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Bob. ([info]silent_bob) wrote in [info]vas_captio_rpg,
@ 2009-05-01 08:07:00

Previous Entry  Add to memories!  Tell a Friend!  Next Entry
Entry tags:!complete, day 05, l lawliet, location: gas station, open, silent bob

Day 5: Late Afternoon
Who: Bob and open
What: Trying to catch some zzzz's
Where: the Not-Quick Stop
When: Day Five, Late afternoon
Rating: PG-13 for language to start
Status: Complete

I'm taking a fucking nap, Bob decided, looking around the fucking Not-Quick Stop for a suitable place. There were deep, dark bags under Bob's eyes and a weariness that went well past fucking annoyance. Bob was emotionally and physically exhausted and some shit. He'd been locked up in a fucking hole with Cheryl for a whole fucking day, and been chased by a fucking noisy ass something through the forest, and he hadn't fucking slept feeling like some shit was going to show up and eat him. That fucking noise was scarier than the fucking Golagatha any day.

The fucking sirens kept going off. Every single time he thought he got fucking comfortable they'd wail the fuck away. Trying to think of an insulated place, Bob decided to try the fucking cooler - it's not like it was fucking cold in there or anything. Taking off his jacket and bunching it up, Bob laid down on the cooler floor. With a deliberate sense of fuck me Bob jammed one side of his head into his coat-turned-pillow and wrapped his other arm over his upturned ear. 

Bob was fucking taking a nap. 

Fuck you, sirens.




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[info]inmyownworld
2009-05-01 07:30 pm UTC (link)
Nibbling his fingertip idly, L watched the chubby man emerge from the itchy confines of the cooler. He'd never considered himself much of a sadist, but he had to admit that there was a certain vindictive charm to seeing the man who Didn't Talk be in such an awkward situation. He caught a glimpse of the back of Bob's stocky legs, and noticed that little red bumps were already appearing. He was so sleep-deprived by now that it was actually extraordinarily funny.

It seemed that Bob was useful. He could entertain the often-bored and serious genius.

Of course, most entertainment wasn't free. Bob was approaching him now with a little too much purposeful intent. L wished he had a snake. Ah, well... he glanced around behind the counter, seeing a set of lighters and a aerosol cans of cleaning fluid. Quickly, he snatched one of each up, holding them loosely in either hand.

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[info]silent_bob
2009-05-01 07:38 pm UTC (link)
It was back to the OK Corral yet again for Bob and Ryuzaki. Leaning over Bob took up a few unmarked cans, cradling them in one arm, while prepping to hurl the other with his dominant hand. Bob was fucking aiming to hit this time, not fucking firing a warning shot across the fucking starboard bow.

Taking a few steps forward he noticed the fuckers plan - a lighter and some fucking cleaning shit? Fuck you, asshole! Bob let the cans fly, flinging them very deliberately at L's midsection.

Yeah, that might just leave a mark.

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[info]inmyownworld
2009-05-01 08:08 pm UTC (link)
It was a wary, uncertain moment in which Bob took up the cans. L didn't have much time to react when the cans were flung at his bony torso; his automatic reflex was to protect his head and brain, which only exposed Bob's actual target even more.

He was only able to dodge one, the other three cans hitting him in various painful places, battering his ribs, sternum, and the painful place just above his stomach. It was enough to cause him to double over, gasping for breath... but he held tightly to his lighter and can of aerosol, hiding them under his crumpled, hurting body as he lay stomach-down like a crushed frog. L was difficult to outwit, but fairly easy to injure, and he'd be tremblingly trying to catch his breath for at least a minute.

However... it was a not-quick stop, and the space under and behind the counter was cluttered. There were a few old and leftover fireworks leftover from some long-past Fourth of July, it seemed. Lighter in hand, L very carefully lit one of the smaller rockets, keeping it hidden from view for the moment. It was aimed at an angle toward the ceiling. Whether Bob moved or not, it wouldn't hit his tubby girth, but it would certainly be loud and startling. Hopefully, enough for L to get away.

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[info]silent_bob
2009-05-04 11:20 am UTC (link)
There was a sickening thud as the cans impacted L. As much as Bob had wanted to take out his agression, he didn't actually really want to hurt the kid... much.

Bob's legs were already starting to fucking itch. Itch was the understatement of the year beause he felt like he had fucking fire ants crawling up and down between his ankles and knees. Feeling his temper flare, Bob balled his hands into white nuckled fists, ready to charge.

WhizBang! Went the firecracker and a load of smoke and sparks flitted all over the fucking Not-Quick-Stop. The little fucker was trying to burn his fucking house down! What the FUCK!?

Sparks rained down on the cartons of food and on the old newspapers that laid crumpled about. It hadn't been much, but with the dry air in recent days the paper had dried out and was now starting to fucking smoulder.

"WHAT THE FUCK?!" Bob wailed. His attention was off L and on to trying to prevent the fucking building from going up in fucking flames. "YOU IDIOT!"

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[info]inmyownworld
2009-05-04 04:52 pm UTC (link)
In the past, it had been suggested that L was "not all there."

Maybe it was true. The detective was well-known for his disregard for conventions, and sleep deprivation did nothing to help his ability to control his already faulty moral compass. He had two successors: one was called Near, and the other Mello. Near was his analytical, practical side, and Mello was his emotional, chaotic and destructive side. What he had just done was certainly along the "Mello" spectrum.

Bob had thrown cans at him. He would bruise. It would hurt. And, even if the building was starting to catch fire, there was something wonderfully freeing about seeing "silent" Bob wailing. Starting towards the door, L quickly broke the glass on the fire extinguisher, neatly with the little hammer, and tossed it to Bob. Resisting the urge to salute, he made his exit as noninflammatory as possible.

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