whiskey (wasexorcised) wrote in safeasthreads, @ 2009-12-13 14:47:00 |
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Romeo was mostly pissed. She supposed she should be upset or heartbroken or something, considering the numerable times she'd professed her love to Bravo, but mostly she just wanted everyone who had ever looked at him cross-eyed to die. She'd been in her pod room when Yankee had messaged her; from there she'd set straight off for the handler's lounge. She had a pair of scissors, but that wasn't going to do enough damage. She needed a real weapon. In her sort of blind rage, she managed to punch someone out in the hallway without even bothering to see who it was. Unfortunately for her, someone else did. "What the hell?" Blanche Prevost chirped at her, her eyebrows raised. "You can't do stuff like that, we're having a funeral service. Show some respect!" Before the girl had time to reprimand her any more, Romeo had stabbed her in the shoulder and pushed her into the wall to get her out of the way. Either the girl had passed out or was in shock because she didn't make a noise again after that. Continuing on her way, Romeo managed to get to the Handler's lounge without incident. Helen Fox was there, but she was unarmed and distracted; Romeo took her out easily and stole her keys. Now she just had to wait for Foxtrot; she wished that girl would hurry the fuck up, because she was getting antsy. If Foxtrot looked happy, it was because she was. Well, not happy, exactly, but pretty damn satisfied. She was pleasantly intoxicated and she'd just beaten the shit out of Yankee, and that passed for contentment around these parts. One look at Romeo's face, though, and she remembered exactly why she was pissed. She could feel her rage rising again, buzzing with anger as though her skin was literally filling with frustration and pain. Oh god fucking damn it. She was gonna fuck some shit up. "I was doing shit," she grunted as way of explanation. Romeo was probably mad at her for taking so long, but you know what? Serves her right for not telling her what the fuck was going on. She leaned on the wall, half casual, half falling down drunk. Reaching into her bag, she pulled out a bottle of Southern Comfort, nearly full. "Want some?" she asked, taking a large sip for herself before holding out the bottle. "I took some of the good shit." "Hell yes. But don't get too drunk, you're going have to be able to aim." She said, offering Foxtrot one of the guns she'd taken from the arms locker. "Do you know where we can find them?" She asked somewhat hesitantly. She knew they didn't live inside the Dollhouse and they couldn't leave, so that could prove to be somewhat problematic. Foxtrot snorted and passed her the bottle. "Never too drunk, Shakes," she said, taking the gun. She wasn't real handy with a firearm. Sure, she could use one and stuff, but she hadn't had all that much practice. Still, she liked the way it made her feel - powerful, invincible, and safe. Distractedly, she played with the gun, flicking the safety on and off a few times, before tucking it away. "They killed B, didn't they?" She replied, looking around as though Whiskey or Alpha would pop up around the corner. "They've got to be here somewhere. 'sides, I vote we just scream or some shit until they find us." "Alright, good plan." Romeo said tersely, moving to leave the handler's lounge. However, she was intercepted - by Whiskey, who was indeed waiting for them around the corner. She was leaning against the wall, apparently unarmed, looking at them in an amused fashion. "Now, now," She said in Crystal's southern drawl. "Violence is never the answer." If Foxtrot was shocked, she didn't show it. So Whiskey came when they called, how sweet. She'd had a puppy who did that once, when she was eight. It died. Still, either she was way more drunk than she'd thought, or she was going to end up dead by a psychopathic baby killer. Probably both. "The fuck you talking about?" she spat, "Violence is always the answer." Romeo had jumped a little, but then fell in line beside Foxtrot, raising her gun at Whiskey, who just giggled and shook her head, standing up and wandering towards them. "So angry. So much anger." She said, shaking her head. "You should really work on that." Romeo looked at Foxtrot briefly, wondering if she should shoot. There was no reason not to; she could shoot her through the neck from where she stood, but it felt too easy. Like a trap. Foxtrot looked at Romeo, wondering why she hadn't ended just this shit already. She'd watched movies, and it always seemed to her like the whole damn thing would be over like a hour sooner if someone had just pulled out a gun. All the same, she kind of understood now. All that buildup for nothing? Anyway, she didn't want to kill Whiskey so much as make her hurt. Bad. "Fuck you," she replied, her voice remarkably calm, given how desperately she was to rip this whore to shreads. Pulling out her own gun, she fired off a lazy shot, wobbling a bit from the recoil. Okay yeah, phew. Definitely a little drunk. Instead of being threatened or offended like a vaguely normal person might be, Whiskey was mostly just amused. She laughed again, side stepping out of the way of the shot even though it was way off from hitting. "Be careful!" She said with a lilt in her voice, looking at them deviously. "I hear those things can be really dangerous." With that, she managed to grab Romeo's gun and smack her over the head with it, knocking her out. She kicked her in the head even though she was already on the ground, and proudly looked back up at Foxtrot, the gun now trained on her. If there was one thing Foxtrot had going for her, it was her deathwish. Whiskey didn't scare her, the gun didn't scare her. Pissed her off, for sure, but didn't frighten her in the least. Yankee seemed to have cured her of that. Her head cleared as she saw her best friend lying battered on the ground, the liquor quickly replaced by adrenaline and a cold rage. "Yeah," she smirked, stepping towards the gun. "Hell, I suppose they are." Her hand perfectly steady this time, she shot again, this time grinning broady as the bullet made a sickening impact with Whiskey's shoulder. "How about that." "Goddamn bitch!" Whiskey yelled at her, staggering backwards. She couldn't hold the gun in her right hand anymore; her arm was pretty much useless. Transferring the gun to her other hand, she held it up shakily, as if she were going to shoot Foxtrot right back, but had a change of heart and instead emptied the round in Romeo's direction; her aim was shakey and only two of the bullets made contact with her hip and thigh. Shit. "Stop fucking shooting my motherfucking friends, Jesus!" Foxtrot shouted, losing control. Her face was flushed a hot red, her body literally shaking with anger. Her speech, already a bit of a drawl, thickened to something recognizably Southern. Ignoring the gun in her hand, she reached for her knife, cursing Yankee six ways from Sunday when she realized it was gone. This fucking piece of shit was no fun at all. She walked towards Whiskey, any rational part of her brain instantly drowned out by her desire to shank a bitch. "Or I swear, I'm going to cut you so goddamn hard, your mother's gonna feel it." And with that, she punched her right in the jaw. Whiskey recoiled and dropped her gun before lunging at Foxtrot again. At this point she didn't have many weapons besides the weight of her body, but she used that to the best of her advantage, managing to topple Foxtrot over and somehow land on top. She punched her with her good hand twice, forgetting that Foxtrot was still holding her loaded gun. Luckily, Foxtrot didn't forget. Jamming the weapon between their bodies, she pulled the trigger, firing point-blank into Whiskey's gut. She gasped as the recoil caught her between her own ribs, and she lay there, coughing for a moment, as blood that wasn't hers dripped onto the floor. |