2007-08-19: DF: Wanna Bet


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Desmond wants Julia. Molly wants his dry erase board. A bet is made.

August 19th, 2009

Wanna Bet?

The Streets by S*Y*N

Around the corner and a few blocks down from the Syndicate's Headquarters, there is a car. One that Jack Derex would certainly know on sight. Even if it's front has been crumpled and the back bumper is askew and there are scratches all down it's left side. Oh yes, it's still Julia. Though, there are tiny little pink handprints drying on the right hand side and on the hood of the car as if some young child decided to do fingerpaints with more lasting materials. Though Jessica told her to be a good girl, it's oh so very hard for Molly Walker to just stay in one place for very long. As such, she's sprawled out in the back seat of the former Julia, eyes closed, apparently asleep.

The face of Desmond Cusick is not a strange one around these parts. In fact, it's a fairly frequent visitor. It's only chance that brings him by this way on this particular day, shotgun slung over his back, portable dry-erase board tucked under one arm, and an ice chest carried in the other hand. Someone is either here for more booze or is delivering some sort of body part. It's never easy to tell. As he passes by the car, he pauses mid-step, stares, and then slowly makes his way towards it. It looks familiar. He's not exactly the sort who enjoys tinkering with or driving cars, but Desmond has an appreciative eye for beauty, and he'd recognize that car anywhere. That's Jack's car. But Jack's not in it, it's that Walker girl. The former actor narrows his eyes into the back seat. What did she do?!

Molly knows Desmond. Sort of. To be honest, she just knows that he hangs around sometimes and maybe does stuff for Jessica. To say that she actually /knows/ who this person really is would be a longshot. The man's never caught her interest before. What did she do, indeed? Without opening her eyes, she mutters, just loud enough that it should carry, "I charge people for staring. Either fork over some cash or keep walking." Maybe Desmond knows about Julia, maybe he doesn't. But, one thing's for certain, Molly doesn't really care.

The problem with communicating while people aren't looking is that … well, Desmond can't. Not really. It's kinda frustrating. So he swings the dry-erase board over his shoulder using the twine that is attached to it, then frowns at Molly. "Where did you get this car?" he 'says'. It sounds breathy, soundless, like a de-barked dog or an adolescent who has lost his voice. It's not very loud, so it might be difficult to hear, and he roughly clears his throat immediately afterward. It's a little painful to talk.

Is that the sound of Molly not caring how much it hurts Desmond to talk? It may just be. Because she certainly doesn't open her eyes. She doesn't even so much as shift her position. "I won it in a bet, mute button." Maybe she knows what happened to Desmond and why he can't talk very well, maybe she's just being mean because that's the way she is. But, she is slowly getting bored of the questions, as she's currently trying to enjoy her ill-gotten winnings. "So, scram before I call strong, blonde and leggy on you."

"Bet?" Wheeze. Surely Jack wouldn't have bet this car on anything. He wouldn't have been so stupid. He loves this car. Desmond peers at the car, then at Molly, then at the car. Jack probably wants it back, even in this condition. And Desmond doesn't like Molly, so he would be more than happy to get it back from her. He leans on the window frame and clears his throat again. "What bet?"

Of course Jack loves this car, why in the world would Molly accept a bet for anything less than Jack's favorite of something? There's no fun in betting something trivial. Of course, that's not the whole story and there wasn't so much a bet as a demand. That's not a thing Molly's about to admit right now, though. "The bet about who could stare at your face longest without laughing." Finally, the young girl opens her light blue eyes and fixes Desmond with nothing other than a glare. "Seriously. Beat it. You stay here much longer, I may lose my voice, too."

Desmond's expression grows colder, and he returns that glare full-force. Even though Molly's watching him now, he doesn't resort to the dry-erase board. No, this is a matter of pride. And beating Molly at her own game. "What if I made a bet to get this car?" he huffs out, followed by yet another throat-clearing.

"You'd be making it with yourself," Molly replies with a snort. "You don't have anything I want." Which would be the point of making a bet. Pride or not, Molly doesn't seem to be taking this personally. Nor does she seem anything more than simply annoyed by the distraction to her previously arranged schedule.

"How do you know I don't?" How does he know he does? He doesn't. Desmond just figures it's worth at least a shot. There must be something the bratty fourteen-year-old wants that he can provide.

Raising an eyebrow, Molly just looks at Desmond. "What could you /possibly/ have that I would have any interest in?" She's gotten a car from Jack, wishes from Logan, not dying from Jessica, what could Desmond possibly add to her pile? "Shoo. You're boring now."

No, Desmond will not 'shoo'. He's about as stubborn as Molly and when he wants something, he damn well gets it. Usually. So he starts listing off things that he has (or has access to) that might interest the girl: "Guns, booze." Pause. "A different car."
Now there's a bit of a snicker that escapes from Molly. Languidly, she sits up and rests her chin on her knees, those pulled up to her chest. "You have no idea what teenagers want. What /I/ would want is something that /you/ want. Something that would be /painful/ for you to no longer have any more. Because I can get just about anything that /I/ want on my own. Something from /you/ on the other hand? Well, that just makes things more interesting." She studies Desmond. "Now what in the world do I think you would never wanted to be parted from? Now that's the true question."

Just about the only things that Desmond ever loved have been taken away from him already. Money, power, his voice — the only things left are his looks and sex. And his ability to stay with Candy, because he'd rather not live on the street again, where he could get snatched and returned to a camp. He raises an eyebrow at that, then shrugs. Of course he's not going to offer anything along those lines. He's not exactly the bravest soldier in the ranks.
Well, those aren't the things that Molly can take from him. Other than, maybe, his looks, by scarring him somehow, but that's not really fun for her. Too much blood, too much mess. She's had enough of that lately. "Mmm. You don't seem like the kind of person who has anything that I could do much with. Don't look like a family man….don't look like any sort of anything man. Hmph. Boring boring boring. No wonder I never took an interest in you before."

Desmond purses his lips at that. Boring. It stings a little. He doesn't like being viewed as 'boring'. With a huff, he pulls out the dry-erase board, marker, and rag and holds it out toward Molly. It's about the closest thing to 'debilitating' as he could give, and it wasn't exactly easy to come by either.

Finally, Molly gives Desmond something like a giggle. "Oooh, it's so deliciously useless." Fascinated, she grabs the dry-erase board and the marker. Quickly she doodles a frowny face on it and holds it up, sticking out her lower lip so that she can match her expression to the board. "This is what Mr. Desmond Frowny Face looks like all the time. Boo hoo hoo." Then, there's a wicked grin that she gives the other man. "Now. You said something about a bet?"

There's a sarcastic little sneer waiting for Molly's mockery, and it quickly changes into a dark scowl. The sooner he gets this over with, the happier he'll be. "Pushups. I bet I can do more than you." It sounds half-hearted. Maybe he's fishing for ideas from the girl.

If Molly seems at all remorseful that she made Desmond upset, she certainly doesn't show it. That's probably because she doesn't feel anything of the sort. In fact, she's absolutely delighted to have gotten under his skin, made him angry. It shows that she's hit a nerve. "Push ups? Boring. Nothing at all interesting about shoving your face off the ground. I think we should bet about who can yell the loudest." Another jab? Yes. Yes it is.

Har. Har. Har. Another sarcastic face before Desmond withdraws a pistol from his belt and raises the ice chest. "Targets, then," he wheezes. "I have bottles of alcohol in here. Whoever can shoot the most accurately wins."

Never far without a gun of her own, Molly reaches down underneath the back seat and pulls out a handgun of her own. "Now you're singing my tune, Opera boy." Because Molly, sadly, hasn't had enough to shoot lately. While she'd prefer it to be a little more high stakes than liquor, well, she'll take what she can get.

Good. Desmond moves away from the car and heads for some nearby garbage cans tucked into a small alley. It takes just a little bit, but he finally sets them up and places three bottles on top of them, all of varying sorts of booze. He's sacrificing his alcohol for this. He'll be sacrificing his board if he loses. Jack had better be damn grateful. Finally, he moves back toward the car and leans against the trunk, arms crossed. Ladies first. Even if she's not really a lady.

No, she's not really a lady. Not even when she grows up will she be. She was starting to be a tomboy before everything started. It happens when you're raised by two men. But, now she's something not even defined by tomboy or lady. She's just kind of unhinged. While she'd prefer to go last, so she knows what she's up against, she won't miss the opportunity. Eyeing the bottles, she takes aim and fires. With a sound like a crack and breaking glass, a hole appears in one of the bottles - the one to the left, in the body of the thing, but more toward its top that its center.

Desmond merely stands where he is, watching. The sound of the handgun doesn't seem to faze him. It probably doesn't faze too many people around here, really — considering.

Lowering her gun, Molly eyes Desmond and then steps to the side. She makes an elaborate curtsey and then gives him a smirking grin. "After you, Mime boy."

It's fortunate Desmond's not really a homicidal sort of guy. Otherwise he'd be tempted to turn that gun on Molly. He quickly raises the gun and takes only a moment to aim before squeezing the trigger. The second bottle explodes, sending glass and booze sprawling over the top of the garbage can.

Desmond could /try/ to turn the gun on Molly. She's survived the war and much worse things by being quick on her feet and thinking the worst of any situation. Should the man decide to play foul, she would have no qualms in shooting him first. And going for a lethal area first. "Well well. Guess you can shoot better than you can sing. Now's when it get's interesting. Watch closely, Dessie. I'm aiming for the neck, just to be sporting and give you another chance." She takes that third bottle into her sights, stretches out her arm and without waiting for much guess or check work, her gun fires again. Just like she said, the neck of the bottle crumples and flies into the air in a rain of glass shards. Lowering her gun, she raises her empty hand in the form of a gun to her lips and blows away the imaginary smoke. "Bang bang."

Once again, Desmond is very calm, very cool — or okay, he's not throwing a tantrum and shooting things outside of the bottles. His jaw flexes hard when Molly taunts him, but he once again raises the gun and fires. The third bottle also dissolves into glass and spilled alcohol as the bullet hits true. Then, opening the chest, he takes out three more bottles and moves to set them up where the others were. The last of the bottles, and so far he's tied with the girl.

Oh, this is fun. Taunting, shooting, if she drank liquor, she may even be tempted to steal a bottle to swig from. However, that's not the case. She doesn't like the taste. Molly waits for Desmond to get out of the way of the line of fire before she takes aim again. She's getting warmed up and ready for anything. This time, she doesn't even say anything taunting or otherwise as she aims and fires. Another liquor bottle gone to waste. The rats will sure be getting drunk tonight.

Once again, Desmond takes aim and squeezes off a shot. There's a loud ping and then a high-pitched reverberating sound, however, the glass bottle doesn't break. It merely wobbles. Miss. The man looks quite disappointed.

Seeing the bottle remain intact, Molly gives Desmond a smirking kind of smile. Barely looking, she quickly raises a gun and fires off a round, finishing off the bottle that Desmond was originally supposed to hit. Predictably, it all but dissolves into liquid and glass. Then, she flicks the safety back on, stows her gun away and holds up her frowny face dry erase board, making the matching face, as she did before.

If he's anything, Desmond is a sore loser. Very, very sore. Even after two years, that hasn't changed. So when the bottle he was supposed to hit gets taken care of, his frown deepens. And when Molly puts away her gun, he doesn't. Instead, he turns it on her, keeping it level with her head. "I'm taking the car," he breathes out. Whether or not he lost the bet.

"Oh are you now?" Molly looks more amused at this turn of events than anything else. She has no ability that is aggressive and she already stowed away her gun, but that doesn't mean that she's scared of this man. "If you shoot me, do you know what Jessica will do to you? You'll lose more than just your voice." The frowny board lowers slightly. "Over a beat up and broken car."

"Jessica won't know," Desmond rasps, "if you're dead." No witnesses means no one will know who did it. "I'm taking the car. Give me the keys." A moment's pause. "And the gun." Because he'd rather not get shot in the back while he's driving off.

There's a very mirthful laugh from Molly as she watches Desmond, not the gun. "Oh, /cliche/. I made such a mistake. You /are/ fun." Still grinning, Molly pulls the keys out of her pocket and holds them up with a jingle so that they're level with her head, but no more closer to the man holding a gun at her. The grin never leaving her face, she then holds her arm out to the side. With her other arm, she flings the dry erase board at Desmond, ducks and rolls and then zig zags her way to the mouth of the alleyway.

That dry-erase board hits true, causing Desmond to take a step back. His lip curls up angrily and he raises the gun again, pulling off one shot that flies wildly askew. The next two rapid-succession shots are much closer to their moving target, and then his clip is spent. Without hesitation, he flings away the handgun and reaches back to draw out the shotgun.

Not looking back, Molly weaves back and forth. It's hard to hit a target that isn't running in a straight line, isn't it? Pulling out all the stops, the blonde girl knows that Desmond means business. Putting on an extra burst of speed, she speeds around the corner.

And here comes Desmond, hot on the trail. It's not easy to fire a shotgun while one is running, and the distance is too great for it to be truly effective anyhow. So he plans something else. He plans to catch up to Molly and hopefully use the shotgun's butt to slam her in the back of the head. He just has to catch up to her, that's all. Granted, he's in good shape and has a long stride, but she's pretty damn quick.

Though she takes shorter strides, Molly is no wuss. Nor has she just lain about these past two years. She's fast, very fast, fast like a freak, perhaps. Already she has a lead on Desmond as she started running while he was standing still. He's not shooting any more, but that's okay. She can tell where he's coming from. By the time Desmond has reached the mouth of the alleyway, all he'll be able to see is the back of Molly turning down another corner.
Desmond hasn't been laying around either. In fact, he's had far more time to work out now that he's had … well, basically nothing else to do while hiding out in Candywasteland. He keeps right on Molly's trail, moving as fast as he possibly can in the hopes of closing the distance.
Though Desmond is indeed closing the distance on Molly, the girl has no plans on slowing down or stopping. Or does she? The trail that she leads Desmond on leads them right back to the mangled Julia. However, after he turns the corner there, there is no Molly on the street. Strange. He was getting close to catching up.

Well that's just suspicious. When Desmond rounds the corner that leads to Julia and finds Molly has disappeared, he raises the shotgun to the ready and slows down to a cautious walk. His main focus is the car. She could be hiding in it, like she was when he first found her. And since she's still armed, well, he's not taking any risks. He slowly, slowly approaches Julia, all senses alert (even his poor half-deaf ears).

Is Molly in the car? No. No she is not. However, while Desmond is stalking around slowly, there's a jingling and a jangling that he may not hear due to his poor half-deaf ears. Then, suddenly, if he didn't hear it already before, he'll quickly know where Molly is. Because a set of keys plummets from the third story fire escape where the young girl just dropped them from, aiming right for Desmond's head.

No, in point of fact, Desmond does not hear the jingling and jangling. So when those keys land, they hit their mark, splitting open his scalp. It's minor, really, but definitely painful and (thanks to being a head wound) starts to bleed quite faithfully. The former actor lets out a grunt (which sounds more like a 'hhh!') and swings the shotgun to aim upwards, but again, it would be rather stupid to fire. She's way up there. Anything that did manage to reach her would be useless. So instead he turns his attention to the keys, then casts another glare up at Molly before slowly crouching to pick them up. He keeps his eye on her the entire time, ready to leap to the side should she decide she'd like to drop something else on his head — like a bullet.

It's quite possibly that the keys aren't the only things that Molly would hurl down at Desmond. In fact, little rocks and pebbles and rubble start to rain down in quick succession to the sound of giggling. The girl is having much too much fun with this, it has to be said. "Oooh, he does his favors for Uncle Jack, he likes him sooooo much," she teases from above. "Isn't he just the guardian angel? Isn't he just precious?"

Christ, it's like a monkey. Desmond shields his face and head with the arm holding the shotgun as he quickly retrieves the keys and shuffles over in an attempt to get away from the falling debris and more towards the car. He curls up a lip at Molly's taunting and flips her the bird before he picks up his empty ice chest and dry-erase board and retreats into Julia. There, he attempts to start her up. Hopefully she's not too damaged to drive.

Though the exterior is very banged up and mauled, the engine itself isn't in too bad shape. In fact, it turns over easily when Desmond starts her. The rocks and downpour of rubble stops once it's obvious that there's no way she's going to hurt Desmond any more. Instead, she just swings a leg over the fire escape railing and then the other one. Sitting on the rail, she watches Desmond pull away with a satisfied smirk on her face. Well. At least that was entertaining.

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