Pretty much. With both of them those flaws turned out to be their undoing, like a Greek tragedy or something.
Byrd Man Member
El Hombre Pájaro
STATUS: "I'm an actor. I will say anything for money." -- Also Charlton Heston 3 yrs ago
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3 yrs ago
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"I'm an actor. I will say anything for money." -- Also Charlton Heston
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3 yrs ago
Starting up a preimum service of content from actors like Radcliffe, Day-Lewis, Bruhl, and Craig. Calling it OnlyDans.
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3 yrs ago
Please, guys. The status bar is for more important things... like cringe status updates.
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3 yrs ago
Gotta love people suddenly becoming apolitical when someone is doing something they approve of.
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3 yrs ago
Deleting statuses? That's a triple cringe from me, dog.
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Bio
None of your damn business.
Most Recent Posts
@Byrd ManI like the MacArthur avatar. I didn't really care for the man, but this is a good image.
Yeah, I agree. On both accounts.
"Three guys are shot to shit," Joe said as he pulled out a cigarette. "Looks pretty goddamn authentic to me."
Joe blew smoke from his nose and looked down at the dead men. "We can do other things to confuse them, too. Lay out the bodies at fucked up angles, cut off a few fingers or a hand or two, shoot their faces off, maybe get some acid and burn off a few..."
He stopped talking when he realized everyone was staring at him with looks that fell somewhere between shock and disgust. He just shrugged.
"What? I'm just offering tips. You want to throw a monkey wrench into things, that's how you do it. We passed one of them thresholds tonight. It's one thing to get together and train and clean guns, another to waste three guys. If Mikey and his guys were KGB informants, then the KGB are gonna be all over this scene and the surround area. The more we slow them down, the better our chances to get away and lay low are."
Joe blew smoke from his nose and looked down at the dead men. "We can do other things to confuse them, too. Lay out the bodies at fucked up angles, cut off a few fingers or a hand or two, shoot their faces off, maybe get some acid and burn off a few..."
He stopped talking when he realized everyone was staring at him with looks that fell somewhere between shock and disgust. He just shrugged.
"What? I'm just offering tips. You want to throw a monkey wrench into things, that's how you do it. We passed one of them thresholds tonight. It's one thing to get together and train and clean guns, another to waste three guys. If Mikey and his guys were KGB informants, then the KGB are gonna be all over this scene and the surround area. The more we slow them down, the better our chances to get away and lay low are."
Joe was close enough to LeBeau to see the blood spray, but not close enough to be hit by it. At the same time, Dan made Fitzsimmons into Swiss cheese. That left just Stone, fumbling with both his gun and the cash before deciding neither was worth it. He dropped the loot and started to run like hell towards the car. Joe drew down on Stone and opened up with his Beretta. Joe's bullet struck Stone in the back and made the man fall just as their sniper Preston opened fire.
The shot, that had been aimed for Stone's neck when he was upright, instead hit the falling man in face. The bullet blew the lower half of Stone's mouth off in a spray of blood and pulp that made even Joe, hardened as he was, flinch at its sight.
"Jesus Christ!" Joe said out of surprise.
Stone, on the ground and bleeding out, made a loud gurgling, groaning sound with his throat and continued to reach out towards the car in his death throes. Joe sighed and walked towards the man. He stood above him and aimed his pistol down. Stone tried to say something that Joe could almost make out as please. He didn't know if it was Stone asking Joe to spare him or put him out of his misery.
"Sorry, pal. I only got one option."
Two quick shots to the back of the head stopped Stone's thrashing and groaning. Joe looked up from the dead man to the group.
"What now?"
The shot, that had been aimed for Stone's neck when he was upright, instead hit the falling man in face. The bullet blew the lower half of Stone's mouth off in a spray of blood and pulp that made even Joe, hardened as he was, flinch at its sight.
"Jesus Christ!" Joe said out of surprise.
Stone, on the ground and bleeding out, made a loud gurgling, groaning sound with his throat and continued to reach out towards the car in his death throes. Joe sighed and walked towards the man. He stood above him and aimed his pistol down. Stone tried to say something that Joe could almost make out as please. He didn't know if it was Stone asking Joe to spare him or put him out of his misery.
"Sorry, pal. I only got one option."
Two quick shots to the back of the head stopped Stone's thrashing and groaning. Joe looked up from the dead man to the group.
"What now?"
Thought so. Working on a post now.
Only three targets at the meeting, right? LeBeau, Fitzsimmons, and Stone? Wanted to double check before I posted.
That's a pretty good idea, one I didn't necessarily think about. There's never just one ordained resistance group. There are always different groups backed by different people with different goals. Could be a potential storyline with this cell competing against a rival group.
The way I imagined it, he's a financial baker more than anything. Using his money and connections to help the resistance, but he's just one of what I imagine would be many supporters.
"So does Billy know you're out here in the woods, playing commando?" LeBeau asked Joe.
One of his guys began to walk towards Ben to take the money at the same time Ben began to walk towards him with the cash. Joe titled his cap -- a grey newsboy-- back on his head at a jaunty angle. To the rest of the group it was the sign to get ready. Ben had just handed the bag to LeBeau's guy, Stone was his name. The two men were already retreating back to their respective sides as if there was an invisible chasm between Joe and LeBeau. There was a tension in the air. More than the usual hand off tension that Joe knew well. As soon as he'd titled his cap, his side had become on edge and he could feel it. He hoped like hell LeBeau and his guys couldn't feel it as well.
"Billy knows," Joe said with a grin. "He knows all about this. He's hard as a fucking rock over it. Billy loves his country. How about you, Mikey? What do you love?"
"Money," said LeBeau. He looked down into the bag and smiled before turning to Joe. "This is what I love."
It was time.
"Of course you do, comrade."
He said it without edge or force. It was just a neutral statement, but LeBeau had recoiled like Joe had slapped him across the face.
"What the fuck did you just say?" asked LeBeau.
Joe went for the pistol tucked into his waistband just as LeBeau and his guys started going for their weapons. Joe pulled out his Beretta, and that's when all hell broke loose.
One of his guys began to walk towards Ben to take the money at the same time Ben began to walk towards him with the cash. Joe titled his cap -- a grey newsboy-- back on his head at a jaunty angle. To the rest of the group it was the sign to get ready. Ben had just handed the bag to LeBeau's guy, Stone was his name. The two men were already retreating back to their respective sides as if there was an invisible chasm between Joe and LeBeau. There was a tension in the air. More than the usual hand off tension that Joe knew well. As soon as he'd titled his cap, his side had become on edge and he could feel it. He hoped like hell LeBeau and his guys couldn't feel it as well.
"Billy knows," Joe said with a grin. "He knows all about this. He's hard as a fucking rock over it. Billy loves his country. How about you, Mikey? What do you love?"
"Money," said LeBeau. He looked down into the bag and smiled before turning to Joe. "This is what I love."
It was time.
"Of course you do, comrade."
He said it without edge or force. It was just a neutral statement, but LeBeau had recoiled like Joe had slapped him across the face.
"What the fuck did you just say?" asked LeBeau.
Joe went for the pistol tucked into his waistband just as LeBeau and his guys started going for their weapons. Joe pulled out his Beretta, and that's when all hell broke loose.
I'm pretty sure South Boston has more than a few guys named Sullivan running around.
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