(no subject)
Lloyd knew that he was no criminal mastermind. It was the sort of self-awareness that came naturally after the fifth petty theft arrest or so, and delusions of grandeur weren't really his thing. He hadn't considered the matter in depth at the time, but looking back, his prospects hadn't been exactly awesome; chances were, if it hadn’t been for the superflu, he would have ended up spending most of his life in a cozy little cell, gone out the Poke Freeman way ('in a blaze of glory' was a serious overstatement), or gotten his ass fried in the electric chair. So, all in all, leaving his glorious life of crime behind him hadn't been a great loss.
Which is why when he'd found a pair of duffel bags chock-full of pot in the laundry room, Lloyd hadn't been exactly thrilled. It wasn't the normal, familiar kind of pot, either -- sure, there were a few pounds of the good old-fashioned stuff, but the rest was an assortment of pot lollipops, pot biscuits, pot chocolate -- even pot-spiked tea, for the more culturally-minded potheads. Now, he'd seen people lighting joints all over the place, and nobody was giving them a hard time, but possession was one thing, and two fucking bags went a little beyond that. The last thing Lloyd needed was a run-in with the law, which meant that he needed a plan. Simply dumping them was a possibility, but it seemed wasteful, and besides, the bags had his name on them, printed in nice, incriminating letters. Moving them in broad daylight wasn't a great idea, and there was a little too much of the stuff to cram it up his ass (though it would have made for an interesting experiment, for sure), so in the end, he had hidden the stash in the storage room for safekeeping.
Now, three days later, he had returned under the cover of the night to pick it up. He briefly contemplated going through the caves, but the caves were creepy, and he preferred to take his chances with the island police than get eaten by some giant mutant bat. Not to mention, he'd broken his foot in there once, on his previous criminal misadventure, and he thought the place could do with Warning: Real Shitty Luck Ahead sign.
On second thought, his whole life could have benefited from that warning.
After considering his options, he decided to go through the roof -- it was simple enough, was unlikely to get him munched on, and avoided going too close to the IPD office. He didn't have priors here (sure, there was that whole failed booze theft attempt, and he'd nicked that pink ball in Gilead, but that didn't really count), and it wasn't that he thought that what he was doing was strictly illegal -- he just has sneaking suspicions that it might not be entirely legal, and running into a cop with a guilty conscience was never a good idea... especially if that cop happened to be wearing the face of Robert De Niro.
Once he was up on the roof, he took a look around and then whistled for Jumper, who was parked by a nearby tree. In his mind, he saw the stallion galloping over, positioning himself neatly by the side of the building, and letting Lloyd jump right onto his back, like in the movies. In reality, however, the spotted horse wasn't in the mood for funny business, and didn't so much as spare him a look. Lloyd let out a sigh and began to climb down the ladder, a bag slung over each shoulder.
[Obviously, it's not actually illegal, but it's the middle of the night and Lloyd is a liiittle bit paranoid, so feel free to spook him, or just tell him he's a dumbass. ST/LT welcome, etc.]
Which is why when he'd found a pair of duffel bags chock-full of pot in the laundry room, Lloyd hadn't been exactly thrilled. It wasn't the normal, familiar kind of pot, either -- sure, there were a few pounds of the good old-fashioned stuff, but the rest was an assortment of pot lollipops, pot biscuits, pot chocolate -- even pot-spiked tea, for the more culturally-minded potheads. Now, he'd seen people lighting joints all over the place, and nobody was giving them a hard time, but possession was one thing, and two fucking bags went a little beyond that. The last thing Lloyd needed was a run-in with the law, which meant that he needed a plan. Simply dumping them was a possibility, but it seemed wasteful, and besides, the bags had his name on them, printed in nice, incriminating letters. Moving them in broad daylight wasn't a great idea, and there was a little too much of the stuff to cram it up his ass (though it would have made for an interesting experiment, for sure), so in the end, he had hidden the stash in the storage room for safekeeping.
Now, three days later, he had returned under the cover of the night to pick it up. He briefly contemplated going through the caves, but the caves were creepy, and he preferred to take his chances with the island police than get eaten by some giant mutant bat. Not to mention, he'd broken his foot in there once, on his previous criminal misadventure, and he thought the place could do with Warning: Real Shitty Luck Ahead sign.
On second thought, his whole life could have benefited from that warning.
After considering his options, he decided to go through the roof -- it was simple enough, was unlikely to get him munched on, and avoided going too close to the IPD office. He didn't have priors here (sure, there was that whole failed booze theft attempt, and he'd nicked that pink ball in Gilead, but that didn't really count), and it wasn't that he thought that what he was doing was strictly illegal -- he just has sneaking suspicions that it might not be entirely legal, and running into a cop with a guilty conscience was never a good idea... especially if that cop happened to be wearing the face of Robert De Niro.
Once he was up on the roof, he took a look around and then whistled for Jumper, who was parked by a nearby tree. In his mind, he saw the stallion galloping over, positioning himself neatly by the side of the building, and letting Lloyd jump right onto his back, like in the movies. In reality, however, the spotted horse wasn't in the mood for funny business, and didn't so much as spare him a look. Lloyd let out a sigh and began to climb down the ladder, a bag slung over each shoulder.
[Obviously, it's not actually illegal, but it's the middle of the night and Lloyd is a liiittle bit paranoid, so feel free to spook him, or just tell him he's a dumbass. ST/LT welcome, etc.]