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I’m gonna break his fuckin’ neck.
Two times, now, Eli Dresden made the attempt to get Brian Hollywood to pull his head out of his ass… and two times, she failed.
Miserably.
It was obvious that something was rotten in the land of Hollywood–she figured that out the moment that she noticed the almost absent look in his eyes, like he was running from his own personal demons while trying to be present enough in the conversation to be a condescending dickweasel. Maybe she should’ve decked him for blaming her for their first loss when he was the one who had gone out of his way to not do his part, but that just would’ve given him something else to twist around so he could play the victim… and she would be good God damned if she was gonna give him that.
“At this rate, I’m tempted t’go to Home Depot to get some nails and a hammer so I can make a real martyr out of his ass,” Eli grumbled to herself.as she strode across the parking lot, hands shoved into her pockets and the collar of her leather coat turned up against the wind. The urge to just–crash her motorcycle through the front windows to maybe do some indirect damage to his wallet had been strong enough for her to realize that it was probably not a good idea. Not that she gave a damn about the injuries she’d inflict on herself in doing so–it was a pretty safe bet that she didn’t care about that. No, no…
She’d never seen her brother be so gentle before.
Isaiah never raised a hand to her–not beyond to muss up her hair–and it wasn’t like he was rough on his personal possessions for the most part. She’d just watched him carelessly let his bike fall over sideways once he hit the front yard of the Dresden family home that seeing him treat the motorcycle he brought home a week or so prior like it’d break if he breathed on it wrong? That was new, though as he carefully ran a microfiber cloth along its gleaming black surface, she could certainly understand the appeal. There was something–compelling about its shape, hypnotic about the thought of going around curves while she clung to it like a lover. It drew her in closer and closer until she was within hand’s reach, though she didn’t dare touch it–not even when he told her to go ahead.
When she finally found the words to ask him if she could take it for a ride sometime, his laughter was followed by a genuine offer to take her with her the next time he went out–a next time that never came.
It was the bike she couldn’t stand to hurt, as stupid as it sounded.
As she approached the only thing left in the world that she could genuinely say she gave a damn about, a quick cursory examination revealed that it was unhurt–not even so much as a scratch, which was exactly how she liked it. Eli swung her leg over to sit astride it, a deep breath taken in as she tried to savor the memory she had found, one that didn’t have a sharp edge to be found, a rarity to say the least. She could feel her heart slow down, her breathing even out… her mind settle into place beneath her thoughts the way the bike supported her body.
The calm it brought with it had her thoughts returning to the man she was being forced to partner with.
Brian Hollywood wasn’t the only one with problems–a glance down at the fucked-up toe of her boots was ample reminder of that, Eli noted with a scoff–but trying to convince him to give a damn about someone other than himself was basically impossible. Or, at least, it was if she kept going about it the way she was. There was no way in Hell that the man who had once been given the Deadly Sin of Greed was going to care about anything but himself and what would benefit him most–and at the moment, he thought that jerking her around was worth more than capturing tag team gold that was familiar to him. No, to get him to give a damn about making the best of a bad situation, she had to figure out how to make that line up with what would benefit him.
…and that, Eli admitted to herself with a sigh as she started her motorcycle, was going to be a bitch to figure out.
———————————————————————————
Y’know, I wonder if maybe I should’ve heard Bobinette Carey out.
Yeah, sure, she’s got so many faces that she clears out the cosmetics department at Wal-Mart every time she stocks up on make-up, but at least with her? I’d have some idea as to where I stand. I haven’t figured out why she’s suddenly taken such an interest in me, but at least I can be interesting enough to buy myself enough time to have a shot at figuring it out before she stabs me in the back. I’d know it was coming at the very least, which is more than can be said for Scottywood or his numbnuts puck-boys. I kinda’ wonder who was the shooter and who was the goalie when they inevitably failed to find a woman willin’ to give them the time of day–
Yeah, just threw up in my mouth a little. And here I thought thinkin’ of Deepthroat Davidson was nausea-inducing… one sec.
Okay, Tums and a couple deep breaths later… if I’d listened to Bobinette, maybe I would’ve been relieved of the Most Useless Partner To Ever Breathe™. Yes, I know that Bri-Bri’s got HOW tag gold in his history, but that was before he sold off his give-a-damn to the highest bidder, tradin’ in what made him a force to be reckoned with in the ring for expensive suits and a vacant skull cavity.
…fine, it’s not entirely vacant. It’s just bereft of anything that makes him a worthwhile partner.
So you know what? Fine. Fine. If you want to treat this as a joke, my guy, then I’m gonna make damn sure you’re the butt of it. Let’s see how much you’re makin’ a mockery of things when you’re the one gettin’ eaten alive by our opponents, though I’d recommend that they chug some Pepto Bismol before takin’ a bite.
Speaking of opponents.. oh hi, Bad Guys.
I’m gonna level with yinz–I don’t give a rat’s ass about SHOOT Project. I’ve never seen a single show, much less watched a match featurin’ either of you boys. While hittin’ the tapes would be the sensible thing to do, well… I’m not the sensible type, even if Bri-Bri makes me look the part in comparison. It’s kind of sad when I’m the one with a better head on my shoulders, though that’s neither here nor there. I know yinz work well together, and that right there is all the more I need to know that I–no, that we are in trouble here, even if Mister Wants To Go It Alone thinks otherwise.
The reality’s right there, though, starin’ us in the face–and boy fuckin’ howdy, do I wish it wasn’t that cut and dry.
I’d like to say that, through some miracle, I’ll get my partner to give a damn–to get him to look beyond his Goddamn ego to see that without me, the numbers game’s not going to let him take an inch here, much less a win. I’d also like to say that I’ll wake up tomorrow with my own island and dozens upon dozens of beautiful women and handsome men waitin’ to indulge my every whim, but that’s not gonna happen. Shit,how sad is it that the latter’s got a better shot at becomin’ reality than somethin’ as simple as aski–
…simple as…
Holy shit.
I think I’ve got it.
That’s a crazy thought, Eliza Dresden… but it just might work.
If it doesn’t, then–well, we all know how it goes. But if it does… then you two are more fucked than a pair of altar boys at a Catholic church, though I get the feelin’ that Blaze has some idea as to how it feels to be Corey Feldman, if you get my drift.
Too soon?
———————————————————————————
Two in the morning was an obnoxious time to be banging at the door to a man’s private quarters… which was exactly why Eli was doing it.
She could hear the sounds of Brian stirring amidst his luxury sheets, the grumbled-out cursing that was probably too undignified to let slip when he was amongst his fancy birds of an entitled feather–the thud of every step as he stormed toward the door before fumbling the locks open. That last part took considerably longer than she thought it should, enough so that she found herself counting each one as it was undone.
Three? Okay, tha–nope, that’s four, and that’s five. What’s he got in there, a million dollars in caviar or somethin’? Or maybe he’s got a few Vermeers in there…
Eli’s ponderings were silenced by the sound of the door finally being wrenched open and, for a moment, she swore she saw something truly haunted in eyes she had accused of being vacant more than once before the mask of Greed slammed into place, Brian Hollywood scowling once he realized who was standing there. “How many times do I need to tell you–”
Without thinking, she placed her hand over his mouth, rising up on tiptoe to meet his gaze as head-on as she could. Jesus, she couldn’t believe she was about to go through with this–it was as likely to blow up in her face as it was to actually make a dent in Mount Self-Importance–but she had to try.
She had to, no matter how much part of her wished otherwise.
“I’m not stupid, Bri. I know somethin’s hot on your heels tryin’ to chase you down. Or are the circles under your eyes the new trend from some Italian fashion house that’s too exclusive for the poors to know about?” Biting back the urge to continue that train of thought was a Herculean task, but she let out a hard exhale to force the biting insults aside in favor of something more honest, more vulnerable–something that she hoped would find a crack in his armor and wrench. “It’s obvious somethin’s wrong, man–somethin’ big. And take it from someone who knows all too well how much it sucks tryin’ to bear it alone. Just… what’s goin’ on?”
The silence that followed stretched into eternity–far further than she thought it would, once she removed her hand from a mouth that was apparently too stunned to function. When Brian did find his voice, though, what Eli got wasn’t an answer that told her much.
“…I don’t want your blood on my conscience.” Brian’s gaze averted itself, his words quiet enough that Eli had to strain to hear him. “There’s enough there as it is.”
The door slamming shut left Eli out in the cold… though as she replayed his reaction over and over again in her head on the ride to the airport, there was one thing that gave her a modicum of comfort, as small as it was.
Something else is going on here… and if I keep leanin’ on him, I bet I can find out what it is.