That I'm Not Killing Them [Manhattans - Zone 3]

[dubs]

Curtis, for all his noise, is attentive--eyes wide was the stranger attempt to reel back, watching, learning. But his grip on the tags is rock-solid, cruel-hard, and he tugs the other man closer with his mouth hanging open curiously. Huge eyes flicker down to note the inscription--

"BM." And he scowls, still holding on. "The fuck is that? Big Mouth? Bad Murder? Boilin Macaronis, the hell is 'BM'?"

[Conway]

Tricks purposefully bumps his shoulder into Curtis on his way back in with more boxes.
" Can't you harass him after we get the damn food in? If he's gonna work let 'im, or do you want your precious chicken spoiled in the sun?"

[avisis]

His response is a high wheeze. He follows the choke-chain pliantly, shoulders hunching further in. He drops his eyes, since Curtis knows he's listening now; now's when you show you're yielding. Shuffle the feet together. Keep yourself small.

[dubs]

His brows furrow, harsh voice dropping low (but still scraping) as he speaks to Tricks: "Looka this. You see this, TT?"




((AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA SHORT POST I SO SORRY))

[Conway]

He does stop to lean in and get a better look at the tags, he'd noticed them earlier but not that there was something on them.
"BM, huh?"
Tricks shrugs and steps back again.
"Who knows? Not like he's gonna tell us. Specially if he can't breathe, Curtis."

[dubs]

"Nah, look at him, dipshit." Nods toward their new pet. "Like a fuckin animal, fer sure. Betcha he's gotta trick'r somethin."

[avisis]

Relief ebbs in cautiously, air-sweet, as familiarity continues to flood his veins. On cue, he lifts his eyes to Curtis, searching his face for any sign of whatever a trick is and how he's supposed to pull it off; not finding anything in the lean, sharp thing, he bows his head quickly and waits for it to be explained to him. People are, contrary to instinct, usually very good about explaining things to their pets; regardless of how much they tell you that you should know this already, there's always some innate direction towards shouting orders. He's made a sort of skill out of waiting for the shouting.

[Conway]

If his arms weren't full he'd cross them. You're pissing. Him. Off.
"I'm sure he does, Curtis. In fact he'd be doing a pretty useful one. MOVING YOUR SHIT out of the car if you'd get your fat ass out of his damn way."

It started out as such a nice day too. He'd really rather not be at odds with fuckin Curtis right now.

[dubs]

Fucking Curtis is at odds with the world, man. A grin crack-snaps across his face, and he says to BM: "Move my shit. This here." Tucks his chin towards his own armload.

[avisis]

'BM' turns a look on Curtis' arms made of pure resigned hopelessness. There is no way he's getting all that inside with his noodle arms; he can't even pull free of the man's grip.

Still. He shuffles the box under one arm, and eases forward into Curtis' personal space to work his hand under Curtis' load, pulling it towards himself. As he does, he gives a soundless, lip-parted exhale. In another lifetime it might have been a self-aware laugh. Now it's a breath out of dead air.

[Conway]

He stands watching for now, waiting for the crates to take a tumble.
"Don't think that means you're not going back to the car for anything else Dick wants you to carry in, Curtis."
He's losing his will to argue with the stubborn brat, He just wants everything in and stored and maybe at some point some sleep. Dick Frisbee and himself were up at the ass crack of dawn for this shit while Curtis likely slept his day away.

[dubs]

Curtis laughs, running around back to the car to get another load. He catches back up with BM. "Now jump! C'mon, sunshine, jump!"

[avisis]

He gives a breathless, quick nod of obedience---he hasn't moved, yet, things are balanced too awkwardly---and bounces.

It's an amusing sort of motion; like someone tried to get on a pogo stick by jumping onto it, and got the results they deserved. Crates crack against the ground, and he follows them. Quickly, but not really surprised, he scrambles onto his hands and knees to start picking things up. Keep your head down, in case they kick out.

[Conway]

Son of a bitch.
" Dammit, Curtis. Seriously. Go put your crates in side and clean this shit up.
And you!" His irritation directed at BM now.
"You listen to me first, then Dick. THEN fucking pighead here. He's a fucking idiot."

[dubs]

"Fuck you, affanculo, und fick dich auch! " Show-off, show-off, show-off with a flip of that bird over his shoulder as he takes his shit inside. Obedient--at length, and not without fussing, but ultimately obedient.