Outrun Freeway

Shot by: sixblvckroses

     “…Unfortunately NO.” 

“ – Really? I swear to God, dude, you have the craziest meth eyes.”

With the lock busted and Fish passing through before him all he could do was grin and follow suit. “You brought a gun?” for some reason, this was amusing to him. Boring the thought was just there, he understood people carried firearms for better protection, but to be fair that hadn’t proven to be a concrete solution to when someone was charging you with a club, or a knife, or a cleaver.  Once they were on ground level he took the lead again, kneeling down, searching through the pockets of the corpses. “Shame there’s no security in this shit hole, would love to know who did a number on these guys”.  He was hoping to find out exactly what went on here, looking over the bodies for cause of death wasn’t coming to anything conclusive, it looked like they had been murdered by various different weapon, blunt, sharp, most of them had been shot.  “Must have been one hell of a party we missed”. 

“Yeah, I did.” His reply sounded as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Breaking into places without a gun? Who did that? No one did that. Maybe Billy did that. Maybe that was why he sounded so incredulous. “You didn’t?”

Fish just watched, passively, as the other rifled through the corpses’ pockets. There wasn’t much dissuading him from doing the same, in fact, it was more than likely that the loot was still ripe for the taking. It didn’t look like the police had done much other than cordon off the area. But with just a single, fleeting look at the glassy-eyed dead, any motivation he had to steal from them seemed to evaporate into thin air.

“Tell me about it.” He scoffed, shaking his head a little to clear his thoughts. Billy was right. This place looked like a hurricane had torn through it; if said hurricane carried knives and bullets, instead of dust and debris. Whoever did this – whether it was the work of one man or more – definitely wasn’t your average joe. “Think this is 50 Blessings?”

He had thought he’d gotten away home free– that was until he heard someone calling him an asshole and given that the heisters had been carted away that only left one person. He let out an exasperated sigh, looking over to the source of the yelling. 

“Wait a minute,” he yelled back, heading to the van to grab his bag. He had been intending to go straight home after this rather than back to the headquaters so he’d stashed it in the back of the SWAT van he’d arrived in. After reaching in and pulling it back to himself he headed back over to him, stuffing his gear in the back and giving one last sweeping glance to the area before pulling off his balaclava to and trying to fix his hair without looking at it.

“I’m surprised you stuck around,” he snorted. “I though you’d have gone to find someone else to try and keep from their job.”

Much to his surprise, the yelling actually worked. He’d half-expected the guy to just make a run for it when he started screaming at him from across the parking lot. Granted, he didn’t look too enthusiastic about the whole affair, but hey; can’t win ‘em all, right? This was already enough for Fish to congratulate himself on another job well done.

Most of the crowd from earlier had already dispersed, leaving only Fish and a few other particularly stubborn stragglers, though it seemed he was the only one interested in heckling a cop.

“I don’t give up that easy, buddy. ‘Persistent’ is my middle name.” He declared, once Mike got within his inside-voice earshot, the statement accompanied by finger pistols. Right after he said that, however, he froze and appeared to be mulling over something of dire importance. It was only after a few, long moments of vacant staring deep contemplation that he finally spoke again. “Actually, I don’t even have a middle name.”

This time, it was more of a real laugh than a chuckle that escaped her lips, although a small one. “— Dead inside, huh? We’ll see about that.” She then addressed him a defiant smile, shaking her head slightly. The unexpected casualness of the exchange made her realize how easily she often ends up liking people, the current situation being a prime example : despite knowing next to nothing about him except his surname, Tamara liked him, sort of. Truth be told, she always had this kind of natural ease when it came to talking to others, even if it was only a few words here and there – she loved people, or at least she tried as much as she could, finding the best in them and forgetting about the rest. An habit that didn’t always do her good, especially when paired with the fear of loneliness ( her relationship with Daniel being the result ). “— Well I- ” He wasn’t wrong in the least, and the girl knew she sounded foolish. Still, it was in her character to help others. “— If it was the case, I highly doubt you would say that out loud. Not to mention you could totally have hurt me back in the alley instead of coming here with me, in plain sight and all.” A smirk curled a side of her mouth, shrugging lightly. “—Seems I have a natural talent at making bad life choices anyway.” While being sometimes quite naive, she wasn’t stupid however, and well aware of the risks she was taking here. Yet, she chose to trust her guts, even if it didn’t always turn so well for her in the past. The cashier came back to her mind soon enough ; even without looking at him – staring at Fish’s hands was immensely more interesting – it was as she could feel his disgusting stare on her. “— Huh, yeah, no problem.” Quickly, she took her wallet out before sliding a twenty dollars bill on the counter, all while carefully avoiding looking directly at the clerk. “— I’ll wait outside. ” And so she got out, quickly. The cold air of the night was, for once, much welcomed ; yet it wasn’t said cold that made her shoulders quiver. Even twenty showers wouldn’t be enough to wash off the feeling of him looking at her like that, and disgust was still churning her stomach. Hands buried deep in her pockets, she let out an eased sigh when she heard him finally rejoin her.  “—I was starting to think you preferred his company to mine.” Keeping things light made forgetting about the ordeal much easier. “— ’sorry I left you with him. He was starting to really make me uncomfortable.” An apologetic smile crossed her face, and she took a few steps, glancing at him over her shoulder. “—My couch is really comfortable, by the way.” Yeah, her offer was still standing, no matter what he could say. 

The clerk took his time bagging the items, appearing far more interested in ogling Tamara as she made a quick escape. Fish’s eyes narrowed at the sight, lips pressing together into a thin line. God, he’d love to punch this guy right now; though in his current state, he doubted he’d be able to win a fight against anyone. But he made a mental note of the man’s greasy-looking features, and the cheap, plastic name-tag pinned on the front of his shirt.

With fifteen cents worth of change clutched in his right hand, and the plastic carrier bag filled with medical supplies in his left, he pushed open the glass door, stepping outside into the cold night air. It didn’t take him long to stride up next to her, even with the slight limp in his step.

“Oh, yeah. He had me swooning. I mean, who can resist that goatee, right?” He scoffed at her joke, handing her the change – a dime and a nickel. The cigarette between his teeth was still smouldering, its tip glowing red, and he took another long drag before reaching up to ash it. His next words almost seemed to escape from him in the coiling clouds of smoke, teeth bared in an impetuous grin. “Nah, don’t worry about it. He’s a fuckin’ creep. Maybe next time I’ll come back ‘round to fuck him up for you. Chivalry isn’t dead, y’know?”

A sneakered foot scuffed against the pavement as he looked down, and back up again. To be completely honest, crashing at Tamara’s place sounded amazing, and as much as he hated to admit it, it seemed a much better option than anything else he had in mind.

...Well, he hadn’t anticipated getting his ass beat, so any kind of prior planning would’ve been downright impossible, but you get the picture.

“Okay, fine. Your place, it is.” Finally, with a shrug, he relented. It wasn’t like he had anything to lose, anyway, and while he wasn’t exactly the best judge of character, Tamara seemed way too nice to pull a fast one on him. Sure, it might’ve been a little hard to believe, but Fish was starting to think that not everyone in the world was a piece of shit.

“I hope you live close by.”

As things begin to dwindle down, back to normal ( which, roughly translated, refers to ‘NONVIOLENCE’ ), Darren can’t help but let out a miniature, inaudible sigh of relief. The only two thoughts running through his mind right now are ‘ thank god ( whoever that is ) ’, and ‘ this kid is a fucking pituitary case–AVOID next time ( if there is one ). ’ Everything the other says afterwards aids only in making Darren angrier, inward frustration once again accumulating at an alarming rate, but he holds his tongue for the sake of what he guesses must be his own safety.

The fist of the other reaching and successfully bumping into his shoulder is met with a slight cringe away from the stranger ( if you can still call someone a stranger after they’ve threatened to beat your face in a few times ), the short-lived physical interaction adding to his already timid, visibly flustered posture. What he wants to say in this situation is something among the lines of, ‘ Don’t touch me, goddamn fucking short fuck,’ but what he actually says is much different; in reply, he offers a stale, half-assed, “Yeah. I bet it was,” and when the other begins offering his ‘ advice ’, Darren adjusts his general gaze so as to not be looking at him, instead focusing on other things, like the loud noises the building’s A.C. unit makes in its fight against the unbearable heatwave, and how goddamn embarrassed he is to actually, really be having this conversation, especially right here, right now, with this particular person, in this particular setting.

Well, that was certainly new. Fish hadn’t been expecting such a cringing diffidence from the stranger, and for a moment, he almost felt bad for threatening him.

Almost.

What he actually did was snort disparagingly and roll his eyes, which was admittedly, just a teensy bit less considerate. (Not that he’d ever cared about being considerate, but that was besides the point.)

“Jesus Christ, dude. Just... chill, a’ight?” He waved his hand in a vaguely placating gesture, before turning around and making a beeline for the cashier, picking up a Red Bull and a bag of Cheetos on the way there. Breakfast of champions, eh?

Rummaging through his pockets, he managed to scrounge up a fistful of crumpled ones and a couple of tens, dropping them on the counter as payment. The impatient tapping of his foot grew quicker and quicker, more erratic, borderline schizophrenic as the clerk tried to scan the bar-codes on the items, failing, and having to resort to keying in the numbers manually.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

...Beep.

Fish was willing to bet that this was what Hell was like. Not fire and brimstone; just an endless, soul-crushing wait, accompanied by the digitised beeps of a slow-as-molasses store clerk pecking away at the cash register.

He could actually claw his eyes out, right now. That’d be less painful than standing here for even a second longer, that’s for damn sure.

“Can you – ” Beep. “ – Shit! Can you hurry the fuck up?”

It would’ve been impossible to guess whether the clerk had heard him or not, if not for the light sheen of sweat on his hairline, and the slightly quicker pressing of buttons.

But after what seemed like an eternity (which was actually only a couple of minutes), the ordeal was finally over. Plastic bag in hand, Fish made to leave, though not before shooting the tall, skinny guy from before a pointed look that was less I’m-gonna-break-your-jaw and more I-don’t-want-to-see-you-grammar-loving-fuck-ever-again.

“Hey, asshole!” He called out, to catch his attention, if the eyes boring into the back of his head hadn’t already. “What’s your name? I mean, I’m better with names than faces. If we ever meet again next time, I’ll know not to beat you up because that’s, uh, kinda sad, honestly.”

What else was there to say?  Aislin was still a bit nervous, but his lightheartedness was encouraging and worked to break down some of the awkwardness.  It was a relief to see some anxiety in his mannerisms too though – part of her was a bit more assured that there was nothing more to this than what they were agreeing to.  These days she had to be careful of that.

“Oh, you knew that the moment I plucked a quarter out of your ear.” she licked her lip and took his hand again.  This time she laced her fingers with his and pulled gently to walk him towards her place.

Room number three, she let him go long enough to unlock the door.  She made no show of it, nor did she seem in any particular hurry.  Aislin kept her mannerisms casual, smooth.  The door opened to reveal a standard motel room.  It was pretty small, being only a single space with a bathroom.  The bed was essentially the center-piece, a comfy king-size, that was facing a rather large TV that sat upon the dresser.  The nightstand was on the other side with a lamp that illuminated the room when she flicked the light-switch.  It was mostly tidy with a large suitcase shoved in the far corner.  It was open and clothes spilled around it.

It was clear she either hadn’t been here long or didn’t plan to be there much longer.

She closed the door gently behind them once he was in and locked it.  While she let him take in his surroundings, she peeled out of that charcoal coat and set it on the only chair in the room along with her bag.  Aislin was in a worn pair of bootcut jeans and a neon blue t-shirt.  She yanked the scrunchy out, allowing her hair to pool down around her shoulders.  It was longer down than it appeared up.

She crossed her arms and paced over to the bed slowly.  As she brought herself to sit at the end, she softly smiled again, “It isn’t much, but it serves its purpose.”

Fish snorted, rolling his eyes, though the gesture was purely in jest. He didn’t resist when Aislin took his hand; just followed her along the corridor to where her room was.

It was dark, and the flickering lights that lined the ceiling made the place look dingier than it really was. From the pool, quivering rays of blue-reflected lights shone onto the walls, washing them blue. The cool night breeze sent waves of ripples rolling through the surface of the water, and the jingling of keys as Aislin made to open the door to her room was the only thing he could hear.

What time was it? As he waited, the thought suddenly clawed to the surface of his mind. He had a lot of time to wait. The anticipation was nothing he couldn’t handle, but amidst the silence, the memories of what he’d been up to that very evening came crashing down on him like a tidal wave. It felt weird to be doing something like this after he’d just torn through a warehouse full of Mafiya. His thoughts shied away, whenever he thought about the bullet-ridden bodies, and the walls splashed with red, but once, twice, he shook his head to push through it. He didn’t need this right now, he didn’t want it. 50 Blessings could wait.

The door to the room opened with a creak, and he stepped inside after Aislin. It was a familiar sight that reminded him of his own travelling days, though he’d usually stayed in much shittier motels than this. A king-sized bed sat in the middle of the room, and courtesy of a circulating urban legend, Fish was almost tempted to check for a body underneath it. For a moment or two, he just stood there, rooted to the ground as he took in his surroundings, but the silence didn’t last long, her voice carrying across the room like the clear ring of a bell.

“Well, I wasn’t exactly expectin’ a mansion.”

Eyes sweeping over her, he strode forwards to where she sat. His hoodie was quickly unzipped, and he shrugged it off, hanging it on the back of a chair. With the arch of an eyebrow, accompanied with a knowing smirk, leaned down, pressing his lips against hers for the second time that night.

He slid his hand up Aislin’s arm and over her shoulder. There was a slight pause, uncertain, until his hand found the back of her neck, his fingers tangling into the golden strands hair.

[all] quirks my muse habitually has.

Writers, bold all of your character’s regular truths.

1. Smoking: the action or habit of inhaling and exhaling the smoke of tobacco or a drug. 2. Binge drinking: the consumption of an excessive amount of alcohol in a short period of time. 3. Drug abuse: the habitual taking of illegal drugs. 4. Nail biting: a common body language sign of anxiety/tension. 5. Lip biting: a common body language sign of anxiety/tension. 6. Night Owl: a person who is habitually active or wakeful at night. 7. Early bird: a person who rises, arrives, or acts before the usual or expected time. 8. Negative attitudes: a philosophy of approaching life with criticism and pessimism. 9. Positive attitudes: a philosophy of approaching life with optimism and confidence. 10. Swearing: the use of offensive language. 11. Superstitious: an irrational belief that an object, action, or circumstance not logically related to a course of events influences its outcome. 12. Inspecting fingernails: a common body language sign of boredom. 13. Scratching your neck: a common body language sign of uncertainty. 14. Foot and finger tapping: a common body language sign of stress/impatience. 15. Nose touch: a subtle body language sign of deceit. 16. Flipping hair: a common body language sign of craving attention. 17. Twirling hair: a common body language sign of flirtation. 18. Cracking knuckles: a common body language sign of readiness. 19. Hands behind back: a common body language sign of confidence. 20. Finger pointing: a common body language sign of authority. 21. Hands on hips: a common body language sign of readiness. 22: Hands in pockets: a common body language sign of mistrust/reluctance. 23. Frequent touch: a common body language sign of warmth/familiarity. 24. Throat-clearing: a common body language sign of rejection/doubt. 25: Jaw-clenching: a common body language sign of hostility. 26: Eye-rolling: a common body language sign of irritation. 27: Head-tilt: a common body language sign of interest. 28. Whistling: to emit high-pitched sound by forcing breath through a small hole between one’s lips or teeth; usually to a tune. 29. Humming: make a low, steady continuous sound like that of a bee; usually to a tune. 30. Perfectionism: refusal to accept any standard short of perfection. 31. Photographic memory: the ability to remember information or visual images in great detail. 32. Paranoia: a mental condition characterized by delusions of persecution, unwarranted jealousy, or exaggerated self-importance, typically worked into an organized system. 33. Exaggeration: a statement that represents something as better or worse than it really is. 34: Intuitive: using or based on what one feels to be true even without conscious reasoning; instinctive. 35: Quick-witted: showing or characterized by an ability to think or respond quickly and effectively. 36: Interrupting: breaking the continuity of a conversation with one’s own statements. 37: Doodling: to scribble or make rough drawings, absent-mindedly. 38: Irritable: having or showing a tendency to be easily annoyed. 39: Gambling: to play games of chance for money; bet. 40: Travel-sick: suffering from nausea caused by the motion of a moving vehicle, boat, or aircraft. 41: Sensitive: having or displaying a quick and delicate appreciation of others’ feelings. 42: Melancholy: a feeling of pensive sadness, typically with no obvious cause. 43: Chewing gum: the exercise of chewing flavoured gum which is not intended for swallowing. 44: Fidgeting: to make small movements, especially of the hands and feet, through nervousness or impatience. 45: Sceptical: not easily convinced; having doubts or reservations. 46: Neat-freak: compulsively obsessed with cleanliness. 47: Gossiping: divulging personal information about others. 48: Prim: feeling or showing disapproval of anything regarded as improper; stiffly correct. 49: Abbreviating: Giving others nicknames/shortening names/giving pet names. 50: Having a catchphrase: having a sentence or phrase typically associated with a specific person.

Plucking the cigarette from his lips he flicked the ashes to the ground and side-glanced over toward the clerk as he seemed to think over his offer. By that wry chuckle alone he had a feeling he knew what was coming up next.

Negotiations.

Five hundred was a lot of money, but maybe not enough for someone that might sense a little danger in this supposedly easy task. He tucked the cigarette back between his lips and tilted his head slightly. Six fifty, that was still pretty low in his opinion but it was safe to say that he had money to spare, both readily available and in some offshore account.

“Mmm six-fifty? I am thinking we can consider that a deal. Two-hundred now and the rest after you are driving.” Pushing off of the wall, he lifted a brow at him. “Maybe if you are not drawing attention, I can throw in bonus.”

Humming thoughtfully, he checked his watch, making sure he wouldn’t end up missing his bus back home. “You are knowing where Gentry Manor Hotel is? Meet me there Friday at two in the morning. If you are not being here, I will guess you are changing your mind.”

So, that was it, then? He felt like he’d signed his life away for six hundred and fifty big ones, but maybe that was just him being melodramatic. As the saying went; this wasn’t his first rodeo, and if things really, really went south, he knew when to jump ship. But first things first, there was the rather delicate matter of collecting his payment.

“Got it, boss.” Fish replied, teeth bared in a sardonic grin, though he sounded more than a little distracted. The Gentry Manor Hotel, huh? As far as he recalled, that was where all those rich folks went when they couldn’t be bothered to fly to the Bahamas in their private jet. It was a strange place to meet, but he wasn’t the one calling the shots, was he? All he needed to do was drive, and asking questions wasn’t part of his detail.

Of course, there was still the delicate matter of payment. Standing there with his hands in his pockets, he eyed the man expectantly. “Well? How ‘bout that two hundred?”

❛ will you just fuck right off already?? ❜

“Yo, you need to relax, homie. D’you jerk off? Feels like you haven’t done that in a while.”