[ Eddie cringes as the cop slams the door - the thing's barely in one piece, and he needs it to last as long as he possibly can. God, is this his fucking punishment for daring to step out of Indiana again?
He does as he's told, because quite frankly, he doesn't know what else he can do. The cops back home all know him, for better or worse. Mostly for worse, but they're not like this. He presses his hands up against the side of the van, groaning as the fucker pins him by his head of all things, and closes his eyes, just -- praying he can make it through the night.
All he's got in his back pocket is a pack of rolling papers, and that's enough to continue fueling his rage. Eddie flinches as it hits the side of the van, and he feels like he's going to puke everywhere, his hands trembling in their place. But he's gotta try to worm his way out of this, one way or another. ]
I'm sorry, okay? I was at a party - now I'm just trying to go home. That's all.
[ what a jumpy little spitfuck this guy is. as gator keeps him pinned, a smile forms - all teeth, no mirth. cold and calculating, gator kicks the guy's feet apart, then releases his arm. he leans down, searching properly, hands wandering and patting him down. he pulls his pockets out, then checks his socks against his boots. once he's finished, he stands strong. he hitches up his pants, then clicks his tongue against his teeth. what a fucking let down. no drugs, no cash, nothing worth anything, really. he's irritated again, so he lets out a breath. ]
Turn around, dipshit. Look at me.
[ his eyebrows jump over his dark eyes, head tilting as the smile returns, cap's bill darkening his face. his fingers twitch, aching to unleash a little violence. he knows it's illegal to pop a perp, especially along the roadside at 2am, but his father won't do anything about it. he never does. gator has free reign, and these backwoods roads are his domain, for now. ]
Give me a reason not to haul your ass in. Make it quick.
[ one brow cocks, and he takes out his vape, pulling from it and blowing smoke in this fuckhead's face. he's all twitchy like a rabbit, and gator likes it. it makes him feel powerful, big, strong. putting fear into hearts is what makes him him. ]
[ Eddie's never been so happy to have left all his shit in the back of the van, to have resisted the urge to roar down the highway with a fat joint between his lips. This fucker's thorough, patting him down everywhere he can, like there's any way he could've possibly hid a brick of hash in his back pockets.
He sighs before he turns around, hoping he at least looks sober as he meets the cop's eyes. It's not like he can't drive stoned - he does it all the fucking time, and it's never made his already poor driving any worse. ]
Uh.
[ Eddie's nose twitches as he's hit with a cloud of cloyingly sweet smoke, leaning back against the side of the van. He's running his tongue over his front teeth, trying to think of something, anything this guy might want.
It's too bad he's a pig, or he'd actually be pretty fuckin' hot. What a waste. ]
I mean - you've scared the shit out of me, dude -- sir. Officer. And um, I've learned my lesson. I'm gonna drive like a grandma til the day I die. I can stay pulled over for the night, sleep it off, whatever you want!
[ God, maybe if he were more sober he'd be less shaky, less paranoid, less talkative. But he can't stop himself. ]
[ uh. a standard answer, one that most drivers under the influence give. uh, uh, uh like their brains won't fucking cooperate. gator's used to that - hell, the amount of dwis he pulls over in a week - but this isn't the same. this guy's been smoking it up, girlfriend or no. not that gator believes that bullshit story, but this is fun.
his lips pull into a faux-pout, and he takes a step forward, head tilting back as he stares at him, this little long-haired freak with a shitty van. his chin nods, a jerk, and he leans on the van, hand out near this man's head. he looks his face over, eyes wandering shamelessly, his lips curling upward. ]
It's deputy. Deputy Tillman to you, fuck for brains.
[ anything. gator likes the sound of that, always has. that's how he's been making exchanges for years, and this is the same. fucking for drugs, fucking to get out of tickets and warrants - gator licks his bottom lip before pulling it into his mouth for a firm suck. ]
Sorry. Sorry! Deputy Tillman. No disrespect meant.
[ Bullshit, and they both know it, but hey. Eddie's not above a little flattery if it means not ending the night in lockup. Or a lot of flattery, if that's what it takes.
Also: Fuck. Tillman. Like Sheriff Tillman? Fuck, he's so fucked now, his mind racing with ways he imagines his life is going from here. Drunk tank, van seized, searched. The trailer'll be next, and fuck, what if that implicates Wayne? Wayne's never did a fucking thing wrong and it'll all be his fault for bringing drugs in and -- oh.
There shouldn't be any hope in that, but it's all Eddie's got, so his knees hit the gravel on the shoulder of the road, pressing into his skin through the holes in his jeans. He presses his palms against his thighs, clammy, trying not to shake, and gazes up at Tillman, tongue flicking out over his lips. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
HELL IS REAL AND HIS NAME IS GATOR OF ALL THINGS
He does as he's told, because quite frankly, he doesn't know what else he can do. The cops back home all know him, for better or worse. Mostly for worse, but they're not like this. He presses his hands up against the side of the van, groaning as the fucker pins him by his head of all things, and closes his eyes, just -- praying he can make it through the night.
All he's got in his back pocket is a pack of rolling papers, and that's enough to continue fueling his rage. Eddie flinches as it hits the side of the van, and he feels like he's going to puke everywhere, his hands trembling in their place. But he's gotta try to worm his way out of this, one way or another. ]
I'm sorry, okay? I was at a party - now I'm just trying to go home. That's all.
a gator with real teeth, sorry to say.
Turn around, dipshit. Look at me.
[ his eyebrows jump over his dark eyes, head tilting as the smile returns, cap's bill darkening his face. his fingers twitch, aching to unleash a little violence. he knows it's illegal to pop a perp, especially along the roadside at 2am, but his father won't do anything about it. he never does. gator has free reign, and these backwoods roads are his domain, for now. ]
Give me a reason not to haul your ass in. Make it quick.
[ one brow cocks, and he takes out his vape, pulling from it and blowing smoke in this fuckhead's face. he's all twitchy like a rabbit, and gator likes it. it makes him feel powerful, big, strong. putting fear into hearts is what makes him him. ]
Or you're getting cuffs.
no subject
He sighs before he turns around, hoping he at least looks sober as he meets the cop's eyes. It's not like he can't drive stoned - he does it all the fucking time, and it's never made his already poor driving any worse. ]
Uh.
[ Eddie's nose twitches as he's hit with a cloud of cloyingly sweet smoke, leaning back against the side of the van. He's running his tongue over his front teeth, trying to think of something, anything this guy might want.
It's too bad he's a pig, or he'd actually be pretty fuckin' hot. What a waste. ]
I mean - you've scared the shit out of me, dude -- sir. Officer. And um, I've learned my lesson. I'm gonna drive like a grandma til the day I die. I can stay pulled over for the night, sleep it off, whatever you want!
[ God, maybe if he were more sober he'd be less shaky, less paranoid, less talkative. But he can't stop himself. ]
I'll do -- anything. I can't go to jail.
no subject
his lips pull into a faux-pout, and he takes a step forward, head tilting back as he stares at him, this little long-haired freak with a shitty van. his chin nods, a jerk, and he leans on the van, hand out near this man's head. he looks his face over, eyes wandering shamelessly, his lips curling upward. ]
It's deputy. Deputy Tillman to you, fuck for brains.
[ anything. gator likes the sound of that, always has. that's how he's been making exchanges for years, and this is the same. fucking for drugs, fucking to get out of tickets and warrants - gator licks his bottom lip before pulling it into his mouth for a firm suck. ]
On your knees.
no subject
[ Bullshit, and they both know it, but hey. Eddie's not above a little flattery if it means not ending the night in lockup. Or a lot of flattery, if that's what it takes.
Also: Fuck. Tillman. Like Sheriff Tillman? Fuck, he's so fucked now, his mind racing with ways he imagines his life is going from here. Drunk tank, van seized, searched. The trailer'll be next, and fuck, what if that implicates Wayne? Wayne's never did a fucking thing wrong and it'll all be his fault for bringing drugs in and --
oh.
There shouldn't be any hope in that, but it's all Eddie's got, so his knees hit the gravel on the shoulder of the road, pressing into his skin through the holes in his jeans. He presses his palms against his thighs, clammy, trying not to shake, and gazes up at Tillman, tongue flicking out over his lips. ]
I help you, you help me, right?