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The Theft of a Theft; tag: Sir Easy, Dumpster Esq
Topic Started: Jul 27 2015, 06:09 PM (252 Views)
Cain Croix
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[ 7/27/15 - Afternoon ]



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The Boardwalk was, as ever, busy.
Noisy, bright, and drenched in midday humidity. The temperature was hot, but not unbearable, and the promise of later thunderstorms had people going out in droves while it was still sunny.

On one hand, good weather meant more people. More people meant more food.
But a part of him still wanted it to rain soon, to drive the tourists into restaurants and hotels. Something about the strangeness of the quiet when people were forced indoors was hauntingly charming.

Still, the sky had yet to even go dark.
Which left one particular seagull on the usual afternoon routine. While all the other white-and-black birds swooped and cawed noisily at anything left in open range long enough, he waited.

Croix had experience, after all. There was still a birdlike squaking in his brain, telling him to GO, GO NOW, FOOD, LOOK AT THE FOOD, GO GO GO. But he had rationale. Control. Humanity. He had-

OH GOD SOMEONE DROPPED A WHOLE PACK OF CRACKERS



Even re-perched on the roof of a lifeguard tower, pecking at the last few crumbs in a package of crackers, he felt hungry. There was no good way to explain it. Any other bird would be fat and lazy off the honestly insanely lucky catch. But not him. No, on some level his body understood he was still human. Sure, the crackers could get him through a few more hours. But he had no work for the day, and it was too early to find good company at the bars. So he stayed on the usual scavenger routine.

After feeling good enough to go airborne again, he started on some low circles. Scouting out anything in range worth taking a shot at. A kid with an ice cream cone melting all over them was tempting, but the mother doting on them had some kind of paperback to reach on the beach and he wasn't in the mood to risk getting turned into a feathery tennis ball. So, he kept going. Over the fat guy with a burger drooling into his lap, past the couple sharing a tray of onion rings.

Over, around, circling-
And there it was. The perfect target.

Not really due to anything he had on him, or any way he was holding it.
No, birds didn't tend to particularly favor gyros. Even if they were stolen ones while the stand manager turned to get some extra topping from the back.

No, the choice thing about this one was the plumage.
Croix would recognize that mohawk anywhere.
And he hadn't seen the kid in.. fuck, a year? Two?
It'd definitely been awhile.

So he banked left, started a long curve of a decent and kept an eye on the little shit, slinking off with his stolen food.
What was the moral rating on stealing already stolen food? Was there any? Eh. Didn't matter.

Without any warning whatsoever, he dipped down low.
Unlike any other bird with sense, this one didn't just suddenly grab whatever it could before flying off again.
No, Croix was stupid. (He thought he was funny.) And to be fair, he had a habit of standing out. Rather than being white with black markings like any other seagull, he was blonde. White and gold with unnaturally bright blue eyes.

And he promptly swooped down and planted both weird birdie feet right on Donny's shoulder, getting a good grip and preparing for the ride. Like strapping down to a bull. Only this one had food, and while he was ready for a hell of a time trying to hang on, he went a step further and leaned down and forward, trying to pry off a piece of the pita bread for himself.

Anyone else would just say Hey, I know you, small world.
But not Croix. Nope.

(Really, Donny should have been thankful he wasn't getting shit on by a random bird instead of just harassed for his food.)

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Donald Connors
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Man, fuck the heat. It wasn't the worst, that one probably went to Arizona, but even still, fuck this heat. This is what he got for stopping here for the summer. At least he had some fucking food. Didn't pay for it, he'd gotten real good at the ol' snatch and run, which sucked because that place had some really good shit. Now, he'd have to find some new place to go for gyros. Such is life.

So far, the plan was to feast on some delicious gyro, find a public shower, and scrounge up enough change to hit up a laundrymat, because holy fuck, what kind of loser goes around wearing some tacky as hell Hawaiian shirt and cargo shorts? He did, apparently. After all of that was done, he'd probably just lounge around the boardwalk all day like a lazy piece of shit, that sounded pretty good. Not like he had anything else to do, finding work around here wasn't easy. At least, not the kind of work he was interested in. Pretty common for new places, but still. Vacation or not, man's gotta eat.

At least there was a lot of people around. Obviously, as any veteran panhandler knew, more people meant better chances of actually making some cash. Shit, he might even snag enough to do some laundry and eat twice, today. Just as long as all of these fucking birds didn't steal it. That was the big issue he had with the boardwalk, too many fucking birds, just flying around and being dicks, and -

Oh, shit.

Tiny claws, on his shoulder. Alarms went off in his head, no fucking way, not today.

"Awh, naw, fuck! Yo, fuck off!" Obviously, the only sensible first response was to start convulsing like an epileptic, try to keep his fucking food away from the clutches of this particularly bold little shit. Fucking birds weren't getting his gyro, not a fucking chance. The little beaky fucker managed to snag a bit of his goddamn pita thing, and now the whole thing was tainted. Ruined, worthless, totally inedible. This was what it had come to, then. Out of equal parts disgust and spite, Donny whipped the mostly-intact gyro at the fucking ground, and started just fucking swatting at this little winged asshole.

This little, gold and white winged asshole, he noticed as it fluttered off of his shoulder. Croix, that fucking asshole. That absolute dick.

"Man, the fuck!" Yelling at a bird, now. The boardwalk was crowded, but now the random passersby were giving him a pretty wise berth. Because, seriously, some beach trash yelling at a bird, that's some shit to avoid. "Two fuckin' days, man, and you fuckin ruined my shit!"

More than a little irritated, Donny just fucking kicked the ruined mess of his goddamn breakfast, and when Croix just landed of his head like a cheeky little shit, he just kind've gave up. Leaned against the railing of the boardwalk, defeated.

"Yeah, real funny, dick." He quietly grumbled, staring down a very amused family of four that passed by.

Fuck, he really wished he still had that gyro.

-


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Cain Croix
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Donny was a special kind of charming.
The way kids saying curse words and old people falling down stairs was funny.
A sense of I shouldn't laugh that just made laughing come all the more readily.

Lucky for both of them- he couldn't laugh. Not right then, not like that.
Birds lacked the vocal chords for it, as did most animals. So talking was out, too.
A shame, cause he had a lot to say about that gyro. The poor thing, so young and beautiful, readily discarded. A eulogy was in order. Later. In the given moment, he was more intent on cawing (on instinct, not wholly voluntary) and flapping his way off the punk's shoulder to avoid a decently agitated swatting of hands.

All proud of himself, he circled small to replant himself on Donny.
On the head. King of Mount Plumage. Yes, he could be that kind of royalty. Birdking, king of birds.

The gyro getting further abuse was heartwrenching, sure. But he had self-control. He had dignity. He was trying to say hello. Clearly, Donny was more important than food...

After two solid seconds he surrendered Mount Plumage, flying off the poor kid's head to instead strut across the ground, pecking at the scattered remnants of 'perfectly good' food. One of them didn't have anything against eating off the ground- and he was the one getting part of a meal out of it.

Still, he felt bad. Sort of.
So after a few beakfuls of sloppy, mistreated pita and tomato, he straightened. Looked around. Left, then right. For the nearest vending machine. Finding one was easy. Waiting took a little bit more. As soon as someone moved over to one, Croix was airborn again. Going high before diving, snatching the dollar out of their hand before the machine could accept it. The guy yelped, stumbling backwards before cursing at the bird already far out of reach.

He made sure to take one long lap midair before eventually swinging back around to Donny.
(Pointedly landing on the railing, then, and not the guy's head that time.)
It was just a dollar, sure. But it was something. A sort of peace offering. And even though the temptation to go right back to the gyro no one else was going to eat was strong, he didn't. Just for Donny's sake. Cause making lunch out of the guy's lost food was a dick move even he wasn't about to go to if he could help it. Resisting the urge got easier once, inevitably, other beach birds started to circle and dive down, picking pieces to fly away with.

Croix sighed, which came out as an awkward squaking-coo, and settled down on the rail next to Donny. Unfortunately spending so much time as an animal had its drawbacks. Like, case and point, forgetting that some people had a really damn hard time trying to hold conversation with a fucking bird in public.

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Donald Connors
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Just, fucking damn it. A quiet grumble in his stomach chastised him for letting a decent meal get away. All the effort of snatching it up and booking it, for fucking nothing, while Croix just nipped and picked at his pilfered breakfast. At least the guy (bird? Guybird?) was decent enough to snatch some poor dude's dollar and deliver it beak-first to Donny. Classy apology. Real A-plus reimbursement.

"Wow, thanks, Animorphs." Donny stuffed the bill into his pocket, words not at all coated in some weird combination of genuine appreciation and sarcasm, mostly sarcasm, complete with eye-rolling action. So, it was just him, hanging out with a really fucking weird-looking bird. Nothing unusual about that.

Croix squawked, settled down on the railing, and it was quiet for a while. Donny standing there, arms crossed, vaguely pouting, agitated at his forsaken meal. Croix, doing bird stuff. Existing, basically? He guessed that his plans to wash up and clean his clothes were going to be put on hold, but hey, at least he was a whole buck closer to having enough for laundry. Or, smokes. It'd probably go toward smokes. It was so obviously going toward smokes.

"Man." Now the silence was just killing him. Obviously, Croix was just going to perch there on the railing all fucking day if he didn't say anything, and Donny wasn't interested in being the boardwalk's new Crazy Birdtalker Guy. Probably bad for business. "You wanna, like, go somewhere and get normal? Kinda weird, talkin' to a bird."

-

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Cain Croix
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Normal?
This was normal, though. This was his routine, the day to day, the-

Oh.
Person-normal.
Riiiight..

He bobbed his head left and right, looking for who was paying attention.
Honestly, in a sea of tourists midday on the boardwalk? No one was. Which was good, but he still didn't trust it. Didn't trust someone, somewhere, to not happen to look over in the exact moment a birb became not a bird.

So he squawked at Donny, tapping one weird little birdfoot on the railing.
A signal of wait. If only known because he used it in work, for just about any form. Foot tapping was wait, nodding was affirmative or go ahead, and shakes of the head always meant danger or something not working how it was supposed to. Simplistic.

Now, the wait was for his sake. So he could flap his cracker-and-gyro-stuffed ass airborne then up, down. Down the strip, around a corner. As per usual with Croix, things did not take long. He was a fast-paced person.. bird, dog, whatever else. He wasn't gone out of sight for more than a minute before coming back, bounding down the boardwalk strip as.. not a person. A little more common appearance, if only slightly.


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Dog. He was a dog.
Some kind of retriever-husky blend that looked fluffed out and messy in the humidity.
Turning back into a person meant being naked. Which, generally, wasn't a great idea in public. But guiding as a dog was a lot easier than a bird, and talking to a canine tended to be seen as less psycho.

So he trotted up, tail wagging, barking just once at Donny. Excited.
Then, with as much dumb enthusiasm as any other time, he promptly licked the punk's hand then snagged the end of his shirt in his teeth, tugging forward. A sign of follow me. None too patiently either, as he hopped and started trying to practically drag Donny along like any properly overly-excited dog.

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Donald Connors
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Wait.

Yeah, sure, fine. He'd wait. Not that he had anything else to do, anyway. Just lean on the railing like a piece of shit, watching all the beach-goers swarming the boardwalk. Croix flew off, and for a while, it was just Donny and the tourists. The boardwalk was a nice place, for the most part. Lots of places to snag food from, almost always packed with people, some of whom would prove to be generous enough to spare a kid a buck or two. Pretty much all he looked for when he needed a place to spend the day.

Part of him hated the place, though. Families walking along the way, enjoying their vacations. Kids running around being kids, clusters of friends having a grand old time at the beach. That was the problem with the best places to panhandle, they always came with this bullshit. It was something Donny learned to deal with, but he still didn't fucking like it.

When Croix came back, he was disappointed. Normal, not a fucking dog. He got it, clothes didn't come with the shapeshifting, but god damn. Would it really be so hard to leave a hidden stash of clothing close by? Croix licked his hand, and Donny quickly withdrew it, making a face at the dog that was somewhere between disgust and bewilderment.

"No, fuckin', bad!" Sometimes he wasn't sure if being an animal made Croix act like an animal, or if the guy was just a cheeky dick. Probably the latter. What he was sure of was that man's best fucking friend wanted him to follow, which was made clear by the pooch tugging on his shirt. "Dude, knock it off, this is my last fuckin' shirt!" Holy shit, god damn, he felt like a crazy person. Crazy people yelled at birds and dogs.

But still, he went along. Maybe Croix knew of some work, which he was in seriously desperate need of, and fuck it. Maybe they'd get some drinks, as long as Donny didn't have to pay.

"I ain't fuckin' petting you, though. Just, fuckin', lead on."

-



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Cain Croix
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Croix barked, tail wagging.
It was funny. Donny was funny.
He didn't mind the scolding and fussy attitude. That was just part of the plumage appeal, and he accepted the whole package instead of just pieces and parts. Which was, arguably, why they got along even a little. Croix was easy to deal with, and the level of shit he'd take from people was at times damn near impossible. Donny, in the grand scheme of things and people, was what Croix would call nice.

So there wasn't much the kid could do, by then, to deter the dog's good mood.
He just had the decency to surrender tugging on Donny's shirt and proudly lead the way, repeatedly bounding ahead just to stop and sit and wait. He was excited, and sometimes it was real damn hard not to get too excited and run around. (Lucky for both of them there were no squirrels in sight on the way to his apartment.)

His setup was.. nice.
Not bad. No peeling paint, no crack dealers on the corner. You'd be hard pressed to find a real ghetto in Virginia Beach due to all the tourism, but even so as far as places went Croix didn't live in the worst of options. Which was pretty damn unusual since he could (and had) been happy enough living out of an abandoned sewing factory among other places. So this, with it's working lights and running water, was high end for him.

No one thought anything of it when they rolled in. Unlike the big city apartments, the place didn't have a locked lobby to have to break into. Rather, the apartments were sprawled out and separated only by various doors up and down hallways like giant houses crammed close together instead of a more urban enclosed complex.

Croix lead the way through the quiet area, to one collection of buildings. The 300s.
His place was 304, which was up some stairs and to the left. Once there, he pawed at the welcome mat until it rolled back, exposing a spare key.

Normally he never needed it. Normally he flew in through a cracked window.
But Donny couldn't exactly make that scale and Croix wanted to spare him a shot of his bare ass if at all possible, so he opted for the front door instead. Which required a key. Which needed thumbs. Impatiently, he barked. Tried not to whine or pace around.

It didn't take long to get the door opened but he was still eager.
After all the walking, he wanted indoors there was air conditioning and water in there.
(And clothes that wouldn't make Donny look like a Sam Axe fan.)

As soon as the placed was opened up he was all but running inside, barking and shaking his fur out.
He couldn't exactly say make yourself at home but it was generally implied since he didn't linger or watch Donny closely. Rather, he immediately trotted back to the bedroom and nosed the door shut.

It took him all of five minutes to shift human, drag some pants and a loose tank top on, and grab some spare clothes. Maybe the jeans and shirt would be a little too long, but fuck it. They were free.

He didn't make a big deal about it. No need to get weird. It was just kindness, from one drifter to another. He had a decent setup, obviously, so it wasn't like he was hurting any by tossing shit Donny's way. That was, so far as Croix understood, just what friends did after all.

So he promptly walked out, tossed the clothes at Donny, and laughed a little on his way straight to the fridge. He didn't keep much in stock but he definitely had cold beer.

"The fuck r'you even doin in Virginia Beach, man?"
Ahh, same weird southern twang as always. It wasn't thick, per say. But it was heavier than the last time they'd run into each other. Hanging around the south more brought it out of him better. Without it even needing to be asked for, he turned around with two beers and moved to hand Donny one. (With his fancy new thumbs- which were just lovely to have back.)

"B'sides lookin like a tourist fresh off'a bus." He had to snort, to look the other over.
Cmon. That shirt? And shorts? Taaacky.

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Donald Connors
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Once they were on the move, the heat really made itself known. Just a guy following an overly-excited dog, in the blistering heat. Wherever the hell Croix was leading him, Donny had his fingers crossed that it was close. Close, and climate-controlled. Shit, days like this made him miss air conditioning.

Their trek came to an end at an apartment complex that, considering the kind of places Donny had crashed in, was pretty nice. Real upscale, for a vagrant. Croix pawed at the welcome mat, Donny snatched up the key he'd revealed, and oh man, oh wow, the immediate relief of getting the fuck out of the heat was fantastic. Croix trotted off, and Donny made himself comfortable by dropping onto the couch.

"Nice place." It was. Real nice. Maybe it meant that there actually was some work in Virginia Beach. Maybe he was just too dumb to find it. That'd come up later, first things first. All those catching-up pleasantries, and all.

The clothes caught him by surprise, though. A nice gesture. Not entirely wanted but hey, the guy was trying to be nice. Croix handing him a beer, though, that was definitely appreciated. Donny was more of a cheap, plastic bottle liquor guy but hey, alcohol was alcohol. He cracked it open, took a real healthy swig.

"Wanted to find somewhere to take it easy for a while." God, that dumb hilljack accent. He'd totally forgot about that, but he was glad it persisted. Just some more fodder for him to poke fun at.

"And yo, fuck you, it's laundry day. Literally the only thing I have left. I don't even know where the fuck I got this stupid shit. What about you, though? I mean, I don't know too many bums who can afford a roof, what's up?"

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Cain Croix
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He smiled, sure.
But he didn't like the apartment. Didn't care much for it getting complimented. Didn't swing out the usual oh why thank you response to the comment. Also didn't mention he only came back to it like a storage container for beer and clothes, and typically slept in other places around the city. It was easier to do as a bird or rat than a person, so he wasn't exactly shooting himself in the foot over anything. At least not like that.

Croix cracked open his beer, leaned his hip into the bar-counter dividing the kitchen from the rest of the open living room. When he looked at Donny, is was easy. Casual and calm like the guy was a permanent fixture in his home and not a chance run-in on a boardwalk not even a full halfhour ago. Croix was just a nice guy. Arguably too nice, for his line of work. All someone ever had to do was ask and he'd almost always turn over his wallet and the damn shirt off his back. Kind and stupid were synonymous sometimes and he was a good example of both.

Still, in the moment it was nice and welcoming enough. Harmless.
Even when he grinned all crooked at laughed at Donny's attitude. Kept that smile, too, even when the question made him want to groan. He wasn't irritated at Donny though, so he bit it back. Just sighed, shrugged. Took a drink of beer before grinding out a distinctly regretful answer.
"Technically I'm not affordin it."

Cue a longer drink, a shake of the head. He was irritated. Which was a little hard to tell since he was still all loose posture and half-smile. The main giveaway was the lack of laughing, of talking all loud and hick-ish. No, when he spoke about the apartment it was in a level tone, about as close to serious sounding as he ever got.

"I owe somebody some favors." Flatly, he left it at that.
"Work around here ain't bad, though. If you're decent and know the right people. It's not impossible to make enough to afford a place, I don't think. How long you plannin on stayin around?" He wouldn't know, since he wasn't exactly paying for this one. But income was good, when he bothered to go for it. And if Donny was more reliable than a here-today-gone-tomorrow case, work wouldn't be hard for him to get either. Ah, the wonderful world of connections.


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Donald Connors
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Owed someone favors. He knew how that went. Didn't really explain the apartment, at all, but Donny wasn't too stupid to see that was the point. No, he just nodded, pulled his legs up, laid down on the couch, propped up to actually face Croix.

Loan sharks, maybe? Or, maybe he'd fucked up a job, and he "owed" somebody another one to compensate. Whatever it was, if it came with a roof, Donny didn't get Croix's bitterness over it. But, hey, not his business, not his problem. At least he had a free beer and some free clothes.

But, apparently, Croix wasn't having too much trouble finding work. That was bullshit, he'd hung around for a couple of months now with almost no bites. So, if Croix was finding work, Donny wanted in. Not even just for the money. Hell, he just wanted to have a way to occupy his time that wasn't bumming for change on the boardwalk and blowing it in a bar. Be productive, change the pace up, all he really wanted.

"Ehhh, been around a little bit, been thinkin' about hopping on a train and leavin'. Right work, though, I can see stickin' around a bit longer. Try and make this stop actually worth it."

-

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Cain Croix
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He laughed like there was an inside joke Donny was missing.
Scoffed a little, but somehow not condescending. Just humored, grinning and drinking before setting the bottle aside on the counter. He'd never been much for beer, to be totally honest. But it was cheap and wet and a good thing both for company and just to have after getting home and out of the heat. So he didn't complain, and he kept buying the shit. He just also never really finished a bottle. Downed half and left the abandoned, cleaned em up later. Thankfully right then, the place was clean of discarded bottles. (Almost too clean, like it wasn't even a really lived in space.)

"It's tricky, work round here."
And that was the lead in, no other questions or comments needed on if Donny was good for it or up to par. Croix knew. He'd seen the kid work enough times, knew him decently enough to vouch for him should it come to that. The only thing that mattered, then, was getting Donny educated on the scene.

"You got your bad people and your really bad people, and you take one wrong job it'll isolate ya from a whole market. Real messy, pain in the ass shit, that." He definitely spoke from experience. "But I got a ah.. old friend in the area, just rolled in. I'll talk to em, work somethin out. They've been lookin for people like you lately. Salt o'the earth types, good work for good pay. Might even like that mouth you got on you."

He laughed, in a better mood. Yeah, definitely nicer to think about the positive employment he was with over the negative as of late.
"Just do me a favor?"

Croix moved around, into the kitchen. Fished through a drawer, finding a wallet after a moment and shoving it in the back pocket of his jeans.
"You ever run into a guy with the name Nikitin, people call 'im Sharktooth? You fuckin walk away. Trust me."

He moved over, away from the counter. Closer to the couch, still smiling despite the heavier tone to the words.
Then, all in good nature, he slapped one of Donny's feet. Didn't mind them on the couch, it wasn't about that. It was time to go. He didn't need an answer, didn't need Donny to super pinky swear to not talk to bad men. It was just advice, was all. Not some kind of agreement he expected to be made for him hooking the other up with potential work.
"Now c'mon. Get yer ass up, we're goin out. I owe you a welcome-to-town night. Drinks'r'on me."

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Donald Connors
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Salt of the Earth? Fuck, Donny didn't even know what that meant. Probably a compliment, though. Fuck, he'd be the saltiest, most earthbound motherfucker if it lead to some decent, steady goddamn pay. As for Croix's warnings, about picking jobs carefully, it wasn't all that uncommon, anyway. Nobody wanted to hire the sick motherfucker who wouldn't bat an eye at shipping some kids off to fucking Croatia. There was a long list of shit that most people in this line of work were completely fine with, but taking the kind of jobs that even the most scuzzy dudes wouldn't pick up, that was a great way to get blacklisted, and quickly.

As for this, Sharktooth, Nikitin, whoever, that just got a shrug. Kinda name was "Sharktooth," anyway?

"Can't be that bad. I mean, 'Sharktooth'? Wow, sounds real scary." Honestly, if he was all that bad, how would he even still be in the business? Maybe things were different around Virginia Beach, but they couldn't be that different. In any case, he could figure that out later. Croix smacked his feet, and it was time for Donny to get plastered for the low, low price of free. Damn, he'd totally forgive the gyro bullshit.

"Well shit, Mister Moneybags, I'd be just fuckin' delighted." Swinging his feet over and onto the floor, Donny hoisted himself to his feet, holding up the clothes Croix had oh-so-generously gifted him. "Gimme a minute, I wanna get out of this disgusting tourist costume. And, don't be playin' with me, man, I gotta talk shop A-S-A-P, got it?"

One last, zealous chugging of his remaining beer, and Donny set it on the floor, tossed his fresh threads over his shoulder.

"Better fuckin' keep up, too, I'm real thirsty, yo."

Thirsty for some free fucking drinks, hell yes.

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