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Decathect; Open
Topic Started: Jun 23 2013, 01:18 AM (2,688 Views)
NotAFlyingToy
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the bass and the tweeters make the speakers go to war
[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Hansel was up, the FAMAS dragged up and pointed at her retreat, his eyes glazed, trying desperately to focus on her. His limbs felt heavy, tired, quaking under the gun as he grit his teeth.

“Already have,” he snarled back, circling to the right as she slid backwards. He didn't take his eyes off of her, kept her sighted as she slid backwards. His right hand stroked the trigger of his gun, contemplating, brown eyes glowering underneath a sweat streaked face, a bloody neck.

“We're even, now,” he continued, “an' that's the end of it. That's it. I don' want t'see you again.”
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Ruggahissy
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i'm not upset
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
"Ha!"

She was able to get a hold on the bag with her good, uninjured hand. She slung it over her shoulder and stepped, toe to heel backwards until she found the door.

"You aren't doing me any favors, Hee-Haw. You startle me with a loud noise like, let's say, a gun shot and I pull the trigger out of sheer reflex and we're both swiss cheese. So don't kid yourself."

"I bet it was you," she said slowly, eyes wide. "I bet you were the psycho who shot Daniel."

She could still taste the blood. Maybe it was new blood from when she was struck in the head. The gun shook as her hand felt the pain of it's weight.

"Well I won't fall to you."

She groped around behind her until she felt the door knob. She twisted it and threw her foot behind her, kicking it open. Mara stepped out into the doorway. With the light of the moon behind her she was just a silhouette. For a moment it was silent.

"....and you're not a very good kisser!"

((Mara Montalvo continued in Walk the Streets So Mean))

things
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NotAFlyingToy
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the bass and the tweeters make the speakers go to war
[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Hansel opened his mouth to fire back at Mara, but she was gone before he had formulated any sort of cohesive reply. He settled for a long exhale, ending on a grunt, before staggering towards his bag and snatching it up, frowning down at the chunks of bile that still liberally coated the bag.

“Fuck,” he snarled, before hauling it towards a sink, intending to clean himself up.

It'd be daylight before he moved on.

((Hansel Williams, Ain't No Reprievement Gonna Be Found Otherwise))
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