log post II

[orangetoughguy]

third person narrative, action bracket spam, anything goes
log post I | log post II | log post III

Comments

[whitetwoguns]

We were fucked at the warehouse. Right here's a walk in the fucking park. No more bodies to put down for you right here.

[No friends are standing in his way. No Joe. No cops. Nobody but themselves now. Larry's not sure of he's part of the problem or the solution anymore. Hell, he's confused as to what the problem is at all. The kid needs to get his head cleared, fine. But Larry can't be a part of that because he helped get it screwed up then, huh? What did he do? Can't it go back to Black Magic Woman. No. The kid is a cop. Things don't ever quit being complicated.

He's going to the kitchen, not away not out. Just...thirsty. Which isn't a good idea. The fridge swings open only to be slammed shut as he answers to this box business that won't die.]

I didn't spy on you. I wanted to take a look at the piece of shit that you're trusting. If you get hurt--I'll fucking kill him.

[orangetoughguy]

[There's bristling over the bodies remark because he knows exactly what it means, what he's referring to.]

Yeah because cops aren't real people.

[It makes the kid's blood heat up over extreme inherent differences that might never go away. How many people has Lawrence Dimick killed? Does he already think he's repaying a debt that will never get paid back by being kind to the new kid? Does he think there might be tons of people out there who have every right to gun Two Guns down because he made them in the first place? Freddy Newendyke's none of those things but he's part of an institution who readily treats men like Larry there as less than human. Big fucking difference. Inherent similarities too. Freddy could kill someone who hurt Larry. Right now though, he swallows a hard lump in his throat, feeling wounded too.]

Fuck. [His voice wavers. Shit time to go...up the stairs. He's not going away either, not out, but Freddy has to just leave this space.]

[whitetwoguns]

[Larry abandons his beer he was going for hoping to at least brush his fingers against Freddy's arm again. Grab it if he could be so lucky.]

Kid.

[He should apologize but he can't because he doesn't know for what. It's getting to be uncomfortably quiet again and there's no music to blast. He's gonna go upstairs now. They're gonna sleep apart again.

Truth be told, Larry doesn't give a fuck about dead cops. He can't afford to. He's got to sleep at night. So much died so that they could live. Sparingly he thinks about Joe, about Eddie. More and more they creep on in because he's been running from that in ways he can't begin to talk about. They were friends, now the old man's got the kid who won't even look him in the eye that long.]