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

Previous Entry  Add to memories!  Tell a Friend!  Next Entry
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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[info]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.

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[info]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.

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