"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.
[He takes a drag of his cigarette]
If they could, it wouldn't do any good. The asshole's too into it now.
If they could, it wouldn't do any good. The asshole's too into it now.
[He shrugs off his coat and drapes it over the couch. Now his arms are free, he stretches making his way to the kitchen.]
Blame the guys in the black shirts. Fuckers don't do anything unless they really start punchin'.
Blame the guys in the black shirts. Fuckers don't do anything unless they really start punchin'.
Fuck.
[He takes another drag]
You have a good time?
[Out drinking, that is]
[He takes another drag]
You have a good time?
[Out drinking, that is]
[In the meantime he's pouring himself a little coffee, it was a late night and he had work in the morning. Can't nap just yet. Oh, and a fridge rummage.]
Yeah. Same ol', same ol'.
[What the hell is this wrapped up? Well, no names on it. Free game.]
How was your night?
Yeah. Same ol', same ol'.
[What the hell is this wrapped up? Well, no names on it. Free game.]
How was your night?
Eh, whatever. It wasn't anything huge. Spent most of it reading up on the Network.
Yeah? Took me a bit to get used to it.
[Flop goes the plate into the microwave. The buttons sound in the robotic tones as they do.]
Weird folks around here.
[Flop goes the plate into the microwave. The buttons sound in the robotic tones as they do.]
Weird folks around here.
This place is kind of like a truck stop in the middle of fucking nowhere. You start talking to people just because they're there.
[Beeeeeeeeep. And it's done, the lasagna is as good as in his mouth.]
Mmmmhmmm.
[Chew chew, hot but good.]
That's the long and short of it over all. Anything good?
[Chewing more.]
Where'd you get Italian?
Mmmmhmmm.
[Chew chew, hot but good.]
That's the long and short of it over all. Anything good?
[Chewing more.]
Where'd you get Italian?
[He shrugs again]
People saying shit about how they're actually dead. Crap like that.
[He glances over]
Oh, I made that this morning.
People saying shit about how they're actually dead. Crap like that.
[He glances over]
Oh, I made that this morning.
Oh yeah, that. I haven't seen it myself, I heard things too.
[Larry blinks. He takes a good look at the plate, like he's eating an alien dish.]
No shit? I didn't know Julia Childs was sleeping in my shower.
[Larry blinks. He takes a good look at the plate, like he's eating an alien dish.]
No shit? I didn't know Julia Childs was sleeping in my shower.
[And a casual middle finger]
No shit. Why the fuck would I lie about it?
No shit. Why the fuck would I lie about it?
I dunno.
[He's gotta make sure it's chewed enough to swallow before speaking again.]
How come you ain't a chef someplace? It's good.
[He's gotta make sure it's chewed enough to swallow before speaking again.]
How come you ain't a chef someplace? It's good.
Because being a chef means working for shit pay in a crowded hot room while ingrates fucking scream at you for the ravioli already.
Being a crook has more integrity than being a chef.
Being a crook has more integrity than being a chef.
[Now even that one doesn't add up too, too much in his head. So unfortunately, he'll have to ask for the likely long winded explanation.
Oh well, he's got no where to be. Larry approaches, holding his plate up closer to his chin so that the lasagna doesn't have far to travel.]
How do you figure?
Oh well, he's got no where to be. Larry approaches, holding his plate up closer to his chin so that the lasagna doesn't have far to travel.]
How do you figure?
The way I figure it, when you're a chef, you're the world's fucking lapdog. I mean, you're doing like, the most basic task fucking imaginable. You're serving food to idiots, mostly idiots who can't even fucking appreciate it.
And then the front of house makes all the extra cash? No fucking way. When you're a crook, you earn every penny you make, and you get to fucking keep it.
All I'm saying is - I never felt like someone was shitting on me when I was a crook.
[Puff]
And then the front of house makes all the extra cash? No fucking way. When you're a crook, you earn every penny you make, and you get to fucking keep it.
All I'm saying is - I never felt like someone was shitting on me when I was a crook.
[Puff]
[Except for this last time. Fuck, Larry doesn't wanna talk about it, no fucking way. He cleans his plate while Pink finishes up.]
Careful pulling shit around, it's trickier than you think.
[And lets leave it at that. Larry pulls away to dump his dishes in the sink. ...when the hell did they get so many dirty dishes?]
There's opportunity for easy livin' otherwise.
Careful pulling shit around, it's trickier than you think.
[And lets leave it at that. Larry pulls away to dump his dishes in the sink. ...when the hell did they get so many dirty dishes?]
There's opportunity for easy livin' otherwise.
Yeah? Like what?
Where do you work, anyway?
[Gathering information]
Where do you work, anyway?
[Gathering information]
[This question was bound to be asked.]
I made good by being some muscle, helping keep shit in order in the underground.
[That's an acceptable answer. Specific but not. Just the way it goes, okay? Post meal cigarette time.]
I made good by being some muscle, helping keep shit in order in the underground.
[That's an acceptable answer. Specific but not. Just the way it goes, okay? Post meal cigarette time.]
[Huh. Fair enough. He's got that muscle look to him]
Enough for a new place?
Enough for a new place?
[He doesn't hesitate, nor does he flinch. This what you would call a poker face.]
I pull my weight. I don't see why not. You seen this.
[First deep inhale of his cigarette and then an exhale.]
I pull my weight. I don't see why not. You seen this.
[First deep inhale of his cigarette and then an exhale.]
Orange ratted you out. Kid has thinner skin than a fucking old lady.
[He puts out his cigarette in an ashtray]
[He puts out his cigarette in an ashtray]
Why you lookin' at old ladies?
[No shit he was ratted out. He got a clue the minute Pink brought it up.]
[No shit he was ratted out. He got a clue the minute Pink brought it up.]
Because if I looked at preteens, Brown would have fucking shat himself at finding a like-minded individual.
[Unamused face. Stick to the point, asshole]
You're close.
[Unamused face. Stick to the point, asshole]
You're close.
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