InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "The Pink Posse!"

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
2009-04-12 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.

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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.

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