Yyyyyyyyyeah, that's gonna be another no. [She hasn't had fleas yet. She would like to keep up this trend. Natty-ass motel blankets with various things caked on them is not going to be helping achieve this goal.] Just give me my duffel, and I'll be just dandy.
[Lia turns, surveying the wall and picking a spot where the wallpaper's not peeling near as much and leans up against it, fingers drumming out nonsense beats on her thigh just to have something to do. She fixes him with a withering stare before starting to slide down to the floor.]
How in the hell am I supposed to know? [She plops on the floor, knees up against her chest. A sullen shrug as she rests her chin on them.] I punched the prick and booked it the hell out of there. End of story until you decided there needed to be a buddy cop sequel.
[He makes an exasperated noise. Oh, so we're buddies now? he thinks, and rubs his eyes.] You're saying he's a liar, well, I'll talk to him once we've got you back in Lexington. Sort all this out. He'll have to come back to testify against you in any case, so who knows.
[He smirks, humorlessly, thoughts straying to Arlo and the cons that man would and still does try to pull.] Maybe it'll turn out he left it under his old top shelf magazines. Been known to happen.
[There's another pause.] Your duffel's in the car, and the car is in the shop, and the shop at this point is closed. You'll do with what we have.
[No. They are most definitely not buddies. Just one of the many reasons this sequel - like sooo many others - sucks ass.]
Bullshit that'll work. Know how I know? He says one thing, I end up in handcuffs. I say other thing, I remain rocking the bracelets. [It doesn't matter she's not in them at this exact moment. Shut up. Focus on the principle of the thing.
She lets her head thunk back against the wall with a groan as she mourns the cash she had in that bag. It'll probably all be ripped off by the time she gets out of this fucking room.] Goooooooooddamn it, but how you do suck. Like rooming with a freaking Hoover.
Bit cynical of you. [Probably right, but still. He leans his head back with a sigh as she goes on.] Bag's in the trunk, trunk's locked. It'll keep. Anyone ever tell you, you-
[He's interrupted by a pounding on the door. Raylan's hand immediately goes to his holster and he motions her back, pointing to the floor on the opposite side of the bed. He shifts to his feet, eases up to the edge of the door - not in front of the peep hole, since that's the first place any amateur puts a bullet - and slides his gun free of the holster.]
Yeah?
[A pause, muted voices, and then another impact against the cheap wood. It splinters and Raylan takes a step back so he can get a better angle to fire.] This is Deputy United States Marshal Raylan Givens. Identify yourselves, if you please, or I make that door and anything behind it into swiss cheese.
[A deep-voiced snarl answers him.] We want the girl.
[Raylan raises his weapon to fix on the chest area, below where the voice came from.] I don't believe that's an answer. Names and purpose, or I
( ... )
Cynical my ass. That's how things are and if you don't know it, you're dumber than I thought.
[And she goes back to glare at him some more. 'Keep'? 'Keep'? He wouldn't be near as calm about it if it was his whole life zipped up in a duffel bag in a totally skeezy chop shop.
She's about to say as much when the door starts getting the rough stuff. Scrambling to her feet, she's already off to the side (opposite the side with the bed, just to be contrary and to have more room to move) before Raylan does anything. Flinching as the door starts to give, Lia freezes when she hears what they're after.
Then she listens and sniffs the air, and whatever small bit of color she had to her drains in a second. The same part of her brain that blamed all of this happening on being in the South notes that her luck must really fucking blow that this is where she finally finds other werewolves. Really unwelcome sounding ones because they do not sound like they want to grab a cup of joe and chat.]
Shit. [Her fists clench and unclench at her sides and
( ... )
George! [In that fraction of a second that his attention shifts from the door, it explodes inward. Of course, he didn't lower his weapon. So the first man through goes down with a bullet in his chest and the next one takes a shot through the arm, and something is not right here. These men aren't moving like men should, particularly not men built the way they are.
The one he clipped turns on him and Raylan plugs him in the head, and then Raylan himself goes down under the weight of the third of the five men. He got a count between bullets. The size of the guy shouldn't mean Raylan can't move. He should at least be able to fight. But the stranger - stubbly, reeking of beer and piss and wearing yesterday's clothes - has him immobile and he can't seem to work an arm free to punch the guy in the face.
The stranger leers.]
Yeah, you gonna shoot me now? [He lets one of Raylan's arms go to reach up and drag off his shirt. Raylan winces as muscle, fat, and scar tissue are suddenly out there for all the world to see.]Well, if I wasn't
( ... )
[Lia is busy trying to scramble out the transom window above the toilet when she hears the door go. Cursing under her breath and shutting her ears to the gunfire, the sill scrapes at her shoulders as she tells herself that he'll be fine, probably, they're after her and they won't want to blow anything by going and biting at him, right--
Two things happen at once. She hears Raylan shouting and she feels a hand grip her leg. A high-pitched yelp breaks out of her throat before she can stop it, and then she starts kicking and flailing as hard as she can. Not that it does much good as she's dragged back and spun around to face a hygienically-challenged uber-redneck. But much as the rest of him is filthy, his teeth are shining white and clean and sharper by the minute.]
Goin' somewhere so soon, stranger?
[Lia shrinks in on herself, eyes wide and head sunk between her shoulders.] Look, man, I'm not looking to start anything here, okay, I was just getting dragged around by the guy out there and I didn't mean anything by showing up, hell, I
( ... )
[The schmuck is, at the moment, wrestling on the floor with another man that's quickly becoming hairier than a French hooker, and wondering precisely when his life decided to go this far sideways. He struggles to keep one hand around the wolf-man's muzzle, loses his grip, and ends up wrapping an arm around the thing's neck and hugging it close so it can't get its mouth around to tear out his throat.
So, it's while he's clutching a wolf to him in a stranglehold and scrabbling for his gun that the third wolf comes diving out of the bathroom to take out thug number... whichever. As though things weren't confusing enough.
The wolf he's holding flails free and rips into his arm as he brings it up again to shield neck.] Son of a bitch.
[Raylan scrambles for his weapon. He brings it up and puts three bullets in the wolf just to be thorough, throws the animal off, rolls onto his stomach, and trains his weapon on the black wolf from the bathroom.] George if that's you, kindly get out of the way.
[Her ears are folded back against her head at the repeated gunshots because shit, but those are loud and between that and the whole being rolled on top of because this guy is writhing and flopping around like a fish out of water, she's gonna end up with a freaking concussion.
It takes a minute for what he's saying to register past the noise, the smell of blood in her noes and mouth, and another to process who the hell is Geo- OH SHIT RIGHT. Lia unlocks her jaw and disengages, darting off and away because really. Really not wanting to get a bullet in her furry ass.
But she does look back over her shoulder, and it's ridiculous how even with a muzzle in the way, she can still manage that what the fuck is wrong with you expression. Seriously. How is he still all calm and cool and shit in the middle of all this.]
[As soon as she's clear, he shoots the man she tackled in the head. Getting up is a struggle, but he does it with a minimum of hissing. His left arm he keeps close, the gun he keeps at the ready. His shirtsleeve is starting to stick to his skin from the blood seeping from the second injury. The first has already gone into that numbness that only hurts when it's jarred.
The last thug is starting to come around. Raylan kicks the broken toilet seat out of the way and leans against the doorjamb.] Wake up, Chaney. That's right. Stay down on your tummy and put your hands behind your head.
[He glances Georgiann's way, suddenly looking a bit mystified.] Our friend's going to cuff you. You so much as twitch in a way I don't appreciate, and I'm well prepared to aerate your chest cavity.
[She flinches at the gunshot, staying low to the ground and watching Raylan warily, and after a moment - follows him toward the bathroom, peering around the corner at the guy she put down. Her eyes dart up to the Marshall ('On your tummy'? Is he fucking serious?) and then realizes oh.
Talking about her again.
She slinks back outside, and lets herself change back. She grabs the large flannel shirt off the one she'd bitten and tries to wipe the blood off her face. Rather calmly, she thinks to herself that she might barf up later as she buttons it up. It's lucky that she's as comparatively tiny to these guys as she is, since it means the shirt covers most everything - except for the giant hole in the shoulder, but it doesn't show anything.
Stepping carefully around the broken bits of porcelain, she tells herself she's not shaking, and only fumbles once or twice when grabbing the handcuffs off of Raylan's belt. It takes a moment to figure out how they worked (it looks so much easier on TV), and then she's shoving them onto the guy's
( ... )
George. [She's in shock; he can see it. The thing now is to keep himself on an even keel until she's taken care of and this mess is on its way to being cleaned up.] Come on out of there now, set yourself down at the table and call nine-one-one. Tell them we need an ambulance and local law enforcement, there's shots fired and at least two dead. Tell them Deputy US Marshal Raylan Givens asked you to make the call.
[He goes from body to body, checking each one to make sure they're immobile if not dead.] Four dead. One in custody, officer wounded.
[He sits down next to the tv, starting to feel that tinny hum that comes with blood loss.] You hurt? They do anything more'n bruise you?
[She's at least aware enough to grab at her pants before leaving the bathroom for the main room proper -
(seriously, how shitty was this motel that nobody's come checking up because that was an insane amount of noise and gunfire what even)
but doesn't put them back on yet. Her mouth is still bloody but she doesn't know where to spit except the bathroom and she's not going back in there. So she just crouches down by the table, resting on the balls of her feet in a flannel that's at least two sizes too big for her.]
What? [Her eyes go wide - white showing all around.] No. Fuck that. I'm n- I can't and they'll know and I don't want to go to Area 51 or whatever Area you've got in freaking Kentucky. No.
[...But he's hurt. Really bad. She can smell it and see it and he needs help and he has her clothes anyway, so. Mayb- No. Shaking her head, she hugs her legs to her chest as her brain spins in panicky circles.]
[He closes his eyes, trying to focus on reasoning with a terrified young girl who's apparently a werewolf.] I tell them what, we got jumped by some movie monsters and you're one of them?
[He lifts his wounded arm gingerly to put pressure on the hole in his shoulder. It's pumping blood out with the steady rhythm of adrenaline and a heart that hasn't realized it needs to slow down. That'll happen shortly, when his body starts panicking over the blood loss.] Seems to me like a local decided to try his pets out as partners in crime.
[He grits his teeth and squeezes the wound.] 'sides, I suppose I'd be going with you if I told tbe truth, wouldn't I?
[....Shit. That's something he didn't really think about until the words were in his head and out his mouth. He got bit. By a werewolf. By two.]
[She rocks on her feet a minute, gnawing on her lip. Then she gets up and smacks his hand away from the bite on his shoulder.]
Stop that shit. [Then she presses down - hard - against the bleeding. If Cleetus can still be cucumber cool about this, then she sure as hell can too. Hell, she will be subzero, that's how chill she will be just to show this hick how it is done, okay.] Even I know you shouldn't be moving that.
[Lia twists her neck to try and wipe more blood off her mouth on her shoulder. Lycanthropy spread through biting was basically the one bit of werewolf trivia she hadn't debunked. There just wasn't any way to really test that on without potentially fucking up somebody's whole life, and. Well, if this guy was, then. It'd be kind of shitty of her to just ditch him without knowing anything. Hell, look where she'd ended up. She swallows....You really think they'd. Y'know. Would that fly? Saying it was dogs? Cause you may be 'G' and everything, but if you're still a deputy at your old age, sorry, but you
( ... )
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[Lia turns, surveying the wall and picking a spot where the wallpaper's not peeling near as much and leans up against it, fingers drumming out nonsense beats on her thigh just to have something to do. She fixes him with a withering stare before starting to slide down to the floor.]
How in the hell am I supposed to know? [She plops on the floor, knees up against her chest. A sullen shrug as she rests her chin on them.] I punched the prick and booked it the hell out of there. End of story until you decided there needed to be a buddy cop sequel.
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[He smirks, humorlessly, thoughts straying to Arlo and the cons that man would and still does try to pull.] Maybe it'll turn out he left it under his old top shelf magazines. Been known to happen.
[There's another pause.] Your duffel's in the car, and the car is in the shop, and the shop at this point is closed. You'll do with what we have.
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Bullshit that'll work. Know how I know? He says one thing, I end up in handcuffs. I say other thing, I remain rocking the bracelets. [It doesn't matter she's not in them at this exact moment. Shut up. Focus on the principle of the thing.
She lets her head thunk back against the wall with a groan as she mourns the cash she had in that bag. It'll probably all be ripped off by the time she gets out of this fucking room.] Goooooooooddamn it, but how you do suck. Like rooming with a freaking Hoover.
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[He's interrupted by a pounding on the door. Raylan's hand immediately goes to his holster and he motions her back, pointing to the floor on the opposite side of the bed. He shifts to his feet, eases up to the edge of the door - not in front of the peep hole, since that's the first place any amateur puts a bullet - and slides his gun free of the holster.]
Yeah?
[A pause, muted voices, and then another impact against the cheap wood. It splinters and Raylan takes a step back so he can get a better angle to fire.] This is Deputy United States Marshal Raylan Givens. Identify yourselves, if you please, or I make that door and anything behind it into swiss cheese.
[A deep-voiced snarl answers him.] We want the girl.
[Raylan raises his weapon to fix on the chest area, below where the voice came from.] I don't believe that's an answer. Names and purpose, or I ( ... )
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[And she goes back to glare at him some more. 'Keep'? 'Keep'? He wouldn't be near as calm about it if it was his whole life zipped up in a duffel bag in a totally skeezy chop shop.
She's about to say as much when the door starts getting the rough stuff. Scrambling to her feet, she's already off to the side (opposite the side with the bed, just to be contrary and to have more room to move) before Raylan does anything. Flinching as the door starts to give, Lia freezes when she hears what they're after.
Then she listens and sniffs the air, and whatever small bit of color she had to her drains in a second. The same part of her brain that blamed all of this happening on being in the South notes that her luck must really fucking blow that this is where she finally finds other werewolves. Really unwelcome sounding ones because they do not sound like they want to grab a cup of joe and chat.]
Shit. [Her fists clench and unclench at her sides and ( ... )
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The one he clipped turns on him and Raylan plugs him in the head, and then Raylan himself goes down under the weight of the third of the five men. He got a count between bullets. The size of the guy shouldn't mean Raylan can't move. He should at least be able to fight. But the stranger - stubbly, reeking of beer and piss and wearing yesterday's clothes - has him immobile and he can't seem to work an arm free to punch the guy in the face.
The stranger leers.]
Yeah, you gonna shoot me now? [He lets one of Raylan's arms go to reach up and drag off his shirt. Raylan winces as muscle, fat, and scar tissue are suddenly out there for all the world to see.]Well, if I wasn't ( ... )
Reply
Two things happen at once. She hears Raylan shouting and she feels a hand grip her leg. A high-pitched yelp breaks out of her throat before she can stop it, and then she starts kicking and flailing as hard as she can. Not that it does much good as she's dragged back and spun around to face a hygienically-challenged uber-redneck. But much as the rest of him is filthy, his teeth are shining white and clean and sharper by the minute.]
Goin' somewhere so soon, stranger?
[Lia shrinks in on herself, eyes wide and head sunk between her shoulders.] Look, man, I'm not looking to start anything here, okay, I was just getting dragged around by the guy out there and I didn't mean anything by showing up, hell, I ( ... )
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So, it's while he's clutching a wolf to him in a stranglehold and scrabbling for his gun that the third wolf comes diving out of the bathroom to take out thug number... whichever. As though things weren't confusing enough.
The wolf he's holding flails free and rips into his arm as he brings it up again to shield neck.] Son of a bitch.
[Raylan scrambles for his weapon. He brings it up and puts three bullets in the wolf just to be thorough, throws the animal off, rolls onto his stomach, and trains his weapon on the black wolf from the bathroom.] George if that's you, kindly get out of the way.
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It takes a minute for what he's saying to register past the noise, the smell of blood in her noes and mouth, and another to process who the hell is Geo- OH SHIT RIGHT. Lia unlocks her jaw and disengages, darting off and away because really. Really not wanting to get a bullet in her furry ass.
But she does look back over her shoulder, and it's ridiculous how even with a muzzle in the way, she can still manage that what the fuck is wrong with you expression. Seriously. How is he still all calm and cool and shit in the middle of all this.]
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The last thug is starting to come around. Raylan kicks the broken toilet seat out of the way and leans against the doorjamb.] Wake up, Chaney. That's right. Stay down on your tummy and put your hands behind your head.
[He glances Georgiann's way, suddenly looking a bit mystified.] Our friend's going to cuff you. You so much as twitch in a way I don't appreciate, and I'm well prepared to aerate your chest cavity.
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Talking about her again.
She slinks back outside, and lets herself change back. She grabs the large flannel shirt off the one she'd bitten and tries to wipe the blood off her face. Rather calmly, she thinks to herself that she might barf up later as she buttons it up. It's lucky that she's as comparatively tiny to these guys as she is, since it means the shirt covers most everything - except for the giant hole in the shoulder, but it doesn't show anything.
Stepping carefully around the broken bits of porcelain, she tells herself she's not shaking, and only fumbles once or twice when grabbing the handcuffs off of Raylan's belt. It takes a moment to figure out how they worked (it looks so much easier on TV), and then she's shoving them onto the guy's ( ... )
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[He goes from body to body, checking each one to make sure they're immobile if not dead.] Four dead. One in custody, officer wounded.
[He sits down next to the tv, starting to feel that tinny hum that comes with blood loss.] You hurt? They do anything more'n bruise you?
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(seriously, how shitty was this motel that nobody's come checking up because that was an insane amount of noise and gunfire what even)
but doesn't put them back on yet. Her mouth is still bloody but she doesn't know where to spit except the bathroom and she's not going back in there. So she just crouches down by the table, resting on the balls of her feet in a flannel that's at least two sizes too big for her.]
What? [Her eyes go wide - white showing all around.] No. Fuck that. I'm n- I can't and they'll know and I don't want to go to Area 51 or whatever Area you've got in freaking Kentucky. No.
[...But he's hurt. Really bad. She can smell it and see it and he needs help and he has her clothes anyway, so. Mayb- No. Shaking her head, she hugs her legs to her chest as her brain spins in panicky circles.]
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[He lifts his wounded arm gingerly to put pressure on the hole in his shoulder. It's pumping blood out with the steady rhythm of adrenaline and a heart that hasn't realized it needs to slow down. That'll happen shortly, when his body starts panicking over the blood loss.] Seems to me like a local decided to try his pets out as partners in crime.
[He grits his teeth and squeezes the wound.] 'sides, I suppose I'd be going with you if I told tbe truth, wouldn't I?
[....Shit. That's something he didn't really think about until the words were in his head and out his mouth. He got bit. By a werewolf. By two.]
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[She rocks on her feet a minute, gnawing on her lip. Then she gets up and smacks his hand away from the bite on his shoulder.]
Stop that shit. [Then she presses down - hard - against the bleeding. If Cleetus can still be cucumber cool about this, then she sure as hell can too. Hell, she will be subzero, that's how chill she will be just to show this hick how it is done, okay.] Even I know you shouldn't be moving that.
[Lia twists her neck to try and wipe more blood off her mouth on her shoulder. Lycanthropy spread through biting was basically the one bit of werewolf trivia she hadn't debunked. There just wasn't any way to really test that on without potentially fucking up somebody's whole life, and. Well, if this guy was, then. It'd be kind of shitty of her to just ditch him without knowing anything. Hell, look where she'd ended up. She swallows....You really think they'd. Y'know. Would that fly? Saying it was dogs? Cause you may be 'G' and everything, but if you're still a deputy at your old age, sorry, but you ( ... )
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