terrorisms: (jbta230)
mr actual bleeding heart gentleman mcbullets ([personal profile] terrorisms) wrote in [community profile] diademooc 2025-05-18 10:07 pm (UTC)

( Forty minutes, shit. Too long, not long enough. Just the right amount of time to be a pain in the ass — and if he takes off, it'll take him all forty of those minutes to find another place with coffee half as good that isn't full to the brim with assholes in every direction, no breathing room where a man can have a little god damn space to himself even though this city ain't half as crowded as it's designed to be. This is the first place he's found that didn't ask him if he wanted a venti but also doesn't taste like it scraped the grounds off the bottom of somebody's shoe.

Fine. This guy's waiting, Frank can wait, too. Besides, he sure would love to know what in the hell fishin' means. He moves to the front stoop of the joint, lowers himself down onto it with a grunt, and settles in with his elbows on his knees. Could he wait in the car? Absolutely, but what is he, twelve?

Got a light?

Frank doesn't smoke. That doesn't stop him from fishing around in the breast pocket of his jacket for a minute, fingertips seeking out cold metal. When he finds it, he tosses it under-hand Logan's direction. It's a zippo, freshly filled, and it ain't intended for cigars but rather the half-dozen Molotovs he's got packed away in the rear storage compartments of his minivan. Ammo's been hard to find; alcohol with a proof over 80's been easy. You never know when you might need a different problem in a hurry, and a Molotov's one surefire way to accomplish that. Literally.
)

Post a comment in response:

This account has disabled anonymous posting.
(will be screened if not validated)
If you don't have an account you can create one now.
No Subject Icon Selected
More info about formatting

If you are unable to use this captcha for any reason, please contact us by email at support@dreamwidth.org