his gun. He must have been lucky a few seconds before, he had been in Orange's line of fire long enough. For now he didn't put much thought into it. First he had to worry about Orange trying to play a hero. Real fucking noble, kid. It wasn't saving you.

White's clicking was music to his ears. He grins, and pops out of hiding to squeeze a couple rounds off at White. He would have gotten more if Blonde didn't catch Orange advancing for him. Vic's smirk widens. He shot and fires at his gut. They were too close now, this one HAD to hit.]

[orangetoughguy]

[GOD DAMMIT LARRY WHY YOU DO.

BANG.

Right in his fucking gut. Again. The shock of it freezes Freddy for a fraction of a second and in that second he really undoubtedly believes he doesn't feel any pain because of the adrenaline rush. It's enough to let him fire the last round in his gun at Blonde too. His aim is for center mass, just as he's been trained by the LAPD's finest. Yet the kid's still fucking standing, unharmed, unshot, and unless he's hallucinating so is Blonde.]

. . . . .

[Hey are those his pancakes on the floor?]

[whitetwoguns]

[Clips! He's got to have at least one left. The newly lit Chesterfield is on the checkered floor somewhere. Pity. There is a fresh round being shot off, Larry's not about to miss it. Reloading he forces himself upright again to fire at Blonde. A sidelong gaze Orange's way shows that he's...somehow in the same boat.

Just what the flying fuck is going on around here?]

Jesus Christ.

[As if anyone can hear that. Maybe running would be a good idea.]

[gonnabite]

[If this was a normal shootout at the O.K. Corral, Mr. Blonde would have been positive he won right here and now. But it wasn't, and Blonde was spending their second staring at the lack of a gunshot wound on Orange. He was confused as hell and it showed on his face. There should have been a hole in him. It didn't have to bleed ten gallons yet but there was supposed to be hole.

It wasn't every day your bullets are magical, so Blonde wouldn't have blamed himself much for leaving himself open to the shot. He jerks in anticipation of the bullet, but that's about as much movement as he makes when he notices he doesn't get him either. He looks down.

Then up at Orange.

Then back down at himself.

Then back at Orange.

There's a moment's pause of sheer what-the-fuckery. Blonde holds his gun up again at Orange's chest and pulls the trigger. There's a gunshot. There's smoke. But there's no massive goddamn hole in Freddy's chest.

Blonde lowers his gun.]

What the fuck.






[Hey, those ARE his pancakes on the floor.]

[orangetoughguy]

. . . . .

[That makes two of them staring and staring. Without anymore rounds this revolver is useless but he's still got it in his hand in case he needs to pistol-whip somebody with it. If only he could stop staring at Blonde, and White, to get some wits back--HEY!!!]

Holy shit!! Larry.

[Do something!! Freddy balks when that gun points at him. Even though he's just survived the previous shots it doesn't put the brakes on his instinct to shield himself. Aw man look at that. He just stepped on the poor discarded pancake.]

[whitetwoguns]

[Okay. Bullets are a no go, nevermind why. They're just not. Fine then. Larry holsters his gun at his waistband. The nearest thing he's got is a chair. Last time he knew, those could do something. Since all eyes are on the pancake...hopefully... The old man grips the molded back and takes a swing.

Don't think he's doing it for you, Orange. He's doing it so that he's got a chance to have a piece of you for the second time. No amount of that is gonna bring Joe and Eddie back and restore a friendship of decades.

It can't all be adrenaline that makes it easy. Still sweating bullets and huffing like an angry wolf. Except if bullets didn't work, there's no way a few deep breaths are gonna blow this down.]

[gonnabite]

[... Most people would look dumbfounded and maybe a little freaked out. The expression across Vic's face was just vaguely confused, but moreso than normal. This was way too fucking weird.

But he'd have more time to be confused later. Okay. Bullets aren't working for some magic reason. When it doubt, pistol-whip. Blonde takes the butt of his gun and whacks! it against Orange's skull.

... And .5 seconds later gets rewarded with White getting him in the back with the chair. OW WHAT THE FUCK.

Wordlessly (this is the guy who didn't even gasp when he was killed) he goes down on his knees, and would have fallen on his face if he hadn't caught the backing of one of the booths. Fuck. That was gonna bruise. It doesn't matter who you are, getting hit with a chair that hard still HURT. But next to where what was left of his breakfast was (rip pancakes..............), he saw his fork. He grabbed it. Then he twisted his body around toward White and jabbed the fork into White's hand.

Hard.]

[orangetoughguy]

[HIS HERO. Oh wait no maybe not---

FUCK. So they don't feel bullets but he can feel brute force?! Fuck that shit this definitely can't be limbo it has to be some crazy fucked up nightmare. Speaking of sleep that blow to the skull should have knocked him out cold, instead he just feels the flash of pain followed by a hard up headache coming on. Freddy's dazed though, too dazed to warn Larry about the oncoming utensil. That doesn't mean he can't make a sudden rush at Blonde to tackle the guy right after the stabbing.

Yeah. Orange is trying to tackle Blonde. Yeah. He's totally abandoned his own gun. It's a knock down knuckle dragging diner fight now.]

[whitetwoguns]

Fuck!

[That's what you call deep. It's sticking right on into skin, bone, tendons...whatever else makes up the top of an older, rough hand. Larry doesn't even wanna look at it. It makes him feel fucking ill. In panic and with little else to do he raises his unpunctured fist to take a crack at Blonde.

Woah. Wait. The shorter, less hefty cavalry is here and this is gonna get far worse and ridiculous. Knock down and drag out, except what good is it all? The minute Larry can, he's gonna pull that fork on out.]

[gonnabite]

[Blonde grins at what he just did, and started to pull himself up to lay a new beating into White. Maybe he could find something and stab more than just the old man's hand. But then he catches Orange out of the corner of it eye. His notice didn't stop himself from getting tackled, but he could at least keep himself on his knees. It wasn't exactly like Nice Guy Eddie was tackling him. Freddy wasn't even close to Eddie's size, much less going to be heaving Vic over his shoulder like Eddie did either.

With Orange on him, though, maybe Blonde could. Under his breath he gave a husky curse and grabbed Orange's arms. He jerked his weight to one side hard to see if he could get Orange off

Then his eye caught his plate again.





GUESS WHO'S GRABBING IT AND SMASHING IT IN YOUR FACE somehow ASSHOLE.]

[orangetoughguy]

[He may not be Eddie's size but he sure is persistent. That swinging and grabbing isn't going to pull Orange off. A plate to the face on the other hand...!]

Fuhh--!!!

[Well he obviously wasn't going to be articulating clearly upon getting smashed by some ceramic ass shit. God. It gets him off Blonde though and Freddy staggers to one side to put distance between them. Again. Jesus is that syrup he's tasting on his face?? Huff puff. Oh crap he's finally getting winded. Hey is that the point of all this, fucking wild about until they're too tired to kill each other? God's done stranger things.]

[whitetwoguns]

[Seriously, Orange. Of all the fucking stupid, useless shit you could pull. That would have been another opportunity to run. Except he didn't. Of all the dumb shit to be done in this situation, he does the noble thing.

Larry is too pissed off and in shock from being treated like a pancake slice to fully get annoyed at what Orange is trying to do. All those shards of plate are around now.]

Lay off, you idiot.

[That one is for you kid. His hand smarts but not in the way that it should. Is he in that much shock or is that another lucky break like the magic bullets. Seems like at any moment Jesus Christ himself will sweep on into the diner and give everybody endless wine and bread at the unexplained miracles flying around.

Big rough hands grip on the largest shard he can find. Maybe that could stab Blonde good.]

EDITS, EDITS EVERYWHERE

[gonnabite]

[Jesus christ, it was like having a monkey on his back. The plate wound up being a good idea. Eyes scan for .5 seconds to find the sharpest, least stickiest piece of ceramic he can get his hands on. He picks it up as he gets back on his feet, slowly backing away to give himself some space between the other two.

If he was tired, Vic didn't show it. His back was gonna be sore in the morning but he was okay. He didn't even need to catch his breath. He just looked at them both. There was still a point to this for Vic. He was still getting Orange. White had to go down too, but he could live with that.]

Come on, Orange. Nice Guy Eddie could knock me down better than that.

[His taunt had a touch of a rare anger in it, and an expression that made you glad looks couldn't kill. It wasn't the hysterical kind of anger that would scream it was gonna kill you, but a seething, slow burning sort. It was somewhat foreign on a man who's default was "cheerfully homicidal".

Mr. Blonde wasn't easy to legitimately piss off. You could annoy him a little, sure, but Vic Vega's devil-may-care demeanor was normally unshakable. Congratulations, Orange, you did it.

Revenge for himself was one thing. But Blonde was slowing coming to the conclusion that Orange had killed Joe and Eddie too. That's why he was determined to give the rat what was coming to him. Plus, this was the first time he'd since he'd been here that he'd seen anyone from that job either. He sure as shit wasn't letting them go.]

[orangetoughguy]

[Lay off of the physical stuff, okay. Lay off of the mouthing off, no way! Freddy's green-brown eyes narrow because he knows a taunt when he hears it. Hey he's been taking crap about his height and roman nose since he was a kid.]

Nice Guy Eddie didn't shoot your ass down.

[Of course knocking someone's wrestling abilities and reminding him who tagged him full of holes until he died were two completely different things. That's why for all the yelling and the cold shoulders and oh the fact that White shot him in the fucking head...Freddy's still trying to slowly edge his syrup-stained way closer to Larry. Oh yeah and he wants to see if that fork managed to do any damage. The plate's put a quickly darkening bruise on the kid's face but it ain't anything he can't get over. Once you've bled for hours from a gutshot it really feels like you can do just about anything.]

You okay? [That's for Larry.] I want us to walk out of this.

[whitetwoguns]

Do you ever stop talkin'?

[He's been shot and shoved and pulled and poked and the worst injury is having to think more on the Cabots.

Man, ceramic was not meant to be used as a shank but what can you do? It's a little slick even as Larry tries to jam it into whatever open shot to Blonde's chest as he's trying to use the other hand for a guard.

No, Orange. He doesn't want to hear words like that. Words about Eddie or concern...or trying to pay back. There's no way he can accept them. In fact he doesn't want them after what he's done. It's all so fucked.]

SORRY FOR ALL THE EDITS last one for this tag, promise

[gonnabite]

[Blonde slowly eyed his piece of plate. Not the best weapon of choice, but he'd done nastier with worse. He shook his head.]

No, Eddie didn't. You did.

[He looks up, and moves for Orange. Even if Blonde wanted him alive for now, he could still go for the gut again. Or one of his eyes. Eyes sound good. He's going for the eyes.

OR HE WOULD HAVE if White wasn't trying to stab him too. RUDE. He thought fast and managed to push White's arm just away from his vitals--only to get it in the shoulder instead. He didn't feel it go in extremely deep. With what they were fighting with they weren't exactly gonna stick each other between the ribs. But it still went in, still hurt, and now he had red on him.

Fuck, this was getting surreal. He thought of Lee Marvin in Point Blank. He doubted this was an elaborate fantasy and that he was still lying on the warehouse floor dying, but he could still make the comparisons. He grunted in pain through tightly shut lips, then punched White across the face. Whether or not that was successful in giving himself some space, he gripped his own shank tight anyway and went for White's neck with it.]

[orangetoughguy]

[Why are they still fighting if they've concluded they can't die? Oh right, because they're stupid. How the fuck did Joe Cabot ever think these guys were capable of pulling off a heist. Damn. Freddy being an undercover cop is hardly immune to whatever it is that makes them keep going at each other. Just look at how he grabs this boxy metal napkin holder and swings it for Blonde's ear.]

Motherfucker!

[There are chairs everywhere, if he could just get Larry to side with him maybe together they can pin Blonde under one to immobilize the fucker. With death no longer on the table the most they can do is keep him down. The cop in Mr. Orange has no intention of torturing anybody. How noble of him, right??]

[whitetwoguns]

[Stupid and angry. That's why. It should be apparent. Larry is hopping that maybe that would have done something, anything. Except what a piss poor idea now that he thinks about it. It's punctuated by the really hard crack in the nose that sends him reeling back. No death or concussion. That nearly makes him see stars though. Oh shit. Seeing Blonde coming up fast with his own shank makes the old man throw himself back.

Huff. Puff.

He's got feet to kick. Right now he's more than content to just get the fuck out. It's all madness. Cowardly as it could be to turn tail, at least he'll know where and how he stands.

Fuck this. Fuck Blonde and Fuck to hell and back Mr. Orange.]