Arrival
Cody McCann
Mon 07:06PM CST
"--chh. gawddang bike's in th'shop 'gain."
Cody straightens as the well worn [discarded by Morgan a few years back.] flannel flaps agianst the breeze of the slow moving pickup truck. Both boots, yet another hand-me-down balenced firmly against the floor of the flatbed truck, while a single hand grips against the rusted side. Parts of his conversation with Billy were cut off in the speed and distance of travel, the youth's head turns to look towards the river and then back at his brother with a grin.
"But danged if I didn't tell you bout what near-bout happened yesterday."
A tale
Billy McCann
Mon 07:12PM CST
"Naw." Billy, the driver, shoots little bro a glance, then reaches to turn down the stereo enough so that the crooned refrain "Today Billy Joe McCallister jumped off the Tallahatchee bridge..." is little more than a subdural aura of sound. He flashes one of his rare, lazy grins and resists the urge to chuck Cody on the head, preferring to pick up his brown-paper-bagged forty-ounce of whatever was cheap at the station. Gas is gettin' expensive. Cuttin' into Billy's liquor budget, which is serious.
"You ain't told me." Then, almost mimicking, a lazy hooked drawl. "What near-bout happened yesterday?"
Cody McCann
Mon 07:23PM CST
Cody.
You can see the edge of annoyance crawl over his features at his brothers mocking before he is presented with a finger [yeah, the middle one.] before that wide mouth quirks up in a matching grin. The offending hand is snatched away, before its broken, and runs through the greasy mop of hair.
"Jus' lissen, man." Nostrils flare briefly and the lean form stands gripping the outside of the truck's cab while it idles along, tasting the wind briefly. "So like-- this girl right? She catches me sniffin er'tail? And flips me off so I decide to flash the mojo you know.."
Billy McCann
Mon 07:35PM CST
"I'm lissenen'." With the same drawl-not-drawl of his little brother. The universal slur of rednecks, whatever their extraction, north south, east, west. There's a NASCAR sticker on the truck. And a sticker of Rude Calvin pissin' somethin', though that word has been scratched out 'bout a hundred times dependin' on what the boys was mad about. With five, one of 'em was almost always mad 'bout somthing. Catching a glimpse of Cody standing the fuck up in the rearview mirror, Billy 'bout slams on the brakes. Glances over his shoulder, yells through the little hatch-window open onto the truckbed. "SIT THE FUCK DOWN, CODY." There's an aura of command to the voice. Billy knows how to work it when he gives a doggone damn to do so.
Frowning, the older McCann glances around the unfamiliar street and spots the diner. Figuring on something to eat, he waits until his little brother has set his ass down again and pulls over. He doesn't really parallel park, not the conventional way. He sort of pulls up to the curb and takes as much of two parking places as he can in front of the diner. He doesn't get out, though, not for the moment. Just leans back because the song wasn't done, and he was still humming it in his head. "Hey - " interjection, over-the-shoulder. " - what'd I tell you 'bout the set-up? Gotta make me care. What about the girl? Was she worth you sniffin' 'round, or was it just the same's you'd do fer any ole piece of tail?"
Cody McCann
Mon 07:42PM CST
["SIT THE FUCK DOWN, CODY."]
See now those are fighting words, but Billy's done kicked his ass a few thousands times, enough for cody to sit 'the fuck' down - but not BEFORE he kicks the cab with his boots.
"Shit. Y'ain't hafta scream so the whole block could hear." Heated grumbli ng narrowed eyes and then the lecture. Set-up. Cody sinks lower onto the flatbed rubbing at his neck, "She wasn't anybody jus this scrawny lil piece that took it in mind to flip me off--" Teeth grit. "Okay-okay she was a nun with a guitar and next thing y'know she was singing about the hill and the sound--" Smirk, cody could never stay mad lomg, it was like biologically impossible.
"--Of music, the von trap kids came a'runnin--"
Taunting.
[What kinda galliard whats to be LIKE a ragabash anyway?]
Billy McCann
Mon 07:52PM CST
Billy flicks a glance at the rearview mirror as Cody blows off his steam. Feels then shudder of the truck frame as the kid kicks out toward him, doesn't apparently take it overly serious. At least, not serious enough to kick back, just watches with that sort of dour reserve. Watches through the pout, into the smirk, and the launching, taunting joke. Still sits there, lean muscled body molded to the shape of the broken-up old seat, even though the song he liked has long gone off and now they's just playing the piss and shit that passes for country music these days. Nothing, not a smile nor a frown, just nothing.
The next song has cycled half-way through by the time Billy shuts off the engine and stereo, climbs out of the truck and circles the bed, calloused fingers playing through the stubble on his cheeks as he considers the diner, piecing out the name from the glare of the late afternoon sun on the windows. Slapping the bedframe with an open palm, Billy motions to Cody, gesturing toward the diner. Least Billy had the sense to leave his 40 oz back in the truck. Sometimes he don't think to do that.
Only if and when Cody actually climbs out and follows his brother toward the diner does the older boy slip and sing - croon - a few bars of Eidelweiss in his extraordinary tenor, usually hidden beneath the scratch and sprawl of whiskey and cigarettes. "Nuns are great fucks, if you bring 'em around to it right. Real grateful for the lesson." Lidded grin. "Now, 'bout that girl."
Morgan McCann
Mon 08:00PM CST
Morgan was sleeping, peacefully, in the passenger seat. A small line of translucent saliva slipped out the corner of his mouth, running down his face, which he unconsciouly pushed wiped away with the back of his hand. The engine stopped, and he lulled awake, blinking his eyes slowly. "Huh what? Oh.. no.. Cindy Crawford.." Morgan whined, and rolled onto his side, longingly, for that figment of his imagination stolen away by Billy.
Yeah, no use. Any attempt Morgan had at recapturing his verile imagination was squashed by Cody and his goddamned, "Fagtunes..." he grumbled and hit the window between cab and flatbed with his balled fist as a warning.
Still grumbling and bleery eyed, the second youngest McCann clamoured out of the truck, and followed after his brothers. Oh yeah.. and he gave Cody a good dead arm before they got inside. "Keep singing like a fag and one night Imma make you one.."
Cody McCann
Mon 08:08PM CST
Its strange to see the way the brothers interact. It could almost be described as the thinnest veneer of calm over constant antagonism - you'd be right too. [Just don't step between them.] Cody glares at the dead arm, stopping short for a minute as the arm slams into his bicep and the thin [..compared to his BIGGER brothers, at least.] boy backsteps one or two steps while the feeling in his arm goes numb. The omega blues. blue, like the flash of eyes onto Morgans own before Cody sniffs.
"Man, you want a skirt for that love-tap?" Of course Cody's not stupid, he's scrambling in FRONT og Billy through the door. Yeah, taunting Billy was one thing, taunting Moragan was an ibnvitation fir another concussion. Yeah, we said ANOTHER. Fucker. "So this girl right starts sniffin ma'mojo and completely shuts up just waitin' for me ta' bang'er? And see? I was all set to just WALK away--?"
The. Set. Up.
Billy McCann
Mon 08:15PM CST
Billy ignores the squabbling behind him, and instead just ambles toward the diner. Tall and broadshouldered, he's rangy rather than built, towheaded, with blue eyes that come from staring at the horizon and sunburn so deep its come to be a whole new shade of red altogether. Particularly burned over his cheeks, just below his eyes. Pausing with the door open, his fingers smearing prints across the glass, as Cody skedaddles - or is it scampers? - on in in front of him, Billy shoots a glance that might be a flat hard glare right back at Morgan, except its more or less his usual expression and has lost most meaning for the boys.
Billy walks in after Cody, slams the door open so Morgan can walk in without the need for to touch it, ducks a spitwad gone flying at the clock like he's been expecting that spitwad to coming a'winging all his life and was just waiting for that moment to duck outta its way, and follows Cody to the bar. Silent, listening. He flashes an itty bitty smirk by way of acknowledgment of the set up and scratches the counter for a menu.
Morgan McCann
Mon 08:32PM CST
"What?" Morgan replies to that look. "Ya'know he was asking for it too." At which point Morgan trudges through the door behind Billy, and gets hit by the spitwad that Billy ducked, but he didn't have the good sense to see coming all along. "Aw, whatthehell?"
Good thing Morgan has his handy-dandy-never-fails napkin 'n tissue all-in-one with him. Which is also called his sleeve. So Morgan wipes it away, and then casts a glare at the spitwad shooting offender. (While. You. Sleep.)
Then he follows Billy to the counter, and makes sure that Billy is between him and Cody, or else they'll never get to eating (and more importantly, drinking).
Billy McCann
Mon 08:55PM CST
Morgan glares. Billy follows the line of his death-promise-look, but his indrawn expression doesn't change none. Can't even be properly called an expression, since it's more the general organization into which the man's face falls when he's not making an effort into anything otherwise. He picks up the menu, glances at it without reading, and hands it off to Morgan. It's a diner, and the boy already knows what he wants.
The waitress comes up, but Billy puts up a staying hand until Cody finishes his story. Waits, listening, and offers an appreciative smirk at the end, clapping Cody on the back. "You got the magic McCann touch, kiddo. Wanted you so bad her brain overloaded." Looks up at the waitress, then, and orders hisself a double-bacon-cheeseburger with double fries and a double coke. Wonder he's still that lean, the way he eats.
The door opens, and the tall blonde shifts and slides in his seat, stretching to look over his shoulder, the long, lean muscles coiled about his spine clearly visible as the old cotton tee pulls tight against them. Billy tips a nod to Arabella, then elbows Morgan and Cody, each, pointing out her presence. Doesn't need to gesture, doesn't need to say nothin'. All three are 'bout thinkin' the same thing. "Gon' hit that?" So snake-quiet only the boys can hear it. Keepin' an appreciative eye on Arabella, already thinking about the metaphors that might be most appropriate.
Arabella Eberstark
Mon 09:00PM CST
to Billy McCann: ((Oh my god *dies* sure... hit me up on aim sometime buddy - afridelle))
Billy McCann
Mon 08:59PM CST
to MULTIPLE: Sorry - gotta run, but would love to see Arabella again. Gotta get some exercise for that silver tongue. ;)
[Exeunt Billy]
Mon 07:06PM CST
"--chh. gawddang bike's in th'shop 'gain."
Cody straightens as the well worn [discarded by Morgan a few years back.] flannel flaps agianst the breeze of the slow moving pickup truck. Both boots, yet another hand-me-down balenced firmly against the floor of the flatbed truck, while a single hand grips against the rusted side. Parts of his conversation with Billy were cut off in the speed and distance of travel, the youth's head turns to look towards the river and then back at his brother with a grin.
"But danged if I didn't tell you bout what near-bout happened yesterday."
A tale
Billy McCann
Mon 07:12PM CST
"Naw." Billy, the driver, shoots little bro a glance, then reaches to turn down the stereo enough so that the crooned refrain "Today Billy Joe McCallister jumped off the Tallahatchee bridge..." is little more than a subdural aura of sound. He flashes one of his rare, lazy grins and resists the urge to chuck Cody on the head, preferring to pick up his brown-paper-bagged forty-ounce of whatever was cheap at the station. Gas is gettin' expensive. Cuttin' into Billy's liquor budget, which is serious.
"You ain't told me." Then, almost mimicking, a lazy hooked drawl. "What near-bout happened yesterday?"
Cody McCann
Mon 07:23PM CST
Cody.
You can see the edge of annoyance crawl over his features at his brothers mocking before he is presented with a finger [yeah, the middle one.] before that wide mouth quirks up in a matching grin. The offending hand is snatched away, before its broken, and runs through the greasy mop of hair.
"Jus' lissen, man." Nostrils flare briefly and the lean form stands gripping the outside of the truck's cab while it idles along, tasting the wind briefly. "So like-- this girl right? She catches me sniffin er'tail? And flips me off so I decide to flash the mojo you know.."
Billy McCann
Mon 07:35PM CST
"I'm lissenen'." With the same drawl-not-drawl of his little brother. The universal slur of rednecks, whatever their extraction, north south, east, west. There's a NASCAR sticker on the truck. And a sticker of Rude Calvin pissin' somethin', though that word has been scratched out 'bout a hundred times dependin' on what the boys was mad about. With five, one of 'em was almost always mad 'bout somthing. Catching a glimpse of Cody standing the fuck up in the rearview mirror, Billy 'bout slams on the brakes. Glances over his shoulder, yells through the little hatch-window open onto the truckbed. "SIT THE FUCK DOWN, CODY." There's an aura of command to the voice. Billy knows how to work it when he gives a doggone damn to do so.
Frowning, the older McCann glances around the unfamiliar street and spots the diner. Figuring on something to eat, he waits until his little brother has set his ass down again and pulls over. He doesn't really parallel park, not the conventional way. He sort of pulls up to the curb and takes as much of two parking places as he can in front of the diner. He doesn't get out, though, not for the moment. Just leans back because the song wasn't done, and he was still humming it in his head. "Hey - " interjection, over-the-shoulder. " - what'd I tell you 'bout the set-up? Gotta make me care. What about the girl? Was she worth you sniffin' 'round, or was it just the same's you'd do fer any ole piece of tail?"
Cody McCann
Mon 07:42PM CST
["SIT THE FUCK DOWN, CODY."]
See now those are fighting words, but Billy's done kicked his ass a few thousands times, enough for cody to sit 'the fuck' down - but not BEFORE he kicks the cab with his boots.
"Shit. Y'ain't hafta scream so the whole block could hear." Heated grumbli ng narrowed eyes and then the lecture. Set-up. Cody sinks lower onto the flatbed rubbing at his neck, "She wasn't anybody jus this scrawny lil piece that took it in mind to flip me off--" Teeth grit. "Okay-okay she was a nun with a guitar and next thing y'know she was singing about the hill and the sound--" Smirk, cody could never stay mad lomg, it was like biologically impossible.
"--Of music, the von trap kids came a'runnin--"
Taunting.
[What kinda galliard whats to be LIKE a ragabash anyway?]
Billy McCann
Mon 07:52PM CST
Billy flicks a glance at the rearview mirror as Cody blows off his steam. Feels then shudder of the truck frame as the kid kicks out toward him, doesn't apparently take it overly serious. At least, not serious enough to kick back, just watches with that sort of dour reserve. Watches through the pout, into the smirk, and the launching, taunting joke. Still sits there, lean muscled body molded to the shape of the broken-up old seat, even though the song he liked has long gone off and now they's just playing the piss and shit that passes for country music these days. Nothing, not a smile nor a frown, just nothing.
The next song has cycled half-way through by the time Billy shuts off the engine and stereo, climbs out of the truck and circles the bed, calloused fingers playing through the stubble on his cheeks as he considers the diner, piecing out the name from the glare of the late afternoon sun on the windows. Slapping the bedframe with an open palm, Billy motions to Cody, gesturing toward the diner. Least Billy had the sense to leave his 40 oz back in the truck. Sometimes he don't think to do that.
Only if and when Cody actually climbs out and follows his brother toward the diner does the older boy slip and sing - croon - a few bars of Eidelweiss in his extraordinary tenor, usually hidden beneath the scratch and sprawl of whiskey and cigarettes. "Nuns are great fucks, if you bring 'em around to it right. Real grateful for the lesson." Lidded grin. "Now, 'bout that girl."
Morgan McCann
Mon 08:00PM CST
Morgan was sleeping, peacefully, in the passenger seat. A small line of translucent saliva slipped out the corner of his mouth, running down his face, which he unconsciouly pushed wiped away with the back of his hand. The engine stopped, and he lulled awake, blinking his eyes slowly. "Huh what? Oh.. no.. Cindy Crawford.." Morgan whined, and rolled onto his side, longingly, for that figment of his imagination stolen away by Billy.
Yeah, no use. Any attempt Morgan had at recapturing his verile imagination was squashed by Cody and his goddamned, "Fagtunes..." he grumbled and hit the window between cab and flatbed with his balled fist as a warning.
Still grumbling and bleery eyed, the second youngest McCann clamoured out of the truck, and followed after his brothers. Oh yeah.. and he gave Cody a good dead arm before they got inside. "Keep singing like a fag and one night Imma make you one.."
Cody McCann
Mon 08:08PM CST
Its strange to see the way the brothers interact. It could almost be described as the thinnest veneer of calm over constant antagonism - you'd be right too. [Just don't step between them.] Cody glares at the dead arm, stopping short for a minute as the arm slams into his bicep and the thin [..compared to his BIGGER brothers, at least.] boy backsteps one or two steps while the feeling in his arm goes numb. The omega blues. blue, like the flash of eyes onto Morgans own before Cody sniffs.
"Man, you want a skirt for that love-tap?" Of course Cody's not stupid, he's scrambling in FRONT og Billy through the door. Yeah, taunting Billy was one thing, taunting Moragan was an ibnvitation fir another concussion. Yeah, we said ANOTHER. Fucker. "So this girl right starts sniffin ma'mojo and completely shuts up just waitin' for me ta' bang'er? And see? I was all set to just WALK away--?"
The. Set. Up.
Billy McCann
Mon 08:15PM CST
Billy ignores the squabbling behind him, and instead just ambles toward the diner. Tall and broadshouldered, he's rangy rather than built, towheaded, with blue eyes that come from staring at the horizon and sunburn so deep its come to be a whole new shade of red altogether. Particularly burned over his cheeks, just below his eyes. Pausing with the door open, his fingers smearing prints across the glass, as Cody skedaddles - or is it scampers? - on in in front of him, Billy shoots a glance that might be a flat hard glare right back at Morgan, except its more or less his usual expression and has lost most meaning for the boys.
Billy walks in after Cody, slams the door open so Morgan can walk in without the need for to touch it, ducks a spitwad gone flying at the clock like he's been expecting that spitwad to coming a'winging all his life and was just waiting for that moment to duck outta its way, and follows Cody to the bar. Silent, listening. He flashes an itty bitty smirk by way of acknowledgment of the set up and scratches the counter for a menu.
Morgan McCann
Mon 08:32PM CST
"What?" Morgan replies to that look. "Ya'know he was asking for it too." At which point Morgan trudges through the door behind Billy, and gets hit by the spitwad that Billy ducked, but he didn't have the good sense to see coming all along. "Aw, whatthehell?"
Good thing Morgan has his handy-dandy-never-fails napkin 'n tissue all-in-one with him. Which is also called his sleeve. So Morgan wipes it away, and then casts a glare at the spitwad shooting offender. (While. You. Sleep.)
Then he follows Billy to the counter, and makes sure that Billy is between him and Cody, or else they'll never get to eating (and more importantly, drinking).
Billy McCann
Mon 08:55PM CST
Morgan glares. Billy follows the line of his death-promise-look, but his indrawn expression doesn't change none. Can't even be properly called an expression, since it's more the general organization into which the man's face falls when he's not making an effort into anything otherwise. He picks up the menu, glances at it without reading, and hands it off to Morgan. It's a diner, and the boy already knows what he wants.
The waitress comes up, but Billy puts up a staying hand until Cody finishes his story. Waits, listening, and offers an appreciative smirk at the end, clapping Cody on the back. "You got the magic McCann touch, kiddo. Wanted you so bad her brain overloaded." Looks up at the waitress, then, and orders hisself a double-bacon-cheeseburger with double fries and a double coke. Wonder he's still that lean, the way he eats.
The door opens, and the tall blonde shifts and slides in his seat, stretching to look over his shoulder, the long, lean muscles coiled about his spine clearly visible as the old cotton tee pulls tight against them. Billy tips a nod to Arabella, then elbows Morgan and Cody, each, pointing out her presence. Doesn't need to gesture, doesn't need to say nothin'. All three are 'bout thinkin' the same thing. "Gon' hit that?" So snake-quiet only the boys can hear it. Keepin' an appreciative eye on Arabella, already thinking about the metaphors that might be most appropriate.
Arabella Eberstark
Mon 09:00PM CST
to Billy McCann: ((Oh my god *dies* sure... hit me up on aim sometime buddy - afridelle))
Billy McCann
Mon 08:59PM CST
to MULTIPLE: Sorry - gotta run, but would love to see Arabella again. Gotta get some exercise for that silver tongue. ;)
[Exeunt Billy]
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