( AN OPEN POST #2 )

[charmlessness]

 
 
 

you know the drill. pick your poison (not entirely limited to those listed). reply with a prompt in the form of a post, photo, song, text, voicemail, whatever your heart desires & receive a response. simple, right? right.

 
 
 

Comments

[metricfuckton]

( Debra Morgan didn't spend excruciating hours on homicide to take down thieves. If they'd only been robbing banks, she would've shoved this case off onto someone below her.

But they weren't.

No, these sons of bitches (or, a singular bitch, as they're brothers) that she's got her eyes on have not only been robbing banks — and the occasional lucky fella — blind all over the South, they've taken it upon themselves to also leave innocent people dead in their tracks.

So naturally, when they hit up a bank in Miami, leaving three police men dead — policemen that she personally knew, Deb immediately wanted on the case. They haven't left Miami, and that much she is certain of, because she's got roadblocks on every main road (and the occasional side road) that leads out of the city. Those motherfuckers weren't going to go anywhere without her knowing about it.

Which is how they — she and one of the Gecko (what a silly fucking name, right?) brothers — got to the predicament they're in now.

She doesn't look fondly on her time on Vice, what with all the undercover work as a prostitute and all, but having eyes all over the city does work to her advantage. Especially when she gets a call around 8 o'clock, saying one of the brothers she was looking for was spotted going into a taqueria. Needless to say, she hauled ass all the way to the place, gun held high as she ordered everyone but the sticky fingered asshole in question to leave the restaurant.

He makes a move to the back room; she fires, and it's turned into a goddamn mess that's now left blood on the floor of this fine ma 'n pa establishment.

She now stands back against a wall, gun gripped tight, waiting. )

You gonna fucking come out or am I going to have to call in back up to bring your ass out by force?

[ramblin]

[ Guacamole.

All this? Is because of a forgotten bowl of fucking guacamole. His shit-stain of a little brother had a craving, and what did Seth do? He played the role of the doting elderly sibling and went back for the goddamn thing.

Now, here they are caught in today's telenovela with Deputy Debbie and her rootin' tootin' cronies. Fantastic. Just great. Richie couldn't control himself. Couldn't let well enough alone. So, he got blood all over Miami's carpet and now they were on their tails faster than cilantro in the green sauce now splattered over the countertops.

He dabs at a spare bit that'd fallen on his shirt. Richie's back at the hotel room, safe as goddamn houses. Meanwhile, he's stuck here between a rock and the lady cop's itchy trigger finger. He takes his own gun up again. The manager's office was empty, but that window across the way's looking a little more tempting with every passing second.

She'll have it covered, of course. Something tells him this isn't her first rodeo. ]

Hate to be the bearer of bad news here, Eastwood, but that's not gonna happen.

[ Richie. You son of a bitch. ]

As compelling as that argument of yours is, you gotta ask yourself: you really know what it is you're dealin' with here?