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Post by Nikki on Feb 27, 2009 0:06:51 GMT
For a second I think to ask why he's done this, but then the logic he's instilled in me kicks in.
Just because.
We seem to be wandering aimlessly, carving a tiny path of destruction wherever we go.
I think I love it.
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Post by boo radley on Feb 27, 2009 5:04:43 GMT
I don't know if I took the long way, or the short way, or what way I even took... but no matter how we got here, I destroyed anything that was in my path.
My motto is simple: get rid of ALL obstacles. They taught me that in kindergarten. So I took it literally, like we're all supposed to.
Falcone's mansion is a little run-down, it's wooden, and it's dark, and it's by an abandoned warehouse. But it's grand, and it's stuffed with goodies. From kitchen knives to women's makeup, it's stocked.
With just about everything.
Even a T.V.
Harley helps herself to the fridge while I stretch on the sofa and yawn. "Ahhh." I'm not even in the mood to sleep, but my ankles were dying for a rest.
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Post by Nikki on Feb 27, 2009 13:13:25 GMT
I don't know how long this place has been abandoned, but what little there is in the fridge seems perfectly fine. Funny.
I smirk at him from the doorway adjoining the enormous kitchen and sitting room, eating maraschino cherries straight from the jar. Falcone must have been into mixed drinks.
"Ya know, J Man, as painful as it will be, you should really let me take a look at that arm," I muse. "And any other various injuries you seem so great at ignoring."
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Post by boo radley on Mar 1, 2009 0:14:22 GMT
I shrug. "There're other criminals that'll come here. This place is always used..." I look at my arm. It's starting to have a sharp pain. "Just make sure it's taken care of before they come. I want to shoot something. Now."
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Post by Nikki on Mar 1, 2009 22:15:11 GMT
"Well, I hope I'm not too close when you do," I tell him half-jokingly, moving to kneel next to where he's laying on the couch. There's blood all over his clothes.
And that's when I realize. . .the shirt is gonna have to go. I need to see his whole arm, and the extent of his other injuries.
I gulp, wondering if this is exactly what happened to the nurse who got sent home crying. "Can I ask you a favor?" I say, kind of politely. Not being sexy, as with the two men who let us out of our cell. Not playing up the innocence.
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Post by boo radley on Mar 2, 2009 20:47:00 GMT
I roll my head over until there's a CRACK. Ahh. That feels good. I look down. The arm's bleeding. Aww, shit. Really? And I hear her asking me, "Can I ask you a favor?" Huh. Not exactly my forte, but all right. I'd hear the girl's wishes out.
Instead of talking, because I'm too lazy... lazy right now, that is, I grunt in response. "Huh."
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Post by Nikki on Mar 2, 2009 22:19:46 GMT
"Permission to do. . . uh. . .whatever is needed in order to make sure you're not deformed for the rest of your life. . ." I wince at this comment of mine, wishing I had rephrased. Although by now I don't count his smile as a deformity. It's part of him, and, by the way, doesn't subtract from his looks whatsoever. ". . .without any physical consequence? I.e., the nurse you sent home crying last evening."
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Post by boo radley on Mar 3, 2009 1:22:13 GMT
Deformed for the rest of my life? Doesn't she already see my damned face? I give her a look of complete anger, my hand gripping my knife tightly. I'm about to whip it out at her, when I realize that my arm is, indeed, screwed. "Make it fast." I'm gonna have to control myself with Harley, or I'll lose myself a trusty alliance.
I look at her one more time. She looks a little.... I dunno. It's a weird feeling. Like she doesn't care about the damn scars.
Well, wasn't she pressing that all night?
I'm an idiot sometimes, but that doesn't mean I have to apologize.
I hate apologizing.
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Post by Nikki on Mar 3, 2009 2:54:43 GMT
"I'm sorry," I say quietly, noticing his anger. It doesn't make me scared of him, though. Only sad. Gently, I pry the knife from his hand. He only lets it go because he's certain he has many hidden away, I'm sure.
"I didn't mean it that way, J. You look ruined to me, alright, but it has nothing to do with your face. Your mouth looks. . ." Kissable. "normal to me. The scars are a part of you." I explain this as I cut open the orange jumpsuit, starting at the collar. After all his movement, I'm afraid that jostling him more will be entirely more painful than what I'm about to do. Especially since I really have no idea what I'm doing at all.
He's pale and skinny and so beautiful that I have to swallow the lump in my throat as I examine his arm.
No wonder the angle looked so weird; even I can tell that it's not broken. But it's horribly dislocated.
"Euh, okay," I muse tenderly, more to myself than him. "Alright."
I suppose they're not much into medical supplies around here; any injuries sustained between mob members and criminals of his class usually aren't survivable. This is going to be one hell of a morning if I screw this up.
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Post by boo radley on Mar 3, 2009 3:09:50 GMT
Eurgh. It's....dislocated. "Harley, Harley Harley," I say, more or less to myself than actually to Harley. "All you have to do is pop it back in." But it sounds easier than it looks, I'm sure. "Go check the kitchen, there's probably shit over there you can use." I'm less than amused with the idea that I'll be wasting my time on my arm than going out there and getting pure adrenaline. Yeah, yeah, yeah.
I flip through the channels a couple more when -
Gotham Cable News is on. You know? I'd like to give that Mike Engel guy a Twinkie. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!!!!
There's something on about some mobsters, three guys, screwing up some election campaign for a guy named Harvey Dent. "I Believe in Harvey Dent" says the posters. The little scrolling thing on the bottom talks about his campaign to kill off crime in Gotham.
I believe in Harvey Dent, too, I guess. Wait till I get my hands on him....
...once they're fixed.
[]
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