d. avery strider | dave strider (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
counterclock) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
savetheearth2013-07-16 02:42 am
counterclock) wrote in savetheearth2013-07-16 02:42 am
Entry tags:
MOVE, BITCH, GET OUT THE WAY
Who: Avery Strider counterclock & Karson Valenti enrages
What: Hitting someone with your car is a great way to meet. Right? Right?
Where: A dim street somewhere. Use your imagination.
When: July 13th, evening.
So, it's been a shitty day, and she's so done with entitled trust fund babies whining at work, so Avery is doing her thing, skateboarding home and wishing to fuck she'd taken her bike instead because at least biking would get her there faster, what with the bigger wheels and less effort needed to go up hills.
Whatever.
With her Hello Kitty headphones plastered firmly over her ears, Avery rolls her slow ass way down the roads, only pausing at a corner to jam her sunglasses into her shirtfront because it's getting dim enough out that her eyes won't be bothered.
Everything is all hunky dory and she's rocking out to some Sneaker Pimps, working up some nice chill vibes after dealing with college students all day, when out of fucking nowhere a car backs out of the lot she's passing and blindsides her, sending her flying like a fucking magical unicorn halfway across the goddamned street.
Fucking ow.
counterclock & Karson Valenti enragesWhat: Hitting someone with your car is a great way to meet. Right? Right?
Where: A dim street somewhere. Use your imagination.
When: July 13th, evening.
So, it's been a shitty day, and she's so done with entitled trust fund babies whining at work, so Avery is doing her thing, skateboarding home and wishing to fuck she'd taken her bike instead because at least biking would get her there faster, what with the bigger wheels and less effort needed to go up hills.
Whatever.
With her Hello Kitty headphones plastered firmly over her ears, Avery rolls her slow ass way down the roads, only pausing at a corner to jam her sunglasses into her shirtfront because it's getting dim enough out that her eyes won't be bothered.
Everything is all hunky dory and she's rocking out to some Sneaker Pimps, working up some nice chill vibes after dealing with college students all day, when out of fucking nowhere a car backs out of the lot she's passing and blindsides her, sending her flying like a fucking magical unicorn halfway across the goddamned street.
Fucking ow.
no subject
"Wh-What if, I mean, okay, I could just give you money? Oh god, I can't afford my insurance going up-- I-- I-- I have $20 in tips from tonight-- fucking take it. I'll give you more later; I'm not giving you my insurance, no fucking way, jesus Christ, no, no." He takes his other hand, shoves it in his pocket, and quickly fishes out 20$ entirely in ones. He then thrusts it at her.
"Fucking take it, you crazy bitch!"
no subject
"Put your cash away and get me your insurance. I swear to god, I'm not joking about calling the cops."
She reaches into her pocket and pulls out her phone, unlocking it quickly. "You've got like, two minutes." And then she makes a show of bending to squint at his license plate.
no subject
"No, fucking no! You're not getting my goddamn insurance! Plot twist-- you might get your money from harms, but I'll be paying it off for the next seven goddamn years! I'll have more money in a week, so how about you cool your shit, DON'T CALL THE GODDAMN POLICE, and take my shittyass tip money!"
It is literally painful to see money hit the ground, but he'll make a dive for it later. He's too busy getting angry again. Emotions are hard.
no subject
Dull, multi-tonal beeps ring out from her android's shitty speaker as Avery starts dialing the local police department. She doesn't really want to sound the bugle on the kid, but she's hoping to psych him out enough to get him to cooperate. With her glasses broken, her board needing close inspection, and her fucking pride more injured than a fat biker after a particularly steep hill, she has a taste for some good old motherfucking vengeance. She doesn't even care if his fucking payments go up.
It's his goddamn fault for not looking where he's driving and then trying to blame her for it.
Right?
no subject
no subject
Avery leans back, scrabbling away from him as he lunges at her. "You're fucking crazy!" Legitimately freaked out, she swings her hand at him, not realizing it's the one still holding her phone, as her other hand still has her board tucked protectively under her arm. The hard plastic cover of the phone slams into his face, and she feels the pressure of his nose buckling under the swing.
Horrified, she continues to jerk away, this time clutching her phone to her chest and hoping there's no blood on it. She comforts herself by noting she didn't hear a crack of anything breaking, but oh fuck, she just hit a guy, this wasn't in the fucking plan-- she fumbles to turn her screen back on and finish dialing the number to the police station, but her hands are shaking.
no subject
Spoiler: it is. Not much, but just seeing the bright red spots on his fingers is enough.
He doesn't even realize that she's trying to dial the police or that she's shaking or any sort of terror she might be experiencing because HE JUST FUCKING JUMPED HER. Oh no. Nope, no, nope. He's too busy letting out an embarrassing and incredibly wet SOB. And then another. And another. And then his whole body is wracking in panic, and he can't catch his breath because words are spilling out of his mouth, and all of them are incoherent.
"No, no, fuck, oh god, no, I'm sorry, I-I-I-'m sorry, I'm so sorry, please, no, no, no, oh god, oh man, oh man, oh man, oh god, oh fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, I can't, I'm so stupid, I'm the stupidest thing that ever--" Shallow gasp for breath, "nothing I've ever done is good, and I'll never amount to anything, and I'll die in GANG VIOLENCE, and, and, oh, god god why, oh why god, it's, no, no, I--no, no, please no, no don't" etc.
no subject
It's bad enough that he's bleeding, and that he fell on the ground and started crying, but the litany of self deprecation gets to her in a bad way. Okay, so maybe she should have been nicer, and since she didn't get injured she really doesn't need his insurance-- shit, he's just a kid, probably younger than her, maybe he only just learned to drive. And here she's supposed to be an adult while intentionally terrifying some little asshole because she's mad he accidentally stepped on her glasses.
Fuck, oh fuck. If she calls the police now she's going to feel bad, and what if he gets in a huge amount of trouble? Shit. A pair of sunglasses isn't worth messing someone's life up...
Guilt seeps in through all of her corners and Avery kind of squints at the kid uncomfortably. He's surrounded by fallen dollar bills like the saddest stripper ever, crying on the pavement with a bloody nose. Avery slowly puts her phone away and pulls out a crumpled tissue instead.
"Shit, I-- fuck, um." She squirms, immediately and violently uncomfortable. "Don't do that, crying, please stop, um." Stooping, she kind of forces the tissue against one of his hands and then distances herself and begins collecting the scattered bills, straightening them into a stack and hoping none of them blew away. She uses this as a distraction to avoid talking for a second, and it's only when all of the money is gathered up that she looks back at the hysterical kid and winces. "Hey, hey look, okay-- Maybe, we don't need insurance, okay? Here, just take your, fucking--" Figuring his hands are busy, she jams the pile of dollar bills under one of his shoes, pinning them down to the pavement.
Fumbling her phone back out of her pocket, Avery crouches and fiddles with it, staring intensely at the screen. "Why don't you just give me your phone number and I'll get a receipt for the cost of damage to my stuff and we'll call it even, okay? Is that okay?" Please fucking stop crying omg.
no subject
Karson's blood phobia is in full swing, which is causing him to cry-- the fact that his tears are colored by his blood only makes him cry harder. By this point, his chest is constricting, which isn't helped by Karson curling in on himself, trying to hide his entire face from view. He only takes the tissue once her attention's moved elsewhere, and he does his best to wipe at his face in the cramped space behind his knees. He might stand a chance if he wasn't spending all his spare breaths of air on desperately trying to explain, in the most incoherent manner imaginable, how his entire life is characterized by failure. There's a lot of detail about how he's never done anything meaningful and that he sucks at the French Horn and how no one likes him at school or at home and nothing he will ever do will make his dad proud and Ron Paul never answers his letters and how he's tired of debt and how he doesn't want to go to college and he doesn't want to take the SAT/ACT and how real life is going to tear him apart and
and
and
and he just sneaks a hand out from his little safe zone, grabs his phone from his back pocket, and slides it to her before retreating back into his metaphorical crab shell. There's no number lock on it-- it won't be hard to find his phone number in it. His phone number and a ridiculous sum of pcitures of his dog doing cute things.
no subject
Fucker.
She clicks to the main screen and finds his contacts and puts her number in under D. Avery, then sends herself a text reading 'It is me. I am the douchebag who hit you with my car.' Except with a few typos because she's not a fucking saint and touchscreen keyboards fucking suck. Her phone bursts out with a tinny rendition of Crazy In Love and she shuffles the ridiculously expensive pieces of technology casually in her hands because she's not fucking ambidextrous, as cool as that would be. "What's your name?" she asks shortly, clicking on the unknown number to add it to her contacts.
no subject
Which is then followed by a "I don't want to dieeeeee"
Which is then followed by even more bawling.
no subject
Uneasily, Avery types in his name, and mumbles, "Last name?" Like hell he's getting out of here without giving her his full name.
no subject
But he can't get out of this situation without doing it, so he just takes a deep breath, shouts:
"VALENTI" into his arms, and then proceeds to hyperventilate.
no subject
Okay.
Avery types it in as quickly as possible and then shoves his phone back at him, unease written all over her face. She picks her board and her ruined glasses back up and balances them on her knees.
"Hey, so...
"We're good here, I guess."
Please please please stop crying holy shit.
no subject
"C-Can I," hiccup. Welp, guess who just started hiccuping from crying? This guy. Right here. His life literally cannot get worse. But he tries to fight through the hiccups; he tries to be the champ.
"Can I go now." Is about all he can get out before more hiccups and sobs.
no subject
Man she wishes her glasses weren't shattered at her side.
"Do you want me to call someone? Like, for help? Do you need an inhaler or something."
no subject
no subject
"I didn't mean like the cops or your dad or anything, but like, a friend, or the ambulance, your therapist--shit, kid..."
Maybe she should go. She's pretty sure he'll be fine, sitting in the middle of an empty driveway sobbing in a ball. Yeah, totally.
no subject
no subject
And so she stands up and despite feeling kind of like a jerk, she shoves her board back under her arm and cradles her ruined glasses in her hand and starts off down the street at a very dismal walk, now that she is wheel-less.
no subject
The end.