Tyra's coming out of the kitchen with a cup of juice in one hand and a sandwich int he other, and she's thinking, like she does every day, that maybe she ought to look for Tim's sorry ass, and then a kid materialises and runs right into the goddamn door.
Trevor had absolutely no idea what could have just happened. He'd been on the street, it was the middle of the night, and most importantly, he had not been in any sodding buildings but that apparently was argueable, as he was currently in one now.
Jerking and rubbing the growing bruise on his temple, he sat up and shot a glare at the girl standing nearby. "Oi, what the fuck just happened? Where's my fucking street?!" He had things to attend to, no time to sit on his arse and chat with some bird, even if she was nice and fit.
Scowling in a cross between simple contempt and confusion, Trevor rocked onto his feet and got himself back up, kicking at the ground and frowning as he inspected his new environment. Looked not too different from the Centre, and he sure as fuck couldn't be back there. He wasn't that high.
"Bollocks," he spat, finally landing his eyes back on the girl. Or more, on her thighs, and then tits, and then face. Damn was she tall.
"If this is another Centre, I ain't staying. No contract, no wankers spoon feeding me their shit, it ain't happening." Fuck all if he was signing a fucking contract.
Johnny was feeling restless as usual, and was heading out of the compound for a walk, when a scrawny kid just appeared and ran headlong into the door.
"Oh, good one, mate," he said sarcastically, just before he got a look at the swastika tattooed on the kid's forehead. His lip curled in distaste. Fucking hell, just what the island needs, he thought.
"Fuck you, wanker." Came an instant reply, dispite the fact Trevor was still staring at the sudden door with open surprise and growing contempt. There was no fucking way he could possibly be in a building, no way, but sure enough, he'd just proved that it was solid and that the fumes he often sniffed hadn't simply melted away his ability to percieve reality.
Staggering back to his feet and off of his arse, he looked around and spotted the wanker in question. Looked like a sodding bum, that one did.
Trevor pointed at the offending door and glared at the man. "Where the fuck is my street?"
Johnny calmly lit up a cigarette and regarded the little shit through a cloud of smoke. His insides were crawling a bit - he'd recently had the shit beaten out of him by a bunch of similar arseholes, except he didn't think they were Nazis - but he wasn't going to show it.
"Dunno where your street is, mate," he said. "Where's the last place you saw it?"
Just what he needed, a bum who thought himself clever. He really didn't need this, nor did he have time for it or understand it. He had to get somewhere, he hadn't quite decided just where that somewhere was just yet, but he knew he should have been on his way and not in a building that suspiciously resembled the Centre.
"Wanker," He spat, eyeing the hallway growing agression and distaste. "I'm supposed to be on the fucking street, where'd it go? What the fuck is this place, another Centre? I won't stay, not even if those bollocks swallowing pricks at the court say so."
"What was your first guess?" Came a snide reply, as even though his brain was still rattling around his skull as he recovered from the surprise, he was still quite capable of speaking without needing to think first.
It didn't make any sense, none. He was on the fucking street, at night, and either his brain had exploded and he was having some serious blackouts, or somone thought they were funny as shit right now.
He started to get up and turned to glare at the bird standing there. "What the fuck just happened? Where's my bleedin' street?"
She pretended to ponder that for all of a second, then cocked her head. "Probably right where you left it, yo. You're in, fuck, I dunno. It's an island, no way off, and there ain't shit to do. Welcome wagon duties, done," she sassed, holding up her hands. "Find someone else to be your tour guide, baby. I have shit to do."
Her swollen split lip ached from even that much talking, but she stood her ground. She wanted to leave, and his punk ass was blocking her way.
"Bollocks," he droned simply, staring at the woman with a deep frown and rigid stance as he tried to process what had happened. Maybe he'd given himself brain damage when he'd crashed into that police car, but he couldn't see how that had happened as his head hadn't hit anything. Fucking insane it all was, and he didn't have time to sit around chatting. He had somewhere he needed to be. Wherever that was, as he hadn't quite decided yet.
"Twenty seconds ago I was running down a street in England, now I'm in a building that looks too much like a Centre talking to some trash Yank bird. It don't make no sense."
Comments 110
Tyra arches an eyebrow.
"Ouch."
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Jerking and rubbing the growing bruise on his temple, he sat up and shot a glare at the girl standing nearby. "Oi, what the fuck just happened? Where's my fucking street?!" He had things to attend to, no time to sit on his arse and chat with some bird, even if she was nice and fit.
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Oh, yeah. Real nice. Pleasant.
"You ain't in Kansas anymore, Toto."
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Scowling in a cross between simple contempt and confusion, Trevor rocked onto his feet and got himself back up, kicking at the ground and frowning as he inspected his new environment. Looked not too different from the Centre, and he sure as fuck couldn't be back there. He wasn't that high.
"Bollocks," he spat, finally landing his eyes back on the girl. Or more, on her thighs, and then tits, and then face. Damn was she tall.
"If this is another Centre, I ain't staying. No contract, no wankers spoon feeding me their shit, it ain't happening." Fuck all if he was signing a fucking contract.
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"Oh, good one, mate," he said sarcastically, just before he got a look at the swastika tattooed on the kid's forehead. His lip curled in distaste. Fucking hell, just what the island needs, he thought.
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Staggering back to his feet and off of his arse, he looked around and spotted the wanker in question. Looked like a sodding bum, that one did.
Trevor pointed at the offending door and glared at the man. "Where the fuck is my street?"
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"Dunno where your street is, mate," he said. "Where's the last place you saw it?"
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"Wanker," He spat, eyeing the hallway growing agression and distaste. "I'm supposed to be on the fucking street, where'd it go? What the fuck is this place, another Centre? I won't stay, not even if those bollocks swallowing pricks at the court say so."
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She took in his ink and shoved her hands into her pockets. He was run of the mill bad-boy. Looked like the kind of loser she was a damned magnet for.
Trevor, right there on the back of his neck. Hard to miss it without any hair in the way.
"Yo...you'd be Trevor, huh?" she said slow and confident, stepping forward. "
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It didn't make any sense, none. He was on the fucking street, at night, and either his brain had exploded and he was having some serious blackouts, or somone thought they were funny as shit right now.
He started to get up and turned to glare at the bird standing there. "What the fuck just happened? Where's my bleedin' street?"
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Her swollen split lip ached from even that much talking, but she stood her ground. She wanted to leave, and his punk ass was blocking her way.
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"Twenty seconds ago I was running down a street in England, now I'm in a building that looks too much like a Centre talking to some trash Yank bird. It don't make no sense."
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