"Mr. White" AKA Lawrence "Two Guns" Dimick (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
whitetwoguns) wrote2025-01-01 11:22 pm
whitetwoguns) wrote2025-01-01 11:22 pm
Entry tags:
But I ain't no madman.
PHONE CALLS
VOICEMAIL
TEXT
ACTION
PHONE CALLS
VOICEMAIL
TEXT
ACTION
[The thing about lounging around the apartment is that it's just so easy. He knows that Orange is at work, but he's not exactly sure where White is. But he's watching television and providing a running commentary in his head to Jerry Springer. Except sometimes it's out loud]
What the fuck, man, you can't throw a chair at your pregnant girlfriend, I don't care if she did sleep with your brother!
What the fuck, man, you can't throw a chair at your pregnant girlfriend, I don't care if she did sleep with your brother!
[White's been at work, naturally. And finally it's his time to come back on in. He could hear something down the hall. Oh, just Pink.]
You know they can't hear you.
You know they can't hear you.
[Your phone's going off, old man. It'll keep going until you answer.]
[Woah. Unexpected. He clears his throat before answering.]
Hello.
Hello.
[He has a cold beer, and this is the kind of place that Pink likes. A nice atmosphere, just drinks, nothing special. And the company ain't so bad, either. Really.]
So someone tell me why the fuck anyone in this hellhole would get on a train that people couldn't get off of once it started going.
So someone tell me why the fuck anyone in this hellhole would get on a train that people couldn't get off of once it started going.
Simple, they didn't know they weren't gonna be able to get off of it.
[Mr. White has his own beer, bottled no tap. Nothing special at all. And for once he didn't have to work today, so he's dressed well without the whole entire suit ensemble. Not that it matters. Queer line of thinking, isn't it? Samuel Adams tastes good tonight.]
I mean, if you saw a train would you be thinking about never being able to leave? Or how about an elevator for that matter?
[Mr. White has his own beer, bottled no tap. Nothing special at all. And for once he didn't have to work today, so he's dressed well without the whole entire suit ensemble. Not that it matters. Queer line of thinking, isn't it? Samuel Adams tastes good tonight.]
I mean, if you saw a train would you be thinking about never being able to leave? Or how about an elevator for that matter?
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
Hey, I was wondering if you're free this week.
I got a roommate, I don't know how long he'll be staying, but if you want to meet maybe it would be better away from my place. A hotel or something. No rush. Just letting you know.
Hey, you alive? Let me know if a trip to the graveyard with ugly-ass roses is uncalled for.
[Oh, huh. Larry takes a sweep around before answering.]
Hello.
Hello.
Hello, mysterious partner of my mysterious employee.
I'd like to invite you over for an evening, at the Warehouse.
I'd like to invite you over for an evening, at the Warehouse.
Hello, Miss Saya. You know I could easily say you're the mysterious employer in this equation.
When should I drop in?
When should I drop in?
[Freddy's not late or anything but when he gets to the agreed meeting place by the woods he's a little winded from making sure he gets there on time. There's not a second to waste, not when they've managed to coordinate the same lunch hour with no overlap.
Freddy's got nothing with him by the way. No gear. Nothing. Was he supposed to?]
Freddy's got nothing with him by the way. No gear. Nothing. Was he supposed to?]
[When you're giving a time, you are supposed to be there. Naturally. The old man is the one bringing the gear. Or maybe he should have said that. He took the car. The better to carry not one but two sticks, a puck, a helmet, shoulder padding, padded pants, two sets of skates. The old man is walking around the frozen pond, trying to spot for any weak spots or breaks to avoid.
He looks up and grins.]
There you are. [Just in time, he's coming back to the car.] All we need is in the trunk.
He looks up and grins.]
There you are. [Just in time, he's coming back to the car.] All we need is in the trunk.
[He is still asleep, when he rolls on a body.
WAIT.]
WAIT.]
[Grumble. Grumble. No longer snoring like a sleeping bear. Damn. That body is fucking boney.
One big paw feels over a mustache.
What. The. Fuck. Pink.]
Jesus fucking Christ.
One big paw feels over a mustache.
What. The. Fuck. Pink.]
Jesus fucking Christ.
There's potential for a good night out. Only if it is a clean joint. You know. They actually upkeep the place and treat the girls nice. Oh and good tunes. I hate that electronic shit.
can you see this?
[Have some attached pictures of male nudity with a pair of tits thrown in.]
[Have some attached pictures of male nudity with a pair of tits thrown in.]
[ Very possibly Arthur should not be at work to begin with, but the defense is a typical one - if not a good one; he felt reasonable at the beginning of his shift, which amounted a lot less to card turning and a lot more to random things needing to be done (a machine malfunctioning, or so it seemed - it wasn't.) Off and on he spots Mr. White though they never really make eye contact. Eames' words about Orange and White not being cut of the same cloth occur to him more than once but that too is just in passing. He's less at home in the casino working than he would be simply trying his "luck" or being outsourced, gaming mathematics something he honed for a job and, like riding a bicycle, it hasn't left him since.
Anyway, it's the middle of his shift soon enough and he's too warm under the collar, warm all over actually, can feel the usually comfortable press of his shirt and waistcoat sticking strangely. Just a few more hours though, he thinks with an inward scowl. Like having a touch of flu or a cold, he's not sure if it's shown but not enough to get any looks.
Playing the role of dealer isn't bad except for the fact that he finds it exceptionally boring - but the upside is he can pay half attention. He's watching Guy-With-Bad-Tie shift in his seat while Guy-With-Cheap-Jacket looks smug (or is that a grimace.) The other two seem to be friends of a sort and treating the game with proper poker faces - the irony being they're already out but decided to stay and watch the showdown, standing to the side.
In lots of ways this is the easiest job Arthur has ever bothered with having.
That's what he's thinking when he takes a second to blink, the room having gone blurry for no reason and he ends up on the ground not really knowing how he got there, the light over the edge of the table blown out the way headlights do in the rain.]
Anyway, it's the middle of his shift soon enough and he's too warm under the collar, warm all over actually, can feel the usually comfortable press of his shirt and waistcoat sticking strangely. Just a few more hours though, he thinks with an inward scowl. Like having a touch of flu or a cold, he's not sure if it's shown but not enough to get any looks.
Playing the role of dealer isn't bad except for the fact that he finds it exceptionally boring - but the upside is he can pay half attention. He's watching Guy-With-Bad-Tie shift in his seat while Guy-With-Cheap-Jacket looks smug (or is that a grimace.) The other two seem to be friends of a sort and treating the game with proper poker faces - the irony being they're already out but decided to stay and watch the showdown, standing to the side.
In lots of ways this is the easiest job Arthur has ever bothered with having.
That's what he's thinking when he takes a second to blink, the room having gone blurry for no reason and he ends up on the ground not really knowing how he got there, the light over the edge of the table blown out the way headlights do in the rain.]
[Another day, another dollar. Whoever is working the music has a sense of humor turning out the 80s hits. Love is a battlefield, the lady sings. It was never a big favorite of the old man but no one asks him. That's one of the many perks about the job is that there are few times when he is cornered for questions and none of them are about what he thinks. The last time he got up close and personal with an employer it didn't end well. Not at all.
Still, he comes to work armed. That's how it's done if you work security. Mr. White protects himself, the employees and the assets of the casino. Making his rounds by the tables.
Before he knows it, there's a clunk. Before anything can really go down he's shooing off the customers. Lucky is already flanking making sure everything stays there.
Please let there be no bodies on the property today, he hopes earnestly. Shit is just messy. Uh oh. This is Argyle, isn't it. The old man knees and grips Arthur's shoulder. Just a few touches because if he's been stabbed or if something's broken moving him immediately may not be good.]
Hey, pal. It's okay. I gotcha.
[As to how and why, Larry's not sure.]
Still, he comes to work armed. That's how it's done if you work security. Mr. White protects himself, the employees and the assets of the casino. Making his rounds by the tables.
Before he knows it, there's a clunk. Before anything can really go down he's shooing off the customers. Lucky is already flanking making sure everything stays there.
Please let there be no bodies on the property today, he hopes earnestly. Shit is just messy. Uh oh. This is Argyle, isn't it. The old man knees and grips Arthur's shoulder. Just a few touches because if he's been stabbed or if something's broken moving him immediately may not be good.]
Hey, pal. It's okay. I gotcha.
[As to how and why, Larry's not sure.]
[The attack is of course, something that Steve should be ready for, but honestly who expects a wolverine to attack like that, if that thing was a wolverine, it was huge. But now the three men are in the car zooming, in a blind panic, bottles of precious water sloshing. Steve got the backseat.
Steve is bleeding from cuts and scratches and a bite on the shoulder, and he wishes he had thought to get armor made up here. There's blood on his shield, too, but that can be cleaned easily. The clothes will have to go. Oh well.]
Are you guys all right?
[Because it's the first moment that Steve has to pause for breath, and he sounds worried, and he's yelling a little in his 'Cap' voice.]
Steve is bleeding from cuts and scratches and a bite on the shoulder, and he wishes he had thought to get armor made up here. There's blood on his shield, too, but that can be cleaned easily. The clothes will have to go. Oh well.]
Are you guys all right?
[Because it's the first moment that Steve has to pause for breath, and he sounds worried, and he's yelling a little in his 'Cap' voice.]
Fine.
[Wheeze. Huff. Puff. Well. What can be expected, c'mon. No big wounds to speak of but the old man fell at least once.
All of this for fucking water. It sounds like a joke. Maybe it'll be sooo funny he'll laugh about it later. For now Larry's trying to keep his eyes on the road. The kid's alright, right? He doesn't smell blood or hear anyone fucking dying. That would be the cherry on top.]
Fucking peachy. What the hell was that thing?
[Wheeze. Huff. Puff. Well. What can be expected, c'mon. No big wounds to speak of but the old man fell at least once.
All of this for fucking water. It sounds like a joke. Maybe it'll be sooo funny he'll laugh about it later. For now Larry's trying to keep his eyes on the road. The kid's alright, right? He doesn't smell blood or hear anyone fucking dying. That would be the cherry on top.]
Fucking peachy. What the hell was that thing?
[This isn't what the old man wanted to deal with about now. Thank god he's back in action. Laying down earlier was a fucking good idea.]
I don't believe this bull.
[Setting a date and a time and what happens? It's not easy trying to do this. Pink deserves to know, sure but this whole process isn't for their health. They could go on for forever and not tell the piece of shit if they really wanted to.
Except they do.]
Think he pussied out?
[As they make their way to the bastard's apartment. Their old apartment. What would be the first logical place to look if he didn't show up at the greed restaurant.]
I don't believe this bull.
[Setting a date and a time and what happens? It's not easy trying to do this. Pink deserves to know, sure but this whole process isn't for their health. They could go on for forever and not tell the piece of shit if they really wanted to.
Except they do.]
Think he pussied out?
[As they make their way to the bastard's apartment. Their old apartment. What would be the first logical place to look if he didn't show up at the greed restaurant.]
Maybe he set his clock back.
[Or is it supposed to be forward at this time of year? Though if the former were the case then Pink would've been there waiting for an hour, but just as well believable he might have left in frustration. Weird. Either way he's with the old man on this one, the guy should know, it's just a step to make because he was going to find out eventually.]
The guy doesn't have much of a reason to pussy out.
[Freddy rationalizes. At the door he knocks.] Hey. Pink.
[Or is it supposed to be forward at this time of year? Though if the former were the case then Pink would've been there waiting for an hour, but just as well believable he might have left in frustration. Weird. Either way he's with the old man on this one, the guy should know, it's just a step to make because he was going to find out eventually.]
The guy doesn't have much of a reason to pussy out.
[Freddy rationalizes. At the door he knocks.] Hey. Pink.
[ It's colder out than he expects when he leaves the casino. He can't see his breath hanging in front of him or anything but he rubs his fingers together for warmth in his pockets anyway, his stride the even, unhurried kind of pace most people employ when the mind is elsewhere. Arthur's mind in particular is on the oddness of one Henry Eames in the apartment lately, the cagey behavior (cagey being the vaguer, milder term) that seems downright animalistic in certain respects. But Eames says he's fine, and won't say anything else so Arthur has just been watching, which hasn't really revealed much other than the initial observations.
Thoughtlessly he slips a hand out of pocket to curl at the back of his neck, head bowed slightly. This area isn't densely busy at any time he's seen and that's true now especially - late enough that even the usuals tend to be elsewhere or at least already inside. He's aware enough of his surroundings to be considered aware at all, but it's strangely become a habit - unacceptable really - to take the streets here more blithely than anywhere else - dream or otherwise. ]
Thoughtlessly he slips a hand out of pocket to curl at the back of his neck, head bowed slightly. This area isn't densely busy at any time he's seen and that's true now especially - late enough that even the usuals tend to be elsewhere or at least already inside. He's aware enough of his surroundings to be considered aware at all, but it's strangely become a habit - unacceptable really - to take the streets here more blithely than anywhere else - dream or otherwise. ]
[Ah. Night air. For the old man it is an alternative afternoon. He lights up a Chesterfield. Though really, he's hungry. It's been hours after all. Tacos, the typical go to just do not fit the bill. Besides that, even the most customer loyal establishment is closing its doors at this hour of night.
Puff. Puff. Through the familiar smell of tobacco burning there's a new scent. And it smells....very good.
Shadow to shadow he moves fast. Where is it coming from? Where isn't a place. It's a person. Coming up fast he recognizes a figure and falls into quiet stride behind like a wayward alley cat.]
Puff. Puff. Through the familiar smell of tobacco burning there's a new scent. And it smells....very good.
Shadow to shadow he moves fast. Where is it coming from? Where isn't a place. It's a person. Coming up fast he recognizes a figure and falls into quiet stride behind like a wayward alley cat.]
[ Regular day, or regular enough in a place with 'magic' (Ariadne seems to have taken to none other than Harry Potter and his friends) Arthur steps into one of the side-rooms for his break, but he opts for filtering through the rest until he finds a familiar face. It's been enough time that they don't have to talk about it, and really it's not a matter of time down here anyway. A good percentage of him would rather not bring it up, there being reason enough of more than mild mortification on his own part, jacked up reaction or not. But the practical part of him (that's the entire surface) says knowing if it had anything to do with Arthur specifically, the night White took it upon himself to reenact a vampire right down to the teeth, or if it was just that Arthur was there and White was quite literally hungering.
It's easy to bank on the latter but as usual Arthur would rather hear it from the horse's mouth if possible. Some of the curses seem utterly random but others appear to prey on preexisting ideas or notions. As a dream, as someone's mind, that's concerning on a hundred other levels Arthur hasn't begun to map out yet in any way he finds sufficient. Granted, vampires and werewolves are not the only things they could talk about - Arthur not entirely decided on breaching the matter of White's confrontation with Eames, Eames who can take care of himself but whose jaw bloomed mottled and dark with a bruise a little over a week ago.
Door shutting with a polite click behind him, Arthur walks to pause in front of the couch across from where White is already seated in one of the armchairs. ] Got a minute?
[ He keeps his voice casual, the normal almost lazy articulation, the often-surprising lowness, the words 'I just want to talk' being so wholly not what Arthur is about but that doesn't matter as much as keeping others in the dream - projections or not - on the same page, when the page they're on even matters. In the case of White and Orange, at this point, it does matter. Sometimes Arthur tries to translate them to waking life, to people he's met or almost-known and worked with and really, if asked yes or no, liked insofar as he liked anyone. No one comes to mind. ]
It's easy to bank on the latter but as usual Arthur would rather hear it from the horse's mouth if possible. Some of the curses seem utterly random but others appear to prey on preexisting ideas or notions. As a dream, as someone's mind, that's concerning on a hundred other levels Arthur hasn't begun to map out yet in any way he finds sufficient. Granted, vampires and werewolves are not the only things they could talk about - Arthur not entirely decided on breaching the matter of White's confrontation with Eames, Eames who can take care of himself but whose jaw bloomed mottled and dark with a bruise a little over a week ago.
Door shutting with a polite click behind him, Arthur walks to pause in front of the couch across from where White is already seated in one of the armchairs. ] Got a minute?
[ He keeps his voice casual, the normal almost lazy articulation, the often-surprising lowness, the words 'I just want to talk' being so wholly not what Arthur is about but that doesn't matter as much as keeping others in the dream - projections or not - on the same page, when the page they're on even matters. In the case of White and Orange, at this point, it does matter. Sometimes Arthur tries to translate them to waking life, to people he's met or almost-known and worked with and really, if asked yes or no, liked insofar as he liked anyone. No one comes to mind. ]
[Days can move smoothly around here. It's something that a guy can forget with all of the crazy, messed up things that go on.
Arthur strolls on in. Larry of course notices him. He's not the type to read on a break. It's go out to grab something, sit or simply smoke. Having already eaten, there's a Chesterfield between his lips.]
Sure.
[He can have one as long as it doesn't involve blood of any kind or discussion of the lovely chat that he had with Mr. Eames. On guard he is sure not to be too openly friendly.]
What's on your mind?
Arthur strolls on in. Larry of course notices him. He's not the type to read on a break. It's go out to grab something, sit or simply smoke. Having already eaten, there's a Chesterfield between his lips.]
Sure.
[He can have one as long as it doesn't involve blood of any kind or discussion of the lovely chat that he had with Mr. Eames. On guard he is sure not to be too openly friendly.]
What's on your mind?
[Reading over an old man's broad shoulder.]
[Hunting and pecking as he goes. Look at what a modern writer he is, complete with the cigarette between his lips. It's what you call deep concentration.
Quarry. Q-U-A-R-R---shit where did Y go?]
Quarry. Q-U-A-R-R---shit where did Y go?]
[Now they're both authors except there's a big ol' detail called genre that sets them apart. The old man comes on home without slowing at all. Where is the kid? Door shuts. Kinda noisily. It's not all anger. Oh no. Just the desire to see the face of the man who has the balls to do that.]
Sounds like you're home.
[Freddy calls down from upstairs though he isn't leaning out into the hall and over the railing or the steps to actually see Larry.]
[Freddy calls down from upstairs though he isn't leaning out into the hall and over the railing or the steps to actually see Larry.]
[It's about half past four in the late day when Freddy finally comes waltzing up to their apartment door like he's on cloud nine. After last night's celebration and this morning's rapid awakening followed by working on Tony Stark's cars Freddy smells like sake, a lack of brushing teeth, a lack of a shower, and now motor oil. It doesn't matter though, did he mention he got to work for Iron Man? Nevermind how the guy barely acknowledged his presence once they got their hands dirty, it's Tony fucking Stark. Having told White and Pink who he was rushing off to see at 10am it had to be understandable that he dashed away without giving a solid idea as to when he'd be back, right? Well either way he's back home now, to their apartment. Keys jingle as the kid opens the door.]
Hey? You in?
[He calls out because he wants to tell Larry all about his day.]
Hey? You in?
[He calls out because he wants to tell Larry all about his day.]
[Did he at least comb his hair. Larry is fixing to heat up whatever he had to fight to take back.]
Yeah.
[Unlike some people he slept, woke up. Collected his things, got breakfast on the run, came home and then made something of himself before falling into a state of post-holiday slovenliness.]
Where you been?
[Sure he said he was rushing off...as he was rushing off.]
Yeah.
[Unlike some people he slept, woke up. Collected his things, got breakfast on the run, came home and then made something of himself before falling into a state of post-holiday slovenliness.]
Where you been?
[Sure he said he was rushing off...as he was rushing off.]
[PING! You have a text message, Lawrence Dimick.] wanna join me for a drink
[Cause the guy he was supposed to drink with didn't show. He would've told Larry already that he was going out with Eames.]
[Cause the guy he was supposed to drink with didn't show. He would've told Larry already that he was going out with Eames.]
[What a nice thing to get anticipating quitting time! PING!]
Sure. Where?
[Oblivious old man is oblivious. And he's also ready and raring to go.]
Sure. Where?
[Oblivious old man is oblivious. And he's also ready and raring to go.]
Nnnnugh. [Damn. Looks like they let the lights on. Huff. The old man fumbles for a nightstand that wasn't there. Wait. And this isn't a bed. It's a...table.]
What the-?
[Wait. Wait. It's coming back to him along with the not so great feeling headache. They took a stroll, got tired and decided this was a better place to rest before heading home than a park bench. He squints and looks at his watch. 2:26am.]
Jesus.
What the-?
[Wait. Wait. It's coming back to him along with the not so great feeling headache. They took a stroll, got tired and decided this was a better place to rest before heading home than a park bench. He squints and looks at his watch. 2:26am.]
Jesus.
Ow...
[This is not a bed. This ain't even soft. Freddy shifts until he oops--rolls off some piece of furniture.]
Shit! [Face down on the floor.] Damn...
[This is not a bed. This ain't even soft. Freddy shifts until he oops--rolls off some piece of furniture.]
Shit! [Face down on the floor.] Damn...
[At the casino. On the street. In the lobby. In the elevator. EVERYWHERE. Now at their door he comes into the apartment. The earplugs haven't done all that much, just muffling. The tunes are apparent. All of the snowmen, reindeer and fa la la la las are particularly infectious.]
[Whatever's playing at home isn't any better. It can be heard through the door, a mish mash of tunes that are Christmasy on one side because the TV won't turn off and metal on the other because no one fucks with Freddy Newendyke's LPs. Too bad the old school way of playing music isn't capable of overpowering the digital set up.]
[It's sad. Embarrassing even. As much as he was looking forward to playing today he is looking forward to heading back into the apartment. It's an agonizingly slow process from the walk home to the elevator to their door. Finally the key unlocks the door. He doesn't care about where his coat lands. The old man has the foresight to not lay directly in the entry way. It's more of paralleled to the back of the couch.
Flop.
Right there. On his back. Finally. There's a rough and heavy sigh for that. The floor feels cool, it's a bonus.]
Flop.
Right there. On his back. Finally. There's a rough and heavy sigh for that. The floor feels cool, it's a bonus.]
[Not long after there's a jiggling of keys and the door opening up to reveal none other than Freddy Newendyke.]
...
[Something's up. Larry's on the floor. Hmmmmm...]
Hi.
...
[Something's up. Larry's on the floor. Hmmmmm...]
Hi.
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