Description: Billy Kane has a hot SNF fight at the Stonehenge, but he needs a ride over there. However, Vice has her OWN sights on the SNF, and sends her newest henchwoman, Raoghnailt, to intercept the staff-fighting Brit. Everything isn't what it seems, however, as the Scottish Brogue takes Billy for a ride, in more ways than one...
Home sweet home.
London isn't quite how Billy likes to remember it; the area around Heathrow airport may be afflicted by endless noise and the bustle of traffic, but it's astonishingly more upmarket than the streets that played host to his birth. With the tight schedule of this week's Saturday Night Fight, he's had little time to explore outside of the region directly surrounding the hotel, though honestly has had little urge to do so either. Unlike a lot of British exports, Kane doesn't hold fondly nostalgic memories of his country. The East End of London was a festering pit then, and isn't much better now. As to the rest of it...
"An' they wonder why a London boy moved on to the high life?" The punk's question is directed to the blankly smiling hotel attendant slipping him the details of his driver for the morning. Clad in stark white and the plainest possible shade of red, the young woman responds with nothing more than a calculatedly civil bob of her head and something that ends with 'sir' and probably contains the words, 'have a nice day'. Billy has stopped listening, seizing up the scrap of paper and eyeing the model of the car, the license plate, and the name.
The name of his allotted driver, that is. Something has been scrawled out there.
"Reginald?" He mutters uncertainly, lip curling with the disgust of having to actually think about that. As if it's not bad enough being fixed up in a cheap hostel and treated like one of the sheep - a stark contrast to the lofty reception he was given in Greece - now he even has to stop to consider peons? Down-to-earth he may be, when in the circumstance where it's allowed to shine, but when forced to occupy the base level...
Billy's not happy. Billy is not happy at all. He marches from the hotel front in his iconic denims, one thumb hooked through a belt loop and the other riding back across his red and white bandanna, eyes scanning the crowded forecourt for the limousine that's been despatched and driven by this 'Reginald' character. Puffing out his cheeks, the Londoner tries to ignore the noise and the smoggy skyline, focusing on what's to come-- at least he gets a good fight out of this, with some up-and-coming punk who doesn't stand a chance. It's another chance to flex his martial muscles in preparation for the real bout with Terry Bogard, looking on the horizon.
Thinking he picks out the right car after a couple of minutes, Kane swaggers down the steps and approaches it with no attempt to hide his displeasure, staring into the tinted windows as he raps against the pane with one calloused knuckle. "Oi, Reginald, open up. I'm Billy fuckin' Kane, and you're /late/."
The neon-green Mercedes-Benz is hard for Billy to miss.
The car revves to life as Billy knocks on the door. There is the sound of movement within the car. One of the rear windows slips down. The car horn beeps. The high beams shoot up, before dropping back down again. By the time the blinker comes on, there might be signs of something wrong. But finally, finally after a loud beep of the horn...
The back-seat door unlocks, and swings open. A light, scottish brogue slips out, the bright cheery voice from the black-suited driver gliding lithely out. "Praise to be, sir, I'm so sorry I am late! The name is Ray-Nay, but you can call me Ray! Hurry up, and we can go on a fantastic adventure right to." She pauses, before giggling brightly.
"To the 'Stonehenge'"
Not precisely in the mood for rampant unprofessionalism, Billy Kane visibly recoils as his apparent vehicle for the day begisn to flip out. His first attention snaps to the rear view window, those habitually rather maddened eyes widening upon it, as he almost takes a step in that direction-- only to be assailed further by the display that ensues. He ends up taking two steps away instead, eyebrows disappearing into the line of his bandanna and arms folded with surly disapproval over his chest. That scowl just worsens.
And then, the horn sounds, and he jumps. The badass who fought Geese Howard to a standstill actually /jumps/.
Today is not going to plan.
The apparition that finally emerges to greet his languidly furious ears is at first the recipient of what looks to be a shouting match, his jaw snapping open and a forward stride sending an arm flying outward through the doorway, one horny digit thrusting toward the driver's back. Only to stop dead as she speaks first, in that disarming brogue, far too cheerful to be real. He can't exactly see much of her-- that's the point of these setups, but he's got a reasonable ear for picking out ages, at least. That helps. That helps a lot.
Because thankfully, Billy is a jerk who likes to hit on women no matter how inappropriate the circumstances. "Right," he begins, still reeling in his angry uncertainty, rolling his shoulders in a shrug and then placing his extended hand casually on the roof of the limo. "Ray, is it? Might be I'll call you whatever I want later on, love, but that'll do for now. Let's, ah," he smirks, broadly, mouth forming a wicked slash as he slips in and lounges against the wide back seat, legs spread as open as his arms, posture sinking with overly nonchalant comfort. "Let's go on our adventure. You've heard of me, of course? Seen any of my matches?"
The complete lack of the driver's knowledge about her vehicle is completely forgotten, or as near as dammit, brushed aside by the fact that at least he might get to sleep with something either before or after the easy scrap to follow. After all, women are terrible at cars, everyone knows that.
Surely it's not a forbidding sign of worse to come.
And Raoghnailt turns around.
Bearing pink-framed sunglasses, the freckled lass just smiles dearly. "You ~can~ call me whatever you like, Mr. Kane! You sound so much more charming than what the dossier said!" Giggling, she begins fondle around the dashboard of the car, where a GPS machine sits. Finally, she hits the big touch-pad symbol of 'VIEW MAP' And with that, the machine belts out in a light feminine british voice.
"IN 0 POINT 7 MILES, TURN RIGHT"
Reaching over for the stick, she shifts it into drive as she continues to speak. "Oh, I've heard of you of course, Mr. Kane!" The sudden lurch of the car come, as the vehicle begins to pull onto the street. Raoghnailt continues to looks towards Billy, before gasping. "Oh! I forgot to keep my eyes on the road! Silly me! You are just so interesting." Pressing down on the accelerator, the vehicle lurches again. "So Mr. Kane, or can I call you Billy?" She asks, still as chipper as ever. Finally, the GPS announces, as Raoghnailt closes in on the intersection. "TURN RIGHT!"
And promptly, Raoghnailt turns right onto the sidewalk.
Dossier? Wait, they give these people dossiers now?
The thought lingers somewhere in the back of Billy's mind, quickly misplaced amidst the tracks of his apparently successful hunt as the Scottish girl responds with an easy familarity. Already much more pleased with his lot in life than he was five minutes ago, the Londoner reclines a bit further in his seat, kicking a booted heel up on the opposite seat and reaching lazily for the waiting receptacle nearby. In which sits - hopefully, as he has on standing order with the agency - a number of chilled and highly alcoholic beverages.
Without looking, he pops the cap on one with his thumb and tilts it back.
His shock is twofold; firstly that this driver is apparently so inept that she needs the shaky and irritatingly noisy GPS system the agency normally insists on not using. Secondly, that the content of the bottle is anything but the continental lager Kane orders in. It is, in fact... what the hell is it? He has to gulp it down with a cringe, twisting the bottle around to check the label. Which is the precise moment that Raoghnailt exclaims the most jaw-dropping thing yet. "Eyes on the... you gotta be kiddin', love... have you no---!?"
The lurching vehicle rides up onto the pavement, and Billy leaps three inches from his seat, the bottle flying across the inside of the limousine with a noisy clatter, depositing a flat, clear fluid that should be fizzy; but is WELL past its sell-by date. The rolling bottle reveals the legend, 'Tab Clear'. Forgetting that his supplied beverage hasn't been seen in stores since the early nineties, Billy lunges to the seat positioned behind the driver, angrily shoving back the clouded glass separating them.
Thrusting his face through, he whips his head sidelong to focus on the dippy lass.
"/You/ can call me whatever /you/ like when you stop driving like a stupid bloody twat!" He barks, with some difficulty attempting - and succeeding, sort of - to get his arm through the smallish gap to thrust past her and lock onto the wheel, giving it a whip to send them careering off the pavement back into the road. He can't really afford the publicity of slaying pedestrians right now! "Have you even done this before, love?"
Which is when he notices the shades.
"...can you even /see/ the bloody road? Take those things off!"
Was the cover blown?
Screams erupt from the sidewalk as Raoghnailt pounds down the accelerator harder. "Don't worry Mr. Kane! Everything is A-OK!" She continues, as a newpaper box goes sailing over the front of the car, striking the top. Despite being on the road, she was steering to evade the people, she returns back on the road. She smiles, nuzzling Billy's arm a bit. "Why, thank you very much sir. You have such strong arms!" She begins, vapidly. The GPS belts again.
"IN 1 POINT SEVEN MILES. TURN LEFT"
Raoghnailt continues along, smiling ever more. She keeps drifting side to side, but she keeps smiling. Reciting the brilliant line she was instructed to give 'just in case,' the scottish lass pipes up. "I cannot remove my glasses, sir, they are perscription!" That should make Billy a lot more comfortable. Suddenly the screams of brakes are all around her, as she belts right through a red light. The sound of crashes and honking suddenly gets a scowl from the girl. "Crazy drivers!" She yells, pressing hard on the airbag container of the car. Before she can respond again, the GPS roars out again.
"TURN LEFT"
Raoghnailt this time doesn't turn AS sharply, which is beneficial. Unfortunately, she turns again at a red light. The screams of horns and brakes erupt as Raoghanilt turns hard left. Smashing her hand hard on the center of her wheel, she finally lets out a flustered sigh. "And how can I tell the other drivers that I am coming through if the horn is broken!" She smiles again, turning around as the car continues to shoot forward. Turning the wheel side to side to adjust the center, she steadily drifts towards the middle of the road, along the lines.
"Don't worry Mr. Kane, we will get you to the Stonehenge lickity split!"
Unlike a lot of would-be neanderthal Casanovas, Billy isn't the least off-put by a comely Scottish redhead rubbing against his sinewy guns. His irritation shifts too easily once more, still bubbling on the surface but tempered by a lascivious, roguish half-grin as he eases his hand off the wheel. He's in no hurry to withdraw though-- not until she both seems to have taken a firm grip once again, and has stopped pressing against him. There's absolutely no sense in ruining a tender moment. He could ruin his chances, besides.
"Yeah, yeah," he mutters, not masking a dry chuckle as he sits back, "I work out." Trusting - woe betide him - that 'Ray' at least has the ability to see more properly than she would without those unfortunate shades, he relinquishes control to her. He didn't flinch at the flying mailstand, and he doesn't fuss about the screeching, crashing and honking; damage to other cars and roadside landmarks is something for Masters' crew to worry about. A lawsuit won't be landing on his lap. And it sounds like the people should /survive/.
Abandoning himself to this hell-ride, Billy reaches for another can of foul, expired cola, popping a second Tab and taking a long, faintly disgusting swig. It's better than nothing, he reasons, spreading one arm across the back of his seat and glancing sidelong to keep a now-dangerously amused gaze on both Raoghnailt and the merry chaos she's spreading across the road. At least she seems to know where she's going, that's the main thing.
"Maybe you should try shouting at 'em?" He offers helpfully, "Stick your head out the window and give a holler. I'm sure you've got plenty of air in those lovely lungs of yours, eh? Don't worry, I won't let your boss know if you take a nap during the fight. Better that you, ah, keep your stamina up."
Truth be told, he's getting a decent workout himself already, just trying to stay in his damn seat.
"How'd you get into this gig, anyway? Girl like you deserves better."
Yes, there are so many more career options for blind, insane women.
The giggling.
"Oh, you are such a ~flirt~" Raoghnailt begins, as he traffic around them begins to learn. Turning hard out of the way of an incoming van, she pipes up. "I am much too gentle to yell at them. What kind of lady would I be if I screamed all the time." She giggles again. "Oh, you know what I mean, you handsome rogue you." The driven was getting very giggly, turning bright red. "Well, maybe after you are done, we can have a little night around town. She takes a hard turn, pulling into an exit.
And they are free of the nightmarish city.
The greener pastures of the countryside begins to spread out around them. Raoghnailt continues to drive out, finally evading the traffic turns of the city. With the open road before them, Raoghnailt turns again, smiling so much. "I got this gig because I was asked. I am actually an artist by trade. I love drawing. But I have a new boss, and she wanted me to do this. It is really nice! I picked out the car and everything. You didn't think the pink was too over the top, did you? I love pink, it is like a soft color. I like soft colors. But I don't think this is a bad job. I mean, I get to drive! And I get to meet strong, handsome men like you!"
She turns hard to the side, lurching out of the way of an on-coming car.
A night around town in Stonehenge. Truth be told, Billy never was much of one for travelling or seeing sights-- he's barely been outside London, probably wouldn't have been even if he could afford it as a younger man. The aim was always either to survive or get out, preferably both; which is what he's ultimately achieved. Still, he bobs his head and flashes a receptive smile at that, a smile that's almost genuinely charming instead of lasciviously over-sexualized. The kind of smile he's probably been told to practice by his sister.
As they shift into the country, his focus remains inside the car, only half-feigning interest in what Raoghnailt is saying - because it's a lot better than having nothing to do. She's better company than Reginald would have been, for sure. Steadying himself after that turn, he chuckles.
"You definitely lucked out there, Ray-Nay. Still; must be 'ard, all that stifled creativity. The car's a lovely shade of pink, but it's not like you can see it, is it? A passionate woman like you must be /burstin'/ to get out and paint the world a thousand colours, to live life and love livin' it!" He pauses to finish off the stale cola with a hefty gulp, neglectfully dumping the bottle into the middle of the limo, where it's left to roll about with the other, earlier discarded. "Should think about ditchin' England, love. There's a whole universe of possibilities out there. Look at me; I was just a young punk scrapin' around in the gutter, once..."
He reclines, leaning his head back, glancing sidelong through the gap in the glass.
"Then I took a risk, put myself in the hands of another, better person. They treated me right, and here I am. Top of my game and only gettin' stronger, all because I played a game that was..." Lips twisting, he reaches up and over with one hand, running a finger down the bright red plunge of the Scottish lass' hair, brushing the back of his hand against the nape of her neck. "A little daring. A little naughty."
"You like... playin' games, Ray?"
Touching was good.
As she listens to the utterly charming Billy, she was thinking to herself how wonderful the fighter was. She was worried that he would have been a boor, especially early on. But he as SUCH A charmer. She almost melts away when he runs that finger aside, touching her neck. Raoghnailt writhes a bit in her seat. "Ooo~" She coos, squirming a bit.
"Mister Kane~"
She giggles more, turning bright red. "You are distracting me from the road!" She exclaims. After a momentary pause, she finally continues that thought. "I love playing games, but...." She trembles a bit, burying a hand on her face. "I am on duty though~" She sighs, still bright red. "I have no time for daring, for naughty!" She thinks a moment, barely stuttering out a response as twilight begins to strike the car.
"We do have some time to kill until we get you to your destination."
Touching /is/ good, replies Billy's hand as it drifts around her neck, coming just short of gripping as rough fingers caress and then shift to rest against the tender hollow where the collarbone meets. The lamentful brogue is shushed by the Londoner as he pauses there a moment, meeting her final, stammered words with a broadening crooked smile, twisting up enough to dimple one cheek. "I'm a big fan of killing time," he confesses, voice softer than it has been, "So, let's start with a little truth or dare..."
Suddenly his hand lifts but for two fingers, pressing down a little before they start to 'walk' one slow, languid step at a time down toward her chest. At every other point he pauses, making sure she's as receptive as possible to each successive touch. That each one resonates.
"With a twist, love. You tell me a truth, and I'll do one thing you tell me to do. A sweet fing like you shouldn't ever lie, eh?" His hand has slipped to the nape of one breast now, caressing through the material of her suit, until it stops dead and lifts a quarter-inch away, his fingertips hovering tantalizingly close, "So tell me, first of all, why it is that the car they sent over - the lovely pink one you chose - doesn't match the registration the nice lady at the hotel wrote down for me? And why the name's been crossed out..."
Suddenly he moves like a striking snake, his hand not descending but whipping upward, to tighten about her neck with controlling force - just short of outright choking, but the threat entirely there as he simultaneously bolts through the glass shutter, thrusting his head close to her own. His lips prick at her ear as he moves in dangerously, breathing down the nape of her neck, his voice pitched - now so dissonantly - like a lover's. Every panting outbreath carries only a few whispered syllables.
"And replaced... by one... written in pink... crayon?"
Raoghnailt squirms a bit, indulging in every stroke of the man. "Truth or dare? I remember playing that with the girls when I was but a wee lass..." She sings, as that hands continues to wrap around her. But when Billy strikes, she gasps, frightened. The car lurches, but Raoghnailt puts her hand on the wheel. Straightening it out. She takes in a deep breath. The gig was up. But she may not even need to answer. The headlights touch upon a sign. As it illuminates the words in the darkness, may answer Raoghnailt's question before the scottish lass energetically pipes up.
"Oh, probably for the same reason we are approaching Land's End, Mr. Kane!"
"It's funny how it was in pink crayon, and how it wasn't on the registration though. That's funny. It isn't my fault thought. I let the boss take care of the details!" She continues, adjusting a bit. Her voice drops a bit, sounding a bit ashamed. "You are probably very upset with me. But I didn't mean any harm! When I heard I would be spending time with you, I was very happy! We can still have fun can't we? I liked it better when you were sexy instead of violent." A whimper from her mouth slips out. "I'm sorry, I was hoping you wouldn't find out until we got there. I knew you might be upset, but I thought you would be less upset when we had a chance to party around town."
"I mean, it would be so cool, to pubhop around with you Mister Kane!"
Land's. End.
Those two words fall like stone slabs, drowning out the sensual predator, driving off the lingering promise of violence as Billy pulls away from Raoghnailt's ear and directs his wild stare to the windscreen. To the sign beyond it. He's a bit late, but he catches the edge as it flashes past; enough to confirm that the strangely receptive Scottish girl isn't lying. He hasn't travelled around much, but... once, on a trip from the orphanage that tried to keep him restrained for a few months, they took a long coach ride in this very direction.
Kane still has nightmares to this day. The desolation, the misery, the painfully garish tourist tat!
A shudder runs down his own spine as he sinks back, awkwardly, into his seat, his hand remaining raised a moment as he stares dumbfounded around the inside of the limousine. "L-Land's End," he stammers at last, as though he were speaking the very name of Beelzebub. He's too mortally struck to remember why he was threatening the poor, redheaded driver or where the conversation had been leading before. For several moments, he listens to her continue on without a word of interruption or any more sly flirtations.
"But..." He finally ekes out, glancing toward the glass shutter, past it to the side of Ray's pretty (pretty insane) head. "There aren't any good pubs." It's spoken as if he were the survivor of a terrible holocaust, depressively bemoaning the fate of his people. "There's... a Harvester, full of kids. There's a ball-pool, and a pirate ship, and some caves..." A man has never sounded so close to broken. "And-- and that's /it/. Who the bloody 'ell instructed you to do this? Why? Do you know what you've DONE!"
At that point he's snapped, and whirls back around, reaching through to shake Raoghnailt's shoulder imploringly. "Turn around! We'll go /anywhere/ else, I don't give a damn about the fight or what you've been told to do; all that, I can deal with. But I can't deal with Land's, bloody, End!"
"Oh, pish posh!"
The red haired lass continues her bright, overwhelming chipperness. "If you can handle a fight, you can handle a little party around town with me!~ Land's End can be as fun as you make it. Besides, the boss has business at the fight. I can't tell you who it is, because she might be very upset with me. But don't worry about that." Raoghnailt pipes, smiling broadly. She was utterly unphazed by the strangling, unphazed by the entire soul-crushing experience of Land's End. "Because I told you the truth, as part of your game! And as I recall, if I told you the truth, you have to do one thing I want.
"And I want to go partying in Land's End!"
"We can be like tourists!" She continues. "A pair of young, bright adults on a wild date out in Land's End! "Oh, also, could you help me find a parking spot when we drive in town? I am not very good at parking. Driving is easy because of the GPS! Oh! I know! Maybe there are clubs there! Do you like clubs. I Love Dubstep! We can dance all night long to all all over town! And you can buy me drinks!" It might be this time that another clue of this entire adventure may come to surface.
The car is neon-green, not pink.
As the city limits of Land's End approaches, she turns around, still bright red, still smiling utterly sincerely. As she looks at Billy, still wearing those Pink-Framed Sunglasses, she asks the most terrifying, soul-destroying question of all time.
"Did you know they now have dubstep version of Athena's songs?"
There's a time when a man has to admit he's been caught; hook, line and sinker.
Lifting the non-shoulder shaking hand to his face with a groan, Billy Kane knows that this time is now. With the cheerful turnabout of his game's most unfortunate-in-hindsight rule, he's blindsided from making a very important mental note to check up on the identity of Raoghnailt's mysterious boss-- or why they'd even want to replace him in a Saturday Night Fight against some sorry loser. There were, it was true, far worse things in the world than going out on the town - any town - with a pretty Scottish lass, but here...
Of all places, he couldn't pick any worse. He'd rather be painting the slums of Metro red.
"Alright," he says after a moment, trying his best to completely disregard the horrors she proceeds to heap. Clubs, fine, he likes to frequent the more upscale joints around Southtown and Metro City both, picking up the finest women and partaking of all the luxuries an identity as a Syndicate enforcer can provide. Let alone as arguably THE foremost of those. But in Land's End, he knows the possibility exists not a soul has even heard the name Geese Howard. It's a long shot indeed to hope for anything /beyond/ that. Dubstep... Athena...
It's torturous, but he focuses on the one perk this day has so far promised to deliver.
"Fine, you got me." As he says it, he's actually able to laugh, predominantly in chagrin but some of the humour is genuine; it's just such a ridiculous, painful situation to be entrapped in. But what's he going to do? Take it out on her? That's Yamazaki's style, but for all his swagger and bluster... beneath the act he has to assume for his profession, Billy's at heart a pretty decent if typically lusty guy. He has his foibles, there are things that drive him to berserk, but doesn't everyone? They also stick out far worse things. He can do this. "We'll listen to--" Oh god, his soul. Perhaps if he lets it be destroyed, he can stop caring. "We'll listen to dubstep, love, and we'll dance the bloody night away. In..." Rrrrrgh!!! "Land's End. If that's what you want."
Drawing a deep breath, his bare chest heaving, he reaches up to scratch at the back of his neck, slowly, before turning to face Raoghnailt over the back of his seat once more. The smile he manages is a step shy of gentlemanly only because of his thuggish eyes, and because-- well, he's Billy Kane.
"I couldn't ever deny a lady her most fervent desire, could I? But--"
His teeth bare as he grins, glancing toward the windscreen to help look for a space, as she did ask.
"When we're done with that part, the rules change. When it's my turn... /you/ do whatever /I/ want."
At least the second half of the night might be looking up, after all.
What a PLAYER.
Raoghnailt giggles, turning bright red again to the man's outward flirting. "When I heard you were 31, I thought you would be a fogie, but you know how to get a lass like me hot and flustered!" Tittering and giggling, it seems that Raogh finally consents. "Okay, it's a deal! When we are done doing what I want, we can do whatever you what, Mister Kane~" The romantic interlude is interrupted by the GPS that belts out, as they cruise down the main street of Land's End.
"ARRIVING TO DESTINATION ON RIGHT!"
And promptly, to the screams of bystanders, the limo comes to a loud, crunching stop as it smashes hard into a fire hydrant. "Oh! I hope I am within the lines!" She begins, taking the keys out of the ignition and putting the car in park. She gropes around, finally opening the door after a few tries. She steps out, and grabs something in the small crook on the side of the door. She makes a snapping motion, one that might be dangerously familiar to Billy. As she moves alongside the door of the limo. The crook of one arm out, she waits for Billy to escort her
In the other hand, a seeing eye cane dangles from a wrist strap.
"Lets hurry up and get something to drink, Mr. Kane! I think I've finally sobered up!'
"I'm like a fine wine, love. I-- FUCK!"
It's not an entirely unfair summary of either Billy or the situation, at this precise moment. The hydrant goes flying, a geyser spraying upward as the car smokes and smoulders - already driven beyond all rational vehicular limits to even get to this place so quickly in one piece. Which it is. Barely. While the Scot seems to be utterly, unerringly composed, Kane ends up dragging himself up off the floor of the limo, puffing out his cheeks and reaching up to check that nothing's bleeding after he's been jolted off the sliding door - now bearing a sizable Billy-shaped dent that probably won't be claimable on insurance.
Then again, given the car is /bright lime green/ and has committed at least twelve dozen separate offences...
Perhaps salvaging anything from it is looking for a loss in the first place.
That fact - the colour - is one that the dazed Londoner finally gets to affirm for himself when he wrenches his own door open in one brisk, almost savage motion, stumbling out with a series of curses to make a sailor blush. His bandanna is dishevelled and half hanging over one eye, but with the other - and what of his brain hasn't been scrambled - he takes in the edge of the limousine. Pink. Green. Suddenly, a wild realization dawns.
But what might strike like a hammer on an anvil is suddenly a thunderbolt that parts the very heavens to drill a smoking hole in the Syndicate enforcer's wildly reaching mind. The shades should have been a clue, though it doesn't matter now in the least, when he hears that telltale click all the subconscious and very suddenly-conscious thoughts collide. The scowl he wore before entering the car comes back full force and then some, and he hastily pushes his bandanna back into place, vaulting then over the limo to stand before the insane...
Drunk...
Blindwoman.
"You're--" Insane? Drunk? Blind? Honestly at this point he's hard to know what the hell to say. He sweeps a scathing stare up and down her body, then turns away with a groan from the depth of his being. From what's left of his soul. His eyes fixated upon the nearby, dowdy sprawl of the Land's End tourist park, the astonished visitors pointing and staring, some slapping mobile phones to their ears and dialling for the police or an ambulance. It's not the chaos he cares about, really-- it's that he's here. With an insane drunk blindwoman.
"Oh, /bloody/ 'ell!!"
His voice straining, the punk slips to his knees, both hands slapping to his forehead and clenching until the fingers turn white. He's on the edge of anger, of violence, of simply going completely insane, suddenly knowing exactly how Yamazaki feels. It's a point where a man decides, how to act, how to be, how to define themselves in a world that's suddenly turned upside down. After a long, tense moment of heartwrenching desperation...
Billy Kane simply sinks forward and begins to sob.
Log created on 10:35:35 05/29/2012 by Raoghnailt, and last modified on 15:50:47 05/29/2012.