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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[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.]

[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.]

Edited 2012-06-12 19:58 (UTC)

[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.

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.]

[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.]

Edited 2012-06-14 03:10 (UTC)

[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??]

[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.]

[Less angry and stupid and more revenge. Wait. That is anger.

... kanyeshrug.gif

Being murder happy also had something to do with it. And not giving up. Besides, this could also be considered experimenting. If shooting a man didn't work, what's the next logical step? Stab him in the jugular. Duh.

Besides, White made Blonde bleed. The spreading red poking out behind his black jacket onto his white shirt was obvious of that. Now he wanted to see if he could make White bleed even more. But fuck, the old man was faster than he thought. He moved to take another stab then--ow.

Fuck. Why do they make the edges of those little goddamn boxes so sharp? That actually nicked his ear, too. And it stung. Not badly, but there was... wow, there was more blood. Not much, but there it was. Blonde grunts again, probably the most in pain he was gonna sound right now, and swings a second punch at Orange to get him back off.]

Edited 2012-06-14 07:10 (UTC)

[Whoa there Mr. Vega! Crack. That's the sound of Blonde's fist meeting Orange's jaw. He's tasting blood already before he even hits the floor. The impact's got his head all shook up already but his (minor) sense of self-preservation has Freddy scrambling backwards, you know, away from the psychopath.

Pththbthb.

Oh look at that. He just spat blood. Huff puff. Fuck. Freddy's getting tired again, too tired to fucking run and hide. Not tired enough to give up his grip on the sharp-edged napkin holder though.]

Stop.

[He hears himself saying, trying to sound authoritative like the cop he is, possibly begging too at least for White's sake. Fucking Marvin Nash knew he was a cop and never said a word. That's a true partner.]

[Larry about slips on what he first thought was syrup. Nope. That's blood. And there is more where that came from on his clothes, Blonde's and Orange's. A right nasty looking mess and all involved assholes are still standing. This fresh slice of hell is not something that he could have imagined. Maybe it's only a nightmare.

Since he's on his feet, with a clear chance to make a break, White wastes a precious second kicking Blonde wherever he can. Just once.]

Move it.

[That means you, Mr. Orange. Now he'll be slipping and stumbling to the door.]

[Vic turns to Orange. His hand reaches up to touch his ear. A tiny stream of blood threatened to trickle down. He pulls his hand back away and looked at the blood. Eyebrows raised, as if to say "huh", and he wipes his hand off on a paper napkin by the bar. Then he looks back at Orange. He rolls the shoulder where his second injury was at. Slowly, calmly, he approaches him. He tilts his head slightly, examining him as if he was some sort of fascinating piece of roadkill worth poking a stick at. A smile spreads across his face, the same kind he gave Marvin Nash. And like Nash, Blonde wasn't going to listen to anything Orange had to say.

In one suddenly violent motion, he kicks the napkin holder away and slams his foot into Freddy's chest. With Blonde's foot still on his chest he kneels down. He has his weight on Orange now, to keep the man from squirming out from under him, but despite the size Vic Vega was no heavyweight champion. So he presses his makeshift shank against his throat, just in case he thought about about fighting him. Then he's suddenly casual again, as if he was having a normal conversation and not holding a man by knifepoint.]

You can say whatever you want, Mr. Orange. I'm not done with you 'til you're a fuckin' stain on the wall. I dunno how--but we're gonna have fun figuring it out. Because you're gettin' what's fuckin' coming to you.

[Vic knew what he did. He knew what he did to Nash, to those people at the jewelry store. He just didn't care.]

For what you did to me, Eddie, and Joe.

[Then he hears Larry's scuffling from when he nearly slipped. He looks. The plan was to keep himself from any more suprise attacks, but that tactic went right out the window when he finally noticed the blood. On him, on them, on every-fucking-thing. Vague perplexity crosses his face again. Maybe this was Point Blank, and he was Lee Marvin. How come he hadn't seen it until now? He'd seen weird here, but this was new. Thankfully for him, the 'weird' part of it he was used to.

It didn't save him from White kicking him, though. Vic's hold on Orange faltered, and he got knocked over on his ass. God dammit, he wasn't playing Three Stooges today.]

[Oh fuck that hurt. That really really hurt. Within seconds Orange's on his back and weighed down by Blonde. Sure Vic Vega's no heavyweight but Freddy Newendyke is practically a featherweight by comparison. He doesn't have what it takes to get out from under his grip and now he's got nothing in his own hands to use as a weapon. The kid's body stills when he feels the shank.]

. . . . .

[Freddy swallows, fear in his eyes, maybe he's going to lose his ears and his nose. People can still survive without them. But then there's a flash of anger and spite. He lifts his head enough to press his neck against the edge of that weapon.]

The only trash I took out was you.

[It's a cold scathing hiss from the kid, almost a mirror reflection of his face and the rigidness of his body when he shot this fucker down in the first place--Larry? The coldness dissipates in an instant and just as quickly he's making a scramble for the door, going after Mr. White.]

Why the fuck are you pointin' fingers? They wouldn't be so dead if you hadn't fucking shot the place up. Knowin' what they know about business they would have tried to throw the book at those two fucks.

[As much as getting knocked around, punched and shot at... hearing the names of his deceased friends smart the most. Larry did it. He hasn't said it yet. Fuck he feels too wrapped up in the knowledge at all. Is that something you're proudly supposed to say?

He killed the cops too. Shit there was a cop beside him the whole fucking time. There is right now. It's difficult to even look him in the face. All of those lies. He believed em.

Making a dash now is what's the easiest. Don't stick around for an answer, man. Won't be worth it.]

[If Blonde had the opportunity he would have told Orange to stop lying, cut up his face while he was at it. If he had the opportunity he would have had some words for Mr. White too. Not many. To him it was still hot air and Vic still didn't give a shit. He knew who killed the Cabots. ~~spoilers he doesn't~~ But Larry literally had him on his ass and he lost his chance. Didn't matter. He'd get it back once he had Orange. And if these assholes wanted to play cat-and-dog, he was happy to play back.

Blonde pushed himself up and went for the door after them. They weren't far, he could have caught up to them by himself. But he stopped right at the door. He remembered, his car was still parked outside. The Cadillac Coupe DeVille.

He turned to the pair running away from them. He didn't do anything, didn't say anything--only grinned at the idea turning in his head before he got out his keys. He moved for his car, unlocked it and got in. When the engine came to life, he revved the gas pedal for a moment to let them know.

Mr. Blonde fucking cometh.]

[At least that's one thing Freddy and Larry can agree one...nobody would've died if he hadn't shot the place up. Sure Blonde can say he wouldn't have shot the place up if they hadn't set off the alarm but what was the threat of it going off in the first place? Robberies make people want to sound the alert, that's a fucking given. Of course what they didn't know was how much of it was a setup, how even with the alarm the cops were going to let them get away with it cause the man they really wanted was Joe Cabot. It's not the same as saying he shot a 20-something young woman for nothing, but seriously...did you have to turn the entire store into a bullet festival, Blondie??]

Where do we go from here.

[Yes, the kid is actually turning to the old man for guidance, guidance after what went down in the warehouse. Does Orange have some nerve or what? Er, wait, that sound...no fucking shit.]

He's got his fucking car! [He yells in warning. How fucking fair is that in the goddamn afterlife??]

Away. Away is where we go.

[Panting, huffing puffing. He's not in any shape or form to out run a car. Especially if it is under the gas pedal happy foot of that fucking psycho path.

That's a hell of a helpful observation. Mr. White tugs on Mr. Orange. He's not so sure why. He may have forged an alliance right now, for right now. This doesn't mean they can completely rely one one another.

However...wouldn't be such a terrible thing in a moment like this.]

On foot and-[gulp] take as many small alleys as we can. that's or best chance.

[And it could be the only. With Blonde on the prowl who can tell what is safe.]

[VROOM VROOM MOTHERFUCKER]

[He backed out and on the road. When he hit the gas he was going to give Mr. White a one way ticket to purgatory's version of a rehab clinic. And for his grand plans with Mr. Orange... he'd pick up what's left of him. You know, cuz that made sense. Hey, this was the guy who thought it was dandy to let the cop in the trunk see their faces.

Vic's foot slammed the gas. But he didn't get very far before something hit him. Literally. A gigantic pain ripped through his chest. Then another, then another. He jerked back, and his foot slipped off the pedal in the process. He hadn't gone far yet but his brief burst of speed kept the car going.

It was a familiar pain. He knew what was happening. Lee Marvin was dead, and so was he. They both had the benefit of a bullet on a slow-motion journey. Vic's was just literal. In the brief split second's consciousness he had left, all he could think was "fuck". Fuck. Again. Life didn't flash before your eyes. There was no light at the end of the tunnel. Or maybe there was, but Orange (both times now) had gotten the jump on him. Fast enough that it didn't happen to him.

Yeah, that must have been it.

Vic's head hit the steering wheel and he slowly coasted by.]

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

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EDITS, EDITS EVERYWHERE

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

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HURK lemme know if this is okay! can change.

this is okay to meeeee

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1/2

okay I'm happy now that I've said that