-August- Sweet Little Augustine

Overall, I think it went quite well.


I suppose if you can dismiss the fact that we lost the van, were nearly killed, and had to walk ten miles to find a dealership that would be willing to sell three people with five days' worth of luggage on our backs and in our hands whatever car we pleased, no questions asked.

I think paying in cash helped.

We got back not too long ago, actually, and believe me when I say I have never been so glad to see the House. Sure, the floors weren't exactly spotless anymore and there were a massive pile of dishes in the sink (we bought a dishwasher, you know!) that needed cleaning, but there really isn't any place like home. Though I admit I'm a little upset I won't be able to stay long enough to get down to business; I've got another short delivery to do once I unpack and wash up. The usual, really; another dying lunatic's journal to be delivered to an online friend before his days are up. They're always so sad. I take it upon myself to do these deliveries because I like to think I'm able to comfort them in their last few days, not to mention the fact that I've always found it funny how people seem to just know their time is up. I've met some people who have predicted their deaths down to the minute and the location of the wound that killed them, though I have to say I've never really stuck around to find out if they were right. Still, you hear it on the local radio or sometimes the news; unknown man found dead, thought to be homicide, more information on the hour.

... Jesus, I'm feeling morbid tonight.

Let's end this on a light note, then. We ended up getting a 1991 Firebird from the dealership just outside the city. The salesman was a balding 40-something in a rented tuxedo and oozed slime like our van oozed oil, and immediately approached us asking what 'the lovely couple' were looking for.

The lovely couple in this situation being, naturally, Doc and Steele.

We weren't sure what to make of it, either.

Once we managed to get the giggling under control (I was 'their perfect, darling daughter Augustine' - haha. I would have been upset, but the fact is he bought it completely) Doc and Steele decided to see just how far they could lead this guy on, mentioning they were coming up from their wedding in New Orleans and needed a new car, because Doc's (apparently now named Veronica) uncle had gone a little overboard with the champagne and trashed their previous car, as well as the rented limo. They had spent most of their money paying for damages and insurance and needed a cheap car, quick, so they could get back to work. Not a complete lie.

He ended up selling us the Firebird for half price. Steele says he has plans to convert it into the Knight Rider or something - I don't know my 80s TV shows very well, but by the description he gave me, it's going to look fantastic when it's finished. It's not a simple paint job like the Mystery Machine was but hey, we've got nothing but money and free time.

( For now, anyway. )

See you soon, everybody. Stay safe.

-Doc- Ambush

Well now, that was interesting.

When we don't feel comfortable seeking shelter in a shitty motel for one reason or another, we tend to sleep in whatever vehicle we're driving down to the pickup or drop point. Pretty standard stuff, and I normally wouldn't reveal this level of detail but it appears our competition has figured it out anyway. Middle of the night, I woke up and Steele and August were gone. My first groggy instinct was to chalk it up to a male bonding moment outside the van and go back to sleep, but then I realized that I woke up because a bunch of people were outside the van screaming and the doors were open and what the fuck was going on. Then I heard shots being fired: fucking fantastic.

I'm not usually a heavy sleeper, but I guess I was tired that night. But not tired enough for that gaggle of proxies, however. I silently slipped my glasses on, grabbed a few necessities from the van, and waited. I knew they were going to send one of their mooks after me eventually, so I took a moment to prepare a particularly nasty cocktail. Much like a magician who never reveals her secrets, I can't tell you what was in it, but the bitch who slipped in with the sole intent of gutting me (I'm sure) got a full dose of it. I held a cloth to her mouth to muffle her screaming, but she still flailed around quite a bit and kicked a few things over. Well fuck, so much for subtlety: I figured I might as well go for the dramatic finish at this point, so the moment she went limp, I picked her up by her shirt and tossed her out the back doors of the van. She landed in a gibbering crumpled heap on the ground, and moments later one of her buddies swung by to grab her. Awesome, get the fuck out of here, I thought. That still left me with the problem of how to deal with the goddamn shootout outside. I couldn't just leap out and book it.

Except I kind of did. Maybe not the smartest decision I've ever made, but the sniper bullets whizzed past my head and dented the van as I bolted. A few folks - strangers, I thought at first, tried to stop me. The bigger man got a shot of my venom, the boy...not in need of any treatment at that point, I pushed him aside easily and lunged into the underbrush. Suddenly, I recalled their faces: the diner. Fuck, I wondered how long they'd been tracking us to follow us there. Goddamn proxies. I swear I must've been a swift blur of adrenaline, because those snipers couldn't touch me. I don't know if they fired again, or if anybody else even attempted to stop me: all I knew were the soft stings of the brambles and the trees rocketing past me as I ran. It didn't take long to find August and Steele: they asked if I was okay.

I told them to shut the fuck up and run. Even from the paranoia and panic machine, at that point, it was a good way of motivating them. Yeah, we booked it. And long story short, we found our way to the drop point without the van, met our charge, and...well. I've written quite a lot here, I'll let you stew over it while I think of how to continue my story.

By the way, New Orleans was a lot of fun, and let's never speak of it again.