prim.
“totally! just don’t spill milk all over my car.” prim replied without preamble, because her mind’s racing with a million and one words to put into paper once she sees complete and utter proof of what her informant sent her. she looks him up and down and nods quickly. “oh, yeah. if we’re getting caught, might as well look cool doing it.”
she pushed chris into his own apartment, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet. “dude, you cannot believe it. it’s somewhere in downtown brooklyn, and it’s a whole fucking shipment of cocaine and jewelry in one garage.” prim revealed, because she might as well let chris know what he was getting into. most of the time, he understood the risk. he wasn’t her getaway driver when things go to shit for nothing. “this guy stole millions from his own employees just to get a bunch of diamonds and nose candy to sell to his equally shitty rich dude friends.”
“Sweet,” he mutters, nodding his head a little even as he let himself be pushed backwards, socked feet sliding over to slightly on the fake wood flooring. He’s halfway to his bed room when Prim reveals what the guy has and he spins around on one foot, eyebrows raised at her, “Wait, for real? Like, a whole shipment?” Chris didn’t really know all that much about how smuggling worked –– despite what some people might think his only illegal activities involved a screwdriver and the occasional crowbar –– but a whole ship sounded like a lot. Without really waiting for her response he walks into his room, closing the door just enough for privacy but still open enough that they could continue talking. He knows he has a black hoodie around somewhere and–– “aha!” he mutters, pulling the hoodie out from under his pillow and over his head and swapping his sweats for his favourite pair of slightly ripped dark jeans. “Hey are my shoes out there?” He shouts as he digs through one of the drawers in his wardrobe to find the dark grey beanie he liked to save for winter and pulls it onto his head. It’s not every day you get to be part of a sting mission, he’s gotta look the part.
“Wait, he stole it from his employees?” Chris asks as he leaves his room, stuffing his phone into one pocket and the bottle of mace he’d picked up from someone into the other. “That’s fucked up man.” He frowns a little, sidestepping Prim to walk back in this kitchen and collect his bowl of cereal, holding the box up quickly, “Did you want any?”
