ashton ford ☢ deadpool. (foraspankerin) wrote in thereincarnates, @ 2011-01-30 22:39:00 |
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Entry tags: | ashton ford |
Who: Ashton Ford and a merry band of NPCs.
What: No one puts Ashton in the corner, or steals from his favorite 7-Eleven.
When: Late, late Saturday evening.
Where: 7-Eleven.
Warnings: Violence, language, death, thinly-veiled brooding, etc. This is Ashton we're talking about here.
"Nobody fuckin' move!"
It wasn't the loudest of suggestions, and if Ashton hadn't kept one of his earbuds hanging off of his shoulder, he would have missed out on it altogether. His head poked up from the refrigerated alcohol section - his original evening plans only consisting of tequila shots and whatever episodes of Golden Girls his DVR had accumulated over time, but that no longer looked like the case. He frowned, making his sunken, tired features dangerously darker. He didn't need this bullshit. He didn't need any of this. Especially not now.
Just hours ago he was sitting in the hospital, grinding his teeth until he couldn't take the sight of the place anymore. Things were going well - relatively - for the first goddamn time in his life. And as he sat there wasting his hours away, he knew that was no longer the case. Good things didn't happen to Ashton Ford. They never had and they never would.
Gunshots were fired into the air, bursting one of the fluorescent lights out nearest the front counter. Ashton rolled his eyes, the door of the fridge still propped open with an incline of his foot. Everyone who knew how to rob a place knew you didn't shoot out a light first. If your ass got caught? Your ass was going to pay for the damage. Christ. Not only was he caught in the middle of a hold-up, he was caught in the middle of a hold-up done by motherfucking amateurs. Typical.
The man behind the counter (whom he knew as "Jeff") had his hands up, his eyes so wide they looked too large for his face. The only other customer was a teenage boy who, like him, had his hood up over his head. Both of his hands were pointed toward the sky. Only Ashton stood normally, peering at the scene over a pair of aviator sunglasses he didn't particularly need at 3 AM. "Gimme all'a ya fuckin' money now! Empty out ya fuckin' register!" There were two goons, each wearing ski masks and holding onto glocks like they were toys out of a crane machine. Calling them amateurs was practically a fucking compliment.
The shorter of the two began knocking objects off of the counters, throwing things here and there just because he could. Snooooooooring, droned Deadpool at the back of his thoughts, and Ashton couldn't do anything but agree. These two were giving him a case of secondhand embarrassment. As Jeff began to empty out the contents of the register into the bag the larger fuckwit was holding out, Ashton kicked the door closed, and every eye was suddenly on him.
"Easy there, boys. Don't stop on my account," His voice cracked, it having been several hours before he last uttered a word. The smaller man shuffled up to him, gripping hold of his shoulder and lower back. "Whoa, whoa, easy there, man. Cheap tricks may work on your buddy over there, okay, but I don't swing that way, huh?" Ashton was pushed forward to the front of the aisles, his hands still at his sides as if this were a casual walk.
"You got a loud mouth on you, you little shit," the smaller man slammed the butt of his gun into the back of Ashton's head and he hissed, a hand coming up to rub at the sore spot. "What the-"
"So you like it rough? How the fuck did I know?" The man's eyes were visible through his ski mask, and he began to back up, shaking his head violently. "What? I ain't gonna bite."
"Fuck, Jerry - just shoot him!" The larger man snarled, and "Jerry" began to fumble with his gun. Apparently it wasn't often that trick didn't work. Ashton turned around to fully face him. He tilted his head, grinning at "Jerry". This was something that had been long overdue for Ashton: the chance to show off.
He readjusted his hood on his head, wiggling his fingers like a kid mimicking a ghost. "Yeah, fuck. Come on, Jerry. Shoot 'em!" Ashton bobbed and weaved, moving his fists like a boxer. "Jerry" walked backwards, knocking over a pile of DVDs that littered across the floor. "Oh, oh, ya gonna do it? Ya gonna do it, Jerry? C'mon, Jerry. Man up, Jerry. Shoot me, you spineless sonuvabitch."
"Ashton, don't-" Jeff shouted from behind the counter.
"SHOOT ME, JERRY!" Ashton screamed hoarsely, spreading his arms out to expose the front of his chest. Like that, "Jerry" pulled the trigger and three bullets pierced Ashton straight through his body, killing him on impact. His corpse fell onto the DVD display and to the rest of the cases and discs on the ground. Jerry trembled, dropping the gun from his hands, and the nameless of the two closed up his bag of money.
"Let's go, let's go, let's fuckin' go!" He hollered hastily, and the two of them dashed out of the front door. As the bell at the entrance rang to sound their exit, the teenage boy darted to the bathroom. Jeff, shaking from his head to his feet, slowly walked over to where Ashton's body rested. He bent down, each of his fingers twitching violently, and -
"FUCK ME," Ashton gasped, sitting up. The holes in his jacket were still dominant, and blood heavily painted the circumference of all three. "This was a new fuckin' jacket." He tried to catch his breath again, his mouth already drying out from the sudden loss of life. Jeff gave a yelp and fell onto his ass, shuffling backwards until his body hit the counter. "Where the fuck did they go?" Jeff pointed towards the door, visibly unable to speak anything close to words. Ashton looked over to the gun on the floor and reached over with his sleeve around his hand to avoid putting any print on the thing.
It didn't take much to spot them through the dark, - who robbed a fucking gas station without a getaway car? - sprinting to the nearest fence. Ashton lifted the gun, aiming it at the one he knew was "Jerry". If he were anyone else, he would have missed. But he wasn't - he was Deadpool. When the gunshot fired, it whizzed across the distance until it caught "Jerry" in the back of the skull. His body leaned and finally toppled over, causing the other to stop and to see what was keeping his partner. By the time he could spot the bullet hole in Jerry's skull, a whistle sounded behind him - to the tune of "Goodbye" - and he looked up over his shoulders. "Bang!" said Ashton, and down came the other goon (with a bullet through the center of his forehead), money bag and all.
When he returned to the 7-Eleven, Jeff stopped speaking into his cell phone almost immediately. Ashton plopped the bag down onto the counter, glaring at him over his sunglasses as money spilled from the top. "Keep a better eye on your fucking shit, Jeff." Grabbing a Slim Jim stick from its display, he put it between his teeth and opened up the entrance with his backside. He held up his hand, fingers in the shape of a gun and placed his dangling earbud back into his ear. Bobbing his head, the only thing that could be heard from Ashton was,
"Hey, hey, hey, good-bye."