InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "Cambiemos, Argentina :)"

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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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