On A Train, London, It's Friday Somewhere
"Quickly!" Jeff hissed, jostling Steve with a good shove. "Do it now or it'll be too late! We'll be over-angling!" He shoved a finger in Steve's face. "We've been working too hard on this to over-angle, Steve, it's now or never!"
"Why are you doing this?" Steve asked; he had that sort of puppy dog look about him that implied he'd given up the fight hours ago and he was simply asking these things to be able to claim plausible deniability later. "You're going to wind up in jail, and I am not bailing you out. Again."
"This is our one chance to achieve the ultimate VAA, Steve!" Jeff declared, full of fire. He had... a mobile phone from two decades into the future. "With photo capability," he underscored again, like he had the past couple of hours as well.
Steve facepalmed. "Nevermind," he said, "I should be asking why am I doing this, because obviously for you it's simply in another day's work--"
"Quickly! She's moving!"
Steve sighed again, and cried an unconvincing, "You bastard!", shoving Jeff onto the ground as the Welshman fumbled with his camera phone.
Four hours later, when they were released from hospital, Jeff stared mournfully at his phone screen. "I got blood on the lens," he said.
Steve patted him. "There will be other skirts." God, he hoped not.
[[ ... open for phone calls if someone feels the need, otherwise establishy ]]
"Why are you doing this?" Steve asked; he had that sort of puppy dog look about him that implied he'd given up the fight hours ago and he was simply asking these things to be able to claim plausible deniability later. "You're going to wind up in jail, and I am not bailing you out. Again."
"This is our one chance to achieve the ultimate VAA, Steve!" Jeff declared, full of fire. He had... a mobile phone from two decades into the future. "With photo capability," he underscored again, like he had the past couple of hours as well.
Steve facepalmed. "Nevermind," he said, "I should be asking why am I doing this, because obviously for you it's simply in another day's work--"
"Quickly! She's moving!"
Steve sighed again, and cried an unconvincing, "You bastard!", shoving Jeff onto the ground as the Welshman fumbled with his camera phone.
Four hours later, when they were released from hospital, Jeff stared mournfully at his phone screen. "I got blood on the lens," he said.
Steve patted him. "There will be other skirts." God, he hoped not.
[[ ... open for phone calls if someone feels the need, otherwise establishy ]]