[ look, given the crew they run with, given who they are, shit always goes a little pear shaped. but it went extra pear shaped tonight.
harry woke up in the lspd morgue. she had to liberate a gun from a cop and shoot her way out the back door. as soon as she holds up a clothing store and gets some things (leggings, shirt, boots), she steals a truck, and is out of the city.
bryce got shot down somewhere above the river. she goes to where she saw the helicopter go down, and finds his body in the river, the water ruining the leather jacket he just bought. she hauls him out, tosses him in the back of the truck, then goes and holds up a gas station, picking up cigarettes, a few snacks, and box of beer.
then she drives down to the bay, parks the truck on the sand (stalls it in the sand, actually), cracks open a beer and a cigarette, and waits. ]
[Getting back up after a crash always goes a little slow, for him. He'd been up in the chopper running evac and covering fire (not his normal gig, but the bird had enough guns wired into it to make things fun) when shit got bad. When some asshole cop had decided to invest in an RPG and got in just one lucky shot.
Needless to say, crashing sucked.
He's pretty sure he got impaled in the initial impact. A bit of metal slicing right through him even before he was tossed out through the window. That had been the first death -- well, that and the blunt force that had snapped his neck and sent everything careening into darkness.
And then, he'd woken up in the damn river with a sheet of metal on top of him. Which went about as well as anyone could expect.
He's not sure what he's going to wake up to next, if he'll still be under the shard of helicopter he'd drowned trying to get off him, or if by some miracle he'd managed to float downstream. But when awareness creeps back in, when feeling starts returning to his body slowly, instead of all at once, he's at least sure he's not waking up to die again.
His eyes open to sky, his hands press against the mostly smooth metal of what he can only assume is a truck bed, and he takes in a deep breath. Salty air and cigarette smoke. Right now, they're two of his favorite scents.]
Motherfuckers. [Bryce grunts out, wrestling himself into a sitting position and squinting at the window into the cab, trying to make out which asshole had picked him back up.
Not that he really has to guess, but it'd be nice to know for sure who he has to bitch at.] Did you run me over picking me up? I feel like shit.
Yeah. I made sure to back up over you a few times, really grind the wheels in.
[ she didn't, of course, but he doesn't have to know that. when she heard movement, she grabbed the bag from the gas station and the box of beer, and hops out of the cab.
she tosses the bag at him, then hauls herself in and sets the beer down. ]
Happy new year.
[ is it the new year? probably not. but she sits on the rim of the truck bed, watching him. ]
Asshole. [Whether she did or didn't, the answer's the same, really. Besides, with Harry, you never know. At least in Bryce's experience.
Still, he shifts as she moves to join him, catching the bag of snacks and smokes and putting them down beside him as he shrugs his way out of the still-damp jacket he's in. Mournfully, he runs his hands over the water lines, the little tears and electrical burns in the brand fucking new leather.] Think they'll exchange this?
[Honestly, he'll probably rob the place regardless, just to feel better about the loss. He really liked this jacket.
At Harry's little toast, however, he's glancing at her, nose wrinkling as he takes one of the gas station beers, cracks it open, and chugs about half of it.]
Shit year so far. [He takes another long sip before glancing her way again, taking in the clothes he's never seen before.] How'd you make out?
It's a jacket, not a car. [He pokes his finger through a hole and wiggles it sadly.] God damn it. I really liked this one. LSPD owes me $700. [He glances up the beach, towards the mouth of the river he knows he died in.] And a new helicopter.
[But, they can get to their payback heist later. Because you better fucking bet Bryce is going give his jacket the revenge it deserves.
He glances back to Harry, once again taking in the mismatched clothes she's in. No wonder he doesn't recognize them. Or the truck.]
You picked me up instead of getting money? Aw, babe, didn't know you cared. [He grins, finishes off the beer, and starts to feel that ache of revival fade back.] But I am not going back into the city wearing leggings.
Fuck you, you know me versus cop central just ends in the morgue again, like a shitty respawn.
[ which is what she calls this sometimes - shitty respawn. all of the pain, none of the death. she tips the bottle of beer up and finishes it off, taking a drag of her cigarette afterwards.
also: ] So let your dick swing out if you're too much of a man to wear leggings, and we'll see if they actually regrow when some dude shoots it off.
Whatever. At least you'd take some out before going down again. And those fuckers don't respawn.
[With a grimace, Bryce tosses his beer can towards the back of the truck bed before reaching down to start taking his ruined clothes off. The pants are easy, despite being still soaked denim. They're heavy, full of holes, and he gets them and his boxers off with just a little struggling. The shirt is a whole other story. Torn pieces stick to his skin, get tangled, but eventually he manages to strip out of that, too.
And as good as it feels to, y'know, be naked on the beach, he's going to start digging into the clothes Harry had lifted, eventually choosing one of the least stupid options.]
Deal. You manage to get an extra gun, or am I going in there with this - [He very quickly and perfectly frames his hands around his dick] - as my only weapon? Shouldn't be a problem either way, but. Y'know. I'd appreciate a bullet sprayer of some kind.
I got up on the table at IHOP and terrorized the entire restaurant for a phone charger after I stole the whip cream from the kitchen and started eating it out the can.
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chaingunned) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
themoshpit2018-01-02 02:22 am
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harry woke up in the lspd morgue. she had to liberate a gun from a cop and shoot her way out the back door. as soon as she holds up a clothing store and gets some things (leggings, shirt, boots), she steals a truck, and is out of the city.
bryce got shot down somewhere above the river. she goes to where she saw the helicopter go down, and finds his body in the river, the water ruining the leather jacket he just bought. she hauls him out, tosses him in the back of the truck, then goes and holds up a gas station, picking up cigarettes, a few snacks, and box of beer.
then she drives down to the bay, parks the truck on the sand (stalls it in the sand, actually), cracks open a beer and a cigarette, and waits. ]
no subject
Needless to say, crashing sucked.
He's pretty sure he got impaled in the initial impact. A bit of metal slicing right through him even before he was tossed out through the window. That had been the first death -- well, that and the blunt force that had snapped his neck and sent everything careening into darkness.
And then, he'd woken up in the damn river with a sheet of metal on top of him. Which went about as well as anyone could expect.
He's not sure what he's going to wake up to next, if he'll still be under the shard of helicopter he'd drowned trying to get off him, or if by some miracle he'd managed to float downstream. But when awareness creeps back in, when feeling starts returning to his body slowly, instead of all at once, he's at least sure he's not waking up to die again.
His eyes open to sky, his hands press against the mostly smooth metal of what he can only assume is a truck bed, and he takes in a deep breath. Salty air and cigarette smoke. Right now, they're two of his favorite scents.]
Motherfuckers. [Bryce grunts out, wrestling himself into a sitting position and squinting at the window into the cab, trying to make out which asshole had picked him back up.
Not that he really has to guess, but it'd be nice to know for sure who he has to bitch at.] Did you run me over picking me up? I feel like shit.
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[ she didn't, of course, but he doesn't have to know that. when she heard movement, she grabbed the bag from the gas station and the box of beer, and hops out of the cab.
she tosses the bag at him, then hauls herself in and sets the beer down. ]
Happy new year.
[ is it the new year? probably not. but she sits on the rim of the truck bed, watching him. ]
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Still, he shifts as she moves to join him, catching the bag of snacks and smokes and putting them down beside him as he shrugs his way out of the still-damp jacket he's in. Mournfully, he runs his hands over the water lines, the little tears and electrical burns in the brand fucking new leather.] Think they'll exchange this?
[Honestly, he'll probably rob the place regardless, just to feel better about the loss. He really liked this jacket.
At Harry's little toast, however, he's glancing at her, nose wrinkling as he takes one of the gas station beers, cracks it open, and chugs about half of it.]
Shit year so far. [He takes another long sip before glancing her way again, taking in the clothes he's never seen before.] How'd you make out?
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[ she blows some smoke in his direction as she looks over it. he's even got some dirt stuck in parts of it. looks pretty rough, all around. ]
Made out shit all. Got put in the morgue, had to get out of LSPD central. I think they still got my money, too.
Got some shirts for you. And some extra-large leggings.
[ look she went for leggings, not sweatpants. ]
no subject
[But, they can get to their payback heist later. Because you better fucking bet Bryce is going give his jacket the revenge it deserves.
He glances back to Harry, once again taking in the mismatched clothes she's in. No wonder he doesn't recognize them. Or the truck.]
You picked me up instead of getting money? Aw, babe, didn't know you cared. [He grins, finishes off the beer, and starts to feel that ache of revival fade back.] But I am not going back into the city wearing leggings.
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[ which is what she calls this sometimes - shitty respawn. all of the pain, none of the death. she tips the bottle of beer up and finishes it off, taking a drag of her cigarette afterwards.
also: ] So let your dick swing out if you're too much of a man to wear leggings, and we'll see if they actually regrow when some dude shoots it off.
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[With a grimace, Bryce tosses his beer can towards the back of the truck bed before reaching down to start taking his ruined clothes off. The pants are easy, despite being still soaked denim. They're heavy, full of holes, and he gets them and his boxers off with just a little struggling. The shirt is a whole other story. Torn pieces stick to his skin, get tangled, but eventually he manages to strip out of that, too.
And as good as it feels to, y'know, be naked on the beach, he's going to start digging into the clothes Harry had lifted, eventually choosing one of the least stupid options.]
Deal. You manage to get an extra gun, or am I going in there with this - [He very quickly and perfectly frames his hands around his dick] - as my only weapon? Shouldn't be a problem either way, but. Y'know. I'd appreciate a bullet sprayer of some kind.
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now, she just keeps sipping her drink, mentally judging him for not making it a sexier striptease somehow. ]
What, you don't wanna just jizz on the cops? Pretty sure it'll scare some of them.
[ she chuckles. ]
Stole a shotgun from one of the stores I hit up, it's in the back.
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2. did it work?
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I mean I got a phone charger but never got my pancakes. I stole some old lady's red velvet pancakes when I had to jet.
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... wait, they have red velvet?
[brb holding up an IHOP]
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[.............]
wait
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