Your chumhandle is caffeinatedGangster
((sidebar image by Penkoon))
Of TaB, Coffee, and Failed Carjackings [VALENTINE’S EVENT]
You jump when someone addresses you and straighten, turning to see who the hell has the balls to just walk right up to you like you’re some kind of normal person and not a mobster on serious mobster business. Alright, so you’re just trying to jack a car, which really isn’t a mobster thing, but…whatever. Details. “Yeah, I a—aw, shit.”
Just what you need.
Some idiot that has the air of a hero on a skateboard. Wait, a skateboard? What the hell kind of hero rides around on a skateboard of all things? You would spend more time thinking about that, but you’re kind of not really in the mood to think about or deal with heroes. “What the hell do you want?” You ask, leaning against the car and crossing your arms across your chest. “I’m a busy guy, so hurry up and tell me. I’m not getting any younger!” You tap your foot impatiently.Your lord! He is quite the uncivilized gentleman, isn’t he? And there’s not a single chance that someone this rude could own such a nice car, now is there?
…Well, yes, there is. History is known for rich douchecanoes, you won’t deny that, but you’re pretty sure criminal activity is more up this guy’s alley. You’re just sure.
“Aren’t you quite the impatient boy?” You leisurely take a seat on the Agera R, a smile dancing along your face as you watch his eyebrows crease. ”I didn’t want to say much,” you pull the front of your hoodie down so you can bring your Tab to your lips, and calmly imbibe as the wicked elixir glides over your tongue and into your stomach. You can tell that your ostentatious patience is really exasperating the poor boy, and you can’t help but giggle at the silliness of it. He may not be getting any younger, but you’re not getting any older, either. You have time. You set the can of Tab onto your lap, but keep a firm hold on it. “I did, however, want to let you know that you’re quite terrible at stealing vehicles.”
Ouch.
That comment about you being bad at stealing vehicles makes you scowl. You know you suck at it, but you don’t need some loser in a hoodie to tell you that while he drinks TaB of all things. “I’m not stealing it, I’m borrowing it with no intention of returning it because my car’s back home underneath a monster truck! And get your ass offa that! That car’s worth more than your life right now, TaB Man!” You yell, pointing at him and glaring.
Goddamn it, that car isn’t yours yet, but he’s getting his ass prints all of it and you can feel yourself dying a little on the inside. That poor, beautiful car, being used in such a terrible manner.
You stomp closer, getting in his face. “And who the hell are you? Some wannabe hero or something? If you are, you’re shit at your job.”
Of TaB, Coffee, and Failed Carjackings [VALENTINE’S EVENT]
Your name is Itchy. Not because your parents had a fondness for the Simpsons and decided to torment their child with that name, but because your fellow Felt members seem to think it just fits you. Yes, the Felt. You’re Number One of the Felt, the notorious mobsters and you’re currently in Sburbia…
((OOC: I doubt I’m going to be flooding any dashboards, but I’m tagging all the posts with OTCAFC if you want to save yourself.))
==> Go on patrol
You’re already on patrol! You could hardly wait the night to do so, in fact! You had just finished piecing together your new outfit the night before—you had to make it yourself because you didn’t have money to spare on anything too fancy (and by ‘fancy,’ you mean ‘paid for’), but you were able to get some tips from a certain master of the arts—and you were excited as ever to wear the thing!
Now look at you, zooming down the streets with all that panache and swagger.
Fuck yeah, you’re awesome.
You slow down a bit when you notice someone struggling with an automobile—quite a fine one, at that. You watch the young man for a moment before coming to the conclusion that he is indeed trying to break into the thing—supported by his angry groans and the fact that it is quite the mentionable vehicle. You pull out a can of tab—yes, you are so nonchalant and smooth today—and start to glide over on your skateboard when you hit something.
You back up a bit and examine what you hit. Seems to just be a ring of keys, no biggie. You pick them up and look them over, identifying them as keys to a building—probably an apartment?—rather than a vehicle. It’s plausible that they belong to that young man over there, in fact, which would make this bust a lot easier. So many things are going your way, you are unbelievably cocksure right now. You approach the stranger with a bit too much confidence and unleash your load of awesomeness unto him.
“You seem to be having a bit of trouble there, boy.”
You jump when someone addresses you and straighten, turning to see who the hell has the balls to just walk right up to you like you’re some kind of normal person and not a mobster on serious mobster business. Alright, so you’re just trying to jack a car, which really isn’t a mobster thing, but…whatever. Details. “Yeah, I a—aw, shit.”
Just what you need.
Some idiot that has the air of a hero on a skateboard. Wait, a skateboard? What the hell kind of hero rides around on a skateboard of all things? You would spend more time thinking about that, but you’re kind of not really in the mood to think about or deal with heroes. “What the hell do you want?” You ask, leaning against the car and crossing your arms across your chest. “I’m a busy guy, so hurry up and tell me. I’m not getting any younger!” You tap your foot impatiently.
>Itchy: Panic
You have no idea what you’re going to do, and it’s obvious you’re not used to having to cover your own ass as you run your fingers through your hair and stare at the poor sap you just hit doing sixty. Well, you think you hit him. There was a thud, the guy went down, and you’re now standing over him with one hand tangled in your hair and the other clutching a phone. Doze, the only person in the Felt that can tolerate you for short periods of time, was probably asleep and you don’t want to call anyone else for fear of them using this to get under your skin the next time you fuck with them.
“Shit, shit, shit…this fucking sucks, oh c’mon, please don’t be dead.” You say to the likely stiff in front of you. Your car’s got a dented fender, and normally you’d be more worried about that than the fact that you hit someone, but you were actually slowing down to stop, so you couldn’t use the speed to lose yourself and forget that you may have killed someone with your car.
You don’t like killing people. Sure, you’re a mobster and you have to, but business is different than this.
You kick his arm with your sneaker covered foot, biting your lower lip before running to your car and digging around in the back seat. Finding what you were looking for - a window scraper - and arming yourself with it, you return to the stiff and squat down as far away from him as possibly, nudging him with the window scraper.
The guy was kind of cute. You say “was” because, well, he was likely dead. At least he’d look good for his funeral. You poke his cheek with the scraper, hoping that maybe he wasn’t dead, just injured. If he was alive, you could stuff him in the back seat, drive him to the hospital, and shove him out on your way past. Oh, wait, there’s breathing. Awesome. “Hey. Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, suicidal asshole.” You say, poking him a little harder. “You alive? Hey, c’mon. Wake the fuck up and shake it off, you’ll be fine.”
You hope.
You are so, so fucking tired of waking up face down on the pavement.
Granted, at least this time you aren’t coming to with a gaping hole pistoning your ribcage, but the - what the fuck even is that, a stick? - poking the muscled curve of your shoulder does little curb your agitation. You don’t think anything’s broken, a pleasant and well-deserved reprieve, but you’re pissed and your head is ringing with its personal own Quasimodo haranguing the cathedral bells of your blessed brain.
You were just railed. By a canary yellow Hennessey Venom GT doing at least sixty in a thirty-five zone and you’d be damned to all different kinds of illiterate vehicle hells if you couldn’t recognize the make and model of that fine body before it slammed into yours.
He calls you a suicidal asshole and your arm raises and finds his shirt collar, using him as leverage to drag yourself up off the asphalt. Your hat’s flatted to the sidewalk, shades askew and hair treacherously sharp silhouetted against the moonlight. When you finally straighten to your full height you ignore the pain in your wrist, the tension in your side, and stare this punk ass kid straight in the eye because-
“What the FUCK was that?!”
When he grabs your shirt collar, the first thing you scream is, “not the face!” before you realize he’s just yelling at you and hasn’t reared back a fist to try and punch you. You stop cringing and waiting for the death blow to come and glare up at him. What the fuck is up with people being taller than you? You’re probably older than him, damn it!
And what in god’s name gives him the right to yell at you like it’s your fault that you hit him? He was the dumpass that walked in front of your car!
“That,” You start in a matter-of-fact tone as you swat his hand away from your shirt. “would be a dumbass walking out in front of a speeding car and denting the car.” You glare up at him, puffing up your chest in an attempt to make up for the difference in height.
You jab him in the chest with the window scraper. “The real question is what the fuck you were thinking running out in front of a speeding car, I mean, what the fuck, man? Did you not learn how to look both ways in preschool? Did you just fuckin’ miss the lesson where the teacher tells you to grab your goddamn street-crossing partner and look both fucking ways?”
Of TaB, Coffee, and Failed Carjackings [VALENTINE’S EVENT]
Your name is Itchy. Not because your parents had a fondness for the Simpsons and decided to torment their child with that name, but because your fellow Felt members seem to think it just fits you. Yes, the Felt. You’re Number One of the Felt, the notorious mobsters and you’re currently in Sburbia because you had decided to, on a whim, figure out how quickly you could get there.
Sadly, you weren’t able to drive there, as Eggs and Biscuits had decided to park their fucking monster of a truck on top of your beautiful, canary yellow Hennessey Venom GT. The trip may have also been inspired by the fact that Lord English would be pretty fucking pissed at you if you killed the two (idiots) tanks. So, there you are, in Sburbia, staring intently at a Koenigsegg Agera R that’s bright blue and probably the second most beautiful thing in the world that you’ve ever seen.
It’s polished to perfection, not a scratch on it, and you want it.
You would ask LE to just get you another one - the man’s a saint when it comes to feeding your speed addiction, but you’re sure he’ll get sick of you losing cars or getting them destroyed eventually - but that could take some time, and you’re aware that you sort of need to have a car within the week so you can deliver some poor asshole to Sawbuck’s doorstep (again). And you’re never really one to wait.
So, in a moment of brilliance, you decide that you can jack the car and drive off into the sunset like a goddamn pro.
However, what you don’t think about is the fact that you don’t know how to jack cars. You can out-wire them, but you can’t get the fucking doors open. So, for the next hour, you’re leaning against the car with your forehead against the glass, tugging on the handle in defeat and frustration while trying to decide if you want to just break the window or call someone and ask them how to jack a car without breaking it.
“Goddamn it.” You grumble, lifting your head and letting it thud lightly against the glass.
(( OOC ))
(( Actually, I am happy to announce we’re having our very first event week!
The spirit of Valentine’s Day has taken hold of the Superstuck crew… with disastrous results. People have fallen for unlikely partners, creating a mess of their daily lives.
For this week only, please enjoy the shenanigans of these following pairs:
General Terror + Cutlery Countess
The Tailorbird + Gamzee Makara
Otto Strider + Tipsy Gambit
Anarchy Goddess + Rose Lalonde
The Gatekeeper + Feferi Peixes
Evilbuster + Gallant Tempest
Commander Greed + Giggling Gumdrop
Tavros Nitram + The Signless
Team Avengers + Bro Strider
Dave Strider + Galactic Gal
Whimsical Void + ItchyThe random generator was cruel indeed.))
>Itchy: Die already [NON-CANON]
Getting there, hold your fucking horses, okay?
Your name is Itchy, you’re a member of the Felt, a notorious gang of mobsters and you’re currently trying to keep your guts on the inside where they belong.
THE FUCK IS INERTIA IM NOT SOME KIND OF BRAINIC BRAINIAC WITH A COLLEGE DEGREE OR SOMESHIT IS THAT SOME KIND OF WEIRD FOOD OR SOMETHING OR DOES THAT HAVE SOMETHING TO DO WITH SPEED OR WHATEVER IF IT DOES HAVE SOMETHING TO DO WITH SPEED THEN NO I HAVENT HAD ANY PROBLERMS PROBLEMS WITH IT BEFORE UNLESS I HAVE IN WHICH CASE I HAVE BUT I DONT THINK I HAVE
AND IVE HAD SOME PROBLEMS WITH MOMENTUM BEFORE LIKE THIS ONE TIME I WAS RUNNING AND RUNNING AND THEN I HAD TO RUN DOWN THIS HILL AND THEN I WENT WAAAAAAY FASTER THAN I EXPECTED AND COULDNT STOP AND ENDED UP RUNNING INTO A LAKE AND EVEN WORSE THAT LAKE HAD LEECHES IN IT IT FUCKING SUCKED SO MUCH AND I DONT EVEN MEAN IN THE PUNNY WAY
OH WAIT I THINK I KNOW WHAT INERTIA IS NOW ITS THAT THING WITH THE THING RIGHT AND BY THING I MEAN ITS THAT THING THAT MEANS YOU HAVE A PROBLEM SPEEDING UP FROM A STANDING MOTIONLESS POSITION RIGHT RIGHT AM I RIGHT IF THATS WHAT IT IS THEN YEAH IVE HAD SOME PROBLEMS WITH THAT BEFORE ESPECIALLY IF ITS ICY OR RAINY WHICH FUCKING SUCKS BECAUSE THEN I NOT ONLY HAVE A PROBLEM GETTING STARTED BY I ALSO HAVE A PROBLEM NOT CRASHING INTO SHIT SO UNLESS IM WEARING RUBBER SHOES OR THOSE SHOES WITH THE SPIKES ON THEM I HAVE TO WALK SLOOOOOOOOOOOOWLY OR END UP IN THE CLINIC AGAIN
ALTHOUGH THE BABE AT THAT PLACE IS PRETTY DAMN HOT SO I DONT THINK ID MIND TOO MUCH BUT IT STILL SUCKS CRASHING INTO BUILDINGS AND CARS AND ALL THAT AT LEAST IM DURABLE OTHERWISE ID BE SO DEAD BY NOW
UUUUUGHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!
THE TAILORDICK!!!!
DEFINATELY DEFINITELY HIM HES ALWAYS RIGHT THERE AND HES ALWAYS DOING THAT ANNOYING HERO BULLSHIT AND HE KEEPS GETTING IN FRONT OF MY GODDAMN CAR WHEN IM TRYING TO MAKE A CLEAN BLOODFREE GETAWAY AND THEN THE BASTARD IS ALWAYS CHASING GT WHICH IS ANNOYING BECAUSE THEN I HAVE TO FOLLOW BOTH OF THEM AROUND TO MAKE SURE THAT GT DOESNT GET HIS CAPEWEARING ASS IN TOO MUCH TROUBLE
UGH!!!!!!!!!!!
THE TAILORDICK IS THE MOST ANNOYING ASSHOLE IN THE WORLD YOU DONT EVEN KNOW HOW ANNOYING HE IS
ACTUALLY FUCK IT EVERY HERO IS ANNOYING BUT THE TAILORDICK IS ESPECIALLY ANNOYING
