five | souvenir

[strike_you_out]

 [Following the death of a dear "friend", Slugger is gradually making his way home while hauling what appears to be a sentry gun in-the-making. Those who happened to pass by 502 Ricardo Street earlier today might recognize it as one of Pokey Minch's bizarre "art" projects.

Unfortunately, the little blue putz wasn't clever enough to affix it with wheels for easy transport so the hauling process isn't a particularly quick one. For several blocks along the way to Anderson Lane, Slugger somehow manages to balance and carry it on his shoulders, stopping occasionally to put it down and push or drag it for a short distance. He's actually sweating from the effort and probably getting himself covered in black machine grease, yet he hasn't spoken a single complaint.]

Comments

[blu-hardhat.livejournal.com]

[[--well ain't that a familiar hunk of metal. Engie is staring at you, Slugger, and he isn't looking too happy.]]

Now where'd you come across that, huh?

[strike-you-out.livejournal.com]

[With said hunk of metal resting heavily and awkwardly upon his narrow shoulders, Slugger turns to address the man but doesn't pause.]

Around the neighborhood...

[blu-hardhat.livejournal.com]

Hm. Where you found it--that wouldn't happen t' be where Pokey lives, would it?

[[He's following, too. Slugger isn't going to get rid of him that easily.]]

[strike-you-out.livejournal.com]

[He won't bother denying the truth.]

It is.

[blu-hardhat.livejournal.com]

How'd you happen t' come across this here Sentry, huh, boy? [[He'll reach out and rest the fingers of the Gunslinger on the nearest bit of metal with a soft clink, still frowning.]] Ain't anywhere close t' bein' finished, which means he got interrupted. You got any idea what might'a done that?

[strike-you-out.livejournal.com]

[As a matter of fact, he does have an idea. Don't mistake his response for being facetious; he's completely serious.]

A stab wound to the throat.

[bridgetroll.livejournal.com]

[hi, neighbor.]

...Not that I care, but what the hell are you doing?

[strike-you-out.livejournal.com]

[In the process of trying to drag this unwieldy piece of unfinished whatever-it-is over a bump in the sidewalk. Why do you ask?]

Going home.

[bridgetroll.livejournal.com]

[.....reluctantly moves over to help push it over the bump.]

Well, you're awful slow about it.

[strike-you-out.livejournal.com]

[The metal grates horrendously as it is heaved over the bump and then to a stop. Let us now take a moment to flatly state the obvious...]

It's heavy.

[About 45 lbs actually, but considering Slugger himself weighs only 90, this has been a trying task. Following their moment of shared effort, Slugger pauses to eye her warily from beneath the bill of his cap, as if half-suspecting her to reveal some ulterior motive for helping him out.]


... ...


[Okay. Now it's getting awkward...]

[bridgetroll.livejournal.com]

[She stares directly at him with open suspicion glimmering in her green eyes, just waiting for him to tell her to get lost. The silence stretches.]

If you don't want my help, that's fine. [a subtle, wounded twitch.] No one ever does.

[strike-you-out.livejournal.com]

[The concealed hurt in her voice is... titillating. His eyebrows hitch just slightly higher beneath his cap.]

...You would help someone you don't care about for nothing in return?

[Oh, you humans and your nonsensical shenanigans.]

[kinpika.livejournal.com]

[Sitting on his front porch, drinking his drink, and scoffing at your mongrelness.]

[strike-you-out.livejournal.com]

[Scoff it up. He hopes you choke on that drink of yours. He has no idea you're the one behind the irritating phone calls about how you're a god among dirty mongrels in this place. If he did, he might shoot you a glare.

Instead, he'll continue on as though he doesn't hear anything.]

[deaths-heritor.livejournal.com]

[Susan spots her son returning from a distance and raises an eyebrow before silently emerging out the front door.]

Is it Take Your Trash Back Home Day? I hadn't realized.

[strike-you-out.livejournal.com]

[Slugger has managed to drag the heap of metal half-way up the driveway, evidently on a course to the garage. For the moment though, he's decided to stop and rest. He sort of figured at some point along the way that Susan would disapprove of this.]

[After catching some of his breath...] It's only temporary.

[deaths-heritor.livejournal.com]

I hesitate to ask why.

. . . But why?

[strike-you-out.livejournal.com]

The one who was building it is... out of commission.

[deaths-heritor.livejournal.com]

And the logical flow between that and the decision to bring it home is . . . ?

[strike-you-out.livejournal.com]

...that leaving a cannon unattended on someone's front lawn is stupid?

[Okay, it's not a cannon, but based on it's unfinished construction, it looks like it's meant to shoot things.]

[insectoidalien.livejournal.com]

[Have a scowling "Kat" accosting you. What is self preservation]

WHERE did you get that?

[strike-you-out.livejournal.com]

[He barely glances up.]

...Rummage sale.

[insectoidalien.livejournal.com]

[Bullshit. She grabs the sentry and yanks back.]

I don't think you did.

[strike-you-out.livejournal.com]

[She'll find he isn't letting go. And in his gold-green eyes, there's a glimmer of something eerie and unstable, something dangerous.]

[slowly] What's it to you.

Erg, Livejournal's messing with me. Sorry if there's multiple replies.

[insectoidalien.livejournal.com]

[Her face hardens as well. Slugger doesn't faze her, and she wants him to know it. Her voice drops to a hiss, and she leans just slightly toward him, like a cobra coiling up before striking]

I am certain this was lifted from a friend. A friend who does not like you at all.