InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "You son of a B!"

Bob. (silent_bob) wrote in vas_captio_rpg,
@ 2009-04-05 21:33:00

Current location:	The Pharmacy
Current mood:	blah
Current music:	Turning Japanese
Entry tags:	!complete, andy gallagher, day 03, location: pharmacy/liquor store, silent bob

Who: Bob and Andy
Where: The Pharmacy
What: Scoping out for some weed
When: Let's call it 9AM
Rating: PG-13 for language

Status: Complete

The weather had finally fucking broke. There wasn't rain, finally and the world felt like it might actually dry out. However, to Bob, who had spent the night on a fucking rancid ass couch, the sunny morning meant he couldn't sleep too late and that he had little choice about how much longer he could pretend to not be fucking sleeping on a nasty ass couch. Bob's dream of running through a green springtime field chasing after the fucking car in the Hughes film Sixteen Candles, cut off when jolted awake to the sound of a fucking bird squawking it's life away.

Rolling off the couch and into a rather disjointed standing position, Bob rubbed at his eyes. He was still fucking here. It was hard to be happy about being in a place without running water or heat or electricity or drugs. It was even harder to be happy because he knew Jay was fucking floating around here someplace and he had yet to run into him. Taking up his journal Bob took a peek at the latest round of posts, taming his temper a moment as he refused to fucking write anything else to that fucking Ryuzaki guy. What a lame fuck.

Taking up his pen he scrawled into his "Andy - fucking game is on, see you at the pharmacy."

Smoothing out his pants and feeling that his beard was a bit more full than he would like, Bob tried to convince himself that fucking everyone had the same goddamn issues he did. It's not like anyone else had taken a real fucking shower, and they certainly hadn't shaved, either.

Trundling out of his would-be abode, Bob found his way to the pharmacy - the town just as quiet as it had been the day before. He couldn't help but wonder where the Cheryl had slept. It seemed almost strange, but he felt like she could fucking protect him - all hard ass and shit. Letting cracked pavement pass him by he took up a spot near the entry of the pharmacy and waited for Andy to show up. Taking on his customary loitering pose and even striking up a cigarette Bob felt almost at home; well, until his foot slipped on the siding. God he hated fucking siding.

(Post a new comment)

brain_ninja
2009-04-05 08:55 pm UTC (link)

The sun was shining through the stained glass windows of the dilapitated church that Andy had decided to call his temporary home. He felt like shit. Andy didn't think he'd ever been as tired as he was right then; he'd stayed up all night keeping watch so Luna could sleep. To be fair, he'd tried to sleep...for all of three seconds before he decided it wasn't gonna happen, because if he let himself sleep, they'd both be vulnerable again and that was not happening on his watch.

Laying around seemed like a good enough idea to him, except Andy had plans for the morning. So, before Luna awoke, he'd taken the bottle of rain water, some more of the wrappings Martha had left with Luna, his now-dried boxers and jeans and headed into the back room behind the alter to change. The first attempt to take off the pajama pants had been futile and Andy had growled in pain; the blood had clotted right to the fabric. Fantastic. For the second attempt, Andy had taken off his shirt and turned it inside out, balling it up and shoving a chunk of it into his mouth to bite down on against the pain. Also, maybe a little bit to muffle the scream he was pretty sure he was going to involuntarily let out. The last thing he needed was to wake Luna up and have her come to check on him only to find him crying like a little bitch with his pants around his knees, after all.

It had taken a little effort and a lot of water to loosen the clot, but he'd managed to get the pajama pants off and the boxer shorts on. Tending to the wound took a little longer than he'd have liked after having essentially ripped it open again to get his pants off. From now on, he'd bandage before getting dressed.

After having gotten dressed, he sat in one of the pews, popping TicTacs and waiting for Luna to wake up. He felt badly for having lied to her and snuck out last time; he'd tell her where he was going and when he expected to be back, this time. He wasn't planning on making that mistake again. So, once she roused, he did just that and after checking the journal and writing back to let Bob know he was on his way, Andy grabbed an apple for himself and one for Bob and headed out the door.

The sun was bright and the air was warm. It kind of felt a little like the Twilight Zone or something, actually, but he wasn't going to complain. Munching on his apple as he took his time making the walk down to where he thought maybe he'd find the pharmacy, Andy could actually feel himself getting a little - all right, a lot - excited at the prospect of finally getting high again. Some people smoked cigarettes, some people meditated; when Andy got stressed, he got stoned.

It took Andy almost an hour to get where he'd been trying to go, but seeing the giant sign hanging in the air and seeing a kinda big dude in a trench coat - damn, dude, it's too fuckin' hot for that, what's wrong with you? - leaning against the building, he was pretty sure he had the right place. "Bob?" he asked, approaching and taking the uneaten apple out of his pocket, tossing it in the guy's direction once he'd looked up. Hell, if it wasn't Bob, it didn't really matter. He had to assume they were all hungry; it couldn't just be him.

(Reply to this) (Thread)

silent_bob
2009-04-05 09:04 pm UTC (link)

It was never too hot for a man in a trench coat and shorts. His cigarette down nearly to the filter he dropped it to the ground and stomped it out. This place made the Quick Stop seem like the place for action; and the Quick Stop was always fucking quiet. Resisting the urge to pull out another smoke Bob just resumed his practiced loiter and tried to imagine he had turned on his tunes and was just watching the world go by like any other day.

"Bob?" He heard, and the pudgy guy looked up with a wave. He was Bob, and soon Andy would know just why they called him Silent Bob. Might as well start fucking training him now.

Catching the apple Bob immediately held it up with a satisfactory smile of thanks. Dude was fucking thoughtful; that was fucking awesome. Although, it left Bob feeling like a bit of a dick for not having brought any of the canned goods he'd ganked from the not-Quick Stop with him.

"Thanks," he gave in, feeling it was sort of important that Andy know he was thankful for the fruit and shit. Pushing from the wall he gestured to the door, ready to follow Andy inside. It had been Andy's idea after all.

(Reply to this) (Parent)

brain_ninja
2009-04-05 09:15 pm UTC (link)

Giving Bob a tip up of his chin, the universal (as far as Andy was concerned) sign for acknowledgement, Andy limped his way over to the other man. "Hey, don't mention it. Figured I can't be the only hungry one," he replied to Bob's gratitude with a half-grin.

Bob pushed off the wall and gestured toward the door. All right, then, Andy supposed that Bob wanted him to lead the way. Hopefully there was nothing creepy in there... Pulling open the door, Andy took a few steps inside, stretching his arm to hold the door open for Bob and looked around. In spite of the bright sunlight outside, the inside was still dim. Probably all the grime on the windows, Andy thought.

A squeak and a movement in the corner of his eye made Andy startle. "Stop right there," he said quickly by reflex. About a foot from where Andy was standing, a single rat froze in its place on the floor, looking up at him with its nose twitching. Gross. Go on, don't fuckin' touch me on the way out, he thought to the rat and it went on its merry way, skirting around his feet and then around Bob's as it scurried back outside.

Andy shuddered. "Shit, that's nasty," he muttered and then looked back over his shoulder at Bob, keen to pretend he hadn't just made the mistake of using the mind thing out loud. Maybe Bob would think that the thing just stopped short, seeing them and then ran off after registering that they weren't hurt it. It vaguely registered in Andy's mind that if he was really hard up for food, that would've made a fairly good - if disgusting - snack. Gross, I can't believe I just thought that, he thought miserably.

"Okay, dude," he said to Bob as he looked back into the pharmacy and made his way further inside. "I'll take one end and you take the other?" he asked, looking back at Bob again and raising his eyebrows. "If we split up we can cover more ground faster, right?"

(Reply to this) (Thread)

silent_bob
2009-04-05 09:29 pm UTC (link)

Bob watched as Andy went inside, and from the look of the windows, this place was fixing to be just as disgusting as the rest of the town they'd been dropped into. Bob had been working for the past couple days to think of an appropriate name for what had happened to them - all it seemed he could come up with was 'ganked. They had been fucking ganked like a candy bar from a convenience store.

Bob watched as Andy limped inside - he seemed to be a bit too worse for ware and Bob didn't much care for the look of it. He wasn't a fucking doctor or anything, but he could tell when someone was laid up and shit.

Bob heard Andy say, 'Stop right there,' so, Bob stopped. Why the fuck was Andy telling him to stop, anyway? Holding himself in position at the door he watched as a fucking rat the size of Nebraska scurried out the fucking pharmacy. Jumping like a bitch Bob swatted at the damned thing as it went by. "Shit, that's nasty," Andy said, and Bob just nodded in agreement. It was fucking nasty.

Split up? Bob didn't fucking want to split up in the creepy ass pharmacy. Nothing good could come from splitting up. However, in order to avoid looking like a scared bitch Bob just nodded. Sure, he'd be fucking fine with splitting up. Here's fucking hoping nothing fucking wants to eat us.

(Reply to this) (Parent)

brain_ninja
2009-04-05 09:39 pm UTC (link)

Andy felt marginally like less of a pussy when Bob jumped at the sight of the rat, too. At least if he was a wimp, Bob was, too. So, Andy decided that neither of them were wimps. He smirked and nodded toward where the rat had gone. "Man, I won't tell if you don't," he said, giving another chin bob and a significant look that he hoped Bob would interpret as dude, don't tell anyone that I'm a pansy and I won't tell anyone that you are.

When Bob nodded agreement rather than replying, Andy raised his eyebrows. "Man of few words, huh?" he joked. For someone who'd been sharing on the journal right along with Andy, it struck him as a little weird that Bob wasn't really talking, but he said nothing more than that about it.

Too bad for Bob, though, because Andy had a question and he wasn't gonna keep it to himself and guess. "You ever seen the medicinal stuff?" he asked, heading further inside and hopping over the counter with a little less pizzazz and a little more clumsiness than he probably would've if he'd had two good legs. "I don't really know what to look for, man. I'm used to buying dime bags, y'know?" he laughed, leaning on the counter and looking over it at the other man.

(Reply to this) (Thread)

silent_bob
2009-04-05 10:15 pm UTC (link)

Bob mirrored the anti-nod. Fucking-A. He wasn't about to fucking leak this shit. Not that he talked much, anyway. So, really it was Andy holding all the cards here. So, Bob crossed his arms and made a secondary nod, just in case the first bit hadn't made it clear that they were never to speak of the fucking rat again.

Silent Bob just kind of wandered up the closest aisle, taking in the empty shelves before heading back to where the good shit was kept just in time to see Andy hop the counter in a less than graceful manner. It was fucking bullshit that he was gimping around like this. Wasn't there a fucking doctor and shit? Didn't he read about somebody being in the fucking medical profession.

Catching his attention was Andy's question as to whether or not he'd seen the medicinal shit. He sure had. Bob had spent a week in Cali and had seen all the assholes who'd manage prescriptions headed to their local stores to buy the good shit. It was fucking crazy to see joints shoved into little prescription bottles and shit. It made it fucking hard for the street professional to unload in those areas, though.

Standing on the other side of the counter Bob nodded. Reaching behind he undid the latch that allowed the half door to open so he could get the fuck in there. It wasn't like he was going to make a fool of himself and try jumping the damned thing. Jay didn't call him fat boy for nothing.

Slipping inside he started taking in the musty, dusty shelves. He didn't know what half the shit was. For all he knew it was ass cream.

(Reply to this) (Parent)

brain_ninja
2009-04-05 10:34 pm UTC (link)

Confident that Bob was on board with the rat being their little secret, Andy nodded again to seal the deal.

When Bob didn't answer Andy's question, he looked over in time to see Bob nod and then lift the latch to let himself in to the other side of the counter. Andy grinned impishly and rolled his eyes. Why hadn't he thought of that? It'd have fucking hurt less... "Okay, so...what's it look like?" he finally prompted after waiting a few seconds in silence with no vocal answer from the other man.

He moved up an aisle and scanned the labels of the medication there. "Ha, Prozac...I think we could all use a few of these at this point huh?" he joked, picking up the bottle, shaking it, and then putting it away again. Although, that made him pause for a moment. "Shit, do you know the prescription name for, like, Aleve or something? I'm kinda sick of pretending this shit doesn't hurt and I'd be totally on board for putting forth an effort so it actually doesn't," he added, raising his eyebrows questioningly and looking over at Bob again.

Looking back at the medicine on the shelves, he cleared his throat and rubbed at his chin thoughtfully. "Huh, you think if we can't find the weed, we could get a decent high off crushing up some of this random shit and snorting it? I never tried that, but at this point, anything to make me too numb and stupid to think about what's going on here..." he said, the latter part more to himself, really, than to Bob.

(Reply to this) (Thread)

silent_bob
2009-04-05 11:22 pm UTC (link)

Andy was working really hard at getting Bob to talk. Bob recognized the phenomena mostly because he'd seen people try it out a lot when they didn't know him very well. Bob squinted a bit at the label of a rather large bottle - Vicodin. He recognized the label and held onto the bottle. It would be good for Andy to have some of the good shit. The bottle was clearly only about a third of the way full - which was unfortunate.

Snickering at the notion of Prozac he couldn't help but think that fucking Ryu-what-the-fuck could probably use a prescription for that. Pretentious asshole. Even still, Bob continued on his search, looking for the tell-tale block shapes. Somehow, even when it was legal, the best way to transport weed was in large plastic-bound blocks. It made him kind of laugh a little that the government hadn't come up with some asinine method yet.

Shaking the bottle with a loud clanging noise of pills against plastic Bob tried to get Andy's attention. When he finally managed to he threw the bottle in his general direction. He shook his head at the notion of crushing shit up just to see what might happen. He might sell the shit, but, Bob was smart enough to know that fucking around with pharmaceuticals was a quick and easy way to wind up dead.

Turning and continuing back down the aisle Bob squinted. There wasn't going to be any fucking weed to be found here. He didn't even see a fucking scale. Fuck. All he wanted was a little stash in his pocket to make himself feel more at home. His right side was feeling all light and shit.

(Reply to this)(Parent)

(Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)

brain_ninja
2009-04-05 11:22 pm UTC (link)

There were things on these shelves that Andy hadn't even heard of, much less been familiar enough with to actually pocket for future utilization. He made a mental note to tell Martha how to get here later so she could take what she thought people might need. She would know, he figured, way better than Andy himself would.

When Bob shook the pill bottle, Andy, having already caught on to the fact that Bob was clearly not a talker, looked over and raised his eyebrows. Bob threw a bottle of pills at him and Andy caught it easily, turning it over in his hands. "Yeah, yeah, all right, bad idea then? What's this for?" he asked, not really expecting an answer as he looked down at the label. Vicodin? He looked back up at Bob. "Hey, thanks, man. Seriously," he said, raising the bottle up and giving Bob the same grateful smile he'd received when he'd tossed Bob the apple outside.

"All I see is pills up in this bitch," he sighed. "Then again I'm still in the P section so...maybe it'd be in the C section? Like...for cannabis?" he thought aloud, looking over at Bob again for a yea or nay on said thought process.

(Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)

silent_bob
2009-04-05 11:29 pm UTC (link)

The whole fucking place was starting to get to Bob. He was feeling claustrophobic and maybe just a tad bit frustrated. Even as Andy gave him a thankful grin all Bob could fucking think was how much he fucking missed the Quick Stop and Jersey and fucking selling.

Shoving his hands in his pockets Bob stopped to lean against the counter, taking out the pack of cigarettes from his pocket and then lighting one up to try and soothe his nerves.

"Fuck," he breathed, letting a nice puff to linger in front of him for a minute. "This is fucking balls," he said, his voice not so surprisingly quiet. Bob, silent as he was, didn't much care for being loud unless he had to. He watched as Andy kicked around the shop.

Pushing away from the counter Bob found himself at the far aisle, what would be considered the start of the alphabet. There were no fucking bricks. There was no fucking rolling papers, either. Bob's hopes were fading fast even as he pulled a drag off his cigarette with little ceremony. "I don't think we're in California," Bob finally relented.

This whole thing felt like a kick to the balls.

(Reply to this) (Parent)

brain_ninja
2009-04-05 11:37 pm UTC (link)

When he heard the flick of a lighter, Andy looked over at Bob again. "Oh, nice, you found some smokes," he observed aloud. At least one of them had something to calm their nerves. Lucky bastard.

He was, admittedly, surprised to hear Bob finally speak again. "You said it, bro," he agreed, leaning against one of the shelves and letting his head fall back. His ear felt like it was on fire, his leg hurt like a motherfucker, and it was fast looking like there wasn't even any weed in here. His thought was only confirmed by the tone in Bob's voice when he announced his opinion that they weren't in California.

Andy closed his eyes. "Dammit," he muttered. When he opened his eyes again, he looked around again his eyes froze on a gallon jug of wine. "Shit, they weren't kidding when they said there was booze in the pharmacy, lookit that shit," he said, pushing off the shelf and hobbling back out from behind the counter again. "Dude, that is the biggest thing of wine I've ever seen in my life. Who drinks that much wine? Seriously."

He wandered around the liquor section. "Dude, they have Everclear!" he exclaimed excitedly, grabbing a bottle off the shelf and peeking back around it, holding it up for Bob to see. Ducking back into the aisle, he scanned the bottles in search of whiskey. That was what they used in the movies when they didn't have rubbing alcohol, right?

Actually... "Hey man, do me a favor? See if there's any rubbing alcohol over there?" he called out to Bob, pocketing the tiny bottles of alcohol that were the header of every series of particular brand. They looked like they belonged in an airplane stewardess's little push card. Fuck that shit; mine now. Finders keepers, he thought.

(Reply to this) (Thread)

silent_bob
2009-04-05 11:52 pm UTC (link)

Looking to Andy Bob realized that the man was in a shit load of pain. Even as Andy ransacked the liquor stores Bob sort of just watched. It wasn't like with Jay - Bob had to keep Jay in check to make sure he didn't fucking get himself killed. With Andy it was like a fucking little brother and some shit. Like the guy didn't have an off switch and he fucking didn't know he was about to go off the fucking cliff.

Looking at Andy like he had four heads, Bob waited until he caught Andy's eye. Motioning to the pill bottle he made a drinky-drinky motion - hoping Andy would understand that maybe he ought to fucking take a pill an stop playing hero for a minute. The man was fucking missing part of his ear and shit.

Nodding to Andy's mention of looking for some rubbing Alcohol Bob let himself back out of the workspace and back out onto the retail floor. Skimming the aisles he found exactly what he was looking for - and a few sets of fucking bandages, too. He imagined that Andy really needed that shit. Taking up one of the small hand baskets Bob put his shit in there and meandered back to Andy.

The fucking liquor section was fucking insane. What the fuck? Did the shits who kidnapped them want them fucking drunk all the damn time?

(Reply to this) (Parent)

brain_ninja
2009-04-06 12:07 am UTC (link)

Andy had to double take in his frenzy of exploration when he saw Bob move in his peripheral vision. For a second, Andy looked back at him with confusion etched into his features. Then it dawned on him. "Man, I don't know how much to take," he pointed out. "You said yourself...well kind of...recreational use is out, so I need to send Martha a message on the journal or something," he replied.

Dude, it was fucking weird all these people he didn't even know giving a shit about what was going on with him. That was gonna take a little bit to get used to, he thought. "But all right," he said, taking the pills out of his pocket again and shaking them. "I will." He shoved the bottle unceremoniously back into his pocket then and went back to perusing the alcohol selection.

When he heard Bob approaching again, Andy stopped and looked up, noticing the basket immediate. "Dude, awesome, hang onto that thing; could be useful," he said, gesturing weakly with one hand toward the basket. That was when he noticed the contents. "Should give that stuff to Martha," he suggested. "She's a doctor," he added probably unnecessarily. Andy reached into the basket, however, and took the bottle of alcohol. He gave Bob another nod in thanks.

Sighing, Andy looked around. "Did you see anything, like, that she could use to stitch me up you think?" he asked, furrowing his brow. Maybe if Martha could stitch the wound, it'd heal faster and he wouldn't have to deal with the pain for as long. Sitting still wasn't something Andy liked to do for very long, but if he kept moving around so much, it'd never heal and then he'd be really fucked...

(Reply to this) (Thread)

silent_bob
2009-04-06 12:15 am UTC (link)

Bob considered for a moment that the last time he'd been actually prescribed vicodin it had been when he'd had his wisdom teeth out. They were like fucking horse pills and made him more nauseous than high. Though, he wasn't feeling any fucking pain after taking them.

The quizzical look passed by Bob's features fleetingly at the mention of Martha. He didn't know who the fuck Martha was - though, he didn't have any choice but to trust Andy that she was a fucking Doctor. He wondered why people would take that shit at face value being that nobody knew who anybody else was. It made him think of that pussy Leonardo DiCaprio in Catch me if You Can where the shit pretended to be an airline pilot and nobody fucking questioned it. This chick could just be making shit up. Fuck.

Bob held on to the basket and looked around. Landing a fucking container of dental floss he held it up for Andy's inspection. Had to be better than fucking nothing, right?

(Reply to this) (Parent)

brain_ninja
2009-04-06 12:48 am UTC (link)

"Nice," Andy said appreciatively. "Ha, and my leg will be minty fresh at that, even better," he joked humorlessly. "Now I just gotta find a needle. Man, she said I'd probably pass out in the middle of the stitching because of the pain. I've never taken Vicodin, but I hope that shit works, bro," he added with a nervous laugh.

Rubbing the back of his neck with one hand, Andy sighed. "Feel like trekking to the thrift store and see if maybe there's a random sewing kit?" he asked, rolling his eyes and dropping his hand back to his side. It wasn't like he needed Bob around, because he didn't. Bob wasn't doing a whole lot of talking anyway, but it was nice at least to have someone to talk to so he didn't feel just that much more insane for talking to himself. He hoped like hell that this whole thing was just a really bad dream, but it seemed like he was sleeping an awfully long time if that was the case.

(Reply to this) (Thread)

silent_bob
2009-04-06 06:39 am UTC (link)

To the notion of having a minty fresh mauled leg Bob could only manage a bit of a wince. He supposed that the floss was the best thing he was going to come up with. It's not like they had managed to find themselves in a fucking sewing shop or something. Thinking about it, and all the fucking movies he'd seen with people getting stitches Bob couldn't help but fucking think that it must hurt like a fucking bitch - fresh mint or no.

To the question as to the effectiveness of vicodin Bob did a happy sort of doped up looking eyeroll. People got addicted to that shit, no lie. So, it didn't take much for him to imagine it at least taking the edge off a bit. Bob noted the nervousness in Andy's voice and it was all he could do to try and offer a look of fucking confidence. God he hoped this Martha chick was a fucking doc and not fucking playing at it, he fucking kind of liked Andy.

Bob took up the basket again with glee, feeling sort of fucking weird heading for the door without fucking paying for anything. With a wave he motioned for Andy to follow. He moved fairly slowly, partially because he was a lazy bastard and partially because he'd seen the way Andy had been fucking struggling. Dude looked like he was in a fucking shit load of pain.

Like a bolt Bob stopped - why the fuck didn't he think of this before? Pushing back into the pharmacy he ducked past Andy and looked again back where the fucking bandages had been. There was a fucking air cast and shit there - with one of those fucking pumps. However, more importantly he had seen the motherfucking holy grail. Reemerging from the store victorious Bob sidled up to Andy with a fucking pair of crutches.

Who's the motherfucking shit? Bob.

(Reply to this) (Parent)

brain_ninja
2009-04-06 01:47 pm UTC (link)

The expression on Bob's face lent Andy the idea that it was the other man's way of answering his question about the Vicodin and Andy laughed. "That bad huh?" he asked, grinning. "Good, maybe if it knocks me the fuck out of lucidity I won't feel like moving around so damn much and everybody will chill the hell out," he added. It was nice to know that people gave a shit and all, but after the fight with Sam last night, he was just sick of the fussing. It was stupid. Andy was a big boy and he could take care of himself.

When Bob started toward the door and waved for Andy to follow along, he took that as a yes, Bob was willing to head to the thrift store to help him look for a sewing kit, so he followed dutifully. But then Bob stopped and so Andy stopped, looking confused as Bob ducked past him and went back into the pharmacy. Andy turned around in place and watched the other man until he couldn't see him behind the shelves.

The hell was he doing...?

But then Bob came back into view holding a pair of crutches and Andy laughed out loud. "Oh man, you are one thoughtful son of a bitch," he managed between his laughter, reaching out and taking the crutches from the other man when he was close enough for Andy to reach them. "Man, I've never used crutches before, watch me fall on my ass or something stupid," he said with a playful roll of his eyes while fiddling with the screws to adjust them to his height. Did they have to set the things on the midget setting or what? For Christ's sake...

Finally satisfied that they were the right height, Andy settled them under his arms and looked back at Silent Bob. "Lead on, bro, it's gonna take me a few to get used to this I think," he said.

(Reply to this) (Thread)

silent_bob
2009-04-06 09:02 pm UTC (link)

Listening to Andy Bob mimed falling the fuck over - mouth agape, arms in the fucking air. No matter how much Bob was fucking pissed not to be where the fuck he wanted to be - and he hadn't fucking managed to find Jay yet, either; it didn't mean he had to fucking lose his sense of humor.

Bob started moving along slowly, not really feeling the need to fucking lead the guy who was on crutches. It had to be fucking hard enough hobbling around. Shoving his hands in his pockets Bob took out a smoke and lit it. Might as well enjoy the stroll and shit.

Swinging the basket at his side, Bob found himself at the front of the thrift store in no time. He didn't much care for skeevy fucking jeans and pre-worn flannel. Bob liked his own fucking flannel.

(Reply to this) (Parent)

brain_ninja
2009-04-06 09:10 pm UTC (link)

Andy laughed and shook his head as he made his way to and then out the door. "Smart ass," he joked. He appreciated, though, Bob's attempt to make things easier for Andy by taking it slow so Andy wouldn't have to try and marathon sprint while on crutches or some other crazy shit like that.

The walk - if Andy could really call it that for himself... - to the thrift shop was fairly short and Andy stopped short of the door, climbing down the crutches with his arms to lower himself onto the ground to sit. Leaning his head back against the side of the building, he closed his eyes. "I just need a minute, man," he explained quietly. The pain in his leg was dull and constant, it seemed like. The more he moved, the more it throbbed, probably because it wanted to try to heal itself and Andy's activity wasn't affording it the ability.

Point being, it hurt - and now his armpits were sore, to boot, from the crutches - and he needed to rest for a minute before going back into another building to look around. He was familiar with its layout, at least vaguely so, but the two of them were going to have to split up again and they'd have to comb the whole store; Andy had no idea where they'd find a sewing kit. ...if they found a sewing kit.

(Reply to this) (Thread)

silent_bob
2009-04-06 09:22 pm UTC (link)

Andy looked fucking broken.

Shit, Bob knew what he had to take when he was hopped up on fucking vicodin. How fucking hard could it be to read the bottle and find out how big the pills were? Besides, in terms of fucking drugs, Vicodin was really only fucking lethal when mixed with other shit like booze. Pointing to Andy's pocket Bob gestured.

"Give me the fucking bottle, man. You can't keep fucking going like this. You're in fucking agony."

Clamming back up Bob just about started to tap his foot. Andy was going to take a fucking pill or two and that was that.

(Reply to this) (Parent)

brain_ninja
2009-04-06 09:53 pm UTC (link)

Andy opened his eyes again, surprised that Bob was actually talking to him, never mind what the other man was actually saying. Sighing, he reached into his pocket and held the pill bottle out to Bob. "I'll live," he replied.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Andy frowned. His hand slid up to his forehead. Yeah, he was in fucking agony but he was apparently failing to hide it as well, now. Great. Just what he needed was for Sam and Luna to be justified. Especially Sam. Fuck that guy; he thought he knew better and was so great? Whatever. Maybe he'd just camp out here and send Bob in the direction of the gym to drop off whatever he had for Martha to use. He could always write Luna a note to let her know why he wasn't coming back for the night, even if it'd be another lie.

...except then she'd be alone and he couldn't do that. Wouldn't do that. "Fuck," he thought aloud.

(Reply to this) (Thread)

silent_bob
2009-04-06 10:16 pm UTC (link)

"Of course you'll fucking live," What the fuck? Had Bob turned into a fucking chatty cathy? Some of the time Bob didn't talk because he figured nobody would listen to him. The rest of the time he didn't talk because he was fucking trying to piss Jay off. In this case, Bob was talking because Andy needed to fucking listen. He was fucking playing hero and it made no fucking sense to run around like that.

Taking the bottle Bob examined the label. 750mg. Fuck. Opening the lid Bob took out one tablet. It should be more than fucking enough. He held out the tablet to Andy with a look of take the fucking pull already written across his usually comical features.

(Reply to this) (Parent)

brain_ninja
2009-04-06 10:33 pm UTC (link)

Andy looked wearily back up at Bob. That thing was a fucking horse pill and Andy didn't have any water. Man...

Sighing, he took the tablet from the other man and popped it into his mouth, throwing his head back quickly and forcing it down with a heavy swallow. It left in its wake a chalky, nasty taste in his mouth and he grimaced heavily. "Eugh, shit, that's gross. How long before I'm a hobbling zombie?" he asked as he pulled himself back up to his feet with the aid of the crutches. "C'mon, let's get this over with. Please, God let there be a sewing kit in here," he sighed, the latter part of the statement muttered more to himself than to Bob.

(Reply to this) (Thread)

silent_bob
2009-04-07 12:18 pm UTC (link)

Bob nodded satisfactorily upon seeing Andy take the pill. He knew it had to fucking suck to take a pill without water; but, he was fairly fucking certain that it was better then walking around with your leg ripped the fuck open and feeling every single fucking movement.

Bob kind of shrugged off the question about the time it would take for the shit to work. It was a pretty high fucking dose, so it would probably start working pretty fucking soon. Moving to the door Bob propped it with his basket before walking inside. Making a sharp left upon entry he chose to ignore the clothes racks and go straight for the nearest counter. Who the fuck knew what they could find in there.

Wiping off the glass Bob peered in at some empty display shelves and a couple of fucking rings. What the fuck would he want this shit for?

With a sigh, Bob continued down the line, keeping an ear open for Andy.

Damn. Bob was feeling responsible and shit. It was like being at home. Almost.

(Reply to this) (Parent)

brain_ninja
2009-04-07 05:38 pm UTC (link)

Following Bob into the store, Andy looked around. He saw Bob go left, so Andy himself went right. The more area they could cover, the better.

There was a disgusting plethora of tacky clothes; Andy remembered that bit, at least, but he remembered that there had been other things, too, to look through that he and Luna had simply not bothered with because they'd been in there just to get dry clothes at the time.

He spotted a sporting goods section and moved over that way after perusing the housewares crap with little interest and much annoyance when it didn't have what he was looking for. There was a few outdoor repair kits, but mostly they contained staple-looking things and patches. Neither was something Andy thought would help himself. His stomach turned when he used the crutches to hold himself up as he bent to pick up one of the kits to examine the contents and he groaned low in his throat.

"Jesus Christ, Bob, is that stuff supposed to make me feel like I'm gonna fuckin' blow chunks?" he asked miserably over his shoulder. He didn't look up for Bob's answer because he could only assume that the best he'd get was a shrug or an apologetic look and neither of those would make him feel any better. Somehow, Andy envisioned that Vicodin was one of those pills that the doctor would specifically state needed to be taken with food...if he'd bothered to ask one before downing it, anyway.

"Anything over there? I got staples, but like hell I'm letting Martha staple me shut," he grunted distastefully, dropping the repair kit unceremoniously back to the floor and starting to make his way back toward the front of the store.

(Reply to this) (Thread)

silent_bob
2009-04-08 09:30 am UTC (link)

Moving his attention away from the dusty ass counter and its stupid jewelery, Bob continued his search along the outside wall. There was the knicknack shelf that he had ganked the golden calf off of yesterday, and the shelf where Cheryl had found the can opener, too. Bending over, Bob peered into the recesses of the dark shelf, kind of fucking scared to stick his hand back there. There could be a fucking rat or raccoon or some shit waiting to take away his hand. Fuck that shit. Reaching up he took velvet Elvis and used the King's head to poke and prod at the cobwebs and dust. No fucking dice. Best he came up with was a fork, and that wasn't going to work.

Hearing Andy's comment about stapling Bob poked his head up with a rather unamused expression. Damn skippy nobody was going to staple him shut. There was no fucking sewing kit here in household items. Dammit.

Bob was feeling momentarily defeated. Making his way back to the middle of the store he shrugged. No fucking luck.

(Reply to this) (Parent)

brain_ninja
2009-04-08 12:28 pm UTC (link)

When Andy met Bob halfway, he noticed that Bob was still empty-handed. "No luck for you either, huh? Well, shit," he sighed, leaning on one of the crutches and moving his other hand to scratch the back of his head sullenly.

"This place is a fuckin' bust. Let's just go. I'm gonna head over to that meeting or whatever, 'cause I told Martha I'd be there. You can come or not come, man, I'm not gonna break your arm," he went on.

Manuevering his way back outside on the crutches, Andy waited for Bob to join him and squinted up against the sun. "It's gotta be about noonish right now, y'think?" he asked in a tired voice, looking over his shoulder. The sun was higher in the sky and burned warmer against his arms and face than it had when he'd left the church. Had they really been walking that slow on his account the entire time? That thought made him kinda feel bad for Bob having to slow down to keep pace, although admittedly, it wasn't like there was anything else to do here.

(Reply to this) (Thread)

silent_bob
2009-04-12 05:41 pm UTC (link)

Bob nodded to the mention of going to the meeting and shit. He wanted to fucking go because he'd hoped that fucking Jay would be there. It would be fucking lame as hell for Jay not to show - though, Bob wouldn't put it past him.

To the question of time Bob only shrugged his shoulders. How the fuck was he supposed to know what time it was? Andy looked a bit downtrodden there for a minute. It was kind of fucking sad; he was probably all fucking beat up about being on crutches and some shit. Good news was that the vicodin should have him feeling pretty fucking good in no time flat.

Bob made a quick motion of his head indicating that he was going to go stop by the Not-Quick-Stop. He needed some more fucking smokes and shit. Looking from the crutches to Andy and back again Bob was silently trying to ask if he'd be fucking alright on his own. It couldn't be fucking easy to be halfway fucking stoned, on crutches, in the middle of fucking nowhere.

(Reply to this) (Parent)

brain_ninja
2009-04-12 10:14 pm UTC (link)

At Bob's nod of what Andy could only assume was agreement to go to the meeting, Andy started forward up the road on the crutches. "Man, I'm gonna have the biggest ass bruises under my pits tomorrow..." he muttered more to himself, really, than to Bob as they went.

Already, Andy was starting to feel a little less woozy and a little more tired and light-headed. He wondered how long before he was completely gone and would have to fight to keep himself awake and not sound like a drugged out moron.

"Cool," Andy replied with a lazy smile and a nod as Bob motioned that he was going to stop at the gas station on their way. "I'm good, man, I'm not gonna fall over and die in the thirty seconds you're in there to get cigarettes or whatever; I assume that's what you're going for..." he replied to Bob's questioning look.

For a second he paused and then looked over his shoulder at the carnival across the street. "Actually, I think I'm gonna head over there, man, I'll catch you there?" he asked. Andy thought maybe it'd be better to just go before he was too out of it to move. Maybe he'd be doped up enough by the time everyone got there to have lost inhibitions enough to apologize to Sam for being such a dick and then maybe, if Andy was really lucky, Sam would walk him back to the church and make sure he didn't go all narcoleptic and pass out in the middle of the road or something on his way.

(Reply to this) (Thread)

silent_bob
2009-04-15 06:38 pm UTC (link)

Bob could only shake his head to Andy's mention of bruised arm pits. He could imagine it would be fucking uncomfortable to mosey around on crutches; but, no more so than dragging around a bum leg. At least he'd let his fucking leg heal and shit.

A shrug was all Bob mustered to his comment. He was just trying to be fucking nice and shit. Some people wouldn't want to be left on their own hobbling around in this weird ass place on crutches. Maybe Andy was already drugged up and some shit. Whatever it was, Bob's feet were already carrying him toward the gas station when Andy mentioned heading to the carnival. With a chin tilt he was off on his own - for as long as it took to get cigs, anyway.

(Reply to this) (Parent)