AliceAbigail
TokyoPewPew
Neziul
Days
yobo
redrootssss
i n d i g o
X Fiendfyre X
Shifter_Master Seems the older one gets the less surprises happen. First Jack is woken by a hysterical woman, and now he’s being relentlessly badgered by his senseless partner. Okay, that was unfair. But really, the battle never ends, the fight even seems to intensify when feeling ill equipped to handle it. It's like spirits were always watching, influencing those around you, making sure you get hammered at the most inopportune time. It wasn't Cam's fault, she was just doing her thing. In the end Jack blamed himself as always, and for good reason, especially in this case. He's the only one to decide on obliterating himself with alcohol on a nightly basis. He makes his own bed to lie in, everyone does. But that doesn't negate the torment that ensues. Besides, Camilla had a point, it was far too early for this shit.
He held still like a man who, though outwardly calm, could clearly be construed as one about to explode at any moment. One hand rested on the gearstick, the other limp on the wheel while he inwardly winced at the words that flooded from her mouth. Of course, it wasn’t as bad as all that, in his condition her words felt more antagonizing than what was intended. But still….
Shut up. Nothing you’ve said will actually change a thing.
Cam finished spouting her mouth, and in that moment of praised silence he sneered, although even the curl of his lip would have appeared to be lacking effort. Opening the door, he stepped out of the car without a word, swayed to find his bearings, then shuffled his way across a patch of lawn, his back to the car as he unzipped the fly of his blue jeans and relieve himself into a nearby hedge. Finished, he made his way back to the car, adjusted the well-warn, brown leather jacket to find moderate comfort in his seat before closing the door and jamming the car in first gear.
“Done bitch’n?” His words were flat as his deadpan look as he reached for the back seat to produce a paper bag that he preceded drop on her lap. In the bag she’d find a bacon and egg McMuffin. “Breakfast of champions.” He tells her, “Get it into ya.” There was also a coffee waiting for her in the cup holder of the center console. In the closing of the only words he had to express, he pulled away from curb and tore off down the street.
To be perfectly clear, Jack didn’t mind Camilla at all. She was a good girl. Sure, she was about as placid as a ship tossed at sea in a hurricane, but for the most part her head was in the right place. More importantly, she did have a way of impressing him. He’d seen it on a few promising occasions; the ability to think coherently in the face of danger. That’s what he needed in a partner, not some hesitant automaton constantly in need of instruction, rather someone who could think for themselves. Think on their feet. Independence took leaps and bounds in this profession. Besides her annoying exuberance - something that defiantly served as an anchor for Jack - she was easy to look at. A little eye candy had its place. Not that it was an essential component, but it certainly helped in some decrepit manner of thinking. Naturally, that wasn’t something he’d care to admit to her, or anyone for that matter. Business was business.
The journey to their destination didn’t take long and Jack held his tongue, listening to anything else Cam had to say, though in all honestly he may not have appeared to be paying any attention. He was like that; never feeling the need to voice his opinion or express any emotional response. Circumstances spoke for themselves. Yet every now and then he tended to voice his own surprise with words that left no doubt of his attentiveness.
They arrived at 21 Ashmore Avenue fifteen minutes later and Jack pulled into the driveway. He wouldn’t have seemed at ease to Camilla. Though he always gave the impression of being calm, she would have noticed by the unsettled shifting of his eyes that his suspicion was mounting. Something wasn’t right, but then, when was ever anything right in their profession? In the end, it was just a matter of degree.
He continued to leave the engine run idle while looking Cam up and down, possibly the first time he actually regarded her with any amount of visible interest that day. After what may have deceivingly seemed to be a man checking out the attractive hitchhiker in his passenger seat, he posed the question:
“Look’n to buy?”
His question was clearly intended for Camilla to take note of the residence immediate appearance: A well weathered For Sale sign loomed on the overgrown lawn, while the two story red-brick home didn’t exactly exalt in recent maintenance or upkeep. One of the three ground floor windows had its glass shattered. But there was no screaming woman exiting the front door with arms flailing, no teen peeking from the window snickering on account of the trouble he or she had caused. Jack was beginning to wonder if the house was actually occupied when the roller door to the lock up garage started to open for them. Apparently someone inside was welcoming them… but why the need to have them enter the garage? Jack would have been happy to park on the street for all it mattered.
The roller door to the garage released a loud thud as it finished opening. Inside the garage there was nothing, however. No boxes, no household machinery or tools, no children’s push bike; nothing to indicate that the house was actually occupied. But then again, if the house was up for sale, it was reasonable to assume that most of the packing had been done already. Still, he didn’t drive in because he just didn’t see the point, especially if a quick getaway was going to be needed later. So he cut the engine, secured the handbrake, and regarded Camilla with a Jack-typical raise of one brow.
“I’ve got my Glock. That’ll do me until we’ve assessed the situation. Grab something from the trunk if you feel the need.” He suggested.
Cam already had an extra set of keys to the Mustang. Jack had given them to her a few weeks earlier, since he felt it prudent to keep all things covered in case of emergencies.
They’d get out of the car at this point. Jack would linger by the entrance of the garage further analyzing the situation while awaiting Cam to do whatever she needed to do.
He held still like a man who, though outwardly calm, could clearly be construed as one about to explode at any moment. One hand rested on the gearstick, the other limp on the wheel while he inwardly winced at the words that flooded from her mouth. Of course, it wasn’t as bad as all that, in his condition her words felt more antagonizing than what was intended. But still….
Shut up. Nothing you’ve said will actually change a thing.
Cam finished spouting her mouth, and in that moment of praised silence he sneered, although even the curl of his lip would have appeared to be lacking effort. Opening the door, he stepped out of the car without a word, swayed to find his bearings, then shuffled his way across a patch of lawn, his back to the car as he unzipped the fly of his blue jeans and relieve himself into a nearby hedge. Finished, he made his way back to the car, adjusted the well-warn, brown leather jacket to find moderate comfort in his seat before closing the door and jamming the car in first gear.
“Done bitch’n?” His words were flat as his deadpan look as he reached for the back seat to produce a paper bag that he preceded drop on her lap. In the bag she’d find a bacon and egg McMuffin. “Breakfast of champions.” He tells her, “Get it into ya.” There was also a coffee waiting for her in the cup holder of the center console. In the closing of the only words he had to express, he pulled away from curb and tore off down the street.
To be perfectly clear, Jack didn’t mind Camilla at all. She was a good girl. Sure, she was about as placid as a ship tossed at sea in a hurricane, but for the most part her head was in the right place. More importantly, she did have a way of impressing him. He’d seen it on a few promising occasions; the ability to think coherently in the face of danger. That’s what he needed in a partner, not some hesitant automaton constantly in need of instruction, rather someone who could think for themselves. Think on their feet. Independence took leaps and bounds in this profession. Besides her annoying exuberance - something that defiantly served as an anchor for Jack - she was easy to look at. A little eye candy had its place. Not that it was an essential component, but it certainly helped in some decrepit manner of thinking. Naturally, that wasn’t something he’d care to admit to her, or anyone for that matter. Business was business.
The journey to their destination didn’t take long and Jack held his tongue, listening to anything else Cam had to say, though in all honestly he may not have appeared to be paying any attention. He was like that; never feeling the need to voice his opinion or express any emotional response. Circumstances spoke for themselves. Yet every now and then he tended to voice his own surprise with words that left no doubt of his attentiveness.
They arrived at 21 Ashmore Avenue fifteen minutes later and Jack pulled into the driveway. He wouldn’t have seemed at ease to Camilla. Though he always gave the impression of being calm, she would have noticed by the unsettled shifting of his eyes that his suspicion was mounting. Something wasn’t right, but then, when was ever anything right in their profession? In the end, it was just a matter of degree.
He continued to leave the engine run idle while looking Cam up and down, possibly the first time he actually regarded her with any amount of visible interest that day. After what may have deceivingly seemed to be a man checking out the attractive hitchhiker in his passenger seat, he posed the question:
“Look’n to buy?”
His question was clearly intended for Camilla to take note of the residence immediate appearance: A well weathered For Sale sign loomed on the overgrown lawn, while the two story red-brick home didn’t exactly exalt in recent maintenance or upkeep. One of the three ground floor windows had its glass shattered. But there was no screaming woman exiting the front door with arms flailing, no teen peeking from the window snickering on account of the trouble he or she had caused. Jack was beginning to wonder if the house was actually occupied when the roller door to the lock up garage started to open for them. Apparently someone inside was welcoming them… but why the need to have them enter the garage? Jack would have been happy to park on the street for all it mattered.
The roller door to the garage released a loud thud as it finished opening. Inside the garage there was nothing, however. No boxes, no household machinery or tools, no children’s push bike; nothing to indicate that the house was actually occupied. But then again, if the house was up for sale, it was reasonable to assume that most of the packing had been done already. Still, he didn’t drive in because he just didn’t see the point, especially if a quick getaway was going to be needed later. So he cut the engine, secured the handbrake, and regarded Camilla with a Jack-typical raise of one brow.
“I’ve got my Glock. That’ll do me until we’ve assessed the situation. Grab something from the trunk if you feel the need.” He suggested.
Cam already had an extra set of keys to the Mustang. Jack had given them to her a few weeks earlier, since he felt it prudent to keep all things covered in case of emergencies.
They’d get out of the car at this point. Jack would linger by the entrance of the garage further analyzing the situation while awaiting Cam to do whatever she needed to do.
