"They're fucking armed now. Or – armed more. Who knows what else they've got in there that we missed? We have to wait for SWAT." Victor turned and stared back at the screens, watching as Dean flung more blood onto the diagram and finally threw the knife, point-down into the center of the design. Then he was moving, fast and efficient. Wrapping up his cut arm, pulling on his flannel shirt and jacket and stuffing handfuls of shotgun shells into his jacket pockets. He zipped up the hold-all and then looped the strap of it over his shoulder. *Fuck, are they leaving? They look like they're getting ready to bug the hell out...God damnit, we've got to move, move -*
This is when I knew that they knew. Cold suddery frisson that ran up and down and back up my spine and I had to stop reading for a few minutes.
Holy fucking God. Holy fucking God, I've gotta pimp this.
I'm not even coherent.
You killed Robert Carlisle.
And Dick.
Busy day for you, hunh?
Jeebus, I'll comment more thoroughly when my brain comes back.
no subject
This is when I knew that they knew. Cold suddery frisson that ran up and down and back up my spine and I had to stop reading for a few minutes.
Holy fucking God. Holy fucking God, I've gotta pimp this.
I'm not even coherent.
You killed Robert Carlisle.
And Dick.
Busy day for you, hunh?
Jeebus, I'll comment more thoroughly when my brain comes back.
Dude.