This was beginning to turn into a real waste of time, real fucking fast.
Khan borgotsoi’s plan was definitely ticking the ‘dumb as hell’ box, considering she had done the sum total of running some water and talking about some vague bullshit, but it was just dumb in the really really boring sense, not the ridiculous sense. Like watching some dipshit kid in math class struggle their way through a problem Laura already knew the answer to.
No, Laura wasn’t that dipshit - she didn’t give OR know a fuck about math, but if the teacher for some reason decided to call on her for something she didn’t know, she’d just say ‘69’ and snicker. It was a foolproof plan, and better yet, it was funny every single time.
Pippi had decided to sit down and gaze at her goddamn fingernails - bitch, you’re on TV, could you not at least pretend to be interesting for half a second? - so she was now, for all intents and purposes, a non-entity, and as for Ananass (heh), well. Let’s be fucking real for a moment here, folks. Girl didn’t have even a single brain cell in her head. Sometimes, when she turned just right, the wind whistled through her ear and whispered a thought into her skull, but there wasn’t anything more going on in there.
Sexy Anime Beach Episode Time did sound interesting, and exactly the sorta shit Laura was down for, but, as was pointed out, she didn’t even have a reason to get her tits out for the cameras again.
So all in all? Unless something real exciting happened in the next few moments? It was time to fuck off.
“So, like, is anything gonna fucking happen here, or what? Like, do you need me for shit?”
Laura idly tucked the tannerite bottle into her swimsuit, into the same lack-of-cleavage that she’d slipped the empty Captain Morgan bottle into earlier. Probably this was considered ‘Improper handling of dangerous and volatile materials’ or something boring like that, but if she was getting shot in the chest then she was gonna get fuckin’ yeeted off her mortal coil anyway. Might as well blow up and act like she don’t know nobody in the process.
“I could get more naked if you want, if you want me to show my ass I’ll do it, I don’t give a fuck, but if you don’t need me right now then I’mma peace out. Got shit to do, got a guy to see about a baggie of coke, the usual stuff.”
She paused, then jabbed a finger in Pîn-afal’s direction.
“But you’re gonna have to gimme Pat back. That’s my bone buddy. You can’t just go around stealing people’s fuckin’ skeletons, that shit’s been illegal since, like, the 1600s.”
Prism
O P E N
There was a sinking kind of dread slowly building inside Luanne's gut, like someone was going at her soul with a melon baller.
So, like, is anything gonna fucking happen here, or what? Like, do you need me for shit? If you don’t need me right now then I’mma peace out. Got shit to do, got a guy to see about a baggie of coke. You have our attention. Now give us a reason to care about you. Give us a reason to invest in you.
'Scripts bore me. It's much more exciting not to know what's going to happen. I don't think that plot is important. If you see a movie of two people talking, you can watch it over and over again without being bored. You get involved, you miss things, you come back to it; but you can't see the same movie over again if it has a plot because you already know the ending. Everyone is rich. Everyone is interesting. Years ago, people used to sit looking out of their windows at the street. Or on a park bench. They would stay for hours without being bored although nothing much was going on. This is my favorite theme in movie making, just watching something happening for two hours or so. I still think it's nice to care about people. And Hollywood movies are uncaring. We're pop people. We took a tour of Universal Studios in Los Angeles and, inside and outside the place, it was very difficult to tell what was real. They're not-real people trying to say something. And we're real people not trying to say anything. I just like everybody and I believe in everything.' - Andy Warhol
Get the fuck out of here with that artsy bullshit. That shit's not genuine. That shit's not valuable. It's just whack. It's sterile. You're half-there. We don't want to just watch people talking. We don't want to just watch something happening for two hours. If we wanted to see that, we wouldn't be watching the fucking TV. We want substance. We want a substrate. We want drama. We want a plot. We want schadenfreude. We want irony. We want to see you at your strongest and we want to see you at your lowest. We want to see your flaws. We want to know your secrets. We want to see you degraded. We want to see you be put on a pedestal. We want you to be what you mean to us. We want to categorize you. We want you to be simple enough to be sexy. We want to think we understand you and know what makes you tick. We want to know how we can hurt you. We want only enough mystery for us to feel intrigued. We want meat we can sink our teeth into. We want you to earn it. We want to feel alive. We want you to feel real to us. We want liars saying what we want them to say. We want the black hole blacker. We want to want to be you. We want to want you. We want blood. We want skin. We want a hit.
She pushed her sunglasses up and then let her hands fall to the side. She closed her eyes. There was a sound in her ear. Vinyl. The ambient sound of a record player spinning a disk with nothing on it.
...
"You're right, Laura. How dare we not be you?" she said. It felt a little jagged in her throat, like a knife going into a chicken breast.
Just like that.
So, like, is anything gonna fucking happen here, or what? Like, do you need me for shit? If you don’t need me right now then I’mma peace out. Got shit to do, got a guy to see about a baggie of coke. You have our attention. Now give us a reason to care about you. Give us a reason to invest in you.
'Scripts bore me. It's much more exciting not to know what's going to happen. I don't think that plot is important. If you see a movie of two people talking, you can watch it over and over again without being bored. You get involved, you miss things, you come back to it; but you can't see the same movie over again if it has a plot because you already know the ending. Everyone is rich. Everyone is interesting. Years ago, people used to sit looking out of their windows at the street. Or on a park bench. They would stay for hours without being bored although nothing much was going on. This is my favorite theme in movie making, just watching something happening for two hours or so. I still think it's nice to care about people. And Hollywood movies are uncaring. We're pop people. We took a tour of Universal Studios in Los Angeles and, inside and outside the place, it was very difficult to tell what was real. They're not-real people trying to say something. And we're real people not trying to say anything. I just like everybody and I believe in everything.' - Andy Warhol
Get the fuck out of here with that artsy bullshit. That shit's not genuine. That shit's not valuable. It's just whack. It's sterile. You're half-there. We don't want to just watch people talking. We don't want to just watch something happening for two hours. If we wanted to see that, we wouldn't be watching the fucking TV. We want substance. We want a substrate. We want drama. We want a plot. We want schadenfreude. We want irony. We want to see you at your strongest and we want to see you at your lowest. We want to see your flaws. We want to know your secrets. We want to see you degraded. We want to see you be put on a pedestal. We want you to be what you mean to us. We want to categorize you. We want you to be simple enough to be sexy. We want to think we understand you and know what makes you tick. We want to know how we can hurt you. We want only enough mystery for us to feel intrigued. We want meat we can sink our teeth into. We want you to earn it. We want to feel alive. We want you to feel real to us. We want liars saying what we want them to say. We want the black hole blacker. We want to want to be you. We want to want you. We want blood. We want skin. We want a hit.
She pushed her sunglasses up and then let her hands fall to the side. She closed her eyes. There was a sound in her ear. Vinyl. The ambient sound of a record player spinning a disk with nothing on it.
...
"You're right, Laura. How dare we not be you?" she said. It felt a little jagged in her throat, like a knife going into a chicken breast.
Just like that.
The knot in Pippi's stomach suddenly got tighter.
She vehemently hated people.
They all were driven by things that didn't make sense to her.
Greed.
Pride.
Anger.
Love.
Sadness.
Lust.
Envy.
Jealousy.
All these things foreign to her.
All these things that didn't make sense to Pippi.
It made her want to vomit.
She hated people.
And she wanted to love them, but fuck, she hated them.
She hated humans, and she hated people, and she hated how they worked and how they thought.
She hated how foreign they were to her.
How their body and their thoughts were so abstract and so foreign to her.
Unfair.
It was unfair.
What was she supposed to do?
She slammed her hand on the glass panel attracting their attention.
She reached inside the shower.
Turning the knob.
Suddenly, there was a hiss.
And then, steam started to infiltrate the bathroom, tainting glass panels.
"Stop acting like children."
A clear order.
"We're on TV, not fucking Dora."
It's been a long time since she had said that word.
"Get a hold yourself girls."
"We have work to do."-
Pippi
- Posts: 1121
- Joined: Tue Aug 07, 2018 6:32 pm
- Location: I'm Pip!
- Team Affiliation: Stephanie's Buccaneers
“You know Dora’s also a TV show, right?”
The sharky smile was back again. Laura’s arms were folded loosely, body relaxed, like she was about to flop backwards onto the bed once again. She noticed, idly, that the bottle in her boobs really wasn’t doing much for either of them; kinda just made it look like her left tiddy had some weird, ugly-looking growth on it. Oh well; like she’d said, she needed something to get people to look at her flat fucking chest.
“Like, I get the angle you’re going for there, I know what you’re trying to say, but I think it’s important that I know that you know both the things you said are TV shows.”
Lara tilted her head, angling it so that she could see Luanne, get a good long look at her, try and see where the cracks had started forming.
“Also, uh, absolutely fucking not, nobody should be like me, dude. Like, I’m fuckin’ unbearable, can you imagine how awful two of me would be?”
She closed her eyes and shrugged, smiling oh-so-serenely.
“But you could stand to be, like, way less boring, y’know?”
Her attention wandered again, back over to the cowgirl stripper standing in the shower, which, damn, okay, in just one sentence that was immediately more interesting than Lulu’s entire existence. Like, if there wasn’t an exec somewhere furiously brainstorming how to work ‘Cowgirl and french maid getting hot and steamy in the shower’ into this episode’s title or description, she was gonna be real disappointed.
“Well, go on then,” Laura said, smirking from ear to ear. “What ‘work’ do we gotta do, then? And remember, if it’s dull, I’m fucking off before someone takes a crack at my… crack. Cocaine. Obviously.”
The sharky smile was back again. Laura’s arms were folded loosely, body relaxed, like she was about to flop backwards onto the bed once again. She noticed, idly, that the bottle in her boobs really wasn’t doing much for either of them; kinda just made it look like her left tiddy had some weird, ugly-looking growth on it. Oh well; like she’d said, she needed something to get people to look at her flat fucking chest.
“Like, I get the angle you’re going for there, I know what you’re trying to say, but I think it’s important that I know that you know both the things you said are TV shows.”
Lara tilted her head, angling it so that she could see Luanne, get a good long look at her, try and see where the cracks had started forming.
“Also, uh, absolutely fucking not, nobody should be like me, dude. Like, I’m fuckin’ unbearable, can you imagine how awful two of me would be?”
She closed her eyes and shrugged, smiling oh-so-serenely.
“But you could stand to be, like, way less boring, y’know?”
Her attention wandered again, back over to the cowgirl stripper standing in the shower, which, damn, okay, in just one sentence that was immediately more interesting than Lulu’s entire existence. Like, if there wasn’t an exec somewhere furiously brainstorming how to work ‘Cowgirl and french maid getting hot and steamy in the shower’ into this episode’s title or description, she was gonna be real disappointed.
“Well, go on then,” Laura said, smirking from ear to ear. “What ‘work’ do we gotta do, then? And remember, if it’s dull, I’m fucking off before someone takes a crack at my… crack. Cocaine. Obviously.”
You know what?
No.
Now even Pippi was yelling. Luanne couldn't fucking do this anymore. She couldn't bear it. She couldn't fake it. She felt physically sick.
She'd been having a panic attack before even seeing Laura's explosives, and she'd been able to manage it but now she was spiraling and and losing her mind because Laura was backing her further and further into a corner. She didn't want to hurt Laura. She didn't want to fight her. She didn't want to fight anyone. But she couldn't stand up for herself, because she'd already tried that and all it had done was hurt Pippi. And she couldn't run, because she wasn't going to abandon Pippi. So there was nothing Luanne could do but sit there while Laura just went and dismantled everything she was.
Because everything Luanne had ever said, everything she'd ever seen, everything she'd ever done, every breath she'd taken, every step, every thought, every word — it all really fucking meant something to her. When she felt, she felt with every single cell in her body. It all carried this indescribably enormous emotional weight, and that weight was the only thing keeping her going. Because if she and Pippi and whoever else ended up joining them, if they didn't end up escaping — if they died — she needed it to mean something. Every person who wanted to mean something deserved to mean something, and the ones who didn't want to mean something deserved it too but they also deserved to have their wishes respected.
Laura was the kind of person who thought that feeling was just something you should do with your hands. And everyone who disagreed with her could go fuck themselves, because she would turn their feelings into flaws to be exploited, and when Laura was around, everything became the Laura Show, so she just sucked any emotional weight out of anything anyone did.
And she'd just bitten into Luanne and sucked out her spine.
So she was shutting down, because that was the only thing she could still do in any meaningful capacity without Laura trying to derail her. She was giving in, laying down and dying.
She unclenched her fists, brought her hand up to the side of her head, and slowly took off her sunglasses. Then, she wiped her the tears from eyes, and then tried to wipe the streaks of makeup from under her eyes. Felt more like she just spread them around. Her palm stung. She glanced down at it.
She'd clenched her fist so hard it started bleeding.
She slumped forwards with her hands clutching at her scalp, shut her eyes tight, and felt as the blood started drying onto her face. She tried to say something to Pippi, but gave up before anything came out.
She couldn't stop shaking.
No.
Now even Pippi was yelling. Luanne couldn't fucking do this anymore. She couldn't bear it. She couldn't fake it. She felt physically sick.
She'd been having a panic attack before even seeing Laura's explosives, and she'd been able to manage it but now she was spiraling and and losing her mind because Laura was backing her further and further into a corner. She didn't want to hurt Laura. She didn't want to fight her. She didn't want to fight anyone. But she couldn't stand up for herself, because she'd already tried that and all it had done was hurt Pippi. And she couldn't run, because she wasn't going to abandon Pippi. So there was nothing Luanne could do but sit there while Laura just went and dismantled everything she was.
Because everything Luanne had ever said, everything she'd ever seen, everything she'd ever done, every breath she'd taken, every step, every thought, every word — it all really fucking meant something to her. When she felt, she felt with every single cell in her body. It all carried this indescribably enormous emotional weight, and that weight was the only thing keeping her going. Because if she and Pippi and whoever else ended up joining them, if they didn't end up escaping — if they died — she needed it to mean something. Every person who wanted to mean something deserved to mean something, and the ones who didn't want to mean something deserved it too but they also deserved to have their wishes respected.
Laura was the kind of person who thought that feeling was just something you should do with your hands. And everyone who disagreed with her could go fuck themselves, because she would turn their feelings into flaws to be exploited, and when Laura was around, everything became the Laura Show, so she just sucked any emotional weight out of anything anyone did.
And she'd just bitten into Luanne and sucked out her spine.
So she was shutting down, because that was the only thing she could still do in any meaningful capacity without Laura trying to derail her. She was giving in, laying down and dying.
She unclenched her fists, brought her hand up to the side of her head, and slowly took off her sunglasses. Then, she wiped her the tears from eyes, and then tried to wipe the streaks of makeup from under her eyes. Felt more like she just spread them around. Her palm stung. She glanced down at it.
She'd clenched her fist so hard it started bleeding.
She slumped forwards with her hands clutching at her scalp, shut her eyes tight, and felt as the blood started drying onto her face. She tried to say something to Pippi, but gave up before anything came out.
She couldn't stop shaking.
She let the mist spread in the room. It was fuming, all around her and into her clothes and her hair. She'd get frizzy. It wasn't good. She hated when her hair got frizzy. It was hard to tame, to flatten, to pull down.
Her throat tightened. Laura wouldn't work. She was too much of a bitch. Too much self-centered for her own good. Which was ironic, really. She let the noise of the steam shower enter the room. It was working. It was creating a thin layer of mist and water on the lenses of the cameras, and on her own collar.
It would work.
Or rather, it could work.
Wording.
She just needed to find the right thing. The right way to break her collar. If it was the baton, then it would something else. Maybe something dumb like shooting the collars.
Maybe cutting it.
She swallowed.
Or maybe like one of those shoplifting thing where you used an hair elastic to pop the magnetic thing.
"We need to find something sharp. Something to pry it open." She mumbled, her eyes calculating. "You don't have to join us, Laura."
She closed the valve, heading outside of the room.
"Luanne, we should get going." She nodded. "I know where we need to go next."
Her throat tightened. Laura wouldn't work. She was too much of a bitch. Too much self-centered for her own good. Which was ironic, really. She let the noise of the steam shower enter the room. It was working. It was creating a thin layer of mist and water on the lenses of the cameras, and on her own collar.
It would work.
Or rather, it could work.
Wording.
She just needed to find the right thing. The right way to break her collar. If it was the baton, then it would something else. Maybe something dumb like shooting the collars.
Maybe cutting it.
She swallowed.
Or maybe like one of those shoplifting thing where you used an hair elastic to pop the magnetic thing.
"We need to find something sharp. Something to pry it open." She mumbled, her eyes calculating. "You don't have to join us, Laura."
She closed the valve, heading outside of the room.
"Luanne, we should get going." She nodded. "I know where we need to go next."
-
Pippi
- Posts: 1121
- Joined: Tue Aug 07, 2018 6:32 pm
- Location: I'm Pip!
- Team Affiliation: Stephanie's Buccaneers
Wait. Hold up. Hold on. Hang on for just a motherfuckin’ second. Was Luanne fucking crying right now? After everything Laura had thrown at her, the thing that had tipped her over the edge had been fuckin’ - what was the last thing she said again? Oh, right. That she was boring.
That-That was it? That was the kicker, the thing that had turned Louey LuLu into this shivering, weeping mess, all tucked up in a little bundle on the floor? Not being called a bitch, a dumbass, a pathetic cunt, all the usual tricks Laura had up her sleeve?
…
Jeez.
Like, to be absolutely fucking honest, Laura was a little… stunned? Stumped? Fuckin’ baffled? Mmm, nah, none of those really fit the bill, didn’t totally encapsulate exactly how she was feeling right now. It was just like, how did you deal with a girl having a full-on fucking breakdown in front of you? That wasn’t the reaction she was ever angling for. She wanted people to get pissed off! She wanted them to rage and bitch and get all angry and incoherent and shit! That was funny!
This… this was just fuckin’ sad, dude.
“Jeez,” Laura said, even though she’d already thought it, because like, it really needed to be spoken into the world as well. There was another thing that was really kinda rankling her, and that was that, like… Lulu clearly recognised what show she was on, right? She knew that this was a game show featuring 60 open doors, and that all but one of them was gonna slam shut in their faces. So with that in mind, was this really what you wanted to break down over? Not that you were gonna get struck down in the prime time of your life? The fact that some bitch in a maid outfit called you dull?
The little bitch of a thought from earlier decided to pipe up again, and Laura had to mentally slap it back down, trying to hide the expression on her face.
“Prolly for the best, yeah,” she muttered, switching gears so that she could focus on Giuthais instead of the Luanne-Shaped Lump. “For now at least, cause, like, hey…”
Laura spread her arms out wide, a pose that was half-shrug, half leaving herself open and exposed.
“I’m not a monster. I’ve got some info you probably wanna hear. Cause if, like, you manage to get your, uh, whatever-the-fuck plan working, then you should head on over to the ghost ship in a couple day’s time. Or uhh, the fuckin’ ferry if that’s a Dee Zee, or the yacht if they’re both wired to go kaboom. There’s a couple other bitches in the same boat as you who’d, like, want you on board, probably.”
She paused, then snorted, a weird, squashed-sounding laugh escaping her nose.
“See, it’s funny, cause like, we’re all on a flotilla right now and shit.”
That-That was it? That was the kicker, the thing that had turned Louey LuLu into this shivering, weeping mess, all tucked up in a little bundle on the floor? Not being called a bitch, a dumbass, a pathetic cunt, all the usual tricks Laura had up her sleeve?
…
Jeez.
Like, to be absolutely fucking honest, Laura was a little… stunned? Stumped? Fuckin’ baffled? Mmm, nah, none of those really fit the bill, didn’t totally encapsulate exactly how she was feeling right now. It was just like, how did you deal with a girl having a full-on fucking breakdown in front of you? That wasn’t the reaction she was ever angling for. She wanted people to get pissed off! She wanted them to rage and bitch and get all angry and incoherent and shit! That was funny!
This… this was just fuckin’ sad, dude.
“Jeez,” Laura said, even though she’d already thought it, because like, it really needed to be spoken into the world as well. There was another thing that was really kinda rankling her, and that was that, like… Lulu clearly recognised what show she was on, right? She knew that this was a game show featuring 60 open doors, and that all but one of them was gonna slam shut in their faces. So with that in mind, was this really what you wanted to break down over? Not that you were gonna get struck down in the prime time of your life? The fact that some bitch in a maid outfit called you dull?
The little bitch of a thought from earlier decided to pipe up again, and Laura had to mentally slap it back down, trying to hide the expression on her face.
“Prolly for the best, yeah,” she muttered, switching gears so that she could focus on Giuthais instead of the Luanne-Shaped Lump. “For now at least, cause, like, hey…”
Laura spread her arms out wide, a pose that was half-shrug, half leaving herself open and exposed.
“I’m not a monster. I’ve got some info you probably wanna hear. Cause if, like, you manage to get your, uh, whatever-the-fuck plan working, then you should head on over to the ghost ship in a couple day’s time. Or uhh, the fuckin’ ferry if that’s a Dee Zee, or the yacht if they’re both wired to go kaboom. There’s a couple other bitches in the same boat as you who’d, like, want you on board, probably.”
She paused, then snorted, a weird, squashed-sounding laugh escaping her nose.
“See, it’s funny, cause like, we’re all on a flotilla right now and shit.”
Okay.
They were going to leave, and Laura wasn't coming with them.
Okay.
Luanne was still shaking.
She wanted to feel relieved that they were going to get away from Laura, but mostly she just felt scared and guilty and worried that she was being a burden to Pippi. And she didn't want to be that, nor did she want Pippi to be worried about her. Also, again, there was a little bit of blood on her face, and a little bit more on her hand, and maybe a little in her hair now, and she really really didn't like that. It made her feel like she'd been splattered with paint, which was a feeling that physically repulsed her to her very core almost like it was the physical equivalent of the EEEEEEEEEE noise made by a dental drill, and she was probably all snotty and gross and she felt gross too.
Okay. Well, she and Pippi were leaving, and so Laura, with her explosives stuck to her boob and her constant denials of any meaningful interaction, would leave them alone. It was time to leave.
She had to get up now. They were leaving, so she had to get up. But she was sick and tired, and she was just so fucking sick and tired of being sick and tired.
So what? Just do it.
Okay.
She groped around for the sunglasses, and slipped them back on. Then, she stood back up.
She looked at Laura. She felt like she was supposed to say something. "You are actually the worst person I have ever met" or "Bye" or "If you think I'm lame, you should ask Jewel about her opinion on Andy Warhol". But she didn't feel up to talking yet. She needed time to recover. Her hands were still shaking. And she especially didn't want to talk to Laura. And
And if she ever saw her again it would probably be as a pair of disembodied legs in the middle of a spatter of gore. She didn't hate Laura, (even though the info she'd just given about an escape group was about as useful as a horoscope). She didn't hate anyone. Hate was such a useless, draining emotion, so she chose not to feel it. She didn't know if she'd mourn for Laura, but she was okay with letting her have the last word in their disagreement. As a treat.
She glanced over at Pippi, nodded her head, and shuffled over to the door. Then, she followed her out before her sunglasses could fog over completely.
((LuaannE ,,Graasset conntiinnuEd elsewhh,er,,re...))
They were going to leave, and Laura wasn't coming with them.
Okay.
Luanne was still shaking.
She wanted to feel relieved that they were going to get away from Laura, but mostly she just felt scared and guilty and worried that she was being a burden to Pippi. And she didn't want to be that, nor did she want Pippi to be worried about her. Also, again, there was a little bit of blood on her face, and a little bit more on her hand, and maybe a little in her hair now, and she really really didn't like that. It made her feel like she'd been splattered with paint, which was a feeling that physically repulsed her to her very core almost like it was the physical equivalent of the EEEEEEEEEE noise made by a dental drill, and she was probably all snotty and gross and she felt gross too.
Okay. Well, she and Pippi were leaving, and so Laura, with her explosives stuck to her boob and her constant denials of any meaningful interaction, would leave them alone. It was time to leave.
She had to get up now. They were leaving, so she had to get up. But she was sick and tired, and she was just so fucking sick and tired of being sick and tired.
So what? Just do it.
Okay.
She groped around for the sunglasses, and slipped them back on. Then, she stood back up.
She looked at Laura. She felt like she was supposed to say something. "You are actually the worst person I have ever met" or "Bye" or "If you think I'm lame, you should ask Jewel about her opinion on Andy Warhol". But she didn't feel up to talking yet. She needed time to recover. Her hands were still shaking. And she especially didn't want to talk to Laura. And
And if she ever saw her again it would probably be as a pair of disembodied legs in the middle of a spatter of gore. She didn't hate Laura, (even though the info she'd just given about an escape group was about as useful as a horoscope). She didn't hate anyone. Hate was such a useless, draining emotion, so she chose not to feel it. She didn't know if she'd mourn for Laura, but she was okay with letting her have the last word in their disagreement. As a treat.
She glanced over at Pippi, nodded her head, and shuffled over to the door. Then, she followed her out before her sunglasses could fog over completely.
((LuaannE ,,Graasset conntiinnuEd elsewhh,er,,re...))
Pippi stared at the no-bite-all-bark girl.
Two holes were boring into Laura.
Burning. Digging. Sculpting.
She stared, her eyes empty.
Calculating.
The equations were there, waiting to be solved.
She didn't speak as she exited the bathroom, heading toward the exit.
She rotated her head like an owl toward the girl.
Laura wasn't very useful.
Maybe in another life.
"There's a ship
made out of wood,"
she smiled, lips drawn
with a pencil,
"you should totally sink it first,
it might make a pretty bonfire."
Her head rotated back toward the exit.
With haste, she moved, following Luanne.
Two holes were boring into Laura.
Burning. Digging. Sculpting.
She stared, her eyes empty.
Calculating.
The equations were there, waiting to be solved.
She didn't speak as she exited the bathroom, heading toward the exit.
She rotated her head like an owl toward the girl.
Laura wasn't very useful.
Maybe in another life.
"There's a ship
made out of wood,"
she smiled, lips drawn
with a pencil,
"you should totally sink it first,
it might make a pretty bonfire."
Her head rotated back toward the exit.
With haste, she moved, following Luanne.
-
Pippi
- Posts: 1121
- Joined: Tue Aug 07, 2018 6:32 pm
- Location: I'm Pip!
- Team Affiliation: Stephanie's Buccaneers
Paina glared at Laura - guess she didn’t like the joke, which, damn, sorry about your busted-ass sense of humour, bitch - and Laura looked back, very much not glaring. She didn’t, like, do glaring. Too much effort, big-time waste of energy; why get pissed off when you could just not give a shit, and have space in your body for way more important things? Like weed, and shitty knock-off Pringles.
“Hey, y’know, maybe I will,” Laura said, speaking at Inanasi’s back as she left the room, Luanne moping on ahead, leaving a line of tears behind her, like a weird slug. “God knows the forums will fuckin’ eat me alive if I die before I can blow something up, producers bein’ fucking cowards and not handing out more bombs and grenade launchers and shit.”
Course, she’d need some help with that. She’d mentioned God knows how many fucking times the titty bitty bombs were stable explosives, but the Pineapple Express had clearly demonstrated they had as much smarts as they did fashion sense. Or maybe they’d just decided they didn’t wanna listen to Laura, right from the off, which like, rude as fuck. Absolutely the correct decision, but that didn’t stop it being rude as fuck.
She couldn’t see a universe in which their plan, still totally fucking incomprehensible for the record, went off without a hitch. Either it did nothing at all (nothin’ at all), or Laura would see two pretty little explosions off the bow of the cruise ship as their necks were shredded into a red mist. And, hey! Maybe she was totally wrong. Maybe in a couple days time she’d rock up back onto the pirate ship and Marion and the other bitches would all be yeeting their collars into the ocean like really shitty frisbees. But Laura had lived for a long-ass eighteen years, and people were, generally, bad at shit. How did that shitty phrase go? “Hope for the best, expect the worst?” Yeah, that, just without the first part.
But her mind was in full-on Big Think mode, as she stood next to the bed, heart very badly wanting to just flop right back down onto those goddamn sheets, body just kinda being like ‘nah bitch we’re in thought mode right now’. And she thought about what would happen, if they did manage to get their collars off. She thought about a couple days from now, when she’d agreed to meet back up with Marion and Nadine, and by proxy Luanne and Boluo. She thought for a few moments more. She blew air out the side of her mouth and folded her arms.
“Whatever.”
That was all a problem for Future Laura to deal with, and that cunt sucked, so she got what she deserved. Right now, she had way, waaaaay more important shit to do. She had coke to find, she had a boat to consider blowing up, and, hey you know what, she had a pool to get naked in. Why the fuck not? She deserved little a skinny-dipping. As a treat.
She removed the explosives from her ‘’’cleavage’’’ and chucked them back into her bag. She waltzed into the bathroom and scooped Pat back up. She turned the shower back on, max heat, and flipped the nearest camera off. She wrote ‘subcsribe to ‘thiccstock’ on twitch dot com’ in the mist on the mirror. She shoved a handful of crackers into her mouth, spraying crumbs all over the carpet. The essentials. You know how it is.
Ready to fuck off. She’d wasted enough time here. Once she’d gotten her prize, then she could come back and relax. Til then, she was going fuckin’ cokewards.
You know. That well-known phrase.
((Laura Hakštok continued in Fugitive))
“Hey, y’know, maybe I will,” Laura said, speaking at Inanasi’s back as she left the room, Luanne moping on ahead, leaving a line of tears behind her, like a weird slug. “God knows the forums will fuckin’ eat me alive if I die before I can blow something up, producers bein’ fucking cowards and not handing out more bombs and grenade launchers and shit.”
Course, she’d need some help with that. She’d mentioned God knows how many fucking times the titty bitty bombs were stable explosives, but the Pineapple Express had clearly demonstrated they had as much smarts as they did fashion sense. Or maybe they’d just decided they didn’t wanna listen to Laura, right from the off, which like, rude as fuck. Absolutely the correct decision, but that didn’t stop it being rude as fuck.
She couldn’t see a universe in which their plan, still totally fucking incomprehensible for the record, went off without a hitch. Either it did nothing at all (nothin’ at all), or Laura would see two pretty little explosions off the bow of the cruise ship as their necks were shredded into a red mist. And, hey! Maybe she was totally wrong. Maybe in a couple days time she’d rock up back onto the pirate ship and Marion and the other bitches would all be yeeting their collars into the ocean like really shitty frisbees. But Laura had lived for a long-ass eighteen years, and people were, generally, bad at shit. How did that shitty phrase go? “Hope for the best, expect the worst?” Yeah, that, just without the first part.
But her mind was in full-on Big Think mode, as she stood next to the bed, heart very badly wanting to just flop right back down onto those goddamn sheets, body just kinda being like ‘nah bitch we’re in thought mode right now’. And she thought about what would happen, if they did manage to get their collars off. She thought about a couple days from now, when she’d agreed to meet back up with Marion and Nadine, and by proxy Luanne and Boluo. She thought for a few moments more. She blew air out the side of her mouth and folded her arms.
“Whatever.”
That was all a problem for Future Laura to deal with, and that cunt sucked, so she got what she deserved. Right now, she had way, waaaaay more important shit to do. She had coke to find, she had a boat to consider blowing up, and, hey you know what, she had a pool to get naked in. Why the fuck not? She deserved little a skinny-dipping. As a treat.
She removed the explosives from her ‘’’cleavage’’’ and chucked them back into her bag. She waltzed into the bathroom and scooped Pat back up. She turned the shower back on, max heat, and flipped the nearest camera off. She wrote ‘subcsribe to ‘thiccstock’ on twitch dot com’ in the mist on the mirror. She shoved a handful of crackers into her mouth, spraying crumbs all over the carpet. The essentials. You know how it is.
Ready to fuck off. She’d wasted enough time here. Once she’d gotten her prize, then she could come back and relax. Til then, she was going fuckin’ cokewards.
You know. That well-known phrase.
((Laura Hakštok continued in Fugitive))