OOC: log post
Who: Badou nicotine_patch, Dave oops_i_fell
What: Dave insists upon teaching Badou how to drive. Naturally, all hell breaks loose.
When: I don't fuckin' care, today?
Where: Varia land
Why: Badou driving a car, come on.
Rated pg-13, for swears. Which there are a lot of. THEY'RE NAILSES.
"My rickets hurt," protested Badou, as he was shoved bodily out onto the terrance. He continued his increasingly panciky sounding complaints as he was pushed along down the stone stepes, past the fountain, and over near the garage. "My rickets hurt real bad. And I think I'm constipated. Also I just got vertigo'ed."
"Stop your bitchin' or I'm gonna put my cigarette out on your forehead." Dave rolled his eyes at his freakishly lanky younger brother, and continued shoving him along, stopping just outside the open garage door. "I seriously don't know what you're so fuckin' afraid of. It's just a car."
"A vehicle made for running over nosy people made of tons of twisted iron and metal and shit that done gets exploded when it gets too hot," babbled the other redhead, trying to do some sort of back-pedaling walk but mostly just tripping over his own feet. "I DON'T WANT TO FUCKING LEARN HOW TO DRIVE."
Dave grabbed a handful of Badou's hair and gave it a good yank in order to prevent his escape. "You don't know shit about cars, just stop bitching and get in before I rip your fuckin' hair out."
Squawking like a bird with gastrointestinal problems, Badou's head was jerked sideways with the yank. Eyebrows knitting, his cigarette jutted out petulantly from between his lips. He frowned. "I ain't getting in."
Dave smirked, yanking again at Badou's hair. "Oh really?" he challenged, flicking his own half smoked cigarette onto the pavement. "And what makes you think I can't make you?"
"OWOWFUCKYOU." Scarred hand going to his head, Badou glowered from beneath his mussed hair. "I'll tell everyone who really threw up in the freezer."
Laughing, Dave pulled the driver's side door open. "It's me, Bad boy. What makes you think I care?" He pointed to the seat. "In."
Badou's eye snapped to the driver's side seat, to his brother, and back again. "Rickets?" he whimpered, still clutching at his head.
"No rickets." Dave replied unsympathetically, "You won't die. That's what seat belts are for. Hop in."
Puffing agitatedly on his cigarette, Badou did not Hop. Nor he did he Hip. And there was certainly no Hip Hopping. There was no movement of any kind from the lankier man- it was, in fact, as if he expected Dave to have forgotten he was there if he was very, very still.
Dave was not a T-rex. This did not work on him. Jurrasic Park was retarded anyway. "Don't make me put you in an arm lock. Get in."
"But-"
Dave put Badou in an arm lock.
"FUCK. SHIT. COCKWHORING JESUS. OKAY. OKAY."
With a small chuckle, Dave released Badou. "And don't try running, because I can and will catch you."
Threats not so lowly mumbled that Dave couldn't hear them distinctly [and maybe wonder at the anatomical possibility of some of said threats], Badou folded himself awkwardly into the driver's seat. He looked down at the many challenges presenting themselves on the dash board, swallowing. Being an only child must've been really cool.
Dave closed the driver's side door behind Badou, and walked around to the passenger's side, letting himself in. After buckling his seat belt, he handed the keys to Badou. "The first part is easy. I'm sure you know what to do with these."
"Jam them up my brother's ass?"
"Not quite, assfuck."
Sticking the keys moodily in the transmission, Badou started the car with a curse and a wince [a gesture he could patent, really]. Looking back to the dahboard, he glowered. Below, his feet fumbled on the gas pedal and the brake. "Now what."
"First, we need to back out of the garage. Put your foot on the break, and move this thingy to the 'R'." Dave pointed out said parts as he spoke, "and you only need your right foot. If we were drivin' a stick shift, you'd be usin' your left foot for the clutch."
Badou did as he was told, only, you know, not.
The car lurched forward, and a CRUNCH came from the headlights.
Dave. Was not amused.
"DO YOU NOT KNOW THE FUCKIN ALPHABET. R DOES NOT LOOK LIKE D."
"YOU ARE STUPID."
Shoulders hunching, eye wide, Badou gripped the steering wheel tight enough to make the imitation leather creak. "SHUT UP. I DON'T EVEN WANT TO FUCKING DO THIS. YOU'RE A FUCKING ASSWEASEL. SHUT UP. I HATE YOU."
With an irritated sigh, Dave put the car back in park. "Okay, chill. try it again, THIS TIME, make sure it's on REVERSE. Thats the R. It KIND OF LOOKS LIKE A P, but it has a little STICK on it."
"SHUT UP I KNOW WHAT A FUCKING R LOOKS LIKE."
The car lurched forward again. CRUNCH.
"OH MY GOD BADOU."
"D IS NOT R."
Badou lashed out, punching his brother in the head. A cloud of pollution was expelled from his mouth as he shouted, "SHUT UP. I KNOW. I JUST. I MEANT TO PUSH IT THE OTHER WAY. FUCK OFF."
Dave rubbed his head, giving Badou this look that said 'Oh my God you are so fucking lucky that I like you otherwise you'd be eating that steering wheel.' "How about you watch your hand and make sure it's in the right place."
Finally, finally, they began to back out of the garage.
However, since Badou was preoccupied with focusing on his hand [even after he'd shifted to reverse], the steering wheel went all the way to the left, scraping the car along the side of the garage as it pulled out.
Dave facepalmed a mighty facepalm. "Just. The break. Put on the breaks. I'm gonna. Learn you some mirrors."
Badou flushed smudgily, slamming on the brake. "SHOWERS, MIRRORS, OKAY, SHUT UP. I GET IT. I NEED TO IMPROVE ON MY PERSONAL HYGIENE. God fucking damnit." He flailed with the steering wheel, not sure what he was supposed to be doing with it.
"NO, idiot. The CAR mirrors. They help you NOT CRASH INTO SHIT." Dave pointed out the fucking rear view mirrors. "Okay? watch the mirrors and back out of the...No. You know what. Hop out. I'll back us out of the drive way. I think you should practice driving forwards first."
Seeing his chance at escape, Badou brightened, hand practically flying to the door handle. "Right, I'll just-"
Dave quickly snatched Badou's pack of cigarettes from his pocket, holding it hostage. "You're getting in this side." He let himself out of the car.
Badou growling the whole way, the Nails brothers swapped seats.
it smells suddenly
of burnt farts
who is burning farts
What the fuck
No fuck you
HAHAHAH
(Yes I left that in FUCK OFF RABID)
So there were apparently no farts. Dave punched Badou for farting anyway regardless of whether or not he had farted. HE THEN gracefully BACKED THE FUCKING CAR out of the probably longer then a highway driveway that belonged to those richass mafia fuckers (He'd blame the damage done to the garage on Squalo later) and pulled it flawlessly onto the convienently not-busy street.
For his part, the younger Nails brother looked unimpressed. "Ooo," he rasped at his brother's smug expression. "Aaa."
The elder Nails brother cocked his eyebrow. "I'd fucking like to see you do that."
Face still deadpan, cigarette dangling listlessly, Badou replied, "I'd fucking like to see you choke to death on a doggy dong."
Dave flicked Badou on the forehead. "That's an awful thing to wish for. You're up, bad boy." He let himself out of the car.
After switching again [and forgetting his seat belt a second time], Badou grabbed the steering wheel in twin vice grips. He grunted for a prompt, ash falling onto his trouser leg.
"Now, put the car in drive -that's the D, NOT the P- and press the gas. GENTLY." Dave double checked his own seat belt to ensure that it was indeed securely buckled.
Badou jerked the stick, flailed a leg twitchily, and the car peeled backwards. "OH FUCK OH FUCK OH FUCK," chanted Badou, until he realised that the car would stop if you jammed on the other one hard enough. Wait, which one?
"THE LEFT PEDAL, YOU FUCK." Dave had both hands on the dashboard in the 'JESUS FUCKING HELL I DON'T WANT TO DIE AGAIN' position. "DON'T TOUCH THE RIGHT PEDAL. LEFT."
"LEFT, RIGHT?"
"RIGHT! LEFT!"
"LEFT??? RIGHT??" Badou's feet slammed on both, then both alternately, causing the car to screech and waver.
"NO! JUST THE LEFT! LEFT!" Dave was almost positive that he was going to puke. If he did, it would be directly in Badou's lap.
The car accelerated even faster, until-
RAMONGONGONG. The rear end of the vehicle plowed right into a tree.
Fuck.
Dave's face met the dashboard. Ow nosebleed. "...Badou."
"I," rasped Badou, wheezing a bit, "think I ate my cigarette. Can I be excused now?"
"No." Ignoring his bleeding-like-a-waterfall nose, Dave lit himself a cigarette. "Put the car in drive."
"You
FUCK YOU"
"You're bleeding," said the other man, looking faintly terrified and mildly green at the prospect of Making it Go again.
"It's just blood." Dave wiped carelessly at his bloody nose with the back of his hand. "Get the car in the driveway and you're done. For the day."
"For the day?" snarled the redhead. He inhaled a big wheeze. "For the day?"
"For the day. Now put it in drive. No. I'll do it. Put your foot on the break. THE LEFT ONE."
Under Dave's barking orders, Badou slowly, slowly inched the car forward. His face was screwed up like he truly were constipated.
Gripping the door handle until his knuckles turned white(er), Dave kept a sharp eye on the road, glancing ocasionally over at Badou to make sure he wasn't shitting himself under the pressure. "That's good, give it a little more gas. A LITTLE more gas."
There was a gritty scraping noise as the kerb dragged along the bottom of the car. Badou wanted to shit himself under the pressure. "How much is a little."
Dave really hoped Badou wouldn't shit himself under the pressure. "Like this." Dave made a small guesture with his fingers, indicating a TINY BIT. TINY BIT. He gave Badou a small, encouraging 'YOU CAN DO IT LIL BRUDDER' type smile.
"What's wrong with your face," rasped Badou in a voice of horror on top of horror. He slowly, slowly inched the gas pedal down.
Dave shugged and chewed on his cigarette a bit, looking back at the road. "NOTHING. Just drive the car. You're doin' good."
If the twitch on Badou's face was a frantic smile, it was lost amid the other twitches also occurring. "Oh." He inched the accelerator down a biiiit more, bringing it up to Elderly Dog Out For a Walk speed.
And that was when the squirrel ran in front of the car.
"COCKS," shouted Badou, flooring it.
"THATS THE WRONG PED-" squish. "...ew."
A tiny dismembered paw spun through the air, it's trajectory headed for Dave's face.
Which nailed him directly in the eye. "SON OF A FUCK."
"WH-" In turning to look at his swearing brother [oh god, they couldn't get matching eyepatches, they'd get weird nicknames or people would think they were lovers, someone would have to cave and get the glass eye! ew! EW!], Badou took his line of sight off the driveway he was zigg-zagging upwards.
It seemed that they and the car were actually going to get off scot-free, as it rolled and rolled up the hill and into the wide area in front of the garage-
where Squalo's car was parked.
Dave retrieved the cigarette he had dropped from his crotchular area and, clutching his squirrel-eye, looked up just in time to scream "FUCK BADOU PUT ON THE BREAKS!" But. Badou was kind of slow on the uptake. And Squalo's car was now imbedded in the side of the garage.
And then the airbags deployed.
But at least nothing exploded.
That was, of course, when the tires on the front of the car exploded.
"THEY'RE SHOOTING AS US!" screeched Badou, cowering down and abandoning all control of the car.
"NOBODY'S SHOOTING, FUCK OFF!" Dave was unamused. But at the same time, he was trying his damndest to keep from laughing. "That was just the tires blowing. Now. Lets. Get the fuck out of here before someone really does start shooting at us."
Badou's head slowly came back up from where the redhead had been trying to cram it underneath the seat. "...That's..."
The colour drained from his face.
"Who can we blame this on. Quick. Quick. He'll SENSE it. He'll slice our willy-dongs off."
"Uh. Uh. Uh. Uh... The gardner."
"No dude he's cool. He sold me pot once. Uhm, you have- in-" he reached out, fingers twitching towards Dave's squirrel-eye.
"Is there still squirrel in my eye. Goddammit." He glanced in the rear view mirror. "Don't do drugs, dumbass. What about the guy that cleans the pool."
Badou looked anywhere but the streak of red up the windshield, and the little fingers waving their final goodbye stuck to his brother's eyelid. "Uh. He hates me because, y'know, I can't swim, and he took that as a personal insult to his skimming abilities, and gives me the evil eye and shit now." A pause. "So. That works."
Dave removed the squirrel fingers from his eye and rubbed it. "Perfect. Okay. At least until we can-...who's car did we hit anyway."
Badou swallowed audibly. "Squalo's. Ferrari."
"Oh balls." Dave thought for a moment.
"Oh. Balls."
"....baaaaaaaaaaaalls."
Dropping his face in his hands, Badou let out a strangled cry of, "THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT. HE LOVES THAT CAR. HE LOVES THAT FUCKING CAR. I'M PRETTY SURE HE'S DEFLOWERED IT'S TAILPIPE. THAT'S HOW MUCH HE LOVES THAT CAR."
"I blame the squirrel." Dave let himself out of the car and began inspecting Squalo's rich-motherfucker-mobile for damage. And let out a high whistle. "I. Bet he has good insurance."
Badou just wailed.
"WELL," Dave came around to Badou's side of the car and opened the door, "NOT BAD FOR YOUR FIRST RUN. Don't. Don't kill me."
The other redhead flopped out onto the stonework on his side, knees drawn to his chest. At the mention of violence, he slowly looked up at his brother.
"Ah..hah." raising his hands defensivly, Dave slowly took a step back. "Well. Nobody died, right?"
Badou got back to his feet much faster than one might expect. He looked torn between homicidally inclinded and pee-pants-inclined. "Yet."
Another step. "Do. You need a smoke. I think you need a smoke."
"You have my cigarettes."
Suddenly, the air became very full of red hair, swears, and bony knees.
What: Dave insists upon teaching Badou how to drive. Naturally, all hell breaks loose.
When: I don't fuckin' care, today?
Where: Varia land
Why: Badou driving a car, come on.
Rated pg-13, for swears. Which there are a lot of. THEY'RE NAILSES.
"My rickets hurt," protested Badou, as he was shoved bodily out onto the terrance. He continued his increasingly panciky sounding complaints as he was pushed along down the stone stepes, past the fountain, and over near the garage. "My rickets hurt real bad. And I think I'm constipated. Also I just got vertigo'ed."
"Stop your bitchin' or I'm gonna put my cigarette out on your forehead." Dave rolled his eyes at his freakishly lanky younger brother, and continued shoving him along, stopping just outside the open garage door. "I seriously don't know what you're so fuckin' afraid of. It's just a car."
"A vehicle made for running over nosy people made of tons of twisted iron and metal and shit that done gets exploded when it gets too hot," babbled the other redhead, trying to do some sort of back-pedaling walk but mostly just tripping over his own feet. "I DON'T WANT TO FUCKING LEARN HOW TO DRIVE."
Dave grabbed a handful of Badou's hair and gave it a good yank in order to prevent his escape. "You don't know shit about cars, just stop bitching and get in before I rip your fuckin' hair out."
Squawking like a bird with gastrointestinal problems, Badou's head was jerked sideways with the yank. Eyebrows knitting, his cigarette jutted out petulantly from between his lips. He frowned. "I ain't getting in."
Dave smirked, yanking again at Badou's hair. "Oh really?" he challenged, flicking his own half smoked cigarette onto the pavement. "And what makes you think I can't make you?"
"OWOWFUCKYOU." Scarred hand going to his head, Badou glowered from beneath his mussed hair. "I'll tell everyone who really threw up in the freezer."
Laughing, Dave pulled the driver's side door open. "It's me, Bad boy. What makes you think I care?" He pointed to the seat. "In."
Badou's eye snapped to the driver's side seat, to his brother, and back again. "Rickets?" he whimpered, still clutching at his head.
"No rickets." Dave replied unsympathetically, "You won't die. That's what seat belts are for. Hop in."
Puffing agitatedly on his cigarette, Badou did not Hop. Nor he did he Hip. And there was certainly no Hip Hopping. There was no movement of any kind from the lankier man- it was, in fact, as if he expected Dave to have forgotten he was there if he was very, very still.
Dave was not a T-rex. This did not work on him. Jurrasic Park was retarded anyway. "Don't make me put you in an arm lock. Get in."
"But-"
Dave put Badou in an arm lock.
"FUCK. SHIT. COCKWHORING JESUS. OKAY. OKAY."
With a small chuckle, Dave released Badou. "And don't try running, because I can and will catch you."
Threats not so lowly mumbled that Dave couldn't hear them distinctly [and maybe wonder at the anatomical possibility of some of said threats], Badou folded himself awkwardly into the driver's seat. He looked down at the many challenges presenting themselves on the dash board, swallowing. Being an only child must've been really cool.
Dave closed the driver's side door behind Badou, and walked around to the passenger's side, letting himself in. After buckling his seat belt, he handed the keys to Badou. "The first part is easy. I'm sure you know what to do with these."
"Jam them up my brother's ass?"
"Not quite, assfuck."
Sticking the keys moodily in the transmission, Badou started the car with a curse and a wince [a gesture he could patent, really]. Looking back to the dahboard, he glowered. Below, his feet fumbled on the gas pedal and the brake. "Now what."
"First, we need to back out of the garage. Put your foot on the break, and move this thingy to the 'R'." Dave pointed out said parts as he spoke, "and you only need your right foot. If we were drivin' a stick shift, you'd be usin' your left foot for the clutch."
Badou did as he was told, only, you know, not.
The car lurched forward, and a CRUNCH came from the headlights.
Dave. Was not amused.
"DO YOU NOT KNOW THE FUCKIN ALPHABET. R DOES NOT LOOK LIKE D."
"YOU ARE STUPID."
Shoulders hunching, eye wide, Badou gripped the steering wheel tight enough to make the imitation leather creak. "SHUT UP. I DON'T EVEN WANT TO FUCKING DO THIS. YOU'RE A FUCKING ASSWEASEL. SHUT UP. I HATE YOU."
With an irritated sigh, Dave put the car back in park. "Okay, chill. try it again, THIS TIME, make sure it's on REVERSE. Thats the R. It KIND OF LOOKS LIKE A P, but it has a little STICK on it."
"SHUT UP I KNOW WHAT A FUCKING R LOOKS LIKE."
The car lurched forward again. CRUNCH.
"OH MY GOD BADOU."
"D IS NOT R."
Badou lashed out, punching his brother in the head. A cloud of pollution was expelled from his mouth as he shouted, "SHUT UP. I KNOW. I JUST. I MEANT TO PUSH IT THE OTHER WAY. FUCK OFF."
Dave rubbed his head, giving Badou this look that said 'Oh my God you are so fucking lucky that I like you otherwise you'd be eating that steering wheel.' "How about you watch your hand and make sure it's in the right place."
Finally, finally, they began to back out of the garage.
However, since Badou was preoccupied with focusing on his hand [even after he'd shifted to reverse], the steering wheel went all the way to the left, scraping the car along the side of the garage as it pulled out.
Dave facepalmed a mighty facepalm. "Just. The break. Put on the breaks. I'm gonna. Learn you some mirrors."
Badou flushed smudgily, slamming on the brake. "SHOWERS, MIRRORS, OKAY, SHUT UP. I GET IT. I NEED TO IMPROVE ON MY PERSONAL HYGIENE. God fucking damnit." He flailed with the steering wheel, not sure what he was supposed to be doing with it.
"NO, idiot. The CAR mirrors. They help you NOT CRASH INTO SHIT." Dave pointed out the fucking rear view mirrors. "Okay? watch the mirrors and back out of the...No. You know what. Hop out. I'll back us out of the drive way. I think you should practice driving forwards first."
Seeing his chance at escape, Badou brightened, hand practically flying to the door handle. "Right, I'll just-"
Dave quickly snatched Badou's pack of cigarettes from his pocket, holding it hostage. "You're getting in this side." He let himself out of the car.
Badou growling the whole way, the Nails brothers swapped seats.
it smells suddenly
of burnt farts
who is burning farts
What the fuck
No fuck you
HAHAHAH
(Yes I left that in FUCK OFF RABID)
So there were apparently no farts. Dave punched Badou for farting anyway regardless of whether or not he had farted. HE THEN gracefully BACKED THE FUCKING CAR out of the probably longer then a highway driveway that belonged to those richass mafia fuckers (He'd blame the damage done to the garage on Squalo later) and pulled it flawlessly onto the convienently not-busy street.
For his part, the younger Nails brother looked unimpressed. "Ooo," he rasped at his brother's smug expression. "Aaa."
The elder Nails brother cocked his eyebrow. "I'd fucking like to see you do that."
Face still deadpan, cigarette dangling listlessly, Badou replied, "I'd fucking like to see you choke to death on a doggy dong."
Dave flicked Badou on the forehead. "That's an awful thing to wish for. You're up, bad boy." He let himself out of the car.
After switching again [and forgetting his seat belt a second time], Badou grabbed the steering wheel in twin vice grips. He grunted for a prompt, ash falling onto his trouser leg.
"Now, put the car in drive -that's the D, NOT the P- and press the gas. GENTLY." Dave double checked his own seat belt to ensure that it was indeed securely buckled.
Badou jerked the stick, flailed a leg twitchily, and the car peeled backwards. "OH FUCK OH FUCK OH FUCK," chanted Badou, until he realised that the car would stop if you jammed on the other one hard enough. Wait, which one?
"THE LEFT PEDAL, YOU FUCK." Dave had both hands on the dashboard in the 'JESUS FUCKING HELL I DON'T WANT TO DIE AGAIN' position. "DON'T TOUCH THE RIGHT PEDAL. LEFT."
"LEFT, RIGHT?"
"RIGHT! LEFT!"
"LEFT??? RIGHT??" Badou's feet slammed on both, then both alternately, causing the car to screech and waver.
"NO! JUST THE LEFT! LEFT!" Dave was almost positive that he was going to puke. If he did, it would be directly in Badou's lap.
The car accelerated even faster, until-
RAMONGONGONG. The rear end of the vehicle plowed right into a tree.
Fuck.
Dave's face met the dashboard. Ow nosebleed. "...Badou."
"I," rasped Badou, wheezing a bit, "think I ate my cigarette. Can I be excused now?"
"No." Ignoring his bleeding-like-a-waterfall nose, Dave lit himself a cigarette. "Put the car in drive."
"You
FUCK YOU"
"You're bleeding," said the other man, looking faintly terrified and mildly green at the prospect of Making it Go again.
"It's just blood." Dave wiped carelessly at his bloody nose with the back of his hand. "Get the car in the driveway and you're done. For the day."
"For the day?" snarled the redhead. He inhaled a big wheeze. "For the day?"
"For the day. Now put it in drive. No. I'll do it. Put your foot on the break. THE LEFT ONE."
Under Dave's barking orders, Badou slowly, slowly inched the car forward. His face was screwed up like he truly were constipated.
Gripping the door handle until his knuckles turned white(er), Dave kept a sharp eye on the road, glancing ocasionally over at Badou to make sure he wasn't shitting himself under the pressure. "That's good, give it a little more gas. A LITTLE more gas."
There was a gritty scraping noise as the kerb dragged along the bottom of the car. Badou wanted to shit himself under the pressure. "How much is a little."
Dave really hoped Badou wouldn't shit himself under the pressure. "Like this." Dave made a small guesture with his fingers, indicating a TINY BIT. TINY BIT. He gave Badou a small, encouraging 'YOU CAN DO IT LIL BRUDDER' type smile.
"What's wrong with your face," rasped Badou in a voice of horror on top of horror. He slowly, slowly inched the gas pedal down.
Dave shugged and chewed on his cigarette a bit, looking back at the road. "NOTHING. Just drive the car. You're doin' good."
If the twitch on Badou's face was a frantic smile, it was lost amid the other twitches also occurring. "Oh." He inched the accelerator down a biiiit more, bringing it up to Elderly Dog Out For a Walk speed.
And that was when the squirrel ran in front of the car.
"COCKS," shouted Badou, flooring it.
"THATS THE WRONG PED-" squish. "...ew."
A tiny dismembered paw spun through the air, it's trajectory headed for Dave's face.
Which nailed him directly in the eye. "SON OF A FUCK."
"WH-" In turning to look at his swearing brother [oh god, they couldn't get matching eyepatches, they'd get weird nicknames or people would think they were lovers, someone would have to cave and get the glass eye! ew! EW!], Badou took his line of sight off the driveway he was zigg-zagging upwards.
It seemed that they and the car were actually going to get off scot-free, as it rolled and rolled up the hill and into the wide area in front of the garage-
where Squalo's car was parked.
Dave retrieved the cigarette he had dropped from his crotchular area and, clutching his squirrel-eye, looked up just in time to scream "FUCK BADOU PUT ON THE BREAKS!" But. Badou was kind of slow on the uptake. And Squalo's car was now imbedded in the side of the garage.
And then the airbags deployed.
But at least nothing exploded.
That was, of course, when the tires on the front of the car exploded.
"THEY'RE SHOOTING AS US!" screeched Badou, cowering down and abandoning all control of the car.
"NOBODY'S SHOOTING, FUCK OFF!" Dave was unamused. But at the same time, he was trying his damndest to keep from laughing. "That was just the tires blowing. Now. Lets. Get the fuck out of here before someone really does start shooting at us."
Badou's head slowly came back up from where the redhead had been trying to cram it underneath the seat. "...That's..."
The colour drained from his face.
"Who can we blame this on. Quick. Quick. He'll SENSE it. He'll slice our willy-dongs off."
"Uh. Uh. Uh. Uh... The gardner."
"No dude he's cool. He sold me pot once. Uhm, you have- in-" he reached out, fingers twitching towards Dave's squirrel-eye.
"Is there still squirrel in my eye. Goddammit." He glanced in the rear view mirror. "Don't do drugs, dumbass. What about the guy that cleans the pool."
Badou looked anywhere but the streak of red up the windshield, and the little fingers waving their final goodbye stuck to his brother's eyelid. "Uh. He hates me because, y'know, I can't swim, and he took that as a personal insult to his skimming abilities, and gives me the evil eye and shit now." A pause. "So. That works."
Dave removed the squirrel fingers from his eye and rubbed it. "Perfect. Okay. At least until we can-...who's car did we hit anyway."
Badou swallowed audibly. "Squalo's. Ferrari."
"Oh balls." Dave thought for a moment.
"Oh. Balls."
"....baaaaaaaaaaaalls."
Dropping his face in his hands, Badou let out a strangled cry of, "THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT. HE LOVES THAT CAR. HE LOVES THAT FUCKING CAR. I'M PRETTY SURE HE'S DEFLOWERED IT'S TAILPIPE. THAT'S HOW MUCH HE LOVES THAT CAR."
"I blame the squirrel." Dave let himself out of the car and began inspecting Squalo's rich-motherfucker-mobile for damage. And let out a high whistle. "I. Bet he has good insurance."
Badou just wailed.
"WELL," Dave came around to Badou's side of the car and opened the door, "NOT BAD FOR YOUR FIRST RUN. Don't. Don't kill me."
The other redhead flopped out onto the stonework on his side, knees drawn to his chest. At the mention of violence, he slowly looked up at his brother.
"Ah..hah." raising his hands defensivly, Dave slowly took a step back. "Well. Nobody died, right?"
Badou got back to his feet much faster than one might expect. He looked torn between homicidally inclinded and pee-pants-inclined. "Yet."
Another step. "Do. You need a smoke. I think you need a smoke."
"You have my cigarettes."
Suddenly, the air became very full of red hair, swears, and bony knees.