dubs
New Member
PIG
Posts: 24
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Post by dubs on Aug 13, 2011 23:44:32 GMT -5
"Well what other one is a mime?" Argue that if you even CAN, That's Tricks. Dick drops out of the car and starts in on their precious cargo. "I'm not wrenching words out of a rock, dude, let's just get him some fucking pants."
And from behind Tricks: "Git who some fuckin pants?" And also from behind Tricks, two wiry arms and two wiry legs latching unto him. Because fuck propriety, Cking Curtis wants piggy-back. He doesn't give a shit.
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Post by avisis on Aug 14, 2011 17:17:09 GMT -5
He's okay until the piggyback happens.
Up until that point he's got it. They're talking, talking over him, and he's picking this box up and he's going to carry it wherever they're carrying things and then oh god why is that man crawling over that other man like a monkey.
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Post by Conway on Aug 14, 2011 17:41:59 GMT -5
" He's not miming he just doesn't talk! Is there one that doesn't..." He was about to turn to King Curtis when he's attacked by the guys scrawny limbs. He almost drops his crates in his first knee jerk reaction to get Curtis off of him. "We have to get YOU some fuckin pants since your fatass keeps out growin yours! Now get off of me and grab a crate you cow!."
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dubs
New Member
PIG
Posts: 24
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Post by dubs on Aug 14, 2011 21:23:54 GMT -5
"Hey, fuck you, man!" His arms tighten a little around Tricks' neck out of sheer protest, but Dick comes up behind Curtis and pulls him off--with some effort. He is the fattest. Curtis kicks at Tricks' ass hard.
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Post by avisis on Aug 14, 2011 21:34:23 GMT -5
This is getting a little more intense than he's feeling at the moment, so he takes this chance to get out of the sun and into the shadowed, familiar walls of what looks to be an old fast food joint.
There doesn't seem to be much organization going on, and he halts in the doorway, unsure of where to place his cargo; patiently, he steps to the side, waiting for someone to come in and direct him.
Cool in here. Dark. It's nice.
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Post by Conway on Aug 14, 2011 21:51:27 GMT -5
Crates topple out of Trick's arms and food, thankfully wrapped in plastic or boxed spill out onto the sandy ground. " You fucking ass! That's your damn dinner you're spilling. and yanno, you can clean it up to, I'm gonna go find whatshisnuts some pants" He steps away from the mess, retreating into the quiet of the building.
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dubs
New Member
PIG
Posts: 24
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Post by dubs on Aug 14, 2011 21:56:19 GMT -5
Dick yells after him: "Wait, you want us to--Christ!" Sets Curtis down, punching him in the arm. The smaller boy rocks back, face twisting up foully. Dick points at him sharply. "You deserved that, fatass. Come on, gotta work off some calories, let's go."
Even with that scolding, it takes Cking a second to actually start helping. He's quite occupied with pouting and staring at their homebase. As he crouches to help pick up: "The fuck was that?"
[aaaaand we can assume Dick fills Curtis in while Tricks and Monkey have AWESOME ADVENTURES.]
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Post by Conway on Aug 14, 2011 22:17:33 GMT -5
Dicks won't get an answer.Tricks is already inside, waving whatshisnuts over the the ordering counter. "Just put that there and come with me you need actual cloths before you carry more in." He doesn't wait up for him, moving right to the hollowed out booth he uses as his personal living space to root around for pants. He gives Mr. Mime a quick look when he catches up before throwing a t-shirt and pair of jeans at him. He has to belt that pair on himself so maybe they'll fit softy here. He then for his own sake turns away again so he won't see the guy changing. "You mute or something?"
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Post by avisis on Aug 14, 2011 22:29:48 GMT -5
It's a lot of information to absorb at once; stalled, he ends up catching the thrown clothes with his face instead of his hands. He's a little concerned by this, but dressing is automatic.
He's being asked a question. He pauses with his shirt half over his head, struggling to complete the motion while simultaneously struggling to comprehend what's being asked of him. He yanks the shirt down and gives a short, definite shake of the head.
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Post by Conway on Aug 14, 2011 22:37:32 GMT -5
It was a mistake to ask this one a question while his back was turned, so he looks cautiously over his shoulder at just the top half to catch the answer and turns fully when he can see the guy is dressed. "Then you should use your voice." Hands are shoved into his pockets as he heads back out, resigned to help Dicks and Cking finish unloading the car.
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dubs
New Member
PIG
Posts: 24
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Post by dubs on Aug 15, 2011 0:26:38 GMT -5
Curtis is stacking a third crate into Dick's arms, dropping it a little unceremoniously when he sees Tricks walking back out. "What're ya doin, TT? Fuckin Draculoid fagbag in our hidey-hole? You gone nuts er what?!"
And Dick gives Tricks The Eyebrows as he walks past with his burden.
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Post by Conway on Aug 15, 2011 15:59:12 GMT -5
He's simmered down a bit, giving Dicks just an apologetic look and a shrug as they pass.
" We don't know that he's a Drac, your majesty. Wouldn't be right to leave him out there if he's not. If he is we can just dust 'im."
It was a rash decision to bring him here but not like they had time to put it to discussion in the middle of the open highway, hauling stolen goods.
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Post by avisis on Aug 15, 2011 19:40:58 GMT -5
'Curtis' is giving him a weird expression as he comes back outside, so he circuits wide around that one. Dicks, too; there's something forward-shoving about the man he's nervous about. Not that he's comfortable with Tricks, but the boy seems the least aggressive of the lot.
Weird would maybe be a better term. Curtis isn't so much aggressive as...weird.
He hasn't used his muscles in ages; he's got no no strength to put up, and he can only get one box into his arms before he's tapped. It's enough to carry.
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dubs
New Member
PIG
Posts: 24
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Post by dubs on Aug 16, 2011 0:41:20 GMT -5
"Nahss pants, creeper." Curtis trots up right beside the new meat, shrugging his own little load like it ain't no thang. "What are ya, mute? What'syername? Hello? ....Howdyyyy~" Upon receiving no response, Curtis turns to walk backwards, shifting his boxes to get one hand free and grab at the other's dogtags.
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Post by avisis on Aug 17, 2011 18:16:16 GMT -5
Right, talking-at, very different from talking-to. He's earned stripes telling the difference. He's smart enough to nod just slightly; let the talker know he's hearing them and how brilliant they are.
But then Curtis makes a move towards his neck, and muscles he only half controls anymore spasm. His head janks back, and the tag-chain, wrapped thrice short around his neck, pulls tight up under his chin. He stumbles, coughing.
The tags were serious, once, meant to be, all cool and militant and whathaveyou. The faint imprint of stark small letters is still visible, decipherless lines where the tags were stamped flat, cleanly erased. Over the ghost lines are scraped, messily, "B M".
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