"I’ve got an ass that don’t quit, yeah. It’s as useful as a cushion as a daisy is at blocking a god-damn rifle from going off." Spencer huffed, not really in the mood for cheery talk. He was looking around for that fast forward button. Could he just go straight to where all of this was done and over with? He was hoping—but hoping got him no where. It only got him a belt to bite down on.
"If they crash the party then shoot THEM in the fucking ass. It’ll be a party. Pants off dance off, whoever dances the bullet out first gets to be put out of their misery first." He grumbled, rubbing his face as he considered alternatives: was cutting his ass off an option? People lost arms all the time, could he lose his ass? "Just make it quick.."
Everyone else would’ve been scared of getting a bullet in their gut at the tone Spencer was using now; there was a distinct ‘piss off’ vibe about his tone that usually meant someone was going to get shot. Connor only felt like laughing harder, however, feeling inordinately amused at the entire situation, the way in wish Spencer was grumbling and shifting awkwardly. “Lie still,” Connor ordered, putting a hand on the swell of Spencer’s hip, right above the bullet wound.
Despite his amusement and his cheerful demeanor before, his features were creased in utmost concentration as soon as he started; hurting Spencer, no matter how necessary in this case wasn’t really a cause for amusement as all and as such, he worded as quick and methodical as he could, digging the tip of the knife in and wedging it beneath what he figured was the bullet. “Hm, figure I’ll need to stitch it once we get home,” He muttered, carefully removing the offending item.
The bullet that you kept. I don’t even know what to say over keeping the damn thing. The old lady? I thought she was staring cause she kept trying to convince people we were psychopaths? Not that she’s wrong, but she’s really fucking nuts to go around her building saying shit like that.
It’s a war memento, obviously. A ‘sign of our love’ — those were your words. Yes, that’s why she’s spying on us. Looking for proof, darling; perhaps her seeing your ass wound will convince her we were obviously up to no good yesterday. Wish I’d thought of shooting her before power came back on.
… Actually, now she’s ogling you. That’s it, closing the curtains.
He had to admit, this was probably one of those moments where he was ready to press fast-forward. It wasn’t so much the pain that he was feeling, by now, his ass was numb. He couldn’t feel much aside from a few moments where he’d move a bit too fast. But now, he was on his stomach, laying down and knowing that what was coming next would probably be on the list of 10 ten things he never wanted to relive.
That being: having a bullet dug out of his ass.
"…Do I get to drink while you do this or should I bite a fucking belt?" Spencer figured alcohol was a bad idea. It would thin the blood and he’d be fucked. "…I’m goin’ with biting on a belt."
It was still difficult to keep his laughter at bay, teeth digging into his bottom lip frequently as he took Spencer somewhere relatively safe so he could, well, dig a bullet out of the man’s arse. “At least you got an arse to work with,” There was a wide grin on his features, “It must’ve, uh, cushioned the blow somewhat, I reckon.”
He couldn’t stop from laughing then when he caught sight of Spencer’s trademark glare, even as the other man lied down on his stomach with his trousers and underwear down. All Connor could really work with at the moment in the place they were in was a thin knife he’d taken with. Handing Spencer his own belt as requested, there was still a slight smirk on his features as he used some wipes to disinfect the knife. “I do hope no one comes crashing in on the fun now.” He muttered, casting a sideways gaze at the back of Spencer’s head as he bowed over the wound. “Lord knows what they’d think.”
…I don’t know where y’got the painkillers from, but it’s feeling real fucking warm in this flat, pretty boy. It’s real love when your partner is ready to dig a bullet out of your ass like a pro.
… how much did you take, darling? Stop taking off your clo— actually, no, keep going. I saw that old tart from across the street spying on us again, you should give her a little show. I happen to like your arse and feel like I’m the only one who is allowed to touch it; the bullet had to go, darling.
This is how our world looks like today. Since the invention of electricity we’ve been getting less and less dependent and now you can see it. I’m neither upset nor excited, but this finally shows that without their smartphones and computers people are pussies. Some seem to haven’t noticed that this is how things look like.
If by less and less dependent, you mean less and less dependent on their own bloody brain then I wholeheartedly agree, mate. Pussies? Perhaps; idiots, for sure. Either cowering in a corner or running around as if life was a video game. I actually saw a bloke with a gun yesterday, yelling that this was just like Call of Duty. To teach him a lesson, I shot a hole in his leg; let’s see if he can find a hospital that’ll make him right as rain again in the span of two seconds.
That’s because they are smart animals. They can sense that the city has gone to the dogs. Even Dolce, who spent the whole night in his cage, is in a pissy mood right now. I didn’t. I was too busy fighting off flight attendants and soldiers. It seems like they think that you can make the whole city electrical power go out just by using a suitcase full of shoes. The airport is hell right now.
Didn’t you arrive at such a great time, hm? I’m surprised they even let any plane fly in at all; I do hope airport security isn’t going to start becoming as anal as it is in the United States. I also hope you didn’t come here to shop up a storm; actually I would’ve recommended coming in a day sooner, at that. Yesterday night, everything seemed to be free for all.
You sounded like one. I am thoroughly disappointed by the fact that you weren’t petting a cat while you were giving your speech.
I aim to amuse. Unfortunately, all the cats seem to be hiding; but I can try steepling my fingers and cackling next time. Wouldn’t call it a speech as much as an observation, though. People did go a bit mental last night. But I’m sure you saw that for yourself just fine.
Were you by any chance a Bond villain in your past life?
Do I come across at that dastardly, huh? Why, I wouldn’t have minded if I had been. Villains have more fun.
I must say, last night’s chaos even surprised me a little — who would’ve thought it only takes shutting down the power for a few hours to make everyone go mental? Oh, London, I know you’re always good for a bit of a party — don’t think I’ve forgotten the fireworks on Christmas last year — but this surpassed even my wildest dreams. Then again, should’ve seen it coming; take away one of everyone’s favorite toys and as one, citizens decided to act like a wronged child throwing a tantrum.
"Now you just have me picturing sheep going ‘baaaaaaad to the bone’." He was just full of horrible puns today. And it was because he was just so giddy over the idea that they could have their fun with the blackout occurring right when boredom was creeping up and rearing its ugly head more and more often in their lives.
"Oh, look at the pretty colors." He snorted, though his brows furrowed at the voice that came from the officer. A mocking gasp came out of Spencer, his hands raising up in the air, "You caught us! Your words of authority have sent fear through us, and now we have to learn our lesson in jail. Darn." It was quickly followed by a roll of his eyes, and a view of the officer’s gun. Oh, Spencer knew how to play that game as well.
"I don’t really feel like I’m under arrest. Do you feel like you’re under arrest, pretty boy?" Spencer turned to look over at Connor, his hand pulling out his own gun as he offered a smile. "I already saw what fire is like and I haven’t shot someone in a real long time, so I’m hoping this just brings back real fond memories." Or a really funny sound to come out of the man’s mouth. Spencer would be content with any of the likely scenarios. He was just never going to be accepting the choice of jail.
With a quick, smooth gesture, Spencer pulled the trigger. And one leg was shot from under the officer, and soon, another shot managed to get the man’s neck. “No fountain..” he said it with slight disappointment, though he did like the idea that the man would take a long time to die. “Let’s get out of here, shall we? Before more idiots try to spoil our fun and waste my bullets.”
The gun went back to safe keeping, and Spencer was already turning to make a quick exit from the area. There was no telling when the power would come back, so every second was a ‘no taking chances’ moment in his mind. That is, until he felt the stinging sensation that suddenly came up his ass. Oddly enough, the sudden memory of the dog he had taken from one of the Cuban drug dealers he killed came to him. The glare the dog gave him in regards to the vet having to drain out it’s anal sack. That look had told him one day he was going to get some sort of karma for it—well—it came and Spencer could only let out a loud “Jesus, fuck me, Christ!” toward the pain.
He was shot. In his ass. It wasn’t to be vulgar or anything, but given the area the bullet now resided, the only thought that could come to mind was; “Well, ain’t that some shit!”
The officer was unexpected, but like Spencer, Connor didn’t show any sign of fear. “Now, honey,” He purred, smirking at the other, “You know there’s only one person I’d let me tie me up and it’s not him.” The police man seemed young and Connor could see the gun shaking a little. If this was someone more experienced, he would’ve pulled that trigger as soon as Spencer brought out his own gun. As it was, he just stood there like an idiot.
Connor didn’t flinch when the gun went off in Spencer’s hand and his face showed no mercy or pity or guilt when the bloke went down, choking something fierce as the last bullet hit his throat. “That’ll cost you points, you know,” He said dryly, though his eyes were shining in amusement as he turned to leave with Spencer, before the others arrived like he said.
The next shot that went off did make Connor flinch, though and his eyes went wide in sudden.. well, fear, when the thought of Spencer having been shot flashed through his mind. He felt the other stumble against him, a harsh sigh escaping his lips when the other yelled out in pain and Connor wasted no time pulling Spencer into the alley they’d come from, hands moving over the other man’s body, looking for the blood. “Christ, Spencer,” He hissed, face lacking any form of amusement — no, it was sober for once, eyes actually burning with barely contained anger at the thought that someone hurt Spencer.
"Where the hell—" He stopped short when he turned the other around and.. caught sight of the wound. Or better, where it was. The anger left him and strangely enough — or perhaps not, because it was fucking ridiculous — he actually felt a laugh bubbling up. "You’re meaning to tell me that in his last dying breath, officer Coltrane over there shot you in the arse?”
He couldn’t help it. He giggled. “Well.” He smoothed his hand over the hit area almost tenderly, brows furrowing a little as he bit his bottom lip to contain the next laugh. “I’ll get to take care of your arse this time, huh?”