fic: GK western!AU (8/?)
Jun. 1st, 2010 12:20 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
aeroport_artYAY I'm currently rewatching GK with my temporary roommate! He's liking it a lot so far (though, what idiot wouldn't??) and I'm certainly not complaining about getting to see our favorite show all over again :3 It'll help with my characterisation, anyway!
I hope everyone (in the States) had a lovely long weekend. I spent the day lounging far too long on the Jersey shore and now look like a bit of a cooked lobster :P Oh well, I'll live. The day was pretty perfect, and totally worth it <3
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7
When Brad gets to the meeting spot, he’s hardly surprised to find the rest of his men hunched in a circle like a bunch of strays around a bone.
In this case, Deputy Person seems to be the bone.
“…should’ve heard him, guys. He’s absolutely mashed for this target, following him around like some lovesick puppy. It’s sweet, actually, if you stop to think about it.”
A very loud, very obnoxious bone.
“Hell, he even ditched me to go see Manimal, he was that hard up for rumors—“
Brad clears his throat. His men turn around in one complete motion, their faces predictably guilty (except for Ray’s, which is predictably cheerful in a special sort of way).
Brad makes a show of sending icy looks to each lawman, one at a time.
Sergeant Reyes, tall and beefy with sweat-glistening skin peeking through a too-tight shirt, smiles abashedly and shrugs under Brad’s gaze.
Walt, on the other hand, points to the back of Ray’s head and mouths, He started it. Brad snorts a little; Walt’s a cute kid, and a hell of an officer for such a green age.
When Brad moves on to lift a disappointed eyebrow at Sergeant Espera, better known as just ‘Poke’ for reasons Brad really shouldn’t repeat in polite company, Poke just meets his look head-on and says, “Shit, dog. You know nobody can shut him up once he’s on a roll.”
“This is true, Sergeant,” Brad says magnanimously. “I do share the unfortunate burden of knowing how impossible it is to get our resident retard to quit jawing off like the town gossip possessed.”
Ray quickly counters, “Come on, Brad. You can’t expect me to keep mum about the sordid love affair you’re having with our primary suspect.”
“Ray—“
“It’s actually really romantic. You shouldn’t be ashamed of anything. Well, anything other than getting your ass stuffed full of cock on a regular—”
“Ray!”
Ray shuts up. He knows Brad’s limits—usually likes to exceed them to the point where Brad wants to wring his bird-thin neck, but he does manage to stop short of inciting actual murder. So far, at least.
“Let me just make this loud and clear to you impressionable, knitting-bee little bitches.” Brad says, staring his men down. “I like pussy. I like a good, old-fashioned dripping cootch. Usually around my dick, but sometime’s it’s just nice to look at and maybe eat out.”
A small chorus of mm-hmm’s break out among his men and Walt gets a faraway look in his eyes. Brad continues, “Even better is pussy you pay for, because then all that bullshit like feelings or complications fly right out the door. What’s the use in getting saddled with a backstabbing bitch when you can get a good fuck whenever you want it, how you want it, for the bargain price of a buck fifty an hour?”
Ray’s looking at Brad with that rare, sober expression he gets every time Brad starts getting cynical. It pisses him right the fuck off, but hell—at least Ray’s keeping his trap shut this time.
He’ll make it quick. “If I can make my dick happy anytime I like, why, in Christ Our Lord and Savior’s name—“
“But Brad, you’re Jewish—“
“—would I fuck up a serious investigation by chasing our prime suspect’s lily-white, Eastern ass when I don’t even like ass in the first place?”
There’s a long silence where Poke looks summarily impressed, Ray and Walt trade inscrutable glances, and Rudy smiles mysteriously before adding, “You know, Sheriff. You shouldn’t knock it before you try it. Something about a nice, firm ass raises my animal spirit.”
A disbelieving silence follows, wherein Ray breaks it by snorting, “Jesus Christ, Rudy. You’re such a fucking fruitcake.”
“Brother, I never said it had to be a man’s ass. You filled in that part all by your lonesome, Deputy.”
“You know, all this talk of ass reminds me,” Poke cuts in, “We never did decide who gets to go to Sydney’s tonight.”
Brad’s ears perk. “Sydney’s, the whorehouse? God damn, men. The least you could do is wait ‘til I’m out of earshot before planning your evening debauchery.”
“Naw, dog—it ain’t for us. We figured out where your boy—“
“Poke,” Ray hisses, elbowing the Sergeant.
Brad rounds up on Poke, pressing his height to his advantage. “By all means, Sergeant. Don’t stop on Ray’s account.”
Poke looks around a bit, licks his lips before continuing, “Well, after doing a little recon on your boy Nate, we found out he’s hitting up Sydney’s tonight. Heard him request a girl named Marla…sounded like it weren’t the first time, either. White boy knew exactly which room he’d find her in.”
“That so?” Brad asks. The words comes out colder than he’d intended, and Brad feels his officers tense up. He says, more gently, “Good work. You boys continue working your leads. I know our dead men had a lot of enemies, so keep on questioning their contacts. Be encouraging, but dogmatic.”
“Dog what?” Ray asks.
“Dogmatic. Assertive and king-like.”
Rudy straightens up and turns to Poke, asking, “Wait, brother. Did you say Fick’s with Marla tonight?”
“Yeah. What about it?”
“Marla was the mistress of Bob Raleigh.”
“Bob, as in our dead guy Bob?” Brad cuts in. “Bob Raleigh with sixteen bullets in him shot from three different firearms?”
“The one and only,” Rudy says.
“Shit, that guy’s got more enemies than California’s got deadbeat cowboys,” Walt pipes up.
While constructive discussion degenerates into debate over which state’s got the worst cowboys, Brad sinks deep into thought.
Out of all four carcasses found in Reno the prior morning, Bob Raleigh was the only one riddled with enough holes to drain the Pacific.
Raleigh was also the only body to have bullets traced back to Nate’s gun.
As if that evidence weren’t damning enough, now Rudy’s telling him that Bob had a mistress—the same mistress Nate’s now keeping company with?
Brad snaps back into the conversation. “No, Ray, you may not use Trombley’s hat for a pissing pot when he ain’t there. You know the psycho’s got a little psycho of his own now, and that mini half-Mexican spawn needs his daddy’s unperturbed nurturing before he can grow up to be as bloodthirsty and hellish as he’s destined to be.”
Brad pauses for breath. “Now,” he says, turning to Poke. “Poke.”
“Yeah, Sheriff?”
“When did you see Nate at Sydney’s?”
“Just a little while ago. Thirty, maybe forty minutes back.” Poke reaches into his vest pocket and flips out his fob watch. “Yeah, in fact, he’s probably still there. At least, he should be if he’s getting his money’s worth.”
“All right, then. I’ll take Sydney’s—“ Brad waits patiently for the jeers to come and go—“And the rest of you just make sure you got something to show for tomorrow’s meeting. Eight o’ clock in the morning, let me see those bright eyes and bushy tails.”
At that dismissal, the men wander off to their respective missions. Only Ray stays behind.
“Man,” Ray whines, “The only bush you’ll see will be at Sydney’s, you lucky asshole. We were gonna draw straws, Brad!”
“Fuck straws. I saved you a special present, Deputy.” Brad smiles widely and Ray brightens up like it’s Christmas morning at the horse track.
Brad fills in his Deputy Sheriff on the conditions surrounding his being followed, up to and including how he’d gotten lit up at the Copper Tavern. With instructions to capture and interrogate an enemy, Ray Person looks more than placated.
He still manages to make Brad feel completely transparent, however, when he leans in conspiratorially to say before they split, “Go get ‘im, Brad. Let Fick know his ass is yours—not Marla’s, or any other Susie Rottencrotch’s. I believe in you, Iceman!”
“Understood, Deputy. Now get out of my fucking personal space, you’re giving me syphilis as we speak.”
Brad watches Ray until he’s out of sight, then turns around and sets a hurried pace towards Reno’s whoring district.
With this latest information under his belt, Brad can safely assume now that Nate ain’t fucking around with the guy sharing his room at the Copper Tavern. The conclusion calms him somewhat…but then again, that might not be any worse than Nate sleeping with a dead man’s mistress.
Brad’s got a gut-deep feeling there’s more to the story. But in the meantime: Nate’s at a whorehouse and he’s taken a woman for the night. That alone makes Brad so cross, he can’t see straight enough to shoot a target the size of Montana Territory.
Through the hazy, dusty twilight, Brad approaches the three-story building. Flickering candlelight can be seen through the windows, and the white-painted sign of Sydney’s looms up large and bright.
I hope everyone (in the States) had a lovely long weekend. I spent the day lounging far too long on the Jersey shore and now look like a bit of a cooked lobster :P Oh well, I'll live. The day was pretty perfect, and totally worth it <3
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7
When Brad gets to the meeting spot, he’s hardly surprised to find the rest of his men hunched in a circle like a bunch of strays around a bone.
In this case, Deputy Person seems to be the bone.
“…should’ve heard him, guys. He’s absolutely mashed for this target, following him around like some lovesick puppy. It’s sweet, actually, if you stop to think about it.”
A very loud, very obnoxious bone.
“Hell, he even ditched me to go see Manimal, he was that hard up for rumors—“
Brad clears his throat. His men turn around in one complete motion, their faces predictably guilty (except for Ray’s, which is predictably cheerful in a special sort of way).
Brad makes a show of sending icy looks to each lawman, one at a time.
Sergeant Reyes, tall and beefy with sweat-glistening skin peeking through a too-tight shirt, smiles abashedly and shrugs under Brad’s gaze.
Walt, on the other hand, points to the back of Ray’s head and mouths, He started it. Brad snorts a little; Walt’s a cute kid, and a hell of an officer for such a green age.
When Brad moves on to lift a disappointed eyebrow at Sergeant Espera, better known as just ‘Poke’ for reasons Brad really shouldn’t repeat in polite company, Poke just meets his look head-on and says, “Shit, dog. You know nobody can shut him up once he’s on a roll.”
“This is true, Sergeant,” Brad says magnanimously. “I do share the unfortunate burden of knowing how impossible it is to get our resident retard to quit jawing off like the town gossip possessed.”
Ray quickly counters, “Come on, Brad. You can’t expect me to keep mum about the sordid love affair you’re having with our primary suspect.”
“Ray—“
“It’s actually really romantic. You shouldn’t be ashamed of anything. Well, anything other than getting your ass stuffed full of cock on a regular—”
“Ray!”
Ray shuts up. He knows Brad’s limits—usually likes to exceed them to the point where Brad wants to wring his bird-thin neck, but he does manage to stop short of inciting actual murder. So far, at least.
“Let me just make this loud and clear to you impressionable, knitting-bee little bitches.” Brad says, staring his men down. “I like pussy. I like a good, old-fashioned dripping cootch. Usually around my dick, but sometime’s it’s just nice to look at and maybe eat out.”
A small chorus of mm-hmm’s break out among his men and Walt gets a faraway look in his eyes. Brad continues, “Even better is pussy you pay for, because then all that bullshit like feelings or complications fly right out the door. What’s the use in getting saddled with a backstabbing bitch when you can get a good fuck whenever you want it, how you want it, for the bargain price of a buck fifty an hour?”
Ray’s looking at Brad with that rare, sober expression he gets every time Brad starts getting cynical. It pisses him right the fuck off, but hell—at least Ray’s keeping his trap shut this time.
He’ll make it quick. “If I can make my dick happy anytime I like, why, in Christ Our Lord and Savior’s name—“
“But Brad, you’re Jewish—“
“—would I fuck up a serious investigation by chasing our prime suspect’s lily-white, Eastern ass when I don’t even like ass in the first place?”
There’s a long silence where Poke looks summarily impressed, Ray and Walt trade inscrutable glances, and Rudy smiles mysteriously before adding, “You know, Sheriff. You shouldn’t knock it before you try it. Something about a nice, firm ass raises my animal spirit.”
A disbelieving silence follows, wherein Ray breaks it by snorting, “Jesus Christ, Rudy. You’re such a fucking fruitcake.”
“Brother, I never said it had to be a man’s ass. You filled in that part all by your lonesome, Deputy.”
“You know, all this talk of ass reminds me,” Poke cuts in, “We never did decide who gets to go to Sydney’s tonight.”
Brad’s ears perk. “Sydney’s, the whorehouse? God damn, men. The least you could do is wait ‘til I’m out of earshot before planning your evening debauchery.”
“Naw, dog—it ain’t for us. We figured out where your boy—“
“Poke,” Ray hisses, elbowing the Sergeant.
Brad rounds up on Poke, pressing his height to his advantage. “By all means, Sergeant. Don’t stop on Ray’s account.”
Poke looks around a bit, licks his lips before continuing, “Well, after doing a little recon on your boy Nate, we found out he’s hitting up Sydney’s tonight. Heard him request a girl named Marla…sounded like it weren’t the first time, either. White boy knew exactly which room he’d find her in.”
“That so?” Brad asks. The words comes out colder than he’d intended, and Brad feels his officers tense up. He says, more gently, “Good work. You boys continue working your leads. I know our dead men had a lot of enemies, so keep on questioning their contacts. Be encouraging, but dogmatic.”
“Dog what?” Ray asks.
“Dogmatic. Assertive and king-like.”
Rudy straightens up and turns to Poke, asking, “Wait, brother. Did you say Fick’s with Marla tonight?”
“Yeah. What about it?”
“Marla was the mistress of Bob Raleigh.”
“Bob, as in our dead guy Bob?” Brad cuts in. “Bob Raleigh with sixteen bullets in him shot from three different firearms?”
“The one and only,” Rudy says.
“Shit, that guy’s got more enemies than California’s got deadbeat cowboys,” Walt pipes up.
While constructive discussion degenerates into debate over which state’s got the worst cowboys, Brad sinks deep into thought.
Out of all four carcasses found in Reno the prior morning, Bob Raleigh was the only one riddled with enough holes to drain the Pacific.
Raleigh was also the only body to have bullets traced back to Nate’s gun.
As if that evidence weren’t damning enough, now Rudy’s telling him that Bob had a mistress—the same mistress Nate’s now keeping company with?
Brad snaps back into the conversation. “No, Ray, you may not use Trombley’s hat for a pissing pot when he ain’t there. You know the psycho’s got a little psycho of his own now, and that mini half-Mexican spawn needs his daddy’s unperturbed nurturing before he can grow up to be as bloodthirsty and hellish as he’s destined to be.”
Brad pauses for breath. “Now,” he says, turning to Poke. “Poke.”
“Yeah, Sheriff?”
“When did you see Nate at Sydney’s?”
“Just a little while ago. Thirty, maybe forty minutes back.” Poke reaches into his vest pocket and flips out his fob watch. “Yeah, in fact, he’s probably still there. At least, he should be if he’s getting his money’s worth.”
“All right, then. I’ll take Sydney’s—“ Brad waits patiently for the jeers to come and go—“And the rest of you just make sure you got something to show for tomorrow’s meeting. Eight o’ clock in the morning, let me see those bright eyes and bushy tails.”
At that dismissal, the men wander off to their respective missions. Only Ray stays behind.
“Man,” Ray whines, “The only bush you’ll see will be at Sydney’s, you lucky asshole. We were gonna draw straws, Brad!”
“Fuck straws. I saved you a special present, Deputy.” Brad smiles widely and Ray brightens up like it’s Christmas morning at the horse track.
Brad fills in his Deputy Sheriff on the conditions surrounding his being followed, up to and including how he’d gotten lit up at the Copper Tavern. With instructions to capture and interrogate an enemy, Ray Person looks more than placated.
He still manages to make Brad feel completely transparent, however, when he leans in conspiratorially to say before they split, “Go get ‘im, Brad. Let Fick know his ass is yours—not Marla’s, or any other Susie Rottencrotch’s. I believe in you, Iceman!”
“Understood, Deputy. Now get out of my fucking personal space, you’re giving me syphilis as we speak.”
Brad watches Ray until he’s out of sight, then turns around and sets a hurried pace towards Reno’s whoring district.
With this latest information under his belt, Brad can safely assume now that Nate ain’t fucking around with the guy sharing his room at the Copper Tavern. The conclusion calms him somewhat…but then again, that might not be any worse than Nate sleeping with a dead man’s mistress.
Brad’s got a gut-deep feeling there’s more to the story. But in the meantime: Nate’s at a whorehouse and he’s taken a woman for the night. That alone makes Brad so cross, he can’t see straight enough to shoot a target the size of Montana Territory.
Through the hazy, dusty twilight, Brad approaches the three-story building. Flickering candlelight can be seen through the windows, and the white-painted sign of Sydney’s looms up large and bright.
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Date: 2010-06-01 05:10 am (UTC)I'll read it when I get back! (wish me luck, got a presentation!)
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Date: 2010-06-01 02:47 pm (UTC)And a jealous Brad is so precious! XD
(presentation went super btw!)
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Date: 2010-06-02 12:20 am (UTC)Thanks for your comments, always <3
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Date: 2010-06-01 05:29 am (UTC)“Let me just make this loud and clear to you impressionable, knitting-bee little bitches.” Brad says, staring his men down.
HA! That's so Brad.
What’s the use in getting saddled with a backstabbing bitch when you can get a good fuck whenever you want it, how you want it, for the bargain price of a buck fifty an hour?
So is this! And it IS so cynical, so I love that Ray goes all mournful-eyes at him because of it.
Nate’s at a whorehouse and he’s taken a woman for the night. That alone makes Brad so cross, he can’t see straight enough to shoot a target the size of Montana Territory.
Ooh, ooh, is this the first time he's consciously recognized that he cares whose bed Nate warms? Which, ya know, might lead to why he cares so very much? ::hearts::
And you stop there?! That's just wrong. Awesome, but wrong. And...awesome.
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Date: 2010-06-02 12:22 am (UTC)i'm glad the characterisation worked for you! it was a lot of fun to write all the boys' dialogue, if not a little nerve-wracking because i introduced so many of them at one time. won't be the last you see of them, though ;)
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Date: 2010-06-02 04:57 am (UTC)You should be proud! Even with all those characters at once they came off clearly delineated and awesome. Which, yes, balancing all those personalities can be tough, but you pulled it off. ::beams::
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Date: 2010-06-01 01:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-02 12:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-01 10:43 pm (UTC)A very loud, very obnoxious bone.
Haha! Oh Rayray, you are the bestest.
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Date: 2010-06-02 12:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-06 10:15 pm (UTC)“Brother, I never said it had to be a man’s ass. You filled in that part all by your lonesome, Deputy.”
You're just so spot on with all the characterisations!
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Date: 2010-06-07 02:14 am (UTC)