[ Eddie's thriving. Thriving! He's fresh off of selling almost all of his product at some rich kid bush party, barreling down the road with the pedal to the floor.
It's 2 AM and there isn't a soul on the road, or at least not that he can see. He's blasting Metallica through his van's shitty speakers, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel.
And then he sees it in the distance - red and blue lighting up the darkness behind him, and his heart stops. ]
[ gator's in the passenger seat of the patrol suv, mountain dew can in his hand as he takes a pull from his vape, the citrus-fueled smoke caught by the breeze and out of the window. he leans back, boot on the dashboard. gator fucking hates patrolling - he's a deputy, and this is rookie shit. he's already irritated due to the fact that he's stuck in this position, but the night's swinging this way and that. not much action, and that's even more irritating. he tears open a bag of beef jerky with his teeth, then picks a piece and pops it in his mouth. it's the spicy kind - and his lips curl upward in a half-sneer as he raises the can of pop to wash it down. ]
Fuck, that's hot.
[ a mutter more to himself than anything else between sips. he empties the can, backwash and all, before he places it in the cup holder. it's not like he's about to go around littering. that kind of bullshit doesn't fly here, and it never will. gator twists his lips, tongue picking a spare bit of jerky from his front teeth. he'd do anything for something right now - a little law and order, a little protect without the serve.
that's when a van - shitty, bouncing on bad shocks - comes careening around the corner. the goddamn thing flies like a bat out of hell, gator immediately raising his finger and twirling it to indicate the lights. his partner pulls away from the dirt, tires spinning slightly as the siren wails. oh, whoever this clown is? is getting his ass kicked. gator sits up, tossing the jerky aside, before taking another hit of his vape. they speed down the van fast enough, pulling it over. gator raises his hand to his partner before the guy even has time to ask. ]
I got it.
[ he steps out of the suv, hitching up his pants, gun on his thigh. he knows that this is probably some loser - look at the fucking van they're in - and all he can think is that this person's in for a rude fucking awakening at 2am. he steps up to the driver's side, leaning down. his arm rests on the window's open curve, head ducking to see this shithead's face. the smell of marijuana hits him in the face, and he sneers, righting himself. ]
Well, lookie what we got here. You packing a goddamn pharmacy back there, or is it just the ganja? Step out of the fuckin' van.
[ Eddie brings the van to a stop at the side of the road, replaces loud music for the sound of his own shallow breath.
The cop is younger than he expects, immediately in his face. Eddie swallows. There's a few dimebags left in his lunchbox, shoved behind the passenger seat. And if they really start searching? Who knows what they'll find. ]
I get it, I get it. I just dropped my girlfriend off and she smokes that shit non-stop. I was gonna air it out tomorrow.
[ Eddie already knows he's fucked. He puts his hands out in front of him, moving slowly to unbuckle his seatbelt, to open the door.
Well, it was a good run. If juvie doesn't count, he'll be the youngest Munson to go to jail.
He exhales shakily as he steps out of the van, heartbeat pounding in his ears. ]
[ gator laughs - low, unimpressed - a shake of his head follows. he leans back, stepping a few to the side, as the burnout makes his way out of the van. he doesn't draw his gun, no need, so he merely watches this guy, eyes narrowed dangerously. he slams the van door after the young man gets out, then leans on it with one arm. he nods upward with his chin, jaw set. ]
Girlfriend, huh? You smell like you've been knee-deep in it. I could search and seizure without a goddamn warrant if I smell it, and you know it.
[ threats, all factual and stated by the law of the land - his father. sheriff roy tillman doesn't take kindly to idiots ripping through his county this late with a van full of weed. gator considers taking it all - locking it up in the fucking cvs of an evidence room. so what if it gets stolen from time to time? so what if gator's been one of the deputies ripping it off? the shit smells pretty decent, no skunk, so he tilts his head, watching like a shark with blood nearby. ]
Hands against the van, shithead.
[ he's not going to arrest him, but he is going to put the fear of god into him. gator watches this fuckhead do as he's told, then he approaches slow, pinning him to the van with his forearm to the back of the guy's head. long-haired little freak isn't getting away any time soon, gator using his free hand to search in his pockets. he comes up with a few rolling papers, then flicks it near the van, watching it ricochet near the guy's head before it falls to the ground. ]
Those for your little girlfriend too? That's lying to a deputy. I could send your ass to the tank until you figure out your story, or you can tell me what the fuck you're doing out here in the middle of the night on the road, driving under the influence.
[ 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}
hiiiii teehee
It's 2 AM and there isn't a soul on the road, or at least not that he can see. He's blasting Metallica through his van's shitty speakers, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel.
And then he sees it in the distance - red and blue lighting up the darkness behind him, and his heart stops. ]
Shit.
well there you are.
Fuck, that's hot.
[ a mutter more to himself than anything else between sips. he empties the can, backwash and all, before he places it in the cup holder. it's not like he's about to go around littering. that kind of bullshit doesn't fly here, and it never will. gator twists his lips, tongue picking a spare bit of jerky from his front teeth. he'd do anything for something right now - a little law and order, a little protect without the serve.
that's when a van - shitty, bouncing on bad shocks - comes careening around the corner. the goddamn thing flies like a bat out of hell, gator immediately raising his finger and twirling it to indicate the lights. his partner pulls away from the dirt, tires spinning slightly as the siren wails. oh, whoever this clown is? is getting his ass kicked. gator sits up, tossing the jerky aside, before taking another hit of his vape. they speed down the van fast enough, pulling it over. gator raises his hand to his partner before the guy even has time to ask. ]
I got it.
[ he steps out of the suv, hitching up his pants, gun on his thigh. he knows that this is probably some loser - look at the fucking van they're in - and all he can think is that this person's in for a rude fucking awakening at 2am. he steps up to the driver's side, leaning down. his arm rests on the window's open curve, head ducking to see this shithead's face. the smell of marijuana hits him in the face, and he sneers, righting himself. ]
Well, lookie what we got here. You packing a goddamn pharmacy back there, or is it just the ganja? Step out of the fuckin' van.
β₯β₯β₯
The cop is younger than he expects, immediately in his face. Eddie swallows. There's a few dimebags left in his lunchbox, shoved behind the passenger seat. And if they really start searching? Who knows what they'll find. ]
I get it, I get it. I just dropped my girlfriend off and she smokes that shit non-stop. I was gonna air it out tomorrow.
[ Eddie already knows he's fucked. He puts his hands out in front of him, moving slowly to unbuckle his seatbelt, to open the door.
Well, it was a good run. If juvie doesn't count, he'll be the youngest Munson to go to jail.
He exhales shakily as he steps out of the van, heartbeat pounding in his ears. ]
Look, I know I was speeding. I can take a ticket.
hellish nightmare for edward munson.
Girlfriend, huh? You smell like you've been knee-deep in it. I could search and seizure without a goddamn warrant if I smell it, and you know it.
[ threats, all factual and stated by the law of the land - his father. sheriff roy tillman doesn't take kindly to idiots ripping through his county this late with a van full of weed. gator considers taking it all - locking it up in the fucking cvs of an evidence room. so what if it gets stolen from time to time? so what if gator's been one of the deputies ripping it off? the shit smells pretty decent, no skunk, so he tilts his head, watching like a shark with blood nearby. ]
Hands against the van, shithead.
[ he's not going to arrest him, but he is going to put the fear of god into him. gator watches this fuckhead do as he's told, then he approaches slow, pinning him to the van with his forearm to the back of the guy's head. long-haired little freak isn't getting away any time soon, gator using his free hand to search in his pockets. he comes up with a few rolling papers, then flicks it near the van, watching it ricochet near the guy's head before it falls to the ground. ]
Those for your little girlfriend too? That's lying to a deputy. I could send your ass to the tank until you figure out your story, or you can tell me what the fuck you're doing out here in the middle of the night on the road, driving under the influence.
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?