![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
whistlersmum in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
birthright_rpg"She's a beauty, this one. Only driven on Sundays by a little old lady. All original parts."
Whistler wasn't listening. He could tell the used car dealer was lying. The car had been put through its paces. But the black Impala called to him. Leather seats, V6 engine. He kicked the tires. The car wanted to kick back. Not literally. But the intent was there. And that he could appreciate.
"Knock off three hundred and I'll drive it off the lot." Whistler could bargain with the best of them. It helped when he could persuade the weaker minded to listen to him.
"I'll make it three fifty."
"That's what I like to hear."
The portly man trundled off to the trailer to get the paperwork.
Since landing in Vegas, the Agent could feel a pull. His instincts to fly back to the States, to go to Searchlight despite his protestations, were on the money.
Whistler opened the door and slid into the driver's seat. He fumbled with the AM radio, ran his hand over the dashboard, and then adjusted the rearview mirror.
The face looking back at him wasn't his own.
It was female, And it wasn't Holly's.
The girl was brunette, brown eyes. She had specks of blood on her chin.
"Who are you?"
Whistler wasn't listening. He could tell the used car dealer was lying. The car had been put through its paces. But the black Impala called to him. Leather seats, V6 engine. He kicked the tires. The car wanted to kick back. Not literally. But the intent was there. And that he could appreciate.
"Knock off three hundred and I'll drive it off the lot." Whistler could bargain with the best of them. It helped when he could persuade the weaker minded to listen to him.
"I'll make it three fifty."
"That's what I like to hear."
The portly man trundled off to the trailer to get the paperwork.
Since landing in Vegas, the Agent could feel a pull. His instincts to fly back to the States, to go to Searchlight despite his protestations, were on the money.
Whistler opened the door and slid into the driver's seat. He fumbled with the AM radio, ran his hand over the dashboard, and then adjusted the rearview mirror.
The face looking back at him wasn't his own.
It was female, And it wasn't Holly's.
The girl was brunette, brown eyes. She had specks of blood on her chin.
"Who are you?"