| Got Milk? |
[20 Oct 2006|09:11pm] |
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"Hey, Oliver!"
Opening the warehouse door, Frank had met the magician at a bar the other night and informed him of a 'whole lot' of old occult texts due to be thrown out.
"Come on in! Ya' here for the books, right?"
Oliver rubbed his left temple, the headache from that afternoon still lingering stubbornly. He'd been drinking steadily since his conversation with Marie Chambers, using the alcohol as a wall to keep his emotions at bay and currently it was doing its job admirably. He squinted at Frank, pushed hair out of his eyes, then nodded.
"Yeah, I figured I'd swing by and take a look at what you've got," he said. This was probably not the best time for this outing, but he wanted to keep himself from thinking. About anything.
He patted the place where his money belt rested comfortably beneath his shirt. As long as this was a cash-only deal, he was covered.
( When Pervs Attack! )
Oliver was mortified. Mortified in a way that he hadn't even known was possible. His hangover was getting progressively worse as the cuffs were put on his wrists and he began to make a list of the people he was going to sue. The Las Vegas police department, for starters. The District Attorney's office. And anybody else he could think of.
"You're making a bad mistake," he said, glowering at Frank as the policemen led the two of them outside. The moral of the story for tonight? Don't talk to strangers.
The flesh of Oliver's balls suddenly tightened. His mother. Dear God, his mother. Corrinne was going to have puppies. And as sick as it was, he might have smirked in any other situation.
He never wanted another milkshake. Ever.
The NPC of Frank was written by E.
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