So, I'm having trouble writing.
It's getting increasingly difficult to get my ideas (mainly, for my RikuSora fic) from my mind to paper/word processor. It's pissing me off to no end, so I decided to start roleplaying again.
It's amazing how fast I can think and produce plot and story when there's someone there interacting with me in their own way.
...Maybe I should get someone to roleplay some RikuSora with me so I can get back into the flow of typing my ideas without thinking about them.
But that's besides the point. Here's some of the RP I've started with this supercool chick.
Neve
I'm a joker, I'm a smoker, I'm a midniiiight toker! Damn! That song had been stuck in her head ever since yesterday! Wasn't there a cure for such a stupid issue? Yeah like actually using that lovely mind of yours to think straight, tiger. Ha, she was a real crack up, wasn't she?
She glanced out the window of the three story bar--how ritzy was this place? It was so fashionable it was too good to sit idlly on the ground like all the rest of the loser-y drinking spots. Psh, whatever. Ten dollar martinis? Hell no. Not that she couldn't afford it--because indeed, she could. But to pay that much for a drink when a cool beer from the back of a fridge cause much more pleasure?
Again, whatever.
She remained at the bar, dressed in rather large, baggy clothing disguising her figure rather well. If anything, she looked like a short, rather stocky male--and that was the point. A wig of thick dark brown curly hair was worn over the prostetic face mask--making her skin look black. On the whole? Neve Carnivine was playing the part of some heavy set black male, dressed nice enough to get into such a bar down town, but not nice enough to gain the attention of much of anyone.
She glanced for her target... Victor P. James--a retiring police officer who had on his free time made some shift deals with the mob... deals he owed a lot of money for and never paid off. Intended to never pay off--hence this early retirement party his local friends and co-workers--all cops were throwing for him.
Of course she would be given such a risky job... She had a style about her, a grace--she was smooth and hadn't ever been caught once. She had no cool nick name like those involved in the underground crime business. She wasn't Neve "the Ice Box" Carnivine. She wasn't known as "Hot Shot" or "Kitten Killer" or some other Hollywood dreamed up nickname. She was Neve to those she conducted business with, and she was "Shit!" or "Fuck!" to those she put bullets through. A hired gun. An assassin. A mercernery. A woman with compromised morals in the name of money's sake... That's what Neve Carnivine was and that's what she excelled in doing.
Right now, ol' Victor James had fucked up with the Russian Mafia something fierce, and Neve was there to rectify the situation. The only problem was... The fire escape route was being blocked by another celebration party of sorts--and this was not good. She needed a fast exit and the only one she saw? That damn window. Some people call me the space cowboy! If only... She needed to be flying right about now.
As the cops sang their cheers for their retiring about-to-be-dead comrade, Neve took the advantage of the great view she had of the poor bastard. Her silvery hand gun, a DD .44 Distovi was pulled out with silencer affixed and suddenly pushing herself back from the bar, she did a running dive--gun pointed back and a flurry of bullets sprayed out, striking Victor James int he head two times and the throat once. The man went down like a sack of bricks--dead as a door nail. And by the time the cops had their own guns pulled?
She shot out the window and made the three story leap of faith.
Last she recalled, a dumpster had been below the bar... And as she fell? She was wrong. She was about two feet off. Instead? She the hit the glass of a car's wind sheild, the wind knocked out out of her. She took no time to feel the impact of the blow and instead rolled off and ran into the street, narrowly avoiding being hit by an on-coming car. She ran up to the closest car stopped at the stop and without hesitation broke the back window of the car and jumped in. Her gun now aimed squarely at the driver she shouted out, "DRIVE! DRIVE NOW!"
Lauralyn
Sometimes you just gotta drive, you know? No destination in mind, no purpose. Just you and the wide open road. The only issue? Her wide open road was a street heading away from the downtown area. How could she even hope of being on the open road if every bloody stoplight on the way out of town was going to turn red as soon as she got close?
Maybe it was God's way of telling her to go home, curl up on the couch with a couple of wine coolers, and watch another Gilmore Girls' marathon; that there was no way that she'd be able to escape the cramped, bustling city life, that she'd be breathing smog for the rest of her life.
The light turned green and she sighed, stepping on the gas towards another light that decided to turn red.
Yep. It was a sign from the heavens.
As she waited at the light for the tenth time in the last half hour, Lauralyn leaned back into her plush leather seats and rolled down her window. It was a little breezy outside with a hint of that comforting smell that comes in before it decides to rain. There wasn't a cloud in the sky, but the smell said it wouldn't be like that for long. Pedestrians eyed her car and whispered to each other, pointing. Yeah yeah, she had some fancy car. Did she know what kind it was? Hell no. Just something she inherited when her Dylan decided to bite the bullet and overdose on cocaine. At the time of their engagement, she didn't have a clue that he was absolutely loaded, but when she got a letter from his lawyer requesting her presense at the reading of his will, well. There wasn't much left to the imagination after that one.
Ah, the light was green. She hit the gas again, pouting slightly as, again, the light ahead turned red. This was like the Redlight District without the stripclubs, she noted with a huff as she crossed her arms. She felt a little warm in her long-sleeved navy blue shirt from some expensive place--most likely Sacs Fifth Avenue since she could afford it now--and rolled up her sleeves. God damn, this light was taking forever! And wha--
"WHAT THE FUCK!" Her head whipped around as something, rather, someone, came crashing into her back window. A few choice words were right on the tip of her tongue, but she bit them back when she found the barrel of a gun pointing straight at her face. Without a second thought, she complied to the madman--or was it a woman? What the hell!--and his demand, slamming her foot on the gas pedal and flying through the intersection. There were oncoming cars, but she didn't pay them any mind; who gave a shit if they got into accidents if she got a bullet in the back of her head? From the honking and the sound of metal tearing, she had caused an accident, but she didn't care. All that mattered was that she drove and kept the crazy person from blowing her brains out.
Neve
Just like that, the car took off and Neve was now on her knees--ignoring the burning painful sensation in her rib cage and lower back. She'd tend to it later. Right now? It was all about seeing if the cops were following or not. Surely there was no way they'd get down as fast as she had--unless they too jumped. But, if she knew cops well enough, the lazy ass fuckers wouldn't even take an extra step if need be the case. Still, she needed to be far away and on a freeway of sorts. Get the hell off side streets. Being in the downtown Seattle location, the roads here were narrow--allowing for piss poor "get-a-way" chases... Not that she was certain the construction workers were thinking about such driving whilst building their roads.
Think, Neve, think! She instantly shedded her mask and wig now--peeling off the prostetics and tossing them under the passenger car's seat with her free hand. "Get to the freeway." She said firmly, hiding the ache of pain from her tone. She needed complete and utter control here, needed to be calm so her current hostage would stay calm.
Shit. Not that she wanted a hostage--she had just planned the aftermath of her job a little poorly. She had intended to use the fire escape--intended to shed the clothing once she got to the lower levels of the bar and then randomly walk out as if nothing ever happened. She had the power of illusion on her side. But? Those plans had been blown to shit and she had to act fast. Acting fast apparently looked to bring in another life to her own crazy one.
A mercernery with a heart? Sort of.
Mainly Neve never got close to her targets. She studied what she needed to know about them and then axed them. She never really got close to anyone--unless they were one night stands or selling her some prime blow. And this woman in the car with her? She was neither. Sorry girl, don't mean to do this to either of us but I'm between a rock and a hard place. The thoughts to the woman were silent and all she said? "Take a left up here on 7th." Nice and smooth, Neve. Real nice. "Whatever you do, you keep driving and you drive damned safe and damned good like a fuckin' pro, all right? No more accidents. No more anything. Just nice and easy, you got it?" She then said, shaking her hair out some.
The shorter, chin length dark brown locks now slid about her slender, pale face in a chic carefree sort of look. So, she was a girl. She then slipped out of her clothes--taking only a few seconds to pull them off (clearly she had done this before) revealing a form fitting silken black short sleeved shirt over black cargo slightly loose pants. Chic, stylish, classy and yet casual.
"Comin' up to the front--just stay cool, devoshka." She now said as she did just as she described. Her lithe, slender form moved up to the empty passenger seat and she then sat back--that silvery gun still very much out in the open, gripped tightly and pointed to the driver. She looked forward, her face hard set, cold. She was silent a while before she finally said--quietly, "....Been a bad day for both of us, looks like."
Lauralyn
Her teeth bit into her lower lip with such a ferocity that she could taste her blood. Good lord, it was hard to keep her smartass comments to herself. It'd been at least a year since she'd been flustered to this point, but damn! If it wasn't for the gun pointed at her head, she would be mouthing off like an angry Catholic girl caught screwing one of her teachers. Just stay calm, Lyn. The more you think about it, the worse it's gonna get.
She didn't even bother nodding when the crazybitch--as she has decided to deem the wacko in her backseat--demanded she head for a highway, fearing that nodding would somehow piss them off and they'd decide to shoot her in the leg or something. Not as bad as the head but she wasn't fond of pain. She kept biting at her lip as the person moved around behind her. What were they doing, the tango? Worming around like that was frustrating her to no end because she wasn't sure what the hell they were doing. Maybe it was a bomb or something. Or a rope to strangle her with. Well, if that was the case, she wouldn't go down without a fight. She had a car to her disposal; would be rather hard to get away with a crime if her car suddenly flew off the road and careened into a building or something equally horrible. She was seriously considering the idea, but decided against it. It would do no good to die when all she wanted was to get the hell away from the madman... or whatever.
Her lips curled into a sneer when the person decided to comment on her driving, directing her towards the highway. "I'm sure it would be plenty easier to drive if there wasn't a fucking gun pointing at my head," she snapped out before biting her lip again. She really should keep the smartass comments to herself. Really. But otherwise, she did as the person commanded, driving as if there were nothing wrong. She took the left on 7th street and cruised on down the road towards the onramp. When the person slid into the passenger seat, she couldn't help but glance over and almost gasped.
Jesus Christ, the woman didn't look much older than her, and there she was, hijacking a car and taking a hostage. What the shit wasn't wrong with this picture? Thankfully she didn't make any flippant comments and just drove, dark grey eyes darting to the gun every moment or so to see if it was still there. The woman's comment made her scowl. "It wasn't bad until ten minutes ago, actually," she snapped again, fingers curling around the wheel in a vicegrip. "...Where are we heading, anyway?"
Neve
A dark, thin brow arched and her silvery green gaze seemed to twinkle in sudden quirky admiration of the woman's tenacity to actually "bite" back verbally. Fiesty. A twinge of guilt played through her momentarily--she really, really hadn't intended to do this, hadn't intended to involve someone else--but that was the way things played out.
She glanced behind her--seeing three cop cars now turn left onto 7th street as well. Shit. So far, their lights weren't flashing, but that didn't mean they didn't know what was up. Perhaps they were playing them out? Perhaps they knew? They needed to get onto the highway, maybe take it up to Canada? Vancouver was incredibly close... About two or three hours at most away.
She kept a keen grey-green eye on the cops, watching them as they appeared to linger back. She then glanced to the woman, the girl wasn't bad looking... Actually, she was rather hot. Definitely a minx Neve wouldn't even hesitate to mosey on up to at the bars if the situation was different. But? It wasn't and right now, she was thinking with a one track mind that didn't exactly involve the act of carnal pleasure. Amazingly enough, she could do such a thing.
"I'm not gonna' shoot you, I'm not gonna' kill you. You just gotta' keep your calm and play this fiddle out one string at a time, okay?" She licked her full lips now and shifted in her seat--wincing now. That ache in her ribs was getting to be more than annoying and there was something aggrivating her lower back. She arched over some, and with her free hand she felt her lower back. A large, jagged piece of glass was wedged rather deeply within.
"Fuck me." She muttered. "Looks like it's just me having the bad day then. S'okay... Misery loves company, they say, right?" She muttered. Well, that piece of glass would be the reason why her lower back was feeling like hell.
"Okay, lissen' to me... If I can trust you not to take this car and drive it off the road, or drive it to a police station of any kind, I will put the gun away. I don't want to kill you or hurt you. You just... Happened to be in an inconvenient place at a convenient time." She closed her eyes briefly as her finger tips trailed over the glass shard. "I promise, I can--" She sucked in a deep breath, fighting off the stab of fire inside her. "--I can make this hastle worth your while. I'm just... Sorta' in a bad way right now. As if... That's not obvious all on it's own, heh." She sighed and shook her head some. "We're gonna' head to Vancouver." She finally said, answering the girl's question. "... By th'way... Nice car." A weak smile was then offered.
Lauralyn
The blood in her mouth was annoying her so she sucked at the wounds her teeth had made in her lip to stop the bleeding--common sense said that wouldn't work, but it did. The woman looked as if she was having a bad day as she said; Lauralyn could smell the coppery tang of blood clearly.
With how things played out thus far, she couldn't help but wonder if all of those red lights earlier were a sign from God. Not that she could never escape the city, but rather that she should go home before she got herself buried in some deep shit. But of course, she ignored His wonderfully opaque warnings, and now she had police following her and a woman with a gun in her passenger seat. It would be nice to have the gun put away, though.
She sighed, breaking the silence. "Okay. I can play by those rules." But she wasn't going to give control over that easily. Else she'd just be a tool at the woman's disposal, and she wasn't one to be used that way.
Her attempt to entice her with some sort of reward made her smile, though it held no humor. "I doubt you could make it worth my while. I already have just about everything I need." And unless you can bring the dead back to life, there isn't a thing you can do for me in return, she added to herself bitterly. She tilted her head, watching the woman out of the corner of her eye while glancing at the road every once in a while to make sure she was heading in the right direction.
"Canada, huh? I was actually hading this way, myself.." She trailed off, sighing quietly as she pulled onto the onramp and merged with traffic on the highway. A quick glance in her rearview mirror told her that only one cop was following them right now and wasn't doing a good job of keeping up. Aah, the blessing of having a car that went from zero to sixty in five seconds. She had Dylan to thank, for being a car nerd and souping up every vehicle he could buy.
"And thanks," she said after a moment. "It's my favorite car. Though, it happens to be missing a window right now, but that can be fixed."
Neve
Neve now ran her fingers through her chin length dark brown locks, a few strands spilled back into her face. She then locked the gun and tucked it into the side holster of her hip. She winced and then breathed out calmly, "Yeah... Sorry about that. I'll.... Get you a new car once we're there, if... You want." She grit her teeth, that shard of glass was going to have to come out. Her body was seriously starting to ache now.
"You were heading to Canada anyway, huh? Isn't that a coiencedence..." She steadied herself--she knew how to fix wounds like this, she had suffered from them before. She now leaned back over the seat and grabbed some of the clothing material. She ripped a strip off the baggy, long sleeved shirt.
"Look," She then said as the material tore. "I really am sorry about this. If you won't take cash... Mebbe, " She winced now and sudeenly shifted, pulling off her shirt. "I can paint you a pretty picture or somethin'. I'm pretty good with sentimental crap like that." She smirked inwardly, being a bit of a smart ass herself.
Her body was briefly exposed--sleek, smooth, curved in the way a woman should be. Yet? She was toned--muscle beneath that flesh, strong, and agile. "Not that you'd... Want a painting from... filth... like me." She then breathed out as she moved her hand behind her back and brushed her finger tips over the glass some. ".... Okay, go to a happy place, like... Disneyland. Haunted Mansion. Splash Mountain. It's a Small World. Galaxy Mountain...." She then ripped the piece of glass out and groaned quietly, biting back the pain. She used the torn strips of the baggy shirt to now tie about her slender waist and were that wound was. "Jesus Christ and everything that's holy and decent... That fuckin' hurt." She muttered now looking at the shard of glass.
She put that in the back of the car and then glanced to the status of the car--fuel good, no over heating nothing wrong, good. She now slipped back into her shirt, breathing a small sigh of relief. "Once we get there, I promise I'll leave you be." Neve then said, green eyes glancing to the girl. "I really don't have any beef with you at all. If anything... Thanks." She smirked. Atta way tiger, thank her for letting you break her window, stain her car, and point a gun in her face.
"So, you said you're heading to Canada anyway, right? That's good, your passport will definitely help." She setteled back in the seat, wincing some. "So, devoshka... Why the road trip to the land of canucks? Gotta' a beau waiting for you there?" She now asked, trying to break the tension--trying to pass the time. Might as well be friednly as the drive would be a little while.
Lauralyn
Lauralyn couldn't help but watch the woman from the corner of her eye, watch the agony of her wound bloom on her face. She was... rather striking, what with her chic but nonchalant look, looking cool and poised even when she was nearly writhing in pain. When she lifted her shirt, Lauralyn appraised her with a cool grey gaze, suddenly feeling inferior in comparison. Sure, she wasn't overweight and worked out from time to time and ate the right food, but this woman.. damn. It looked like there was nothing weak about her, while Lauralyn was all soft and gentle and helpless when it came to her physique. But that was neither here nor there; she was more interested in the wound in the woman's back.
"You don't need to get me another car; I can get one myself or just get the window fixed," she stated matter-of-fact after a moment of staring at the other woman. "But we could stop somewhere quick to get something for your cuts and bruises, though." No, of course she wasn't being soft on the car hijacker, she just didn't like seeing others in pain. Something about Lauralyn compelled her to help others, even if they didn't need or deserve any of it. Druggies, criminals... next I'll be helping child rapists get kids to fall in love with them. I'm fucked in the head something fierce.
Her comment about being filth made a corner of her lip quirk in what was beginning to be a smile, but she forced it away. No, this woman wasn't filth. She knew filth, and they usually decked themselves in the most expensive jewelery and clothes and lived in huge mansions and rolled around in all of their money like they hadn't a care in the world. She wasn't filth, per say. Just... not law-abiding? Or something. She wasn't sure where this train of thought was going, or why she was trying to defend the woman. Probably because she was all beat up and had...
Holy christ, a giant piece of glass in her back. She stared with wide eyes as she chucked it in the back seat like it was nothing and winced. "Jesus H. Christ," she whispered before glancing at the woman again and turning her attention back to the road.
"Why go to Canada?" she asked in response to her question. "Why not? Haven't been, yet. And no, I don't have anyone waiting across the border for me." She shot her a serious glance. "He's buried down in Cali."
Neve
Slowly she sat back against the seat, her movements almost like that of a feline, controlled, liquid, smooth and slinking. A few strands of hair now spilled into her silvery-green gaze, giving her a mischivious, androgynous, hip sort of look. She simply had the look for striking a pose--and it wasn't as if she didn't know it, she was well aware. But right now? The pose she was "striking" was one for deep thought and working out the plans in process.
She had completed the job and so far, from the looks of things, she was easily making a clean get-a-way. She moved her hand into her pants pocket and pulled out a silvery slip of a phone. She dialed in a text and then sent it. The phone looked very high tech--not the typical cell phone that could be bought in a store or online. It almost appeared to have a few extra devices or something on it. Neve then slipped it back into her pocket and glanced over towards her reluctant driver.
A pain of guilt flashed through her, the woman was young, no doubt frightened and agitated. Not to mention, the girl really was a fox--and of course, Neve was more than a sucker for pretty faces. But now was neither the time, nor the place... What mattered was at least crossing that border and tracking down her payment in one of her many accounts.
That job had been worth a LOT of money. A lot. She wanted to be sure she got every dime--she didn't work for peanuts, and she wasn't the type to be swindled. She licked her full lips gently suddenly longing for the taste of an ice cold beer--but that of course was pushing her luck.
"I can at least do that for you," Neve then said, nodding slightly towards her. "Fix that back window. Heh, I'm not really an asshole all the time... Just one to people who don't know me. Well, and one to those who do." She paused. "So, technically, that makes me an asshole." She smirked tentatively and then winced as she shifted slightly.
She thought about the girl's offer to stop, the thought mulled over in her mind. It would be risky business to stop--what if the girl made a break for it and decided to run? Contact the police? Do something bad...? But then again, how healthy was it that she had a gaping cut right in her lower back? She at least needed to sterilize it, at least. "If we stop somewhere, it'll be a little longer along the way. Also, I need to know I can trust you not to do anything that might chap my hyde."
She slid her fingers through her hair now and then reached into her pocket for her packet of cigarettes. "Mind if I...?" She held up the pack. If the girl said no, she could respect that. After all, this woman's hospitality was more than enough for the moment.
"Spur of the moment sorta' girl, huh?" Neve then asked a slight grin on her full lips. She then heard the quiet confession and arched a slender, dark brow. "Ah, gotcha. Sorry to hear that. California is... Uh... Nice." Okay tiger, that was themost retarded thing to leave your lips. 'California is uh nice.' Shmuck.
"My name's Neve." She suddenly said--feeling as though maybe giving a name to her face might add to some compassion. "Nice to meet someone else who apparently has a few skeletons in their closet as well." Another small, side grin was offered.
Lauralyn
A true smile curled at her pouty lips at the woman's admission to being an asshole. Well, that was new. Usually people were all, 'Oh, no I'm a great person! I do this and that and all sorts of wonderful things!' At least she was honest. Or lying to sound more like a badass than she really was. But how much more badass could you get after you jumped into a stranger's car and got chased by the police? In Lauralyn's mind, there wasn't much else. Unless you were the master killer, or the king--or queen--of seducing. Then you were just pimp.
"No offense, but I'm not quite comfortable using the money of someone who, ah..." She tried to think of an eloquent way to say it. "...hitched a ride with me without really asking," she finished lamely.
To cover her rather abysmal followup, she shrugged when she asked if she could smoke. "Just don't get ashes all over the place in here."
She was still mulling over whether or not she would try anything if they pulled over. "..As is, the way I see it, I'm an accomplice of sorts to whatever it is you pulled back there. Getaway car and whatnot." Here she grinned. "Police aren't the brightest bunch when it comes to the truth. Sooooo, me just running off after pulling over somewhere wouldn't be wise. And they'd take my car for evidence, too. And I like this car." Lauralyn sighed and shrugged while again looking at the woman out of the corner of her eyes. "Despite that, if I'm going to have you riding around in my car, you're not going to be bleeding all over the place. Leather's a right bitch to get blood out of."
Oh, she knew that for a fact. How many times had Dylan called her, begging her to pick him up from whatever drughouse he was crashing in, whining that he wanted to kill himself and that he wanted it all to end. But of course she stuck by him, took him home, let him bleed his pretty little pale arms all over her car as he tried to cover the cuts he made with a razor while in a drug-induced stupor. Fuck, this was like a routine for her. Pick up some crazy person bleeding all over the place, and take them wherever they wanted. She was the Bleeding-to-Death Cab. Before she knew it, she'd be getting calls from the entire city of Seattle, begging for rides to the hospital or to the bar or home or other bullshit places.
Lauralyn wasn't aware that her thoughts were twisting her face into a frown, and she quickly smoothed her features over with a passive look. "Neve, huh? I'm Lauralyn." She smiled faintly before returning her attention to the road as she passed a slow-moving car.
Neve
Her window was now cracked some. As a smoker--she was at least a polite one, though the habbit in general clearly wasn't the best to have. Then again, her whole life wasn't the best to have. She pulled out her zippo, fighting off the stab of pain and lit up, taking in a deep drag. She then blew out a plume of grey-blue smoke, directing it to waft right out the cracked window. She then glanced back to her hostage (because, face it, that's what the poor girl was--a hostage) and nodded her head.
"Makes sense. I often wondered what it would be like to have those healthy morals... Money to me is money, no matter how dirty, I'll take it." She smirked bitterly and then glanced to the traffic briefly.
"Car-jacked, devoshka. Call it like it is. Never forget, I'm the bad guy here--well, girl." She licked her lips. "As far as any police are concenred, I'm still a guy--black and stocky I'd assume." She took another drag and then ashed out the window. She then laughed quietly--the ache pain suddenly making her wish she hadn't.
"Y'know, you're definitely right. Leather's a bitch to clean. But, between us girls, I gotta' admit, still feels good when on the skin." She flashed the girl a cheshire grin, playing off that mischivious look she seemed to carry so well. She noticed the faint frown on the woman's lips and once again, that never-fading guilt rose up and attacked her.
"...Thank you, for this, Lauralyn. If anything, I probably deserved to cut in half or ran over back there. I know I don't deserve this sorta' strange stroke of luck. But I got that damned human instinct inside of me, need to survive. Haven't figred out how to turn it off yet." She sighed and then tapped her loose ash out the window. She was quiet for a moment or two, her eyes taking second to drink in the girl's form. Soft, sleek, tender, feminine... Beautiful. Yeah, she really was a sucker for the pretty ones. Suddenly?
A rather, deep, thought-provoking question rose to her mind and before she could censor herself, it escaped her lips. "....Is this how you thought it'd be? Life? Heh... Listen to me." She shook her head. "I'm sorry, you don't hafta' answer. I'm rambling." She took another drag off her cigarette. "... I always thought I was somethin' different. Somethin' special when I was kid. Like I was an alien or a super hero with powers that were just waiting to come out at the right time. Thought I'd be able to save lives and fly off to fight the bad guys." She smirked some. "Funny. I'm one of those bad guys now. Life kinda' has that way of shittin' on you if you let it. Guess I let it. Got no one to really blame except for myself." She shrugged some and then scooted forward a bit so she wouldn't be leaking any blood on Lauralyn's upholstery.
"You have a pretty name." She then said. "It's unique. Reminds me of a sunflower." She tapped more ash out the window. Might as well make this time as enjoyable as possible, right?
Lauralyn
Lauralyn split her attention between Neve and the road, letting her talk as she needed. "Leather only feels good when you're not sweating," she interjected, flashing her own grin in return. Dylan loved leather pants and always complained about them chaffing in all the wrong ways when it was hot outside and he was sweating. She told him to wear underwear when wearing the leather pants so his balls wouldn't be rubbing against the material, at which he replied, "Well, then it loses all its sex appeal!" The memory filled her with a sense of melancholy, which she fought away with a vengence.
Neve was right, after all. She was car-jacked. It wouldn't be a good idea to get all spacy with an armed criminal in her passenger seat.
When Neve began to talk again, Lauralyn let it wash over her, taking in everything she said. It all seemed so familiar. She could see Dylan sitting like that, smoking a cigarette--though not bothering to keep the ashes out of her car no matter what she demanded--and talking about everything and nothing while she took it all in like a sponge. That's all he ever needed from her, really. Someone to listen. Maybe that's just what Neve needed right then, or maybe she wanted some conversation. But how do you reply to someone pretty much summarizing their life story into a few choice sentences? In between a rock and a hard place, she was. Heaven forbid something she did reply to sent Neve off the deep end and she'd get herself shot, despite what she said about not wanting to shoot her. When people were angry, they did stupid shit.
But Neve's comment on her name threw her off-guard. "A sunflower?" she repeated, taking in a breath and slowly releasing it. Jesus Christ, what was she going to do next, shoot up some heroine in her arm? Damn Neve for remind her of Dylan. Only a year in his grave and she was already going crazy with grief, seeing him in everything that people did.
"Aah, thanks. Someone else told me that, once." Lauralyn let her tongue play with the incisions on her lip that she caused before, letting the sting of her tongue toying with the loose skin keep her grounded. For a while she drove in silence, staring ahead blankly as she drove by instinct.
"I used to think I was something special, too," she started after a moment of silence on her part, "You know, the person that could make everything better and set the world right. Got those dreams dashed rather quick, though." She didn't say anything after that; she didn't know what else to say.
It's amazing how fast I can think and produce plot and story when there's someone there interacting with me in their own way.
...Maybe I should get someone to roleplay some RikuSora with me so I can get back into the flow of typing my ideas without thinking about them.
But that's besides the point. Here's some of the RP I've started with this supercool chick.
Neve
I'm a joker, I'm a smoker, I'm a midniiiight toker! Damn! That song had been stuck in her head ever since yesterday! Wasn't there a cure for such a stupid issue? Yeah like actually using that lovely mind of yours to think straight, tiger. Ha, she was a real crack up, wasn't she?
She glanced out the window of the three story bar--how ritzy was this place? It was so fashionable it was too good to sit idlly on the ground like all the rest of the loser-y drinking spots. Psh, whatever. Ten dollar martinis? Hell no. Not that she couldn't afford it--because indeed, she could. But to pay that much for a drink when a cool beer from the back of a fridge cause much more pleasure?
Again, whatever.
She remained at the bar, dressed in rather large, baggy clothing disguising her figure rather well. If anything, she looked like a short, rather stocky male--and that was the point. A wig of thick dark brown curly hair was worn over the prostetic face mask--making her skin look black. On the whole? Neve Carnivine was playing the part of some heavy set black male, dressed nice enough to get into such a bar down town, but not nice enough to gain the attention of much of anyone.
She glanced for her target... Victor P. James--a retiring police officer who had on his free time made some shift deals with the mob... deals he owed a lot of money for and never paid off. Intended to never pay off--hence this early retirement party his local friends and co-workers--all cops were throwing for him.
Of course she would be given such a risky job... She had a style about her, a grace--she was smooth and hadn't ever been caught once. She had no cool nick name like those involved in the underground crime business. She wasn't Neve "the Ice Box" Carnivine. She wasn't known as "Hot Shot" or "Kitten Killer" or some other Hollywood dreamed up nickname. She was Neve to those she conducted business with, and she was "Shit!" or "Fuck!" to those she put bullets through. A hired gun. An assassin. A mercernery. A woman with compromised morals in the name of money's sake... That's what Neve Carnivine was and that's what she excelled in doing.
Right now, ol' Victor James had fucked up with the Russian Mafia something fierce, and Neve was there to rectify the situation. The only problem was... The fire escape route was being blocked by another celebration party of sorts--and this was not good. She needed a fast exit and the only one she saw? That damn window. Some people call me the space cowboy! If only... She needed to be flying right about now.
As the cops sang their cheers for their retiring about-to-be-dead comrade, Neve took the advantage of the great view she had of the poor bastard. Her silvery hand gun, a DD .44 Distovi was pulled out with silencer affixed and suddenly pushing herself back from the bar, she did a running dive--gun pointed back and a flurry of bullets sprayed out, striking Victor James int he head two times and the throat once. The man went down like a sack of bricks--dead as a door nail. And by the time the cops had their own guns pulled?
She shot out the window and made the three story leap of faith.
Last she recalled, a dumpster had been below the bar... And as she fell? She was wrong. She was about two feet off. Instead? She the hit the glass of a car's wind sheild, the wind knocked out out of her. She took no time to feel the impact of the blow and instead rolled off and ran into the street, narrowly avoiding being hit by an on-coming car. She ran up to the closest car stopped at the stop and without hesitation broke the back window of the car and jumped in. Her gun now aimed squarely at the driver she shouted out, "DRIVE! DRIVE NOW!"
Lauralyn
Sometimes you just gotta drive, you know? No destination in mind, no purpose. Just you and the wide open road. The only issue? Her wide open road was a street heading away from the downtown area. How could she even hope of being on the open road if every bloody stoplight on the way out of town was going to turn red as soon as she got close?
Maybe it was God's way of telling her to go home, curl up on the couch with a couple of wine coolers, and watch another Gilmore Girls' marathon; that there was no way that she'd be able to escape the cramped, bustling city life, that she'd be breathing smog for the rest of her life.
The light turned green and she sighed, stepping on the gas towards another light that decided to turn red.
Yep. It was a sign from the heavens.
As she waited at the light for the tenth time in the last half hour, Lauralyn leaned back into her plush leather seats and rolled down her window. It was a little breezy outside with a hint of that comforting smell that comes in before it decides to rain. There wasn't a cloud in the sky, but the smell said it wouldn't be like that for long. Pedestrians eyed her car and whispered to each other, pointing. Yeah yeah, she had some fancy car. Did she know what kind it was? Hell no. Just something she inherited when her Dylan decided to bite the bullet and overdose on cocaine. At the time of their engagement, she didn't have a clue that he was absolutely loaded, but when she got a letter from his lawyer requesting her presense at the reading of his will, well. There wasn't much left to the imagination after that one.
Ah, the light was green. She hit the gas again, pouting slightly as, again, the light ahead turned red. This was like the Redlight District without the stripclubs, she noted with a huff as she crossed her arms. She felt a little warm in her long-sleeved navy blue shirt from some expensive place--most likely Sacs Fifth Avenue since she could afford it now--and rolled up her sleeves. God damn, this light was taking forever! And wha--
"WHAT THE FUCK!" Her head whipped around as something, rather, someone, came crashing into her back window. A few choice words were right on the tip of her tongue, but she bit them back when she found the barrel of a gun pointing straight at her face. Without a second thought, she complied to the madman--or was it a woman? What the hell!--and his demand, slamming her foot on the gas pedal and flying through the intersection. There were oncoming cars, but she didn't pay them any mind; who gave a shit if they got into accidents if she got a bullet in the back of her head? From the honking and the sound of metal tearing, she had caused an accident, but she didn't care. All that mattered was that she drove and kept the crazy person from blowing her brains out.
Neve
Just like that, the car took off and Neve was now on her knees--ignoring the burning painful sensation in her rib cage and lower back. She'd tend to it later. Right now? It was all about seeing if the cops were following or not. Surely there was no way they'd get down as fast as she had--unless they too jumped. But, if she knew cops well enough, the lazy ass fuckers wouldn't even take an extra step if need be the case. Still, she needed to be far away and on a freeway of sorts. Get the hell off side streets. Being in the downtown Seattle location, the roads here were narrow--allowing for piss poor "get-a-way" chases... Not that she was certain the construction workers were thinking about such driving whilst building their roads.
Think, Neve, think! She instantly shedded her mask and wig now--peeling off the prostetics and tossing them under the passenger car's seat with her free hand. "Get to the freeway." She said firmly, hiding the ache of pain from her tone. She needed complete and utter control here, needed to be calm so her current hostage would stay calm.
Shit. Not that she wanted a hostage--she had just planned the aftermath of her job a little poorly. She had intended to use the fire escape--intended to shed the clothing once she got to the lower levels of the bar and then randomly walk out as if nothing ever happened. She had the power of illusion on her side. But? Those plans had been blown to shit and she had to act fast. Acting fast apparently looked to bring in another life to her own crazy one.
A mercernery with a heart? Sort of.
Mainly Neve never got close to her targets. She studied what she needed to know about them and then axed them. She never really got close to anyone--unless they were one night stands or selling her some prime blow. And this woman in the car with her? She was neither. Sorry girl, don't mean to do this to either of us but I'm between a rock and a hard place. The thoughts to the woman were silent and all she said? "Take a left up here on 7th." Nice and smooth, Neve. Real nice. "Whatever you do, you keep driving and you drive damned safe and damned good like a fuckin' pro, all right? No more accidents. No more anything. Just nice and easy, you got it?" She then said, shaking her hair out some.
The shorter, chin length dark brown locks now slid about her slender, pale face in a chic carefree sort of look. So, she was a girl. She then slipped out of her clothes--taking only a few seconds to pull them off (clearly she had done this before) revealing a form fitting silken black short sleeved shirt over black cargo slightly loose pants. Chic, stylish, classy and yet casual.
"Comin' up to the front--just stay cool, devoshka." She now said as she did just as she described. Her lithe, slender form moved up to the empty passenger seat and she then sat back--that silvery gun still very much out in the open, gripped tightly and pointed to the driver. She looked forward, her face hard set, cold. She was silent a while before she finally said--quietly, "....Been a bad day for both of us, looks like."
Lauralyn
Her teeth bit into her lower lip with such a ferocity that she could taste her blood. Good lord, it was hard to keep her smartass comments to herself. It'd been at least a year since she'd been flustered to this point, but damn! If it wasn't for the gun pointed at her head, she would be mouthing off like an angry Catholic girl caught screwing one of her teachers. Just stay calm, Lyn. The more you think about it, the worse it's gonna get.
She didn't even bother nodding when the crazybitch--as she has decided to deem the wacko in her backseat--demanded she head for a highway, fearing that nodding would somehow piss them off and they'd decide to shoot her in the leg or something. Not as bad as the head but she wasn't fond of pain. She kept biting at her lip as the person moved around behind her. What were they doing, the tango? Worming around like that was frustrating her to no end because she wasn't sure what the hell they were doing. Maybe it was a bomb or something. Or a rope to strangle her with. Well, if that was the case, she wouldn't go down without a fight. She had a car to her disposal; would be rather hard to get away with a crime if her car suddenly flew off the road and careened into a building or something equally horrible. She was seriously considering the idea, but decided against it. It would do no good to die when all she wanted was to get the hell away from the madman... or whatever.
Her lips curled into a sneer when the person decided to comment on her driving, directing her towards the highway. "I'm sure it would be plenty easier to drive if there wasn't a fucking gun pointing at my head," she snapped out before biting her lip again. She really should keep the smartass comments to herself. Really. But otherwise, she did as the person commanded, driving as if there were nothing wrong. She took the left on 7th street and cruised on down the road towards the onramp. When the person slid into the passenger seat, she couldn't help but glance over and almost gasped.
Jesus Christ, the woman didn't look much older than her, and there she was, hijacking a car and taking a hostage. What the shit wasn't wrong with this picture? Thankfully she didn't make any flippant comments and just drove, dark grey eyes darting to the gun every moment or so to see if it was still there. The woman's comment made her scowl. "It wasn't bad until ten minutes ago, actually," she snapped again, fingers curling around the wheel in a vicegrip. "...Where are we heading, anyway?"
Neve
A dark, thin brow arched and her silvery green gaze seemed to twinkle in sudden quirky admiration of the woman's tenacity to actually "bite" back verbally. Fiesty. A twinge of guilt played through her momentarily--she really, really hadn't intended to do this, hadn't intended to involve someone else--but that was the way things played out.
She glanced behind her--seeing three cop cars now turn left onto 7th street as well. Shit. So far, their lights weren't flashing, but that didn't mean they didn't know what was up. Perhaps they were playing them out? Perhaps they knew? They needed to get onto the highway, maybe take it up to Canada? Vancouver was incredibly close... About two or three hours at most away.
She kept a keen grey-green eye on the cops, watching them as they appeared to linger back. She then glanced to the woman, the girl wasn't bad looking... Actually, she was rather hot. Definitely a minx Neve wouldn't even hesitate to mosey on up to at the bars if the situation was different. But? It wasn't and right now, she was thinking with a one track mind that didn't exactly involve the act of carnal pleasure. Amazingly enough, she could do such a thing.
"I'm not gonna' shoot you, I'm not gonna' kill you. You just gotta' keep your calm and play this fiddle out one string at a time, okay?" She licked her full lips now and shifted in her seat--wincing now. That ache in her ribs was getting to be more than annoying and there was something aggrivating her lower back. She arched over some, and with her free hand she felt her lower back. A large, jagged piece of glass was wedged rather deeply within.
"Fuck me." She muttered. "Looks like it's just me having the bad day then. S'okay... Misery loves company, they say, right?" She muttered. Well, that piece of glass would be the reason why her lower back was feeling like hell.
"Okay, lissen' to me... If I can trust you not to take this car and drive it off the road, or drive it to a police station of any kind, I will put the gun away. I don't want to kill you or hurt you. You just... Happened to be in an inconvenient place at a convenient time." She closed her eyes briefly as her finger tips trailed over the glass shard. "I promise, I can--" She sucked in a deep breath, fighting off the stab of fire inside her. "--I can make this hastle worth your while. I'm just... Sorta' in a bad way right now. As if... That's not obvious all on it's own, heh." She sighed and shook her head some. "We're gonna' head to Vancouver." She finally said, answering the girl's question. "... By th'way... Nice car." A weak smile was then offered.
Lauralyn
The blood in her mouth was annoying her so she sucked at the wounds her teeth had made in her lip to stop the bleeding--common sense said that wouldn't work, but it did. The woman looked as if she was having a bad day as she said; Lauralyn could smell the coppery tang of blood clearly.
With how things played out thus far, she couldn't help but wonder if all of those red lights earlier were a sign from God. Not that she could never escape the city, but rather that she should go home before she got herself buried in some deep shit. But of course, she ignored His wonderfully opaque warnings, and now she had police following her and a woman with a gun in her passenger seat. It would be nice to have the gun put away, though.
She sighed, breaking the silence. "Okay. I can play by those rules." But she wasn't going to give control over that easily. Else she'd just be a tool at the woman's disposal, and she wasn't one to be used that way.
Her attempt to entice her with some sort of reward made her smile, though it held no humor. "I doubt you could make it worth my while. I already have just about everything I need." And unless you can bring the dead back to life, there isn't a thing you can do for me in return, she added to herself bitterly. She tilted her head, watching the woman out of the corner of her eye while glancing at the road every once in a while to make sure she was heading in the right direction.
"Canada, huh? I was actually hading this way, myself.." She trailed off, sighing quietly as she pulled onto the onramp and merged with traffic on the highway. A quick glance in her rearview mirror told her that only one cop was following them right now and wasn't doing a good job of keeping up. Aah, the blessing of having a car that went from zero to sixty in five seconds. She had Dylan to thank, for being a car nerd and souping up every vehicle he could buy.
"And thanks," she said after a moment. "It's my favorite car. Though, it happens to be missing a window right now, but that can be fixed."
Neve
Neve now ran her fingers through her chin length dark brown locks, a few strands spilled back into her face. She then locked the gun and tucked it into the side holster of her hip. She winced and then breathed out calmly, "Yeah... Sorry about that. I'll.... Get you a new car once we're there, if... You want." She grit her teeth, that shard of glass was going to have to come out. Her body was seriously starting to ache now.
"You were heading to Canada anyway, huh? Isn't that a coiencedence..." She steadied herself--she knew how to fix wounds like this, she had suffered from them before. She now leaned back over the seat and grabbed some of the clothing material. She ripped a strip off the baggy, long sleeved shirt.
"Look," She then said as the material tore. "I really am sorry about this. If you won't take cash... Mebbe, " She winced now and sudeenly shifted, pulling off her shirt. "I can paint you a pretty picture or somethin'. I'm pretty good with sentimental crap like that." She smirked inwardly, being a bit of a smart ass herself.
Her body was briefly exposed--sleek, smooth, curved in the way a woman should be. Yet? She was toned--muscle beneath that flesh, strong, and agile. "Not that you'd... Want a painting from... filth... like me." She then breathed out as she moved her hand behind her back and brushed her finger tips over the glass some. ".... Okay, go to a happy place, like... Disneyland. Haunted Mansion. Splash Mountain. It's a Small World. Galaxy Mountain...." She then ripped the piece of glass out and groaned quietly, biting back the pain. She used the torn strips of the baggy shirt to now tie about her slender waist and were that wound was. "Jesus Christ and everything that's holy and decent... That fuckin' hurt." She muttered now looking at the shard of glass.
She put that in the back of the car and then glanced to the status of the car--fuel good, no over heating nothing wrong, good. She now slipped back into her shirt, breathing a small sigh of relief. "Once we get there, I promise I'll leave you be." Neve then said, green eyes glancing to the girl. "I really don't have any beef with you at all. If anything... Thanks." She smirked. Atta way tiger, thank her for letting you break her window, stain her car, and point a gun in her face.
"So, you said you're heading to Canada anyway, right? That's good, your passport will definitely help." She setteled back in the seat, wincing some. "So, devoshka... Why the road trip to the land of canucks? Gotta' a beau waiting for you there?" She now asked, trying to break the tension--trying to pass the time. Might as well be friednly as the drive would be a little while.
Lauralyn
Lauralyn couldn't help but watch the woman from the corner of her eye, watch the agony of her wound bloom on her face. She was... rather striking, what with her chic but nonchalant look, looking cool and poised even when she was nearly writhing in pain. When she lifted her shirt, Lauralyn appraised her with a cool grey gaze, suddenly feeling inferior in comparison. Sure, she wasn't overweight and worked out from time to time and ate the right food, but this woman.. damn. It looked like there was nothing weak about her, while Lauralyn was all soft and gentle and helpless when it came to her physique. But that was neither here nor there; she was more interested in the wound in the woman's back.
"You don't need to get me another car; I can get one myself or just get the window fixed," she stated matter-of-fact after a moment of staring at the other woman. "But we could stop somewhere quick to get something for your cuts and bruises, though." No, of course she wasn't being soft on the car hijacker, she just didn't like seeing others in pain. Something about Lauralyn compelled her to help others, even if they didn't need or deserve any of it. Druggies, criminals... next I'll be helping child rapists get kids to fall in love with them. I'm fucked in the head something fierce.
Her comment about being filth made a corner of her lip quirk in what was beginning to be a smile, but she forced it away. No, this woman wasn't filth. She knew filth, and they usually decked themselves in the most expensive jewelery and clothes and lived in huge mansions and rolled around in all of their money like they hadn't a care in the world. She wasn't filth, per say. Just... not law-abiding? Or something. She wasn't sure where this train of thought was going, or why she was trying to defend the woman. Probably because she was all beat up and had...
Holy christ, a giant piece of glass in her back. She stared with wide eyes as she chucked it in the back seat like it was nothing and winced. "Jesus H. Christ," she whispered before glancing at the woman again and turning her attention back to the road.
"Why go to Canada?" she asked in response to her question. "Why not? Haven't been, yet. And no, I don't have anyone waiting across the border for me." She shot her a serious glance. "He's buried down in Cali."
Neve
Slowly she sat back against the seat, her movements almost like that of a feline, controlled, liquid, smooth and slinking. A few strands of hair now spilled into her silvery-green gaze, giving her a mischivious, androgynous, hip sort of look. She simply had the look for striking a pose--and it wasn't as if she didn't know it, she was well aware. But right now? The pose she was "striking" was one for deep thought and working out the plans in process.
She had completed the job and so far, from the looks of things, she was easily making a clean get-a-way. She moved her hand into her pants pocket and pulled out a silvery slip of a phone. She dialed in a text and then sent it. The phone looked very high tech--not the typical cell phone that could be bought in a store or online. It almost appeared to have a few extra devices or something on it. Neve then slipped it back into her pocket and glanced over towards her reluctant driver.
A pain of guilt flashed through her, the woman was young, no doubt frightened and agitated. Not to mention, the girl really was a fox--and of course, Neve was more than a sucker for pretty faces. But now was neither the time, nor the place... What mattered was at least crossing that border and tracking down her payment in one of her many accounts.
That job had been worth a LOT of money. A lot. She wanted to be sure she got every dime--she didn't work for peanuts, and she wasn't the type to be swindled. She licked her full lips gently suddenly longing for the taste of an ice cold beer--but that of course was pushing her luck.
"I can at least do that for you," Neve then said, nodding slightly towards her. "Fix that back window. Heh, I'm not really an asshole all the time... Just one to people who don't know me. Well, and one to those who do." She paused. "So, technically, that makes me an asshole." She smirked tentatively and then winced as she shifted slightly.
She thought about the girl's offer to stop, the thought mulled over in her mind. It would be risky business to stop--what if the girl made a break for it and decided to run? Contact the police? Do something bad...? But then again, how healthy was it that she had a gaping cut right in her lower back? She at least needed to sterilize it, at least. "If we stop somewhere, it'll be a little longer along the way. Also, I need to know I can trust you not to do anything that might chap my hyde."
She slid her fingers through her hair now and then reached into her pocket for her packet of cigarettes. "Mind if I...?" She held up the pack. If the girl said no, she could respect that. After all, this woman's hospitality was more than enough for the moment.
"Spur of the moment sorta' girl, huh?" Neve then asked a slight grin on her full lips. She then heard the quiet confession and arched a slender, dark brow. "Ah, gotcha. Sorry to hear that. California is... Uh... Nice." Okay tiger, that was themost retarded thing to leave your lips. 'California is uh nice.' Shmuck.
"My name's Neve." She suddenly said--feeling as though maybe giving a name to her face might add to some compassion. "Nice to meet someone else who apparently has a few skeletons in their closet as well." Another small, side grin was offered.
Lauralyn
A true smile curled at her pouty lips at the woman's admission to being an asshole. Well, that was new. Usually people were all, 'Oh, no I'm a great person! I do this and that and all sorts of wonderful things!' At least she was honest. Or lying to sound more like a badass than she really was. But how much more badass could you get after you jumped into a stranger's car and got chased by the police? In Lauralyn's mind, there wasn't much else. Unless you were the master killer, or the king--or queen--of seducing. Then you were just pimp.
"No offense, but I'm not quite comfortable using the money of someone who, ah..." She tried to think of an eloquent way to say it. "...hitched a ride with me without really asking," she finished lamely.
To cover her rather abysmal followup, she shrugged when she asked if she could smoke. "Just don't get ashes all over the place in here."
She was still mulling over whether or not she would try anything if they pulled over. "..As is, the way I see it, I'm an accomplice of sorts to whatever it is you pulled back there. Getaway car and whatnot." Here she grinned. "Police aren't the brightest bunch when it comes to the truth. Sooooo, me just running off after pulling over somewhere wouldn't be wise. And they'd take my car for evidence, too. And I like this car." Lauralyn sighed and shrugged while again looking at the woman out of the corner of her eyes. "Despite that, if I'm going to have you riding around in my car, you're not going to be bleeding all over the place. Leather's a right bitch to get blood out of."
Oh, she knew that for a fact. How many times had Dylan called her, begging her to pick him up from whatever drughouse he was crashing in, whining that he wanted to kill himself and that he wanted it all to end. But of course she stuck by him, took him home, let him bleed his pretty little pale arms all over her car as he tried to cover the cuts he made with a razor while in a drug-induced stupor. Fuck, this was like a routine for her. Pick up some crazy person bleeding all over the place, and take them wherever they wanted. She was the Bleeding-to-Death Cab. Before she knew it, she'd be getting calls from the entire city of Seattle, begging for rides to the hospital or to the bar or home or other bullshit places.
Lauralyn wasn't aware that her thoughts were twisting her face into a frown, and she quickly smoothed her features over with a passive look. "Neve, huh? I'm Lauralyn." She smiled faintly before returning her attention to the road as she passed a slow-moving car.
Neve
Her window was now cracked some. As a smoker--she was at least a polite one, though the habbit in general clearly wasn't the best to have. Then again, her whole life wasn't the best to have. She pulled out her zippo, fighting off the stab of pain and lit up, taking in a deep drag. She then blew out a plume of grey-blue smoke, directing it to waft right out the cracked window. She then glanced back to her hostage (because, face it, that's what the poor girl was--a hostage) and nodded her head.
"Makes sense. I often wondered what it would be like to have those healthy morals... Money to me is money, no matter how dirty, I'll take it." She smirked bitterly and then glanced to the traffic briefly.
"Car-jacked, devoshka. Call it like it is. Never forget, I'm the bad guy here--well, girl." She licked her lips. "As far as any police are concenred, I'm still a guy--black and stocky I'd assume." She took another drag and then ashed out the window. She then laughed quietly--the ache pain suddenly making her wish she hadn't.
"Y'know, you're definitely right. Leather's a bitch to clean. But, between us girls, I gotta' admit, still feels good when on the skin." She flashed the girl a cheshire grin, playing off that mischivious look she seemed to carry so well. She noticed the faint frown on the woman's lips and once again, that never-fading guilt rose up and attacked her.
"...Thank you, for this, Lauralyn. If anything, I probably deserved to cut in half or ran over back there. I know I don't deserve this sorta' strange stroke of luck. But I got that damned human instinct inside of me, need to survive. Haven't figred out how to turn it off yet." She sighed and then tapped her loose ash out the window. She was quiet for a moment or two, her eyes taking second to drink in the girl's form. Soft, sleek, tender, feminine... Beautiful. Yeah, she really was a sucker for the pretty ones. Suddenly?
A rather, deep, thought-provoking question rose to her mind and before she could censor herself, it escaped her lips. "....Is this how you thought it'd be? Life? Heh... Listen to me." She shook her head. "I'm sorry, you don't hafta' answer. I'm rambling." She took another drag off her cigarette. "... I always thought I was somethin' different. Somethin' special when I was kid. Like I was an alien or a super hero with powers that were just waiting to come out at the right time. Thought I'd be able to save lives and fly off to fight the bad guys." She smirked some. "Funny. I'm one of those bad guys now. Life kinda' has that way of shittin' on you if you let it. Guess I let it. Got no one to really blame except for myself." She shrugged some and then scooted forward a bit so she wouldn't be leaking any blood on Lauralyn's upholstery.
"You have a pretty name." She then said. "It's unique. Reminds me of a sunflower." She tapped more ash out the window. Might as well make this time as enjoyable as possible, right?
Lauralyn
Lauralyn split her attention between Neve and the road, letting her talk as she needed. "Leather only feels good when you're not sweating," she interjected, flashing her own grin in return. Dylan loved leather pants and always complained about them chaffing in all the wrong ways when it was hot outside and he was sweating. She told him to wear underwear when wearing the leather pants so his balls wouldn't be rubbing against the material, at which he replied, "Well, then it loses all its sex appeal!" The memory filled her with a sense of melancholy, which she fought away with a vengence.
Neve was right, after all. She was car-jacked. It wouldn't be a good idea to get all spacy with an armed criminal in her passenger seat.
When Neve began to talk again, Lauralyn let it wash over her, taking in everything she said. It all seemed so familiar. She could see Dylan sitting like that, smoking a cigarette--though not bothering to keep the ashes out of her car no matter what she demanded--and talking about everything and nothing while she took it all in like a sponge. That's all he ever needed from her, really. Someone to listen. Maybe that's just what Neve needed right then, or maybe she wanted some conversation. But how do you reply to someone pretty much summarizing their life story into a few choice sentences? In between a rock and a hard place, she was. Heaven forbid something she did reply to sent Neve off the deep end and she'd get herself shot, despite what she said about not wanting to shoot her. When people were angry, they did stupid shit.
But Neve's comment on her name threw her off-guard. "A sunflower?" she repeated, taking in a breath and slowly releasing it. Jesus Christ, what was she going to do next, shoot up some heroine in her arm? Damn Neve for remind her of Dylan. Only a year in his grave and she was already going crazy with grief, seeing him in everything that people did.
"Aah, thanks. Someone else told me that, once." Lauralyn let her tongue play with the incisions on her lip that she caused before, letting the sting of her tongue toying with the loose skin keep her grounded. For a while she drove in silence, staring ahead blankly as she drove by instinct.
"I used to think I was something special, too," she started after a moment of silence on her part, "You know, the person that could make everything better and set the world right. Got those dreams dashed rather quick, though." She didn't say anything after that; she didn't know what else to say.