you have got to be fucking kidding me

[reapyourshitup]

You know, there are some nice things to be said for living on your own in a hut in the Hidden Hamlet. Aside from the cheesy as hell name, and the sometimes cheesy as hell neighbors (Anne of Avonlea and the little fucking mermaid are fucking next door? What the fuck is that shit?), it's nice. Cozy, quiet, and mercifully lacking in one George Lass

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[mr_vera]

Jayne was in the kitchen making a sandwich when he heard the gunshots, and wandered into the rec room, curious but not especially alarmed. Noticing the gun and the bullet holes, he snorted and shook his head. "Hell, I tried that once too," he said, taking a big bite of his sandwich. "Didn't do a gorram thing," he went on, with his mouth full. "I'd try usin' one o' my grenades, but I'd prolly end up blowin' a hole in th' ceiling."

[reapyourshitup]

Apparently that saying about speaking of the Devil and he appears holds true for thinking about honkies, too.

I don't bother to hide my disgust at his eating habits, giving him a dismissive look as I holster my gun. Even though he's like a fucking foot taller than me. "Probably," I drawl. "Were you raised in a fucking barn?"

I'm going to ignore the fact that I just pulled the same shit as this inbreed did. I'm tired and irritated and the mother fucking juke box is at it again, so I really can't be forced to care any more than to remind myself to never do it again.

[mr_vera]

"Nope," Jayne said, taking another bite of his sandwich. He ambled over and looked at the bullet holes in the jukebox, sticking his finger through one of them. "Nice. 9 millimeter?"

[reapyourshitup]

You'd think that after seeing how sarcasm hits Mason and just slides off like water, I'd figure out that sarcasm isn't a good tactic with these people. But I haven't.

"Yeah," I say, glaring at the jukebox as I sit my ass down again. "Fucking lot of good it did."

[youngestqueen]

Lucy had been about to go into the rec room with her book and some fruit she'd taken from the kitchen. At the sound of gunshots she yelped in shock, the bowl smashing on the floor at her feet. The look she gave the woman wasn't kind either. "I don't think you're supposed to shoot that inside."

[reapyourshitup]

You know, I'd almost feel sorry for scary the little girl, but then she had to give me that look. Did she really think it was smart to piss off the woman with a gun?

"And I know you're not supposed to tell your elders what to do," I retort, giving her a dismissive once over as I holster my gun. Goddamn thing was at it again.

[youngestqueen]

Lucy shook her head, "Actually, it was that one should always be polite to others, and that your elders are usually deserving of your respect."

She may have stressed the word usually as she bent down, picking the pieces of the bowl up.

[reapyourshitup]

"Well aren't you miss high and fucking mighty," I drawl dryly, rolling my eyes as I sit down to eat again. The song is going again, the lyrics practically pounding themselves into my brain even though the volume isn't that loud, and I know I'm going to have a fucking headache before this night is out. But I'm making a point of eating my dinner like nothing's disturbing me now.

[the_real_ray]

Anyone who'd been a cop as long as Ray had had a pretty instinctive response to gunfire: first, duck and cover; second, find out where the hell it was coming from. He sure as hell didn't expect Roxy to be the one holding the gun when he came to an abrupt stop in the doorway to the rec room. The bulletholes in the jukebox were a little less surprising.

"I think I've had days like that," he said mildly, waiting for her to lower the gun before he did anything.

[reapyourshitup]

Oh, shit. Ray had seen that.

Not like it really matters all that much, but this isn't exactly my best fucking moment. And he's in the IPD with me. I holster my gun without saying anything, muttering under my breath as the lyrics start up again.

"You've definitely never had a day like this," I tell him. I know, because I know he's never died and been taunted about that death by a fucking self-important, overgrown record player.

[the_real_ray]

"Maybe not just like this," said Ray, moving closer now that the gun was back where it belonged, "but I've got a whole list of things I've wanted to put a bullet in. How about we take it outside for a few minutes before someone comes by asking questions that are none of their damn business?"

[reapyourshitup]

Jesus, now I feel like I'm being chastised by my boss. Like a child. Maybe I deserve it. I did just shoot a jukebox. I'm not an idiot. I know that's fucking stupid. But I only did it because I was pissed and feeling like I'm being reprimanded like a naughty child isn't going to help my mood.

With a frustrated sigh I walk past Ray and out into the hallway, not stopping until I'm out in the open area in front of the Compound, hands on my hips and not about to make this easy.

[che_freeman]

He shouldn't have been surprised, that on an island full of white people, there was still a nigga with a gun shooting stuff for no good reason.

Huey was sitting in a corner of the rec room, face hidden behind a copy of The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran. When the gun went off, he looked over the top of it for a moment, shook his head, then went back to reading.

"You could just leave the room." He said.

[reapyourshitup]

I am not in the mood for this bullshit. Because what I really need is a smart ass kid on my case right now.

"And you could just shut the fuck up," I respond, giving him a look. "I'm the person. It's the machine. It's supposed to shut up when I want it to."

[che_freeman]

"And actin' like a nigga's probably not the best answer to that." He said, matter of factly, not even looking up. He'd been around for almost a week, and it was pretty clear that the damn jukebox was broken or something.

[reapyourshitup]

"Yeah, maybe if someone other than another fucking negro were judging me," I respond. Jesus Christ, we finally get more black people on this fucking island and it has to be a self-hating black kid. "If you have a problem with it, you can leave."

[londonreaping]

Mason was looking for Caprica. Or someone else as hot. But instead he found Roxy. And a gun. Still hot, but not the kind of hot he was looking for. Sometimes Roxy was a whole different kind of needing new pants. Most of the time. A lot of the time.

"I don't even disagree," Mason said, leaning against the doorway in a fashion that suggested (incorrectly) that he was smooth. "I think shit like that should be shot." He'd wait another few sentences before 'why did you leave me.'

[reapyourshitup]

"You don't even know what the fuck is going on," I shoot back at him, tired and annoyed as I shove the gun back into its holster. Great, this was really what I fucking needed. The jukebox giving me shit and Mason being a dumbass. Where was that Chris Cutter fucker when I needed him? They could distract each other.

"Don't agree to shit you don't understand. Makes you look like a dipshit or a brown noser," I tell him, settling back into my seat to eat my goddamn food before I throw the plate at the jukebox.

[londonreaping]

"I was talking about shitty music," Mason said, taking 'you're a dumb motherfucker' as 'I love you,' as usual. "...Isn't that why you shot it?" The circumstances surrounding Roxy's death were still a mystery to Mason, but he knew she was from around the 80's. He didn't make any kind of connection beyond shitty music.

[reapyourshitup]

Jesus, Mason. Try to be a little stupider, I dare you.

"Clearly," I drawl dryly, rolling my eyes as I pop a bit of fruit into my mouth. "Isn't that the point of having a gun?" I shouldn't use sarcasm with Mason. I really, really shouldn't. I probably regret this when he takes me seriously two seconds or two months from now, but I'm just straight up irritated.