Everyone knows no good comes of trusting information ascertained through interrogation and threats without checking to ensure it’s honestly truthful. Sure, most at this point are well aware of what the FAHC do to those who double-cross them but there will always be assholes trying their luck and the Fake’s didn’t get where they are by being sloppy.
Which means someone inevitably drawing the short straw, left behind to babysit a bound hostage while the others go out and check the accuracy of all their shiny new information. It’s necessary, sure, but that doesn’t make it any less tedious for whoever is stuck twiddling their thumbs and ensuring an increasingly frustrated captive doesn’t somehow worm their way free while the rest of the crew is out having fun.
The latest lovely volunteer, a paunchy red-faced benefactor of a rival crew, is kindly hosting this week’s little sit-in at his multi-million dollar mansion out in the hills, conveniently private and filled with tangible displays of his ill-begotten wealth. The man spilled the beans embarrassingly quickly, rolled over on his allies at the very first sight of Ryan looming into view, but despite the ongoing helplessness of his position the departure of the more notorious members of the FAHC quickly led to the resurgence of his overpowering arrogance. Which is unwise really, considering it’s Trevor who was left behind to keep watch.
Trevor is a bit of a mystery outside the Fake’s, his reputation full of contradicting stories and inexplicable behaviour; he is a background lackey or a secret member of the upper management, he is alarmingly energetic or disturbingly apathetic, utterly naive or hiding violent depths, he is simply support or yet another of Ramsey’s unstoppable killers. Whatever he is, Trevor is unquestionably unnerving as all hell, inscrutable and unscrupulous with the driest humour, silly jokes undercut by biting sarcasm delivered so impassively it takes a moment for the insult to hit.
Trevor is busy. Trevor is bored. Trevor has time on his hands, an idiot at his mercy and countless priceless objects at his disposal. Increasingly loud complaints from an entitled millionaire combined with ongoing updates indicating that the information is checking out and the victim need not lose any fingers leads Trevor to all of 15 minutes of restraint before he channels a cat and starts knocking things off shelves.
It starts small, heavy objects dropped more for the sound than the damage, crashes used as punctuation, as punishment, but as the hostage’s anger grows so too does Trevor’s grin, escalating to smashing glass and porcelain, shattering statues and fine china, all the while running his mouth in exaggerated surprise; I wonder what will happen if… oops. Well how about this one? Oh no. Oh dear what a mess, better try this- no? Oh. Well this is pretty! I’ll have to be more careful- oh darn, butterfingers thats me, now i hope this isn’t important…
By the time the other’s swing back around the entire lounge room is a disaster zone, newly gagged hostage snarling muffled yells from his seat in the centre of the chaos, visibly incensed as Trevor pats his back on the way past in an unhurried stroll, tutting and tisking all the way; gosh what a mess, who could live like this? Someone really aught to clean this up, you should have this taken care of man, have some pride in your home.
Some choice words Loki had the GALL to say in Thor Ragnarok
I wanted to draw the cute pathetic face he made in the elevator, and then just kept going. Another year, another ¾ face practice sheet!! He didn’t ever break his nose in the movie, but it’s my rules now!!!
can anyone, i mean ANYONE ON THIS BLUE AND GREEN EARTH, tell me why nico LEFT the CHARGING PHONE in the very HOUSE of the people who want it DESTROYED rather than just TAKING IT WITH HER AND CHARGING IT IN A GODDAMN CAR OR IN LITERALLY ANY OTHER WALL OUTLET EVER
On Off Topic Gavin talks about doing a shot with gold flakes in it, and RL Gavin is of course like listen to this utterly ridiculous thing i did, but FAHC Gavin would just be like yes. This is the acceptable way to consume liquor, from now on only this.
FAHC Gavin who carries his own real gold flakes, sprinkles them into anything from obscenely expensive cocktails to $4 rotgut with equal enthusiasm. It’s a quirk the rest of the crew don’t even blink at anymore but it has the other patrons of whatever dive bar they’ve ended up in watching on with fascinated disgust. Has any unfortunate enough not to know who they are looking at turning up face down in a gutter come dawn, greed pulling them in like moths; ignorantly mistaking Gavin for pretty flame rather than raging inferno.
When Los Santos’ finest manage to grab a Fake they’d pin them with any infraction they can manage, desperately trying to make anything stick in an attempt to finally reclaim the city. When frisking Free reveals a handful of little black baggies they think they’ve finally got him for something, concrete evidence he can’t possibly wiggle his way out of, until of course the bags reveal not white powder but fine gold leaf. It’s as unexpectedly absurd as it is devastating, a blow made no easier by the smug amusement radiating off Gavin, lounging in the harsh metal chair like it’s a throne, golden from his hair to his accessories to the flecks still on those sharp white teeth.
This short review of EP3 is written based on the presumption that all leaks were fake/were
never going to happen, and so it only looks at the episode as it is with as
little as possible of “it could’ve been better/it could’ve had this and that.”
Forewarning, I’m not a certified video game critic with twenty years of
experience, several tours and three bullet wounds that I got reviewing
games in Vietnam.
A/N: Omg, another part in less than a weeks time? I know, I know. It’s a miracle. But I’ve got my writing mojo back, and it feels good. Also, I’m sorry for this part, okay? It was bound to happen. Don’t hate me (or Bucky :/) As always, I live for your asks, reblogs, and replies, so keep them coming. Let me know what you think (aka let me feel your pain) ♥
Word Count: 1,431
Warnings: - mild angst. - language. - Bucky is a little shit.
Tags: (at the end)
*gif is not mine.
It played over and over in your brain, echoing like a broken tape recorder; the anger building inside you making it louder and louder. You felt your fists ball up at your sides, wanting to punch the nearest object.
How dare he? This wasn’t just a game anymore. That kiss meant more than some kind of stupid ploy to convince his parents that you were a real couple. They weren’t even here. Who was Bucky trying to impress?
A/N: oh man, i can’t believe this is showing its light again either
[10:22:05 PM] erectchim: um. who are you
[10:22:13 PM] seokjinsaga: has left the server.
It starts with a swarm of messages from unrecognizable usernames, one stranger flooding after another. You get a sudden impulse to turn back and explain to the other players that you made a typo in the server name, admitting it is all a mistake, but you freeze when your cursor hovers over the chat bar. All you have to do is exit the game but you choose not to and surprisingly, you hold no regrets.