@deadtimestorys: “ what have you done to yourself? ” from victoria ! — WYNNONA EARP STARTERS
' ahh, nothin' a coffee won't fix. you should see the other sidewalk. '
even if smiling didn't hurt like his bruised and battered face is about to fall off, he can appreciate some quick and easy confirmation that he looks about as shit as he feels. tells him how long he'll be standing in front of a mirror checking his back teeth, later. ( longer and longer the older he gets, seems like. )
it's not like he didn't have it coming. he'd been chatting shit down the grapevine for weeks trying to flush out a reclusive big fish. it's a good con: make out like some tosser's got a curse after him, get him well paranoid, then slide in like the savior christ and get paid for doing fuck all. only in all his rumor-seeding, he'd apparently slipped word on a failed deal that wasn't all public knowledge. the fucker decided he's the one who'd placed the curse, lackeys came a-calling, and he had to jump out a car boot. he's starting to get why most blokes in their seventies just play bingo.
still, busted in a butterfly cafe isn't the worst way he's ever ended up, even if the little buggers flapping around his head makes him want to crouch in a corner. he watches one of them settle on the register with wary eyes. ' i've read that some'o this sort drink blood, d'you know that? these aren't them, are they? '
