Honeymoon in Vegas
Mar. 18th, 2014 03:05 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
birthright_npc in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
birthright_rpg"I been cheated...
Been mistreated...
When will I be loved?"
Linda Ronstadt's voice on the jukebox was the only noise left in the room. Sure, the song was ten years old, but the classics never went out of style. The mirror behind the bar was shattered, and glass shards crunched under a pair of boots as a blonde of medium height walked through them to get to the register. She futzed with the contraption for a few minutes, and the cash drawer finally opened with a muted ding.
"Fuckin' A."
"What'd ya find?"
"There's two grand in here or I'll wipe my ass with a cactus."
"We musta got here on pay day. Either that or there's a lot of rich assholes around here."
The handsome young man across the room was trying to jimmy open the cigarette machine. He didn't smoke, but she did, and they'd come in because she was out of cigs. The rest had been impulse, almost an accident. Almost.
"Fuck this thing," he grunted, a strong Okie accent thickening the words. He found a chair that had been flung across the room, used it to smash the front of the machine. More glass sprinkled onto the floor, and he kicked out what remained in the frame before pulling out several packs of smokes.
The blonde was perusing the unbroken bottles of booze, and she found and uncapped some Jim Beam to drink several healthy swallows without looking for a glass. There was blood on her shirt, a splatter pattern. There was more crunching as she walked through the broken glass again, stepping around the other mess behind the bar. "They got Marlboros?"
"No, but they got Kools."
He tossed two green packs in her direction, and she caught them with an annoyed expression. "I hate menthols," she griped, but opened one pack and tucked the other in her pocket. The smell of smoke joined the faint aroma of blood in the room. Linda Ronstadt warbled on.
"You gonna drink that fuckin' thing by yerself, or you gonna share?"
"Jesus..."
She approached him, and he swiped the bottle out of her hand. He was several inches taller than she was, and she watched his throat work as he drank bourbon. His brown hair was a mess of cowlicks. She resisted the urge to try smoothing it into place. He hated it when she did that. The bottle was three-quarters full when he handed it back.
"I wanna go to Vegas." The blonde said it around the cigarette in her mouth. They were currently on the outskirts of Henderson, but they had a few hours before the mess they'd made would be discovered. Longer than that, really, since it wasn't summer and the insane Nevada heat wouldn't immediately make things start to stink. "I wanna drink and gamble and see strippers. And stay in the swankest hotel they've got."
The handsome young man nodded, a fond expression on his narrow face. "Sure. I promised ya we could do whatever you wanted if'n you'd come with me. I'm a man of my word."
"You're my lovin' man, is what you are."
The music had stopped, leaving the bar eerily silent. He dug around in his pockets and found some coins, then sorted through them until he found a quarter. The rest of the change he set down on a beer-damp table. There was a noise as he dropped the money in the jukebox's slot, then made his selections. The jukebox whirred as records were sorted through, and Linda's voice belted out the first words of When Will I Be Loved? all over again.
"One dance. Then we'll motor."
Been mistreated...
When will I be loved?"
Linda Ronstadt's voice on the jukebox was the only noise left in the room. Sure, the song was ten years old, but the classics never went out of style. The mirror behind the bar was shattered, and glass shards crunched under a pair of boots as a blonde of medium height walked through them to get to the register. She futzed with the contraption for a few minutes, and the cash drawer finally opened with a muted ding.
"Fuckin' A."
"What'd ya find?"
"There's two grand in here or I'll wipe my ass with a cactus."
"We musta got here on pay day. Either that or there's a lot of rich assholes around here."
The handsome young man across the room was trying to jimmy open the cigarette machine. He didn't smoke, but she did, and they'd come in because she was out of cigs. The rest had been impulse, almost an accident. Almost.
"Fuck this thing," he grunted, a strong Okie accent thickening the words. He found a chair that had been flung across the room, used it to smash the front of the machine. More glass sprinkled onto the floor, and he kicked out what remained in the frame before pulling out several packs of smokes.
The blonde was perusing the unbroken bottles of booze, and she found and uncapped some Jim Beam to drink several healthy swallows without looking for a glass. There was blood on her shirt, a splatter pattern. There was more crunching as she walked through the broken glass again, stepping around the other mess behind the bar. "They got Marlboros?"
"No, but they got Kools."
He tossed two green packs in her direction, and she caught them with an annoyed expression. "I hate menthols," she griped, but opened one pack and tucked the other in her pocket. The smell of smoke joined the faint aroma of blood in the room. Linda Ronstadt warbled on.
"You gonna drink that fuckin' thing by yerself, or you gonna share?"
"Jesus..."
She approached him, and he swiped the bottle out of her hand. He was several inches taller than she was, and she watched his throat work as he drank bourbon. His brown hair was a mess of cowlicks. She resisted the urge to try smoothing it into place. He hated it when she did that. The bottle was three-quarters full when he handed it back.
"I wanna go to Vegas." The blonde said it around the cigarette in her mouth. They were currently on the outskirts of Henderson, but they had a few hours before the mess they'd made would be discovered. Longer than that, really, since it wasn't summer and the insane Nevada heat wouldn't immediately make things start to stink. "I wanna drink and gamble and see strippers. And stay in the swankest hotel they've got."
The handsome young man nodded, a fond expression on his narrow face. "Sure. I promised ya we could do whatever you wanted if'n you'd come with me. I'm a man of my word."
"You're my lovin' man, is what you are."
The music had stopped, leaving the bar eerily silent. He dug around in his pockets and found some coins, then sorted through them until he found a quarter. The rest of the change he set down on a beer-damp table. There was a noise as he dropped the money in the jukebox's slot, then made his selections. The jukebox whirred as records were sorted through, and Linda's voice belted out the first words of When Will I Be Loved? all over again.
"One dance. Then we'll motor."