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]

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.]

1/2

[gonnabite]

[VROOM VROOM MOTHERFUCKER]

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

[gonnabite]

[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.]